The Brides of the Old West: Five Romantic Adventures from the American Frontier

by Peggy Darty, Darlene Franklin, Sally Laity, Nancy Lavo

  Pausing by the hotel’s dining room, Ike inhaled the aromas coming from the kitchen. He resisted the temptation to stop for a few minutes; Blanche didn’t look like the kind of person who would take tardiness lightly. If he didn’t show up at the church on time, she might decide he wasn’t coming and disappear.

  If that happened, he’d never hear the end of it. Thinking of that, he hastened his steps for Christ the King Church. Even when quiet and empty, the sanctuary didn’t feel deserted. The air hummed with expectancy. God’s house—the house where God dwells. A shiver ran down Ike’s arms. He wasn’t a superstitious man, but he didn’t like to think of God looking over his shoulder at some of the mischief he got into. Goose bumps raced up his arms, and he shook himself. Put the same furnishings of plush pews and stained glass in a different setting, and he’d think theater. No need to get the whim-whams.

  Shoes scuffled on the polished floor, and Ike turned to watch the approach of Blanche with the pastor. She wore the same somber black suit as at the funeral; maybe she was one of those people who thought she needed to adhere to strict rules of mourning. If anything, she looked paler than she had the previous day.

  “Mr. Gallagher, I presume?” Reverend Davenport extended a hand.

  Ike nodded.

  “Let’s retire to my study.” The man, so thin he could almost have served as a model for Ichabod Crane, led the way to a room with two hardwood chairs in front of a walnut desk, surrounded by an ocean of musty-smelling books. Give Ike his purser’s quarters any day, with sextant and telescope and logs… freedom this room didn’t even afford a glimpse.

  Two hard-backed chairs sat in front of a fearsome desk; no one would stay here long. The setting neither inspired confidence nor invited intimacy—something he excelled at creating, even in the dullest of back parlors. He reminded himself that this errand wasn’t about him but about the captain’s wishes.

  He smiled to turn on the charm. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

  Blanche reached into her reticule and pulled out the ivory calling card he had left with her yesterday. “This says you’re from Lamar Industries. Did my… father… send you?”

  CHAPTER 2

  Blanche held her breath for his answer.

  “Captain Lamar gave me specific instructions in the event of your mother’s death. As soon as I read her obituary, I headed here.” A sad smile curved Mr. Gallagher’s lips. “I wish we could have met under different circumstances.”

  Captain Lamar? Blanche snuck a glance at Mr. Gallagher. He was no more military than she was; his suit hailed more from Broadway than West Point. “Captain? He’s a captain of… what?”

  Ike tilted his head to the side, a soft chuckle escaping him. “You don’t know anything about your father, do you?”

  Tears sprang to her eyes as she shook her head. This stranger knew more about her father than she did.

  “Your father regretted the circumstances that caused the distance between you. He’s the captain of a boat.”

  Boat? The ocean lay scores of miles away to the south and east. How he had come to meet Mama, Blanche didn’t know. Perhaps Mama had met him on a once-in-a-lifetime vacation. Maybe her father had been lost at sea, and circumstances forced Mama to return to her hometown. A dozen possibilities suggested themselves.

  She turned Ike Gallagher’s card over in her hand. Lamar Industries had offices in Brownsville as well as right here in Roma. The body of water connecting the two towns was no ocean, but the Rio Grande. The explanation that pushed into her mind was troubling. “A boat captain… on the Rio Grande? A steamboat?”

  Ike smiled and nodded like a prize pupil. “J.O. Lamar was captain of the steamboat Cordelia. It’s been traveling up and down the Rio Grande for two decades.”

  The Cordelia? He named his boat after her mother? The mother Blanche knew would never have married a riverboat captain, but only a man in love would name his boat after a woman. For a brief point in time, her parents had met, fallen in love, married, and had a child. The thought cheered her spirits.

  Blanche examined Ike’s words. “You said my father was captain? Has something happened? Is he dead?” Surely God wouldn’t be so cruel, to bring her father so close only to deny her the opportunity to meet him.

