The Rancher's Temporary Engagement

by Stacy Henrie

  Mrs. Druitt beamed as if she were the sole provider of such “excellent” advice. “Very good. Then let us turn our attention to the annual summer ball. It’s still four weeks away, but the event will be upon us before we know it.”

  Maggy tuned out the planning talk and instead glanced at Vienna. The young woman still looked flushed and she kept dabbing at her forehead with her napkin.

  “The tea is a bit warm for my tastes,” Maggy said, throwing Vienna a grimace. “What I wouldn’t give for a tall glass of ice-cold lemonade.”

  A brief smile perked up Vienna’s mouth. “That does sound lovely.” She set down her napkin, but it slipped from the table to the rug. Vienna leaned down to pick up the cloth, causing her sleeve to rise above her wrist for a brief moment. It was long enough, though, for Maggy to see a fading bruise there.

  Vienna caught her staring. Blushing again, the young woman hurried to right herself in her chair, while tugging her sleeve back into place. The reality of what she’d seen had Maggy struggling to draw a full breath. It was little wonder Vienna hadn’t been interested in hearing the story of Maggy’s courtship with Edward or in dispensing marital advice. The girl’s hesitation about her pregnancy made sudden sense, too.

  Vienna was living a life similar to Maggy’s with Jeb.

  She attempted to drink more tea. However, the tepid liquid and the realization this woman bore identical bruises to those Maggy had once worn had the room feeling hotter than a stove in July. Pushing her teacup aside, she noticed Vienna mopping her forehead again.

  “Do you need some air?” Maggy asked. “Because I’d like to step out for a moment.”

  The relief on Vienna’s face was as much an answer as her quick nod. “I would, yes.”

  “Ladies.” Maggy pushed back her chair. “Vienna is noticeably warm and I, myself, could use some air. We’ll dash out to the porch for a sit and return shortly.”

  Mrs. Druitt’s expression conveyed her annoyance at the interruption, but she nevertheless nodded her permission. “We’ll decide which parts of the ball you two may wish to handle.”

  “That would be wonderful.” Maggy motioned for Vienna to go ahead of her, then she followed the younger woman out of the parlor, across the lobby, and outside. Several of the chairs were occupied, but Maggy spied two rockers at one end of the porch that stood empty.

  “Much better,” Vienna murmured, after she and Maggy sat down. She shut her eyes, obviously enjoying the breeze.

  Maggy did the same—not as a way to relish the cooler temperature but to give herself a chance to think. Vienna’s situation incited a swell of compassion in her. The girl might look differently than Maggy, with a far less openly spirited personality, and yet, she recognized in Vienna the same wide-eyed innocence, fear and hopelessness she’d felt soon after becoming a bride. Was there anything she could say or do to help? Would Vienna even welcome her attempts?

  She thought back to those awful few years as Jeb’s wife. If someone had tried to help her, would she have welcomed it? She couldn’t say for sure, but she hated the thought of seeing another woman suffering in a similar way and doing nothing.

  Opening her eyes, she kept her face pointed forward—as much to give herself space and privacy as Vienna. “I was married once before, though I’m a widow now.” She didn’t know this young woman, and yet like Edward, she sensed she could trust her.

  “You were?” There was no disguising the shock in Vienna’s voice.

  Maggy nodded, pushing the rocker into motion with the toe of her shoe. Every one of her twenty-seven years, and then some, weighed upon her.

  “I was young when we wed. And thought I was in love.” She rocked a little faster. “It was only a few weeks after my wedding that I realized everything I’d hoped and dreamed about beforehand wasn’t going to be mine after all.”

  She had to push the rest of her words past her dry throat. “No matter how many good meals I cooked or words of encouragement I offered or affection I gave, it would never be enough.” Emotion rose painfully into her chest, but Maggy willed it back down. “And yet, more days than I can count, I kept trying to do just that. I couldn’t let go of the notion that if I kept trying, kept working, it would make all the fear and hurt disappear...” She cast a meaningful look at Vienna. “That it would make the bruises and scars go away.”

