“There’s Luke now,” Rachel said. Both women turned to face their intended.
“Oh my, he’s quite handsome—in a rugged sort of way.” Miss O’Neil’s cheeks flushed, giving color to her pale complexion, and she fanned her face with her gloved hand. “And so tall.”
Luke turned and walked toward them, paying no special attention to the women staring at him. “Ladies.” He flashed Rachel a curious look, nodded, and proceeded to walk around them.
Rachel sidestepped into his path, barely able to keep a lid on her irritation and her disappointment. “Marshal Davis, it would seem we have a bit of a dilemma here.”
Luke surveyed the two women; then he turned his innocent gaze on Rachel. “What dilemma? How can I help?”
Rachel clenched her fists. How could he be so naive? If he sent for a bride—or two—wouldn’t he be expecting them? She hiked her chin. “It appears both of these ladies have come to town to claim you as their future husband.”
***
“Pardon me?” Luke would have thought Rachel was joking if not for the anger in her voice and her pinched expression. He folded the payroll shipment information he’d been studying and stuffed it into his pocket, thinking he must have heard her wrong. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh dear. You tell him.” The shorter, thinner woman with big green eyes and hair the color of a sorrel mare attempted to strangle the life out of the strings of her handbag.
Had they been robbed on the stage? Had some man acted inappropriately toward them? Luke gritted his teeth, ready to take action to defend them if necessary. But hadn’t Rachel said something about marriage?
He cast a glance at her. Rachel’s light blue eyes looked as cold as a January day in Colorado. What could have happened to turn her to ice?
The blue-eyed blond tossed her head like a mustang and narrowed her gaze. “It would seem there’s been some kind of mistake, Marshal. I’m Leah Bennett. The mail-order bride you’ve been corresponding with.”
The thinner woman sucked in a gasp. “But that simply cannot be the truth, for I have a letter right here, askin’ me to m–marry you.”
The Irish lilt in the woman’s voice caught his attention, but his eyes widened as his mind grappled with what the women had said. “You’re both here—to marry me?”
Rachel crossed her arms and frowned at him. “What have you done, Luke?”
“Nothing, I promise.” He raised his hands, as if in surrender, and his gaze zigzagged among the three women. “I didn’t write to either of these ladies.”
The brides glanced at each other, apprehension evident in their eyes.
“Well, someone did. So what are you going to do about it?” Rachel crossed her arms and stared at him.
The trio of females, two steaming and one near weeping, standing side by side, created a unified barricade on the boardwalk; and around them, a crowd was gathering, casting curious looks in his direction. Luke’s first thought was to flee, but he held his ground like a man and scanned his baffled mind, trying to make some sense of this. He knew he hadn’t written to these women, but evidently someone had, and he aimed to find out who. Dallying with a woman’s affections may not be a legal issue, but in his book, it was wrong, and now these ladies were suffering and inconvenienced because someone had pretended to be him. Besides, impersonating a lawman might just be a crime.
Luke lifted his hat and raked his fingers through his hair. “I guess you’d better get the women situated at the boardinghouse. Then we’ll sit down and see if we can get to the bottom of this. I can assure both of you that I did not write those letters. But I intend to find out who did.”
CHAPTER 14
Rachel grasped the folds of her skirt. How could Luke expect her to take responsibility for his mail-order brides? It was unconscionable. She sighed, pushing away her irritation, knowing none of this was the brides’ fault. There was no other place in Lookout where a decent woman could spend the night, unless with a family. Smothering her anger and breaking heart, she faced Luke. “If you’ll see to their luggage, I’ll show the women to the boardinghouse. Ladies, please follow me.”
Thank goodness she had a large enough roast to feed the additional people. She could add more potatoes and carrots, and the two pies would be sufficient for dessert. Rachel stopped in her tracks. “Oh, no! My pies.”
She hiked up her skirt and dashed for her kitchen, not caring if the brides followed or not. She raced in front of a wagon, forcing the driver to yank back on the reins.
“Hey, watch it, lady.”
