Promises Kept (8 page)

Colt placed the reticule on the table next to his Stetson, and turned his attention back to the woman who posed so many questions he didn’t know where to begin. Her complexion looked like fresh cream, a stark contrast to her dark auburn hair and the black lashes resting on her cheekbones. She had perfectly shaped brows, a small straight nose, and plump pink lips. She was definitely a looker. Every feature on her face was perfect, in his estimation. He gently tapped her cheek. “Ma’am, wake up.” No luck. He tapped lightly again. She didn’t move. He was half tempted to kiss her to see if that would awaken her.

Hearing Bartholomew’s footsteps nearing the doorway, Colt said again, “Ma’am? Ma’am?” He glanced at the dog, which had jumped up on the bed when Colt tapped her cheek. He plopped down right next to Victoria, his eyes fixed on Colt.

“I’m not hurting her, buddy,” he said to the grungy animal.

Bartholomew held the damp cloth out to him. “Here you go. See if this will stir her.”

Colt placed the cloth on her forehead. “I think she feels warm.”

“Well, it is hotter than blazes, and she’s traveled a long way in this heat. Then the poor little thing finds out her intended is dead on her arrival. I reckon if anyone has a reason to take ill, it’d be this little gal,” Bartholomew replied, his own voice thick with emotion.

Colt flinched at Bartholomew’s words. All he had been doing was thinking about how beautiful she was; he’d given little thought to her situation. “Where did Chet meet her?”

Bartholomew limped to the only chair in the room and plopped down. “He hadn’t met her. He answered her advertisement in the newspaper.”

Colt whipped his head around to look at Bartholomew, disbelief written all over his face. “Her advertisement?”

“Said she was needin’ a husband,” Bartholomew explained.

Colt stared at him for a minute, trying to make sense of his words. “You mean she advertised for a husband and Chet responded?”

“Yessir, that’s what he did. He sent her money for her and the boys to come here.”

“Are you telling me
she
advertised for a husband,” he repeated, as if he hadn’t heard correctly, “and Chet was going to marry her sight unseen?” He had heard of men sending off for mail-order brides, but he had never thought that women placed advertisements for husbands.

“That’s exactly what he was fixin’ to do,” Bartholomew said. “Said he was plumb tired of not knowing what it was like to be married. It didn’t bother him one bit that he was getting boys in the bargain. He said she was probably just a nice lady in a bad way.” Bartholomew pulled himself up from the chair and walked to the table by the bed. He opened a drawer and pulled out a newspaper clipping and handed it to Colt. “This is between you and me; no one else needs to know how she came about getting to Promise. No need for her to be embarrassed about her situation.”

Colt nodded, and started reading the few lines she had written. He finished reading and handed the paper back to Bartholomew. “Seems like a foolhardy way to make a commitment to someone. What would possess a woman to do something so foolish?”

“Men send away for mail-order brides all the time. I guess it beats the heck out of workin’ at some place like L. B. Ditty’s saloon to survive.” He pointed a gnarled finger at Victoria. “Look at her. She’s a lady, and she has boys she has to think about. I reckon it ain’t that easy makin’ her way with boys unless she finds a man who will take them in. Even pretty as she is, I doubt many men would want two boys in the bargain.” Bartholomew choked up for a minute, then collected himself. “Chet was that kind of man, always there to help out someone in need.” He stared at Colt, who was absently scratching the pitiful dog behind the ears. “He was sort of like you, except you take in stray animals.”

Colt chuckled at that. “I do take in my share of strays.” He’d always had an uncommon bond with animals. Everyone knew if they had an ailing animal all they had to do was bring them to him, and he’d nurse them back to health. But stray women? No, thank you, he would stick to animals.

“Anyhow, when Chet read what she had writ, he figured she needed his help. I asked him if he was worried about her being plug ugly or big as the side of that ol’ barn out there. And you know what he said?”

Colt’s mouth tilted in a grin, thinking he would have wondered the same thing. “He didn’t worry about that?”

“He said a woman who was trying to do the best for her boys had a beauty about her that wasn’t on the outside. He said he thought the Lord was leading him to write her a letter.” Bartholomew had to clear his throat to continue. “I’ll never forget that look on his face when he said that to me.”

