Mail Order Cowboy (Love Inspired Historical) (17 page)

“Founders' Day it is, then,” Milly concluded. She knew Nick would be glad to see them come out, for he had accompanied them on the road for their safety. “Ladies, we are adjourned.” She turned to Sarah. “Wait for me by the wagon with Nick, will you?” Milly whispered, as the ladies dispersed. “Ada, may I speak to you?”

“Oh, Milly, can it wait 'til another time?” Ada said,
already halfway to the door. “Blakely's coming to take me on a ride. And here he is now,” Ada said, as the door to the social hall opened from the outside. Harvey stood there, smiling in his smirking way.

“Y
ou saw Harvey go in?” Milly asked Nick, when she and her sister came out to the wagon. She'd already told Sarah what Nick had said about the man.

He nodded. Yes, he'd seen the blasted scoundrel go in and come out with Miss Spencer, wearing a doting, besotted expression on his face as if he were half-blind with love. Only Nick knew the expression was as false as anything else about Harvey.

“Did you two speak? Did he apologize for not showing up for your supper together?” she asked, as Nick reined the horse in a wide circle to head the wagon back down the road toward home.

He shook his head. “I left my calling card at the hotel Sunday night, so he cannot claim to have forgotten entirely about our engagement, and he's made no attempt to come to me to apologize. Anyone at the hotel could have told him my direction. So when he walked by me on his way into the church, I gave him the cut direct.”

Milly's brow furrowed, and he realized she must not have understood the British term. “Sorry, my
Englishness is showing, I fear. I meant I ignored him. He seemed content to do the same to me.”

Then Milly told him about Harvey's riding around with Waters to look at property, which had him stifling the urge to disparage the man's parentage aloud. What kind of game was Harvey playing? Was he trying to torment Nick by making him think he would settle here, or would he actually do so? Having him living anywhere near would be like having a cobra in the room, but not being able to see it, never aware when it would strike.

“Nick, I tried to speak to Ada alone back there,” Milly said, breaking into his worried thoughts, “to warn her, but she rushed off with Harvey instead. Should I keep trying?”

“Are you good friends?” he asked.

Milly was thoughtful. “Not like Caroline and I are. More like acquaintances, I'd say. We've known one another ever since we first learned our ABCs in school, but then Mama died at the beginning of the war, and we were busy helping Papa, and she's been taking care of her parents…”

“She probably won't listen to you,” Nick said, aware he sounded cynical, but it was the truth, from his experience.

“I've got to try, don't you think?” she said, her hazel eyes troubled. “She's clearly head-over-heels about him. If Harvey's as much of a snake-in-the-grass as you say…”

“Oh, he is,” Nick said, “every bit of it.”
And more.
“You can only try, but often people hear only what they want to hear. So what did you ladies discuss at your
meeting?” he asked, wanting to distract Milly from her worries.

He listened while Milly and Sarah chattered about the men who'd written letters and how three of the ladies had been selected to write back and invite them to come for Founders' Day. Nick was glad to hear that Sarah was one of the ones picked and that she, too, was pleased about the prospect in her quiet, unassuming way. Sarah deserved to be happy, too, he thought. He only hoped the man to whom she would write was worthy of her.

“That meeting went on way longer than I would have thought it was going to,” Sarah fretted after glancing up at the sun's position. “Goodness, our men must be thinking we've taken off and left them to starve!”

“Oh, I think Josh could warm up last night's beans and make some biscuits, if he had to,” Milly commented drily. “He wasn't born eating your cooking, you know. Once we get done with dinner, though, I'm going to start working on a dress for the mercantile.”

“The new men seemed real pleased with their shirts,” Sarah said. “Bobby said they couldn't stop looking at their reflections in the bunkhouse mirror, as if they thought they were wearing royal robes.”

“Maybe they never had any clothing before that wasn't someone else's castoffs,” Milly mused aloud.

Nick could tell she was gratified by the new cowhands' appreciation, and his heart warmed again with love for her.

When the wagon reached the turnoff that led to San Saba, however, they encountered a mounted troop of blue-coated soldiers about to turn in the direction of the county seat.

