Lula (Cowboys & Debutantes: Historical Book 5)

by Kit Morgan

“Never mind my ankle. Doc Drake’ll have it mended in no time.”

  “Not if it’s broken.” She looked at the joint in question. “It’s probably so swollen by now you’ll never get your boot off.”

  He glanced at his booted foot hovering over the floorboards. Clearly he didn’t dare put any weight on it. “I’m not worried. You don’t know Doc Drake.”

  Wilfred cleared his throat. “Maybe I’d best see what’s keeping the doc.”

  “Thanks,” Mr. Adams said. “Son, lie down.”

  Baxter’s eyes were glued to Lula’s, and she took a moment to study him. He couldn’t be much older than her – he still looked boyish. His light brown hair was collar-length, his hazel eyes bright with concern. He was as tall as his father, not as broad-shouldered or muscular but just as handsome. It was obvious they were father and son. She looked away, feeling another blush rising. The man might be clumsy, but at least he was nice to look at.

  Her eyes met his again and a chill went up her spine. Good-looking or not, she didn’t know him at all. Could she bring herself to marry him? She’d thought long and hard about it on the journey here, had visions of sneaking off the train at some point and striking out on her own. Braving the elements, foraging for food … well, obviously she’d been reading far too many dime novels of late …

  “Miss Stout?” Baxter said, capturing her attention once more.

  “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”

  “Are you hungry? My father can take you to the hotel for something to eat while Doc Drake tends my ankle.”

  She looked at Mr. Adams, who smiled back. “I’d be happy to oblige, Miss Stout. Besides, Doc Drake likes to work …” He cleared his throat. “… alone with a patient.”

  “Yeah,” Baxter agreed. “He don’t like folks watching over his shoulder.”

  “Of course. That would be rude, wouldn’t it?” She stood. “I’ll leave you to the doctor, then.”

  “Thank you,” came a voice behind her, making her jump. She spun around with a swish of skirts to see a man in the doorway, taller than Baxter and with the dark, piercing eyes of a villain in a Broadway melodrama. Yet he wasn’t scary-looking – like Mr. Adams, he was handsome with brown hair going gray at the temples. So this was Dr. Drake?

  “She can have a bite here if she’d like,” a woman behind him offered.

  Lula’s attention was drawn to Mrs. Drake, a matronly woman with big blue eyes, blonde hair and a pleasant smile. “That would be fine.”

  “I’m Elsie Drake, and this is my husband Bowen.” She placed a hand on the doctor’s arm. “And you are?”

  “Lula Stout, ma’am.”

  “Oh, Baxter’s betrothed,” the doctor said. “It’s harder to find mail-order brides these days. We thought of getting one for our son a while back, but he wouldn’t have it.” He arched an eyebrow at his wife, as if she was the cause of their son balking. Maybe she was.

  Mrs. Drake looked sharply at him, then offered Lula her hand. “Come, dear. We’ll have some tea.”

  “Thank you,” Lula glanced at Mr. Adams. “If it’s all right with you, sir.”

  “Of course. I need to be getting back to the stable anyway,” he said. “I left Colin Cooke’s horse without a shoe – I need to get it taken care of.”

  “The Cookes are in town?” Mrs. Drake asked.

  “Colin and Sam are. They told me Harrison will be in later today.”

  “If you see them, could you send one of them here?” Mrs. Drake said. “I have a few things for Belle and Sadie.” Lula wondered who Belle and Sadie were – probably the wives of the aforementioned gentlemen.

  “Certainly, soon as I see them,” Mr. Adams replied.

  Baxter lay flat as Doc Drake came into the room. Lula moved out of the way and watched him stare at her betrothed’s boots. “Hmmm.” He bent over them.

  “Come along, dear – you look like you need a restorative,” Mrs. Drake took her by the arm, glancing between Lula and Baxter. “Don’t worry. Bowen will have him healed up in no time.”

  Mr. Adams smiled at Lula. “He always does. Run along with Elsie now.”

  Lula took one last look at the doctor and his patient, then let Elsie pull her from the room, past the kitchen, down the hall and into the parlor. “Have a seat, dear and I’ll go fix us that tea.”

