The Rancher's Courtship & Lone Wolf's Lady

by Laurie Kingery

  Such an arrangement would mean frequent trips in from the ranch for him to see the girls, at least on Sunday. He pictured treating them to dinners at the hotel and taking them to church. It had been a long time since they’d gone regularly; for a time after Lucinda’s death, he hadn’t wanted anything to do with God.

  But this arrangement would also mean he’d have to keep dealing with Caroline Wallace. He wasn’t at all sure exactly how he felt about regular contact with her.

  * * *

  Caroline heard boot heels on the kitchen steps. She forced herself to turn her attention back to where the twins laboriously practiced their letters on borrowed slates at the kitchen table, waiting to rise until he knocked. It wouldn’t do to let Jack Collier imagine she’d been watching for his arrival. Then she rose and let him in with a casual “Good afternoon, Jack.”

  If she was sparing in her welcome, however, the twins had no such reservations. “Papa!” cried one of them—Amelia?—as they exploded away from the table and ran into his waiting arms.

  “We’re learnin’ our ABCs, Papa!” cried the other.

  Caroline realized she was going to have to find some foolproof way of telling one twin from the other. Should she have them dress differently?

  Bending over, Jack kissed both of them. “That’s wonderful, girls. Were you good today?”

  “Yes, Papa,” they chorused.

  He looked over their heads at Caroline. “Were they good today?”

  His direct gaze did funny things to her equanimity. “Yes, you have every reason to be proud of them. They show a quick aptitude for learning which some of my other students would do well to emulate.”

  Goodness, did that prim, stuffy speech really come from her? She sounded like—well, a schoolmarm. At least praising the twins gave her a reason for the enthusiasm in her voice and face, so he wouldn’t think she was appreciating the way the wind had left color in his cheeks and a sparkle in his blue eyes.

  “Look, Papa, see? I can spell my name,” Abby said, grabbing her slate off the table and holding it up to him.

  He looked at it, and Caroline guessed he was noticing that Abby’s b’s were backward, written as d’s instead.

  “We’re working on our b’s,” she said quickly, her eyes warning him not to call attention to his daughter’s mistake.

  “Yes, I see,” he said gravely. “Good job, Abby.”

  “Me, too, Papa,” Amelia said, holding out her slate. “’Course, mine is harder, ’cause Amelia has more letters than Abby.”

  “Well, yours will be shorter when she can spell out Abigail,” he told her. “Then you’ll have the advantage, Punkin.”

  “Well, hello, Jack,” said her mother, returning to the kitchen. She took the lid off a pot and began stirring. Immediately, a savory aroma filled the kitchen, and Caroline saw him lift his head to sniff.

  “Mmm, something smells good.”

  “It’s just beef stew,” her mother said, but Caroline could see she was pleased by the compliment.

  Her father came in from the post office. “Were you able to go out and see the Waters place?”

  Jack straightened and nodded. “Yessir. We can stay for free if we build a dwelling. My men were agreeable—all but a couple, anyway.”

  Abby looked up with a pleased smile curving her lips. “So you’re staying the winter, Papa?”

  He nodded.

  “Hoorah!” the twins yelled in unison, beaming.

  Caroline had been watching him as he spoke to her parents, since she could do so without his noticing. When he finished speaking to her father, however, he looked at Caroline, not her father, as if seeking her reaction. She looked down quickly, pretending great interest in the long tail on the y Abby had just scrawled.

  “That’s good news, Jack,” her father said, clapping him on the back. “It’s a fine piece of land.”

  “Yes...shame what happened there,” Jack murmured.

  Caroline winced inwardly. The stories of Comanches attacking William Waters and outlaws murdering his nephew were not tales fit for little ears.

  “What happened there, Papa?” Amelia asked, wrinkling her nose in curiosity.

  Realizing his mistake, Jack shot a dismayed look at Caroline.

  You’d think the man would have learned by now how little pitchers have big ears. “Oh, the house burned down,” she said quickly, “but wait till you see the fine cabin your papa’s going to build there to take its place.”

