The Sisters of Bethlehem Springs Collection

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  While Cookie and Allen carried the food they’d brought with them to the tables, Cleo and Woody looked for Morgan, Gwen, and Daphne and soon found them in the shade of some poplars.

  “Looks like everybody’s going to be here.” Cleo spread a blanket on the ground next to her sister. “Are any of the guests from New Hope coming down?”

  “Yes, quite a number of them. They’ll be here in time to eat. Not long now.”

  “When do you give your speech?”

  “It isn’t a speech,” Gwen answered. “Just a quick welcome from the mayor.”

  The musicians began warming up in the band shell, drawing the sisters’ gazes in that direction.

  Cleo leaned close to Gwen. “I hope Hank Mason’s fiddle playing is better than Mooney O’Rourke’s was last year.”

  “Cleo, be nice.”

  “Maybe you were too excited about winning the election to remember how bad it was.”

  Gwen laughed softly. “No. I remember. It was dreadful.”

  Cleo turned toward Woody. “Reckon we ought to have a look at things?”

  He nodded.

  To Gwen, Cleo said, “We’ll be back after a while.” Then she and Woody walked toward the band shell. “That’s Hank Mason on the fiddle and Doc Winston on the drums. Doc’s niece, Rose, is playing the flute. I’m not sure who that is on the bass fiddle.”

  They stopped for a short while to listen as the band played “Yankee Doodle Boy.” Cleo sang along with them and did just fine until she realized Woody was watching her instead of looking at the band shell. Self-conscious, she stopped.

  “I like to hear you sing,” he said with a smile.

  “Gwen’s the musical one in the family, but I guess I can carry a tune all right.”

  “I think you’re perfect.”

  She felt the blush warm her cheeks. “Hardly.”

  But she loved him for saying so.

  As the musicians struck up a new tune—the fiddle player announced its title as “In the Good Old Summertime”—Sherwood and Cleo moved on from the band shell and headed for the tables bearing food.

  “Just to see what we’ll have to choose from.” Cleo’s expression was impish; he found her adorable. She spoke to almost everyone they met, greeting them by name and then adding, “I don’t know if you’ve met Lord Sherwood Statham from England. He’s working for my dad.”

  Strangely enough, he wished she wouldn’t use the formal introduction. He’d grown fonder of the nickname she’d given him at the same time he’d grown fonder of Cleo. His father would hate it should Cleo ever call him that in the duke’s presence. In fact, his father would forbid her to do so.

  He frowned at the thought. When they married—if they were able to marry—Cleo would be expected to change many things about herself. She wouldn’t be able to dress as she was now. She wouldn’t be able to spend her days working with horses or birthing foals. She would be expected to learn and observe all the rules of British society. It would be like caging a wild animal: completely unfair.

  Some of the fun of the day was lost for him upon that realization.

  They moved on from the tables to some booths set up near the Methodist church. There was one where children could fish for prizes. There was a dunking booth, and one for tossing darts at balloons. All of them were busy, people buying tickets to take their chances on winning a prize.

  They were circling back to join the rest of their party when Sherwood heard Cleo suck in a small gasp. She stopped still, her eyes turned across the street toward the school. Sherwood followed her gaze. A man and woman stood in the shade of a tree, the fellow’s hands resting against the bark on either side of the young woman’s head as he leaned his body close to hers.

  “That snake,” Cleo whispered.

  “What is it?”

  “That’s Tyler King. I don’t know who the girl is, but it sure as shootin’ isn’t his wife.” She looked at Sherwood. “You’d think he’d try to be a little discreet. His wife just gave birth to his son a week ago.”

  “If it would make you feel better, Cleo, I’ll go over there and tell him he belongs at home with his wife and child.”

  Surprise widened her eyes and then brought a smile to her lips. “I believe you mean that.”

  “I do.” He returned her smile. “Although I imagine I might come away a little worse for wear should he not take kindly to my words of advice. I’m not as nimble on my feet as I once was.”

