Читать книгу Cowboy Seeks a Bride - Louise M. Gouge - Страница 10

Chapter One

July 1881

Randall Northam is a gambler. Randall Northam is a killer.

The words pulsed through Marybeth O’Brien’s head, keeping time with the clatter of the iron wheels on the railroad track as the train propelled her inescapably toward her prospective husband. Until a few moments ago she’d thought his most notable quality was being the second son of a wealthy Colorado ranching family. But the lively young woman seated across from her had just imparted a vital bit of information Randall Northam’s parents had left out when they’d arranged this marriage. And from the enthusiasm brightening Maisie Henshaw’s face, Marybeth could see her story wasn’t finished.

“Yep, he shot that thieving varmint right in the heart. Why, Rand can outdraw anybody.” The red-haired girl elbowed her handsome young husband in the ribs. “Even me.”

Dr. Henshaw chuckled indulgently, his expression utterly devoid of censure, but rather, exuding only devotion for his wife. “You may have heard stories about how wild the West is, Miss O’Brien, but you will certainly feel safe with Rand protecting you.”

“Just like me protecting you.” Maisie chortled in a decidedly unladylike manner.

Her more refined husband nodded his agreement with a grin. “Well, we all have our talents.”

Marybeth returned a weak smile while gulping down a terror she’d never felt as she’d made her plans to go to Colorado. She’d had some concern, yes. A great deal of doubt, of course. But never fear. In fact, the farther she’d traveled from Boston and the closer to her destination, she’d actually begun to look forward to meeting her prospective husband. If he turned out to be all that his parents and his own letters stated, she would reconsider her lifelong vow never to marry. But this disclosure about her intended changed everything and reaffirmed her determination never to be trapped in a miserable marriage, as her mother had been. She lifted a silent prayer of thanks for this encounter with the Henshaws and for finding out the truth about Mr. Randall Northam before meeting him.

Even as she prayed, guilt teased at the corners of her mind. She’d accepted her train fare from Colonel and Mrs. Northam, arguing with herself that perhaps Randall would turn out to be as kind, handsome and noble as his father, a former Union officer. If so, perhaps she could convince him to postpone the wedding until she found Jimmy. Surely, with two brothers of his own, he would understand her desperate desire to find her only brother who’d fled to Colorado eight long years ago to escape their abusive father. Finding Jimmy would not only reunite her with her only living relative, it would provide a means for her not to marry at all. That was, if Jimmy still had Mam’s silver locket. With the key to a great treasure tucked inside, the locket would mean she could repay the Northams for her train fare.

“Don’t you think so?” Maisie reached across and patted Marybeth’s gloved hand.

“Wha—?” Marybeth felt an unaccustomed blush rush to her cheeks. How rude of her not to pay attention to her companions. “Forgive me. Would you repeat the question?”

“Now, Maisie, dear.” John Henshaw bent his head toward his wife in a sweet, familiar way. “Miss O’Brien must be tired from her travels. We should give her time to rest so she will be at her best when she meets her future husband.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Maisie’s pretty face crinkled with worry. “Would you like a pillow? A blanket?” She nudged her husband and pointed to the bag beneath his seat. “Honey, dig out that pillow I packed.”

“Thank you. You’re too kind.” Marybeth accepted the small cushion, placed it against the window and rested her head, not because she wanted to sleep, but because she needed time to think. Although she hated missing the beautiful mountain scenery as the train descended the western side of La Veta Pass, she closed her eyes to keep Maisie from further talking. Again guilt pinched her conscience. This was no way to treat such kind people.

When they’d first met early this morning, the Henshaws had recognized their social duty to an unattached young woman traveling alone, just as several matrons and couples had all the way from Boston. Due to their protecting presence, Marybeth hadn’t been accosted by a single man on the entire trip, although one well-dressed man in particular had stared at her rather boldly today when the doctor wasn’t looking. He would have been more careful if he’d known Maisie was the one to watch out for. Marybeth wanted to laugh thinking about her new friend being a sharpshooter. If anything, she looked like a perfect lady in her fashionable brown traveling suit and elegant matching hat.

The moment the conductor had escorted her to the seat across from the Henshaws, Marybeth could see they were decent Christian people. Because they lived in the town where she would soon reside, she’d gradually told them more about herself, at last telling them she was Randall Northam’s intended bride. Maisie had hooted with joy, announcing she’d known “Rand” all her life, and his sister, Rosamond, was her best friend. As if unfolding a great yarn, she told Marybeth about Rand’s shoot-out over a card game in a saloon.

