The Mail-Order Bride Carries a Gun: A Sweet Historical Western Romance (Brides of Sweet Creek Ranch Book 1)

by Thomas,Wanda Ann

  His pulse bucked like a bronco and his mind raced with wild speculation. Would she inform him she wished to return home? Would she insist he send Boone and Seth and Billy away? That would be a deal breaker. He had promised Pa Malcolm and Ma Viola he’d continue their work of taking in second-chance boys.

  Whatever the difficulty turned out to be he would find a solution. Mail-order brides willing to live in the backcountry of Wyoming were rare as gemstones. Especially ones with eyes as blue and beautiful as Miss Ella Hunter’s.

  Business deal. Who was he kidding? Marriage held more appeal than practical ones.

  He wanted to have a wife to hold through the cold dark winters. He wanted to wake to a wife’s warm smiles. He wanted to watch his wife cuddle the child they’d made together.

  He offered her his elbow. “The justice of the peace is waiting on us at the Rawhide Saloon.”

  Her brow arched.

  Ty raised his collar against the dusty wind and hoped his mail-order bride’s practical nature extended to getting married in a saloon.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Ella jumped at the knock on the plain wooden door. The tinkle of out-of-tune piano music drifted up from the saloon. She smoothed the wrinkles of her blue woolen dress. “Come in,” she called, her voice too shaky for her liking.

  Ty Haven ducked through the door and removed his hat. Sandy-blond bangs slid over dark perfect eyebrows. “Miss Hunter…ma’am, may I call you Ella?”

  Good glory, a justice of the peace was waiting below to make them man and wife. Ty Haven would be her husband before the next song on the piano faded. How was she going to marry the man who killed Johnny? “Call me any name you like, Mr. Haven.”

  “Call me Ty, ma’am…um I mean Miss Ella.” A slash of red showed on strong cheekbones and he held out a box tied with a rose ribbon. “A wedding present.”

  She backed up and bumped into the narrow bed. Ty Haven’s towering presence stole her breath. “You didn’t need to do anything special.” Heart pounding in her ears, she ran her fingers over the smooth satin bow.

  “You can use the ribbon for your hair. It will look real nice against the black waves.”

  She felt a stab of self-consciousness over her appearance.

  He fiddled with the brim of his hat. “Have I embarrassed you?”

  What flight of fancy had gotten a hold of her? The thin western air must be robbing her of her usual good sense. She fanned her face. “Not at all. Does the room seem hot to you? I’m positively roasting.”

  His mouth curved. “Does feel a might on the warm side. Are you going to open your present?”

  Curious and nervous, she lifted the fitted cover. A blue-flowered teacup and saucer trimmed with a delicate edge of silver sat nestled in packing straw. “It’s beautiful.”

  “There aren’t any flowers about due to the killer drought. The flowers on the cup are the best I could do for a wedding bouquet.”

  She stared into Ty Haven’s golden-brown eyes for the telltale signs of the man she’d seen twenty years ago. She wanted to snatch up her journal and compare the photo pasted inside with the man standing before her. Could this man who took in homeless boys and who was thoughtful about giving his bride flowers on her wedding day be the same person who had murdered Johnny?

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  What was wrong? She was attracted to a no-good Yankee devil, and sweating like a thousand-pound hog, and her brain was in danger of turning to mush. She didn’t come to Wyoming Territory for pretty ribbons and teacups. She was here to take back Johnny’s saber.

  She clapped the cover on the box and shoved it at Ty Haven. “Are you prepared to uphold our agreement?”

  His eyes clouded. “A man doesn’t forget a small matter like agreeing to not consummate his marriage on his wedding night.”

  Ella hated acting discourteous or hateful to anyone, including Yankee devils. But she had larger concerns. “I need to hear the promise. I don’t want there to be any possibility of misunderstanding on this point.”

  “It’s a perfectly sensible request, you wanting time to get to know each other before we—”

  “Can I trust you?” She never would have agreed to the marriage without the stipulation. Under no circumstances would she have marital relations with Johnny’s killer.

  “I’m a man of my word.”

  “We will sleep in separate beds?”

  “If that’s what you like.”