Seeing the long blue line of cavalry, Nick felt a moment's nostalgia. Once he had ridden at the head of a troop like that, all smartly dressed in the uniform of Her Majesty's Bombay Light Cavalry. Now, if he could encounter them again, it would be he who was given the cut direct.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Milly stiffen. He supposed her suspicion was natural, given that blue coats had been a symbol of the enemy even earlier this same year. It would take time, Nick supposed, for Texans and other Southerners to feel part of the Union again. His own country had had its civil wars, the Wars of the Roses and between Cavaliers and Roundheads, but that had been long ago.

“Afternoon,” said the commanding officer at the head of the double line of mounted troops, touching his brimmed hat with a gloved hand. “I'm Major McConley of the Fourth Cavalry.”

“I'm Nicholas Brookfield, and this is Miss Milly Matthews and Miss Sarah Matthews. May we be of any assistance?” He felt the heat of Milly's glare as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

The major shook his head. “Thank you, no, we're out on patrol. We've had reports of Quanah Parker and his braves raiding over by Chappell. You had any trouble with Comanches?”

Briefly, Nick told him about the raid that had taken place the day he arrived, and about the carcass they'd found after that.

“No problem since then, eh?”

None caused by Indians,
Nick wanted to say, wishing the soldiers could do something about the threats made
by the Circle, but he knew Milly wouldn't want him to give these Federals any reason to linger.

“Keep your eyes peeled meanwhile,” Major McConley advised. “I'm sure they'll be raiding every chance they get now to build up their food stores before they move to the Staked Plains for the winter.” With a final salute, he motioned the troop forward, and they rode past toward San Saba.

It was sobering to remember that whatever their problems were with white troublemakers, the potential still existed for an attack by Indians that could be far worse.

Milly let her breath out in a great whoosh. “I thought sure he was going to ask who was building a fort up there and why,” she said, nodding at the hill in the distance where they had begun their fortress.

Nick doubted the major could have noticed the low rectangle of rock from the road, and even if he had, it might not have occurred to him what the building was to be. Nick thought it was even possible that the major might have approved of the citizenry doing what they could to protect themselves. He couldn't be sure, though—perhaps Milly's suspicions were based on Texan experience with the occupying troops.

Milly's mention of the barely begun fort, coupled with the major's words, made Nick thoughtful. They had wanted to build their fort on the ideal high ground, but so far all they had been able to accomplish was to establish a rocky perimeter. Their duties of tending the livestock and keeping the fences mended, as well as the difficulty of working under a hot summer sun that rivaled Bombay for intensity, had kept them from
accomplishing very much. There was still so much more work to do before it would be tall enough to keep anyone safe within it. At the barn raising, several men had been interested but so far no one had shown up to help build it. It might be due to their disapproval of the four ex-slaves, or perhaps the men thought a fort overlooking Matthews land might not help them in town all that much. Perhaps it was merely that everyone was busy with their own affairs. Nick had no way of knowing for sure.

At the present rate, though, with just the six able-bodied men on the ranch working on it, it might be a year before the walls were high enough to protect anyone. It wasn't just a matter of building four high, stout stone walls. They needed parapets near the top of the walls where men could fire at attackers through slits in the walls as he'd seen in medieval castles in England. But they couldn't assume the Comanches would wait until the fort was done before they attacked again.

When they reached the ranch, the news was even more sobering. Over dinner, Elijah announced that Caleb had been shot at just as he succeeded in untying a calf he'd found lying helpless on its side, its legs tied together. The young man hadn't been hit, or seen who had fired at him, but the shot had come from the area where Waters's ranch bordered with both the Matthews ranch and the road. He had returned fire in that direction, then jumped on his horse, hightailing it back to the ranch.

“The calf was obviously tied up and left there for you to find,” Nick speculated, “so someone could get a shot off at whoever found it. I'm thinking they were
counting on it being one of you brothers, rather than Bobby or I.”

“I think so, too,” Elijah growled. “And I don't like it. There's somethin' else they've been doin' and we didn't tell you about it—didn't want to worry you, Miss Milly, Miss Sarah—but now I reckon we better.”

“Oh?”

Elijah nodded. “Three-four times now, we found nooses hangin' where we'd be sure t'see 'em. Little ones, like doll-sized, and big ones. Hangin' from tree limbs, mostly…but we found one right in the barn.”

Sarah gasped in horror.

