Hattie

by Vivi Holt

  “I’m Sheriff Edward Milton. Just wonderin’, did you see what happened to Mr. Galloway here?”

  Her hand went to her throat. “See it? Of course I did – I was sitting right inside the coach. I saw, heard and felt every last thing that happened.”

  He bit his tongue. She was feisty and given the fright she’d experienced, maybe a little hysterical. He decided to give her a bit of leeway. “I’m sorry to hear that, Miss …?

  “Miss Stout – Hattie Stout, from New York City.”

  He raised an eyebrow. She’d said her name as though he would recognize it. He wondered what in Heaven’s name an elegant young woman like her was doing, apparently all alone, in a town like Coloma. “Do you think you might be able to recognize the ones who did it?”

  She shook her head and sighed. “I’m afraid their faces were covered. They wore neckerchiefs pulled up over their mouths and noses, and hats were drawn down low. There were only three of them, if that helps.”

  He rubbed his chapped lips and frowned. He’d been after a trio of rascals for months. This was likely the same team that had been stealing payrolls and valuables from mines and ranches all over El Dorado County. No one yet had been able to give him a description or any information to help him catch the scoundrels. Well, they couldn’t have gotten far yet. He’d find Peter and ask him for an account of where the attack happened, and with a posse of angry townsmen, maybe they’d be able to track the men down this time.

  Ed tipped his hat and bid Miss Stout farewell, then marched across the street to the Roan Horse. He’d find help there to take care of the body, and likely a posse as well. He hated that there were outlaws in his county he’d been unable to apprehend – before they’d come along, his record had been stellar. He was the sheriff with the most arrests of wanted felons in all of California, and he wasn’t about to let some two-bit hustlers take his reputation from him.

  Chapter 2

  Hattie watched a group of angry-looking men on horseback storm out of town, led by the disheveled sheriff she’d met earlier. She frowned and wiped her forehead. Even though it was only May, the heat of the California spring already had her bathed in sweat. Thank goodness it was almost sunset – she didn’t know how much more of it she could take without passing out. She dreaded what summer would be like.

  The sinking sun lit up the raw timber buildings of Coloma with pinks and oranges, bathing the landscape in a soft golden glow. Her legs ached from standing and the other passengers had long since left. She glanced around as townsfolk scurried by, staring at her as they passed. No doubt she stood out from the crowd of homespun weaves and ill-fitting gowns. She wrapped her arms around her thin frame, hoping to become invisible from the prying eyes of every passer-by.

  She wasn’t used to standing on the street with nowhere to go. Where was the husband she’d travelled all this way to meet? He’d written in his last correspondence that he’d pick her up from the stagecoach – she hadn’t considered the possibility he might not even have the decency to show up. Or perhaps something had happened to him since he last sent a telegram east? There was no way of knowing where he might be or how to find him. She should have asked more questions.

  And now after the robbery, she didn’t even have enough money to pay for a night in the seedy-looking hovel across the street – The Roan Horse Saloon, read the sign over the front door. She shivered and hugged herself tighter, then finally sat on the boardwalk next to her carpetbag.

  A man was catapulted through the swinging front doors of the saloon, across the covered sidewalk and onto the road. He landed in a heap, the sound of whooping and catcalls followed him outside. She tucked her gown a little tighter around her legs, her pulse racing.

  Oh, why had Father sent her here? Surely he could have found a better way to deal with the loss of the family fortune. And if only Frank Jones had followed through on his promise to marry her – they’d been engaged, for Heaven’s sake! But apparently that had meant nothing to his parents, who’d insisted he break the agreement and marry his cousin instead. Something about keeping the bloodlines strong and the business in the family …

  She’d cried when he told her he planned to submit to their wishes. She’d loved him and had spent many a night dreaming about their future life together. If he hadn’t backed out, she’d be living in a fine house in New York City and everything would be just fine. Instead she was stranded on the edge of civilization, alone. No one cared about her. What would become of her? Tears filled her eyes and the ache in her throat grew more than she could bear.

