by Jenna Brandt
Abigail had never thought about it that way. She had been so firmly staunch in her belief that liquor of any sort was wrong, she hadn’t realized that it could be a social outlet for some people.
“What about you? What was your life back in Baltimore?”
“You actually remember where I came from? I didn’t think you were paying attention when Mr. Redburn told you about me.”
“I know I present myself with a casual demeanor. I’m an easy-going person, but it doesn’t mean I don’t pay attention. It’s how I knew you would like the flowers. I made a trip out to the farm to visit your sister, Alice, and asked her your favorite type.”
“You did that?” she asked with amazement, pleased that he would make such a demonstration to impress her.
He nodded. “I wanted you to see I’m trying to make an effort. It’s also why I want to know about your life back in Baltimore. I want to know the woman I’m going to marry.”
His revealing words made the ice around Abigail’s heart thaw a bit more. All she had ever wanted was for the man she was going to marry to see her as a person, not just view her as an object to do his bidding.
“Back in Baltimore, I was studying to be a librarian,” Abigail revealed. “I love books, and couldn’t think of a better job than helping other people find books to love.”
“That’s an admirable aspiration. Perhaps you could start a women’s literary club here in Bent? I’m sure there are plenty of women who would like to join.”
Abigail’s heart soared at the suggestion. “What a wonderful idea. I never thought of that.”
They continued to talk about the idea and by the end of their walk, Abigail felt like they both knew each other a little better. She was beginning to see that Mason was not as bad as she had conjured up in her imagination.
They arrived at the café, and the waitress seated them at a table by the window. Widow Briggs sat at a nearby table where she was close enough to keep an eye on them, but far enough away to give them a bit of privacy.
After ordering, Abigail and Mason settled into their seats. Abigail took a long sip of her iced tea, trying to muster up the courage to bring up something that had been bothering her since earlier that day. She didn’t want to start another fight after getting along for the first time; however, she didn’t want to be afraid to talk with her future husband about matters that concerned her. “Mason, something you said earlier has been rolling around in the back of my mind. I don’t want you to think I’m prying, which is why I’ve avoided bringing it up.”
“I don’t want to hide anything from you. Ask away.”
She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the conversation. “You mentioned earlier that you knew how to be romantic but you’ve avoided it for a long time. Why is that?”
Mason rolled his shoulders as his eyes dropped to the table for several seconds. Finally, he lifted them up to meet hers. “I was engaged once before.”
“You were? I would have sworn you didn’t seem like the marrying sort.”
“What happened caused me to be that way. She jilted me for another man. It’s why I moved to Bent. I didn’t want to live in Boulder after the debacle, and decided starting over somewhere else would help.”
“Did it?”
His face scrunched up, then he shrugged. “I don’t know. I’d like to think I’ve moved past what happened—”
“And her? Are you past her?” Abigail inquired, worried he might still be in love with a woman he could never have. What would that mean for Abigail? Could she be with a man who could never open his heart to her because someone else still possessed it? She hadn’t come to Bent thinking she would find love, but she wondered if she could resolve herself to spend her life with a man she knew could never feel more than friendship for her.
“I would like to think so, Abigail. Our relationship ended so abruptly, it was like a limb being severed.”
Did that mean he had phantom pains of the other woman? She’d read about how men that lost limbs often felt residual pain where the limb used to be. Would he often be reminded of the woman he once loved and lost, and pine for her secretly?
“How about you? Have you ever had a beau?” Mason inquired.
“No, the only love affair I’ve ever had has been with books.”
Mason chuckled. “At least I don’t have any competition back in Baltimore.”
“I wouldn’t have come here if you did.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I wouldn’t—”
Before he finished speaking though, a tall, skinny man burst into the café and rushed to their table.
“Stillwell, we need you at the bar. Andy sent me to get you. He’s worried a fight’s about to erupt.”
Chapter Ten
Complete chaos greeted Mason as he entered the Westwind. Men were yelling at Andy, leaning over the bar and trying to grab bottles of liquor and pushing each other out of the way.
“What on earth is going on here?” Mason hollered at the top of his lungs.
The men froze in place, all eyes turned towards him.
Several of the customers rushed up to him with angry expressions on their faces, blocking his path from moving further into the establishment.
“Where have you been, Stillwell? You know I like it when you pour my drinks,” one of the men whined.
“Andy can’t keep up with what we need,” a second man added. “You can’t go off and leave us like you did today.”
This was the exact reason he didn’t get into the saloon business. He didn’t want to deal with dissatisfied customers, but here he was right in the middle of a group of grown men whining, complaining, and fighting.
“Boss, you should get over here and deal with this,” Andy shouted from across the bar.
Men were still yelling at Andy and reaching for their own drinks. There was no way Mason was going to let that stand. He pushed through the crowd of men around him and made his way over.
“Have you bought that liquor yet, Fred?” Mason asked snidely. “I assume you haven’t, so I’d appreciate the removal of your hand right quick.”
