Rancher Wants a Wife (8 page)

“I imagine their husbands are none too pleased.”

Cassandra’s forehead grew pinched. “In this particular article, the lady detective was widowed. Young, in her early twenties, but widowed.”

“Well, that explains that. What man in his right mind would allow his wife to step into that sort of danger?”

“Not all detective work has to be filled with the most dangerous—”

“And it’s this sort of reading material that you might be interested in, in proposing a library?”

She blinked. “Library?”

He smiled, trying to set her at ease. “You used to do a lot of reading, as I recall. Your hands were always filled with books—law books from your father’s den, the newspapers, dime novels. Usually adventure stories, just like the ones about the Pinkerton Agency.”

“Doesn’t the town have a library?”

“No.”

“That is indeed a shame.” Her pretty blond lashes fluttered and he felt a tug in his chest. “So, Jack, you wouldn’t mind me working?”

Was that what she’d been hiding from him? That she wished to work outside the home, earn an income for herself independent from his?

“Some men would mind,” he said honestly. “Some men think a woman shouldn’t hire herself out. Think it’s beneath them, and somehow injures the strength of the family if a woman should want an independent means of support.”

“That’s not you, Jack.”

“What makes you so sure?” He eyed her from across the table. She had a sudden self-confidence about her that attracted his attention.

Her cream-colored blouse shifted as she drew a deep breath, and he noticed her throat was nicely framed by the puckered holes in the lace collar. Some scent she was wearing, a derivative of roses, heightened, then retreated, depending how close she came into his space.

“Because back in Chicago, your head would always turn at the women who
did
work. You’d spend hours in conversation with the one who sometimes assisted my father with his legal papers, remember? Then there was the merchant’s wife you’d engage with about rising and falling stocks on the New York Stock Exchange. Not to mention the deep and heated conversations you had with the Latin teacher across the street when she came home from a tour of Rome.”

What had come over Cassandra? Her initial shyness was fading, replaced with something much more striking and self-assured. Whatever it was, he found the change fascinating.

“My, you have been paying attention. I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be flattered,” she said with new heat. “It just so happens I like my men intelligent, too.”

He cocked his head in amusement and took a long look at her.

She raised her slender eyebrows in response, as if amused by his reaction. “To twist oneself up in the brains of another, that’s a steamy proposition, isn’t it? I know you enjoy a good conversation. A good argument about world issues. It’s deeply sensual and invigorating, never knowing if you’re stepping on someone’s toes or invading their thoughts in some devilish way.”

A prickle of heat ran down the back of his neck. “You get all that from reading the paper?”

“I like to keep my mind active. It’s the hopes and dreams of people that I enjoy reading about, Jack. Don’t you think it’s important to dream big?”

“Well, it is for a man. That is, of course, the only perspective I have of dreaming.”

She smiled at his teasing.

“A library would be fine with me,” he said, trying to be generous. It would be a nice distraction, and something valuable for the community. Maybe some of the judgmental folks in town would get to know her that way, and she could build friendships.

Her smile wavered. “What if it was something more I wanted?”

He frowned. “Such as?”

She lifted her water glass, pressed her lush pink lips to the rim and sipped. “Did you know Mary always wanted to open a jewelry shop?”

“Little Mary?” He grinned at the image of the adolescent girl she’d been when he’d last seen her, slender and soft-spoken and hardly one to open a business. “That must’ve been impressive to all.”

A fleeting look of anguish passed through Cassandra’s blue eyes, as if she was pained at the thought that Mary would never fulfill that dream. Then it was gone, replaced by something gentler. “If she were here right now, she would be nudging me to stop beating around the bush and to—”

“Doc!” someone called from across the room, interrupting them. “There you are!”

Jack and Cassandra both wheeled around in their chairs to see Charlie Van Horn rush over, dressed in his work overalls from the vineyards, hat in hand. Lines of concern etched his weather-beaten face. “Alan Barnum said he saw you come in, said I might find you here.”

Jack sensed trouble. “What is it, Charlie?”

“Old man Finley is having trouble with his cows. Two of ’em are sick, one pretty bad off. Lyin’ down on her side for the last hour.”

Jack glanced at Cassandra, but she was already collecting her satchel and shawl. This was supposed to be their time together for a few days after their wedding, uninterrupted by his work. Yet he appreciated her unquestioning response to the emergency.

“We’ll follow you, Charlie.” Jack rose, tossed a generous amount of coins on the table and scooped up his Stetson. He didn’t look back to check what the gossips might or might not be saying as he escorted his wife out of the café.

Charlie’s horse was tethered to the hitching post in the next block.