Milly clutched at Nick's arm. “So you think it was one of the Circle, trying to terrorize the Browns into leaving?” Sarah asked Nick.

“Yes, and I think they'd seen me leaving with you ladies on the way to town.”

“But we can't prove it was someone from the Circle shooting at Caleb, can we?” asked Milly, frustrated. “If the shot came from where Waters's land borders with ours
and
the road, it could have been anyone—even a Comanche—shooting from the road. At least that's what Waters and his Circle cronies will say—that Caleb was too scared to see where the shot had come from.”

“I wasn't scared. I was mad, Miss Milly,” Caleb said. “I wanted to hit whoever the buzzard was who shot at me.”

“And end up being hanged as a murderer?” Isaiah asked. “They'd claim you shot an innocent man who hadn't fired his gun, and you know it.”

Caleb was silent.

“Well, I'm tired of living like this,” Milly said with
some heat. “The Comanches have always been a danger around here from time to time, but with the new threat posed by the Circle, I feel like none of us are safe away from the house and that when we go to town, we leave the ranch more vulnerable,” Milly said. “I'm beginning to feel like we're prisoners on the ranch, especially you fellows,” she said, nodding toward the four brothers. “I'd like for it to be safe for you to go to town if you wanted to without people acting nasty toward you, or worse.”

Elijah nodded. “Yeah, Miss Milly, it's like we're still not free, no matter what Mr. Lincoln said, God rest his soul.”

Nick could only agree. He wanted peace, not only for the sake of those living on the ranch and in the town, but so he could court Milly and move toward marriage.

“Let's all ponder the problem this afternoon, then put our heads together after supper and see if we can come up with some solutions.”

 

Take that, and that, and that,
Milly thought, slicing through the chalk line she'd traced on the length of cloth.

“Easy, there,” murmured a familiar English voice from the doorway of her sewing room. “Who are you slicing up?”

Milly whirled around and straightened, seeing Nick leaning against the doorway with negligent grace, holding a glass of cold lemonade in each hand.

She felt herself flushing in embarrassment that he had so accurately guessed her thoughts. “Bill Waters, Blakely Harvey and the Comanches, alternately,” she confessed. “Not very Christian of me, is it?”

“It's very
human
to be angry at those who are trying to hurt you,” he said, handing her a glass. “Especially those who are supposedly civilized and should know better. Anyway, I was thirsty and thought you might be, too.”

“Thank you,” Milly said, raising her glass in salute before drinking down a cool, refreshing sip. “Did you come to discuss strategy?” How handsome he was, smiling at her from the doorway, his teeth flashing white in his suntanned face, his eyes sparkling with a compelling blue warmth. Did he have any idea how he affected her?

“No,” he said. “Strategy can keep 'til after supper, as we said. I came for this.” In three short strides he closed the distance between them and drew her near. And then he was kissing her, with a sweetness combined with that same fierce intensity that she had been using to slice through the cloth only a minute ago. He kissed her as if Sarah wasn't just down the hall in the kitchen, white to her elbows with flour. His kiss was warm and tender and full of promise, and for a long moment she wanted him never to stop. But at last he did, and let go of her, but he gazed down at her as if she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

“W-why did you do that, just now?” was all she could think to say, and then wished she hadn't opened her mouth and said something so idiotic. Perhaps if she'd had the sense to remain silent and had gone into his arms again instead, he would have given her more of those wonderful kisses.

“Because, my dear Milly, because we both needed it,”
he said in that completely English way of his. “Because we've been so busy, not only with the tasks of everyday living, but with big problems. A man who's in love with his lady would naturally want to kiss her, but each time, a problem reared its ugly head.”

“You are?”

His brow crinkled in puzzlement—or maybe he was just teasing her, to get her to say it. “I am what?”

“A man in love with his lady? With me?”

He smiled that slow, dazzling smile that set her heart to pounding. “I am, indeed, Milly Matthews. I'm in love with a lady who uses her imagination to solve a problem—a group of unmarried ladies who have no men to marry, I mean—a lady who stands her ground, who doesn't resort to the vapors when faced with danger. Yet she feels guilty for pretending a piece of cloth is her worst enemy as she slices through it. I just thought that lovely woman should know how I feel, and I decided to come take the time to tell her so.”