The Rancher (12 page)

her.  Her hand remained steady against his skin.  He met her questioning gaze with uncomfortable silence.

“I don’t know anything about you,” she said quietly.

Was there a question hiding somewhere in her words?

“I thought you wanted a husband.  By

tonight. And so, here I am.” He was unable to meet her eyes completely.  Her touch stirred something within him.  Something he hadn’t felt in a long time. He didn’t want to feel anything, but did not

move.

“I know.” She removed her hand self-

consciously, leaving a vacant feeling in its place.  “I just wondered... I mean, why you volunteered. Surely, you can have any woman you want.”  She searched his face, her eyes petitioning answers.

Cole was taken aback by the plainness of her words. If she really knew the truth, she would be running back to the blond oaf in the crowd.  However, he was not prepared to justify his actions and would not do so--even to himself.  “It’s getting

late.  We better find that preacher or there

will not
 
be
 
any wedding.”

Her reluctant smile sent a surge of guilt through his veins.   Stepping off the boardwalk, he tipped his hat and backed away before Abby could say another word. “I’ll meet you in the church in one hour,” he managed before he’d turned around completely.

You’re playing with fire, Cole.
  
His conscience would not leave him alone as he walked across the street.  He knew he

was in uncharted territory, but something inside drove him forward.
 
Marriage?
 
he asked himself as he walked toward the

church.
 
What the hell am I doing?

“Marriage? To a complete stranger?”

Abby spoke aloud as she sat on the edge

of  the  boardwalk  in  front  of  the mercantile. Her elbow rested on her knees

and her hands were gathered into fists under her chin.  “What am I doing?”  She felt numb all over. She wondered how her

father would react.  Surely, he would be in town within the hour.  Abby just hoped that Cole returned with the preacher before then.

A gust of wind picked up the loosetendrils of her hair and blew them in everydirection until she was sure she lookedlike the neighbor’s rag doll.  What a sightshe would be.  She tried to smooth down

some of the flailing curls with the palm of

her hand.

Lily had excused herself to attend tosome details with an upcoming tea and Abby’d had no desire to sit and listen to

all the gossip the young ladies in town would surely provide.  Gossip was a big part of a small town like Silver Falls, and like it or not, Abby was sure her little stunt would make her the center of it

today.

Abby stood up and stepped onto the boardwalk and began to walk, trying to keep herself from going stir crazy with nothing else to do while she waited.  Most of those who’d witnessed her moment of

insanity still stood around in clustered crowds, whispering.  She noticed a group of older ladies as she rounded the corner

near the hotel.   She froze when she overheard them buzzing wildly about today’s wedding.  They hadn’t seen her.

“I would have never thought it,” said Ms. Gillespie, an old spinster woman in

glasses, whose face was pinched so tightly in disapproval, Abby thought she must have just eaten a bad batch of horehound.  “Of course, with a mother like Clara McCallister it’s no wonder the girl has never learned to be a lady.” Her orange hair, pulled tightly into a bun, was accented perfectly by the simple brown dress she wore.

Abby ground her teeth together. Theyhadn’t understood her mother like she had.

“I wonder if Clay knows what his daughter is up to.” The large peacock feather in Mrs. Dalton’s hat tousled about

in the breeze.

“Of course, he does. A shotgun wedding if I’ve ever seen one.”

Abby didn’t see who’d made the last comment, but at the several tsking sounds

that came from the group, Abby lowered her head.   She should have suspected people would believe the worst.

Not wanting the women to know she’d been affected by their words or that she’d even heard them, she lifted her head high and stepped into sight, effectively cutting through the surreptitious entourage of simple gossip surrounding her.  As she passed them, some threw out their own words of ancient wisdom and others

scolded her for being so brash and

indiscreet.

Abby was surprised to see Mrs. Hutchinson among these ladies.  The oldmilliner did not usually associate with thegossipers in town.  A true lady of class,her hair was always in a perfect coiffeur,forever adorned in a stylish new hat, and

she carried a dainty black parasol at all times.  There was something real in her eyes that made others feel comfortable around her. Like she’d experienced loss and understood.

When Abby realized Mrs. Hutchinsonwatched her, she quickly turned away onlyto have the recent widow take her by theelbow and guide her away from thecrowd, toward her shop.

“Come with me, dear.   There issomething I think you should have on yourwedding day.”  Mrs. Hutchinson put her

arm   around   Abby’s   shoulders, encompassing her under a shawl, and escorted her around through the back doors of her small millinery business.

Abby had never cared much for the fancier parts of town.   She’d always

preferred to stay at the ranch, despite her mother’s objections, and on the rare occasions that she did come, she stuck to the church and the mercantile.

Mrs. Hutchinson’s little shop wasnothing like what Abby had expected.  Had she not seen the outside, she wouldbelieve she was in a quaint Englishcottage.

“Sophie, get some shortbread and punchfor the girl and I’ll require a spot of tea.”  Mrs. Hutchinson called to a small girl, ofno more than thirteen, sitting in the cornerchair, reading the latest
 
Harper’s Bazar
fashion magazine.   “And please get mycherish box from the dresser and bring itto me.”

