Walker's Wedding (10 page)

Denzil glanced up from restocking canned tomatoes on a shelf. “Sure thing, McKay.”

Sarah scolded herself for being so picky. She'd asked Walker to help and then criticized his choices. Martha came out from the back and approached Sarah, who was reconsidering the pink fabric.

“I think I've hurt his feelings, Martha. I didn't like what he chose for me.”

“Honey, men aren't worth a hoot when it comes to fabric. Especially Walker. I'm surprised he didn't pick a saddle blanket.” The women laughed, and Sarah was reminded of the new saddle and blanket her father had bought for her one Christmas. It was truly awful.

“Honestly, I don't know what to choose,” Sarah admitted.

“Why don't you look through the samples I have in the back and see if you want to order something special? I have a feeling your man'll pay for anything you ask.”

In no time Sarah had chosen five fabrics and patterns she liked, thanked the woman, and left to join her husband, who was now chatting with a group of elderly men on the front porch.

“Ready to go?” Walker asked.

“Whenever you are.” She smiled back, nodding to the men as she stepped lightly to the buggy.

For the first time, she felt truly married.

I
s there any way to trace where it came from?”

Lowell set Sarah's telegram aside, his face lined with worry. Two weeks had passed, and the only sign of his daughter was the telegram that had arrived that morning. He was plain put out that Allan Pinkerton himself hadn't found time to work on the case. Perhaps he should wire the head of the agency and explain exactly how urgent the matter was. Would this female detective be able to handle the case as well as Allan?

Kate Warne was a pale woman, and Lowell wondered if she suffered ill health. Her eyes flashed from Mr. Livingston to Wadsy, who said she couldn't imagine where else Sarah might be. Lowell's initial irritation had blossomed into fear that his daughter might have met with ill fortune.

“Your daughter, or whoever sent this wire, put a block on it. We can't know for sure where it came from. We've checked with everyone on the list you provided and found no one who has either seen or heard from Sarah, including her friend Julie in New York.” The detective accepted a cup of tea from Wadsy. “We checked the records on all outbound trains the day of your daughter's disappearance and every day for a week afterward.”

“She wouldn't take a train. She'd know I could trace her whereabouts.”

“She could have done so under an assumed name. She may have gotten a ride to the station in a passing buggy, although that seems unlikely from what you tell me. She isn't bent on harm, just headstrong. I've spoken to the clerk who was working the early morning shift on the day you discovered her missing, and he said that only one girl boarded the train that morning. He was quite certain that the young lady's parents accompanied her to the station. He said she seemed to be greatly upset about something.”

Lowell eased to the edge of his chair. “Could it have been my Sarah? What did this girl look like? I wouldn't put it past her to have hired someone to act as chaperones. When she's upset, she's likely to do whatever it takes to accomplish her goal.”

Like the time she had set off to Philadelphia. He'd found her selling flowers on a street corner. He shook his head. “Laverne, I've tried.”

“Pardon?”

“Laverne. My deceased wife. I was telling her I have tried to raise our daughter properly.”

“Yes, sir.”

Wadsy twisted and untwisted her apron. “Oh, my. What's happened to my baby girl?”

Kate opened a folder and flipped through the pages. “Do you recognize the name Lucy Mallory?”

“No.” Lowell sank back in his chair. He watched Miss Warne scan her notes.

“The station clerk reported that the girl boarding the train had brown hair and brown eyes and was wearing a light blue dress, to his best recollection. An older man and woman purchased her ticket. He assumed they were her parents.”

“Don't sound like our baby girl. Who'da gone with her?” Wadsy asked.

“No,” Lowell said. “Sarah has red hair. The clerk would have recognized that mane.”

“I talked to several station clerks, and they claim that neither your daughter, nor anyone else matching the young lady's description,
bought a ticket to board the train the week of her disappearance. I can check again if you would like.”

Lowell got up and moved to the window.
Where has she gone?
He didn't want to think of what might have happened to her. She could have run away with anyone—or, even worse, she might be dead. He rubbed his temples. Neither he nor Wadsy had slept much over the past couple of weeks. “Are you sure there wasn't anyone else? Maybe someone they couldn't readily identify?”

Miss Warne checked her notes again. “The only other person boarding on the morning of your daughter's disappearance was a young man. The conductor said he looked to be less than twenty years old, but he couldn't be certain.”

Lowell turned from the window to meet Wadsy's hopeful eyes. He knew they were thinking the same thing.

