The Lawman’s Frontier Bride

by Maya Stirling

  "He's just proud of what he owns," Gretchen suggested. "It must be nice to have a place. Don't you think?"

  A sudden darkness clouded his features. "I guess so. In my line of work, it's hard to settle down." He sighed. "Sometimes I think about getting a place and stopping all my wandering."

  "Do you think you'll ever do that?" she asked casually, thinking he might not even want to answer such a personal question.

  Tate's gaze settled upon her. As he studied her for a long moment, she shifted in her seat. It wasn't often that men gazed at her with the kind of look contained in Tate's eyes at the moment. "I think there'll come a time when it's the only thing I'll want to do." His voice was low and filled with a sudden certainty. His brows rose. "And you?" he asked abruptly.

  "Once I get to Inspiration, I guess a lot of that will be taken out of my hands."

  He frowned. "What do you mean?"

  "It depends on Sophie Cameron's choice of potential husbands. In her letters she said some of them are townsfolk. And some are homesteaders or ranchers."

  "Do you have a preference?" he asked. As if he realized that the question might not be polite he added quickly: "I mean for living in the town or in the countryside."

  "My uncle owned a farm in Pennsylvania," she said. "I spent many happy days on the farm with him and his family." She smiled at Tate. "I even learned how to ride a horse properly."

  Tate smiled. "Properly? What exactly does that mean?"

  "Well. I can ride in the country. I'm not like those society women who can only ride a horse in the city park."

  "Well, that'll come in useful," he said quickly.

  "What do you mean?"

  Tate's features colored slightly pink. Had she caught the wrong meaning of what he'd just said? "You never know when you'll need to ride a horse," he said quickly. "Most folks out here ride. Or use buckboards and carriages. But there isn't always a trail. The terrain in these parts can be tough for a rider." He peered at her. "Not like riding around on Pennsylvania farmland."

  Gretchen shrugged his implied criticism off. "I'll learn," she said abruptly.

  The breakfast was brought. A pot of coffee and two cups. Two plates contained bacon, beans and biscuits. Gretchen's stomach rumbled when she set eyes on the food.

  Tate smiled. "I can hear you're hungry," he said pointing at her stomach with his fork.

  Gretchen's cheeks flushed with heat and she quickly set about eating her food. Neither her nor Tate said much as they ate. The strong coffee woke her up instantly.

  After a short while, Tate spoke. "Have you thought about what you're going to do?"

  "I told you," she replied. "I'm going to wait until the next train comes."

  "Six days is a long time," Tate said. "Especially in a place like this."

  Gretchen shrugged. "Things seem quiet enough," she said. "The only thing I heard last night was that man calling up to you to go and gamble over at the saloon."

  Tate's brows knitted into deep ridges. "I don't gamble."

  "A cowboy who doesn't gamble?" Gretchen said. "Now why do I think that's unusual?"

  "You've been reading too many dime novels," Tate grunted. He still seemed uneasy after the mention of the man who'd called up to him last night.

  "Do you know him?" she asked.

  "Who?"

  Now he looked even more unsettled. "That man who was doing the shouting. He seemed like he was drunk."

  "As I said, Gretchen," Tate murmured. "I don't spend much time in saloons. Not unless I have to."

  Gretchen frowned at Tate. Now what did he mean by that? If she wasn't mistaken, she was sure Tate was being evasive.

  Just as she was about to press him further, the dining room door opened. Gretchen drew in a breath when she saw the very same man they'd been discussing walk into the dining room. In the full light of day she saw just how dirty were the man's clothes. And he hadn't shaved. His hair was mussed up and his eyes were saggy with sleep. Or perhaps with the remnants of the alcohol she could smell in the air now. He halted, clearing his throat noisily as he gazed around the room.

  The man's eyes widened when he saw Gretchen and Tate. He walked unevenly across to their table, holding his Stetson between both hands. Now he was closer, the smell was overpowering. Gretchen figured the man might not have bathed for months. She shifted awkwardly in her chair and reached for her reticule. Opening it up, she tugged out a white handkerchief and pretended to wipe her nose.

