A Bride For Dalton

by Caroline Clemmons

  Chapter Three

  Dalton Sterling enjoyed having his own ranch and was proud of the herd he’d built. If only he didn’t have to work with these three. How the devil had he let himself get roped into this situation against his better judgment?

  But, he had and he’d better keep on his toes. At least they’d be finished with the calves today and he could sleep in his own bed tonight without listening to these three squabble and snore. Now that was something he awaited eagerly.

  George Collins laughed as a calf got up and scampered away from them. “Look at that one run.”

  “Can you blame him?” Rob Stinson laid the used branding iron back on the fire and retrieved a hot one.

  Two Bits Buhler wiped his face with a grimy handkerchief. “Don’t see why we have to work this hard. Ain’t our ranch.”

  George glared at him. “Because I said so. You want us to have an alibi, don’t you? We needed a place to stay while we find out about the money shipments. To anyone who’s interested, we’re hard working cowboys doing an honest day’s work.”

  Two Bits coiled his rope in preparation to toss around another calf. “I hate cowboying. I coulda stayed at my uncle’s and done this.”

  Rob shoved the red hot iron under Two Bits’ nose. “Then why didn’t you? No one is keeping you here.”

  “’Cause he beat the livin’ tar outa me just for the fun of it. Meaner man never lived. My aunt wasn’t much better. They wanted a free worker but weren’t keen on feeding and clothing me.”

  George nodded. “If you’re staying, quit your bellyaching. I’m sick of listening to you.”

  Dalton was sick of the three of them. They’d been here three weeks but durned if it didn’t seem like a year. He’d sure be glad when he finished this job. He hoped he lived through it. For sure, he wasn’t getting mixed up with owl hoots like these again.

  By the time they broke camp and rode back to the ranch house, dusk had fallen.

  George drew his revolver. “Lots of windows show light at the house.”

  Dalton grimaced. “What of it? Put that away. You think a posse and their horses are hiding in the kitchen?”

  Rob looked at the roof. “Smoke from the fireplace and the stove. Maybe company came.”

  That thought cheered Dalton. “Man, it’d be great if my uncle arrived. I’ve asked him to move here often enough.”

  Two Bits protested, “I don’t see why you want him here. Preacher will be nosy.”

  “Not him. He’d be busy visiting the poor and the sick and elderly and getting all the local gossip. He’d report back to me and we’d know everything that’s going on in the area. Besides, he’s the only blood kin I have and I’m fond of him.”

  They rode to the barn to take care of the horses. When they’d finished, the four of them headed toward the house.

  Rob said, “I’m so hungry I’m even looking forward to Bert’s beans and overcooked meat.”

  Dalton stopped at the horse trough and splashed water from the outside pump onto his face, hair, and hands. He stepped away while the other three took turns at the pump.

  Bert met him on the porch and spoke low. “Don’t give nothing away. Act like you was expecting her. You won’t regret it.”

  Startled, he asked, “Her? What are you talking about?”

  The other three cowboys were on the porch before Dalton could question Bert further. He opened the door and stepped into the house. A heavenly aroma hit him. Next he noticed the floor was clean.

  Behind him, George sniffed the air. “Something sure smells good.”

  Dalton led the way to the kitchen. A flowered cloth covered the table. And, the table was set for six with real dishes instead of his speckled tin plates. What the devil was going on here?

  Facing him near the stove was the prettiest woman he’d ever seen. Over a dress the same blue as her eyes she wore a white apron. Blond hair twisted in a fancy braid wrapped around her head like a crown. Regal in spite of the food-splattered apron, she was far too elegant to be cooking in his kitchen.

  She offered a tremulous smile but looked like she’d run if he said boo. “Hello, Dalton. Supper is ready.” She set a ham on the table. In several trips to the stove, she brought bowls of potatoes, corn, turnips, and green beans from the warming shelf.

  Two Bits stared at the counter. “Hey, lookee there, either my eyes are lying or that’s a peach cobbler for dessert.”

  Bert grinned like a fool. “Rebecca cooked plenty so we can each have two helpings of cobbler if we want to. I’ll bet we will. She even whipped some cream to go on top.”

