“You’re teasing me.”
“I am, a little.” He grinned. “About the nails, anyway. The other is true. In the summer, you didn’t want to be in the middle, and in the winter, you didn’t want to be on the ends.”
“I see.” She didn’t, of course. She couldn’t fathom not having enough room for family or guests. Higby Castle could accommodate many visitors.
They ate in silence for a few minutes, each in their own thoughts. Finally, after she began to feel more like herself, she dabbed her napkin at the corners of her mouth.
“Marshal Fountain? Can you tell me what happened to Mr. Rutledge?”
“I’ve been debating on how to tell you. It’s probably best to say it straight out.” He put his plate on the tray and drained his cup of its contents. Looking straight at her, he said, “Homer Rutledge was too trusting. A week ago, he was trying to help settle two men’s disagreement and when he got between them, he was caught in the crossfire”
“You mean he was shot?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “He sounded so nice in his letter.”
“He was,” Deputy Grant said, confirming her opinion. “Homer Rutledge was a good and decent man, and he’ll be sorely missed.”
“And now, Miss Medvale,” Marshal Fountain said. “That brings us to you and Miss O’Donnell. Homer was very private and never discussed his personal business with me or anyone else. I can’t imagine you’ll want to stay here in Beaumont, so what are your plans?”
Anne glanced at Iris, and then the two men, waiting for her answer. There was no way she could lie or even bluff her way through this. The only way was to tell the truth . . . but only what they needed to know.
She explained briefly about being stranded in America, leaving out her decision not to marry Mr. Ballard of Boston, and the fact she chose to remain in America despite her father’s wishes for her to return to England. Reluctantly, she stated her current lack of funds and her inability to afford travel arrangements.
“So, you see, Marshal Fountain, I’m afraid we’ll be here indefinitely.”
He rubbed his chin like he was in deep thought. “I see your predicament, Miss Medvale, but short of putting you up here at the jail, I don’t know how I can help you.”
She thought to correct him in the way he addressed her. He should show her the respect of using her title. She supposed, in the grand scheme of things, though, a title meant very little, especially here.
“Please, Marshal, call me Anne.” She stood and said, “I appreciate your hospitality today. Iris and I will be out of your way shortly.”
“Now, Miss—I mean, Anne, there’s no need to rush . . .”
“Thank you, Marshal, I’ll figure something out.”
Morgan rose from his chair as the women left the room for their temporary accommodations of the jail cell. Once they were out of earshot, he sat back down and glanced at Walt whose generous eyebrows were knitted together. Either he was deep in thought or contemplating a trip to the outhouse.
“You know, Morgan,” he said after a few seconds, “The answer to both your problems is staring you in the face.”
“I’m not following you, Walt.”
“Only because you’re too stubborn to see the truth right in front of you.”
“Who? Her ladyship?” Morgan stared at Walt trying to figure out if he was serious. There was no hint of a smile. “Look, Walt, I don’t think—”
“That’s right, you’re not thinking. Aside from her immediate problems, you need a woman to keep you company out there on your ranch. Besides, you’ve got that Englishman coming in next month, and she could help you with that.”
“Maybe, but I don’t know.”
“Well, I’m going to make my rounds.” Walt stood, reached behind him for his gun belt, and set his hat on his head. He moseyed over to the door, turned, and said, “Seems to me, if you’d give my idea more than three seconds of thought, you’d marry that girl to solve both your problems. Whether she’ll have your rusty butt is a different story altogether.”
Morgan poured a cup of coffee after Walt closed the door. He recalled all she’d told them about her circumstances. Apparently, she was every bit the lady she appeared to be, from the title all the way down to the soles of her shoes and he’d seen how much her admission had cost her. That title would protect and carry her a long way in England, but it meant nothing here. Without help, there was no way she could survive this town, or any other, on her own.
He had extra rooms at his ranch for both her and her maid, but he wouldn’t be returning there until the Texas Rangers arrived to assist Walt in keeping the peace. There was no way he’d leave two women out there alone with his foreman and the one ranch hand he’d left to take care of his place and cattle. Doing so would damage their reputations.
Maybe Walt was right. He was tired of talking to himself and that old scruff of a hound that followed him around, besides what could it hurt to have an English wife to make his impending guest feel comfortable and welcome during his stay. The idea seemed solid, so without giving any more thought to the matter, he walked to the makeshift accommodations.
“M’lady?” When she turned and acknowledged him, he said, “I believe I have a solution to your problem.”
“Yes?”
“I have a room at the boarding house, and I thought—”
“Surely, Deputy Grant, you aren’t suggesting we share your single room at this boarding house?”
“Of course, not, I merely said—”
“Because, I will not allow myself or my maid to be compromised,” she said, cutting him off again, her hands clasped together tightly at her waist.
“Trust me, your ladyship,” he answered quickly, “The furthest thing from my mind is to compromise you or anyone else.
“I’m the least of your worries where your wellbeing is concerned. There are numerous unsavory characters who would compromise your reputation so fast your head would spin. You encountered one right off the train this morning.”
Closing her eyes, she remembered that despicable man, but also avoided his scrutiny while she contemplated her situation and options.
