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ONE
Calico Junction, California
October
Bailey Thomas had only just sat down for supper when all of the ruckus started.
First, there was a knock at the front door.
Bailey hesitated, glancing up from the bowl of piping hot rabbit stew that he had fixed for himself. After a long day spent herding cattle and tending to the pasture, this was his just reward. He already had a spoon in one hand and a napkin tucked down the front of his flannel work shirt, and he had no intention of rising from the table until he had scraped the bottom of the bowl clean and was ready to scoop himself a second portion from the stockpot simmering over the wood-burning stove.
Then there was a second knock at the door, this time a bit more urgent than the last.
Bailey sighed heavily, dropping his spoon onto the table and willing his weary limbs to aid him in rising from the table. He ignored both the stiffness in his joints and the protest of hunger that grumbled through his stomach, as he abandoned his hot supper and trudged toward the door.
By the time he had reached the front of the farmhouse, the knocking had grown rather frantic. The desperate pounding shook the hand-carved wooden door and rattled through the hinges, and the display of sheer persistence filled Bailey with a sudden curiosity that replaced both his hunger and his fatigue.
He pulled open the door and his eyes widened when he saw the quivering frame of a child, no more than waist-high and with a face as white as a bed sheet, standing on the opposite side of the threshold.
“Aren’t you Dale Harvey’s boy?” Bailey asked, recognizing the child straight away.
Dale Harvey was a fellow cattle rancher who lived just over the road. There had been more than a handful of occasions over the years when Bailey had come to his neighbor’s aid, helping to mend a broken fence or rescuing a stray that had gotten one leg trapped in the well. The look on the boy’s face told Bailey that tonight was going to be another such occasion.
“Please, mister,” the boy sniffled. “The cows got loose. Please help!”
Bailey didn’t wait for any more of an explanation than that. He quickly pulled on his heavy work boots and reached for his denim jacket—still warm from when he had come in from work and tugged it off just moments earlier. Then he followed the boy toward the dirt road and, beyond it, Harvey Ranch.
They didn’t have to walk far. Almost immediately, Bailey heard a rumbling in the not-too-far-off distance. It was a sound any cowboy or ranch hand feared most: the thunder of hundreds of hooves pounding the earth. The sun was close to setting and much of the dry California landscape was already cloaked in darkness, but when he squinted, Bailey could just make out the cloud of dust swarming over the cattle stampede.
From a distance away, there wasn’t much to see… but from what he could see, Bailey knew straight away that this was bad. Real bad.
“Where’s your father?” Bailey demanded. “Your mother?”
“Mama and Papa went to town this morning,” the boy admitted reluctantly. Bailey saw a mixture of fear and conflicted loyalty in the child’s glassy brown eyes. “They ain’t never come back.”
Bailey’s mind raced around this new information. It wasn’t like the Harveys to leave their young boy all alone on the farm like that, but there was no time to waste trying to make sense of all that right now.
“What’s your name, boy?”
“Bill,” the child said in a small voice.
“Now you listen here, Bill. I need you to do something for me, all right?”
The boy dipped his chin in a nod.
“I need you to run back to your house as fast as you can,” Bailey said, pointing in the direction of the Harvey farmhouse. “I need you to get inside, where you’ll be safe. And I need you to stay there until I tell you the coast is clear, y’hear?”
Bill didn’t nod this time. He swallowed heavily, and Bailey could tell from the earnest look that flashed across the boy’s face that he wanted to help.
“It’s not safe for you out here,” Bailey said. This was no time to argue. Every moment that they wasted was another moment that the stampede gained ground in their stampede across the flat expanse of California desert.
“Get!” Bailey barked, pointing toward the farmhouse again.
Bill hesitated, glancing back at the stampede. Then he nodded and started running back toward the farmhouse.
Bailey allowed himself one last luxury—a deep, measured breath—before he willed his body into action. He made a dash back across the road, back toward his house.
