Tomorrow's Shining Dream

by Naomi Rawlings

  16

  Wes tapped the envelope on the desk in his office. His large, uneven handwriting stared back at him. He didn’t need to unseal it and reread the paper inside to remember every word he wrote, not when he’d spent weeks crafting the three lines.

  Wife Wanted. Owner of isolated West Texas ranch looking for a wife willing to cook and clean. Rancher not seeking any emotional or physical attachment, only the help of a God-fearing woman able to work from sunup to sundown.

  He’d settled on the bit about working from sunup to sundown because if he was going to get himself hitched again, he wanted a wife that wasn’t afraid of working. By herself. Because he certainly didn’t plan to have her by his side the way Abigail had stood by him during their marriage.

  He’d used the word isolated so that whoever answered his advertisement wouldn’t have any expectations of grandeur. He’d worry about explaining why he owned a hacienda the size of a hotel after his new wife arrived.

  If a new wife arrived. Because before arriving, a woman needed to actually respond to his advertisement. And what woman in her right mind would volunteer to pledge her life to a stranger and work twelve-hour days in exchange for a roof over her head and food on the table?

  He shook his head. No one was going to answer the ad.

  So what made him afraid of sending it?

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  “Come in.” Wes turned toward the door.

  Charlotte stepped inside his office, her dress rumpled from what was likely hours spent in the stable, and straw clinging to her in enough different places to suggest she just might have slept in the barn last night.

  He sighed. “How are Calypso and Odysseus?”

  A small smile tilted the corners of her mouth, one of the first smiles he’d seen on her since her Arabian had given birth. “I think Calypso is going to make it. She seems to be stronger. She’s even standing on her own to nurse Odysseus. And Odysseus is strong and hearty. I let him into the paddock for a half hour earlier. He’s going to make an excellent horse.”

  “As he should. He’ll be worth a fortune.”

  The smile dropped from her lips. “I’m not selling him.”

  He’d seen that coming. “What’s the point of breeding Arabians in America if you’re not going to sell any of your foals?”

  “I’ll sell them… eventually. But not the first. The horse will be from good enough stock I can use it either to breed or stud later.”

  “Only if you send to Arabia for more stock.” Which would cost another fortune. “You don’t have the capital you need for more Arabians right now. If you sell Calypso’s foal and Persephone’s foal after that, you can use those funds to purchase more horses. That’s a better business plan.”

  Why was he pushing her on this? It wasn’t as though she needed to profit from her horses. Pa had enough money stashed in the bank to finance Charlotte bringing Arabians over to Texas every year until she died, never mind whether she got around to selling any of her horseflesh.

  Then again, if Pa had his way, she wouldn’t have access to the Westin family funds much longer. But Andrew would surely indulge her desire to breed horses.

  “Maybe I’ll ask for money for another Arabian foal for my birthday, then I don’t need to worry about buying one with my profits.” Her eyes were still narrowed, her brow furrowed with lines that told him she was thinking through all the myriad details that went with breeding. “And since Calypso’s foal was a stallion, I can breed him with Athena and Persephone once he’s old enough. Keeping a male for a second stud would be a better long-term business decision than selling him.”

  “I suppose, but— Don’t you dare sit!”

  At his sharp words, Charlotte stilled. She’d moved toward the wingback, upholstered chair in his office.

  “You look like you’ve been living in the barn for the past month. You are not sitting on that chair when there’s straw all over you.”

  She looked down at herself, then grimaced. “Sorry. I forgot to clean it off.”

  Wes refrained from shaking his head, but barely.

  “Thank you for letting me know about the straw.” Charlotte picked the yellow strands off herself one at a time. “But that’s not why I came in here.”

  Something about the way she refused to look at him when she spoke and the way her voice had gone quiet caused him to run his eyes over her from top to bottom. “What’s the matter?”

  “Did you know Pa set a wedding date for the first weekend in September?”

