Justin's Runaway Bride (A Sweet Western Historical Romance) (Dalton Brides, Book 8)

by Kit Morgan

  He looked around. What women there were had already met with a relative or friend. Others strode across the platform in confidence. Wait – a well-dressed woman was just getting off, her hat slightly askew, her eyes blinking as if she’d been asleep. She glanced around but instead of looking frightened, seemed annoyed.

  Her eyes met his and she made a beeline for him. “Excuse me,” she said as she approached, “but are you Mr. Dalton? I’m supposed to meet him here.”

  “No, ma’am,” he said, “but I’m with him. He’s down at the mercantile gettin’ our supplies together while I waited for ya. Ya must be Miss Porter.”

  She sighed and glanced around. “Yes, I am. Very well, let’s go.”

  Justin looked at her. She was pretty, with reddish-brown hair and green eyes, and wore a bright yellow day dress with tiny flowers on it. Except for her crooked hat, one wouldn’t know she’d just spent over a week on a train. “Are you hungry? It might take awhile for Nate – Mr. Dalton – to get what we need at the mercantile.”

  “No, I’d rather speak with him if you don’t mind.”

  Justin shrugged. “Suit yerself.” He turned and was about to head back to the wagon when he stopped and looked at her. “How did ya know I was the one waitin’ for ya?”

  She gazed at him. “Because you looked confused, as if you were waiting for someone and had no idea what they looked like.”

  He laughed. “Ya got that right, ma’am. Yer very observant.”

  She looked at him. “I’ve had to be.”

  Three

  The cowboy was tall, broad through the shoulders, and sported a patch over his right eye. He raised his left eyebrow at her remark and gave her a curt nod in understanding, as if to say I bet you have. “Do ya have any trunks, ma’am?” he asked, eyeing the satchel in her hand.

  “No, this is all I brought.”

  He gave her another nod, then stepped aside and waved for her to precede him to the other end of the platform. She spied a staircase that led down to an area behind the station where various wagons had been parked. She waited for the cowboy at the bottom of the stairs, not knowing which one was his.

  He gave her a light touch on the arm to let her know to follow him, but kept her at his side. It was obvious he was aware of the possible dangers she could have encountered on her journey, and was no stranger to the ways of the slavers that may well have followed her. She’d been wary ever since the train had stopped in New York City, and had kept a sharp eye out for any signs that she was being followed. She hadn’t seen any, but …

  They reached the cowboy’s wagon and he offered her his hand to help her up. She took it, noticing how rough and calloused it was, and wondered what type of work he did on the Dalton ranch. But then, it was a ranch, not just a safe house for mail-order brides that needed a place to stay until a husband could be found.

  Fortunately for Millie, one had. He was coming all the way from California to Texas, where she would meet him for the first time and they would marry. She would head back with him and start their new life together – a life, she knew, that wouldn’t be easy. Up until now she’d lived in luxury, wanting for nothing. The Porter Shoe Company had been around for decades and was the primary source for fine shoes in all of New England. That is, until recently …

  “We’ll drive to the mercantile so you can speak with Mr. Dalton,” the cowboy said as he climbed onto the wagon seat. “Then we’ll see about getting’ ya somethin’ to eat.”

  “Thank you, Mr. …”

  “The name’s Justin Weaver, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet ya.”

  “Thank you. It’s nice meeting you too.”

  He smiled in understanding, and she was surprised at the comfort it gave her. She watched as he picked up the reins and got the team moving. They left the station’s waiting area and drove onto a nearby street, turned onto another, then another. She was surprised at how big Weatherford was, and appreciated the pleasant weather. She hoped California would be as nice.

  It wasn’t long before they reached the mercantile and Justin Weaver helped her down from the wagon seat. She noted how he glanced around, and wondered if he was looking for the same thing she was: men, who were watching them. But she saw no one and assumed he didn’t either. He offered her his arm, led her up a few steps to the boardwalk and into the mercantile.

  He went straight to a man at the counter who was speaking with the shop owner. “Nate, I’d like to introduce ya to Miss Porter. Miss Porter,” he said with a casual wave at the other man, “this is Mr. Nate Dalton.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Dalton. Mr. and Mrs. Tandy have told me great things about you, your family and what you’re doing.”

