Love Inspired Historical January 2015 Box Set: Wolf Creek Father\Cowboy Seeks a Bride\Falling for the Enemy\Accidental Fiancee (28 page)

“Ah.” The humor left his face but a gentle twinkle remained in his eyes. “Go on. You can tell me anything.”

She would take him at his word, at least for now. Borrowing from her Irish legacy of masterful storytelling, she wove the “sad but true tale” of her family, punctuating it with a few well-placed tears and carefully leaving out several details. Eight years before, when her brother was only fifteen, he'd been beaten up by neighborhood bullies. Da had called him a coward for not standing up to the thugs, so Jimmy had left home and never come back. He'd written only one letter a year or so later, posting it from Del Norte, Colorado, and saying he was headed to Wagon Wheel Gap to do some silver prospecting. Now that their parents had died, the mention of which brought genuine tears to her eyes, at least for Mam, she knew she had to search for her only living relative before she settled down.

At this point she batted her eyes, sending a few tears down her cheeks, and then dabbed at them with a handkerchief and gave Rand a look that pleaded for understanding.

“I'm sorry to hear about your dad and brother not getting along.” He shook his head and stared off with a thoughtful look. “Describe your brother to me.”

Marybeth started. Could it be this simple? Was it possible that Rand knew him? “His name is Jimmy O'Brien.” She couldn't keep the eagerness from her voice. “I haven't seen him since I was twelve years old. He was just a couple of inches taller than I was, so he may be about five feet, five inches now, if he takes after our father. He has red hair and hazel eyes.” She searched her memory for other details, but none came to mind. She certainly would not mention Mam's silver locket, which she'd given him to keep Da from pawning it to buy liquor. Marybeth laughed softly. “And, as if you haven't already figured out, he's Irish.”

Rand's frown of concentration intensified. “Does he speak with a brogue?”

“No.” She shook her head. “We both worked hard to get rid of it so we could get better jobs.” She had worked especially hard to speak without the brogue, hoping to find employment as a servant in an upper-class home, something a rich rancher couldn't possibly understand. “He did pretty well, and the ladies at my church were so impressed by my efforts that they sent me to Fairfield Young Ladies' Academy, where I met Rosamond.” She bit her lip, hoping she didn't sound proud, wondering how much further to go. “I learned deportment, but I also learned typing and accounting skills.” In her letters she'd mentioned the academy but not the training in office work.

“Typing.” He scratched his head. “I've heard about those typewriting machines but haven't ever seen one. I did receive a letter written on one. Makes a real nice page, just like printing in a book.”

She beamed a smile at him, encouraged that he didn't seem the least bit angry. “Yes. I'm hoping to find work, perhaps in a bank or for a lawyer.”

“Work?” Now he frowned again, but still without anger. “But I'm responsible for your care. I've made arrangements with Mrs. Foster on the condition you would agree to live there until our wedding.” His eyes narrowed. “Marybeth, please assure me that you didn't take advantage of my parents' kindness just so they would pay your train fare so you could find your brother.”

“N-no, not at all.”
Yes.
At least partly yes. “Please recall the part of our agreement stating that either of us has the right to cancel our wedding if we're not compatible.”

“And in just forty-five minutes, you've decided we're not compatible?” The edge in his voice sent a shiver through her middle. “Seems you've already made up your mind.” He raised his hand as if he wanted to hit something, and Marybeth prepared to duck. Instead he waved off the gesture and stared glumly out of the window.

To her surprise, instead of being angry he seemed wounded, even depressed, so much so that she felt sorry for him.

Could it be that he wasn't like Da at all? Could she trust him to help her find Jimmy? Despite being a gambler and gunfighter, maybe he had a core of decency she could learn to trust. But how could she really know for certain?

