Ty was getting annoyed. “Settle down.”
The murder in Boone’s eyes flamed out. “He deserved what he got.”
“Release him, boys,” Ty said, satisfied Boone wasn’t going to tear Wyatt from limb to limb.
Levi and Ace rolled to their feet, and wisely gave Boone a wide berth.
Boone stood and straightened his vest, then pointed at Wyatt and curled his finger like he was pulling an imaginary trigger. “It’s a good thing for you I didn’t have my trusty Colt .45.”
“Tear the telegram up if you hate the idea of marrying that much,” Wyatt said sounding like he was nursing the world’s worst cold. He touched his fingers gingerly to his nose. “Gosh darn it, Boone. You didn’t have to go and break my face.”
Ty wanted to shake some sense into Wy’s foolish head, but sat back on his heels. “When are you going to learn to mind your own business?”
“I’ll take dibs on Miss Margaret Lily if Boone don’t want her,” Ace chimed.
Levi poked Ace in the ribs, then edged closer to Boone. “Might not be wise to pass up a bride. Dozens of cowboys would line up to take your place.”
Boone comforted Jack and nodded at the crumpled telegraph stuck to the jelly-stained plate resting next to Wyatt’s head. “Give me that thing.”
Ty plucked up the note and passed it on. Nothing would make him happier than to see Boone marry and start a family. “Setting down roots wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to you.”
Wyatt hitched himself onto his elbows. “Listen to Ty. He always knows best.”
Boone stuck out his hand and helped Wyatt to his feet. “You listen to Ty next time he tells you to mind your own business.”
“I didn’t mean no harm,” Wyatt said, hanging his head.
The five of them stood in a circle, an awkward silence stretching out.
Jack nudged Boone’s knee. He scratched the dog’s ears. “Marrying isn’t the problem.”
Ty’s eyes went to the bedroom door again. Ella and Boone were on the run from inner demons, but convincing them of it was another matter. “We could add another bedroom onto the house.”
The blue vein under Boone’s eye twitched. “I’ll be leaving after breakfast.”
“Why so soon?” Ty asked.
Boone avoided Ty’s eyes. “It’s for the best.”
Ty’s gut tightened. “Boone—”
“Leave things be,” Boone said, heading for the door, with Jack on his heels.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Ella stepped out the front door and shielded her eyes against the sun shining high overhead, embarrassed she’d slept half the day away. Plumb worn out, she’d fallen into the deep oblivious sleep of the dead. Sturdy boots crunching against the snow, she pulled her woolen cape tighter against the steady cold breeze, and hurried toward the gray clapboard barn.
She spotted Ty at work inside the shed attached to the left side of the barn. Carving a post with chisel and hammer, the white cloud of his breath purled beneath the brim of his tan cowboy hat. Trim denim jacket and pants paid homage to his strength and virility. Cheekbones as sharp and beautiful as the towering mountain range, his mouth curved with a welcoming smile at her approach.
She swallowed. The journal with the photograph of Ty, or someone who looked suspiciously like Ty, holding Johnny’s saber weighed heavy in her apron pocket. She halted in the doorway and searched for a polite way to inform him of her decision. Don’t go all mushy-kneed when he puts up a fuss over the plan to return to the train depot with Boone’s help. If she knew one thing for certain it was that she was in for a fight. Protective didn’t even begin to describe Ty. Under other circumstances, she’d welcome the watch care of a man as capable and caring as Ty Haven.
“I hate to interrupt your work.”
He laid down the hammer and chisel and ran his gloved hand over the arm-length post, cleaning away curled bits of shaved wood. “The bed frames for Seth and Billy can wait.”
Her heart sank at the thought of leaving the boys behind. Best spit out her decision—the telling wouldn’t get any easier for the waiting. “I can’t stay here,” she said in a rush. “I’ve decided to leave with Boone when he goes.”
Ty exhaled a heavy breath. “Boone’s gone already.”
She blinked. “You’re jesting.”
“I wish I was. He left a few hours ago.”
“Sugar,” she grumbled. Her plan to flee the ranch was wrecked before it began.
A black and yellow calico cat jumped up onto the half-finished bedpost, and turned in circles, rubbing up against Ty’s chest. He stroked the cat. “There you are, Fox Bait. How you doing?”
