Mail-Order Brides of Oak Grove

by Lauri Robinson

Now she understood the strong grip.

  “Your sister look yust like you!”

  He finally let go of her, and as he did, his words registered. “You’ve seen Mary?”

  “Ya. I give her ride yesterday to Circle P. She cook there now.”

  “Cook!” Relief washed through her. Mary had found a job! Saints be praised, she was so grateful for the news that she wanted to hug the big man. Instead, she bestowed on him her brightest smile. “That’s wonderful!”

  He cocked his big head. “You good cook too?”

  At the question, several men drew closer to hear her answer.

  “Not nearly as good as Mary. But yes, I can cook a little.”

  His eyes lit up.

  “You’ll find out soon enough, Brett,” the sheriff said. “The women went all out and baked pies this morning for the picnic.”

  He escorted her off the platform and over to a smaller group of people standing nearby. She met several families—farmers, ranchers, the schoolteacher and a few children. A young girl toddled over to her, throwing her arms around Maggie’s hips. Her throat constricted. It was a wholly different feeling than she had ever experienced before. Strange—and yet wonderful. These people welcomed her! They didn’t know a thing about her, yet they were willing to open their lives to her.

  It came to her then, that despite the plain look of the buildings and the fact that Oak Grove was a “cow town,” perhaps she could like the people here. There was something steady about them. Something down-to-earth and friendly. They all had so much hope for their small town that she could fairly feel it in the wind.

  It would be the perfect place to set up shop! She couldn’t wait to tell Mary.

  In the next breath she gathered in her enthusiasm. There were other towns that had turned on the McCarys. Some where they had been forced to leave quickly—in the middle of the night. She couldn’t know what would happen here. Close-knit towns tended to take care of their own. Which meant she was the outsider. She would have to be cautious.

  She surveyed the people milling about now. Why hadn’t the carpenter been in the bachelor line? She had hoped to learn his name. Not, of course, that she cared all that much. She was just curious.

  * * *

  At the sound of a sudden loud cheer from out in the street, Jackson left off sanding the pew and stepped to the open doorway of his shop. Suddenly twelve riders raced down the center of the street, their mounts kicking up a cloud of dirt and dust which coated the boardwalk. It was something to see—all those men racing for a chance at a first dance with one of the brides. He imagined he’d be reading about this day in the Oak Grove Gazette before the week was out. The horses’ hooves pounded the earth as they shot past, sounding like thunder and, like it or not, Jackson’s heart sped up in kind. The reaction annoyed him enough that he turned away from the street and strode back to the kitchen.

  He didn’t want anything to do with the town’s festivities. The only reason he had gone to the start of the welcome party was to finish assembling the dance floor. He’d been sniffing the savory scent of beef over an open spit and pounding in the last nail when he looked up and there stood Miss McCary.

  He couldn’t remember any of the other brides’ names, but once he heard the sheriff address her last night at the hotel, her name had stuck. Margaret—but she went by Maggie. The name fit. He wouldn’t be alive if he didn’t admit to himself that there was something special about her. She sure didn’t blend in. Not in her dress. Not in her manners. She didn’t even try. He liked that about her. Whatever it was, grit or gumption, he figured whoever ended up marrying her might have a hard time with it.

  Take for instance her attitude over her torn dress. The skirt was easy enough to mend given a needle and thread. Women! They could make a mountain out of a prairie dog hill.

  It was interesting how she had acted when the sheriff showed up—last evening and then again today. Each time, Miss McCary had backed up so fast she’d nearly fallen. And if that wasn’t a guilty expression plastered across her face for an instant before she hid it, he didn’t know squat. Yep, Maggie McCary had definitely had a run-in with the law before. That was another thing a new husband would have to handle—assuming she confessed to it before tying the knot.

  The yelling of the crowd died down and with it Jackson realized he’d been thinking a little too long on one Maggie McCary. He took a swallow of cider and walked back out to the front room to look through the window. The riders had disappeared down by the river among the few scrub cedars. As they reappeared and raced back toward town, the bulk of the men on horseback thinned out into a single line. A roar went up from the bystanders.

  They rounded the corner of the livery, passed the blacksmith’s and Blackwell’s Feed Store, and then dashed right in front of him. Wayne Stevens was out in front and from the looks of it crossed the finish line down at the bank first, which meant he would get first pick of the brides for the starting dance. In a flash of inspiration, the mayor had decided that the men would be given a number depending on their order crossing the finish line and that would be their ticket to a dance partner. After the first round, the dancing would continue with different partners.

  With there being four brides and fifteen bachelors, that was going to make for a lot of dancing for the ladies and a lot of watching for those sitting out. He was sure the men would want more than just one dance apiece. He almost felt sorry for the women. Almost. But he knew there were a few good picks among the men. Not all of them rode a fast horse. Between the shredded beef sandwiches, the salt cracker pies and the cider to wash it all down, he imagined the entire party would last past sundown. The women wouldn’t get a chance to sit. And when they retired, he wouldn’t be surprised if the other townsfolk kept the revelry going.

