by Lynda Bailey
Logan bit back a curse at the bank’s incompetence, but knew he had no choice in the matter. He touched Matt’s arm and together they stood. He jammed his hat back onto his head. “I expect to be notified when the deed arrives,” he growled.
Dobson didn’t even bother to look up. “Of course.”
Grunting an acknowledgement, Logan escorted Matt from the bank. The bright sunshine made his eyes water. He squinted down the street and saw the ranch’s buckboard tied in front of the mercantile. He turned to Matt. “I forgot I need more tonic rub for the horses. Do you mind going over there and telling Gus?”
She pulled her hat low to shield her eyes. “Okay.”
“Tell him to put it on my personal tab. I’ll check with Chuck at the mercantile.”
She nodded and walked down the bank steps, her back straight, looking neither left nor right. Pride again swelled in his chest while a baser emotion swelled a different body part. A smile on his lips, he headed toward the mercantile.
Chapter Six
Matt’s legs were the consistency of warm molasses. She hoped she could get across the street without falling on her face. She couldn’t believe Logan had kissed—then licked—her hand. And in public, no less. Heat stung her cheeks while a hotter heat curled through her middle.
Wait until tonight, Mrs. Cartwright. I’m gonna kiss every inch of your body.
His words echoed through her mind as anticipation twirled down her spine. But past the expectation of what would happen tonight when she and Logan were alone in the main house, an odd catch hung in her chest.
He had defended her to the banker. Had insisted she be included in the dealings and that her name be on the deed beside his. The tension in her chest grew. Her throat closed up.
All she could ever remember wanting was to leave her father’s ranch. That dream had kept her working day in and day out. For ten long years, she’d anticipated saying good-bye to her denim pants and hello to feminine clothing. To dresses and hats and frilly things.
Now a wiggle of doubt dampened that anticipation. That joy. Because of Logan.
He’d always treated her well—had always treated her with respect. Something her own father had never done. But what did that mean? Did that mean Logan truly cared for her? Truly wanted her for his wife. In every sense? Or was she simply an end to a means? A way of getting the Standing T?
And if that was the case, then why, oh why, was he so dang nice to her? Why had he wanted her name on the deed? Why had he done what he had last night?
But then, it had only been one night. Maybe he’d tire of her. That thought made her frown as her head ached from all the thinking.
Not aware of where she was going, she plowed into a barrel of a man leaving the livery. Stumbling back, her head snapped up.
“Whoa there,” Sam Applegate said, a hand to his stocky chest. “You all right, Matt?”
She nodded and moved past him. “Sorry.”
Sam stepped in her path. “Hold on now. Elisabeth will have my hide if I don’t ask how you’re doing after your pappy died. My brother’s wife was mighty upset she couldn’t come to the funeral. ‘Course, given that she’s in the family way, I’m sure you understand.”
“Of course. Thank her for me and tell her I’m fine.”
Matt again shifted past Sam and again he blocked her way. “What’s gonna happen with the ranch now that your daddy’s gone?”
She inhaled a breath for patience, knowing she wasn’t going anywhere until Sam’s questions were answered. The man could talk the wings off a fly. “Logan and I just finished at the bank. They’re sending to Fort Smith for the new deed.”
Sam leaned against a corral post. “You mean Cartwright inherited your daddy’s ranch? How’d that happen?”
“He and I got married.” For some reason, the statement warmed her chest.
Sam’s eyes bulged in his round face. “You don’t say. When’d that happen?
“A few days ago.”
“Lordy, Lord.” Sam shook his head. “Wait ‘til Elisabeth hears ‘bout this. She’ll surely be fit to be tied. So Cartwright figures to keep on ranching?”
“Why wouldn’t he?”
“With all the rustling going on, thought he might sell. That Dobson character at the bank is buying up land all ‘round here. Even my brother’s taking the offer under consideration.”
A fissure of disgust coursed down her spine at the mention of Dobson’s name. “Not Logan. He plans to keep the Standing T.”