  The girl’s face went white and she tugged at her sleeve again. “I...” She visibly swallowed, then faced forward as Maggy had done. “I want to be a good wife. I want to love him, Miss Worthwright. Chance means well. He didn’t have it easy growing up.”

  Hearing some of her own rationale repeated back to her in Vienna’s pleading tone brought a feeling of nausea to Maggy’s stomach. She’d told herself these same things—over and over again—up until the day Jeb was killed in the fire.

  “I know,” she said softly.

  Tears glittered in Vienna’s green eyes. “I think I’ll go home now. I’ve been feeling poorly of late.” She rested her hand against her middle. “And probably should’ve stayed home.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t.” And Maggy meant it. She could relate to and understand Vienna, and for the first time in ages, she hoped to make a real friend.

  They both climbed to their feet, and as they did, something inside Maggy nudged her to offer one last piece of counsel. “Just remember, no matter what Chance says, you’re not worthless, Vienna. You’re somebody of value, too.”

  Vienna brushed at her wet eyes with her finger. “Thank you,” she whispered. Then in a stronger voice, she added, “Will you please give my farewell to Mrs. Druitt and the others?”

  “Of course.”

  Maggy returned inside to the ladies’ parlor and gave Vienna’s regards and regrets to the group. But she could no longer concentrate on the inane conversations or the plans for the ball. She accepted an assignment to be part of the decorating committee, thanked everyone for the lovely tea, then excused herself.

  On the drive back to the ranch, her mind was an endless jetty of thoughts. Had she missed an opportunity for sleuthing by focusing on Vienna? She hoped not, but she didn’t regret talking to the younger girl. Especially when she felt the truth of her own words to Vienna about not being worthless. She’d told herself the same, again and again, since Jeb’s death, but saying those words out loud in an effort to help someone else had made the statements resound more powerfully within her. Hopefully Vienna would know she had an ally—a friend—in Maggy.

  She only wished she’d been able to discover whose husband had emptied the sugar sack. Josephine’s might be the culprit; she was the only one to mention anything about a man upsetting the organization in the kitchen. Or was she the only one? Maggy sat up straighter. Vienna’s husband could very well be the wrongdoer, and the girl wouldn’t have said anything out of fear.

  Urging the horse faster, Maggy found herself humming a song they’d sung in church the day before. She’d likely made a friend today and narrowed down the snake perpetrator to two possible suspects. Her first tea meeting with the wives’ club had proven to be a success, and she couldn’t wait to tell Edward about it.

  Chapter Nine

  Edward trudged toward the house, feeling every one of his sore muscles. It had been some time since he’d performed all the tasks the wranglers typically handled. But after assigning another man to guard the pastures throughout the day, he felt it only right that he make up the shortage in help himself.

  The smell of Mrs. Harvey’s cooking greeted him as he entered through the front door. He would change, then he and Maggy could eat supper. Afterward, he would read or perhaps work more on the notes he’d written, in hopes of seeing if he had enough material to write a book of his own as Maggy had suggested.

  He paused beside the entry table to leaf through the waiting stack of mail. There was another letter from his mother and one from the man at the British Cavalry. Edward had
written back some weeks ago, expressing his confidence once again in the quality of horseflesh he could supply them. Were they ready to purchase his horses? Excitement crowded out some of his fatigue.

  Tearing open the envelope, he extracted the letter and unfolded it. They were still interested, yes. But by the time he reached the end of the missive, his eagerness had faded. The number of horses they required was far greater than Edward alone could supply. They were asking him to secure other ranchers in the area who would also be willing to sell their horses to the Cavalry.

  Edward folded the letter, replaced it in the envelope, and hung his hat on the hall tree. Disappointment peppered his exhaustion. Without knowing who wanted him gone, he didn’t know who he could trust with this new and lucrative business venture. He didn’t want to unknowingly take on as a partner the person attempting to sabotage him. Still, if he wanted to keep the Cavalry’s interest, he would have to find others to join him—and soon.

