Tomorrow's Shining Dream

by Naomi Rawlings

  She settled for licking her lips.

  “I make you nervous.”

  Another bout of heat swept across her face. “Somewhat.”

  “Most women talk my ear off if they get a few minutes alone with me. But here we rode all the way out to this mountain and we’re going for a stroll, and you’ve only spoken a few times.”

  “I… ah… I suppose I don’t see much point in talking if there’s nothing important to talk about.”

  He chuckled, a low, deep sound that did strange things to the inside of her belly. “A woman who likes quiet. I didn’t realize such a thing was possible.”

  “I grew up on the desert surrounded by my father, brother, and ranch hands. Reckon there wasn’t ever much need for a lot of words… or a lot of fancy things.” She wasn’t sure what prompted her to say that last bit. Perhaps because Andrew stood before her in his three-piece suit when no other man for a hundred miles would wear such dandy clothes riding.

  “I can see how this would be a bit of an awkward situation for you.”

  “And isn’t it an awkward situation for you? I mean, you’re here to marry me, correct?”

  He paused for a moment, then his entire face broke into a full-blown smile. “Well, yes, that’s correct. But I want you to know I enjoyed our conversation when I talked with you in the stable in July. I also danced with you at the ball and sat by you at supper. Plus, we’ve exchanged letters. It’s not as though we’re complete strangers.” A gust of wind blew over the desert, causing a tuft of dark hair to fall over his brow.

  “Not strangers, no, but none of that is the same as the two of us coming out here alone together. And, well… you’re right. It all makes me a bit nervous.”

  “I see.” He squeezed her hand, which was still intertwined with his. “Tell me, does something about our arrangement not suit you?”

  “Of course not. Everything about our arrangement is perfect.” Unless once you get to know me, you decide you won’t be happy with me as your wife.

  No, no, no. Where had that thought come from? She’d been waiting for Andrew to return all summer and had spent countless hours preparing for today. So far everything was going according to plan.

  “You think this arrangement is perfect?” Andrew raised an eyebrow. “I personally feel as though our circumstances are a bit unusual, but nothing that can’t be handled. I also think a few nerves are understandable, considering. Ultimately, Charlotte, we’ll make a good match. Don’t doubt it.”

  He raised their joined hands to his mouth, turning them so hers was on top. His lips pressed against the fabric of her glove, and she could swear the warmth from his mouth traveled straight through the leather to her skin.

  A good match. She drew in a breath of hot, dry air. He was right. Her father was right. Everybody except Daniel was right. She and Andrew would make a good life together in San Antonio.

  But what if Daniel was the one who was right, and everyone else ended up being wrong?

  19

  He’d been avoiding the conversation for too long. Daniel stared at the ranch house shaped like a small hacienda. The stone archway that led to the courtyard stood with its doors open. No cattle lowed from the nearby paddock, and only two horses huddled together beneath the shade of an ocotillo mat that extended off the roof of the barn.

  He’d never seen the Triple M Ranch so desolate. Had Mattherson already given up hope that any of his cattle would be recovered and told his cowhands to find work elsewhere?

  The sun beat down on his hat, warming his head and his back, but he still waited another minute or two before he urged Blaze toward the watering trough and shade beside the barn, then headed toward the house.

  No one came to greet him as he climbed the steps and walked through the archway to find himself standing in a modest courtyard surrounded by four walls. Ten years ago, this house had been a small rectangle the size of Sam and Ellie’s, but the Matthersons had added on to their house each year until it looked like a small, one-story version of the Westins’ hacienda.

  “Hello,” he called.

  A Mexican woman stepped out of a room at the back of the house, her apron smeared with flour. “Can I help you?” she asked in a thickly accented voice.

  “I’m looking for Mr. Mattherson.”

  “He’s in his study.” She pointed. “The door in the corner.”

  “Gracias.” Daniel dipped his head at her, then turned in that direction.

