Mail Order Cowboy (Harlequin American Romance)

by BAUER, Pamela

  “Umm-hmm,” she said, turning her back to Hannah. She pretended to smooth crumbs from the countertop.

  Hannah found it rather amusing that her usually chatty aunt was at a loss for words. Maybe Bernie had finally worn down Gabby’s resistance. She thought about possible candidates for her aunt’s suitor. Understanding how awkward it would be to be seventy-five and never to have had a boyfriend, Hannah decided to give the woman some privacy.

  “I think maybe I will go to town,” she decided aloud. “You’re right. My hair is too long.”

  The relief on Gabby’s face was obvious. “What time should I expect you back?”

  “Probably not before four-thirty or five. I need to stop at the implement dealer and order a couple of parts for the gleaner.”

  “It’ll do you good to get your hair done. You want to look your best—just in case...”

  “Just in case what?” Hannah asked.

  “Why in case you run into someone special,” she said with a naiveté Hannah found amusing.

  She knew her aunt was an incurable romantic. Maybe it came from her being single all of her life. Hannah could have told her that romance was overrated, but what good would it have done? If Gabby wanted to fantasize about love, who was Hannah to deny her?

  It was the image of Gabby standing on the porch, her cheeks glowing, that Hannah took with her as she drove to town. Getting a haircut was only one of the reasons for visiting Marlis at the Cut and Curl. The other was to get information. If there was anything happening between two people in Filmore County, Marlis Thatcher would know about it.

  Hannah smiled to herself as she drove the pickup down the dusty road. Did Gabby really think she could keep this mystery man a secret?

  IT WAS PAST THREE O’CLOCK and there was still no sign of him.

  Gabby paced between the kitchen table and the window, pausing only to lift the corner of the curtain and glance outside. When the grandfather clock in the living room chimed on the half hour, she went back upstairs to her room and pulled a small metal box from the closet.

  After getting a tiny key from the zippered compartment inside her purse, she took the box over to her bed. Like a secret agent uncovering clandestine information, she unlocked the lid and extracted an envelope.

  Inside was a letter which she unfolded and read.

  Dear Ms. Davis,

  I write this letter in response to your ad in the personals. Like you, I’ve never done anything like this before, but I figure it’s worth a shot, since I too am lonely. I am a hard-working man who neither smokes nor drinks. That doesn’t mean I don’t like to have a good time. I do. I’m as comfortable dancing the polka as I am baling hay. Most important of all, I am an honest man. Although I’ve moved around quite a bit, I’ve reached a time in my life when I’m ready to settle down in one place. I was glad to hear you’re looking for a husband because I’m looking for a wife. Could it be we’re looking for each other? I guess the only way to find out is for us to meet. If you tell me the time and place, I’ll be there. One thing I can assure you is that I’m not afraid of hard work.

  I’ve enclosed my picture. If I meet with your approval, I’ll come just as soon as you let me know you’re ready for me.

  Sincerely, Alfred J. Dumler.

  It was a drastic measure—advertising for a mail-order groom—but the situation called for drastic measures. If her niece wasn’t going to make one last effort to save the farm, then Gabby had to take matters into her own hands.

  She stared at the three-by-five photograph of a sturdylooking man sitting on a tractor. It had been taken from such a distance that it was difficult to see the man’s face clearly. Nor did it help that the picture had been creased in the mail. When Gabby had called to talk to him on the phone, he had sounded eager to come and visit the farm. So why wasn’t he here? Had he changed his mind? Was her plan going to fizzle?

  She looked again at her watch. Maybe the bus was running behind schedule. That would explain it. She reached for the telephone directory only to realize that she needed to turn on a light to see. Not only had the sun disappeared, but daylight was rapidly vanishing as well. It wasn’t even four o’clock, yet it was as dark as dusk.

  Gabby glanced out the dormer window and saw that the gray clouds that had loomed on the horizon a short while ago had pushed their way across the sky. Doing the pushing was a dark bank of storm clouds that had Gabby forgetting about phoning the bus company. She scurried about to close the windows.

  Just as a gust of wind caught the back screen door and sent it banging against the outside of the house, Gabby heard a young boy’s voice calling “Mom!”

