An Unconventional Bride For The Rancher (Historical Western Romance)

by Cassidy Hanton

  Elmer suddenly pointed. “Is that a house?” he yelled.

  Aaron peered through the mirages that danced over the ground, seeing only dark humps that may or may not be a human habitation. “Ride hard, boys,” Aaron ordered. “If we don’t get there quick, we’re dead meat.”

  Chapter Eight

  Mr. Price and Wintonta bolted out of the house, Charlene on their heels. “Stay with Tosahwi, Mother,” she called over her shoulder as she hiked her skirts and ran as fast as she could. But, she could never keep up with the long, athletic legs of the two men. Up ahead in the street, Sheriff Barker laid on his face, his dun gelding standing over him.

  Men and women ran into the packed dirt street toward the fallen sheriff. After taking a moment to watch Barker ride away, Charlene had turned to the house. From the corner of her eye, she saw him topple from his mount. I didn’t hear a gunshot. What could have happened?

  Tyler and Wintonta reached him at the same time several townsfolk did. By the time Charlene arrived, a ring of strong backs had surrounded the man on the ground, many yelling for someone to get Dr. McFadden. She pushed her way through the mass until she reached the front and joined Mr. Price and Wintonta at Sheriff Barker’s side.

  “What happened?” she asked, bending over Mr. Price’s shoulder as he rolled the sheriff onto his back.

  “He was plugged with a rock,” replied a stout woman in the crowd. “I saw it. Hit him square on the side of his head.”

  Charlene frowned. “Did you see who threw it?”

  “It was one of the Miller boys,” the woman stated firmly. “All three were there, but it was the oldest that threw the rock.”

  Mr. Price’s voice drew her attention back to Sheriff Barker. “Vic? Come on, Vic. Talk to me now.”

  Blood trickled in a thin stream down Barker’s temple, his eyes rolling back in his head as he fought to regain consciousness. “Dang it, Tyler, cork it and leave me be.”

  “Can’t do that, Vic,” Mr. Price replied amiably. “You’re blocking traffic.”

  Charlene tried to close her ears to the string of swear words that Sheriff flung at Tyler, blushing furiously. Turning her head away as though that would halt the flow, she found several women in bonnets and dresses with eyes wide and mouths in round Os of shock. No few men looked embarrassed. Jean and Harold both stood nearby, gaping, Jean fanning her face with her hand, her countenance horrified, blushing as furiously as Charlene.

  “Now you need to cease that cussing Vic,” Tyler warned him, “as you’re embarrassing all these fine people.”

  Barker blinked dirt from his eyes, his jaw slack, gaping up at the ring of faces staring down at him. “Now, I’ll be a mangy dog,” he muttered. “Help me up.”

  Tyler reached his hand down to clasp the sheriff’s and pulled him to his feet. Both Tyler and Wintonta kept their hands on his shoulders as he swayed, his hands to his head, in case he collapsed again. “What happened?” he asked. “My head hurts like someone took an axe to it.”

  “According to this lady here,” Mr. Price replied, gesturing toward the stout matron, “a kid threw a rock at you.”

  Sheriff Barker peered at the woman. “Which kid?”

  “The oldest Miller boy, Sheriff,” she replied, pointing down the street. “I saw him throw it and knock you off your horse. Then they ran that way.”

  “I reckon them boys are gonna keep old Johnson company for a day or two,” he said, his voice hard.

  Gazing around at the small crowd, he shook off Tyler’s and Wintonta’s helping hands and scowled, wiping at the blood on his left temple. “Y’all go on now,” he demanded, his voice raised. “Show’s over. Be about your business.”

  With mutters and murmurs, and plenty of head shaking, the townsfolk did as he ordered and dispersed, eventually leaving only Charlene, Tyler, Wintonta and Sheriff Barker remaining in the middle of the street. Barker picked up the reins to his horse. A familiar figure wearing a black coat and a derby hat, clutching a black bag, hurried toward them.

