Bribing the Blacksmith
Cowboys & Angels Book Nine
by Amelia C. Adams
Copyright © 2018 Amelia C. Adams
Cover design by Erin Dameron-Hill
With thanks to my beta readers—Amy, Bobbie Sue, Caryn, Erin, Laurie, Mary, Matt, Meisje, Renee, and Shelby.
Also, lots of thanks to my co-authors in this endeavor—Kirsten Osbourne, Jo Noelle, George H. McVey, and Sara Jolene.
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Table of Contents:
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter One
With a hiss of smoke and a loud popping sound, the train pulled into the Denver train station and came to a stop. Mariah Redding straightened her back and looked around, wishing this was the end of her journey, but her destination was Creede, not Denver. Thankfully, she only had two hundred and fifty miles to go . . . only. She shook her head. Whatever had possessed her to travel to Colorado from her home state of Kentucky? Oh, that’s right—marriage. And escape. And she was nearly there, if she could just manage to endure these last interminable two hundred and fifty miles.
When the new passengers boarded and looked around for seats, Mariah noticed two young boys traveling with an older woman who seemed to be a nurse of some sort. She wore a starched white hat, a simple gray dress, and a white apron, and carried a black coat draped over one arm. The March day was rather warm, and at times, it had been nearly stifling on the train.
The little boys were probably four and six years old, dressed in matching navy blue jackets. They looked overwhelmed, and their nurse seemed put out by the way they dragged their feet and didn’t know where to go. At last they were settled in across the aisle and three rows down from Mariah, giving her the perfect chance to observe them without being too obvious about it.
Another older woman bustled up the aisle, this one dressed in plum-colored silk taffeta that rustled when she walked. She paused at Mariah’s elbow. “Excuse me, dear. Do you mind if I take this seat?”
Mariah did mind, just the smallest bit. She’d managed to get by for most of the journey without having to share at all, and that allowed her to spread out and be as comfortable as one really could be on a train. She couldn’t look into this woman’s kind face and refuse her, though, so she smiled. “Of course not. Please, join me.”
The woman sat down across from Mariah and spent the next ninety seconds arranging her skirts and her bag and her hat and parasol and just about anything else she could possibly have carried with her. Once everything was situated to her satisfaction, she sat back, clasped her hands across her midsection, and beamed.
“I’m Mrs. Gladstone,” she said, giving a nod. “And who might you be, my dear?”
“My name is Mariah Redding. I’m traveling to Creede, Colorado, as a mail-order bride.”
“Oh, my,” Mrs. Gladstone said, her hand flying to her throat. “That certainly is a romantic notion. How did you decide on it?”
Mariah glanced around. She didn’t want everyone in the world to hear her sorry story, but there was something about Mrs. Gladstone that made her feel more comfortable, and truth be told, she did need to tell someone about it or she would burst.
“I was engaged to be married to the pastor of our local church, and he was incorrectly informed that I’d been seen kissing a young man at the train station. He denounced me publicly, and my life became very difficult from that point on.”
“That’s terrible,” Mrs. Gladstone said. She reached forward and patted Mariah’s hand.
“It really was terrible. You see, the young man I’d been seen ‘kissing’ was actually my uncle, my father’s youngest brother. My father had just passed away, my uncle had come for the funeral, and I was telling him goodbye as he started back home. I gave him a very proper kiss on the cheek, and the next thing I know, I’ve been made into the most horrible sort of lady.” Mariah winced as she remembered it.
“Why, I can’t even imagine,” Mrs. Gladstone said, shaking her head. “You must have been heartbroken.”
“I was, but I was mostly angry. My fiancé had met my uncle at the funeral, and yet, he chose to believe the word of the so-called witness without even speaking to me. It seems that he would have put two and two together, but he chose instead to leap to the most vile conclusions and make his suspicions public. That’s actually how I heard of it—out on the street, not even in a private conversation.” Tears prickled Mariah’s eyes as she thought of it. “And right after my father’s death, too. I’ve never been so shocked and humiliated in all my life.”
“I’m sure.” Mrs. Gladstone gave her a sympathetic look. “What happened next, dear?”
Mariah knew her seatmate was drinking up the story like a sensational novel, but she didn’t care—she’d never see this woman again after their journey anyway. “Well, I went to the church and spoke with my fiancé, explained what had really happened, and demanded a retraction of his accusations. I wasn’t interested in marrying him anymore—I just wanted the horrible rumors to stop. He didn’t reply, but that night, rather late, he came by my house and apologized, and he actually proposed again.”
“No!” Mrs. Gladstone’s eyes flew open wide.
“Yes. He said he was wrong and he would like to set the record straight by marrying me after all.”
“Oh, gracious.” Mrs. Gladstone shook her head. “I hope you sent him packing.”
“I most certainly did. I told him that I couldn’t marry a man whose first reaction was to believe lies about me, and that I never wanted to see him again. Well, he showed even more of his true personality when he didn’t retract his accusations after all and continued to let everyone in town believe the worst. I had to leave—I just had to.”
“Did you ever learn who had seen you at the train station?”
