The Wrangler's Mail Order Bride

by Cindy Caldwell

  Hank sighed heavily and leaned against the post at the corner of the patio.

  “You have no way of knowing this, Clara, but my father hasn’t been the same since my mother passed away.”

  He looked down at his feet as his boots shuffled on the brick.

  “He wasn’t always this way.”

  “What way? Determined to control the decisions and destiny of those around him?”

  Clara set her lemonade down on the table a little more firmly than she had intended, the loud clatter making Hank turn quickly.

  “Is that what it seems like? Yes, I suppose it would. To my mind, he’s just trying to keep the family business on track. Keep everything the same. Said he needs me on the trail. Nobody else is good enough to do it, he told me. Nobody he trusts, anyway.”

  “Is that the truth? Is there no one else who could take over that responsibility?” She sat back down on the bench and shifted in her seat as he sat beside her.

  “No, of course not. Truly, I don’t understand what is happening here. Before my mother died and Tripp left the trail to go to chef school, we’d all agreed that I was next. That it was time for me to come off the trail and start a life of my own.”

  “That sounds reasonable. Especially if you want to have a family.” Heat crept to her cheeks as she looked away from him, grabbing her lemonade again for something to keep her hands steady.

  “I do, Clara. I really do. But he’s insisting that I go out, that it’s critical to the family business. And how can I have a family of my own when I’m gone most of the year?”

  The girls’ words rushed through her mind as the word ‘temporary’ flashed before her, big and bold as if it were on the marquee of a theater.

  “You know, I’ve had an opportunity to observe many things here in the past few days. Your father’s grief at the property was impossible to miss.”

  “I know. Like I said, he hasn’t been the same since Mama died.”

  She rested her hand on his arm. “Sometimes it takes people a long time to grieve a loss like that. Sadie had great difficulty in the months after her parents died, and she worked like a demon. I think to avoid thinking about it, for one thing,”

  “Yes, it’s not been easy for any of us.”

  “And as it was with Sadie, keeping to her normal schedule, keeping everything routine, I believe comforted her. A loss like that is a big change, and it’s natural for people in such pain to want everything else around them to stay the same. Almost as if any more change would be too much to bear.”

  Hank turned to her, his head cocked to the side and his voice steady. “Clara, I think you may have hit on something. The more I try to pull away, the more tightly he holds on. Could it be that this is why?”

  “That would be my guess,” she said, leaning back again and nodding her head slowly.

  “I don’t know how I can change it. This ranch is my life, too, and if he won’t change his mind, I’ll be going out on the trail, no matter what I want. And soon.”

  He reached to his side, picking a bright yellow flower. He turned to her as he spun the stem in his fingers.

  “Thank you, Clara. I appreciate your understanding with all this. Seems you understand it a far sight better than we do.”

  She smiled as Hank handed her the flower, her hand brushing against his as she took it.

  Hank pulled his hat further down his forehead and cleared his throat. “I don’t see any way to change things right now, Clara, but believe me when I say I’ll come up with something. Somehow.”

  Taking a deep breath, she decided to assume that Hank wasn’t aware of his father’s intention that their marriage be temporary. And if she had anything at all to say about it, it wouldn’t be. She was there to stay.

  Chapter 21

  Temporary. Clara couldn’t get the word out of her mind as she dressed the next morning. The day before had been long, tiring and, if she were honest with herself, fairly upsetting.

  I’ll show you temporary. She pulled her best day dress over her head and brushed her hair in long, strong strokes. Pulling her bonnet from the hook by the door, she stopped and turned back to the vanity.

  Quickly, she fastened her mother’s pearl earrings as she brushed angry tears from her cheeks. As the earrings caught the light in the mirror, she said, “Thanks, Mama. I’ll need courage today.”

  She pulled her bonnet on, tying the strings beneath her chin when she closed the front door behind her. She set out with long strides toward her destination.

