Silver Belles and Stetsons

by Caroline Clemmons

  “I'm not afraid of work or the cold,” she stated, angling her chin to meet his gaze, her eyes intense.

  “I can see that.” Hands on his hips, he shook his head. “I can also see that ye're a might stubborn.”

  “You know nothing about me, Mr. O'Donnell,” she sputtered. “I nev—”

  “Now, I didn't mean to ruffle yer feathers.” He raised his hands in a staying motion. “I thought ye'd be better at gatherin' more blankets so we can both sleep close to the fire tonight. I'll bring in my bedroll from the barn.”

  “Oh.” Her shoulders slumped and her eyes closed as if all the starch had gone out of her. “I'm sorry, it's just that I want to do my share.”

  “’Tis all right. We'll not be worryin' about that tonight.”

  As he headed out to the barn, questions about her life before and since her recent marriage popped into his mind. Why did she need to push her independence so? Why had Will Rivers been shot and killed? Was it because as she feared, Will owed the wrong man money? Aside from her being alone on the ranch, what other dangers did she face? Should he ride on out of her life as soon as he buried her husband? Could he?

  The cold wind blew down the collar of his coat, reminding him to keep moving or he'd likely freeze solid. He made up his mind to stay at least long enough to get answers to his questions and help her through the next couple of days. After that, only the saints knew the direction he'd be taking.

  ***

  Angel took her time removing her heavy coat and outer boots after he closed the door. Anything to delay the task before her. The quilts she needed for extra bedding were stored in the room where Will's body lay awaiting burial. The sadness she felt and the degree to which she'd failed him threatened to engulf her. But through her faults, she gained strength.

  She exited the bedroom seconds before Mr. O'Donnell came back inside. Having taken the time to relieve herself and gather a few personal items, she then set about making the second pallet. She acknowledged his return with a nod as he dropped the logs to the floor near the fireplace.

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Appears to be. What isn't already frozen, though, soon will be.” He added logs to the fire, adjusted his hat and turned to face her. "If you'll allow me to use one of those blankets, I'll pump some more water then wrap the pump head to keep it from freezing.”

  “Of course.” She handed him the oldest and least favorite, then said, “There are other buckets in the barn.”

  “I found them, thank ye.” He headed back to the door. “I'll be back in a few minutes.”

  “Here.” She grabbed a heavy woolen scarf off the hook by the door. “Put this on.”

  “Thanks.” Wrapping the material around his neck, he left.

  The fire snapped and popped, filling the room with much needed warmth. In spite of the warming fire, shivers of despair and dread traveled down her back and sapped her strength. Her knees turned to jelly and she collapsed to the floor. The memory of trying to thaw out Will’s frozen body filled her mind and devastated her.

  Angel thought of all the tests she'd been through the last few weeks and wondered what lay ahead. Whatever it was, she prayed for the strength to get through it and gave thanks for the stranger, Jamey O'Donnell.

  Chapter Four

  Late the next afternoon, Jamey said a silent prayer over Will Rivers' body. It had taken both of them to move him down to the root cellar at the back of the house. Assured the temperature would be below freezing for quite a while to come, this was the best he could do for his friend until the authorities could be notified of his death.

  He glanced at the woman standing beside him. Bundled in that same coat he'd first seen her in only yesterday, she stared dry eyed at a spot on the wall above her husband’s body. While her relationship with Will was none of his business, he wondered at her lack of tears. People married for a number of reasons, not the least of which was survival. Had she cried herself out or had she despised him and was glad he was gone?

  They'd barely spoken this morning before they’d set about their task of moving her husband out of the house. When he'd come in to tell her his temporary plan, she'd already dressed for the day in a wash-worn blue calico. With her corn silk hair and eyes the same shade as her dress, she looked like a porcelain doll he'd once seen in a Sanger Brothers store window in Dallas. Fragile on the outside, Angel carried an inner strength he'd already witnessed.

  Jamey cleared his throat to get her attention. “Are ye ready to go back in the cabin?”

