Hazelanne (Widows of Wildcat Ridge Book 15)

by Linda Carroll-Bradd

  Her last sentence brought into question her appearance of crying during the funeral service. “Were you faking your tears?”

  Her gaze narrowed. “I’ve not wasted a single tear on a man who…” After another glance around, she eased up the sleeve of her dress, exposing more faded bruises. “A man who left his mark.”

  Again, his gut clenched. “Marry me.” The words were out of his mouth before he thought out the plan in full.

  “What?” Her head jerked back. “Why would you say those words?”

  “Let me give you my name. I’m well enough known in the area that being connected to me will give you protection. You won’t truly be alone.” With each sentence, he felt surer of what he offered.

  “But you won’t be here physically.”

  “We can see each other for lunch every Saturday.”

  “Only a lunch?”

  He thought of the heavy mail sacks he loaded and unloaded at every stop. “We could write letters.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he cringed. Correspondence was more involved than he wanted to get.

  “I don’t know.” Her fingers twisted and curled the strings on her reticule. “I’m wearing a black mourning dress. Hardly a desirable outfit for a wedding.”

  “What you have on is not what I care about. Protection is what’s important.”

  Nodding, she cleared her throat. “I value the offer.”

  Her voice wavered, and he sensed she truly considered his proposal. What one last thing could he offer that might sway her? “You’re on an isolated ranch. I’m out in the world. If you needed something, you just contact me through the Wells Fargo office, and I’d arrange for the item to be delivered.”

  “You’d do that?” A smile grew on her lips.

  “I don’t like the idea of no one here in town keeping track of your welfare.” Emotion that he couldn’t name swelled in his chest. “I want that person to be me, at least in the best way I can. If an emergency occurs, time off from the stage route is allowed, and I could come to the ranch for a day or two.” He thought of the missed wages from his dental emergency and knew he didn’t want to dip into his savings over the next several months. But she was young and healthy. What could happen? “What did you say?”

  “All right.” She rested a hand on his crossed arms. “I agree to become your wife. When?”

  Wife. The word smacked his spine rigid, and he wanted to move from under her branding touch. He’d talked about giving her his name and had somehow hadn’t registered that the ties went both ways. In the eyes of the law, she would become his dependent and his heir. He resettled her hand into the crook of his elbow and started walking. “Now. I convinced the supervisor to alter today’s schedule to allow for attending the funeral. But I have to be on top of that westbound coach in less than thirty minutes.”

  “Let’s hope Judge Vaile is in his office.”

  Maybe an absent judge would stop this crazy plan. As he escorted her along Mountain Road, he mulled over the last thought and realized he didn’t want a way out. He wanted to be connected to this woman in whatever way he could manage. “Where is the office?”

  “Left on Front, left on Chestnut and right on Gold.”

  Without talking further, he followed her directions and let the experience of walking through town with a pretty woman on his arm settle into his soul. His past affiliations with women were of the nightly variety, and none involved an afternoon stroll. Just past the newspaper office, he spotted the sign for Cornelius Vaile, judge and lawyer.

  The office door opened, and a couple stepped outside.

  Brice held the door until they walked away and pressed a hand to Hazelanne’s lower back to show her inside. He reached up, pulled off his hat, and ran a hand over his hair. As many times as he made this motion in the past week or so, he almost thought he’d become vain.

  A young man wearing glasses stood near a second door across the foyer. “How may I help you today?”

  “Is the judge in this afternoon to perform a w-wedding?” The last word almost stuck in his throat.

  “Did you reserve a time?”

  Hazelanne giggled then covered her mouth.

  “No, our decision was made on the fly.” Brice bit his tongue, hoping she wouldn’t think he was being flippant.

  The young man approached with a pad of paper. “I’m Hiram Jakes, the judge’s clerk, and will take down your names, please.”

  “Hazelanne Asta Oliphant.”

  “Brice Kai MacAndrew.”

  “Do you spell that with a ‘m-c’ or ‘m-a-c’?” The clerk held his pencil poised over the paper.

