The Bride's Prerogative

by Davis, Susan Page

  Hiram caught her eye. Libby had never seen him smile so thoroughly. With his long sorrow lifted momentarily from his shoulders, he looked as handsome and debonair as the doctor. Or even handsomer.

  “Will the finalists please step forward.”

  Trudy and Dr. Kincaid went to the line.

  “Come on, Trudy,” Myra Harper called. “Make us proud.”

  “May the best man win,” Micah Landry shouted. His wife elbowed him.

  Rose, who had shared her box lunch with the doctor, stood at the edge of the crowd, breathlessly waving a lacy handkerchief.

  “On your mark,” Peter called.

  Trudy and Doc squared up, facing the targets.

  “Get ready.”

  They raised their rifles.

  “Fire at will.”

  The ten shots rang out quickly, and the crowd exhaled. The contestants broke their rifles open, and Ethan and Orissa again made the trek to the targets. Bertha, who carried extra weight, sat at the judges’ table fanning herself; and Ted had headed back into town to set up the flags for the horse race. Ethan and Orissa fetched the targets back to Bertha and laid them out on the table. All three judges leaned over them and consulted for a moment. Ethan straightened and walked over to Peter, who hadn’t bothered to climb down from his perch.

  The mayor held up both hands. “Ladies and gentlemen, the judges are unanimous. The best shot in Fergus, and the winner of the Colt pistol, is Miss Gertrude Dooley.”

  The women and most of the men erupted in cheers. A few sore losers shot off disparaging remarks and went in search of lemonade or something stronger. Ellie carried the wooden box with the prize to Peter, and he called Trudy over.

  “Miss Dooley, it gives me great pleasure to present you with this pistol. Congratulations. I know you’ll use it well.”

  Trudy’s scarlet face beamed as she accepted the prize.

  “She deserves it,” Libby said.

  Hiram nodded. “She’s never had a gun of her own. She was hankering to win that, but she never said so. This means a lot to her.”

  Libby’s insides warmed, and not just from the sun. She was glad she’d chosen the latest Colt model when the council had told her to pick out a pistol for the prize, and glad Trudy had won it. She hadn’t thought of how the young woman always used her brother’s rifle. But Trudy gave generously of her time to help other women learn to shoot safely and accurately. She’d fired nearly every gun in town as part of her aid to her brother’s business or the shooting club, but she’d never had her own weapon.

  Trudy hurried to them amid the applause. She held out the box, and Hiram steadied it while she lifted the cover. Her face settled into lines of deep satisfaction, and she sighed.

  “It’s a beaut, isn’t it?”

  Hiram held the box and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “You did fine today.”

  Libby squeezed Trudy’s shoulders. “You surely did.” The day seemed nearly perfect. Her pleasure at having come in third in the contest increased when she saw Trudy’s delight and her friends clustering around her. But perhaps the one element that tipped her toward giddiness was Hiram’s subtle attention throughout the day.

  People crowded around Trudy and Dr. Kincaid, offering their felicitations. Isabel, Rose, Myra, and the saloon girls gathered so thickly about the doctor that all Libby could see was his gleaming blond hair as he bent to receive their praise. Truthfully, the man was well-favored, but she couldn’t see that he was any handsomer than …

  She felt her cheeks flush once more as she looked toward Hiram and caught his smile again. Was the shy gunsmith coming out of his mournful shell at last?

  CHAPTER 26

  The horse race ended with Arthur Tinen Jr. scooping up the prize of a new bridle. Ethan was glad the official doings of the day had ended. Everyone had enjoyed the contests and time of relaxation, but some of the cowboys had relaxed a little too much, in his opinion.

  Smith’s men left their places near the finish line, where they’d cheered on Eli Button, and headed for where their own mounts were tied. Button had claimed second place in the race, but his bay gelding wasn’t fast enough to outdo Arthur’s pinto. The cowboys assured Button he should have won. Ethan watched them as they neared the hitching rail. Wilfred Sterling took a bottle out of his saddlebag, tipped it up for a swallow, and handed it to one of his comrades. From their boisterous conduct during the race, Ethan guessed they’d imbibed some earlier while he was busy helping judge the shooting contest.

