Chapter Eight

Two days later Sarah ran her hand across the large four-poster with its dark, masculine-looking spread. In a few hours she would be sharing it with Walker McKay. Her heart thrummed against her rib cage as Flo stuck the last few hairpins in place. Finally, it had come. Today was her wedding day. The day she’d dreamed about from the moment she was old enough to whisper the words “I do.” Sadness momentarily washed over her. She’d always thought Papa would walk her down the aisle, that Wadsy would look on, beaming. Will would cook for days, and… No matter. She would write tomorrow and inform Papa of the wedding. No doubt he would bring Wadsy and Abe to visit. And soon, she hoped, he would adore his grandchildren. Dote on them. She was doing the right thing.

After sliding another pin into place, Flo loosened a few strands of hair. “There. That softens your face.”

Sarah caught a glimpse of herself in the long mirror. Her eyes shone with barely contained impatience as she prepared to take vows that would forever bind her to a man she hardly knew. She was marrying a complete stranger, yet she felt as if she’d known him forever. He barely glanced at her each morning, despite her efforts to converse. That didn’t prevent her from loving the way one lock of unruly hair fell across his forehead at the oddest times.

Stepping back to inspect her handiwork, Flo beamed. “You’re about the prettiest thing I ever laid eyes on.”

“Thank you, Flo. Will Walker think so?” Sarah hadn’t seen her husband-to-be all day, and only briefly the day before. Flo said Walker and S.H. were busy mending fence. Sarah had awakened this morning to the sound of shouting voices outside her window as the last of the sawhorse tables were erected in the yard and tablecloths and decorations were arranged. The day was mild. Five hours later, here she was, preparing for the nuptials while S.H. was busy a few doors away getting Walker ready for the big event.

Bending closer to the mirror, she asked, “Are you sure I look all right?” Lucy’s gown was simple, yet it fit as if it had been made for her.

“You’ll be the prettiest bride this county’s ever seen. Any man would be proud to have you as his wife. You’re so much prettier than—” Flo broke off, color dotting her cheeks.

Sarah turned to look at her. “Than who?”

“Than Ettie Mae Simpson’s daughter. That’s a plain girl. Even a fancy weddin’ dress couldn’t help her.”

Sarah had hoped the answer would be “prettier than Trudy.” Outside the help continued setting up for the reception following the ceremony. Walker insisted that he would take care of that part, and Sarah hadn’t argued. She hadn’t argued when he said he wanted to take care of the invitations. This was his town and his people. She took hope he was thoughtful enough to want to arrange the festivities of their wedding. “It’s going to be a beautiful ceremony,” she said softly.

“Hold still,” Flo complained around a mouthful of pins.

Sarah spun around. “Do you think his friends will like me?” Other than the ranch hands, and S.H. and Flo, she hadn’t met anyone in his life.

Walker’s extensive guest list proved that he was popular among the families who lived in the area. Until today he had been one of the state’s most eligible bachelors. The flurry of arriving guests downstairs caught her attention. She glanced at the clock, surprised that people would be arriving nearly an hour before the wedding was scheduled to begin. She finished dressing to the sound of friendly voices as men, women, and children entered the house and were greeted by ranch hands and servants.

A bubble of panic erupted in Sarah’s stomach. She really was about to marry a complete stranger. Had she lost her mind? Flo brought the wedding dress, and then both women lifted it high over Sarah’s head, careful not to disturb her hair. Sarah’s uncertainty faded as Flo fastened the long line of buttons up the back of the dress. Hooking the last fastener, the housekeeper paused for a moment and both women admired Sarah’s reflection.

“Simply beautiful.”

“Every bride is beautiful on her wedding day.”

Flo snorted. “Ettie Mae’s daughter won’t be.”

Downstairs, the voices grew louder as guests continued to arrive. Above the din, Sarah heard a door open down the hall where S.H. was helping Walker into his wedding attire.

“Flo?” S.H.’s loud voice cut through the noise. Flo rolled her eyes and stepped over to open the door.

“What?” she yelled back.

Sarah grinned at the exchange.

“She still here? Walker says he’s not puttin’ this blame coat on till he’s sure she’s—” Flo slammed the door shut before S.H. finished his inquiry.

Sarah stared at Flo questioningly.

“It may not be Walker, honey. It could be S.H.’s misplaced sense of humor. You know how he likes to tease. Don’t fret your pretty head none.” Flo rearranged a stray hairpin, securing it more tightly. A moment later Sarah got up. She wasn’t sure what that exchange had been about, but she wouldn’t let it ruin the day. Putting on a pair of slippers, she sighed. What was she worried about? In less than an hour she would be Mrs. Walker McKay and her worries would be over.

