Julia: Bride of New York (Amercan Mail-Order Bride 11)

by Callie Hutton

  “No. But we haven’t had a whole lot of women coming as mail order brides, being left at the station.”

  She reared back. “Oh!”

  “I’m sorry.” He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “I shouldn’t have said that. But I will tell you the town does allow money for a person in need to provide a place to stay and money for meals.”

  A heated flush rose to her face. “I am not in need, and I don’t take charity.”

  “All right. You can earn it.”

  “How?”

  “You can work at the jail.”

  “Oh, so now instead of being arrested and tossed into a jail cell, I get to clean the place?”

  “Yes. You can also organize my desk. I’m not too orderly.”

  “I accept.” She wasn’t so stupid as to pass up the sheriff’s offer. She could work for him for a short time while she decided what she was going to do next. At least she wouldn’t be taking a handout.

  He grinned, making her heart do funny little jumps in her chest. “Fine. I’ll walk you over to the hotel and get you settled. You can report to work first thing tomorrow morning.”

  The walk to the hotel was only a couple of blocks, but they spent the time in silence. She studied the sheriff under lowered eyelashes. He was just as she imagined a small town sheriff would look. Deep blond hair, tall, broad shouldered, slim waist, and with a gun belt low on his hips. His strong features taken separately wouldn’t be considered handsome, but the overall combination put him into that category.

  He tugged on the brim of his hat as they passed shoppers and business people. Wickerton was a nice place from what she could see. The stores were doing a fine business, and the sheriff kept a peaceful town.

  Once they reached the front of the hotel, he stopped her by touching her arm. “Before we go in, I thought I would mention there is one solution to your problem that we hadn’t considered.”

  She looked into two mesmerizing hazel eyes and tilted her head in question.

  “Why don’t you marry me?”

  Chapter Two

  The young bride stared at Fletcher open-mouthed. Had he done it again, and proposed to her? Well, as close to a proposal as a man could get without actually making one. But the more he thought about it, the better the idea fit.

  He’d been thinking a lot lately about Patty Ann. At seven years old, she’d never been separated from him before. When Laura had died this past year trying to give birth to their son who died with her, he’d been lost. Still grieving, Laura’s sister, Catherine, had swooped down and taken Patty Ann from him, “until you get settled.”

  Since she’d taken Patty Ann in, Catherine had come up with one excuse after another as to why she should stay with her aunt. Her main reason had always been that, as a man in a small town with a dangerous job and no wife, he wasn’t fit to take care of a little girl. As much as he wanted to argue the point, he knew she was right. Patty Ann was better off with Catherine, but he couldn’t let that situation continue much longer.

  He wanted Patty Ann back with him, but how could he raise a little girl on his own? He loved his daughter and missed her every day since she’d been gone. He made the trip to see her in Doylestown as often as he could get away, but every time he left her, it was with a growing sense that he was losing his little girl. He wanted his Patty Ann back, the little girl who he used to toss into the air, tickle like crazy, and settle in front of him on his saddle when he rode around town.

  “No.”

  He was yanked back from his thoughts by the firm response from Miss Benson. The fire in her eyes confused him. He thought it solved her problem perfectly. “Why not?”

  “Because you don’t want me any more than Mr. Johnson had. You feel sorry for me, that’s all.”

  “No. That’s not true.”

  She rested her hands on her hips and tapped her foot. “Sheriff, if you were truly interested in marriage, I’m sure you would have come up with the idea before I was dumped in your lap.”

  He grinned when she blushed slightly, no doubt imagining sitting on his lap. The thought also wreaked havoc with his blood supply which began to travel south.

  “I need a wife.”

  “Really? And you just now discovered this?”

  He flushed “No. I’ve been thinking about it for some time.”

  Miss Benson’s raised eyebrows was her only response.

  “Well, what else are you going to do?”

  “Provide for myself as I’ve been doing for years now. And, unless you’re reneging on our deal, you did offer me a job at the jail.”

  He blew out a breath. “The jailhouse is no place for a lady.”