Sam shoved from his resting post. “Well, I best quit jawing. George is coming down the street and he’ll be wanting to git home. I’m lucky he leaves that wife of his long enough to fetch supplies. You give my regards to your husband.”
“I will. Say hello to Elisabeth for me.”
With a nod, Sam sauntered down the boardwalk as she entered the livery. Less than five minutes later, she retraced her steps back across the street.
Gus had been surprised Logan needed more tonic rub considering he’d bought two jars last month. She was baffled, too, but figured maybe the jars had gotten busted somehow.
She passed Dr. Bingham’s office door and Chuck came outside. She pulled to a stop. “You all right? You’re not sick, are you?”
Chuck shook his head. “Nah. Just gettin’ some laudanum for the ranch. After this influenza, we’re down to less than a bottle.”
She fell into step beside the cook with a nod. “You and Dave get all the supplies loaded?”
Chuck snorted. “What supplies? Told Logan yesterday we got plenty of what we need to last another month. He insisted on this trip, though, trying to stock up for the drive north, I reckon. On the bright side, you’ve got tea again.”
Staring at the knotted wood boards as she walked, a grimace pulled at her mouth. First the tonic rub. Now the supplies. Logan wasn’t one to make such simple mistakes.
Chuck halted by the saloon doors. “Dave and me are gonna wet our whistles before heading home. Hate to waste a trip to town.”
She smiled at Chuck’s good-natured wink. “All right. I’ll see you both back at the ranch.”
He saluted then disappeared inside. Since Sergeant was still tethered next to Turk in front of the bank, Logan had to be in the mercantile. She headed back across the street, waiting while four riders passed in front of her, then up the steps to Upton’s Emporium.
Opening the door, the familiar tinkling of a bell along with the mingled smells of leather, coffee and spices greeted her. She inhaled deeply. As a child, she’d loved coming here, seeing what treat she could wrangle from Mr. or Mrs. Upton.
The store bustled with its usual activity. A group of older men conversed by the potbelly stove in the corner while younger cowboys looked over a display of saddle tack. Small children scampered around the various tables piled high with everything from bolts of cloth to bags of salt and flour, much to the displeasure of their mothers. Mrs. Upton was busy behind the counter beside her husband. But Logan was nowhere in sight. Before she could leave, Mrs. Upton’s voice rang out.
“There’s the new bride herself.”
All conversation in the entire store died and every set of eyes landed on her. The women whispered behind their hands and pointed to her while the men gave her unflattering up and down looks. Even the children stopped running around to gape openly at her.
Embarrassment heated Matt’s cheeks. She was a married woman, not some cow with two heads. Was that really so unbelievable?
Mrs. Upton hustled toward her. With a deep breath, she pasted on a smile. “Hello, Mrs. Upton. I’m looking for Logan. Is he here?”
The older woman waved a hand. “Your husband was here just a minute ago. Maybe he went round back.”
Painfully aware everyone was still staring at her, Matt opened the door wider to escape. “Well, I best go find him.”
“What’s your hurry?” Mrs. Upton asked. “You know a horsefly coulda knocked me and Frank over when he told us you two had gotten hitched. Isn’t that right, Fran
k?”
Mr. Upton nodded. “Guess it was the right decision, though, considering your daddy had just passed. We were mighty sorry to hear ‘bout that.”
“Thank you,” Matt said. “I really should go find Logan. We due out at our herd…”
Mrs. Upton swung the door closed then looped her arm through Matt’s. “We got the newest story by Mark Twain on the stage yesterday. It’s called the Prince and the Pauper.” She tugged Matt to the back of the store, weaving through stacked tables of merchandise. “We also got latest edition of Harper’s Bazaar as well as this new magazine called...” She lifted a small sack of salt off a thin stack of magazines. “Woman’s Home Journal. I think you’ll like it.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Upton.” Matt took the offered magazine, grateful the other customers had lost interest in her. “It’s nice of you to think about me.”
She’d just flipped to the first article as the door bell chimed again and in walked the Uptons’ daughter, Daisy, along with two of her friends. The conversation at the stove again halted. But this time, every man straightened his posture and tipped his hat to the prattling threesome.