  Sheriff Barker’s frown deepened, his mustache quivering as Dr. McFadden arrived at a panting halt beside him. “What are you about, Doc?” Barker asked almost rudely.

  “I heard my services were needed,” Dr. McFadden replied, his scowl matching the sheriff’s. “Had I known it was you, you old coot, I would never have bothered.”

  “Well, I don’t need you, Doc,” Sheriff Barker snapped, slapping the dust from his clothes with his hat, then settled it back on his head. “It’s just a dang knock on the head.”

  “And as hard as your head is, Barker, you sure don’t need me.”

  Dr. McFadden tipped his hat to Charlene with politeness, but his eyes remained cold when he looked at her. Charlene knew he would never forgive her for blackmailing him into setting Tosahwi’s broken leg. She found she didn’t truly care, either.

  Striding briskly back the way he had come, Dr. McFadden turned a corner and vanished. Tyler and Wintonta stood back as Barker mounted his horse, then tipped his hat to Charlene. “Much obliged for the assist, boys,” Barker said. “I’m off to run down those rascals and teach them what happens to boys who throw rocks. Ma’am.”

  Setting his horse into a trot, he rode in the direction the woman pointed toward. Charlene glanced at the Apple Tree store, realizing she was already late for work. “I must go, gentlemen,” she said to Tyler and Wintonta. “Mother will care for Tosahwi, but I am running late.”

  Tyler lifted his hat briefly from his head in respect. “Then I expect I will head for my ranch. I’ll return at sundown, Miss Quinn.”

  “Thank you for your willingness to watch over Tosahwi,” Charlene said, mesmerized by his storm-gray eyes. “And my mother and me.”

  “It is my pleasure, ma’am.”

  Offering them both a quick smile, Charlene made her way toward the general store, thinking about Tyler, his kindness, as well as fascinated by his extraordinary good looks. Though she refused to count herself among the gaggle of women who followed him around, staring at him, she understood what pulled them to him. For she, herself was drawn to his personality, his warmth, and his strength as well as his attractiveness.

  Opening the door to the Apple Tree general mercantile, she reached to untie her bonnet only to discover she hadn’t put it on before rushing to Sheriff Barker’s aid. Jean stood behind the counter as the Winston widows examined rolls of lace and ribbons. All three glanced up at the sound of the door chime.

  “I am so sorry I’m late, Jean,” she said, hurrying forward to fetch her apron from the office behind the curtain. “I wanted to make sure Sheriff Barker was all right.”

  “Of course, you did, dear,” Jean replied, pulling another roll of lace from a drawer to show the sisters.

  “How are you, child?” Miss Harriet asked with a piercing glance at Charlene as she passed the trio.

  “You forgot your bonnet again,” Miss Darla said imperiously. “That sun is too strong for a lady with your skin color to be without a bonnet.”

  “I am quite well, thank you,” Charlene replied, tying her apron as she returned from the office. “Yes, I’ll remember it, Miss Darla.”

  “How is your mother?” Miss Harriet inquired as Charlene began her cleaning chores.

  Charlene wasn’t fooled. She knew the two ladies had come to the store not in search of lace or ribbons, but for fresh gossip. Setting her broom to the floor, she swept, wondering why they weren’t pestering Sheriff Barker for word of his troubles less than a half hour past. Then she chided herself for being uncharitable, for the two ladies had been very kind to her and her mother.

  “She is well, also, Miss Harriet,” she answered, giving them a small smile. “Still looking after the Indian boy.”

  “I heard that Comanche in town was his father,” Miss Darla said, her bright eyes reminding Charlene of a curious bird.

  “That is true.” Charlene focused on sweeping the almost nonexistent dirt from the wood floor. “Mr. Price brought him.”

  “A ver
y kind man, Mr. Price,” Jean added, tossing Charlene a significant glance. “Just the kind of man we need in this town.”