  Tate sat upright, his shoulders suddenly tight. There was a sudden disapproval in Tate's gaze as he looked up at the man. The man halted and laid his hand down on the table. As he did so his gaze settled on the open reticule. Gretchen drew in a quick breath when she saw what had caught the man's attention. Some of Gretchen's money was clearly visible inside the reticule.

  Suddenly, Tate stood up and faced the man. "This is a private table," Tate said with obvious indignation in his voice.

  Eyes blinking, the man took one step back. Tate came quickly around the table. Gretchen was shocked by the sudden transformation in Tate. He looked as if he was ready to trade blows with the man.

  Tate gestured to the empty tables. "There's plenty of room at those tables," he stated firmly.

  As the man turned to face Tate, he placed his hat upon the table. "Just trying to be friendly," he muttered.

  Tate's jaw tightened and his gaze filled with fire. "As I said. There are other tables you can choose. This one is taken."

  Gretchen heard the other man draw in a deep, sharp breath. His fingers curled around the body of his hat, clutching it tightly. All Gretchen could think of was the shocking suddenness of the change in Tate. Gone was the mild-mannered, polite gentleman of moments ago. Now he looked capable of violence. She wondered why he'd hid that from her. She'd believed she'd been getting to know him. Now she wasn't so sure.

  Tate took one more step toward the man. Tate's fist clenched, fingers curling into tight balls, ready for action. Suddenly, the other man stepped away from the table, grasping his hat again between both hands. He grunted. "I know when I'm not welcome," he grumbled.

  Then as suddenly as he'd entered the dining room, the man left, slamming the doors behind him.

  For a long moment, Tate just stood. His breathing was fast and loud. Then he snapped himself back to the present. He forced a smile at Gretchen. "I'm sorry about that."

  "It's okay. I'm glad he's gone."

  Sitting back down, Tate murmured, "So am I."

  Tate's shoulders slumped. He lifted his cup to his lips and sipped the coffee. Reaching for her own cup, Gretchen felt her stomach lurch. She gasped and dropped her cup on the table spilling coffee across the white linen. "My reticule!" she exclaimed.

  Tate's eyes widened. "Where is it?"

  "It was here a moment ago," Gretchen announced pointing at the corner of the table. Right where the man had placed his hat. Now, all her money was gone. Everything she owned. And any hope of reaching Inspiration.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Tate rose from his chair and stared down at Gretchen. Her face was as white as a sheet of paper. Eyes wide with panic, she was gazing up at him. Billy had stolen Gretchen's only possession! Tate grunted. A flash of movement caught his eye. Billy ran past the window, heading northwards.

  Gesturing with a hand toward Gretchen, Tate spoke breathlessly. "Wait here. I'll get that back."

  As he started to run for the door, he saw Gretchen's mouth open as if she was about to say something to him. But there was no time for words.

  Tate thrust the doors of the dining room wide open. They slammed against the wall as Tate bolted through reception, his boots thundering on the floor. He caught sight of an astonished looking Lindsey, but there was no time to explain.

  Outside, on the boardwalk, Tate saw Billy's distant figure hurtling in the direction of the livery. Of course. Now he had his stolen treasure, Billy would reclaim his horse. In a few minutes he'd be out on the trail. Tate wasn't about to let that happen.

  He
started to run. Racing past the dining room window he saw Gretchen standing inside. She watched as he raced past the window. Tate knew he only had one chance. He wasn't going to let Billy away with this.

  Billy was fast. But Tate was faster. Up ahead Billy reached the livery and turned inside. Tate ran as fast as he could. He only had the time it would take Billy to saddle up his horse. Billy was used to making his getaway. He'd been doing it for years. It was a natural part of his life. But, today he wasn't going to get away so easily. Not if Tate could stop him.

  As he ran, a few passersby stared incredulously at Tate. They pulled to one side of the boardwalk as he went hurtling past. One woman shrieked, but Tate ignored the sound.

  Finally, he slid to a halt at the entrance to the livery. The tall doors were wide open. At the back was a door which opened out to a corral. Tate could see Billy tying the cinch on his horse's saddle. Standing next to him was the owner of the livery, John Douglas. The gray-haired man was trying to speak to Billy, but getting nowhere. As Tate started to make his way through the livery, he heard Douglas demand money from Billy. With a sweep of his hand, Billy dismissed the man's demands.