* * *

Rand wished he hadn't raised his hand that dismissive way, as he always did to show gunslingers that he wasn't planning to fight them, for the gesture appeared to have scared Marybeth. He turned to stare out the window to watch the traffic in the street. She hadn't even given him a chance. Maybe hadn't even intended to try. So much for his parents' and sister's harebrained idea of finding him a proper Christian lady to marry. He should have just married one of those nice girls who lived down in Bowen. There sure were enough of them to choose from. But Dad had wanted to bring fresh blood into Esperanza; ladies with fine manners like Mother's to help some of the wilder gals like Maisie improve their ways.

Thoughts of Mother always stopped him short. He raised a familiar silent prayer that the doctors at the Boston hospital would be able to find out what caused her breathing problems. Dad had been so anxious about her health that he'd left Esperanza, the community he'd spent the past thirteen years building, the town that looked to him for guidance for every important decision they made. Yet Dad had willingly made the trip back East for Mother's sake. Rand longed for that same kind of marriage, where the most important thing was to take care of one another, no matter what the personal cost might be.

His folks had taken his sister, Rosamond, along to enroll her in the Boston finishing school Mother had attended as a young girl. There they'd met Marybeth, and Mother had decided she was the perfect young lady for Rand. Until today he hadn't cared much about those fine manners Dad insisted the local girls needed to learn. But after meeting Marybeth, he couldn't imagine marrying one of those cowgirls he'd grown up with. Still, he was beginning to wonder how his folks could have been so mistaken about Marybeth. Couldn't they see she'd had another plan all along?

Rand had made a few plans of his own. He'd envisioned someone who could grow a kitchen garden
and
a family and give him a little intellectual companionship on cold Colorado evenings. If he'd just married one of the gals who always smiled so sweetly at him in church, he wouldn't be sitting here feeling like a complete fool. But he also wouldn't have a bride who could talk about something other than the price of cattle or how the weather affected the crops.

Probably intent on listening to their conversation, Lucy sidled up next to him and gave his shoulder a sisterly nudge with her elbow as she held out the coffeepot.

“You must be missing Seamus.” He held his cup while she poured.

Lucy shrugged. “If you see him, tell him I do miss him.” She sniffed. “Don't know why he has to be the one up in the hills with all them cattle all summer long. I don't have nothing to do on my days off.”

Rand gave her a sympathetic smile. “He's the trail boss because he's the best man for the job. You can be proud of him for that.”

“Humph. And what am I supposed to do while he's out there?” Lucy poured coffee for Marybeth and then took Rand's empty plate in her free hand. With a swish of her skirt that brushed fabric against his forearm, she headed back toward the kitchen.

Eyeing Lucy with a hint of disapproval, Marybeth put two lumps of sugar and a dash of cream in her cup, stirred and lifted the drink to her lips. Her graceful hands looked like white porcelain and her little fingers posed in refined arches as she held the cup. Beautiful, elegant hands, but not hands for a rancher's wife. What had his folks been thinking? This young lady was entirely too genteel.

Or maybe as she'd traveled farther west, she'd realized what she'd gotten herself into. Too bad he couldn't blame Maisie for this turn of events, but that wouldn't be fair. Even if she spilled the whole story, with her upbringing as a rancher's daughter, of course she'd be proud of his killing a horse thief.

Well, one thing was sure. With Marybeth making it clear they wouldn't be getting married anytime soon, if at all, he could postpone telling her about the fatal gunfight. He had no doubt Maisie had blabbed the story, so when they did get around to talking about it, he would have to reassure Marybeth that he wasn't proud of killing a man, no matter what other people thought. On the other hand, he was still responsible for her since she'd come all this way to meet him. Best get this all figured out.

“Now about that job you mentioned, how do you plan on getting it?” He couldn't keep the rancor out of his voice.

She lifted her chin and gazed down her pretty little nose at him. “As I said, I plan to work for a lawyer or in the bank.” She blinked in a charming, innocent way. “You do have a bank, don't you? I thought I saw one on our way here.”