  He hesitated. Maybe he should get a couple of friends before he confronted them. This sheriffing job held challenges he’d never imagined. But he couldn’t rely on his friends all the time or he’d soon become known as the sissy sheriff. He squared his shoulders and approached the cowboys.

  “Say, fellas, the town asked that no liquor be taken on the school premises today.”

  The four cowboys swung around and frowned at him.

  Button took a step back, but the others held their ground. Wilfred Sterling especially took on a belligerent air. He passed the bottle to another man.

  “You wanna make something of it, Sheriff?”

  “We was just leaving.” The third man hastily shoved the bottle into the saddlebag on the nearest horse. “Weren’t we, Eli?”

  Button had begun to untie his horse, but he shot a look over his shoulder. “That’s right. The boss told us to stay out of trouble, and we’re going to. Thanks for the good time, Sheriff.”

  Ethan nodded. “Congrats on your second-place finish in the race, Button.”

  Eli put his fingers to his hat brim. “Hey, a silver dollar’s better’n nothing. Me and the boys thought we’d go spend it at the Nugget.”

  “Well, take it easy,” Ethan said. “I don’t want you in my jail again tonight.”

  “No sir.” Button walked his horse away from the rail and swung into the saddle. “Come on, Wilfred. Buck. You ready?”

  The other cowboys mounted and headed toward the center of town. Ethan hoped Ted Hire was open for business and ready for them. It was early yet—only four in the afternoon—but since the Spur & Saddle stopped serving alcohol, Ted had hired an extra bartender and kept the Nugget open pretty near twenty-four hours a day. Ethan rubbed the back of his sunburned neck. He’d have to stop by the saloon later and make sure those cowpokes hadn’t gotten out of hand again.

  He strolled back across the schoolyard and found Hiram and Griffin helping take down the tables where the food had been set out. Trudy, Libby, and a dozen other women worked at packing up all the food, dishes, and tablecloths for their men to tote home.

  “Are you coming by for supper tonight, Ethan?” Trudy asked as he walked past.

  “Don’t know as I’d ought to. You’ve been busy all day.”

  “It won’t be anything fancy.”

  Her eyes held a longing that drew him. He knew he couldn’t refuse when she wanted him at her side. “All right. I didn’t see your horses. Did you and Hi walk out here?”

  “Yes. Go ahead. You probably have things to do before we eat.”

  Ethan collected Scout and put the saddle and bridle on him. They trotted smartly into town, where he left the gelding at the livery stable. Griffin wasn’t back from the schoolhouse yet. He always let Ethan keep his horse in the stable or corral for free as part of his contribution toward the sheriff’s maintenance. A bucketful of water, a scoop of oats, and an armful of hay. What more could Scout want?

  As Ethan left the livery, Ellie Nash drove by in the family’s wagon.

  “Where’s the mayor?” Ethan called.

  “He went home early to sort the mail that came in on the stagecoach today.”

  Ethan decided to make the post office his first stop and headed up the boardwalk, past the Wells Fargo office and the emporium.

  Peter had two letters for him. Ethan stuck them in his vest pocket and crossed the street. Augie was unloading his wagon in front of the Spur & Saddle.

  “You folks aren’t serving supper tonight,
are you?” Ethan asked.

  “We sure are. Had a stew simmering all day and plenty of cobbler waiting. You coming in tonight, Sheriff?”

  “Thanks,” Ethan said, “but I’ve had an invitation elsewhere.”

  Augie grinned knowingly. “Sometime you’ve got to bring your sweetheart in.”

  “I will.” Ethan carried his letters down the street to the jail. He hung up his hat, leaned his chair back against the wall, and lifted his boots to the desktop. The first letter was from a constable in New Jersey.

  Sorry, but I’ve turned up very little information about the Peart family. Frank Peart went west more than twenty years ago. His parents died after that, and apparently both sisters moved away, but I don’t know where.

  Ethan tossed it aside, opened the second envelope, and perused the message. For several minutes he sat thinking.

  The sun was waning. Probably time to get over to the Dooleys’ for supper. He rocked his chair forward and stood, scooping the letters off the desk.

  Trudy let him in the back door. Rose was setting the table for four.