  The sun had just risen, the dew sparkling on the trees and shrubs as she passed—even on the cactuses that spotted the yard.

  As she reached the small, iron gate, she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. She hesitated slightly, fleetingly wondering if this was a good idea or not.

  Shaking off the thought, she opened the gate, striding into the dilapidated garden in front of the little white house.

  As she pulled on a pair of worn, leather gloves and kneeled, she was startled by the buzz of a hummingbird. Mesmerized, she watched as it flew around the garden, finally hovering very close to her for a moment as the deep blue and green of its neck shimmered in the early morning light.

  As quickly as it appeared, it vanished, leaving Clara with a smile.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly as she turned to the task at hand.

  She’d never been able to have a garden of this size in Chicago and she lost herself in the pleasure of it. The pile of weeds in the far corner of the garden almost reached the top of the short, white fence when she heard the distinctive clopping of horse hooves coming up the drive.

  She stood, rubbing her lower back as she bent backwards, wondering how long she’d been at it.

  The horse stopped behind her and she turned slowly, looking up into the darkened face of her new father-in-law.

  “What are you doing in there?” he said, his voice tight and his hand gripping the saddle horn.

  “Good morning. I saw a task that needed to be done and I’m doing it. There are lovely herb plants in here under all the dead things and I thought Maria might be able to use some in the kitchen. I’d like to, too.”

  “Young lady, this is my wife’s herb garden. No one has been allowed in here since she passed. I would appreciate it if you would leave it alone and go back to the house.”

  Clara sat on the short adobe fence and smoothed her apron over her skirts. She looked at the garden now with most of the weeds gone, and regarded the small starts of new plants alongside the larger ones that had been there for a while.

  She reached up to her ear, fiddling with her earring, before she stood and turned to Mr. Archer, who still glared down at her from atop his horse.

  “Mr. Archer, there is great beauty here. And abundant life. New plants and new beginnings. I believe it should be tended, for everyone to see that life goes on.”

  He gripped the reins tighter, his knuckles turning white. His face reddened even more as he said, “This is my ranch. I am in charge here. I say what changes and what stays the same.”

  Clara looked down quickly, her stomach fluttering for a moment, then looked back up, meeting his gaze.

  “I know you mean well, Mr. Archer, but things always change. Nothing stays the same, no matter how hard we wish it would.”

  The horse he was riding was unfamiliar to her, and as he gripped more tightly on the reins, it neighed loudly, rearing its head up.

  He regarded her for a moment, looking quickly up to the porch as his daughters came out, staying put but watching the scene unfold before them.

  “It is important that things are as they were. I just need things to stay the same. My future is over. All I have is memories.”

  Clara shook her head slowly.

  “But there are a lot of people here besides you. People who have dreams as well, and who are too young to have them put on hold. For things to stay the same.”

  “I can’t. I—“

  Mr. Archer’s eyes flew wide open as his el
dest daughter, Meg, strode past him and directly into the garden, followed by her sisters. She smiled at Clara before bending over, clearing away brown stems and leaves in a corner of the garden Clara hadn’t gotten to yet.

  Clara’s heart swelled and soon, the garden was a flurry of activity with all the girls taking a patch as their own and adding to the pile of weeds in the corner.

  Mr. Archer sat rigid in his saddle, watching in silence as his horse began to stomp and neigh louder. As Pepper, the sixth of his daughters, passed through the gate and pulled it closed behind her, he stiffened even more, his horse rearing up on its hind legs as it took off toward the stables, its rider trying to slow it without much success.

  As he turned at the bottom of the road after having regained control of the horse, Meg stood, shielding her eyes against the sun and looking after her father as he became smaller on the horizon.

  “We didn’t dare come in here before, even though we wanted Mama’s garden to be alive again.” She wiped a tear away with the back of her hand.

  “I know this hasn’t been easy for any of you,” Clara said as she wrapped her arm around her new sister-in-law’s shoulder.