“Yes, we have a bank. But everybody knows that's a man's job. Besides, what makes you think Mr. Means is going to hire you?” Rand felt justified being a little cross. Not only was Nolan Means young, wealthy and good-looking, he kept trying to finagle his way into community leadership, something the Northam family carefully controlled to keep out unsavory elements.

Marybeth's hazel eyes flashed at his challenge. “I will have you know I am very good with accounts. Not only that, but with my typewriting ability, I will be a great asset. If Mr....Mr. Means, is it? If he doesn't need an accountant or secretary, I am certain some businessman in this growing town will be happy to employ someone with my skills.”

Rand gazed at her, admiration mingled with annoyance. The girl had spirit, that was certain. But as he watched her, something else became evident in her bright hazel eyes—a look he'd seen in green gamblers who just realized they'd gotten themselves into a game with seasoned cardsharps. She had a secret, one that scared her. Why on earth did she think coming out West would solve her problems? But here she was, and despite her postponement—maybe even her cancellation—of the wedding, he had every intention of sticking to his plans to take care of her. A Christian man always kept his word, always saw to his responsibilities.

Bolstered with that thought, Rand scratched behind his ear and gave Marybeth one of his best “aw shucks” grins. “Well, Marybeth, I wish you all the best. And I will pray for your success.”

Her eyes widened and she seemed to struggle a moment before answering. “Why, thank you, Rand. How very kind.”

He shrugged. “I've been praying for you since last January when Mother first wrote to me about you.”

“Oh.” She looked down at her coffee cup. “Thank you.”

He frowned. She seemed confused by his mention of prayer. Yet Mother had assured him she was a Christian. A real one, not someone who just went through the motions in church. Maybe she'd fooled them all. That meant he had more than one responsibility for this little gal. He had to take care of her
and
get her saved. He would take her to church every Sunday and let her hear some of Reverend Thomas's fine sermons. If he'd listened to those sermons when he should have, he'd never have killed a man, no matter how threatened he'd felt.

Another thing he could do for Marybeth was to write to the sheriff in Wagon Wheel Gap to see if he'd come across a man matching Jimmy O'Brien's description. Maybe if Rand found her brother, she'd forget working and decide to settle down with him. On the other hand, he needed to find out what she was hiding before he could marry her. That was quite a quandary, one the Lord would have to sort out.

“If you're done with your coffee, I'll take you over to Mrs. Foster's. She'll put you up until—” He shook his head. No longer could he think
until the wedding.
“Until you get things worked out.”

He stood, pulled a half dollar out of his pocket and dropped it on the table to pay for their dinner, adding a nickel for Lucy's tip. When Marybeth continued to stare at him with some sort of unreadable expression, he sighed as he snagged his hat off of the peg.

“I guess I should ask if that's all right with you.”

She gave him a tentative smile and her eyes seemed to glisten. “Yes, it's fine. Thank you. You're very kind, considering...”

Rand ducked his head to put on his hat
and
to hide a grin. Her eyes held that secretive look again, but this time with even more uncertainty. Maybe he had a chance with this pretty little lady, after all. And maybe his older brother could offer some tips on how to win a gal determined not to like him.

Chapter Two

“S
hall we go?” Rand held out his arm and Marybeth set a hand on it.

Once again she could feel his muscles rippling through his fine cotton shirt. How nice it would be to depend upon such a strong man. But Da had also been strong before his final drink-induced illness, and his excellent physique had housed a deceitful soul. In fact, Marybeth had met few men, sturdy or weak, who kept their word. Was Jimmy any different, or had he become like Da? She'd prayed for years he hadn't fallen into such sinful ways, but she didn't hold out too much hope. After all, the American West was known for its lawlessness. Maybe Jimmy had chosen that path.

