by Lily Reynard
"I told you, I'm sick of being alone out here," Walt continued. "I want a wife and kids before I get too old. Now that the ranch and the mine are both making good money, I figured this is as good a time as any to get hitched."
Shocked, Larkin stared at his friend. He's lonely? Ain’t our friendship enough?
It sure had been for Larkin, ever since he'd met Walt back when their families had met in the wagon train taking them west to the Montana Territory. The boys had become best friends on the long journey.
Several years later, after Larkin's mother had died, Walt's folks had taken him in. Now, after the terrible epidemic that had swept through Twin Forks last year, Walt was all the family that Larkin had left in the world…and all the family he ever wanted or needed.
"I feel this place really needs a woman's touch to make it a real home," Walt continued. "And you know as well as I do that women are awful scarce around these parts. Hell, all the women in town are either already married or they're soiled doves out to make a quick dollar."
Larkin was well acquainted with one or two of those ladies, and they were definitely not the marrying type. He scowled and crossed his arms.
"Yeah," he agreed. "So, how'd you manage to rustle up this mystery bride of yours?"
Then, as if the surprise of an arriving—and highly unwelcome—bride wasn't enough, Walt threw another stick of dynamite into the conversation.
"Our bride," he said quietly. Color rose in his face under his tan and scattering of freckles. "I subscribed to the Matrimonial Hope magazine and saw an ad for a mail-order bride. Miss Elizabeth Hunter has agreed to marry both of us."
He stopped, studying Larkin's face.
Larkin didn't try to hide his shock and dismay at this turn of events. "Goddammit, Walt! What the hell were you thinking?"
"I thought you'd be happy," Walt replied, looking unhappy. "Since we usually share our women, I figured that you wouldn't mind sharing a wife. Or maybe you want your own wife? I could give you my copy of Matrimonial—"
"I don't need a God-damned wife!" Larkin exploded. "I'm happy with the way things are! I like women just fine, especially in bed, but I sure as hell don't want to hitch myself to one!"
A red tide of rage rose in him, and the effort to control it left him shaking. It was all he could do not to yield to its insistence that he wallop Walt and knock the stupid out of him.
"Why the hell did you have to go and do that?" Larkin added, his hands clenched into fists as he tried to wrestle down his anger. "And without even talking to me about it!"
"All I'm asking is to give Miss Hunter a chance!" Walt's face flushed, a sure sign that he was getting mad too.
He might be generally soft-spoken and cautious where Larkin tended to charge ahead when he spotted an opportunity, but Larkin knew that his friend was every inch as stubborn as he was. And for some crazy reason, he'd set his mind on marrying this female, sight unseen.
"We've been writing letters to each other since last autumn, and I can tell she’s a sweet and caring woman. More importantly, she's a farm girl, and so living out here on the ranch won't come as a shock to her system."
"Sweet and caring, huh?" Larkin snorted. "C'mon, hand over a photograph of this angel. She sounds too good to be true." He shook his head. "Look, if she's everything you say she is, then why hasn't she already gotten herself hitched to a suitor back home?"
"Because she doesn't have any money or any prospects. Her brothers are set to inherit the family farm, and they're bound and determined to keep her a spinster so that she can care for their father in his old age," Walt explained. He sighed. "And that's why she wasn't able to send a photo—no money for one, and she didn't want her brothers finding out what she was up to."
I can't believe he fell for that humbug! Larkin shook his head.
"She's probably a sour, hatchet-faced old stick. You're gonna be real sorry that you got bamboozled," he predicted.
"Well, if you hurry and get yourself cleaned up, we can both meet the train and Miss Hunter," Walt shot back. "Then we'll see who's right."
"The hell I'm going," Larkin said firmly. "Right now, all I want is a bath. And a nap."
He hung his hat on its peg, then pushed past Walt, heading for the kitchen at the rear of the house, where a large copper boiler stood next to the stove to provide hot water for baths and laundry. It was a luxury item that Walt and his dad had commissioned the town's blacksmith to make from the very first load of ore extracted from the mine, and it had been intended to make the hardworking Mrs. Edwards' life a bit easier.
Unlike most of the people living in makeshift one-room shacks and cabins scattered around Twin Forks, Walt's parents hadn't come to the Montana Territory in hopes of striking it rich in the gold fields. Instead, they'd homesteaded this land with the intention of ranching beef cattle.
It had been a sound decision. Whether or not the miners who swarmed the Twin Forks area actually found any gold, they all needed meat, leather, tallow candles, and the other products that the ranch's cattle provided.
After a few years, Mr. Edwards had purchased house plans, which included water piped from a nearby spring to the kitchen and laundry room, and had built his wife the fine home that he had promised her when she agreed to leave her old life behind in Ohio for a fresh start on the frontier.
After last year's epidemic had passed, Larkin and Walt had found themselves in possession of adjoining ranches. Larkin had sincerely mourned the loss of Walt's parents, who had provided the only kindness in his life after his mother died, but he had felt only relief at his Da's passing.
