Hattie

by Vivi Holt

  That didn’t matter one jot anymore, seeing as how she’d already pledged herself to another man – even a two-bit hustler like Jack Miller.

  When Hattie reached the courthouse, she noticed a circle of white-winged butterflies fluttering around a bush by the porch rail. She paused a moment, her pulse racing and breathing jagged, to study them. They were beautiful and peaceful and paid no mind to the turmoil going on around them in the world. She lifted a hand toward one as if to cup it in her palm, but it flapped its delicate wings and shied out of reach.

  “Ya comin’?” barked Jack, his eyebrows drawn low over dark eyes.

  She shuddered, lifted her skirts in one hand and skipped up the stairs to where he stood, holding the door for her. He wasn’t even puffing after toting her heavy bags so quickly from the saloon to the courthouse. His muscular arms bulged beneath his shirt sleeves, which were rolled up to his elbows, exposing skin weathered by hours in the sun.

  “Are we to be married by a minister?” she asked, almost in a whisper.

  He shook his head, one short sharp motion, and frowned. “Nope.”

  Her breath caught in her throat and she closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Jack was gone, and she could hear voices behind the closed door. Her luggage lay on the porch beside a wicker chair, which she sank down into with a sigh.

  Soon Jack returned with an anxious-looking man whose spectacles sat low on the end of his long, pointed nose. “So can you marry us?” Jack asked, tipping his hat forward to scratch at his head.

  The man nodded, then blinked. “Miss Stout, is it?”

  “Yes, I’m Hattie Stout.” She stood and offered him her hand.

  He took it and gave it a limp shake. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. I’m Tom Small, the resident justice of the peace. Follow me, if you please.” He turned and went back through the door, holding it open for them to pass through.

  They entered a room with a sturdy wooden desk covered in neat stacks of paper. He hurried around to the other side of the desk and pulled open a drawer. Extracting a sheet of paper, he peered down his nose through the spectacles to assess its contents, then pressed his thin lips together with a grunt. “This is it. All right, then, let’s get to it.”

  The vows they repeated were perfunctory and brief. When he reached the end, Mr. Small in his high monotone announced that Jack could kiss his bride. Hattie’s heart lurched as her new husband leaned in and planted his lips on hers with a wet smack.

  When he pulled away, she noticed for the first time a scar running down the side of his face and into his beard. She hadn’t stood close enough to him until that moment to see it. Her heart thundered and her mouth fell open in dismay. His black beard and dark eyes flashed before her eyes – along with a brown neckerchief pulled up high over his nose and mouth.

  Mr. Small hurried out to finalize their paperwork, announcing his intention to return shortly. As soon as he was gone, Hattie gasped and pulled back with a cry.

  Jack watched her reaction, puzzled. “What? What’s wrong?”

  “You! You’re the outlaw who robbed the stage! I recognize your scar. No wonder you let me keep my luggage – it was you. You knew I was coming here to marry you!”

  His eyes widening, he slapped a hand over her mouth. “Quiet now!” he hissed. “You’re my wife, whether ya like it or not. So you’d better keep them thoughts to yourself if you know what’s good for ya –”

  She bit the palm of his hand. He let go with a shout and pulled his hand back to slap her, but she ducked around him and ran with all her might out the door, almost bowling Mr. Small over as he rounded the corner with the marriage certificate in his long, bony fingers. “Mrs. Miller?” he cried in alarm. “Where are you going? I’ve got your certificate … Mrs. Miller!”

  She paid him no mind, running pell-mell across the foyer, out the front door, down the porch stairs and into the street. She gasped as her corset stays dug into her sides, but kept on, her legs pumping and elbows flailing. A glance back over her shoulder showed he hadn’t followed her, and relief washed over her, but she didn’t stop.

  Thud! – Hattie ran headlong into a broad, and very hard, chest. She sank toward the ground, her knees buckling beneath her, even as she felt strong hands grasp her arms and lift her back to her feet.

  Disappointed in finding Hattie gone from the Roan, Ed headed for his office. But as he turned a corner, a woman ran smack into him. She acted like she might faint, and he caught her in his arms, then realized who it was. “Whoa there! Miss Stout, are you all right?!”

