Softly Falling Read Free

and gone to heaven.”

C HAPTER 2

    I t couldn’t be anyone but Miss Lily Carteret. Clarence Carteret was absolutely right about the cambric tea color of her skin, but that wasn’t the first thing Jack noticed. In fact, it was way down his manly list.
    Like the other lady, she stood on the top step, looking around, but with a striking difference. She seemed to be assessing her surroundings instead, weighing Wyoming Territory in the balance. He couldn’t tell from her expression how the scale tipped.
    As he stared at her, he decided it was her eyes that held his attention, even before her shape, which was bounteous without being ostentatious. Her eyes were deep brown. He saw no fear or doubt in them, only interest, as though she was trying to figure out what life planned for her here.
    It was impossible to ignore her beauty. Her skin was indeed cambric tea, or that pretentious French phrase Clarence Carteret had tossed about. A bold man could stare at her for some time, wondering if she was English, French, Spanish, or African. Since he knew something about her, he knew she was all of that, and she wore it well.
    She helped herself down, since the conductor had turned away. Jack didn’t have to gird his loins for this. He knew that meeting Lily Carteret was going to be a pleasure. There had been so little genuine pleasure in his life that he almost didn’t recognize the emotion.
    Grateful he had visited the barbershop, Jack took off his Stetson and stepped forward. “Miss Lily Carteret?” he asked, also grateful that his voice did not squeak. He was well beyond that particular felony, thank the Almighty.
    “That would be I,” she said, and he nearly swooned—if men swooned—with the loveliness of her English accent.
    He had become familiar with proper English because the Bar Dot was a British consortium, pompously titled the Cheyenne Land and Cattle Company. The various owners had visited the ranch through the years, and he liked to listen to them. None of those men sounded as well-bred as Lily Carteret.
    “I’m Jack Sinclair, foreman on the Bar Dot,” he said, using the ranch’s nickname. “Your father asked that I escort you to the ranch.”
    “And his first name is . . . ,” she began. Jack silently applauded her circumspection. This was not a woman to be easily gulled by some flat looking at her luggage for her name and taking advantage.
    “Clarence Carteret,” he answered.
    “Bravo,” she said and held out her hand.
    If she was disappointed that her father was not here to greet her, she didn’t let on. It seemed to Jack as if she did not expect him, anyway.
    “He, uh, said he was busy, and, uh . . .” Stop, you idiot , Jack ordered himself. Just stop talking . “It’s a busy time of year, ma’am.”
    She smiled at him and looked over his shoulder, which made him turn around too, like an oaf. “My luggage.”
    Her voice was so lovely. Someone watching him would think he had never seen a pretty lady before. He must have, but he couldn’t remember when.
    He picked up the suitcases. “If you’ll just follow me.”
    “Why should I do that?” she asked, sounding completely reasonable. “Papa never mentioned a foreman. Yes, you know his name, but after only an overnight sojourn in Cheyenne, I’ve decided everyone knows everyone in this territory. Do set down my luggage until we sort this out.”
    He couldn’t help smiling. “You’re right there, ma’am. It’s that small a territory.” He set down Miss Carteret’s suitcases. Obviously she needed a little more explanation to budge herself off the platform. “You don’t have foremen in England?”
    She shook her head, showing no apprehension, but also showing no inclination to move until he proved up. “Do you tend the cattle?”
    He thought of all his duties, most of which involved monumental cursing and brute force against stubborn animals. Tending sounded so kind, almost benevolent. Miss Carteret was in for a rare experience, if