“No, not specifically, although I have my suspicions that it was the stationmaster’s wife. She always enjoyed gossip and stirring things up.” And she’d always had a little grudge of some sort against Mariah, for some unknown reason.
“I’m so sorry, my dear. But now you’re on a new adventure.” Mrs. Gladstone settled back in her seat. “A mail-order bride!”
“Yes. I suppose it seems rather risky, but in light of what was going on at home . . .” Mariah sighed. “I picked up a newspaper at the mercantile and saw an advertisement placed by a man named Lester Coyle. His requirements didn’t seem unreasonable—a wife who could cook and clean, had a pleasant disposition, and so forth. I answered the ad, he invited me to come out, and here I am.”
“I certainly hope you find your happiness in Creede, my dear,” Mrs. Gladstone replied. “I know I find it a very nice place to live.”
Mariah swallowed. “You live in Creede?”
“I do. I have a little home not far from the main street. That town has seen its fair share of heartache, but I believe it will rise from its ashes, as it were.”
Mariah had thought she was telling her story to a total stranger, someone who would continue on thei
r way and never give her a second thought. But if Mrs. Gladstone lived in Creede, the story of Mariah’s humiliation would soon be all over town, and she’d never escape from it.
“Mrs. Gladstone, I wonder if we could keep this little conversation between us,” she said. “I’m looking for a fresh start, you see, and—”
The other woman held up a hand. “You have nothing to fear from me,” she said with a smile. “I enjoy a story as much as the next person, I admit, but I know when to keep my mouth shut.”
“Thank you,” Mariah told her. “I truly appreciate it.”
A small scuffle across the way caught her attention just then, and she looked over to see the little boys playing tug of war with a book. Their nurse was sound asleep, her head tilted back, and she didn’t look like she’d be waking up any time soon.
Mrs. Gladstone leaned out of her seat and twisted around to see what Mariah was looking at. “Oh, dear,” she said with a chuckle. “They certainly are lively little fellows, aren’t they? A journey like this must be hard for them.”
Mariah looked at the nurse again. The woman was clearly snoring now, even though Mariah couldn’t hear it over the sounds of the train. She shook her head. Such young boys should never be left unattended, and definitely not in public like this. They could get into anything. They could find some way to jump off the train and be killed.
Almost without thinking, she slid out of her seat and crossed over to where the boys were arguing. “Hello,” she said kindly. “Would you like to come sit with me? Your friend here is sleeping, and I have pencils and paper you could draw with.”
The older of the two boys looked doubtful. “We’re tapposed ta stay with her,” he said, pointing at the nurse.
“My seat is just right over there, and she’ll be able to see you the minute she wakes up,” Mariah said. “Plus, I have lemon drops.” She realized too late that she was probably teaching the children a very bad thing—they should never let themselves be lured away with candy. It was too late to take it back now, though, as both boys had come to their feet, eager to follow her.
She led them over to her seat and helped them get situated. Mrs. Gladstone’s skirts were so voluminous that there almost wasn’t room for two small boys, but they made it work. Mariah dug in her bag for paper and pencils, then found the promised lemon drops.
“So, my fine fellows, where are you traveling today?” Mrs. Gladstone asked as the boys began to scribble on their papers.
“We hafta go see my uncle,” the older boy said. “He hasta take care of us now because of we’re offans.”
“You mean orphans?” Mariah asked, her heart constricting.
He nodded. “My ma and pa died and we didn’t, so someone hasta take care of us.”
“Oh, you poor things,” Mrs. Gladstone said. “Is your uncle a nice man?”
The younger boy shook his head, but the older boy answered. “Dunno. We’ve never seed him before.”
“That will certainly be a challenge,” Mrs. Gladstone said under her breath.
“He makes shoes for horses. But I din’t know horses wear shoes,” the boy went on.
Mariah laughed. He was such an earnest little man. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Peter, and I’m six. This is Preston, and he’s four.” He nodded at his little brother. “He doesn’t talk much,” he went on, whispering loudly. “Don’t be ’fended by that. He just doesn’t.”
“I promise not to be offended,” Mariah said, trying not to laugh again. “Where does your uncle live?”
“Somewhere called Creede,” Peter answered.
“That’s where we’re going.” Mariah motioned over to Mrs. Gladstone. “We can all be friends there together.” The thought made her happy. She’d believed she wouldn’t know anyone in town, and now she had three friends already. It just remained for her to make friends with her new husband—she hoped he was a kind man. His letter had been charming, but it was so easy to pretend to be something entirely different on paper. If he turned out to be cruel, she didn’t know what she’d do.
Peter began a lively monologue about what his life had been like when he was a little boy, and how it was different now that he was six. A shadow only crossed his face from time to time when he mentioned one or the other of his parents, but the rest of the time, he was cheery and upbeat. As she listened to him, Mariah felt as though the miles sped by, and it wasn’t long at all before the train was pulling up to their stop in Creede.
“I’ve never had such a lovely train ride,” she told the two boys when their nurse finally woke up and came over to fetch them. “I’ll look for you in town as soon as I get settled.” They both waved to her as they walked down the aisle, and she sat back with a sigh.
