Mail-Order Bride Ink: Dear Mr. Comfort

by Kit Morgan

  “He is her father,” Honoria said, though she wondered the same thing.

  “I don’t know,” Mrs. Dunnigan shook her head. “Seems fishy to me.”

  “Best drop this whole business, Irene,” Wilfred said. “Let Major take care of it. It’s his business, not yours.”

  “Well, I’ve made it mine, and I’m not going to stand by and see that pair …” She stopped, her face reddening. Good heavens, the woman looked ready to burst!

  “Please stop worrying, Mrs. Dunnigan,” Honoria said. “Don’t let it rile you this way.”

  The older woman looked at her and snorted. “Mark my words, young lady – that woman and her father are trouble.” She disappeared behind the curtain and tromped up the stairs.

  Wilfred scratched his head and sighed. “I haven’t seen her this worked up since that jailbreak a few months back.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be all right,” Honoria replied, more out of hope than conviction.

  “I dunno. Irene and me, we’re not as young as we used to be. Though she’s still a lot better than she was. Years ago, when your Aunt Belle first came to live with us, Irene was a force to be reckoned with. Most folks in town were terrified of her – but not your pa and not your Uncle Colin. I have to admit, she almost drove me to drink back then.”

  Honoria glanced at the floor. “Uncle Colin and Auntie Belle told me stories. They said it was because of what happened to her father.”

  Wilfred nodded. “Yeah, that’s about right. He was a drinking man, a gambler, liked to chase women. He drove Irene’s poor ma plumb loco.” He straightened and arranged her purchases on the counter. “But enough of that. I’ll wrap these up and get you on your way. This everything?”

  “It looks like it, thank you. Except for maybe some lemon drops for the road.”

  Wilfred smiled. “Coming right up.” He turned to grab the candy jar.

  The bell above the door jingled, and Major walked in. The sight of him sent Honoria’s heart skipping all over. “Hello again, Miss Cooke, Wilfred.”

  “Got your order stacked at the other end of the counter, Major,” Wilfred told him.

  He strode across the mercantile floor with purpose. The poor man probably just wanted to get back to the men’s camp and forget about Miss Lynch and her father for the time being. Honoria didn’t blame him. She watched him reach into his pocket. “How much do I owe you, Wilfred?”

  Wilfred glanced at Major’s list on the counter. “That’ll be six dollars, forty cents.” Major counted out the money. Wilfred took it, then turned to Honoria. “Yours is three dollars even.”

  “Oh yes,” she said, just realizing she’d been staring at Major. She pulled the money out of her reticule and handed it to him.

  Wilfred gave them an odd-looking smile, took the money and placed it under the counter. “Ever seen Honoria here ride sidesaddle, Major?”

  “No,” he said as his eyes made their way to hers. “I’ve not had the pleasure.”

  “She’s mighty good at it,” Wilfred said. “Maybe ya ought to escort the lady home.”

  “Wilfred!” Honoria said as if scandalized. She wasn’t, but … well, what would her father think if he saw her coming over the rise with Major Comfort at her side? And what did she think? She could start thinking a lot if she let herself …

  “I’m just saying,” Wilfred began again. “After all, there’s new folks in town. Who knows who or what is wandering ‘round between here and the Triple-C?” His eyes began to dart between the two, and Honoria could tell he was trying to hide a smile. Good grief, could the man be more obvious? Not that she minded.

  “You have a point, sir. Perhaps I’d best escort the young lady home.” Major leaned against the counter. “Besides, it would be nice to see a lady ride as a lady should.”

  Honoria blushed, but raised an eyebrow. “Even if she challenged you to a race?”

  He straightened. “A race? I’d not put a lady in danger by accepting such a foolish challenge.”

  For some reason, his response irked her. Probably because she wasn’t joking – she loved to race and was quite good at it, even sidesaddle. “Well, if you’re not up to it…”

  “It’s not a matter of being up to it, Miss Cooke. As I said, I won’t do anything to put you in danger.”