Flo took her by the shoulders when she straightened. “Be patient with him, young’un. Walker is a good man, but you’ve got to bear in mind that he is a man, and sometimes he’s going to be stubborn and occasionally he’ll seem blind.” Her knowing eyes filled with wisdom. “Things might not always be the way you want at first. There’ll be days when you wonder how you ever got into this mess, but you’ll have to remember that Walker’s been a bachelor a long time and been real hurt by a woman, and that’s still stuck in his craw. Things’ll work out, but you’re gonna need the patience of Job.”

“I’m used to hardheaded men. Papa is as stubborn as ragweed,” Sarah said. Oh, Papa, I wish you were here to see me marry. I love you. Please forgive what I’m about to do. And dear Lord, I’m going to need your understanding too.

She didn’t expect the marriage to go smoothly at first. There would be awkward moments, especially when she told Walker the truth—but that moment would come later. Sarah couldn’t think of a single thing that could spoil this day, short of the wedding not happening at all. Walker could relax. She wasn’t going anywhere but down those stairs at the appointed time.

The two women turned when they heard the door down the hall open again. Sarah held her breath until two pairs of booted footsteps echoed toward the stairs. She glanced at Flo.

“Just remember, honey, it’s your wedding day no matter how unusual it appears. The good Lord is watchin’ after you.”

Sarah frowned. What an odd statement. Unusual? The housekeeper clucked as the clock in the hall chimed, signaling the appointed hour. Sarah straightened, holding still as Flo adjusted the crown of flowers around her forehead. “You go out there and take away their breaths, young’un.”

Midafternoon sunshine streamed through the stained-glass window at the end of the hallway when Sarah stepped out of the bedroom with Flo carrying her train. The musicians struck up a tune and Sarah paused, cocking an ear to identify the song. It wasn’t the wedding march. She crept down the hallway, Flo close behind. Her petticoats rustled as she halted at the top of the stairs, drawing a deep breath. Laughing voices floated up the staircase, and boots scraped back and forth across the floor. Music swelled as she stepped down onto the top stair.

“Remember,” Flo whispered, “don’t let nothin’ bother you today. It’ll get better, given enough time.”

Sarah glanced over her shoulder with a hesitant smile. Was that “Turkey in the Straw” the musicians were playing? Gathering her skirts around her, she continued her descent.

Halfway down, Sarah paused again, shocked at what she saw below. People dressed in everyday muslins and calicos were milling about with cups of punch in their hands. Others danced, unaware that the ceremony had begun. There must be a mistake. The reception was never before the wedding.

She spotted a group of men talking and laughing with a man wearing a black collar. The clergy—but his Bible was nowhere in sight. He seemed to be in the middle of a funny story. Shouldn’t Walker tell him the service was starting? Shouldn’t he know? Where was Walker, anyway?

She stepped down another two steps, assessing the crowd. Walker was coming toward her, hurrying to meet her at the bottom of the stairs. Now whispers made their way around the room, and people paused midsentence to stare.

The lead fiddler spotted Sarah, his bow dropping to his side while he looked on. Walker reached her at the steps as the music died away.

The silence became deafening. Sarah’s eyes met bewildered gazes, all equally speechless. The musicians lowered their instruments to their laps.

“Keep movin’, darlin’,” Flo said, nudging her forward. Sarah started, forgetting for a moment that she was the bride—the center of attention. Her feet seemed to be frozen in place.

Walker attempted a smile but failed. Instead, he extended his arm with a hopeful look.

Navigating the final two steps, she slipped her arm through his, murmuring under her breath, “Why are they looking at me like that?”

“Keep walking. I’ll explain later.”

“Hey, Walker, who’s the bride?” a voice called from across the room.

“Is this a wedding? You should have warned us this was gonna be a dress-up occasion. I’da worn my Sunday suit,” a second male voice chimed in.

Sarah heard her own soft intake of air. Her heart raced as Walker maneuvered her through the crowded room.

“They don’t know, do they.” Don’t panic. You know it will take time for him to warm to you—but he hadn’t told his neighbors? How did they know to come?

“They’re starting to suspect.”

Obviously he wanted to make certain the bride showed up this time. She stiffened and willed her feet to keep moving. It didn’t matter. The bride was here and more than able to overlook the slight. So what if folks didn’t know they had come to a wedding? They knew now. The handsome couple drew closer to the stone fireplace, and faces gradually melted away until there was no one in the world for Sarah but Walker McKay.

She couldn’t ask for a better man than he. Young, brash, wildly handsome, strong, smart, and ambitious. The road to matrimony had been long and at times seemingly endless. But now she knew what Wadsy had meant when she had said, “When that one man show up, baby girl, you gonna feel it clean down to your toes.”

