Page 14 of The Rancher's Wedding

“Right,” Megan said, “but beyond that.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

Megan thought for a second before saying, “Do you think he’s capable of love?”

Estelle laughed. “Megan, my dear, he seemed to struggle to smile correctly. If you think you can make him love you, well, you may have quite a bit of work ahead of you.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Megan said, blushing. “I’m just suggesting that, perhaps, if he had a chance to clean himself up a bit, he might be quite the eligible bachelor himself.”

“Sure, Megan,” Estelle replied. “Sure.” Estelle knew Megan saw men as projects more than anything else. A man without a woman was just a block of marble, according to her. Megan’s plan was to go in and carve a proper husband out of it. For this, Estelle admired her friend. It took a good person to see someone’s potential, particularly someone hidden behind a layer of dirt and messy hair, as Jacob was. And, though Estelle didn’t quite see the attraction, she did like the idea of being sister to Megan.

However, with the state Jacob was in, it seemed unlikely that she’d be able to form him into a husband.

“Now,” Megan said, “how do you want to do your hair?”

***

Michael paced back and forth in his suit, waiting for the ceremony to start so that it could just be over with. Any other man might jump for joy to marry someone as pretty as Estelle, but it only made him more nervous. Why, he found himself asking, couldn’t she just be plain? Why did she have to be so beautiful? It would have made things so much easier.

Be strong, Michael, he thought to himself, clenching his fists as though they were his heart.

He would grow to appreciate Estelle, both for what she provided to the ranch and for her being another person for him to spend the days with, but she could never be a true love of his. That would only complicate things.

There was a knock at the door.

“Yeah?” Michael said.

The door opened, and it was somebody he hadn’t seen in so long he almost didn’t recognize him: Jacob. Not the person whom grief had taken over the past few years and who was living isolated in the cabin, but a man with a clean face and an approximation of a smile, dressed in a suit and looking presentable.

It almost brought a tear to his eye when he realized how much he had missed him.

“How do I look?” Jacob asked.

Michael wrapped his arms around him. “Brother,” he said, “you look fantastic.”

***

The ceremony was small, but so was Grafton Town. Even with that, most of the residents would rather be at the local saloon or gambling hall. Still, many of the elders came by to fill up the first couple of pews in the chapel.

There were also a few of the locals that Michael considered himself friends with, the ones that he would trade with and sell to, who helped keep his ranch in business. He wouldn’t call those relationships close, but they were pleasant enough people, who were always polite and knew his name.

He stood at the front of the chapel, by the preacher, looking at them, making brief eye contact, and smiling, making sure each one of them knew that they were noticed and that their showing up was appreciated.

Once Estelle entered the room and started walking down the aisle, he stopped paying attention to the guests. Michael couldn’t stop staring at his bride. Yes, that was the same woman who had arrived at his ranch earlier in the day, but, in her own way, she had undergone just as much of a transformation as Jacob had. The baffling thing to Michael, though, was that he didn’t realize that Estelle could look any better than he did when he first got sight of her.

She walked with an elegance, surefooted down the aisle—clearly comfortable in the dress, which was more than Michael could say for himself. He knew his outfit looked good, but there was something about it that didn’t sit right with him. It was almost like a costume and he was pretending to be someone he wasn’t.

Estelle seemed less a human at that point than an angel brought down from heaven. Maybe that was exactly what she was: it certainly would explain a thing or two. She walked toward the altar in slow motion, taking her time with each step.

Michael wondered if he was actually going to be able to kiss the bride. He wasn’t sure how these things truly worked, these bride-by-mail situations. How much like a real marriage was it? Wasn’t this all just ceremonial? Still, the kiss was part of the ceremony. He just had to remind himself that it didn’t mean anything.

Earlier, he had been uncomfortable kissing her hand. It felt like a work of art, so delicate that even just touching it could ruin it forever. Now, at the end of the ceremony, he might be expected to kiss her on the mouth—and the most amazing thing was he hadn’t even considered that before this very instance.

Which wasn’t to say he didn’t want to, just that he didn’t know if he could bring himself to do it. He could corral a herd of cattle or spend a day chopping wood and fixing wagons, but he didn’t know if he could move his face close enough to his wife’s face to kiss her.

At last, she made it to the altar, and he alternated between staring at her and looking away because he realized he was staring.

“We are gathered here today,” the preacher began, but Michael was too distracted to pay attention. He’d been to weddings before and knew the gist of what was going on. Instead, he was focused on his bride and how this moment would determine the rest of his life. Right now, in this moment, he had the opportunity to back out and tell Estelle that he was having second thoughts, then offer her train fare back to Philadelphia. Maybe that was what he should do. Maybe that was the right thing—not just for him or the memory of Lucille, but for her, too. She could do so much better than a man who only wanted her out of convenience for himself. There were probably plenty of men out there who would treat her right and shower her with riches. He didn’t know what she could possibly see in a rustic cattle herder like himself.

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