The Anonymous Bride (Texas Boardinghouse Brides 1)

by Vickie McDonough

  Repeating the question, Garrett took the novel from his brother’s hand, knowing he’d be distracted by it.

  “Hey!” Mark grabbed for the book, but Garrett held it out of his reach.

  “Answer my question, and I’ll give it back.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he got tired of riding all over the frontier, chasing Indians and outlaws, getting shot at, sleeping on the ground, and eating beans with dust in them.”

  Garrett grinned. “When you say it that way, it makes perfect sense.”

  Mark snatched back his book, found the page, and started reading again.

  Garrett didn’t care much for reading, except on a winter’s night when there wasn’t a whole lot else he could do. “I thought maybe he came back to fix things with Rachel, but I’ve changed my mind.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Well, for one, he didn’t even know that James was dead.”

  “Yeah, that’s true.” Mark rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sure I wrote and told him, but he must not have gotten the letter. I feel kind of bad about that.”

  “It’s not your fault. Besides, it’s not like he’d come riding back if he’d known. He didn’t even make it home for his own mother’s funeral, what with mail being so slow and all.” Garrett studied the landscape that had finally awakened from winter’s chill. Colorful wildflowers dotted the valleys and rolling hills, and the grass was green again. The temperature was perfect, not like the deplorable heat of summer or chilly winters. Now that he thought about it, having a wife to cuddle up with on a cold winter’s night didn’t sound half bad. Neither did coming home to a hot cooked meal instead of having to scrounge up something after a full day’s work. Maybe it was time to start looking for wives—for him and Mark—and one for their cousin. “I think Luke needs a wife.”

  Mark sighed and closed his book. “Trying to read with you gabbin’ is as bad as trying to get a word in between Miss Polly and Miss Dolly.”

  “That is a hard thing to do.” Garrett chuckled. “Do you think Rachel would make a good wife for Luke?”

  “Don’t be meddlin’ where you haven’t been invited.” Mark’s expression turned testy. “You’ll only cause trouble. Besides, I heard Rand Kessler had his eye on her.”

  “That’s all the more reason to find Luke a wife.” Garrett held up a hand when Mark scowled. “Now, hear me out. I talked with him about Rachel, and I can tell that whole situation still bothers him. Don’tcha think it’s rather ironic that he took the marshal’s job in Lookout and didn’t know that Rachel was a widow or that she was the one who’d be fixing his meals?”

  Mark grinned. “Yeah, that is a bit funny. Though I don’t think he’s been spending any time at the boardinghouse. Half the time he eats with us.”

  The wagon tossed them from side to side as they turned off the deeply rutted ranch trail and back onto the road to Lookout.

  “Well, I don’t think he’ll be truly happy until he settles down and gets married. And if Rachel isn’t the gal for him, then we ought to help him find the right one. He is family, after all.”

  “Meddlin’.” Mark pursed his lips and shook his head. “Besides, who is there in town that would make a decent match for Luke?”

  Garrett lifted his hat and scratched his head. He swatted away a horsefly that flew too close to his face. “There’s that newspaper lady.”

  Mark’s brows flew up. “I wouldn’t wish her on my worst enemy, even if she ain’t half bad lookin’.”

  Garrett lifted his hat and scratched his head. “Then who?”

  “Luke’s what? Close to thirty?”

  “Yeah, pretty close, I imagine. He’s about a year older than me, and I’ll be twenty-nine this summer. I can think of some unmarried females, but they’re all too young for him.”

  “I know some men marry much younger women. But personally, I think it’s better to find a more mature woman, not one you have to finish raising.”

  Garrett held back a grin. Mark was beginning to get on the bandwagon, and he didn’t even know it. Looking up, he studied the brilliant blue sky. A hawk circled high above, screeching now and then. Garrett moved in, ready for the kill. “You know how hurt Luke was when Rachel married James. We need to find him a good woman. One he can love who will help him forget Rachel once and for all.”

  Garrett rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “What do you think about the Widow Denison? She may be a year or two older than Luke, but she’s not too bad on the eyes.” He glanced at his brother.

  “What about her five rowdy kids? You want to strap Luke with the job of caring for them?” Mark asked.

  Probably not the greatest idea. “There’s always Polly and Dolly.”

  Mark looked at him as if he’d gone loco then schooled his expression. “I thought they were saving themselves for us.”

  Garrett stared at him for a moment then saw the corner of his brother’s mouth twitch. “Ha! You almost had me there for a minute.”

  Mark hooted and bumped his shoulder against Garrett’s. “Face it, brother, there’s not a decent, marrying-aged woman in all of Lookout other than Rachel.”

  “We could always order up a mail-order bride.”

  Mark’s eyes widened again. “You can’t be serious. You wouldn’t know what you were gettin’. Pretty or ugly. Nice or cranky. Old or young. She might not even be able to cook.”

  “I’m not the one marrying her.”

  “So you want our cousin to marry some woman who arrived on the stage, sight unseen?”

