The Rancher's Wife

For that matter, if she shot anything much larger than a rabbit, how would she carry it home? Even if the mule would stand still while she draped a dead animal over its back, how could she lift a deer that high? She wasn’t even positive she knew how to dress one. She fought back a wave of panic and let the mule pick his own way through the drifts of melting snow.

Several hours later Elizabeth topped a low hill and found herself looking down at the ranch of her nearest neighbors. A two-story frame house stood in a grove of native cottonwood trees, its sides as white as new snow. Behind it was a proper barn—not like the one that housed her mule—and several pens made of unpainted boards. In the corral closest to the barn were horses and a couple of milk cows. Dotting the slopes on the far side were quite a few white-faced cattle, obviously the property of her rather affluent neighbors. The scene was as pretty as a picture in the books Elizabeth had left behind in Hannibal.

Without thinking, she smoothed her dark hair back into its bun and straightened her dress beneath her wool cloak. From the looks of the place, she felt sure their pantry was well stocked. She hated to have to ask for food, but she had no other choice.

By the time she rode into the yard, two barking dogs came to meet her, their tails wagging. Not far behind them was a tall man with broad shoulders and chestnut-brown hair. He smiled at her. “Afternoon, ma’am. We don’t get many visitors out here.”

Elizabeth found it difficult to speak. His eyes were a warm brown and his skin tanned by the sun. Despite his size, his voice was gentle and held a hint of what she thought might be a Texas drawl. When she realized she was staring at him and hadn’t spoken, a blush rose in her cheeks. Quickly, she looked away for a moment, then said, “Hello. My name is Elizabeth Parkins. We’re neighbors.”

“We are?” He looked puzzled. “I didn’t know anyone had settled around here.”

“We live up the hills from here. On the place that used to belong to Mr. Snodgrass.”

“Snodgrass?” Understanding lit his face. “Do you mean Old Zeb’s gold mine?”

“That’s the place,” she said with a sigh.

“Come in and warm up. My wife will be pleased to meet you.” He grinned up at her. “My name, by the way, is Brice Graham.” He held the mule so she could dismount.

She couldn’t help but notice that his dark eyes were on her, not staring, not leering, but nevertheless not straying either. Breaking eye contact, she shifted the rifle from one hand to the other, not sure how she was going to gracefully get off the mule without dropping the gun. Unexpectedly, she found herself wondering why a graceful dismount was suddenly so important. The sound of her neighbor clearing his throat drew her attention, and when she looked back at him, he had extended a hand as if he might be intending to hold her at the waist to help her down. Before she allowed herself another thought, she thrust the rifle into his hand and hurried herself to the ground, almost losing her balance in the process. Feeling a bit awkward and unsettled at the direction her thoughts had been heading, she cast him a quick smile, then busied herself straightening her clothing again.

“Are you alone?”

She looked back at him and this time found his rather intent gaze unsettling in a way she didn’t dare examine. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she answered, “Yes. I was trying to shoot some game.”

“I see.” He tied the mule to the porch rail and motioned for Elizabeth to precede him up the broad front porch steps. “I believe you said ‘we’ live in Old Zeb’s place?”

“I’m married.” She almost winced at the admission. “My husband—his name is Robert Parkins—has gone to town for supplies. I’m alone at the present.” She hoped she didn’t sound too stilted. Robert was forever telling her she tried to put on airs. For some reason it was important that this man know she was married and not available. Or maybe all those thoughts were on her side alone.

As he opened the door for her, he said, “Forgive me for asking, but if your husband has gone to town, why are you having to hunt for food?”

Elizabeth stepped into the wide entrance hall and sighed with pleasure, distracted by the beauty of her neighbor’s home. Ahead of her a massive staircase curved gracefully up from the polished oak flooring of the foyer to the second floor and was flanked by wallpaper in a lovely floral design. To her right was a tastefully decorated parlor with garnet-colored upholstered furniture and small marble-topped tables. To her left was a library. A real one, like the ones in Hannibal. She automatically took a step toward it before she remembered herself.

“Ma’am?”

He had asked her a question. Elizabeth drew her dignity about her again. “Robert has been gone for weeks.”

“Glory is only a day’s ride from here.”

“I know. I’m not sure of the exact day he left. We have no calendar.” She had been recording the passage of time by making notches in a stick. Robert thought that was foolish, but she had been determined to hold on to whatever civilization she could.