  He started for the stairs, but before he reached them, Maggy came barreling out of the parlor. “You’re late, Edward.”

  “Late?” He scrubbed at his face with his free hand, trying to recall what appointment he’d forgotten. “Late for what?”

  She looked slightly irked. “You’re supposed to eat dinner with the other ranchers tonight, remember?”

  “Right.” Edward hefted a sigh and threw a look of longing toward his own dining room. He didn’t want to ride into Sheridan or make conversation—he simply wanted a quiet evening at home, especially after his long day and the troubling news in the letter he still held.

  I sound quite like an old married man, he thought with a wry shake of his head.

  “You are going, aren’t you?” Maggy frowned at him, as if she could riddle out his thoughts. Being a detective, she probably could. “We need your interactions with the ranchers to round out our investigation.”

  Yes, they did. He might loathe the reality of someone trying to ruin him, but it was his reality nonetheless. And the sooner they narrowed down the list of suspects, the better. Then he could determine who to approach about the Cavalry’s offer. Maggy had done an excellent job of gathering information at the women’s meeting two days ago—now it was his turn.

  He started up the stairs, calling back, “Yes, Maggy. I’m going.” Her smug sniff brought a quick smile, even though he didn’t relish the task before him.

  After choosing one of his suits, Edward hurried to change. He didn’t want to miss the food, not with how hungry he felt. He finished tying his tie as he returned downstairs. Not surprisingly, Maggy waited for him beside the door.

  “Now be sure to speak with Josephine’s husband,” she said as she reached up to adjust his tie. “And Vienna’s.”

  “Who?”

  She brushed the shoulders of his suit coat. “Mr. Preston and Mr. Howe. Remember, one of them is likely the person who captured the snake and set it loose in the field.”

  “Preston and Howe, got it.”

  Stepping back, she eyed him up and down, then dipped her head in a satisfied nod. “You look successful but approachable.”

  “Rich but poor,” he quipped.

  Maggy shook her head, but he caught the amused sparkle in her blue eyes. It struck him right then that this was how things would likely be between them if they were married—her double-checking his attire and throwing out reminders, him submitting to her ministrations and bantering back and forth.

  Was this how his life would have been with Beatrice? Edward knew the answer at once. No, Beatrice might have fussed over how he looked, but she wouldn’t have teased or cajoled him in the same good-natured way that Maggy did.

  Still, this is temporary. He couldn’t get too comfortable with the ways things were between them. His case would hopefully be solved soon, and then he would go back to the way his life had been before Maggy had burst into it. The thought left him feeling sad.

  “Ready?” she asked, her eyebrows rising.

  He clapped his dressier bowler hat onto his head. “Yes.”

  “Just act natural.”

  He chuckled as they stepped out the front door together and onto the porch. “No outright questions regarding their nefarious activities?”

  “Edward...” Her voice held a note of exasperation.

  Walking backward, he tipped his hat to her. “I understand my role, Maggy. You’ve taught me well.”

  “Good.” She lifted her hand in a wave. “Have a nice time.”

  “Catching a crook?”

  With a low growl, she spun back toward the house. But Edward didn’t miss the impish smile that had alighted on her mouth, if only for a moment. She appreciated his teasing as much as he did.

  He’d always liked making people laugh, especially his sister. At some point, though, he’d stopped trying. Had it been after Liza’s death or Beatrice’s rejection? He couldn’t say for sure, but he wanted to hold on to this lighthearted part of himself—even after Maggy left.

  To save time, he chose to ride Napoleon instead of hitching up the buggy. The ride to Sheridan passed uneventfully. When he reached the inn, he tied his horse to one of the posts out front.

  The dining room was only half-full of ranchers tonight. Edward studied those in attendance and felt disappointment that Chance Howe wasn’t among them. Still, Preston was and so were Bertram and Winchester. Another gentleman, seated next to Nevil Druitt, looked vaguely familiar, but Edward couldn’t place him. The man wasn’t among the regular social crowd at the inn.

