Thankful for the Cowboy
Page 12
Clay tipped his hat to Flora, happy she’d agreed to make the exchange. “It’s mighty kind of you, Ma’am.”
She boxed up his groceries while he went out to his wagon and brought in several bushels of vegetables and threw in a few slabs of salt-pork, hoping it would smooth things with Roland once he found out. Clay wasn’t one to go behind a man’s back this way, but he was desperate; he’d spent so much money fixing up his place, he’d be lucky to make his tax payment, and he couldn’t afford a new pair of clothes otherwise.
His heart pounded hard against his ribs; maybe he should have waited to send for Emma Jane, but if he hadn’t mustered up the courage to do it now, he’d have to wait until after the winter thaw and that could be six or more months from now.
“I’m so happy for you that you’ll have your bride with you in time for the holiday,” the woman said.
Clay smiled. “I hope she won’t mind roasted pig instead of turkey for Thanksgiving; I’ve never had much luck with hunting; that’s why I chose farming.”
The woman smiled “I think we would all like to have some turkey for Thanksgiving this year, but we’ve heard it’s already snowing up in the hills and the trappers won’t be coming back down until spring, but a roasted pig sounds delicious, too.”
“You and Roland are more than welcome to join us for Thanksgiving dinner,” he offered.
“I’m sure your new bride isn’t going to want to have company that day,” the woman said. “It’ll be your first holiday together; I’m sure she’ll want to have you all to herself.”
Clay chuckled. “I think you’re probably right.”
He hoped she was right about that; he certainly prayed he and Emma Jane would get along nicely. Excitement rose from his belly as he realized that this time next year, he might even be lucky enough to have a young’un by then.
CHAPTER 1
Clay waited anxiously near the Overland Stage ticket window for Emma Jane, while he paced the boardwalk. A cool breeze caused him to lift the collar of his jacket to shield his neck from the cold. One glance at the clouds warned that early snow was a worrisome threat. If she didn’t arrive today; she’d likely be stranded somewhere along the way. Once the snow-covered the valley, there was no telling how long it would take before the thaw could bring the next stage. Panic filled him as he checked his pocket watch for the hundredth time. What was keeping that stage? Had it been robbed—or worse, overturned off the side of the mountain?
He’d made his final delivery of the season to the mercantile, and Roland Edwards had promptly brushed him out of the store before the miners became too thick in town. If the stage came in late again today, he’d never get out of town before the teasing started. Clay stepped forward on the boardwalk, lifting his head toward the edge of town in vain. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t see the stage; he’d hear it before it even made its way around the bend, but that didn’t keep him from watching for it. His freshly-shaven face itched; the barber had given him an extra splash of Bay Rum after his shave, and though it took away the stench of pigs on him, it was still a little strong. He stuck a finger betwixt his collar and his neck, but he couldn’t satisfy the itch without choking himself. He’d tied his black ribbon tie a little too tightly, and it was too late to fix it now. He gulped against the itch that traveled down his neck and was working its way toward his shoulders. Pulling in a deep breath, he tried to calm himself, but he was more jittery than a fox in a henhouse.
Clay had bragged to the ruthless miners who relentlessly teased him; he’d told them all about how he was getting a beautiful mail-order bride from the east when it suddenly dawned on him that he had no idea what she looked like. They’d made numerous bets about Emma’s looks, guessing she was everything from an old maid to a mammoth of a woman who would eat up all his stock in one season. They’d laughed at his expense, but there was never any use in defending himself against the mouthy rabble-rousers, some who’d bet the other direction and wagered she wouldn’t show up at all. Clay wasn’t a gambling man, but even he was beginning to doubt the existence of one Emma Jane Miller. Except for the fact someone had been corresponding with him for several months, he’d have felt inclined to side with the opinions of the miners, but the letters he held close to his wildly-beating heart told him otherwise.