  Then Billy saw Tate. His eyes widened and Tate saw the man utter a curse. Billy pushed the livery owner away to one side and thrust his booted foot into the stirrup. Tate picked up speed, pushing himself harder. Tate emerged form the inside of the livery and ran for Billy's horse.

  "Billy!" Tate called out.

  Billy didn't even turn to look at Tate. He knew he only had moments in which to make his escape.

  A few feet away, Douglas stared at Tate, obviously wondering what was going on between the two men.

  As Billy lifted himself up onto the horse, Tate threw himself forward, grabbing hold of Billy's hips. With one forceful tug, Tate hauled Billy from his horse. Billy's horse cried out and reared as its rider tumbled to one side. Both men went crashing to the ground. Billy grunted as his body hammered onto the hard earth. Tate coughed as he and Billy were enveloped in a cloud of dust. Holding onto Billy's shirt, and determined not to let go, Tate rolled to one side, pulling Billy with him.

  Billy uttered a loud curse as Tate forced himself to his feet, lifting Billy up from the ground. Holding onto Billy's shirt, Tate stared into the man's eyes.

  "What do you think you're doing?" Tate demanded.

  Billy shook hard, trying to loosen himself from Tate's grasp. "Let me go!" he roared.

  Tate held on even tighter. Billy tried to grab Tate's arm, but Tate just pulled the man closer. Now their faces were inches away from one another. "Give me what you took and I'll let you go."

  Billy's eyes flashed with fury. "What's it got to do with you?"

  "Because I'm making it my business. Where is it?" Tate asked, hunting Billy's person for any sign of where he'd hidden Gretchen's small bag. He saw a bulge beneath Billy's shirt. Reaching in, Tate felt the bag and tugged it out from inside Billy's shirt. Holding it up in front of Billy, Tate grinned.

  Billy roared angrily. "Give me that!" he snapped.

  Tate released his hold on Billy, giving him one firm push away. Billy staggered, but managed avoid taking a tumble on his rear.

  Tate clutched the small bag in his left hand. Pointing at Billy with his right, he fixed the man with a steady look. "Don't you ever go near that woman again," Tate ordered. "You hear?"

  Billy brushed the dust from his clothing. "What's she to you?" Billy demanded with a sneer. "Are you just sore because I'm the one who got her money." Billy lifted a brow. "Were you figuring on getting it for yourself? Did I just beat you to it?"

  Tate turned to John Douglas. "Sorry about all that, Mr Douglas. Just a little disagreement."

  "Do you two know each other?" Douglas asked. The livery owner still looked shaken.

  Realizing that it might not be the best thing to admit to that, Tate shook his head. "We met in the saloon last night." Then he turned to Billy. "Ain't that right, Billy."

  Billy's eyes narrowed, and then he smiled at Douglas. "That's right," he agreed.

  Tate glanced at Billy's horse. "Get going now," he said to Billy. "Just as well for you there's no sheriff in this town," Tate added with acid in his voice.

  For a long moment, Billy looked like he was going to object. There was resentment behind Billy's steady gaze. Tate could feel the hate building inside the other man. There would be time to deal with that later. Right now, the best thing to do was to send Billy on his way. It wouldn't do any good for Billy to hang around Refuge any longer. He'd delivered the message from Frank Wolfe. The sooner he was gone, the better, Tate told himself.

  Billy mounted his horse. Looking down at Tate he seemed about to say something. But one final look at the livery owner made Billy think twice. Tate reflected that Billy might be impulsive, but he also possessed a renegade's cunning. He'd learned, the hard way, that there were times when it paid to keep his mouth shut.

  Saying nothing more, Billy rode his horse through the open gate of the corral. Soon he was riding up the trail leading out of town.

  John Douglas grunted. "He owes me money."

  Tate dug into his pocket. "How much?"

  Douglas told Tate how much Billy owed the livery. Tate dug into his pocket and handed the money to Douglas. "I'd be obliged if you keep this to yourself. Just for a while, at least," Tate said easily.

  Douglas nodded. "Sure."

  Tate figured the man knew when it was wise to keep out of other people's business.

