Rancher Wants a Wife (7 page)

She patted the broodmare. “I wish you would’ve remembered that you have a wife living with you now, and children within earshot.”

“I didn’t know Julia was there.”

“She told me she’s never seen a fight between two men before.”

“Well, it’s not like she’s a kid. She is fifteen.” He didn’t mean to sound harsh. “Is she all right?”

Cassandra relented. “She’s fine. Please explain to me what this man Thornley wants.”

Jack led her through a side door to the outer buildings, so he could show her those, too. They left the stalls and the men pitching straw, stepping out into the corral, close to where he and Thornley had fought that morning.

“Thornley’s the one I told you about who was seeing Elise the same time I was. Except that he’s still seeing her. Apparently he heard about the words between us in church yesterday, and didn’t like the way I treated her. Neither did she.”

“She’s the one who interrupted our ceremony, and s
he
was offended by
us
?”

“Apparently.”

“Listen, Jack...please tell me the truth about something.” Cassandra watched two men trying to saddle a wild mustang. Jack knew from experience it would take days of practice before the horse would allow anyone near her.

He squinted into the sunshine. “Go ahead. Whatever you want to know.”

“Have you ever...did you ever...sleep with this woman?”

Jack swallowed hard at the question. Normally, he’d never let anyone ask him something so personal. Hell, they could ask, but he’d never say. In this case, though, he wanted to ease Cassandra’s concern.

“No, I never did.”

The tense muscles in her shoulders eased. She blinked, didn’t say anything more, but seemed satisfied by his answer. Even so, as they finished the tour and he pointed out the bunkhouse, he wasn’t so sure they were back on solid footing.

Jack introduced her to his foreman, Russell Crawford, a short bulky man in a plaid shirt with a wide black mustache and solid handshake.

“We stood next to each other,” Cassandra reminded him, “earlier today. I—I borrowed your gun.”

“I don’t know how you managed that,” said Jack with a chuckle. Hell, if she wasn’t impressive. Surviving the Great Fire had made her more resourceful and self-reliant than he’d originally considered. A pretty woman with a pistol was intriguing. As long as she was using it for self-defense and nothing more. He frowned, wondering why that thought had popped into his head.

“Don’t let Jack’s easygoing nature fool you,” Russell said with a chuckle. “He and I actually met in a boxing ring when he first got here.”

“Boxing?” Cassandra glanced at Jack in fresh alarm.

“Something I used to do. I don’t anymore.” He shot Russell a pointed glance, and the man seemed to get the meaning.

He tipped his hat. “Got lots to do, ma’am. Nice to have met you.”

It was awkward again between them, so as a means of distraction, Jack walked her through his veterinary office in the stables. “This is where I keep some of my supplies. I’ve got another office inside the house.”

She strolled past the medicine cabinets, peered through the slatted windows above the wide pine desk into the corral, then back to some of his veterinary books. Unexpectedly, Jack was called away on an urgent matter about a wagon delivery, apologizing again to Cassandra for leaving her.

“It’s all right. I’ll help Mrs. Dunleigh in the kitchen.”

He didn’t get back to her till dinnertime, but it was not a private event. Mrs. Dunleigh served them, chatting about her grandchildren and what shops Cassandra should and shouldn’t visit when she got the opportunity, while Jack wished... Ah, hell, he wasn’t sure what he wished.

Dinner was over and he withdrew to his office to finish some paperwork. When he retired to bed he was hoping to spend some time with Cassandra, but she was already asleep. With a mumble, he punched his pillow and turned over in the darkness.

It was another night of cold shoulders. He went to sleep wondering where she kept her derringer, precisely, and what else there was about her that he didn’t know. He had a gut feeling she was hiding something. Maybe a lunch date in town tomorrow was just the thing that would help him pry the information out of her.

Chapter Seven

S
haded by redwoods and Douglas fir, Cassandra stood at the edge of the narrow river in Sundial the next day and worried how to make things right with Jack. Neither of them were sleeping properly or could seem to drop their guard around the other, and both were avoiding even the simplest touch.