  He found Mattherson standing by the window, staring out over the flat expanse of desert that had held cattle this time last year.

  Daniel cleared his throat, then knocked on the already open door.

  Mattherson turned, no hint of surprise at Daniel’s presence showing in his eyes. “Sheriff Harding, what can I do for you?”

  Daniel forced out a breath. He best just say his piece and get it over with. “I’ve had no luck recovering your cattle. I’ve searched high and low. Captain Whitelaw has ridden into Mexico once himself, and he sent another small posse south of the border three days ago.”

  Daniel held up his hands, the emptiness of the gesture through him. “We haven’t recovered a single animal, not for you, and not for anyone else. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “What?” Daniel croaked. “But what you said about Winnie—”

  “I said it’s not your fault.” Mattherson slumped into the chair behind his desk. “I know I blamed you for the stolen cattle that day, and the truth is, I wish you’d have caught the rustlers, recovered the cattle, done something so that I wouldn’t have lost so much. But it’s hardly your fault I was in the position where I couldn’t afford to lose any cattle. You’re one man, Sheriff Harding. I might not have been there, but I still heard about you barging into the commissioner’s meeting and causing a ruckus after we made that ridiculous plea deal with Rutherford so we could get money. Plus you’ve been roaming the desert by yourself for the past five weeks because I yelled at you. And everyone knows you have an awfully big sense of justice and an awfully big dose of compassion to go along with it. You make Twin Rivers a right fine sheriff, and I’m sorry I said the things I did.”

  “Um… thank you.” It meant something that the man was willing to forgive him, even if things hadn’t entirely been his fault. But the apology didn’t change that Mattherson was still in an impossible situation—and Daniel hadn’t been able to help. “I suppose this means Winnie won’t be returning to school after Christmas.”

  “Maybe.” Mattherson tapped a pencil against the paper on his desk. “I’m thinking about selling the place. I have so few cattle left it’s like I’m back to where I started ten years ago, except I have a decent house that’s worth some money. Don’t suppose the rustlers can take that.”

  “No.”

  “So I might just sell all this and move to Houston, find a job near Winnie’s school. She and Claire are gone so much they feel more like strangers to me than family these days.”

  Daniel rubbed his head beneath his hat brim. Something about this still felt wrong, even if Matterson wasn’t threatening to have him removed as sheriff anymore. “I still wish there was something I could do.”

  Mattherson’s shoulders rose and fell in a listless shrug. “You’ve done it, Sheriff. Everyone knows you’ve been following a trail that disappears somewhere in the desert. Everyone knows you’ve been out searching for cattle and rustlers day and night. When I heard Cain Whitelaw lost five men after riding into Mexico, I realized the truth. If thirty rangers can’t recover those cattle, then no one can.”

  No one? He refused to believe it. The cattle might be lost for good, but someone had to catch the rustlers. Mattherson might be able to sell his ranch, but whoever bought the house and land would only end up losing their own cattle.

  So far Sam Owens and the Westins hadn’t lost enough cattle to put their ranches in jeopardy, but if he or Cain didn’t find a way to stop the rustlers soon, his friends would end up in a posi
tion like Mattherson next.

  Something was wrong with her.

  It wasn’t her klutziness, no. In fact, she hadn’t spilled a single thing on herself in the five days that Andrew had been at the ranch.

  It wasn’t her lack of femininity either. They’d gone on multiple horseback rides and picnics and had spent many evenings talking on the terrace while the moon rose over the desert. Andrew seemed perfectly enamored with her. If anything, the more time they spent together, the more charmed he seemed to become with her.

  Charlotte glanced down at her dress as she headed toward her room. Even now, her wine-colored gown looked pristine, and she’d worn it through both supper and the time she and Andrew had spent talking on the terrace while night crept over the valley. She barely grew nervous around him anymore, and tonight, he’d even told her she was more beautiful than their surroundings.

