Christmas Male (4 page)

Tremulously, Maggie pushed open the door. This was the moment of truth. Chester wouldn't have lied to her, would he? The door swung inward to reveal a dimly lit main room with a long bar and a dozen tables set about, perhaps for poker playing or for a place to sit and seriously drink—Maggie didn't know, she was clueless about what men did in a place like this. All the tables were empty except for one. Three men sat in the center of the room, laughing and staring at the cards in their hands.

"Dammit, ya did it again, Delbert." A man gave a drunken hoot and slammed his cards onto the table. "How ya do it, I donno."

"I cheat," the man named Delbert (which happened to be one of Chester's brother's names) bellowed out a boozy laugh and grabbed one of the tankards sitting on the table. He downed it, gulping heartily.

"I didn't see you do it," the third man commented, banging his empty tankard on the table, presumably for service. "I was really watchin' ya too!"

"Boys, you know the rules." A tall, spare, disheveled looking man appeared around the corner of the bar, carrying a pitcher full of alcohol. "No cheatin' in my bar, or I'll have to toss you out."

"If nobody knows I'm cheatin', then it ain't cheatin'," Delbert explained with good cheer. "It's only cheatin' if ya get caught."

"I suppose that's a sound argument." The bartender went to refill the third man's tankard, but then he spotted her. His beady eyes lit up. He ran a small hand through his scraggly, greasy hair and gave her a sleazy smile. "Well, hello there. Ain't you a pretty thing. Are you lookin' for work?"

"Well—" Maggie blushed at the way the bartender looked her up and down, as if he could see through her clothes. Feeling uncomfortable, she took a step back, clutching her satchel's grip tighter. Maybe coming in here hadn't been such a good idea. She faced the three men who'd looked up from their cards to stare at her.

"You otta hire her, Ed." Delbert took a swig of his tankard and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "I'd take a poke at her. Yessir. How about you, Chester?"

Chester?
It couldn’t be! A poke? Maggie thought, scrunching her nose. Why, that didn't sound nice at all.

"Yeah, hire her." Chester gave a lusty whistle. "She's a lot prettier than the whores ya got upstairs."

"Chester,
shame on you!"
The reprimand just popped out, rolling off her tongue, full of shock and anger. This was the man who'd written her, whose ardent words had been so honest and full of love? He'd lied. Miles was right. Chester had lied big time. She marched across the sticky floorboards, mad. Oh, she was mad. "What are you doing here in the middle of the day,
drinking?"

"You'd best shut your mouth, missy, or I'll shut it for you." Chester shot to his feet, jaw bunched, brown eyes narrowed. "A whore otta know her place."

"A what?"
Confused, her forehead crinkled, and she skidded to a halt in front of him. He didn't smell so good. No, this man was not what he'd made himself out to be in his letters. Shocked, Maggie scowled at him. "I'm not a, well, I'm not
that.
I'm here because of your letters. Why aren't you at work?"

"Lady, I don’t got a job." His face turned red. He wasn't an ugly man, but he wasn't attractive either.

Well, Maggie thought, considering. He might be if he tried washing and combing his hair and shaving. It had been a long time since she'd seen a mustache and beard so scruffy and unkempt.

"Well, that's what you told me." She glared at him more fiercely. Angry, no, she was furious. Look at him, unemployed and spending his day drinking. And what about his clothes? By the looks of them, not to mention the odor, he'd slept in those garments for several nights and days running. She straightened her shoulders. "I'm Maggie Carpenter."

"Huh?" Chester blinked twice, his face slack while he attempted to engage his mental faculties—if he had any. Clearly they were hampered by the empty whiskey bottle that sat in the center of the table and the tankards of ale.

"Chester, it's her." Delbert yanked himself to his feet, loose-limbed, apparently very intoxicated too. Equally as bedraggled, he was a slightly shorter, much rounder version of his brother. He scratched his head, probably hoping that would help him to think. "It's that woman."

"What woman?" The third brother hauled himself drunkenly to his feet, hooking one arm over the back of his chair for support, swaying badly.

"She's the one Chester wrote all them stupid letters to," Delbert answered. He tossed his head back and gave a harsh hoot of laughter. "That dumb mail-order bride."