“My buggy’s around the side,” Jack told him, then strode past with Cassandra.

“Jack!” Charlie hollered after them.

They swung around again.

“One more thing you should know.” The man hesitated, then glanced with a worrisome expression at Cassandra. “I passed Elise Beacon twenty minutes ago, and asked her to check on the cows, too. I heard about your situation...but when I saw her, I had to think real quick on my feet. I had to ask her to come because I wasn’t sure if I’d find you.”

Elise again
, thought Jack. And everyone seemed to know about his fight yesterday with Thornley. Well, it was what it was, and he couldn’t change the past. “She knows a lot about animals, Charlie. It’s understandable you asked her.”

Jack’s hand spanned the back of Cassandra’s waist as he urged her along the boardwalk. “Sorry, this can’t be helped,” he explained. “Elise lived with her uncle in San Francisco for a spell while she was growing up. Her uncle was a vet, and passed down a lot of his knowledge to her. She doesn’t have formal training, but lots of folks depend on her for the care of their animals.”

It had been one of the things she and Jack had in common, that had drawn them together in the first place, but he didn’t wish to hurt Cassandra by saying so.

She probably sensed it, anyway.

She puzzled over his comments briefly, but said nothing as they rushed to the buggy. Once seated, he flicked the reins and they rumbled out of town. Horses and cattle he could handle.

Women were another matter.

Chapter Eight

T
hey reached the Finley cattle ranch within a half hour. Cassandra watched Jack with a mesmerizing sense that she’d never seen her husband in action before as a full-fledged veterinarian. She shouldn’t have been surprised when he parked the buggy next to a spiffy red leather one already there and reached behind the seat beneath a blanket to find his medical bag. Of course he traveled with his supplies; it was only natural he’d be prepared. He’d always been prepared when it came to matters such as business and animals.

It was she who was unprepared for the jolt to her heart when he murmured, “That’s her buggy.”

Miss Beacon’s, of course. Who else could he mean?

No other people were in sight. They had to be preoccupied with the cattle inside the buildings that sat atop the green hill.

“Should I wait here?” Cassandra eyed the conveyance that belonged to the other woman, the polished red leather and oiled black rims glinting in the bright sun.

“It’s up to you,” he said, his smoky eyes watching her from beneath the brim of his dark Stetson. “But I would enjoy your company.”

Her pulse did strange things when he spoke to her like that. She was further unprepared that he’d be so forthright in saying how he felt. She was disappointed that she’d been unable to tell him about her goal in working as a detective, back at the café, and that he’d misconstrued that she was speaking about a library. But the animals were her priority now.

She quickly slid off the seat and came to join him as he walked toward the stables. He led the way down the grassy path as if he’d been here a hundred times before. His muscles flexed beneath his dark shirt and perspiration mottled the cloth at his spine. She tried not to notice how his thighs tugged at the worn denim, or how his tanned forearms poked out of the rolled cuffs of his sleeves. He had a comfortable, easy way about him that Cassandra found appealing.

They soon entered the darkened building and peered over the boards, spotting a handful of ranch hands crowded around a stall in the far corner.

“Howdy!” Jack called out.

“Hey, Doc,” some replied in pleasant tones.

“Is Finley here?”

“Right here, Jack,” said a male voice. An elderly, whiskered man rose to his feet in the stall. “Beside the calf.”

Cassandra took a deep breath, nervously patted the buttoned front of her blouse, then let her hands fall to her long, swaying skirt. She hadn’t yet seen Miss Beacon, and wondered if it were possible that they’d be fortunate and escape her presence.

Jack took a few long strides toward the rancher, then turned to encircle his free arm around Cassandra. “I’d like to introduce you all to my wife.”

She braced herself for the stares that would come her way, the glances at her scar and perhaps that bit of alarm that often went with it.

There were some stares, but the workers had likely already heard about the woman Jack had married, for many removed their hats in a show of respect. Some called out various friendly hellos and how-do-you-dos. Others held back, though, and looked away from her face. Trying to remain cheerful, she stepped forward and smiled. What had she been so afraid of? Once they got to know her, they’d see she was just a regular woman, no better, no worse than any other.

But with one more step, she was in view of the calf lying on the straw, and a young woman in working blouse and skirt leaning over the animal, a stethoscope attached to her ears.

Miss Beacon.

Jack didn’t say anything for a moment. Men around them shuffled their feet in the straw and cleared their throats, and Cassandra felt the muscles around her own windpipe constrict with discomfort. Did everyone here know the story of what had happened on her wedding day?

Jack knelt down on the other side of the rusty-colored calf.

