by Rachel Bird
That colt was a wonder, but losing Penelope had been a blow. On the drive to Cheyenne, lying under the stars at night, grieving her loss had forced him to ponder other sorrows. Was this how his life was to be? A relentless succession of regret-filled days, one after another, until he came to the Final Sleep?
He couldn’t see through his pain to any other course.
* * *
Pres was home. From his bedroom window, Rafe had watched his brother ride up the drive and take his horse into the barn.
The kids were down in the kitchen helping Consuela make cornhusk tamales, but the minute they knew their pa was home, they’d be all over him. Rafe glanced at Naomi Steele’s second letter sitting on his writing desk. The physical proof of what he’d done. He could put off telling Pres about it until after supper.
Or later.
Rafe looked the lines over, just to remind himself what an interfering fool he was—and to never poke his nose into someone else’s tent again.
Dear Mr. Morgan,
I hope this letter finds you (and your cattle ~ and your men!) well and successful in your endeavor and that you all return home safe.
I very much appreciate your willingness to come to Break Heart and be married in the church here. My sister Faith says what our minister lacks in ecclesiastical scholarship he makes up for in enthusiasm. All my sisters and my brother Luke are eager to meet you.
Luke.
Rafe hadn’t considered… Naomi’s parents had died, and it sounded like she was responsible for her brother. She’d want to bring him to the Morning Star with her.
Heaven knew there was plenty of room, and there were far worse places for a boy to grow up than a ranch. But what would Pres think about taking on another child when he hardly had two words for his own?
Nothing to do but see how it played out. First, Rafe had to convince his brother that a new wife was just the thing to cure what ailed him.
I must say I’m impressed by your vow to woo me after we are married. From the beginning, you set a high standard for yourself, sir.
Rafe chuckled at that. Naomi Steele had a lot of gumption.
I look forward to hearing from you soon.
I remain yours truly,
Naomi Steele, c/o Vanderhouten Brides
Break Heart, Colorado
This was great, he told himself. There was every reason to believe Pres was going to be delighted. Later. Rafe would tell him after the kids went to bed, when he and Pres shared their usual evening brandy in the library.
* * *
“I don’t want another wife.” Pres’s usual cold composure melted into something smoldering. Was it barely contained fury? “That part of life is over with for me.”
“But she… she’s…”
The cozy library with its overstuffed leather chairs and comforting walls of books suddenly felt like it was closing in on Rafe. He stared at the amber liquid in the cut crystal glass he held between two palms.
He’d completely forgotten about the painting hung over the fireplace in this room. It was a scene from a roundup. In the forefront, Rosamund stood with her horse. Penelope, Rafe realized. She was dressed to ride, in wide chaps and fringed leather gloves, and a bolero vest covered with beaded primroses. Her pale blonde hair shone like a halo in the sun, and she seemed to stare down on him as if she was actually present in the room, taking in the conversation.
Having an opinion about it, too—though whether good or bad, he couldn’t tell.
“She? She who? She what? There’s a she?” Pres’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do, Rafe?”
“I found you one. A wife. A mail order bride. She’s in Break Heart. You’re supposed to go fetch her when you get back from the cattle drive.”
“You found me a wife.” Pres snorted. The anger faded, like a dry wind dying down. He took another sip of his brandy. His shoulders started to shake, but the coldness hadn’t returned to replace the fury. This was something else.
Rafe couldn’t be sure, but it appeared Pres was laughing inside.
“If you have a wife waiting somewhere, brother, I guess you’ll just have to go fetch her and marry her yourself.”
“I can’t marry a wife!”
“Better than marrying a snake. And why not? You’re of age and unencumbered.”
“I’m nowhere near fit to take on a wife.”
“The ladies of Rosamund would disagree, by the way they look at you.”
Really? That was news to Rafe.
But gratifying as that information was, it didn’t change anything. “I’ve no fixed occupation. I don’t have my own land. Or a house for a wife to live in. I’m not…” Good enough for her wasn’t quite what he meant. “I’m not ready.”