  “But you’re right. I shouldn’t simply take offense. I should speak up. I don’t imagine he’d take a swing at me.” She stepped away from him. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

  “Cleo!”

  She didn’t stop or look back.

  He followed her but she outdistanced him, marching right up to the couple who stood in the shade of the old oak tree. He couldn’t hear the first words of the dressing down she gave Tyler King, but he arrived in time to hear her finish with a few words for the young woman who stood beside him—a girl of about seventeen, Sherwood guessed.

  “And if you aren’t careful, miss, you’ll be the next gal to bear a child for Mr. King, but he won’t be able to marry you ’cause he’s already got himself a wife. I was fooled by his charm once, but God had mercy on me and kept me from making any worse mistake than just taking a fancy to him.”

  The girl burst into tears and ran away, disappearing around the back of the schoolhouse.

  Cleo turned her attention back to Tyler. “Go home to Henrietta. Look after your wife and baby. You owe it to them.”

  “What I do isn’t any of your business, Cleo.” The cowboy’s face was dark with anger.

  Sherwood moved a few steps closer.

  “When a married man trifles with a young gal,” Cleo answered, “I make it my business.”

  Tyler called her a foul name.

  Sherwood didn’t think about what he was going to do. Three strides carried him past Cleo, and in the next instant his fist collided with Tyler’s jaw, knocking the lout to the ground.

  “Woody!”

  Sherwood rubbed his stinging knuckles with his other hand as he glared at Tyler. “No one speaks to Miss Arlington that way in my presence. No one.”

  Tyler got slowly to his feet, and Sherwood braced himself. But Tyler didn’t take a swing. Sherwood wished he would. He’d love a chance to knock the fellow flat a second time.

  “Woody.” Cleo spoke his name softly as her hand alighted on his arm. “Let’s go.”

  He turned toward her, gave her a tight smile, then put his hand in the small of her back and guided her back toward the town park.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” she said after a few moments.

  “Perhaps not. But sometimes you must allow me to be chivalrous.”

  “Chivalrous?” She stopped and turned toward him. “In case you’ve failed to notice, Sherwood Statham, I’m not exactly the kind of girl who needs to be rescued by a white knight.”

  “I’ve noticed, my darling Cleo, but I’m not much of a white knight either. I’m simply the man who loves you and wants to do the best he can to take care of you. Will you not allow me to do so? At least on a few occasions?”

  Griff watched Cleo and Sherwood from a place in the park not too far away. The couple seemed oblivious to others around them. They didn’t seem to be arguing, and yet…

  “Stop worrying, Dad.” Gwen slipped her arm through his.

  “I can’t help it.”

  “They love each other.”

  He looked at her. “But love isn’t always enough to make two people happy.”

  “Happy? I don’t believe I’ve ever seen Cleo happier than she’s been since she realized what she feels for Lord Sherwood.”

  “True.” Griff drew in a deep breath and released it. “All the same…”

  “Let’s get our food before it’s all gone.” Gwen tugged on his arm, drawing him with her toward the tables. “I’m famished.”

  Griff went with Gwen while silently sending up another pl
ea to God to protect Cleo from too much heartache.

  “But sometimes you must allow me to be chivalrous.”

  Cleo sat cross legged on the blanket, watching the fireworks display. Woody lay beside her, braced on his elbows, the most comfortable position for him because of his bum leg. Her family and the boys from the ranch surrounded them.

  “I’m simply the man who loves you and wants to do the best he can to take care of you.”

  She didn’t need anyone to take care of her. She could take care of herself. Been doing so since I was a teenager. Sure, she lived in her dad’s home, but she carried her weight around the ranch. Did she look helpless? Of course not. She worked as hard as anybody and harder than some.

  She glanced at Woody. He was watching her, and when their gazes met, he smiled. Land o’ Goshen! What that man’s smiles did to her. Made her go all soft and squishy on the insides. She supposed it was kind of sweet of him to say he wanted to take care of her. Might not be so bad, lettin’ a man do so every now and again.