  She switched tactics. “So you think I’m not up to it?”

  His eyes flicked to Wilfred and back. Good luck with that, she thought. The older man had a happy smile on his face, watching them banter. She placed her purchases in her satchel and smiled.

  “I assure you,” Major finally replied, “I am well up to the task. But if I am to escort you home, I’d like to get you there in one piece.”

  “Really?” She turned to Wilfred. “Thank you, Mr. Dunnigan.” She slung her satchel over her shoulder and headed for the door. As soon as she reached the street, she untethered Rowley and mounted. When she saw Major come outside, she kicked her horse into a trot and headed down the street.

  “Wait, you fool woman!”

  Honoria smiled, then kicked her horse into a fast gallop.

  “Oh Daddy!” Lucretia whined as she buried her face in his chest. Once in her hotel room, she’d put her belongings in the bedroom, returned to the small parlor and practically collapsed against him.

  “There, there, my dear. We’ll get this straightened out.”

  “He doesn’t want me! He has no interest in me whatsoever! I feel so insulted, so cheated!”

  “Nonsense. The poor man hasn’t had time to get used to the idea. Don’t worry, he’ll come around. There’s not a woman like you in this backwoods town. What reason would he have to not want you?”

  “That cow-eyed farmer’s daughter in the blue dress, for one. She … wasn’t completely ugly.”

  “Oh, but she’s probably poor as a church mouse – like the rest of the people in this town. She’s nowhere near the lady you are.”

  That seemed to perk her up. She straightened and stepped out of his arms. “I’m sorry, Daddy, I’m just tired. To show up and find out the man didn’t even know I was coming!” She sighed. “What am I going to do?”

  “What we Lynches have always done, my dear – soldier on.” Archibald checked his pocket watch. “Let’s not talk of it anymore. Why don’t you rest before supper? That Mr. Brody downstairs tells me Mrs. Upton is an exceptional cook. I don’t know about you, but I’m looking forward to a fine meal.”

  She sat in a nearby chair. “That’s because neither of us has had a decent one for days.”

  “Yes … too bad tea was cut short.” He went to the chair’s mate, sat and crossed his legs. He began to drum his fingers on his knee.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked.

  “Nothing, my dear. Just thinking.”

  “While you’re at it, why not think about writing Mrs. Pettigrew and finding out what happened?”

  “All in good time, my dear, all in good time. Don’t worry, I’ll see to it in the morning.”

  “Good. Maybe I’ll throw in a few lines and give that woman a piece of my mind. The nerve!”

  “Now, now – the gentleman is not at fault, not if his story about the forged signature is true. From the sounds of it, his father is behind this. Why else would he not know you were coming?”

  “Why else? Because Mrs. Pettigrew is inept, that’s why!”

  “I said I would take care of everything. Now be a good girl and get some rest.”

  Lucretia leaned back in her chair in a most unladylike manner. “I suppose I shall. You know you didn’t have to accompany me all the way out here just to see me wed.”

  “I know. But I wanted to make sure everything went smoothly. Heaven forbid my only little girl should marry some cad.”

  “Mr. Comfort doesn’t seem like a cad. In fact, given the circumstances I think he handled it rather well – like a Southern gentleman. Though he did border on rudeness a few times.”

  “As did you,” her father pointed out.

  She shrugged.
“I had good reason.”

  “As did he. Now, leave it. Tomorrow is another day and love will conquer.”

  “Love? I don’t see what love has to do with it. Love isn’t something a mail-order bride gets to look forward to at first. I would imagine some never find it at all.”

  “You’ll find it in time,” he assured her.

  Lucretia sighed. She was tired and angry, and the few sips of tea she’d had earlier did nothing to calm her nerves. “I have to get married, Daddy, I just have to!”

  “I know, my sweet. Now do as I say and go lie down.”

  “Oh, very well, if you insist …”

  “I do. I’ll call on you an hour before supper.”

  She rose from her chair. “What are you going to do?”

