The cattle streamed past Jacob’s view in a river of dust and color, kept in line by the front leader and side riders. A group of ten cowboys could handle a twenty-five hundred head herd, and so far Jacob had counted six riders. Foot and wagon traffic was put on hold for several minutes, and horses tied to the hitching posts along the edges of the boardwalks crowded up against the posts, warily watching the horns as they passed.
As the last of the herd went alongside, Jacob noticed the cowboy riding drag. As the dust thinned, Jacob saw a split skirt on the rider instead of trousers. It was unusual to see a woman riding drag, but she appeared confident and capable in the job.
Actually, all he saw of the woman on the side facing him was a thick layer of dried mud coating her body and the horse’s. It looked as though she and her palomino paint took a wild slide down the river bank while herding the livestock across the river. Between her wide-brimmed hat pushed low on her forehead, and a bandana covering her face, Jacob couldn’t even see her eyes. When the woman passed, he saw a waist–length blonde braid down her back—and even it was muddy.
Jacob snapped his head down the walk as a woman screamed and yelled to someone who was between the two of them. A longhorn bull had done a quick right turn, heading straight to the boardwalk, and toward a frightened child, who was stock still and staring at the giant animal.
Before Jacob could run down the twenty feet to the little boy, the horsewoman trailing the herd, snapped a lasso through the air which landed around the six-foot spread of the bull’s horns. She yanked the rope back hard with her right, gloved hand at the same time her horse jumped backwards, snapping the animal’s head back from its disastrous route. Both bull and boy were bawling at once, but the horse and rider just pulled the animal back onto the route of the herd, like it was an everyday occurrence. The woman was attuned to the livestock, but she also saw the child in danger in an instant, and took care of both.
Now that’s the kind of wife he needed, someone who could ride, rope, handle livestock and children—a woman with grit—and Jacob wondered if this particular one was married or single.
Chapter 1
April 26, 1873, near Clear Creek, Ellsworth County, Kansas
Jacob Wilerson whipped his head to the west when he heard the shrill call from a horse somewhere in the distance. He touched his knees against the sides of Duncan to halt the buckskin gelding. After the horse’s snort of acknowledgement, Jacob cocked his head to listen again for the other horse.
The light breeze and warm sunshine made a perfect spring day for the leisurely ride home the two of them were having on their return from the Cross C Ranch. Jacob was lost in thought about the string of horses he just delivered to the neighboring rancher six miles east of them. He wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings while they roamed along the small canyon above the banks of the Smoky Hill River.
His eyes, shaded by the wide–brimmed hat, scanned the fresh, green, waving grass of the Kansas prairie, trying to locate the distressed horse. The prairie birds’ trills, which had blended in with the whispering movement of the grass, stopped abruptly like they were listening too.
The other horse neighed loudly again, enabling Jacob’s ears to pin the direction it came from. Jacob’s right hand touched the reins on Duncan’s neck to turn the horse toward the danger while the other pulled his rifle out of the saddle’s scabbard. He’d been caught daydreaming, which was never a smart thing for a lone rider to do out on the open prairie.
He nudged Duncan slowly forward until he could see the other horse’s head over the top of the sloping edge of the canyon. Easing forward in the saddle, he could see a palomino paint prancing in place; its reins seemed to be held firmly down to the ground.
The Hamner family from Texas came to mind because they bred and sold this crossbreed of horses. Jacob had heard the Hamners were back in the area with their latest cattle drive, but he hadn’t seen them yet. He was also excited to hear they bought the nearby Larson ranch to live here permanently.
Jacob scanned the area again, looking for another horse, person, or movement in the rocky cropping above the scene. But all seemed quiet except for the agitated horse.
Just then the horse moved, and Jacob spied a light–colored sleeve hanging mid–air clinging to the rein that was keeping the horse from trotting off. Lying on the ground, dangerously close to the prancing hoofs, lay a still body, half hidden in the new growth of grass.