The ladies made their way to the colorful bolts of cloth in the center of the store. Their giggling increased in volume with every tipped hat. A most annoying and silly sound men probably thought resembled music. For Matt, a bullet ricocheting off a rock had to sound better.
Though she continued to turn the pages of the magazine, her gaze remained fixed on the three young women. When she had entered the store, not one hat had been tipped in her direction. In fact, she’d been ignored until Mrs. Upton brought her to everyone’s attention, and not in a good way. Never before had she given the lack of any courtesy towards herself a second thought. So why did it prick her ire now?
Daisy unrolled a bolt of bright green fabric, her blonde curls bouncing around her face. The material shimmered in the sunlight that poured through the large store window. She held it up in front of her with a toothy grin and twirled around in front the captivated male audience. Even the older men at the stove were watching. The other girls twittered more while nodding and pointing.
Matt’s fingers itched to touch the fabric. She wanted to hold it up and sashay around while others admired her. An empty ache spread through her chest.
She wanted to be pretty too. Pretty and feminine. Wanted to wear dresses and have men to tip their hats to her like she was a lady. The ache swelled and she spun away.
Who was she kidding? Wear dresses and be treated like a lady? Not likely. At least not here. Here she was considered strange. Nothing but an oddity. A girl raised as a boy.
The dull pain in her chest shifted. Changed. Turned ugly and resentful. It wasn’t her fault her father hadn’t raised her proper.
She slapped the magazine down and stalked to the door amid more grating, girlish laughs. She paid the sound no heed. The door opened just as she reached for it and barely jumped out of the way before getting smacked. She shot daggers at the person on the other side.
Logan. He flinched at seeing her, but a grin quickly replacing his shock. Almost like he was glad to see her.
Not likely.
She moved past him, but he blocked her path. “Where you going in such an all-fired hurry?”
“I’m going to the herd,” she huffed, muscling out the door. She marched across the street and snatched her horse’s reins from the post. Logan’s hand on her arm kept her from swinging into the saddle.
“What’s wrong?”
She yanked from his grasp. “Nothing’s wrong. The men at the herd need to be relieved, remember? Can’t be wasting the day in town.”
The ruts between his eyes deepened as he tucked his hands into the rear pockets of his Levi’s. “All right.” The words came out slow and measured. “Wait while I’ll see if Gus is done with my horse then we can ride out together.”
“You wait. I’m not frittering away any more time. Not when there’s work to be done.” She stuffed a foot into the stirrup and hoisted herself onto Turk’s back. The gelding sensed her anger and fought the bit. Logan grabbed the bridle to steady the animal. “Let go of my horse.”
“First tell me what’s got you angrier than a peeled rattler.”
“Maybe I don’t like you being a dang town crier, telling everybody we’re married.” She turned Turk, but Logan held tight. She glared at him. “I said to let go of my horse.”
“It’s not safe for you to ride to the herd alone. Wait for me.”
Her sharp laugh echoed against the livery walls. “Not safe? Who do you figure will bother me?” She pulled back hard on the reins and Turk tossed his head, dislodging Logan’s grip. She spurred the pony into a dead run out of town.
~ ~ ~
Logan pivoted and strode to the back of the livery. “Gus! I need my horse.”
The blacksmith looked up from where he was bent over, Sergeant’s hoof between his legs, nails sticking out of his mouth. “Be ‘nuther thirty minutes,” he mumbled around the metal between his lips.
“You got another horse I can borrow?”
Gus shook his head.
“Goddamn it!” Logan slammed his eyes shut in frustration and spun away. He stomped back to the street and glared at the diminishing cloud of dust left in Matt’s wake. The urge to take off after her pulsed across his skin. But he couldn’t. Not without his damn horse.
Hands on hips, he stared at the boardwalk and inhaled a stiff breath. It helped to lasso his temper, at least some. He walked toward the mercantile where Chuck and Dave were waiting by the buckboard.
