Once Upon The Prairie (The Brides Of Courage, Kansas, Book 1)

by Lenny Davis

Lenny Davis

  Once Upon The Prairie

  The Brides of Courage, Kansas, Book One

  A Western Romance Novella

  Copyright 2014 by Lenny Davis

  All rights reserved!

  No part of this book may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law, or in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This story is a work of fiction.

  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  The Brides of Courage, Kansas, Series:

  Once Upon The Prairie, Book 1

  She Came One Winter, Book 2

  A Bride in Spring, Book 3

  Heart of Summer, Book 4

  Molly in Fall, Book 5

  ***

  Chapter 1

  September 1867:

  A sweet melody wafted through the darkness.

  Whenever Jesse Bartleby sang, the whole prairie fell silent. The cowboys around the campfire ceased to talk and even told their card-playing companions to tone it down, because they wanted to listen to his wonderful bass.

  The longhorns lifted their heads, stared at him as he rode by, and chewed their cud in silence. Taking care of the first watch at night, Jesse sang the old songs that every cowboy knew. Those about life on the trail. And also those about the girls in Santa Fe and Dodge and Abilene and everywhere else, and a few self-made ones about his loved ones at home.

  The stars above him shone like diamonds on black velvet.

  He rode a wide circle around the herd. Since Jesse knew that the others enjoyed his singing, he gave it his all and sang loudly as long as he was in earshot. But once alone, he just hummed to himself and enjoyed the solitude. It was a quiet night. Even though it had been dark for an hour, the September heat was still present in the whispering grass.

  A cloud darkened the moon just when Jesse arrived by a copse of trees with a prominent willow in the middle. He fell silent. In the stillness he heard a horse snort.

  It wasn't his.

  Jesse drew rein and his horse stopped. Unmoving, he sat still like a statue on his mount. Ears pricked, he listened intently, until he heard sniffles and then sobs. For a moment Jesse sat perplexed, pondering what to do. Generally speaking, other people's sobs and sniffles were none of his business. And most people didn't care to have anybody around when they wept. Should he say 'Halt, who's there?' Should he just ride on? That might be the smart thing to do. But if somebody had fallen and was now lying helplessly on the ground, he had a duty to help.

  He heard the sniffles and sobs again.

  They seem to be coming from a woman. Jesse wondered who she might be. They were a good mile away from the ranch house and it was dark. No woman in her right mind would venture out into the darkness by herself. Unless she was supremely distraught for some reason.

  Jesse felt he had to help.

  Without a sound he slipped off his horse. Holding the reins, he stared at the copse, wishing the cloud would finally get past the moon. He hardly saw a thing. Very gently, Jesse began to sing 'Oh Susanna.'

  The sobs immediately stopped. Jesse heard somebody get up. That moment, the moon began to shine again. In its pale light he saw a woman in a riding habit stand under a wide-branched tree. Her gleaming white face was framed by long black curls. Tense, she stood erect, a horse whip in her hand.

  "Who's there?" the woman said.

  Jesse stopped singing. Her voice had a ring of authority about it. This was not a kitchen maid. "I'm just a cowboy, ma'am. I don't mean no harm."

  "Don't come closer or I'll shoot you."

  Jesse cracked half a grin. "With that switch in your hand?"

  "I haven't seen you before," the woman said, undeterred. "Who are you?"

  "Why, I'm the leader of Jesse Bartleby's men."

  The woman looked at him quizzically. She cocked her head. "That would mean you are Jesse Bartleby."

  Jesse nodded. His silliness was meant to put her at ease. "At your service, ma'am." All he could do was keep from staring at the woman in front of him. She was tall. Her black dress suited her very well. It shimmered and shone in the moonlight as if it were made of silk. Probably was. Its collar and cuffs were made of white lace. Jesse couldn't help but think she was a queen. A queen with a waist like a wasp's.

  "That means you're working for Neville Morlock."

  Again Jesse nodded. "In a week or so we hope to get paid and then we'll be on our way." He meant to talk to the woman about the reason for her crying. Telling her that he'd be out of the picture soon might open her up. If she cared to talk to him, he would take her secret with him and she wouldn't have to worry about having confided in a stranger.

  Suddenly overcome, the woman's gaze fell to the ground. Her shoulders began to heave and she began to weep again. She wiped her tears away with the heel of her hand.