The elderly man with a thick gray beard climbed back from the bar, taking his seat once again.
“And you Terrance and Sam, you should know better than to be yelling at Andy. He’s trying to do right by you, and you’re treating him rather poorly.”
The other two men shut their mouths and also took their seats.
“I don’t want any problems, but you all can’t behave like this.”
“Is that because you’re getting yourself hitched to that new filly of yours?” one of the men from the group at the door said from behind him.
Mason swiveled around to address the other men. “I am getting married, which means things will have to change around here—”
“We don’t want it to change,” one of the other men in the group whined. “We like how things are now.”
“Yes, you don’t need to be getting all high and mighty because you managed to get yourself a wife,” the first man snapped.
“Why should we discuss it with you anyway, when she’s right out here,” a third man said, reaching out through the door and grabbing Abigail by the arm. He yanked her into the bar.
Her eyes were wide with fright as they darted around the room. Mason could tell she didn’t want to be in there, and was worried for her safety.
“You need to stop this right now, mister, before I go and get the sheriff,” the Widow Briggs demanded coming in after them.
“Shut up and stay out of this, you old fool. This doesn’t concern you,” he snapped at the widow, who shrank back at the disrespect shown by the drunk man.
“Listen here, Lester, you need to stop what you’re doing before you cross a line you can’t come back from. You shouldn’t talk to a woman that way and you need to let my fiancée go,” Mason growled out, not liking the sight of another man placing his hands on Abigail.
“Why…why did you drag me in here in the first place? I’ve done n
othing to you,” Abigail stammered out.
“Yes, you have. You’re changing my favorite place by trying to take Stillwell away from it,” the man spat out.
“I’ve done no such thing,” Abigail protested. “He’s his own man.”
“She’s right. No one tells me what to do. Not her, not you.” Mason moved over to where they were standing, then pulled the other man’s hands from Abigail. “I told you to let her go.”
“Are you picking her over us?” Lester cried out in fury. “We’re the ones who make you a living. You can’t survive without our patronage.”
“I do value all of you coming in here and enjoying my bar, but I won’t abide anyone telling me how to run it. If you can’t see yourself clear of behaving like this again, Lester, you should leave and not come back to the Westwind.”
“Well, I just might do that. I can always go find a stiff drink down at the Hair of the Dog Saloon. I don’t need this place,” he yelled, storming out of the bar.
Mason rubbed Abigail’s arm gently. “Are you all right?”
She nodded. “I’ve just never had a man behave that way around me.”
“It shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry for it.” Mason gestured with his head to the stairs that led to his office. “Why don’t you and Widow Briggs go up to my office and wait for me. I’ll be up shortly after I settle things down here.”
A few minutes later, Mason entered his office to find Abigail sitting behind the desk and Widow Briggs in one of the chairs.
“Mr. Stillwell, I’ll have you know, I’ve never been treated so rudely in all my life,” the widow declared with outrage. “That man was awful.”
“I agree, which is why I told him never to come back if he can’t control himself.”
“You handled the situation well,” Abigail observed. “Thank you for standing up for us.”
“Of course, men shouldn’t behave that way towards women. Besides, you’re going to be my wife. The men here need to treat you with respect.”
“She shouldn’t have to deal with the men here at all,” Widow Briggs stated in a huff. “She’s a respectable woman after all.”
A loud commotion downstairs caused the three of them to stop talking. There was shouting and what he would swear was a woman screaming.
“Lester better not be back causing more trouble,” Mason growled out in anger. “If he is, my fist might be meeting his face real soon.”
“No, that’s not him, it’s my sister,” Abigail sighed in exasperation. “Though it bears no better of a response. What would make her think it acceptable to come here?”
Abigail stood from the chair and marched out of the office. Mason and the widow trailed after her.
The younger Bowen sister was standing in the middle of his bar with a toddler boy on her hip. Mason believed he recognized the boy from earlier when he was at the farm. He must be Mr. Farmer’s son.
“Alice Bowen! What in heaven’s name are you doing in here with a child?” Abigail exclaimed, as she looked down from the bannister with utter dismay. “Mason, please excuse me while I handle this.”
Mason watched as Abigail descended the back stairs and moved over to stand in front of Alice. “I can’t fathom why you are here, Alice, and with a young boy on your hip none-the-less.”
“It’s Colton’s son. Colton Farmer.”
“Well, I could have guessed that, but does your Mr. Farmer know that you’ve brought his son into a bar? What would he think of you bringing him into a place of ill repute?”
“You’re in here,” Alice pointed out.
“Not of my own accord. Besides, I was upstairs, not down here and not with a child.”
“And this isn’t a place of ill repute. We serve liquor and that’s it,” Mason corrected from above. He didn’t like anyone defaming his bar with inaccurate information.
“I’ll repeat my previous question; does Mr. Farmer know his son is in a bar with his fiancée?” Abigail asked a second time.