After a few months of each of them struggling to get by, he and Walt had decided to combine their properties into a single large E&W Ranch and share the burden of running the cattle operation as well as the copper mine, which was located in the hills on the east end of their property. Larkin had moved out of his father's two-room cabin and into his childhood bedroom at Walt's house.
They had given the Williams cabin to the ranch foreman. The old Williams Ranch stables were turned into a bunkhouse for the ranch hands, and Walt and Larkin had settled into a busy but contented life at the more comfortable Edwards house.
Or so I thought, Larkin grumbled to himself as he added wood to the fire that was always kept burning in the round cast-iron firebox at the water boiler's base.
Through the kitchen window, he saw Walt in front of the stables, hitching up the wagon for his drive into town. A wife! A meddling piece of calico is the last thing we need around here right now!
By the time he'd filled the big metal bathtub that stood against one wall of the stone-floored laundry room, Larkin's anger had faded to bewilderment…and hurt.
For most of their lives, he and Walt had done everything together, even share women, when they found one sporting enough to bed two men at the same time. Learning that Walt had gone behind his back and courted a mail-order bride felt like a betrayal of trust. Sure, he knew that Walt had been lonely whenever it was Larkin's turn to help guard the mine, but being lonely was the normal state of affairs for a man in a rough-and-tumble town like Twin Forks.
Larkin had learned early on that you couldn't trust anyone in town, especially not those occasional husband-hunting women who had only been interested in them because they owned a ranch and a mine.
When everyone else in the West had gone crazy for gold, Walt and Larkin had both agreed that copper was the metal of the future, what with telegraph lines and the big cities needing wire for electric lights and other newfangled conveniences. Plus, there were fewer competitors in copper mining than there were for gold stakes.
His dirty clothes piled in a heap on the flagstone floor, Larkin lowered himself into the tub with a sigh. God, I'm tired.
He knew what Walt was like when he got a notion in his head. Just now, he could tell that his friend hadn’t really been listening to any of his objections.
Would going along with Walt's plans to marry a mail-order bride really be so bad?
O
r should I just ignore her and let Walt deal with her?
That sounded like a good plan. Let Walt have his mail-order spinster, plain or pretty, agreeable or sour…whatever kind of female she turned out to be. Larkin tried to tamp down his temper and sense of betrayal. He told himself that as long as Miss Elizabeth Hunter made Walt happy, Larkin would find a way to tolerate her presence at the ranch.
As for himself, Larkin planned to keep spending his free time the way he always did: ride into town, enjoy a glass of whiskey and a friendly game of cards with the boys, and then spend some pleasurable time with one of town's ladies who weren't the marrying sort.
Chapter Three
Twin Forks, Montana
Friday, May 14, 1886
With a sinking heart, Sarah stared out the dusty window as the train emitted an ear-piercing screech and jolted to a halt in front of a rough log shack with a wood-shingled roof. A crudely lettered sign said "Twin Forks."
When she had decided to head to the frontier, she knew that her ultimate destination would look nothing like Boston. She just hadn't expected her new home to look quite so…primitive.
Too late now. For better or worse, I've made my decision. With an effort of will, she picked up her carpetbag, where she had combined her belongings with Liza's, and rose from her seat.
After tipping George with some of her remaining money, she followed him out of the carriage and over to the train's baggage wagon. There, he directed the unloading of a large black trunk that contained all of Liza's worldly goods.
That accomplished, he bade her a hasty farewell and hurried off to see to the other passengers in his care.
Sarah was on her own now. She took a deep breath and looked around the crowded stretch of the station platform, which had been constructed from unevenly hewn boards.
Clutching the handles of her carpetbag in one hand and the precious photograph of Liza's two suitors in the other, she peered at the milling crowd that had come to meet the train. Butterflies ricocheted madly inside her stomach as she tried to spot Walter Edwards or Larkin Williams.
As she stood there, she became aware that she was the only woman in a sea of rough-looking men, many of whom slowed to take a second look at her…and the bright purple hair that her fashionable narrow-brimmed derby hat failed to conceal.
Oh, what they must think of me! Her cheeks grew hot under their curious stares. She prayed that Mr. Edwards and Mr. Williams would not reject her on the spot because of her outlandish hair color.
To her relief, most of the crowd seemed intent on dashing for the cargo cars at the rear of the train. She watched as they quickly began unloading dozens of boxes, bulging burlap sacks, and bundles of picks and shovels. These were all loaded onto wheelbarrows or looped with rope and slung over sturdy backs, then carried rapidly away.
A few other passengers had disembarked at this stop. After retrieving their baggage, they walked away. As Sarah continued to wait on the rapidly clearing platform, she saw no one who even remotely resembled either of the two men in Liza's photograph.
During the long, sleepless hours of the night, she had read through all of Mr. Edwards’ letters, trying to memorize every detail of his correspondence. Now that she had cast the die, she hoped and prayed that he would be the same good, kindly man he seemed from his writing and not some brute who might beat her or attack her once she had placed herself in his power.