A gambler, a killer and, no doubt, a drunkard. This was the man she was expected to marry? Indeed she would not marry him, not in a hundred years.

* * *

Rand checked his pocket watch and then glanced down the railroad line toward Alamosa searching for the telltale black cloud of smoke from the Denver and Rio Grande engine. The wind was up today, so maybe tumbleweed or sand had blown over the tracks, slowing the train. Maybe a tree had fallen somewhere up on La Veta Pass and they’d had to stop to remove it before proceeding down into the San Luis Valley.

Rand chewed his lip and paced the boardwalk outside the small station, his boots thudding against the wood in time with his pounding heart. How much longer must he wait before the train arrived? Before his bride arrived?

He glanced down at his new black boots, dismayed at the unavoidable dust covering the toes. Hoping to look his best for his new bride, he brushed each boot over the back of the opposite pant leg and then wiped a hand over the gray marks that ill-advised action left. So much for looking his best. Where was that train anyway?

“Settle down, Rand.” His younger brother, Tolley, half reclined on the bench set against the station’s dull yellow outside wall. “If the train’s going to be late, Charlie’ll let you know.” He jutted his chin toward the open window above him. Inside, Charlie Williams manned the telegraph, but at the moment no syncopated clickety-click indicated an incoming message. Tolley shook his head and smirked. “Man, if this is what it’s like to get married, I don’t want any part of it. Where’s my cocksure brother today?” He patted the gun strapped to his side, clearly referencing the worst day of Rand’s life.

“Could you just keep quiet about that?” He shot Tolley a cross look. After three years his brother still wouldn’t let him forget the time Rand had been forced to kill a horse thief. Instead of understanding how guilty Rand felt about the incident, Tolley idolized him, even wanted to emulate his gun-fighting skills. “Don’t say anything to Miss O’Brien except ‘how do you do’ and ‘welcome to Esperanza.’ Let me take care of the rest, understand?”

“Yes, boss.” Tolley touched his hat in a mock salute. He glanced down the tracks. “Looks like your wait is over.”

Rand followed his gaze. Sure enough, there came the massive Denver and Rio Grande engine, its black smoke almost invisible in the crosswinds, its cars tucked in a row behind it. Now his pulse pounded in his chest and ears, and his mouth became dry, just as it had before that fateful gunfight. Cocksure? Not in the least. Just able to hide his emotions under stress better than most people. At least most of the time. Today he couldn’t quite subdue his nerves.

The engine chugged to a stop and sent out a blast of gray-white steam from its undercarriage. Porters jumped out, set stools in front of the doors and gave a hand to the disembarking passengers.

“Rand! Hey, Rand.” Emerging from the second passenger car, Maisie Henshaw ignored the porter, practically leaped from the last step and ran toward him. Behind her, Doc Henshaw, toting a valise and his black doctoring bag, stretched out his long legs to keep up with his bride. Rand would never understand how these two very different people had gotten together, but it sure wasn’t any of his business. Besides, anybody could see how happy they were.

Rand hoped his own imminent marriage would be just as happy. That would be an extra blessing on his road to redeeming his past. For three years he’d worked hard to live a perfect life by following every order, every wish of his parents, and taking on more than his share of chores to gain his older brother’s respect. Now, if Miss O’Brien would have him, he would be marrying the young lady his parents had chosen for him. It made him feel as if he’d almost arrived at redemption. Almost.

Maisie dashed up and gave him a sisterly hug. “My, you’re looking handsome. Any special reason you’re all gussied up and out here waiting for the train?” She elbowed Doc in the ribs and chortled.

“Now, honey.” His hands full, Doc gently bumped her shoulder with his own. “Let the man be.”

“All right, all right.” Maisie sniffed in mock annoyance. “But I’m in no hurry to go home.” She marched over to the bench and plunked herself down beside Tolley. “Move over, kid.”

Doc just chuckled at her antics. “Hello, Rand. It’s good to see you.” He sat next to Maisie.

Rand had only a moment to give his impromptu audience a scowl of irritation before their eyes all turned toward the train car. Maisie giggled and Tolley let out a low whistle. Rand followed their gaze. And nearly fell onto the bench beside them.

