The Blacksmith's Mail Order Bride

by Cindy Caldwell

  Olivia followed his gaze to the main house—or what was left of it. Her heart sank as she raked her eyes over what had been her home. Most of it lay in rubble, only part of the barn standing on the far west of the structure. Not even the porch steps remained, and she had a vague recollection of the sound they’d made as she’d fallen back, exhausted, on the dirt as she gave up trying to save anything more.

  Joe pulled up slowly, tightening the reins and bringing the horses to a stop beyond the cactus that also lined the drive, under the big oak tree that had stood proudly as a sentinel in front of their house. The swing her pa had made for her when she was a girl swayed softly in the light breeze.

  The brake of the buckboard squeaked as Joe pushed it down with his foot and stepped out, coming around to help Olivia out, but she had both feet on the ground before he arrived and walked slowly toward the house.

  “Now, Olivia, be careful. It’s not likely very steady in there,” he said as she put one foot in front of the other, feeling as if she were in a dream.

  As she reached the bottom of what had been the stairs, she turned, tears pricking her eyes. “Joe. Joe, I...”

  He’d followed her closely and as she turned, the scent of him replaced the familiar smell of soot that had already invaded her nostrils. She looked up at him just as her tears escaped, cascading down her cheeks. His deep, brown eyes reflected her pain, and as he reached out to her, she crumpled in his arms, not sure if she could look again at the wreckage that was her life.

  He held her as sobs racked her body, and she clung to him as if there was nothing else in the world—and there wasn’t. She’d thrown in her lot with him, for better or for worse, and now that the “worse” was right before her very eyes once more, she melted into his strong arms.

  Chapter 25

  Joe stroked Olivia’s hair and he held her as tightly as he dared. Her body shook with her sobs and he brushed her waves of brown hair back that had escaped when she’d pulled off her bonnet and thrown it on the ground. He rested his chin on the top of her head as he took in the sight—what a night that must have been. What looked like a smokehouse and part of a barn dotted the landscape, some remaining blackened boards still smoldering.

  As she shook with tears, his brows furrowed. His eyes traveled to what was left of the house—her house—and he envisioned her running from pump to house, in the dead of night, and could almost see the flames licking the sky. It had to have been horrible.

  He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, the scent of vanilla from her overtaking that of the ashes before him. How had this slip of a young woman taken care of all of this on her own? It astounded him how that could be possible, and her strength showed in how well the ranch had been cared for. The fire hadn’t reached the small garden, and had ruined only part of the barn. The whitewashed boards and neat fences spoke of great pride. No wonder she was devastated that it was all gone. The opportunity to comfort her gave him solace as well. They’d both known loss, but this—on top of losing her parents—would be heart-wrenching.

  As she calmed, she lifted her head slowly from his chest and wiped her face with her sleeve before he could reach for his handkerchief. As she pulled away, he handed it to her and his heart lifted at her slight smile.

  “I’m sorry,” she said as she ran the cloth over her face and turned back to face the wreckage.

  He stepped forward, settling his hands on her shoulders. She rested one of her hands on his, and the chill in it rocked him. This all must be quite a shock.

  “Please, don’t be. This is tragic. I’m sorry. Sorry for you and I wish I’d been here to help you,” he said, meaning every word of it. She hadn’t been his wife at the time, and his mother would have been horrified, but he would have helped. Would have loved to help this woman, even though he had the sense that help wasn’t something she needed often.

  She offered him a weak smile as she walked toward the pile of belongings under the oak tree that she’d been able to save. She’d borrowed blankets from Joe’s house to wrap things up in and he set to helping her pile them onto the fabric, tying up the corners before they lifted them into the back of the buckboard.

  There wasn’t much to load, actually, and Joe looked over the things she’d chosen to save. There must not have been much time, as it was a few small trinkets—framed photographs, a few pots and pans—and book or two. “How did you decide what to take?” he asked as he lifted a well-worn doll from the pile and placed it on the blanket.

