The Drifter's Mail-Order Bride: (A Western Historical Romance) (The Dalton Brides Book 4)

by Cassie Hayes

  The more he chewed on it, the more he liked the arrangement. He’d have the freedom to do as he pleased, and she’d feed him. Now that Walt and Nate had new brides — real ones — they would probably be far less keen on him dropping in for meals. And, while he could cook a mean campfire tater, real meals were beyond his abilities.

  Riding along, he thought about his cabin. For the first time, he was ashamed of how bare it was. He didn’t know Bonnie very well, but he knew she deserved better than an empty shell of a home. He didn’t even have any food in the house. Well, a quick stop at Walt’s place would remedy that!

  ~ * ~ * ~

  As slow as he had to go to protect Roamer’s hoof, he knew the wagons wouldn’t be too far behind him. He had barely enough time to lug the crate full of dry goods into the cabin before he heard a wagon pulling up. He didn’t even have time to light the stove, not that he’d know how to do it.

  He was impressed by Bonnie’s acceptance of his hovel and amused by her businesslike manner about it all. She was absolutely right to expect better accommodations, and he’d let her decorate the place however she liked. She’d be the only one living there most of the time anyway, so he couldn’t care less.

  While Bonnie worked some kind of delicious smelling magic in the kitchen, he set about scrounging up some wool horse blankets from the barn. While he was out there, he checked on Roamer and found him favoring the foot with the split hoof. Not too much, but Bart decided he’d let the old fella rest up for a few days before riding him again. Good thing they had other horses to choose from.

  As he laid the blankets in front of the fireplace, he couldn’t help noticing Bonnie watching him. The way her emerald gaze followed his every move warmed him, perhaps a little too much for a ‘strictly business’ relationship. He needed to break the spell.

  “There ya go,” he announced, spinning on the heel of his boot and waving a hand over the thin pallet. He almost laughed at her confusion. “You said you weren’t afraid of roughing it. Well, till we can get you your own bed, this’ll have to do.”

  His glee at teasing her almost erupted as laughter so he turned away and sat down in the house’s lone chair with his back turned to her. “And I hope you don’t mind standing up to eat till we can scrounge up another chair.”

  Trying desperately not to snicker, he waited for her to berate him or throw a fit, but all he heard behind him was a deep sigh. Turning to look at her, his teasing grin slipped away. She was standing with her back to him and her shoulders were shaking, but she wasn’t making a noise. His shoulders had been shaking too, but he was trying not to laugh. From the slumped look of her, he was sure she was trying not to cry.

  Shame wasn’t something Bart was used to feeling, but it filled him with horror now. He’d been joking around with her but it only took a moment for him to see it from her point of view. She was exhausted after a long journey, hungry, in a new place and situation, and now she had to sleep on some ratty old blankets on the floor.

  He felt like a total heel.

  Leaping up from his seat, he went to her and spun her around. The way her head was bowed in defeat nearly broke his heart. “I was just joshing you a little, Bonnie Blue. I swear. Don’t cry.”

  When he pulled her into his arms, he thought it would be awkward, but it wasn’t. She fit perfectly into the nook of his shoulder, and her warmth and softness felt like home. Her head settled against his chest, where his heart was suddenly hammering away like crazy.

  “Shh,” he whispered, smoothing her thick chestnut hair. “I was planning to sleep on the floor the whole time. You can have my bed, of course, but I warn you, it ain’t much better than that pallet.”

  They stood there swaying for a moment — or an hour, Bart sort of lost track of time — before she pulled back, sniffling. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Dalton—“

  “Bart,” he choked out, his voice strangely hoarse.

  She nodded. “Bart. I don’t know what came over me.” Her voice was shaky and she trembled under his hands.

  If they’d been in a dancehall, he would have guessed she was smitten with him but as it was, he knew she was just tired. So was he, now that he thought on it. All he wanted to do was eat and get some shut eye. Maybe the morning would bring more clarity to this strange arrangement.

