Lucky Bride

by Ana Seymour

  “Just say it’s a very merry Christmas,” Mary Beth suggested with a smile.

  He rubbed his fingers along the tooled edge of the book Molly had given him. “That it is, Mary Beth. It’s a very merry Christmas indeed.”

  Smokey had insisted that no one would be cleaning up the kitchen in their Christmas finery. It would wait until tomorrow, he assured them. So they sat around the big parlor fireplace, drinking Smokey’s spicy hot Christmas punch and singing Christmas carols, stopping every now and then for a bittersweet remembrance of Christmases past.

  “What was your favorite gift when you were little, Parker?” Mary Beth asked.

  Parker stared into the flames, remembering. “When I was eight and my sister was seven, we each got a pony. Mine was a dapple gray named Cloudy. I suppose out here on the ranch that wouldn’t be so remarkable, but to a little boy in New York City, I thought I’d never seen anything so pretty in all my life. I rode her every day.”

  “And now all these years later you’ve come out West to learn how to ride a real horse,” Molly said dryly.

  Her elegant dress had not completely softened her tongue, Parker noted ruefully. He answered her with a smile, refusing to be baited. “I’ve been riding real horses for some time now, Molly. But I am learning a lot out here—thanks to all of you.”

  “Hell, he rides better than half the rummies we’ve had come through this place,” Smokey said.

  “When I can ride and rope better than this place’s mistresses—that’s when I’ll be satisfied,” Parker replied.

  “You’ve set your sights high there, my boy,” Smokey said.

  Molly gave a disparaging huff and added, “That’ll be the day, tenderfoot.”

  Parker grinned. “Sounds like a challenge to me.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Parker,” Mary Beth said in her conciliatory tone. “You already ride and rope better than I can.”

  Smokey stood and stretched his back. “The day you can rope better’n Molly and ride better’n Susannah is the day I shave this beard off my face.”

  “You’ll look good clean shaven, old man,” Parker taunted.

  “I don’t intend to live that long. And I won’t, either, if I don’t get some sleep. I’m getting too old to get up before dawn to start all the fixings for a fancy supper.”

  His comment brought another round of compliments from all on the excellent feast he’d prepared. Then Susannah and Mary Beth both got to their feet.

  “We all need to get to bed. We’ll be dancing until dawn tomorrow night.”

  Molly gave a little shudder. “I don’t know if I even want to go. The last time I saw most of those men was when they were murdering Ole Pedersson.”

  “It wasn’t murder, Molly,” Susannah objected. “Ole had killed a man.”

  “He was suspected of killing a man.”

  “Well, there haven’t been any other problems since he was hanged. And no clues to any other killer. He must have done it.”

  Smokey shook his head sadly. “I still don’t see Ole as a killer, but the drink’ll take a man sometimes. Puts a demon in them.”

  “Even if he was the killer, he should have had a trial.” They’d been through this countless times. When she’d first come back from that night, Molly had been almost obsessed by it. She’d ridden into town the next day to protest to the sheriff, without getting any satisfaction. Then she’d sent a letter to the territorial marshal over in Laramie. But as time had passed, the horror of the night had faded a little. Everyone said that Ole was the killer. And, while it was illegal, vigilante justice was often the accepted practice in smaller towns when the circuit judge came around only twice a year. Molly regretted having brought up the subject, spoiling the happy Christmas mood.

  As if reading her thoughts, Parker changed the subject. “So this Christmas party tomorrow… are cowpokes invited?”

  “Of course you’re coming with us,” Susannah said quickly. “Who do you think we’re counting on for all our dances?”

  Parker looked at Smokey. “It’s two of us and three of them, old timer. Do you think we can handle it?”

  “When I was your age, I could handle ‘em six at a time. Of course, I wasn’t a fancy Eastern pup like you.”

  Parker grinned. “I’ll just have to do my best.”