  “Least of all for Papa. He’s just not been the same,” Tara said as she tugged more weeds, throwing them behind her in rapid succession.

  “Well, what’s going on here?” Hank said as he spotted them from the porch. “Clara, you missed breakfast. I looked for you.”

  He strode down the drive toward the little white house and enclosed garden, his chin falling as he saw all seven ladies turning the garden into something he hadn’t seen for too long.

  Clara stood, looking to where Mr. Archer had gone. “The girls and I would like the garden to be as beautiful and alive as when your mother tended to it.”

  Hank ran his hand over his forehead. “But Pa—”

  “Trust me, Hank. It’s time,” she said softly as she turned and smiled at the girls busily tending to their mother’s handiwork.

  Hank shook his head with a small smile tugging at his lips. “Okay, if you say so. Mama would be proud, I just know it.”

  “Yes, she would,” Sage said as she stood, holding a small cherry tomato in her hand. “Look what was underneath all the brown?”

  She popped it into her mouth and the girls all smiled as they returned to vigorously cleaning out the garden.

  Hank took Clara’s hand and mouthed the words, “Thank you.”

  The butterflies Clara thought had left her returned, the warmth of his hand sending tingles straight to her heart.

  “I have a horse to work before its owners come. I’ll be down at the stable. Maria’s saved a breakfast plate for you if you’re hungry.”

  Clara stood and watched Hank walk down the drive and turn into the big, wide doors of the stable. She couldn’t help but wonder if this was a good first step, or the beginning of the end of her stay at Archer Ranch.

  Chapter 22

  The next few days flew by as Clara and the girls tidied up the garden and Hank worked with clients in the arena.

  The first day, Maria had called Clara into the kitchen after breakfast, and Clara started to roll up her sleeves, ready to help with the dishes.

  Maria laughed as she turned. “No, no, Miss Clara. The girls have their assignments, and this isn’t yours. I wanted to tell you that I will prepare a basket for lunch for you to take to Mr. Hank down at the arena.”

  Clara stopped as the older woman pulled her apron over her head and turned to the kitchen window, busying herself setting dishes in the sink.

  “Hank’s pretty busy. I—“

  Maria turned from the window, her eyes misting as she wiped her hands on her apron. “You have brought fresh air to this heavy house. Things are changing, and no one is ever too busy for love.”

  Clara tugged at her sleeve and tried not to smile at Maria’s vote of confidence. Love…that would be nice.

  “Just be here at noon and I’ll have it ready.” She patted Clara’s cheek and began to hum as she turned back to the dishes.

  Each day, Maria had prepared a basket for her to take to Hank. Now, as she strode down the lane with the basket of lunch on her arm, she felt a lightness in her step. The past few days had been a nice opportunity to get to know Hank as they had lunch together and sat out in the evenings, either on the porch or the patio.

  She’d made no attempt to avoid Mr. Archer, but had noticed that he kept a wide berth of her. That suited her fine. She’d said what she wanted to say and just gone about her business, hoping that she’d made something—anything—better.

  She passed through the stable, stopping to stroke the noses of the horses that came up to visit her, noticing that only those on one side of the stables did.

  As she glanced to her right, she noticed the horse Mr. Archer had been riding the other day. It was quite tall and all muscle, and it hit the side of the stall with its hoof as its ears turned in her direction.

  She shivered as she continued on toward the arena and rounded the corner of the stable. Hank was just waving goodbye as a father and small son walked out the gate, their horse calmly following.

  She spread a tablecloth on the table under the tree and smiled as Hank walked up. He wiped his neck with a handkerchief, a sheen of sweat on his forehead and sat down on the bench.

  “Thank you for this, Clara. I’ve come to look forward to it,” he said as he helped her remove sandwiches and potato salad from the basket she’d brought.

  She poured him a tin cup of tea before she sat down opposite him.

  “I’m so glad you enjoy it. I sure enjoy the company,” she said as they clinked their tin cups together. She enjoyed the cool tea sliding down her throat.

