by P. Creeden
“I hear tell that William Harker wants to be sheriff. He’s already talking to the mayor about running now that the sheriff is gone,” Thomas said.
Maxwell’s gut twisted. William Harker was a back-door-deals kind of man. He’d likely take kickbacks and let some of the ruffians in town get away with petty crimes.
“I can tell by the look on your face, you wouldn’t like that,” Missy said. “Well, you can put a stop to it. Run for sheriff yourself.”
Putting his elbows on the table, Maxwell leaned forward. “I’m not sure how that would work, seeing as how I know nothing about politics.”
“You’ll learn.” Missy nodded with satisfaction, a smile starting on her lips. “All you have to do is be a little extra friendly with townspeople so that they know you’re name. Spend some time shaking hands on Sundays after church. Then there’s only one other thing that you’ll need to do...”
Maxwell narrowed his eyes at her, feeling like there was a trap in this somewhere. “What’s that?”
“Get married.”
His heart dropped in his chest as he sat back quickly, physically trying to put space between himself and Missy’s idea. “Do what?”
Thomas snickered, and Missy lifted a brow. “Get married. In politics, a married man will get the vote over a single one, any day, and William Harker is a married man.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, Maxwell shook his head. “I can’t just get married, Ma. There aren’t many eligible women in town that aren’t closer to Thomas’s age than mine.”
At that, Thomas’s snicker became full blown laughter. “I know a girl or two who might be interested in becoming your wife.”
Maxwell glared at his younger brother. “No, thank you.”
Missy hissed at Thomas and silenced him instantly. Then she returned a soft look toward Maxwell. “The moment you became acting sheriff, I knew this would come. We need to act quickly since we only have two months. So I put an advertisement in for you at the Gazette and the Tribune. That covers the rest of the territories and the Eastern states.”
Goose flesh raised upon Maxwell’s arms. “You put an advertisement out.”
She nodded. “Three days ago.”
He blinked, his mouth agape. “What kind of advertisement are you talking about?”
As she stood, both Maxwell and Thomas automatically got to their feet, too. She gestured for them to sit back down as she headed over toward her small desk in the corner of the parlor. She returned with a yellow slip of paper. “I sent a telegram.”
Maxwell read the words on the paper. Hard-working, honest lawman of 28 wishes to meet a Christian lady or widow who is unafraid of moving out west for adventure.
“Adventure?” Maxwell asked as he looked up from the advertisement.
She smiled shyly, a bit of color rising to her cheeks. “I felt that bit might help rule out the women who might want a comfortable life with a man of means. She needs to be brave and honest to be your wife.”
He read over the advertisement again. It was true that a brave, Christian woman would be the kind that would suit him best. Honestly, Missy had done well there. And he didn’t mind marrying a widow, as his father had done the same with Missy, herself. She knew that much about him. He let out a slow breath, a bit of fear and excitement mingling in his gut. He’d thought for a while that it was high time to get a bride for himself, but as he looked around the town, no one was coming to mind. Even though he was a bit perturbed that Missy had put out an advertisement before even talking to him, he knew that he would never have allowed her to do it, nor done it himself. A part of him wanted her to end the advertisement immediately. But maybe she was right. Maybe this was even providence. Slowly, he let out a breath. “I don’t know if this is the right way to go about this, but I’m not committed to any of these ladies who might write a response to the ad, right?”
“Absolutely not. You can read the letters and write back and forth with a potential bride for a few weeks before making any kind of commitment. However, we’ll pray that the right one comes to you quickly since you don’t have a lot of time between now and the election,” Missy said.
Maxwell nodded. “We’ll need to pray for a lot concerning this. And let’s not get too involved with telling everyone that I’m looking into a mail-order bride. As far as I know I’ll be the first in Romeo to send for one. I don’t want to be talk of the town.”
“Of course. I haven’t said a word to anyone at all until now. Only Joseph at the telegraph office, but he’s sworn to secrecy and discretion by the telegraph company itself.”
