Mail Order Brides of Wichita Falls Boxed Set (Historical Western Romance)

by Cyndi Raye

  “There you are. What are you doing behind the house?” Dawson asked. He stood on the wooden walkway in front of the staged property.

  “I saw some flowers out back but realized it was getting dark. I want to pick them for Saturday.” She hurried towards him, out of breath.

  He gathered her hands in his. “Are you sure? You look out of sorts.”

  “I’m fine.” She forced a smile, pushing the loose hair from her face. He lifted a hand to help.

  “I want to kiss you, Mrs. Sloan.”

  “It’s getting late, we should go in for dinner.” Grace worried he would wrap his arms around her waist and discover the bulge in her dress where the money was hidden.

  “Just one small kiss.”

  She reached up and gave him a small peck on the cheek, her fingers fluttering across his skin. “That is all you get for now, Mr. Sloan. Let’s hurry, I’m getting hungry.” She began to hurry up the street, forcing him to fall in along side of her.

  “What’s the hurry? You sure you are okay?”

  His voice did sound concerned.

  “I’m fine.”

  “I still want to kiss you.”

  “You’re a good man, Dawson. I’ll give you all the kisses you want after dinner and when our company leaves.”

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her to a stop. “Promise?” he asked, his intent gaze staring at her mouth.

  “Swear to all that’s right in the world, I will.”

  He stood still as if frozen to the spot, holding on to her. After a moment, he dropped her hand. “Well, then, Mrs. Sloan, we have some guests to be rid of.”

  Bypassing the office, they turned the corner and marched up the steps. Dawson pulled open the door for her. As she walked through to the delight of her guests, she swore she felt a hand sweep across her backside.

  She had a feeling tonight was the night she would truly become Mrs. Dawson Sloan and nothing would stop them.

  Chapter 7

  Dawson was so content these past few days he was sure he would fall over from the disbelief of the way his life was turning out. He sat at his desk, staring out the window, watching the early morning sun rise. A satisfied grin rose up thinking about his wife. She was his true wife, in all areas now. No longer solely the accountant for his finances but the one he was starting to have deep feelings for. Perhaps even love.

  He pushed a hand through his hair before leaning back in the chair. Was he allowing these feelings to surface without regrets for his past? It seemed as if what happened, the nightmares, the horror, were slipping away. It took Grace to make him feel something else.

  She brought him back to life. The night she held him in his arms was the catapult that started it all. For six months he tortured himself, praying for an end to his misery. He did all he knew how to do to make things right. He gave the Fishers a new home, away from the murder scene. They accepted because they had no where else, Mr. Fisher told him. He didn’t want Dawson’s charity. Dawson didn’t know what else to do when things began to spiral out of control so he dropped off money every single month.

  The late night drinking and nightmares had caused him not only to tear his company to the ground but to foolishly give money away. Money he needed to keep Ben from closing the shop. Now that Grace saved him from himself, he started to realize this. Perhaps it was time to have a talk with the Fishers. Make things right. Let them know how sorry he was. He had never said it once. All he did was throw money at them, now realizing he should have done more sincerity-wise.

  Sometimes he was a fool. A new determination fizzled through his bones. Dawson would make his life right again, no matter what it took. As long as Grace was by his side, he felt as if he were on top of the world. Tonight, he would tell he loved her.

  Because he did.

  Dawson felt the whoosh of air as the back door quietly opened and closed. His beautiful wife came sweeping through the entrance. He tilted his head and stood. She seemed shy today as he noticed the way she stood in front of him, not looking up. He had left her sleeping in their marriage bed this morning, now he wondered if he hadn’t done something wrong. “Grace, did I hurt you?” he asked tenderly, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder.

  She looked up at him and smiled, placing a warm hand over top his own. “No, Mr. Sloan, you are wonderful. I’m feeling a bit shy this morning is all.”

