“Really.” That was all he got out before the woman gracefully descended the stairs, glided across the scarred wood floor, and stopped at his side.
“Who’s this handsome man, Abe?” she said, using her voice like a velvet weapon. She ran her hand down Brandon’s arm as he took her stock. Her blue stone earrings glinted in the light of the lanterns against her powdered skin. “You new in town, sugar?”
Abe sputtered and reached out as if to personally take her hand from Brandon’s arm. “This is Brandon Crawford, Fancy. Sheriff of Y Knot. And you best keep your hands to yourself or Charity McCutcheon may come in here and give you what for.”
Amused, Brandon touched the brim of his hat. “Miss Aubrey. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.” He glanced at Abe. “I keep meeting all sorts of pretty ladies just come to town. Maybe I should leave more often.”
“That must be Evie Holcomb you’re referring to,” Fancy said. “I saw her on the boardwalk this afternoon with that handsome husband of hers. That girl has a heart of gold. She can’t understand why women cross to the other side of the road when they see me coming.” Fancy laughed, but Brandon didn’t miss the slight wobble in her lips.
“You and Chance’s wife are friends?” He wasn’t judging, just surprised.
“Yes, we are, Sheriff. Chance too, as a matter of fact. Does that shock you?”
Things are getting more interesting by the second. “Maybe.”
The saloon doors swished open and Francis, the young cowhand who worked for Charity’s family out at the ranch, came striding in. The seventeen-year-old’s face brightened when he saw Brandon.
Brandon took a step away from Fancy Aubrey to put a decent amount of space between them, since she didn’t seem so inclined. If anything, he’d felt her inching closer.
“Francis,” Brandon said. He came forward and the two gripped hands. “It’s darn fine to see you.”
“You too, Brandon. I’d heard you and Charity arrived this afternoon.” The color of Francis’s face deepened, and he kept his eyes trained far away from the seductive saloon girl by Brandon’s side.
“Aren’t you going to say hello, Francis?” Fancy said in mock hurt. “You’re breaking my little heart. I thought we had something nice going.”
Francis stammered, then said, “Hello, Fancy. You sure look purty tonight.”
She batted her lashes. “Thank you. I’m delighted you noticed. Abe, give Francis a beer on me.”
Was that true? Did the two really have something going? She was years older than the lad.
Francis scuffed his boot nervously and brought his attention back to Brandon. “I’m here picking up a couple of horses from the livery. Threw some shoes.” His clean face and slicked-back hair would be wasted on a couple of horses. Brandon also detected the warm, spicy scent of the aftershave Lucky made in the bunkhouse from rum boiled with bay leaves, cinnamon, lavender, and other odd spices. His way of combating the unpleasant aroma of manure-covered boots and dirty clothes.
“This late?”
“June knows I’m coming.”
Abe set a foamy mug on the bar. “Here you go, son.” The bartender looked speculatively at Brandon. “How’s Charity doing? Word’s got around town how she snuck down to Rio Wells to see John, and how you had to fetch her back. I’m sure Luke and the rest are plenty glad to put that fiasco to rest.” Abe looked at Fancy when her shapely eyebrows lifted. “Charity is the youngest McCutcheon and only girl. She and Brandon…”
Fancy pursed her lips. “Are?”
“Engaged,” Brandon supplied. Lenore and June knew. Tomorrow, the whole town would be talking.
Abe slapped the bar. “Congratulations, Sheriff! That’s just dandy. We’ve had a bet going ’round to see if the two of you’d come back hitched, or fightin’ again. Seems none of us were right. We’ll have to roll that over into a new pot to bet on. I wish you both the best of luck.”
Something in the man’s eyes said they were going to need it. Brandon tried not to respond in anger. He supposed Y Knot’s interest in his and Charity’s relationship was understandable. They’d been putting on a show for years. At least out at the ranch, Charity didn’t have to contend with the teasing every day like he did.
Francis picked up his beer and took a long guzzle. He’d been sweet on Charity for as long as Brandon could remember, unmindful of her being three years his elder.
