The Promise Bride

by Gina Welborn

  The knowing grin on Hale’s face—the one saying, Glad we’ve come to the end of this discussion—did little to soothe Mac’s ruffled sense of unease. Yes, most of their arguments over letting people make their own choices ended this way, but it was different this time.

  This time it was about Finn.

  Mac’s closest friend . . . the one who’d become more like a brother. But how could it be true when investigating his death had turned up so many secrets?

  Mac lowered his voice so the trio in the parlor couldn’t hear. “Did you figure out how Finn afforded the seed and fencing?”

  Hale shook his head. “Everything on the list of creditors I gave Miss Stanek is from last fall. It includes every major feed store in town, so my best guess is Finn bought his new supplies from someone outside Helena.”

  “What about the new cows and bull? Who did he buy them from? Where did he get the money?” More pieces not fitting.

  “As to where he bought the livestock, my guess is from one of those big ranches that went bankrupt.” Hale sat and pulled out his pocket watch again, popping the cover open and shutting it in a steady rhythm. “You counted eleven new cows and a bull. There’s no way to know how much Finn paid because the price would have depended on how desperate the seller was, but I’m estimating ten dollars a head.”

  “What about the alfalfa seed and fencing costs?”

  “Likely another eighty to a hundred dollars, but it’s only a guess.”

  Where did a man without two pennies to rub together in February come into that much money in March? The easy answer was that Finn had donned his thieving disguise again, except no bank robberies had occurred within a hundred-mile radius of Helena in the past two months.

  Pieces and more pieces.

  Mac rolled his neck to ease the tension in his muscles. “Did you mention those things to Miss Stanek?”

  Hale snapped his pocket watch closed and stuffed it in his pocket again. “I couldn’t substantiate the debt, so no.”

  Mac eyed his friend. “Leaves you with the hollow feeling that somewhere down the road—likely the worst possible moment—it’s going to rise up and bite you, doesn’t it?”

  Hale grinned wryly. “I know.”

  The admission soothed one tiny spot in Mac’s soul. “So what do you suggest?”

  “Give an inch. Help her out. Show her what she’s up against before she files the proxy.” Hale ticked each point off on the fingers of his left hand.

  Not a bad plan. The moment Miss Emilia Stanek laid eyes on Finn’s tiny cabin and the sorry condition of his cattle, she’d beg to take advantage of the train tickets he had stuffed in his vest pocket and take her siblings back where they belonged. “I’d better get going.” He shook his friend’s hand and left the office before he changed his mind.

  The three Staneks occupied a sofa meant for two. Miss Stanek had an arm around her sleeping sister while Roch sat with his arms crossed and face turned toward the wall.

  “You ready?” The question came out gruffer than Mac intended. Lack of sleep was ravaging his voice as well as his ability to think.

  “Yes.” Miss Stanek roused her sister while ignoring her brother. “We’re ready.”

  Mac held the door open. As soon as the girls left the parlor, Roch huffed, retrieved the wicker basket and three pitiful bags, and marched outside. He clearly felt this whole ranching thing was a big mistake. That made him Mac’s ally in a way, same as the hard truth was.

  As soon as Mac stepped outside, Miss Stanek said, “I do need to send a telegram to our father, letting him know we arrived safely. Should I do it before or after going to City Hall?” Purple tinged the skin under her eyes. Same for Luci.

  What they needed was food and rest—Hale’s suggested inch of help.

  “After, but . . .” Mac flicked his gaze to Luci, who was practically asleep leaning against her sister’s shoulder.

  The hostility in Miss Stanek’s pretty face eased. “What did you have in mind?”

  “A deal. A friend lives nearby, to the west of the gulch. She’ll be happy to feed you lunch while I hitch up her husband’s surrey to take you to the ranch. After that, if you still want to file your proxy marriage certificate, I’ll take you to City Hall myself. It doesn’t close until five, but it’s on the far side of the gulch and the hills are steep. We can borrow their surrey and stop at the telegraph office before returning to the ranch.” Mac waited for a nod or some indication she thought it a good plan.

