by Jenna Brandt
“Yes, I just finished going over everything to confirm it, but this is Miss Alice Bowen,” Mr. Redburn stated.
“Abigail,” she clipped out in frustration. “I’m Abigail Bowen. Alice is my sister.”
“Right, right, thank you for clarifying.”
“Now I’m confused. There’re sisters who came? Am I to marry Abigail or Alice?”
Abigail was angry beyond belief. First, Mr. Redburn couldn’t even remember who she was, and now, the man he wanted to match her with didn’t even care who she was. As confused as they both were, they sounded better fitted for each other.
Tired of the whole situation, Abigail decided it was time she stand up for herself. “I can assure you, anything you need in a wife, I can more than accommodate,” Abigail stated tersely. “After all, how much can a barkeep truly need?”
“I’m not just a barkeep. I own the bar I work at, sweetheart, and that’s why I need a wife to help me run the business.”
“I have no desire to run a bar,” Abigail stated with distaste. “I’ve never even stepped foot in one, nor do I ever want to.”
Scanning her up and down, Mr. Stillwell shrugged with a roll of his eyes. “Oh, that’s clear from looking at you. You wouldn’t last one day as my wife.”
“How dare you! You don’t even know me,” Abigail stated in frustration. “I’ll have you know—”
Violet stepped forward and in between the fighting couple. “I think this has gotten out of hand. Let me explain the situation. Mr. Stillwell needs a wife who can help him with the bookkeeping for his bar. Miss Bowen is educated and capable of managing the finances of the business. That alone is a start which you can build a foundation from. Why don’t you two spend a little time together before rushing to judge the other.”
Abigail realized she was guilty of doing just that. She had assumed he was just a simple barkeep, but the truth was, he owned a business in town. On top of that, if she didn’t accept this match, what would happen to her? She supposed she could return to Baltimore and her governess job if it was still available. If she did, what would become of Alice? She couldn’t abandon her little sister, and worry about her from across the country. Comprehending she had little choice in the matter, Abigail reluctantly agreed. “I suppose spending some time together is the best option.”
Mr. Redburn clapped his hands together with excitement. “Great, now that we have your match settled, why don’t you, Stillwell, come back tonight for the dance so the two of you can start getting to know one another.”
Chapter Six
What had Mason gotten himself into? From his first encounter with Abigail Bowen, she was nothing like the description Chance had given him at the bar. She was prickly, arrogant, and defiant; the exact opposite of what he needed and wanted in a wife. On top of that, she seemed to despise him and his profession, which didn’t make her any more appealing.
The only account that Chance had been right about was that she was educated and pretty. Really pretty, if Mason was honest with himself. He wasn’t sure if he had ever seen a lovelier girl in all his life. With her dark chocolate brown hair and matching eyes, creamy skin, and slender frame, she was a real head-turner. He was actually surprised she was still unmarried until he remembered her personality. It was clear why she was still unattached. Who would ever want to manage a wife on a daily basis with that thorny of a disposition? If he hadn’t given his word he would try, he would have already gone running for the hills. As it was, he was certain by the end of the dance, this would be over and Abigail Bowen would be out of his life.
He arrived at Miss Viola’s house—correction, now it was Chance’s house—and removed his hat as he climbed up the steps of the large veranda. He raised his hand and knocked on the door.
It swung up to reveal Miss Violet. She hastily ushered Mason inside. “Everyone is in the parlor. You’re late.”
“I’m lucky I made it here at all,” he defended as she took his hat and coat and placed it on the nearby rack. “You have no idea how hard it is to get away from my bar in the evening.”
“Shouldn’t your future wife be a priority, Mr. Stillwell?”
Mason frowned, not fond of being rebuked over a woman he didn’t even like or even planned to spend the rest of his life with. He was simply here to show everyone she was the wrong match. Chance needed to find him a different bride; one that was more pliable and willing to do his bidding.