  “Not quite yet.” Leaning slightly, she straightened the handmade woolen shirt on her husband’s body and then covered the body with a worn felt blanket. In a voice just above a whisper, she said, “Thank you, Will, for everything you did for me. You were a good man and I'm real sorry I couldn't love you.”

  Her statement, while handing him a hint as to her relationship with her husband, made him aware his presence was an intrusion on her privacy. He gingerly replaced his hat, tipped the brim with his thumb and forefinger, and headed for the house to stoke the fire and get ready to chop more fire wood.

  As he reached the porch, the sound of horses' hooves drew his attention. A black buggy flanked on three sides by six men on horseback drove straight toward the side of the house, ice crunching beneath hooves and wheels. Angel rounded the corner, but before he could get to her, the lead rider dismounted and grabbed her by the arm.

  While he didn't know who drove the buggy, his gut told him it wasn't good. And his gut never betrayed him. Instinctively, though, he knew this must be the neighbor, Cleve Moran and his henchmen, as she'd referred to them. As he neared Angel and the group surrounding her, the man he assumed to be Moran jumped off his horse and grabbed her. His raised voice shattered the quiet.

  “I’ve come to collect what’s due me.”

  “Please, Mr. Moran, if you’ll just give me time,” Angel cried out trying unsuccessfully to wrench her arm from his grasp. “I promise to pay you the money.”

  “It's past time for discussion.” He jerked her toward the buggy then stopped and bellowed, “Get out, preacher. It's time for you to go to work.”

  Jamey had to think quickly. He owed it to Will Rivers to protect his widow. Without preamble, he walked up to the circle of men, opened his coat, and rested his hand on the butt of his holstered Colt. His eyes honed in on Moran's murderous stare at the interruption.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “The name's Jamey O'Donnell. Now why don't we all take a step back and talk a bit. I'm bettin’ there's an agreeable outcome everyone can live with.”

  Moran grimaced and seethed and tightened his grip on Angel. “Not likely.”

  “Ye see?” Jamey smiled and winked at Angel. “That's where ye're wrong.”

  “You're not from around here.”

  “Aye, 'tis true. I'm from—”

  “Never mind,” Moran barked. “Come on, preacher, let's get this wedding over with. We're burning daylight, and you have a train to catch!”

  Jamey stepped forward. He had no idea why she or her predicament mattered to him, but he wasn't about to let this corrupt man marry Angel, steal Will’s land and collect her along with the ranch as property.

  “Mr. Moran, I have an offer for ye.”

  “What is it?”

  “I'm goin’ to take a wild guess and assume that what ye're really interested in here, is gettin’ yer money. Am I right?”

  “That's the top item on my list, yes.”

  “Then why're ye takin’ on a wife that's only goin’ to cause ye grief and misery?” Against his better judgment, he stole a glance at Angel. Her blue eyes threatened hellfire and damnation. “Ye know what I'm talkin’ about. She'll start small – a demand here, a complaint there – and before ye know it, ye'll never have a minute's peace.”

  Moran glared in response, as several of his men snickered.

  “If I agree, how do you suggest I get my money? Who's going to pay me? You?”

  “Agai
nst my better judgement, yes. As it turns out, I'm lookin' to buy a small ranch for myself.” Not making any sudden moves, Jamey eased his way around the horse attached to the preacher's buggy. He scratched the horse between his ears and when he stood facing Moran, he said, “I'm willin’ to take on Will Rivers' debt. I'll pay you the balance of what he owes and marry his widow, therefore takin’ care of all obligations.”

  “How dare you,” Angel spat out. “I won't—”

  “Quiet woman!” Moran demanded. “How soon can I have my money?”

  “I'm willin’ to sign a note and meet ye at the bank tomorrow or a time of yer choosin’.” He had a letter of credit from the bank in Dallas, so getting the money shouldn't be a problem.

  After giving the proposal some thought, Moran put out his hand and said, “We have a deal.”

  Jamey shook the man's hand to seal their agreement.

  One problem solved. The only issue left stemmed from what he now had to do. In order to protect her reputation, he had no other choice than to marry the Widow Rivers.