Chapter 3
Options? Who was she kidding? She had escaped disgrace and ruin in her country, only to be faced with a scandal of a similar sort in this one. The only possible option before her was to remain resolute, even though what she wished was to be anywhere in civilization but here. Anne gave his proposition serious thought, and finally said, “All right, Deputy Grant, I’m listening.”
He shook his head, gave a half-grin, and then, as if he had another idea, he said, “I can’t believe I’m going to suggest this.”
She didn’t know if she wanted to hear his suggestion or not, but she had no solution of her own, so she asked, “What, pray tell?”
“Iris, may I speak to Anne alone?”
“My lady?”
“It’s all right, Iris,” she answered. “I’ll be fine.”
When they were alone, he said, “From listening to your story, it’s easy to see you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place.”
“Go on.”
He hung his thumbs in his front pants pockets and continued. “You came here expecting to marry and settle down, and through no fault of your own, you’ve been stranded with no way to provide for yourself.”
She listened to him restate the obvious but said nothing.
“As for me, I’ve reached a time in my life where I’d like to find a woman to marry, someone with whom to share my life and ranch. I realize I’m not what you bargained for, but I can give you a nice life.”
She looked at the gray cloud-covered sky through the window above the bed. While it was true she had made a commitment with another man she had known little to nothing about, saying yes to Morgan Grant would be no different, except they’d had a personal interview instead of a letter. While the fact remained that she didn’t have a choice, she didn’t respond right away. She didn’t want
to appear as desperate as she actually was.
“I know you could possibly do better,” he said quietly. “But, Anne, what you saw today when you arrived was only a taste of how it would be for a woman alone. At least until the Texas Rangers get here to help restore order.
“If you’ll marry me, I promise to keep you safe and well taken care of.”
“And, Iris?” She had dragged the poor woman halfway across the world, she wouldn’t turn her out now. “Will she be welcome as well?”
“Of course.”
She took one more moment before she gave him her answer. “Yes, Deputy Grant, I accept your offer of marriage.”
“I think, under the circumstances, Anne, you should call me Morgan.”
“All right . . . Morgan,” she said.
“Good,” he said, “T-t-that’s good.”
She heard his hesitation. Was he already having second thoughts? Any sane person would. Under normal conditions, the notion of marrying a stranger was absurd. Even with arranged marriages, a couple had a period to get to know each other.
“Well, then, let’s get you over to the Mollie B, and introduce you to Mrs. Abernathy,” he said. “You can freshen up while I go see if the preacher can marry us this afternoon.”
“No.”
“No? Why not?”
“No!” She straightened the collar of her jacket and lifted her chin. She remained rock-steady, determined. “I hadn’t planned on being married today, and I refuse to be rushed.
“We will marry tomorrow, and you will give me and Iris your room, until other arrangements can be made for her.”
“The schedule of events may be out of your control, but I’ll see what the preacher has to say. In the meantime, gather your things, m’lady, and I’ll escort you to the boarding house.”
Anne thought that battle of wills seemed frightfully easy. She wondered if future encounters would be as calm, or if he’d simply given in this time. He didn’t come across as the type to let himself be bullied by anyone, much less a woman. No doubt, they had much to learn about each other.
Morgan bristled. He hadn’t anticipated his bride-to-be to possess a yes-sir-no-sir type of personality, but he hadn’t expected a trail boss either. In truth, he hadn’t known what to expect. The letter he’d found in Homer’s belongings from the matchmaker, Mrs. Elizabeth Tandy, had said his bride-to-be was the daughter of the Marquess of Thamesford, that she was a lady of quality, and due to unfortunate circumstances, she wanted to begin life anew.
He didn’t know what that meant exactly, and eventually, they would have to talk it through. He assumed she had certain expectations, but so did he. He’d hoped, when he married, to find a woman to share his likes and dislikes and have equal partnership in their marriage. He’d seen the results of a one-sided relationship in his parents’ marriage.
His mother, had treated her marriage like a business. She was the boss while her husband served as the employee, and it had finally taken its toll. After his father died, Morgan left his mother’s home on his fifteenth birthday to escape the oppressive atmosphere. He’d vowed no one would ever run rough-shod over him again. Similarly, he’d sworn always to have respect for the woman he married.
As far as certain attitudes were concerned, better her ladyship show her true colors now, rather than waiting until after they were married. For even though he’d like to have her connections in England for the cattle market, he would forgo them, so as not to spend the rest of his life in misery.
“Shall we collect Iris and go then?” He tucked one of the bags under his arm, while he held the second one in his hand.
“Yes.”
Supporting Anne’s elbow, he said, “I’ll have the rest of your luggage sent to the boarding house later this afternoon.”
“Thank you, Morgan. That’s very kind of you.”
He led them from the police station to the boarding house, where he stayed when in town. Mollie B’s was a two-story house that had been converted when Mollie’s husband had been killed several months ago in an accident at one of the oil rigs. Ironically, the oil boom that had taken her husband’s life, now provided the very support she needed to survive.
Inside the house, he called out, “Mollie?”