  “But how do I know I can trust you?”

  His mouth hardened. “I promised you I would give you one month to decide if you want to make this a real marriage. I never go back on my word.”

  A month ought to give her enough time to find the saber. If he still had it. She refused to accept the possibility he didn’t.

  Maybe she should just ask Ty Haven to give her the saber. But what if he refused? Where would that leave her? Begging at his feet? An ignoble train ride back to Georgetown without the saber? Finding her own way to Sweet Creek Ranch through wild country and trying to sneak into a house full of gun-toting cowboys?

  Escaping with the saber would test her courage, but she would worry about the flight east when the time came. It was too late to turn back. Raging curiosity had taken hold, sealing her fate. She wanted to know why Ty Haven had killed her defenseless brother. And just as importantly, how had a cold-blooded murderer become a man who rescued homeless boys.

  Ella met his stern gaze. “I don’t go back on my word either, Mr. Haven. If you touch me without permission, I promise to kick you in your private parts. Do we have a deal?”

  He did a poor job hiding a smile. “Private parts?”

  Her cheeks heated. If ever there was a time to curse it was now, but she never had learned to swear or use foul language. “Do we have a deal, Mr. Haven?”

  His lips pursed, but amusement shone bright in his beautiful, amber eyes. “We do, ma’am. We certainly do.”

  ***

  Leaving the rented room behind, Ella accepted the elbow Ty Haven offered, not trusting her weak knees to carry her down the stairs to her wedding. The piano banged out a hurried, off-key version of the wedding march. A foursome of poker players laid down their cards, and sipping glasses of golden whiskey and puffing on fat cigars, gave their attention to the dismal wedding procession. A brightly festooned saloon girl with wrinkles engulfing smeared red lips and faded eyes leaned against the end of the bar chatting with the justice of peace.

  “The Rawhide Saloon is the closest thing Aurora has to a church,” Ty said.

  Ella didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The nicest compliment she could give the slapped-together town was that it would make a fair-sized bonfire if it were to burn to the ground. “Was there a town here before the railroad arrived?”

  “Not much of one. When other respectable women, such as yourself, make their home here, the church and school and finery will come too.”

  His letters had warned of the remoteness of Wyoming Territory and Sweet Creek Ranch, but she hadn’t realized it would be quite this uncivilized. “Do you ever get lonely?”

  “I mostly like the quiet.” He shrugged. “I should have had you take the train into Cheyenne. We could have had a proper wedding in a church, but that would have meant a two-hundred-mile horseback ride.”

  “Marrying in a saloon won’t cause me to break out in hives or fall down in a swoon,” she said, admiring his noble concern, despite her determination to dislike him.

  Ty winked. “That’s good to know.”

  They reached the bottom step and the saloon doors swung open and Boone Haven strode in with the homeless boys. Faces squeaky clean from a recent scrubbing, the boys looked none too pleased about it. Boone surveyed the room with dark, deadly eyes.

  The piano notes tinkled to a crawl and the gamblers, bartender, justice of the peace, and saloon girl exchanged nervous glances and murmured among themselves. One word stood out above the others. Gunslinger.
/>
  Ella barely resisted the urge to run back to the rented room and grab Granny’s Colt Walker. She moved closer to Ty. “You and your brother don’t look anything alike.”

  Ty’s jaw tightened. “We aren’t blood brothers, but we’re family in every way that counts. If you marry me, you get my brothers too.”

  “I respect your loyalty, Mr. Haven.”

  “Call me Ty.”

  Ty sounded much too intimate. “What happens now?”

  He signaled the justice of the peace. “We’ll need to make this quick. Daylight’s wasting.”

  Ella squirmed at the thought of spending the night alone in the wilderness with Ty. She had asked if they could wait until the next morning to start the journey to Sweet Creek Ranch, but had been told it was best to travel while the good weather held. Still, she hated giving up the illusion of safety the ramshackle town offered.

  “Everything ready?” Ty asked Boone.

  Boone hitched his thumb over his shoulder. “The horses are saddled and waiting outside.”

  Ty spoke in her ear. “All that’s left to do is sign our names in the marriage record.”

