“Now, McCurdy,” Hardy said in a commanding tone. “I say you keep your hand away from your gun, or I might have to blow it off.”
This time, Seth smirked at McCurdy.
McCurdy raised his eyebrows in mock innocence and lifted his hand to make a two-fingered saluting motion to Hardy.
From the corner of his eye, Seth saw Hardy set the Winchester down on the counter. The barkeeper reached underneath and pulled out the Colt.
Seth didn’t want to turn his back on McCurdy, so he reached around for his mug of coffee. Leaning his side against the bar, where he could see both Hardy and McCurdy, he sipped the brew and wondered how he could find out about Lucy Belle without asking for the information.
“Now…” said Hardy in a even tone, although his narrowed eyes watched Seth’s every move. “You were asking about Lucy Belle.”
“No, I wasn’t,” Seth denied, then could have kicked himself for the lie.
“Sure he was,” McCurdy jeered. “He’s sweet on her.”
Seth’s body stiffened. “No, I’m not.” He wondered who had taken over his tongue.
Hardy grinned. “Well, in that case, you won’t mind hearing the latest news.”
“News?” Trying to act casual, Seth took another sip of his coffee. The bitter brew had sat too long on the stove and tasted like boiled tree bark.
“Our Lucy Belle is moving up in life.” McCurdy’s tone disparaged her. “Met a traveling salesman and up and ran off with him. Claims they’ll get married and return to open a store. Guess you’re left out in the cold, Flanigan.”
A quick stab of disappointment deepened into shock and hurt, which Seth did his best to hide under a nonchalant manner. He wasn’t about to expose his weak underbelly to McCurdy’s fangs. “No, I’m not.” His tongue ran out the lies before his brain could catch up. “Already have someone in mind for Mrs. Seth Flanigan.” Oh, God. What am I saying?
From the other table, where the poker game hadn’t yet resumed, Slim hooted. “Do tell, Flanigan. What’s she look like?”
As different from Lucy Belle as possible. “Pretty. Blue eyes. Blonde...redheaded...blonde.” Seth mangled his response.
McCurdy guffawed. “Blonde, redheaded, blonde.” He mimicked. “Sounds like you’ve got three women there, Flanigan. Guess you can’t find one that wants you, so you’re spreading your favors around in hopes one will latch on.”
“No,” Seth said, fighting to keep the desperation out of his voice. “She’s yay high.” He measured with his hand to his chin. Bubbly personality. Talks a lot.”
“Do ya good to have some personality around ya,” Hosiah cackled. “Ya've been too quiet ever since George died.”
Seth narrowed his eyes at the old man, warning him to shut up. He had no desire to air his grief about the loss of his stepfather in front of McCurdy. Bad enough the news about Lucy Belle still had his heart reeling.
McCurdy took a sip of his whisky. “She a whore like Lucy Belle?”
Before the man set the glass down, Seth threw himself at McCurdy, catching him by surprise, driving his fist underneath the varmint’s jaw.
The man flew back against the table. His whiskey glass flipped into the air, spilling some liquor on Seth’s face. Glass shattered on the floor. McCurdy staggered to his feet and sprang at Seth.
He caught the man by the shoulders, meaning to push him to the side. McCurdy’s fist plowed into Seth’s gut.
Seth doubled over, arms wrapping around his middle.
McCurdy cocked his arm for a blow to Seth’s face.
Nick Sanders leaped to his feet.
His eyes narrowed in rage, face red, McCurdy was too focused on Seth to pay attention to the boy.
Nick came up behind the man, grabbing at his shoulders to hold him back.
McCurdy’s elbow caught Nick in the face. With a crack, blood gushed from his nose.
The boy’s intervention was enough for Seth to straighten and plant his feet, with fists up, waiting.
But before McCurdy could move, Hardy, carrying the cudgel, grabbed the man by the shoulder, yanking him back and thrusting the club in his face. “One more move, and you’ll feel the weight of this,” the man growled.
The warning was enough to make McCurdy see sense, and he shuffled back a half step and splayed his fingers. He tried to shrug off Hardy’s ham-sized hand, but the giant squeezed him to stillness.
“You’ll both split the repair bill,” Hardy said in a no argument tone.
Only a glass had broken. There wouldn’t be much of a cost.
McCurdy cursed. “Flanigan started it.”
Hardy shook him. “You started it with your foul mouth about Lucy Belle. She’s a good girl, especially since she had to put up with the likes of you. Now git out of here, and don’t come back ’til you can mind your nasty tongue.” He gave the man a push toward the door.