As he entered the room, there were several women and men in the parlor talking in groups. Some were over at the refreshment table nibbling on treats, while others were dancing to the music. Next to the piano was even a woman with a dog in her lap, bobbing her head to the music. That should have been the most obvious out of place sight in the room, but leave it to his supposed match to stick out like a sore thumb. She was sitting in a chair with a book in her face, ignoring everyone and everything around her.
Who came to a dance and would choose to read a book? Every time he thought the woman couldn’t baffle him more, she proved him wrong.
He made his way over to Chance, wanting to make sure he knew that he had shown up like he said he would. Once his obligatory night with Abigail was over though, he would be out of there so fast it would make Chance’s head spin.
“I see you finally decided to show up,” Chance chuckled. “I wondered if you would follow through.”
“I said I would, so I did. I’m a man of my word.” He glanced around the room uncomfortably. “What should I do next?”
“Well, since you hired me to find you a wife, I would start with talking with the woman I matched you with.” Chance gestured towards Abigail. “She’s right over there.”
Reluctantly, Mason walked over and took a seat in the chair next to Abigail. He looked over at her and debated what to do next. What did men do in social situations like this? He’d never been good at mingling at parties. Did he ask her if she wanted a refreshment? Did he ask her to dance, not that he was very good at it, because he wasn’t? That would require him attending the town’s socials, and that was something Mason never did.
“Are you going to stop staring at me now, Mr. Stillwell?” Abigail inquired as she continued to keep her face in the pages of the story.
“How do you know if I am, considering you have your own eyes glued to the pages of that book.”
“Just because I look like I’m reading doesn’t actually mean that I am. You can pay far more attention to what is going on around you if everyone thinks you’re preoccupied with something else. Besides, it’s also a great conversation blocker. I prefer to keep to myself.”
She was spying, Mason mused. She hadn’t been reading at all, but had used the book as subterfuge to camouflage her actual real intentions. He wasn’t sure if he was more impressed or frightened at how calculated her actions were.
“Who were you paying attention to?” Mason asked, glancing around the room to see if there were any men watching her in return. A pang of possessiveness he didn’t expect crept into his chest at the thought of Abigail being interested in another man. Why did he feel that way? He didn’t even want her, or did he?
Abigail snapped her book shut and placed it in her lap. “I’m keeping an eye on my sister, Alice. I want to make sure she doesn’t do something she’ll regret. When she’s hurt, she tends to act out and causes trouble.”
“Why, is she hurt?” Mason asked in confusion, noticing a woman in the corner of the room that looked similar to Abigail but shorter and with a fuller figure. “Shouldn’t she be happy to be here with whoever Mr. Redburn matched her with?”
“Her beau didn’t come here tonight. He said he was too busy with his farm and toddler son.”
“Oh, that must be Colton Farmer,” Mason explained. “He’s a recent widower and has his hands full with everything his wife left for him to attend to alone.”
“Still, that isn’t my sister’s fault, and he shouldn’t treat her that way,” Abigail countered as she twisted a piece of her dress in her hands.
/> “Well, a man has to work and provide a living for himself and his son,” Mason countered with a shrug. “You can’t blame him for needing to put his farm ahead of a woman he hasn’t even met yet.”
“Do I detect deflection, Mr. Stillwell? Do you find yourself sympathetic to Mr. Farmer because you have the same affliction? I suspect you both suffer from acute egomania,” she chided with agitation.
“Hold on, I’m not sure what all of those big words mean, or even what is going on right now, Miss Bowen. You seem to be on the attack for some reason, but I’ve done nothing but show up here to do what’s expected of me.”
“What’s expected of you?” Abigail snapped out. “Of course, that’s how you see this, isn’t it? Do what’s expected of you so I’ll come along and be the dutiful wife, answering to your every whim.”
Mason shook his head. “I don’t think that’s what I said at all. You just keep twisting my words up, and every time I try to fix it, you get madder.”
“Listen, I’m not interested in being your backup barkeep, your house servant, or anything else you have in mind.”