  Charlene tried hard to ignore the very pointed hint in Jean’s comment yet found that notion more difficult than she liked. Mr. Price intrigued her, and not just because he saved her life the previous day. He was inarguably a fascinating man. “I’m sure,” was all she murmured.

  Miss Harriett and Miss Darla finally decided on what lace they liked best, making Charlene suspect they had run out of excuses for staying in the store, hoping for more juicy tidbits of information they could spread around Bandera. After Jean cut the lengths they needed, she graciously accepted their coins in payment.

  “Remember your bonnet, dear,” Miss Darla said as she patted Charlene’s cheek in passing.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Do give your mother our love.” Miss Harriet opened the door, eyeing Charlene.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The widows swept out of the Apple Tree like grand dames, their heads held high and proud. Charlene watched them go, crossing the storefront window before disappearing from sight. “Did they get what they wanted, Jean?” she asked, resuming her cleaning.

  “If you’re asking if they found the gossip they desired,” Jean replied, her tone dry, “then I suppose they did.”

  She glanced at Charlene with a grin. “Your notoriety is good for our business.”

  “Here, here,” said Harold from the office.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be unloading a wagon?” Jean demanded, her fist on her hip as she glared at the curtain.

  “Woman, you work me harder than a peddler’s mule.”

  “At least a peddler’s mule works. Now get out there before it gets too hot.”

  Charlene heard the scrape of a chair against wood at the same time a loud pained sigh drifted out from behind the curtain. She chuckled to herself, always entertained by the bickering between her employers. “Perhaps you should stand over him with a buggy whip,” she suggested, sweeping what little dirt she found into a pan.

  Jean huffed. “Then he’ll complain that I’m a slave driver.”

  “You are,” came Harold’s voice, slightly further away as he ambled toward the storeroom.

  Jean untied her apron. “I’m going back to the house for a spell. Neither Ben nor Matt had much appetite this morning, and I fear they may be coming down with something. You are in charge, Charlene.”

  “I hope it’s nothing serious,” Charlene said, taking her broom to the back.

  Jean headed toward the front door. “Their school teacher mentioned other children remaining at home due to colds. I’m sure it’s just that.”

  Alone with her thoughts, except when customers came in, Charlene went about her work. She could not seem to get Tyler off her mind, yet she could also admit to herself that she didn’t try very hard. His gray eyes seemed to follow her everywhere, his sweet, uncomplicated smile and handsome face gave her the happy shivers.

  “Funny,” she muttered to herself as she closed and locked up the shop at the end of the day, “I never knew what a happy shiver was until today.”

  * * *

  Upon returning home, Charlene discovered Tyler had already arrived, his horse stabled at the livery as he told her later. Olivia had prepared a roast chicken with carrots and potatoes with gravy and insisted he join them.

  “Mrs. Quinn,” he protested, his dark brown hat in his hand, shifting from foot to foot. “I had thought to eat at the hotel, ma’am, not to burden you with the likes of feeding me.”

  “Nonsense,” Olivia snorted. “Thanks to you, we have more than enough to go around. And if you are going to be here on a daily basis for a while, you may call me Olivia, and my daughter Charlene.”

  “Why, thank you, ma’am,” Tyler replied, a small grin curving his mouth. “I’d be pleased if you’d both call me Tyler.”

  Busy setting the table for three, Charlene found the familiarity of using first names more comfortable than she thought she might. Tyler was a man she could feel at ease with, and it was clear by her mother’s behavior that she, too, liked having him around. “How well did Tosahwi do today, Mother?”

  Olivia waved her hands, pleased. “He is such a nice boy, Charlene. We sat and talked for hours, and I never understood a single word he said.”

  Tyler chuckled. “If I may, ladies, I’d like to look in on him.”

  “You go right ahead, Tyler,” Olivia replied, busy cutting bread from a loaf. “I’ll be bringing his supper in to him directly.”