“Where’s Matt?” the cook asked.
“Took off for the herd.”
Both men gawked at him in disbelief.
“You let her go by herself?” Dave asked.
“Not by choice,” Logan snarled. “My horse threw a shoe. Gus won’t be done for another half hour.”
“You want to take the buckboard and go after her?”
“No. It’d take me longer to drive the damn wagon there than to wait for Gus. ‘Sides I need to finish up business with Upton. You two head back to the ranch. I’ll see you at supper.”
Chuck and Dave clambered into the wagon and took off down the street. Logan watched for a moment then stepped into the mercantile.
Mrs. Upton stood beside her husband as he walked to the counter. “Where’s your wife?” she asked. “I thought she wanted to borrow the latest Mark Twain book.”
“She, uh, left. But I’d still like to order that wedding band for her, if I could.”
Mrs. Upton glanced at her husband then backed away. Mr. Upton eyed Logan, his mouth set in a grim line rather than the usual easy smile. “How you planning on paying for it?”
Dread crept along Logan’s neck. “I planned to put it on the Standing T tab. Is there a problem?”
Upton scratched his chin. “I’m afraid so.” He angled away from the other patrons, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Seems Gene put quite a bit on credit here.”
“How much?”
“Forty-three dollars.”
Logan swore under his breath. He crossed his arms. “And you’re just now discovering this? You’re the owner. How is that possible?”
“Because Gene dealt mostly with my wife.” The merchant cast a loving look to Mrs. Upton pouring more coffee for the men by the stove. “Wonderful woman, but a bit too generous when it comes to people. The ring she says you want will cost an additional twenty dollars.”
Another colorful curse rang through Logan’s head. He rubbed at the headache behind his eyes. Sixty-three dollars. Could this day get much worse?
All he had was forty-eight dollars. Money saved up for when he struck out for the Dakotas to stake his own claim. But he wasn’t going to the Dakotas anymore. His stake was right here, with the Standing T.
He could pay off the debt, but not buy Matt’s ring. Hell, maybe he shouldn’t even get her a ring, considering how surly she’d been about a few folks knowing they were married. That thought twisted like
a knife.
No. A man’s wife deserved a ring on her finger, even a churlish wife. He looked back at Upton. “I’ll clear the unpaid bill then start a new line of credit in my name for the ring.”
Upton hesitated. “You sure you’ll be able to pay? Times have been tough ‘round here.”
“Give you my word.” He stuck his hand out. “Do we have a deal?”
Upton shook his hand. “We do. Now I need to measure your wife’s finger for the ring.”
“As I told your wife, she’s not here and I don’t know when we’ll make it back to town.”
Upton’s lips pursed in thought. “Guess we could use my daughter’s finger. Daisy’s just a year younger. Their hands should be the same size.” He got a tablet of paper off a shelf. “I’ll place the order today and it’ll go out on tomorrow’s stage. The wedding band should arrive within a month. Maybe less.”
“Good. I’ll be back directly to settle the Standing T account.”
Once he’d paid Upton, Logan returned to the livery to wait until Sergeant was ready. Then, by heaven, he planned to find his wife and get some answers as to why she acted like such a cantankerous child.
Chapter Seven
Matt rode at a break-neck pace across the prairie. The wind whipped past her face, causing tears to gather then fall.
But she wasn’t crying. She never cried.
She had no idea where she was going. Just away. Away from all things hurtful. From the pain and disappointment of not belonging. Away from Logan.
While he hadn’t hurt her feelings—this time—it was just a matter of time.
Slowing Turk to a trot, it surprised her that she’d ridden all the way to the Applegate place. Sam was unhitching the wagon in front of the barn as she brought her horse down to a walk and entered the yard.
The Applegate spread was much smaller than the Standing T with only the barn and main house. There wasn’t a separate building for cooking meals or a bunkhouse. She halted in front of Sam.
He squinted up at her. “Didn’t we just have a conversation in town?”
She grinned rather sheepishly. “We did indeed.”
He tipped his hat back. “So what brings you out this way?”
