Jodi Thomas (5 page)

“I figure if you marry a stranger you got a fifty-fifty shot at liking him.” Harman nodded as if he thought his plan grand. “There’d be no time for courting or even meeting, for that matter. I won’t have a good night’s sleep until I get my jail cleared out.”

“We’re to be raffled off?”

“Not raffled. More like a lottery. Each man only gets one chance, an equal chance for a wife. So long as he has the money in hand to pay your fine. Any man who has the money to pay probably can support a wife, so you’ve got the main reason couples argue out of the way.”

“But we could get anyone! Someone terrible! Someone dishonest.” The drunk in the street ran through her mind. “Or maybe Zeb had a brother.”

“I’ll talk to the winners. Make sure you both agree on a few rules. So be thinking about what’s important to you in the bargain. I’d check up on each couple, too. I figure I’d come by once a week and ask you and the other two if you want to return to jail. If you say ‘no’ three times, you’re the husband’s problem from then on and no longer mine. I’d mail the marriage papers to Austin, and you’d be married all legal like.”

“But he could be a criminal. A liar. A drunk. If I agreed to this, I’d have no idea what kind of man I’d be getting for a husband.”

“Well, one thing’s for sure.” Harman headed back to his chair. “He’d know what he was getting. A confessed killer.”

Bailee rattled the bars in anger. The old man was right. Why was she worried about such a stupid plan? No man in his right mind would step forward and be willing not only to pay the fine for her, but to marry her. She might as well practice choking. It was only a matter of days before she’d be wearing a rope around her neck.

No man had stepped up to ask for her hand when it was free. No one would step forward now. The only man who’d ever been interested in her put thousands of miles between them. He’d promised her a life of marriage and family, a love that would stand forever, but he’d left without her. Francis had known all her strengths. The way she was organized. The way she liked to cook and take care of little details. If he hadn’t come back for her when she was free, how could the sheriff believe some man would be willing to pay to marry her?

One week later Bailee watched in shock as fifty men, obviously not in their right minds, stood in line outside the jail and registered for the sheriff’s “Wife Lottery.”

C
ARTER MCKOY STOOD OUTSIDE THE SHERIFF’S OFFICE in line with four dozen other fools. Rain didn’t have the energy to pour, but slowly dripped on him, soaking him to the bone. He had money in one pocket to pay the woman’s fine, and a note written on brown sack paper in the other. He was as ready as he figured he’d ever be to apply for a wife.

No one spoke to him. No one would admit to knowing him in daylight, much less after dark. Except the general store owner, who always spoke to Carter, even though his frown told Carter he’d just as soon not. But money had a way of friendlying some folks up.

“Something is wrong with that Carter McKoy,” people whispered when they thought he couldn’t hear. Only they never said what it was, and he never asked.

The line in front of the sheriff’s office moved slowly toward the porch, with each man showing his money and putting his name in Sheriff Riley’s hat. Only a few handed over letters or notes they wanted presented to the future wife, should their name be drawn.

When Carter finally reached the front, the sheriff looked at him and shook his head. But he took the letter and put Carter’s name in the hat.

“Sure you want a wife, Carter McKoy?” Sheriff Riley laughed quietly. “You might have to talk to the woman if you took her home.”

Wheeler, the sheriff’s deputy, giggled and repeated Riley’s question.

Carter didn’t answer. He never answered. He’d learned a long time ago most people only talked to themselves anyway. He moved to the side, to wait with the other idiots who thought finding a wife would be as easy as paying a fine.

The sheriff mumbled something about being glad he didn’t have to choose from this sorry bunch. “Let luck do the picking.” His voice rose above the crowd. “And pray whoever wins doesn’t frighten the woman to death at first glance.” The sheriff’s gaze met Carter’s stare. There was no doubt to whom the old man referred.

Carter fought down a growl. He wasn’t some animal to be talked about as though he couldn’t hear, couldn’t understand. Though he’d never been told, he assumed it wasn’t polite to growl in public, so he continued to stare until the sheriff looked away.