  Garrett shrugged. “I don’t know. It was just an idea. Besides, Ray Mann ordered Margie out of a magazine, and they seem happy.”

  “Sometimes I wonder about you. Ma must have dropped you on your head.”

  Garrett focused on the road ahead. Yep, Luke definitely needed someone to help him get over Rachel, and another woman would do the trick. Maybe he could check a few magazines or newspapers and see what kind of women were offering themselves up for mail-order brides. What could it hurt?

  CHAPTER 5

  A knock sounded on the jailhouse’s open front door, and Luke glanced up from the wanted posters he’d been perusing. Jack leaned against the jamb, looking as if this was the last place she wanted to be. “Uh ... Ma wants to know if you’re gonna eat with us, or should she keep your supper on the back of the stove like usual?”

  For a moment, Luke wished things were different, that he didn’t feel as if he had to avoid Rachel. But until his emotions were less raw, this was best. Seeing her again had opened up a gaping wound he’d thought had healed, and being around her continually reminded him of what he’d lost. Why had God urged him to return? So far, it had only made things worse.

  He shook his head, forcing away his melancholy thoughts. The truth was he wouldn’t mind the company of her boarders. He’d had plenty of men to talk to when he was in the cavalry and missed the camaraderie. At least he could enjoy his cousins’ company. “I’ll get the food later and just take it back to my house.”

  Off to his right, the old mutt whined. Jack’s eyes widened, and she stepped inside his office. “You put that dog in jail? Why? What did he do?”

  “Stealing and being a public nuisance.” Luke forced away a grin.

  Jack’s cute little mouth formed an O. “What did he steal?”

  “People’s trash. Food. Heard tell he snatched a pie right out of Myrtle William’s kitchen window.”

  The girl’s blue eyes swung from the dog to him and back. “You’re joshin’.”

  “Nope.”

  Tonight she was wearing a dress, and her auburn hair hung down in two neat braids. It looked like Rachel had won the battle to tame the incorrigible child this evening.

  “What will happen to him?” Jack moved closer and leaned against Luke’s desk.

  This was the first time he’d had a long look at her. She favored Rachel, especially in the nose and mouth, but in her expressions, he could see a touch of her father. His gut clenched. He didn’t want to
think of Rachel with another man. God, how do I let go of this? Help me, Lord.

  “Marshal? What’s gonna happen to the dog? You ain’t gonna hang ’im, are you?”

  Luke had to grin at that. “No, kiddo, I don’t reckon we can hang him for being hungry. I figure he can make restitution by helping out around town.”

  She turned and leaned her elbows on his desk, looking at him with wide blue eyes. “He’s dumber than a horse flop. How you gonna do that?”

  “I imagine he’s smarter than he looks.” Luke glanced at the dog. One yellow ear flopped forward, while the other hung back. Scars mottled his snout, where gray hairs had started growing. “First, I need to get him fit. I’ve tended his wounds and figure some good food and rest should help him get back into shape.”

  “Don’t forget a bath. Your jail stinks like dirty dog.”

  “Yeah, gotta tend to that tonight before I take him home.”

  “So you aim to keep him?”

  Luke shrugged one shoulder. “Don’t see why not. There’s no law against a marshal having a dog.”

  “But he’s just a mangy, ol’ mutt. Homer Henry’s got some pups he’s givin’ away. Reckon you could have one if you wanted it.”

  Luke couldn’t help comparing himself to the dog. Alone. Unloved. He wasn’t about to turn him away. “Every living thing needs somebody to love them, even an old dog like that one.”

  “Oh.”

  Luke straightened, an idea forming in his mind. “Maybe you could help me get him back in shape.”

  Interest danced in her eyes, but she did a good job of trying to hide it. “Don’t see how.”

  “Maybe you could see if your ma could spare a soup bone now and then. Bring him the table scraps sometimes.”

  Jack smiled for the first time. “I could do that. What’cha gonna name him?”

  Luke leaned back, and his chair squeaked. He placed his hands behind his head. “Hadn’t thought about it. What if I let you name him, since you’re going to help care for him?”

  “Truly?” Jack’s dark eyes flickered like blue fire, and her smiled widened. She was a cute little thing when she wasn’t being a bully and trying to act tough.

  He nodded.

  Jack clapped her hands, and the mutt whined and ducked under the cot. Luke chuckled. Some guard dog he’d be.

  ***

  Rachel set Luke’s plate of chicken and dumplings and green beans on the back of the stove, hoping he’d arrive to eat before it cooled. She shook her head and sighed. In the weeks that he’d been home, he hadn’t eaten with them once. Most mornings, he arrived early for coffee and a biscuit, then dashed out the door before she could finish fixing the rest of the meal. Nights, he’d slip in after she’d retired, grab his plate, and eat at his house.

  She returned to washing the dishes. Jacqueline had scurried out the door after supper with a plate of table scraps and no explanation as soon as the guests were done. She’d probably taken up the cause to help feed someone’s pig.