  A pair of boots stopped in front of her, obscuring her view of the street. She raised her eyes slowly, taking in the grimy dungarees, low-slung holster with a silver pistol on either side, faded checked shirt and brown vest. The bearded face above a thick chest was one she recognized. His blue eyes twinkled above a black beard, and one chiseled cheek sported a dimple above a dark beard, and a half-grin that revealed a set of straight white teeth. “Sheriff Milton.”

  He set his hands to his hips and tilted his head to one side. “Miss Stout, wasn’t it?”

  She nodded and sniffed back the tears that threatened to break free.

  “Ain’t you meetin’ someone?”

  A single tear wound its way down her cheek and she slapped at the traitorous drip. “I am.”

  “Still not here, huh?”

  With a shake of the head, she felt her nostrils flare. Had he returned to revel in her predicament? Surely if he were a gentleman, he wouldn’t embarrass her further in her despair. “I thought you’d left town,” she snapped.

  He chewed on his lip a moment. “Just gettin’ a posse together. We’ll be leavin’ shortly.”

  She frowned and stared at the toe of her boot. Why wouldn’t he just go away and leave her alone?

  “What’s his name? This person you’re meetin’ – perhaps I know him.” He shifted his hat to one side to scratch his head, then returned it to its place.

  She sniffed again. “If you must know, though I can’t say it’s any of your business, the man’s name is Jack Miller. He’s to be my husband.”

  The sheriff’s eyebrows shot skyward. “I know Jack. He’s a right … interestin’ fella. You’re gonna marry him?”

  The look in his eyes made her heart drop. She knew it – her husband-to-be was a lout, a good-for-nothing. It was her worst nightmare come true. She took a long, slow breath, waiting for her heart rate to slow before she spoke again. “Do you know where I can find him?”

  “Why’d you come all the way from New York City to marry Jack Miller?”

  “Because … well, because my family lost its fortune and my father sent me west as a mail-order bride. I had no choice in the matter. I can assure you, if I had, I wouldn’t have chosen this God-forsaken hovel as my place of residence!” That was rude and she knew it, but she felt as though she might throw up at any moment.

  She truly didn’t know what to do next. Unless her fiancé showed up soon, she’d spend the night on the street – and by the quality of people spilling out of the various saloons and bawdy houses that lined its edges before the sun had even set, she knew she would be in danger. Her eyes flooded with unshed tears and she dropped her gaze to the road so he wouldn’t see the depth of her misery.

  “A mail-order bride, huh? Well then, I guess we’d better see if we can find the lucky fella. Though I think it’s best you get off the street for now. Have you had anythin’ to eat?”

  She shook her head as her lower lip trembled.

  He grinned. “All right, then – come with me. I was just ‘bout to go over to the Roan, so you might as well join me. You cain’t very well spend the night out here, sittin’ on your luggage.”

  “Thank you.” She stood and smoothed down her skirts. The first star sparkled overhead as she trudged across the street after the sheriff, who had slung her carpetbag over his shoulder and pulled her trunk behind him.

  She paused when he pushed through the swinging doors into the saloon. She�
�d never been inside an establishment like it in her life, and knew Father wouldn’t approve. But the sheriff didn’t stop or look back over his shoulder, and she was afraid she’d lose sight of him. With a deep breath, she pushed open the doors and stepped inside.

  A bar lined the far wall, and several ragged patrons leaned against it. An upright piano sat in a far corner, and a woman dressed only in pantaloons and a corset sat on its lid, her legs crossed and suspenders holding up a pair of worn stockings. She smiled at Hattie in puzzlement, and Hattie’s eyes widened. The sheriff disappeared through an archway beside the piano, and she scurried after him.

  The next room held a series of small square tables, most full of men and a few women, eating steaming food from faded plates. Hattie wove quickly between the tables and caught up to the sheriff, just as he set her trunk and carpetbag against the back wall and settled into a chair at an empty table. She sat in a chair across from him, her ankles crossed demurely and her hands clenched tightly together in her lap.

  He laughed and raised an eyebrow. “Relax, honey. It ain’t that bad.”

  Her eyes narrowed and she unclenched her hands. Honestly, she wasn’t sure how she was supposed to relax in a place like this. She only hoped Jack Miller would come soon and she could forget this place ever existed.