Then again, she thought bitterly, would that really be any worse than the fate awaiting me back home?
A familiar knot of anxiety began to tighten around her stomach when she spotted Dr. Addison standing several yards away, accompanied by a well-dressed black boy—presumably her son?—who looked perhaps ten or eleven years old. The doctor was conversing with a portly older white man in a dark suit and clerical collar.
A long wheelbarrow stood next to them. Upon it, Sarah saw her own modest suitcase placed next to a sheet-wrapped form that could only be Liza's earthly remains. A fresh wave of grief and guilt rolled over her.
Liza wanted this for me, she reminded herself. But it didn't help.
As she watched, a pair of porters came huffing up and deposited a large trunk with polished brass fittings behind Sarah's suitcase. Dr. Addison reached into her reticule and tipped the men, by which Sarah deduced that the second trunk must belong to the doctor.
Then came the deafening blast of the train's whistle, followed by a shouted "All Aboard!" from one of the conductors. With a roaring exhalation of steam, the train jolted forward with clanks and squeals, slowly gathering speed as it rolled away from the station.
Dr. Addison and the minister concluded their low-voiced discussion. To Sarah's relief, neither of them turned to her and accused her of being a fraud. Instead, the minister grasped the handles of the wheelbarrow and rolled the sad, shrouded figure around the station building and out of sight, with Dr. Addison and the young boy following close behind him.
And with that, Sarah found herself all alone on the station platform. Hope fading, she looked around and wondered what she ought to do now.
Did Mr. Edwards and Mr. Williams change their minds? What will I do if no one comes for me? Does this town even have lodgings?
"Miss, are you waiting for someone?" called a female voice that sounded both kind and concerned. "May I offer you some coffee and pie in the meantime?"
Sarah looked around for the source of the voice. She spotted a tall, chestnut-haired woman standing behind a table set up in the shade of the station's wide eaves.
The lady smiled sweetly when Sarah caught her eye, and waved at her. She was tall and appeared to be in her late twenties, with gray eyes and shining chestnut hair coiled into a bun at her nape. She was visibly with child under her modest attire of a plain, high-collared dress with gathered sleeves and a pin-tucked bodice with full skirts, all made from fabric dyed a soft golden yellow.
Sarah's stomach growled, reminding her that she had quite forgotten about breakfast in her anxiety about assuming her friend's identity.
She cast Liza's trunk a concerned glance and decided that if it was too heavy for her to lift unassisted, then it was unlikely that anyone on the now-deserted platform would be able to approach it and steal it without her noticing.
Sarah mustered an answering smile and waved back before approaching the table. It had been set with a large coffee pot placed on a metal rack over a candle stub to keep its contents warm, a collection of tin mugs, most of them used and set haphazardly on the tablecloth, and a large white serving platter with a pair of hand pies and a collection of crumbs under a domed mesh food cover. The faint but appetizing scents of fresh-baked pastry, apples, and cinnamon wafted from the pies.
A large hand-painted sign on a folding easel next to the table read: Twin Forks welcomes you with a free breakfast. All are welcome at our 10:00 a.m. Sunday services at the church on Main Street.
"Good morning! I'm Emmaline Kottinger, the minister's wife," the lady greeted her, smiling.
A fresh wave of heat washed over Sarah's cheeks as Mrs. Kottinger's gaze took in her appearance and lingered on her hair.
But thankfully, Mrs. Kottinger refrained from asking the obvious. Instead, she busied herself with pouring coffee into one of the few remaining clean mugs and offering it to Sarah, along with the plate of hand pies.
She gestured at a small covered pitcher and a tiny covered bowl painted with blue flowers. "I have fresh milk and sugar for your coffee."
Sarah availed herself of both, then bit into one of the pies. The pastry was freshly baked and delicately crumbly. The filling had been made with dried apples and tasted as delicious as it had smelled. She felt instantly restored by the food and the hot coffee.
"Ah, were you in need of some directions?" Mrs. Kottinger ventured delicately, when Sarah had finished eating. She offered up the remaining pie, her gaze once again drawn to Sarah's hair.
Sarah shook her head. "No, thank you."
"Was someone supposed to meet you here? Or were you seeking emp
loyment?" Mrs. Kottinger cleared her throat. "My husband and I stand ready to offer assistance, if you require it. I wouldn't want you to think that—well, no matter your circumstances, you should know that you have options for a, ah, respectable, life here."
Sarah blinked at her new acquaintance, trying to decipher the woman’s suddenly intense expression.
"Oh," she exclaimed, finally comprehending what the other woman was obliquely implying. "Oh, my goodness, no!" she blurted.
Mortified by the assumption, and all too aware that her outlandish appearance might have contributed to Mrs. Kottinger's mistaken impression, Sarah continued quickly, "I'm so sorry, I quite forgot my manners and failed to introduce myself. I'm Elizabeth Hunter, Mr. Walter Edwards' fiancée. Do you know him?"