“Congratulations, Brandon,” Francis finally said. “Good luck and all that.”
“We appreciate your good wishes, Abe, Francis. And it was my pleasure meeting you, Fancy Aubrey.” He touched the brim of his hat. “If you need anything, just let me know. Or if anyone gives you a hard time, I want to hear about it. I like to keep Y Knot peaceful for everyone.”
Fancy arched her back and gracefully placed a hand on her hip. “Thank you, Sheriff. I’ll be sure to do just that.”
Brandon had put off the correspondence from Kansas City for as long as he could. Trying doorknobs to be sure they were securely locked, he made his way down the boardwalk toward the sheriff’s office and his small house out back.
What would the letter say? If he’d gotten the job, it would surely tip his chance with Charity right out the window. And if he hadn’t gotten the job, he’d always wonder where his life could have gone if he had. Neither option seemed to satisfy. But knowing would put a rest to this endless questioning.
At the end of the alley behind his office, Brandon unlocked his door and pushed it open. Cool, musty air hit him in the face as he hung his black felt Stetson on a peg, then walked through the darkened room into the tiny kitchen, where he lit the lamp.
Home sweet home.
The simple domain wasn’t much, but it was plenty enough for him. It had been his home for the past six years—and he liked it. He’d be lying if he said different. The place was clean and tidy. Extra pair of boots sat in the corner by the back kitchen door. Dishes clean and stacked on the counter; no sense using energy to put them in the cupboard when they were handier right there. One chair at the small, beat-up old wooden table. Yep, perfect for a one-man show.
Charity had only been inside once. She’d ridden into town with Luke and they’d come looking for him when the sheriff’s office was empty. He’d been lounging in the front room, boots off, eating a plate full of beef and beans and a hank of fresh bread ripped from the loaf Berta May had baked him that morning. Charity had been thirteen and hadn’t been able to mask her surprise at his small, threadbare bachelor pad.
Brandon chuckled, remembering her expression. Over the years, he and Luke had gotten many good laughs recalling the stunned surprise on his little sister’s face. It didn’t feel quite so funny anymore.
No more stalling. He pulled the envelope from his back pocket and scooted out the wooden chair. He opened the post. The salutation was brief, addressed to Brandon Crawford, Sheriff of Y Knot, Montana Territory.
I do indeed remember you, son! So many years have passed since that fateful and sad day that took the lives of both of your parents, that I dare say you probably will not recognize me. I have to say I am surprised to get this letter, but delighted as well. So, you are a lawman too. That stands to reason. Moreover, I am relieved I will not have to explain anything about the job to you—the dangers and the fact many lawmen do not reach their fiftieth birthday. I will make my final decision after I meet the men interested. Come to Kansas City by…
Brandon blinked, then looked away in deep thought. July 26th was only two weeks away. If he’d gotten the post when he should have, he would have had a good month and a half to break the news to Charity and plan the trip. As it was, he’d be lucky to make the appointment on time.
Luke’s shindig was in a few days. Maybe he could pull together his travel plans and then speak with Charity the day before. He wouldn’t spring it on her at the party. They’d need time alone to talk.
Brandon had never been to Kansas City. Images of streetcars and businesspeople going about their day filled his mind. Hors
es, men’s clubs, telephones…all the things he’d read about in the Y Knot Sunday Herald. Perhaps it would be like San Antonio, bustling with activity.
Maybe he was blowing this all out of proportion. Charity had liked her time in Rio Wells. Said how much she enjoyed the travel and experiencing how the rest of the country lived. Would she consider accompanying him to the interview? Excitement warmed Brandon’s insides. No—better yet, they could marry first. Make it a true honeymoon.
He smiled—a real smile—for the first time since Jack had handed him the letter. What was the saying about having one’s cake and eating it too? It could happen. Charity had grown up so much on this last trip. With the way she’d pledged her love to him over and over, there was no way she wouldn’t be as happy as he was for this big chance.