  She continued to stare up at him, distrust lingering in the hard set of her lips and wary pinching around her eyes. “I accept your deal, but I’d prefer not to be beholden to strangers. Is there a restaurant—”

  “We accept, sir,” Roch interrupted, the jut of his chin announcing he’d had enough.

  Miss Stanek twisted her head so Mac couldn’t see her reaction to Roch putting his foot down. Her silence was enough of an agreement for now.

  Mac nodded at the boy. “This way.”

  Roch fell into step with Mac, his sisters following.

  The Palmer family lived four blocks away. Since Yancey already knew about the proxy marriage, taking the Staneks to her family home only widened the circle of who knew about the trio’s arrival to her mother and father who—like their daughter—could be trusted to keep a secret. Mrs. Palmer always had plenty of food for friends, neighbors, and strangers available in her kitchen. Plus, one look at the exhausted girls and the Palmers’ new surrey would be Mac’s for the asking.

  As they walked up the incline, Mac rested his gaze on every person they passed, categorizing each. Mr. Lombard sitting on the front porch of the hardware store: harmless and lazy. Mrs. Hollenbeck emerging from the bank: pillar of society and good friends with Mrs. Palmer. Judge Forsythe on the opposite side of Sixth Avenue: didn’t know he was back in town; check to see if he brought back any WANTED posters from around the territory. Braden Terry lowering his head to look left and right under the brim of his black hat: shifty and suspicious; did he have an alibi for the night Finn was killed? Roy Bennett carrying a couple of brown boxes wrapped with twine: good man; ask him for a balloon ascent to see if any clues to Finn’s murder could be viewed from the air.

  Roch grunted when Luci stepped between him and Mac.

  A small hand fitted itself into Mac’s. Luci leaned her head on his bicep. “Is it much farther?”

  Two Staneks were already trusting him. Only one to go.

  “No, Luci. We’re almost there.”

  Chapter Five

  Two hours later

  The surrey bumped as the wheels found what had to be the fortieth hole in the dirt-hardened road. Emilia clamped her jaw tight to fight the yawn struggling to escape. The meal Mrs. Palmer had provided went beyond what Emilia would ever define as lunch. A hunk of bread and a wedge of cheese would have sufficed. Except in Mrs. W.H. Palmer’s estimation, lunch consisted of pickled beets, shepherd’s pie, raisin scones, and cider.

  What they didn’t eat was packed in the tin bucket Emilia held in her lap.

  As the surrey jostled and swayed, Emilia glanced back. Luci rested against Roch’s shoulder, while his head lay against the back of the seat. How could they fall asleep so quickly? They’d only left the Palmers’ house twenty minutes earlier.

  She faced forward, bumping her arm against the sheriff’s.

  He gave her a slant-eyed look, which she interpreted to mean sit still. His gaze then shifted back to the road leading them northwest of Helena. The town’s main street had been wider, more hilly, and more crooked than any in Chicago. Great mountain peaks stood like sentries around the town—about halfway around, from what she could tell. While mountains actually encircled Helena, in the north and east they were miles away across a valley. A valley that included Finn’s land.

  The surrey hit another hole.

  The sheriff grunted at the same moment she did, and she couldn’t help but look at him. He had finally stopped glaring in her direction, a pleasant change from the expression
he’d worn since meeting her at the depot. He looked exhausted. Other than a few words to Mrs. Palmer, he had said little more than “Surrey’s ready,” “About a mile,” “Shall we?” and “Humph.”

  He scratched his bristly jaw. It wasn’t the first time he’d done it. She’d wager he was the type of man who shaved every morning. Finn’s death must have—

  She took an unexpected breath, her chest feeling as if it had been punched.

  “You all right?” came the words, in such a gentle voice she almost believed a fifth person was in the surrey, that it hadn’t been the sheriff speaking.

  Emilia blinked away the hot tears. She didn’t need his compassion right now. She barely had the flap of her haversack lifted when a white handkerchief appeared in her line of sight. “Thank you,” she muttered, taking it from him. “I am usually not . . .” She sniffed and dabbed her eyes.

  “I understand,” he said quietly.