Well, Wadsy, what I feel at this moment goes clean down to China.

Smiling, she tightened her hold on Walker’s arm and whispered, “Coward.” She caught his boyish grin from the corner of her eye.

“Invited the preacher, didn’t I?”

“Does he know he’s about to officiate at a wedding?”

“He will soon enough.”

Walker and Sarah stopped before the clergyman. Though smiling, the older man looked a bit confused.

“Got your Bible with you, John?”

“Er…why, it’s in the buggy. Do I need it?”

“Yes, sir. We’re about to have a wedding.”

Cheers broke out as the startled preacher quickly made his way out of the room. Well-wishers gathered around Sarah, vying for introductions. Walker accepted good-natured backslaps and ribbing, his tanned face flushed by all the excitement.

“Didn’t think you had it in ya, son!”

Women voiced mock complaints about how they weren’t able to show off their newest dresses. Sarah promised there would be many more McKay parties in the future.

“There will be?” Walker asked as she passed him on her way to greet a group of women her age.

“That’s all right, isn’t it?” She hadn’t thought to ask him, but the McKay house was big and roomy, ideal for community socials, and she loved to entertain. The Livingstons’ Christmas parties had always been the talk of Boston.

Reverend John Baird returned with his Bible prominently tucked beneath his arm, and the rather unconventional festivities began.

“Good friends, we delight in the marriage of…uh…” The preacher paused and then leaned close to Sarah. “What’s your name, dear?” he whispered.

“Sarah,” she quietly replied. “Sarah Elaine Livingston.”

“…in Walker and Sarah’s marriage today, and let us never forget the seriousness of the vows this couple is about to exchange.”

The crowd quieted. It wasn’t the marriage Sarah had dreamed about. Outside the window, ranch hands turned roasting meat over open spits. Household help shooed hungry hands away from the steaming bowls of corn and parsley potatoes lining the long rows of cloth-covered tables. The smell of baking bread drifted in from the kitchen while children scampered about on the lawn, kicking a ball as Sarah and Walker repeated their simple vows.

The McKay parlor wasn’t the church she’d attended since birth. And there weren’t a lot of flowers, just a bouquet of winter berries that someone—probably Flo—had placed on the parlor table. Wadsy, Abe, and Papa weren’t here to share this moment, their eyes brimming with love. But it was her wedding day—the happiest day of her life—and she would do everything within her power to erase the uncertainty in Walker’s voice, the haunted look in those blue eyes. It wouldn’t happen today or tomorrow, but in time he would love her. There was no doubt about that in her mind.

“Do you, Sarah Elaine Livingston, take Walker Edward McKay to be your husband?”

“I do.”

“Do you, Walker Edward McKay, take Sarah Elaine Livingston to be your wedded wife?”

“Yes.”

Then it was over. She was married. She had the prized gold band on her left hand. S.H. engulfed her in a bear hug, nearly squeezing the life out of her while a beaming Flo looked on. The whole room was buzzing with congratulations, everyone wanting a turn at the newlyweds.

“Can’t say I’ve ever been more surprised,” Tom Howell confessed, pumping Walker’s hand.

Walker smiled. “Me neither, Tom.”

“Walker.” A young woman approached, her eyes warm with congratulations. “Walker, you rogue. Why didn’t you tell any of us?”

He winked at her. “Seth Olson would nail my hide to the barn if I’d stolen you.”

“Seth?” Her eyes shifted to a tall, rawboned farmer who was talking with a group of men. “He doesn’t know I exist.” But a speculative smile now lightened her face.

Walker moved Sarah on to shake hands with the other guests.

Her new husband introduced her to a man who was the exact opposite of the handsome rancher. Small in stature, balding, with pale skin, the man wore wire-rimmed glasses, which he had taken off to clean as Walker and Sarah approached. “Caleb, I’d like you to meet Sarah…” He turned. “What’s your last name?”

“McKay,” Sarah reminded him under her breath, smiling.

“Of course. McKay,” he acknowledged. “Sarah, my good friend, accountant, and banker, Caleb Vanhooser.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Caleb greeted her, returning his glasses to his face and then grasping her hand solidly. “You could have knocked me over with a feather when I realized Walker was getting married today.”

“Yeah.” Walker smiled again at his bride. “It all happened pretty fast.”

Later, Sarah donned her calico dress and moved through the rows of tables outside, pouring coffee, offering pie, and being the genial hostess. When Walker noticed, he pulled her aside.

“What are you doing?”

She gazed up at him warmly. “Serving our guests.”

