Page 10 of The Rancher's Wedding

Out his window, he saw a cloud of dust off in the distance. Was it the women, or was it just a gust of wind? As the cloud grew bigger, he saw the top of a wagon and the pair of horses pulling it.

His normally steady hands were shaking as he watched them come up the road. Could she possibly live up to the promise of her picture? Either way, he had to remind himself, this wasn’t about love. This was about convenience, and even someone plain would be wonderful to have so long as she could help a bit with the work and offer him up some conversation to temper his loneliness.

And, yet, it felt like it was about more than that. During the past few months, Michael had felt a sense of hope build up inside of him. He’d long ago dismissed falling in love again. Love was just something to tell kids about in storybooks and treat as the greatest thing in the world. But, to the extent that love existed, it was a powerful thing, and that made people extremely vulnerable.

The fire had left Michael with burns across his face, visible as scars even years later, but they’d healed. What hadn’t healed was the emptiness he felt in his heart. Yes, it was the fire that had done that, but it was love that had allowed him to feel the unimaginable pain that Michael now knew would never go away.

He’d found himself looking at her picture over the previous weeks and every time he did, he felt his heart flutter and he had to remind himself not to fall victim to romance. Human beings were too delicate to love. Michael felt love was best served for things like the outdoors or a day’s hard work, things that weren’t going to go away anytime soon. But people were mortal, and if two of them fell in love, at least one of them would end up hurt.

Those thoughts steadied his hands somewhat. Estelle would just be a companion and, although she would be his wife, it would not be a marriage based on love, no matter how beautiful she may be. Their relationship would center on a shared love of the ranch and all the things associated with it and, in that, they would find common ground. And that was enough.

It was just about noon now, judging from the sun, which he figured would give him plenty of time to introduce himself and get ready for the ceremony tonight, back in town.

He walked toward the approaching wagon and waited outside as the driver assisted the two women out.

Estelle’s friend came out first—her maid of honor.What was her name again? Megan, that’s right.

Michael offered a smile and a nod. “Good afternoon,” he said.

“Good afternoon, sir,” Megan replied. “It’s quite beautiful out here.”

“Yes, it certainly is.” Michael suspected it was about to get even more beautiful. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

Estelle’s foot came out first. A delicate thing in heeled boots, laced up to well beyond the bottom of her dress. They wouldn’t do for ranch work, but Michael had to remind himself that this was a city girl. Anorphanedcity girl. He supposed that, in the city, even orphaned women got fancy shoes.

The dress itself was a faint pink, full of frills, and so large that it was a wonder it could even fit inside the wagon. Pretty, no doubt, but out of place in the dusty Utah farmland. They’d probably have to pick her up some new clothes when they went back into town later, though maybe that would have to wait until tomorrow. It seemed a strange thing to worry about clothes shopping on their wedding night, even if it wasn’t much more than a formality.

Her arm came out next, carrying a parasol umbrella in her white-gloved hand, and Michael thought to himself that at least she brought something to help prepare her for the environment. It wouldn’t do a whole lot, what with the way the sun reflected off the sand, but at least it was something.

He wasn’t one to judge, though, because just like she didn’t properly prepare herself for the desert sun, he hadn’t properly prepared himself for her face, with her soft, pursed lips and delicate light features. Which was to say nothing about her eyes, which she had noted in her first letter, but didn’t nearly do justice. He could have written pages and pages on just her eyes, the beauty of which couldn’t be properly recreated in any photograph.

When she turned her head and looked right at him, he thought he might dissolve right there into dust.

He didn’t, though. Instead, he offered her an awkward smile and said, “Estelle? I’m Michael,” as he internally reminded himself that this was a marriage of convenience and nothing more.

Blushing, she looked down toward her feet as they touched the ground.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, offering her hand.

What was he supposed to do with it? Michael thought. Her hand lay there floating, somewhat limp, not offering a handshake.

Was he supposed to kiss it, like in the pictures? He worried about getting dirt on her pristine gloves, but if she was going to live out here, they wouldn’t remain white for very long.

With the very tips of his fingers, he took her hand, leaned forward, and gave it the gentlest of kisses.

“Madam, I assure you: the pleasure is all mine.”

Chapter Four

Estelle felt like a fish out of water. She felt like everybody was staring at her even though there was nobody there except for her, Megan, and Michael. And, of course, the wagon driver, who took off once he had unloaded their bags.

It was difficult to believe that this was Michael in the flesh. She’d seen his picture before, squinting at it in an effort to possibly make out more of his features, but there was always something that struck her as unreal about him. The picture felt more like a crude drawing than an actual person.

Now he was here, though, right in front of her. So real that she could actually touch him. He did touch her, when he took her hand and brushed his lips against the back of it.

She noticed the scarring on his face. It was difficult to miss and perhaps that was why he’d sent that particular picture. He was still a very handsome man (even more so if she had thought to compare him to Ethan, who, at that moment, was the furthest thing from her mind) and, in fact, the scars gave him a rugged quality that sent her heart pounding. It was strange how sometimes supposed imperfections could make things better.

He also wore a hat that suited him quite well, over casual but tidy clothes that must have been cleaned especially for their arrival. The giveaway was Michael’s boots, made of dark leather that had faded in the sun and collected their share of scuffs.

---