Wedding At Rocking S Ranch. Kathryn Albright
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The next morning, Cassandra waited on the porch for Mr. Barker to appear from the bunkhouse. He had been absent the rest of yesterday after their dinner—an occurrence of which she was most appreciative. When he still hadn’t appeared after ten minutes, she walked to the stable and found Jordan, pitchfork in hand, scattering fresh straw in a stall.
“Hello, Jordan. Is there a horse that I can use while I am here? Mr. Barker is taking me to see the property today.”
He leaned the pitchfork against the wall. “Sure ’nough, ma’am. Got the perfect mount.” He strode to the back of the stable and came back with a small gray mare. “She’s our most gentle. Her name is Patsy.”
“Hello, Patsy.” The animal’s ears flicked toward her. Cassandra stroked the horse’s neck as she eyed the saddle Jordan threw on its back and cinched it. At home, she used an English saddle—one made for a woman.
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