  “What do you wanna eat, then?” he asked as a waitress wiped down the newly empty table beside them and flashed him a grin. He smiled in return, then turned back to Hattie.

  “Um … I’m not sure. What do you recommend?”

  “The johnnycakes are good, and the mutton. I think I’ll get the beef stew, though – it fills the emptiness.”

  “Fine, I’ll have the stew as well. Thank you.”

  The waitress nodded and hurried off toward what must have been the kitchen. A delicious aroma of meats, bread and other good food wafted from the door into which she disappeared, along with the clanging noise of pots and pans.

  Hattie’s eyes flitted over the faces of the other patrons and she soon realized they weren’t paying her any mind. People were deep in conversation or engrossed with their meals, and after the first curious glances they’d returned to them. She took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly, willing her heart rate to slow to normal.

  “I hain’t seen Jack in town lately. You’re sure he was expectin’ you today?” The sheriff crossed his arms, the star fixed to the outside of his vest shining in the lamplight.

  She nodded. “Yes, he was expecting me. Though we didn’t discuss what to do if he was waylaid.”

  He pressed his lips together and leaned forward. “I tell you what. If he hasn’t showed up by the time we’re done eatin’, I’ll see what I can do to find you a place to spend the night. A young lady such as yourself shouldn’t be left alone in a place like this – not after dark.”

  She felt a rush of gratitude for this man – he’d never met her before and yet had already done more for her than any of her friends in New York had been willing to. “Thank you, sir.”

  The waitress returned with their meals, setting a large dish of stew in front of each of them. “Thanks, Sally,” the sheriff said, adding some salt to his plate. “Hey, you got any spare rooms tonight for this young lady?”

  The woman set her hands on her ample hips and eyed Hattie suspiciously. “I might.”

  “It’d be a favor for me, you understand.” The sheriff took a spoonful of stew and chewed with eyes closed. “Mmmm … delicious as always, Sally.” His eyes flicked opened and he grinned at their hostess.

  Sally’s eyes were still fixed accusingly on Hattie. “Thank ya, Sheriff. Well, if it’s a favor for ya, course she can stay. Ya saved me and the Roan too many times to count, so I’ll look after her as if she were my own.” The woman pulled a dish towel from her apron and turned to wipe down a table.

  “Thank you,” Hattie called to her retreating back. Tears pricked at her eyes and she blinked them away. At least she wouldn’t have to sleep on her luggage in the street like a common vagabond. She felt suddenly famished, and the aroma of the stew made her mouth water in anticipation. She lifted a spoonful of stew to her mouth, and her eyes widened in surprise. It tasted delightful, and in no time her stomach was satisfied by the hearty fare.

  Well … maybe Coloma wouldn’t be so bad. But where was her intended?

  The sun peeked around the thin draperies and slapped Hattie across the face. She groaned and rolled over in the bed. The rustle of the straw tick made her eyes fly open and she sat up with a start, her gaze darting around the room. Where was she?

  Then she remembered – the Roan Horse. She was in a small, shabby room above a saloon in a mining town somewhere near Hell. Her heart thudded and her head grew light. What would the day bring?

  There was a sharp knock at the door and she jumped. “Yes, who is it?” she called out, as she stood, put her housecoat on and cinched the tie around her waist.

  “Miss Stout?” Sally’s gravelly voice sounded under the door. Jack Miller’s here to see ya. Should I tell him ya’ll be down shortly?”

  Hattie’s eyes grew round. Jack was here, finally! He hadn’t abandoned her after all. She wasn’t sure whether to be glad or panic, but either way, she’d have to get dressed. “Yes, I’ll be down as soon as I can!” she called back.

  As Sally’s footsteps faded down the hall, Hattie got to work. She washed up quickly using the chipped ceramic washbowl in the corner, and dressed in a cornflower-blue frock with lace-trimmed sleeves and neckline. She laced up her boots, brushed her hair until it shone in the looking glass and fixed it into a chignon. She regarded her reflection with satisfaction, then repacked her trunk and headed downstairs, lugging her baggage behind her.

