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

by Thomas,Wanda Ann

  Jack sat and his tail thumped excitedly against the wood planks.

  “You’re supposed to talk me out of making the dumbest move since strapping on a pair of six-shooters.”

  The door to the telegraph office swung open and a pimple-faced clerk froze in place, clutching a “Closed for Lunch” sign.

  Jack growled menacingly.

  The clerk glanced nervously at the wall of tattered wanted posters. “I don’t want no trouble, mister.”

  Boone straightened and braced his hand on his hips within drawing distance of his Colt .45 Peacemakers. “I want to send a telegraph, then I’ll be on my way.”

  If Miss Margaret Lily was foolish enough to accept his proposal, he would marry. But couldn’t do it with a bounty hanging over his head. His next stop—the Bucket of Blood Saloon in Fielder, Nebraska—to track down witnesses who could swear he was innocent of murdering Sheriff Reynolds.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Maggie Reed stared at the milky river ice clogging the waters of the Mississippi outside the window of her father-in-law’s two-story townhouse that was the talk of St. Louis, thanks to the floor-to-ceiling lavender shutters and trim, plum-colored clapboards, and black wrought-iron balconies. People said Frank Reed’s home looked like it came straight out of New Orleans. She thought it was as showy as its owner.

  Before marrying Frank Jr. she’d adored the townhouse. A widow ought to feel sad or regretful on the eighteen-month anniversary of her husband’s death, but the marriage had been a colossal mistake, and all she could feel was relief.

  She moved to her father-in-law’s massive mahogany desk, decorated with a wood and brass-plate sign, reading Frank Reed, Lawman & Bounty Hunter in fancy script, and crinkled her nose at the crystal ashtray, holding the sausage-sized cigars Frank was always chomping on. He’d been in Colorado for the last month, hunting down a train robber, but the pungent smell lingered in the heavy drapes and damask furniture, making it impossible to escape Frank’s larger-than-life presence.

  The telegraph from Boone Haven sitting beside the wanted poster of the Cowboy Assassin was a welcome distraction. And an opportunity she couldn’t pass up. Especially if pretending to be Margaret Lily again secured her more reward money. Funds she would use to pay for tuition and room and board at the Pennsylvania School of Women.

  Her unhappy mother, who had succumbed to a wasting disease shortly before Maggie had married Frank Jr., would have loved the scheme, even if puzzled by Maggie’s desire to get her education and become a schoolteacher.

  She could hear Mama’s flirtatious, girlish voice and see her pout. Teaching school? Why that sounds boring as a month of church sermons. Mama never did fancy going to church. Many a Sunday, she and Mama would eat picnics by the river while the good citizens of St. Louis were getting preached at.

  Maggie smoothed her perfectly coiffured chignon. “Rest in peace, Mama. Or, at least, settle for leaving me in peace.”

  Then she took a deep breath, opened the right-hand desk drawer, and took out two sheets of thick creamy-colored paper, preparing to compose two telegraph messages.

  One to Frank Reed, informing her father-in-law that Boone Haven had finally replied to the telegram she’d sent expressing a desire to marry and move west.

  The second one to Boone Haven, informing the gunslinger she would marry him.

  Her stomach knotted like it had when Mama announced she was getting married for the fifth time. “Well darn!” This would make three marriage proposals Maggie had accepted. But two of them didn’t count. Not really. But the unsettling thought refused to go away.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Four weeks after arriving at Sweet Creek Ranch, Ella moved around the chicken coop to a chorus of steady clucks, engulfed in the smell of fresh straw and corn mush. She collected an egg from under a plump, white hen and placed it in a basket lined with a red-checked cloth. “Bless your heart, sweet girl,” she cooed, and moved on to the next nest.

  The door to the coop cracked open, flooding the dark sanctuary with freezing cold air and bright sunshine. Ty ducked inside, carrying a pail of water. He glanced about the shed. “I’m just checking, making sure Garrett cleaned the coop. He and Ox are mighty happy you are taking over feeding the hens and collecting the eggs.”

  The rhythm of her days had fallen into a predictable, if not comfortable, routine. Nothing about living in the same house as Ty Haven was comfortable. The hunt for Johnny’s saber had proven fruitless. Ask him, girl, she heard Granny say.

