Ethan's Wild Rose Bride (Texas Frontier Brides Book 2)

by Mary L. Briggs

  Odd. They didn’t get many strangers in town. For a moment, he imagined it was Hallie’s groom, coming to claim her. His heart beat a funny jig and he touched his chest with his hand. Shaking his head, he snorted at his foolish thought. Hallie would be Hallie, living there on her ranch for the rest of her life. No knights in shining armor ever rode into Chance. And it would take a man like that to win her heart.

  He gave a brief nod toward the stranger and turned away. No more time for groundless worries about his neighbor. It was time to get on with his own business.

  Inside the post office, the air was grey and thick with the odor of bacon and onions floating in the haze. No doubt Doug did his own cooking in the back room. Maybe he should send off for a bride. Not that Ethan was going to recommend it until he’d seen how it worked out for himself.

  Mrs. Broker, a widowed woman that lived in one of the two boarding houses in town, was in front of him, chatting with the postmaster, as if the man had nothing else to do. Ethan could see that Doug’s brown eyes had a faraway look to them, yet they were riveted on the customer‘s face at the same time. She didn’t seem to notice, or possibly she was too wrapped up in her narrative to perceive the man’s disinterest.

  “And then. . . .there it was. Right where I was sure I left it. Can you imagine? I’d looked in that same exact spot at least five times. It surprised me all to pieces to imagine how it managed to be there without me seeing it. Has that ever happened to you?”

  Ethan watched Doug’s face. It was fairly obvious that his thoughts had been elsewhere during all of the woman’s words. Ethan grinned as the postmaster nodded and opened his mouth to speak.

  Mrs. Broker interrupted. “Well what am I saying? Of course it has. Happens to everyone, I suppose. The good Lord should’ve given us better eyesight is all I can say,” The woman continued as she began to count coins from her reticule. “Did you say twenty-five cents?”

  “Yes. That’s right,” Doug said, now alert and ready to take his money.

  “Good morning, Ethan,” he said, moving his eyes from the customer and smiling.

  Ethan nodded. “Morning to you.” He moved back and allowed Mrs. Broker around him, smiling, but not speaking. It was common knowledge around town that once you spoke to the Edith Broker, she would jump right into a conversation. One you might or might not be able to follow. And for a period of time, you would be obligated to stay until she finally ran out of wind, which could take a good long while.

  Ethan stepped to the window and pulled some coins from his pocket. I’d like to buy a couple of envelopes and three of the three-cent stamps.” He pushed the coins across the counter. Three letters ought to be enough to send off for a woman. If she needed to write more than that, he’d find a different one. No need spending much time in limbo. She’d either want to get married or not.

  “Here you go,” Doug pushed the envelopes and stamps through the small opening. “And if you’ll wait a minute, I’ll get your mail.”

  Mail? The postmaster must be mistaken. He hadn’t had any mail since he’d moved to Chance several years ago. With no family or friends back in Tennessee, who would want to contact him? And how would they even know where he was?

  “Here it is,” the man said, pushing a small packet through to him.

  Ethan picked it up and stared at the front of the envelope. That was his name all right. The return address looked to be in Tennessee. A sour taste swam through his mouth. He’d told folks he had no family. But that wasn’t quite true. There was one that might still be alive. And it would be best for him to stay as far away from Ethan as possible.

  Outside, he stuffed the envelope into his saddle bag. He would deal with it when he came back from San Antonio.

  Chapter 22

  Hallie brushed Satin and checked on Essie and the pups before she made her way inside the empty house. And today, it seemed more empty than usual, she had to admit, setting her few purchases from the mercantile on the table. With Ethan being gone for several days, it would be quiet all the time. It was disturbing to realize how much she had come to rely on his presence.

  Loud mews from the front room drew her attention, and she soon had the two yowling kittens drinking milk from their bowls. “You babies are getting rather spoiled,” she teased, as she filled the kettle with water. A nice cup of tea would set things right. Or at least give her a few moments to get things settled in her mind. If she was going to continue on with the ranch, now was the time to decide whether it would be alone, or with a husband at her side.