  He stood and reached for his hat. “I think I’ll have myself a look at the town, see what sort of place my little girl is going to be living. Who knows, I might decide to stay around.”

  She made a face. “It’s so small. I don’t see what would spark your interest.”

  “My daughter living here,” he said solemnly.

  She closed her eyes and sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “You’re tired. Please, go rest.”

  Lucretia nodded and, without another word, went into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

  Archibald Lynch blew out a long breath. There’d been a slight hitch in his plan, but he knew things would work out in the end. They always did.

  Chapter 4

  Major couldn’t believe it – was the girl really that reckless? He hadn’t even approached his horse before she’d taken off at a wild gallop! He’d never seen a woman ride sidesaddle at that speed, and the sight unsettled him.

  He jumped on his mount and took off after her. Once he caught up to her, he knew he’d be tempted to pull her off her horse and turn her over his knee! But what good would that do? She was a woman, not a child.

  He heard her laughter on the wind and urged his horse to go faster. Townsfolk smiled as he sped through town. None of them wore the horrified and disapproving expressions he expected and he began to wonder if this was normal for Miss Cooke. He’d find out when he caught her – or perhaps, if he did. The woman’s steed was incredibly fast. If anything, he’d catch her just to find out about her mount.

  She slowed about a half-mile out of town, and Major wondered if she was letting him catch up. Sure enough, as soon as he came alongside she laughed merrily. “I see nothing funny about this,” he grumbled, but it was a lie – part of him wanted to laugh with her. The wind had loosed her hair from its pins, and the long sable locks flowed down her back and spilled over her shoulders. Her dark eyes looked bigger than usual, and he noticed how dark her lashes were against her creamy cheeks …

  “Are you ready to race now?” she asked in delight.

  “Race? What do you call chasing you through town and across the prairie?”

  She playfully shrugged. “Chasing me through town and across the prairie. Or, if you prefer, a warm-up.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but sighed instead. “Call it what you like, Miss Cooke, but the idea of a race is nonsense. Do your kin know you ride like this?”

  “Who do you think taught me?”

  “Certainly not your mother.”

  “She helped.”

  He hadn’t bantered with her like this since he got shot six months ago, and he liked it. “Your father allows you to race across the prairie sidesaddle at a fast gallop?”

  “No – at a fast run,” she corrected, challenge in her voice.

  Their horses walked side-by-side, occasionally nipping at each other. “I don’t think my horse wants to race yours,” said Major. “He agrees that a lady should remain a lady.”

  She brought her horse to a stop. “I am a lady – a lady of the prairie. Not one of your cosseted plantation debutantes, but a lady nonetheless.”

  That annoyed him – mostly because he knew some of the ‘cosseted plantation debutantes’ she spoke of, and she was right on the mark. They always bored him to tears – one reason he was yet unwed. “And what, pray tell, does a ‘lady of the prairie’ do when she races like a mad woman?”

  Miss Cooke laughed. “She wins, of course!” She gave a low whistle, causing her horse to prance around.

  His own mount began to do the same. “Here now, what you think you’re doing?”

  “Getting ready. Are you?”

  “Confound it, woman, will you get the notion of racing out of your head?”

  “No, I won’t. Besides, the horses want to.”

  “I don’t care what the horses want!”

  “What’s the matter, Mr. Comfort? Are you afraid you’ll lose …” She leaned slightly toward him. “… to a girl?” And she took off like a shot. Against his will, so did his horse.

  He wanted to throttle her – once he caught her, that is. For now, he had to be content with keeping his seat. “Miss Cooke!” he shouted.

  She only laughed and urged her horse on.

  Thank Heaven that stretch of road was smooth, not riddled with rocks or wagon ruts. The last thing he needed was for one of their horses to go down – especially hers. Her father Harrison Cooke would shoot him when he found out what she’d been up to. He wondered how long it would take his brothers to discover he’d gone missing. “Miss Cooke!” he yelled again.