  “You go sit down, and I’ll dish up whatever this is you rustled up for us,” he instructed. She started to object but he just pointed at the table. “It’s the least I can do after making my pretty new wife cry on our wedding night.”

  Something flashed across her face but disappeared as soon as he tipped her a wink and a grin. She gave him a small smile and settled herself at the tiny table. He really did need to do something about that.

  The sausage and sauerkraut that she’d whipped up out of almost nothing smelled like heaven. He already knew it would be the best meal he’d had in months — his brothers were better cooks than him, but not by much — and he couldn’t wait to dig in.

  Settling the now-empty crate from Walt’s on the other side of the table, Bart sat and raised his cup of water, tapping against Bonnie’s. “To a long and happy partnership.”

  Chapter 7

  Bonnie still felt foolish for crying in front of Bart. She’d never cried in front of her sisters, much less total strangers. She’d just been so overwhelmed with everything that had happened that it all came spilling out when he said she’d be sleeping on the floor. That was not how she’d always envisioned her wedding night.

  But this wasn’t a real marriage, she reminded herself. It was a business arrangement — a partnership, just like he’d said in his toast at dinner. If she didn’t keep her silly schoolgirl expectations in check, she would be in for a lifetime of sadness.

  As it turned out, dinner was quite nice. Bart was charming and funny, and she truly liked him. He regaled her with tales of his travels, including one story about how he and Roamer managed to outrun a pack of hungry wolves in the wilds of Montana. It was quite thrilling!

  “Do wolves normally try to attack such big animals as a horse and rider?” she asked as she cleared the table.

  Bart sprawled across the small square of wood, resting his head in one hand as his gaze clouded over with memories. “Ha! That’s nothing. I’ve seen a pack take down a bull elk with no trouble at all, and those rascals can get feisty. We were small pickin’s to them.”

  “How did you manage to escape?” Bonnie found herself almost breathless wanting to know the details. Bart was a good storyteller, that much was certain.

  “It was all Roamer. Those wolves were nipping at his fetlocks and I was trying to aim my shotgun at ‘em when ol’ Roamer managed to kick the leader right in the snout. I don’t know how he did it without breaking stride but all I heard was a loud yip and the biggest of the bunch went tumbling and rolling off. I saw a splatter of blood on the snow behind us so I know he took a heckuva blow.”

  “This was in winter?!” Bonnie was shocked.

  Bart laughed at her expression. “Sure. I don’t just amble about in the summer, y’know. When my feet start itchin’, they don’t care what the temperature is outside.”

  They fell into a comfortable silence as Bonnie cleaned up the supper dishes. For the first time since she stepped off the train, she was happy things had turned out the way they had, even if it wasn’t exactly how she imagined.

  Walton had been too overbearing for her taste and she was sure they would have had a contentious marriage had he chosen her. Nate seemed quite nice, but perhaps a little too solicitous. Bart, on the other hand, was very engaging. There was no pressure on either of them to perform as a spouse would, so they were already comfortable with each other. This might work out well after all.

  Just as she was drying the last dish, a knock sounded on the door. Glancing over to the table, she saw Bart sprawled across it snoring softly, his head resting on his arm. She couldn’t stop from smiling. He looked like a little boy who’d played too hard.

  Opening the door, she found
one of Bart’s brothers, but she didn’t know which one. She was almost certain it was Walton — she marveled at his ridiculous name once again — because of his clothes, but it was rather dark out so she decided to play it safe.

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Dalton?”

  He must have been used to being confused for his brothers because he quickly identified himself as Walt and asked to speak with her. Not wanting to wake Bart, she pulled her shawl from a bent nail next to the door — she’d have to find a better solution for that as well — and stepped outside.

  “It’s kind of a delicate subject,” her new brother-in-law mumbled, shuffling his feet and not meeting her eyes. After the day she’d had, and how rudely he’d rejected her, she didn’t have a lot of patience with the man.

  “Just say it,” she sighed. “I’m tired and would like to go to sleep.”