Ella stepped closer to Ty and ran the back of her fingers over the cat’s soft head. Fox Bait rubbed up against Ella, then circled back to Ty, not fussy where attention came from.
“Fox Bait? What kind of name is that?” Ella asked unable to fight her curiosity.
Ty smiled as the cat’s calico tail swished past his nose. “This little lady showed up on a cattle drive. We were in the middle of nowhere when she sauntered into the circle of light surrounding our campfire. Me and Pa and Wyatt couldn’t imagine where she came from. Skinny and dirty, she had to have been out there for a good long while. Figured she got separated from a wagon train or such. We were working in tandem with another cattle outfit. One of the men said all she was good for was fox bait. I fed her and tucked her into my jacket while we finished the fall drive…and the name stuck.”
She was annoyed with herself for finding Johnny’s murderer so likable. “Do you always charge to the rescue? Or do you just have a soft spot for orphans and strays?”
He stared past her, in the direction of the vast wilderness. “There’s nothing so lonely and frightening as finding yourself on your own with no one to turn to.”
There was deep pain and vulnerability in his words. She knew how he felt. A vivid image rose of him as a youth sleeping in some alley with newspapers for a blanket—a sad sight she’d witnessed a time or two in Georgetown, while cutting through a back alley as she was out on an errand. “How long were you on your own?”
He smoothed his hand over Fox Bait from head to tail. “I ran away from the orphanage in Indianapolis when I was twelve. I’d rather have died than gone back.”
She pressed closer. “Something happened this morning to upset you. Does it have anything to do with Boone?”
The cat purred her pleasure at the warm cave formed between Ella’s body and Ty’s. “Boone had to go. He’s in some sort of trouble, but he won’t take my help.”
“Was Boone homeless too?”
“He had it worse than me before Pa rescued him. He never talked about it. Didn’t need to. Pa and Ma and me knew bad stuff had happened.”
She cupped his rock-hard jaw. “I’m sorry.”
His amber-brown eyes darkened. “I’ll take you back to Aurora tomorrow.”
Ty was needed here. “I won’t have you risk getting caught out in a blizzard on my account. Besides, with that Blackwell fellow causing you trouble you could use the extra help.”
He studied her intently. “Are you sure?”
She swallowed. Staying might be the biggest mistake of her life, but she wouldn’t run from her fears or give up easily. She was a fighter. No Yankee was going to intimidate her. “I’m sure.”
Fox Bait rose on her hind legs, velvet-soft paws batting the hand cupping Ty’s face.
“My cat’s jealous of you,” he said.
Awareness of his raw masculine presence flooded in. She yanked her hand back and retreated. “I’ll stay, but that doesn’t mean—”
“You won’t be under any obligation to make this a real marriage.” His voice was deceitfully gentle. “But my promise to do everything in my power to be welcomed into your bed stands.”
Desire curled through her. “A gentleman—”
“A gentleman wouldn’t point out that it was you who touched me just now and no
t the other way around,” he said, scratching Fox Bait’s calico head. “Nor the fact that you put yourself in this situation by journeying to the West to marry a cowboy.”
Her face heated. The cat’s loud purr echoed through the barn. Sweet biscuits and jam, she envied the cat. And darn the man, for making two valid points. Ella clasped her hands into a tight ball. “How long did you say winters last?”
He shot her a challenging look. “Snow should be gone by June for sure.”
Her attraction to him was as unsettling as it was unexpected. One month would have been trial enough, but up to six…
“That gives us plenty of time to become more acquainted,” she said, hoping she sounded dignified instead of poleaxed, and then turned on her heel and marched out of the barn.
She could feel Ty’s eyes on her back. Her journal bumped against her apron. Darn, the Yankee devil for distracting her to bits.
What was she going to do about Johnny’s saber? Should she confess the truth or keep her secret a little longer? One thing was certain, the longer she waited to reveal why she was here the more difficult the task would become.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Annoyed with herself for over-sleeping again and leaving the making of breakfast to Ty and Wyatt, Ella jumped out of bed and dressed swiftly. She tugged her hair over her shoulder, and, loosening the braid and finger-combing the waist-length locks, she examined the pine walls and floors, searching for signs of a hidden cubbyhole large enough to accommodate a saber. But the light of day didn’t reveal anything new.