Slender and of medium height, the young lady had thick auburn hair piled high on her head, with a cute little brown-and-blue hat perched at the summit. Her sandy-colored dress—well, more suit than dress, and trimmed with dark blue bits of ribbon and such—hugged well-formed curves that he wouldn’t let himself dwell on until after they were married. But it was her face that held his attention. Like a classical Roman statue of Venus he’d once seen in a magazine, her elegant beauty was flawless and her porcelain cheeks glowed with a hint of roses. He couldn’t make out the color of her eyes, but she’d said in a letter that they were hazel.

Oh, mercy, she’s even more beautiful than her picture. What did I ever do to deserve this prize? Nothing, that’s what. It was all a matter of grace.

Thank You, Lord, for sending me such a lovely bride. That was, if Miss O’Brien would have him once he told her the truth about his past.

* * *

Foolishly putting off the inevitable, Marybeth had offered a silly excuse to the Henshaws for not following them right away. Maisie had teased about her shyness but hadn’t forced the issue. The last passenger in the car, Marybeth had slowly moved toward the door where the conductor had given her a patient smile.

At last she emerged from the darkness, shielding her eyes from both the sun and the wind. A porter offered a hand and helped her to the ground. She pressed a dime—her last one—into his hand for the services he’d so diligently rendered during the trip. “Thank you.”

As he bowed to her, a sharp whistle split the air. She located Maisie seated by the train station and pointing enthusiastically at a tall, broad-shouldered cowboy. He was dressed in a dark green plaid shirt, spotless black trousers and shiny black boots. While she couldn’t see his face due to the broad brim of his light brown hat, his physique was certainly attractive, the sort that girls at her school always gushed over when the matrons weren’t in the room.

Her gaze lit on the gun strapped to his belt and a shudder went through her. In traveling across the country, she’d noticed more than one cowboy wearing a gun. Another traveler had told her the weapons were necessary because of wild animals and maybe even train robbers. Yet how many of those cowboys had killed a man, as this one had?

He strode toward her with a firm gait and her heart pounded with fear...and a very odd thrill. What was wrong with her? She’d never been one to court danger. Indeed, she avoided confrontation at all cost.

“Miss O’Brien?” He tipped his hat to her.

Now she could see his face and her breath left her. When he hadn’t sent a picture, she’d wondered if his looks were not particularly appealing. That was far from the case. In all of her twenty years, she had never seen a more handsome man, from his bright green eyes to his tanned, well-formed cheekbones and slender nose to his attractive, slightly crooked smile that revealed even white teeth. He even smelled good; a woody fragrance she couldn’t quite identify. But it was those eyes, emerald green and reflecting the darker shade of his shirt, that held her attention, that mesmerized her.

“Yes, I’m Marybeth O’Brien.” Her voice squeaked, but he had the good manners not to laugh. “Mr. Northam?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He reached out to take her gloved hand. “Please call me Rand. We mostly go by first names out here. That is, if it’s all right with you.”

At his touch, a hot spark shot up her arm, turning to ice as it reached her neck. She couldn’t stop a shudder, but again he didn’t react. “Yes, that’s fine.” Somehow she managed to say the words. Somehow she managed to keep her knees from buckling.

For countless seconds they stood staring at each other. Marybeth tried to reconcile the idea of this young, incredibly handsome man being a killer, a gambler, a man exactly like her father. That thought shook her loose from her hypnotic state. Hadn’t Da looked every bit the gentleman when he was sober? For the first time in her life she understood how Mam had been swept off her feet and right into a tragic, abusive marriage.

“Well—” She broke away from Rand’s hold. “I have a trunk someplace.” She looked around and spied it being unloaded from the baggage car. “There it is. Shall we?” She took a step in that direction.

“Yes, ma’am.” Rand nonetheless gently touched her upper arm to stop her. “I brought my brother along to take care of that.” He motioned to a younger version of himself. “Tolley, get yourself over here and meet Miss O’Brien... Marybeth, this is my brother Tolley.”

The brothers’ good relationship was evident in the boy’s teasing smirk and overly polite address to her. “How do you do, Miss O’Brien? Welcome to Esperanza.” From his singsong tone, she guessed he’d been coached.

“Very well, thank you, Tolley. I understand first names are the rule here, so please call me Marybeth.” For some reason she felt no fear of him, despite the gun he wore. Did his easy smile and wide-eyed innocence hide a murderous spirit, too?

“Yes, ma’am.” He shot a look at Rand almost as if seeking approval. “I’ll take care of that trunk and see you later.”

“Oh.” Marybeth’s heart sank as he strode away. She’d hoped the boy’s presence would serve as a buffer between her and Rand. She looked up at Rand. “I—I was thinking...”