“Ha,” Jacob hoarsely whispered to push Duncan forward, while still scanning the area for unseen trouble. Duncan perked up his ears as he smelled the mare and eagerly closed the distance between them. The tall mare released a shudder of relief that they had been found, but moved warily between him and her rider. Jacob knew the mare wanted to raise her head higher and be ready to attack as they got closer, but yet she respected the reins hold of her unconscious rider.
Jacob stopped Duncan twenty feet away and slowly swung his right leg over the saddle, quietly dropping his feet to the ground. He dropped his horse’s reins, thus silently telling Duncan to stay where he stood. Jacob cocked his rifle and slowly walked around Duncan who had been shielding Jacob, in case the person on the ground swung a loaded revolver toward them.
Jacob took one slow step at a time, glancing between the mare and the person on the ground. “Whoa there, horse. It’s okay. I just want to help your rider.”
The horse pranced around and Jacob was scared the horse’s hooves would step on…the woman.
A thick blonde braid lay sprawled across the grass, probably exactly where it landed after flying through the air when the woman was unseated from the saddle. She was lying on her right side, toward Jacob, with her head resting on her right arm. Her elevated left hand was wrapped around a single rein, keeping the mare close behind her body. Jacob studied her chest, whispering a prayer of thanks when he saw it was still moving with her breaths. Her wide–brimmed hat lay a few feet away where it fell when she took the tumble from her horse.
The woman wore a light brown spilt skirt, cream–colored shirtwaist and an unbuttoned men’s style, brown wool vest with lots of front pockets. A trickle of blood crossed her forehead, slowly seeping onto her shirt sleeve below her head.
Did she get shot, or hit her head when she fell? As the horse flitted around, light caught the glint of fresh blood on the seat of the saddle. Maybe she was hurt before she slid out of the saddle?
Jacob’s eyes widened with recognition. He’d first seen that distinctive swatch of blonde hair a year ago when a trail drive came into Ellsworth. He remembered this horse and rider, both covered with mud, were riding in drag behind the herd of Texas longhorns.
End of Excerpt
Millie Marries a Marshal
A Historical Western Romance
Brides with Grit Series, Book 2
Mail-order bride Millie Donovan was looking forward to meeting Sam Larson, a Kansas homesteader, who she is sure, from reading his heartfelt letters, will provide her with the love and safety she wants and needs. Millie arrives on the train, not realizing that her husband-to-be was killed in an accident, until Clear Creek’s town marshal informs her of the situation.
Town Marshal Adam Wilerson never plans to marry due to his dangerous job. After reading letters found at his friend’s home following his untimely death which were sent from his friend’s mail-order bride, he can’t help thinking of the woman, and believes he may be in love with her himself. But instead of sending Millie on the train back to her former home, he finds himself welcoming her—and her two-year-old charge—into his house, and into his heart.
When danger threatens, Millie faces it head–on to protect the people she loves, including the town marshal.
Can Adam keep the peace in town—and his house—or will the man following Millie cause an uproar that will endanger them both, and ruin their chance of a life together?
Enjoy the beginning of Millie Marries a Marshal
Chapter 1
May 1872, Ellsworth, Kansas
Town marshal Adam Wilerson had been standing on the train platform for ten minutes and still didn’t see a single lady who might be the woman he hoped to find. Adam’s hazel eyes scanned up and down the boardwalk of the Main Street again, but didn’t see any women he didn’t know. Clear Creek was small enough that a stranger always stood out. Because of his job, he made it a habit to know everyone—and their business—in town.
Adam shifted through the four cardboard photographs of young women again. It was hard to compare a black and white photo with a real person, but he was accustomed to comparing wanted posters and criminal faces. None of these photos came close to featuring the few women who had arrived from any train this week.
He shifted the photos to one hand after another look down the boardwalk. Adam dug his watch out of his vest pocket, flicked the lid open to look at the time again. Finding it was only five minutes since the last time he checked; he closed and stuffed the watch back in his pocket.
