Carol: Sweet Western Historical Romance (Brides of Archer Ranch Book 2) Read online

  Carol: Bride of Archer Ranch

  Cindy Caldwell

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Copyright © 2016 by Cindy Caldwell

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Copyright © 2016 by Cindy Caldwell

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  I must thank Marlene Larsen for sharing with me the story of the real Carol and her brothers. Thank you for trusting me with a life so sweet as Carol’s, and I’m thrilled she finally got her happily ever after!

  If you’d like to receive my new release alerts, special promos, giveaways and early release discounts, sign up for my mailing list at:

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  Chapter 1

  Carol Benson thought it was all in the past. Thought all the tragedy was behind her. Her new life in Tombstone, Arizona Territory, was grand, and she enjoyed every moment with her new sister-in-law, Saffron Benson—formerly Archer.

  But today, Saffron had asked one more time, gently as only Saffron could, and although Carol had looked away and not said a word, brushing a tear from her cheek, she’d remembered. More vividly than ever before.

  On that fateful day, the long, mourning whistle had jolted Carol out of the light sleep she’d fallen into. It took her a moment to get her bearings as she glanced around at her surroundings. The rhythm of the wheels beneath her had lulled her to sleep once more and as she woke slowly, she rubbed her hand against the soft, red velvet of her seat.

  In front of her, her stepmother’s head rested lightly on her father’s shoulder, his head against the glass of the train window. They slept peacefully, and Carol wondered if she would find the kind of love her father and stepmother had found—even the second time around—with the man she was on her way to meet.

  The orange glow of the morning sun spread slowly across the wide open plains, the twinkle of the last stars she’d see that night fading with its arrival. She sat up straight in her seat as a pack of wild mustangs ran alongside, not far out her window, and raced with the train.

  This was their first morning on the train and they’d be a ways on by now, she figured. The trip to Chicago would take several days altogether, and as she sank into the monotony of the trip, her excitement about meeting Dennis only heightened.

  She pulled herself up and stretched her legs, crossing the compartment as quietly a she could. Sleeping on a train was a bit of a challenge, and she welcomed the short walk of only a few steps. Her parents would wake soon, and from what her father had told her, they’d walk down for breakfast to the dining car. He’d said the food was excellent and as her stomach grumbled, she looked forward to a nice cup of tea.

  She reached up into the overhead compartment, flicking the brass switch and lifting the walnut door. She reached into the space and pulled open the small bag she’d filled with necessities for the trip, her fingers closing around what she’d been looking for.

  The train jerked and she steadied herself against the walnut panel beside her. When she’d regained her balance, she plopped back down on the red velvet opposite her parents, tilting her head as she watched them sleep.

  As she ran her hand over the red satin ribbon securing the stack of letters in her hand, she hoped that she and Dennis would be able to find a similar love, something equally peaceful. Her brothers back home didn’t know a thing about Dennis—she’d kept their correspondence private—but her stepmother knew and had encouraged her to come on the trip to Chicago to meet him in person.

  She slowly untied the ribbon and glanced at the neat scrawl of her name across the front of the top letter. It had become quite familiar by now, and she held it to her chest, closing her eyes. In her mind’s eye, she saw herself dressed in a ball gown, sparkling sequins lining the hem. Dennis reached out to her, his smile wide as he took her hand and spun her around, the sequins flashing in the light of the ballroom.

  South Dakota had been her home for many years, and this trip with her father and step-mother was her first time away from her home in South Dakota. She’d dreamed about what the city would look like many nights—the tall buildings, the paved streets, the people—but she was certain that this would be the last time she’d see wild mustangs in quite a while.

  She got one more peek at them out the window before the whistle blew and didn’t stop. Not in short bursts like before, but a long, constant wail that made her stomach churn.

  Her parents’ eyes fluttered as the whistle continued. Carol shoved the letters in her bodice and gripped the arm of the seat as the engineer applied the brakes of the train. Out the window, mustangs ran in all direction, some jumping and running in circles.

  She glanced at her father and Victoria, Victoria’s hands gripping her father’s arms. Victoria’s knuckles were as white as her own, her eyes as wide as she was sure hers were.

  “What is it, Carol?” she yelled over the din of the whistle.

  Carol took another look at the horses who were now running forward, alongside the train. She gasped at the mustang’s beauty as its long legs carried it forward at the speed of the train.

  Before she could answer, a horrible screech pierced the air—and her heart. Metal crashed against metal as the train car jolted and turned sideways, and the last Carol remembered was her father, his hand resting gently on his wife’s cheek as he said, “There, there. Everything will be all right. We’ll all be fine.”

  And for quite some time, it had seemed like a dream that she’d heard the doctor later say, “She’ll never walk again, but she’s lucky to be alive. Pity about her parents, though.”