  Smokey gave a little wave and headed toward the kitchen. Susannah and Mary Beth turned toward the stairs. “I’ll be right up after I check the barn,” Molly said.

  “Let me do it,” Parker urged. “You’re too dressed up to go out there tonight.”

  “No, thank you,” she said stiffly, hitching up her silvery skirts and walking toward the door. For as long as she could remember her father had checked the barn every night before he went to bed. It had given him a sense of peace to know that the animals were quiet, the latches closed, all in order. The first day he’d been too sick to make his nightly rounds, she’d gone for him. She’d gone every night since and, fancy dress or no, she wasn’t about to hand the job over to a tenderfoot in a silk shirt.

  Chapter Ten

  Parker followed her out the door. “I want to thank you again, Molly,” he said to her back. “It really was a wonderful Christmas Eve. I’d never expected to be so content tonight.”

  Something in his voice made her turn around to look at him. “Because you missed your family back in New York?”

  “That and…other things. Christmas could have been tough for me this year. Instead, I felt…welcome. As if I was among good friends.”

  His usual glib confidence was gone. A sudden glint of pain in his dark eyes made Molly answer softly, “I think we are your friends, Parker. I hope so, anyway.”

  A little timidly, she put a hand on his forearm. Under the thin material of his shirt, it felt rock hard. She started to move away, but his hand came up to capture hers, keeping it there, pressed against him. As the night wind raised chill bumps on her bare chest, her heart started to pound.

  “I think so, too,” he said. “We’re certainly good enough friends for me to claim your first waltz tomorrow.”

  She could feel the pounding all the way to her ears. She swallowed and said quickly, “Oh, no. I don’t dance. Unless it’s a reel.”

  “Nonsense. How could you not dance?”

  She pulled more forcefully and her hand slipped out from under his. “I just don’t, is all.”

  Parker took a step back and put his hands on his hips. “You mean to tell me the men in this territory would let a pretty girl like you get away with sitting in the corner like the little old ladies?”

  He looked so dumbfounded that Molly couldn’t help believing that he meant what he said. He considered it amazing that men wouldn’t want to dance with her. And he considered her pretty. She felt a quick flush of heat on her cheeks. “I get asked sometimes, but mostly I imagine it looks too ridiculous to see two sets of trousers out there dancing with each other.”

  “You’ve always worn trousers to the dances?”

  She nodded.

  He was quiet a long minute. “Now, why exactly is that, boss lady?”

  His tone was kind, gentle. Molly couldn’t detect any pity, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. She stiffened. “It’s what I wear. And why I wear it is none of your business.”

  He nodded. “You’re right. To tell you the truth, I think you look darn cute in those pants. But you’re not going to wear trousers tomorrow, right?”

  “Well, I have to win my bet with Susannah.”

  “Right. So tomorrow you’ll dance more than the reels.”

  The cold had finally reached inside her and she began to shiver. She turned away toward the barn. “I don’t know how,” she said dismissively over her shoulder.

  In one long stride he caught up to her and stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “If I can learn to rope cattle, I guess you can learn how to dance.”

  She glared at him. “Will you stop yammering at me, Parker, and let me get my work done? I’m freezing to death out h
ere.”

  He ran his hands briskly up and down her bare arms. “You’re like to catch your death. Why don’t you go back on inside and let me finish up?”

  His hands were rough and his touch businesslike, but Molly felt the pounding again. It was like having a bad fever that ebbed and peaked, leaving you out of your head and weakened. “If you’d just let me alone, I could finish up and go on in where it’s warm.”

  He took a step back from her and held up both hands as if in surrender. “Fine. Go.”

  She hurried away from him toward the sanctuary of the barn. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him walking to the bunkhouse. They reached their destinations at the same time. “Good night, Parker,” she called. “Merry Christmas.”

  He waved at her and yelled back, “The first waltz, Molly… it’s mine.” Then he disappeared into the dark bunkhouse.

