Walker's Wedding Page 8

  “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.

  Chapter Twelve

  The 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 sa
ddlebag 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.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sarah stepped out the back door that evening, drawing her wrap tighter around her shoulders. The air had cooled tonight, reminding her of Boston. Martha had included this beautiful soft wrap as a wedding present with the first dress she’d finished, and Sarah was thankful for its warmth.

  Somewhere nearby, a wild animal called to its mate. Wolf? Coyote? Ordinarily she’d be curious to learn the source, but tonight she was just too tired to care. Sinking down onto the porch swing, Sarah thought about the long, exciting week, the wedding, then the days following when she’d acquainted herself with the rules and ways of ranch life. Papa would be quick to tell her she’d made her bed and now she’d have to sleep in it, but what a lovely bed it was. Walker was still detached in his new role, but she hoped that would change.

  A smile raised the corners of her mouth and she shivered from thoughts of the tenderness Walker showed in the marriage bed. He was mindful of her innocence. She knew little of a man’s way, but Wadsy had told her that all men were not alike. Some were good, and others were just plain inconsiderate. But not Walker. He was perfect.

  Afraid he might read her thoughts, Sarah quickly looked away when the screen door creaked and her husband walked out. He paused, gazing up at the star-studded sky.

  “Thought you’d be in bed by now.”

  “No.” She fussed with her wrap, determined to ignore the powerful set of his shoulders. “Care to join me?” She patted the seat beside her. “It’s a lovely evening.”

  “I didn’t plan on staying out long. Just needed a breath of fresh air.”

  “Please. Sit.” She scooted aside, making a place beside her. He eased down, the swing creaking beneath his added weight. The aroma of soap and the sunshine scent of his freshly ironed shirt drifted to her. Flo took care with his clothing, pressing each garment with a hot iron. Sarah had stood before Walker’s open closet for a long time that morning, familiarizing herself with her husband’s taste. He liked blue, with just a hint of starch in his collars. Denims were his choice of work clothes, but for social occasions he favored khaki, white shirts, and brown suits. Walker McKay was fastidious about his appearance, and that suited her fine.

  The swing moved quietly back and forth. Moonlight bathed the honeysuckle trail along the front porch. Sarah could see a light burning in the bunkhouse. She’d yet to become friends with the ranch hands, but she would make it a goal to get to know them all soon. She intended to be a vital part of her husband’s life in every way.

  “Are you settling in comfortably?”

  Sarah shifted at the sound of his voice, pulling her back to the present. “Yes, thank you. As long as I stay out of Flo’s way.”

  “I take it you haven’t had much experience in the kitchen.”

  “No…well, a little.” She’d watched Will cook. And Wadsy had tried to teach her the finer arts of homemaking, but the lesson had not sank in. She much preferred reading magazines, wedding notices, or stories about faraway lands. Someday she wanted to go to Ireland, but Papa was always too busy to travel. Once he’d promised to take her, but he never had, and he had frowned on her going alone.

  “I thought your letter said you cooked,” Walker said.

  “I do. A little.” Very little.

  “It doesn’t matter. Flo is going to be rattled if you don’t let her take care of the house and meals.”

  Sarah didn’t intend to move in and abolish Flo’s position in Walker’s home, but she would like the freedom to consult with the housekeeper about food and furniture placement. She wanted to fit in, and part of fitting in meant being a wife and performing wifely duties, but she also knew she couldn’t storm in and demand that everyone change for her. Eventually Flo would allow her into the kitchen, and she’d be careful not to overstep her bounds.

  The hypnotic sound of the creaking swing blended with the sounds of the early spring evening. This is what I’ve wanted all my life. Husband and wife enjoying each other’s company at the end of the day. And soon, if the good Lord blessed them, there would be three of them. A real family. Her life was finally perfect—with the exception of two small, niggling doubts. What she’d done was deceitful. And poor Papa. She must write the letter informing him of her marriage, but to do so meant telling Walker of her deception, and she wanted to be very sure there would be no retribution when she confessed her ploy. Fear that he would find the silly switch anything but what it was—a solution to everyone’s problems—troubled her. He did not seem the type of man to find a ruse amusing. The lie was the only fly in an otherwise blissful ointment. Papa would forgive her peccadillo, but would Walker forgive her? Especially after Trudy’s deception?

  “Nice evening.”

  “Yes, lovely.” Certainly he must be tired. He’d left the house shortly after sunup and hadn’t returned until supper. Flo said Walker wasn’t afraid of work. Like his father before him, he put in twelve to fourteen hours a day.

  “Are you tired?” she asked.

  “Tired?”

  Color flooded her cheeks, so aware was she that the question sounded more like an invitation than casual conversation.

  “I know you work very hard.”

  He smiled. “Are you?”

  “Somewhat.”

  “Is this another one of the new dresses?” His fingers lightly toyed with a lock of her hair, playfully tugging it.

  “Do you like it?”

  “It’s real flattering on you. Will you wear it to church in the morning?

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  Sarah sighed with contentment. If she hadn’t met Lucy Mallory, she would be in New York now, hiding from Papa and searching for a man who filled her dreams and expectations. God had dropped Walker McKay in her lap.

  Turning, she smiled. “It is getting late,” she whispered. “And you do need your rest.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sarah decided that no time was to be wasted arranging her first McKay social. She couldn’t wait to plan her first husband-wife event for the ranch.

  The day before the party, Flo invited her back into the kitchen on a limited basis.

  “
Darlin’, you’re trying too hard. If you’ll let me do the work and just help instead of taking over, we’ll move faster.”

  Today the two women were baking apple pies. Flo tried teaching Sarah how to make a crust using flour, a pinch of salt, lard, and a little water. Sarah’s attempts turned out tough and doughy compared to the light and flaky works of art Flo eased from the oven. With each failed attempt, Sarah grew more flustered. She had watched Will prepare everything from tea biscuits to roasts. How could a simple piecrust defeat her?

  “No, no, no.” Flo stopped slicing apples and reached over to where Sarah was attempting to roll out another batch of crust. “You’re pressing too hard. The crust won’t be thick enough.” The housekeeper confiscated the rolling pin and ran the pin back and forth until the dough was the right thickness. “I never saw the likes. Didn’t your mama teach you how to cook?”

  “Not really.” Actually, she’d never seen her mama cook a single dish. Will had cooked for the family forever. She sighed. “I want to be a good cook for Walker, but maybe I’m just not made for cooking.”

  “Don’t give up. Cooking takes time and practice.” Flo handed her the pin and returned to the apples. “You need to relax and enjoy your marriage. In time everything will fall into place.”

  “I’m trying, but it seems like I’m going backward instead of forward.”

  “Why don’t you take a little break? Maybe if you took a nice walk, you’d feel better. When you come back, we’ll start over.” Flo pushed a bowl of bruised apples across the table. “Stop by the barn; the mares will appreciate a treat. There’s nothing they like better than apples, and gettin’ out of the kitchen for a few minutes will do you good.”

  Sarah had the strong feeling it would do Flo even better. She formed her apron into a cradle and Flo dumped several apples into it. Sarah smiled. “I suppose I could check on Diamond.”

  “She’s with foal, isn’t she?”

  “Yes. She was bred late so she has a few more weeks yet.”