  Gabby hurried downstairs and ushered ten-year-old Jeremy inside. “Your mother’s in town, Jeremy. Get in here before the rain starts,” she instructed, catching the banging screen door.

  “But I can’t find Outlaw!”

  “He’s probably out in the barn with the cats.” Gabby pushed Jeremy into the kitchen and bolted the back door shut, just as a bolt of lightning hit the sky.

  “He didn’t come to meet me at the bus stop,” Jeremy told her, slinging his backpack over a kitchen chair. He ran to an open kitchen window and whistled. “Outlaw! Here, boy!”

  When the first drops of rain hit the windowpane, Gabby ordered Jeremy to close it. As the skies dumped sheets of water all around them, she clasped her hands together and prayed, “Oh, please, not hail. We’re almost ready to harvest.”

  Jeremy’s face wore the same look of concern. “So far so good,” he told her a few minutes later, his nose pressed against the pane. When another bolt of lightning split the sky, Gabby pulled him away.

  “You know what your mother said about being near the window when there’s lightning,” she warned.

  Jeremy backed away slowly. “That’s weird,” he said as he continued to stare outside but at a safe distance from the glass. “There’s all sorts of lightning, but there’s no thunder.”

  “We can’t hear it because we’re inside.”

  “But look at all that lightning! What if Outlaw got struck!”

  Gabby drew Jeremy into the circle of her arms. “That dog’s too smart to be outside in the rain. I’m sure he’s in one of the sheds,” she said in a soothing tone.

  “I hope so. It would be awful to be stuck outside in this stuff.”

  Gabby was worried, too, but not about Outlaw. She could picture a man carrying a suitcase getting drenched by the rain. She could only hope the bus had been delayed.

  For several minutes they watched in silence as the rain and lightning continued.

  As soon as it stopped, Jeremy made a bee-line for the door.

  “Where are you going?” Gabby called after him.

  “To find Outlaw.”

  Gabby thought about going with him, but worried that Alfred Dumler might try to call. It was probably better that she wait at the house.

  That didn’t prevent her from anxiously pacing back and forth between kitchen window and back door, squinting as she stared out at the drive leading to the county road. A call to the bus company confirmed her suspicions—the bus was running behind schedule. However, it had already passed through Stanleyville, which meant Mr. Dumler would have arrived by now were he coming.

  Gabby hung up the phone with a sigh. Maybe it wasn’t going to be easy after all. If she couldn’t find a husband for Hannah in the personal ads, where would she look next?

  JEREMY HAD BEEN through the bam, the two pole sheds, even the chicken coop, but there was no sign of Outlaw. He had searched nearly every inch of the homestead without any luck. There was only one place left to look.

  The Nelson forty, which was next to the highway.

  Fear forced its way into his chest causing his heartbeat to accelerate. Jeremy rode his bike down the dirt road with urgency. He didn’t want to believe that Outlaw could be lying on the asphalt hurt—or worse yet, dead.

  He said a quick prayer and pedaled faster.

  He was halfway down the dirt road when he
heard the faint sound of barking. The closer he got to the highway, the stronger the barking became. A smile spread across Jeremy’s face. It was Outlaw. He’d recognize that bark anywhere.

  Jeremy jumped off his bike. “Outlaw. Here, boy!” He whistled through his teeth, but the dog didn’t come to him, though he continued to bark.

  Again Jeremy called to him. Finally, the part collie, part St. Bernard came running out of a small grove of trees. He stopped about midway, barked, then turned around and ran back to the trees.

  Jeremy followed him, running through tall grass. It was an area of the farm that hadn’t been cleared for planting and was called the Nelson forty because it was forty acres of land his great-grandfather had purchased from a man named Nelson. It was too hilly for irrigation, so thick brush and gnarly old trees—many of them dead—were left to grow wild. Jeremy had wanted to build a tree house in one of the old oaks, but his mother had nixed the idea. His grandfather had said it was because it was the only place on the farm ever to be hit by lightning—a memory firmly planted in his mother’s mind.