Everyone probably thought her to be as crazy as a rabid skunk, but if she didn’t save her pies, there would be no dessert for supper tonight. And with two women in the house, that would be a disaster. Rachel stormed in the front door, through the narrow hallway, and into the kitchen. She stopped, a hand pressed to her heaving chest. No black smoke rose from the oven door. Instead of the stench of scorched sugar, the fragrant scent of apples cooked in cinnamon filled the heated kitchen. Her gaze landed on the perfectly cooked pies cooling on the counter. What was going on?
Someone clomped out of her bedroom at a quick pace. Jacqueline rounded the corner and halted wide-eyed when she saw her mother. Gratitude to her daughter for saving the pies flowed through Rachel, but the knowledge that the girl was supposed to be at school squelched her enthusiasm. “What are you doing home?”
Jacqueline shrugged and leaned against the doorjamb. The pretty dress Rachel had insisted she wear this morning had been replaced by a faded blouse with rolled up sleeves and black trousers. The ever-present western boots covered her feet, and her daughter’s hair hung in straggly braids with a sprig of grass here and there as if she’d been wrestling on the ground. The deep purple and black that had surrounded her eye had given way to yellow and green. “I got hot, and I was still hungry after dinner, so I came home to change and get something else to eat.”
“You know you’re not allowed to wear pants to school. They are strictly for gardening, and if you keep wearing them, I’ll burn them in the trash barrel.” Rachel forced her voice to sound stern. Luke would be proud of her for standing up to Jacqueline, not that it mattered now that his “brides” had come to town.
Jacqueline’s eyes went wide as biscuits, but she didn’t comment.
“Did you ask Mrs. Fairland if you could leave the school premises?”
The girl shrugged again. She hadn’t asked permission. She never did.
“Let me fix your hair, and then you need to change into a dress and get back to school.”
“Aw, Ma, it’s nearly over, and me and Jonesy’s goin’ fishing.”
Rachel gasped in spite of her determination not to let her daughter fluster her. “Fishing! You most certainly aren’t going anywhere with that boy. He’s far too old for you to be hanging around with, and besides, you need to go back to school.”
“Ah, Jonesy’s all right, and Mrs. Fairland is just testing the little kids this afternoon. There’s nothing for us big kids to do but practice cipherin’ or read boring books.”
Jacqueline hated reading, and it didn’t seem right to make her sit still all afternoon if they weren’t working. But she needed to be in school. And why did she always want to play with those older boys? It wasn’t as if she was interested in them in a womanly way. Her daughter just wanted to be one of the gang—something that perplexed Rachel to no end. She shook her head.
“I’ll bring home some bass you can cook for supper.” Jacqueline’s dark blue eyes twinkled. She strode to the jar and snagged two sugar cookies, bit off a chunk of one and stuck the other in her pocket.
She’d planned to fix roast beef for supper, but fish would taste good and didn’t cost anything, and she did have a big issue to deal with immediately. Maybe it would be better if her daughter were not around until things with the mail-order brides settled down. Still, she couldn’t abide by her missing school to go fishing. A knock sounded at the front door. The brides had arrived.
Jacqueline darted past her
and out the back door. “I’ll be home before supper.”
“No, wait.” Rachel spun toward the back door. “I didn’t say you could go.”
“You’re welcome. I saved your pies, you know.” Jacqueline yanked a fishing pole off the back porch and raced toward the river. A boy Rachel recognized as Jonesy stepped in beside her as she passed behind Luke’s house.
“Oh, heavenly Father, what am I going to do with this mischievous daughter You gave me?” Rachel should go after Jacqueline and insist she go back to school, but she didn’t want her daughter pitching a fit in front of the new guests.
“Rachel?”
“In the kitchen.” Needing a moment to calm herself, she checked the oven to make sure the pies hadn’t spilled over; then she hurried to the entryway, where Luke stood with his two brides. The thought of them living under her roof, eating meals she cooked, and asking her about the man they’d come to marry made her stomach swirl. Of course, they couldn’t both marry him, but the idea of even one doing so made her want to cry.
The stage line’s shotgun rider stood on the porch, holding a small trunk. Rachel forced a smile at the women, both young and pretty enough to snag the eye of any man. It was easy to see how Luke could prefer them over her. Pushing away her warring thoughts, she gave her guests a true smile. They didn’t know her feelings and were innocents in this awful ordeal. She owed them her kindness and hospitality. “Follow me, please.”