“You’re not supposed to ‘serve our guests.’ It’s your wedding reception.”

“Really?” She stood back, assessing the crowd. “Looks the world to me like it’s a barbecue.”

“Look, I guess this was pretty underhanded. If you like, we’ll do it again later—”

“No, this is perfect.” She smiled. “I love barbecues.”

Taking her arm, he ushered her to a chair and sat her down. She hoped to share a few private moments with him, but that wasn’t to be. Women immediately crowded around her, and her hopes were dashed as he moved on.

Walker could hear her fielding questions from their guests and guilt struck him. That was a rotten thing to pull on her, McKay. So far she’d been nothing but compliant. He should have at least warned her theirs would not be the traditional marriage ceremony. He turned to look back. She was still sitting, chatting with the women.

But would she be there an hour later? Could he blame her if she up and left without a by-your-leave? What woman welcomed a barbeque on her wedding day?

Dusk streaked the reddened sky and lanterns were lit. Musicians stepped to the wooden platform and began taking their instruments out of cases. The sounds of fiddles and guitars filled the air.

Standing beside the gazebo, Walker chatted with friends who chided him about the surprise celebration.

“What gives, McKay? All these months and you never let on you had something like her, you old fox!”

“Figured you was bound to stay single the rest of your life.”

“Bull changed your mind, did it?”

The men chortled, one reaching out to tap an angry scar still evident on Walker’s left cheek.

“Pert near got yourself killed. You’re lucky to get a second chance.”

“Where have you been hiding this little beauty?”

Walker’s eyes followed his bride, who was being waltzed around the dance floor by yet another man. Bride. Wife. That was going to take some getting used to.

As the men threw jovial arm punches, Walker took the affable ribbing in stride, his eyes on a radiant Sarah. He couldn’t dispute the fact that his bride was a desirable woman. Her eyes sparkled, her laughter filled the spring air. Something stirred inside him, something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Something he didn’t want to feel.

“Folks, gather around,” S.H. hollered. “It’s time to cut the cake!”

Walker watched a smile light Sarah’s face when Flo emerged from the house carrying a large, three-tiered wedding cake. He silently thanked Flo for her amazingly adaptable skills. She’d produced a wedding cake faster than the average woman could cut one. The smile faded. What kind of groom would have forgotten the cake?

The customary exchange took place between the happy couple. Sarah sliced the cake and fed Walker a bite. He did the same, his eyes meeting hers over the tip of the fork. The sincerity in her gaze puzzled him. She was like a breath of fresh air to a stale room. Why was she here? And why would a woman like her need to marry a stranger?

It was late when guests began departing. Parents loaded children into buckboards and wagons, while others, reluctant to give up the merriment, danced beneath the full moon. The musicians seemed ready to play all night, if necessary.

The bride had disappeared upstairs earlier. Walker stood beside the barn, his eyes focused on the lamp burning in the upstairs window. Sarah would be getting ready for bed, brushing her hair, putting on a white silk gown…

Desire rose in him. But a whisper of fear was there too. Sarah was an outsider. The trick would be to allow her into his life but still keep a safe distance emotionally, so he wouldn’t fall too hard and be burned again. A man didn’t have to love a woman to live with her. He could spend the next fifty years with her in the house and never give her his heart. The deed was done. He and Sarah Livingston were man and wife. There was no going back now, even if he could. He headed for the house.

When he tapped on the bedroom door, Sarah answered with a soft, “Enter.”

Candlelight spilled over the pristine sheets. His bride was sitting in the middle of the bed, waiting for her groom, her hair falling to her waist. Sarah McKay’s gaze fastened on him, issuing a silent but unmistakable invitation.

“Are the guests gone?”

“A few are still dancing.” He glanced at her, unbuttoning his shirt. He was surprised when she watched, her eyes brimming with interest. Peeling the shirt off, he tossed it on the chair atop her wedding gown.

She slid out of bed, padding over to him. Meeting his gaze, she smiled. Then her fingertips skimmed featherlight over the scars on this chest. She frowned. “Do they hurt?” When he didn’t answer, she looked up at him and said softly, “It’s the wife’s duty to be concerned for her husband, isn’t it?”

“I believe it is.” He reached out to take her in his arms.

“Am I too bold?” she asked, hesitancy creeping into her voice.

“No, ma’am,” he whispered.

“Good,” she whispered back. “I only want to please you.”

He was aware of the sounds of “The Missouri Waltz” drifting through the open window. He doubted he’d ever hear the melody again without remembering this night and this woman. Their mouths met, and his last coherent thought seemed odd.

For the first time in my life, S.H.’s nagging makes sense.