  “Now, Blanche. Don’t make assumptions.” Reverend Davenport planted his elbows on his desk and leaned forward. “Mr. Gallagher, you said you had a message for Miss Lamar from her father. May I ask what the nature of that message is?”

  Blanche’s stomach contracted. This was the heart of the matter.

  “The captain regretted the differences that separated him from his only child.”

  So he did think about me.

  “He respected his wife’s wishes in the matter, as long as she was alive. But with her passing, he wanted to make Miss Lamar an offer.” Ike turned a warm smile on Blanche again, a smile that could melt an iceberg. “You have a unique opportunity before you, Miss Lamar. The captain didn’t know how you might be settled, financially…”

  The question dangled in the air, unanswered. Her back stiffened. She and her mother had survived without her father’s support for almost twenty years; she didn’t need him now.

  Liar.

  “You will always have a home aboard the Cordelia. Especially since”—this time he covered his smile with a cough.—

  “the boat is your inheritance.”

  Her heart dropped. “So my father is dead.”

  “His fondest hope was that you would spend time aboard the Cordelia. He felt the best way for you to get to know him was to spend time aboard his boat.”

  “Are you saying that Miss Lamar is the owner of the boat?” Reverend Davenport frowned. Blanche wondered what her pastor would make of today’s story.

  “Not exactly. Not yet.” Ike stared at his hands before looking up, his eyes sparkling. “For Miss Lamar to claim her inheritance, she must travel by boat to the final stop, down in Brownsville.”

  I might have known—a gift with conditions attached. “My father didn’t leave a letter or any kind of written instructions?”

  “He left lengthy instructions in Brownsville. He hoped you would accept his invitation. His dearest wish was for you to get to know him by traveling on the boat he loved so well.” Ike withdrew an envelope from inside his vest. “Here is proof of my claims. Your parents’ wedding certificate. Legal papers regarding Lamar Industries. I am authorized to provide whatever proof you might require.”

  “Miss Lamar?” Reverend Davenport turned the request back to her, but she knew what his advice would be. Trust the Lord. Avoid the appearance of evil. And riverboats had an evil reputation.

  Blanche allowed herself to fantasize about breaking the rules this one time. Reverend Davenport meant well, but he couldn’t understand the longing in her heart for a family. He had a home for as long as he pastored Christ the King Church. His parents were respectable citizens here in town. He didn’t face the necessity of finding a job… and a home… within the next month. He couldn’t comprehend her hunger for a greater understanding of her parents.

  “I’ll have to think about it… pray about it. If Mr. Gallagher offered me assurance that my father is alive—”

  Mr. Gallagher started forward, and she paused, giving him a chance to speak. He settled back in his chair.

  “Since he hasn’t, I prefer to consider my options. You understand, I am sure.”

  His smile faltered for a moment before returning to its full beaming splendor. “I have rooms at the Bells and Whistles hotel for the remainder of the week. Will you do me the honor of your company for dinner tomorrow evening?”

  “Mr. Gallagher, you ask too much. Her mother was only laid in the ground yesterday.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible. I will be at church tomorrow evening.”

  “Thursday night, then?”

  The second rejection froze in her throat when she looked into blue eyes livened with flecks of green. What harm could one meal do? “T
hursday night.” She nodded. “That will help me make a decision before Friday.”

  Standing, Ike lifted Blanche’s hand to his lips, and flame licked at nerve endings all the way to her shoulder. When he let it go, she almost expected it to be sunburn red, but it remained its usual pale color. She covered her confusion by asking one additional statement. “Mr. Gallagher, you never did confirm whether my father is dead or alive.”

  “All of your questions will be answered when we reach Brownsville.” With a brief press of her hand, he headed for the open door. “We’ll talk more about it over dinner Thursday night.”

  The rest of the week stumbled by for Ike. After the meeting at the church, he had indulged in a sumptuous luncheon before spending the afternoon in bed. The nature of his work required him to be a creature of the night. That evening, he lost everything he had won the day before, plus a little more. Up in his room, he turned his pockets out. He still had a few coins, enough to start another game. He never dipped into his employer’s money to play and he wouldn’t start now. He might be a gambler, but he was an honest man. No one ever accused him of cheating without answering for the slander.