  Mr. Dalton took her by the arm and pulled her away from the counter. “I’m glad you came with such kind words, Miss Porter,” he said in a low voice. “But I must ask you to speak about such things only at the ranch. There are many who don’t know what we do and we’d like to keep it that way.”

  Her eyes darted around the storefront. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m very tired, you see. Of course you want to remain sub rosa.”

  “Well … I’m not quite sure what that means,” he whispered, “but I do need to keep things quiet to keep you and other women like you safe.”

  She nodded in embarrassment. A safe house would no longer be safe if everyone knew about it. She was so busy chastising herself that she didn’t hear Mr. Weaver come up behind her. He tapped her on the shoulder and she jumped. “Oh!” She spun around, her hand at her chest. “My goodness, you startled me.”

  “My apologies, ma’am. I guess I am kind of light on my feet. Had to be where I grew up.”

  She cocked her head to one side in curiosity. “And where was that?”

  He smiled, his one eye brightening, and for the first time she noticed it was the same hazel as her own. “A little place in Washington State called Nowhere, though I can’t really say I’m from there either. We lived a good day’s ride from town, in our own little valley. Heck, we got so much family livin’ there now, it could be its own town. Kind of like the Dalton ranch – it’s grown so big folks just call it Dalton.”

  “Dalton?”

  “Sure – Dalton, Texas. We got a tradin’ post of sorts – more like a mercantile, really –and our own mail stop.”

  “Is that so?” she asked, intrigued. Elizabeth and Bernard had told her the ranch was big and getting bigger, but she didn’t realize it had enough people to have its own post office.

  “Sure. Nate’s brother Walton worked it so all of us that work for ‘em wouldn’t have to go to Wiggieville – that’s the closest town, ya see – to take care of immediate business like mail and supplies. ‘Course, we still need to go to town for entertainment, but that’s another story …”

  “Justin,” Nate called from the counter. “Miss Porter doesn’t need to hear that.”

  Millie tried not to smile at the chastised look on the cowboy’s face. “Sorry if I offended ya, ma’am.”

  “Not at all,” she said with a shake of her head. A noise suddenly caught their attention and she realized it was her stomach growling. “Oh dear, I do believe I need to eat something.”

  “Nate?” Mr. Weaver said as he turned to the counter. “Miss Porter needs to get some food in her belly.”

  Nate looked between Mr. Green the shopkeeper and Millie. “I’m not done here. Could you take care of her for me?”

  “It’d be my pleasure,” he said, and smiled again, the same warm smile as before. Millie felt herself relax a notch. She’d had her guard up for so long, she didn’t realize how good it felt to have a moment when she didn’t. “There’s a café right down the street,” he said. “We can walk there if ya like.”

  “Thank you, that would be fine.”

  He offered her his arm and she took it without thinking. He glanced at their locked limbs, then back at her. “I don’t know how things are done where ya come from, ma’am,” he said, then lowered his voice. “But in our business we ne
ed to protect ya as best we can. Ain’t no one gonna grab hold of ya while yer on my arm like this. Hope ya don’t mind.”

  “If I’d minded, Mr. Weaver, I would’ve said as much,” she told him with a smile. “But I understand what you’re doing and why. Thank you.” Of course, that he was rather handsome didn’t hurt.

  He flexed his arm as he patted hers, then headed for the mercantile doors.

  Once outside they started down the boardwalk, but not until after Mr. Weaver glanced this way and that, scanning their immediate surroundings for any sign of danger. Deciding there was none, he steered them right, walked to the end to the boardwalk, crossed the street and went into a small café. “This place ain’t as good as the one ‘cross town near the train station, but it’ll do in a pinch. Especially when yer hungry.”

  She couldn’t help but smile. Aside from being handsome, there was an earthy purity about him that she enjoyed. She wondered if it was from the way he was raised, or living life as a cowboy. In truth it didn’t matter – she just liked the result. “I’ll trust your judgment. Frankly, I don’t think I could have walked all the way back to the station.”