  Tate left the livery. Heading along the boardwalk, back toward the hotel, he arrived and found Gretchen standing at the entrance. She watched as he made his way back to her. She glanced down at his hand and saw her reticule.

  "You got it back," she exclaimed, running toward him.

  Tate halted and held out the small bag. "I caught up with the man. Managed to get it off him."

  "Did he put up a fight?" she asked.

  Tate shrugged. "A little. He needed some gentle persuasion. But he gave it back."

  Gretchen's eyes narrowed as she listened to Tate making light of what he'd just done.

  Taking the bag, Gretchen inspected it. "All the money is still here," she gasped. Looking at Tate, she smiled. "How can I thank you?"

  Tate shook his head. "No need. I wasn't going to let that varmint take everything you have."

  A few folk had gathered close by. Tate didn't want to hear any awkward questions. Taking Gretchen's elbow in his hand, he started to lead her back into the hotel. "We have a breakfast to finish."

  She halted and peered into his eyes. "Where did the man go?"

  "He made his getaway," Tate explained. Glancing down at the reticule, he added quickly: "The main thing is you have your bag back."

  Gretchen bit her lower lip and nodded thoughtfully. "I suppose you're right." She frowned. "You know what? I'm not hungry, now."

  "Are you sure?" Tate asked.

  She nodded. "I think I'll go back to my room."

  Tate took a step away from Gretchen. "Whatever you say. Maybe I'll see you later today?" he asked.

  Gretchen smiled weakly. "Maybe."

  Tate's heart sank when he heard the way she'd said that. One single word could contain so much, he told himself. He watched as Gretchen made her way up the stairs.

  Lindsey came out from behind the reception counter. Tate pointed to the dining room. "Get me some coffee, would you?"

  Lindsey nodded and headed to the kitchen. Inside the still empty dining room, Tate took his seat at the window. He had some thinking to do, and here seemed like the best place to do it.

  That last incident had given Tate plenty to mull over. One thing was obvious. Gretchen wasn't going to be safe here in Refuge. Judging by the look in her eyes before she'd walked away from him, Tate figured Gretchen was coming to the same conclusion. She could wait the next six days in town. But there was no certainty that she wouldn't be the target of more troublemakers.

  Refuge just wasn't a safe town for unaccompanied women.

  No.
Tate knew in his heart that he'd have to do something to make sure Gretchen was safe. Leaning back in the chair, he asked himself why he would even consider doing such a thing. The truth was, Gretchen Ryan had made a huge impression on Tate. It was that simple. Her beauty had awakened something in him. A powerful longing, the likes of which he'd never felt before.

  And he was beginning to savor her feisty and determined character. She was a woman who knew how to stand up for what she wanted. But what Tate wanted for her was safety. The thought of something bad happening to Gretchen triggered a powerful sense of justice in him. Tate had seen plenty of bad things in his time as marshall. He was determined that Gretchen wouldn't become another part of those terrible memories.

  All last night, in his room, the only thing he'd been able to think about was the fact that she was sleeping in the room right next to his. He'd awoken plenty of times during the night. Many times, the smallest noise had made him sit up in bed, listening intently, wondering if she was safe.

  He thought about Billy and the Wolfe outfit. Once Billy reported what had happened, Frank Wolfe might decide it was time for the gang to pay a visit to Refuge. If that happened, Tate knew he couldn't guarantee Gretchen's safety. Anything could happen, and some of it might be bad. Billy had told Tate the outfit were holed up a half day's ride from town. That meant they could be here within twenty-four hours.

  Something needed to be done. And quick, Tate told himself. He sat for a while, going over the options.

  By the time Lindsey came in with the coffee, Tate already had the answer. There really was nothing else that made sense, he reflected. Only one thing would guarantee Gretchen's safety.

  Tate would have to persuade Gretchen to leave Refuge with him and ride for four days through the Montana wilderness, until she was safely delivered to the town of Inspiration.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  By late morning, Gretchen had seen everything there was to see in Refuge. She'd visited the mercantile, passed by the saloon without even looking inside, visited the other stores, and wandered over to the livery, only to find the owner was nowhere to be found. As she'd moseyed up and down the boardwalk, she'd noticed some of the townsfolk eyeing her carefully. But no-one talked to her.