A few hours ago the idea of getting married never crossed his mind. Maybe once in a while when a man dreams, but never in the light of day. Never in the real world where Carter forced himself to stay most of the time.

Once in a while some man would go back East and return with a wife. But Carter didn’t know anyone, anywhere, but here, and these folks wouldn’t introduce him to a single woman even if they knew one. He’d also heard of ordering a bride by mail, but he could never do that to a woman. At least this way, if his name were picked, she’d have a look at him before she said “I do.” She’d have a chance to run, even if it was to jail, rather than marrying him.

He’d brought a wagon full of fruit into town this afternoon and unloaded it at Willard’s store like he always did. Willard would weigh it light, as he had for ten years, and price it low like always. Then he’d add that amount to Carter’s credit.

Willard usually stood on the loading dock and talked while Carter worked. The old storekeeper liked to run through the happenings of the town, adding his own comments along the way. In truth, Carter had only been half listening when Willard told him about the three women who wandered into town claiming to be murderers.

“Virgins.” Willard chuckled when he said the word. “We got three real virgins in this town. Imagine that.” Being a murderer was no label of distinction in a place where half the population had done their share of killing on one side of the law or the other.

Carter glanced up from the unloading, which was all the encouragement Willard needed.

“One’s barely grown, but full woman from what I’ve heard. One’s frail, won’t last the winter, but looks like an angel. The third is old, maybe twenty-five.” Willard grinned. “If I was under fifty, I’d try for any one of them. There ain’t nothing like the feel of a good woman laying next to you in bed on a cold night.”

Carter raised one dark eyebrow, and Willard hastily added, “Oh, not that the saloon girls ain’t nice and all, but a good woman does something to a man. She makes him want to be better than he knows he is by nature.”

Carter hoped his thick beard hid his grin. He doubted Willard ever got near a “good woman” in his life, and women in these parts were generally considered virgins till they ran out of fingers on which to count their lovers.

“You should go over and take a look, Carter,” Willard encouraged. “You’re of marrying age. A woman would spend some of that credit you keep building in my store.”

Willard didn’t look like he expected an answer. He was one of the few people in town who had ever heard Carter talk, but it had been so long ago Willard wasn’t sure if it had been words, or just a mumble. Whenever Carter came to town, he always had his order written down.

“All you have to do is pay her fine and one of them might be yours.” Willard galvanized the possibility. “Sheriff said you can write her a letter. Tell her anything you like. Tell her what you expect. What you want. She’ll pick a name from a hat tonight, but if she don’t like you, or what your letter says, the sheriff said he’d let her pick again.”

Willard laughed. “That ornery old Riley’s got daughters back East. He believes a woman’s got rights, even one confessing to murder.”

 

Four hours later Willard’s words still rolled around in Carter’s thoughts. He’d written what he wanted out of a woman on the sack and given it to Riley, but all Carter could think about now was getting the letter back and going home before this crazy dream turned into a nightmare. He could imagine all three women pulling his name from the hat and putting it back at the first sight of him.

Sheriff Riley appeared in his office doorway. He carefully sat two lanterns on barrels on his porch, straightened to official statue, and called a name out through the night. The lottery had begun.

A tall man dressed in black materialized from the steady downpour. He wore a long greatcoat and a hat pulled low against the weather. Without a word he walked into the office.

The crowd was silent. Carter moved a few feet closer to the porch, telling himself he’d catch Sheriff Riley when he stepped outside again and withdraw his name before another paper could be pulled from the hat. He’d been missed once in the lottery. He might not be so lucky a second time.

But Carter hesitated. To withdraw, he’d have to talk, not to the sheriff alone, but in front of half the town. Carter’s fingers moved at his side.

The stranger in black stepped out of the office. His greatcoat was now wrapped around the thin frame of a woman whose hair looked almost white in the shadowy light. As they reached the edge of the porch and the curtain of rain, the tall man swept her into his arms and carried her to a waiting buggy.