  Emilia nodded. He couldn’t understand. Not really. He had only lost a friend. She had lost a friend and a husband. She’d lost someone to help carry the load, to shoulder her burdens, to tell her she didn’t have to be the strong one all the time. Finn was the man who was to sweep her into his arms. Finn loved her. She loved him. And now she had no one.

  The sheriff ’s loss wasn’t the same.

  He pointed to the right. “That road leads to the fairgrounds.”

  “Finn wrote about last year’s Harvest Festival,” she said, happy to make conversation. “He said a teacher was fired because of the hot-air balloon race. Whatever happened?”

  “She’ll tell you all about it.”

  “She lives in town?”

  “She served you tea.”

  “Mrs. Palmer’s daughter, Luanne? She’s so kind and friendly. I can’t imagine why the school would want to fire her.”

  “Luanne fell in love with the wrong man.” A muscle at his jaw twitched. “According to some folks.”

  Emilia studied him for a moment. He seemed serious. “I don’t understand. How could falling in love with the wrong man cost her her job?”

  He gave her a you’ll-have-to-ask-her look.

  He turned the surrey onto a narrowed road, following the ruts framed with brush taller than Emilia was. Once they crested the hill, the brush cleared.

  Emilia drew in a breath.

  The Circle C Ranch.

  To the right was the field Finn had plowed. To the left was a green pasture with two dozen cows, two goats roaming free, and a prime view of Mount Helena. Straight ahead was—

  She blinked a few times until the cabin with a covered front porch came into focus. Her heart sank. Good heavens, it was smaller than a tenement building. Much smaller. The afternoon sun glinted off the roof. Tin?

  “Surprised?” His tone held no laughter, yet she heard the smug satisfaction of a man knowing his point had been proven.

  In actuality, Finn’s description had been fair and true. He’d said he lived in a two-story log cabin nestled in the foothills and surrounded by fertile pastures. He’d said he could admire the sunrise and the sunset with the simple turn of his rocker.

  What she had imagined his log cabin to be wasn’t . . . this. The building couldn’t be more than ten by twelve feet in size and had one glass window to the side of the front door and one in the center of the pitched roof. Two stories? If anything, it was a one-and-a-half-story cabin. Even with her petite height, she doubted she could stand without hitting the ceiling of the second floor. But in three months, Da would be here to help. Until then, no matter what came her way, she would manage.

  Emilia moistened her lips. “It’s . . . um, it’s the way he described it. Finn never lied to me.”

  The sheriff snorted. “He did to me.”

  She ignored him as she looked around. There, by the cabin, near the well, was a pen for the goats. Off to the left was a coop with five chickens pecking at the ground. Stacks of wood posts and rolls of barbed wire rested against the arch-roofed barn, double the size of the cabin. Inside had to be Finn’s horse and wagon.

  She certainly could make this work.

  Emilia jerked around on the bench, bumping the sheriff again. She patted Roch’s leg and then Luci’s. “Wake up, wake up. We’re home. And it’s beautiful!”

  A strange sound came from the sheriff.

  Emilia whipped her head around to face him, expecting to see a return of his sour mien. His stricken—stricken!—gaze was on the house. His jaw clenched, lips pursed tight.

  He drew the surrey to a halt. He didn’t say anything. Maybe he couldn’t. It had to be hard on him, seeing his friend’s home.

  Emilia swallowed nervously. “Thank you for escorting us here. I know you have duties to attend to, so don’t feel you need to stay for our sakes.” He grimaced, yet said nothing, so she continued with, “When I am ready to return to Helena, Finn’s wagon . . . his horse . . . um, I—we can manage from here.”

  Sheriff McCall gave her a skeptical look. “You ever driven a horse and cart before?”

  No, and she knew full well that book learning was a far cry from practical experience, but she wasn’t about to admit it to the sheriff. “We’ll manage,” she repeated, then nodded at Roch and Luci. “Tell him thank you.”

  Luci leaned forward, wrapping her arms around the sheriff ’s neck, knocking his cowboy hat forward. He caught it before it hit his lap.

  Sheriff McCall settled his hat snugly back on his head. He scratched his jaw again.

  Roch didn’t speak. Didn’t move.