  “Oh, but I wouldn’t dream of letting a little thing like you walk across town after the trip you’ve had.”

  A small chuckle escaped her. “That didn’t come out right – of course you wouldn’t. You don’t seem the type at all.”

  “Type? The only type allows a woman to walk all that way is the kind that doesn’t care.”

  She gazed into his eyes and noticed the warm look he was giving her. “And I can tell that you do.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said and sat back in his chair. “My parents’d give me a lickin’ I’d never forget if I didn’t treat a lady right. And if there was anythin’ left of me when they were done, my Granny’d finish the job.”

  Millie laughed. “Oh dear! Well, we can’t have that now, can we? One more reason to be thankful you brought me only this far.”

  He chuckled and turned to the waitress as she came to their table. “What’s the special today?”

  “Ham sandwiches and tomato soup,” the woman said with a pretty smile. “Tomatoes were picked fresh this morning.”

  “Sound good to you, Miss Porter?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Fine – anything will do, actually.”

  “Anythin’? You must be hungry! Two specials, please,” he told the waitress.

  She scribbled it down and left the table. Millie sighed and leaned back in her chair. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to finally be here.”

  “Don’t get too comfy, ma’am – we still got a long ride home, at least three hours. If ya like, I can make ya up a little bed in the back of the wagon and you can nap while Nate and I drive.”

  She blinked a few times. The idea had merit. “Let’s see how I feel after I’ve eaten, shall we?” In truth, it sounded wonderful, but was it proper to do such a thing? This was Texas, though, and she’d heard things were much different out here.

  Now that she’d arrived, she assumed, she was going to find out just how different.

  * * *

  Finished with their meal, Mr. Weaver ordered a sandwich to take to Mr. Dalton, paid their waitress and they left the café. The food wasn’t the best, as Mr. Weaver had warned, but it was acceptable, and the company was interesting. The one-eyed cowboy (at least she assumed he had only one; otherwise, why the patch?) kept her entertained with stories of ranch life and what it was like to work for the Dalton Brothers. She meant to ask after the Blue family, as she’d heard more about them, but she had been too entranced by Mr. Weaver’s tales and forgot to ask.

  Until now. She stood on the boardwalk next to Mr. Weaver while Mr. Dalton paid for their goods. “I remember the Blue family, though I didn’t know them personally.”

  Justin hoisted the last item onto the back of the wagon. “Good people, the Blues,” he said. “They sure did have their share of trouble for a while. I’m glad that’s over and done with.”

  “What happened?”

  He turned and peeked through the door of the mercantile. “I’d best let Nate or one of his brothers fill ya in on the details. But see this scar?” He pointed to a puckered mark above his eye patch. “That kind of trouble.”

  “Oh dear,” she said, eyes wide. “That must’ve been something.”

  “Trust me, ma’am, it was. But it ain’t my place to tell.”

  Before she could answer, Nate Dalton came out of the mercantile and handed them each a peppermint stick. “For the road.”

  “Much obliged, boss,” Mr. Weaver said and stuck the candy in his mouth. “Ma’am,” he said and indicated the wagon with a wave of his hand.

  “Oh yes – it’s time to go, isn’t it?”

  “I can still make up that bed for ya if ya like. I think ya’d be more comfortable in the back.”

  Mr. Dalton turned and looked at them. “That’s right, you must be plumb tuckered out. Won’t take Justin but a minute to do it.”

  “But … what will people think?” she asked.

  “Um … that you’re tired?” Mr. Weaver remarked, slightly confused.

  She couldn’t help but smile at that. At least people around here were practical. “Very well, do as you say.”

  “Spoken like a real lady,” Mr. Weaver said with a smile and got to work. Within moments he had a cozy little spot prepared in the back of the wagon and helped her settle into it. “You’ll be nice and snug back here. Go ahead and grab a nap if ya can. Ya got plenty of time.”

  “He’s right,” said Mr. Dalton. “I’m sure Justin has informed you that it’s at least three hours to the ranch.”

  “Yes, he has. It just feels strange to … allow myself to sleep in the back of a wagon while you two are driving.”