  No, her problem was something else entirely. Andrew might be perfectly happy to spend time with her, but whenever they were together, she found herself thinking of Daniel. Sometimes she’d even catch herself daydreaming about Daniel in the middle of something Andrew was saying to her. Yesterday, she’d gotten dressed in the morning thinking that Daniel would be sure to compliment her on the purple dress she was wearing. But when she’d come downstairs for breakfast and had seen a pair of dark brown eyes watching her, she quickly remembered she wouldn’t be riding to the sheriff’s office for one of their sessions.

  Oh, what was wrong with her? Andrew Mortimer was attractive, rich, cordial, and pretty near to perfect. As polite and unobtrusive as a rag doll.

  But what if she didn’t want to marry a rag doll? What if she wanted to marry a living, breathing man? One who made her palms sweat and her heartbeat quicken. One with dark blond hair and clear blue eyes and…

  Hang it all, why was she calling up images of Daniel in her head again? Hadn’t she already thought of him enough today?

  Maybe she needed to visit Anna Mae tomorrow and see if her best friend knew what to do about Andrew. After all, Anna Mae’d had the idea about her flirting with Daniel, and that had certainly worked. Maybe Anna Mae would know what to do about her finding Andrew boring or how to get her to stop thinking about Daniel.

  Charlotte stopped in front of her room, but a sliver of light trickled through the crack in the door to her brother’s room. She walked to Wes’s room, her footsteps making soft clicking noises against the stone tile in the otherwise quiet house.

  Her gentle knock caused the door to creak open farther.

  Wes looked up from where he sat at his desk, studying a stack of papers that looked like they belonged downstairs in his office with all the other paperwork he managed for the A Bar W. “Charlotte. I figured you were in bed.”

  “Andrew and I stayed up late.”

  Wes raised an eyebrow.

  “Talking.” That first part had sounded rather intimate. “We were just talking and watching the sunset.”

  “You forget I was engaged once. I’m well aware of what betrothed couples do while ‘talking.’”

  Were they engaged? Andrew hadn’t officially asked her to marry him yet, though everyone seemed to be counting on having a wedding a week from Saturday.

  “Did it ever feel wrong between you and Abigail? Before you were married, I mean, when you were betrothed. Like God was trying to warn you not to get married after all?” She clamped her mouth shut. What had possessed her to ask that, of all things? She wasn’t even sure where that thought had come from. Evidently, she should not be allowed to have conversations late at night, because the craziest things popped out of her mouth.

  She probably shouldn’t be allowed to think about things either, since she couldn’t seem to focus on anything other than Daniel Harding.

  Wes set his pencil down on the desk and scooted his chair around to fully face her. “No. It felt right, perfect even. It always did between Abigail and me.”

  “Even when Daniel kissed her?”

  Wes straightened. “How do you know about that?”

  “I can’t believe I said that.” Her hand flew up to cover her mouth. She definitely needed to go to bed before she got herself into even more trouble. “Daniel made me promise not to say anything.”

  “Daniel told you?” Wes stood and came toward her. “Why were you and Daniel talking about him kissing Abigail?”

  “We weren’t talking about him and Abigail, just about kissing in general and then I asked…” Wait. Had she just admitted that she and Daniel had been talking about kissing? That sounded nothing like what had happened between them. They’d simply been having a conversation over a picnic, and—

  “Is there something romantic going on between the two of you?” Wes stopped in front of her, his eyes riveted to her face. “Do you have feelings for him?”

  “I…” She twisted her hands together. Did she? How else could she explain why she kept thinking about him, even when Andrew was around?

  “How am I supposed to tell?” she whispered. “I’ve known him my whole life. He’s like a…” Brother to me. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to say those words, because he’d never been like a brother. “Daniel’s always so serious and aloof. I never really knew him until he helped me…”

  Practice flirting.

  Oh dear. If she told Wes that, it would sound just as bad as her confession that she and Daniel had talked about kissing. Besides, even if she did have feelings for Daniel, what good would that do when he clearly didn’t have feelings for her?

