The Blacksmith's Mail Order Bride (Wild West Frontier Brides Book 5)

by Cindy Caldwell

  “I’ll be back shortly,” she said over her shoulder as she gave him her best smile.

  The clock struck ten as she hurried down the boardwalk—as quickly as she could as she was jostled by people doing the same. The mines ran around the clock, seven days a week, and the town had grown so quickly that the boardwalk was crowded, even at this time of the morning.

  She’d spent so little time in town that this was a surprise to her. Men and women, arm in arm, strolled past restaurants she’d never noticed before, feathers plumed on their hats just as she’d imagined. Schoolchildren, their mornings free now it was summer, scurried between buildings with puppies running quickly behind them.

  She stepped off of the boardwalk to cross the street, distracted by the sign for the bowling alley further down the street. Young ladies blushed as they ducked in, young men close behind them. She’d been told that the theaters and bowling alley, even the ice cream parlor, were open odd hours, due to the miners unusual working hours, and she shook her head. Before, she’d found all this activity annoying, and had tried to avoid it. Now that her life was here, she found it oddly invigorating. Maybe Joe would take her to the bowling alley one evening. She’d love to see it.

  Tombstone had changed a great deal and she hadn’t even noticed, so far out at the ranch.

  She looked up, welcoming the warm sun on her skin as she hurried across the busy street. Mud puddles from the evening before stood scattered across the dirt road and the shout of a carriage driver brought her attention back to the ground. At the corner, a well-dressed man unbuttoned his cape and threw it over a puddle for a woman in a fancy hat and velvet dress. She shook her head at something so silly. The carriage driver shouted again, and she stepped back to let him pass and jumped over the puddle before her, scurrying up the steps to the mercantile as quickly as she could.

  The mercantile was equally crowded, and Olivia paused in the doorway. She scouted the aisles for Suzanne and spotted her in the back, talking to a man in a tall black hat. She approached, but held back until Suzanne was finished with her conversation.

  As she waited, she fingered her reticule and browsed the aisles. Suzanne and James had opened the mercantile long ago, when Tombstone had been much smaller. They’d designed it the common way, in the beginning, and customers had given them a list of things they wanted to purchase. They’d gathered items individually from behind a counter but now, items were in the center of the shop, and customers gathered their own items in baskets. Olivia marveled at the changes she’d missed.

  Next to her, a lovely woman stood at the counter. Her gentle, lavender perfume had caused Olivia to look up before she’d even seen her, and she was struck by her elegance, even at ten o’clock in the morning. Her dress was impeccable, and her hat matched perfectly—a stunning color that matched her eyes. In her hand, she held a pearl-handled revolver. Her brows furrowed as she turned it over in her hands. She looked up and cast her glance about the mercantile. Her eyes eventually settled on Olivia, who was admiring the beautiful pistol.

  “That’s a lovely piece of work,” Olivia said as she admired the pistol. The mother of pearl inlay was clearly quite expensive.

  “Thank you,” the woman said in a smooth, calming voice. “It was my mother’s and is very dear to me. I’m Helen Allen,” she said as she extended her gloved hand toward Olivia with a sparkling smile.

  Olivia shook her hand and nodded. “Olivia. Olivia Blanch—Stanton,” she said, returning the older woman’s smile. Her black hair had the finest streaks of gray and was pinned elegantly, a few curling tendrils framing her face.

  “Oh, it’s very nice to meet you. You’re the young lady who married that charming blacksmith.”

  Olivia’s heart swelled at the mention of Joe. “Yes, I did. I was quite fortunate in that circumstance,” she said and shared with Mrs. Allen briefly the particulars of their nuptials as she waited for Suzanne.

  “Goodness, what an adventure,” Mrs. Allen said as she rested her hand on her chest. “I do hope all ends well for you, my dear.”

  “Thank you,” Olivia said as she glanced at Suzanne. She and the man were still talking, and Olivia turned back to Mrs. Allen.

  She turned her attention back to the gun. “I do wish I could ascertain what is wrong with this, however.”

  “May I?” Olivia asked as she held her hand out toward the gun. She’d never seen such a lovely pistol, one so delicate.