But thinking about it… heaven knew he wished he was ready.
Just the brief exchange of letters with Naomi had been a delight. He’d spent many an hour the past week chuckling over one of her phrases or sentences or thinking of ways Pres could make her happy.
Could he be the one to make Naomi Steele happy?
“That’s a mighty sad story.” Pres did not sound sad. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? You brought this on yourself.”
“I know, I know.” Rafe ran both hands through his hair and blew out a breath. “What am I going to do?”
“Write to the poor woman, confess your perfidy, and send her on to the next man on the matchmaker’s list.”
Never. The thought of the lively woman who wrote those letters belonging to some stranger… well, it was revolting is what it was.
“Or you can go to Break Heart and marry her yourself.”
If only he could! But everything he just told Pres was true. “Like I said—”
“About you not being ready for a wife, I disagree. If you don’t want to live with us in the big house, you could build your bride her own place out by that sweet patch in the southeast meadow. Or you could make the truly big leap and do what you really want.”
“What is that?”
“Move into town and take up Sheriff Dawson’s offer to become a deputy.”
“You knew about that?” The Rosamund sheriff had tried to hire Rafe on months ago.
“Dawson wouldn’t move to pilfer one of my best men without consulting me first.”
One of my best men. Rafe swelled with pride—for about two seconds. Then he faced facts. “That’s mighty fine of you to say so, Pres, but I’m full aware I’m not one of your best men. You didn’t even want me on the cattle drive.”
Pres set his crystal glass down hard. “I wanted you watching over what’s most precious to me. Lissy and Ug. The Morning Star. You aren’t made for the trail, it’s true. But you’re a natural born protector and keeper of the peace. Dawson wants you for a reason.”
Rosamund’s sheriff had said as much when he offered the job. Rafe had been tempted, but he didn’t want to abandon Pres. Now he reconsidered with a fresh eye. As a lawman, he’d never be rich like Pres. But not many would. He’d earn enough to support a family, though, especially if he became sheriff one day.
“I see your mind at work,” Pres said. “Add this to your calculations. I’ve always assumed you’d want a family of your own eventually, and I’ve put aside a stake to get you going. Enough to buy or build a house and set it up.”
“That’s too much.”
“Nonsense. What’s the use of my success if I can’t help my brothers? I’ve set aside funds for Schuyler too, if we can ever convince him to leave his precious New York. Point is, if you want to marry, don’t use a supposed lack of means as an excuse to hold you back. You’re better set than you realize. Have you spent even a dollar of your pay since you came to the Morning Star?”
Rafe grinned. “One or two.”
Hecate had been a gift from Pres, but Rafe had paid for all her tack. Bought his own clothes and gear, though his one good suit he’d brought with him from Albany. The point held.
“And what about Sky’s efforts on your behalf?”
“Along the same li
nes as yours, I’d imagine.”
Rafe and Pres both sent regular sums to Schuyler in New York to invest in schemes he heard about in his work with some of the biggest money men on Wall Street. Sky sent quarterly reports. Rafe’s nest egg was growing fat.
He had a nice sum put by at the bank in Greeley too. Just-in-case money, he called it. Money he wouldn’t have to justify spending in ways his cautious brother Sky would think unwise.
“Well, then.” Pres shook his head, grinning. “What’s left to be said?”
In one conversation, Rafe’s entire idea of himself had shifted. Now the question remained. Did he want to marry? He stole a glance at Rosamund above the fireplace, hoping to see an answer there.
It was like asking if he wanted to start living his real life. Did he want to do that with Naomi Steele?
Maybe he did.
There was only one small problem. The minute she found out what a liar he was, she was going to hate him.
Chapter 19
Break Heart
Charity stirred the tea and set it on a tray along with a few jumbles she’d brought from Calico Manor. The spiced cookies were a benefit of Naomi being at home—she hadn’t had time to bake such treats when she was working.