  The kettle boiled and she measured the tea leaves into her tea pot. The sweet aroma met her nose and she wished she had brought in some rose petals to add to the brew. Enjoying their scent this morning had left her lonesome for her mother. Mother had always known how to make everything safe and lovely, even in hard times. If only Martha Bolton’s trait had been passed on to her daughter.

  Putting the tea on the table, she sliced two pieces of bread and spread them with butter before she took a seat.

  Hallie bit into a salty, brined pickle, made from her mother’s own recipe. Reaching for a cloth napkin, she wiped away the juice that ran down her chin. This was her second year to try making them from the carefully written instructions, and, so far, they were better than last year’s attempt, but still not up to Martha Bolton’s standard. Perhaps she needed more grape leaves in them for added crispness, or maybe she hadn’t used enough salt. Brine pickles seemed to be temperamental. Or maybe she just lacked the knack.

  It had already been rather hot a few days, and mother always said to use more salt in the heat. She shook her head. Mother had been good at everything. What would she think of her daughter’s poor attempts at ranching and husband-hunting? Not to mention pickle making.

  Hallie chewed her lip and winced at the pain. It was wrong to feel so sorry for herself. Mother would be more disappointed in her for that, than for any previous things she had wondered about. There was no excuse to cry over things one couldn’t change.

  Barely glancing at the dirty plate and cup she set on the counter, she lit the lamp on the table and turned the flame higher. Taking pencil and paper, she began to compose her letter to Mr. . . . Westbury. She glanced at the paper again. Yes, that seemed to be his name. Charles Westbury, of Kansas City, Missouri. An experienced ranch foreman, and also an accountant. How she could use a man with that kind of expertise. If Rob had been able to hire someone like Mr. Westbury, the ranch would be a thriving business today. The land was good and there was plenty of water. It just needed some good men to work with it. Rob hadn’t every enjoyed the ranch life. It was a shame that he had played at the job for a few too many years, leaving it all in such a mess.

  She wrote for five minutes before she allowed her attention to focus on the sentences scrawled on the paper in front of her. Her lips drew into a straight line. No matter how she worded what she wanted to say, it felt ridiculous writing a letter to a man she had never met. How did one sound friendly and formal at the same time? A woman who sounded over-friendly with a man, including a man who was nothing more than words in a newspaper, might give the wrong impression. And she needed to give her best impression.

  She dropped the pencil and buried her face in her hands. Women all over the country were doing this every day, and she couldn’t figure it out. Maybe she could get some advice from Irene. She had been successful in snagging Chip.

  Or not. That might be a mistake. Maybe she had better handle this alone. No need to let everyone in town know what she was doing, else they’d all turn out for her groom’s arrival, just as they had for poor Chip and Irene. For some reason, the thought of the two of them left a cold feeling inside of her. Did she want to end up with someone like Chip Howard?

  She moved her hands and smoothed her hair. Mother would think the entire venture very forward of her. And she’d probably be right. Hallie sighed, and slumped against the back of the chair. Maybe she should take more time in picking out her choice. There were several that sound
ed promising, though this Mr. Westbury, who had worked as a ranch foreman was, by far, the best match for her. A man like that could get the ranch up and running in no time. Especially if Ethan came through on his promise for the calves.

  And there was no reason to think that he wouldn’t. He was a man of his word. She blinked back tears that pooled in her eyes. The fact that he was a man of his word was what made the situation all the more painful for her. Ethan would do as he said, keep the promise he made to himself and marry a business partner. It hurt to think that he would live his life in a cold, loveless manner with a woman he cared nothing for, other than perhaps someone to talk with on those late, sleepless nights he seemed to have.