  “Of course,” Mrs. Allen said as she smiled and placed the gun in Olivia’s palm. “It’s quite old, and as I said it was my mother’s. I’d be quite pleased if it worked properly.”

  Olivia’s eyebrows rose as she glanced up toward Mrs. Allen and wondered what she might need with a pistol. In her experience, though, she knew there could be many reasons and decided not to ask.

  She moved her hands quickly as she eyed the steel. With a few quick motions, she clicked the hammer back into place and smiled. “That should do it, I believe.” She handed the gun back to Mrs. Allen who beamed at her broadly.

  “Oh, goodness! Thank you. My mother will be so pleased. Mr. Archer, however, may not be.”

  “Mr. Archer?” Olivia asked as she picked up her reticule from the counter where she’d set it.

  “Yes, a friend,” Mrs. Allen said as she inspected the unloaded gun. She placed it in her reticule and said, “I look forward to trying it, my dear. Thank you.”

  Olivia nodded and glanced back at Suzanne. The man she’d been speaking to had turned toward the door and Suzanne frowned as she watched him walk away.

  “Thank you, sir,” Suzanne said as she took a piece of paper from the man she’d been talking to. He doffed his hat and left through the back door, stepping up into the front of a buckboard. He nodded again as he nudged his horses down the road, and Olivia’s mouth dried at the letters painted on the side—Tucson Pork Delivery.

  Suzanne turned as she frowned down at the paper in her hand. She bumped into Olivia and looked up, startled.

  “Suzanne?” Olivia asked, her hands damp. “Who was that?”

  The man drove away as Suzanne shoved the paper in her pocket. “Nobody. I mean, I don’t know. Yet. I’ll let you know when he comes back with a sample.”

  “I would love to hear more about the ranch, my dear. It is quite unusual to have a fire and lose an entire inventory in such a manner. Is there no indication that there was a theft?” Mrs. Allen said as she stepped over to where Olivia and Suzanne watched the delivery wagon disappear down the dirt road.

  Olivia frowned and ran the particulars through her mind once more from when she and Joe had searched the smokehouse. “I really didn’t think of it at the time. It did appear that everything was missing, but I don’t think I have any way of knowing for sure.”

  “Ah, young lady, there is always a way to tell. People leave clues, and clues can be found. Always,” Mrs. Allen said as she nodded knowingly at Olivia.

  Chapter 30

  The knot in Olivia’s stomach had eased by the time she got back to the shop with with Joe’s package. Was it, in fact, her ham that the stranger was trying to sell to Suzanne? She couldn’t imagine it would be—they were branded, after all. The hams and slabs of bacon as well. It would be simple to tell if it was, and she was certain that when the man brought one back, it would all be resolved.

  The question of Percy, though, still ran through her mind. Nobody could sell the inventory without it being identifiable as belonging to the Double Barrel Ranch, so what happened to Percy? It wouldn’t be the first time a ranch hand disappeared, likely with a better offer, and she pushed the thought from her mind.

  Joe stopped hammering as she told the story of what she’d learned. He’d set his tongs down and sat on the stool beside her.

  “Does she have any reason to believe that it’s from your ranch?” he’d asked slowly as she finished.

  “Not exactly.”

  “Why is she suspicious?” he asked, his arms folded across his chest.

  Olivia stood an
d began to pace. “I’m not certain. She mentioned she’d never seen him before although he mentioned they’d been in business in Tucson for some time. He’s bringing a sample back for her to assess, and then she might know.”

  “Nothing to do then, but wait until he does,” Joe said slowly.

  “And that should be soon, I’d guess,” Olivia said as she sat back down at the desk, only to stand again as the bells on the door jingled and Mrs. Allen stepped inside.

  “Mrs. Allen. What a nice surprise,” Joe said as he smiled and nodded in her direction.

  “Nice to see you, too, Joe. I stopped to compliment your wife on her skills. She fixed my gun in minutes, and it hasn’t worked in ages.”

  Joe’s smile quickly faded as his eyes locked on the pearl-handled revolver in Mrs. Allen’s hands.

  “She fixed your gun?” he said, his eyes traveling from the gun to Olivia.

