by Cassie Hayes
“So I noticed,” she said, pinching her nose. “But you look quite handsome in that color, Bart.”
He held his arm out for her. As she tucked hers into the crook, he said, “Hopefully that’ll make it easier to pretend you’re head over heels for me.”
Bonnie was grateful he was looking away at the moment because she wasn’t sure she’d be able to explain the blush creeping up her cheeks. What was wrong with her?
~ * ~ * ~
Bart, Nate and Walt all shouted to each other over the noise of their wagons on the hour-long ride into Wiggieville. Bonnie had never sat so close to a man before, but she wanted to put on a good show for her sisters. Whenever he made a joke, she smiled up at him.
For his part, Bart was very believable. Maybe a little too believable. Whenever they walked together, if her arm wasn’t looped through his, he kept one hand at the small of her back protectively. Every once in a while, she’d glance over to find him gazing at her. There was no other word for it but ‘gazing’. No man had ever looked at her that way and, even though she knew it was fake, it made her stomach feel funny.
She caught both her sisters smiling in her direction more than once, so she was sure they believed the ruse. But would the brothers? They seemed too wrapped up in their own wives to pay much attention to her and Bart, which was just fine with Bonnie. The less they noticed the better.
The Wiggieville church was a small building filled with ranchers and farmers, along with a handful of women and children. The balance was definitely tipped in favor of men, and every man without a wife followed the Blue sisters’ every move.
Well, not all the Blue sisters. The moment Bonnie stepped away from Gwen and Libby to meet a local furniture maker, she noticed that all those eyes stopped following her. Of course. They were watching her sisters. How could she have been so stupid?
Bart was so kind to her, and his acting skills were so good, that she almost thought for a moment she was attractive. Not that she wanted to draw the kind of attention Gwen often received, but for the first time in her life she’d felt…pretty.
How foolish!
“Joe Standish makes the best furniture in town, Bonnie.” She barely heard Bart’s words as he made introductions.
Why was she taking this so hard? The entire town of Beckham ignored her all her life; she should be used to it by now. Giving herself a mental slap, she tried to focus on Mr. Standish.
“How do you do, sir. I’m so glad to meet you because we’re in desperate need of some furnishings.” She smiled up at Bart, and gave his arm a squeeze. “My husband apparently didn’t believe in furniture before I came along.”
Bart wrapped an arm around her waist and hugged her to his side. “Yup, I was a barbarian before this little filly done tamed me.”
Mr. Standish beamed at them. “By golly, miracles do happen! I never would have thought I’d see the day when Bart Dalton settled down. I figgered you’d be happily a-wanderin’ around the desert like Moses for the rest of your life, son.”
Bonnie didn’t want to talk about Bart’s drifter ways with strangers, so she glanced over to see how many more admirers her sisters had attracted. One man was standing much too close to Gwen, and Bonnie could see she was uncomfortable.
“Mr. Standish, would you please excuse me for a moment? I would like to discuss ordering some furniture from you but my sisters are also new in town and I want to see how they’re faring.”
Leaving Bart to talk with the furniture maker, Bonnie hurried up the aisle. Libby had noticed the man, too, and they both flanked Gwen just as she snatched her hand away from him.
“I’m a married woman, Mr. Jenkins,” she said. Bonnie thought she sounded honestly upset by his attentions. This was a new side of her sister — normally Gwen would be lapping up his adoration like a kitten would milk.
“Men die young out here,” he replied. “Just staking my claim.” And with that horrible comment, he skulked off to the other side of the church, never letting Gwen out of his sight.
Understandably, Libby jumped all over Gwen for encouraging the scoundrel, but as far as Bonnie could tell, she’d done no such thing. Those two were always bickering and, as much as they might have grown over the last week, some things never changed.
“It was unfair to assume you’d done something wrong without knowing all the facts,” she said, hinting to Libby to stop arguing with her sister in the house of God. Thankfully she took it.