  The justice of the peace held out a steel pen. A plain pewter inkwell stood ready next to an open journal. All eyes were on her. A loud buzzing rang in her ears and her hand wavered.

  “Give us a moment,” Ty said, and his wide chest filled her vision, forming a barrier between her and the rest of the room. Clouded eyes met hers. “Are you sure you want to marry, Miss Hunter?” he asked gently. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

  His kindness made her want to cry. It had been too long since someone had shown genuine care towards her. She almost envied Ty Haven. He may or may not be a killer, but he had what she didn’t. A family he loved and cared for and one that returned his loyalty.

  She would have the same one day. She would. But for now she must keep her promise to do all in her power to take back Johnny’s saber. She cleared her constricted throat. “I’m ready to marry, Mr. Haven, if you are?”

  He exhaled and his eyes cleared. “Nothing would make me happier, Miss Ella.”

  His palpable relief and joy shamed her. Until this moment she hadn’t given any thought to Ty Haven’s feelings or the hopes he had placed in his mail-order bride.

  Ty led her to the mahogany bar and pressed the pen into her hand. The steel stylus red-hot against her fingers, she dipped the point in the squat inkwell. Her hand hovered over a white page filled with the looping script of the justice of the peace certifying the marriage. There was a blank line for the bride and groom’s name. She hurriedly scrawled her name before more doubts assailed.

  Cursing her shaking hands, she passed the pen to Ty. The room whirled around her and the next thing she knew she heard the justice of the peace say, “I certify that Ella Hunter and Ty Haven are husband and wife.”

  She had no time to recover from the monumental moment when strong arms circled her, warm breath feathered her cheek, and firm lips pressed against her mouth robbing her of breath. Then she was set back on her feet.

  “Mr. Haven,” she said on a gasp. “You kissed me.”

  A sinfully gorgeous smile lit his face. “Yes I did, Miss Ella.”

  She touched her tingling lips. Sweet biscuits and jam, she never dreamed a cowboy’s drawl could be so intoxicating.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The horses shifted restlessly as Ty led his new bride to the tame mare named Old Nellie. Half the population of Aurora had stepped outside to watch them leave town. The collection of bachelor miners and cowboys, no doubt, wondering when a woman as pretty as Ella would next grace the town’s rutted lanes.

  Boone led Seth and Billy to the horse they would share and helped them climb aboard.

  Ty raised his collar against the windswept dust scouring the clapboard buildings. “Take your satchel, Miss Ella, and I’ll give you a boost up onto Old Nellie.”

  Ella was a tenderfoot when it came to horseback riding, but it wasn’t her feet he was worried about. They’d both blushed when he’d knocked on the door of the rented room after the wedding and passed her the buckskin drawers to wear under her dress.

  She grasped the handle of the bag. “I’ll keep the satchel with me.”

  “Of course you will,” he muttered, reached for a leather stirrup that had seen better days. He held it steady. Ella put her boot into the loop and swung her other leg over the horse’s broad back. He tugged the bottom of her skirt over her ankle, but not before catching a glimpse of creamy exposed skin. His other hand went to her slim waist.

  She scowled down at him and pushed his hand away. Remembering her promise to kick him in the privates if he touched her without permission, he trapped her leg against the horse’s belly and gripped her waist tighter. “I can’t have you falling off Old Nellie.”

  “Oh…well, I have my balance now.”

  He didn’t budge. Partly because he relished the feel of her womanly warmth and partly to punish her for asking him to wait a month to consummate the marriage. “Loop your bag over the pommel and take up the reins. Once I’m sure you have control of Nellie, I’ll back away.”

  “Old Nellie is not the problem,” she said with asperity, and leaned forward for the reins.

  His hand followed, slipping down her lithe back. Mesmerized, he brushed his thumb along her spine.

  She shivered as she eased her lovely backside into the saddle. It wasn’t a tremble of fear or revulsion. Now wasn’t that interesting? And promising. Maybe she wouldn’t make him wait one month to—

  “Mr. Haven,” she said, a quaver of distress in her voice.

  He pulled his hand back like he’d caught a rattler by the tail and retreated to a safe distance. Wasn’t he the one always preaching at his brothers to practice a little restraint? He’d promised not to touch Ella without her permission. Told her she could trust him.