Brice’s brow furrowed in concern. “Perhaps something happened to him. I’d be glad to send one of my men to look for him.”

“No, no. That won’t be necessary.” As much as Elizabeth hated being alone, she didn’t want anyone to go in search of Robert. Her husband’s temper wasn’t that even these days and he would resent her fetching him home like an errant child. Just the thought of him left her cold inside. “I imagine he’s doing business of some sort.” She supposed it could be loosely termed that if Robert was gambling. At least it was business for the saloon.

“Let me send some supplies home with you. That’s the least I can do.”

“I hate to oblige you.” It was true. Having to ask strangers for food and lamp oil was galling to her pride.

“I insist.” He smiled down at her and she felt the ice around her heart melt. “Come into the parlor and rest a bit. You must be tired. This gun isn’t light.” He stood the rifle in a corner of the foyer and showed her into the parlor.

The house had been decorated in a way Elizabeth thought would please any woman. The soft upholstery’s color was echoed in the rich draperies flanking the windows. White lace covered the glass panes, yet let sunlight stream through. The walls were light in color for a parlor but Elizabeth liked the idea of sitting among pink roses and twining vines. The parlor was separated from the dining room by portieres of gold damask with a deep fringe. “Your home is beautiful! Your wife has excellent taste. Have you been here long?”

“I was the first settler in these parts. Once I had the ranch established, I brought Celia here as my bride.” He saw a woman enter the far end of the hall. “Consuela, will you tell Celia we have company?”

The woman stared curiously at Elizabeth before hurrying away.

Elizabeth moved about the pador, trying not to behave as if she had never seen luxury before, but letting her senses drink in the rich fabrics, snowy laces and tatting, the clean smell of a room with a real floor.

She heard footsteps approaching the room and turned to smile at the woman who was entering the parlor. As Brice made the introductions, Celia’s gaze traveled over Elizabeth as if she wasn’t sure she wanted her in the best parlor. If Celia was glad to see a neighbor woman, she showed little sign of it. Elizabeth self-consciously touched her faded gingham dress.

“Do be seated,” Celia said coolly. “You’ll have to forgive my appearance. I didn’t expect company.”

“I didn’t intend to come calling,” Elizabeth said awkwardly. “I was hunting game and found your ranch by accident.”

Celia wrinkled her nose. “You hunt?”

Brice said firmly, “I knew you would be glad to meet our neighbors. You see? We aren’t as isolated as you would think.”

His wife gave him a dismissing glance. “I apologize for the state of my house. Brice had it furnished before I ever laid eyes on it, and you know what peculiar tastes men have.”

Elizabeth watched the exchange of veiled animosity and wasn’t sure how to reply. She settled for a silent smile. Eager to find a neutral subject, she said, “I see you’re expecting a child. Is this your first?”

Celia nodded vehemently. “It’s my only one. Do you have children?”

“No. We have no children.” She still felt guilty for not having borne a child after seven years of marriage. The years ahead would be so lonely without children in them.

“I’ll have Consuela gather some provisions for you,” Brice said. “You’re welcome to stay and visit for as long and as often as you like, Mrs. Parkins.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth replied.

When he was gone, Celia leaned forward to say, “It’s so nice to have a woman to talk with. I detest this place. It’s so lonely!”

Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, it is. This is nothing like I expected.”

“Nor I!” Celia looked gratified to hear someone agree with her. “Brice thinks it’s wonderful here but I would rather move back home. Wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t have much to go home to. There’s only my father, and he wouldn’t welcome me. You see, Robert and I eloped and he never forgave me.”

“He may have changed his mind and be unable to let you know. We get almost no mail in this awful place. Once this baby is delivered and I can travel again, I’ll go back home. Brice can follow or not, as he wishes.”

“I’ve often wanted to do just that! It’s amazing how alike we are.”

“I would say we have little in common. Brice thinks I’m terrible for wanting to leave. He’s keeping me here entirely against my wishes.” She glanced toward the door.

“Is he cruel to you?” Elizabeth whispered.

Celia rolled her expressive blue eyes. “I couldn’t begin to say what my life is like. I never knew a man could be so cruel. Mother was right when she warned me against him.” She sighed with dramatic misery. “How I’ve wished I could change the past and be a carefree girl again.”