  But it wasn’t a dream. It was all too real.

  Chapter 2

  Carol shook the memory from her head as she once again avoided Saffron’s request to tell her what had happened on the train and how she’d lost the use of her legs. She set to kneading the dough as best she could and remember to perform her daily task. In the time since the accident, she tried to remember to do it at least a few times a day. It only took a second, and she’d never told anybody that she still tried.

  She concentrated as hard as she could and wiped the flour off on her apron. She lifted her calico skirts and leaned back, peering under the table at her black boots.

  “Just one more time,” she said
under her breath as she closed her eyes and focused on her toes. In her mind, they wiggled, and she smiled. She could feel it.

  She opened her eyes and stared at her feet and her toes that—weren’t wiggling. They never did, but still she tried every day, hoping against hope that she might regain the use of her legs.

  She sighed and plunged her hands back into the dough, doing her best not to be discouraged, but her heart fell as it always did. She imagined that if she told anyone about her ritual they might laugh—or even become concerned, try to convince her to stop. But she tried anyway. She believed in miracles, and also in helping them along as best she could. And she may as well try. It wasn’t as if she had many other things to do.

  She sniffed at the dough, and with one more flexing of her hands turned it out from the bowl onto the kitchen table. Her step-mother had been a wonderful cook, and the dough reminded her of how the kitchen had smelled each day when she’d returned home from school. She’d always intended to learn, but Victoria always shooed her outside, and Carol never objected. She was happy to be outside, sharing chores with Adam and her two little brothers, staying out almost until sunset.

  She never thought her days of climbing trees or later walking into town in South Dakota would be over. But they were, on that fateful day, and as she looked down at her boots for confirmation, somewhere deep in her heart she knew that was never going to change. She’d never have her old life back.

  The dappled afternoon sun fell over the table, and the warm summer breeze ruffled the curtains as she shook her head and attended to her task. She took the knife and cut the dough into four even balls, just as Saffron had shown her to do months ago when she’d first learned. She shaped them into loaves and set them aside, close to the window so that they could rise and be ready when the boys got home from school and stoked the fire in the wood stove.

  “They’re beautiful. Perfect,” her sister-in-law Saffron said as she breezed through the swinging door of the kitchen and took off her bonnet, hanging it on the hook beside the window. “The boys will be thrilled.”

  Carol brushed back a stray lock of her blonde hair and looked at her hands, aware that her cheeks now must be white with flour. She might never get this quite right, but was glad for the opportunity to help out around the house after so many months of being treated like a porcelain doll.

  “I don’t think they’ll taste like yours, Saffron, but I do the best I can.”

  Saffron set down the bowl she was washing in the sink and turned around, her gaze intent on Carol. “You’ve learned so much in the past few months. How can you say that?”

  Carol looked up at Saffron’s frown. Saffron had been one of her biggest supporters since the day they’d met, and she hoped she didn’t sound ungrateful. In the recent months since her brother Adam had married Saffron and the Benson house had been more full with activity than ever, Carol had developed a nagging feeling in the back of her head that she should help more, do more. And Saffron had been more than willing to teach her. She was grateful, and didn’t want to sound as if she weren’t.

  And honestly, no one had ever really made her feel as if she was unhelpful, or in any way a burden. It was just a sense she had, fairly recently, and it just wouldn’t go away.

  So she tried hard, every day, to be as valuable as she could to the household, to the boys—to Saffron.

  “I didn’t mean anything by it, Saffron.” She brushed the remaining flour from the table into her hand and then onto the tops of the loaves of bread. She glanced down at her toes, knowing that if maybe one day they would wiggle, she might be able to help more, go out into the world and see more. “It’s just that I wish I could help a bit more. It’s not fair to you all to have to take care of me.”

  Sadness flickered over Saffron’s face as she pulled out a chair and sat beside Carol, reaching across and taking both of her hands. She looked her directly in the eyes as she squeezed and leaned forward.

  “Please don’t talk like that. You are our darling, Carol. There isn’t one person in this house who wouldn’t do just about anything for you. You know that.”

  Carol closed her eyes and took a deep breath, squeezing Saffron’s hands in return. Saffron was one of the best friends she’d ever had, and she knew she meant what she said. Still, she couldn’t stop the nagging in her head that they might deserve better—all of them—than to have to take care of her all the time.

  Saffron turned toward the window, her eyes bright as Adam guided his horse through the gates in front and up the drive. Carol couldn’t help but smile, too, as Saffron was still so happy every time she saw Adam. And he, her. Their smiles were almost infectious, and Carol shook her head at how lucky they both were to have met and married. They were perfect together. Well, they were now anyway, even if they weren’t when they’d very first met.