Even if he had, she was determined to find him and make him hand over the silver locket. Mam had told her it contained the key to a treasure that would take care of Marybeth all her life. Although Jimmy probably didn't know what lay hidden behind the tintype picture of their family, the locket still belonged to Marybeth. Of course she would share the fortune with him. Too bad Mam hadn't claimed the treasure herself and used it to escape Da and his abuse. Knowing him, he would have found her and forced her to turn over the money so he could gamble it away or use it in one of his get-rich schemes that always failed. The man had never known how to tell the truth or make a wise decision, other than marrying a good woman like Mam.

“It's not far, just six blocks.” Rand glanced down at her high-top shoes, already covered with dust from the unpaved street. “But we can get a buggy if it's too far for you to walk.”

His thoughtful gesture threatened to weaken her, so Marybeth forced her defenses back in place. “The wind has died down and it's a lovely day. Let's walk.” She punctuated her cheerful tone with a bright smile. “Besides, Boston's a very hilly city and I walked everywhere there. This flat town is no challenge.”

He chuckled—a pleasant, throaty sound. “If you're used to hills, I'll have to take you up in the mountains for a hike. That sure would challenge you.” His teasing tone was accompanied by quick grin before a frown darted over his tanned face. “Of course we'd take a suitable chaperone.” His hastily spoken addition showed once again his eagerness to please her.

Oh, how she longed to trust him. Yet how could she dare to when he hadn't even told her about that deadly gunfight Maisie was so proud of? When Marybeth spoke of delaying their marriage, his hurt feelings and disappointment had been obvious. Shouldn't he have bragged about the killing, assuming she'd regard him as a hero and change her mind? She'd been honest with him about her family, at least as close to honest as she'd dared to be, but he was hiding a very significant happening in his life.

“This is the street.”

Rand steered her down a row of attractive two-story houses, several of which rivaled some of Boston's finer clapboard homes. One redbrick structure reminded her of Boston's older Federal-style mansions. Numerous houses were in varying stages of completion, adding to the picture of the growing community about which Colonel and Mrs. Northam had told Marybeth. Young cottonwood and elm trees lined the street, and several fenced-in yards boasted a variety of shrubbery and colorful flowers in the last blooms of summer.

“What a pretty town.” Her words came out on a sigh.

“We like it.” Rand smiled his appreciation of her compliment, and her heart lifted unexpectedly.

Peace hung in the air like a warm mantle, belying the town's Wild West location. Maybe Esperanza would be a good place to call home after she found Jimmy. It all depended upon the people and whether or not she fit into the community.

“Here's Mrs. Foster's house.” Rand indicated a pretty brown house with a white picket fence, a stone foundation, a wide front porch whose roof was supported by slender columns, and gabled windows jutting out from the second floor.

A slender, gray-haired woman with a slightly bent posture bustled out of the front door. “Oh, here you are at last. Welcome, welcome.” She descended the steps, holding the railing beside them, and pulled Marybeth into a warm embrace. “I'm so glad to meet you, Miss O'Brien. Welcome to Esperanza. Welcome to my home.”

Tears flooded Marybeth's eyes. She hadn't been held in a maternal embrace in the four long years since Mam died, and oh, how she'd missed it. No formal introduction could have moved Marybeth as this lady's greeting did. She obviously possessed an open heart and generous spirit, just like some of the older ladies at her Boston church. “I'm so pleased to meet you, too, Mrs. Foster.”

“Hello, Rand.” The lady embraced him briefly and then looped an arm in Marybeth's and propelled her toward the stairs. “Come along, my dear. Tolley brought your trunk and carried it up to your room. If you need help unpacking, I'll be happy to assist you.”

“Thank you.” Marybeth glanced over her shoulder. Da never let Mam have friends, but Rand seemed pleased by Mrs. Foster's warm welcome.

Inside the cozy, well-furnished parlor, Mrs. Foster seated Marybeth on a comfortable green-brocade settee, waving Rand to the spot beside her. “You two sit right here, and I'll bring tea.” She left the room humming.

“I sure am glad to see her so happy.” Rand had removed his hat and placed it on a nearby chair. He brushed a hand through his dark brown hair and smoothed out the hat line. “She's been grieving for a long time. Probably will for the rest of her life.” The hint of emotion in his voice revealed genuine compassion. “Having you stay here will be good for her.”