  One thing he’d learned since moving here was that his neighbors liked to celebrate. They got few chances through the year since their farms and ranches demanded most of their attention. When the occasion for a party came up, they went all out. And this was the biggest occasion he’d heard tell of.

  They were all friendly enough. And the ones he’d helped with the building of their homes could sometimes be overly friendly. But he didn’t want to know his neighbors any better than he already did. Getting too close—learning their hopes and their dreams—was awkward. He’d expect things, and they would expect things of him. A man could get bogged down when that happened. A man could get hurt.

  Don’t get involved, he had told himself after his brother died. All he wanted was to tend to his carpentry business and finish this last addition to the church. With the pew anchored in place, his promise to his brother would be done. He glanced reluctantly at the crate he’d stashed in the corner. His jaw tightened, thinking of the bell that resided inside. Almost done.

  And then, who knew? He could leave Oak Grove if he wished. He’d come at his brother’s request. He could leave just as easily when he had fulfilled it. Nothing to hold him here. If he stayed, the church would be a daily reminder of his brother and all the dreams they’d had that had gone to waste.

  Music struck up—a fiddle and a harmonica. It was enough to make him yearn for the quiet peacefulness of the river and an afternoon of fishing. Well, he would have no customers today with the party going on. That was a given fact.

  He took his pole from the corner and stepped onto the boardwalk, listening to the sounds of the celebration. A woman began to sing. Whoever it was had a beauty of a voice and, if he wasn’t mistaken, a bit of a lilt.

  The image of flashing blue eyes and black riotous hair filled his thoughts.

  He gripped his fishing pole tighter and turned away.

  Chapter Four

  Maggie hid in the shadows behind the water barrel and leaned against the school building while she caught her breath. The last dance had been a fast-paced square dance that left her gasping. In the
meadow, a long stone’s throw from where she stood, the campfire blazed up for a second, and then settled back down as the cheerful sounds of the fiddle continued. Stars glittered in the immense sky overhead and the cattle confined to the stockyards to the east of town were lowing and settling in for the night. Unfortunately, the breeze that had swept away their strong scent was dying down too. Ugh.

  But the people? They were lovely. She had never enjoyed herself more or felt so welcome. Otis Taylor had even enticed her to sing by playing an Irish ballad they both knew. She remembered most of the lines and those she didn’t she simply made up. The children and even a few of the grown-ups had had a good laugh in the end, trying to make sense of her silly verses.

  The families with small children were leaving now. Many of them spoke of cows to milk early and farm chores waiting for them.

  Maggie wouldn’t mind going back to the hotel herself. Sadie had succumbed to weariness an hour ago. Anna, she could see on the dance floor with enough spring in her step that it was likely she was in no hurry to end the evening. Anna’s wish had come true. With her infectious laughter and pleasant humor, men had lined up to dance with her.

  Rebecca stood to the side of the dance platform flanked by Mr. Swift, the banker, and Mayor Melbourne. She had them eating out of her gloved hand—surely in no small part due to the tonic that Maggie had added to Rebecca’s pie before they had baked it. Upon sampling it, several of the men had grown quite congenial—as had Rebecca. Maggie didn’t feel even a small twinge of guilt for the trick. Rebecca thought she was perfect, and she thought it her duty to help everyone around her be perfect too. A little tonic eased that tendency.

  Unfortunately, someone had added a splash of whiskey to the cider barrel an hour ago. Coupled with the effects of the pie, things had started to get rambunctious. Particularly for one cowboy. Throughout the evening Jess Rader had vied for her attention. When he had grabbed her hand to dance with her a third time, hinting that he had a secret to tell her, she had yanked herself free of him and escaped to her current hiding place. Secret indeed! As if she would fall for something so obvious. She wasn’t Anna, for heaven’s sake!

  Footsteps sounded. She crouched down farther. Peeking over the barrel’s edge, she found the sheriff standing not twenty feet from her. Light flared on his face as he struck a match and lit his rolled cigarette. Wonderful. Just wonderful. How long would he remain between her and the hotel’s front door?

  “You seen Miss McCary?”

  Her heart sank to her stomach. Of all the luck! Mr. Rader had joined the sheriff and now stood there, puffing on his own cigarette.

  “Been a while,” the sheriff answered, and then tipped the brim of his hat toward the street. “‘Night ladies.”

  Maggie raised up just a little. Rebecca with her two escorts, and Anna with the newspaper man and his sister, ambled past. If only she could join them. It would be awkward, however, for her to come out from behind the water barrel. They headed into Mr. Austin’s hotel.

  “Fairy dust!” Maggie mumbled under her breath. A shiver coursed through her. The warm vapor from her lungs curled up in the cooling air. One thing was certain—she couldn’t remain here much longer. Dampness had settled in.

  “Maybe she’s already back at the hotel,” Sheriff Baniff said with a shrug. Then he looked toward the campfire. “Looks like people are packing up.” He strode back to the partiers who loaded the wagons.

  Mr. Rader watched him go.

  Please leave, please leave, became her silent litany. She stayed as still as a mouse, barely breathing. Waiting, waiting...

  Five minutes to eternity later, Mr. Rader abruptly dropped his cigarette stub and with the heel of his boot crushed it into the dirt. Then he strode down the middle of the street and planted himself on the front steps of the hotel.