  For a moment, Charlene and Tyler stared at one another, sharing a warm moment, an understanding, of the changes wrought in Olivia by having Tosahwi under their roof. Where once she had been deep within herself in a shell created by her grief, she had discovered a new purpose. She devoted herself to the Comanche boy as she might have her own child.

  Tyler sent her a rapid wink and a swift upward curving of his lips and left the kitchen doorway to walk to Tosahwi’s room. Another happy shiver crept down Charlene’s spine, a warmth in her heart that hadn’t been there in a very long time gave her something to think about. Perhaps Tosahwi didn’t bring new hope to just Mother, he brought it to me, also.

  Despite Olivia’s protests, Tyler helped clean up after supper, putting dishes away after Charlene dried them. The only men in her life had been her father and brothers, and they never helped with housework; thus Tyler’s presence in the kitchen baffled her. But she liked it. She enjoyed his nearness and his warm smile.

  The evening felt far too hot for a fire, thus, with Tosahwi asleep in the house, the three sat companionably on the porch as dusk fell away under the onslaught of full night. Crickets chirped in the shrubbery while fireflies flashed in the dark. A few blocks away, piano music drifted from the saloon on the light breeze. People still walked or rode through town at this early hour, perhaps going to the saloon for beer or whiskey and a card game.

  “Tomorrow is Sunday,” Olivia said. “Will you escort Charlene to services in the morning, Tyler?”

  “Sure will, ma’am,” Tyler replied. “What about you? Would I not escort the both of you?”

  “No, no,” Olivia replied quickly. “Just Charlene.”

  The words that would insist Olivia come with them to church rose to Charlene’s throat, then died there. Her mother hadn’t attended services since the funerals of her father and brothers. Though Olivia had made significant progress toward her old self, Charlene suspected she wasn’t quite ready to face that or the town’s congregation.

  “I will still be happy to do so,” Tyler continued. “I haven’t been to church myself in a long while.”

  “Then, it is good that you go.”

  “What prompted you to move to Bandera, Tyler?” Charlene asked. “Where did you move from?”

  For a long moment, Tyler stared out over the dark street without answering. Charlene thought she had crossed some sort of invisible boundary, though her questions seemed innocent enough. Tyler, at last, drew a deep breath and offered her a lopsided smile.

  “Let’s just say I needed a new direction in my life,” he replied. “A fresh start. I had been through this area several years ago and liked it, so I thought this would be the place to begin again.”

  “You made a very good choice,” Olivia commented as though not noticing his previous hesitation. “Bandera is a lovely town.”

  Tyler rose. “I’m off to make a bed outside the boy’s window, ladies. I’ll be off before first light.”

  “Sleep well.”

  Watching him stride down the porch steps and around to the back of the house, Charlene could not help but wonder if he was hiding something. A man with no past who comes to town and buys a ranch yet refuses to speak made her slightly suspicious of him. What if he is running from the law, a wanted criminal?

  Chapter Nine

  Lashing his exhausted horse with his reins, Aaron Dawson forced it across the desolate landscape pockmarked with prickly pear and mesquite. The ranch hou
se grew large in his sight, amidst a collection of a barn, a small bunkhouse, sheds, corrals and horses. His brothers, cursing, also flogged their mounts mercilessly, driving ever onward toward the habitation.

  Three young girls played in the yard outside the house as they bore down on the property, Aaron recognizing their only chance to get out of this manhunt alive. The children, innocent and trusting, smiled and pointed at the visitors. Aaron suspected they didn’t get many guests way out here in this incredibly remote location.

  Hauling sharply on his reins, his horse’s rear quarters sliding under it as it came to a frantic, rearing halt, he threw himself out of his saddle. His brothers also curbed their mounts just feet from the little girls. At the same instant, a man and a woman came out onto the porch, perhaps drawn outside by the sounds of hooves.