Luke’s snort erupted behind her. “You said that already, just before you hiked up your skirts and made a mad dash through town as if your dress was on fire.” He chuckled, and the man outside joined him.
Heat rose to Rachel’s cheeks. “Yes, well, I remembered the pies I had in the oven. I was distracted by the unusual circumstances and had lost track of the time. You’d be sorely disappointed if they’d burned and you didn’t have any dessert tonight.” She glared at Luke, and he had the good sense to look chagrined.
Miss O’Neil cleared her throat. “They do smell delicious. And such a lovely home you have.”
“Thank you. I apologize, Miss Bennett, Miss O’Neil, for running off and leaving you standing at the depot. My name is Rachel Hamilton, by the way. Let me show you to your rooms.” Both women smiled, and Rachel felt as if they’d forgiven her. She started up the steps to the second floor, holding back a sigh at the spectacle she must have made. These women probably wondered if they’d be safe in her home.
Upstairs she stopped in the wide hallway. She pointed to a matching set of doors on the far wall. “The door to the left is a washroom where I have fresh water each morning and afternoon. The door on the right leads to the back stairs, but I always keep it locked. There are four rooms on this floor that I rent out.”
She stepped forward and opened the bedroom door to the left of the main stairway. “Miss Bennett, would this suit you?”
The woman stepped past her and glanced around the cheery room decorated in a soft blue and white. “Yes, this is very nice. Just have that man place my trunk along the wall, and please take care with that. It’s my hope chest.”
Rachel turned to the man and waved her hand toward the wall. “If you don’t mind, please put the trunk where the lady indicated.”
He lugged the chest inside the room and set it down. He nodded at the women and quickly took his leave. Halfway down the stairs on the landing, he paused. “There’s a crate for you at the depot, Mrs. Hamilton. I’ll fetch it and bring it to you.”
Rachel smiled at the dust-coated man. “Thank you. I appreciate your assistance. And please take care with that. It’s my new lamp.”
The man nodded and continued down the stairs. Luke stood like a statue in the hallway, longingly watching him.
“Marshal.” Miss Bennett cocked her head and batted her eyes at Luke. “My satchel, if you please. It’s the one tucked under your arm.”
Luke looked as if he were afraid to step into her room, what with the woman batting her lashes at him as if she’d been chopping onions. Rachel ducked her head to hide her frown. Would Miss Bennett win Luke’s affections with her alluring ways? Though travel worn, both of the young women were lovely and didn’t have the look of a haggard boardinghouse owner and mother of a precocious child.
Luke still stood at the threshold, holding three satchels and looking as if he’d like to tuck tail and run. She’d never seen a man so uncomfortable with women. Rachel let him off the hook and took the carpetbag he held tight under his muscled upper arm and set it on Miss Bennett’s bed. She slipped past Luke, relieving him of a second smaller satchel, and opened the door across the hall.
“Miss O’Neil, perhaps you’d like the green room, as we call it.” Rachel stepped inside, scanning the area to make sure all was in order, even though she already knew it was. She loved the pale floral wallpaper and the spring green curtains. The flower garden quilt on the bed also had green accents, as well as a pleasing variety of pinks, violets, and blues.
Miss O’Neil gasped. “I’ve never stayed in a room so lovely. ’Tis charming, it is.”
“Thank you for your help, Marshal. We should probably let the women freshen up a bit before we discuss the—situation.” Rachel lifted her brows at Luke. His ears reddened, and he handed her the final satchel and headed toward the stairs.
“Ladies, welcome to Hamilton House. Miss O’Neil, I’ll have your trunk delivered as soon as that man returns with it.”
The young woman’s pale cheeks turned the color of an apple. “Um ... this is all I have, mum.”
Rachel hid her surprise at the young woman’s lack of belongings. Maybe she planned to send more along later, after she got settled. Only she might not be settling here once all was said and done. “All right then. Please make yourself at home.”
Miss O’Neil’s gaze darted across the hall at Miss Bennett’s room, and she stepped forward, wringing her hands. “How much is a room for the night?” she whispered.