  Mr. Adams came down the hall and paused at the front door. “I’ll see you later, Miss Stout,” he said with a warm smile. “Welcome to Clear Creek. And very soon, to my family.”

  She smiled weakly in return, with an even weaker wave. Welcome, indeed. At least her betrothed didn’t fall off the train platform and break his neck. With a sigh she watched her future father-in-law go out the door and close it behind him.

  Things could be a lot worse, Lula supposed. She sent up a quick prayer of thanks that she hadn’t had the unfortunate luck of being made a widow before she ever had the chance to get married.

  * * *

  “She’s a pretty thing,” Doc Drake commented as he eased off Baxter’s boot, laid his hands on the ankle, closed his eyes and felt his way around the injury. “Nothing seems to be broken … hmmm … badly twisted, though.” He opened his eyes. “What happened?”

  Baxter sighed. “I fell off the platform waiting for the train. No, that’s not right – I fell off after Willie told me my bride was waiting for me at the mercantile.”

  Bowen laughed. “Shock, was it?”

  “Yeah – and standing too close to the outgoing mailbag. I fell right over it when Willie told me she’d come on the stage. She was supposed to come in on the westbound train.”

  Bowen raised an eyebrow. “The train usually comes a lot later than the stage. What were you doing?”

  “I just couldn’t help myself, Doc. I was working at the livery with Pa, decided to take a break, went to the hotel for some lemonade … and next thing I knew I was standing on the train platform, staring down the tracks, my heart thundering so loud in my ears I could hardly stand it.”

  Bowen smiled. “Nervous?”

  Baxter bit his lower lip and motioned to his bum ankle. “Enough to do that.”

  Bowen made a face. He glanced at the ankle in his hands, closed his eyes a moment, then opened them again. “Nothing like a good first impression.”

  Baxter grimaced. “It ain’t funny. I don’t want her to think I’m an idiot.”

  “You’re not, but you do have two left feet. Maybe you ought to have your mother give you dancing lessons.”

  Baxter rolled his eyes. “I did. It didn’t help. Maybe something’s wrong with my balance?”

  “If there was, I’d know.” Bowen removed his hands.

  Baxter looked at his ankle. The area where the man’s hands had been was bright red, but otherwise looked normal again. “Is it gonna swell up again?”

  “Depends on how much you use it. I’ll wrap it, and you’ll need to stay off it for a few days to let it finish healing.” Bowen stood. “Besides, your bride could probably use a few days before the two of you wed.”

  Baxter nodded. Bowen Drake was Clear Creek’s most valuable secret, though he wasn’t much of a secret anymore. Folks came from far and wide to have him tend them – occasionally at gunpoint. “Thanks, Doc, for patching me up again.”

  Bowen smiled at him. “My pleasure. Just watch your step from now on – and no sudden moves.”

  Baxter glanced through the open door and down the hall. “What if she asks?”

  “About what?”

  Baxter pointed at his ankle.

  Bowen sighed. “Tell her the truth. If she’s to be your wife, she might as well know.”

  “But … what if she doesn’t believe me? What if she starts asking about other things around here, like … like Uncle Duncan and …”

  Bowen hung his head and sighed in exasperation. “By marrying you, she becomes a part of your family, and thus part of the Cookes – your mother is their cousin, after all. And all of you are a part of this town.”

  “But what if she de
cides she don’t want to be a part of Clear Creek? What if …” Baxter leaned toward him and lowered his voice. “What if she thinks we’re all loco?”

  “She won’t care a whit about that if she’s in love with you.”

  Baxter straightened up and stared at Bowen like he had a hole in his head. “But how’s that supposed to happen?”

  Bowen’s brow knit as if to say, really?

  “It’s an honest question!” Baxter whispered urgently. “She’s a mail-order bride! The woman ain’t going to fall in love with me overnight!”

  “Then you’d best help her along, hadn’t you?” Bowen suggested. “I’ll get you some crutches. If that ankle starts feeling good, use them for a few days anyway. You don’t want to re-injure it while courting your bride.”

  “But …”

  “No buts, Baxter. Just get the job done so you won’t be so worried over it.”