  Was she to have no peace from him? Now how was she supposed to get to her room? Surely the hotel would have a back entrance.

  Silently, she slipped around the back of the school. The next building however, stopped her. It was the church, and to circle that meant she would have to walk through the small cemetery.

  Oh. She couldn’t do that.

  She blew out a breath. The other way then.

  Retracing her steps to the water barrel, she eyed the expanse of dirt and grass she would have to race across before the next building would hide her. Mr. Rader might see her but he might not. And she had no other recourse if she wanted to get back to the hotel.

  All right then. Go!

  She plunged across the edge of the meadow, and then kept going behind the buildings that lined the main street opposite the hotel. One, two—almost directly across from the hotel now. Just one more building to go.

  “Someone there?” Rader called out.

  She stopped and peered through the narrow opening between the buildings. Mr. Rader had risen from the steps and was crossing the street. No! Oh, no! He was coming toward her!

  The flutter of small wings sounded. A bat swooped out from under an eave and careened in front of her. Gasping, she covered her eyes and moved back quickly, her foot sliding on a patch of mud.

  “Ech!” Disgusting! It had to be from someone’s slop bucket.

  “Who’s there?” Jess Rader called out, the sound of his voice closer.

  Drat! He was coming this way! She was in a fine fix. Her heart pounded in her chest.

  “Who is back here?”

  She scrambled to her feet and glanced about for a place to hide. All the buildings were dark, save one directly opposite the hotel. A soft light glowed through the back window. There. It would have to be there. She raced up the back steps, threw open the door and stumbled inside.

  The scent of fresh wood shavings assailed her, so sweet after the odor from the stockyards. The glow from a lamp illuminated a small plain room that held a cupboard in one corner and a cookstove in another. In the center of the room was a wooden table where a man hunched over a long rolled paper with pencil and ruler.

  He looked up and locked his green gaze on hers.

  She opened her mouth to explain, but the sound of a boot on the steps behind her made her heart race even more. She had to hide!

  * * *

  Jackson had just been thinking of the dark-haired slip of a woman. Her image had disturbed his concentration as he designed a coatrack for the hotel’s entryway. And here she was—as if he’d conjured her.

  “Frog hair and fairies!” she whispered. “I’d be eternally grateful if you didn’t see me!”

  And talking nonsense. Again.

  She stood with her hands behind her, pressed against the door frame, her brow furrowed. Her hair was halfway down her back, the soft curls dancing wildly around her flushed face, her blue eyes sparkling. She was, in essence, a vision. An out-of-breath vision, he amended as he noticed her chest rising and falling quite becomingly.

  She turned her head to the side, listening intently, and then bolted, racing past him and into the next room, her skirt flying.

  He stood to follow when a knock sounded on the open door behind him. A cowboy from the Circle P stood there. Jackson had seen him a time or two heading into the saloon. “Shop is closed.”

  “Name’s Rader. Thought I heard a noise back here. Just checking things out. You hear anything?”

  “Just the sound of you banging on my door.”

  The cowboy leaned in to look around him and survey the room. “You didn’t see anyone come this way?”

  Jackson could smell liquor on Rader’s breath. Miss Irish was smart to run. “Have you lost someone?”

  Rader’s gaze settled on him for a long moment. Finally, his shoulders lowered as he huffed out a breath. “Probably just kids. Those two Austin boys have been causing a ruckus at the party.”

  “They’re not here.”

  Rader took his ti
me looking over Jackson’s shoulder. “Guess not. Sorry to bother you.” He turned and headed slowly down the steps.

  Jackson closed the door. Hopefully the girl had escaped through the front door and was safe and sound back in the hotel where she belonged. She was that—a girl—by the way she acted, and hardly old enough to be a bride.

  He squatted to pick up the papers that had blown off the table when she rushed past.

  Mud splattered the floor.

  He sighed.

  He put the papers back on the table and set the salt shaker on them to keep them there. Grabbing the broom from the corner behind the door, he swept up the half-dried clods of dirt, following the trail Miss McCary had left through the door to the front room. Like bread crumbs found by the birds, the trail stopped abruptly halfway through the room.

  Had she darted in a different direction? No—no more bits of mud.

  Then he saw it. A familiar bit of torn fabric dangled from the closed lid of a large trunk.

  He drummed his fingers on the lid. “Miss? He’s gone. You can come out now.”

  “No. He’s relentless. He’s been chasing me half the evening.”

  Her words were muffled, but he understood them well enough and didn’t like what she said. Her first full day here and some randy cowboy had bothered her to such a degree. It grated on his conscience. “You can’t stay in there.”

  “I believe I will.”

  “No, you will not.”

  There was a moment of silence before she replied. “You are not being very helpful.”

  She said it with such petulance that he could imagine her generous lips mashing together and turning down in a frustrated frown. The image almost made him smile. Almost. This was exactly what made talk in a small town where news traveled faster than lightning. Gossip wasn’t something he ever worried about but if she was to be someone’s bride she had better keep her reputation clear of any speculation. She had to get out of his shop. She had to leave.

  “I don’t like interruptions.”