  She reached for the doll and held it up, smoothing back the yarn that served for hair on its faded head. “I wasn’t thinking. There was no time to think. I was only one step ahead of the flames.”

  Joe crouched down beside her, fingering the yellow yarn on the doll. “Looks like you got some important things, anyway,” he said as she handed it to him, gratitude in her eyes.

  “Baby, meet Joe. Joe, meet baby,” she said and he heard the first laugh he’d heard from her since they’d arrived.

  “Baby? Not Charlotte or Cassandra?” He took Baby gently from her hands and rested it in her own small blanket, carefully setting her on the seat of the buckboard.

  Olivia stood, her eyes following the doll until it was safely situated in the wagon. Her hand rested on her heart as she looked down to the ground and shuffled her feet. “She was a gift when I was a baby myself. I think it’s one of the only words I could say at the time, and I never had the heart to change it. So ‘Baby’ she stayed.”

  Joe watched as her green eyes softened and she turned back toward the house. “We had many happy times here—well, long ago. But we did.”

  Joe loaded the last of her things into the back of the wagon. Dust flew as he wiped his hands together and brushed his forehead with his sleeve.

  “Do you want to try to take a look in the house? It appears as if one of the rooms was spared. It’s a shame that the weather wasn’t in your favor. Maybe more could have been saved.”

  “I don’t think there’s anything that could have been done,” she said, wiping the last tear from her eye. “If there had been, Percy would have gotten ahead of it.”

  She took a few steps closer to the smokehouse as she squinted, holding her hand over her eyes to shield them from the sun. “When I got here, the fire was in the smokehouse. It hadn’t gotten to the house yet. And, I hate to say this, but I tried to enter and—well, I couldn’t. The fire was too intense, the smoke billowing everywhere. I just couldn’t.”

  Joe took a few steps toward the smokehouse. “You’re thinking of Percy?”

  She breathed in deeply and rubbed her forehead. “Yes. He wouldn’t have left here, I don’t think, and I didn’t find...”

  Joe’s life in town had been pretty staid. Nothing like this happened at the blacksmith shop. The most exciting thing he’d seen was that gunfight between the Earp’s and those cowboys, but that had been years ago. He tried his best to keep away from trouble, if he could, especially after what happened to Pa.

  Olivia turned back toward the smokehouse, her shoulders squared with determination. “I can’t leave until I look in the smokehouse and the barn. I know there wasn’t anyone in the house, but I...”

  She turned back toward him, beckoning him to follow. He swallowed hard and pulled his hat down more firmly. He’d taken two steps behind her but stopped as a crash sounded from the smokehouse. He took a step back as Olivia turned and ran past him, heading for the buckboard. She jumped on the step and leaned over into the back.

  “Oh, my goodness! My shotgun!” Olivia lifted the blankets in the back of the buckboard.

  “It—it’s not there,” he shouted at her as she flung aside the things they’d carefully placed in the wagon.

  “What?” she cried as her eyes darted from the wagon to the smokehouse. “You went back to the shop for it this morning.”

  “I thought about it, but reckoned we’d only be out for the day. It’s stowed away tight. Not even Will would be able to find it. If Ma knew—”

  Olivia
strode toward him, her hands on her hips. “We shouldn’t even be out here without a gun. Why, if I’d known, I—”

  Another crash came from the smokehouse as several of the boards, almost completely ash, fell in, the roof following.

  Olivia ran toward the smokehouse at breakneck speed, her skirts flying. He threw off his jacket and followed.

  Joe raced to keep up with Olivia and couldn’t catch her, even though she reached down to pick up a pair of leather gloves and thrown a pair at him, too. She pulled them on as she ran, shouting over her shoulder, “It could be Percy.”

  She never slowed until she reached the smokehouse, pulling up her sleeves a bit before she grabbed what used to be the doors, he presumed and pulled.

  “Wait, let me help you,” he said as he tried to nudge her aside.

  She wasn’t having any of that and stood her ground, tugging as hard as she could until the remnants of the latch fell to the ground and the doors fell—almost directly onto her.

