Montana Sky: Anson's Mail-Order Bride (Kindle Worlds) (The Jones's of Morgan's Crossing Book 1)

by Kit Morgan

  Anson came into the house, startling her out of her reverie. “Oh!”

  He laughed. “Why so jumpy?”

  “No reason,” she said and wiped her hands on her skirt. Rats, she still didn’t have a decent apron. She should’ve thought of that when they were in Sweetwater Springs – she probably could’ve bought one ready-made. “Are you hungry?”

  “A little. I guess we should eat though – the sun’s going down.”

  She nodded, put food on each plate, then handed one to him. But she really didn’t want to sit on the cot, and didn’t want to make him do it either. But there was always the front porch. “Shall we go outside?”

  “Sure,” he said and headed for the door. He opened it and waited for her to precede him. They sat on the porch steps and, after Anson said a little prayer, began to eat. The “girls” wandered over, pecking and scratching the ground at their feet, hoping for a handout. “Have you been feeding them scraps?” Anson scolded.

  Guilt pricked her and Zadie pressed her lips into a firm line.

  “Zadie, didn’t I tell you not to feed them our food?”

  “Did you?” she said and straightened. In truth, she wasn’t sure. “I saw no reason not to give them a few crumbs here and there …”

  He gave her a sardonic look. “No more. They have their food, we have ours.”

  She grinned sheepishly. “All right.” She looked at the hens. “Did you hear that, girls? No more for you.” The hens looked at her, clucking, then went back to what they were doing.

  “If you’d kept feeding them like that, before you know it, they’d start begging like dogs,” Anson explained.

  “I didn’t know that. Well, they’ll have to be content with their own food from now on.”

  He nodded and took another bite of his meal. She could sense something was wrong, but decided to let him speak first.

  Anson cleared his throat. “So … tell me about your uncle.”

  Seventeen

  Uncle Mort? Why did Anson want to know about him? Maybe he was out of things to talk about. “Where do I start?” she said with a small laugh. “To be honest, there’s not much to tell. The only time my uncle came around was when he wanted a hot meal and a good game of chess with my father. We hardly saw him until after my mother died.”

  “Were he and your father close?”

  She shook her head. “Not really. But we were Uncle Mort’s only family in the area.”

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  She studied him. Anson was studying her in return, an oddly intense look on his face. “Why such interest in my uncle? You’ve hardly asked me about my parents since we wed.”

  He diverted his gaze to the chickens. “Just … curious. You brought him up on our way home, so I thought it might be something nice to talk about.”

  She thought a moment, and then nodded. “What about your family? What are they like? We’ve talked about each other and our childhoods over the last week, but not our relatives.”

  “Don’t get me started. You know I have more cousins than I can count. Why don’t we stick with your father and uncle for now, and talk about mine later?”

  She took a bite of her food and waited for him to say something further, but he didn’t. He was obviously waiting for her to continue. “I don’t have much more to tell you.”

  “You were about to tell me when you last saw your uncle,” he reminded her.

  “Oh yes. Hmmm, a couple of years ago, before we moved to Denver.”

  “Was it a nice visit?”

  She licked her lips. “No.”

  His face took on a look of keen interest. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know exactly. Uncle Mort showed up, said he had some sort of business venture to discuss with my father, then he left.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

  She turned to him. “I heard them yelling at each other in my father’s study. I couldn’t make out the words, but it was upsetting. My father never talked about it afterwards, and I didn’t ask.”

  “He never told you anything?”

  “No, not that he had the chance. He left a few days later on business and didn’t come home for almost three weeks.”

  “Where did his business take him, that he was away so long?”

  “New York, Chicago, St. Louis. My father traveled for his work – he was often gone weeks at a time. I thought he’d quit that part of it because of his health, but he decided to make one last trip. He lost his job after that. I think the trip took too much out of him – obviously his employer thought so too.”

  Anson put his arm around her and gave her a hug. “You miss him, don’t you?”