Resigned to remaining at Sweet Creek Ranch after learning Boone was gone, her mind had gone around and around over her next move. She decided it was best to wait until she had the saber in hand before making accusations. She’d searched Ty’s room thoroughly for Johnny’s saber before going to sleep.
She rebraided her hair, then straightened the blankets and pillows. If Ty had the saber it was buried out of the way. Today she would set to poking around the rest of the house. Her journal and Colt Walker were stowed under the bed, hidden beneath a thick shawl in her satchel.
Summoning up her courage, she walked to the door, took a deep breath, and stepped into the large bustling main room, which smelled of bacon and eggs and fresh-brewed coffee.
“Well, good morning, Miss Ella,” Wyatt called, placing a plate of eggs on the long pine dining table, looking friendly and frisky as a puppy despite the early hour.
Ty, Levi, Ace, and the four second-chance boys paused mid-bite to stare in her direction.
Her step hitched. Tempted to return to the bedroom and hide under the covers, she smiled brightly. “Y’all must think I’m a lazy head.”
“Clean mountain air makes for good sleeping,” Ty said, standing up and tipping his hat in greeting.
She hurried to the table.
“You’re supposed to stand when a lady enters a room,” Ty said out of the corner of his mouth.
The benches scraped back and the Haven men rose to their feet and doffed their cowboy hats. Muffins the size of her head filled two platters. Milk filled three pitchers.
The Widow Bonnell’s quiet drawing rooms and sedate company felt worlds away. The Haven men looked as self-conscious as she felt. The Widow would have plenty to say about them wearing hats at the dining table, but Ella didn’t want to cause more discomfort. She sat in the spot next to Ty and smiled. “Please sit and eat.”
The benches creaked beneath the men’s weight and knives and forks clicked against wooden plates. Wyatt grinned at her from the other side of the table and pushed the platter of muffins closer to her. “Ace made these specially for you.”
Blessed with an abundance of roguish charm, Ace winked and flashed his best poker smile. “If those aren’t the best raspberry muffins you’ve ever tasted, I’ll eat my hat.”
Her mouth watered as she broke open the steaming hot muffin flecked with red. “Thank you kindly, Ace. I’ll return the favor for tomorrow’s breakfast. Although I must warn you, my corn bread is so good it won three prizes at the church fair and made Mr. Kelly weep. I don’t see anyone crying for joy over your muffins.”
Ace chuckled. “Miss Ella, you are going to fit in just fine at Sweet Creek Ranch.”
Ty pushed the plate of eggs toward her. “Tomorrow is Ox’s turn to cook.”
Garrett elbowed Ox in the ribs. “Ox’s cooking will make you cry, but not for joy.”
Ox shrugged lumberjack shoulders and his round cheeks blushed rose-red. “Don’t get the sugar mixed up with the salt or these clodhoppers will never let you forget.”
More good-natured laughter went around the table.
Ella spooned up some eggs. Suddenly the prospect of the five-month stay at the ranch seemed less daunting. “I’ve had a touch of trouble, or two, in the kitchen myself.”
Billy tugged her sleeve, red-rimmed eyes a contrast to his freckle-faced smile. “I’m going to cook supper tonight. Wyatt is going to teach me.”
“That’s nice, sweetie.”
“I have to learn too,” Seth complained with a cross grimace.
“You might like it,” Ella said, wishing Seth would let go of his defensiveness long enough to give Sweet Creek Ranch a chance. “It’s good of Wyatt to teach you.”
Wyatt sloshed more milk into his tin mug. “Everyone has to take a turn at cooking. Miss Ella, would you mind fixing breakfast on Saturdays and supper on Wednesdays?”
She blinked her astonishment. “You take turns? All of you?”
Grins beamed from all quarters. Ty nodded. “Ma Viola insisted. Said men ought to know how to feed themselves. Wy’s in charge of the kitchen and teaching the new boys.”
Judging from the affection and respect Ty and his brother’s paid Malcolm and Viola Haven they must have been extra fine folks. “I wish I’d met your Ma and Pa.”
