Mail-Order Brides of the West: Evie (McCutcheon)

by Caroline Fyffe

  The spontaneity felt good and natural, and he meant it from his heart. Wherever that came from, I hope there’s more. Her smile deepened and her cheeks tinged pink.

  “Thank you,” she said softly.

  The other woman laughed and smoothed the side of her hair. “Well, darlin’, that’s one of the most romantic things I’ve ever heard a cowboy say. I’m impressed.” She shook her head and patted Evie’s arm. “I’m sorry, sugar, I just couldn’t resist. You should’ve seen the look on his face.” She turned to Chance and arched her brow in a challenge. “I’m Fancy Aubrey. Would it really be so terrible if I were your bride?” She waved her hand. “Never mind, don’t answer that.”

  Chance tucked Evie’s hand protectively into the crook of his arm and covered it with his own. The feel of his betrothed next to him was a heady experience, so much so he could almost forgive the saloon girl for jesting at the most important moment in his life. Whoever she was, he didn’t appreciate her kind of humor. Francis stood gawking, his shocked gaze going from one woman to the other.

  Across the street, Hayden Klinkner stepped out of the leather shop. His rival stopped, boldly staring at Evie as if she were a cup of cream to a starving tomcat. Chance stiffened and Evie looked up at him, then followed his gaze across the street. Klinkner’s smile broadened and he touched the brim of his Stetson. Chance heard Evie’s soft intake of breath. Hayden chuckled, turned, and walked away.

  Before Chance could respond, the driver came around from the back of the stage and handed him a carpetbag. A muted clanking sounded within.

  Evie smiled. “A gift from my dear friend back home.”

  “How about some help with these trunks?” the driver asked a still stunned-into-silence Francis. “They’re back busters. Almost crippled me gettin’ ’em up.”

  “I’ll do it,” Chance said. Taking hold of the handgrip, he climbed up the stage and went for the largest trunk, hefting it. A grunt almost slipped between his teeth. “Careful, Francis,” he cautioned, muscling the large, blue-and-pink-papered chest down, trying not to bang it around too much. Holy smokes saints alive, he thought, using Francis’s favorite phrase. What’s she got in here, bricks, rocks, anvils? A few nails, if I’m lucky.

  Francis staggered back a step, the trunk teetering above his head. The driver jumped forward to help. “See what I mean? I ain’t never seen the likes.”

  Without looking down, Chance sensed Evie’s intense gaze. He wanted to make sure she knew just how strong he was. Quietly drawing in a breath, he attacked the second trunk with gusto, trying to keep a smile plastered on his face. Sweat broke out on his forehead. “Here she comes.”

  Francis and the driver received this one together. From the corner of his eye, he saw riders coming up the street. McCutcheons. Three of them. Before Chance could lower the last trunk to Francis, they reined up alongside.

  “What’s going on?” Matt, comfortable in the saddle, looked from face to face. “This some sort of get-together?”

  Mark nodded. “Sure looks like it.”

  Luke sat without saying a word.

  Chance’s face and neck, already warm and red from the strenuous lifting, heated almost painfully. He glanced down at Evie, who was studying the brothers with curiosity. At that, a jolt of jealousy took hold of him, shredding his poise like a raccoon with a honeycomb.

  “Here she comes, Francis.” With every ounce of strength he had, Chance hefted the last trunk as if it were filled with feathers and, though his teeth nearly cracked from the bite of his clenched jaw, handed it down smoothly, then followed in its wake. Back on the hard-packed dirt, he straightened his rumpled coat and brushed the dust off his trousers. He was surprised Francis hadn’t yet spilled the beans.

  Fancy strolled over to Chance, sashaying as she went. He could tell she was performing for the newcomers to see. “Thank you so much,” she cooed. “I appreciate your brawn.” She looked at the driver. “You think you can get someone to take these inside the hotel?”

  Chance gaped at Fancy. “They’re yours?” He shook his head in disbelief. “Why didn’t you say so?”

  “You never asked.” She winked and fluttered her fingers. Then she walked from the stage to the hotel, drawing all male eyes to her backside, and disappeared inside.