Again he touched her upper arm. Again a shiver raced up to her neck. “If you don’t mind, I’d like for us to go over to Mrs. Williams’s café for a bite to eat before I take you to your lodgings. That way we can start getting acquainted.”

Marybeth’s stomach answered for her with a slight rumbling. Heat flooded her cheeks. “Oh, dear. I guess you have your answer.”

His smile held no censure. “Good. She has the reputation of being the best cook in Esperanza.”

Marybeth accepted his offered arm—his very muscular arm—and they began their trek down the rutted street toward the center of town. Maybe this was best. She could break with him in public rather than in private. That way, if he was like Da, he wouldn’t dare strike her. Da had always kept the abuse to the privacy of their shabby house so no one would see his true nature. Her only dilemma would be finding a place to stay afterward. Maybe that Mrs. Williams would help her. Maybe someone would. One thing was certain. Dr. and Mrs. Henshaw would be no help. From the admiring looks on their faces, it was obvious they thought Rand was nothing short of a hero.

* * *

Feeling the warmth of Marybeth’s hand on his arm, smelling the fragrance of her lavender perfume, Rand adjusted his usual long stride to suit her shorter one. She had a dainty way about her that filled him with admiration. Most young ladies he knew tended to have a sturdier manner, although few were as tomboyish as Maisie and her sisters. He’d have to take particular care of this little gal until she became accustomed to Western ways. Pampering her would be his new favorite activity.

People along the street acknowledged him with a nod, a tipped hat or a wave, but no one interrupted their journey to the café. He knew they’d gossip about Marybeth and him, just as they had Nate and Susanna when his older brother was courting the Southern belle. He hoped their respect for the Northam name would inspire townsfolk to give him a wide berth so he and his prospective bride could get acquainted.

Prospective bride. That was how he’d thought of Marybeth ever since Mother had first written to him about her six months ago. Now that she was by his side, he was pretty close to dispensing with the “prospective” part. With his parents and sister extolling her character in their letters and saying they all agreed she was just the right gal to suit him, he felt as if he already knew her. They’d also written to say she would help to bring that element of refinement Dad hoped to add to the community.

Marybeth’s letters had informed him that she liked music, liked to read, enjoyed cooking and housekeeping; the usual feminine qualities to make a man eager to go home at the end of the day. Her beauty was just a bonus. Not that he deserved any of it, of course. But maybe this was another example of God’s grace toward an unworthy sinner.

“Here we are.” He steered her toward Williams’s Café and swung the door inward to let her enter first. The aroma of simmering chicken and freshly baked bread poured over them, whetting his appetite.

Before stepping over the threshold, Marybeth gave him a tremulous smile, causing his heart to bounce around inside his chest. The sweet little thing was skittish, bless her heart. Of course, he felt a bit nervous, too. Maybe by the time they finished dinner, they’d feel more comfortable with each other. Sharing a meal could have that effect on a person.

“Hello, Rand.” Mrs. Williams, proprietor and chief cook, gave him a wave from the kitchen door. “Take any seat you like.”

“Thanks, Miss Pam. Come over and meet my...meet Miss O’Brien.” Stopping short of calling Marybeth his bride, Rand paused to hang his hat on the wall peg. He led her to a table beside the wide front window where both of them would be able to watch the passersby. It was also far enough away from the half dozen other customers to keep their conversation fairly private.

“Welcome to Esperanza, honey.” Miss Pam walked across the recently enlarged dining room and held a floured hand out to Marybeth. Seeming to think better of it, she brushed the hand on her white apron and chuckled. “Oops. I just finished making dumplings to go with the stewed chicken, so let’s not get any flour on those nice gloves.”

“How do you do, Miss Pam?” Her smile warm and friendly, Marybeth seemed to catch on real quick to the casual way things were done out here, another attractive quality in Rand’s mind. “Chicken and dumplings sounds wonderful.”

“Miss Pam’s are the best,” Rand said. “Make that two.”

“Coming right up.” Miss Pam signaled Lucy, her waitress, before returning to her kitchen.

Lucy took their order for coffee. When she brought it, she gave Rand a surreptitious wink and then went about serving the other customers. Rand doubted the wink held any other meaning than teasing because Lucy and his best friend, Seamus, were courting.

As Marybeth removed her tan kid gloves, she glanced around the room and out the window, her shyness apparent. Rand gently captured one hand across the narrow table, hoping to likewise capture her gaze. Her long, slender fingers felt just right in his grasp, except for the tiny tremor in them. He gave her a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m glad you’re finally here.” Not the smartest thing to say, but all he could think of.