“Ma was pestering Ty to find a bride,” Wyatt said. “She’d be real pleased to have you here. We hope you decide to stay, Miss Ella.”
Ty narrowed his eyes at Wyatt. “I told you not to bother Miss Ella.”
“Our money’s on Ty,” Ace said, wagging his brows. “He can be very persistent.”
Ty heaved a muffin, hitting Ace in the chest. “Shut your mouth, before I shut it for you.”
Ace juggled the muffin to his plate, then wiped at the raspberry stain on his shirt. “Just trying to help move matters along.”
Her face heated. She didn’t know what was more embarrassing, the fact everyone knew the state of affairs between her and Ty or the fact they were all rooting for the consummation of the marriage.
Ty grimaced. “Wyatt and Ace have less sense than a turnip.” Then, bless his heart, he guided the conversation back to his Pa and Ma. And breakfast proceeded in a happy, noisy fashion with harmless ribbing and stories of the Haven brothers’ childhood misdeeds, giving Ella time to regain her composure.
Wyatt joked and clowned as she helped with washing the dishes. Levi and Ace headed off to the barn to show Seth and Billy how to milk the cow. Ty was seated at the clerk’s desk next to the floor-to-ceiling fireplace tutoring Garrett and Ox in math.
The kitchen tidy, she walked to the middle of the airy main room, and hugged her arms, wondering how to avoid notice as she searched for Johnny’s saber.
“Learning cursive writing is for schoolteachers, not cowboys,” Ox said, frustrated.
Ty’s quiet reply escaped her, but his tone was patient and kind. He was good with the boys and showed great competence in running the ranch.
She hoped and prayed Ty had an innocent explanation for the photograph showing him holding Johnny’s saber. “Let him be innocent,” she whispered, then clapped her hand to her mouth.
“What’s wrong?” she heard Ty say.
Sugar, sugar, sugar. She was certifiably insane. It was the only explanation. Insanity was far preferable to admitting she was choosing her feelings for a Yankee cowboy over loyalty to Johnny. What would Granny Bessie and the other
women of the Nancy Harts think? She massaged her temple. “I’m fine. Just a slight headache. I’m sure I’ll be as fit as a fiddle in no time.”
Absolutely peachy, except for the fact she was going to be in close company with Ty Haven for months to come.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A blustery wind pushed at Boone Haven’s Stetson and ruffled Jack’s yellow fur. Though it was high noon, Laramie’s main thoroughfare and wooden storefronts were quiet as a ghost town. He crossed a twin set of railroad tracks and climbed the train platform stairs and halted outside the door to the North Park and Pacific Railroad and Telegraph Company.
Boone snatched the wanted poster. His likeness emblazoned in black and white and headlined in stark bold letters made his stomach coil tighter than a knot of rattlesnakes.
COWBOY ASSASSIN WANTED. DEAD OR ALIVE. $1,000 REWARD.
This was the third poster he’d encountered in as many towns since leaving Sweet Creek behind a little over four weeks ago. He brushed the icy sweat from his brow. “What’s the world coming to? Kill one sheriff who liked to beat the tar out of his son and they put your picture up from here to Virginia.”
Jack whined, and he scratched the dog’s ears. “We got ourselves into a real mess this time, boy. I don’t suppose anyone cares they got the wrong pig by the tail. And, of course, Wyatt would have to put my picture in the Marriage Gazette.”
Ty thought Boone was just restless, but he had no choice but to hightail it away from the ranch, what with bounty hunters sure to be on his trail. He’d made a point of being seen and telling folks he was heading to California, hoping to send those stalking him in the opposite direction of Sweet Creek.
He crinkled the poster and stuffed it into his pocket, then dug out the telegram from one Mrs. Margaret Lily, a twenty-three-year-old widow from St Louis, who professed a desire to marry an adventurous man. He thumbed the remnants of red jelly smearing the paper and wanted to punch Wyatt again. “Adventurous man, my foot. Leave it to Wy to paint a gunslinger forced to live perpetually on the go as some kind of cowboy Moses.”
The Mail-Order Bride Carries a Gun: A Sweet Historical Western Romance (Brides of Sweet Creek Ranch Book 1) Page 7