  He gathered her in his arms. “Don’t every feel that way around me. Tonight, I want to tell you something that’s been on my mind for some time. No cooking for you, wife. We’ll dine at the new place that just opened up.”

  “You are courting me after we have been married?” she said, teasing.

  “Yes, ma’am. Dawson Sloan at your service.” He stepped back and took a deep bow.

  She began to head towards the door, her face shining with laughter. “I’ll be back later.”

  “Where you going, my love?” he asked, realizing in that moment what he said to her. She stopped cold. Swung around with eyes wide open.

  Her hand went to her mouth and she gasped. A giggle erupted from her throat before the widest smile crossed her face. “I’m going to make a difference,” she said before closing the door behind. The jingle of the bell sounded in his head for some time before Dawson realized she was gone.

  What did she mean she was going to make a difference? He shook his head. It was time to go see Mr. Fisher at the livery. Perhaps he could make things right if he apologized for all that happened.

  The bell went off again. This time a stranger entered. “Hello. I’d like some information on Saturday’s open house.”

  Dawson wished Grace would be here to talk to this guy. He sighed, picking up the brochure she had made up for the event on Saturday. He’d give the guy what he wanted and get him out of here as Dawson was anxious to make things right with the Fishers. It was time.

  <><>

  Grace felt on top of the world. Her steps lightened as she walked down the boarded walk, nodding and greeting townsfolk who were starting to recognize her face. She gripped on to the reticule that held the Fisher money. She was going to go see Mr. Fisher at the livery and let him know how tortured Dawson was feeling about this whole thing. She had a hunch they were kind people. Everyone in this town was hard-working townsfolk who wouldn’t deliberately hurt someone else. It was why she had to tell them about how Dawson suffered over their loss. Mayhap she was interfering but it couldn’t be helped.

  If Dawson found out the girl handed the money back, it would devastate him. He was a kind soul, not cruel like Hannah had made him out to be. He didn’t try to bribe them with money. She didn’t believe it was so even though the bulk of dollars was in her reticule. Perhaps he felt it was a small gesture to help get them back on their feet. Confusion began to eat away at Grace as she walked further down the street. She wanted to do the right thing all around.

  The livery was at the very end of town, along the main street right when a traveler would enter Wichita Falls. It was a long walk but she didn’t feel anxious to be going about on her own. As she entered the staples, Grace wondered again if she were doing the right thing. A few horses neighed as she walked by. She pulled up her skirts, realizing the bottom hem was dragging along the dusty ground.

  The place seemed empty until she noticed a man bent over in one of the stalls. He was brushing a dark horse, lovingly placing a hand to its mane and speaking softly to the skittish mare. Grace watched for a few moments. He had an amazing talent. She noticed his eyes, they were warm and the softness at which he treated the horse was amazing.

  It all changed when he looked up. Those same soft eyes stared at her with a haunting in them she couldn’t describe. A hardness began to develop right before her eyes. She stepped back.

  “What can I do for you?”

  Grace heard a slight accent to his voice. “I would like to discuss a matter with Mr. Fisher. Are you Mr. Fisher?”

  “Indeed.” He continued to stroke the horse with the brush.

  She
cleared her throat. “Well, I, um, I am Dawson Sloan’s wife.”

  At first, he didn’t say a word. The brush stopped moving. She heard his deep sigh. “What do you want?” he asked, his tone even. Grace wasn’t sure if he was angry or not interested in what she had to say.

  “I want you to know that Mr. Sloan has been devastated by what happened to your daughters. Are you aware that he has had nightmares every single night since the incident?”

  “So have I, Mrs. Sloan. What is your point?” He shuffled around in the stall before closing the gate. He was standing in front of her but she didn’t feel any fear. The man was broken. Grace wanted to give him a hug but she didn’t dare.

  “Look, Mr. Fisher. Dawson’s dreams haunt him. He feels responsible for what happened. The money he gave you wasn’t to bribe you but as compensation for your loss. He didn’t know what else to do, I’m sure of this. His own business has not seen any profit to make sure your family has all it needs.”