  He took a deep breath and spat it out. “Does Gertie have any idea what happens in the marriage bed?”

  Gertie? Gertie Landry? How did he know the woman who spread lies about them all over Beckham, and why would he care what she knew about the marriage bed? And why would he ask Bonnie?

  Wait just a minute… She had a sneaking suspicion she knew exactly who he was talking about but she couldn’t resist humiliating him a little.

  “Who’s Gertie?” she asked innocently.

  His eyes grew wide and if there’d been anymore light out on the porch — if you could even call it a porch, it was so small — she would have been able to see exactly how red he turned. “Isn’t that my new wife’s name?”

  She was torn between amusement and irritation. A small, resentful part of her thought it was awfully funny that spoiled Gwen’s new husband couldn’t be bothered to remember her name. But a bigger part of her felt protective of her sister, no matter how irritating she could be.

  “No,” she said with as much steel as she could muster, “it’s not. Her name is Gwen. Maybe you were the right man to marry my sister after all.” Of course, she was really thinking I’m so glad you didn’t pick me.

  Bonnie had always assumed their mother’d had the same talk with her sisters as she’d had with her, but according to Walt, Gwen was clueless. She couldn’t fathom why their mother wouldn’t have talked to Gwen and Libby. Of course it was a very short discussion, with not much information, but the tutor Mother had hired to teach Bonnie homemaking also included some very frank — and rather embarrassing — talks about how she could please her future husband.

  Sadly, she’d never get a chance to use her knowledge, but the least she could do was help her sister have a happy home life. Especially after she deceived her so dreadfully. But she couldn’t resist taking one more pot shot at Walton.

  “After you, Mr. Dalton. I’m afraid I don’t know which of these pitiful shacks is yours.”

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Gwen had been taking a bath as Bonnie talked to her about the facts of life and marriage. She did her best to impress upon her spoiled sister that she was a married woman now, and she had certain obligations. She didn’t want to scare the poor thing, but she also didn’t want her to be too surprised. Of course, having never been intimate with a man, Bonnie had no practical knowledge, but she trusted that Mrs. Butterfield had been honest about the act of lovemaking.

  On the short walk back to Bart’s home — her home — all she could think about was how clean her arms felt after helping Gwen wash her hair. What she wouldn’t give for a bath tonight. Her bones ached with exhaustion but a bath…it sounded heavenly.

  Walt kindly escorted her home and before he went back to his place, she asked where their well was. He pointed in a general direction and scurried away, no doubt anxious to find out how much Gwen had learned.

  Stepping into the house, she found Bart where she’d left him, snoring like crazy. Not wanting to disturb him, she quietly took the oil lamp from the table and went in search of fresh water. As tired as she was, a bath would be the perfect way to start her new life. A clean slate and a clean body.

  Gwen had told her how time consuming it had been to fill that small tin tub with water but Bonnie didn’t care if it took all night. She would rest as the water heated, and then sleep like a baby for the rest of the night.

  It took a couple hours to find everything she needed. Out back was a tub exactly like Gwen’s, which Bonnie dragged into the cabin’s sole bedroom. She tried to be quiet so as not to wake Bart but he slept like the dead. It didn’t take long for her to stop being so considerate and just go about her business.

  Bucket after bucket, she lugged the water into the house and transferred it to the tub when it was hot. The thought of resting while the water heated was appealing but she was pretty sure she wouldn’t wake up till morning if she dared close her eyes, so instead she started cleaning.

  The house was barren but it had a layer of grime so thick there was no way she could get it all in a single pass. She focused on the kitchen because the one little oil lamp Bart had — another item added to her mental to-do list — shed just enough light in there to see well. Well enough, anyway.

  By the time the bath was full and hot, Bonnie had managed to thoroughly scour every inch, including the floor. That was one chore she could scratch off her list for the next day, and that felt good.

  It wasn’t until she started undressing that she realized the tiny bedroom didn’t have a door. At least Gwen’s new bedroom had a curtain. Yet another thing to add to the list. It was already so long, she was afraid she wouldn’t remember it all come morning.

