Abigail surprised them all by saying, “Folks here will want to know all about you. If you are agreeable, I’d like to interview each of you for an article in the newspaper.”
Maggie didn’t want anyone here knowing that she had left Bridgeport to escape a spell in jail—not even Rebecca or Anna or Sadie.
“I can’t imagine that this is very proper for a lady,” Rebecca said slowly.
“Oh, come now. It is an opportunity to let the people here know what issues are important to you. For example, your position on women voting. Or the saloon opening on Sundays.” She leaned forward, as if revealing a great secret. “There has been more and more talk of that since you ladies arrived.”
“When you put it like that, it does sound sensible,” Anna said.
“What do you think, Maggie?” Rebecca asked.
She was surprised Rebecca cared about her opinion. Anna obviously saw nothing wrong with baring her soul for the sake of a good match. But what, Maggie wondered, would Mary say?
“Perhaps it would be best if I did this individually?” Abigail said when they didn’t answer immediately. “Why don’t you talk it over among yourselves, and whoever decides to be first can come tomorrow morning.” Her brown eyes lit up with excitement. “I know! I’ll print only one interview a week. That will sell more newspapers.”
They left the newspaper office with a promise to let Abigail know their decision. The morning was glorious, warm with a cool breeze, despite that they were in the middle of nowhere Kansas and the air carried the slight odor of cattle from the nearby stockyards.
“Are you ready to go back to the hotel?” Rebecca asked, squinting into the sunlight. She pulled the small brim of her hat down trying to shield herself. “My head aches. I’m going to lie down for a while.”
Maggie shook her head. “I want to check on Mary. I’ll walk down to the livery and see if I can find a rig.”
“You don’t even know the way.”
“Someone will tell me.”
“Maggie. Please,” Anna said. “It isn’t wise. Everything looks the same out here. You might get lost.”
“I’ll talk with the livery owner and find out how far it is to the Circle P. Maybe he will have a suggestion.”
“But you won’t go by yourself. Promise me?”
She didn’t have the money to rent a buggy anyway. She would have to find someone who was traveling that way on the chance she could ride along.
Maggie left them and headed for the edge of town. The livery was near the train depot. When she got there, the building was deserted. A cool breeze swept through the large wooden structure where a buggy, a flatbed wagon and five horses rested, but there was no sign of the liveryman.
Now what? That blacksmith had given Mary a ride out to the ranch on the day they arrived. Perhaps he would be willing to do the same for her.
She walked next door and found Mr. Blackwell hunched over and struggling to nail an iron shoe on a buckskin horse’s hoof. His face, from her angle, was reddened to the point it was almost purple. Just as she started through the open doorway to speak to him, a long string of frustrated words exploded from his mouth.
“I vill be getting this done, whether you help or not, you cantankerous, four-legged—”
She stopped. Perhaps now wasn’t the best time to bother him. Quickly, she skirted the door and walked on.
She came to a stop before the carpenter’s shop. Maybe Mr. Miller would oblige her. A ride in the country might be good for his disposition. Fresh air, sunshine.
She stepped inside.
With sunlight streaming through the two tall front windows, the shop had a more welcoming tone than the evening before and she noticed a few more pieces he’d made. Two rocking chairs sat in the corner—one adult-sized and the other matching and child-sized. It was a bit whimsical for such a serious man and she felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth.
Footsteps sounded overhead on the second floor.
Ah. He was upstairs. She would wait.
It looked like he had been hard at work since last evening. A sandpaper block sat on a nearby church pew and sawdust littered the floor. Against the wall, an ornate box rested on two sawhorses. Last night she had assumed it was a table, covered as it had been by a dark gray cloth. The box was long and narrow, with fancy scrollwork along edges. As she neared, a growing realization of the purpose of the box formed. A coffin—a very fancy coffin. Mr. Miller was called on to do all sorts of work then.
Of course it would be empty, but curiosity got the better of her and she edged closer. She held her breath as she peered over the side. A stout body reposed there. It was an older man, perhaps in his seventies, with curling silver hair and ruddy cheeks. He wore a new black suit with a bow tie. A black top hat rested on his chest.
She made the sign of the cross over her. Dead then. What was he doing all alone? Where were the mourners? Where were the women to keen and carry on? A body shouldn’t be left alone until it had a proper send-off. He looked so peaceful...
Wait.
Did his fingers just twitch? Her heart pounded. She looked back to his face.
His eyes popped open.
She screamed.
* * *
At the sound of a woman’s scream, the hair on the back of Jackson’s neck rose and his scalp prickled.
He took the narrow stairs two at a time.
In the main room, Angus O’Leary sat up from within his coffin, a look of astonishment on his face. Through the door that led to the kitchen, Jackson caught the last swish of a deep purple skirt. “Ma’am? Miss?” he called out and ran after her. “Wait!”