Clay had been so eager to meet the woman he was sure he loved already, though he knew next to nothing about her. Except for the sweet, funny stories she’d shared with him about her family’s farm, he’d have to agree with the miners that there was no hope for the two of them to have wedded bliss. He’d not let on to them that Emma’s family raised pigs in the east; it had filled him with an extra measure of eagerness to make her his bride, but it would have given the miners more fuel to tease him.
The stage finally rounded the corner of town, and Clay could feel his chest tighten up as if his mule was standing on him, preventing him from breathing. He lifted his hat from his head and raked his fingers through his thick, brown hair, hoping it would neaten his appearance some. He was never one to worry about his appearance, but he feared he wouldn’t measure up to the standards of a woman worthy of such a beautiful name as Emma Jane.
The driver pulled on the reins, bringing the team to a stop at the boardwalk in front of the ticket office and the shotgun driver hopped down and opened the door. Clay held his breath; his eyes popped wide open in anticipation. One-by-one the passengers exited the stage, and his heart sank each time he saw that none matched the characteristics of his Emma Jane. At last, a pair of female shoes swished the skirting of a dark brown dress, but when the young woman poked her head out the door, she was wearing a funny hat.
Clay’s breath caught in his throat. He’d seen one of those funny hats before; she was Amish.
His shoulders dropped. That isn’t Emma either!
Disappointment clogged his throat; there wouldn’t be many more days for his Emma to travel before the snow made it impossible for her to get over the mountains before the spring thaw. According to her most recent letter, she should have arrived by today. He hung his head and began to walk back toward his buckboard when he heard a faint, feminine voice calling his name.
“Mr. Tucker,” the sweet voice called. “Are you Mr. Tucker?”
He was almost too afraid to turn around; had he missed the exit of the last passenger from the stage?
He pulled in a deep breath and spun on his heel, but the only person who was standing remotely close to him was the beautiful, young Amish woman.
He stared at her and then looked beyond her.
“Are you Mr. Clayton Tucker?” she asked, her blue eyes sparkling with hope.
Clay cleared his throat and swallowed hard the lump that threatened to choke him.
He nodded, unable to find his voice. Maybe this woman had a message for him from his dear Emma.
“Did my Emma send you with a message for me?” he asked.
She smiled. “I am Emma.”
Clay nearly fell against his Mule. “But you’re Amish,” he frowned at the young slip of a girl. “And you’re too young to marry up with me!”
He'd felt for sure after reading her letter that she was the one; how had this all gone so wrong?
****
Emma was not one to argue, but she’d left her home in the east to travel all this way, just to be Clayton Tucker’s bride, and she wasn’t letting him get away that easily. Yes, it was true, Emma had duped him into believing she was something she was not, but she couldn’t tolerate being smothered by the strict rules of the Ordnung or her two older brothers a minute longer. They’d managed to run off every suitor who’d come calling, and if she hadn’t left when she did, she’d have become a spinster for sure and for certain.
“I realize I left out one little detail about my life,” she said, pinching her fingers together to demonstrate the severity of her fib.
“One little detail?” he practically shouted. “Do you even know anything about pig farming? Or was that a lie too?”
She shushed him. “Everyone on the street doesn’t need to know the nature of our business,” she scolded him.
“As far as I’m concerned,” he said, his lips forming a narrow line. “We have no business to discuss. In fact, I’m through talking to you entirely. You lied to me.”
He didn’t like being so harsh with her, but he had enough troubles without adding to them by marrying up with an Amish woman.
“I didn’t lie to you,” she said, pursing her lips. “Leaving out my origin is not lying; I simply left it out because I feared you’d judge me unfairly, and I was right.”
Do not judge, lest ye be judged. Clay knew that verse in the Bible well. The miners judged him unfairly every time he came into town, and now, he’d just done the same thing to Emma.
“As for my age, I really am twenty-five; I just happen to be very short, and that makes me look younger.”