“Well, that’s good because I don’t want any of that from you either,” he seethed out. “I just need someone to help me figure out my bar’s bookkeeping.”
“Then you should hire an accountant, or take on a business partner, Mr. Stillwell. Either would be a lot less permanent than a wife,” she pointed out in a huff as she crossed her arms over her chest in anger.
“And a lot less work,” he retorted back.
As soon as the words fell out of his mouth and the hurt look crossed Abigail’s face, he realized he had crossed the line. She jumped up from her chair and stormed out of the room, leaving everyone at the dance to stare at him in shock.
He had come there with the firm intent to purge Abigail Bowen from his life, and it seemed he had managed the task spectacularly.
Chapter Seven
Two days had passed since Abigail’s big blow up with Mason at the dance. Since then, she had avoided everyone and stayed in her room, only coming out for meals. Even Alice was easy to avoid now that her own beau had finally decided to take an interest. Her sister was spending her days out on Mr. Farmer’s farm learning what it was going to take to be his wife. Abigail wished it was that easy for her, but every time she was around Mr. Stillwell, they ended up in a fight.
As usual, after the midday meal, Abigail headed towards the stairs to hide in her room. Before she could escape though, a vaguely familiar voice from behind her stopped her.
“Miss Abigail, I need a moment of your time.”
Abigail turned around to find the Widow Briggs, one of the members of the Bent, Colorado, Ladies Auxiliary Club. She had been assigned to be Abigail’s chaperone, back when everyone thought she might actually be going on outings that needed one.
“Yes, Widow Briggs, what is it that you need to speak with me about?”
“I’ve given you a couple of days to calm down after what happened at the dance. Now that some time has passed, I hope you realize you can’t avoid your beau forever.”
“He isn’t my beau,” Abigail corrected as she placed her hand on the rail of the staircase. “He made it clear he didn’t want to put in the work it would take to have a wife.”
“I heard enough of that conversation to know both of you said things you didn’t mean, dear. Instead of spending your time around here pouting, we need to go over to Mr. Stillwell’s place of business and ask him to spend some time with you to get to know him.”
“A bar is hardly a place to spend time courting,” Abigail pointed out snidely. “Though I’m sure Mr. Stillwell would be happy since he wouldn’t have to lift a finger to do it.”
“How about you do a little of the lifting until he catches up?” the widow suggested. “Let’s pack a picnic lunch and go over and invite him out for the afternoon.”
“You really think he’ll come?”
“You’ll never know until you ask.”
Abigail, along with Widow Briggs, spent the next hour making sandwiches, slicing cheese, and placing the items, along with crackers, three apples, and two bottles of soda water into a wicker basket. Once everything was ready for the meal, Abigail grabbed her hat and shawl before they headed out.
When they arrived at the bar, there were three men inside the establishment along with Mason and another younger blond-haired man behind the counter. Hesitantly, she took off her hat and made her way over to where Mason was stacking fresh bottles of liquor onto the shelves.
He glanced up only momentarily as she approached before returning his attention to his task. “What are you doing here, Miss Bowen?”
She felt Widow Briggs gently push her forward. Abigail forced herself to swallow the lump that had formed in her throat. “I came here to invite you on a picnic.”
He stopped what he was doing and turned his full attention towards her. “I can’t get away today. I’m expecting a shipment of liquor to arrive. I need to be here to receive it.”
“I could do that, boss,” the blond-haired man next to Mason offered.
“No, Andy, you know I always like to be here to make sure nothing goes wrong. Plus, I need you out here helping the men while I take care of the shipment.”
Andy nodded his head, then went down to the other end of the bar to help a customer who wanted another drink.
Abigail debated if she should just go, but when she saw the widow staring at her with earnest, she realized that wouldn’t go over well. She needed to try a different tactic with Mason.
“Can I help you around here?” As she skeptically looked around the bar, she quickly clarified, “With the bookkeeping I mean.”