  The Christmas night dance had been a tradition for the past several years. Back in the sixties it had often been held at the Lucky Stars, until Charlie Hanks had started to get too nervous about all the handsome bucks buzzing around his little daughters. Recently it had been at neighboring ranches, and the Hanks family had said their goodbyes promptly at midnight, before any of the young men had gotten too rowdy on spiked cider.

  Harvey Overstreet was a widower, but he was a sociable fellow, and his two married daughters came up from Cheyenne to act as hostesses when he wanted to have a gathering. They were there tonight with their husbands and a total of nine children between them. Traditionally the children were given their own room at the party, and each brought a favorite Christmas toy to keep them occupied.

  Except for the logistical difficulty of keeping at least one eye on each of three daughters, Charlie Hanks had always enjoyed Christmas night. As one of the oldest settlers in the region, he had been looked up to by the ranchers, and they had listened to his stories with flattering respect. The ladies had liked him, too. He’d had a gallant tongue and an appreciative eye, though everyone knew his attentions would never go beyond the bounds of propriety. Charlie Hanks had been that rare kind of man—totally satisfied with his lot in life and not interested in trying to change it.

  It felt strange to be arriving at the party without him, Molly decided as they got out of the old carriage that Smokey had insisted on dragging out of the back of the barn for the occasion. Almost as strange as arriving in her new silver dress. She shivered underneath her warm coat. Then she shivered again as Parker took her arm in one hand and Susannah’s in the other. Neither girl needed help walking the short distance from the carriage to the Overstreets’ front porch, but Parker said in his most courtly Eastern way, “Please allow me to escort you inside, ladies,” and Molly didn’t dare protest.

  Smokey followed Parker’s lead, and laughingly offered his arm to Mary Beth. “Might as well do this proper,” he said.

  Once inside, it was plenty warm and Molly let Parker slip her coat off. Her shivers had subsided. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. She wasn’t at all sure what the reaction of her neighbors would be to her outfit. It wouldn’t be the first time she had shocked them. But it would be the first time she had shocked them by doing the normal thing.

  “You look stunning. They’ll all be astounded,” Parker whispered from behind her, as if reading her thoughts.

  “I’d give anything for my buckskins right now,” she confessed.

  He walked around to stand in front of her, his eyes skimming down the length of her figure. “Just wait. I predict it will take you about two minutes out there to feel comfortable. Then you’re going to start having the time of your life.”

  “I’m always a little nervous at these things. I’m better with cattle than with people. I never know what to say.”

  Parker put his arm at her waist and swept her out into the Overstreets’ big living room, which had been mostly cleared of furniture for the dance. “You won’t have to say anything, Molly, believe me.”

  And he was right. Suddenly the neighborhood men with whom she’d never done more than discuss cattle prices and feed mixtures and drought remedies were swarming around her like bees at a hive. The older ladies who had turned up their noses when she’d attended the barn dances or the husking bees in her men’s attire were suddenly smiling at her and calling her “dear Molly.”

  After several minutes it all became too much. She felt the room closing in around her as if she was about to faint for the first time in her life. Her skin was flushed and hot. She was looking around the room for the easiest path to the door when suddenly Parker was at her side, a strong hand on her arm, leading her through the crowd.

  They reached the little entry hall, and she took a deep breath. “Whew. I’ve felt more comfortable in the middle of a cattle stampede,” she said shakily.

  “I told you that you’d cause a ruckus,” Parker said, his eyes alight as they rested on her.

  She fanned a hand at her face. “It’s not fair, you know. Clothes shouldn’t make that much difference. I’m exactly the same person I was when I was wearing my buckskins.”

  “Maybe you’re not.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He leaned into the coat room and pulled out her coat, then put it around her shoulders and led her out the door. There was a cane swing at the end of the wide front porch. “Shall we sit out here while you catch your breath?” he asked.

  She let him lead her to the seat, but repeated her question. “What do you mean, I may not be the same person?”