“Yes, mum.” The young girl stood andrushed behind a curtain, laying the

magazine open on the floor.

Abby realized the kind, eccentric, old woman wanted to help her get ready for her impromptu wedding.

Mrs. Hutchinson set her black umbrella

in the corner.

“Tell me, dear, why on earth would a pretty young thing like you want to throw yourself into the arms of just any young man?   We always thought you would marry that young, good-looking Carson boy.   Jeremiah, I believe is his name.  Why not just marry him?”  She removed her shawl and gently laid it across the top of the charming woven couch.

Abby had always considered herself to be plain and was surprised at Mrs. Hutchinson’s compliment.  Jeremiah had, on occasion, told her she was pretty in her

own way, but she had known she would never be as pretty as
 
he
 
was.

She pulled herself from her thoughts and realized Mrs. Hutchinson awaited a

reply.  None came. How could she tell the woman that she had practically thrown herself at Jeremiah’s mercy the day before and he had rejected her, laughed at her impulsiveness, and had ridiculed her in front of the town.

“You weren’t there, were you?”

“Where, dear?” Mrs. Hutchinson eyed her with interest.

“At the church...” Abby couldn’t bring herself to say it. “Never mind. It’s not important.”

Jeremiah didn’t care about her.   He never had.  Abby understood that, but had been willing to overlook that for her

home.  When she’d told him about her bet with her father, his lip had turned up into a scowl and he’d told her that living in society for a time would help her to become the kind of lady he wanted for a wife.
 
No wife of mine is going to be out working on a ranch with the men.  It just isn’t right,
 
he’d said.

Abby replaced the unpleasant memory with the look on Cole’s face as he stood there, a perfect stranger, offering her his hand.  Her lips unwittingly curved into a smile.

“Please excuse me, Mrs. Hutchinson,” Abby said, realizing that the woman was expectant of further explanation, “was there something you needed from me?”

The elder woman smiled.

“I saw the looks on those women’s

faces when I passed them. Most of them must believe I am tainted in some way to have acted so rashly.  Why are
 
you
 
trying to help? You hardly know me.”

Motioning for Abby to sit in front of an intricately carved dressing table, Mrs. Hutchinson removed her gloves and picked up a beautiful ivory handled brush.  She began to stroke Abby’s tangled curls with gentle ease.

“Because dear, I recognize the makings of a good match when I see one.  Although, I must warn you that marriage isn’t always easy.   Oh, it can be wonderful to the right man of course, but just the same, there are adjustments that must be made...compromises.”

Abby was silent.

“How long have you known that young

man?”

“Not long.”  Surely the older woman had heard all the gossip.  She had to have known they’d only just met.

“You are a very lucky girl to be marrying into the Redbourne family, you know?” Mrs. Hutchison spoke as she fussed with Abby’s hair.

Abby   twisted   in   her   seat   and immediately regretted it as her locks were still entwined in the bristles of Mrs.

Hutchinson’s brush.  She returned to herface forward position.

“How did you know he was a—“

“A Redbourne, dear?”

Abby nodded.

“Your refreshments, mum.” Sophie setdown a silver tray on the small end tablenext to the vanity.

“Thank you, child.  And my box?”

“Right   away,   mum.”   Sophie disappeared again behind the curtain.

“You know them?  The Redbournes?”

Abby prodded, unable to keep theexcitement from her voice.  Something inthe woman’s reflection betrayed a deephurt, sadness of some kind.  It was then Abby remembered it had only been a fewmonths since the widow had lost herhusband.

“Forgive me.  I’m sorry for your recent loss,” Abby said with a twinge of guilt.

Mrs.   Hutchinson   gathered   another section of her hair and continued brushing. “I saw the way that young man looked at you before,” she said, effectively changing the subject.  “There was fire in his eyes and when you announced you needed a

husband, well...” she paused and clicked her tongue, “the look on his face became masked. Unreadable.  It could have been jealousy maybe or fury?  Disbelief?  You must be a very special girl indeed to incite such emotion in a man.”

“He doesn’t even know me,” Abby admitted.

“He looks just like his father did at that age.”

“You
 
do
 
know him. His family? His

father?”  Abby didn’t realize how much she needed to find some connection to the

man she was about to give her life to.

“It was a long time ago.  I will tell you about it someday.”   Mrs. Hutchinson patiently turned Abby back around and began pinning her hair.  She looked into the mirror, into Abby’s searching face and

offered a reassuring smile.   “If he is anything like his father, he is a good man.  But remember, even good men make bad decisions from time to time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Never you mind.   I’m just an old woman rambling on.  He will love you. And, in time, you will grow to love him— the man, not just the idea of him.”

Abby’s whole body seemed to relax at her words and she turned to face Mrs.

Hutchinson, who added some finishingtouches to her new coiffeur.   “He is

handsome, isn’t he?”

“Yes, dear.  Just like his father.”

Abby pinched her cheeks, her spirits noticeably uplifted.   Ms. Hutchinson handed her a small plate with a shortbread cookie and fruit tart.   Abby noticed a