Naomi had still been steaming about Mr. Morgan when Charity came home from work on Saturday. By Sunday after church she’d calmed down slightly. This morning at breakfast she’d handed Charity the jumbles for Mae, wrapped in paper, with the comment that she probably would have taken them anyway.
Naomi knew her all too well.
Charity brought the snack out to the front and set it down at the register beside Mae. “And I quote: Long about four in the afternoon, nothing beats a nice cup of oolong, brewed strong with milk and sugar.”
“For me?” Mae brightened. She sure did enjoy her sweets.
Charity beamed inside and returned to the R.H. Macy & Co. catalog she’d been browsing. If only it could be so easy to get into Naomi’s good graces. Cookies notwithstanding, Naomi was still unhappy with her. And well she should be.
“Why the heavy sigh, dear? What are you looking for?”
“I can’t replace Ma’s brooch.” Even with Mae helping to search the store high and low for the mourning brooch, they still hadn’t found it. “But I thought I might buy Naomi a new shawl. I was wearing hers when we hit the rapids. It wouldn’t have been lost if she’d had it on her raft.”
“You can’t know that.”
“That’s kind of you. But yes, I can. It was so beautiful. I could never replace it exactly, but I’d like to get her another one someday.”
“You’re a thoughtful sister.”
“I’m not, I promise you. And my birthday vow this year was to be a better sister.”
“How are you doing with that?”
“Not well, I’m afraid.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Mae said. “Watch the store for a minute. I’ll be right back.”
She went upstairs to her living quarters. Soon came the sound of a heavy object being dragged across the ceiling—Mae’s floor—then silence. After another few minutes, she returned with a package wrapped in sky-blue paper secured with an elegant red and gold ribbon tied in a bow.
“For you, my dear.” Her eyes twinkled as she placed the object on the counter.
Charity undid the bow and carefully opened the paper, then sucked in a breath. “This is wonderful,” she whispered. It was a gorgeous beige silk shawl embroidered all over with flowers, berries, birds, and butterflies in bright colors.
“I wanted to give you a bonus for all your hard work, but until now I couldn’t think what you might want—other than more paper and ink, which isn’t very exciting.”
Paper and ink would always be exciting to Charity. “But this is too much. I couldn’t possibly—”
“Oh pshaw, as Charlotte would say. I have no doubt you’re already wondering if my feelings will be hurt if you give this to your sister. You’re a good girl.”
“Trust me, Mae. I’m not that good.”
“Trust me, Charity. You are.”
“We’ll have to agree to disagree on that one. Naomi is the truly good person in our family. She does for everyone and no one ever does for her. No one even thinks about it. I’m ashamed to admit it, but until I came to Colorado, sometimes I never even noticed she was the room.”
“Most children tend to take mothers and fathers for granted. It would have been natural to do the same with Naomi. Parents are like God, always there whether we notice or not.”
Except that God never dies. Charity kept that ungrateful thought to herself. True, she’d lost her parents and Matthew and Mark and the others, but Mae had lost everyone and she remained cheerful and hopeful.
“Every person is different, each with their own special value,” Mae said. “Maybe Naomi’s talent is seeing to other people’s needs.”
Charity nodded. There was something to what Mae said. All the Steeles came from one family, but each was different than the others. “Belle was always the center of Ma and Pa’s hopes for the future. She’s so beautiful and doesn’t even know it.”
“She certainly married well.”
“Twice,” Charity said—and they both laughed. “Faith was Pa’s favorite. They shared a fondness for scripture.”
“And you were your mother’s favorite, I’d imagine,” Mae said.
“Ah… no.” The very idea was laughable. Charity had never been anybody’s favorite person. “I was too… unruly.”
“Oh, but that’s what I like about you, my dear.” Mae smiled at her fondly, and a lump formed in Charity’s throat.
The bells at the front jingled and Gil Breaux came through the door. “Good day, chèr!”