  Chance looked over at Evie, who was standing quietly with her carpetbag sitting by her feet. Possibly she’s having her things sent out later. Or maybe—being she’s a city girl, she wants to make sure this life suits her before going to the trouble and expense if she changes her mind about marrying me. The thought hurt almost more than he could bear.

  Luke dismounted, his brothers following suit. Reins in hand, they approached, hats off and clamped to their chests. Evie inched a tiny bit closer to Chance, and his heart swelled.

  Relieved that they seemed to have figured out what was going on, and were going to treat Evie with the respect she deserved, he said, “Evie, I’d like you to meet my good friends, Matthew, Mark, and Luke McCutcheon. They own the Heart of the Mountains, the largest spread in the territory. That’s Francis.” He pointed to the boy. “He works for them.”

  The four nodded.

  “Men, this is Evie Davenport from St. Louis, Missouri. She’s made me a happy man by consenting to be my wife.”

  Luke smiled. “We’re pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Davenport. We wish you and Chance much happiness.”

  “Yes,” Matt added.

  Thank goodness they were on their best behavior. This wasn’t going to be so bad, after all, if the introductions were any indication. Although, as soon as they had him alone, he was sure it would be a different story.

  “When’s the happy day?” Mark asked.

  Evie looked up at him. “I don’t know,” she said softly.

  Luke clamped his hand on Francis’s shoulder. “Whenever it is, you let us know. The McCutcheon clan will be there.” He jerked his head. “Let’s go, men. We have work to do.”

  They turned to go.

  “Francis,” Chance called.

  The boy turned back. Chance gestured to the package sitting on the boardwalk. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  ***

  Evie stood patiently as several young hotel workers brought in buckets of hot water for her bath. Chance stood conspicuously by the door, shifting his weight from leg to leg. The lads poured the water into the copper tub, the splashing sound inviting. She couldn’t wait to be clean. It had been a long trip.

  Finished, they left and returned with a cloth-covered screen, and set it up for privacy. The last boy closed the door behind him, leaving her and Chance alone.

  “I can’t thank you enough for your thoughtful gesture, Chance.” She willed her voice not to wobble.

  Chance was everything and more that she’d thought from his letters. He’d said he was tall, and he was. His tawny hair was thick and lush, making her lips tip up at their corners just thinking about running her fingers through it. What would he do if she sauntered over, as she’d seen Fancy Aubrey do today in front of the men, and kissed him?

  He caught her look. His face flushed.

  A warm feeling pulsed through her veins. She quickly looked away. “But you needn’t have spent the money. The room and the bath must be costly. I could have waited until we got out to the ranch.”

  He dropped his gaze to the floor at her feet. “You must be completely tuckered out. You bathe and rest and I’ll be back at eight o’clock. We’ll have supper in the hotel.”

  His deep voice sent shivers up her spine. “That sounds lovely.” She thought he had a hint of an accent, but she wasn’t sure.

  He took a step toward the door. His eyes darted to the screen, with the bathtub filled with hot water behind, and then back to her face. “Can I get you anything else?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Well, I’ll just be going.” Taking his hat, he backed toward the doorway, never taking his gaze from her face. He stepped out and quietly pulled it closed. “I’ll be back a
t eight, Evie,” he called through the door. His footsteps disappeared down the hall.

  Chance was her man, her husband-to-be. It was hard to believe! Closing her eyes, she thanked God that his letter had stood out to her the day the three posts had arrived. Blessings from above. The girls back in St. Louis used to talk about marrying a cowboy, handsome and rough. And she was really going to do it.

  And soon, she hoped. He appeared to be a respected member of this community. What would he do if he found her out? That all she’d ever been was a maid, and a fatherless one at that. That she’d opened mail that didn’t belong to her. Would he be disgusted, send her away?

  Evie didn’t want to think about that now. Not with a hot bath waiting and the promise of dining with him later tonight—by candlelight in the beautiful restaurant downstairs. Immediately after her bath, she would write her first letter to Trudy, and have it ready to send with the hanky the moment after she and Chance were wed. Who knew when that would be? Did he want to wait a bit to get married? Or was he as anxious as she?