  Her eyelids flickered and she exhaled sharply. “Sheriff! I’m so glad I found you.” She took another breath. “It’s Jack! He’s the robber!”

  “What?” He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “Jack Miller robbed the stagecoach!”

  His eyes widened as she fell against his chest, clutching at his waistcoat. He set his hands under her arms and lifted her gently out of the way. “Where is he now?”

  She lifted a shaking hand, pointing back the way she’d come. “I just left him at the courthouse.”

  Ed nodded. “Go back to the Roan Horse and stay with Sally – tell her I said so. I’ll check on you as soon as I’ve caught the scoundrel.” He stepped past her and ran to the courthouse, leaping up the stairs in two long bounds and pushing through the door. “Tom! Tom, where are you?”

  Tom Small peered out his office door anxiously, then came into the entryway to greet the sheriff, twisting his hands together in front of him. “Sheriff, good to see you. You know, the strangest thing just hap–”

  “Where is he?” barked Ed, his eyes darting around.

  “I suppose you mean Jack Miller?”

  “Yes, I do.” Ed frowned in frustration and rested his hands on his hips.

  Tom pushed his spectacles back up the bridge of his nose and blinked. “He just left – followed his wife out the door. No idea why they were in such a hurry – I was only gone a few moments to get the stamp for their marriage certificate. When I came back, she nearly knocked me to the ground on her way out. He ran out after her.”

  “Thanks!” Ed called over his shoulder as he rushed back through the door. Likely Jack, having been found out, was already on his way out of town. He had a head start, but he wouldn’t get away easily if Ed had anything to say about it. He sprinted to the stables behind his office, where his chestnut gelding Fire stood munching on a mouthful of hay, saddled and ready to go.

  “Oye, boss.” A short, stocky man wearing a tan Stetson stepped from the shadows – Leandro “Lee” Perez, one of Ed’s deputies. “Where you headed?”

  Ed leaped onto Fire’s back and gathered the reins in his hands. “Someone fingered Jack Miller as one of the stagecoach thieves. He’s fleeing town right now.”

  Lee ran back into the stable, calling over his shoulder. “Dios mio! I’m coming with you!”

  The two of them rode out of town together moments later, hot on Jack Miller’s trail. Ed grinned – thanks to that girl from New York, he’d finally caught a break in the case.

  Hattie couldn’t move for a minute, just stood in the street gasping for breath, tugging at her stays and fanning her face with both hands. But the sheriff didn’t reappear. He’d told her to go back to the Roan Horse, and she supposed there wasn’t anything else for it but to do as he’d said. She frowned – she’d hoped never to set foot in the place again, but she didn’t really have much of a choice.

  Looking up and down the street didn’t provide any better options – a paint-chipped mercantile, two more saloons, a dance hall, a livery and a couple of other businesses she couldn’t identify from where she stood. Finally she pushed her wayward hair behind her ears and staggered across the street to the Roan Horse.

  Sally looked up from her mop in surprise when Hattie walked into the saloon. “Well, lookie here – didn’t ‘spect to see ya again so soon. Ya forget somethin’?”

  Hattie frowned, then sighed. “No, I didn’t. But the sherif
f told me to come back here, and I do need a place to stay, again. Any chance I could get my room back? I’d be willing to work to pay my way.”

  Sally laughed. “Work? Do ya even know how to work?”

  Hattie thought she should feel insulted, but she didn’t have the energy. “No, I don’t suppose I do. I’ve never really had to. But I don’t have anywhere else to go, all my money was stolen, my things …” She blanched – everything she owned save what she was wearing was still sitting on the courthouse porch! And she couldn’t exactly go back there – what if Jack was waiting for her? “… anyway, I’m desperate. So I’ll do what you need me to do as best I can.”

  Sally stopped mopping and rested the handle against the bar behind her. Hands on her hips, she surveyed Hattie through narrowed eyes. “That so? What happened to that good-for-nothin’ fiancé of yers? Ditch ya at the altar?”