  He caught her when Moran shoved her in his direction. She landed face first against his chest.

  Cleve Moran laughed. “You want her, you got her, O'Donnell. Come on, preacher, let's get these lovebirds hitched.”

  She pushed away from Jamey and ran toward the house.

  He caught up with her before she reached the porch. “Mrs. Rivers, wait.”

  “You can't make me marry you.” Hands on her hips, she stomped her foot in protest. “Why are you doing this?”

  “To save ye and yer reputation. And I'd like to take on Will's cause for troubled boys.”

  “I intend to do that by myself. I don't need you!”

  “In case ye missed it," he stated, mirroring her stance. “I just paid off yer husband's debt.”

  “Yes, thank you. So?”

  “So I now own the Double R.”

  “Yes, so?”

  “So, ye have no money and, I'm assumin’, no place to go. We can't live here together without settin' tongues to waggin'." He nodded toward the men standing out by a copse of trees.

  “Look, I know marryin' a stranger isn't what ye had planned. Saddlin' myself with a wife wasn't on my list of things to do this week either.” Why couldn't she see he was doing her a favor? “By becomin' my wife, ye won't be threatened by Cleve Moran or any other thief lookin' to take advantage of ye.”

  “It's not that I don't appreciate your sacrifices, Mr. O'Donnell.” She glared daggers at him, lamenting, “It's just that it's all so unfair.”

  He spoke softly so the others wouldn't hear. “I will delay my trip to Colorado for a time. I'll work to get ye back on yer feet and to bring the Double R back into shape. If ye wish, our marriage will be strictly a business agreement.”

  The look she shot him said she thought that statement was a load of horse manure. He grabbed for her hand when she would've turned away.

  “Ye don't know me, Colleen, but I'll not invade yer privacy unless ye want me to. Ye've my solemn promise that if after we've brought the Double R back to where she'll pay for herself, if ye still want to be free, I'll sign the deed over to ye and move on.”

  She stared back at him as if deciding whether or not he was lying through his teeth. A tear ran down her cheek. “You'd do that?”

  “I will.”

  ***

  Angel closed her eyes as the preacher pronounced them man and wife. The whole ordeal, which had taken only a few minutes, was but a blur in the day's events. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she heard him tell Mr. O'Donnell he could now kiss his bride. That simple sentence snapped her out of her fog. She glared at the stranger, now her husband, and dared him to do so. But darned if the scoundrel didn't do just that.

  Sparks flew when his lips touched hers. An unexpected, yet not unpleasant, warmth spread from her mouth to her toes. She'd never felt such a sensation before from either of her other husbands when they’d kissed her. But when she realized she was enjoying Jamey’s kiss, a mixture of surprise and then anger coursed through her, chasing away the unexpected warmth from his kiss. Suddenly, shivering from the cold and the unexpected awareness of his touch, she pushed away from him and bolted for the house.

  He didn't follow after her this time, but she pulled the dresser over in front of the bedroom door just in case. She closed the window she’d left open before they’d taken Will’s body to the root cellar. Chilled, she wrapped her arms around her middle and paced the width of the room. Somehow, she had to figure out a plan, some way to make sense of the last few days and move forward with her life. The life she now shared with her third husband, a stranger, Jamey O'Donnell.

  She imagined her father, Johan Clemens, cursing in heaven at this most recent development. He’d had no respect for the Irish, or the English for that matter, which was why, when he'd known he was dying, he'd given her in marriage to his friend and fellow countryman, Helmut Brunner. The same age as her father, Helmut died the day they'd crossed the Red River leaving her alone and destitute in the strange country of Texas.

  A month later, she'd met Will who'd needed a working companion for his ranch, the Double R. Now, once again, she'd been placed in a desperate situation with no recourse to make her own decisions. The hopelessness of her life overwhelmed her and she threw herself on the bed in a fit of tears.

  Angel stirred a short while later when a soft knock on the door woke her from a dream filled sleep. She sat up, straightened her dress, and rubbed her eyes. In the silence that followed, she wondered if she'd dreamed the sound but then, Mr. O'Donnell – no, Jamey, her husband, knocked again.