“What dear little tykes,” Mrs. Gladstone said as she gathered up her things. “Now, you’re being met here at the station, you said?”
“That’s right,” Mariah replied. Lester had written that he’d be waiting for her on the platform wearing a blue jacket and a brown cowboy hat. She peered out the window, but didn’t see anyone matching that description. Suddenly, her stomach churned. “Have I made a horrible mistake, Mrs. Gladstone?”
“I believe you’ve given yourself a fresh new start,” the woman said. She came to her feet, then looked down at Mariah kindly. “Go embrace your future, my dear.” Then she was gone, heading down the aisle, her plum dress swishing as she went.
Mariah rose also and smoothed down her cocoa-colored traveling dress. She had to make a good impression on Mr. Lester Coyle so he wouldn’t insist on sending her right back home.
She descended the stairs of the train and looked around, still not seeing anyone wearing a blue jacket and a brown hat. She walked over to the side of the platform, searching in every direction with her eyes. He had probably been delayed by work, or perhaps his horse had refused to be saddled, or . . . something. Trains often ran off schedule, and it wasn’t realistic to expect that he’d be here the very moment she arrived.
As she turned to walk back the other way, a pair of strong hands grabbed her from behind and began dragging her roughly toward the edge of the platform.
Her heart leaped into her throat, and then every survival instinct she had roared to life. She screamed as loudly as she could and wrenched her elbows from side to side, then kicked at her attacker’s feet and shins. He swore, but didn’t loosen his hold, and she found herself nearly being pulled right off the platform. She knew somehow that if she were taken beyond that point, it would be the end for her, so she redoubled her efforts. She pushed down the terror that threatened to choke her and screamed again, this time attracting the attention of some of the people still milling about the station. There had been too much chaos for her to be heard before.
A man in a white cowboy hat and a few days’ worth of beard came running toward her, a gun drawn and pointed at the man behind her. She was immediately released, and her assailant ran off. The new arrival fired two shots, then cursed as he slid his weapon back into his holster. “Are you all right, miss?” he asked, turning his attention to Mariah. For a moment, she wondered if this was Lester Coyle, but the hat was wrong, and his jacket wasn’t blue, and she was so confused and bewildered.
“I . . . I think so.” She placed her hand on her stomach, trying to breathe normally. “That man intended to kidnap me, didn’t he?”
“It sure looked that way to me, and if I ever get my hands on him, I’ll make sure he knows how I feel about it.” He gave a nod. “I’m Marshal Wheeler, miss. I’m sorry your introduction to Creede was so . . . well, let’s not focus on that. Are you here to stay, or just stretching your legs on your way through?”
“I’m here to stay. My name is Mariah Redding, and I’ve come as a mail-order bride.”
The marshal tipped his hat. “I’m pleased to know you. Who have you come to marry?”
“Lester Coyle.”
A confused look crossed the marshal’s face. “Lester Coyle? I can’t say that I know him. He’s from Cre
ede?”
“Yes. He said he has a little shop right here in town.”
The marshal shook his head. “Miss Redding, I hate to tell you this, but I know every shopkeeper in this place, and not one of them is named Coyle.”
Panic shot though Mariah’s chest yet again. She fumbled in her reticule and pulled out Lester’s letter. “Here—see for yourself.”
Wheeler took the folded page and opened it. He read it over slowly, then shook his head again. “I can ask around for you, but I can promise you, miss, there’s not a man in Creede or Bachelor or Topaz named Coyle. I figure you’ve been brought out here on false pretenses.”
Mariah stumbled over to a nearby bench and sat down, all the strength gone from her body. “False pretenses? You mean . . . this was all a ruse?”
“That’s how it appears to me. You sit tight there for a minute and let me ask around, all right? Do you have a trunk or anything?”
“Just two satchels,” Mariah said, nodding toward the train. “They’re the two there, waiting to be claimed.”
The lawman brought them over to her and set them at her feet, then began talking to the few people who hadn’t left yet. She pressed her hands together on her lap, watching as everyone he spoke with shook their heads. What was she supposed to do now?
When Marshal Wheeler returned, his face looked grim. “Miss Redding, no one here has heard of this Lester Coyle. How did you meet up with him?”
“I answered an advertisement in the newspaper.” How foolish that sounded now.
“And did he send you money for your fare?”
“No . . . he said he felt uncomfortable sending money through a letter, and that he would pay me back when I arrived.” She should have seen through that—she should have known this wasn’t a genuine offer of marriage. Wasn’t the husband always supposed to send money to his prospective wife? Wasn’t that simply how it worked? “I fear I was too eager to leave home to think things over reasonably.”
He nodded. “No one’s blaming you for a thing, miss. The first order of business is to find a place for you to be while you rest up from your journey and your . . . well, your little adventure.” She knew he meant the near-kidnapping and was trying to be delicate about it. “My wife and I live in Topaz, which is a short distance from here, and you’re more than welcome to stay with us. I wonder, though, if you wouldn’t prefer to be closer to town until all this is arranged. I see Mrs. Jameson over there—let me go ask her. I’ll be right back.”
Bribing the Blacksmith (Cowboys and Angels Book 9) Page 1