  “M-a-c.”

  “Thank you. The fee is five dollars.” He pushed his spectacles up his nose. “Would you like to pay now?”

  “Sure.” He dug into his front trouser pocket and pulled out the correct amount.

  “Will a ring be involved?”

  Brice jerked his gaze around to meet hers. “I don’t have one.” He cupped her elbow and eased her a couple feet away. Marrying for the sake of a name only shouldn’t involve a symbol of such permanence. “Will the lack of one bother you?”

  “Not in the least.” She held out her left hand and gazed at her splayed fingers. “A man put one on that particular finger, but he didn’t honor its intent. What I need is to have our names listed in the judge’s registry.”

  Written in a book? A book that sat on a shelf for all time. His skin flushed cold. What sounded so carefree a few minutes earlier now tolled the knell of what he feared most—loss of his freedom. Brice swallowed hard and looked at the clerk. “No ring.”

  “All right, folks. The judge is about finished with the current ceremony, and you’ll be next.” He returned to his spot by the door marked Judge’s Office.

  As he made sense of the need for registering the wedding, Brice kept his gaze from meeting hers. The unfairness of his spur-of-the-moment offer crashed onto his thoughts. As was her right, she expected longevity, even with a one-day-a-week marriage. However, unbeknownst to her, he had already been poring over the classified sections of multiple newspapers, looking at new job opportunities.

  A smiling couple exited the office and strode through the waiting area, their gazes locked on one another.

  Hazelanne clasped his elbow. “Our turn, Mister MacAndrew, um, Brice. Ready?”

  His name spoken in her sweet, questioning voice washed over his tumbling thoughts, and he calmed. “Of course.” He strode over the threshold, noticed two people stood along a side wall, and saw a man probably in his early forties wearing a nice suit standing in front of a big desk.

  The judge did a double-take as he glanced between them then studied her with narrowed gaze. “Missus Oliphant, let me express my condolences on your recent loss.”

  “Thank you, judge.” She dipped her head.

  Brice knew she affected the pose of grief as was expected. She had become quite the actress in this widow role.

  “Are you sure this decision has not been made in haste or while in mourning?”

  Straightening, Hazelanne lifted her chin. “I appreciate your concern, but marrying Brice is in my best interests.”

  “All right. Let us proceed.” He collected a book from the desktop and faced them. “The first question is, do you both come to this ceremony willing and unencumbered?”

  “I am willing.” In his head, he added “for now.”

  “I am also willing.”

  “Two witnesses are present which meets the territory’s requirement.” The judge glanced down at the sheet of paper wedged in the center of his book and angled his head toward the groom. “Do you, Brice Kai MacAndrew, take Hazelanne Asta Pitts to be your lawful wife, to love, honor, and cherish her through sickness and health, while rich or poor, through times of happiness and travail, until death do you part?”

  With each spoken word, Brice felt guilt twist his gut. “I do.” For as long as I can.

  g

  Hazelanne swallowed hard. She couldn’t beli
eve that for the second time in less than a month she stood in the judge’s office and listened to wedding vows. Her wedding vows. The only event in her sheltered Evanston life that came close to this scandalous act was when she refused to be courted by Sylvester, the son of Papa’s boss. Years before the pompous man took an interest in her, a sixteen-year-old Sylvester had caught her behind the church at a holiday celebration and forced a kiss on her innocent, twelve-year-old lips. She’d never told her parents, but she’d never forgiven his callous behavior, either. To this very day, Hazelanne suspected Mama still held a grudge. If she’d accepted Sylvester’s suit and married him, the family’s situation would have improved.

  The sound of Brice’s deep voice roused her, and she looked toward the judge. At the sight of the officiate’s frown, she produced a weak smile.

  Judge Vaile nodded. “Do you, Hazelanne Asta Pitts, take Brice Kai MacAndrew to be your lawful husband, to love, honor, and cherish him through sickness and health, while rich or poor, and through times of happiness and travail, until death do you part?”

