A Bride for Logan

by Barbara Goss

  Emma’s first night was disastrous. She could tell by the expression on Dora’s face that she wasn’t pleased. She tried to be friendly to the men, but whenever one got too close, she jumped back in alarm. Emma watched the other saloon women; some of them even sat on the customers' laps. She knew she could never be quite that friendly. What had she gotten herself into?

  One handsome but dangerous-looking man grabbed her hand as she walked by, and she let out a little scream.

  “Hey, there,” he said, “settle down. I want you to have a drink with me is all.”

  “All right,” she said.

  He bought her a drink and one for himself. Emma sipped hers slowly.

  “You’re new here,” he said. “My name’s Dallas. What’s yours?”

  “Emma.”

  “You’re beautiful, Miss Emma. I love your hair—why, it’s nearly black. I've always favored women with dark hair and creamy skin like yours.”

  Emma squirmed. She didn’t like the way Dallas was eying her. After she’d finished her drink she said, “I need to circulate and make sure I talk to other men.”

  “Come back to have another drink with me later, doll.” He slapped her backside.

  Without thinking, Emma swung around and slapped his face.

  Dallas sprung up and grabbed her by the wrists, “What the—”

  “Let her go, Dallas," Dora said. "Emma, please come with me.” Dora pulled Emma behind the bar and into the office.

  After Dora closed the door, she turned to Emma. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “He slapped my behind.”

  Dora rolled her eyes. “I’m afraid I have to let you go, Emma. It’s clear this work is not for you. You can spend the night here, but tomorrow, you’re on your own, I’m afraid.”

  In the morning, Emma packed her things. She should have waited to see the reverend to begin with. She’d do that now. The jobs the women had offered just hadn't been suitable for her.

  She’d just put the last of her garments into her sack when Dora knocked on her door and walked into her room. “Good morning,” she said.

  Emma tried to smile as she greeted Dora. “Good morning.”

  “I’ve some good news. My cousin came to visit me last night and said that a wealthy man from Hunter’s Grove, Kansas needs a wife. He wants a proxy marriage since time is of utmost importance. I’m not sure why he needs a bride so fast, but I can’t afford to spare any of my girls. I thought this might be the answer to your problems. What do you think?”

  Emma no longer trusted Dora, Flora, or Gladys. They'd meant well, but they were not like the people with whom she usually mixed. Still, she didn’t want to burn all of her bridges, either. This last offer could hold some promise.

  “Can I think about it? I’d like to visit the reverend and see if he can help me before I decide.”

  “Certainly. I must give my cousin an answer today, though. Like I said, the man needs a bride as soon as possible.”

  Emma sat before Reverend Keller, a thin, elderly man with salt and pepper hair. “My dear," he began, "I’d love to help you, but this isn’t New York City or Boston. Boulder City is a rough place, and I can’t place you into a home with any assurance you’ll be safe. I’ve only arrived here myself a few months ago. The few families I could safely recommend already have a house full of children and little room for what they have. I couldn’t ask them to take in another mouth to feed. I’m sorry.”

  “But I’d work for them, help clean, or mind the children.”

  “They couldn’t afford that luxury, I’m afraid. My wife is visiting family in Kansas City, so it would hardly be decent for me to take you home, either.”

  Emma thanked him and left. She walked back to the saloon along the wooden walkway. She’d just about made it to the saloon when a hand grabbed her wrist and pulled her between two buildings.

  “Gotcha,” Dallas said, pressing her close.

  “Let me go!” she cried, beating on his chest with her fists.

  “You think you’re too good for me, is that it?”

  “No. I’m not who you think I am. I don’t work for Dora anymore.”

  Dallas pulled her closer and spoke in her ear, “Stop struggling. You’ll love what I have to give you; I promise.”