“Chet was a good man,” Colt told him and meant it. It shamed him all the more for where his own thoughts had been. He looked down at Victoria again, thinking for the umpteenth time how lovely she was. It was a shame Chet would never know how lucky he was about to be, ready-made family or not. He figured there were many men in Promise who would want her. Up until this moment, he’d never really thought about how few women there were to choose from in this part of the country. Not that he’d ever looked for a woman to wed. As a younger man he’d found out quick enough that if he even so much as danced at a church social with a rancher’s daughter, everyone would be talking marriage before the sun came up over the horizon the next morning. That was just one more reason to leave the ladies alone.

“I guess there aren’t a whole lot of women to choose from outside the gals at L. B. Ditty’s.” As Colt said the words, he realized he’d never seen Chet play poker at the saloon.

Bartholomew seemed to read his mind. “Chet never visited L. B. Ditty’s, or he might have married up with one of them gals, thinking he was helping her to get out of a place like that.” Bartholomew recalled the many times Chet told him that he regretted never marrying. Until he saw that advertisement, he’d never done anything about finding a wife. Now it was too late for him. “Chet was always shy around the ladies.”

Colt felt Victoria stir on the bed and he glanced down at her. He pulled the cloth from her forehead and leaned closer. “Miss Eastman, are you awake?”

Slowly, Victoria opened her eyes and found herself looking directly into those unnerving black eyes. She tried to move away from him, but he held her firmly by the shoulders. “Be still. You should rest.”

She glanced around the room, trying to figure out where she was. “What happened?”

“You fainted.”

“Fainted?” she asked, clearly still confused. She’d never fainted in her life.

“Yes. I’m afraid I gave you a bit of a shock.” Colt started to say something else, but wasn’t sure what he should say. He wasn’t about to repeat his earlier mistake, when he’d blurted out the news of Chet’s death.

After a minute, her thoughts settled into place. Mr. Barlow was dead. The man she was going to marry was dead. Poor Mr. Barlow. Was it her? Did God want to punish her for something? It seemed that way, since nothing ever worked out for her. Tears trickled down the sides of her face, dropping soundlessly to the pillow beneath her head. She would never know Mr. Barlow, and there would be no home for Cade and Cody. She wanted to scream at the injustice of it all. She wept for the death of a man she had never met and the loss of a future for the boys. She would use the extra money Mr. Barlow sent to return to Mrs. Wellington’s boardinghouse, stuff her dreams deep inside once again, and try to make do. Life had been so unfair. Couldn’t something good happen for her and the boys, just once?

Seeing Victoria cry was nearly Colt’s undoing. His throat felt raw when he said softly, “I’m sorry about your . . . about Chet.” She looked so forlorn, he considered gathering her in his arms and holding her to his chest until she was all cried out, but he didn’t think a woman as skittish as she was would welcome his attentions. The dog didn’t have the same hesitation. He plopped his head on Victoria’s bosom, and Colt thought
lucky dog
as he watched her wrap her arms around his neck and bury her face in his fur.

It was out of character for her to be emotional in front of strangers, but the events leading up to this moment were almost more than she could bear. She hid her face in Bandit’s furry neck while she summoned every ounce of strength she possessed to get her emotions under control.

Colt figured most women would have given in to a crying spell under the circumstances, but he could see her struggling to hold it in. He didn’t know if he and Bartholomew should leave the room until she was under control. “We can give you a minute to . . . rest up . . . if you need to.”

Victoria pulled back from the dog and wiped at her cheeks. “I’m fine. I guess I need to get back to town and see about the next stage.”

“Miss Victoria, you can stay here tonight. You’ve had a long trip, and if you’ll pardon my saying so, you look like you could use a rest. You could probably use a good meal too,” Bartholomew told her.

Victoria barely heard Bartholomew since she was watching the fearsome Mr. McBride scratch her dog behind his ears. With his attention on Bandit, she had the chance to study his features up close. His darkly tanned skin didn’t conceal the thin scar that ran the length of his square jaw. His nose was prominent but straight, and the perfect size for his face. His dark brows above those unusual eyes were thick, and like Mrs. Wellington mentioned, he wore his black wavy hair longer than most men, well past his collar, yet it suited him. What was the most surprising was a line in his cheek that she’d bet turned into a dimple when he smiled.