  Ella cleared her throat. “I enjoy getting outside for some fresh air and exercise.”

  Ty dumped the water into the feeding trough, then met her eyes. “Would you like to go out for a ride…help me find a Christmas tree?”

  The prospect of escaping the close confines of the house and exploring the beauties of the wilderness stirred her blood. “That sounds heavenly,” she said, too excited to heed survival rule number one. Spending time alone with Ty was as wise as antagonizing Mr. Rooster there, strutting about the coop like a despotic king.

  Ty’s amber-brown eyes sparkled to life. “Winter at the ranch can make a body feel closed in. Riding horseback through snowy meadows clears the mind.”

  Ella had expected to work her fingers to the bone cooking and cleaning for a houseful of men, but under Ty’s oversight the chores were shared by everyone. She was the least busy person, finding plenty of time to write in her journal and knit herself a new pair of woolen stockings. She hugged the basket of eggs, wondering at Ty’s purpose for bringing her here. “You seemed to be getting along just fine without a mail-order bride.”

  Ty pointed at the rooster. “I wanted the second-chance boys to enjoy the civilizing influence of a woman. Teach em’ to pray, and mind their manners, and clean their ears. Save them from becoming reclusive mountain men or getting all tongue-tied when speaking with a girl.”

  There he went again, turning her heart to goo. “The boys are blessed to have you and a place like Sweet Creek Ranch.”

  He scuffed the straw with the toe of his boot, then gazed at her from under his sandy bangs. “I’ve been thinking of asking you to take on tutoring the boys in penmanship and writing. Unless you think the care of the chickens will take up all your time.”

  Ty Haven didn’t lack for courage. No, he had bravery to spare, but he was wise enough not to try to push her too quickly or too hard. She wanted to ask how he knew she wanted to try her hand at teaching. “I don’t foresee needing to spend hours upon hours in the coop, especially as the days continue to shorten and the hens stop laying eggs.”

  His mouth curved with a beautiful smile. “We can leave for the ride once you’re done here.”

  Her insides heated. Memories of the brief kiss they’d shared arose. She wanted to feel his lips on hers. Wanted to kiss him back. Wondered what it would be like to spend the night in his bed. She brushed a jittery hand over the eggs piled in the basket. “I have a few more nests to check.”

  “Take your time,” he said, retreating to the door with the water bucket. “I promised Wy I’d give him a hand carrying in more wood for the stove. I’ll ask Garrett to have the horses saddled in half an hour.” Then he slipped outside.

  She frowned at the beady-eyed rebuke from the hens and their carping clucks. “You try ignoring Ty Haven when he smiles like that.” Traipsing off into the wilds alone with Ty wasn’t wise. But a pack of wild horses couldn’t keep her from going.

  ***

  The basket piled high with eggs, Ella opened the door to the coop, and caught a glimpse of tow-headed Seth at the entrance to the barn. Checking over his shoulders surreptitiously, he dashed inside.

  Seth worried her. Whereas Billy was settling in nicely at the ranch, Seth continued to quarrel and pick fights. A quiet talk with the troubled boy was in order.

  The sheds housing the chicken coop and Ty’s workshop were attached to the sides of the spacious two-story barn. She placed the egg basket on the blanket of
fresh-fallen snow and followed Seth.

  Animal stalls lined the length of the main barn, with a wide lane down the middle. Pitchforks, shovels, metal buckets, and coiled rope hung from wooden pegs. Garrett was busy at the far end of the stables saddling Ty’s majestic black and white pinto, Eclipse, and a pretty blond mare, with a heart-shaped patch of white gracing her golden forehead, named Sweetheart. Shuffling noises came from the hayloft and dust spiraled downward from footfalls.

  She strode to the nearby ladder and climbed to the loft and spotted Seth on his knees, burying something under the hay. “What are you doing, Seth?” she asked kindly.

  He turned around, wearing a defensive expression. “Nothing.”

  The dizzying height made her wobbly kneed. She plopped down cross-legged, blocking his escape route. “What’s under the straw?”

  His eyes hardened. “It’s none of your business.”