  Frightened to death, Emma kicked him in the place her mother told her would be effective. His arms loosened their hold just enough for her to slip out, and she ran from him and into the saloon as quickly as she could. She heard his oath as she ran: “I’ll get you yet, you little—”

  As she ran into the office she bumped smack into Dora.

  “Goodness! Slow down.” Dora laughed.

  “I’ll take that offer in Kansas,” Emma said breathlessly. “I’ll marry the man.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Dora exclaimed. “You’ll have a proxy wedding. I’ll set it up.”

  Chapter Three

  After a whirlwind of plans and papers to sign, Emma stood before the reverend with Dora and Earl. Dora’s husband, Earl, recited the vows for the man in Hunter’s Grove whom Emma found out was named Logan Sinclair. An hour later, she was waving goodbye to them as she rode away in a stagecoach bound for Hunter’s Grove, Kansas. Before they'd left Boulder City's main street, she saw Dallas leaning against a building. He shook his fist at her and shouted something she was glad she couldn’t hear; she shivered.

  The stagecoach ride was bumpy. She lay her head back and closed her eyes. Everything had happened so fast. She’d never been in such a whirlwind of activity and emotions in her life. First, she'd lost her best friend in the world and her friend’s father. Then she’d found herself alone on a street in a strange town only to wind up in a brothel, then a saloon, then marrying a stranger. She spent most of her time on the long trip to Kansas praying.

  What might this Logan Sinclair be like? Dora had said he ran a successful ranch, but that didn’t tell her anything about his personality. She had no control over the situation, but she knew that an annulment couldn’t take place once they'd consummated the marriage. Would an annulment be expensive? She wasn’t sure, but the thought gave her some hope.

  Logan Sinclair had money—why couldn’t he find himself a wife? Emma shivered. If she thought him old, ugly, or if he was like Dallas, she’d be in trouble. She had to put her trust in God and that he’d taken her from a bad situation and put her into a better one. Whatever the situation, she'd find out when she arrived in Hunter’s Grove.

  ~~~**~~~

  Logan hit himself on the forehead. “Alan, I just thought of something. We forgot to tell the woman in Boulder City to make sure my bride arrives in clothing befitting a lady.”

  Alan smiled. “I took care of that.”

  Logan clapped his friend’s back. “You've saved me once again.”

  He paced the platform outside the stagecoach office, pulled out his pocket watch, and tapped on it. “What time is she to arrive?”

  “Calm down. Four o’clock. We still have ten minutes.”

  Logan took a deep breath. “I’m all right. I’m just nervous. What’s my wife’s name again?”

  “Emma,” Alan said.

  “Oh, good. It doesn’t sound like a saloon woman’s name.”

  “Saloon women have specific names?” Alan asked.

  “Yes, like Trixie, Belle, Diamond, Ruby…those are girls at The Slippery Saddle.”

  “Logan, those aren’t their real names.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Well, mothers don’t know that their daughters will one day become saloon women when they name them,” he said with a snicker.

  “Horse buckets! Here comes the stagecoach. Is my tie straight?”

  “You look fine. Just remember you’re in charge. You asked for a bride, you have one, and now you’ll take her home and—say, what are you going to do with her when you get her home?”

  “I’ll show her to the guest room. I can’t touch her or I won’t be able to annul the marriage later.”

  �
��How long do you have to stay married?”

  “I don’t know. A few months, I guess.”

  Logan watched the passengers disembark. A heavyset man stepped down first and helped the two ladies out of the coach. The first woman was elderly. Logan hoped it wasn’t Emma since he'd forgotten to specify an age limit. The second woman was tiny, pretty, and with hair so black it nearly clashed with her creamy white skin. The first thing she did after landing on the platform was to open her parasol.

  He nudged Alan. “She’s not bad.”

  “I’ll say,” Alan replied. “If you don’t want her, send her my way, will ya?”

