by Barbara Goss
A Bride for Logan
Book 18 of the Proxy Bride Series
Barbara Goss
Copyright © 2019 Barbara Goss
All rights reserved.
Cover Design: Virginia McKevitt.
All Scripture is quoted from the King James version of the Holy Bible.
All the characters described in this story are fictional. They are not based on any real persons, past or present. Any resemblance to real persons, living or deceased, is coincidental and unintended.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
Hunter’s Grove, Kansas—1870.
Henry Sinclair sat still while Dr. Simmons listened to his heart. The doctor straightened and shook his head with a sigh.
“No better?”
“It won’t improve, Henry.” He put the stethoscope horn back into his bag. “Your heart is poor.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
The doctor shrugged. “Don’t overwork. Take it easy and try to live as stress free as possible.”
Henry Sinclair buttoned his shirt. “That’s difficult when there’s a horse ranch that needs tending.”
“Let your son, Logan, help more.”
~~~**~~~
Except for the clinking of glasses, the smoke-filled room was still. Two men sat in the corner at a round table, playing poker. Several men crowded around to watch.
Logan Sinclair picked up the cards dealt him and struggled to keep from smiling; he held three jacks in his hand. He calmly raised the bet, pushing half of his coins into the ante pot.
Hank Ratkin, also known as the Rat, frowned and shifted the cigar around in his mouth. He slid a stack of coins to the center of the table.
Logan felt perspiration trickle down the back of his neck. What could the Rat have? Logan held a winning hand, but he was nervous just the same. He slid the rest of his coins to the center of the table.
After a few puffs of his cigar and a long drink of whiskey, the Rat pushed more coins forward. “I’ll see you and raise you.”
Logan shrugged since he no longer had any money. How could he lose with three jacks? He wiped the perspiration from his forehead. “Can you loan me enough to call?”
“I will, but I’ll warn you: if I’m not paid in two days, I’ll call you out.” The Rat scribbled on a piece of paper and gave it to Logan—his I.O.U.
Logan never drank alcohol as he didn’t like the taste, and he wanted to keep his wits and head clear while gambling. After a sip of his sarsaparilla, Logan flipped over his three Jacks with a confident smile.
The Rat threw his cigar on the floor of the saloon and laughed. “Now, that’s a good hand.” He flipped over his cards. “But I have a better one.”
Logan felt the color leave his face as he stared at the Rat’s three Kings. Now, he owed the Rat a hundred dollars besides having lost a whole week’s pay.
Henry Sinclair slammed his hand on his desk, making one of his silver curls fall over his forehead. “You won’t get another penny from me.”
Logan’s hands balled into fists, but he tried to control his temper. “The man I owe money to has threatened to kill me if I don’t pay him by noon tomorrow.”
His father rubbed his forehead. “You got paid Friday. Use your own money.”
“I owe a tad more than what I make.”
Henry Sinclair used his cane to walk across the room. He sank into the leather chair by the fireplace, rubbed his eyes, and took a deep breath. “Stop gambling! This whole ranch will be yours someday, and I hate to think it’s all going to end up in some gambler’s pocket. I worked hard for years to get this ranch to where it is today. What am I to do?”
Henry’s fifty-something body was slight, and he had pains running down his leg caused by a fall from a horse years ago. The older he got, the more it seemed to stiffen up.
Logan worked the ranch with his father, and he was paid each week, just like the other workers, but most weeks, he gambled it all away. He sank into the chair opposite his father. “If you give me the money this time, I promise I won’t gamble anymore.” He felt desperate. He’d never been in this deep before.
“Ha! You’ve said that before.”
Logan rubbed his temples. “Can you advance my pay?”
Henry shook his head. “You’re twenty-two years old, and you've become irresponsible and spoiled. I think it’s time you married and started a family. Why did Silas Howard see you with a saloon woman on your lap at the Slippery Saddle Saloon?”
Logan continued to rub his temples. He knew better than to answer that question. He was young and virile—what did his father think he did with a saloon woman?
Henry sighed. “I’ll make you a deal: I’ll pay off your debt, but this is the absolute last time. I will also change my will. Everything will go to your sister and her husband unless you marry. I'll give you one year to do it. It’s up to you to grow up, get yourself a wife, and settle down. When you marry and show some responsibility, I’ll change the will back.”
“You’d leave everything to Prudence and Hugh?”
“Why not? Her husband has a good head for business, and I trust they'll handle the ranch as I would. It’s up to you, son: grow up or lose out.”
Logan wondered how Hugh—who owned a livery in Hays—would simultaneously run a ranch and a livery. He and Prudence had a three-year-old son, and the family usually visited once or twice a year.
He left his father’s study with mixed feelings. He could pay off his debt now, and he felt relieved about that, but to get married? He hadn’t ever considered that. A few of his friends had married, and it was as if they had stopped living afterward, as they could no longer go to the saloon or gamble. They even had to ask permission to go hunting! He had no wish to be tied down to a harping wife, but he didn’t want to lose his inheritance either or he’d have no future at all.