  Olivia’s smile faded, too, at his tone and a shadow of confusion passed over Mrs. Allen’s lovely face.

  “Oh. I’m sorry, Joe. I forgot we’re not supposed to fix guns,” Olivia said slowly as she looked down at her boots.

  “Whyever not?” Mrs. Allen asked as she looked back and forth between the two of them. “Your lovely wife is gifted—at more than gunsmithing, I’d venture to guess.” She winked at Olivia as she placed the gun back in her reticule and pulled out some coins. “I came to pay you for your trouble. It’s been years since I’ve been able to use it.”

  She held out the coins, her eyebrows raised expectantly for them to take the money.

  Joe stood and held his palms out toward her. “No, Mrs. Allen, we couldn’t possibly. We don’t service guns in the shop—I do apologize, and it’s a long story. But I can’t—we can’t.”

  “Don’t be silly. I insist,” she said as she winked at Olivia and nodded, placing the coins on the desk. “For services rendered. Thank you again, my dear,” she said as she breezed back out the door as quickly as she’d entered.

  Olivia stared at the coins on the desk and looked up at Joe, her eyes questioning. It had been a quick decision on her part—something that was simple to do and Mrs. Allen needed done.

  Joe groaned as he looked out the window onto Allen Street and Olivia followed his gaze.

  Mrs. Allen chatted with Joe’s aunt, the Widow Samson and tapped her reticule. “Good grief. I hope she...”

  Olivia sat as he paused. “Are they not friends?” Olivia asked.

  Joe frowned as he turned back toward Olivia. “I’m not sure anyone is a friend of my aunt’s, except my mother,” he said as he paced for a few moments.

  Olivia watched out the window as Mrs. Allen and the Widow Samson concluded their conversations and parted ways.

  As her thoughts turned back to the inventory and Suzanne’s suspicions, she was grateful for the busywork that the blacksmith had to offer.

  Joe had eventually donned his heavy leather apron and set to fixing an iron gate he’d been working on. He asked Olivia to sort through some hardware, separating nails and things of different sizes on the workbench. She didn’t mind at all. Anything was better than wandering an empty house and certainly better than attempting to cross stitch.

  The rhythm of Joe’s hammer soothed her, and she thought that there was no place else she’d rather be.

  In her excitement, she’d forgotten to bring anything for them to eat. As the clock by the door struck noon, Joe’s stomach rumbled. He looked up at her hopefully.

  She jumped up from her stool at the hardware bench, hastily removing the apron he’d given her.

  “Joe, I’m so sorry. I was so excited to come with you today that I completely forgot to prepare lunch for us. I can run home and get something and bring it back,” she said as she reached for her bonnet by the door.

  Joe set down the long iron tongs he’d been using to pull horseshoes from the bucket in front of him. He reached for a cloth to the side and wiped his hands clean. “I can go with you, Olivia. I know you don’t want to be alone with Ma.”

  He and Olivia hadn’t discussed her discontent much. She’d kept her concerns to herself, except for the occasional comment to Sadie or Suzanne. The last thing she wanted was to come between Joe and his mother, but if she’d actually cast Will out she wasn’t sure what she could do.

  But she was going to keep trying. If she ran home, maybe she could make something for Mrs. Stanton, too. It certainly couldn’t hurt. It couldn’t possibly get any worse than it already was.

  She crossed over to Joe. “I’m sorry that I haven’t been able to bring her around, Joe. I’ve tried everything I can think of and nothing’s helped.”

  Sorrow filled his eyes as he looked down at her. “I know, Olivia. It’s not you. It’s Ma—she’s just not been the same since Pa died. I thought that maybe she’d warm up, take a shine to you. I know I certainly have.”

  Olivia’s breath hitched in her throat at his words. She’d grown quite fond of him as well in the time they’d been wed, and in the evenings, she was now sorry that they had to part. Maybe if she could figure out a way to bring Mrs. Stanton around they could be a real couple—a real family.

  She covered Joe’s palm with hers as he rested it on her cheek. She closed her eyes, feeling the warmth and comfort spread from him. Yes, that was what she wanted. And she would do whatever she had to to make that happen.