She looked up at him with doe-eyes. He towered over her by a foot, and it added to his appeal, but the firm set of his clenched jaw made her nervous. If he turned her away, she would become a spinster, or be forced to spend her days raising a widower’s children who had no intention of giving her any of her own.
“You were my last hope of getting married since twenty-five is too old to find a husband in the Amish community. So I left that out of my letters. I would have purchased a proper dress if I’d meant to deceive you completely, but I prayed you would receive me as I am once you met me in person. Am I to believe you are nothing but a shallow, selfish man?”
****
Clay was anything but selfish or shallow. His parents had raised him better than that, and he certainly wasn’t brought up to air his dirty laundry on the street in front of the entire town. The truth was, he was already the brunt of every joke in this cow-town because he raised pigs. Pig farming was just not considered respectable in the west. They didn’t exactly consider him to be a rancher since he didn’t raise cattle, but he preferred pigs, and he’d worked hard to build up his humble pig farm. He didn’t fit the category of farmer either since he didn’t grow much more than what he could quickly sell or what he could use himself. The folks in town never seemed to complain when it was butchering time, but otherwise, he was teased relentlessly for his trade. How much more would they tease him once they found out he married this Amish woman?
“Why ain’t you gotten hitched before now?” he asked. “You’re certainly pretty enough! Did you lie to all the men back home too?”
“Mr. Tucker; if you call me a liar once more, I’m going to put you in a headlock the way mei brudders used to do to me!”
Clay gazed into her fiery blue eyes, and he didn’t doubt she would do precisely what she threatened she would do if he didn’t stop talking.
Clay hung his head. Her plain beauty made him swallow his pride and look beyond her attire. He supposed if he could convince her to dress a little more like the other wives, she could pass for a woman of the west. But the cold, hard truth of it was; she was to be the wife of a pig farmer, and for that reason alone, it didn’t matter what she wore. They would tease her the same—maybe worse, for having what the cowboys in town referred to as pig-stench!
A sudden ruckus from the Silver Dollar saloon made Clay cringe. He knew that laughter all too well. He urged Emma off the street and toward his buckboard before the rabble-rousers came near, but it was too late. They’d spotted him and began to walk toward him.
“Hey, Pig Farmer!” they called to Clay. “Is that your mail-order bride? What is she; a Quaker?”
“Nah,” the other one said, stumbling in his drunken state. “I think she’s one of them Amish folks. I hear-tell they’re pig farmers too!”
It was true. Clay had been excited to learn that Emma’s family raised pigs, and she was very knowledgeable about them. It had added to her appeal and made him think they were destined to marry and raise his pigs together. But now, he realized as he looked at her, she was just as much of a misfit as he was. He couldn’t help her unless he could avert their attention elsewhere.
“I was merely giving her directions to the boardinghouse at the end of the boardwalk,” Clay hollered back.
“Now, who’s the liar, Clayton Tucker?” Emma asked under her breath.
Clay had to wonder if Emma might just be able to hold her own with these rough miners; she certainly had spunk.
“Ya stubborn woman,” he whispered. “I only said it to protect you from these men.”
“If you ain’t a-gonna marry up with her,” Buster hollered. “I’ll take her!”
“She’s here for someone else,” Clay said, shooing the drunkard with his hand.
He’d been so excited about meeting her; he’d bragged to the teasing miners that he was getting himself a bride from the East. He thought for sure they’d give up their teasing when they saw for themselves how lucky he was to be getting married. But now, as he stood next to her, he realized just how much of a coward he was. Though he didn’t have the heart to turn her away after making the promises he’d made to her, he also didn’t have the stomach to endure additional teasing simply because of his choice in a mate.
Emma pushed up her chin and pursed her lips. “It’s obvious to me you’ve changed your mind about me and don’t intend to make good on your promise to marry me. If you’ll be kind enough to pay my passage back, I’ll be on my way.”
