Cassandra climbed the stairs to the second floor. Four doors—two facing two—lined the short hallway, which was awash in light from a window at the opposite end. The upstairs smelled musty, as if the place needed to be aired out.
She knocked lightly on the first door that she came to. Hearing nothing from within, she swung it open. A small bedroom greeted her—one that hadn’t been used in quite some time, considering the dust on the bureau. She walked across the wood flooring, the heels of her shoes making a sharp sound with each step, and cracked open the window.
The next door revealed a man’s room in total disarray. Toiletries and two whiskey bottles littered the small table near the four-poster. A sweat-stained shirt hung from the tall column at the corner of the bed. Crumbs sprinkled across the tousled sheets. A layer of dust coated the lampshade on the table beside the bed. And the odor—oh, my!—like dirty socks.
A framed painting hung on the wall at the head of the bed. She recognized the subject immediately. Douglas as a young boy. He’d said that his mother painted. The thought brought the sting of tears to her eyes. This must have been his room.
Boots sounded on the stairs. She turned as Mr. Barker approached. “Who is staying here?”
“I moved a few things in. It made it easier to do the ledgers late at night in the study.” He looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time. “Guess it could use a good cleaning.”
The thought of him sharing the house with her was unnerving. Even with the more relaxed standards in the West compared to the East, surely it was not acceptable. It certainly was not acceptable to her. “Your work habits are commendable, but surely you can see my dilemma. I thought I’d be alone in the house.”
His bushy brows shot up. “It’s a mighty big house for just one person.”
Did he think this was his house? He certainly acted that way. Perhaps it was because he was Douglas’s relation. “Did my husband ask you to stay here, in what was his room?”
He hesitated.
It was just long enough that she knew Doug had done no such thing. “Really. You must move your things to your regular accommodations while I’m here.”
“Are you sure? You might feel safer with a man in the house.”
Did he know nothing of propriety? “It isn’t...proper.”
He frowned. “Guess I could move back to the foreman’s room for the time you are here.”
“Thank you,” she said tightly. “By nightfall, if you don’t mind.” Sure that the entire room would need to be scrubbed, she was about to ask who cleaned at the house when the front door slammed open.
“Cleve?” a woman called out in a singsong voice.
Cleve sighed. “Be right back. Something I got to take care of. Go ahead and look around.”
He strode down the stairs. “Where you been, Gertie?” he demanded. “You were supposed to clean up the place.”
A woman? Here at the ranch? Curiosity got the better of Cassandra, and she tiptoed to the top of the stairs. From her vantage point she could see the sliver of a woman through the stairwell. Her dark brown hair was pinned up in a loose knot, with strands falling down her face and sticking to her flushed cheeks. Her dress was simple, but it was the cut and the way she wore it that was quite suggestive.
“Just walking. What else is there to do on this ranch while everybody works and you ignore me? It’s plain boring around here.”
He lowered his voice. “I told you when Mrs. Stewart came, you had to head back to town. She’s here now. Upstairs.”
Gertie glanced up the stairs.
Quickly, Cassandra pulled back from view.
“So you are throwin’ me out just like that? What about my things?”
Cleve leaned in and whispered something in her ear.
The woman pulled back, giggling behind her hand. “All right then. See that you do. I could use a new hat too.”
“Catch a ride with Wolf. He’s taking the buggy out front back to the livery.”
Her eyes lit up. “Wolf! Oh, now, there’s a grand idea.”
Cleve pushed her gently but firmly toward the door. It closed, and Cassandra stepped back from the stairwell. A doxy! The man had entertained a prostitute right here in Douglas’s house. Probably even in his bed.
A moment later, Cleve came to the top of the stairs. He paused when he saw her standing there in the small hallway. His eyes hardened slightly. “I’ll get my things now.” He walked into the room he’d been using and began gathering up his clothing.
She stared after him, more than grateful now that Mr. Barker was moving back to the bunkhouse and Gertie was leaving. She didn’t want to contemplate whether he would have had the gall to entertain Gertie while she was here. She certainly hoped not.
For all his talk about spending all of his time preparing for her arrival since receiving her letter, she had yet to see even a fragment of that preparation.
Finally, she turned to look at the last two rooms. The first, a smaller room, appeared to have been a lady’s sitting room, or perhaps at one time a nursery. Light streamed through the south-facing window, and needlepoint covered the cushions on the chairs. The last room, attached by an adjoining door to the sitting room, opened into a large bedroom. Feminine doilies covered the small bureau and the back of a chair. A pretty pink, white and green braided rug looked as if it had barely been stepped on. A big four-poster stood with the head of the bed against one wall. The colorful quilt covering was a bright Flying Geese design in shades of pinks and greens that matched the rug.
She let out a sigh. What a comfortable, spacious room. This had to be the bedroom used by Douglas’s parents. Here, she felt a welcome that had heretofore eluded her. She could be at ease here. This is the room she would use during her visit.
She walked through the room and peered through the window. The view overlooked the front drive. A short space farther stood the corral and stable. Beyond that were two large pens separated by a wooden fence. One pen held a handful of cows and the other pen had five horses milling about and creating a dust plume. Farther still, cattle foraged lazily through a field of tall grass. And in the distance, water sparkled. Possibly a lake...or perhaps it was the river she had passed on the ride here. It was difficult to tell. With the exception of two windswept bluffs near the water, there was nothing to break the endless prairie and the beige and brown of an earth that was preparing for winter.
It was all so very different from her home. In Alexandria, even this late in the year, pristine sidewalks, cobblestone streets and courtyards overflowing with potted flowers and clematis vines climbing up wrought iron gates provided a feast of color for the eyes.
She turned away from the window, her throat tightening with emotion. The prairie had a beauty all its own, but without Douglas, it was a foreign place. He wanted her to stay here and learn to love the prairie as he did. But this could never be her home. Not without him.
Outside, a door shut, the noise drawing her gaze back to the glass pane. Mr.