The three couples settled on the same pew, offering Bonnie the chance to observe her sisters and their husbands more closely. Gwen looked quite happy, if a little unsure of herself, but Libby looked almost miserable.
Several times during the sermon, which just happened to be about marriage, Bonnie thought she saw tears in her sweet sister’s eyes. Once, Libby caught her looking and quickly smiled to cover up whatever she was feeling. Nate was oblivious and looked nearly as troubled as his wife. Bonnie didn’t like the look of that one little bit and made a mental note to have a private chat with Libby the next time they were alone.
“Proverbs 31:10 says, ‘Who can find a virtuous woman?’” intoned the preacher. “‘For her price is far above rubies.’ God is telling us to seek out a good woman, a noble wife, because she will bring more to your life than a sackful of riches.”
Several men in the congregation shouted, “Hear hear!” None of them had women by their sides.
“‘The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil.’ When you have such a woman by your side, helping you, supporting you, you can trust her. By trusting her fully, your life will be enriched beyond measure.”
“Amen, preacher!”
“‘She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life.’ How many of you today have found such a treasure? Say amen!”
A handful of men responded, including Bart. His loud ‘Amen!’ made her jump and she couldn’t stop herself from smiling at him. He returned the smile and winked.
Right, it was part of the act. Of course.
Chapter 12
The couples had lunch at Nate’s. His place was the most comfortable and, for the first time, Bart appreciated his brother’s efforts to make a home out of the cozy shack they’d built together. Of course, Bonnie cooked, and he sent a silent prayer of thanks for that. He’d heard plenty from his brothers about their wives’ kitchen skills — or lack of them.
As soon as they were all seated around the table, Walt piped up to pray. Naturally. As their self-appointed leader, he would jump in and pray for all of them, even though they were in Nate’s home and Bart’s wife had done the cooking.
Any irritation he felt evaporated when he realized he’d just thought of Bonnie as his wife. She was his house manager, not his wife. Not really. Why was his mind playing tricks on him like that?
She was the one who’d suggested the arrangement in the first place, after all. And it would be downright cruel to pursue any amorous feelings he might have for her because he would be leaving sooner or later. She didn’t deserve that, even if she did want a more traditional marriage, which he doubted.
Stop thinking that way! he chided himself. Libby was asking about him and he could barely focus. He was pretty sure she wanted to know about his past.
“I left home at seventeen,” he said, giving his brothers a knowing look. His departure had hurt them, but they supported his decision anyway. He would always love them for that. “I don’t know why, but I just couldn’t stay there any longer. My feet have always been itchy.”
Walt’s wife — the really beautiful, kind of dumb one — asked, “Why do your feet itch?”
Really? Walt must be kicking himself daily for choosing as he did. He would have been so much happier with Bonnie. The very idea twisted up Bart’s guts and he pushed it out of his mind. He didn’t like the thought of that one little bit.
He sighed, as much in response to his own emotions as Gwen’s question. “It’s an expression. I have a hard time staying in one
place for a long time. I prefer to move around and see new things. I hate seeing the same thing day in and day out.”
Gwen’s eyes grew round as she looked between him and Bonnie, as if Bonnie didn’t already know. She used the word ‘rambler’ to describe him, which was irksome. He was a drifter, not a rambler. To his way of thinking, there was a mighty big difference between the two, though he’d be hard-pressed to explain it to someone.
Thankfully Gwen moved on to prying into Nate’s past, but Bart was left wondering if he’d done the right thing by talking about himself like that. Would Bonnie’s sisters give her grief over it?
Sure, they were pretending their marriage was real, but he didn’t want to lie about who he was. He’d be leaving one of these days anyway, so might as well get everyone used to the notion.
Bart risked a quick glance at Bonnie to gauge her reaction to the conversation. She was smiling, but there was something about it that didn’t set quite right with him, like it didn’t reach her eyes. Then he got a good look at her eyes and swore he saw a tear welling in one just as she turned her head.