“Watch your step. The stones can be slippery.” Jack led the way along the bank, his husky figure in shadows from overhead branches. He had a bruised left jaw this morning, a remnant of his altercation with Thornley, yet it didn’t stop him from going out in public.

“There’s a pretty café ahead where we can have lunch.” He pointed to a busy place on the corner street overlooking the river, where several customers were going in and out. A cluster of palm trees shaded the porch. “I thought we might discuss what you have planned for your days.”

“It looks inviting,” she said.

Perhaps they could bury their differences over the way he had handled Thornley yesterday. She’d come awfully close to revealing her interest in gaining employment in the investigation field, but had stopped short of telling him she wanted to work as a detective. However, she had to tell him sometime. He was her husband. The optimistic part of her hoped that perhaps he’d be as understanding about her wish for employment as he was about her ability with guns.

Because her father had been a criminal attorney, she’d been surrounded her entire life by conversations about law and procedures. She’d met judges and bailiffs and policemen, and felt comfortable conversing with them. How many times had she sat at the dinner table with men from her father’s field, discussing the latest news in Chicago? Troy had also been an attorney. Some of their conversations about his work had been lively and riveting. She’d discovered she had a burning interest in piecing together clues in the latest burglary she’d read about in the papers, and being fascinated when women were involved, either as perpetrators or victims who needed assistance. In cases her father wasn’t involved with, she’d even made suggestions on clues, and sometimes she’d been proved right.

Mary would always tease about Cassandra’s obsession, in a loving way, but surely Jack would understand when she explained it to him. They were grown now; they weren’t children.

“Mind if we stop at the feed and supply shop before lunch?” Jack asked, maneuvering across some flat rocks. “I’ve got an order to place.”

“Lead the way.” Cassandra followed him, stepping onto one boulder, then leaping to the next. Her skirts swirled around her, revealing her well-worn, brown leather boots, and cool air played over her skin.

Jumping to a spot beside him on the grass, she inhaled a deep breath that raised her breasts beneath the pleats of her high-collared blouse.

In quick response, his gaze fell and lingered there, and she felt herself flush with thoughts of their wedding night, how he’d swept her up in his arms in the tub and kissed every inch of her nipples. She wondered if he might ever do that again, and if she might have the opportunity to stare at his physique as long and hard as she truly desired.

Jack tore his gaze away from her soft cotton blouse, which had been washed so many times it was threadbare in spots. Awkwardly, she pulled at one dangling gold earring and assured herself that this marriage could work.

It
would
work.

They simply needed time to reacquaint themselves and grow into the roles and duties of husband and wife. Their argument yesterday had been silly, and there was no need to prolong it.

They approached the main street. A team of thundering horses raced by pulling a wagon. Jack took her elbow protectively and led the way across the dry ruts.

She was ever so conscious of the length of his legs in his casual jeans, the wide silver buckle at his waist, the strength in his torso beneath his black shirt, and heated looks of secret approval he was getting from young ladies they passed on the boardwalk.

The shiny tips of his black cowboy boots reflected the glare of the hot California sun. When they crossed into the town square, he splayed one callused hand at the back of her waist, sending more shivers coursing through her skin.

“Let’s have a look at that sundial you saw on your first day,” he said. “It was put here a hundred years ago by the Spanish.”

They stopped at the marble column, which was etched with a large circle and had numbers around its face.

“How does it work?” she asked.

“That part sticking out, the pointer, is called the gnomon.” He pronounced it nom-on. “When the sun hits, it casts a shadow here.” He pointed to the marker, indicating it was almost high noon.

“So at different times of the day,” she mused, “the shadow is in different positions, with different lengths. Shortest at noon.”

“Exactly. And since the earth rotates on its axis fifteen degrees an hour—”

“In twenty-four hours, it moves three hundred sixty degrees,” she finished. “Then starts all over again.”

“You always were fast with numbers.”

“How did they know how and where to position the sundial, to read the sun accurately?”

“It’s adjusted somehow, according to the latitude.”