  “Yet you were going to toss me into a cell for vagrancy.”

  Damn if the woman wasn’t stubborn and ornery. Here he was offering her a way out of her dilemma, and instead of being grateful, she tossed his idea back in his face. “That was a threat because you were being stubborn about accepting help.”

  “And now I’m not accepting help by way of a marriage proposal you didn’t mean, that you think is the only way I can survive, and right now are probably thrilled to death I turned you down.”

  “Well, considering how ornery you are, maybe I am grateful you turned me down.”

  Miss Benson grinned. “I knew it.” She turned and headed toward the hotel door, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. “Please get me settled, Sheriff. I need to report to the jailhouse first thing tomorrow morning.”

  His growl, that turned heads as he stomped behind her, was his answer.

  If Julia wasn’t so spitting mad at the sheriff for trying to cajole her into another disastrous idea, she would have been grateful for his kindness. She knew he meant well, but she still hadn’t recovered from the humiliation of being left at the train station by the man who’d sent for her with a promise of marriage.

  She’d suffered enough comments and slurs over the years about her leg. She knew she’d been lucky when the wagon that had run over her hadn’t killed her. But without proper medical care, the bone had never healed properly and left her with a limp. Something she’d learned to live with, and most people who knew her well eventually ignored.

  In retrospect, she probably should have told Mr. Johnson about her limp when they’d corresponded, but in all honestly, she didn’t think much about it anymore. It had become just a part of who she was. A part that apparently was a major hurdle for him.

  The room she secured at the hotel was clean and spacious enough. In fact, it was bigger than the room she’d shared in Boston with Katie and Genny. Thinking of them left her a bit weepy. It had been hard leaving all the girls, but especially them. They had grown so close during the time they’d worked at the factory and shared rooms, it had been like leaving sisters behind. As soon as she got the opportunity, she would write them each a letter. Hopefully their mail order bride husbands turned out to be better than Mr. Johnson.

  She removed her coat and bonnet and hung them on the hook by the door. Even though it was only early afternoon, she felt the need for a nap. The anticipation, followed by the embarrassment she’d suffered at the train station, had worn her out. She also hadn’t been sleeping well the last few nights, wondering what her fate would be. Now she knew.

  Rejected, and left to her own devices.

  She removed her shoes and stockings, but before she could climb into bed, there was a knock on the door. Startled, since she knew no one in town, she eased up to the door and called softly. “Yes?”

  “It’s Mr. Johnson.”

  Mr. Johnson? What was he doing here? Hopefully he hadn’t had a change of heart and expected her to put on a smile and stand before the parson with him. Surely he wasn’t that much of a dolt. She opened the door, just enough to see him. “What?”

  He pushed his hand in the small space. “Here.”

  Not thinking, she took what he handed her. She looked down. He’d handed her a fistful of crumpled bills. “What’s this for?”

/>   “The sheriff said I owed you. I don’t figure I do, since you didn’t tell me you were a cripple, but he threatened me if I didn’t give you enough money to eat on.”

  Too flabbergasted to even speak, she stared at her hand as he turned and hurried away. Slowly, she closed the door and sat on the edge of the bed. Should she laugh or cry? She’d thought she’d reached the limit of her humiliation, but it seemed the sheriff decided to pile more on.

  With her anger rising, causing her heart to pound so hard all sound ceased except for the thudding in her ears, she straightened out the bills, rolled them up, then stood and put her stockings, shoes, coat, and bonnet back on.

  A man in the hallway jumped when she slammed the door to her room shut. He stepped away from her, obviously not wishing to get in her way. Smart man.

  She made a brief stop at the front desk to inquire as to where the jailhouse was. The clerk swallowed several times and then gave her directions, adding that the jailhouse was no place for a lady. Right now she didn’t feel much like a lady.

  The ten-minute walk to the sheriff’s domain did nothing to quell her anger. Breathing heavily, she opened the door marked “Sheriff’s Office” and marched inside. The sheriff sat in a leather chair, his booted feet crossed at the ankles, resting on a large wooden desk. He was shuffling papers when she entered.