  He breathed hard and pulled down the other door, grabbing for her arm as she stepped inside. There wasn’t much roof left, but the walls were badly burned and unsteady. They’d already watched two of the walls fall, and he tried to pull her back.

  “Olivia, I don’t think you should—”

  She pulled her arm away, her eyes flashing as she turned toward him. “Joe, Percy might be in here and there’s nothing that can stop me. If I was here alone, there wouldn’t be anyone to stop me.”

  His eyebrows rose and he released his hand. He’d only known this woman mere days, but he cared for her deeply. He wrestled with the desire to keep her safe and the need to—well, make her happy. And she was bound and determined to look for this Percy fellow.

  He inhaled deeply and pushed the memory of his father out of his mind.

  Holding his arm over his mouth against the billowing ash, just as Olivia did, he followed her through the smokehouse. She lifted and threw boards aside and kicked piles of ashes, calling Percy’s name as she worked her way through.

  They both breathed deeply of the fresh air as they hopped over the threshold of what had been the back door. Joe wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and leaned down on his knees.

  He looked up, surprised to see Olivia staring at the smokehouse, her arms crossed over her chest. She squinted, and craned her neck to peer back inside once or twice before she turned to him, her brows furrowed.

  “What is it?” he said when he’d caught his breath. He stood and rolled his shoulders. “I didn’t see anything.”

  “Exactly,” she said as she tapped her finger against her jaw. “I was hoping to find Percy, but glad we didn’t, actually.”

  “What’s the problem, then? That should be good news.”

  Her hands dropped to her hips and she turned back to the smokehouse. “There’s nothing there. With all of the hams and bacon inside, it should smell like an outdoor supper over a fire. Nothing. Just burned wood.”

  “You mean—”

  She spun again. “Not even any smoking equipment. No smokers, no metal, no packaging equipment, no branding ironss. It’s all gone. Many things were metal. They’d be burnt, but they’d be there.”

  Joe frowned, not quite understanding. He cocked his head and looked at her quizzically.

  “It seems everything was gone before the fire. And with Percy missing—it’s all very strange..”

  Chapter 26

  The sun was straight overhead when they decided it was time to leave. They’d searched the barn for Percy, as well, and their calls had echoed in the empty, damaged building. Joe had wandered a bit, fingering the neat row of tools hung on the wall and the evenly hammered horseshoes hanging beside them. He’d complimented Olivia on their quality and had been stunned into silence when she’d said, “Thank you. I think I did a nice job of it, too. Pa taught me.”

  The wagon bounced along, back through the stream bed and Joe shook his head. This woman was like none he’d ever met, and as her head rested on his shoulder—she’d fallen asleep soon after they’d eaten the delicious lunch she’d packed and left the ranch—he wondered if maybe their match had been destined. He’d met lots of fancy women in town—and some rough ones—but she was just in between. Brave but considerate. Kind, but knew what she wanted.

  After their trip today, he felt like he knew her better and although he worried for her safety—she didn’t seem to be timid at all and certainly knew her mind—he admired her courage. And her commitment to people she loved.

  He glanced down at Olivia, her dark lashes resting on her smooth cheeks and he smiled. They began to flutter, and in moments, she was fully awake, her green eyes smiling up at him.

  “Goodness, I’ve been asleep a long time, I see. We’re near the outskirts of town already,” she said as she took off her bonnet. She took the pins from her hair and ran her fingers through it, twisting it again and replacing the pins. As she re-tied her bonnet, she glanced up at him and her cheeks turned a lovely shade of crimson.

  “Joe, you’re staring,” she said as she folded her hands in her lap and glanced downward.

  “So I am. The scenery on the ride home has been lovely.”

  She nudged him with her elbow but smiled broadly, her full lips capturing his attention. As they parted, he wondered what it would be like to kiss her.

  He tore his gaze away, content to listen to her gentle laughter, and as Tombstone came into view, he spotted his grandmother’s house. He looked from the small, neat bungalow with the white picket fence to his new wife and back again. His grandmother, eyes closed, sat on the porch—her usual spot—and rocked back and forth as she hummed. The vivid colors of her shawl filled him with warmth as always and he made a quick decision.