  He sat up and leaned over to whisper in her ear, “Marry me, Cleo.”

  If his smile made her go soft inside, his proposal made her go soft in the head. She couldn’t seem to think straight, couldn’t seem to speak, could hardly breathe.

  He looked into her eyes. “Will you be my wife?”

  She managed to nod.

  And right there in front of anybody who might be watching them instead of the fireworks, he kissed her—soft, long, and sweet.

  Land o’ Goshen!

  Dear Father and Mother,

  I write to you with happy but surprising news. I have asked Cleo Arlington to be my wife, and she has given me great joy by assenting to do so. Although this proposal might seem rather soon to you, I promise you it is not. My affection for Miss Arlington has been growing for many weeks now.

  While I know it is tradition for Stathams to be married at Dunacombe Manor, our desire is to have the ceremony here in Bethlehem Springs. We do not wish to wait until my return to England in the spring, and naturally my intended wishes to take her vows with her family and lifelong friends in attendance.

  I feel it is time that I begin working in a profession. Something you, Father, have encouraged me to do for quite some time. Now, with a wife to support, I realize it cannot be delayed much longer. Needless to say, a career in the military is not possible, and I have shared how disagreeable I find the law. Outside of the aforementioned occupations, as well as the church, I have no idea what professions you would consider acceptable. To be perfectly frank, I believe I would be well suited to overseeing management of one or more of the family estates. Working with Griff and Cleo Arlington on their ranch has shown me how much I enjoy such work. But I do not imagine you would approve of that. Perhaps the church is the only place left for me. I have found a deepening faith in God, but He alone knows if that is where He would have me serve Him.

  Miss Arlington and I plan to be married on the 26th of August. It would please us both if you would journey to America to be present for our nuptials. You would be guests at Morgan McKinley’s resort throughout your stay. I believe you would find the accommodations more than adequate.

  I look forward to hearing from you.

  With affection, your son,

  Sherwood

  The duke would not be pleased when he read the letter. He wouldn’t rejoice with Sherwood because, as his youngest son knew well, his permission should have been received before Sherwood asked this unknown, unproven girl for her hand in marriage. It was possible Sherwood would now be cut off from both the family and his father’s fortune.

  But it was done. Sherwood had proposed and Cleo had accepted. All of the bride-to-be’s family and friends had given their blessings and expressed their wishes for much happiness. If it was up to him, they would have married at once, but he understood it couldn’t be so. Cleo’s mother must come from the East, and even the simplest of ceremonies took some time to plan.

  And so, he would have to wait, and hope Cleo never came to regret loving him.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Her stomach churning, Cleo stood on the railroad platform with Woody, her sister, and Morgan. How had she let Gwen talk her into this trip? The two of them were on their way to Boise to shop for clothing appropriate for the daughter-in-law of a duke. Gwen had invited Morgan’s sister to join them, but Daphne had declined. Cleo wished she’d done the same. Not that she hadn’t tried.

  “I’m not even married yet,” she’d argued when the trip was first mentioned. “New clothes can wait until the time is closer for us to leave for England.”

  Gwen had answered back, “Every bride deserves a trousseau. This will be Morgan’s and my gift to you.” She’d wagged a finger at Cleo. “And don’t even try to tell me that you have too much work to do. Dad can get along without you for a few days.”

  Cleo moistened her lips as she looked down the tracks. Maybe she would feel better if her sister hadn’t convinced her to wear a skirt and blouse for the trip to Boise. On the other hand, she would have to get used to dressing like this. She had almost nine months before she and Woody would leave Idaho, but she suspected that the time would rush by all too quickly to suit her.

  She glanced at Woody, and he offered an encouraging smile. “You’ll have a grand time. Stop fretting.”

  “I wish you were coming too.”

  “My dear, I believe I would be in the way on such a trip.”

  “I don’t reckon that’s true. I’d wager you’ve got some idea how English women dress.”

  “Quite the same as American women, I assure you. Your sister will be able to advise you.”