  Dalton had no idea what was going on. Because Bert had asked, he’d wait until the three cowboys had gone to the bunkhouse before he asked about his guest. Then, he had plenty of questions and he expected answers.

  George’s eyes bugged out. “Who’s this, Sterling?”

  The blond smiled at George. “I’m Rebecca Sterling. You must be George Collins.”

  What did she mean, introducing herself as a Sterling? As far as he knew, he didn’t have any Sterling kin—or any other relatives except Uncle Fred. And, how did she know George’s name? Ah, he’d bet Bert had prompted her with names and descriptions. That didn’t explain her name, though.

  She gestured to the table. “Please be seated, gentlemen. Dalton, would you offer the blessing?”

  Two Bits had already reached for the ham but drew back his hand. Rob and George shifted in their chairs.

  Dalton sent her a scowl but bowed his head and said a quick blessing.

  He was as hungry as the rest and eating the meal didn’t take long. After spending a week with the three owl hoots he was eager for them to head to the bunkhouse.

  George patted his stomach. “That was a mighty fine meal, ma’am. Best I et in a month of Sundays.”

  Rob pushed back from the table. “That was a right nice feast. Reckon I’m ready to turn in now.”

  Two Bits belched and stared at the newcomer. “You gonna cook breakfast?”

  “I intend to unless you’d prefer to cook.” Her eyes held a hint of mischief.

  His eyes bugged out as he edged from the room. “Not me. No, you’re a real good cook, Miz Sterling. We’ll see you in the morning.”

  Dalton rose and locked the door and bolted it behind them as he did every evening. He walked slowly back into the kitchen, his anger and curiosity warring.

  He stood with his hands at his hips. “All right, I want an explanation and it had better be good.”

  Bert patted the woman on the shoulder. “I’ll do the dishes while you and Dalton talk.”

  Dalton gestured toward the parlor and let her precede him.

  As she passed, her lip trembled but she kept her head high. “I have the papers right here.” She sat on the sofa and opened a valise setting on the floor at her feet.

  He scooted a chair so he faced her. Their knees were almost touching.

  She handed him a telegram. “Start with this.”

  He opened the wire.

  Sending your bride. Stop. Rebecca Wilson Sterling. Stop. See your minister for a proxy marriage. Stop. Important you do this immediately for her safety. Stop. Lovely woman perfect for you. Stop. Your loving uncle Fred. Stop.

  Dalton re-read the message. Uncle Fred had sent him a bride? He ran his hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck. Dang. She couldn’t have come at a worse time.

  Before he could comment, she handed him an official-looking sheet of paper.

  He smoothed out the creases of a Certificate of Marriage between Rebecca Wilson and Dalton Sterling, with someone named Petey Price standing in for him by proxy. Uncle Fred signed as the officiating minister. Two women signed as witnesses.

  He lowered the paper and met her frightened gaze. “How could Uncle Fred do this without my consent? This can’t be real.”

  She clenched her hands in her lap. “I-If you’d received the wire and followed your uncle’s instructions when he intended, it would be. Now it appears I’m marr
ied to you but you’re not married to me.”

  He leaped to his feet and paced the room. “You agreed to this? You don’t know me, don’t know anything about me.”

  “Uncle Fred talks about you all the time. He showed me your photograph and let me read a few of your letters. Y-You sounded really nice. I-I remember meeting your parents and they were good people. Uncle Fred said he was certain you were lonely and would welcome me.”

  “Uncle Fred said?” He paused and faced her. “He your uncle, too?”

  She shook her head slowly. “He and your aunt were my parents’ best friends and that’s what I’ve always called him. Even after my father died and mother had remarried, Uncle Fred was a good friend.”

  In the back recesses of his memory he recalled his uncle talking about the Wilsons and their sweet daughter. Hmm, he’d be willing to bet that for some time Uncle Fred had planned to match them. After returning to his seat he read the telegram once more.

  “Why do you need this marriage to insure your safety?”