  Boone cursed.

  Ty winced. “Watch your mouth around Miss Ella and the boys.”

  “Blackwell just rode into town with his boot-licking posse,” Boone said, drawing his Colt .45 Peacemaker and leveling the revolver at Beau Blackwell, owner of the Double B Ranch. The man who had murdered Pa Malcolm and Ma Viola.

  Nerves sparking, Ty’s hand went to his revolver.

  Blackwell and his men dragged their sweat-soaked horses to a halt. The cloud of dust kicked up by his twenty-man posse choked the air. The cattle baron smoothed his large black mustache. “We don’t want no trouble.”

  Boone shifted, muscles bunching like a lion stalking prey. “You should have thought of that before you killed our folks.”

  “I didn’t murder your folks. You read Sheriff Jordan’s report. A rogue gang of outlaws gunned down Malcolm and Viola. Not me and my men.”

  Ty itched to pull his gun and send Beau Blackwell back to New York City in a casket. “Everyone knows Sheriff Jordan is on your payroll.”

  “Try something stupid, you arrogant snake,” Boone said under his breath.

  “Miss Ella and the boys are in the line of fire,” Ty whispered back.

  The only reason Beau Blackwell was alive to draw breath was Ty’s promise to Pa Malcolm and Ma Viola to preserve Sweet Creek Ranch. Boone and his other brothers were equally hamstrung. They couldn’t keep the ranch going if they went after Blackwell and got themselves killed or hanged. That would leave Blackwell free to swoop in and steal the ranch out from under them.

  Ty glanced over at Seth, Billy, and Ella. The boys’ eyes were as round as pumpkins. His wife of a few moments held her travel bag close; her pretty face was a study in calm concentration. “Don’t y’all worry about us.”

  Her steady response a relief, he nudged Boone. “Did you hear me?”

  The blue vein under Boone’s left eye pulsed. “I won’t be the first to pull the trigger. But if the lead starts flying Blackwell can kiss his snake heart good-bye.”

  Blackwell removed his bowler hat and dabbed a red-checked bandan
na to his puffy cheeks. “Running into you will save me the trip to Sweet Creek. The drought’s been hard on my herd. I’m going to have to ask you boys to cull your cattle and move them to higher ground.”

  Ty ground his teeth. “We warned you not to overstock the land. Move your cattle.”

  Blackwell folded the bandanna into a neat square and tucked it into the back pocket of his striped trousers. “You aren’t any better at listening to good sense than Malcolm and Viola.”

  Ty’s breathing slowed and his vision narrowed. “Don’t speak ill of Pa and Ma.”

  Boone nudged his elbow. “Blackwell wants us angry and off-kilter.”

  Ty glared at Blackwell. “Keep your cattle-rustling posse away from our cattle.”

  “Move your herd, Ty,” Blackwell said, then wheeled his horse about and led his posse to the Wagon Wheel Saloon.

  Ty looked over at Ella. He could only imagine what she must be thinking. But her corn-flower blue eyes gave nothing away.

  ***

  Five miles into the horseback journey, Ella’s tender backside and aching legs complained with each of Old Nellie’s jouncing steps. The glow of the setting sun pierced the dust haloing the jagged mountain range in the distance. The faint lows of a thousand-strong herd of longhorn cattle drifted to them. Graced with curved horns as wide across as a man, the forlorn longhorns milled aimlessly about the banks of the trickle of water passing for a stream.

  Boone Haven led the way atop a spirited black horse. The yellow mixed-breed dog Jack remained faithfully by his side.

  The homeless boys’ constant bickering prompted Boone to take up the smallest one. Freckle faced with red-rimmed eyes perpetually on the point of tears, Billy fell fast asleep, his cheek pressed to Boone’s black vest. Seth, seated alone and happier for it, looked like a youthful train robber thanks to the red bandanna draped over his nose and his repeatedly pulling a pretend gun from a nonexistent holster.

  Ty Haven’s black and white pinto stallion came even with Old Nellie. Ty held out a dented canteen. “Drink some more water. The high plains air leaves a body parched.”