  “Maybe, maybe not, but I’m not going anywhere until you show me.”

  After a long moment, he exhaled sharply and dragged a coin purse free. Her coin purse. He tossed the flower-embroidered pouch. “Keep your stupid money.”

  She caught the jangling purse. Her anger over his stealing from her warred with her sympathy for his obvious unhappiness. “Why did you take my money?”

  He climbed to his feet and stood over her, chin jutting and hands balled. “Don’t go blabbing to Ty. If you do, I will tell him about your six-shooter.”

  Flabbergasted, she stood, but gained no advantage as fourteen-year-old Seth was a head taller than her. “Sugar,” she muttered.

  Seth brushed past her. “Move.”

  She grasped at his sleeve, heart pounding, the mere thought of toppling over the edge of the hayloft bringing on a cold sweat. She hoped he interpreted her firm grip as determination on her part. “Wait.”

  He glared back. “I mean it. I will tell—”

  “Why are you set on being miserable? Why won’t you give the Havens and the ranch a chance?”

  His mouth curled with contempt. “I want to be a gunslinger, not a cowpoke. Come spring, I’m going back to Cheyenne and nobody can stop me.”

  “Sweet biscuits and jam, why would you want to be a gunslinger?”

  “Who do you plan on killing?”

  “Me?” she said, voice pitching higher.

  Seth stared past her shoulder unseeingly. “I promised my dying father I would shoot the men who murdered him and Mum. I know killing the men won’t bring back my folks, but I’m gonna kill em’ all the same.”

  Her heart ached for him. “Revenge isn’t the answer.”

  “I hope you don’t shoot Mr. Ty,” Seth said matter-of-factly.

  She shook his arm. “Stop talking like that. I’m not shooting anyone. And neither are you.”

  Seth focused on her with the world-weary face of a person three times his age. “You and I are different from Billy and Garrett and Ox. We don’t belong here.”

  She and Seth had nothing in common. Absolutely nothing. “How are we different?”

  Pulling free, he climbed onto the ladder. “We don’t need anybody.”

  She clasped her hands against the violent trembles shaking her. He was wrong. He was a frightened, lonely boy. He needed a safe, welcoming home. He needed Sweet Creek Ranch. Once she returned home she would find a place where she belonged. She didn’t want to be alone.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Hooves splashed through powdery snow. White puffs of breath streamed from the horse’s mouths and nostrils, reins jangled above the peaceful stillness. The frigid air was sharp with the scent of evergreens. Ty felt completely alive. Full of hope.

  And he couldn’t take his eyes off Ella. Riding high in the saddle, astride a graceful butterscotch-colored mare, surrounded by snow-tipped ponderosa pines, Ella had never appeared more lovely or desirable. He wasn’t sure what stirred his blood more, the old white Stetson hat sitting low on her forehead highlighting elegant arched brows, the glossy black braid resting against the buckskin jacket, or apple-red cheeks and lips begging to be kissed.

  Ella slowed Sweetheart to a walk. “Seth plans to run away in the spring. I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn’t listen.”

  “And here I thought your silence was on account of my deft horsemanship.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Haven’t you noticed Seth’s unhappiness?”

  He rested his fists on the saddle horn. “I’m not making light of your concern. The welfare of the boys and the ranch consume me. When I come out here I give myself permission to let it go and live in the moment…enjoy the peace and beauty.”

  “Will you talk to him? Or hogtie him if you have to.”

  Memories of the cruel treatment he’d suffered at the orphanage intruded. He shifted in the saddle. “I won’t keep him here against his will.”

  “But—”

  “Seth’s not the same as the other second-chance boys.”

  Her back stiffened. “He is the same. He needs a safe home.”

  “I will try my darnedest to win Seth over. Remind him of the depredations and dangers of living in the streets. And if he has good sense, he’ll think better of running away come spring.”

  She sighed. “I’d worry less if you hogtied him.”

  “You’re beautiful when you’re angry.”

  “Stop talking foolish.”

  “What’s so foolish about that?” A month after signing his name beside Ella’s in the marriage registry, he burned to make Ella his real wife. A patient man, he was taking things slowly, careful not to push too far or too fast. He had all winter to win her over. Months and months to earn her trust.