“Ah, so that’s the trick. They line it up with the latitude. So what happens when—”

He raised a palm in the air and interjected, “Don’t ask me anything more. I don’t know. We should share a tequila, though, and discuss it.”

At his comment, she glanced up in surprise, then smiled at his teasing expression. They were a couple getting to know each other, she thought. Their marriage was unusual, with the mail-order aspect, but they were like any other lovers who might dream of a future together.

The tender moment didn’t last long.

An elderly couple strolled by, the woman dressed in a fancy bonnet and suit, the gent in top hat and gloves. Cassandra heard the woman whisper, “...shame about her face. He could’ve made a better pick, and you’d think he could afford to put her in decent clothes....”

Cassandra looked quickly to the ground, turning her rough cheek away from them. Suddenly, she was ever so conscious of every repair she’d ever made to the hem of her skirts, and the worn darts in her blouse.

Jack didn’t appear to hear the comment. He raised a muscled arm to tip his hat. “Fine day.”

They nodded back. “Hello, Doctor.”

For a moment, Cassandra, still mortified, wasn’t sure if he was going to introduce them. However, they were quite a ways away and it would’ve been awkward to step out and pursue them when they were already past, so he left it at that. She recognized them as two of the witnesses inside the church who’d seen the whole debacle with Elise.

“They own a dress shop,” Jack explained. “The Velvet Touch.”

“I see.”

“This way.” Jack was about to turn left toward a laneway filled with saloons and gun shops, then must’ve thought better of it and steered her right, toward a more upstanding portion of town, past a handful of clothing shops, two jewelry stores and a sweets shop.

When they entered the Feed and Supply Depot, the man behind the counter raised a hand in a friendly salute. “Jack! Congratulations. This must be your lovely wife.”

She was touched by his cheerfulness. It was comforting to know that not all the town residents reacted the same way to her burn injury. Some hardly seemed to notice. Jack led her past an aisle filled with sacks of oats and feed to the tall man wearing a blue apron. The air was stuffy and hot.

“Wonderful to meet you, Mrs. McColton.”

“Cassandra, please.”

Jack tapped a hand protectively on her shoulder blade. “Meet Mr. Alan Barnum.”

“How do you do, Mr. Barnum?”

The man took her hand. “The pleasure’s all mine. How is this husband of yours treating you? Nice to see him takin’ some time out from his busy days.”

“He’s showing me around your pretty town.”

The man took a second look at Jack’s bruised jaw. “Hmm. I heard about that. Heard you won, too.”

Cassandra dropped her gaze in a moment of embarrassment. Knowing that he’d used his fists to settle a dispute was disquieting. He’d always been a fighter in Chicago, but that was when he had been an adolescent.

“It’s over.” Jack leaned across the counter, maneuvering his wide shoulders around the equipment hanging on the wall. His hair was coal-black, as were his eyes and eyebrows and the dark shadow of growth beneath his jawline. A sheen of sweat dampened his brow, and she found her pulse thrum in response to the picture of raw masculinity he made. “Can you deliver some medicines today?”

“Sure. What do you need?”

Jack explained his order in detail, while Cassandra inhaled the husky scents of grains and hay. She peered at the new hoses, shiny hoes and balls of twine—anything to stop herself from gazing at Jack and imagining him in bed.

Mr. Barnum addressed her again. “So I imagine you two will be joining us for the big celebrations on the Fourth of July?”

Jack turned abruptly toward her. Judging by his furrowed brow, he’d been caught off guard by the question.

What big celebrations?
she thought. “Beg your pardon?”

“This Friday, the Fourth. The town always does it up real nice. You’ll be coming, won’t you?”

“I—I haven’t suggested it yet,” said Jack, stumbling through his words.

Mr. Barnum eyed him. “Don’t you be skippin’ out, Jack, like you usually do. I’m sure your young bride would enjoy an evening of music and dancing.”

She wouldn’t mind it, thought Cassandra.

Jack cocked his head and rubbed his jaw with long lean fingers. After a nod of approval from her, he replied, “We’ll be there, Alan. Thanks.” He led her back down the aisle.