  “We do just fine without that money. I gave it back.”

  Grace shook her head. “No, it was never given back, that would devastate Dawson. Hannah threw it at me yesterday. I have it right here.” She pulled the packet from her reticule, opening the parcel to show him the pile of money.

  An angry voice shot out, “I told my wife to give this back.”

  “Your wife needs you, Mr. Fisher. So does your daughter. They blame Dawson for what happened. He isn’t to blame. He has begun to realize it wasn’t his fault. If I give this money back to him, it will undo everything.” She shook the money at him, her anxiety at an all time high.

  The man stood in front of her, emotionless, like a dead man walking. He took another deep breath. “I know I’m supposed to care. I feel nothing, Mrs. Sloan. My heart is dead. My girls are gone. I don’t know what you want me to say or do. I have work to do.”

  He went to turn back to the horse when her arm shot out. She held on to his sleeve. “Your wife and daughter Hannah are alive, Mr. Fisher. They need you! There is nothing you can do about your daughters, God rest their souls. They are being taken care of in heaven. You still have people here you are responsible for and you are not doing the job you were meant to. It’s time to be the head of your house again and guide them in the right direction. Hannah is lost without your direction. Your wife, she doesn’t care about anything, not even Hannah. Stop this right now. Take this money and give them a good life. Please.” She held the pile out to him.

  He stared at her. Grace began to see a formation in his eyes. As if he realized he still had been blessed with another daughter. His chin trembled but he didn’t take the money. “What have I done?” he choked, his hand flying to cover his eyes. His head hung in shame.

  “Mr. Fisher, you have a second chance to make things right. Please, take this.” She held out the money one more time.

  “No. It doesn’t belong to me. Our family will survive this loss. Dawson gave us a new home to live in, that’s enough. You take that money and tell Dawson Sloan I don’t blame him.”

  Grace smiled. “I would prefer if you tell him yourself.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I will. Right now, I need to go see my wife and daughter.” He turned and gave her a hug, hanging on to her for a few moments.

  His sniffles turned to acceptance as she hugged back. “You can do this, Mr. Fisher.”

  She turned to go and heard a noise at the front of the livery. A man swore and cursed but Grace tried to ignore the words. After all, she was in a man’s domain here. Smiling to herself, she tucked the money back in her purse, deciding to deposit the cash in the bank before she went home to Dawson. Perhaps she would keep this whole thing quiet until Mr. Fisher spoke to him.

  Sometimes Grace wanted to pat herself on the back but realized it wasn’t her doing at all. God gave her a gift to smooth out rough edges and today was no different. She had a bounce in her step as she made her way through town. Smiling at everyone she passed, Grace entered the bank feeling wonderful, as if her purpose for the day was fulfilled.

  Once the money was safe and sound in the company account, Grace made her way back to the land office. Tonight they were going to go to dine at the new eatery across the street. She was looking forward to spending time with Dawson. She was a real wife to him now, since their consummation last night. It was wonderful and amazing and Grace’s cheeks began to burn as she thought of his tender touch while walking down the street. She grinned to herself realizing if people knew what she was thinking, they wouldn’t let her walk these streets any more.

  The jingle of the bell had Dawson looking up. She pranced over to him and kissed him square on the mouth. His stiff body told her something was wrong. When she glanced at his desk, she saw the problem. A drawer was opened, the contents a flask of whiskey. A small gasp from Grace made no difference.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered as if others could hear.

  He didn’t reply. He picked up the bottle, slammed the drawer and moved towards the door.

  “Dawson? What’s wrong? What happened?”

  He stopped. Turned his head. “Maybe you can tell me,” he said, his voice cold. The jingle of the bell sounded three times louder when he slammed the door and left her alone in the office.

  Grace watched from the window as Dawson worked his way towards the saloon. He tucked the bottle in his jacket before moving through the swing doors. She slumped down in the chair. What in the world just happened?