Logan had a year to figure it out. He could try to quit gambling, but at twenty-two he was too young to tie himself down to a wife and children.
~ Eleven Months Later ~
A good crowd showed up for his father’s funeral. Logan stayed behind to have a few moments with his father before the grave diggers filled in the grave. Finally, Logan turned and walked home. He missed his father already. They'd gotten along better this past year, and he’d stopped gambling and worked hard on the ranch to show his father he was responsible. Logan didn’t miss gambling because his best friend, Alan Hershel, helped him overcome his habit by playing poker for matchsticks with him whenever he felt the urge. It wasn’t winning the money that had him hooked, but the card game itself. He loved poker, and there wasn't a game anywhere that played for anything but money. Strangely, when they played for matchsticks, he always ended up winning.
Just when things were going so well, his father had had a heart seizure and died instantly.
His sister and her husband were getting into their buggy when Logan approached home. Prudence’s eyes were red. She sniffled into her handkerchief, but she still waved to him and smiled.
He strode over to the buggy. “Are you leaving so soon?”
“We have to get back to Hays. Hugh has an important client to see, and I’ve left Billy wi
th a neighbor.” She patted his hand. “If you need anything, just telegraph us.”
Logan shifted his weight. “I’m fine, but I hate to go into the house. It’s so different with Father gone.”
“I know. It feels strange without him.”
Hugh leaned over and said, “Send for us if you need anything.”
Logan nodded and waved as they started down the long lane to the main road.
He had just about made it to the front door when someone galloped down the lane toward him. Logan squinted against the sun and recognized his father’s attorney, John Snyder. He turned and walked toward him.
“I’m glad I caught you,” John said as he dismounted. “I tried to get here in time for the funeral, but I was in court and as usual, things didn’t go well. Do you have a minute?”
“Yes. Won’t you come inside?”
“No, not today. I have only a few minutes since another client is coming in to see me shortly. I have your father’s will here.” He reached into his pocket and drew out a wad of papers. “I’ll brief you quickly: you have only a month to find a bride, I’m afraid. According to the will, to inherit you had to have married within the last year.”
“What? Father said he would change that.”
“He didn’t. He told me that if all went well, he’d change it after a year, and that would be, according to the will, a month and three days from now.”
Logan grabbed the papers from John’s hand and scanned them. “Dagnabbit!”
Logan spread out his cards and stared at them for several moments before raising his bet.
His opponent matched his bet and raised him.
Logan pushed all of his matchsticks into the center of the table. “I call,” he said, flipping over his cards to show a pair of sixes.
Alan groaned. “I only have a pair of twos, and I’m out of matchsticks.”
“It’s much more fun with money but less stressful,” Logan said.
“What do you mean? I have to get more matchsticks from the general store and they’re expensive,” Alan replied.
Logan sighed. “The game made me forget my problem. What am I going to do, Alan?”
Alan, a quiet, tall, lanky fellow with wire-rimmed glasses, had been Logan’s best friend since they'd attended the same schoolhouse.
Alan scratched his head. “So, let me get this straight: your father stipulated that you had to marry to inherit in his will? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“Where in the world would I find a wife in only a month? Oh, wait—three weeks, now.”
Alan gave Logan a mischievous smile. “There’s always Trixie. You’ve been seeing a lot of her.”
“Alan! She’s a saloon woman!”
“Well, any port in a storm.”
“Everyone in town knows her for what she is,” Logan said.
Alan snapped his fingers. “What about a saloon woman from some another town?”
Logan stared at Alan. “Where would we find one?”
“It so happens my Aunt Sophie’s cousin owns a saloon in Boulder City. I could ask her to send you someone. I’m sure any one of them would jump at the chance to marry a ranch owner and live a respectable life.”
Logan digested his friend’s words. “Can we get one in three weeks’ time?”
Alan shrugged. “I don’t know, but I’ll find out. There has to be a way.”
Chapter Two
Boulder City, Colorado
Emma Jamison stood on the wooden walkway with her small sack of possessions and watched the wagon train scout gallop away. The man had escorted her from the wagon train to a little white church in Boulder City, Colorado and left her there. She wiped a stray tear from her cheek. The scout had told her to seek the minister of the church for help. She shielded her eyes from the bright sunlight and looked at the church. The building needed a coat of paint, but its bright red doors looked inviting. She walked up to them and said a prayer before entering. Emma had come from a godly home where she’d gained strength from the knowledge that God was her constant companion, even in a strange town.
Her footsteps on the wooden floor echoed through the building. They must have alerted someone, for a middle-aged woman came out from behind the altar, carrying a mop.
“Can I help you, miss?”
“I’m looking for the minister.”