  When she reached the bottom of the narrow staircase, she saw a man leaning against the bar with his ankles crossed and a black Stetson on his head. He was spinning a glass of amber liquid around on top of the bar, the drink shining in the sunlight that streamed through the swinging doors.

  He looked up and caught her gaze with a half-smile that made his cheeks dimple. He ran a hand over his beard and looked her slowly up and down, the smile stretching further. Then he straightened purposefully, lifted the glass to his lips and downed it in one gulp.

  She took a deep breath as he made his way over to her. “You must be Hattie,” he drawled. “I’m Jack Miller. Pleased to meet ya.” He extended a hand, took hers and kissed the back of her white glove.

  Jack Miller didn’t cut an impressive figure – his clothing was old and stained, and he smelled of sweat, tobacco and livestock. But her skin tingled beneath the fabric of her glove and she felt her cheeks flush. “Yes, I’m Hattie Stout. It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Miller.”

  His gaze found hers, and the look in his eyes made her swallow hard. “Sorry I wasn’t here to meet yer stage last evenin’. Somethin’ held me up, but I got here quick as I could.”

  She nodded. “Never mind. Sheriff Milton secured me a room upstairs for the night. I didn’t have the money to pay for accommodation since our stage was held up by outlaws before we arrived.”

  His face blanched and his gaze dropped to the floor. “That so? Sorry to hear that. Lemme get them bags of yours.” He reached for her luggage and lifted it easily in his strong arms. “Let’s get on over to the courthouse – we can get married and be on our way. I got a cabin a few miles outside town, and I’d like to be back by lunch time so I can feed the livestock afore dark.”

  She nodded as her heart thudded. They were to marry right away? She supposed it made sense, but she hadn’t expected it – she’d hoped they’d get to know each other a little while before tying the knot. Since she didn’t really have other options, though, it likely wouldn’t make any difference. She followed him out the swinging doors and into the bright sunshine of another California spring day.

  The courthouse was two streets over and a few blocks down. The town itself wasn’t much – a settlement of a few hundred people overshadowed by the rolling hills that were pockmarked
by a long, ugly series of mines. The short squat courthouse, built of stone with dusty glass windows, stood in the center of it all.

  Hattie struggled to keep up with her fiancé, who set a brisk pace as he strode down the street, eliciting wary glances from most he passed. Some men doffed their hats to him, but the women scurried out of his way and ushered their children to the side away from him. She barely noticed, her heart in her throat over the idea of tying herself for the rest of her days to a man she’d just met – a man who smelled of sweat and whiskey and looked as though he hadn’t bathed in a month.

  She choked back a sob and broke into a jog behind him.

  Chapter 3

  Ed pushed through the swinging doors of the Roan Horse and sauntered across the dust-covered floor toward the bar. Sally stood behind it, wiping a glass dry between her stubby hands. “Hey there, Sheriff. How’re ya doin’ today?” She smiled at him, revealing a gap where her bottom front teeth should have been.

  “Howdy, Sally. I’m fine, thanks. And you?”

  She nodded. “Well as can be expected. What can I do for ya?”

  He took off his hat and scanned the room. “Just lookin’ in on Miss Stout. Thought I might see how she’s farin’.”

  Sally set the dry glass on the counter and frowned. “She seemed fine when she left. Though I hafta admit, I’m surprised she came west to marry that lowlife Jack Miller. Pity for her, is all I can say.”

  Ed’s heart thudded and his eyebrows flew sky-high. “She left already?”

  “Uh-huh.” Sally reached for another clean glass.

  “With him?”

  “He’s her fiancé, ain’t he?”

  Ed slammed his ten-gallon hat back on his head. “Well, then, I guess that’s the end of that.”

  Sally shot him a curious look. “End of what?”

  “Oh, nothing. Dadgummit.” He spun on his heel and strode from the saloon, thoughts buzzing through his head. He couldn’t stand that Hattie Stout was marrying a man like Jack Miller. It was her prerogative to wed whomever she pleased, of course, but a man like that … well, he didn’t deserve someone as beautiful and refined as her. Oh, she’d be a handful, all right. But a handful Ed would be willing to live with given half the chance.