  “Oh, hello, Sheriff! Wasn’t it a lovely day?” She smiled at him across the room and fluttered her lashes.

  “Yes ma’am.” Ethan let Trudy take his hat and hang it on the rack. “Am I early?”

  “No, this is fine,” Trudy said. “We just need to put a few more things on the table.”

  “Can I help?”

  “Sure, you can fill the water bucket for me.”

  A few minutes later, Ethan settled down for supper with the two women and Hiram. Rose was still gushing about the picnic, what a gentleman Dr. Kincaid was, and her pride in his second-place finish in the shooting match. She said nothing of Trudy’s win.

  Ethan looked over at Trudy and winked.

  She smiled faintly. “Ethan, would you please ask the blessing?”

  After the prayer, Trudy jumped in with a question for Ethan and succeeded in wresting the conversation away from Rose.

  “Was the judging really that hard?”

  Ethan shrugged. “Most of the time the leaders were obvious. But Trudy and Doc were so close on the next-to-last round I was afraid we’d be run out of town unless we had a clear winner. Doc slipped a little in the final shootout, and there was no question. And how about Libby Adams’ shooting? She did great.”

  “I’m glad Libby placed. She was sure she’d be out in the first round, but she’s a very good shot.”

  “Where’s your prize?” Ethan asked.

  Hiram grinned. “She’s got it on display in the parlor.”

  Trudy scowled at him. “I’m not displaying it. I just … like to look at it.” She twisted her napkin in her hands.

  Ethan reached over and patted her arm. “I don’t blame you. It’s a fine pistol. I’m tickled that you got it. By the way, I got a couple more answers to the inquiries you ladies sent out for me.”

  “Anything that will help?” she asked.

  “One had nothing new, but the second one—I’ll let you read it later. It gives me serious doubts that Sterling is telling the truth.”

  Hiram stopped in the act of buttering a biscuit. “What will you do?”

  “I’m thinking of riding out to the ranch tomorrow and talking to him.”

  “Need company?”

  Ethan nodded. “Thanks. Wouldn’t mind it.”

  On Sunday afternoon, Hiram and Ethan saddled up and made the long ride out to the Martin ranch. The ranch house was a rough cabin built on the mountainside, and a pole barn lay beyond it. A handful of thin cattle grazed on the sparse vegetation in the pasture. To one side of the barn sat a soddy that apparently housed the hired men. Four of them spilled out as the riders approached. The hair on the back of Hiram’s neck prickled. All of them wore sidearms. Had they made a smart move by coming out here alone? “Howdy, boys,” Ethan said.

  The four cowboys watched him with narrowed eyes.

  The door of the ranch house opened, and Kenton Smith stood at the top of the steps and looked them up and down.

  “I just want a word with Wilfred Sterling,” Ethan said. “Won’t take but a minute.”

  Smith held his gaze for a long moment and then nodded.

  Sterling detached himself from the group of cowhands and shuffled forward.

  “Yeah?”

  Ethan dismounted. Hiram felt better in the saddle. His friend took out the letter he’d received from Frank Peart’s sister.

  “This is a letter that came yesterday. It concerns your claim to the Peart property. I’ll let you read it if you promise to behave like a gentleman.”

  One of the other cowboys guffawed. “That’s a laugh, Sheriff. He can’t read.”

  Sterling whirled around. “Shut up!”

  The other cowboy held up his hands, smirking. “Maybe the sheriff will read it to you if you’re extra nice.”

  “All right, I’ll tell you what it says.” Ethan handed Scout’s reins to Hiram and took the letter from the envelope.

  Hiram sat astride Hoss and waited, keeping one eye on the cluster of men near the soddy while Ethan read the short message. Smith lounged in the ranch house doorway.

  “I, being the sister of Franklin Peart, can tell you that neither I nor my sister Margaret had any children. This man you say calls himself Sterling cannot be any relation that I know of. I don’t know of any people by that name. As to the property, I am too old to come out and see it, but if it is sold, I’d appreciate having the money sent to this address. Sincerely, Agnes Peart.” Ethan stopped reading and looked at Sterling. “You understand?”

  The cowboy nodded.

