Bartered Bride Romance Collection (60 page)

“Hello,” Bertie said.

The man bowed, easily maneuvered the cart, and headed for the middle of the street. Not even the thought of Bess could keep Bertie from following.

Bertie figured that this day packed about as much excitement—at least for her—as had the day the sisters arrived in Lickwind.

The Chinaman positioned his cart out of the way in front of Donald Potter’s office. He stood as still as Bertie had ever seen a man be and waited. A handful of people made it to town on Thursdays, but those who did were just as fascinated as Bertie. The Chinaman ignored the stares, and his stoic face didn’t acknowledge the few rude words that were thrown his way.

Bertie grew uncomfortable. If Bess found out Bertie had spent an hour standing in the middle of town just staring at a stranger, there’d be a price. Most likely an essay on China’s history!

A low whistle saved Bertie. Ramon barked and ran for Jones’s store.

Scotty!

Bertie skidded to a stop before the cowboy had time to tie his horse to the post. “There’s a man from China, and he’s standing on the stoop in from of the land office. I think he came with a man named Tommy Hardin.”

Ramon’s head nudged Scotty’s hand until the old cowboy chuckled. “If that dog herded cattle the way he herds you, he’d be worth something.” Bertie gave her favorite cowboy a quick hug.

Scotty’s eyes lit up. “Little Tommy Hardin. Now there’s a name I ain’t heard in a while. I taught him to read from the Bible. Not sure it did him any good.” Scotty grinned, his mouth cracking open in a toothless display of glee. “Spit and vinegar on two legs and some to spare.”

“I’m taller than the Chinaman,” Bertie announced.

“They do be skimpy fellas. The railroad employs scores of them.”

“I followed him. He’s definitely with Tommy Hardin, not the railroad.”

Scotty cackled. “That boy could find trouble blindfolded.”

“Mr. Temple said he was a thief.”

“Well, now, there’s some that think that and others who don’t.”

“What do you think, Scotty?”

Scotty frowned. “I think Tommy’s father made some unfortunate choices, but that doesn’t mean—”

“They call me Thomas now, and I see you’re still sticking up for me.” Thomas Hardin took the horse’s reins from Scotty’s hand and secured them to the post.

Bertie couldn’t remember ever seeing a man so handsome.

“Hello, Miss Bertie, and good-bye, Miss Bertie.” Thomas Hardin quickly dismissed her presence and slapped Scotty on the back.

Even as Scotty shooed her away, Bertie was wishing, for the first time, that she looked and acted like a woman.

Chapter 2

B
ess Riker’s kitchen floor shone like the bald spot on Amos Freeling’s head. Bertie carried the water bucket out to the garden and emptied it. Her fingers were red and rough from the lye soap Bess favored. Scotty said the Indians lived on dirt floors; and when the floors got dirty, the Indians covered their trash with more dirt, thus creating a new, slightly higher floor.

For true, she loved July in Wyoming. Green as far as you could see and trees so tall they looked like climbing posts to heaven. The bucket banged against her leg as she headed back home, whistling for Rhubarb. The cat always managed to disappear. Today Bertie didn’t have a hope for escape. Any minute now it would be time to head to school, and Bess remained thin-lipped from last week’s spectacle.

Apparently the whole town had watched Roberta Suzanne Craig follow a Chinaman from one end of the street to the other. Albert Smit had even come to town special to warn Gideon and Bess that Chinamen were not to be trusted. Albert admitted he personally hadn’t dealt with any, but he’d heard and thought that both Hardin and his friends should be run out of town.

Four hours later, with chores and schoolwork behind her, Bertie stood and headed for the door. Her first chance at escape in five days.

She’d barely made two steps before Bess asked, “Bertie, can you recite the nine rules for the use of capital letters?”

Bertie recited, and Regina Bently echoed the rules in a whisper. “Bertie, you haven’t done any piecework all week, and—”

“I need to look for Rhubarb. She hasn’t been around all morning.” Bess looked up from the spelling words on Leonard Smit’s slate. Her eyes surveyed the room where she held school five days a week. Usually the cat curled up on the floor near where Bertie sat.

Leonard always sat closest to Bess, not only because he needed the most help, but because he was smitten with her. His younger brother Jethro used to sit by the door, escape as much on his mind as Bertie’s, but then Harry—Gideon’s former barkeep—halfheartedly started attending, and Jethro lost his favorite perch. Walter, more family than student, liked to sit on the floor in front of the piano bench. His sister Regina usually sat next to him.

“Did you look in the shed?” Bess handed Leonard his slate to correct.

“During recess and before spelling.”

“He wasn’t at our house this morning,” Walter offered.

“It’s not our house,” Regina reminded. They were staying in Frank Llewellyn’s house while the banker was out of town. “Do you want some help?” asked Bess.

A wave of longing washed over Bertie, and she almost said yes. The soft tone of her sister’s voice reminded her of their mother—a memory fading faster than Bertie thought possible. Her sisters tried to make up for the loss. She went from having one mother to having four. Even Adele, for a brief time, tried to assume the role. In some ways, their smothering had obliterated any recollection she had of the sweet-voiced woman who called her Baby.

Baby.

The sisters had tried calling Bertie “Baby,” but she’d put a stop to that. A neighbor boy back in Rhode Island taught her how to hold her breath until she turned blue. Matty scolded, Corrie cried, and Bess pounded her on the back until she hiccupped, but the sisters got the idea. For true, she hated being the baby of the family. It meant doing everything last, and it meant that the others could always do things better. Bertie didn’t even want to try if it meant an older sister was going to judge. She learned to be a baby who didn’t cry and who didn’t come when called, except sometimes for Bess.

Bess, who sometimes had a soft voice so like Mama’s.