He lifted a brow toward Thomas. “That means you, too.”
Thomas made a cross over his heart and then held up two fingers. “On my honor, I will not tell a soul.”
Maxwell frowned. “That’s a bit extreme, but I’ll take it for now.”
“Excellent. That’s settled. Anyone up for dessert?” Missy asked as she headed back toward the stove.
Colette could hardly sit still on the train to the main depot in Winston. Her stomach twisted as her panic grew. He was going to follow her. Jason was likely going to figure out where she was going and would follow her to Richmond. There was no way that he’d leave her alone after everything he’d just said. Could she really continue as she was and be a burden on Mrs. Grant’s cousin? What if she was putting them in danger? Was Jason really that dangerous?
Her stomach threatened to empty itself with each jerk of the train as it pulled into the station where she needed to switch to the Central line. She peered at the ticket that they’d bought her in Atlantic City that would take her to Richmond. If Jason asked the train depot where she was going it wouldn’t be hard for him to find out. The Tolliver family had friends everywhere in the city and in high places... all the way to the mayor’s office. In fact, if the pastor and his wife hadn’t gotten involved, Colette was certain that the sheriff’s office wouldn’t have helped her the way that they did.
She let out a slow breath as the train stopped completely, and she stood. Her hands shook as she disembarked from the train. The station there in Winston was much busier than the one in Atlantic City, and at least three times the size. Would the Tolliver family have any reach here? If she decided to get aboard a different train, head for another destination, would the conductor or person who sold her the ticket even remember her?
It was a decent plan, but where would she go?
Nowhere in the country was there a family member or a friend that could take her. She didn’t have the certification she needed to become a teacher like Mrs. Grant had suggested. And a mail-order bride? How could she even consider saddling up a man with a widow pregnant with an unborn child? Tears stung her eyes at the feeling of helplessness overwhelming her. She had nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. No one to turn to.
A gentleman who smelled of pipe tobacco cleared his throat and stood from the bench that she’d been standing next to. He left a copy of the Tribune on the seat as he left. Colette sat down. Maybe she could look at the paper and pick a place at random to go. It wouldn’t be the worst idea. Where ever she decided to go, it would be so random that Jason would have a difficult, if not impossible, time following her. Letting out a slow breath, she picked up the paper and started flipping through it. The advertisements for mail-order brides took up an entire column, much to her surprise. Then one word caught her eye. Widow.
Hard-working, honest lawman of 28 wishes to meet a Christian lady or widow who is unafraid of moving out west for adventure.
The address to respond was in Romeo, Colorado. Colette swallowed hard, tears stinging the backs of her eyes. She was a widow, and she’d hardly had time to miss or mourn her husband. There had been too much to think about—Jason, the unborn child, where she would live, what she would do. And now, in this moment, she truly missed her husband and wished he was here. Though married life had been tough on them both, they were adapting to it. Now it was just her and the child she carried. Thinking on that, one of her hands rested o
n her belly. The baby was much too young to begin moving yet, and she didn’t yet look like she was with child. Perhaps she could find out what kind of man would put an advertisement like this in the Tribune. She let out a slow breath, not believing for a moment she had time to wait. She peered at the clock in the station. If the train she needed to head west to Colorado didn’t leave for a long while, she’d have to dismiss this whole idea. Jason would likely be on the next train to Winston and the last thing Colette wanted was to be still sitting in the station.
After waiting in line, she stepped up to the ticket counter. “If I needed to head to Colorado, which train would I take and when would it arrive?”
The ticket salesman raised a brow. “The train is waiting in the station presently, miss. It will be leaving in five minutes.”
Her heart skipped a beat. Maybe providence had a hand in this after all. She swallowed hard, trying to calm the sudden excitement coursing through her. Then with a light touch, she slid her ticket to Richmond across the counter toward the salesman. “Would it be possible to exchange my ticket? I’ll pay the difference.”