  “How dare you?”

  His feet dropped to the floor, and he stood, still clutching the papers. “How dare I what?”

  “How dare you tell that weasel of a man that he ‘owed’ me money to eat on? Wasn’t my humiliation enough that he left me stranded at the train station? You had to threaten the man?” She moved to his desk and tossed the bills on top of a pile of papers. “I don’t want his money. I don’t want any money I haven’t earned.”

  He pushed the brim of his hat back with his thumb. “Well, to my way of thinking you did earn it by dragging yourself here to marry the man.”

  Unable to stamp her foot, lest she fall flat on her face, she pounded her fist on his desk, making the sheriff jump. “You had no right to interfere.”

  “Well, I disagree with that, Miss Benson. It seems to me I earned the right when Johnson fled the scene and left me to explain the situation to you.”

  “Fine. You’ve done your duty. Now leave me alone, and don’t go threatening anyone else in town on my behalf.” She straightened up and smoothed out her skirts. “I will see you tomorrow morning, bright and early.” She gestured with her chin at the pile of bills on the desk. “You can return that money to Mr. Johnson. I don’t want to ever look at that man again.”

  Fletcher watched Miss Benson leave his office, her shoulders back, head held high, as if she were a queen, despite her limp. She really had him tied in knots. He probably shouldn’t have gone to Johnson’s store and made him give her money. It had not been one of his better ideas. But he’d been so mad when he left her at what the idiot had done, that he hadn’t used his common sense.

  He swept the scattered bills from the desk into the drawer and slammed it shut. And tomorrow he was going to have to deal with the demon woman while she worked at the jailhouse.

  A few hours later, he rubbed his eyes and placed the stack of Wanted posters aside. It was time to do his daily rounds, check in with the business owners, and make sure the kids were behaving themselves as school let out. Later in the evening, after his supper, he would stop by all the saloons in town, reminding drinkers and gamblers that he had his eye on them.

  Despite the Wickerton Women’s Society efforts to close down the two brothels in town, they still remained opened and continued to do a brisk business. Although Fletcher never frequented the establishments, he stopped by most Friday and Saturday evenings when the ranchers came into town. The appearance of the sheriff kept the ruckus down, and Sally Baston and Della Frist, the owners of the two brothels, appreciated his presence.

  “Afternoon, Sheriff.” Tanner Riley, owner of the Wickerton Bank, stopped him on the boardwalk as Fletcher was about to cross the street.

  “Riley,” Fletcher said.

  “There was a woman in the bank earlier today, looking for a job. I didn’t have anything for her, but she gave your name as a reference. Said she worked for you at the jail. I didn’t know you had a woman working for you.”

  Fletcher rested his hands on his hips. “Let me see. Was her name Miss Julia Benson?”

  “That’s right. Walks with a limp. Pretty little gal, though.”

  “Yes. She will be working for me at the jail. She hasn’t started yet.”

  “Too bad I couldn’t hire her on, but I don’t need any help right now.”

  “That’s fine. Thanks for considering her, though. She does need a job.” Fletcher continued on, shaking his head. Feisty little imp, Miss Benson. She certainly didn’t let any grass grow under her feet. Johnson had been a fool for letting her go.

  Fletcher pushed open the door to the tobacco store. Denny Nevins, who was older than God, stood behind the counter, squinting at him from behind his spectacles. “That you, Sheriff?”

  “Yep, Denny, it’s me. How’s business?”

  “Good, good. I hear ya got a woman working over there at the jailhouse.”

  Fletcher groaned. It couldn’t be possible that the abandoned bride had tried to get a job here. “Yeah, Miss Benson will be doing some filing and stuff for me.”

  Denny shifted a wad of tobacco from one side of his aged mouth to the other. “Don’t seem right having a gal in there, sheriff. Tiny little thing, had a limp. Said you would vouch for her.”