Bertie closed her eyes. She intended to disobey her big sister, and the urge to follow the rules suddenly stalled her. “No, I’ll find her.”

As the door closed behind her, Bertie whistled for Ramon and pretended not to hear Bess’s plea to stay out of trouble and not venture far. It wasn’t that Bertie went looking for trouble; it was just that trouble always managed to find her.

The town of Lickwind didn’t harbor a stray cat in its midst, neither near the smithy where Rhubarb liked to bat small discarded pieces of whatever Amos threw away nor behind the general store where Mr. Jones sometimes tossed the cat tidbits.

Mr. Jones saved the day. He might have been too busy loading up his wagon to entertain Rhubarb, but he wasn’t too busy to close up shop and make some deliveries. The mention of Matty’s and Corrie’s names as a destination sent Bertie scampering back to Bess for permission to keep the grizzled storekeeper company.

Ramon jumped in back of the wagon and fell asleep. The sun beat down steadily as they traveled the hour it took to get to the Collingswood’s ranch. Bertie suspected Mr. Jones wanted some advice from Jim about what supplies needed to be stocked now that the train was bringing more business.

At Matty’s and Corrie’s ranch, neither sister claimed a visit from the cat, but both enjoyed their enthusiastic greeting from Ramon. Bertie tickled the twins for a few minutes just to get them laughing. Baby Matthew slept; he was really too little to do much with. Ramon visited all his old haunts and pestered Scotty.

The sun dipped a bit closer to the west than Bertie wanted it to while Jones and Jim jawed about rising prices and populations. After good-byes were said, Mr. Jones headed the wagon in the direction of the Two Horse, the Kincaid spread. Bertie held on to the seat and tried not to bounce. Jones wouldn’t like it. The only reason he allowed Bertie to tag along was, as he said, she “didn’t act like most fool females.” It was unlikely that Rhubarb had strayed so far as the Kincaid spread, but maybe the cat was as curious as the whole town of Lickwind.

Thomas Hardin had dominated the conversation at church last Sunday. Bertie listened to Parson Harris’s sermon and tried to remember what the preacher looked like back in Rhode Island. He’d been shorter and talked louder. Bertie liked Harris better. He told more stories. Bertie wished he’d tell about Thomas Hardin.

Later, at the Riker home, Bess and Gideon tried to separate fact from fiction, but by all accounts no one considered it good news that the Hardin boy had returned to town. Even the news of a Chinaman took second place to a returning cattle rustler. Gideon had only raised a speculative eyebrow to Bertie’s insistent “son of a cattle rustler” interjection.

In an ironic twist, Thomas—who once fled town with nothing more than the clothes on his back—rode into town followed by rumors of a healthy bank account and more cattle than even Josiah Temple owned. That Hardin had purchased Clyde Kincaid’s ranch kept Bess and Gideon whispering well into the night. Bertie almost crawled out of her bed to lean against their door, so strong was the urge to eavesdrop.

The Kincaid ranch needed loving, tender care, Bertie thought, as she sat beside Mr. Jones and watched the world’s ugliest ranch loom into sight. It looked exactly like what Clyde Kincaid deserved. The main house was a drab structure. Even from a distance, Bertie could see gaps between the chinks in the wood. There were two other buildings. One might be an outhouse. Who knew what the other was—maybe a henhouse?

Walking beside one of the smaller buildings was the Chinaman. Rhubarb meowed at his feet.

Rhubarb had the run of the town and its perimeters. She loved everyone and everyone loved her, but she only “talked” to Bertie. Until today.

Bertie jumped from the wagon in time to watch Tommy Hardin exit the house. He joined the Chinaman and her cat. The man crouched in front of Rhubarb and looked to be offering the cat something.

Bertie sidled closer.

An egg? Yup, for true, Tommy was a cowboy. All the cowboys fed Rhubarb eggs. Someday Bertie half-expected Rhubarb to cluck.

He’d purchased the Kincaid place almost sight unseen. Donald Potter, the attorney, tried to warn him, but Thomas had been waiting more than five years for prime property in Lickwind to become available. Maybe it was providence that Kincaid sold out.

Looking around, Thomas tried to associate Kincaid’s spread today to the spread of yesteryear. When the Hardins worked here, Clyde’s brother had run the show. Cyrus had been a tightfisted yet fair man, who worked his cowboys hard but provided for them. Thomas had no idea what had happened to the bunkhouse. If it had burned, surely there’d be charred remains. Instead, dying grass in varying shades of brown and yellow grew over his final remnants of a childhood memory. Clyde probably sold the lumber, anything for a buck. The barn was missing, too.

Donald Potter didn’t recall the Kincaid place having many cattle, but when Thomas Hardin the elder put in his time, the spread had enough to make a young boy’s eyes burn when the wind blew. Cyrus turned a profit, kept the money, left the ranch to Clyde, and headed for California and fool’s gold.

Cyrus had been a fool to leave a working ranch to his younger brother.

Thomas often profited from the foolishness of others. What did it say in the Bible about fools? Something about being hotheaded and reckless.

“Look.” Tien-Lu, the Chinaman, pointed.

Thomas glanced over his shoulder and almost moaned. Bertie Craig slid off the front seat of a wagon before the wheels ceased to turn. Any other girl might have inspired him to hurry over and assist, but not this one. She looked like she belonged to the land.

Donald said the Craig girls had a reputation for setting their sight on a man and turning his life upside-down until he married her. Seemed the town, up until a few months ago, had a thriving saloon and a well-visited bordello. Then the saloon manager faced off with one Bess Craig, and now there was a restaurant and church services instead of rowdy Saturday nights and hung-over Sunday mornings. The bordello remained, but business no longer boomed.