She looked startled. Frightened almost. The long trip from Boston must have worn her down. “Where can I find a place to stay?” The way her gaze darted around the room, she reminded him of a rabbit trying to escape a dog pack.

Hadn’t she heard his remark about lodging? Did she see something in him to cause her concern? Rand swallowed hard. If he didn’t have such faith in his parents’ choice, he would think this was all a mistake. Instead of being happy or even interested in being in his company, Marybeth almost seemed afraid.

Then it struck him. She knew. Someone, probably Maisie, had told her the one thing Dad had insisted was Rand’s responsibility to tell her. Now she was frightened of him, and he had no idea how to go about soothing away her fears and assuring her of his constant efforts to live for the Lord.

* * *

There it was, the tiny hardening in Rand’s expression that signaled the beginning of his anger. Oh, he’d find a way to cover it until they were alone. Then she’d pay. Just as Mam never knew exactly what had displeased Da, Marybeth had no idea what she’d done to anger Rand. Now his perfectly formed face was lined with a winsome sort of sadness, just like Da when he sobered up and felt ashamed for his brutality.

Rand cleared his throat. “We planned to have you stay with my brother and his wife, but Susanna’s expecting her second— Uh-oh, sorry. Maybe where you come from, folks don’t talk about such things.”

Marybeth hid her surprise at his comment. Indeed, such matters were never discussed at Fairfield Young Ladies’ Academy. However, in the lower class neighborhood where she’d grown up, people never held back when discussing the hows and whys of childbirth. Rand’s concern for her sensibilities spoke well of him. It was a quality more in keeping with the man his parents had recommended to her so highly.

“I certainly understand why Susanna doesn’t need company right now.” She offered a little shrug to indicate a lack of concern, just the opposite of what she felt. Being in another woman’s house could provide protection. “Perhaps a hotel?” She would have to take a job to pay for it, but she’d planned to do so anyway. Her purse was empty, and traveling to Wagon Wheel Gap to search for her brother, Jimmy, would require another season of earning the funds to do so.

“Another uh-oh.” He smiled and grimaced at the same time, a wickedly attractive expression. Oh, Lord, guard my heart against this man’s charms. “We don’t have a hotel. My father plans to bring in a hotelier from back East, maybe even England. He’s working on that and a lot of other things to build up the town. Of course that doesn’t help us right now.”

Before alarm could take hold of Marybeth, Lucy arrived with two bowls of steaming chicken and dumplings. Once again Rand took her hand. This time he bowed his head and lifted a short, sincere-sounding prayer of thanks for the food. Emotion churned through Marybeth’s chest like a roiling sea. Da had prayed, too. Magnificent prayers in his lilting Irish brogue, prayers God would surely hear for their beauty. Yet he never changed, never improved his ways. She set aside the memories but would never permit herself to forget them, lest she end up like Mam.

“Can I bring you anything else?” The waitress gave Rand a simpering smile at odds with her tomboyish swagger. She was flirting with him, but from his friendly, “No, thank you,” Marybeth could see he was oblivious to her attempts to get his attention. An odd sort of jealousy smote Marybeth. No, that was just silly. Not jealousy at all. Simply an awareness of the girl’s bad manners in flirting with a man when he was in the company of another woman.

They wordlessly began to eat and Marybeth’s appetite roared into command. If not for the two years spent at Fairfield Young Ladies’ Academy, paid for by the ladies of her Boston church, she would shovel the delicious food into her mouth just as she had as a child.

“About where you’re going to stay...” Lifting the shaker next to the salt, Rand added a healthy dash of pepper to his dinner. “Mrs. Foster is the local piano teacher and church organist, and she’s got an extra room. She’ll be mighty glad for the company because her husband died last year and she’s still at loose ends. She’s an older lady and a bit talkative, but kind as can be. I hope that meets with your approval.”

The doubt and apology in his voice, along with his sorrowful wince as he mentioned the husband’s death, gave Marybeth pause. He possessed all the outward trappings of a gentle, thoughtful man. But so had Da.

“It’s very kind of you to arrange that, Rand.” She offered a polite smile that hid her relief over not having to worry about lodging.

Confusion clouded his expression. “Did you think I wouldn’t find proper lodging for you?” His tone held a note of injury.