  How was she even supposed to know if her feelings were genuine, or if she’d just developed another infatuation with a man who’d shown her a bit of kindness?

  “I’m going to bed.”

  “Wait.” Wes caught her arm before she could turn. His throat bobbed once, then twice before he spoke. “Daniel’s a good man, Charlie. I realize he doesn’t have enough money to make Pa happy, but some things are more important than money—especially when it comes to whom you marry.”

  First Daniel, now Wes. Was Anna Mae going to tell her that next? Maybe Mr. and Mrs. Harding too?

  “If you have feelings for Daniel, you should let him court you.”

  Her hands gripped the fabric at the side of her dress. “Do you think he’d want to?”

  You’re beautiful, Charlotte. She could still hear his words in her head, still see the sincere look in his eyes and feel his thumb graze over her knuckles as he spoke. I like how tall you are, too, how I can look you in the eye.

  His compliments had made her feel warm and tingly, but that didn’t change that he’d only been pretending when he’d said those things.

  Wes loosened his grip on her arm, turning it into more of a gentle hold than a grip that kept her from leaving. “You’ve been looking at Andrew like he’s an answer to your problems. But he’s not. Now, I don’t think you’ll be miserable with him. You’ve said no to enough of Pa’s suitors that I know you won’t marry simply to please Pa like Mariah. The trouble is, when I see you and Andrew together around the ranch, and when I think about what I had with Abigail…”

  Wes shook his head. “It’s just not there. The spark, the affection, the love. Whatever you want to call it, you and Andrew don’t have it. You keep talking about how you’ll be happy with him one day. But the feelings you have for the person you marry should be much stronger than mere happiness. You should feel like you can’t live without them, like if they die, you want to die right alongside them, like… like…”

  His voice grew raspy and his eyes turned red. He blinked once, then twice, but that still didn’t stop a glimmer of moisture from appearing in his eyes.

  Charlotte licked her lips. “I see what you’re saying, but Pa—”

  “Pa’s a poor person to listen to when it comes to matters of the heart.”

  He was, but there was also so much Wes didn’t know, about Robbie Ashton, about Consuela’s feelings for Pa, about Pa dying. Should she tell him?

  The truth shall set you free.

  My
grace is sufficient for thee.

  For when I am weak, then I am I made strong.

  Verses swirled inside her head, every one of them powerful. Every one of them prodding her to open her mouth and blurt her secrets to her brother.

  But Wes spoke first. “Do you want me to ride into town tomorrow and talk to Daniel? See if he’s interested in courting you?”

  “No!” The word emerged overly loud in the quiet room. “That is… I mean… I’m perfectly capable of talking to Daniel on my own.”

  “But you’re going to talk to him?”

  She pressed her eyes shut. What if she did talk to him tomorrow?

  What if she wanted the kind of marriage Wes had described? That type of marriage sounded awfully similar to what Daniel said he wanted in a wife when he’d explained why he hadn’t kissed anyone in over a decade.

  Her plan had seemed so simple and straight-forward before. Find a decent man, marry him, and live a reasonably happy life. Suddenly, she wasn’t sure that would be enough.

  Maybe her thoughts keep drifting to Daniel because she was developing the kind of love for him that Wes spoke of having with Abigail. Maybe she’d misunderstood something about why Daniel said he didn’t want to meet anymore, and it wasn’t that he wanted nothing to do with her.

  Wes was right, again. She needed to talk to Daniel tomorrow, though she wouldn’t ride into town. She’d wait until she saw him at Martin’s birthday party. At the very least, she had to find out why he’d asked to stop meeting.

  And she needed to understand why she craved those meetings with him about as badly as her body craved water after hours on the desert.

  20

  By the time Daniel rode up to Sam and Ellie’s ranch, the shadowy blue of twilight was creeping into the corners and crevices of the desert. The sky above had changed from a bright blue to a dim gold, and soon the dusty colors of pink and blue and purple would spread over the landscape.