  Chapter Six

  CHANCE HURRIED down the boardwalk and dashed into the livery. He glanced into the stall where Boston, his horse, munched on some hay. After haltering the gelding, he grabbed up his saddle and saddle pad and finished tacking him up.

  “What’s your rush?” June Pittman asked. She leaned over the double stall door, smiling in amusement. The livery had been her father’s and when he passed on, the short, mischief-eyed brunette with an uncanny way with words had inherited it. She ran it as well as any man could.

  “Things.” He hadn’t meant to sound so curt. He liked June. She’d swim a river for a friend, even during spring runoff. He’d checked with her last week for nails. No go. After meeting Evie today, he was in an even bigger rush to finish that darned house. There’d been no mistaking that look in her eyes when she took in the bathtub, then gazed at him invitingly. He didn’t want to disappoint her for long.

  “Like nails?”

  Chance whipped around. “You know that’s it. Did you find any?”

  She laughed, then shook her head. “No. Just wanted to see your reaction.” She climbed up on the stall divider and sat, gripping a post for support.

  He shook his head in irritation, then led his horse out of the stall and mounted. “Mr. Lichtenstein said there was a possibility I might find some in Grassy Gulch,” he said, thinking that with her bushy hair, June looked like a squirrel on a branch. “That old place Markson used to own has a new owner. Moved in last month. Being they haven’t been to town yet, he hasn’t had a chance to ask ’em. Has a hunch they could very well have what I need.”

  “A hunch.” Her tone dropped off, disbelieving.

  “Right now a hunch is better than nothing.”

  She shrugged. “That’s a ways out. You coming back tonight, or going out to your place?”

  Chance looked at the sky. He could be out there and back in two hours. Plenty of time. “I’ll be back. Staying the night in town.”

  She gave him a funny look. “You’re a strange one, Chance Holcomb. A man on a mission looking for nails.” She laughed. “You better get moving.”

  ***

  At seven, Evie began to dress, taking extra care with each step. She picked up a jar of honey rose cream she’d bought in Waterloo before boarding the stagecoach. Scooping up a large dab of it, she worked the salve down her neck and over her arms and hands, all the while thinking of Chance and the evening to come. It smelled heavenly and other than the drop sapphire necklace she’d inherited from her mother when she’d died, was the finest thing she’d ever owned. Finished, she touched her fingertips together, marveling at how soft they felt.

  She looked at her dresses in the wardrobe with dismay, trying to decide which to wear. She’d shaken and hung them as soon as Chance had left, in hopes the wrinkles would fall out by tonight. The beautiful sheets and doilies she’d taken such pride in ironing for Mrs. Seymour popped into her head. Each had to be perfectly pressed, not a wrinkle to be found. She’d need to learn to be a bit less particular from now on.

  She couldn’t wear the blue velvet because she still wanted that to be a surprise for her and Chance’s big day. She’d not wear black—he might think her morbid. That left her brown travel dress and the yellow serge.

  “Yellow,” she said at last. Taking it, she held it up in the mirror. Tipping her head to one side, she brought it snug to her waist. An unfamiliar feeling, as rich as warm butter cream frosting, moved through her veins and brought a tingle to her skin. Her heartbeat quickened. She looked at herself through her lashes. “I—look—pretty,” she whispered, as if someone listening might scold her for her pridefulness.

  It was still early. Leaving the dress on the bed, still in her shift, she ventured to her open second-story window to watch the people on the street. Maybe I’ll see Chance, she thought with a thrill. The crisp air tickled her skin, bringing a smile to her lips. It felt good. Her senses fairly hummed in anticipation of the coming meal. She missed him. Wanted to be with him this moment. She wondered where he’d gone.

  The last vestiges of sunlight disappeared, taking with it the shadows and most of the pedestrians. A man came out of the sheriff’s office and went along the boardwalk, lighting lamps on street posts. The lights, flickering in a row, looked romantic.