“W-well.” Her chest tightened into a familiar knot. Had she touched a nerve? Was he angry? “No, of course not. I mean, yes, of course you would.”

He shook his head and chuckled. “Now that I think of it, when we were writing, I don’t believe we addressed the topic of where you would stay.” He gave his head a little shake. “An unfortunate oversight.”

“Yes, that’s it.” The knot in her chest eased. “Just an oversight.”

They’d almost finished their meal, so she’d best tackle the difficult subject hanging over them. That way, if he became angry, she could look for help. Perhaps Miss Pam. Or the plump older couple seated at a table in the corner. No, they were leaving. In fact, they were coming this way.

“Howdy, Rand.” The man clapped him on the shoulder. “Who’s this pretty newcomer?”

Rand introduced Marybeth to the Archers and said they lived south of town in the Bowen community.

“You’ve got yourself a fine catch, missy,” said the woman. “Lots of girls around here have tried to lasso this boy since the day he first started shaving.”

While the Archers laughed, Rand rolled his eyes in a charming way. “You folks have a nice day.”

They took their dismissal in good humor and left. Once again the situation gave Marybeth pause. They obviously didn’t fear Rand. Miss Pam and Lucy didn’t, either. When had Marybeth decided he was her father come back to life? Maybe she didn’t have to be afraid of him. Maybe she should dismiss her fears and give him a chance to prove himself.

“Are you ready to go?” Rand started to push back from the table.

“No.” Trying to gather her thoughts, Marybeth took another sip of coffee.

“Oh.” Rand settled back down. “You want dessert? Apple pie? Or Miss Pam’s special elderberry pie?”

His sudden eagerness to please made Marybeth want to laugh, but what she must tell him was too serious for her to indulge in any such levity.

“No, thank you.” She glanced out the window, where people walked to and fro on their daily errands. On the way here, she’d noticed many people giving Rand friendly waves. Like Miss Pam and Lucy, every single one appeared to admire him. Still, she must proceed with caution. “I have to tell you something.” She lifted her coffee cup for another bracing sip.

“I was afraid of that.” His face fell and his shoulders drooped with disappointment. “You won’t marry me because I’m too ugly. There was a reason I didn’t send a picture, you know.”

Marybeth almost spewed coffee all over him, barely catching the liquid before it escaped her lips. Now she could see the mischief in his eyes that bespoke an awareness of his good looks without being excessively prideful, a rare quality. Most handsome men of her acquaintance strutted about, clearly proud of their appearance.

Once she regained her composure, she shook her head. “I’m afraid it’s a bit more serious than that.”

“Ah.” The humor left his face but a gentle twinkle remained in his eyes. “Go on. You can tell me anything.”

She would take him at his word, at least for now. Borrowing from her Irish legacy of masterful storytelling, she wove the “sad but true tale” of her family, punctuating it with a few well-placed tears and carefully leaving out several details. Eight years before, when her brother was only fifteen, he’d been beaten up by neighborhood bullies. Da had called him a coward for not standing up to the thugs, so Jimmy had left home and never come back. He’d written only one letter a year or so later, posting it from Del Norte, Colorado, and saying he was headed to Wagon Wheel Gap to do some silver prospecting. Now that their parents had died, the mention of which brought genuine tears to her eyes, at least for Mam, she knew she had to search for her only living relative before she settled down.

At this point she batted her eyes, sending a few tears down her cheeks, and then dabbed at them with a handkerchief and gave Rand a look that pleaded for understanding.

“I’m sorry to hear about your dad and brother not getting along.” He shook his head and stared off with a thoughtful look. “Describe your brother to me.”

Marybeth started. Could it be this simple? Was it possible that Rand knew him? “His name is Jimmy O’Brien.” She couldn’t keep the eagerness from her voice. “I haven’t seen him since I was twelve years old. He was just a couple of inches taller than I was, so he may be about five feet, five inches now, if he takes after our father. He has red hair and hazel eyes.” She searched her memory for other details, but none came to mind. She certainly would not mention Mam’s silver locket, which she’d given him to keep Da from pawning it to buy liquor. Marybeth laughed softly. “And, as if you haven’t already figured out, he’s Irish.”

Rand’s frown of concentration intensified. “Does he speak with a brogue?”