“Two dollars, which includes your meals, or twelve dollars for a full week.”
“Oh, blessit be, I uh ... can only afford to stay two nights. I thought I would arrive and be married right away. Perhaps you might need some assistance here? I’m used to hard work.”
Compassion for the woman surged through Rachel. The girl couldn’t be more than seventeen or eighteen. Rachel couldn’t afford to hire any help, but maybe someone else in Lookout could. “Don’t worry about that now. Things will work out.”
Rachel met Luke downstairs and motioned him to go outside. She paced the front porch, arms crossed over her chest, waiting on Luke to get his nerve up to talk to her. If her heart hadn’t been split in two, she might have been tempted to feel sorry for the man.
He lifted his hat and slapped it against his leg. “Look, Rachel, I didn’t write to those women. I knew nothing about them before you stopped me at the depot.”
“Do you think this is some kind of sick prank? Those women have traveled who knows how far to marry you, and I’ve just learned that at least one of them has very little money.” Rachel sighed and looked across the street. “If you’re not responsible, who do you think is? Who would toy with two women like this?”
“I have my suspicions, but I want to do some investigating before I say anything.”
Rachel nodded. “All right. Do you want to question the women?”
Luke shrugged. He’d probably never talk to them if he didn’t have to. If Rachel wasn’t so disturbed by the whole event and what it could mean to her, she might have found some humor in the situation.
“I’ll try to get back before supper.”
“Maybe we should talk after that. No sense in spoiling anyone’s meal.”
Luke nodded and walked away but suddenly stopped and turned back to her. “Oh, hey, Mrs. Fairland gave me a note earlier and asked me to pass it on to you.”
Rachel puffed air into her cheeks and took the message. She knew what the schoolteacher had to say but opened the note anyway. Scanning the message, her frustration grew. That rascally ch
ild. She had been one of the children who was supposed to take the test this afternoon.
Wadding up the paper in her hand, Rachel watched Luke’s long legs take him away. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she’d hoped they could have a second chance. He’d seemed truly surprised about the two brides, but was that just for her benefit? None of it made any sense. If he wanted a mail-order bride, why would he order two of them?
The stagehand nodded as he passed Luke, carrying a crate on his shoulder. Her lamp. In all the hubbub she’d forgotten about it.
Rachel stepped aside and allowed the man to pass in front of her. “Where do you want this, Mrs. Hamilton?”
“Just set it on the parlor floor for now, and thank you so much for your help.”
“My pleasure, ma’am.”
He lowered the crate to her decorated rug, and the sound of clinking glass only added to her misery. Her new lamp was broken, just like her heart.
CHAPTER 15
Rachel finished sweeping the kitchen floor and glanced outside again. The sun had set, and darkness covered the land. She swept the dirt out the back door and stood listening to the crickets. Where was Luke? Had he gotten tied up smoothing out a disturbance, or was he simply avoiding the confrontation with the brides?
She shook her head. For a lawman, he avoided females like a mouse hid from a tomcat. With his gentle ways and soft-spoken demeanor, he was far different from James. That alone made him attractive to her.
She took the stack of dried dishes from the counter and set them on the shelf near the dining room door. Glancing around the tidy kitchen, a measure of satisfaction filled her. The flickering glow of the two lanterns mounted on the wall illuminated the room. Soft yellow walls looked cheery with the light blue gingham curtains. Every utensil had a place, and each item was in its place. At least it was as long as Jacqueline wasn’t in the kitchen. The girl used things and set them down, never thinking to wash them or put them away.
Rachel shook her head, still tired from her battle with Jacqueline. When she’d told her daughter that she’d get no pie after supper because she had lied and skipped out of taking that test, Jacqueline had pitched a royal fit. Both the brides had declined pie themselves and had quickly disappeared into their rooms. Mr. Sampson, one never to refuse dessert, had taken his slice and eaten it on the porch to avoid the girl’s ranting. Glancing down, Rachel noticed her white-knuckled grip on the back of the chair. She released her hold and glanced at the ceiling. “Lord, help me raise this child You’ve given me.”
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