A Highwayman's Mail Order Bride

by Blythe Carver

  That might be all they’d have to take away from their time at the ranch once he was forced to sell.

  No wonder his father had died, and no wonder he’d died how he had. Did he carry these burdens on his shoulders? Did he secretly struggle as his son was now struggling?

  Why hadn’t he ever told Mark how to handle such pressure? Because he’d never been good at handling it himself, and therefore had no advice to give?

  To the north of where he sat astride Star was the house. His house. How he’d labored over it, if not with his hands, with his mind. How he’d second-guessed every decision, down to the color of the horsehair sofa and chairs in the drawing room and the pattern on the as-yet-unused china.

  Lena had helped, on the days when she could spare time away from her own home roughly twenty miles from his. There was a time when he’d imagined her to be the future lady of Furnish Ranch, and there had been a certain poetry in her being the one to instruct him on what his future wife might enjoy if and when she walked into his life.

  It was for the best that nothing had ever solidified between them, just as he knew it was for the best that Melissa had married Jed and not him.

  While he needed a wife most desperately now, he would not have trapped her for the world. No matter what was at stake.

  How could he have lived with himself in the years thereafter?

  Though it would have made a nice touch for his wife to be with child when his grandfather came for a visit. The perfect excuse to throw himself on the old man’s mercy. Please, help me maintain this as a legacy for my unborn child. Make it possible for us to avoid destitution.

  It was not meant to be.

  Something better was meant to be. It had to be.

  What else did he have to hang on to otherwise?

  He continued the ride to the house, its four floors looming larger the closer he drew. How he’d imagined his mail-order bride enjoying the sunsets with him from the porch which wrapped around the entire first floor. Granted, he was rarely available to enjoy a sunset, but he could still dream of a time when he would be.

  How he’d imagined her tending his mother’s rose garden which Cook, his only live-in household servant, currently took care of. Lena and her brother, Ryan, lent out their girls once a week to do the dusting and changing of linens, the laundering of his clothing. As he lived alone and kept most of the upstairs rooms closed up, there wasn’t much to be done.

  It ought to be a wife overseeing these tasks and so many more. He knew this, but that didn’t mean the knowing of it had to give him any pleasure.

  The entire fiasco with Melissa had been ill-fated from the start. The pressure to look for a wife had led him to take desperate measures. Were it up to him alone, he never would have considered looking for a bride, especially not one he’d found through an ad in the newspapers up and down the East coast.

  He’d thought that a touch of genius on his part. His grandfather would’ve liked to know Mark had married a girl from his side of the country. The fact that Melissa had hailed from Boston would’ve made it perfect. The Reynolds family was originally from Philadelphia, where Calvin still lived and served on his bank’s board of directors.

  The same bank where he’d arranged a place for his son-in-law, Mark’s father, albeit in the St. Louis branch.

  Another slight. Calvin had taken it personally when Paul Furnish walked out of the job he’d secured for him.

  “What a mess,” Mark muttered, shaking his head at the foolishness of it all. Not being able to freely reach out to his grandfather as a grandson ought to, all thanks to the old man’s pride and bad blood which had nothing to do with Mark.

  Cook was finishing up cleaning what the men had left behind after a hasty breakfast. He fixed himself a cold plate of bacon and biscuits and a cup of hot, strong coffee which likely would’ve stripped the varnish from the floor.

  It was time to retire to his study and pore over the books one more time.

  As though that would be of any help.

  Chapter 2

  Ryan Belton stretched out his long legs in their tailored trousers, sighing as he lowered his glass to the table near the horsehair chair in which he relaxed. “I suppose you’ve heard by now that I’ll be alone in that big old house fairly soon.”

  Mark smirked at this, winking at Ryan’s sister before replying. “I sent a note to Lena the day I heard of her betrothal, extending her my best wishes and fondest congratulations.”

  Lena came to him and stood on tiptoe to peck his cheek with puckered lips. “It was very sweet of you, and I’m certain Edward would say the same.”

  “That I was sweet?” Mark chuckled, perching on the arm of the chair opposite Ryan, the unused fireplace behind him. The drawing room glowed in warm, amber light from the oil lamps and their cut glass shades which sent beams of light shooting off in all directions.

  It may have been his favorite room in the house, and certainly, the one he’d foreseen his future wife getting great use out of as she entertained guests.

  The only one doing the entertaining was him.

  Lena’s dark eyes narrowed, and for a moment, he was certain she would stick out her tongue as she had when they were children, teasing each other. “Yes, Mark. He would say you were very sweet and thoughtful and might even need to lie down in a cool, dark room to recover.”

  The three of them laughed as they’d been doing for years, for as long as any of them could remember. The Lord had not seen fit to give his parents more than one child, so the Beltons were as close to a brother and sister as he could ever hope.

  He might have done much worse for himself. The two of them shared his sense of humor and his love of the land, and he knew without asking that either of them would have given him their last cent.

  Not that he would ever ask.

  Ryan was his opposite in many ways, as well. While Mark could admit his tendency to allow work to overwhelm him, to leave him tense and easily angered, Ryan’s greatest skill resided in the ease with which he allowed all but the very worst news to roll off his back like water off a duck.