  ~~~**~~~

  Once she'd landed on the platform, she opened her parasol and scanned the area around the stagecoach office. Most of the people were greeted by other passengers or waiting with their suitcases to board a stagecoach. She spotted two rather handsome young men standing near the building. The tall one had ginger-colored hair and wore spectacles. The other one, she decided, had to be her husband. She watched as he nervously patted his dark hair into place and straightened his string tie. He was dressed in his Sunday best and was holding a small bouquet. She walked toward the two men, studying them. Her husband had brown hair, bushy eyebrows, and a muscular build. His face was rugged but pleasing. His bright blue eyes were his most outstanding feature. She supposed she could have done worse. Now, all she had to worry about was his personality.

  When she stood a handshake away, Logan Sinclair handed her the flowers.

  “Thank you. They’re lovely,” she said, taking the bouquet and smelling it.

  “People think we’ve already met, so I think we should embrace as if we're glad to see one another again,” Logan said.

  Emma nodded, and he gave her a loose embrace.

  He turned to Alan. “This is my good friend, Alan Hershel.”

  Emma nodded at him and smiled.

  “Nice to meet you, Emma. I have to leave, but I’m sure I’ll see a lot of you both. Congratulations.” Alan waved and walked down the wooden walkway toward his horse.

  Logan helped Emma board the buggy before he walked around and hopped into the driver’s seat.

  “First order of business is to visit my attorney. He wants proof of our marriage.”

  “I see,” Emma said. She wanted to ask him why he needed a wife in such a rush, but she would wait until she knew him better. She didn’t feel the urge to talk to him as he seemed abrupt and impersonal. Maybe, at the attorney’s, she’d discover the reason. For the time being, she’d just keep silent, watch, and listen.

  The attorney, John Snyder, was a man with graying hair. He greeted the couple and invited them to have a seat, pulled a file from his metal cabinet, and asked to see the proxy marriage papers. She pulled her paperwork from her reticule and Logan pulled his from his pocket and handed them to the lawyer who scanned them for quite a few minutes. At last, he shrugged and told Logan, “You now own the ranch. Stop by tomorrow and we’ll go to the bank and square things with them.” He turned to Emma. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Sinclair.”

  Logan escorted her from the office. The attorney followed them and said, “Oh, I think you should know: your sister has been asking about this situation. She asked for a copy of the will, but since you made the deadline, I don’t have to send her anything.”

  Logan clamped his lips together, and his complexion reddened.

  “You can send her a copy, but tell her I’m married, and that the situation is closed.”

  “I will,” Mitchell said. “Oh, by the way—congratulations to you both.”

  Emma assumed Logan had a deadline by which to marry, and he’d made it thanks to her.

  Several men tipped their hats to her as they walked to the buggy. She smiled at them; Logan frowned.

  “Remember: you aren’t a saloon woman, and no one is to know that you were—is that clear?”

  Emma didn’t think the question warranted an answer, so she simply nodded. Earlier, when she’d stepped off the stagecoach and saw him in his Sunday best with flowers, she’d thought the marriage might work out, but now she'd changed her mind. She had to get up the nerve to ask him how long this joke of a marriage had to last. She still felt that remaining silent as she watched and listened was the best way to proceed.

  Her first view of the ranch nearly took her breath away. The white, multi-gabled house appeared enormous for housing no one but Logan and his late father. The towering, two-story home had a large porch in the front which gave it a spot of warmth. To the right of the house were several large shade trees and to the left, a stable that must have been sixty feet long.

  When he brought the buggy to a halt in front of the house, she asked him, “What sort of ranch is this?”

  He jumped down from the seat, walked to where she was sitting, and put out a hand to assist her. “It’s a horse ranch. We breed and sell the best horses in Kansas.”

  Logan walked her to the double front doors, opened one, and allowed her to proceed him through it. A white brick wall across from the doors brightened the spacious hall, accentuating the grandfather clock there. To the right and left were arches leading to other rooms in the house. It relieved Emma to know she’d be living under a decent, if not luxurious roof.