  Hattie shook her head as she felt her anger rise. “No. I ran away after I realized he’d robbed the stagecoach I came here on.”

  That got Sally’s attention. “Well! You sure have had an adventure, ain’t ya?” She sighed, a little more sympathetic now. “All right, ya can stay a while. But ya’ll be workin’ hard for it – I don’t run no charity. You can start by mopping this whole floor.” She lifted the mop by the handle and held it out to Hattie.

  Hattie took it with a grateful smile. “Thank you, Sally. I appreciate it more than you know.”

  Sally shrugged. “We’ll see.” She bustled from the room, shaking her head.

  Hattie watched her leave, then began mopping. As she did, she wondered how she could get her trunk and carpetbag from the court house. It was possible Jack Miller, the cad, had taken them already, but there was nothing she could do right now about it. Once she’d finished whatever chores Sally had for her, she’d go back and fetch them – if they were still there.

  Ed strode into the Roan Horse at lunch time in a foul mood. He’d been too late to catch Jack Miller – the varmint was probably out of town by the time Sally had run into him. The only bright side was that now he knew the identity of one of the stage robbers … provided Hattie had been right about him.

  For now, he wanted to check on her and grab a bite to eat. She was likely safe and sound in Sally’s hands. There were a million other things he could be attending to around town: horse thieves, cattle rustlers, altercations between ranchers about property lines. But here he was, checking in on a New York girl he’d only just met. Well, at least he could justify it if anyone asked – she was a witness to a stagecoach robbery …

  He shook his head and stopped at the bar, leaning his elbows on the counter. “Hey, Sally. How’s it goin’?” He took off his hat and set it on the bar beside him.

  Sally sauntered over to serve him, a dish towel slung over one broad shoulder. “Good, thanks, Sheriff. How ‘bout you?”

  He groaned. “Whiskey, please.”

  “That good, huh?” With a deft flick of the wrist, she poured him a glass.

  He grabbed it and gulped it down in one mouthful. “That bad. So where’s Miss Stout?” Sally tipped her head toward the door to the dining room, and he put his hat back on and nodded. “Thanks.”

  “Always a pleasure, Sheriff,” said Sally to his back.

  The dining room lunch crowd was sparse, with empty seats throughout. He spotted Hattie immediately, carrying an armful of dirty dishes toward the kitchen. She’d donned an apron over her fine blue gown. Her dark hair hung in messy tendrils around her pale face, her mouth was pulled into a tight pink line, and her cheeks were flushed.

  He located an empty table, pulled out a chair and lowered himself into it with a sigh. He was tired after the long gallop to Slot Creek, where they’d lost Jack’s tracks. After an hour of searching, he and Lee had given up. His whole body ached, and he slapped his hat down on the table and combed his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair.

  Hattie returned from the kitchen, carrying a tray of full plates which she set down at various tables. Just as she passed a group of four grimy miners with more than a few empty beer glasses in front of them, one of them leaned over and slapped her on the rear with a loud guffaw. His companions burst into laughter along with him, and another man grabbed Hattie and pulled her into his lap with a laugh. Hattie tried to stand, but the man pulled her back.

  Ed’s eyes narrowed and he stood to his feet. He reached the men in three long strides and stared down at them, his hand resting on his holster. “What’s goin’ on here?”

  The miners’ laughter faded and they shifted uneasily in their seats. The one who’d corralled Hattie released her. “Just … havin’ a bit of fun, Sheriff,” he mumbled as she jumped away.

  Ed’s blood pounded through his veins and his head swam. He reached for the man’s collar and hauled him to his feet. “That’s no way to treat a lady,” he growled.

  “I’m sorry,” he simpered, his face turning red.

  The man’s friends stood slowly, fists clenching. “C’mon now, Sheriff – no need to cause a stink about it,” one huffed.

  Ed dropped the man he was holding, lifted his elbow in a flash and felled the speaker with a crack to the chin, then brought his fist up to connect with the first fellow’s nose, making it spurt with blood. The bleeder ran from the saloon in a howl of agony. The other two followed quickly, trailed by the second speaker, who was still woozy but not inclined to hang around and recover.