  “I do, too,” he said, his eyes gleaming as he cocked his head and regarded her.

  “I thought I might find you here.” Mr. Archer’s voice rang out from the stables as he strode toward them.

  “Yes, Father. I’m giving lessons today again,” Hank said as he took a bite of his sandwich.

  “Yes, I see. It would be much more helpful if you would assist in the preparations for the next cattle drive. It’s imminent,” he said, folding his arms over his chest.

  “Pa, I know I agreed to continue…at least this last time…but I’ve made commitments to folks in town for training their horses. I need to finish up before I go.”

  “This hobby of yours isn’t bringing anything into the ranch, Hank. We can’t have it continue. Your time is best spent on the trail.”

  Hank sighed as he propped his elbows on the table, his head in his hands. “I’ll just finish up this next week and—“

  “No, you won’t. You’ll leave this weekend.”

  Hank’s head snapped up and Clara’s hand flew to her mouth as Mr. Archer turned his head away toward the horizon.

  “Pa, you can’t—“

  “I can and I will. You have three days. Ben has been taking your place while you’ve fooled around here, getting everything ready. But you’ll need to ride out with them and take charge of the horses.”

  “Well, hello.”

  All three of their heads snapped in the direction of the female voice near the stables, and Clara breathed out a big sigh of relief as Suzanne walked down to where they sat.

  Her smile wide, she hugged Clara and said, “Hello, Mrs. Archer. I haven’t seen you since the wedding.”

  Hank beamed at Clara but Mr. Archer visibly stiffened, pulling his hat further down his forehead and shoving his hands in his pockets.”

  “Mrs. Archer? That’s…”

  He turned toward the stables and strode away, leaving his thought unfinished.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong?” Suzanne said, her hand on her chest and her brows raised.

  “No, no,” Hank said. “It’s just Pa.”

  Clara looked down and sighed. “He’s not doing well with his wife’s passing.”

  “I see that,” Suzanne said, sitting down beside her friend.

  “And he’s
insisting I head out on the trail. This weekend,” Hank added, his brow furrowed.

  “Already?” Suzanne asked, her mouth falling open. “But you’ve only just—“

  “I don’t think he considers this a real marriage.” Clara twisted her napkin in her hands.

  “Well, it isn’t, quite yet,” Suzanne said. “You two are still getting to know each other.”

  Hank’s ears reddened as he busied himself in the basket. He pulled a piece of pie out of the basket, his hand stopping mid-air as he asked Suzanne, “Did you bring the twins?”

  “Yes, I did. They wanted to stop and pet Regalo for a moment, so I—”

  The loud neighing of a horse followed by a bang pierced the air and Hank set out like a shot toward the stable, the massive horse that Mr. Archer usually rode almost knocking him down as it ran past, followed close behind by two more.

  “Clara, open the gate to the arena. I’ll find the girls,” he shouted as Clara and Suzanne ran behind him.

  As she ran to the gate of the arena, Clara’s heart thudded in her chest, the horses rearing and neighing and running in circles all around her. She remembered what Suzanne had said, and for the first time felt frightened around them.

  “They’re scared but not hurt,” Hank said as he ran toward her. “Suzanne’s with them.”

  “Hey, Major, you settle down,” Mr. Archer yelled as he ran down from the house toward the commotion.

  Hank had moved to the opposite side of the arena, speaking to the horses as they reared and charged at one another.

  “Clara, go in the stable. It’s not safe here,” her father-in-law shouted as he passed her and ran to help Hank.

  Her heart still beating wildly, Clara backed slowly toward the stable, the cries of Lucy and Lily growing louder as she neared.

  “Are you all right?” Clara said, kneeling down to Suzanne, who had both girls clasped tightly in her arms.

  “We’re sorry, Aunt Clara. They wanted out,” Lucy wailed.

  “Ssssh,” Clara whispered. It’s all right. It’ll be fine.”