  “What child doesn’t miss their parent after they’re gone? Now both of mine have passed and it makes me feel very … alone at times.”

  He hugged her. “You have me.”

  She smiled. “If I didn’t, I don’t know where I’d be right now.”

  “You know where you’ll be from now on …”

  She raised her face to his. “I’m so glad I married you, Anson Jones.”

  He smiled back, but said nothing.

  * * *

  He should have told her, told her everything, but for some reason he couldn’t. Instead he sat with a blank look on his face. Mortimer Penworthy was his wife’s uncle? What a twist of fate!

  Or was it?

  His logical brain told him there was no way Zadie could know about the stolen money or that it was hidden in or around Morgan’s Crossing. But that Penworthy was her uncle… was the world really that small? Did Zadie know nothing? And the timing – was it possible her father had been in cahoots with her uncle? Had they hidden the money together?

  Anson had so many questions whirling around in his mind he couldn’t concentrate. “I

  think I’ll go check the stock.”

  Zadie lifted her head from his shoulder and gave him a puzzled look. “Oh, ah … all right. I’ll see to the dishes.”

  “Thank you,” he said and stood. He handed her his plate and strode to the barn. He was being abrupt, but right now he needed to clear his head so he could think. This couldn’t be a mere coincidence, could it?

  He reached the corral, checked the horses then went into the barn. Julius Caesar raised his head, snorted and went back to munching his supper. “I’m glad one of us is calm.” The horse flicked an ear in his direction, but that was all the attention he offered.

  “What am I thinking? Zadie can’t be a part of this!” Now Julius Caesar raised his head, and Anson scratched him between the ears. “What do you think?”

  Julius Caesar ignored him and went back to eating.

  “You’re no help,” Anson griped. He blew out a breath and tried to think. Maybe Zadie had nothing to do with Penworthy, but … didn’t she say her father went on a business trip after her uncle’s last visit? The timing would be right. Penworthy had quit the Van Cleet Shipping Company and fled Boston shortly after he’d seen Zadie’s father. If her father’s business took him to, say, Chicago, how much more time would it take to travel to Morgan’s Crossing, hide the money, then be back in Boston? Not long if he traveled by train – a three-week round trip would be more than enough time, especially if his real business only took him a day or two.

  Anson made a mental note to ask Zadie exactly when she and her father left Boston for Denver. Maybe her father didn’t lose his job, but quit. Who knew? All he knew was this had to be more than chance. Mortimer Penworthy wasn’t the only player in this game, of that he was certain. Whether or not his wife was involved in Penworthy’s dealings or not, he didn’t know.

  And that, more than anything else, had his heart in a tailspin. “How could she be?” he asked aloud, hoping to convince himself it wasn’t true. Praying, more like it.

  He leaned against Julius Caesar’s stall door and folded his arms in front of him. What was he going to do if Zadie was involved? For Heaven’s sake, he was married to her! Worse, he was in love with her.r />
  He rubbed his face with his hands as he realized the truth. His wife, the woman he loved, was a possible criminal. What to do?

  He supposed he could confront her, but if she was involved, naturally she’d deny it. What criminal wouldn’t? Which meant, even if he loved her, she might well feel nothing for him. Was he just a means to an end for her, nothing more?

  “I’ve got to stop thinking like this,” he said aloud. He knew that if he didn’t, he’d tear himself apart. “Ah, Zadie, what am I going to do with you?” For now, all he could do was keep an eye out for Penworthy – and a close eye on his wife.

  “I never should’ve taught her how to ride,” he grumbled. For all he knew, she’d meet up with her uncle one day while he was out mending fences. Sure, he could manage a few trips into town and find out if any new miners had been hired, or if a stranger was skulking around, but what about his wife?

  Anson took a few deep breaths to calm himself. He’d never felt so confused in his life. But then, he’d never had his heart at stake.