“Sarah has dressed like a boy to escape before. She used Blue Boy's—Abe's grandson's—clothing. Why didn't we think of this earlier?” Striding back to the desk, Lowell sat down. “That's it. Sarah dressed like a boy. That's why no one noticed a redheaded young woman leave that morning.”

Kate frowned and checked the files again. “According to the conductor, he says the boy was young, wore a hat, and kept his head down. He boarded with only one small valise.”

“Was it brown with a gold clasp?” Wadsy asked.

“The report doesn't say. If you give me a detailed description of the bag, I'll talk to the conductor again and see if he recalls. You believe this person could be Sarah?”

“I can't be sure, but I want you to explore every option. My daughter…” Lowell paused and turned away, momentarily overcome by emotion. “We have to find her, Miss Warne.” He glanced back at her. “She means everything to me.”

The woman's sharp features softened for a moment. She made a few notes in a small black book as Wadsy described Sarah's valise. Meanwhile, Lowell summoned Abe into the room.

“Abe, is it possible that Sarah got into your grandson's clothes? We're thinking she might have dressed as a boy that morning.”

Abe's gaze drifted toward the window. “Blue Boy ain't said nothin' 'bout it, but I could check if you want.”

“Do that, Abe. It's the only lead we have.”

The detective closed her notebook. “We'll talk to the clerk again. Perhaps we've overlooked something.” She covered her mouth with her handkerchief and coughed.

“That's a nasty cough, Miss Warne. Ya want some of my cough remedy?” Wadsy asked.

The detective smiled. “Thank you, but I'm afraid syrup won't help.” She got up to leave. “We'll try to locate this Lucy Mallory and her parents, Mr. Livingston. Perhaps they saw someone who fits your daughter's description on the train or in the surrounding area that morning.”

“If Sarah was still in Boston, you would have found her by now,” Lowell said. “I'm offering a twenty-five-thousand-dollar reward for anyone who can lead us to her whereabouts. Someone must know something. I'd give up my railroad to have my daughter safely back home.”

Miss Warne extended a hand to him. “I'll make this my first priority, Mr. Livingston. We'll find your daughter and return her to you.”

Lowell rose and shook her hand. “Thank you, Miss Warne. Please keep me informed of any further developments, however small.”

Wadsy escorted the lady detective from the study, and Lowell returned to his desk and gazed at Laverne's picture. “Don't worry, dear. We'll find her. I will stop at nothing to bring her home.” Tears that had been threatening to fall all afternoon finally rolled down his cheeks, and he swiveled his chair to face the window. Every day he sat here, looking out at the street in the hope that he'd see Sarah walking up the sidewalk. But weeks had passed, and still there was no word of his daughter's whereabouts.

God, bring my child home. I know you have a right to turn away from me. I've not always been as faithful to you as I could have been. Forgive me.
Don't let me lose both Sarah and Laverne. Don't break this weary soul completely, Lord. I'll do better. I'll be a more obedient child myself, Lord. Just bring my little girl safely home.

He wiped his eyes when Wadsy returned.

“Sarah can't believe I won't try to find her regardless of this sketchy news. How do I know that she sent this? What if some no-goods are getting ready to extort money from me?”

“The telegram don't say nothin' about a payoff, does it?”

“No, but that doesn't mean I can trust this message. I'll keep Kate on the case.” He awkwardly reached out to take the servant's hand. “We're getting closer, Wadsy. We'll find her any day now.”

“Yes, sir.”
Good Lord, let him do jest that. Mr. Livingston isn't lookin' so good these days. Got those worry lines around his eyes. Appetite's gone.
“Let me have Will fix you somethin' to eat. Jest a bite to fill your belly. You ain't et a decent meal in weeks.”

Nodding, Lowell turned away. “Maybe some chicken—and bread and butter. And a few of those pickles I like. Maybe a slice of blackberry pie too. Tell Will not to forget the cream.”

“Yes, sir.” Pleased, Wadsy walked away.

That telegram must have set Mr. Livingston's mind to rest. He's askin' for cream and butter again. He must be feelin' powerful relieved.

T
he McKay kitchen blossomed with Sarah's chatter. Her mind worked faster than Walker could think.
She's nervous,
he told himself as he ate breakfast and absently nodded at her cheerful prattle. Once she settled in she'd quiet down.

Having two strong-willed females in the house wasn't easy. Flo complained about having Sarah underfoot and that she took her “wifely” role too seriously. He wasn't sure how he should handle the dispute, but if he let them establish their territories on their own, he figured he'd be far better off.

Sarah broke through his ponderings. “Walker, do you think we could have a party? A real party that is not a wedding pretending to be a barbecue?”