Whoever it was had already fled through the back door, leaving it wide-open. He raced after her, recognizing the form and the shiny rich blackness of Miss McCary’s curls. She was quick, but was already slowing as she reached Doc Graham’s place—situated behind the cabinet shop. He caught up to her at the doc’s side yard swing. She had stopped and seemed to be looking at it without quite seeing it.
“Miss McCary?” He touched her shoulder.
She turned toward him. The shock he’d expected to see in her eyes wasn’t there. Instead, those blue eyes flashed daggers.
“What is a man doing in a coffin in the middle of your shop?” she demanded. “My heart’s in my nose!”
“Just calm down.”
She held up both hands. “Calm down! I should be lying dead on the floor!”
“No one dies from being surprised.” Although he could see it brought a nice bit of color to her cheeks.
“Oh, no? I’ve heard tell of it. Scared to death. It happens.”
“Well, you are not dead.” As a matter of fact, he’d never met anyone more alive. Miss McCary seemed to jump from one exciting moment to the next.
She glared at him, and then marched toward his back door. “I’ll just have a word with your corpse. The two of you should be ashamed of yourselves for planning such a row. Did you see me coming down the street? Is that what this was all about?”
He couldn’t help it. The absurdity of her words struck him. A snicker escaped.
The sound only heightened her ire as she took hold of her skirt and climbed the two steps to his back stoop. She strode through his kitchen and into the front room in a swirl of righteous fury.
Angus stood in his coffin, apparently at odds as to how he could safely get himself back to the floor. He swept his top hat off his head and bowed low to Miss McCary in an elegant flowing movement for one so stout. “My apologies for having startled you, miss. Miller, help me down from this blasted thing.”
Jackson strode to his side and offered his hand. When Angus teetered halfway between the coffin and the chair he was using as a step, Miss McCary let out a huff and hurried to his other side, taking hold of his arm to steady him.
Once safely on the floor, Angus again bowed to her. “Angus O’Leary at your service.”
“This is Miss McCary, one of the women from the train.”
Angus’s crinkly eyes lit up. “McCary is it? From Dublin?”
“No. Bridgeport, Ohio. But my da said I have kin in Dublin.”
“And you’ve come to be one of the brides.”
“Yes...I mean no. I mean...I don’t intend to marry.”
Jackson had never heard the old codger speak so civilly. He had totally disarmed Miss McCary’s ire. But this business about her not marrying—what was this all about? “Wait a minute. You came on the train.”
She stiffened. “I won’t be forced into something I don’t want to do.”
“What about the contract you signed?”
She waved her hand as if shooing away a fly. “A bit of paper. And the words can be changed. Don’t worry, Mr. Miller. It doesn’t concern you anyway. If I remember, you said you preferred to remain a bachelor yourself.”
Angus watched them with an overly interested eye.
Jackson scowled. “I know what I said. Guess I’d hate to see anyone marry against their will. That’s all. Doesn’t sound like a decent start to a life together.” He felt a warm flush under his collar. There was more to it than that. A vow meant something. It wasn’t just words spoken or written on paper. Till death do us part. A man couldn’t take that back. It was a pledge of faith that no matter how rough things might get he would always be there as a helpmate for his bride. And the same held true for the woman. It was a matter of honoring each other, of honoring the feelings, the hopes and the dreams between a man and a woman. It was a matter of helping each other through the hard times too. Because hard times would come. They came despite all a person’s preparations against them. The contract the mayor had cooked up for the women on the train had nothing compared to the vows a man said when he wed. Miss McCary’s attitude bothered him. She seemed to have no problem going back on her word.
The woman under his consideration turned to Angus. “What were you doing in the coffin, Mr. O’Leary?”
Angus grinned. “Well, it’s like this. I came upon a bit of extra money recently and thought I’d have a nice send-off when the time comes.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you tempting fate?”
“No, lass. I just want to go out in style.”
“Well, I’m glad to see that you are still very much in the here and now.”
He grinned again. “That I am, but I had to make sure I could wear me new hat when the time came. To my great sorrow, the box is too short.”
“Well, it’s a lovely coffin. Mr. Miller seems to know what he’s about.”
A compliment? In the middle of talking about death and coffins? The entire conversation struck Jackson as at odds with what most people would consider normal.
“That he does,” Angus said with a wink at her. “Whatever he sets his mind to, he does and does it well.” Angus tugged the hem of his coat down and squared his shoulders. “I won’t be needing his services today so I’ll be on my way. Ever so nice to have made your acquaintance.”
He stepped outside and closed the door. The sudden silence made Jackson realize how much he’d enjoyed listening to Miss McCary, with her clear, high bell of a voice. He dealt mostly with men, since that was the main population of Oak Grove. A woman’s voice could be pleasant. What, he wondered, had brought her to his shop in the first place?
She bent to pick up her satchel. She must have dropped it in her fright.
Jackson slid the lid to the coffin into place, then draped the box with the dark gray swath of material he kept for such items.
“Mr. O’Leary reminds me of my da.” She stepped closer and helped him straighten the edge of the cloth. “I need a favor, Mr. Miller.”