  Fletcher bought some tobacco for his pipe and headed back out. He stopped in the millinery, the pharmacy, the new Chinese restaurant, the bakery, and the newspaper. The story was the same. Miss Benson had hit all the places, asking for work, and giving his name as a reference. If he hadn’t admired her spunk so much, he would be angry at her impudence. Perhaps it was time to run the woman down and have a talk with her.

  Assuming by now she would be fair worn-out, he headed to the hotel, climbed the stairs to the second floor, and knocked on the door the desk clerk told him belonged to the “pretty little woman who asked me for a job.”

  “Who’s there?” Her soft voice drifted through the door.

  “Sheriff Adams.”

  The door opened, and his stomach muscles clenched at the fatigue on her face. Her hair had fallen out of her bun, and there were dark circles under her eyes. “What is it?”

  Before he even knew what he was going to say, he blurted out, “I came to take you to supper.”

  Instead of the scorn he’d expected, she merely nodded, as if she’d been expecting him. “I would like that. Thank you very much. Just give me a minute to freshen up.”

  “I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

  The door closed softly, and he turned on his heel and headed to the stairs. The lobby of the hotel was quiet, with just a few men sitting in the comfortable chairs, smoking cigars, and reading the newspaper. Fletcher leaned on the desk clerk’s counter. “What’s the dining room serving for supper tonight?”

  “What is it, Tuesday?” the man said.

  “Yep.”

  “Then it’s meatloaf.”

  “Thanks.” Fletcher headed to the window and watched the gas streetlights come on. He always enjoyed this time of day. People were headed home for their supper and an evening of relaxing with their families. Something he’d had at one time.

  He remembered tossing Patty Ann into the air as she ran to meet him when he returned home from work. Laura greeted him at the door with a kiss and a cooking spoon in her hand. Life was good, then. He and Laura had a pleasant marriage. No great fire or passion—as a preacher’s daughter, she had been too strictly raised for that. But he’d loved her in his own way and had planned to grow old with her.

  Shaking his head to remove the somber thoughts, he turned as he heard the distinct sound of Miss Benson’s footsteps. He was caught anew at the woman’s appearance. Her large blue eyes stared out at the
world with curiosity and a certain type of watchfulness. Like she was preparing for an insult to be made. His eyes rested on her full lips. Made for kissing.

  Although short in stature, her full body was just the thing a man wanted to hold onto. No bag of bones a man would be afraid to break if he held her too tight. His thoughts drifted to how she would look underneath her clothes, all womanly curves and silky skin.

  What the hell was wrong with him? Apparently he’d been too long without the comfort of a woman’s body. Perhaps it was time to take the short trip to Loganville and visit the Widow Charles. He hadn’t been to see her in a while.

  He offered Miss Benson his arm, which she reluctantly took.

  “No need to look offended, Miss Benson. I would offer my arm to any woman, not just you.”

  She sighed. “I know it’s the gentlemanly thing to do. Until people really get to know me, I can’t help but second-guess their motives.”

  They entered the dining room and were seated at a small table near the window. The sun had just begun its descent from the sky, a red ball of fire, saying goodnight and “till we meet again.”

  Where were all these wistful thoughts coming from? Pretty soon he’d be spouting poetry like some namby-pamby fool. Better to turn his attention to the lovely woman sitting across from him.

  “Has life been so hard for you, then?”

  She placed the snowy white napkin in her lap. “At times.” She glanced away, chewing on that plump lip. “My limp was never an issue growing up because everyone in my family, and our small town, knew of the wagon accident that damaged my leg. But once I left home, all of a sudden it became a problem.”

  Miss Benson smiled her thanks at the waitress who deposited two water glasses in front of them. He placed an order for two meatloaf dinners, and his guest continued. “I ran into the same thing when I arrived in Lawrence for the factory job.” She took a sip of her water. “Mr. Brown almost didn’t hire me, although I had traveled from my hometown in Rhode Island to work there. It had taken quite a bit of fast talking on my part to keep him from turning me away.”