Adam’s mother was having a special early supper for his brother Jacob and fiancée Rania Hamner at the family ranch tonight, and Adam should have already been there. He pulled his wide-brimmed hat off his head to run his fingers through his light brown hair. It felt awfully short after visiting the barber today, but his ma insisted he get it cut before this Sunday’s wedding. Out of habit, he smoothed his trim mustache with his right thumb and forefinger.
He’d met the train every day this week looking for a Miss Millie Donovan from Chicago, Illinois, but she had yet to arrive. He’d thought sure that she would be on today’s train since it was Friday.
Adam wished he had some clue of who he was looking for, but could only guess because he really didn’t have any idea what his former neighbor’s fiancée looked like. After rancher Sam Larson died, the new occupants’ daughter, Rania Hamner, when cleaning the house, found letters from a Miss Donovan who, obviously from the letters, was Sam’s intended mail-order bride. Sam hadn’t shared so much as a hint with Adam or his brother, Jacob, that he was writing to someone, let alone that he had proposed. Supposedly she was on the train this week and Adam had been meeting it every day, but no luck yet meeting the elusive woman. Her last letter said “you’ll recognize me by my photograph” but there was no photo with the letters. Rania had earlier found four photographs when cleaning out a desk drawer but they weren’t marked with any names, so Adam didn’t know for certain whether this Millie Donovan was one of the four women pictured.
Adam sighed and looked around again. When Miss Donovan finally arrived he would have the unfortunate duty to deliver the sad news of Sam’s death and help her arrange to return on the train to her former home. Because she and Sam hadn’t married, this woman had no claim on his ranch or his belongings.
It was warm enough this May afternoon that Adam wished he could dispense with his own jacket and roll up his shirt sleeves, except it wouldn’t look proper to greet the young lady he was supposed to meet.
His eyes kept returning to a crying little boy and his momma who stood a dozen feet away on the porch of the depot. She was having a time with the tired tyke who looked to be close to two years old by his walking, but he was so skinny it was hard to tell his age for certain. Adam didn’t know them, but they had been waiting by the depot as long as he had. He saw them get off the train when it unloaded and appeared to be waiting for someone, too. Two worn carpetbags lay nearby with a little boy’s coat lying on top of them. She hadn’t claimed a trunk or any more bags from the railroad agent when he unloaded the train; must be visiting someone for just a day or two.
The kid was now wobbling circles around the mother, screaming like his shadow chased him. It was just the right pitch to make your eardrums bleed. With the tot’s carrot–orange hair, there was no way the child could disappear in a crowd even if he was quiet. Adam chuckled when he thought how the boy was going to be teased when he became school-aged because of his bright hair. But that was his lot in life and he’d soon learn to stand up for his heritage of hair.
“Tate, Tate. Please stop and listen to me.” The woman’s distinct Irish lilt rose in frustration, drifting over to Adam. So far all he’d seen of the woman was the top of her little black hat, because she’d been looking down at the child the whole time. Her strawberry red hair, not quite as bright as the little boy’s, but very curly, was tightly pinned up on the back of her head. It was a big knot of hair so he bet it was very long and wavy when she let it down at night.
Adam turned his back to the two, and nonchalantly stepped backward a couple of steps to hear this conversation better.
“Dada was…” The train whistle blew announcing its pending departure so Adam didn’t hear what else the boy cried as he shrunk against his mother.
The woman crouched down and held the boy to her side. “No, Tate. Please listen to me. Mr. Larson will be a good man. He’s not like…”
The train whistle blew again as she was continuing her conversation with the boy, cutting off Adam’s hearing the conversation again.
Adam whirled around when he heard the lady mention Mr. Larson. He had read the stack of letters that Sam had received from the woman, and there was no mention that she was a widow, let alone had a son.
Adam took off his hat and held it on his chest before taking two steps forward and asking, “Miss Millie Donovan?”