  “Mama and my stepfather have both passed away. My stepbrother, Bradley Rhinehart, is my guardian until I’m twenty-five or until I marry. He’s been pressuring me to marry his friend Arthur Downum—an odious man—or,” she shivered, “Bradley promised he would have me committed to an insane asylum.”

  Buddy trotted into the parlor and laid his head on Rebecca’s lap and she stroked his fur. The dog liked her? She’d been here less than two days. He shook his head to get back to the problem—her.

  Man, the stepbrother sounded like a rotten polecat. He knew many families had relatives committed for various reasons that had nothing to do with sanity. Dalton didn’t give her a hint of his true opinion. She could be faking a story to gain his sympathy.

  “Rotten luck but you must be crazy to go along with this scheme.”

  Sparks ignited in her tear-filled eyes. “You don’t have to be rude. I was desperate not crazy. I’d have done almost anything to escape Bradley and his plans. How would you feel if someone threatened you with an insane asylum to force you to go along with his horrid ideas?”

  “Look, I have no proof my uncle sent this wire. You could have sent it yourself.” He waved a hand in frustration.

  Buddy stood protectively by her and growled low at him. In his own home? He ran his hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck.

  She gasped and her hand stroked the traitorous dog. “You have your nerve. I would not do such a thing. Do you hear what you’re saying?”

  Her beautiful blue eyes fairly shot sparks at him. “How do you think I would know where and to whom to send this wire? If this is a trick, why did I come halfway across the country when I could have found someone in Missouri who wouldn’t require my riding in that uncomfortable stagecoach for so long? If—”

  “All right, all right.” He held up a hand. “Dadburnit, I admit this does sound like something my uncle would dream up. So, lady, what do you expect from me?”

  “My name is Rebecca.” She took a deep breath. “I-I hoped you and I would go to town tomorrow and marry.”

  He shook his head. “Not happening. I’ll have to think about this for a while. In the meantime, I’m beaten to a pulp and I’m going to bed. I suppose you’ve found a guest room. If you’re cooking breakfast, we eat at six.”

  He left the room before he lost his temper and yelled at her and at Bert for allowing her to stay here. Aw, Bert always was a soft touch for a sob story. That’s why he’d stuck with Dalton through some rough times. And, why he wouldn’t be yelling at the man now.

  Nor would he yell at Rebecca. Looked as if she was caught in a bad situation. He sure as heck knew what that was like.

  Chapter Four

  Rebecca worried she might oversleep. As a result, she barely slept all night. Much of the night involved praying this situation would work out favorably. Other wakeful moments were spent wondering why she’d ever imagined this proxy marriage would turn out well—and scolding herself for her indecision and doubt.

  The second dawn’s faint light crept in through the window, she rose and dressed. Spring or not, the house was cold. She hurried downstairs to start breakfast. Last night, she’d banked the coals so she could coax heat quickly this morning.

  Bert came in from his room at the back of the house, the dog trotting beside him. She was pleased Dalton’s house included a couple of downstairs bedrooms so Bert didn’t have to climb stairs. That sounded like the man Uncle Fred had described.

  The Dalton she’d met last night was a different person from that. He’d appeared ill at ease and gruff at supper. After she’d explained, his manner was little different. Silent as a stone, he came in and poured a cup of coffee.

  “Good morning, Dalton.”

  He mumbled something resembling “Morning” then took his mug outside to the porch. Buddy followed him.

  Bert chuckled. “He ain’t real friendly until after he’s had at least one cuppa coffee.”

  She turned the ham steaks, stirred the sliced potatoes and onions, and scrambled a dozen eggs. “I can see that. You’re nice and cheerful this morning. Thanks for starting the coffee while I got the biscuits in the oven.”

  He set out the plates he’d washed last night. “I’m sure looking forward to them biscuits. Mine are a tad off. Never figured what I do wrong or don’t do right.”

  Dalton returned followed by the three from the bunkhouse and Buddy. The men sat at the table. Bert poured the cowboys their coffee and refilled Dalton’s mug.