“No.” She shook her head. “We both worked hard to get rid of it so we could get better jobs.” She had worked especially hard to speak without the brogue, hoping to find employment as a servant in an upper-class home, something a rich rancher couldn’t possibly understand. “He did pretty well, and the ladies at my church were so impressed by my efforts that they sent me to Fairfield Young Ladies’ Academy, where I met Rosamond.” She bit her lip, hoping she didn’t sound proud, wondering how much further to go. “I learned deportment, but I also learned typing and accounting skills.” In her letters she’d mentioned the academy but not the training in office work.

“Typing.” He scratched his head. “I’ve heard about those typewriting machines but haven’t ever seen one. I did receive a letter written on one. Makes a real nice page, just like printing in a book.”

She beamed a smile at him, encouraged that he didn’t seem the least bit angry. “Yes. I’m hoping to find work, perhaps in a bank or for a lawyer.”

“Work?” Now he frowned again, but still without anger. “But I’m responsible for your care. I’ve made arrangements with Mrs. Foster on the condition you would agree to live there until our wedding.” His eyes narrowed. “Marybeth, please assure me that you didn’t take advantage of my parents’ kindness just so they would pay your train fare so you could find your brother.”

“N-no, not at all.” Yes. At least partly yes. “Please recall the part of our agreement stating that either of us has the right to cancel our wedding if we’re not compatible.”

“And in just forty-five minutes, you’ve decided we’re not compatible?” The edge in his voice sent a shiver through her middle. “Seems you’ve already made up your mind.” He raised his hand as if he wanted to hit something, and Marybeth prepared to duck. Instead he waved off the gesture and stared glumly out of the window.

To her surprise, instead of being angry he seemed wounded, even depressed, so much so that she felt sorry for him.

Could it be that he wasn’t like Da at all? Could she trust him to help her find Jimmy? Despite being a gambler and gunfighter, maybe he had a core of decency she could learn to trust. But how could she really know for certain?

* * *

Rand wished he hadn’t raised his hand that dismissive way, as he always did to show gunslingers that he wasn’t planning to fight them, for the gesture appeared to have scared Marybeth. He turned to stare out the window to watch the traffic in the street. She hadn’t even given him a chance. Maybe hadn’t even intended to try. So much for his parents’ and sister’s harebrained idea of finding him a proper Christian lady to marry. He should have just married one of those nice girls who lived down in Bowen. There sure were enough of them to choose from. But Dad had wanted to bring fresh blood into Esperanza; ladies with fine manners like Mother’s to help some of the wilder gals like Maisie improve their ways.

Thoughts of Mother always stopped him short. He raised a familiar silent prayer that the doctors at the Boston hospital would be able to find out what caused her breathing problems. Dad had been so anxious about her health that he’d left Esperanza, the community he’d spent the past thirteen years building, the town that looked to him for guidance for every important decision they made. Yet Dad had willingly made the trip back East for Mother’s sake. Rand longed for that same kind of marriage, where the most important thing was to take care of one another, no matter what the personal cost might be.

His folks had taken his sister, Rosamond, along to enroll her in the Boston finishing school Mother had attended as a young girl. There they’d met Marybeth, and Mother had decided she was the perfect young lady for Rand. Until today he hadn’t cared much about those fine manners Dad insisted the local girls needed to learn. But after meeting Marybeth, he couldn’t imagine marrying one of those cowgirls he’d grown up with. Still, he was beginning to wonder how his folks could have been so mistaken about Marybeth. Couldn’t they see she’d had another plan all along?

Rand had made a few plans of his own. He’d envisioned someone who could grow a kitchen garden and a family and give him a little intellectual companionship on cold Colorado evenings. If he’d just married one of the gals who always smiled so sweetly at him in church, he wouldn’t be sitting here feeling like a complete fool. But he also wouldn’t have a bride who could talk about something other than the price of cattle or how the weather affected the crops.

Probably intent on listening to their conversation, Lucy sidled up next to him and gave his shoulder a sisterly nudge with her elbow as she held out the coffeepot.

“You must be missing Seamus.” He held his cup while she poured.

Lucy shrugged. “If you see him, tell him I do miss him.” She sniffed. “Don’t know why he has to be the one up in the hills with all them cattle all summer long. I don’t have nothing to do on my days off.”

Rand gave her a sympathetic smile. “He’s the trail boss because he’s the best man for the job. You can be proud of him for that.”

“Humph. And what am I supposed to do while he’s out there?” Lucy poured coffee for Marybeth and then took Rand’s empty plate in her free hand. With a swish of her skirt that brushed fabric against his forearm, she headed back toward the kitchen.