He climbed the creaky front porch and threw open the door, leaping over the threshold. The house was warm and the aroma of rabbit stew was still heavy in the air, but Bailey was too full of adrenaline and urgency to notice either of these things as he crossed the parlor and retrieved his revolver by the hearth. Then he turned on his heel, leaving the warmth and comfort of his home behind him as he made a run for the stables.
After a day’s work, he knew he’d find his loyal steed, Roberta, just as exhausted as he was. But he also knew that Roberta had a nose for trouble, and when he threw open the stable door, he found the steed bucking in her pen anxiously, ready for the task that awaited her.
There was no time for the formality of a saddle. Instead, Bailey kicked open the pen door. Then he hooked the toe of his boot into the wooden frame surrounding the enclosure, climbing up so he could thrust himself onto Roberta’s back.
As soon as she felt the weight of her passenger slip into position, Roberta leapt into action. She galloped from the stable and carried Bailey back toward Harvey Ranch, guided by her own intuition.
The stampede had advanced across the Harveys’ land and nearly made it to the road by the time Bailey and Roberta reached them. Bailey knew that once the cattle reached the road, they’d be done for, and Harvey would never see his steer again. He couldn’t let that happen.
The horse needed no coaxing: Roberta fearlessly quickened her pace, galloping alongside the stampede. This wasn’t the steed’s first rodeo. That said, neither Bailey nor Roberta had faced a herd this size before. Nor had they faced one alone. Putting a stop to a stampede was usually a community effort. Tonight, they were on their own, just Bailey and his faithful horse.
But Bailey and Roberta were undaunted by the direness of their circumstance. They raged forward, advancing toward the front of the stampede.
They were close enough now that Bailey had to blink back the loose dirt that was kicked into his eyes by the trampling hooves.
“Come on, girl,” he encouraged the horse, leaning into her mane and holding on tight as she galloped along the right side of the stampede. “You can do this. I know you have it in you.”
Roberta grunted and, seeming to understand the words of her rider, she quickened her pace.
They were nearing the front of the stampede, and Bailey knew what he had to do. He reached around to the back of his denim work pants, where he had wedged the handle of his revolver under a worn leather belt.
Bailey knew he couldn’t mess this up. He had one shot… one chance to get this right, and redirect the stampede back toward Harvey Ranch. It was dangerous on his own. Off the top of his head he could count at least five men who had died attempting what he was about to do. But he couldn’t think about it that way. Not now…
Roberta rounded the outside edge of the herd, gaining on the stampede and nearing the front. The thundering of hundreds of pairs of hooves was deafening. It vibrated through Bailey’s bones, matching the hammer of adrenaline pulsing in his chest.
As the front of the stampede came into view, he raised the revolver. He knew he only had one shot… just one shot…
“Come on,” he muttered to the horse, leaning forward and stretching his arm out to take aim. “Come on…”
Roberta lunged forward and Bailey saw the perfect shot: a spot of clear earth, just a few paces ahead of the steer. He had to shoot at the dirt… far enough
ahead of the herd that the bullet wouldn’t strike the cattle, but close enough that it would spook them into changing direction. This was the spot… this was the only clear shot he had. He had to take it.
He wrapped his finger around the trigger and was fixing to press down, but then he saw a sight that made him stop cold.
The spot where he intended to shoot wasn’t clear. Not anymore. There was something there, something small and crumpled up, quivering in fear. Bailey had to blink his eyes before he realized that it was the tiny frame of a child, and he had to blink a second time before he realized that it was Bill Harvey.
If Bailey Thomas wasn’t a man of God he might have cursed. He had told Billy to run back to the house! He had told him that it wasn’t safe! So what was he doing here, lying in the direct path of the charging stampede?
Bailey didn’t have time to think about that, though. The cows would reach him in mere seconds. He had to stop them… but he couldn’t shoot. There was nowhere he could aim besides the patch of earth where Bill lay.
Bill was belly-up on the dirt, eyes wide with shock where he lay, powerless to save himself from the herd of cattle charging toward him.