  An image sprang to her mind of the two of them together. A bolt of anger coursed through her and left her clinched fists shaking. She swallowed hard. These thoughts were something that she was going to have to overcome. She and this woman would be neighbors. It was her duty to be friends with the woman Ethan chose, however much it might hurt inside.

  His words from last evening still stung. What seemed to be all right for him to do, was a joke if she wanted to do the same. Well, let him chortle at her idea of finding a groom. Like him, she knew what she wanted. She cleared her throat and sat up straight. Ethan might laugh at her, but she had no intention of sitting down here in her little ranch house and looking up to see him and his bride walking hand in hand, while she passed the long hours alone. Not that she could really see much more than a speck of a house up there. But it was the principle of the thing. If Ethan was getting married, so was she.

  What a childish thing to think, Hallie. Whatever is wrong with you? But it was true that she needed a spouse as much as Ethan. Possibly more. A man could manage a ranch on his own. And once Ethan had his bride, any helps he’d given her would be over. Like the relationship with his new wife, their own friendship would become strictly business. And how was she ever going to look at him as just another neighbor?

  Unclenching her tight fists, she pushed back her chair and stood, smoothing the wrinkles from her riding skirt. This was a project she could work on later tonight. Right now, there was work to be done outdoors. As soon as she changed into her trousers, those two bawling calves out near the barn needed some attention, as well as that last bushel of peaches. They were something she could attend to tonight after chores. Then in the morning, she could take them directly outside with the other screens already prepared and mostly dried. By tomorrow, all the peaches would be finished or in various stages of drying. But drying fruit was nothing more than woman’s work. What she needed was a man, a husband, to do the heavy work of the ranch. And so far, the newspaper was her best option.

  ***

  Ethan wiped his mouth on the red-checkered napkin and took another sip of coffee. The establishment’s biscuits might not be as good as Hallie’s, but they were filling and that’s what he needed after his long, hard ride. The chili was a little milder than he was used to, but it was setting well in his stomach, as was that last piece of apple pie. If he hadn’t already had two pieces, he’d ask for another. But no use drawing attention to himself, the country green-horn in town for a few days. It was a good place to eat and he would be back in the morning.

  “More coffee, cowboy?” the friendly red-headed waitress offered.

  “No thanks, ma’am.”

  “Well, tell me this. Did you enjoy the food?”

  “Right tasty,” he agreed. Maybe she would get on to the next customer. Couldn’t she see he was no good at conversation?

  “I thought you might say that,” she laughed. “You wolfed down that pie like you hadn’t had any in a while. I’m guessing your wife doesn’t bake much.”

  “Not married, ma’am.” It was probably a mistake to admit it. The fact that he was single might lead the conversation elsewhere. And she was a pretty woman, young, just right for marrying. But not to him.

  She set the coffee pot on the table and smiled. “Well since you’re new in town, I’d be glad to show you around when we close up in an hour.”

  The offer sounded as if there might be more involved than just sight-seeing. “No thanks, miss. I’m just here for a day or so. I’ve got a ranch to tend to.”

  She shrugged and picked up the hot container. “The offer still stands if you change your mind.”

  A rush of relief hit him as she walked away, her hips swaying the red skirt she wore. Something about him seemed to draw women that he had no interest in. And he had no talent for turning them away. That was what made the idea of the mail order bride so appealing. No conversation. Just a few letters, and she’d be in Chance. Married to him a few days later. He studied on that thought for a moment. Hallie’s face flashed through his mind and he shook it away. Maybe it was best to leave off thinking about his possible wife to another time.

  He scooted the chair away from the table. As soon as he checked back at the telegraph office, he would search for a decent hotel and have a bath, a haircut, and a shave. They seemed a luxury, when he considered the cost, but it would be worth it. If the cut was decent enough, maybe when he was back home in Chance, Royce could copy it.