  On Wednesday, he arose from bed early enough to walk through the town. Even though Roma was the Cordelia‘s home port, Ike rarely spent much time exploring. Not much had changed. Prosperous as small towns went, a single bank closed its doors promptly at three in the afternoons. He caught sight of a general store, lending library, newspaper and printing office, two churches, one-room schoolhouse. A gentleman such as himself would have to special-order clothing from catalogs at the general store given the lack of a tailor or haberdasher. Even the cotton grown locally was shipped elsewhere for fabrication.

  A half-dozen horses were tethered to the hitching post outside of the saloon. Glancing over the doors, Ike discovered they belonged to rough-and-tumble cowboys, not the quality of men who favored the riverboat trade. The men he had met at the hotel represented the best action in town. The place looked as boring as Blanche Lamar’s life must have been to this point. His mouth twisted in a smile; she wouldn’t appreciate the comparison. Even so, as long as he didn’t take her to any saloons, something in her haunted expression suggested she would relish the opportunity for more excitement.

  Thursday dragged by as Ike waited for dinner with Miss Lamar. He had turned in earlier than usual on Wednesday night, his companions calling it quits after he’d won a tidy sum. A smile sprang to his face as soon as he awoke late in the morning.

  The maid had returned all his shirts, freshly pressed, while he was sleeping. He settled on the dove-gray suit, blue shirt, and red bow tie, almost patriotic. He speculated on Miss Lamar’s attire for a minute. As pretty as she would look in spring lilac or even a soft mauve chiffon, she would wear the same black-and-white suit.

  He called for the bellhop. “I am taking a lady to dinner tonight. Where can I find flowers? Or perhaps some special chocolates?” He winked.

  “I will arrange for red roses and a box of chocolates.” The man pocketed the coin Ike handed to him. “If I may.” The man bent forward and straightened Ike’s tie.

  “Make those yellow roses.” Red might send the wrong message. For a moment Ike felt like he had acquired a personal valet and grinned at the thought. “Thanks.”

  A quarter of an hour later, Ike stared at the items in his hand. He only meant to flatter Miss Lamar, to offer her some small luxuries he suspected she had seldom experienced. But would she misinterpret the gesture? He lifted the roses to his nose and sniffed. That was her problem, not his, he decided. He brought her gifts with the best of intentions.

  He strolled down the street in the direction of the parsonage located next to Christ the King Church. The door opened as he climbed the steps and Reverend Davenport joined him on the porch. The pastor acted as protective as a father, a thought that tickled Ike’s sense of humor given the circumstances.

  “Miss Lamar will be down in a few minutes. Shall we take a seat?”

  “Certainly.” Ike placed the flowers and chocolate on the table between them and waited for the lecture he was certain was coming.

  The pastor drew himself to his imposing height, emphasized by his thin frame. Fierce eyes regarded Ike from behind thin-rimmed glasses. “Miss Lamar has lived a sheltered life here in Roma.”

  “I am aware of that, sir, and here she comes. Shall we go inside?” He followed the pastor in rising and reached for the flowers and chocolates.

  They settled in the pastor’s study. “What assurances do you offer that you are who you say you are, and that Blanche will travel safely in your care?”

  Ike shared his bona fides with the man. “As for Miss Lamar’s safety, my own sister travels aboard the Cordelia with me. Captain Lamar took us in when we lost our parents, and we’ve lived there ever since.”

  That statement left Reverend Davenport discomposed. Ike pulled another trick from his pocket. “I am prepared to offer second berth for a companion, if you feel it is necessary, but I will warn you that space is limited.”

  At that statement, the pastor’s shoulders relaxed, and he settled back in his chair, tapping his fingers on his desk blotter. He leaned forward and ran his right index finger through an address book, glasses perched on the end of the nose and his lips pursed in a slight scowl.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Ike caught sight of Blanche. She had softened her mourning dress with a touch of gold, a locket around her throat, and her fiery hair blazed without the black boater hat. Ike relaxed.