He kept his eyes on the seed catalogue he was reading. “I don't mind.”

“Wonderful. I was thinking maybe a lavish event? Everyone could wear their finest attire. A nice formal dinner with rich satin tablecloths—and maybe one or two of the ranch hands could serve so Flo doesn't have to work so hard. We could serve coq au vin—”

“Whoa!” Walker frowned. “We're simple country folk. Don't serve anything fancy and keep the list to a hundred folks. Beef and potatoes and none of that French stuff. Besides”—a flicker of a smile broke through—“you'd put a dent in my herd trying to feed all of our friends.”

Sarah fell silent and he felt her gaze on him.

“You said ‘our friends.'”

Walker sipped his coffee. “Did I?”

“You did. You said ‘our friends.' I can't tell you how much that pleases me.” She stepped closer to rest her hand on his shoulder. “Thank you for making me feel so welcome in your home.”

“It's your home now.” He hoped she wasn't going to go all womanly on him and cry.

“Yes, it is. Thank you again. It's a lovely thought.”

Late that afternoon, Flo filled a jar with lemonade and wrapped it in a heavy cloth. Walker and S.H. were moving cattle nearby, and Sarah thought they would appreciate a cool drink. Though the distance wasn't far to walk, she asked a ranch hand to saddle one of the mares anyway. It had been months since she'd ridden, and she looked forward to the outing. She skipped upstairs to put on the new riding skirt Martha had made her.

Fifteen minutes later she was astride the mare and galloping to the south pasture. She missed her horse, Samson, and wondered if he missed her. They had ridden together nearly every day in the past few years. Once she'd cleared the air with Walker, she'd ask him to send for the animal.

The lemonade swished in the saddlebag. The mare's shod feet clipped merrily along the fields. Sarah's heart sang as she perched on the polished saddle. She was married to the man of her dreams. Other than not being able to see or talk to Papa or Wadsy, her life couldn't get any better. Soon she would tell Walker about the ruse, and then she would invite her family to come visit.

She spotted a shirtless Walker bent over a calf, and her pulse quickened. The heifer bawled for its mother, which S.H. held at bay.

Sarah approached quietly in order not to startle the men. Her gaze skimmed her husband's torso, resting on the vicious scars marring his olive skin. Reining in, she quietly admired him.

S.H. glanced up and grinned when he saw her. “That you, Sarah?”

Walker turned at the mention of her name. “What brings you all the way out here? Are you and Flo at it again?”

“No, I'm…” She struggled to remember the purpose of her visit. “I…”

“Came to see ol' Bessie here?” S.H. teased, slapping the cow on her side.

“No.” Sarah felt her cheeks turn hot. “I thought you might be thirsty. I brought lemonade.”

Both men chuckled and Walker released the calf, which ran bawling back to its mother. Then he lifted Sarah down from the mare and their eyes met and held for a long moment. Shivers raced down her spine. Was he beginning to love her a tiny bit?

He released her and then took the lemonade from the saddlebag and removed the lid. “Will you join us?” he asked, pouring the liquid into the tin cups she held for him.

“I'm not thirsty.” Sarah could smell sweat and a mixture of shaving soap and musk.

S.H. took a long swallow. “Think I'll find some shade down by the creek.”

Walker took a drink and then admitted, “Sounds like a good idea. It's warming up.” When the foreman wandered off, her husband glanced her way. “Sure you won't have some?”

Declining the invitation, she dabbed perspiration off her brow. She didn't want to delay his work or be a hindrance to him.

His eyes skimmed her lightly. “Is that one of your new outfits?

She performed a mock curtsy. “Do you like it?”

He shrugged. “I don't know much about women's clothing. If Martha likes it, then it's fine.”

Martha? What about me?

Walker sauntered to the stream, picked up a stone, and skipped it across the water. Sarah wished that S.H. weren't there so they could be alone. As if reading her mind, the old ranch foreman wandered farther downstream.

“It is really warm today,” she observed.

Nodding, he washed his face in the stream, and then ducked his head underwater. Coming up, he shook his head, water flying everywhere.

Standing back, Sarah admired him, overcome with contentment. That's what she loved about her new husband. He was comfortable around her. He didn't act like a besotted fool—though a little more affection would be welcome. But that would come in time. They were growing closer every day.

Lifting her face to the sweltering sun, she silently prayed.
Dear Lord, I know I acted foolishly and unwisely, but it's turned out well. So well that I'm giddy with happiness. Thank you. And Papa will thank you once he meets Walker.

Sarah doubted that even Wadsy could find fault with this man.