  Or not, he laughed to himself, standing and placing his money on the table. The first man that got a good haircut from Royce was liable to get some kind of town award. The barber was a terror with a pair of scissors. The constant talk around town that he was ready to take on a partner had never panned out. Their hopes had all been dashed on that point. Which had led many a man to take shears to his own head of hair, resulting an in an even worse cut than Royce had to offer.

  At least he’d never had to depend on the barber for any doctoring. A shudder ran down his back. He’d seen the man’s work on a bullet wound once, and felt blessed it hadn’t been him that needed his services. The town was more than relieved to finally have a doctor of their own. Men of that profession rarely stayed in town long, but the time they were there was surely appreciated.

  Ethan gave a nod of thanks to the proprietor as he stepped out the door into the humid San Antonio evening. Dusk had fallen and the streetlights gave off a soft glow. He stared up at the sky, but no stars could be found. Curse of lighting the outside at night, he thought, untying Danby from the hitching post. “Let’s go find a livery and a hotel. I could use the rest, and I’m sure you could, too. And in another day or so, we’ll head back home to God’s country. And pie a whole lot better than what they serve here at The Ranchers Café.”

  He mounted up and reflected on his words. Since when did he mention God in a conversation? Or Hallie’s homemade pies?

  Chapter 23

  She slid the skillet of cornbread from the oven just as Ethan’s wagon pulled into the back yard. The chicken was already fried, as were the potatoes. She gave the pot of beans a swift stir and then smoothed her apron and glanced at her reflection on the chrome of the stove. It wasn’t much of a substitute for a mirror, but it was the best she could do on short notice.

  Situating herself by the door, she watched as he swung down from the wagon. He turned and their eyes met. Her heart galloped into her throat and she swallowed hard, trying to calm the racing beats back into her chest. Her hopes that he would seem less appealing after a few days absence were dashed. He was handsome as ever.

  Her legs ached to race toward him and throw her arms around his neck, tell him how much she had missed him. How glad she was that he was home. And how much she did not want to help him write that letter tonight.

  He grinned and waved. She blinked and forced a smile to her lips. What little time she had left with him would be the memories that she would recall. The days before his wife came and he left her on her own.

  Taking a deep breath, she opened the door as his boot touched the bottom step. “I see you made it back alright.”

  He removed his hat and let his blond hair wave free in the gentle breeze. “I had a good trip.”

  She stepped aside as he entered and took his hat and hung it on a peg, next to the door. “Are they com
ing to get your cattle?” She would guess no, as it was already a bit late in the season to start off for Abilene.

  A grimace crossed his face as he took a chair at the table. “When I got down there, I found out that Mr. Wayne had passed away in March. His widow had no idea which ranchers he had made deals with. Seems some of them have been pretty upset with her, once they got in touch. I felt bad for her. None of it is her fault. Her husband should have been more careful with his records.”

  Hallie brought a glass of tea to him. “What about your cattle?”

  He shrugged. “I’ll just have to make do with what I have saved. If nothing else, I’ll have a larger herd next spring. I stopped and talked to Caleb Hatcher this afternoon and he might be willing to buy a few head off of my ranch.”

  ***

  Hallie added another spoonful of sugar to the cup of coffee. Ethan only drank his brew sweet after his evening meal and she wanted it to be just right for him. “There you go,” she set the cup and saucer in front of him. “I hope it’s not too much sugar.”

  He took a sip and smiled. “Just right. And the supper was good, too. Better than anything I had in San Antonio. The Rancher’s Café hasn’t quite perfected cornbread the way you have.”

  The warm feeling that grew inside, rushed to her cheeks. She turned and poured coffee for herself, lest he see the rosy bloom on her face. Hiding her feelings for him was getting harder by the moment. Whenever she was around him, it was all she could do to keep her eyes on whatever task they were doing and not on his face. She brought her cup to the table and sat. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. But I’m sure there must have been something you ate in the big city that was tastier than what you get here.”

  A quick smile crossed his face. “I’m just glad to be back home. I can’t abide all the noise and crowds that go with city life.”