Colt glanced down at her like he was waiting for something, and she realized she hadn’t responded to Bartholomew. Quickly turning her attention to Bartholomew, she gave him an appreciative smile. “I’m not sure it would be proper under the circumstances for me to stay here.”

“You needn’t worry about that. Out here we don’t care as much about what’s proper as they do in cities, ma’am. We help folks out as need be.”

“Still . . .” Victoria started, but her words trailed off because she couldn’t seem to think straight. Tired as she was, she couldn’t even begin to get her thoughts in order, especially under Colt McBride’s regard. She glanced away, trying to look anywhere but at those eyes. Her gaze landed on the two volumes of Shakespeare on the bedside table.
I read Shakespeare
, Mr. Barlow had written in his letter. She found herself fighting back tears again.

Seeing he was making her uneasy, Colt stood and spoke to Bartholomew. “I think it would be best if you and Miss Eastman came to the ranch and stayed there until the next stage.” He didn’t know what possessed him to make that offer; it wasn’t like he was running a boardinghouse. Yet he did feel sympathy for her, coming all this way to be married only to find the man deceased, and all her plans dashed in one afternoon. Little wonder she fainted, she was clearly tuckered out. He knew firsthand how exhausting the trip was from St. Louis on a stagecoach. And, with relatively no law in Promise, he couldn’t guarantee her safety if she stayed in town. There was also Wallace and his men to consider. They could show up at any time. It would only be a few days until the next stage, he reasoned, and then she would be safely on her way back to St. Louis.

Knowing Colt was trying to tell him, without scaring the life out of the young woman, that it might not be safe for her to be alone in town, Bartholomew said, “That is a fine idea. I know you have Mrs. Morris at your place to do the cooking, so that ought to be proper enough. Miss Victoria would have her chaperone.”

“I think I should go back to town. I can stay in the hotel and take the next stage back to St. Louis,” she said.

“There won’t be another stage for a few days, and you would be safer at my ranch,” Colt told her. He omitted the fact that Mrs. Morris went home after she cooked for him, so Miss Eastman would be in the house alone with him and Bartholomew in the evenings.

“Colt’s right, Miss Victoria. This is wilder country than you are used to,” Bartholomew added. “Things get rowdy, even in town.”

One look at Colt’s determined face told her it would be futile to argue with him. If that drunk she’d encountered earlier in town was any indication of what could happen, she would probably be safer at Mr. McBride’s ranch, particularly since Bartholomew would be with her. “If you’re sure it will not be an imposition.”

“No problem. I have plenty of room; you won’t be in my way.”

Picking up the books on the table, Bartholomew said solemnly, “I guess Chet will no longer be readin’ your books, Colt.”

Colt nodded, but said nothing in response. He didn’t want to think about how much he would miss Chet right now. He’d do that when he was alone.

Hearing the exchange, Victoria would never have expected a man like Colt to read Shakespeare.

“Here you go,” Colt said, handing the reticule to her.

She looked at him with eyes wide, wondering if he felt the gun inside. His expression gave no hint of anything amiss, and she slipped the reticule into her skirt pocket.

After putting on his Stetson, and before she realized his intent, he leaned over and plucked her from the bed and carried her to the front of the house.

“Mr. McBride, I can walk,” she protested.

“If you don’t mind my saying so, Miss Eastman, you look like you’re dead on your feet and I don’t want you fainting again.” In a few strides he was out the door and at the buckboard, where he gently deposited her on the seat.

Bartholomew decided to ride into town to see to Chet’s burial, and told Colt he’d see him at the ranch before nightfall. Colt wasn’t sure how he felt about Bartholomew’s decision since that meant he would be driving Miss Eastman in the buckboard, but he understood Bartholomew needed to see his friend. While he was securing Razor to the buckboard, Bandit jumped in the back with Victoria’s mangled blue hat clamped between his jaws. Colt chuckled and reached over to scratch the dog behind his ears. “I’m not sure that belongs to you, buddy.”

Victoria turned to see the dog with her blue hat and she managed a smile. “He can have it. I’m afraid it’s a lost cause.”

Colt jumped into the buckboard and headed to his ranch with a nervous Victoria at his side . . . well, perhaps not quite at his side. Just as Bob had told him, she sat as far away from him as the seat allowed, clutching the side rail so tightly her knuckles were white.