He almost convinced himself they were happy tears. Almost.
~ * ~ * ~
Once again, Bart didn’t waste the chance to remind Bonnie of where she stood in his life. Did he really have to blab so freely about his wandering ways? She’d hoped to keep the charade going for a little while. People had pitied her all of her life, and now she had the chance to at least pretend she was happy.
To be honest, she was happy, for the most part. Her sisters were quickly learning how to be good homemakers, and they’d even offered to help spruce up her little shack of a cabin with curtains, if she taught them how to sew. Spring gardens were already planned out, and they would yield enough food to feed them all for months. And she’d spent hours setting up a bookkeeping system for Bart’s part of the ranch. Apparently the man thought an old cigar box with chicken-scratch notes was enough to run a budding empire!
Even she and Bart got along quite well. Every night was spent writing out his adventures, which were simply thrilling. He had a wonderful wit and she felt quite at ease with him. Considering the rough start they’d had, she was thrilled they’d become friends.
Later that night, as she lay in her bed alone, listening to Bart’s snores from the other room, she wondered what it would be like when he went on one of his safaris. Worry gripped her. She’d never been left alone to protect herself before and, for the first time, realized she needed to know how to handle a gun. She added ‘Learn to shoot’ to the top of her list for the next day.
~ * ~ * ~
“Of course, I’ll teach you to shoot,” Bart said the next morning over breakfast. He was more impressed with Bonnie every day. Nate had told him Libby was terrified to learn to ride a horse, and here was her older sister asking to be taught to shoot. The woman had a good head on her shoulders. “You need to learn to ride, too?”
“Sort of. I learned to ride side saddle some but that doesn’t seem practical out here. Besides, I would bet good money you don’t even own a side saddle.”
“Good guess, Bonnie Blue. Out here, common sense is more important than good manners. It’d be mighty hard to outrun a pack of wolves riding side saddle.”
She nodded, a determined look on her face.
“We’ll try some target practice today when we get back from town, sound good? We could also order up a side saddle, if’n that’s what you really want.”
Bonnie’s smile warmed him, but her words stunned him. “No, I trust your judgment.” No one had ever said that to him in his life, and it made him feel strange inside, like she was depending on him. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
A familiar itch started in his big toe.
Chapter 13
As they started the ride into Wiggieville, Bonnie pretended she was in love with Bart by clutching his arm. The ropey muscles under his duster flexed and jumped as he twitched the reins, and she had to admit she liked how they felt. It was strange how comfortable she was touching this man.
Her sisters were seated in the back on a board Bart had set up so they wouldn’t have to sprawl in the wagon bed. Not like she had to do on the day of her wedding. Gwen and Libby talked almost nonstop about all the goods they were going to buy in town and she could feel Bart silently laughing.
“I’m going to find the prettiest dress, maybe even a cornflower blue one,” Gwen declared.
“I want a new dress, too,” Libby whined.
“Ooh, maybe we can find a confectioner who carries Swiss chocolates,” cooed Gwen. Libby responded with her own coo.
As her sisters bickered and blabbered in the back, Bart handed Bonnie the reins without a word. Her heart started beating faster but she took them without question, praying she didn’t get them all killed. After a few jerks and swerves, though, she got the hang of it, and drove until they reached the outskirts of Wiggieville. It was a relief when Bart took the reins back, as there were a lot of things to dodge in town, but she was proud of herself for handling the rig so well. Her sisters hadn’t suspected a thing.
“I’ll wait in the wagon,” Bart said as he helped her sisters down.
They scurried ahead of her toward Wiggieville’s small mercantile while she waited for Bart to help her, too. The excitement of driving a team of horses — even just two — must have been too much for her because when she tried to step down off the buckboard, she lost her footing and fell right into his arms.
He caught her deftly and held her body against his for just a moment longer than was strictly necessary before letting her slide slowly to the ground. He was staring into her eyes and she was helpless to look away.