  He led her to the right where an aproned woman met them in what looked like a parlor. Emma thought the middle-aged woman must have been expecting him to arrive with his bride. She was certain the servant didn’t welcome him each time he came home.

  “Emma, I want you to meet Irma Belling, our housekeeper.”

  Emma smiled and nodded. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Belling.”

  “You can call me Irma; everyone does. Welcome to your new home.”

  “Show her to the master bedroom, Irma, so she can unpack.”

  Emma swung her head around to glare at Logan. Master bedroom? She didn’t want to start an argument with him in front of Irma, so she went along with her up the shiny mahogany staircase.

  She thanked Irma and entered the large room overlooking the front lawn of the home. She touched the delicately carved wood on the bed’s headboard. The room also contained a large armoire, two sofa chairs, and two beautiful chests of drawers. Emma walked to the two large windows draped in red velvet which matched the quilt on the bed. The gold carpet in the center of the room gave it a touch of brightness. Emma didn’t unpack her things because she definitely would not be staying in that room with Logan. They needed to talk and soon.

  Emma sat on the window seat and waited. If someone didn’t come for her soon, she’d make her way downstairs to find Logan. After about fifteen minutes, he knocked softly on the door and entered.

  Logan glanced at her sack of clothes on the bed. “You haven’t unpacked?”

  Emma stood to face him. “I’m not sleeping in this room.”

  “Of course, you aren’t.” He walked over to a door she hadn’t noticed and opened it. “This is where you’ll be sleeping, but for appearance’s sake, you’ll need to put your clothes here, in this room, and always enter through the master bedroom.”

  Emma walked through the door he’d opened and found herself in a nicely furnished but smaller bedroom.

  “Is there a lock on the door?” she asked.

  “Certainly. You’ll be safe from me, I can promise you that.”

  “Because I’m a saloon woman?”

  “In part, and also because I’ll want to annul the marriage after six months.”

  She felt relieved and hurt. His remark had come out sounding cruel.

  “That suits me fine,” she said. “Why six months?”

  “It's a decent length of time, I figured, to show we tried to make it work but couldn’t.”

  “I see. Since you have a housekeeper, what should I do all day here?”

  “Enjoy yourself. You can pick out any horse to ride. Irma can get you started on sewing or a project of some kind.”

  Something occurred to Emma while he spoke: what was he going to do with her when the six
months were up?

  Logan continued, “If you really want to occupy your time, I could use help with the account books.”

  “I don’t mind at all. I used to do them for my father.”

  “Your father?” he asked. “I assumed you didn’t have parents. I didn’t think saloon women had families.”

  “Everyone has parents. A train accident killed mine at South Bend, Indiana.”

  Logan pointed to the two sofa chairs in the master bedroom. “I think we need to sit and chat. I need to find out more about you in case people ask.”

  Emma returned to the master bedroom and sat on one chair while he took the other.

  “I’m sorry about your parents. What type of business did your father own?”

  “He owned the grain and feed store.”

  “You were reared in a genteel home?”

  She nodded. “After their accident, I moved in with my best friend and her father.”

  “And is that when you worked in a saloon?” he asked.

  Emma thought about telling him that she wasn’t really a saloon woman, that she’d never lain with a man, and she’d only worked in a saloon for one night, but did she really want him to know that? Maybe, if he thought her a saloon woman, he’d continue to find their relationship distasteful. It would be her protection, so to speak.

  “Not then. You see, my friend and her father wanted to get in on the land grants in Oregon, so we traveled to St. Joseph, Missouri to get on a wagon train, but they both caught cholera and died, leaving me alone. The wagon train scout escorted me to Boulder City, where he left me at a church. I was homeless and the minister couldn’t help me and that’s when I took the job at the Silver Bullet Saloon.”

  Emma hoped he wouldn’t ask her how long she’d worked there. She tried to stick to the truth as much as she could.