  Her thoughts turned to Luke again. Though eleven years had passed, she still remembered the crushing hurt in his eyes the evening she’d told him she had married James. When he’d asked why, she couldn’t tell him the truth. The shame of it all had made her sick for weeks. She’d avoided everyone and hadn’t learned that Luke had left town until nearly a week after the fact. Her stomach swirled just thinking about how she’d wounded him. All he had done was love and trust her, and she’d betrayed him in the worst possible way. But what other choice did she have back then?

  She washed the dishes, dipped them in the rinse bucket, and set them on a towel to await drying. After getting over the shock of seeing Luke again, she longed to talk to him, see where he’d been the past decade. But he’d barely spoken to her. Somewhere deep inside, she hoped for a second chance—that maybe God had brought Luke home so she could right a wrong—but it wasn’t to be. Luke Davis wanted nothing to do with her.

  She jumped when the kitchen door slammed shut. Jacqueline stood inside the door, her face bearing a pleasant expression instead of its normal scowl. She dumped the plate that had held the scraps into the sink and picked up a towel and started drying without being asked. She hadn’t washed her hands, but Rachel wasn’t about to mention that and stir up trouble.

  “Where did you go, sweetie?”

  Jacqueline glanced up, eyes sparkling. “The marshal’s got a dog, and he’s letting me help care for it.”

  Rachel closed her eyes at the turn of events. The only man she’d ever loved had formed an alliance with her daughter to care for a dog, but he wanted nothing to do with her.

  “I get to name him.” Jacqueline stacked the plates as she dried them. “I was thinking of something like Rover, or maybe Tramp, since he likes to dig in the garbage.”

  Rachel turned to face her daughter. “You don’t mean he’s adopted that ol’ yellow dog?”

  The girl grinned wide and nodded her head. “He had him locked up in his jail, Ma! Isn’t that funny?”

  Rachel smiled, enjoying the lighthearted freedom from the conflict that so often flowed between the two of them. “I can’t imagine.”

  Jacqueline dried the last dish and tossed the towel over her shoulder like Rachel so frequently did. Mimicking such a little action shouldn’t mean much, but it did. Perhaps if Rachel continued to lead by example, maybe her daughter would eventually model the more important things in life. She glanced out at the setting sun, wishing their time together didn’t have to end, but tomorrow was a school day. “It’s time for you to wash up and get ready for bed, sweetie.”

  “Aw ... okay.” Jacqueline tossed the towel over the top of a chair instead of putting it on the hook by the stove. At the hallway, she turned. “I kind of like Prince or King for a name, except that dumb mutt sure don’t look like royalty.”

  “Don’t call God’s creatures dumb, please. He loves each and every one of us, even old dogs. And keep thinking. You’ll find just the right name.” Rachel put the towel back on the hook. “I’ll come and pray with you after I get my pie dough made. Since the temperature has been so warm lately, I thought I’d bake them tonight instead of after breakfast.”

  “Good idea.” Jacqueline spun around and headed across the hall into the bedroom they shared.

  Rachel scooped flour from the fifty-pound bag in the pantry and dumped it in her big mixing bowl. After sifting out the weevils, she added some salt and sugar and stirred it together. She mixed in the water and one-third cup of lard, stirring until everything balled together. Just as she picked up her rolling pin, a knock sounded on the back door. Rachel jumped and turned, wielding the pin like a club.

  Luke opened the door and lifted his dark brows. “You’re not planning to whack me with that, are you? I did knock.”

  Hoping to hide her galloping heartbeat, she set a smile on her face and lowered her arm, hiding the rolling pin behind her. “Good evening.”

  Luke nodded and glanced at his plate of food.

  Rachel peeked past him out the door in the waning light, wondering if he’d brought the dog with him. She hoped he could train that pest to stay away from her trash heap. “Where’s your deputy?”

  He glanced at the door. “Don’t have one yet.”

  Her lips twitched, and she couldn’t resist teasing him. “That’s not what I heard. Or maybe I should say, ‘Where’s your prisoner?’”

  Luke’s brows lifted, and he casually leaned against the door frame, looking manlier than any fellow had a right to. “Rachel, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  All humor flew out the door. Had her daughter been lying to her about the dog? What if she’d trapped a wild creature and was feeding it? Rachel clutched her hands to her chest, knowing that some critters carried the rabies. “Jacqueline said you had a dog locked up in your jail.”

  “Oh, that.” For the first time since returning, Luke dropped his guard, and amusement danced in his brown eyes. “I tied that ol’ dog up outside, but he kept trying to get away
and was gaggin’ himself, so I locked him in a cell. Jack thought it was funny.”

  Rachel straightened, turned her back to Luke, and started rolling out her dough. “Please don’t encourage her with that name. She’s Jacqueline.”

  “I figured if I called her Jack like she wants, maybe she’d warm up to me a bit. I’d like to help her change her ways before she gets hurt or into serious trouble.”

  Rachel cracked the spoon against the side of her bowl and spun around so fast Luke’s eyes went as wide as biscuits. She wielded the spoon like a weapon. “Just what’s wrong with my daughter’s behavior?”

  ***