Momentum carried McCurdy forward a few steps. Glass crunched under his feet. He leaned over and grabbed his hat from the floor where it had fallen when Seth had knocked him against the table. McCurdy shot Hardy a dirty look. As he passed Seth on the way to the door, he said loud enough for everyone to hear. “Flanigan don’t have no woman who wants to be his wife, much less one pretty and blonde, redheaded, blonde. I’ll bet money on it.”
“I’ll take that bet,” Slim called. “Ten bucks says Flanigan will produce a redheaded blond wife in the next two months.” He winked at Seth.
With a final smirk, McCurdy straightened his coat, set on his hat, and exited the saloon.
Silence settled over the room.
“Thanks, Nick.” Seth shook with anger, and his gut hurt from McCurdy’s punch. His pain didn’t show, though. Not like with Nick, who’d sport a broken nose from this day on. He pulled out his blue handkerchief and thrust it at the kid, motioning for him to hold the cloth to his nose. “I owe you one.”
Nick balled the handkerchief and pressed it to his nose. “Not right to call a lady names,” he mumbled with shy dignity.
“That’s for sure.” Seth clapped a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “What in tarnation are you doing here anyway?”
“Dare,” Nick muttered.
“Dare. You’re too darn old to let yourself get taken in by a dare.”
Shamefaced, Nick averted his gaze.
“Well, you’ve learned your lesson. Get yourself over to Doc Cameron. See what he can do for your nose. Then try to wash the blood off yourself so you don’t set Mrs. Carter screaming the minute she lays eyes on you.”
“Thank you,” the boy mumbled and strode out the door.
Through the window, Seth could see Nick hurry down the street. Still mad as heck, he dropped a coin on the bar, grabbed his newspaper on the way to the door, and stormed outside.
Seth took two strides over to his horse, then stopped, scanning the street, as if he could conjure up an available blondish redhead or a reddish blonde with blue eyes and a bubbly laugh whom he could carry off to the minister’s house and emerge married to.
But all he saw was Mrs. Cameron, the doctor’s wife, heading to the mercantile. She had the right color hair, or at least a color in the right hue. Her springy locks were red without a hint of yellow in them. She exchanged greetings with brown-haired Mrs. Cobb, who was sweeping the steps of the mercantile. Mrs. Mueller, whose blond braids circled her head, carried a basket of fresh loaves on her way to the store. All married. Not one unwed girl, or even a spinster, in sight.
The echo of the men’s jeers rang in his ears, and he clenched his fingers around the newspaper. The crinkle of the paper in his hand reminded him of the advertisement for mail-order brides. Although his stomach hurt from the punch he’d taken from McCurdy, Seth didn’t let the pain slow him down.
He hurried around the corner, out of sight of the saloon windows, and opened the Billings Herald, leafing through the pages until he found the ad he wanted.
MAIL-ORDER BRIDES OF THE WEST AGENCY
SEEKS BACHELORS OF GOOD REPUTATION
&nb
sp; FOR QUALITY BRIDES PROFICIENT IN
COOKING AND HOUSEKEEPING
Must own a house and be able to provide for a wife.
References required, preferably from your minister
or other reputable person who is familiar with your character.
In your response, state details about your appearance,
location, level of education, vocation, and home,
as well as what you require in a wife.
$50.00 includes agency fee and train ticket
The ad went on to give details to send the information and requirements to Mrs. Seymour of St. Louis. Seth had to read the words several times before the information could sink into his brain. He folded the paper until the ad was face up.
I’m not going to do this, am I?
Send for a woman he didn’t know. Marry her. What if she was a shrew? He’d be tied to her for the rest of his life—a miserable life.
Seth thought about his dreams of marrying Lucy Belle. How he’d thought she’d bring light into his dark, lonely life. Was his wanting her really that obvious? He cringed, imagining himself the object of the town’s pity or ridicule—of Lucy Belle’s pity or ridicule. The tips of his ears burned at the thought.
The heat spread into his face, down his neck, and into his chest, then flamed down his legs and lit a fire under his feet that propelled him to the horse trough. He splashed water on his face to wash away the stink of cigar smoke and whisky. Shaking his hands dry, he marched across the street and up a ways to the white church.