  Emilia released a weary sigh. He’d been taught manners. He’d do the right thing. Eventually. Without waiting for the sheriff to help her out of the surrey, she grabbed the tin bucket off her lap, jumped out, and headed to the cabin. She had a journal with notes she’d made on ranching. She had every letter Finn had written to her. Among those and with a healthy amount of common sense and persistence—and more than a few visits to the Helena library—she could make Finn’s ranch a success.

  She stepped onto the small covered porch. Gripping the iron door handle, she tugged. Nothing. “It’s locked.”

  “Try pushing,” Luci suggested.

  Oh. Cheeks warm, Emilia pushed. The door creaked open. She stepped inside, turning as she eyed the stream of sunlight through the front window and the back. Clothing, cans, and she didn’t know what all else littered the floor. Her gaze fell to the odd discoloration on the pine planks. Brown. With smatters ebbing from one blot. A strange feeling crept up her spine. Her vision blurred. Grip lessened on the tin bucket. Ground shifted and—

  “I’ve got her . . .”

  * * *

  Mac lifted Miss Stanek into his arms. She weighed close to nothing—even with her ever-present haversack looped across her body. He peeked inside the cabin to see what caused her to faint. Finn’s blood. He’d forgotten all about it. When he and the Gunderson twins buried Finn yesterday morning, they’d cleaned up the worst of it to keep wild animals away. That’d been good enough to cross it off Mac’s list of things to do because he logically assumed the Staneks would head back to Chicago.

  However, Miss Emilia Stanek and logic appeared to be strangers.

  Careful not to hurt the woman in his arms, he stepped back and turned around, keeping his body between the cabin door and Miss Stanek’s siblings to block their vision.

  Luci gripped Mac’s forearm with both hands and stared into her sister’s white face. “Is Emme all right?”

  “She’s fine, Luci, but maybe you could help me get her hat off.” A rocking chair made of scraped pine logs sat on the porch near the front door. Mac used his foot to scoot it closer and leaned down to deposit Miss Stanek into it.

  While Luci untied her sister’s hat and pulled it loose to use as a fan, Roch slipped inside the cabin. “Is that blood?”

  Blast! Turning so he could grip the boy’s arm, Mac whispered, “Yes, but I’d prefer we at least protect Luci from seeing it.” He pulled Roch out of the cabin and shut the door.

  Th
e young man glowered, as if the next words out of his mouth would be, Who are you to tell me what to do?

  Were all the Staneks stubborn to a fault? Mac raised his eyebrows and dipped his chin lower.

  Roch huffed, dropped the wicker basket and bags onto the porch like they were lucky he’d put up with them this long, and leaned against the doorjamb.

  Up to now, the boy’s attitude had been tolerable because it was another reason for Miss Stanek to decide the odds stacked against her were too high. But if he so much as twitched the wrong way and caused his sister more heartache, the temptation to wallop the boy might prove overpowering.

  Mac shifted his gaze to find Miss Stanek staring at him with big eyes. “Thank you.”

  For catching her when she fainted or for dealing with Roch? Either worked, even if his plan for earning her trust hadn’t included holding her in his arms. “You’re welcome.”

  Luci rushed over and wrapped her arms around Mac’s waist. “I’m so glad you’re our friend.”

  Mac tensed, unsure how to respond to both her declaration and her hug. Trust was one thing; friendship he couldn’t afford. Not when he was so close to getting them back on the train and home to safety.

  Luci pulled back and looked up at him with the same big but slightly darker brown eyes as her sister like she was waiting for him to say something . . . or do something. But what?

  “I’m sorry.” She returned to her sister’s side.

  The frown on Miss Stanek’s face said he’d offended the younger girl. How? Why?

  Miss Stanek tucked her sister under her arm and kissed her forehead. “It’s all right, sweetie.”

  Mac opened his mouth to apologize on general principle but was interrupted when Roch snorted. Whatever the sound signified, it made Luci tear up and Miss Stanek frown. Mac twisted his torso to glare at the boy. “Your sister has seen enough. Get those bags back in the surrey, and I’ll take you back to town so you can catch the—”