“Over here, my dear.” Mr. Finley indicated that Cassandra might stand beside him, next to the post, as they watched the process unfold.

Miss Beacon removed her stethoscope from her ears. Her dark brown hair, braided only at the front, fell across the pressed sleeves of her rose-tinted blouse. She nodded to Jack in greeting, appeared to glance at his bruised jaw, but didn’t look at Cassandra. Truth be told, perhaps the woman had, but Cassandra had been too busy saying good afternoon to Mr. Finley to notice.

“We’re all neighbors.” Mr. Finley pointed to Miss Beacon, by way of explanation to Cassandra. “Her father’s vineyard is right next door. And Jack’s is to the other side.”

Cassandra nodded. “I imagine when someone’s animals are ill in the valley, everyone’s concerned.”

Jack unbuckled his black leather bag. He removed his stethoscope, had a listen, soothed the calf with a few pats and murmurs, and then asked questions.

“How long has she been like this?”

“Last night she didn’t seem herself.” An older ranch hand with shaggy, windswept hair answered in a forceful tone, as if he might be the foreman. “Was slow to eat. This morning, too.”

Jack peered into one of the calf’s eyes. “When did she start to lose her energy?”

“This afternoon,” Miss Beacon answered, “when she came in from the pastures.”

Jack glanced at the woman’s face, then down to her hand stroking the calf’s shoulder. “Any vomiting?”

“No, sir,” said Mr. Finley, crossing his arms over his tan vest.

“Is she ruminating?” asked Miss Beacon.

Cassandra wasn’t familiar with the term, but no one else seemed to be confused. Serious faces peered out from beneath cowboy hats and looked to that same foreman with the shaggy hair.

“She was last night, nice and normal like, but I haven’t seen her chewing her cud today.”

“Something’s off, then.” Miss Beacon looked to Jack, her face aglow. She had such smooth skin—such a beautiful complexion—and a ready-to-please demeanor. Cassandra, unfortunately, could easily see how a man could fall for her. Not only for her looks, but her intelligence.

Jack did a careful inspection of the calf’s eyes and nose.

“Let’s have her stand,” he said. He smoothly rose to his full height, towering over Miss Beacon and the scrawny calf, and gave a soft tug on the loose rope around the animal’s neck.

The calf had difficulty rising. It got up on its rear legs, but couldn’t seem to manage its front ones. Miss Beacon lunged in to try to help, but Jack held up his hand to stop her. Her arms fell back to her sides as they waited for the animal to stand on its own.

With a wobble, it finally did.

Cassandra wondered what had Jack noticed in that exercise.

“She didn’t stretch her back when she got to her feet,” he said with concern. “Healthy calves usually do. And she doesn’t seem alert.” He gave the animal another pat, looked beyond Miss Beacon’s shoulder to Mr. Finley. “Do you have any other cattle down?”

“Two more over here.”

Jack mumbled in disappointment as he followed the rancher to the full-grown cows lying down in nearby stalls. They seemed to have the same listless symptoms as the smaller one.

“Where have they been grazing lately?” Jack asked, after examining them. “Can you show me which pastures?”

“Certainly. Right over here.” Mr. Finley led him and Miss Beacon out the back end of the barn.

Around Cassandra, the ranch hands returned to their tasks. Some picked up pitchforks, others went to attend the broken wheel of a wagon. Cassandra followed slowly behind Jack and Miss Beacon and Mr. Finley, but they didn’t include her in their discussion and she felt uncomfortable tagging behind. They had work to do, and she allowed them the time and space to do it.

When she looked about, one of the ranch hands seemed to notice her predicament. “There’s a fine bench under those trees, if you’d like to sit a spell while you’re waiting.”

“It looks like a pretty view.”

She strolled out the stable doors, yards away from Jack and the other two as they pointed and discussed. She caught snatches of their conversation.

“...to the southern fence...”

“...might be something they ate...”

Cassandra reached the bench beneath the apple trees just as Jack turned to her and called out, “Mr. Finley’s going to show us the pastures! We’re searching for poisonous plants! Would you like to come?”

“That’s fine, go ahead without me!” she called back.

She wavered, unsure whether to change her mind and follow her husband, to keep an eye on the other woman, but it was too late. Jack took her at her word and disappeared into the meadows, with Mr. Finley hobbling on one side and Miss Beacon’s fine silhouette outlined in the breeze on his other.

Despite her good looks and intelligence, something about the woman was troubling, Cassandra decided. And her beau, Derik Thornley, too. Something about Miss Beacon’s demeanor and manner of addressing Jack—and ignoring Cassandra—seemed off. Of course, there was all that sour business between them with the wedding, but was there something more? Cassandra aimed to find out. Perhaps it would be her first secret task as a detective in this town. She’d make a few discreet inquires about the pair.