  Jordan Belton had believed life to be too short to waste a minute worrying about the future, but that easy sensibility had belied a sharp insight and strong work ethic, all of which he’d passed onto his son.

  Paul Furnish had passed things down to his son as well. Work ethic, pride, the penchant to go through his days wound as tight as a spring ready to pop.

  And the ability to hide that tight-woundedness behind an easy smile and a kind demeanor. As he was right then, at that very moment, while entertaining his closest friends in his home, smiling as Lena spoke of the wedding arrangements.

  With a toss of her black curls, she scowled at her brother. “There is only one item which still plagues me, and certain brothers of mine are of no assistance.”

  “What would that be?” Mark asked, sipping his whiskey and imagining she referred to something trivial.

  Ryan blew out an exasperated sigh. “She frets over how I’ll take care of myself once she’s gone. As though I were a child in need of his mother.”

  “Do not test me in front of Mark, brother,” Lena warned, and there was more than just a slight edge to her voice. Lena was a lovely, clever and amusing young woman, but there was a limit to her patience and good humor.

  And he’d learned more than once—much more than once—how suddenly and how hot her temper could flare. Like a match sparking to life.

  Ryan shrugged, waving her off with his free hand. “I’m a grown man, woman.”

  “A grown man who would not know how to boil a potato if I presented him with the pot, the water, the potato and the cookstove,” she retorted with a sour smile.

  “That’s why people hire workers to do the cooking for them.”

  “A cook who needs orders,” she reminded him. “And we both know that if I am not there to oversee—if that poor woman is forced to cook for you on whatever whim strikes your fancy on that particular day—she won’t be lo
ng for the ranch. No sane woman would. And that’s just the cooking. There’s the cleaning, washing and mending, the tending of the gardens, the managing of the household accounts…”

  “Lord, woman,” Ryan growled. “You’re enough to make a man take to drink.”

  “And you are more than enough to make a saint take to swearing,” she replied, all sweetness and sugar.

  Mark burst out laughing, his troubles forgotten for the moment. His friends had a way of helping him forget, even when they were not aware they were doing so. “I must call an end to the fight,” he said with a chuckle. “It doesn’t seem fair to stand here watching my friend being pummeled to death.”

  “You think she’s pummeling me to death?” Ryan demanded, merely half serious. “You might help a man, Furnish.”

  “I know better than to take sides against Lena,” he added, while the lady in question folded her arms in triumph.

  “I never could win against the pair of you.” Ryan brushed off the sleeves of his dark coat, as though they’d become coated in dust as a result of fighting.

  “You won’t have me to bicker with for much longer,” Lena reminded him, “which is why we truly need to discuss taking on more help at the ranch.”

  “Can we simply sit and enjoy the company of our host without going over and over the same argument? We could just as easily stay at the house if this is all we plan to discuss tonight.”

  Lena whirled on Mark, the full skirts of her pink gown swinging. “I believe he should place an ad for a mail-order bride.”

  Mark winced before he could keep himself from doing so. It had only been three months since his disappointment with Melissa.

  And instantly, Lena realized her mistake. She covered her mouth with one shaking hand, the pearl ring her intended had given her gleaming lustrously on her third finger. “Oh, Mark. That was cruel of me to mention. I wasn’t thinking; you know how I don’t think when I’m upset over something.”

  “It’s no bother,” he assured her, patting her back. “Truly. Certain things aren’t intended to work as we wish they would. I don’t begrudge anyone involved and never have.”

  This was the truth. While Melissa’s marriage to Jed had been a disappointment, it was not a matter of romantic disappointment.

  In fact, he had no wish to take a wife and had only placed his ad out of necessity.

  He merely wished his plans had not been dashed as a result. That he might not now ask himself how he could keep the ranch afloat.

  “You’re a bigger man than I, Mark,” Ryan declared. “I don’t know that I would have handled myself with half the understanding you did. Arranging for the wedding to take place in your own parlor.”

  Mark bristled at this, though he took pains to conceal his irritation. There were times when his friend did not know when to leave a subject alone. One would think they’d known each other long enough that Ryan would know better than to push onward.

  Lena, the more sensitive of the two, touched his arm. “My brother is right. You are a bigger man than him. But most men are.”

  All three burst out laughing, another of Lena’s special talents was knowing how to diffuse tension.

  Later, as they enjoyed their supper—a special one in honor of Lena’s engagement—she cleared her throat. “This is wonderful. I’ve never eaten chicken prepared so deliciously. I must have the recipe.”

  “I’ll speak to the cook and have her write it up for you,” Mark promised.

  She glanced at Ryan, seated across from her at Mark’s left. “Perhaps the cook you bring in when I’m gone will be able to prepare it for you.”

  “This again?” Ryan looked at Mark, who felt compelled to speak up.

  “Perhaps it is not as terrible an idea as you believe,” he proposed, wiping his mouth on a linen napkin before reaching for a second helping of the roast chicken. Lena was right. It was delicious.

  “I should have known you would be on her side,” Ryan grumbled.