A moment before she disappeared into the folds of the two-seater, the young woman glanced back at the sheriff. Her pale eyes were wide with fright, but she didn’t call back. She’d agreed to her fate.

Everyone watched, ready to help her if she only asked. But she didn’t. Someone behind Carter whispered, “The angel’s been picked.”

Carter shoved his way toward the porch. This had been a mistake. He didn’t want to take some frightened creature away in the night. He’d have no idea how to comfort her. And if the women were frail and died on him, folks in this town would only talk more.

But before he could reach the sheriff, Riley called another name.

Carter hung back. He’d never be able to withdraw his name in time, but two men had been called. One more and Carter could go home without having to say a word. His chances of not being chosen were good. There had to be at least forty names still in the hat.

An old man, with a bowed back, limped through the crowd toward the porch. Even in the rain, Carter could see that his hands were knotted and twisted. When several of the waiting commented, the man turned around to face the gathering. “I put my son’s name in the hat!” he shouted. “If the lady agrees, she’ll marry him by proxy tonight. He’s fighting with McKinsey in the Indian Wars, but when the trouble is over he’ll have a wife to come home to.”

If the men in the crowd thought the old man’s statement strange, none commented. A few had fought in the War Between the States, others as Rangers along the border, and someone to come home to, even a wife a man had never met, might be a reason for staying alive.

The old man followed Riley into the office. Again the crowd waited in silence, as though on church pews at a wedding. They might not be able to see or hear anything, but they all knew what went on inside. A woman was agreeing to marry.

A young girl finally appeared in the doorway. She didn’t look frightened as the angel had. She smiled and nodded at the men as she lifted her left hand. The gold band might forever be the only part of a real marriage she’d have.

Her new father-in-law joined her. He offered her his arm as he tried his best to straighten slightly. With a trembling hand, he held a lantern before him.

The girl placed her hand on his arm, then turned back to the doorway. “I’ll be living in my own apartment over the print shop until my husband comes home. Promise you’ll come see me, Bailee.”

A tall woman appeared in the doorway. “I promise.” She waved until they disappeared into the crowd.

Carter didn’t watch the girl and the old man. He couldn’t take his eyes off the woman at the door. She was tall, very tall for a woman. But then he’d only seen a few dozen of the creatures in his entire life. Her black hair was tied behind her head in a knot, and her eyes were the green of full summer.

While the other men waved good luck to the girl, the woman in the doorway stared directly at Carter. He saw no fear in her eyes, and wondered if she saw none in his. If the angel and the girl worried him, this one sent panic dancing along his spine.

He should have pulled his name. He wouldn’t have known how to treat the angel, or what to do with the girl, but this one ... this one was no child or mouse. This one was old enough and smart enough to know what she wanted in a man. And judging from the strength he saw in her eyes, she’d settle for nothing less.

“Miss Bailee?” The sheriff pulled her back to her duty. “Will you draw?”

Without hesitation, Bailee reached into the hat and pulled out a paper. Without opening it, she handed her choice to the Riley.

Carter noticed the sheriff glance his direction a fraction of a second before he unfolded the slip of paper. Riley didn’t turn toward the light to read the name, which surprised Carter, but no one else seemed to notice.

Riley thumbed through the letters and handed Bailee a brown paper sack.

Carter knew. His fingers moved silently, nervously at his side.

As everyone waited, Bailee turned toward the light and read his note.

The men were silent. Waiting. Fearing. Reconsidering.

Bailee nodded once at the sheriff.

“Carter McKoy!” Riley shouted loud enough to be heard over the rain.

Carter didn’t move. He didn’t even breathe while every other man standing around him went wild. Some shouted, a few swore. Most let out a long-held sigh as if they’d dodged a bullet after they’d been dumb enough to stand in front of the gun. Like one living body they all shifted and migrated away from the sheriff’s office, as though the air had suddenly chilled and it was time for the herd to move. Most headed toward the saloons. For them the evening’s excitement had ended.