“But I don’t have any cash on me,” he said, feeling guilty for his thoughtless behavior. The truth was; he was out of money from fixing up his place for her. He’d spent the rest on a shave and a new suit, but he was too embarrassed to tell her that.
Emma bit her lip, and he could see she was holding in tears. “What am I supposed to do? I only had the money you sent me for my travel expenses. I don’t have money to cover the passage back or a room at the boarding haus!”
“I suppose I’ll have to take you home with me,” he said quietly.
“You’ll do no such thing!” she said, gasping at the very suggestion. “We were to see the preacher today, but since we are not, it would hardly be proper for me to stay with you at your haus.”
He waved a hand at her. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’ll stay in the bunkhouse with my hired hands, and you can stay in the main house the way you would have if…”
He let his voice trail off. No sense in reminding her of what he’d just taken from her. He knew by the look of distrust in her eyes that she questioned his integrity—and rightly so after what he’d just done to her.
“You don’t understand,” he started to say. “If I don’t get you off the street, those men are only going to get louder and…”
****
Gunshots and the sound of her own voice screaming interrupted him; Emma blinked and Clay dove at her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her to the ground. Her ears were ringing, and there were shouts from a distance, but she couldn’t breathe; the weight of Clay’s six-foot frame nearly smothering her. Panic seized her as she tried to wriggle out from under him; blood dripped from his chest, and she tried to scream, but she couldn’t pull in a deep enough breath.
Clay’s face settled in her neck, and she could feel his shallow breathing; at least he was still alive.
“Help!” Emma formed the word, but no sound came from her throat.
This is the end of the sample of Blizzards & Blessings. If you would like to purchase a copy, please click on the link HERE
All of Stories of the
Thanksgiving Books & Blessings
Collection
(beginning with earliest time setting)
TEXAS TEARS Book One by Caryl McAdoo, full length
MAIL-ORDER MISFIRE Book Two by Davalynn Spencer, ???
THANKFUL FOR THE COWBOY Book Three by Mary Connealy, novella
BLIZZARD AND BLESSINGS Book Four by Samantha Bayarr, ???
SPRING OF THANKSGIVING Book Five by Liz Tolsma, ??? novella
THESE GREAT GIFTS Book Six by Allison Pittmann, novella
Texas Tears
&nbs
p; Behold how good and pleasant it is to dwell together in unity.
In Book One of the Thanksgiving Books & Blessings Collection Two, just as Mexico and the United States both wanted the Republic of Texas, best friends Charity and Arlene want the same man! Which will the Texicans choose? Who will the man? Will Eberhart de Priest, the object of the young ladies’ desires, follow his heart or his mother’s advice? And what of the interloper from New Orleans who knows exactly whom he loves? Can a Christian find happiness with a non-believer? Only the Lord knows the future, but He does give the desires of the heart to those who delight in Him.
Mail-order Misfire
Book 2 in the Thanksgiving Books & Blessings Collection—and prequel for the Front Range Brides series—Mail-Order Misfire exposes the heart of a widowed lawman when he meets the bride his nine-year-old Gracie wrote for on her own. Preacher Bern Stidham is a peacemaker—when he’s not carrying one on his hip. His little girl hopes for a helper for Papa and a mama for herself. She sends her letter to their former pastor. Recently widowed Etta Collier is a half-step ahead of the lustful banker who carries the note on her home. Pastor thought of her right off with a solution for all. He encourages her to help Gracie. Running from one lecherous man to the home of a stranger, Etta risks everything to ease a little girl’s loneliness perhaps find a second chance at love.? Is there hope for both of them to find a family of their own?
Thankful for the Cowboy
Hero Tom MacKinnon rides up driving a wagon with a second wagon trailing him. He and his sister want to be hired to build windmills. They’ll ask for very little money and, in exchange heroine, Lauren Drummond, newly widowed mother of four nearly grown sons, will help them learn to survive in the Sandhills of Nebraska. What to grow, what to hunt, how to build a sod house.