Bailey knew what he had to do. He tucked the revolver back into his belt and gripped onto the horse.
“Go!” he yelled at Roberta. The horse charged forward. Bailey could feel a heavy pulse hammering in his hands as he reached forward, and he wasn’t sure if it was the rhythm of the stampede or just his racing heart. He kept his legs gripped around Roberta, and then he leaned forward.
They reached the front of the stampede, moving a single stride ahead of the pack. The child was nearly beneath him now. He leaned forward, reaching down a hand.
“Grab on, Bill!” Bailey barked, reaching down toward the child.
For a split second the child’s face was blank, and Bailey worried that Bill was too stunned to respond. But then the child glanced up and saw Bailey. In that instant, he raised one tiny arm just high enough that Bailey could get a good grip on his wrist.
With all of the strength he had left, Bailey hoisted the boy up and pulled him onto Roberta’s back. The horse kicked into the earth, launching forward and thundering past the stampede.
Bailey glanced down at the boy, unharmed, but still visibly shaken.
“Bill, I need your help,” he barked.
The boy gulped and nodded readily.
“I need you to be my eyes on the road ahead,” Bailey instructed. Then, without explaining himself any further, he hoisted his hips up and spun his legs around, so that he was straddling Roberta with his back to the horse’s head and his front to her rear. Then he reached for the revolver again.
With the gains they had made on the herd, it was easy to take aim at a spot of earth just ahead of the stampede. Finger on the trigger, he pointed the revolver at the front of the herd. A single shot fired, and the stampede bucked in panic. The stampede disappeared behind a curtain of dust from the gunshot and the thundering of hundreds of hooves. When the dust finally cleared, Bailey breathed a sigh of relief. The cattle had changed direction, dodging the spot of earth where the gunshot had landed and advancing to their left.
“That-a-way!” Bailey barked over his shoulder, even though his instructions weren’t necessary. Either by Bill’s guidance or her own intuition, Roberta had moved to follow the herd.
They kept ahead of the stampede and Bill fired a second shot, causing the cattle to turn leftwards once again. Now they were heading back in the direction of Harvey Ranch.
It took another forty-five minutes to corral the cattle back into their fenced enclosure. By the time they had reached the section of downed fence that had initially allowed the cattle to break free, the herd had tired and their pace had slowed back to a crawl.
After getting the cows back into their enclosure, Bailey and Bill dismounted Roberta and got down to take a look at the damage caused to the fence. That’s when Bailey heard a frantic cry in the distance.
“Bill!”
They both turned to see Mrs. Harvey dashing toward them and, only a few paces behind her, Mr. Dale Harvey.
“Mama!” the boy cried. Finally relieved of the duty of being a man, the boy crumpled into his mother’s arms and became a child once more.
“What happened?” Dale wanted to know.
“Cattle got loose,” Bailey replied. “Can’t tell for sure how it happened, but we took care of it together. Didn’t we, Bill?”
“Bill!” Mrs. Harvey cried, clutching her child closer to her chest.
“That’s a brave boy you’ve got there,” Bailey said proudly. He considered telling the Harveys about how their son had refused to take shelter, and instead had fearlessly confronted the stampede to help, but he decided that Mrs. Harvey might faint on the spot.
“I can’t thank you enough, Bailey,” Dale said sheepishly. “You’ve saved our ranch again. I’m not sure I can ever repay you…”
“That’s what neighbors are for,” Bailey insisted.
“We are certainly blessed to have a neighbor like you, Mr. Thomas,” Mrs. Harvey said, still holding Bill tightly against her chest. “Please, won’t you join us for supper?”
Harvey nearly accepted, but then he remembered the bowl of rabbit stew that was still waiting back at home.
“Perhaps another night,” he said. “Thank you.”
Bailey walked alongside Roberta as he led her back to the stable, stroking the beads of sweat off of her coat. He had nearly made it back to the stable when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching from behind.
“Bailey, wait up!”
He turned to see Dale running across the field after him.