  Ed turned to Hattie in concern. He strode to her side, lifted a hand toward her cheek, then let it fall to his side as his own cheeks warmed. “Are you all right, Miss Stout?”

  She caught his hand as it fell and held it between hers. “Thank you, Sheriff.”

  His skin tingled beneath her touch, and his gaze fixed on her wide hazel eyes as his pulse raced. “You’re welcome,” he croaked. He cleared his throat. “I … hope you weren’t injured.”

  She shook her head and lifted a hand to flutter at her throat. “No, but I don’t know what might have happened if you hadn’t been here.”

  He tipped his hat. “So long as you’re well, then. I just came by to let you know I wasn’t able to track down your intended. He escaped – for now, anyway. But we’ll catch up with him soon enough.” He dropped her hand and turned to walk away.

  Her voice stopped him dead in his tracks. “Alas, he’s not my intended anymore, Sheriff. He’s my husband.”

  His eyes flew wide and he swallowed hard as he turned back. “Husband?”

  Red circles flared on her cheeks as she nodded. “I’m afraid we were married before I realized who he was.”

  His heart dropped. He couldn’t stand to think of her being married to that cad. She didn’t deserve it, and Jack sure didn’t deserve her. It didn’t matter to him one way or the other – even if she were available, it wasn’t likely she’d be interested in a small-town lawman. But it unsettled him, more than he liked to admit.

  Ed nodded, forced a smile and marched out of the saloon. This day just kept going downhill, like a horseless wagon.

  Chapter 4

  Hattie’s shift in the restaurant was finally over. She pulled her aching feet out of her boots, kicked them aside and laid back on the thin bed, the straw rustling beneath her.

  She squinted against the afternoon sunlight. The room she shared with Daisy Sweeney, a “sporting woman”, was narrow but well-lit from the single window high on the wall above her bed. She’d be waiting tables again in two hours’ time when the supper shift began, but for now she had time to rest and relax.

  A rap on the door startled her. She sat up with a sigh, running her hands over her disheveled hair. “Yes, come in.”

  The door creaked open and Sally poked her head in, blonde curls framing her plump, lined face. She sidled through the opening, her eyes narrowed. “How long ya been workin’ here now?” she asked, one eyebrow arched.

  Hattie stood quickly, smoothing her skirts. “A few weeks. Why?”

  “More like six weeks, ain’t it?”

  “I guess so.”
Truth be told, she’d lost track.

  “Well, it’s time you had a bit of fun.”

  Hattie tipped her head to one side. “Fun?”

  “Yeah. There’s a picnic over at the church this afternoon. You and Daisy should go.”

  Hattie chewed the inside of her cheek. A picnic? That did sound fun. “But I’m supposed to work …”

  “Never mind that – I’ll cover for ya. You’re young, you should enjoy yerself. I’ve enjoyed myself plenty – I don’t need no more fun.” Sally chuckled as she edged back out the doorway. “Get dressed – Daisy’ll be up soon and you can go.”

  Hattie slumped back down on the bed, lay on top of the covers, tucked her arms behind her head and smiled. A picnic. She hadn’t been to a social engagement since she left New York, and just the idea of it had her pulse racing.

  She’d been living and working at the Roan Horse for weeks and still her husband roamed free. The sheriff checked in with her a few times per week, but he hadn’t been able to catch Jack Miller or his still-unknown accomplices. At first she’d been afraid he’d return for her. Then she’d been terrified Sally would toss her out on the streets when she didn’t have a natural gift for saloon work.

  But as time passed, she began to adapt to this new life, and the danger seemed to have passed. She’d settled into a routine and become a reasonably proficient waitress, at least according to Sally. All she wanted now was to work long enough to earn her passage back home. It was what she focused on every day when she mopped the saloon floor, washed the piles of dirty dishes, or fended off yet another handsy miner.

  Daisy barreled through the door, tugging at the neckline of her dress, her ample bosoms spilling out over the top of the fabric. She grinned and kicked Hattie’s bed, and Hattie sat up with a groan. “Am I to get no rest in this place?”