  He stilled. He hadn’t even posted his advertisement for a mail-order-bride yet. How could Pa have set a date for his wedding? “That’s, ah… ah…”

  “You think I should marry him, right?”

  “Huh?” Wes blinked. “What are you talking about?”

  “Andrew Mortimer, me, the wedding date Pa set without me knowing.”

  Oh, right. They weren’t talking about him getting married—at least not yet.

  Wait? Had she just said Pa had planned her wedding without her knowing? And the wedding was only a month away? “I don’t know enough about Andrew Mortimer to say whether you should marry him or not, but you shouldn’t marry someone you’ll be miserable with. If you and Andrew will be happy together, then marry him. But honestly, you hardly know each other, and when I look at you, I see you being just as happy here on the desert as I do in some grand house in the city, maybe even happier.”

  She looked down. “I tried finding someone to marry around here a few months back.”

  “You what?” His shout was loud enough Marceau probably heard it clear down in the kitchen. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It happened this spring,” she whispered.

  “With whom?” Had the man been good enough for her? Able to provide?

  “With Sam.” She sank down into the chair, and this time he didn’t try to stop her, never mind the straw still clinging to her dress. “I didn’t know Ellie was coming.”

  “No one knew Ellie was coming.” Sam hadn’t told a single person, which probably served him well in the end, because Wes would have spent every last breath trying to talk his best friend out of marrying a stranger. But there was no question Sam and Ellie truly loved each other now.

  “Sam…” Charlotte shifted on the chair, then looked away. “He would have made me a fine husband, but he and Ellie got married before I even knew she’d arrived in town.”

  “I’ll agree with you that Sam is a good man, but his ranch is just starting. That style of life would be different than what you have here.”

  “I don’t need much. But I…” She bit her lip. “Oh, never mind.”

  What wasn’t she telling him? She’d never held things back from him before. At least, he hadn’t thought so, but maybe things between them weren’t as easy as they’d seemed if she’d tried to marry Sam Owens and he hadn’t had a clue.

  They were growing apart, him and the little sister who had climbed into his bed and snuggled up with him every night for a year after their ma died.

  He glanced back at his desk, at the white envelope resting atop it. Beyond the desk, the open window gave a glimpse of the rocky mountain on which their ranch sat. The view was the same as he’d always remembered, but times were changing. Their family was changing. Everything around him was changing…

  Was he ready?

  The silvery blue fabric of Charlotte’s dress rustled ever so slightly as she looked down at herself. The shipment of dresses she’d been measured for several months ago had just arrived that afternoon. The gown might not feel quite as comfortable as a split skirt, but the dressmaker Pa had brought in from Austin had listened when she’d said no extra ruffles or flounces.

  The wide, scooped neck looked like the collar on one of Anna Mae’s Mexican shirts, and a simple dark blue ribbon gathered the fabric and pulled it against her collar bone and shoulders. The dress had a similar dark blue sash that tied about her waist, but more than anything else, the dress seemed to both suit her and be
stylish—two things that usually didn’t go together.

  What would Daniel think if he saw her in this dress?

  She shook her head. Probably not much. He’d made it quite clear that he didn’t want to see her anymore. She hadn’t realized it before their conversation in the barn, but part of her had been holding out a faint hope that he might have feelings for her. He obviously didn’t care for her like that, though.

  So why couldn’t she stop thinking about the way it had felt when he’d wrapped his arms around her and let her cry on his shoulder?

  Oh, she was doing it again! A man used sweet words and tender looks on her, and she started dreaming of a future together.

  Her fickle feelings only showed why she needed to marry Andrew. Certain things about Andrew and living in San Antonio might make her nervous, but he’d already proven that he meant the sweet words he’d written in his letters to her. A man didn’t give a woman a ten thousand dollar horse because he felt nothing, no matter what Daniel said.

  She looked back into the mirror, studying the shimmery blue dress. She still had half a notion to ride into town and ask Daniel what he thought of it.