What the devil was he thinking? Nothing ever went as planned when it came to Charity. She was a force to be reckoned with, and then some. Maybe that was why he loved her so much. She kept him on his toes. Even if this was his big break, predicting her response was iffy, at best. He could suggest eloping to Missouri, but after agreeing to Mrs. McCutcheon’s request for a month, going back on the word he’d given only hours before felt wrong. He’d hate to anger his mother-in-law and start the marriage off on the wrong foot.
What to do? There didn’t seem to be an answer that would make everyone happy. More likely, the opposite would happen, leaving a trail of broken hearts. And losing Charity would break his heart most of all.
Chapter Eight
Charity fairly flew down the long staircase to find her mother and father alone at the dining room table. “Good morning,” she sang happily.
“Good morning, dear,” her mother replied. “I can see that you slept well. Was it good to be back in your own bed?”
Her father set his cup in his saucer as he waited for her reply.
“Did I. And yes, it was. I opened my window and all the fresh air had me feeling like a baby. I’m so well rested and ready to make plans for the wedding. Mother, your suggestion to wait was a good one. I’ll only have one wedding and one opportunity to plan. The next few days will be fun.”
“Well, whatever you and your mother talked about last night made all the difference,” Flood said. “When I retired, I was a little worried that you were having second thoughts.”
“Never,” Charity said quickly, drawing a look from her father. “I can’t wait to marry Brandon. He is everything to me. I want to have a big family, just like you two.”
Esperanza came into the room carrying a plate and the coffeepot. “I hear your voice, Miss Charity.” She smiled and set the ham and eggs in front of Charity, then filled her coffee cup. “I will be right back with some juice and cream for your coffee.”
“Thank you so much, Esperanza. You’re a jewel.”
Claire laughed. “How I wish I could bottle your enthusiasm.”
Unable to wait for the cream, Charity took a drink of the aromatic coffee. “I was thinking of riding into town today—” She raised her hand when Claire opened her mouth to object. “Just to see Brandon for three minutes. We were together so much in Texas, even one day feels like torture without him.”
Flood leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “How together were you?”
She tamped back a jab of irritation. “Not together like that.”
Flood sat back and reached for his coffee cup. “That’s a relief.”
Claire quieted him with a look, then directed her attention back to her daughter. “You do what you want, but if it were me, I’d give him some time to miss you. Absence makes men’s hearts grow fonder. It’s true.”
Flood nodded. “Your mother knows what she’s talking about. He’ll be swamped with business for a few days—and your appearance might not have your desired effect. Let him get settled and back in his routine. It’s not that he won’t want to see you, but he’s a very steely young man. He takes his responsibilities seriously, like everyone should.”
And then some, Charity thought. Brandon was a lawman through and through. Something I love about him very much. She cut her ham and ate a slice. When Esperanza returned with a glass of orange juice and a small pitcher of cream, Charity doused her coffee with a more-than-generous dollop and added a teaspoon of sugar. It’s so wonderful to be home.
She swallowed her food, then took another drink of her doctored-up coffee. “Maybe you’re right. And the party is only three days away. Yes, I’ll concentrate on plans, visit Faith, Rachel, and Amy to get their ideas. May I wear your wedding dress, Mother?”
“I had hoped you’d ask. I’ll send one of the hands into town today to ask Berta May to come out for a fitting in the next few days. I’m sure there won’t be much that has to be done to it. I was your size when I married your father.”
Charity stood, her plate half eaten.
Her father blinked in surprise. “Where’re you going? You just sat down. You haven’t finished your breakfast yet.”
“I can’t take another bite. I have too many things to do—and I’m not hungry at all.”
Claire put out a hand in an effort to stop her. “But—”
“But nothing,” Charity replied. “I’m going out to the bunkhouse. I want to see Lucky and the boys and tell them the news personally before anyone else does.”
Her parents laughed, and Charity couldn’t remember another time when they’d both looked so pleased about something she was up to. Usually she was in trouble, and one parent, after her petitionary begging, was assuaging the other on her behalf. Charity liked this new leaf. She liked being on their good side. She liked the love she saw written plainly on their faces.
