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. Wolf strode from one of the smaller buildings, his long, purposeful strides covering the distance to the buggy in the blink of an eye. He jumped into the conveyance with a catlike grace and grabbed the reins.
“Yoo-hoo!” the woman, Gertie, called out.
Cassandra couldn’t see her, but the woman’s voice came from below where Casandra stood. A moment later, Gertie ran from the porch to the buggy. After a brief conversation where Gertie did all the talking, Mr. Wolf nodded, then jumped to the ground on her side of the buggy. He assisted her up to the seat and then climbed up beside her and snapped the reins.
The thought of that woman riding back to town next to Mr. Wolf left a sour taste in Cassandra’s mouth. He’d done the neighborly thing—no more or less than anyone should have done. The woman certainly couldn’t walk all the way back to town. So why this sudden feeling of disappointment? Mr. Wolf didn’t owe her anything—no type of allegiance—just because he’d been a friend to her late husband. That would be ridiculous. So, what was the matter with her?
She looked across the yard, and as if to mirror her mood, a cloud scudded across the sky, blocking the sun. Here Mr. Barker—Cleve—had been welcoming and pleasant, yet there was something about him that she didn’t trust. He’d not had the sense to keep his personal life separate from his work, and he’d assumed that she’d welcome him staying in the large house with her. Perhaps he felt entitled because he was family, but that excuse sounded weak to her. He was still a stranger.
However, Mr. Wolf had been moody and gruff. Yet even in that moodiness there had been an honesty in what he’d said to her. He’d forced her to consider the other men who lived and worked here on the ranch. And there was something more—he’d acted worried about leaving her here even though, in the end, he’d done as she asked.
A moment later, Cassandra heard Cleve stomp down the stairs and out the front door. On his back he carried a sheet-wrapped bundle and now headed for a low-slung wooden building on the far side of the stable. He had acquiesced to her request, but he was obviously irritated and didn’t care if she knew it. He probably considered it a demotion to move from the main house to bunk with the other ranch hands, but he shouldn’t. He should have considered her feelings and her reputation to begin with. Her reputation would be in tatters if he stayed in the house—cousin or not.
She walked through the lower level—the parlor, Douglas’s office, which was also a library, the dining area and kitchen. She was at odds as to what to do next. It wasn’t yet noon. She couldn’t unpack until someone carried her trunk up the stairs. Should she explore the outbuildings? Start delving through the business ledgers of the ranch? Eventually, she would have to visit Doug’s grave site.
She hadn’t expected to feel Doug’s presence everywhere. It wrapped around her like the quilt on his parents’ bed. Arriving here was enough. Arriving... That was all she could handle for today.
She walked outside and settled onto the porch swing. A cool breeze rustled through the leaves of the large oak tree. The leaves had turned shades of gold and brown, mirroring the color of the tall grasses of the prairie. An old flowerbed, now devoid of anything but weeds and a few spiderwebs, edged the side of the house on each side of the porch steps. While she swung slowly back and forth, a tall, gangly man emerged from the stable and limped toward her. He was followed closely by two other ranch hands and then Mr. Barker.
She stood and walked to the front steps. She’d never been in charge of anything before, much less a ranch. A knot of nerves grew inside her stomach as she waited for the men to stop before her. Was it best to remain on the steps, higher than them? Or step down to level ground? Would they realize immediately that she knew nothing about life on a ranch? Wrapping her hand around the porch post, she leaned against it, relying on its solid strength to steady her.
Surprisingly, the gangly man with the limp arrived ahead of the others.
“Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Stewart. I’m Otis Klap, the cook and gardener.”
“How very nice to meet you, Mr. Klap.”
“Just Otis, ma’am. I’ve been here since the last Mrs. Stewart arrived with your late husband in tow.”
She felt the tug of the first genuine smile on her face in over a month. “You knew Doug, then? I’d like to hear your stories of him when he was little.”
Otis grinned up at her from the bottom of the steps. “He was all of eleven years old and full of vinegar, if you don’t mind my sayin’ so. I’m sure I can think of a story or two.”
The other ranch hands arrived then. One man whipped off his hat and murmured a polite welcome as Cleve introduced him. He was simply called Fitch—a stocky, bowlegged and, by the heavy sprinkling of gray in his beard, a good twenty years older than she. Beside him was Jordan Hughes, who was quite young—“barely into his whiskers” as her father would have said.
“I’m puzzled. I thought a ranch this size would take more workers.”
“Two of the hands are helping with the roundup at the Circle P, and another is riding the range here, keeping an eye on Rocking S cattle,” Cleve said. “They’ll stop in when they get a chance. I’ll make sure to introduce you when they do. Did you pick out a room?” he asked, changing the subject.
“The one with pink and green.”
“Figured you’d want that one, seeing as how it is the biggest. Jordan? Fitch? Carry Mrs. Stewart’s trunk up to the south room.”
The two men did as he’d instructed. When they returned, she thanked them.
“Ma’am?” Otis said. “We’re all real sorry to lose Mr. Doug. And...maybe this ain’t the best time to be askin’, but it’s been nigh onto a year now...” He hesitated.
“Go on,” she prompted.
“Well, what we want to know is if you are sellin’ the ranch and if we will be out of a job.”
Cleve stepped up to stand beside her. “Nobody has said anything about selling the ranch. Now, give the lady a chance to settle in before you pester her with your questions.” He moved to take her elbow.
But Mr. Wolf’s words had settled