“A lawyer?”
Her brows knit together. “No. Why would I need a lawyer?”
“How else do you plan to get out of the contract?”
“The cost of my train fare has already been paid. I only need to pay back Mr. Austin for staying at his hotel and perhaps pay a small bit to have the contract voided.”
So she had some money put away. “You should know that Mayor Melbourne wrote that contract. He is also the town’s only lawyer.”
She pressed her lips together. “You are full of bright observations, aren’t you? I cannot be bothered with that at the moment. I need to ride out to the Circle P and I have no idea how to get there. I want you to take me.”
He noticed she hadn’t actually asked if he would take her. If Angus’s visit hadn’t been enough this morning, here she was yet again, disrupting his routine. He had things to do. The pew needed more sanding and another coat of stain. Yet the prospect of another afternoon working with his wood and tools paled when compared to an afternoon with Miss McCary. As much as he yearned for solitude and quiet and routine, when she came around things happened, like a kaleidoscope constantly changing.
And she sparked his curiosity. Why was a trip to Putnam’s ranch so important that she would approach him? He was practically a stranger.
She started to loosen her satchel. “I can pay...”
He scowled. What were folks like back where she had come from that a good turn left her expecting to pay him? “I don’t want your money.”
She let out a sigh. “That’s a relief. Truth is...I don’t have any money with me. I must have left it back at the hotel.” She carefully cinched up her purse.
He had the distinct feeling that she really did not have the money to pay him. As such, he was aware that he had just been manipulated. The fact didn’t bother him as much as it should. Perhaps he owed her—for the scare she’d just had. “The ranch is a fair way out. It will take the better part of the day to go there and back.”
“I’m ready.”
That’s not what he meant. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“A chaperone?”
The light in her eyes dimmed. “I’m used to having my sister with me. That’s why I want to go out to the ranch. I need to make sure that she is all right.”
He could understand her worry. Once it had been the same between him and his brother.
She rubbed her forehead. “Perhaps Anna or Sadie will accompany us.”
“I’ll get a buggy from the livery, then pick you up in front of the hotel.”
A quick smile flitted across her face. She spun around and slipped out the door.
Her smile dazzled him. She dazzled him.
And he wasn’t sure what to make of that.
He headed to the kitchen to get his hat and rifle as he contemplated her mercurial moods—from screaming in fright to scolding a man three times her age to being worried about her sister. She felt and lived life to the fullest. She was beguiling and beautiful.
The woman would lead some young man on a merry chase.
Maybe, once she married—because he really didn’t think she’d find a way out of that contract—he would finally get some peace and quiet.
The thought wasn’t quite as enticing as it had been before he met her.
Chapter Six
Maggie sought out Sadie first. Unfortunately, Sadie was up to her arms in soapsuds—literally—having offered to help Mr. Austin. When she checked on Rebecca the curtains were closed and her head still pounded. And so it was Anna who agreed to chaperone—a bit too wholeheartedly.
Mr. Miller pulled up before the hotel in a covered buggy drawn by one horse. And he wore a cowboy hat! It was a bit silly, but the fact that he owned one and had worn it pleased her immeasurably. When he tugged on the brim in greeting she couldn’t help smiling. It reminded her of her first words to him the night they met. Apparently, by the quiet mirth in his eyes, he had not forgot
ten either.
Her pleasure was short-lived when Anna sidled up next to him on the buggy seat and started chattering about her interview for the Gazette.
They took the road south of town and then at the fork by the river turned north, traveling along the water’s eastern bank. After ten minutes Mr. Miller only half listened to Anna, which relieved Maggie immensely. She refused to question herself about why it mattered if Anna and Mr. Miller became more than friends. All Maggie could think was that she had spoken to him first, and for some reason that made him her particular friend.
His hands on the reins were darkened by the sun, strong and yet gentle as he maneuvered the horse and buggy along the dirt road. They were also scarred with a white jagged slash across the heel of his left hand and a dark red wound on the side of his right hand. One nail was blackened. That had to have been painful. Was it because of his work?
Maggie memorized the way. With the river on her left she thought she would be able to make the trip again on her own if necessary. She was on pins and needles with excitement. How would she find her sister? Happy and well? Or miserable? Maybe she could talk her into coming back to town with her.
“Mr. Miller, can you tell me anything about this ranch we are going to?” she asked, interrupting Anna.
He took his time gathering up his answer. That seemed to be his way—no unnecessary chatter.
“It’s large. Steve Putnam is the owner. His family has ranched here since he was a youngster, but he’s all that’s left of them. I know him to be a decent man. Fair.”
She had hoped for more details. “That’s it?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
“For a man, perhaps.”
The slight uptick at the corner of his mouth surprised her. He had nearly smiled! The reaction pleased her. “How much farther is it?”
“We’re halfway there.”
“Not so very far,” she said, cheerily. She enjoyed the deep timbre of his voice. It was settling to her. “Were you raised in Oak Grove?”
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