  Blanche had to clear her throat twice to get Reverend Davenport’s attention. Ike stood as soon as her feet crossed the threshold to the study, his eyes lighting with pleasure at her appearance. His expression suggested he saw her as a woman, not as his employer’s daughter, or a distraught orphaned daughter.

  “Whom would you prefer as a traveling companion, Blanche? I’m sure Ruth would be happy to accompany you for a short trip, or perhaps you would prefer the company of a younger woman, perhaps Miss Trenton.”

  Miss Trenton was closer to Blanche’s age than her mother’s good friend by perhaps ten years, but she had spent so many years around her mother’s friends that she fit right in with the older matrons. “I said nothing about a traveling companion.”

  “I told Reverend Davenport that we’d be happy to provide accommodations for someone to accompany you, if you feel it is prudent. But my sister is also traveling with us, and she is hoping you will share her cabin.”

  Blanche took courage from Ike’s statement. “Then I don’t think we need to bother either Miss Fairfax or Miss Trenton. If I decide to take the trip, I’m sure Miss Gallagher will be an adequate chaperone.”

  Was that admiration she spotted in Ike’s eyes?

  “I’ll have Miss Lamar back before dark tonight, sir.” Ike offered Blanche his arm, and together they walked outside, like any man escorting a woman. Blanche would have to order a glass of sweet tea as soon as they arrived at the hotel to calm the heat rushing through her senses.

  Touching the tips of her fingers, he lifted them to his lips. “Wait here for a moment, please.”

  He reappeared at the doorway, yellow rose in hand. “If I may?” After breaking it just below the bloom, his fingers wrapped it around her ear. “Perfect.” He made it sound as if he meant she was perfect, not the flower, and her skin heated with embarrassment.

  Moments later, she returned, and he escorted her down the street to the hotel. Temperatures had dropped a few degrees with the hint of rain in the air—a pleasant evening for a stroll.

  The bellhop opened the door of the hotel for them, and Blanche’s skirt swished as she entered. How much more cheerful the hotel lobby was than the parsonage, with comfortable chairs upholstered in bright colors. In this glamour, as much glamour as Roma had to offer, she felt almost dowdy.

  Blanche followed Ike’s suggestions for the meal. The waiter poured a glass of sweet tea for her, iced water with lemon for Ike, and left them alone. Ike leaned forward. “May I
hope that your discussion with Reverend Davenport indicates you have reached a decision? I will confess that I am hoping you will join me on the Cordelia.”

  She lifted her eyes to meet his. “You said if I came today, you would tell me about my father.”

  “I can only repeat what I told you earlier: your father gave me instructions to invite you to travel downriver.” Ike spread his hands apart on the table. “Your father did not want you to learn about him and about the river at the same time. He wanted you to form your own opinions about life aboard the Cordelia, un-swayed by either parent’s feelings. A lawyer in Brownsville has been authorized to answer all your questions and to inform you of the inheritance your father has left you.”

  She ran her tongue over her teeth in thought and looked out the window, watching pedestrians strolling the streets. Was she prepared to spend the rest of her life in the community that had nurtured her, without experiencing anything else? She wanted to learn about her father, but she also wanted to experience the world—a small taste, that was all. More than anything she wanted to know her father. “I greatly wish you would tell me what I want to know now.” Ire rose with the words.

  The waiter reappeared, bearing their food on platters.

  Her ineffectual plea seemed to amuse Ike. “I am answering your questions the best way I can. As I have said before, your father felt you would come to know him best on the river. Have you ever been on the Rio Grande?”

  She slowly shook her head. “I’ve never been more than ten miles from Roma.” Her eyes peered out the window at the town’s dusty street, and she wondered what it would be like to catch the daily stagecoach on a journey to somewhere else. For years she had dreamed of taking a trip, if only to the next stop on the route. She was having her wishes handed to her on a platter. Why not?