With a brow still cocked, he peered at the ticket and then nodded. “Yes, miss. But you must hurry. The train is already boarding.”
“Yes, sir,” she said as they made the quick exchange. Taking the only thing she had with her—the carpet bag—she virtually skipped to the train and was standing in the public car aisle choosing a seat when the conductor called, “All aboard.”
A seat by the window called to her, and she took it just as the train lurched forward. Her stomach twisted for a whole new reason, and this time it wasn’t entirely unpleasant.
Chapter 7
Maxwell rested a foot in the stirrup and stood, letting his weight lean on the side of the paint mustang for a count of five before stepping back down off the horse and releasing the stirrup. He patted the colt on the head.
“I think he still needs a name,” Thomas said as he stood with has arms over the top rail of the fence, his head resting on his arms in the shade of the only maple tree for a hundred yards. “You’re really not going to name him?”
Maxwell sighed. “What would you name him?”
Thomas straightened, a grin growing on his face. “Well, he kind of looks like an Indian’s horse more than a lawman’s.”
Scratching the colt on the forehead, Maxwell nodded. “That’s true.”
“So why not give him an Indian name?”
Maxwell lifted a brow. “I don’t know any Ute, do you?”
Thomas shook his head, rubbed the back of his neck and huffed a laugh. “Well, we could name him something simple that’s related to the natives. Like Chief or Scout.”
“Hmm,” Maxwell said, scratching the colt on the forehead again. “Scout seems fitting. He sort of looks like a Scout, don’t you think?”
“Scout!” Thomas shouted. “It’s the perfect name. It suits him for sure! And I got to pick the name.”
Shaking his head at his younger brother, Maxwell shushed him. “I’m trying to gentle a colt here. How about you keep it down? Scout and I have work to do.”
Thomas’s lips thinned and tightened but the grin couldn’t leave his face as he leaned back against the post again. Maxwell was glad to give the boy a small measure of happiness by allowing him to name the colt. It honestly made no difference to the elder brother what the colt’s name was, and Scout did seem to suit him. Moving to the side of the colt again, Maxwell stepped up and placed his foot in the stirrup again. Then he put his weight in the stirrup and pulled himself upward, standing on it and leaning over the colt’s side. The colt shifted his weight, but remained still, just as Maxwell had taught him to. This time, instead of hopping down straight away, Maxwell gently swung his leg over the colt’s rump and sat upon the seat of the saddle. He stayed there for several seconds, stroking the horse’s neck and then he swung his leg over and dismounted once more.
“There’s a good boy,” he praised the colt as he went to the horse’s head and scratched it once more. The colt responded by washing his mouth out and swallowing. Maxwell smiled and then he led the colt in a circle around the small paddock.
“I thought you were finally going to ride Scout. Why did you get back down again?” Thomas asked.
Stopping in the shade to allow the colt a moment out of the sun, Maxwell turned to his brother. “You have to understand the way a horse thinks. He knows he’s food. The reason horses buck off riders in the beginning is because they also know that we are predators. It’s God’s grace that the horse tolerates us at all, that they’re willing to learn. So, I’m teaching Scout that I’m his friend and I’m not going to hurt him. When a horse is mounted for the first time, they don’t know that the rider is ever going to get off. As far as they are concerned, if they allow you to stay on, you’ll never get off them again. That’s why they buck. They’re afraid that if they let you stay on—they’ll be stuck with you up there until they die.”
Thomas’s brows furrowed. “Are you sure about that? It seems a bit flaky way of thinking.”
Another sigh escaped Maxwell. “If you’re around horses long enough, you’ll learn that what I’m saying is true. You have to think like a horse if you want to train them to be trustworthy, willing partners and not just a way to get from one town to the next.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Let’s say something happens and you get knocked off your horse. A horse that is your partner will stay with you. If he’s doesn’t think of you as part of his herd structure, he’ll leave you for dead. If you don’t care about him, why should he care about you?”