Dumb mail-order bride?
Maggie gasped, reeling from the shock and humiliation. Her heart shattered, taking all her dreams with it. The daydreams she'd woven while working at the laundry, scrubbing men's shirts over a washboard ten hours a day. She'd imagined her life here, of happily-ever-after and a family of her own. She'd woven fantasies about how tender and strong her future husband would be, how well he would treat her and especially how thoroughly he would love her both day and night.

"This is that stupid woman?" The bartender gave a big belly laugh, nearly dropping his pitcher. "You don't mean she really came? That she believed all those ridiculous things you wrote?"

"Yep, looks like she did," Chester laughed so hard he couldn’t stand up. He dropped back into his chair, wiping tears from his eyes. "Oh, that's a good one, that's funny. I guess you owe me a buck, Lester."

"Guess I do." The third, youngest brother reached into his pocket and counted through his money clip. He tossed a greenback on the table. "I'll be damned. She's really here. I didn't think any decent gal would be that desperate."

Laughter echoed in the room, peals and peals of it, magnifying in the rafters and ringing in her ears. Shame filled her. Embarrassed, she lifted her chin. Staring into the faces of the men who'd lied to her and who made fun of her honest search for love, she realized how naive she'd been. Chester, with his slovenly appearance, mean eyes and heartlessness was everything she'd been trying to avoid.

"If I wanted to associate with a loser," she said with all the dignity she had, "I would have stayed in Holbrook and married the town drunk. But I was looking for a man a good deal better than you, Chester Collins."

"Ooh." The bartender set down his pitcher, a weasel-like smile twisting his pallid face, and headed her way. "I like a feisty gal. If you're desperate, you could head upstairs with me and we could pretend to be married for an hour. I'd pay."

Horrified, Maggie took a step back, realizing suddenly she was outnumbered, that the men were in almost a complete circle around her. All mirth had vanished, replaced by something much darker. A trickle of panic skidded down her spine. What had she gotten herself into?

"Oh, all I'd need is five minutes with her." Chester moved in too, predatory, no longer seeming as drunk or relaxed as he'd been. Every muscle tensed, he was beefier than she'd first realized. Stronger.

"Face it, Chester," Delbert growled from behind her. "You'd only need two minutes to get the job done."

"All right, that's enough, boys." A different voice rang out, booming with authority, from the direction of the front door. Only then did she realize cold air wafted through the room, making her shiver. She recognized that hard, no-nonsense baritone and the confident knelling gait on the floorboards. Miles. He towered over six feet tall, and every inch of him radiated leashed male fury. "This ends now. Leave her alone or I'll sweep the floor with all four of you."

He meant it. It was a threat he could make good on, and it showed on the faces of the other four men.

"Meant no harm, McClintock." The bartender took a step back, nodding respectfully. "I'll, uh, just go get that bottle of Scotch for your pa."

"We were just havin' us some fun," Lester explained with a gulp. He dropped into his chair and took a few fortifying slugs from his tankard.

"Yeah, what else are women for but for havin' a little fun?" Delbert circled away, his hands twitchy at his sides like it was hard for him to give up the thought of overpowering a lady. "We weren't hurtin' nobody."

"Hey, guess she's
my
woman." Chester puffed out his chest, just drunk enough not to be thinking straight. "I got claim to her. Yeah, honey, you wanna get married?"

Mocking her. Lusting after her. Yeah, Miles saw it all written on that lazy lowlife's ugly face. Rage beat through him as he crossed half the room in five strides, grabbed Chester by the collar and hauled him upward, lifting him off his feet. Let him hang there, he thought dispassionately, let him gasp for air. He frowned. "Maybe you need me to teach you how to respect a lady."

The drunk shifted his eyes side to side, trying to shake his head, so Miles let go. Chester landed with a wheeze and a gasp on his knees, red-faced and angry.

Oh, well. Miles took a moment to stare each Collins brother in the eye. "I don't want any more trouble with you boys. Is that understood?"

Lester gulped. Delbert nodded. Chester grunted, climbing warily to his feet.

"Here's the scotch." Ed returned with the finest bottle in the place, he'd ordered a crate from back East just for Pa and Grandpop. "No charge this time. Sorry, Miles."