  And here she was, thinking things she shouldn’t all over again. It was probably good he’d said he didn’t want to see her anymore. Less opportunity for her to become more attached to a man who’d never return her feelings.

  She took one last glance at herself in the mirror, at the slender curves and shimmering dress that seemed like they should all belong to a wealthy socialite rather than a rancher, and then she left the room. Father would be elated to see how this dress had turned out.

  She started down the corridor, her polished ankle boots tapping across the tiles. Ever since she’d learned of his illness, she’d found him either in his room resting or in his office working to get things ready for when Wes would fully inherit the ranch. She headed toward his room first, since that was closer, then paused and peered through the crack in the door.

  Consuela hovered over him, propping him up on pillows and tucking a colorful woven blanket around his chest. She spoke in quiet tones that made only a word or two audible from the doorway, but there was something gentle and kind about the movements. Something caring.

  Charlotte rubbed her temple. Why was their housekeeper the one tending Pa? Consuela already took on more tasks than most housekeepers. The majority of households of their size had a full staff of live-in servants, but Consuela had always declined any offers of help and said she’d rather hire Mexican women to come and work a couple days a week so that the women could stay home and tend their own children and houses the rest of the time.

  Consuela held a mug to her father’s lips. Pa turned his head away, but Consuela continued her gentle ministrations. She set the drink on the bedside table while murmuring something soft and soothing. Then she tucked a thin blanket up around Pa’s shoulders and added an extra pillow behind his back. She spoke again, low and soft, and a small smile tilted the corner of Pa’s mouth. She picked up the tray sitting on the bedside table, holding remnants of broth and toast, and turned for the door.

  Their gazes met, and Consuela paused. “Miss Charlotte. I didn’t see you standing there. Do you need to speak with your pa?”

  “If he’s feeling well enough.”

  Pa looked at her, a faint rattling sound coming from his chest. Consuela had probably been fixing his pillows so he could nap semi-upright.

  “Charlotte.” His foggy gaze swept down her. “Is that one of your new dresses? You look lovely. So like your mother.”

  “I thought to save Mr. Westin’s tea until after his nap, but if you’re going to visit, I’ll be back with it in a moment.” Consuela disappeared through the door.

  Charlotte moved closer to her father and glanced down at herself. “You told the dressmaker to add flounces and lace, remember? But I think this turned out perfectly.”

  “You look like a full-grown woman in it, not a girl, and certainly not a girl trying to be a cowhand. I’m sure Andrew will appreciate the trousseau.”

  Trousseau? She stilled. Had he been scheming about her marriage back in April when he’d brought the dressmaker to Twin Rivers and insisted she have a new wardrobe made?

  Pa had made it sound like he’d realized Andrew would make a good husband for her at the house party in July, as though it was simply good fortune that the Mortimers had happened along while Pa grew sicker.

  But Pa had also told her he was negotiating something between their family and the Mortimers. Just what was her father up to?

  The door to the room opened again, and Consuela entered a second time, carrying a tray.

  Pa took one glance at the tea. “You can take that right back to the kitchen. I don’t want it.”

  “Doctor’s orders. Come now, a few sips won’t hurt.” Consuela’s gentle smile seemed immune to Pa’s scowl. “You said yourself it loosens up your chest, makes you feel like you can breathe a bit easier.”

  “It tastes horrid.”

  “I put some agave in to sweeten it up this time around.” Consuela set the tray on the empty table beside the bed. “It won’t be so bad.”

  Again, Consuela’s movements and words were the essence of gentleness against Pa’s gruff demeanor.

  Consuela loves him.

  The idea hit Charlotte with such force that she took a step back. All the evidence was there. In the kind way Consuela ministered to him despite how gruff or irritable he was being, in the way she seemed to know what Pa wanted before he asked, in the way she was always doting on him.

  Except Consuela had acted this way for years. So if her actions were evidence of her feelings toward Pa, then they couldn’t have started with Pa’s illness.