  No matter. Bart was fast asleep at the table, and he’d already told her she could have the bedroom. She wasn’t entirely comfortable undressing so close to a strange man, but she wasn’t about to let all her hard work — and all that clean, hot water — go to waste.

  The process of undressing was made more difficult thanks to her aching muscles, but she finally freed herself from her last stitch of clothing and eased herself into the water.

  “Mmmm…” she moaned. A simple thing like a bath — something she’d taken for granted back home in Beckham — felt like heaven on earth, even if the tub was small and cramped. Her muscles practically sighed with relief as they loosened in the heat of the bath.

  Only once every inch of her, including her hair, was clean, did she allow herself to lean back and soak. The thought of soaking in more than a week’s worth of filth normally would revolt her but her sore muscles won that argument. Before she knew it, she was drifting in and out of a warm slumber.

  “Jumping Jehoshaphat!”

  Bonnie screamed in response to the man’s voice, and had just enough of her wits about her to hunker deeper into the tub. Bart was standing in the doorway, eyes bulging and mouth gaping as she tried to cover herself with the tiny scrap of rag she’d been using as a washcloth.

  “Get out!” she screeched.

  He blinked twice before flushing a deep crimson. Covering his eyes, he spun on his heel and hurried out of the room.

  “I’m so sorry, Bonnie!” he called from the other room. “I was half asleep and forgot you were even here! I-I-I…I think I’ll go for a walk and let you finish in private.”

  Bonnie waited until she heard the front door slam before releasing the breath she’d been holding. It came out as half a sob.

  She wasn’t sure how long she’d been dozing, and she had no idea how long Bart had been looking at her, or even how much of her body he’d seen. All she knew was that, for some unfathomable reason, his hasty retreat made her want to cry.

  Chapter 8

  Bart barely slept that night.

  After accidentally walking in on Bonnie taking a bath, he ran out of the house like he was on fire. He made a beeline for the barn, grabbed a brush and started furiously working on Roamer. He’d already brushed him once, but the horse didn’t seem to mind the attention.

  What must she think of him, catching him staring at her like that? He hadn’t meant to, but he’d never seen anything quite so beautiful in his life, and it took
all the effort he could muster to look away.

  She’d been slouched so low in the bath that her dark red hair was tumbling in lovely waves over the back of the tub. One arm dangled over the side, water slowly dripping from one limp, wrinkled finger, and her smooth knees were poking out of the cloudy water. The oil lamp cast a warm glow over the scene, and Bart knew it would be etched in his mind until the day he died.

  He wanted to tell her that he hadn’t seen anything more of her, that her modesty was intact — or as intact as it could be, under the circumstances — but that might embarrass her even more. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel uncomfortable — or, heaven forbid, afraid. He’d rather gotten used to the idea of a house manager, and he honestly enjoyed her company. He’d hate to see her leave.

  Nope, the best thing would be to keep his mouth shut and pretend nothing happened.

  He made busy work for himself in the barn for a good hour to give her time to do whatever it was she needed to do, then snuck back in as quietly as he could. The lamp in the bedroom was out, so he settled himself on his makeshift pallet.

  But sleep didn’t come until late, and then it was light and troubled. He felt like he’d barely been asleep five minutes when one of Nate’s blasted roosters started to crow. It was going to be a long day.

  His eyelids felt dryer than the Texas desert as he pried them open, but his nose perked up instantly. The smell of brewed coffee and frying bacon woke him up quicker than a bucket of water could.

  He hadn’t so much as taken off his shirt before he hit the sack, so all he had to do was roll up his pallet, just as he’d do if he was out on safari. Tossing it into a corner casually, he said, “Something smells mighty good.”

  Bonnie peeked around the stove and smiled. Something seemed a touch off about it but it was probably leftover emotions from the night before. “You need a little fattening up, Mr. Dalton, so it’s a good thing you got stuck with me as a…wife. My sisters are hopeless in the kitchen.”