  Baxter rolled his eyes and groaned in frustration. “Get the job done” meant tell his future bride how a badly twisted ankle could heal in days instead of weeks, which would lead to telling her about all the downright strangeness of Clear Creek: surprise nobles, visiting royalty, luxury hotels in the middle of nowhere, pre-nuptial pie-eating contests, waves of foreign mail-order brides, why a ladle was considered a deadly weapon ... “Of all the things to have happen the day she arrives!”

  Bowen looked solemn. “Would you rather writhe in pain?”

  “Doc, I didn’t mean …” Baxter took a deep breath. “No, dear Lord, no. I can’t stop what you do. It’d be … wrong. Like telling God no.”

  Bowen placed a warm hand on his leg, and an unexplainable peace washed over Baxter, bringing tears to his eyes. “Then go, son. The Lord’s done His work, now you do yours. Take care of Miss Stout, court her a little, marry her. She’ll fall in love with you and the town in time. You’ll see – everyone does. I did, and I was as hard and bitter as they come when I arrived.”

  Baxter swallowed hard, unable to speak, and nodded. He knew Bowen’s story – his ma dead in an epidemic while his pa (also a doctor) was out treating other patients, his pa taking to drink, his mentor at medical school murdering his boss, how he’d vowed never to practice medicine only to find that God had given him a healing gift and wasn’t accepting returns, and how he’d finally found his place – and the strength to forgive – in crazy Clear Creek. It was quite a yarn, and the point wasn’t lost on Baxter.

  Bowen removed his hand, stood and left the room. Baxter watched him go into the kitchen, then heard the back door open and close. He knew Doc Drake kept a few pairs of crutches in the barn just in case, but rarely needed them for a patient. The man’s gift alone was enough to heal most things. It was also enough to make the town an object of ridicule by some folks, an obsession by others – and occasionally a target.

  What would his bride, at this point probably sipping tea with Elsie Drake, think when she heard the stories? What if she thought he and the townsfolk had all gone ‘round the bend and wanted nothing to do with them? How could he keep her from finding out? Clear Creek was an unusual place full of unusual people, no doubt about it.

  He closed his eyes in resignation. He might lose his bride before he ever had her. She was from New York City, and no doubt a refined lady by the way she talked and the look of her clothes. The traveling dress she wore was likely far more than he could ever afford.

  Baxter gulped. If he was to marry this beautiful creature in a timely manner and keep her from bolting beforehand, he’d have to make sure she didn’t find out too much about the town before she said, “I do.” Otherwise the only words he’d hear her utter might be “I won’t!”

  Chapter 3

  Lula sipped her tea in silence and worried about her future husband. Would they have to delay their nuptials because of his injury? Was there even a pastor in town? She hadn’t seen a church yet …

  “Cookie?” her hostess asked.

  “Oh,” she said in surprise. “Terribly sorry, I was … thinking.”

  “Understandable, all things considered.” Elsie Drake offered the plate of cookies she’d placed on the table earlier.

  “Thank you, don’t mind if I do. I am hungry.”

  “Also understandable. The transfer from train to stagecoach in Baker City doesn’t leave time for grabbing a bite. I can make you something more substantial if you like.”

  “Oh, no need, I’m sure Baxt … I mean, Mr. Adams, will want to leave as soon as he’s ready.”

  “Not if my husband has anything to say about it. Bowen will want to make sure your betrothed is … um, well along before letting him go.”

  “Well along?”

  She smiled at Lula. “He won’t let him leave until he’s sure he’s on the mend.”

  “I see.” But Lula didn’t. The man twisted his ankle – what was taking so long back there? Oh heavens, what if he really did break it?

  “Where are you from, if I may ask?”

  “What?” Lula said with a jump, sloshing her tea. “Oh dear.” She took the napkin Elsie handed her and dabbed at the spill marks on her skirt. “Thank you. I’m sorry, but I’m a little nervous.”

  “It’s all right to be nervous. I was when I first came here.”

  “You were? When was that?”

  “November of ‘58. Bowen arrived in town just after I did.”

  Lula smiled at the thought of two strangers moving to a town, seeing each other for the first time and eventually falling in love. “How did you meet?”

  Elsie smiled. “I almost tripped over him, truth be told.”