  Winchester waved Edward over to his table. “Kent, good to see you again.”

  “You, as well,” Edward returned evenly. He couldn’t help thinking the man seemed overly affable and friendly—decidedly more so than usual. Taking the empty seat, he exchanged greetings with the other men at the table, which included Preston. “Who is that sitting next to Druitt?”

  Preston glanced at the other table. “That’s his son-in-law, Felix Jensen.”

  That’s why Edward had recognized the fellow. Each summer Jensen and his wife, Lavina, the Druitts’ only child, came to visit.

  A waiter set a full plate of food in front of Edward. The smell alone resurrected his earlier hunger. After thanking the man, he began to eat.

  “Doesn’t Jensen own a store in Buffalo?” Winchester asked.

  Nodding, Preston gave a snort of contempt. “I still don’t get why he doesn’t up and start a ranch here like Druitt hints at every time the man visits.”

  “Perhaps because he’s already established as a store owner,” Edward interjected, watching Preston and Winchester closely. “It takes a lot of work to make a ranch successful. He likely doesn’t want to start over, not when he’s already worked so hard at a different profession.”

  Preston threw another scornful look at the shop owner, but Winchester dropped his gaze to his nearly empty plate, his ready smile drooping along with his mustache. Had Edward’s words struck a guilty chord in him?

  Edward returned his focus to his meal, though he paid attention to the conversation that soon began again among those at his table. There were no veiled hints that he could decipher. Preston remained his usual disparaging self, which made him less of a suspect in the snake caper in Edward’s mind. Winchester, on the other hand, returned to acting cheerful. Other than the one slip in his demeanor, nothing appeared out of sorts with him, either.

  When he finished his dinner, Edward attempted to add to the small talk about the weather, the new horses some of the men were breaking in, and when the inn’s part owner Buffalo Bill Cody might audition more people for his Wild West show. He couldn’t shake his frustration, though, at not learning anything that put him closer to solving his case. Perhaps he’d be more successful if he changed tables. After Preston and Winchester left, he took the empty seat next to Bertram.

  “Howdy, Kent,” the man said, a little too loudly.

&nbs
p; Edward nodded. “Evening, Bertram. How’d you like dinner?”

  “Good. Real good. Beats eating mess food, that’s for sure.”

  “You could hire a housekeeper.”

  “Naw. I’m trying to save money to get more horses. Druitt’s promised me a real nice deal...” His voice trailed to silence as he threw a stricken look at the older man.

  Druitt turned from speaking to his son-in-law to look at Bertram. “What did you say, son?”

  “Nothin’. Just talking horses.”

  Edward watched Bertram closely. Why would he look troubled about buying horses from a neighbor? It wasn’t as if the other ranchers hadn’t purchased horses from each other. Unless... Bertram had been promised a good deal on Edward’s stolen horses. The man’s behavior struck him as suspicious once again. Bertram hadn’t always acted so uncomfortable in Edward’s presence.

  “Kent,” Druitt said, commandeering the silence. “You remember my son-in-law Felix Jensen, don’t you?”

  “I do.” Edward extended his hand and Jensen shook it. “You still own a store, correct?”

  Jensen’s face lit up. “That I do.”

  “Do you find it hard to get away?” Edward asked, as much to make conversation as to know the answer. He imagined the younger man wouldn’t relish leaving his store, even to make a visit to his wife’s parents.

  Jensen folded his arms on top of the tablecloth, his expression relaxed. “My brother runs it for me whenever Lavina and I come here. But I don’t like to be away for too long.” He shot his father-in-law a quick glance. “Though it’s worth the sacrifice to come visit.”

  “And we hope to make those visits more permanent, don’t we, son?” Druitt smiled at Jensen, then at Edward. He didn’t seem to catch Jensen’s frown or he was ignoring it.

  Edward leaned back in his chair. Preston’s earlier remarks about Jensen and Druitt repeated through his mind. “Are you thinking of relocating to Sheridan?” he directed the question at Jensen.