Saved by the mail!
“I’ll get the outgoing.” Charity ducked into the storage room and dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. She wasn’t used to being noticed for anything good, let alone being appreciated for who she really was. It felt wonderful! So why did it make her teary?
She grabbed the mailbag and brought it to the front, warily eyeing today’s delivery. What a topsy-turvy world! Instead of being eager for a letter from Mr. Morgan announcing when he’d arrive in Break Heart, now she dreaded it. Of course she couldn’t marry the man in Naomi’s place. That would be preposterous. But she didn’t look forward to explaining herself to him.
To her relief, there was nothing in today’s mail from Morning Star Ranch.
At the end of the day, she walked home alone. Hannah was working practically around the clock to help get everyone’s costumes ready for the Independence Day parade, two days away. She hung her bonnet in the vestibule. Naomi and Faith were talking in the kitchen, though she couldn’t make out the words.
She slipped upstairs unseen to leave her peace offering, rewrapped in the sky-blue paper, on Naomi’s neatly made bed.
Chapter 20
Charity was alone in the store, having a pity festival. Mae had gone out on some mysterious errand, again the mail had brought no word from Morning Star Ranch, and Naomi had said nothing about the shawl.
This morning when Mae asked Charity how she’d liked it, obviously expecting to hear how pleased Naomi was with her gift, Charity had mumbled something unsatisfactory to cover up her embarrassment.
As for Mr. Morgan, her sister hadn’t mentioned the subject once since Charity first brought it up. It was as if the man didn’t exist. In fact, since learning about her prospective bridegroom, Naomi had spoken barely a word to Charity.
“Why can’t I do anything right?” she moaned aloud. Why couldn’t she learn to leave people’s things—and the people themselves—alone?
“I think you do everything right.” Two rough hands reached from behind to cover Charity’s eyes, and her heart leaped into her throat. “Guess who?”
She dropped her pen on the counter and whirled around. With a murderous shriek, she drove her two fists into the chest of whoever had accosted her and shoved him back against the pigeonho
les that contained what remained of today’s sorted mail.
Red John Deckom’s hat tumbled to the floor.
“Hey now. Easy, darlin’!” He bent over for his hat, then straightened. An admiring, and ridiculous, grin spread across his face. “Ain’t you a pistol!”
“What are you doing here?” Charity moved around the counter into the aisle, where she’d have a straight line to the front door if need be. She wasn’t afraid of Red John anymore, but she was uneasy being alone with him. “And how did you—wait a minute. Did you come in through the back?”
She made a mental note to double-check the door’s lock in the mornings after the teamster’s delivery.
“I wanted to see my strawberry tart.”
“Can you really be that all-fired stupid?”
Now her heart was pounding hard. She might think Red John was mostly harmless these days, but she still remembered the last time he sneaked into the store from the back. He’d put a six-gun to her head, threatened to take her away and marry her, the idiot. At the time, she didn’t know his weapon wasn’t loaded—his Colt or his brain.
Inwardly she chuckled at her private joke.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t touch anything. I just don’t want Faith to see me and stick me in the calaboose.”
“I thought you liked being stuck in the calaboose.” She edged backward, and he followed her into the aisle. “Don’t you call it the Hotel Fontana?”
“Well now, the cells are clean and the food is good. But I don’t like that Polk fella.”
“For once we agree on something.”
“Besides, tomorrow is Independence Day. I’ll miss the speeches if I’m locked up.”
“Oh Red John, no.” He had no idea how unwelcome he was. “You can’t come to town tomorrow. None of you Deckoms can. It will only cause trouble.”
“We don’t cause trouble at church, do we? People are getting used to us again.”
“No. No, they aren’t.”
Polk would use the Deckoms’ presence as an excuse to show off, but the visiting sheriff was no Brady Fontana. He was sloppy enough to start a gunfight, but he had no capacity for stopping one.
Things could go very badly.