  The girls’ mouths were twin Os. “Why did the—” Abby began.

  Before Abby could complete her question, Caroline said, “Girls, why don’t you take this pitcher of cream out to the mama cat in the shed? There’s a bowl out there for you to pour it in.” She handed the little pitcher to Abby. “It’s curdled a little, but she won’t mind.”

  The girls scampered for the door, and it banged shut behind them.

  “Thanks,” Jack said, his eyes grateful. “Sometimes I forget they’re listening.”

  His gaze held hers a moment longer than she was comfortable with, but she couldn’t seem to look away.

  “So your plan is to let the children live here while you stay on the ranch land this winter, and then leave them with us when you take off with the herd in the spring?” her mother said, then seemed to hold her breath until he nodded.

  “When are you going to start building?” her father asked, also looking relieved.

  “Tomorrow, after I stop at the bank and tell Mr. Avery. I didn’t make it back before the bank closed today. I imagine I’ll have to sign some sort of paper,” Jack said.

  Her father chuckled. “You won’t find Mr. Avery at the bank. Tomorrow’s Saturday.”

  Jack’s eyes crinkled in the corners just as Pete’s had, Caroline thought, as he raked a hand through his hair.

  “Guess I’ve purely lost track while we were traveling.”

  “I’ll be seeing him tomorrow, though,” her father said, “so I can let him know for you. I’m sure he won’t mind if you go ahead and start working since it’s already so late in the year.”

  “I’ll come into town often to see my girls—at least every Sunday, and each time I come into town for supplies. And when the weather isn’t too cold, they could come out and spend some time at the ranch,” Jack assured them.

  “Sounds fine,” her mother said. “Why don’t you spend another night here and explain the plan to your girls before you start building tomorrow?”

  Caroline saw Jack hesitate. Though he hadn’t been speaking to her, Caroline sensed he was waiting for her reaction—why? It wasn’t up to her to approve or disapprove of what he did.

  “As Papa said, we’ll see the bank president tomorrow,” Caroline told him. “The mayor’s daughter, Prissy Gilmore, is getting married, and the whole town will be going to the wedding. I thought the girls would enjoy going with us. Did you happen to bring the rest of their clothing with you?”

  Jack nodded, a little uneasily. “I left it in my saddlebags on the step,” he said.

  “Would you go get it, please?” Caroline asked. “I’m thinking we might need to launder what they’ll wear to the wedding.”

  He arose and went to the door, his steps those of a condemned man walking to the gallows. Brushing off the saddlebags as he entered, he crossed the kitchen and laid them on the table.

  “Now, you have to remember,” he began, his tone apologetic, “they didn’t get off the ranch much, and they’ve been traveling with us drovers and the herd... I—I’m afraid there’s not much you’d consider suitable....”

  Caroline opened one saddlebag and dumped its contents on the table, then the other. The saddlebags contained boys’ shirts and pants—and nothing else.

  Chapter Six

  “Where...where are the dresses?” Caroline asked, thunderstruck. “This can’t be all you packed for those little gir
ls?” Then suddenly she knew it was all, and she raised her gaze to Jack’s guilty face.

  “Their blue pinafore dresses are the only dresses you brought.” It was a statement, not a question. She hadn’t meant to expose his poor planning again, but it was too late to call back her words. It had just never occurred to her that a father might not see the need for little girls to have more than one dress.

  He nodded, then shrugged. “I figured there was no point in dresses on the trail, and they’d been wearing pants around the ranch ever since—well, ever since my wife died,” he said. “We only had one Mexican cook who did the laundry, too, and when the girls grew out of their old dresses, I—I didn’t see any point in having more than a pair of new ones made as they grew. They used the cook’s son’s castoffs—he was a little older. Yesterday, I—I wanted them to make a good impression...”