Eyeing Lucy with a hint of disapproval, Marybeth put two lumps of sugar and a dash of cream in her cup, stirred and lifted the drink to her lips. Her graceful hands looked like white porcelain and her little fingers posed in refined arches as she held the cup. Beautiful, elegant hands, but not hands for a rancher’s wife. What had his folks been thinking? This young lady was entirely too genteel.

Or maybe as she’d traveled farther west, she’d realized what she’d gotten herself into. Too bad he couldn’t blame Maisie for this turn of events, but that wouldn’t be fair. Even if she spilled the whole story, with her upbringing as a rancher’s daughter, of course she’d be proud of his killing a horse thief.

Well, one thing was sure. With Marybeth making it clear they wouldn’t be getting married anytime soon, if at all, he could postpone telling her about the fatal gunfight. He had no doubt Maisie had blabbed the story, so when they did get around to talking about it, he would have to reassure Marybeth that he wasn’t proud of killing a man, no matter what other people thought. On the other hand, he was still responsible for her since she’d come all this way to meet him. Best get this all figured out.

“Now about that job you mentioned, how do you plan on getting it?” He couldn’t keep the rancor out of his voice.

She lifted her chin and gazed down her pretty little nose at him. “As I said, I plan to work for a lawyer or in the bank.” She blinked in a charming, innocent way. “You do have a bank, don’t you? I thought I saw one on our way here.”

“Yes, we have a bank. But everybody knows that’s a man’s job. Besides, what makes you think Mr. Means is going to hire you?” Rand felt justified being a little cross. Not only was Nolan Means young, wealthy and good-looking, he kept trying to finagle his way into community leadership, something the Northam family carefully controlled to keep out unsavory elements.

Marybeth’s hazel eyes flashed at his challenge. “I will have you know I am very good with accounts. Not only that, but with my typewriting ability, I will be a great asset. If Mr....Mr. Means, is it? If he doesn’t need an accountant or secretary, I am certain some businessman in this growing town will be happy to employ someone with my skills.”

Rand gazed at her, admiration mingled with annoyance. The girl had spirit, that was certain. But as he watched her, something else became evident in her bright hazel eyes—a look he’d seen in green gamblers who just realized they’d gotten themselves into a game with seasoned cardsharps. She had a secret, one that scared her. Why on earth did she think coming out West would solve her problems? But here she was, and despite her postponement—maybe even her cancellation—of the wedding, he had every intention of sticking to his plans to take care of her. A Christian man always kept his word, always saw to his responsibilities.

Bolstered with that thought, Rand scratched behind his ear and gave Marybeth one of his best “aw shucks” grins. “Well, Marybeth, I wish you all the best. And I will pray for your success.”

Her eyes widened and she seemed to struggle a moment before answering. “Why, thank you, Rand. How very kind.”

He shrugged. “I’ve been praying for you since last January when Mother first wrote to me about you.”

“Oh.” She looked down at her coffee cup. “Thank you.”

He frowned. She seemed confused by his mention of prayer. Yet Mother had assured him she was a Christian. A real one, not someone who just went through the motions in church. Maybe she’d fooled them all. That meant he had more than one responsibility for this little gal. He had to take care of her and get her saved. He would take her to church every Sunday and let her hear some of Reverend Thomas’s fine sermons. If he’d listened to those sermons when he should have, he’d never have killed a man, no matter how threatened he’d felt.

Another thing he could do for Marybeth was to write to the sheriff in Wagon Wheel Gap to see if he’d come across a man matching Jimmy O’Brien’s description. Maybe if Rand found her brother, she’d forget working and decide to settle down with him. On the other hand, he needed to find out what she was hiding before he could marry her. That was quite a quandary, one the Lord would have to sort out.

“If you’re done with your coffee, I’ll take you over to Mrs. Foster’s. She’ll put you up until—” He shook his head. No longer could he think until the wedding. “Until you get things worked out.”

He stood, pulled a half dollar out of his pocket and dropped it on the table to pay for their dinner, adding a nickel for Lucy’s tip. When Marybeth continued to stare at him with some sort of unreadable expression, he sighed as he snagged his hat off of the peg.

“I guess I should ask if that’s all right with you.”

She gave him a tentative smile and her eyes seemed to glisten. “Yes, it’s fine. Thank you. You’re very kind, considering...”

Rand ducked his head to put on his hat and to hide a grin. Her eyes held that secretive look again, but this time with even more uncertainty. Maybe he had a chance with this pretty little lady, after all. And maybe his older brother could offer some tips on how to win a gal determined not to like him.