  “If you’re worried about propriety, Miss Porter, you need not,” Mr. Dalton informed her. “You aren’t the first woman we’ve taken to the ranch and you won’t be the last. Folks around here are kind of used to it. They think we have a lot of relations,” he finished with a smile. “Besides, for all they know, you’re here to marry Justin.”

  She looked at the handsome cowboy and felt a tiny flutter in the pit of her stomach. He smiled at her and it grew. “Oh dear,” she said under her breath. The last thing she needed was to be attracted to a man she wasn’t going to marry. She was destined to become Mrs. Walter Brown of Oakdale, California. She glanced at Mr. Weaver one last time and hoped Mr. Brown was half as handsome. Not to mention made her feel half as safe.

  But then, it was Mr. Weaver’s and Mr. Dalton’s business to see that any brides sent to them were delivered to their husbands unscathed. So far, so good on that score, she thought and hoped she wouldn’t have to think about it anymore. She’d spent enough time fretting on the train ride out – and it wasn’t slavers she was in fear of, so much as one Mr. Paf … Hubert.

  That was another point in her future husband’s favor: she couldn’t mispronounce ‘Brown’ if she tried.

  She settled into the makeshift bed and leaned against a flour sack. She was surprised at how comfortable she was, sitting on a couple of blankets with bags of sugar and coffee on either side of her. It reminded her of a fainting couch, and she wondered if Mr. Weaver had been trying to make one.

  She turned and looked over her shoulder as the two men climbed onto the wagon seat. This is where her real adventure began. She hoped and prayed that Hubert hadn’t gotten it into his head to come after her. And that her parents were all right – she hadn’t even been able to say goodbye, for secrecy’s sake. After all, she’d left in the middle of the night and taken a 6 a.m. train south and west.

  Mr. Tandy had escorted her to the station, made sure she got aboard all right and that no one had seen or followed them. His stern warnings to be ever watchful stayed with her the entire journey and made her nervous and jumpy. Today was the first day she felt she could breathe easier. Thank heaven for the good-natured Mr. Weaver and the strong presence of he and Mr. Dalton. If the rest of t
he Daltons and Blues were anything like them, she might actually sleep all night.

  Or all day. As soon as they left Weatherford and started the long trek to Dalton, her eyes became heavy and within minutes she was fast asleep. When she woke up it was to the shout of a woman riding up to the wagon at a gallop, a rifle in her hand. “What’s happening?” she asked, her voice cracking. “Where are we?”

  Mr. Weaver turned on the wagon seat. “Don’t you worry none, ma’am, ain’t nothin’ wrong. That there’s Mrs. Dalton – one of ‘em, anyway. She came out to greet ya. Ain’t that nice?”

  Millie blinked back sleep as a woman in a riding skirt, white blouse and leather vest brought her horse to a stop near the wagon. She set the rifle across her knees, pushed her Stetson back off her forehead and smiled. “Welcome! You must be Miss Porter. I’m Bonnie Dalton. I trust Nate and Justin have been good traveling companions?”

  Millie nodded as she gawked at her, still taking in that she rode like a man, yet had a delicate voice and petite form. “Er, yes. They’ve been perfect gentleman.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Bonnie turned to the men. “Do you have room for Miss Porter at your place, Nate? I'm afraid it’s a little crowded up at the main ranch house.”

  “Crowded?” Nate asked. “How so?”

  “Unexpected company. Your Uncle Jack.”

  “Jack’s here? In Texas? Is Dell with him?”

  Bonnie nodded. “Surprise!”

  Nate whooped and slapped the horses with the reins. They broke into a trot, and Bonnie laughed as she rode alongside them. Mr. Weaver turned on the wagon seat and smiled at Millie. “The Dalton brothers ain’t seen their Uncle Jack in a long time. He lives in San Francisco.”

  “Were you in on this?” Nate asked him.

  “Nossir, this is the first I’ve heard of it. Probably Walton’s doin’ – ya know how he is.”

  “Don’t we all?” Nate said with a laugh and gave the horses another slap of leather.