  She tipped the white Stetson in mock fashion. “I’ll be calling you Wyatt soon.”

  “That’s better than calling me Ace, but not by much.”

  Smiling gloriously, she nudged Sweetheart ahead. “They are both more handsome than you,” she called back, weaving through the snow-covered pines. Leaning forward to avoid a fan of low-hanging branches, she pressed herself against Sweetheart’s blond mane, giving Ty a view of her lovely, curved backside.

  “Holy crud,” he muttered, following close behind, his cowboy blood stampeding. How was he going to keep his hands off her?

  Successfully negotiating the snow-covered bough, she reached back, grabbed the tip of the branch, and stretched it like a bowstring. “Stop gawking at my bum,” she said, then let go of the branch.

  The bough lashed back, crashing into his chest, covering him in snow. Peals of laughter echoed through the screen of pines. He grinned and urged Eclipse forward. “You’re gonna pay for that.”

  He broke free of the fir branches, emerging into a stand of young white pines. Ella stood in thigh-high snow, gazing up at a snow-encrusted tree. “I found our Christmas tree.”

  Eclipse nickered and tossed his head. Golden mane rippling, Sweetheart trotted to Eclipse, greeting the black and white pinto with a whinny. Ty patted Eclipse’s sleek neck. “Did you hear that? She said, ‘our tree.’” Bending their heads, the horses pawed the snow in search of tufts of dried grass.

  Ty dismounted, dragged an ax free, and joined Ella. “The top of the tree is forked like a snake’s tongue. We can keep searching.”

  She scooped up a handful of snow and nibbled on the white flakes. “This one is perfect. I can’t wait to see the tree standing beside the stone fireplace. It will feel like a real Western Christmas.”

  Ty stopped staring at her long enough to assess the amount of work involved to bring the tree down. “I had something smaller in mind, but I like a challenge.”

  “There was the darling little tree we saw closer to the ranch.”

  Ready to lasso the sun if he thought it would please her, he pointed the ax at the tree. “One Western Christmas just for you, Miss Ella.”

  Her cornflower blue eyes sparkled like diamonds. “Don’t you be sassy with me, Mr. Haven.”

  “You’re supposed to call me Ty.”r />
  “Mr. Haven. Mr. Haven. Mr. Haven,” she sang, and batted the fluffy snow, spraying flakes over him.

  Ready to play if she was, he dropped the ax, captured her around the waist, and held a fistful snow over her head. “Do you give up?”

  “I surrender….” Snow fluttered down and melted on her rosy lips. “…Mr. Haven.”

  He dropped the snow clutched in his hand and traced her delicate jaw. Her immense spirit almost made him forget how small and petite she was. “I don’t know why I was hoping you’d be a dreary spinster. I guess I was afraid. I’m still afraid. Do you want to know why?” He brushed his mouth over her icy-cold lips. She tasted of strawberry jam and mint tea.

  Her black lashes swept her rosy cheeks. “You don’t seem afraid.”

  “The possibility I might have to watch you step back on the eastbound train, come spring, leaves me gutted.”

  “I wish we could stay right here forever.”

  “I want to kiss you.”

  She stared at him for a long moment. “Why can’t I resist you?”

  Muscles trembling with need, he trailed his hands over her neck and back in long, soothing strokes. “I feel it too.”

  A shiver shook her. “I’m frightened.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to kiss…just once to know what it’s like.”

  “I don’t see the harm in that,” he said, gentle as a prayer and pecked her mouth in a nonthreatening, church-wedding-kiss manner. If that didn’t make her feel safe, he’d hang up his saddle and spurs.

  She wet her rose-red lips. “No. I mean a real kiss.”

  A dizzying rush of blood went to his head. “I’ll need to hold you close. Can’t kiss you proper otherwise.”

  After a brief hesitation she nodded. He pulled her into a tight embrace. His soul sighed at the warmth and closeness. He craved this connection more than his next breath. He brushed his mouth over hers in the lightest of touches. Her hum of approval moved like lightning through his veins. He tasted her lips and was engulfed in intense pleasure.