“No,” Alice whispered, a look of embarrassment crossed her face, but it was quickly replaced by one of desperation. “I only came in here because I need you to help me, Abigail. I don’t know what I’m doing with a child. He’s more than I can handle. Can you take him? He bites everything, including a cat…”
Abigail covered her mouth, and Mason realized she wanted to laugh. The humor of the situation wasn’t lost on him either. He could just imagine the little boy running around chasing a cat to bite it.
Several of the men in the bar snickered. Abigail gave the men a withering look before moving her hand to her hair, smoothing it as if covering up what she originally was doing with it.
“Alice, I love you, but I can’t take care of your soon-to-be child. You need to learn how to deal with him yourself. You can’t very well go into a marriage expecting me to clean up all your messes. It’s about time you learned how to manage your own affairs. Just remember, the things that challenge us—make us stronger.” Abigail reached out and patted her sister on the arm. “Take the boy and go play with him somewhere that children are welcomed.”
“Abigail, can’t you—”
“Alice Bowen! You exit this place right now, young lady,” Widow English commanded from the doorway in a horrified tone. “You both don’t belong in this…this…”
“Bar!” Mason shouted as he came down the stairs. He’d had about enough of this entire day, and he couldn’t stand one more minute of dramatics in his bar. “It’s a bar. We serve alcohol; nothing else in this place.”
“Alll-keeey-haul,” a customer trilled nearby, causing a burst of laughter around him.
“Mr. Stillwell, I apologize for the disruption of your business,” Widow English gestured towards the door. “We’ll be departing now.”
“That would probably be best,” Mason said with a weary smile.
The widow started lecturing Alice about her behavior. “We shall have to head to the farm posthaste. We need to inform your intended what kind of scandal you just caused. The repercussions will be plentiful, I assure you,” the widow scolded.
Tired of everyone criticizing his place of business, Mason shouted after them, “It’s a bar, lady, not Sodom and Gomorrah!”
The men around him erupted in laughter, causing Mason to join in. Goodness knows Mason needed it after the crazy day he had.
He made his way over to Abigail, who looked just as exhausted as he felt. He offered to take her home, but she explained that the Widow Briggs would be more than happy to do it for him. As he watched Abigail walk away, he realized she was far tougher than he originally gave her credit for. Perhaps she would be a good match for him after all.
Chapter Eleven
After several days of pleasant outings with Mason, Abigail was beginning to have a change of heart about her situation. Between her new friendship with fellow brides-to-be, Bert and Jasmine, and her blossoming feelings for Mason, staying in Bent didn’t seem like a punishment any longer.
Today, she decided it was time she did something to show her future husband how much she cared for him. The question was, what would be the perfect way?
Her mind drifted back to the first day they met. He wanted someone to help him with his bookkeeping. Perhaps if she took some time and went down to the office at the bar to get them in order, he would appreciate the deed.
After walking to her room and grabbing her hat, bag, and shawl, she made her way over to the bar on the far end of town. She went around the business to the back stairs which led to the upstairs office. When she reached the top, she turned the door knob, half expecting it to be locked. To her surprise, it was open, just like the other entrance. She’d have to talk to him about that later. It wasn’t safe to keep your office and personal lodging open like that.
Abigail slid inside and stopped in the center of the room. She placed her belongings on a chair, then glanced around trying to decide where to start. She supposed the desk was as good as place as any, and moved over to the rectangular wooden piece of furni
ture.
The best way to organize was to start at the top. She lifted the first piece of paper and noticed it was a bill. She placed it to the side, and then grabbed the next one. This one was an inventory list, followed by a shipment manifest. Slowly, the massive pile of disheveled papers became several stacks of sorted documents.
A loud burst of men laughing, followed by shouts, echoed up from the bar below, jerking Abigail from her task. She gritted her teeth, and tried to push the noise from her mind.
A few minutes later, there was a loud scraping of wood, more yelling, and cackling. She rubbed the side of her head, irritated that even when the noise was at a minimum, it was still more than she wanted to hear. No wonder Mason couldn’t get any work done in his office. Every single noise from downstairs traveled straight up into the room. She stopped working and looked around for something to help.
The story of Odysseus from Homer’s Odyssey came flooding back into her memory. What she wouldn’t give for some beeswax to plug her ears like the slivers he fashioned for his ship’s crew. As they had done the job of keeping the sirens from luring them to their watery graves, she could only imagine how much they would help her with the drunken men causing a ruckus below.
In the corner of the room, she saw some wool—goodness knows why it was in the bar’s office to begin with—and realized she could stuff it into her ears. She spent the next several minutes creating her own version of ear plugs from the material. When she inserted it into her ears, she relaxed against the chair and let herself be engulfed by blessed silence. Finally, she would be able to get more work done.
After another half hour, the final papers were cleared off the desk, leaving only the ledger to go through. She opened the book and her mouth fell open in shock. They were a mess! Nothing in the book made sense, the letters and numbers were all mixed up, like Mason couldn’t even tell them apart. What on earth was going on?