  He looked so miserable in his confession. Caroline’s heart went out to him. “Well, no matter,” she said quickly, “I’m sure they can wear some of my dresses from childhood. Mama never threw anything out, right?” she asked her mother for confirmation.

  “Sure, I imagine they’re still in that old trunk in the shed. Land sakes, it’s not like little girls’ fashions change all that much from year to year. They’ll do till I have a chance to make up some new dresses,” she added, clearly cheered by the prospect. “Maybe I’ll pop down to the mercantile first thing tomorrow before the wedding and see what Mrs. Patterson has in the way of pretty fabrics. Caroline, mind that stew. Your father and I can go get those boxes out of the trunk in the shed while it’s still light enough to see what we’re looking at.”

  Jack watched as Caroline’s parents left the kitchen. Then he turned back to Caroline.

  “Reckon you don’t think I’m much good as a father, not keeping my girls in proper clothing,” he said.

  That was exactly what she had thought, but Caroline wouldn’t have admitted it for the world. “Don’t worry, Jack, Mama’s been itching to have some little girls to dress ever since I grew up. By Christmas they’ll each have such a wardrobe you’ll have to address each one as ‘Princess.’”

  He gave her the ghost of a smile, but she was relieved to see his shoulders slacken their rigid posture.

  “Lucinda was a good mother,” he said at last. “It’s a good thing she doesn’t know all I’ve put them through. If she did, she’d want to come down from Heaven and box my ears.”

  “No, she wouldn’t,” she assured him, laying a hand impulsively on his forearm. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Jack. I believe those who’ve passed on do know what their loved ones are going through, and they understand. She knows you’ve done the best you could. You’re trying to build a better life for them and yourself—it’s why you’re going to Montana, isn’t it?”

  She hadn’t realized she was still touching his forearm till she stopped talking and felt the warmth of his skin penetrating his shirtsleeve. She yanked her hand back, feeling heat flooding her cheeks. She knew her face must have been as red as the bottom stripe on the Texas flag. So much for the prim-and-proper schoolmarm!

  “I’m sorry,” she muttered. She dashed to the stove as if the world would come to an end if she didn’t stir the stew this very minute.

  He stayed by the table, but she could feel his gaze on her. “It’s all right, Caroline,” he said. “I appreciate what you said. It’s kind of you.”

  She didn’t deserve the description, Caroline thought, after the way she’d reacted, as if he was a sorry excuse for a father. Caroline sighed.

  It was a good thing Jack Collier wouldn’t be in town all that much this winter, because so far his presence only confused her, made her forget the clear path she had set her feet on.

  She had to get control of herself, to stop letting him affect her so. She was the schoolteacher, and all the town’s children were her children. Her life was devoted to their learning, and therefore she had no need for any other relationships outside of her family. She would stay in this house behind the post office and take care of her parents as they grew older, long after her brother Dan married and had a family of his own. Family love and community love would have to be enough—romantic love hurt too much. Especially if she was foolish enough to fall for a man like Jack, who had no intention of staying.

  At recess this morning, she’d told Milly all about Jack and the twins’ startling, sudden appearance, and since Milly had always been her best friend, she didn’t skip the part about the war of words she and Jack had engaged in. Milly’s eyes had gotten round as dinner plates when Caroline described the way she had thrown the pearl ring at Jack, then softened as Caroline told her about his returning it to her last evening.

  “Oh, Caroline,” Milly had said after a gusty sigh. “Men have such foolish notions sometimes. It’s up to the womenfolk to keep them sensible. Why, Nick was so proud of his son when he was born, he was all ready to book us passage on a ship so he could show him off to his brothers in England. I had to tell him there was no way I’d let our precious baby be exposed to the dangers of a sea voyage anytime soon—maybe ever.” She had chuckled. “But it sounds as if Jack has a good heart underneath his foolishness. You say he looks like Pete?”

  “Quite a bit, yes,” Caroline had admitted. “But the resemblance is only skin-deep. Inside they’re nothing alike. Pete was careful. He planned everything out in his mind, sometimes even on paper. Jack seems much more impulsive, spur-of-the-moment.”