  Y Knot was actually larger than she’d anticipated from Chance’s letters, with a number of interesting businesses along the street. Several women had passed by, most older, in buggies or walking. A pair of cowboys galloped up the street and slid to a stop in front of the Hitching Post Saloon, the establishment directly across from the hotel. Tinkling notes from the saloon’s piano had just started up, and several newly lit lamps made the interior of the establishment glow.

  She wrapped her arms around herself in disbelief and wonder. Montana. She’d have to get used to the big, open sky, trees as tall as the St. Louis County Courthouse, and the cry of an eagle that could surprise her at any time. The way she felt tonight, thinking of Chance, her life, and the beautiful mountain setting, probably added much to the magical aura surrounding her.

  When the clock chimed half past, she donned her dress with shaky hands, not wanting to keep Chance waiting. She brushed her hair to a high sheen, fashioning it into a French twist and securing it with several pins and a silver clip. The usual unruly wisps curled around her face and glistened in the light of her lamp. Carefully, she took her beloved necklace from its cloth pouch and fastened it around her neck.

  An unexpected wave of emotion rocked her, and she squeezed her eyes closed. “Oh, Mama,” she whispered. “I wish you could meet my Chance. He’s the most thoughtful man. Heaven has blessed me mightily.” Ready for the evening, she sat carefully in a chair at the desk, listening for the sound of his boots.

  ***

  Well, the new people had some nails, all right, a whole lot of them too, but none to spare or lend to him. They didn’t know what the word neighborly meant. After an hour of horse dealing, talking, then begging until he was blue in the face, Chance ended up paying twice the going rate for five measly pounds. He divided them in his saddlebags and headed back. That was when he felt his horse gimping. He walked into Pittman’s on foot, leading his horse.

  Startled, June jumped up from her small desk against the street-facing wall, dropping her book. “You’re back? It grew so late I thought you’d changed your mind.”

  Chance was in no mood to chat. It was eight forty-two and six seconds, and he still needed to clean up. His clothes, the good ones he’d worn to meet Evie at the stage, were soiled and smelly. “Can you take care of Boston for me, June? He’s limping on his left forefront. I looked but couldn’t find anything unusual. No nail or broken glass. Might just be a stone bruise.”

  “Sure thing.” She took his reins and ran her hand over the horse’s neck, then gave Chance a long look. “How long you been walking?”

  “Since the three-mile mark.”

  ***

  Eight o’cl
ock came and went. As did eight thirty, then quarter to nine. Evie’s stomach growled, protesting its emptiness. Where was Chance? Had he been hurt, killed? Who would know? How could she get any help? Who were the ranchers she’d met today at the stage? Matthew, Mark, and Luke. What was their last name?

  She fought back a sob, a bottomless pit of misery that rocked her soul. Was this some sort of mean joke? He’d sent for her, hadn’t he? Paid the money. It wasn’t something a man would do lightly, was it? Had he changed his mind after meeting her? Perhaps Fancy Aubrey was more to his liking.

  At that thought, a sob did escape Evie’s throat. It came up of its own accord, bringing with it every hurtful, mean-spirited thing she’d had to live through, smile at, or pretend didn’t hurt.

  Christmas, when she’d rushed into the parlor to see what all the giggling was about, only to have everyone stop and stare at her until she slowly backed out of the room. The summer picnic she couldn’t attend because she had to get the house ready for a new girl. Her fright when the group of brides she was with at the farmers market forgot about her and went off, leaving her to walk home alone in the dark through a bad part of the city. Pitying glances as she went about her day. Sometimes cruel words delivered straight to her face. Not always, or often, but enough to make her feel different.

  There were many good times too, yes, especially with her new friend, Trudy. But now the good times were hard to recall.

  What had she been thinking? Someone like Chance Holcomb could have anyone. Any number of beautiful girls to call his own. He wouldn’t want a maid, especially an illegitimate one at that. A girl who couldn’t cook a lick, without a dowry, nothing to bring into the union that was beneficial for him. Had she been a blind fool? While she was dreaming about her handsome cowboy husband-to-be, he’d made his escape while the getting was good.