  * * *

  For the next several days Anson stayed close to home, keeping an eye on things. But he knew he couldn’t afford to much longer. He needed to get to Morgan’s Crossing and check for any unusual activity.

  Besides, Zadie had to be getting suspicious. He was afraid to touch her, afraid to let himself get too close. He did little things, of course – hold her hand, hug her now and then, a few kisses. But for the most part he kept his distance … and made frequent trips to the river.

  Today he’d go to town, nose around a bit and speak to Freddy again about helping him with a few things. He couldn’t put it off any longer, especially since Freddy had a limp that slowed him down. The man might not move as fast as the next, but he was darn good at anything he put his mind to.

  Anson busied himself saddling King Lear and didn’t hear Zadie come into the barn. “Did you want some lunch to take with you?”

  He tensed as he tightened the cinch of the saddle, and hoped she didn’t notice. “No, don’t trouble yourself. I can get something at the boarding house if I’m hungry.” He studied her. She was wearing one of the new dresses she’d purchased in Sweetwater Springs – the green denim brought out the gold in her eyes. He gazed into their green depths and almost bit his lip. Every day he noticed how beautiful she was, how kind, how considerate …

  … and quite possibly the best liar he’d ever met. He didn’t dare allow himself to get any closer, married or not, until he knew where she stood. He decided to give it a few more days before talking to her about her uncle. If Penworthy didn’t show up by then, maybe he wasn’t going to. And at this point that would be a godsend – he wouldn’t have to deal with the louse, and could concentrate on his new bride.

  “Anson?”

  He flinched again. “Oh sorry, what did you say?”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Everything’s fine,” he lied. “I… have a lot on my mind lately.” He made some adjustments to the saddle then led King Lear from the barn, Zadie trailing after them. “Is there anything you want from town?” he asked before he mounted.

  “No,” she said softly and started to turn away.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” he asked, though he already knew the answer – she was set on doing laundry today. Not to mention that he’d been pushing her away, but until he knew the truth he had no choice.

  “You know how much work I have today. Next time I’ll go with you.” She didn’t look at him when she said it and his heart sank to his belly.

  He mounted his horse. “I’ll be back this afternoon.” He kicked King Lear into a trot and rode out of the barnyard.

  Leaving her behind like this made him feel like a cad – it was the first time he’d left her alone. Part of him wanted to, while the rest of him told him he was an idiot. How could he leave her there by herself without any protection? But hadn’t he been insistent on teaching her how to ride a horse and drive a wagon so she could go to town by herself? She wouldn’t have any protection then, other than what she could muster up – what was the difference?

  Anson slowed his horse to a walk. The area around Morgan’s Crossing was safe enough except for the likes of men such as Penworthy. But … but this was still wild country. Who knew what could happen to a woman alone on the road?

  He stopped King Lear and contemplated going back, gathering Zadie up, taking her to town with him and telling her the whole sordid tale on the way. He turned in the saddle and stared at the ranch behind him. There was no sign of Zadie – she must be in the house heating water for the laundry.

  He sighed. He wanted his wife in his arms, wanted to kiss her until she couldn’t stand up. He wanted to make her his again, to show her he loved her.

  Heck, had he even told her yet? He started to a few times, but thought better of it. If he’d said the words, his heart would become even more ensnared. If she was indeed Penworthy’s accomplice, could he handle it? He’d met expert liars and cons before, some of them women – and to his mind, those were the most dangerous.

  With a frown Anson faced forward again, nudged King Lear to a trot and headed for Morgan’s Crossing.

  Once he arrived in town he went about his business, making a point to stop at the store first. If anyone would know about a stranger in town, it would be Ralph. But the man had nothing to report. Anson left the store relieved and annoyed at the same time. He went to the boarding house for a quick bite before heading up to the mine. He hadn’t heard anything from Michael Morgan in regards to breeding his mare to Julius Caesar, so it was a good excuse to see him.