  “And his wife died? Poor little girls...”

  “Yes, three years ago.”

  Then Caroline had seen the faraway, musing look in Milly’s eyes. “Stop right there, Milly Brookfield.”

  “What?” Milly had asked innocently, but from the guilty look on her face, Caroline had known her guess had hit the bull’s-eye.

  “You’re as transparent as glass, old friend, and I’ll tell you right now I am not interested.”

  “But he’s a widower with two little girls in need of a mother, and if he looks anything like Pete, he must be at least a little handsome.”

  Oh, yes, Jack Collier was handsome, all right.

  “He’s moving to who knows what kind of place in the wilds of Montana, and I’m not leaving Simpson Creek—nor would I marry any man staying in Simpson Creek for that matter, as I’ve said,” she had added hastily after noting the speculative gleam in Milly’s eye. Reminding herself her friend was “Marrying Milly,” the foundress of the Spinsters’ Club, Caroline had tried to distract her. “If you want to try to get him interested in a Spinsters’ Club match, go right ahead, though I don’t know why any of our ladies would want to go up there, either.”

  “What’s that line from Shakespeare—‘methinks the lady doth protest too much’?” Milly had quoted coyly.

  Caroline didn’t realize she’d uttered an exasperated sound until Jack asked, “What’s the matter?”

  “Oh...oh, nothing,” she muttered, aware she’d been woolgathering at the stove for several minutes. “I just think this stew needs a little more salt, that’s all...”

  * * *

  The sun was high in the sky the next morning by the time Jack reached the Waters ranch, his horse’s reins tied on to the back of a wagon he’d rented to haul the shovels, saws and nails he’d bought at the mercantile before starting out. Jack was pleased to see that his men had already gotten to work clearing the debris and weeds from the charred site of the former bunkhouse and had selected several trees to chop down at some distance away so as not to remove the shade trees from the home site. He hoped whoever bought the place someday would appreciate their thoughtfulness.

  They unloaded the tools and set to work cutting down the trees, but they’d only been working an hour when they were interrupted by the arrival of a buckboard driven by a man with a pretty dark-haired woman holding a baby beside him.

  Jack laid down his saw and wiped the sweat from his brow, watching as the m
an jumped down from the wagon and lifted a large covered platter from the back.

  “Hullo, might you be Jack Collier?” the man inquired in an English-accented voice as he started toward Jack. Both he and the lady were dressed as if for a special occasion, the man in a frock coat and trousers, the lady in a dress of dark green.

  Jack nodded. “What can I do for you, sir?”

  “We’re your neighbors, Nick and Milly Brookfield,” the man said, holding out his free hand as he approached Jack. “I can see you’re hard at work and we’re on the way to the Gilmore wedding, so we won’t hold you up, but my wife thought it would be nice to welcome you with a couple of chocolate cakes.” He lifted the covering off of one of them, and murmurs of appreciation erupted from the men gathered around Jack.

  “Very nice of you, Mrs. Brookfield,” Jack said, grinning. He touched the brim of his hat to her. “I can promise you these won’t last long with this bunch, but I’ll see you get your platters back safe and sound.” He turned back to Brookfield. “You know we’re only here for the winter, right? We’ll be off for Montana in the spring.”

  He saw the woman atop the bench seat studying him intently.

  “No reason we can’t welcome you anyway,” she said. “It’s good to have neighbors, if only for a while. I’ve met your charming daughters, by the way, yesterday. Lovely girls.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “I’d like to invite you and your men to Sunday services,” Milly Brookfield went on. “You may have noticed the new church is only half-built, but as long as the weather holds, we’ve been meeting in the meadow across the creek from the church. The service starts at ten o’clock.”

  Jack guessed his men were far more interested in what Simpson Creek had to offer on Saturday nights than about church on Sunday, but he didn’t say so. “I’m planning to be there, Mrs. Brookfield, with my girls.”