  Charlotte stepped away from the bed again, giving Consuela more room to fuss over Pa. Just how long had Consuela felt this way?

  Did Pa feel the same about her?

  Their housekeeper only spent a few minutes in the room, but during that time, she somehow managed to coax Pa into drinking all of the tea then resettled him against the pillows. Once she was finished, she picked up the tray and left.

  “She loves you,” Charlotte whispered the moment Consuela’s footsteps faded down the corridor.

  Pa sighed, his shoulders sagging. “She’s loved me for years, dumplin’. It’s nothing new.”

  “But why don’t you…? Why didn’t you…?” She licked her suddenly dry lips. “Don’t you return her feelings?”

  Pa looked away for a moment, toward the window that offered a view of the desert. “I don’t see why any of this matters. I’m not going to marry her on my deathbed.”

  “You should.”

  “And then what? Bring her children here to live on the ranch? She has two sons, full grown now, like you. I can’t bring them here.”

  Consuela had never mentioned sons. If they were about her age, where had they lived while Consuela worked here? Who had raised them? Consuela took two weeks off work every winter to go visit family in Mexico, but Charlotte had always assumed the family was distant. “If her sons are full grown, they’re probably happy enough in Mexico and wouldn’t want to move here. But if they do come, the hacienda has more rooms than we’ll ever be able to use on our own.”

  Pa sat up straighter in his bed, his eyes sharpening until they lost their foggy sheen. “I didn’t work day and night to build the A Bar W so that it could be divvied up between my flesh and blood and my housekeeper’s sons. The ranch goes to Wes. All of it, not just part. You can’t blame me for not wanting Consuela’s children coming and taking—”

  “That’s terrible!” Could an illness turn a person mean? Because Pa’s mind suddenly appeared to be as addled as his lungs. “How can you be so selfish? Consuela is a good woman. She would have loved you, been faithful to you.”

  “And then I would have had to leave part of the estate to her children.” Pa hardened his jaw. “Don’t tell me it doesn’t matter. The fact you can’t see it is why you can’t be trusted to choose a husband
on your own.”

  She sucked in a breath, the words piercing a place deep inside her that suddenly dried up her tears, but left a gaping hole in her heart.

  A cough rattled Pa’s chest, and he reached for the handkerchief beside him, which he coughed blood into.

  Charlotte moved closer, though she could do little other than give him fresh handkerchiefs and hold up the waste bin for him to throw the soiled ones inside. She couldn’t say whether Consuela had the dirty clothes boiled to reuse or kept ordering new. All she knew was Pa always seemed to have an endless supply of clean cloths.

  She tried to rub his back, but it shook so hard with his coughing fits that he probably couldn’t feel her hand. And she couldn’t say how long he coughed for, only that part of her started wondering if he might heave his last breath somewhere in the midst of the fit.

  When the coughing finally subsided, he slumped back into his pillows, half of which had been knocked askew with his shaking, then reached out and clasped her hand. “You’re sweet to care about me and Consuela, Charlie. Got a heart as big as the Big Bend itself. I’ve known how Consuela felt about me for years, can probably even claim to have felt the same about her at one point. But if I had a Mexican wife, no businessman from Austin or San Antonio would have taken me seriously when I sat down at the table and talked beef prices or shipping costs. No man of any importance would have taken me seriously when I went looking for a husband for Mariah or you.”

  Charlotte’s lungs burned as though she were the one with tuberculosis. But she couldn’t refute what Pa said. Here on the border, marriages between Mexicans and Americans were common enough, like Daniel and Anna Mae’s parents. But once a person got farther away from the Rio Grande, those kinds of marriages were frowned on, especially in cities. Andrew probably didn’t know a single Mexican person who traveled in his circles in San Antonio.

  But had Pa really put his own happiness aside in order to make better business deals and pick her husband?

  Never mind. She knew the answer. She’d spent the sixteen years since her mother died watching Pa make choice after choice based on what would grow both the ranch and his bank account. Matters of the heart had never been a factor for him.