  “Angel, are ye all right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I get ye anythin'? Are ye hungry?”

  “No.”

  “Will ye open the door?”

  “No.”

  “Fine. Then I'll be goin' out to take care of the animals for the night and bring in more fire wood.”

  The scrape and clomp of his boots on the wood floor grew fainter and then melted away when he closed the door. The wind rattled the one bedroom window and howled relentlessly, so strong at times that she marveled the glass in the windows didn't shatter into a million pieces.

  She should go out to help him make sure everything was battened down, but she couldn't make herself move. Tomorrow. She'd help him tomorrow. For the rest of the night, she wanted to finish being a widow. Wanted to be by herself, with no ties. Just for a little while, she wanted to be Angel Clemens again. Before life had dealt her its series of ugly blows.

  She laid her head on the icy pillow and pulled the quilts up to her chin in an effort to ward off the chill of the room.

  Tomorrow, she'd be a wife.

  Tomorrow, she'd be Mrs. Jamey O'Donnell.

  Angel awoke from the depths of sleep to chickens clucking outside her window and Bitty's woeful cry. The cow needed to be milked and eggs needed to be gathered.

  She didn't want to be responsible yet. She was toasty warm here under the cocoon of blankets and the thought of climbing out into the cold was enough to keep her burrowed in until spring. That enticing idea lasted maybe a minute before the urge to visit the privy took its place.

  Stretching out the kinks, she scratched her nose then threw off the covers. Braced for the chill, her eyes popped open at the warmth that greeted her along with the smell of bacon frying on the stove. She sat upright noticing the chest had been moved sometime while she slept and the door stood wide open. The crackling sounds of the fireplace greeted her from the other room along with the unmistakable clink of skillet and utensils.

  She slipped behind the privacy screen to use the chamber pot and then, still dressed in her calico from yesterday, she tiptoed to the doorway. The man she'd married stood over the stove scrambling eggs. He turned the strips of bacon then opened the oven and pulled out a pan of biscuits. They were the prettiest things she'd ever seen. She moved closer and jumped when he spoke to her without turning around.

  “Ye d
idn't eat last night, I thought ye'd be hungry this morning.” He filled a plate, set it on the table for her and then filled one for himself. “Have a seat.”

  Angel might have denied his statement if her stomach hadn't growled loudly in response. Her face and neck heated uncomfortably and she smiled. “Thank you. It looks and smells delicious.”

  “Ye're welcome.”

  ***

  Jamey drained his coffee cup and then set his dishes in the dishpan in the last of the hot water. He reached for Angel's plate as she scooped up the last bite of egg.

  “Thank you for cooking this morning.”

  “I figured it was the only way I'd get fed.” He gave her a grin over his shoulder.

  “Oh, well . . . it's just that—”

  “Don't worry about it.” He braced his hips against the counter edge and dried his hands on a towel. “I've learned how to take care of myself through the years.”

  She did that thing she'd done the first day he'd met her of tracing flowers on the tablecloth. He didn't know if that was her way of thinking or if she was trying to block him out but, like it or not, he had questions that needed asking.

  “Is there anythin’ I should know before I meet Moran at the bank?”

  “Not that I'm aware of, why?”

  “I try to know what's goin’ on in any situation so I don't walk into a hornet's nest.” He reached across the table to still her hands. When she looked at him, he appealed to her. “Angel, I need to know anything you can tell me about Moran. What can I expect? What do I look out for?”

  She straightened in her chair, reclaimed her hands, and appeared to give his plea serious thought. “Cleveland Moran is the richest man in three counties. He runs or tries to run the town and his influence in state government is well known.

  “I believe he wants to own all the land around here and that he'll accomplish that in any way possible. He’s acquired almost every ranch around here. The only ones standing in his way are Ollie Henderson and now you.”

  “Where's the deed to your land?”

  “I don't know, but there are no papers here that I’m aware of. Will may have them in a box at the bank.”