  Outlaw continued to bark and jump around excitedly. As Jeremy drew closer, he saw that the oak tree he would have used for a tree house had been struck by lightning. A huge limb had been ripped away from the trunk, leaving the tree split in two.

  Then later he saw why Outlaw was barking. A man lay on the ground beneath the oak.

  The branch that had been torn off rested directly above his head. The man’s position made it look as if he had fallen off the tree when the limb had split away. His arms were raised over his head, his legs spread apart, almost as if he were making a snow angel, Jeremy thought. Cautiously, he moved closer to him.

  “Mister, are you all right?”

  There was no sound except for Outlaw’s barking.

  “Outlaw, shut up!” After a couple of whines of protest, the dog finally quit barking.

  Jeremy knelt down beside the man and leaned over him. His clothes were dusty and awfully wrinkled. Everything was brown—his shirt, his vest, even his jeans, which were tucked inside black boots that came nearly to his knees. His dark hair was littered with debris—mainly straw and leaves—and dirt streaked his sunburned face.

  “How do you suppose he got so dirty?” Jeremy asked Outlaw in a near whisper.

  The dog whimpered and sniffed the inert man.

  “Stop that,” Jeremy scolded him, throwing his arm in the front of the dog and effectively pushing him out of the way. “Don’t get so close to him. Mister, can you hear me?” Again Jeremy spoke, but the man showed no reaction. Not the thick, dark brows framing closed eyes, nor the slightly crooked nose, nor the thick bushy mustache, trimming lips that looked dry and cracked from the sun.

  “Do you think he’s dead?” Jeremy asked Outlaw in a small voice.

  Outlaw barked.

  “He’s not,” Jeremy protested. “Or at least I don’t think he is.” He really didn’t know for sure, but he didn’t want to contemplate the possibility that there was a dead man beside him. It was too spooky.

  Still, he needed to know for sure. “Go ahead, boy. Say hello to him.” This time Jeremy urged the dog forward. The collie sniffed around the man’s form, but didn’t lick his face—which is what Jeremy hoped he would do.

  “I guess if you won’t touch him, I’m going to have to,” Jeremy told Outlaw with a grimace.

  The question was, where? There were only three places with exposed flesh—his face, his neck and his hands. Somehow it didn’t seem right to mess with his face. And his neck... well, that had an ugly bruise on it in the shape of an upside down V. He couldn’t touch a sore on another person’s body. That left only his hands.

  Both were curled tightly into fists. Warily, Jeremy reached for the left one. His fingers hung in the air over the knuckles for several seconds before they finally made contact. As his skin met the stranger’s, a tingling sensation prickled Jeremy’s fingertips, traveling up his arm and throughout his body. Startled by the sensation, he jumped backward.

  “He must have been struck by lightning. He’s giving off shocks!” Jeremy told Outlaw who had withdrawn as far away as his master. Jeremy glanced once more at the broken tree, then hopped on his bike and pedaled as fast as he could back to the house, Outlaw racing alongside of him. By the time they reached the porch, they were both winded.

  “Gabby, there’s a dead man in the Nelson forty! He must have been hit by lightning cuz he’s dead, and when I touched him it felt like electricity was running through my whole body!” Jeremy said in a rush, his eyes wide, his face flushed.

  Gabby felt her heart race. “Jeremy, slow down and repeat yourself. You’re talking too fast. Now tell me what’s wrong,” she instructed, not wanting to believe she could have heard him correctly.

  “I told you. There’s a dead man in the Nelson forty!” He recounted how he had found the man while looking for Outlaw.

  Gabby felt her knees go weak. “Oh, my,” she cried out, then sank down onto the wooden porch swing. “Oh, this can’t be. It just can’t be. He can’t be dead!”

  “He looks dead,” Jeremy assured her.

  Gabby pulled a lace-trimmed handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her brow. A dead man in the Nelson forty was bad enough, but a dead man who had answered an ad and was coming to visit Hannah was horrible. A live mail-order groom was going to be difficult enough to explain to Hannah, but a dead one? Gabby fanned her cheeks with her handkerchief. “I need a glass of water. Go quickly!” she panted.