  He was right. Gwen would be able to advise her. Not simply about current styles but about much more besides. Her sister knew how a lady should act, walk, and speak. But would eight or nine months be long enough for her to change Cleo from a sow’s ear into a silk purse? Doubtful.

  Sounds of the approaching train reached her ears a moment before it chugged into view and came to a hissing stop beside the platform. Passengers disembarked, some coming home to Bethlehem Springs, others who were visitors bound for New Hope. And in very short order it was time for those departing to get onboard.

  “Enjoy yourself,” Woody said as he took her hand and kissed the back of it. “I’ll miss you and will look forward to your return on Friday.”

  “Keep an eye on Dad. Don’t let him overdo. You know how he is.”

  “I’ll look out for him. I promise.”

  Cleo took her travel bag from Woody’s hand and turned to see Gwen and Morgan exchange a quick kiss of farewell. Then she followed her sister into the passenger car.

  The last time Cleo had visited the capital city, she and her father had gone by wagon and had camped under the stars at night. It was difficult to believe the trip took only a matter of a few hours by rail. Bethlehem Springs had Morgan’s resort and political connections to thank for this convenience in transportation.

  The train didn’t linger at the station. Before long, it began to move. Gwen and Cleo waved good-bye to their men until a curve in the tracks blocked their view. Then they settled into their seats and watched as the train followed the river south out of the mountains.

  Sherwood was silent on the drive back to the ranch in Morgan’s automobile, and Morgan seemed content to leave him to his own thoughts. A good thing. He had much to think about.

  Cleo—a bundle of nerves as she went off to buy a new wardrobe, dresses and shoes and hats that she would never truly like. He loved her even more because he knew she was doing it out of love for him.

  The duke—who couldn’t have received Sherwood’s letter yet but who would be livid once he did.

  A future profession—how could he support Cleo, especially if his father cut him off once and for all? Where would God have him work? Could he be a vicar? He’d never thought so before. Would he make a decent lawyer, even though it didn’t appeal to him? Probably not. Would his father consider allowing him to manage the Dunac
ombe estates? He doubted it.

  When they arrived at the ranch, Griff invited Morgan to stay and eat dinner with them, but Morgan declined. “I have a considerable amount of work waiting for me at the resort. But I’ll come for you and Sherwood on Friday so we can meet the train together.” With a cheery wave, Morgan drove away, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake.

  “I guess Gwen and Cleo got away all right,” Griff said as the two men climbed the steps onto the veranda.

  “Yes, but Cleo wasn’t happy about going.”

  “Gwen will make sure she enjoys her visit to Boise.”

  “I hope so.”

  “It’ll be quiet around here for the next few days.”

  Sherwood nodded. He’d discovered he felt like a piece of him was missing whenever Cleo was away, even for just an hour or two. Perhaps that empty feeling was how he’d realized he loved her. He’d known many women over the years, and there wasn’t a one of them he hadn’t been content to leave when the evening was done or the fox hunt over.

  “There’s Stitch.” Griff’s words intruded on Sherwood’s thoughts. “I’d best get my gloves and help him unload the wagon.”

  Remembering Cleo’s request, Sherwood said, “I’ll help him, Griff. Why don’t you put your feet up and rest for a while.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re going to start treating me like an invalid too.”

  Sherwood grinned. “I believe you have found me out. But I was acting under orders.”

  “And I know whose orders. How about you let me look after myself? When Cleo gets back, you can tell her I was well behaved.”

  “As you wish, sir, but if it’s all the same, I’ll still help Stitch unload the wagon.”

  “Fine with me. Three of us will make the work go that much faster.” Griff went inside, and when he returned, he wore his leather gloves.

  Minutes later, Sherwood had a heavy sack of grain tossed over his shoulder and was carrying it into the barn. He remembered how difficult this kind of task was for him to accomplish not so very long ago. In fact, he wouldn’t have tried anything like it before coming to the ranch. He listened to his footsteps and took pleasure in the sound. While not a perfectly even pace, there was no audible slide, no drag.