The furrows in Thomas’s brow deepened. “I guess that makes sense.”
“For lawmen, it’s even more important for their horse to be their partner. We need them to be willing to run as hard as they can when chasing villains. We need them to stand like rocks when gunfire is flashing all about them. We need them to come when called and stay with us overnight if we’re hunting for a lawbreaker. And we need them to distinguish between us and everyone else if they get stolen. We want our horse to want to be our horse.”
Finally, Thomas’s brow smoothed. “I see now. I get it. Do you mind if I come out every day and watch you work with Scout? I’m learning a lot and maybe someday, I’ll want to gentle a horse just like this, too.”
A smile tugged at Maxwell’s lip as he reached over and pat his brother on the shoulder. “Of course. And don’t be afraid to ask questions like this. It’s the only way to learn.”
The grin on Thomas’s face widened. “I thought I was just being an annoying little brother to you.”
“Who says you weren’t?” Maxwell laughed and reached over to scrub the top of Thomas’s head.
“Sheriff!” Deputy Miller called as he ran over toward him. Once he got to the fence, he nodded toward Thomas and then met eyes with Maxwell again. “Your mother has sent word for you that she needs you to come right away.”
“Ma?” Thomas cried, suddenly standing straighter. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s it about?” Maxwell asked, feeling his stomach twist a bit.
“Not sure. She has a visitor who came in on the morning train. Maybe it has something to do with them?”
“A visitor?” Thomas’s brow scrunched up again. “We weren’t expecting company.”
Deputy Miller shrugged. “That’s about all I know.”
Maxwell nodded and then met eyes with his younger brother. “If you want to run on ahead, I’ll be there shortly—after I take care of Scout.”
Thomas barely nodded before kicking up dust as he ran back toward his mother’s home. There was an uneasy feeling in Maxwell’s gut as he stepped back out into the harsh sunlight of late summer and led the colt out of the paddock and back toward the small barn. Deputy Miller followed for a moment before asking, “Do you have a cousin or something that you’re expecting?”
“A cousin?” Maxwell asked as he shook his head and untied the cinch. “Nothing like tha
t.”
Deputy Miller shrugged. “Should I tag along with you?”
After pulling off the saddle, Maxwell glared at the deputy. “Why would you do that? Was the visitor armed? Did he look dangerous.”
A bit of color tinged the deputy’s cheeks as he shook his head. “Not at all. No… that’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean, Deputy?”
He shook his head harder and then backed away a step. “Nothing. I’ll just head back to the sheriff’s office. Someone might need something.”
Maxwell watched after the retreating deputy as he set Scout’s tack on the front of a half-stall door. Shaking his head, he began rubbing the colt down. “What was that about?” he asked the colt as if the horse might answer.
The deputy had acted awfully strangely about the whole event. He seemed to know something about the strange visitor at Maxwell’s stepmother’s home, but he wasn’t forthcoming with more information. Maybe Maxwell should have asked more direct questions. If the stranger didn’t seem armed and dangerous, why would Miller want to tag along? Maxwell finished brushing off the horse and then led Scout to the bigger turnout pasture. He pulled off the rope halter and then watched the colt lope away down the hill toward the river. Likely the colt was fairly thirsty. It was a hot day, and Maxwell was quite thirsty himself.
After putting away his equipment, he started the trek toward his stepmother’s house from the livery. It hadn’t been more than about twenty minutes since Thomas had left, but as he started the trail to walk the five or ten minutes to the house, Thomas was already starting back toward him. Maxwell lifted a brow. Everyone surely was acting strangely. But his shoulders loosened a bit when he saw the smile on his brother’s face. Maybe the stranger had come with good news. Thomas was strolling slowly toward him, his grin growing as he grew closer. That tension that had been starting to recede returned. Once his brother was close enough, Maxwell asked, “What’s going on? Who is it?”