Marybeth could not discern any ulterior motive in his words or demeanor. Once again she was confounded. Why would a gunslinger care about an old widow? “I'll be glad to help in any way I can.” She eyed the piano. “That's a beautiful instrument. Do you suppose she would let me play it?” When Da wasn't around, Mam had taught Marybeth to play, using the piano in a neighborhood church. She'd gone to practice as often as she could, first to escape Da's anger, later for the sheer enjoyment of playing.

“I think she'd be pleased to hear you.” Rand moved a hand closer to Marybeth's but pulled it back before he made contact, apparently rethinking the gesture. “I'd like to hear you play, too.”

The intensity of his gaze stirred an unfamiliar sensation in her chest. Was it admiration? Oddly, traitorously, she hoped he did admire her. What girl didn't want to be appreciated?

“Well, I'd need to practice first. It's been a while since I played.”

He seemed about to respond, but Mrs. Foster entered the room carrying a black-lacquered tray filled with all the necessities for a lovely tea. Rand stood, as any true gentleman would, until Mrs. Foster reclaimed her seat.

“Oh, my.” He looked hungrily at the cake, the look every cook hoped for. “It's a good thing we didn't have any dessert at the café.”

“The café!” Mrs. Foster blustered in an amiable way. “Why, I can outcook that Pam Williams any day.” She raised her dark gray eyebrows and stared at Rand expectantly.

“Now, Mrs. Foster.” He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “There's a reason I never volunteer to judge the Harvest Home baking contest or any other one. As a bachelor, I don't want to get in trouble with any of the many fine cooks we're so fortunate to have here in Esperanza. You don't know how much we depend on your good graces to have a decent meal from time to time.”

He waggled his eyebrows at Marybeth and she bit back a laugh. It was their first moment of camaraderie, and it felt...
right
. Very much so.
Oh, Lord, hold on to my heart. Please don't let me fall in love with this man.

* * *

“Humph.” Mrs. Foster poured tea and passed it to her guests. If Rand weren't so used to Mother's Wedgwood china, he'd worry about breaking the delicate cup that was too small for his large hands.

Mrs. Foster served the cake and then focused on Rand. “Well, young man, you won't be a bachelor for much longer. Have you chosen your wedding date?”

He did his best not to choke on his tea. Mrs. Foster's question was understandable, but he hadn't had time to figure out how to tell folks the wedding was off. Besides, his family should hear it first and from him. The way gossip both good and bad traveled through the community, he'd get home and find out Nate and Susanna had heard all about the “postponed” wedding.

“I'm sure everyone knows how much planning a wedding requires.” Marybeth sipped from her cup. “In fact, Maisie Henshaw tells me the church is planning to build an addition right after harvest, one that would accommodate large parties such as wedding receptions.” She took a bite of cake. “Oh, my, this certainly is an award-winning recipe.”

The smile she gave Mrs. Foster was utterly guileless, but Rand's chest tightened. Marybeth hadn't lied, but she hadn't told the whole truth, either. Of course, he still had some truth-telling to do, as well, so he mustn't judge her too harshly.

He noticed that Mrs. Foster's eyes narrowed briefly, as though maybe she hadn't been fooled by Marybeth's little diversion from answering the question. She didn't comment, however, just took a bite of cake. Food always provided a handy excuse for not saying something. Rand often used that ploy himself.

They passed several more minutes trading mundane information, as folks do when first meeting. Rand already knew everything Marybeth told Mrs. Foster, because she'd written it all in her letters. Too bad she hadn't felt inclined to warn him about her plans to postpone the wedding until she found her brother. Guilt smote him again. He should have written to her about the gunfight. Should have anticipated someone else bringing it up. He couldn't get over the idea that she already knew and that Maisie had told her. But what exactly did she know? What did she really think? These were things they needed to settle between the two of them, so he sure couldn't ask her those questions in front of Mrs. Foster. The dear old lady never hesitated to give her opinion on any topic under discussion.