  Maybe going home and making lunch for the three of them was just the ticket. And maybe, if Suzanne was able to identify her inventory and she could get it back—and the money it would bring—they could re-build the ranch and have both the ranch and the blacksmith shop. A perfect life.

  She opened her eyes and looked up into the depths of Joe’s soft brown ones.

  Yes, she’d do whatever she needed to do to make Joe happy—and have the life she’d dreamed of.

  Chapter 31

  She hummed a tune as she walked back toward the house. The beautiful summer afternoon begged for a walk, the crystal blue growing darker with billowing clouds, heavy with rain. But it wasn’t raining yet, and the warm sun buoyed her spirits. The dust had settled as she left Allen Street and turned north, passing small, well-kept houses on each side. Curtains billowed through open windows in the breeze. Quiet descended as she approached the outskirts of town, the hustle and bustle far behind.

  Her thoughts turned to Mrs. Stanton. Joe had said she was different before his father died. And he’d yet to tell her what had actually happened, other than he’d been killed in an accident. But this family certainly didn’t seem inclined to talk about it much, and she wouldn’t be asking. Some things were better left unsaid.

  Hope swelled in her heart as she thought of the blacksmith shop and the possibility of finding her inventory—maybe they could even re-build the ranch. Things were turning out better than she’d ever imagined, and she felt a skip in her step as she turned up the road toward the Stanton home. She wondered if it would ever feel like her own, but she was bound and determined to try.

  Her heart skipped a beat as she rounded the corner. The buggy was unmistakable—the Widow Samson’s. She’d seen it enough times in the past week to recognize it anywhere, its black flag flying from the lantern unique.

  She mustered her courage and walked forward. After all, this was her aunt now, too, and along with his mother, she’d do whatever she could to make peace. For Joe’s sake.

  “You must be joking, Dorothy. That’s not possible. Joe would never do such a thing. Not against my wishes, certainly, but knowing the consequences...he would never.”

  “I’m telling you, I saw it with my own eyes, Lucinda.”

  Olivia had barely heard her new mother-in-law’s voice at all, but was fairly certain that it was she who was speaking with the Widow Samson before she even set foot in the door. The voices had come from the open kitchen window, and she stepped softly closer to it so as to hear what they were saying. She didn’t want to take the risk of stepping inside for fear that Mrs. Stanton would stop speaking, and then she’d never kno
w what they were thinking.

  “I’m telling you, I saw it. Mrs. Allen even showed me the gun.”

  Olivia pressed her back to the side of the house at the sound of a chair scraping against the floor.

  “Was it something that the ridiculous girl did on her own? Without Joe’s knowledge? He knows that I’ve forbidden the repair of guns in that shop, and he also knows the consequences.”

  The sound of the Widow Samson’s voice grew louder, closer to the window, and Olivia held her breath.

  Her cold voice was clear, and Olivia could almost imagine her self-satisfied expression as she said, “He knew. He knew full well.”

  Mrs. Stanton’s voice grew quiet. Olivia strained to hear her.

  “There must be some explanation,” Joe’s mother said quietly. “Certainly, he wouldn’t—I mean, with his father’s accident, and knowing how I feel—”

  “My dear,” Mrs. Swanson said as Olivia crept closer to the window. “It is certain. Mrs. Allen showed me the gun, and told me how much she’d paid.”

  A moment or two passed and Olivia could only imagine what was going on in the kitchen. Her mouth went dry as Mrs. Stanton finally spoke.

  “Well, the decision has been made. By Joe. The shop will be sold.”

  “Serves him right,” the widow added. “He never should have risked it by taking in that creature. All of this sordid business could have been avoided.”

  A cold chill ran down Olivia’s back as she heard the Widow Samson say, “Ah, my dear. It’s a perfect opportunity to tell him it’s the shop...or his new wife.”

  Olivia’s heart quickened and she feared that it beat so loud they might hear it. What was so wrong with what she’d done? She knew Joe had been upset, and she hadn’t wanted to take the money anyway. She was just trying to help, and Mrs. Allen was so kind. He must have known what would happen—he’d asked her not to do it again and she’d agreed. Now, he’d lost the shop and it was all her fault.