  He sat down, placed his order and waited for his food. Several miners entered, and he decided to see if he could get the information he needed without having to make a trip to see Mr. Morgan. He sipped his coffee and listened to their conversation.

  “That weird fella come ‘round again this mornin’?” one of the miners asked.

  “Nah, Rossmoor done run him off,” said the other. “We don’t need no extra help right now.”

  Anson’s heart jumped into his throat.

  “Where’d Rossmoor send him?”

  “Durned if I know. Ain’t no more work ‘round here. He’d be better off lookin’ in Sweetwater Springs.”

  “That or go back where he came from. If ya ask me, by the looks of him he ain’t worked a day in his life. Hope he don’t got a family dependin’ on him.”

  Anson could stand it no longer and turned in his chair. “Excuse me?”

  The two men looked at him. “Whaddaya want?” one of them asked.

  Anson thought fast. “Was Mr. Morgan at the mine?”

  “Yeah, he’s up there,” one of them said.

  “Good to know – I need to speak with him.”

  “Oh yeah, I thought ya looked familiar. Yer that horse fella. I gotta say, mister, ya got ya some mighty fine-lookin’ animals. That handsome thing tethered outside’s yours, ain’t it?”

  “Yes, but he’s not my stud horse. Your boss was thinking of breeding one of his mares.”

  “Be a fool not to, “said the other.

  “Thanks for the compliment,” Anson said. Best get this over with. “Did I hear you say something about your boss hiring?”

  “He ain’t doin’ no hirin’,” one of them said. “‘Fraid ya heard wrong – we sent that fella away. He came back, though, so Mr. Rossmoor had to tell him no again.”

  “I see,” Anson said with a chuckle. “I guess I did hear wrong. I was curious because I need a little help out at my place. Do you think this man is still around?”

  “Nah, I think he left town yesterday. Must be halfway to Sweetwater Springs by now.”

  “Yes, you’re probably right,” Anson agreed. “Well, enjoy your lunch, gentlemen.”

  They smiled and nodded in return just as Anson’s food showed up. He tried to concentrate on his meal as he contemplated whether or not to ask for a description of the man the miners were talking about. He supposed he co
uld simply ask them, or better yet, ask Mr. Morgan or Mr. Rossmoor. He himself had never seen Mortimer Penworthy before, but he had a good description.

  He almost wished the stranger wasn’t the crook he was after – then he wouldn’t have to face the possible perfidy of his wife. But there was no evidence pointing to Zadie’s guilt, except for being related to Penworthy. He wouldn’t know until he caught him. If he caught him, that is.

  Anson tried not to think about it and began to eat.

  Eighteen

  Dear Mrs. Pettigrew,

  I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to write, but there are so many things that have happened since I first arrived in Morgan’s Crossing that I don’t know where to begin …

  Zadie blinked back a tear. Anson had been gone for several hours, and his latest dismissal of her had finally made her tears surface. He’d been aloof and distant all week, and for the life of her she couldn’t understand why. Had she done something to upset him? Did he have a change of heart? Good heavens, it was a little late for that at this point, yet she got the distinct notion his feelings had changed.

  But what happened? There had to be something, or why would he be treating her this way?

  Zadie dipped the pen into some ink and continued to write.

  … My first meeting with Mr. Jones was uneventful - because he didn’t show up. We made a mistake, you and I, in interpreting his telegram. As it turns out, I wasn’t to come to Morgan’s Crossing, but to wait in Denver pending further notice. I tell you this not to discourage you, but to ensure that future missives do not fall into the misguided paws of Monsieur Pickles.

  Let me also say that Mr. Jones and I did connect eventually and are now married. We have a small horse ranch a couple of hours outside of Morgan’s Crossing. The ranch consists of a one-room cabin (soon to be two), a barn and horse corrals. And we are now the proud owners of three lovely hens …

  Zadie’s jaw clenched in her attempt to hold back tears. Angry tears.