“Morgan, is that you?”
He greeted the middle-aged woman, who came from the back of the house. Probably the kitchen, he would guess, as she smelled of fresh baked bread and cinnamon.
“Sorry to interrupt your cooking, Mollie.”
“It’s no problem at all,” she said. Wiping her hands on her apron, she smiled, and peered around him. “And, who is this?”
“Mollie, this is Lady Anne Medvale, and her maid, Iris O’Donnell. Ladies, this is, Mollie Abernathy.”
Mollie extended her hand. “Anne, Iris, it’s wonderful to have you here. I don’t mind saying I can use the feminine company.” She cut a glance over to Morgan and grinned. “These ranchers and roughnecks can only contribute so much to a conversation.”
“I can well imagine.” Anne said.
“Come on into the parlor, and I’ll fix us some tea.”
Morgan didn’t know how she achieved it, but Anne managed a smile that was both courteous, and condescending at the same time.
“It’s a bit early for tea. I’d appreciate it, greatly, if you could show us to our room. We’ve had quite a tiring day.”
“Well, I . . .” Mollie stammered.
“I know you’re tight on space, Mollie,” Morgan said, “But if it’s all right with you, the ladies can have my room, until the preacher marries us tomorrow. I’ll gather my things and move over to the jail for the night.”
“I hate to ask you, but that would certainly be helpful.”
“It’s my turn to stay at the jail, anyway, and give Walt a rest.” He turned to Anne and said, “I’ll carry your bags to the room at the top of the stairs. You can have it to yourself in five minutes.”
He was back downstairs in record time, and found Anne on the settee in the parlor, looking quite pale. Iris fussed about her like a bee buzzing around a fragile flower.
“Are you ill?” he asked.
“No, simply tired from our travels.” She stood and walked to the stairs. “I think I’ll lie down before dinner.”
“I’ve cleared out, so you should have plenty of privacy.”
“Thank you, Morgan.” She gave him that same aloof smile. “Will we be seeing you for dinner?”
“I generally try to get here in time for supper. I don’t want to make it any harder on Mollie than is necessary.”
“Well then, until later.”
Morgan watched her ascend the stairs, back ram-rod straight and her chin tilted upward. Directly, she disappeared behind the bedroom door with Iris right behind her. What was wrong with her, and did that have something to do with why she needed a fresh start? He hated to head down the path his thoughts were taking him, but was he being deceived in some way? Perhaps it was best if he took more time to get to know the future Mrs. Grant before they married.
“Thanks, Mollie, for understanding and letting them stay here.”
“You’re welcome,” Mollie said. “As I said, I’ll appreciate the female company, but isn’t marriage a little sudden? Other that her being English, what do you know about her?”
“Not as much as I’d like. She came here to marry Homer.”
“Oh, she’s his mail order bride.”
“Yes,” he said. “Gave her a shock when I told her he’d died. Apparently, she spent all of her money to get here.”
“Oh, the poor thing,” Mollie commiserated. “But isn’t marrying her yourself a bit much?”
“You’ve been after me for the better part of a year to get married, why’re you balking now?”
“Because I meant one of the girls in town, not a stranger.”
“Mollie, you know yourself the number of available ladies in the Beaumont area have dwindled quickly, since more men are coming in to drill for oil. The one I had considere
d early on decided ranch life too isolating and ultimately refused my proposal.
“Homer Rutledge had decided the same thing which is why he placed an ad in the Grooms’ Gazette back east.”
“I know, but a stranger, Morgan. You don’t know anything about her.”
“I know she needs help,” he said. “And that’ll do for now.”
“You’re a good man, and she’s lucky to find you.”
“Thanks, Mollie, you’re a peach.” He reached for her and gave her a hug. “I know she’s in good hands.”
“Fine,” Mollie said and gave him a gentle shove. “Out with you, now. I’ve got supper to fix.”
An hour later, after he’d made his rounds, Morgan entered the law enforcement office. Walt Fountain, sat at his desk amidst stacks of papers, files, and folders. A cigarette dangled precariously from between his lips, while he talked on the telephone, and jotted notes onto a tablet.
Walt hung the receiver onto the hook. “I forgot to ask if you got that incident taken care of at the depot?”
“Yeah,” Morgan answered, as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “Turned out to be just a little dust-up. They’d settled it by the time I got there.”
He took a drink of something that could only be described as sludge and could have come directly from Spindletop. He wrinkled his face and spit the vile concoction into the spittoon sitting by the desk. “How long’s this been sitting on the stove?”
“A while.” Walt looked over the rim of his glasses. “Why, does it taste bad?”
“Not if you’re going to sell it to Humble Oil.” Morgan poured the remainder back into the pot and turned the cup upside down on the shelf. Sitting in one of the two ladderback chairs in front of the desk, he rested his elbows on his thighs, hands clasped together, and asked, “Walt, what time are those Rangers due in here tomorrow?”
Walt pulled a bottle of whiskey from his desk drawer and poured them both a drink. “Got a telegram a while ago saying they’ve been delayed. They were diverted to Port Arthur, and it may be another week before they get here.”
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