“I got you something while we were in town,” he said. He extended his hand, and Bailey saw that he held a newspaper.
“You know I don’t read the paper,” Bailey said, glancing dismissively at the paper. It was true, Bailey’s world existed within the confines of the ranch. He had little concern for the goings on of the world outside of his small town.
“It’s not the news,” Dale said, still holding the paper out for Bailey as he walked closer. “It’s the Matrimonial Times.”
“The what now?”
“Matrimonial Times,” Dale repeated. “Suitors place advertisements seeking brides.”
“And why would that be of interest to me?”
“I thought…” Dale stammered, appearing embarrassed. “Well, frankly Bailey… I thought you might be lonely, out here by yourself. I thought…” he trailed off, clearly uncomfortable.
Bailey felt his own cheeks color with embarrassment. He didn’t like the idea of being pitied, and he especially didn’t like the idea of needing a newspaper advertisement to seek a bride. Of course, his location presented a disadvantage. There weren’t many eligible women in the deserts of California, and that was how Bailey had wound up being unmarried and alone at twenty-nine years old.
“This is how I met Alyssa,” Dale said, referring to Mrs. Harvey. “Please, Bailey… just consider it.”
Bailey took the paper, mostly so that Dale might leave him alone. Then he waved off his neighbor and watched Dale trudge back across the road.
Once Dale was gone, Bailey brought Roberta to the stable. He freshened her water and rewarded her with several sugar cubes, then he finally climbed back into the house.
His body was even wearier than he remembered, and his denim jacket was at least twice as dirty as it had been the first time he discarded it on the coat rack by the front door.
He fell into his chair at the supper table and reached for the spoon. The stew had long gone cold, and it did little to warm the chill that had snuck into Bailey’s body after the heat of adrenaline had subsided.
Bailey couldn’t be entirely sure whether it was the cold stew or the empty silence of his home, but whatever it was, he felt suddenly aware of his loneliness. He glanced in the direction of the Harvey home and thought about the family settling down to eat supper, chattering anxiously about the night’s
events and cooing over the hot meal that Mrs. Harvey had prepared.
Bailey sighed heavily, and then his eyes landed on the copy of the Matrimonial Times that he had discarded on the dinner table.
And at that precise moment, Bailey wondered if maybe he did want a bride, after all.
TWO
New York City, New York
Several Months Later
“It’s hopeless!” Carolyn Mews declared, giving up all hope as she pushed the ruffled pages of the Matrimonial Times across the small wooden table and exhaled a flustered sigh.
From the opposite side of the table Meg Abbott listened dutifully, reaching for the teapot that rested between them.
“Now, Carolyn,” Meg said gently, reaching across the table to pour a stream of piping hot water into her friend’s cup before refreshing her own. “You mustn’t give up hope so easily. I’m confident that the right man is out there. You just need a little patience and faith.”
“How can I not lose hope?” Carolyn asked wearily. “The more I read these advertisements, the more I believe I’m a fool for ever letting you talk me into this.”
She reached for the crumpled newspaper again and, for good measure, began reciting the quotation from an advertisement that she found to be particularly unamusing. “Retired ranch handler of refined age and dignified social status seeks young and virtuous bride, preferably younger than 25. Applicants lacking in virtue or good health need not apply. Must know how to cook.”
Carolyn glanced up at Meg, narrowing her eyes.
“That’s just a bad apple,” Meg said eagerly.
“What about this one,” Carolyn said, selecting another advertisement from the newspaper. “Widowed father of eight seeks bride with maternal instinct. Applicants that have been previously married or born children need not apply.”
“I’m sure his intentions are good,” Meg reasoned, trying desperately to remain optimistic.
Truthfully, Meg couldn’t be sure of the aspiring groom’s intentions. The only intentions she could be sure of were her own. When she had suggested that Carolyn browse the advertisements in the Matrimonial Times, her intentions had been entirely noble.
New Beginnings Spring 20 Book Box Set Page 10