  “Good. Because according to this letter, you aren’t who you claim to be. This Agnes Peart isn’t claiming you as either a son or a nephew. Is Sterling your real name?”

  “I resent that.”

  “Take it easy. I just want you to understand real well that you can’t inherit a square inch of that land. And if I catch you or anybody else on it, I’ll have to put you in jail.”

  Sterling glared at him.

  “You got it?” Ethan asked.

  He nodded.

  “All right.” Ethan walked to his horse and took the reins from Hiram. He swung into Scout’s saddle and turned toward Smith. “Mr. Smith, I expect this man to respect the law and keep away from what’s known as the old Peart place.”

  Smith nodded, retreated into his home, and shut the door.

  “Odd bird,” Ethan said as they trotted toward Fergus.

  “Smith or Sterling?” Hiram asked.

  “Both, but I was thinking of Smith.”

  “Uh-huh.” Hiram relaxed as soon as they were out of sight of the ranch. They rode in silence for a couple of miles. Finally, on a fairly flat stretch, he urged Hoss to extend his stride and trot alongside Scout. “I got to ask you something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “How long do you intend to court my sister?”

  Ethan glanced over at him then back at the road. “As long as she’ll let me, I guess.”

  Hiram digested that. Half a mile later he said, “Well, I think it’s time it ended.”

  Ethan hauled back on his reins, and Scout stopped in the path. Hiram stopped Hoss, too.

  “What? You’re against me courting Trudy?” Ethan’s eyes held a spark of belligerence.

  “Yes. Unless you intend to marry her.”

  Ethan’s lower jaw dropped nearly fit to hit his chest. “Of course I intend to marry her.”

  Hiram inhaled through his nose and leaned with both wrists on the saddle horn. “Don’t you think it’s about time?”

  Ethan scowled at him. “I wouldn’t toy with Trudy’s affections.”

  “Prove it.”

  The hurt in Ethan’s dark eyes stabbed him. Ethan was a good guy. Hiram hated to get after him. He sighed and lifted his reins. Hoss and Scout started walking.

  “I’m standing in for Trudy’s pa. You know that.”

  “Well yeah, but Hi, you know me. I intend to do right by
her.”

  “Folks in town are starting to talk.”

  “Talk how?”

  “Like you don’t need to marry her.”

  “I could bust your jaw for saying that.”

  “I expect you could.”

  They rode on until they hit the mountain road. “How do you know what they’re saying?” Ethan asked.

  “Augie told me. I rebuilt the back steps over there this week.”

  Ethan’s jaw worked for a few seconds. “I was only waiting until I could put away a little more cash. The town raised my pay a dollar a couple of weeks back. I want to have things nice for her.”

  “She doesn’t care about nice. Besides, your place is nicer than what she’s been living in the last nine years.”

  “You think so?”

  “Yup.” A mile farther along, Hiram said, “So you’re sure you want to get married?”

  “Oh yeah. I do. It’s just …” Ethan glanced over at him. “It’s a little unnerving.”

  “You’re not still tied in knots over the Indian wars and your part in them?”

  “I talked that out with Trudy.”

  “And?”

  Ethan nodded. “You were right. She’s a very understanding woman.”

  “Glad you realized that. I’m right this time, too. Quit shilly-shallying.”

  “I’ll certainly ruminate on that.”

  “Good. Now let’s put some miles behind us.”

  Tuesday evening, Isabel heard her father come in at what used to be his regular time. She dashed about the kitchen. She’d more than half expected him to be late again.

  He’d left his coat and hat in the entry. When he crossed the threshold, he looked sheepishly at her. “Supper ready?”

  She nearly dropped the dish of boiled greens. The flesh beneath his left eye puffed out in a red and purple bruise. “Papa! What happened to your eye?”

  “Relax, Isabel. It’s just a shiner.”

  She gulped and set the dish on the table. “It … looks painful. Shouldn’t you see Doc Kincaid?”

  “For this?” He laughed bitterly. “I’ve had lots worse than this when there was no doctor within a hundred miles.”

  They ate in silence. When she rose to get the coffeepot and her back was turned to him, she dared to say, “I can fix you a cold cloth.”