  “What’s so bad about it? Having a wife to help you run the ranch, to provide company once Lena is no longer living at home.” And this, he knew in his heart, was Lena’s true concern.

  The ranch was prosperous enough that he might hire any number of workers to run the house, which was not half the size of his own.

  It was the loneliness she worried over. He was familiar enough with their habits to know they spent evenings together, him reading and going over his ledgers while she knitted, embroidered, read books of her own.

  He’d spent many cozy evenings in Ryan’s office while the pair of them had done just that. Lena had sometimes read aloud from whatever she happened to choose that evening, whenever something struck her as amusing or of interest.

  While he would be glad to provide companionship for his friend whenever possible, the ranch was an hour’s drive even at a stately pace. And he rarely had the time to spare.

  Lena would never phrase her concerns so plainly, of course, as she did not wish to bruise her brother’s pride. For all their squabbling, they loved each other deeply and understood one another.

  Ryan had never been alone in the house before. It would certainly be an adjustment, as Mark knew well.

  His friend shook his head, stubborn as always. “I have no desire to take a wife, as you both know very well. If I want for companionship, I’ll get a dog.”

  Mark shrugged, with a look at Lena, his way of saying he’d done his share and could expect no better from an obstinate cuss such as her brother. Truth was, as much amusement as he took from pushing Ryan into something he had no desire to partake in himself, it did seem rather unfair to press the matter any further.

  The two of them would have it out once they climbed into their buggy and rode home.

  He allowed them to do just that after extending his goodbyes. The sound of their conflicting voice faded slowly with each turn of the buggy wheels.

  He chuckled, but there was little humor in it. Now that the Beltons were gone, he was alone with his thoughts. His worries.

  Night was falling, their supper having been an early one due his guests’ long drive ahead. The wide, empty sky was a soft indigo above his head which turned even lighter as he looked to the west, where the blazing sun had just disappeared beneath the horizon.

  The night sounds were beginning. Crickets chirping merrily, roughly a thousand frogs down by the river. They were many acres from where he stood in front of his home, yet they sang upwind from him and thus might have been just underfoot.

  Their song normally soothed him. Tonight, it made his head ache.

  He might go inside, he thought. Bury his head in a book. Forget everything for a short while.

  Or he might go elsewhere for the evening. He could make it to town before it became too late, perhaps have a drink and get the news of what went on in Carson City.

  Reading a newspaper was one matter, but hearing it from the mouths of others was something else.

  He’d always enjoyed people, listening to their views on life and hearing what bothered them. Besides, it was important for a man in his position to be well-known for something other than his acreage.

  Important to him, anyhow. He never did much like the notion of infamy for the sake of it, simply because of the amount of money he had.

  The amount strangers believed he had.

  He saddled Star and took him out, taking the familiar road out of his ranch and into Carson City proper.

  By the time he arrived, it was fully dark and those in town who enjoyed themselves at such times were certainly doing so. Gaslights on every post lining Carson Street on both sides revealed citizens and visitors strolling along the boardwalks in front of the stores, the bank, the baker’s.

  Lights blazed in the first-floor windows of the hotel which sat tall and proud on Carson Street, the restaurant still quite busy. Men walked into and out of the saloon on the following block, which was where he intended to go.

  He tied Star to the post running the length of the boardwalk before
stepping up onto the boards, nodding in greeting to a vaguely familiar gentleman he passed on the way inside. It was difficult to know everyone, the city booming as it was. It seemed there were always new faces on every visit.

  Yet they all seemed to know his name once they found out who it was they spoke with. Melissa had once told him that even Jed, who’d spent much of his life in Texas, knew the Furnish name.

  Then again, he’d been raised a rancher’s son. There was at least a reason for it.

  News traveled fast in Carson City, that was for certain. Perhaps that was how his name had become such a familiar one. The largest landowner in the state was bound to earn the interest of citizens and visitors alike.

  “Mr. Furnish! It’s good to see you!” The owner, Henry Lawrence, was nearly on top of Mark the moment he stepped foot through the swinging doors. “Don’t hardly see enough of you, and that’s a fact.”

  Mark smiled down at the little man with the pince-nez glasses balanced on the bridge of his narrow nose. For a saloon owner, who most might imagine to be coarse and unkempt, he was quite the opposite. Always well-groomed, his dark hair parted square down the middle, and shining under layers of pomade, thin mustache neatly trimmed, his linen shirts starched and spotless.

  But his eyes were hard, shrewd. As they were for most men of business.

  “I expect ranch life keeps you quite busy,” Mr. Lawrence continued.

  “That it does, though I ought to make it a point to come out more often, and that’s a fact,” Mark admitted as he looked about the place.

  There were two floors, the upstairs hall open to the view of those downstairs. The upstairs rooms were often taken by men who either could not afford the prices of the town’s hotel or boarding house, or who preferred their accommodations a bit more… entertaining.

  For along with the highly polished bar which stretched from one end of the first floor to the other on the far wall, along with the cut-glass chandeliers and shining brass fixtures on the walls, along with the piano player in one corner and of course the rows of bottles and kegs of beer behind the bar, Henry Lawrence’s saloon featured one further special touch—beautiful young women hired to keep patrons happy.