  The familiar words echoed through her thoughts and at first she felt rising anxiety. Then she glanced sideways and upward to see Brice’s strong-featured face watching her. She remembered how he’d been aware of Clay’s rough treatment from their first meeting and how she’d turned to him. Her instincts had known the truth, and now she’d have his protection forever. She smiled into his crystal blue eyes. “I do.”

  “By joining your hands together…” After setting aside the book, the judge reached for their right hands and clasped them together. He cupped his own over the top. “You display your consent to spend the rest of your lives as man and wife. By the authority that I hold in this town and in the Territory of Utah, I declare you man and wife.” As he released their hands, he stepped back.

  Brice shuffled his feet and turned to face her.

  Fear struck, knotting her stomach. What if Brice kissed her as horribly as Clay had? Would that gesture mean their marriage was doomed? A bad kiss could wreck everything. Could a person learn to be a better kisser? Maybe they shouldn’t share a traditional kiss. The ceremony was legal without one, wasn’t it?

  Before she worked all the way through her questions, she experienced the warmth of his breath over her lips. Another scent—one of citrus and spice and sandalwood—filled her nose. Instant relaxation flowed through her body, and she closed her eyes. She stretched forward, seeking the warmth and scent. What she sought most was the security he represented. A soft pressure touched her lips, like a cloth had brushed against them, then disappeared. No, I want more.

  “One last task will finalize the marriage.”

  The judge’s chipper voice made her straighten. She blinked and met Brice’s arched-eyebrow gaze. He knows I wanted a longer kiss. Heat flamed in her cheeks, and she focused on the pen the judge extended. Then she wrote her new name, glad the clerk had asked about the correct spelling.

  Brice dipped the nib in the inkwell and scrawled his name across the printed line.

  His signature was as bold as the man himself.

  The men shook hands.

  “Best of luck to you both.”

  Hazelanne compared the judge’s well wishes to the cautionary words he’d spoken to Clay. Everything about this marriage looked positive. Turning, she sashayed through the door one of witnesses held open. If she hadn’t been in such a muddle when she arrived, she would have expressed her thanks for their presence.

  Brice crossed the threshold and pulled a pocket watch from his trouser pocket and muttered. “Hazelanne, I have to get to the depot. Stage is leaving in less than five minutes.” After jamming his hat on his head, he grasped her elbow and took a big step forward.

  Memories of Clay’s treatment flooded her body, and she went ramrod straight. “Don’t pull me.” Her breaths panted out through stiff lips. Black spots appeared in the middle of her field of vision.

  Eyes wide, he jerked his head in her direction and stared. Slowly, he released his grip and held his hands a few inches from his hips.

  “Everything all right?”

  The clerk’s concerned tone snapped her from her panic. “J-Just fine, Mister Jakes.” Glancing sideways at Brice, she nodded then moved to the outer door and waited.

  Watching her with narrowed gaze, he opened it and stood back.

  As soon as she reached the boardwalk and the sunshine warmed her cheeks, she relaxed.

  Brice joined her, his watch still clutched in his hand. “I apologize, Hazelanne. I was too wrapped up in my own need that I forgot about your bruises.” He dipped his knees to look her in the eyes. “I won’t make the same mistake. In the future, you touch me first.”

  Again, this man said just the right words to make her feel secure. She met his gaze and saw only sincerity in the blue depths. “Thank you.” She exhaled a long breath.

  His brows crashed down. “Leaving you here doesn’t feel right. I should be treating you to a slice of pie or a meal at the Crystal Café.” He glanced again at his watch and grimaced. “Are you set for cash?”

  “Yes.”

  “How are you getting home?”

  “I drove the buckboard.” His protective attitude was sweet, but she didn’t want him to jeopardize his job. She fluttered her hands like when she shooed aside the chickens in the yard. “Hurry and get to the depot.”

  Brows wrinkled, he glanced down the street then back to her. “Next Saturday, the café, a few minutes past noon.”