Marybeth seemed weary from her travels, so Rand took his leave, promising to visit the next day.

As he walked toward town to see if Tolley was still around, a dull ache settled into his chest, replacing the growing joy he'd felt for weeks in anticipation of meeting and marrying Marybeth. This was no more than he deserved. What lady from back East would understand what he'd done? He didn't even understand it himself. Only his friends and neighbors proclaimed him a hero; only his younger brother wanted to copy his actions. He hated every memory of that fateful day and all he'd done that led up to it.

Shoving away those thoughts, he started his search for Tolley at Mrs. Winsted's general store. He remembered to pick up a packet of cumin and spool of white thread his sister-in-law, Susanna, had asked for, but didn't find his brother. Back out in the sunshine, he headed toward the livery and caught Tolley leading his saddled horse out of the stable.

“Say, shouldn't you be over at Mrs. Foster's wooing your pretty little bride-to-be?” Tolley's impish expression made Rand want to tweak his nose, as he used to when they were scrappy little boys.

“She's pretty tired from her travels.” Rand tried to sound cheerful so Tolley wouldn't ask any more questions. “Did you order the rope from the hardware store?”

Tolley chortled. “Don't change the subject. Tell me—”

“Northam!” A well-dressed, black-clad man, gun strapped to his leg, stepped off the boardwalk and strode toward them. “Randall Northam.”

Rand felt his dinner and Mrs. Foster's cake rise up in his gullet. Another gunslinger out to prove himself. Didn't he know better than to face two men? Tolley might be young and hotheaded, but he was a fast-drawing crack shot.
Lord, please don't let my brother get shot.

He sighed. “I'm Randall Northam. What can I do for you, Mr.—?”

A sly smile crept across the man's face but his eyes remained as cold and deadly as a rattlesnake's. And surprisingly familiar. “Name's Hardison. Dathan Hardison. I believe you met my cousin Cole Lyndon about three years ago.”

Rand went cold all over. Frozen cold in spite of the sunshine beaming down on his shoulders and the warm summer breeze fanning over him. If the man drew on him, he wouldn't be able to get his hand halfway to his holster. Somehow he managed to keep all emotion out of his face, a seasoned gambler's ploy. Except he wasn't a gambler. Not anymore. Nor was he a gunfighter, despite the gun at his side. But what could he say to the kin of the man he'd killed?
Lord, help me.

“Yes, I ‘met' Cole Lyndon. I'm sorry to say it was an unfortunate meeting.” On the other hand, the no-good horse thief had robbed and beaten Susanna's father, leaving him for dead. The sheriff in Del Norte had said Cole had left a string of robberies and murders behind him. But no matter how often his friends called Rand a hero for outdrawing the wicked man, he'd never aspired to be an executioner. Never aspired to have every gunslinger from Montana to El Paso come gunning for him, risking his family and his town. So far he'd been able to talk himself out of another fight with humor or appeals to their better nature, even making a few friends of those who'd intended to face off with him. But revenge for injury to a man's family was entirely different. Trouble was, Rand knew he'd take it badly if anyone hurt Nate or Tolley. Especially Tolley, whose heavy breathing gave evidence of his rising temper.

“Unfortunate meeting. Is that what you call it?” Hardison's deadly cold tone hinted at imminent repayment for Rand's crime. The man glanced over his shoulder toward the Friday-afternoon crowds meandering along Main Street. He rolled his head and gave an unpleasant laugh. “Just wanted to let you know I'm in town.” He slowly reached up to touch the brim of his hat in a mock salute, made as if to turn away and instead turned back. “Speaking of meeting, I almost had the pleasure of meeting a certain young lady from Boston on the train, but that sissified doctor and his cowgirl wife were playing nursemaid. I'll be looking for an opportunity to introduce myself to her.”