• • •
Charity knocked on the bunkhouse door, then gripped her hands in front of her buckskin riding pants, trying to be patient. The ranch yard looked neat and clean, the same horses stood in the corral as when she’d left, the same sunshine streamed through the branches of the tall pine trees. An array of branding irons decorated the sidewall next to the door. When she was little, the sight fascinated her for hours. Each brand was a story in itself.
As the only girl in the family, she’d been strictly forbidden to enter the bunkhouse without permission from Lucky—and only Lucky. It was the cowhands’ domain. They deserved privacy after long hours in the saddle. This was the only rule she’d been smart enough to know there would be hell to pay if she broke, and she never had.
A barrage of lively voices inside meant the men were up and eating, and perhaps hadn’t heard her first request to come in. She knocked again, this time with the heavy horseshoe knocker in the middle of the door. Just as she was about to give it another go, the door opened and she smacked Lucky in the face.
Surprised, the bunkhouse cook grabbed his nose and yelped.
She let out a cry of dismay and snatched back her hand.
“Lucky, I’m so sorry!” She put her arm around his middle and they walked a few feet into the bunkhouse.
Chairs scraped back as all the men stood. “Miss Charity!” A surge of warm happiness squeezed Charity’s heart.
“Let me see,” she pleaded, still trying to see Lucky’s face. She pried his hands down. “I hope I didn’t give you a bloody nose.” Relieved when there was no blood in sight, she let go her held breath.
He blinked several times and scrunched his nose. “No harm done, Miss Charity,” he said, wiggling it around, and then feeling it with his fingers. “Welcome home.”
“I’m sorry to barge in on you like this.” She was unable to keep her smile from her face. These men had practically raised her. She loved each and every one. “Please sit down and finish your breakfast before your flapjacks get cold. I just wanted to be the first to tell you—Brandon and I are finally getting married. You’re all invited.”
A happy cheer went up. Lucky pulled her into an embrace. “That’s darn good news, honey bear. We’re all tickled pink.”
One by one, the cowhands sat back down at the long rectangular table filled with food. A platter of potato
es, mixed with red onion and chilies, was next to a large bowl of scrambled eggs. Toast was piled a mile high, and every plate already had a flapjack or two. A red-and-white plaid napkin hung from each man’s collar, whether he was dressed for the day or was still rumpled from sleep. Roady Guthrie, shaved and spit shined, smiled at her and nodded. The hand they called Uncle Pete, even though he was no relation, still had a chin full of whiskers. John Berg and Smokey finally swallowed what they’d been chewing before she’d barged in, and wiped their mouths with a napkin. Francis stood out like a sore thumb. His mouth, stretched tight in a line, and his eyes, a cool, frosty gray as he regarded her, made her uneasy.
Charity took them in. “You already knew? I can tell by your expressions.”
Lucky nodded. “Yep. I can’t fib to ya. Roady came back from Luke’s last night with the good news. But it don’t matter who tells us, just that the event is happening. When’s the day?”
“As soon as we can pull together all our plans. Probably a month, or sooner. We would have done it last night, but Mother wanted some time to plan a wedding, me being her only daughter.”
Francis stood back up. He took the napkin from his neck and dropped it beside his plate. “I told ’em too, Miss Charity. Even before Roady did. I ran into Brandon last night in the saloon, talking with Fancy Aubrey.” He raised his eyebrows, as if wanting to make sure she grasped his meaning—that it was more than just talk.
A hush fell across the room like a wet blanket on a newborn pup. Who was Fancy Aubrey? And why was Brandon speaking with her?
“I tried to get a word in edgewise, you know, to ask about you, but they were in some deep conversation and didn’t see me for several minutes. I never did find out what was so all-important that the rest of us couldn’t hear.” He shrugged. “Oh well. Guess we’ll never know.”
Moon Over Montana (McCutcheon Family Series Book 5) Page 5