  The dog hurried to two bowls in a corner holding his food and water. Bert had explained his special feed formula for Buddy consisted of broken biscuits and chopped meat, sometimes with a bit of gravy mixed into the food. The dog’s old blanket was kept by the range but that was for times like this. He slept in Bert’s room.

  At the table, Two Bits reached for his cup. “Do we hafta have a blessing ever time we have a meal?”

  She smiled and couldn’t resist temptation. “Of course, would you like to offer the blessing this time?”

  His eyes widened and his mouth worked like a fish’s before he answered, “No, never been around such and wouldn’t know how.”

  Rob set down his cup. “Mind, I ain’t volunteering, but I’m sure grateful for good food.” He pointed at Two Bits. “You oughta be, too.”

  She curtsied. “Thank you, Rob. Two Bits, that doesn’t sound like a very nice name for a grown man. What’s your real name?”

  The man wriggled in his chair and looked down. “Clyde.”

  “Do you mind if I call you Clyde?”

  He looked up. “No, ma’am. I like it lots better than Two Bits but folks won’t pay attention.”

  “Well, Clyde, I suppose, since Dalton is head of the household, he should offer the blessing.”

  She almost giggled at the stare her almost-husband sent her. Sobering, she remembered her situation was no laughing matter. She set the food on the table and took her place.

  Dalton complied and they dug into their food. After they’d finished, he pushed back from the table. “We’ll be running fence today. See you at supper.” He crammed his hat on his head and grabbed his jacket from the peg on the wall.

  Rebecca stacked plates in the sink and added the hot water she’d had heating on the stove. As she shaved soap into the dishpan, she was grateful again the sink had a pump and she didn’t have to carry water.

  Bert reached for his coat. “I got to milk or that old cow will get mean. She don’t let me forget she’s the boss.” He gave a wheezing laugh. “Her name’s Bossie, see.”

  She smiled to show him she got his joke. “Don’t the other men come in for lunch?”

  “Not unless the weather turns bad. Wouldn’t mind rain to help the garden.” He retrieved a pail and left.

  She finished the dishes and tidied the kitchen.

  After Bert brought in the milk then the eggs, Rebecca set the broom aside.

  She poured the milk into the storage container she’d scrubbe
d and placed the eggs in their basket. She counted as she did to gauge how many eggs she could use for cooking and meals each day—if she was allowed to stay.

  “Will you tell me about the ranch and the house?”

  “Dalton and his parents came here right after the war. He and his dad had both fought and wanted a fresh start. I’d worked for them for several years before they died over three years ago when Dalton was twenty-two. Before his folks died in that train wreck, they had finished the barn and completed this house. The bunkhouse was the last building constructed.”

  She scrubbed the pail for the next milking. “I remember when they passed away. Uncle Fred was sure sorry he couldn’t come to their funeral. He tried to convince Dalton to move in with him.”

  “Aw, no chance of that. Dalton loves this ranch too much to ever leave. Reckon he plans to live here until he dies.” He picked up the slop bucket to take to the pig pen.

  After she tidied the house, she retrieved her sunbonnet and work gloves she’d brought. Bert hadn’t exaggerated when he said the garden plot was large. A small rail fence divided the garden from the rest of the homestead.

  The fence didn’t offer much of a barrier but she supposed it would deter cows from wandering into the space. With a hand to her eyes, she shielded from the sun’s glare. She gazed around and didn’t see any cattle. Perhaps they were kept away from the house and grounds.

  She took the hoe Bert offered. “You’ll have to show me which are weeds and which are vegetables.”

  Bert leaned on his hoe and gaped at her. “You can’t tell?”

  “I’m a city girl and we bought our produce. I haven’t grown anything but flowers. I can follow instructions, though.”

  Shaking his head, he walked toward the rows of plants. “I’ll be doggone, I sure thought everybody knew how to tell a weed from something for eating.”

  He shook his head. “Never you mind, I’ll show you.”

  Later in the day, she flexed her shoulders. “Weeding the garden created aches in my back, shoulders, and legs. If Dalton lets me stay here, I’ll have to toughen up. How do you manage, Bert?”