  He’d almost caught up to her when he realized he didn’t know where they were racing to – she’d never told him where the finish line was. But then she suddenly pointed to a copse of junipers up ahead. “Catch me if you can, Mr. Comfort!” she yelled over the wind. A difficult task at best – it was becoming more and more obvious she had the better horse, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try.

  He gave a sharp whistle. His horse did its best and sped up, giving his master what energy he had left. Soon they were neck, and neck and Miss Cooke’s startled yelp at seeing him so close sent a thrill up his spine. She hadn’t expected him to catch her. Good – he planned to get a lot closer once they stopped.

  And stop they did, almost on top of each other, when a fox darted out from under the junipers and spooked both mounts. The animals skidded to a stop in a cloud of swirling dust and a startled cry. He heard a dull thud and a muffled oath. Great Scott, she must have fallen from the saddle! Worse, he couldn’t see her with all the dust in the air – and in his eyes. “Miss Cooke!” he called. “Are you hurt?” He quickly dismounted and scanned the ground.

  She lay in a heap, her skirt and petticoats tangled around her thighs and waist. The result was a good amount of exposed – and lovely – calf and knee to him. Major swallowed hard and looked away, gathered his wits and went to her. He still didn’t know if she was hurt or not. “Miss Cooke.” He knelt at her side.

  She looked at him, coughed and grabbed her at her ribs.

  “I rest my case. Ladies should not race across the prairie the way you just did.”

  She did her best to snarl at him, but sounded more like a frightened mouse.

  Concern filled him and he leaned toward her. “Can you talk?” Poor thing probably had the wind knocked out of her.

  She opened her mouth but nothing came out.

  “It’s all right, stay where you are. Are you in pain?”

  She nodded. “I’ll be … fine,” she whimpered.

  “In a pig’s eye,” he said. “Now lie still until you get your breath back and tell me where it hurts.”

  She swallowed hard, her eyes pleading, and motioned him closer.

  Good heavens, was it that hard for her to talk?! “What is it? What’s hurt? Anything broken?” He’d have to check for the latter. But it would be nice to have a place to start.

  She pointed at herself. “Only my pride,” she said weakly.

  Major leaned back on his heels and put his hands on his thighs. “Your pride? That’s the only thing that hurts?”

  She coughed and spit out some dirt. It was then he noticed how much was
on her face. Just how did she land? “I’m fine … or I will be. And I won.”

  “We can debate that later. I’m not sure you’re fit to get up yet. Perhaps you can ask the fox who won?”

  A small laugh escaped her and she grabbed at her side.

  “Are you sure you’re not hurt? You might’ve broken a rib.”

  She shook her head. “No. I’ve fallen off enough to know what that feels like. I just need to rest a moment before I get back on my horse.”

  Major sat. “You’re a fool, you know.”

  “I am not. But I didn’t expect that silly fox to come running out. If he hadn’t spooked our horses, I would’ve come in first.”

  “We’ll never know, now will we?” he taunted.

  “Then we’ll have to have a rematch.”

  “A rematch! Don’t be absurd. Look at you! You can’t even sit up yet.”

  “If you’d taken a tumble, you’d still be on the ground.”

  He shook his head and rolled his eyes. “But I didn’t, did I?” He jumped to his feet, brushing dust from his clothes as he did.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “To get you some water.” He went to his horse, removed the canteen from the saddle horn and returned. He again knelt and helped her to sit up, keeping an arm behind her back for support as he handed her the canteen. “Here, drink some of this. At least get the dirt out of your mouth.”

  She smiled and did as he asked, took a sip, swished it around in her mouth, spit, repeated the action.

  “Better?”

  “I don’t always land on my face, you know.”

  “You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck. Now drink.”

  “Don’t boss me,” she shot back, though he noted her voice was still weak. The fall had taken more out of her that she expected, he could tell. Her hands shook as she lifted the canteen to her lips once more and drank.

  When she finished he took the canteen, satisfied his own thirst, then handed it back to her. “Take another small sip.” She did, then handed it back. He screwed the cap back on and set it on the ground behind him. “Do you think you can stand?”