* * *

Hell
. How had Jack gotten trapped out here in the fields with Elise? Granted, she was behaving with professional decorum, but he would rather be spending his time with Cassandra.

Long grasses shifted about their knees.

“What’re we looking for, exactly?” Mr. Finley asked as he shuffled away to the right, along the wire fence.

“Ferns. Milkweed.” Jack scoured the ground, his eyes expertly going up and down the dry ridges, making out shapes of leaves and buds. “I have a suspicion of foxglove, if you see any.”

“It’s three to six feet tall,” Elise explained to Mr. Finely, placing her hand at the height of her hip. “The stalks have rose-colored flowers.”

“Or maybe it’s thistles or hemlock,” said Jack.

“What’s that you say?” the rancher called.

“If you’d like to rest awhile, Mr. Finley, Elise and I will circle the pasture. We’re more familiar with the plants, and I’d like to do a thorough search.”

“Right.” Finley took a breather. He removed his straw cowboy hat and swatted at the flies circling about. “That’s a large field. How’re you going to cover it all?”

Jack turned to Elise and told her, “I don’t mind doing this on my own.”

“Nonsense,” she said. “We’re all neighbors. Anything that affects his cattle may affect our livestock, too. Especially a trail of poisonous plants.”

“I see your point.” Jack’s property, too, abutted the Finley ranch. “Well, then, if you’d like to follow along that other fence, the one adjacent to your land, it would be helpful to me.” He found it very difficult to get the next words out. “I do appreciate your help.”

She quickly worked her way to the other side of the pasture, and he was pleased—somewhat grateful—that she was taking direction so well today. Maybe the past
was
behind them, and he and Cassandra could move on with their lives without the added guilt or burden of dealing with Elise.

Thirty minutes later, they came together again near the top of the hill. He’d collected a few samples of thistles and ferns, but hadn’t seen anything in large enough quantity that would be harmful.

She, too, held a batch of leaves.

“Those aren’t poisonous,” he told her.

“Oh, but I thought these wide leaves—”

“Harmless.”

She dropped the weeds and the wind snatched them away. It also picked up a strand of her long brown hair, which she fiddled with. “Now I feel silly. I thought I was being helpful.”

“You were. I’ll have another look around tomorrow when I return to check on the cattle. Maybe it was moldy hay, or something else in their quarters.”

They turned to head back. Finley was nowhere in sight. He must’ve gone back to the stables, over the rise.

“Jack, about yesterday. I heard what Derik did and I—I must apologize. He had no right to hit you.”

“You didn’t know he was coming out to see me?”

“I had no idea. He told me after I’d seen the bruising on his knuckles, and his split lip.”

“Yeah, well...sorry about the missing tooth.” Fortunately for Thornley, it wasn’t a front tooth, but one on the side, so the gap wasn’t visible when he talked.

“Do you think we could put this behind us?” She peered up at him, trembling in the wind.

Behind us
? Well, didn’t she dang well have a twisted sense of civility? She’d stepped out from the congregation in a church ceremony to which she hadn’t even been invited, made a fool out of him and embarrassed his bride—and she thought an apology would suffice?

Temper
, he warned himself.
Temper
.

He was trapped between his outrage and his professional role as a veterinarian, one obligated to maintain peace in the community so that he might freely roam the ranches and vineyards, without the fear of bumping into her. Without the fear that if he did still harbor a grudge against Elise and Thornley, it might be harder for Cassandra to handle as a newcomer than it would be for him.

So he took a deep breath and answered in the most gracious tone he could muster. “I would appreciate if we could all forget it and go about our business.”

She smiled timidly, and seemed sincere, but he wasn’t about to place one iota of trust in her. Yet when she extended her hand, he took it and shook. She seemed somehow comforted by that. Jack hoped with every breath he drew that Derik Thornley would hurry up and propose marriage to her, then whisk her out of the valley. The East Coast might be far enough away.

They reached the top of the hill and Jack searched the scene for Cassandra. She was enjoying a pitcher of what looked like lemonade with Mr. Finley beneath the apple trees. The old man was pointing to the valley below, then back up at his ranch, likely telling one of his long stories about how he was the oldest cattle rancher in Napa. Cassandra was smiling and laughing and asking animated questions.

Jack and Elise approached. He thought he heard the words
“Beacon vineyard”
and
“Thornley works there with her.”
But as they got closer, he gathered he’d been mistaken, for the conversation was about the size of the town. Elise seemed absorbed in her own thoughts, and hadn’t been paying attention.