He doubted it, but he didn't comment. He took the bottle, turned around and found the woman wasn't behind him. She'd slipped away through the open door but, hell, she wasn't his responsibility. He didn't know why he looked for her the instant he stepped foot onto the boardwalk or why, when he saw her sitting on the wooden step in the snow, his chest seemed to come alive with an emotion other than anger and bitterness. Sympathy.

So, he felt sorry for her. That didn't mean he was getting soft. He pounded across the boardwalk and eased down beside her. Ice and snow beat at him. He ignored it, tipping his hat, angling it against the wind. She stiffened, scooting away from him an inch. She probably didn't want him to know she was crying.

Well, he didn't need to look at her to know it. She seemed dejected sitting there, slender shoulders slumped with her head down, sniffling and blinking trying to hold her emotions back. He had to hand it to her, a lot of women would have thrown a dramatic scene (he knew, because he'd courted those women) and gone on about how she'd been wronged. Or maybe put on a big display of self-pity, trying to manipulate the men around her. But not this lady. She simply sat there, fighting for control of her emotions.

He had to like her for that. He knew how it felt to be hurt, to have nothing but broken dreams.

"You all right?" he asked, pitching his voice low and gruff, so she wouldn't mistake his question for weakness. So she wouldn't think he would be an easy mark for any scheme she might be cooking up. Who knew what went on inside a woman's head, even one that wasn't prone to drama?

"Yes, thank you." She nodded, her voice wobbly with emotion. Her lashes were damp and, in this weather, were likely to start freezing. If only she didn't look like a lost, helpless thing, like a puppy, then he would have been able to walk away.

Boot steps knelled on the boardwalk, approaching, growing louder. Miles felt that twinge of warning on the back of his neck a second before a familiar voice called out, sounding rather chipper.

"What do we have here?" Pa ambled over with a smile on his weathered face. "Miles, are you really sitting right next to a beautiful woman, or it is my imagination? Maybe I've lost my mind."

"No need to be sarcastic." Miles rolled his eyes. He should have known he'd come to regret trying to help a woman. Nothing good ever came from it. He grimaced, thinking of Bethleigh and how she'd humiliated him. Or of Sylvia who'd tried to pass off another man's baby on him. Yeah, he knew how it felt to be duped. "Chester Collins asked this young lady to be his mail-order bride and marry him. She traveled here by herself only to find out it was a joke."

"That just isn't right." Pa's rugged face wrinkled with sympathy. "Sorry to hear that, dear. Do you have family you can go back to?"

"Yes, but my older sister is never going to let me forget this." She blew out a troubled sigh, resigned, the tears still sparkling. "The thing is, I spent nearly all of my savings coming here."

"He didn't wire you a ticket?" Miles asked, not sure why outrage began to burn in his chest again. Surely he didn't care—he wasn't invested in this woman, he didn't even know her name. That's the way he wanted to keep it. "The swine."

"Chester told me he'd reimburse me once I got here." Her mouth twisted and she hung her head. Just a fragile little thing, dusted with snow, and in trouble. He couldn't just walk away. That wouldn't be right.

"Hell. I'll buy your ticket," Miles offered, thinking it would be better to get her out of town and fast, judging by the way his father stood there, hand to his chin, forehead furrowed in thought. No doubt a scheme was coming to light inside that brain of his. No, best to send the pretty woman on her way, he decided. It would be money well spent. "C'mon, Miss. I'll drive you back to the depot. The eastbound train ought to be coming soon. If you sweet-talk Bill, I'm sure he'll let you wait inside the office, where it's warm."

In fact, Miles thought grimly, I'll do the sweet-talking to make sure he does it.

"Oh, I can't let you buy a ticket for me. It just wouldn't be right." She trained those gentle blue eyes on his, her gaze beaming the innocent sort of kindness that he'd always been a sucker for. Maybe she wasn't too bad, as far as women went. She truly did look troubled. She hitched up her chin. "I don't take charity. I've always paid my way. I've been working for a living since I was sixteen."

She straightened her slender shoulders, full of pride. To his surprise, she pushed off the steps and stepped into the storm with dignity.

Dignity. That hit him hard. That wasn't a trait he was used to in a woman.

"And I'll find my way to the depot as well." She faced him and brushed snow out of her face and hair. Her nose had turned red from the cold, her eyes full of pain. "Thank you for rescuing me, Miles. It was lovely to meet you, Miles' father."