“Reverend Keller is officiating a funeral this afternoon. Can you come back in an hour?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
When Emma turned to leave, the woman said, “You can wait in here, if you’d like.”
“I’d like that,” Emma answered.
“Come on in the back. I have a pot of tea brewing. I was about to take my afternoon break.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “While the boss is still away.” She laughed and led Emma to a back room where they sat at a table. The woman took another cup out from a small cupboard and poured them each some tea.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around before. Are you new in town?”
Emma nodded as she stirred cream into her tea. “My name is Emma Jamison.”
“Where are you from?”
Emma stopped stirring and set her spoon down. “Originally, I’m from Springfield, Illinois, but I started out on a trip with my best friend, Elsie, and her father. We were on a wagon train headed for Oregon, but they both took ill with cholera and died. Elsie died first, and then Mr. Coulter passed. I don’t know why I didn’t fall ill as I'd eaten and drank the same things they did.”
“How sad,” the woman said.
“Since I was alone, I had to leave the wagon train. A scout escorted me here.” Emma teared up. “I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“There, there—we’ll sort it out. Is that why you came to see the reverend?”
Emma nodded. She wiped her tears away with the back of her hand.
“I’m Gladys—Gladys Hartford. I’m a cleaner here.”
“Thank you, Gladys.”
Gladys studied her for a moment before saying, “You can’t live in Boulder City alone. The men here will eat you up alive. You’re a pretty girl, and you need protection.” She tapped her chin with her forefinger. “Let me think.”
“Won’t the reverend help me?”
“He’ll probably just send you to live with someone in the congregation, but you can’t trust anyone. There are few women in town—single ones, that is, so the men are…shall we say…desperate for a woman’s attentions?”
Emma blushed. “Oh.”
“Yes. Exactly.”
“Forget the reverend; you’re coming with me. My good friend, Flora, owns a boarding house. You’ll be safe there. I’m afraid that if the reverend puts you in a home, you won’t be safe from some husbands and sons—this is still a very wild town.”
Gladys brought Emma to a large white house at the end of the street.
Emma gazed up at the house and noticed two young women, sunning themselves on the upper porch.
They entered through a side door and were met by a woman who was introduced to Emma as Flora.
She led Emma to a small bedroom at the rear of the house. “You can put your things in here.” Flora pointed to a wardrobe and a tallboy dresser. “I’ll get you something to eat, and then I’ll explain how this will work.”
After she’d gone, Emma opened her sack of clothes and unpacked. She wondered what Flora had meant when she'd said she'd explain how things would work.
She peered out the window to see bars there. How odd. Why would someone spoil the view by putting bars on the window panes? She shrugged and sat on the bed to await Flora's return.
Flora returned with a sandwich and a glass of lemonade which Emma started on immediately. She had eaten nothing of substance since early that morning.
As she ate, Flora explained, “You can stay here as long as you like, but you need to earn your keep. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Of course, not,” Emma replied. “I’m a fantastic housekeeper.”
“We have a h
ousekeeper. I need you to work upstairs.”
“Upstairs?”
“We need another woman to…um…entertain our male guests.”
Emma gasped. Once she’d composed herself, she put the rest of her sandwich on the plate and stood. “I’m sorry, but I could never do that. I’m a godly person, and what the women do here is wrong.”
Emma packed her things back into her sack.
Flora sighed and rolled eyes. “You can stay the night. I may have another option for you. See you in the morning.”
In the morning, Flora gave Emma a hot breakfast before bringing in a woman to meet her. “Emma,” she said, “I want you to meet Dora Flanders. Dora owns the saloon.” Emma suppressed a groan. She supposed the woman wanted her to work in the saloon, but she couldn’t degrade herself or give up her morals. When her parents had died, she’d moved in with Elsie Coulter and her father who were also pious people.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Dora said. “Would you consider working for me? I’d give you room, board, and a decent wage.”
“Absolutely not. I’m a God-fearing woman, and I couldn’t—”
“No, no,” Dora corrected. “You don’t have to do anything immoral in my saloon. Any woman that takes a man upstairs to her room does so on her own. I only expect them to make sure my customers have a good time and keep buying drinks.”
“How would I do that?” Emma asked.
“You stand by them, chat, and maybe flirt a little. You make them feel good by giving them your attentions, and that’s all. Men are flattered when a young woman pays attention to them.”
Emma shrugged. “I suppose I could do that.” She'd have to make concessions or she’d be sleeping outside on the wooden walkway. “I’ll take the job.”
Dora gave Emma a few bold outfits to wear and some instructions before sending her out into the saloon. Included in the instructions was that when a man bought her a drink, the barman had orders to make her drink tea, and she was to gasp a bit when she swallowed it so the man would think it was whiskey. Emma knew this was dishonest, but since she wasn’t cheating the buyer directly, she ignored the fact.