  Jesse dropped the reins. Walking towards her, he fished around in his pocket for his handkerchief. Good thing it was clean. He'd washed it in the creek just this afternoon. Keeping a yard distance between them, he stretched out his hand with his handkerchief.

  The woman pulled herself together. She breathed deeply, then her face rose and she looked Jesse into the eye.

  The cowboys heart almost skipped a beat. Standing there, his arm still outstretched, handkerchief in hand, he found it difficult to quit staring at her. Jesse knew, of course, how impolite and even rude that was.

  The woman hesitated for a moment, but then she took his kerchief. She dabbed her eyes with it.

  Like a queen, Jesse kept thinking. "Pardon my curiosity, ma'am. If you don't mind me asking, what's ailing you?"

  "Nothing." Her gaze fell to the ground again. She bunched the handkerchief up in her hand.

  She's tense again. Got to tread softly now. Usually his melodious voice and gentle manners immediately put people at ease when he was around them. This woman seemed different. Of course, he couldn't blame her for being apprehensive. After all, they were not part of a happy crowd that was milling about in front of the church house on Sunday after the service. It was night and they were alone on the prairie. All women but the most jaded would be apprehensive under these circumstances.

  "I'll skip to my lou in a week, ma'am. Your secret's safe with me." He could no more than offer his assistance.

  Before he knew it, Jesse had reached out with his hand. He lifted her face up gently with two fingers. Their eyes briefly met. Jesse thought hers were stunning. They had a sheen like glowing coals.

  But then something else attracted his attention. Standing so close to her, he spied fingerprints on her pale cheek.

  "Somebody slapped you!" The cowboy felt anger well up in him. "Who walloped you, ma'am? Was it a member of the Black Thirteen?"

  She jerked her head away. "I told you, there's nothing wrong with me."

  "Just tell me his name," Jesse growled. "Me and my men will pay him a visit. We'll make sure he'll never beat another woman the longest day he lives."

  The lady turned her back to him and walked away a few steps. All Jesse could do was keep from stepping up behind her to put his hands on her shoulders. He wanted to reassure this woman that she was safe with him. And that if she'd confide in him, he and his men would right her wrongs. Until just a few years ago, Jesse had been a captain in the gray army. His men, cowboys now, had all been soldiers under his command once. They were no longer fighting men. But each and
every one of them still new how to defend a woman.

  "I shall go now," the woman said.

  "I still wish you'd tell me who slapped you so hard that it still shows even now," Jesse said.

  "I have to ride home."

  Only now did it dawn on the cowboy that her home had to be the ranch house. They were too far away from any other settlement. The town of Courage, Kansas, was a good ten miles away. She wouldn't have traveled that far by herself at night, considering that she had to go back at some point, since beyond this ranch lay nothing but the prairie.

  Who was this stunning lady?

  "If you don't want to tell me the name of the man who beat you, would you mind telling me your name?" Jesse said.

  The woman led her horse away from the trees. Out in the open, she mounted her black mare with ease. The horse snorted. She held the reins tight. Looking down at Jesse, she said, "I'm Mina Morlock." Her heels dug into the sides of her horse and she sped away.

  Wow!

  Staring after her, Jesse pushed his hat back on his head.

  He'd just talked to the rancher's wife.

  He'd never seen her, but he had heard the rumors about her. She was supposed to be the most beautiful woman west of the Mississippi. On top of being beautiful, she was rumored to be smart.

  And he'd met her weeping under a willow tree.

  Could it be, Jesse wondered, that her husband had slapped her around? Rancher Neville Morlock was said to be the richest man in Kansas. But he also had the reputation to be a hard man, caring little for what others thought or wanted. Jesse had never met him either. All his dealings had been with foreman Walter Noble. In his book Walter was a good man.

  Then there was the Black Thirteen. Gunfighters all, clad in black. Rancher Morlock kept them around for protection. But they wouldn't dare wallop his wife.

  Jesse scratched his head. Why would the rancher slap his beautiful and smart wife around?

  Then he suddenly remembered that she still had his handkerchief. What would the rancher do if he found it on her? Would he get envious?

  Would he beat her again?

  Was she even innocent? They said no beautiful woman belonged to just one man. Perhaps there was more trouble here than met the eye. If push came to shove, Jesse would have to talk to Mr. Morlock and clarify that there was nothing going on between the humble cowboy Jesse Bartleby and vaunted Wilhelmina, the rancher's wife.