  <><>

  Dawson leaned his foot against the bar prop while the barkeep took care of other customers. After some time, the man stood in front of him.

  “What’ll it be, the usual?”

  He nodded. Threw some coins on the bar. A bottle and a glass appeared on the bar. Dawson snatched the bottle by its neck and made his way to a dark corner of the saloon. He didn’t want to socialize with anyone right now.

  He sat in the shadows. His hooded eyes stared at the bottle, this demon from the moment the accident happened. Dawson never gave it a second thought before when he first picked up the bottle to drown out his misery that night so many months ago. Night after night, he would sit here and finish one, maybe two of these. Now, he realized things were getting bad again but he didn’t want to take one drink.

  Then why torture himself? He skewed a hand through his hair. When he left the office this morning, his plans were to go to the livery to see Fisher. He never expected to get there in time to watch his wife hanging on to the man’s sleeve, talking so serious, standing so close it threw him off balance. What was she doing with him? He stood there for a few minutes watching the two but wasn’t able to hear what they were talking about. Then Fisher grabbed her and gave her a hug. He saw her arms go around him and that’s when he left, almost toppling a barrel outside the livery.

  He had wanted to go inside the stables and smash the man’s face in. Yet, the thought of doing so disturbed him. He had caused enough heartache in that family. Was this Fishers way of getting back at him? He knew the man blamed him for his daughters death but didn’t think he’d stoop that low to take his wife.

  Dawson stared harder at the bottle. Was it worth loosing everything he had done in the last few days to take one drink? He thought Grace cared. She had taken him down a path he never thought was possible and now to find her in another man’s arms had Dawson gripping the bottle of whiskey.

  He loved her. Didn’t that outweigh everything?

  The bottle was a demon. If he took one sip it would send him back to the hell he had been in before Grace.

  Grace.

  His saving Grace had been in another man’s arms.

  He picked up the bottle.

  Stood up.

  Dawson walked to the next table and slammed it down. “It’s on me,” he told the three surprised cowboys. He turned and walked outside, the sunlight causing him to blink. It was time to find out why his wife had been in another man’s arms.

  Chapter 8

  Grace marched across the street to the new eatery. Th
e big, bold letters on the front of the building stood out. It read, Jemma’s Fine Dining. She could see the newly painted words from the other side of the boarded walk.

  “Welcome to Jenna’s Fine Dining. Would you like a table for one?” the proprietor asked.

  “Two. I’m meeting my husband, Mr. Dawson Sloan.”

  “Follow me, please.” Grace followed the young lady who appeared younger than her to a quaint table tucked in to the corner of the room. A candle flickered in the middle, while two place settings were arranged on the tablecloth. “My name is Jenna, I’ll be your hostess. Thank you for coming. Would you like something to drink while you wait?”

  Grace smiled at the young woman. She was serious and didn’t crack a smile. “No, thank you. Is this your establishment?”

  The woman nodded. “It is. My brother and I had it built. He’s the chef as you will see, his cooking will melt your heart.” A smile finally crossed the lady’s face when she spoke of her brother.

  “I’ll wait to order until my husband arrives. I am not sure why he is late.” Except Grace knew why. He was in the saloon. She had stood at the window, waiting to see if he realized his mistake but after an hour she stopped watching. Dallying all day in her kitchen, she finally cleaned up and waited for him to return home. After he didn’t show up, she decided to keep their dinner date anyway.

  Grace would be the talk of the town if Dawson forgot they were dining here. But she didn’t care. She was trying to go on as usual no matter what he did. If he drank today, it would start all over again. Where did that leave her? Was she supposed to stand by his side while he fell apart all over again? No. She would not do so. Determination ruled the roost. Grace would get to the bottom of things, starting with the reason he felt the need to walk back in to that saloon. It hadn’t been the nightmares, they had stopped altogether. Something happened today while he was out and about. Still, it was no excuse to start drinking again.