  “Olivia, there’s someone very special I’d like you to meet,” he said as he nudged the horses off the main road and onto the lane that would end at his grandmother’s house. It was filled with warm memories for him, of gingerbread baking, pies on the sill and his small hand in his grandmother’s soft, larger one as they walked to the park in town.

  As he thought about it, he had none, or very vague, memories of his mother. The ones he had, though, were not tinged with warmth. His mother had not welcomed Olivia, but he had no doubt that his grandmother would, with open arms.

  “I’d love to meet her,” Olivia said after Joe had told her a bit about his father’s mother, including a story or two. “This must be her home,” Olivia said, laughing, as the sound of snoring could be heard even over the horses’ plodding on the soft dirt.

  “Indeed it is, and she must be napping in her chair.”

  The horses tied to the hitching post in front, Joe’s grandmother snorted and sat upright as they set foot on the porch stairs. Olivia covered her smile with her hand as the older woman pulled a beautiful shawl tightly around her and beamed at the sight of Joe.

  She reached her hands out toward Olivia and Olivia clasped them and drew forward as she said, “And you must be Olivia, my grandson’s new bride.” The older woman leaned forward and pecked her on both cheeks before turning to Joe with an exaggerated wink.

  Olivia’s eyebrows shot up at the contrast between this woman and Joe’s mother. “Thank you, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs...” Olivia said slowly as she glanced at Joe, her eyes questioning.

  “Call me Grandma, my dear. You’re family now.” She patted Olivia’s cheek and gestured to the porch swing for them to sit.

  “Oh, thank you,” Olivia said, her eyes wide.

  “My son would love you, too, God rest his soul. He knew a beautiful woman when he saw one. Not sure how he ended up with—”

  “Grandma,” Joe admonished as he took Olivia’s hand and pulled it through his arm. There was no love lost between his mother and grandmother, but they tried to get along. Even after what had happened with Will, it was this most recent issue—Olivia—that had them at odds again. “Please. We’re working hard to settle in at the house. Ma’s not taking to it too well, though. Hasn’t
spoken to Olivia at all.”

  “I’ve tried to talk to your daughter, ma’am, but she’s a tough nut to crack,” Olivia said as she accepted the offered glass of lemonade and sat down on the porch swing.

  “My daughter? Harrumph, I say. My son married her, and thank goodness he did or we wouldn’t have these darling boys, but she’s not my daughter.” She settled a glass of lemonade in Joe’s hand and patted his cheek as well, smiling as she returned to her rocking chair.

  “Do take off your bonnet, my dear. Be comfortable. It’s warm outside today. The older I get the colder it seems, even in summer. Why, I—”

  Joe sat back in the swing, resting his foot on his knee, and smiled as he listened to his grandmother. Her brown eyes twinkled, and she was just as sharp as she’d always been.

  She stopped suddenly as she looked down the lane, over Joe’s shoulder. “What on Earth could that woman want?” his grandmother said under her breath.

  Joe and Olivia turned to look down the lane, and Olivia’s eyebrows rose when he groaned.

  His Aunt Dorothy marched purposefully toward them, her head down as her black skirts and black bonnet swayed in the breeze. The glass of her mourning brooch, with a lock of her deceased husband’s hair in it, flashed in the late afternoon sunlight.

  “You can’t help but wonder why she is still in mourning, don’t you think? Every time I see her—or your mother, for that matter—I just shake my head. Give me my shawl any day. Your grandfather and father have both been gone for years and years,” she said in Olivia’s direction as the widow neared.

  His grandmother stood, drawing herself up to her full height—which had to be all of five feet—as his aunt reached the bottom of the porch steps.

  “What do you want, Dorothy?” she asked as she drew her shawl around her.

  The woman glared at his grandmother, her eyes flashing as she pounded her cane on the lowest step, the porch vibrating each time she did.