  “What?” Lula said, confused.

  Elsie nodded, a far-off look in her eyes. “It was the very end of November. I’d just gotten out of church with my grandparents … well, not really grandparents – Grandpa Waller was my third cousin on my father’s side. I came to live with him because my own grandfather had died recently. And there Bowen was, lying in the snow, out cold and half-frozen to death.”

  Lula gaped. “He was?!”

  “Mm-hmm. Thankfully the Cooke brothers came along and helped us get him into Mulligan’s Saloon.”

  “Who are these Cookes? I’ve heard them mentioned before.”

  Elise picked a cookie. “They’re the richest family in town. They have a huge cattle ranch a few miles away – the Triple-C, it’s called.”

  Lula relaxed a little. A big cattle ranch perhaps meant people of a more civilized nature. Not that anyone she’d met so far had been a barbarian, but the people of Clear Creek clearly weren’t as sophisticated as those of Manhattan.

  “But enough about having to thaw Bowen out,” Elsie said. “You haven’t answered my question. Where are you from?”

  Lula suddenly felt embarrassed to tell her. What would she think – that she should pack her bags and get on the first train east? Not that she had much to pack … “New York,” she finally conceded.

  Elise sat back in her chair. “New York?” she said in surprise. “My goodness, but that’s a long way from here. What part of the state are you from?”

  Lula swallowed hard and hoped the woman didn’t ask too many questions. “I’m from the city.”

  “Yes, dear, but which one – Rochester? Buffalo? Baxter’s Uncle August is from Buffalo originally.”

  Lula wiped her hand on her skirt. “New York City.”

  “New York City?” Elsie looked her up and down, assessing. “But you’re not the first mail-order bride to come here from a great distance. Baxter’s own mother came from England.”

  Lula blinked a few times – had she heard her right? “Did you say England?”

  “Yes, Baxter’s mother Lena and her sisters and cousins all came from there.”

  “All of them?” Lula said, still not quite comprehending. Maybe this Clear Creek wouldn’t be so bad after all. But why on earth would Englishwomen come to a small town in the hind end of America to get married? Wait a minute … did she say they were mail-order brides?

  She was about to ask when Baxter and B
owen Drake came into the parlor, Baxter grinning widely. “Good as new.” He glanced at his crutches. “Well, almost.”

  Lula set her cup and saucer on the table. “Was it broken?”

  “No, no,” the doctor said with a dismissive wave. “Just twisted. He’ll be right as rain in no time. Not sure if the two of you want to exchange vows right away, though. Baxter’s injury might keep him from some classic matrimonial traditions.”

  Elsie, suddenly blushing, set her tableware down as well. “What do you mean?”

  “Walking back down the aisle, carrying his bride across the threshold, that sort of thing,” Bowen stated with a raised eyebrow.

  “Oh, of course.” Lula grimaced, then looked at Baxter and noticed he was turning pink as well. At least she wasn’t the only one to misinterpret an innocent statement.

  “I’ll speak with Preacher Jo and tell him we’re postponing things a few days,” Baxter said. “I’m sure he won’t mind. My parents, on the other hand …”

  “Make that your mother,” Elsie said with a knowing look. “She may pitch a fit when she finds out.”

  “She’ll do no such thing,” Bowen said. “The man had an injury. The ceremony will just have to wait.”

  “When were you expecting us to marry?” Lula asked softly.

  “Two days from now, actually,” Baxter admitted. “Which means I’d better get home and tell Ma before she whips up a wedding cake.”

  “She’s making us a wedding cake?” Lula hadn’t thought about the usual wedding details, considering she was a mail-order bride. What details were there to worry about other than saying “I do?”

  “Of course she is, or will. I wasn’t sure if she’d make it today or tomorrow. We figured you’d want a couple of days to rest, so we got you a room at the hotel.”

  Lula couldn’t help but smile. “How very thoughtful.” Perhaps she shouldn’t have spent so much time on the journey imagining the worst. But didn’t every mail-order bride do that, if only for safety sake so she wouldn’t be too disappointed upon meeting an undesirable husband? Thank Heaven Baxter Adams was easy on the eyes. But what about the rest of him?