“I suppose that couldn’t hurt. I’ll have to take you upstairs to show you where the office is.”
“And I’ll have to come with you. The two of you can’t be alone until you’re married,” the widow reminded them.
The three of them climbed the stairs that led to the area above the bar. He opened the door and gestured for her to go inside.
“You just leave the door open like that?” Abigail asked in astonishment. “What if someone went inside?”
“This is a small town, Miss Bowen. No one steals around here.”
“They might not steal, but they could sure disrupt your bookkeeping by accident,” Abigail pointed out as she entered the room. As she looked around at the mess on the desk and spilling out of the filing cabinets, she added, “Though from the looks of it, that might have already happened.”
Mason shrugged. “No, this is all me.”
Abigail noticed a door on the far side of the room. “What’s through that door?”
“That’s where I live.”
“You live here, too?” she asked with shock. “Do you mean to tell me, every time you come home, you have to walk through your bar to get to where you live?”
“No, I have a back staircase, but I mostly use the front one. I’m not pretentious, Miss Bowen. I’m a simple man, with simple needs. The room in there is all I need.”
“You’re telling me that you decided to hire a matchmaker to find a wife knowing that you didn’t have the proper house to provide a life for her? This is no place to raise a family, Mr. Stillwell. Why didn’t you better prepare for your future wife?”
“Truthfully, I didn’t pay it much mind at first. I got busy and forgot you were coming until Kane Jameson came into my bar a week ago and brought up the women’s arrival.”
Abigail couldn’t believe he had forgotten that she was coming. How could he be so obtuse as to pay his future wife so little care. “Why I never—s”
“Well, you’re here now,” the widow interjected, keeping Abigail from speaking her mind. “And you want to help with the finances of the business. Let’s focus on that.”
Mason pointed to the mess on his desk. “Can you fix this?”
Appalled at the heaps of disorganized papers, books, and various other items that didn’t even belong in an office such as a tin can,
pieces of fabric, and a hammer, Abigail shook her head in disgust. She realized exactly why he sought a wife. “Mr. Stillwell, I will have you know, I am not here to be your hired hand. That was not what I agreed to when I signed up to be matched. I wouldn’t have traveled all this way if I had known—”
“You think I like this anymore than you?” Mason barked out, interrupting her. “I thought I was going to get a compliant wife, one who took orders and did what I said. Instead, you showed up at my bar with a chaperone and ambushed me.”
Abigail’s eyes rounded with shock as she pursed her lips and squeezed the rim of her hat in her hands. It was a bad habit, but it kept her from doing something worse, like throwing the nearest object straight at Mason’s head.
She placed her hat back on top of her head and headed towards the other door she assumed lead to the back staircase. “Perhaps I should just go then, since there seems to be no point in trying to make this work. Good day, Mr. Stillwell.”
As Abigail and the widow made their way back to Mr. Redburn’s place, she wondered what was so wrong with her wanting Mr. Stillwell to take their match seriously? More pointedly, to take her earnestly and not look at her as a means to an end.
The closer she got to returning to Mr. Redburn’s home, the more she worried about what he was going to do when he found out that her match wasn’t going to work. Would he set her up with a new potential suitor or would he ask her to leave? If he did, would she go back to Baltimore?
The overwhelming questions swirled around in her head until she reached the house and made her way to her room. Once there, she threw herself on the bed and buried her face in the pillow, sending up a silent prayer for help. She hadn’t cried since her parents died, but without being able to help it, the tears slipped down her cheeks and drenched the pillowcase. As she sobbed into the feathery cloud, she wondered was she ever going to be happy again?
Over the next couple of days, Abigail avoided Mason and his bar. She was unhappy and didn’t want to be around the root of what was causing it. Everything about Mason Stillwell bothered her, from his dismissive attitude to his total lack of care for anything other than his bar. The longer she thought about him and how he treated her, the more she realized she’d refuse to put up with it.