The woman’s green eyes turned up to meet his hazel ones to acknowledge his presence. She stood up straight and pasted a smile on her face, probably thinking she was meeting her intended. “Mr. Larson?”
“NO, NO!” The little boy screamed at the top of his lungs while rushing forward to pummel Adam’s knees with his tiny fists.
***
Millie froze when Tate attacked the legs of the tall man. He bent his wide shoulders down to clamp his hands on the unruly child and attempt to peel him off his legs. He had dropped his wide-brimmed hat in Tate’s mini attack, and Millie got a good look at his neatly trimmed light brown hair. The man wasn’t at all like Millie had pictured Sam to be, but it gave her heart a flutter to find out he was so tall and handsome.
Now Tate—with tears trickling down his cheeks and his thumb in his pouty mouth—was being settled on the man’s hip and he turned his attention to her again. “Miss Donovan?”
“Yes,” Millie breathed, relieved to finally meet her husband.
“Miss Donovan, I’m sorry to…”
“Star!” Tate screamed, interrupting the man as he punched the marshal badge on the front of the man’s shirt.
Millie stared at the object then up at the man’s face. His face twitched as he gave her a look that said he wasn’t amused by the boy’s second attack on his person.
He thrust the tot at arm’s length, but Millie stared at the badge instead of taking Tate. Oh Lord, have we run into more trouble than we ran away from? Sam never mentioned in his letters that he was the town marshal besides a rancher.
“Miss Donovan?” Millie realized the lawman wanted her to take Tate, so she took the boy and hugged him to her shaking chest. “Ma’am, could we walk over to my office so we can talk?”
“My bags…”
“Your bags will be fine here with the depot agent for a minute. Please come with me.”
Millie followed behind the determined man as he strolled down the dusty boardwalk in front of them. He reached the marshal’s office several seconds before she did because of his clipped pace, and already had the door open and waiting for her to walk in.
“Please have a seat, and hold on to your boy so he doesn’t get into anything he shouldn’t.”
That remark made Millie’s spine stiffen and her red-haired courage flare. Sam mentioned he loved children, so Millie couldn’t believe his callous demeanor towards Tate. She gripped Tate around his waist and firmly set his little bottom on her lap as she sank into the wooden chair in front of the marshal’s desk. The lawman continued to stand behind the desk until she had Tate under control—for a few seconds.
“Miss Donovan, I’m Marshal Adam Wilers
on, and I regret to tell you that Sam Larson is dead.”
When the marshal’s blunt words sunk in, Millie felt Tate’s body slide out of her arms as the room blacked out of her sight.
***
Now what? Adam kneeled beside the woman on the floor as the crying boy ran circles around his desk. This is not how his usual day went. Adam would prefer the swinging fists of any drunken cowboy over this distressed mother and her uncontrollable child.
Just as Adam dipped his handkerchief in the water pail that sat on the nearby table, she slowly came to. Although, by now, Adam would have preferred to wipe the wet cloth across his own face, he handed it to Miss Donovan. She patted her face, then grabbed the boy to scrub his tear-streaked face, asked the little boy to “blow” his nose—and then handed the snot-filled cloth back to him.
Adam stayed silent as the woman gathered her composure—and the wayward child—back in the seat in front of his desk. At least now the tot was subdued with his thumb stuck in his mouth, and baby drool running down his chin, again.
“Miss Donovan…or should I be calling you Widow Donovan?” He paused a second, because she wasn’t wearing all black like a widowed woman, but she just nodded her head and didn’t say which name he should use. “I’m sorry to inform you that Sam died in a riding accident. Your letters were among his things, but I didn’t have a way to contact you. Your last letter said you were stopping at your sister’s a while, but her name and address weren’t mentioned.”
Adam continued because she didn’t say anything. “Because you and Sam weren’t married yet, I’m afraid there isn’t anything I can give you except advice. It would be best if you get back on the train and travel back to Illinois or to your sister’s family.”
“No! Um…no…my sister…is…no longer there.”
Cate Corrals a Cattleman Page 10