  Jeremy did as he was instructed. Gabby took a sip, then splattered a few drops on her wrists. After regaining her composure, she stood and said, “We’d better take a look at him.”

  “It’s a long walk,” Jeremy warned her.

  “I’ll make it.” Normally Gabby wouldn’t even consider walking to the Nelson forty, but she needed to get to Alfred Dumler—if it was Alfred Dumler—before Hannah returned. She followed Jeremy out the back door and down the dirt road.

  Through the tall grass they trekked, Jeremy with the exuberance of a child running ahead of her. By the time Gabby caught up with him in the Nelson forty, he was slowly spinning around.

  Short of breath, Gabby asked, “How much farther is it?”

  “He’s not here!” Jeremy circled the oak in disbelief. “He was right here beneath this big branch.” His foot kicked at the limb that had fallen off the tree.

  Gabby felt an enormous sense of relief. At least Alfred Dumler wasn’t dead. It might not have even been the mail-order groom Jeremy saw. “Maybe it was someone taking a nap...you know, a hitchhiker.”

  “He looked dead.”

  “Thank goodness he wasn’t.” Gabby put her arm around her nephew’s shoulder. “Come. Let’s go get the mail, then we’ll go back to the house, and I’ll make you some lemonade.”

  They walked back down the road until they came to the big gray mailbox resting on a wooden post. Gabby reached inside and pulled out the stack of envelopes. Before she had a chance to look at them, Jeremy shouted, “Look. There he is!”

  Gabby looked up and saw a strange man, who was obviously disoriented. He staggered as he walked, moving first in one direction, then another. Even from a distance Gabby could see that he looked like a transient. Before she could warn Jeremy not to go after him, he and Outlaw were already running in his direction. Gabby had no choice but to follow.

  The man stopped moving when he saw the pair of them coming toward him. Gabby tried to connect the scruffy-looking man with the clean-cut farmer in the photograph in her lock box. She was about to dismiss the possibility that it could be Alfred Dumler when the man called out, “Hannah?”

  “Gabby, he knows my mom’s name!” Jeremy said in a fearful voice.

  Gabby’s heart beat in her throat. Slowly she approached the man. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m looking for Hannah....” Before he could say another word, the stranger passed out in a heap at their feet.

  “Oh, my!” Gabby declared in horror,
dropping the small pile of mail. “It is him!”

  Chapter Two

  Jeremy automatically stooped to pick up the mail, which the wind was threatening to scatter in several different directions. “You know him?” He looked at his aunt quizzically as he handed her what he thought was all of the mail. Unnoticed by either of them was a thin white envelope that had lodged itself between two stalks of corn.

  “I might.” She wrung her hands together as she stared at his unshaven face. “I’m not sure. It’s hard to tell if he’s the man in the picture.”

  “What picture?”

  Gabby didn’t answer. “He did ask for your mother, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Then it must be him.”

  “Who?”

  “Alfred Dumler. Although he’s not at all what I expected.” She studied the unconscious man, pressing a finger to her lips as she contemplated what she should do now that he had actually arrived.

  “How come he’s dressed so weird?” Jeremy wanted to know.

  It was a question Gabby wanted answered, too. Although the photo of Mr. Dumler had been creased, making it difficult to see his face, she could tell that he was a clean-cut young man. It was one of the reasons she had agreed to his visit. He had looked trustworthy. Now that he was here, she could see she may have made a serious error in judgment.

  His clothes were wrinkled, his hair unruly and his jaw unshaven. And he was dirty. Why, he looked like a bum! How dare he mislead her into thinking he was suitable husband material! Gabby would have liked to boot his dirty butt right back on the bus and send him back to Nebraska.

  Two things stopped her. One was the fact that he was obviously not able to get back on the bus, and the other . was her stubbornness. She refused to believe that she could have been wrong about her choice for Hannah’s mail-order groom.

  Gabby studied his sunburned face. He did have a straight nose—well, almost straight—which in Gabby’s opinion meant he was a good decision maker. That small bump halfway down indicated he worked hard. As a nose reader, Gabby was the best, and this guy’s proboscis told her he had good qualities. The tattered clothes could simply mean he had been down on his luck.