“You alright, Bonnie Blue?” he breathed, one hand burning a brand on her waist, the other brushing a loose curl of hair from her cheek.
Why couldn’t she speak? Why couldn’t she breath? Why couldn’t she move?
Bart’s gaze drifted down to her lips and his head moved forward almost imperceptibly. Bonnie sucked in a gulp of air. He was going to kiss her!
“Bonnie, are you coming?” Gwen’s irritated voice echoed down the street. “You can kiss your new husband later!”
Bart blinked, Bonnie gasped and the moment passed. Adjusting his hat, he gave her a curt nod and strode down the street without a word. Only when the dizziness passed did she dare take a step toward the store.
~ * ~ * ~
What had he been thinking?! The trouble was, he hadn’t been. He’d simply reacted to her, and that could only lead to hurt feelings and trouble down the road. He didn’t want to screw this up, not just for his own sake but for Bonnie’s, too. Toying with her affections would only get her all mixed up, and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her.
He needed a walk. They’d be in the mercantile for some time, he reckoned, though he was certain his sisters-in-law were going to be sorely disappointed at the selection. He’d be mighty surprised if ol’ Mr. Fisher stocked Swiss chocolates in there. They’d be lucky to find sugar on some days.
Bart couldn’t help smiling as he ambled through the little town. He’d drifted though dozens, probably hundreds of tiny towns and big cities, from Oregon City to New York City, but there was something special about Wiggieville.
The false-front buildings lining Main Street were all the rage, and he thought he’d never grow tired of the architectural style. Flower boxes decorated the buildings in the more upstanding part of town, which always brightened his spirits. And everyone just seemed happy there.
As he passed the Burnt Pickle Saloon, he considered stopping in for a quick drink but he didn’t want Bonnie smelling whiskey on his breath. Since moving to his new homestead, he’d made a number of trips to town for supplies and socializing. He didn’t spend a lot of time at the saloon, but he wasn’t a total stranger either.
The doors swung open and out stumbled the town rummy, an old scoundrel by the name of Winston. The poor fella was too old to get a regular job anymore, so he did odd jobs around to
wn and the surrounding ranches, and spent his earnings at the saloon.
“Burt, my ol’ pal!” His words were slurred but understandable. Must be a few days till payday.
“Winston, how are you, ya ol’ hound dog?”
“S’alright,” he mumbled, swaying where he stood. “Hey, I hear ya done gone off and got hitched.”
Bart smiled and shrugged noncommittally. Forget the old busybodies in the sewing circle, Winston was the biggest gossip in town. You didn’t say a word to him that you didn’t want everyone in town to hear.
“Whatchya go and do that fer? Ya git some chickadee in trouble?”
Bart bristled at the old man’s suggestion that Bonnie might be anything other than virtuous, even though he knew Winston had never met her. It was nothing personal, he reminded himself.
“No, sir, not at all. In fact, she’s a fine woman.”
“Huh. Guess she’d halfta be to git a drifter like you to settle down. Too bad. Always dreamed o’ taggin’ along witchya on one o’ yer…whatchamacallits?”
“Safaris,” Bart muttered, not at all cottoning to the thought of going on safari with Winston. The old lush had drifted around himself over the years, and certainly knew the ropes, but Bart liked to be alone on his little adventures. That was the whole point.
“Yeah, that’s them! Bah, it wouldn’t work out no how. You and me? We’re loners, Burt.”
“Bart,” he corrected, but Winston ignored him. His slurring was getting worse.
“We’re the same, you’n me. I feel bad fer that new wife o’ yers, cuz one o’ these days, she’s gonna end up jest like my three wives. Alone and wondering where the Sam Hill you got off to.”
At that, he cackled with glee. Bart couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Winston had never mentioned being married before, much less three times.
“You had three wives?” Bart was astounded.
“Have,” Winston corrected. “They’re still out there somewheres, I reckon.”