  Carol glanced at Saffron and laughed as she watched her pinch her cheeks and smooth her apron over her soft, yellow dress. Ah, newlyweds.

  Saffron looked up and caught Carol’s eye, blushing so much more that she needn’t bothered pinching her cheeks. She patted Carol’s shoulder as she headed toward the parlor to greet Adam. “Someday you’ll be the same, and we’ll be teasing you instead.”

  Carol stared after Saffron as the door swung behind her. Married? She frowned and shook the thought out of her head. She’d had a beau once, before the accident, and had also carried hopes of marriage in her heart.

  She leaned toward the door, straining to hear the muffled voices on the other side of the kitchen door. Saffron laughed, but her voice grew quiet after her brother, Adam, said something to her, equally quietly. Her cheeks burned and she squirmed in her seat, wishing she could stand and walk outside, giving them some privacy.

  The kitchen door swung open and her brother’s hat hit the hook as he tossed it. It always made her laugh when he did that, and he did it more and more since Saffron had been around.

  When she looked up to greet him, though, she wasn’t met with his usual smile. She wasn’t exactly sure what his expression was—not happy, exactly, but not upset. Concerned, maybe? He held an envelope in his hand and turned it over a few times. He looked up at Saffron, who stood silently, her hands clasped in front of her white apron.

  Carol frowned as Saffron nodded at Adam and he cleared his throat, crossing over to the table and sitting on the chair Saffron had recently vacated.

  “What is it, Adam?” Carol asked. Whatever it was that he was concerned about, she wanted to know.

  Adam set the envelope on the table in front of him and leaned back in the chair. He rubbed the back of his neck and he looked up at his wife. She nodded once again, and he turned his clear, blue eyes the color of her own back to her and slid the envelope across the table.

  “For you,” he said as he leaned his elbows on the table.

  “What is it?” Carol asked, her hands still in her lap. These two were acting oddly, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to touch it, let alone read it.

  “Go on.” Saffron rested her hand on Carol’s shoulder and squeezed.

  Carol picked up the envelope and turned it over, a familiar shudder passing over her.

  “Oh, my goodness,” she said as she set it back down on the table. “It’s from Dennis.”

  Chapter 3

  The white lace curtains of Carol’s bedroom fluttered as they had been most of the night. The full moon finally had crossed the sky and fallen behind the mountains to the west, cast in the glow of the imminent sunrise. At the first chirp of the morning, Carol finally gave up all attempt at sleep and reached for the letter from her former beau on the bedside table.

  She held it to her chest for a moment before pulling herself up and leaning against the oak headboard. She hadn’t been able to sleep one wink, and knew she’d been uncharacteristically quiet all through dinner, her stomach in knots.

  Carol pulled herself up against the headboard and looked around her room, glad it was small. She’d been able to make do for the most part since she’
d had her accident, although she’d had to rely on the kindness of her family. Since Saffron had arrived, it had been even a little bit easier. Saffron had moved in and taken over the household as any new wife would and Carol was glad that she had.

  She reached for the brush on her nightstand, took off her nightcap and brushed out her long, blonde hair. Saffron had taken to laying out her clothes the night before and it had been one more thing just to make her life easier.

  In those ways, arranging her room so that things were within arm’s reach, she felt a little more confident. She reached down and pulled on her black boots. The button hook was nearby also, thanks to Saffron, and she was able to completely get ready for breakfast on her own. She almost couldn't remember what it had been like when she’d had to rely on Adam and the boys. But at the same time, she knew she certainly wasn't able to take care of a household on her own the way Saffron did.

  She smiled at the familiar handwriting and her heart leapt at how excited she’d been all those months ago when she'd received any correspondence from him at all. Her stomach fluttered even now as she wondered why he might be corresponding. Might he come to Tombstone? Her head had spun as she’d imagined what that might be like—how she would be sitting in the parlor and wouldn't even be able to stand to greet him. She shook the thought out of her head as Luke rapped on the door and said, "Carol, are you ready for breakfast?"

  She set the button hook down on the nightstand and took a deep breath. Saffron would be waiting in the kitchen and she knew she'd want to know.

  "I'm ready, Luke."

  She looked up at Luke's broad smile as he entered the room. She couldn't help but return it. He’d been so very good to her since the accident, and even before. She knew she was fortunate to have such a loving family. Maybe Dennis would feel the same way, that her condition wasn’t an overwhelming burden.

  She wrapped her arms around Luke's neck as he swooped in, lifting her up and spinning her around once before heading out the door. "Why so glum today, sister?" Luke asked as he backed into the kitchen with Carol in his arms. Saffron looked up from the wood stove as she stirred eggs, her wooden spoon held in mid-air for a moment. "There she is," Saffron said as she reached up into the cupboard for plates. “Are you all right?”