  “It’s only that…” He struggled for the words. “Of course you’re the same person you are in buckskins, but sometimes what we wear reflects what we’re feeling about ourselves. The fact that you’ve decided to go to the trouble of dressing yourself up may say something about what’s going on inside you.”

  Molly looked sideways at Parker, astonished. She had expected him to agree with her that all the fuss over her new “look” was silly. But instead he had put the matter in a whole new perspective. She didn’t know if his comment had just been a lucky guess or if he was simply extremely wise in the ways of human nature. She only knew that he was dead right. She hadn’t worn the dress to win a bet with Susannah. She was feeling different about life, about herself, about a lot of things these days. And a large part of the reason was the man sitting next to her on the swing. It made her nervous as a field mouse to think about it.

  “Hell’s bells!” she exclaimed. “Can’t a girl put on a dress now and then without everyone thinking she’s gone soft?”

  Parker chuckled. “Now, you see. You’re using bad language to try to show me that you haven’t changed any—that you’re as tough as ever. It’s part of what we do—dress differently, talk differently, depending on how we want to present ourselves to the world. For a long time you’ve felt the need to present yourself as the hard-as-nails, no-nonsense owner of the Lucky Stars.”

  “Which is exactly who I am.”

  “But you’re also a twenty-one-year-old girl with-”

  “Twenty-two.”

  “A twenty-two-year-old girl with a whole life ahead and a natural desire to get on with living it.”

  His thigh rested against hers on the tiny swing. She shifted uneasily. “You talk like you know all about it, Parker. You’re not more than twenty-two yourself.”

  “Twenty-three.” He grinned at her.

  She leaned against the back of the swing with a big sigh, setting it in motion. “I did want to look prettyjust for once,” she admitted.

  “And what’s wrong with that? No one’s going to think you’re less of a rancher because you’ve come to a dance in a dress.”

  She pushed with her foot to keep the swing rocking. “No one thinks I’m much of a rancher, anyway.”

  “Then they’re fools, and you shouldn’t care what they think.”

  The vehemence of his defense surprised and pleased her, but his arguments had only added to the evening’s confusion. “You see, that’s why I can’t dress up like my si
sters. Once they think I’m just like them, they’ll never take me seriously.”

  Parker planted his foot down to stop the swaying. Then he reached for her hand. “Molly, you are one of the strongest women I’ve met in my life—and one of the smartest. You decided to wear men’s clothing because you weren’t about to let anyone dictate your attire. Now you should feel free to wear a dress if you want to for the same reason.”

  When he put it that way, it suddenly made very good sense. Parker was right. She’d always sworn to wear what she darned well pleased. Right now it pleased her to wear a silvery dress and sit in the moonlight with a handsome man. Or better yet…

  “How about that waltz you threatened me with, tenderfoot?”

  Parker was on his feet in an instant, pulling her after him. “I thought you’d never ask,” he said with a wink.

  The music for the dancing was supplied by Harv Overstreet’s brother, Norbert, and Mr. Simon, the owner of the general store. Their fiddles sang out in peaceful harmony most of the time, though on a couple of the reels Norbert insisted on going at a tempo that was a little faster than Mr. Simon’s skill could manage, leaving him to trail a couple of measures behind like an out-of-tune echo.

  The crowd minded not at all. By midnight the older folk had mostly retired to the row of chairs along the wall or had joined the group in the Overstreets’ booklined library. The dance floor was left to the younger set, who seemed to get more energy as the night wore on.

  Parker watched with some amusement as Molly and her partner glided by in a perfect waltz. For a girl who had never danced before, she’d certainly gotten the hang of it quickly enough. But then, he had yet to discover anything that Molly couldn’t do well when she had the mind to.

  She’d been claimed by a score of partners, outshining even Susannah. Parker himself had managed only two dances. He’d danced three times each with Susannah and Mary Beth and, dutifully, one time each with several of the matronly ranch wives. He’d avoided the other single women. For a man who’d sworn off romance, he already had enough trouble living with three women.