“Save me a dance, Cassandra!” Mr. Barnum said boldly, to her pleasant surprise, when they neared the door.

“Will do!” she replied with a wave of her hand.

When they stepped back out the door, Jack tugged at the brim of his black Stetson and spoke without looking at her. “I’ll set up an account at a few of the women’s shops in town. You might like a new dress for the party. And more clothes for the ranch. Don’t worry what you spend. I can afford it.”

Normally, she would’ve felt honored that he’d be so generous. In fact, she was appreciative. Except now she knew for certain that he
had
overheard the older couple, the owners of The Velvet Touch, talking about her scar and her ragged clothes.

It was humiliating to know that other people didn’t think she was good enough for Jack. It was even more humiliating that her husband had noticed it.

* * *

Jack damn well knew what everyone was saying about them while they shared a meal at Penelope’s Café. Hell, if they’d only say it directly to him, he could respond in the straightforward manner he’d prefer. But all the whispering and staring and sly half smiles made his skin crawl, and wouldn’t allow him to sit in peace with his new wife. He’d removed his Stetson and placed it on the outer edge of the table. Now he ran a hand through his hair to settle it. Cassandra sipped her tea and mentioned how much she was enjoying the turkey casserole. But even she couldn’t hide the bruising to her pride when Elise Beacon strolled by the café’s front window, not quite as dolled up as usual, but still wearing a fashionable working skirt and blouse. Heads turned.

“There she is,” someone whispered.

“Why would he pick
her
over Elise?” said another.

“Shame what he did to the Beacon girl. She was expectin’ to be the bride herself.”

“Why would any man find the need to mail away for a wife? Why, we’ve got plenty right here in this...”

“...and did you hear about yesterday? Look, his jaw is still bruised.”

Jack listened, embarrassed, as Cassandra toyed with her food. Her hair was slightly untidy in a loose braid, but it fell over her lace collar and the rise of her breasts in such an attractive fashion, it made his skin heat. It was already warm enough in here for a bead of perspiration to slip down his temple. She was adding another five or ten degrees to his temperature.

Jack tried to divert her attention from the crass words of others. There was no damn way anyone’s ill manners would drive him out of the café. Besides, he wanted to broach the subject of what she might possibly be hiding from him. “Are you settling in at the house?”

“Yes. Mrs. Dunleigh’s been a godsend. She’s showing me how she manages things at the house, and we’re getting along quite well.”

“And you’re finding enough to do? I recall in your letters you mentioning that you’d like to occupy your time with something meaningful. There’s lots to do on the ranch. I could show you more when you’re ready.”

Her eyes seemed to spark at the comment. She leaned forward with an enthusiasm that was captivating to him. Her skin glowed with it. “There is something I would like to discuss, now that you mention it.”

That sounded promising, as though she wished to confide in him. “What’s that?”

“Well...something I saw in the newspapers on the journey here. About the Pinkerton Agency.”

“Ah, yes,” he said lightly. “Entertaining reading, isn’t it? Those detectives are always in the news. I think the stories get quite embellished in the Eastern papers, though. Readers seem to enjoy the thrill of reading about the Wild West, and newspapers are only too pleased to give it to them. Whether it’s fabricated or not.”

She nodded. “Yes, but there was a story about a female detective—”

“Female? You sure you got that right?”

“They’ve hired several of them, apparently, dating back seventeen years. The agency doesn’t speak of it much, obviously to protect the identity of the women involved.”

“Why on earth would Mr. Pinkerton and his agency hire females?”

“It’s said that...that women are very good observers of people, pay attention to minute details, clues that men might not notice. That women can infiltrate gangs by befriending the wives or lovers of some of the men. That criminals rarely suspect a woman of being a detective, so she has the element of surprise in her corner. Some women are quite fit, physically. They can outrun some men.”

Jack whistled in disbelief. He leaned back in his chair and studied his wife. This was the sort of thing she’d been reading about? Did she find it adventurous, or the jeopardy just plain shocking, as he did?