  “I’ll be there, Brice.” She agreed about the situation being all wrong to have him dash away, but she forced a wide smile.

  Grinning, he took one step toward her, his hands rising. Then, he stiffened and spun. He jumped off the boardwalk and ran diagonally down the street, his hat swinging in his right hand. At the corner next to Tweedie Mercantile, he looked over his shoulder and lifted it in a big, overhead wave.

  Hazelanne returned the same gesture so hard she hopped and grabbed for the side of the building to steady herself. Then her husband disappeared from sight. As she walked in the same direction he’d taken, she pondered her strange morning. A funeral, a reunion meeting, and a wedding. No band circled her finger, and no husband walked at her side. Was she really married again?

  Chapter Six

  A

  ll week as Hazelanne completed the chores and experimented with the loom, she anticipated what she’d wear and what they’d talk about. Wanting to make the most of their time together, she planned to find out what was his favorite meal. Then, on the following Saturday, she’d request it be brought out as soon as he arrived, so their conversation wouldn’t be interrupted by the waiter’s questions. Even in her thoughts, she was jealous of the small amount of time their visit would last.

  The Saturday following the funeral dawned bright and sunny. Looking at the dinner appointment as the start of their courtship, Hazelanne prepared a bath, using the laundry tub. Only a sliver remained of the almond-honey soap she brought from home. As she lathered the soap, she savored its silky feel on her skin. Not enough time remained to dry her hair in front of the fireplace, so she plaited it in thick braids starting at her forehead and curving the twist to her nape.

  Her lemon-yellow skirtwaist, patterned with the tan outlines of various flowers, and a matching belt was her favorite outfit. Finally, the weather was warm enough for her to use only a crocheted shawl as a wrap. Twice during the week, she’d practiced harnessing Blackie to the buckboard, and she’d accomplished the task faster the second time.

  The last drive into Wildcat Ridge had taken less than thirty minutes, she thought. On the day of the funeral she hadn’t paid enough attention. Today, she kept Blackie at a steady trot and would time the trip. As the wagon rolled along, she debated in what order to tell him all that happened during the week. Would he want to know about the animals first or the progress she made with working the loom? Of course, the polite way was to ask him about his week. Just as Mama had always done when Papa returned home each evening
. Mama had listened as he relayed the day’s events, giving him an occasional smile or a nod. But Hazelanne didn’t feel like her relationship with Brice had that luxury of time.

  The clopping of Blackie’s hooves on the wooden bridge over Moose Creek brought her out of her musings. She guided the horse left onto Front Street, and a few moments later, she eased back on the reins and stopped the wagon in front of Sugar & Spice Bakery. After securing the reins, she climbed down and then waved at Susannah through the window as she set out yummy-looking cookies in metal trays.

  Did Brice like sweets? Should she take a chance and buy something for the next leg of his route? Yet another detail she would need to learn. The thought thrilled her, and she bounced down the boardwalk to stand in front of the café. Flutterings dashed through her stomach like when the piglets scrambled over each other to reach the new scraps in the feeding trough. These last few minutes of waiting were harder than all week.

  Why did he want her to meet at the café? If she waited at the Wells Fargo depot, they would have additional time to talk as they walked. If she owned a watch, she would have checked it a dozen times by now. She counted to a hundred forward, and then she counted down from a hundred to zero. Hazelanne stared up the street at the mountain pass. Had she really ridden a stagecoach down that very road four weeks earlier?

  Finally, movement caught her eye, and she watched the mules descend the long grade out of the mountains. When she discerned the difference between the driver and the guard, she kept her gaze focused on the taller man on the right side of the driver’s seat as it moved toward her. Brice. Too quickly, the team and stage turned onto Chestnut Street, rolled to a stop, and she lost sight of him as he completed his tasks at the station. Then, a broad-shouldered figure jogged into view and he dashed across the street.

  The moment he stopped and stood before her, she forgot all her plans for what to say. Instead, she just stared, taking in his features she wanted to become so familiar she wouldn’t have to quiz herself about them when they weren’t together.