On a mid-day during the week, he assumed Reverend Norton would be at home in his study. Or at least Seth hoped so. If the minister were out making calls on his parishioners, then Seth would have to wait. And if he waited, he’d have time to think, and with thinking would come caution. No, he was throwing caution to Montana’s winds.
He strode behind the church to the small parsonage and knocked on the door.
Mrs. Norton opened it. Her blond hair was liberally threaded with gray and pulled back in a tight bun. She wore a plain blue dress, as opposite of Lucy Belle’s wardrobe as possible.
He winced thinking of Lucy Belle. How long will it be before I put her out of my mind?
Mrs. Norton’s gentle smile welcomed him. “Mr. Flanigan, come in. Reverend Norton is in his study. He’s writing Sunday’s sermon.”
“I don’t want to disturb him, ma’am.”
“Mr. Norton is used to interruptions. He claims they often stimulate new ideas for the homily.”
Seth thought back to the saloon brawl. He’d provide fodder for the sermon, all right. Although perhaps not what the good reverend had in mind.
Mrs. Norton gestured him inside.
As Seth stepped through the door, he hoped the minister’s wife wouldn’t catch a whiff of the whisky, which had seeped into his shirt.
If she did, Mrs. Norton was too well-mannered to show a reaction.
They walked down the short hallway to the study, the scent of roasting meat and something sweet, pie maybe, reminded Seth he hadn’t eaten much. He’d been too caught up in his coming proposal to concentrate on food. The Norton’s home was tinier than his, but it had the domestic warmth Seth craved for himself—that he’d hoped to find with Lucy Belle. This time the pain in his stomach wasn’t physical. Put her aside, he told himself. She belongs to someone else now. Soon, I’ll have a wife…a different wife from the one I’d dreamed of, but a wife nevertheless.
After a light tap, Mrs. Norton opened the door. “Mr. Norton, Mr. Flanigan is here to see you.”
“Come in,” the minister’s voice boomed. He had an austere face and white had overtaken the brown in his hair and beard. “I’m going around in circles on this sermon anyway. Some time away from wrestling with my words may be just what I need.”
Seth mustered up a smile. “Mrs. Norton tells me I may provide you with some help.” He lifted a stack of books off a chair and took a seat, trying not to wince when his sore stomach muscles protested.
The minister turned his chair in front of the big paper-covered desk to face Seth, their knees almost touching, and gave him a glance out of penetrating blue eyes. “We haven’t had the honor of your presence in church all that often.”
Seth almost squirmed in his seat, like a boy in trouble, but he stilled his restless body. “I know.”
The minister’s gaze pinned him. “You don’t live close enough to make regular winter church attendance practical. But I would like to see you in church more often the rest of the year.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, what can I help you with?”
Seth hesitated, then held out the newspaper to the minister, and tapped the ad for mail-order brides with his forefinger.
Reverend Norton took the paper and read the advertisement with deliberation. The corners of his mouth twitched, although he retained his solemn expression. Once he finished, the minister lifted his head and gazed thoughtfully at Seth. “I think a good Christian woman might be exactly what you need.”
“You do?” Seth felt some hope that the Reverend Norton would be sympathetic to his cause.
“I do,” the minister echoed. “However, there’s a problem.”
“What’s that?”
“Mrs…” He glanced at the paper again. “Mrs. Seymour requires a reference of good character from your minister. I’m afraid I cannot give you one.”
“I see.” Seth gazed down at his boots and felt shame rise in him. I’m not that bad, am I? His stomach ached, reminding him he’d just been in a saloon brawl. Maybe I am.
He started to rise to his feet, but the minister leaned forward to place a restraining hand on his shoulder. “I am willing to discuss writing a reference, provided I have your word of honor that you will make some changes in your life.”
Seth straightened. “Before you say anything, Reverend, let me first tell you what I’ve planned.” He paused, considering his next words. “To tell you the truth, I’ve spent too much time in the saloon. And I did that because I was lonely, all by myself on the farm…no company. Sometimes, I just have to get out and see some humans. And in the saloon, all there’s to do is drink and play cards, flirt with the girls, and get into trouble. I’d already resolved not to set foot in the saloon once I married…I’d not need to, you see. I don’t have a craving for liquor like some. Nor the need to gamble my hard-earned savings away in a poker game.”
Reverend Norton stroked his beard, a thoughtful look on his face. “That is welcome news. However, it’s not good for a woman to be alone for long periods of time, even with her husband there. Women require socializing with others, especially other women. Out where you live, there won’t be any others close by. What do you plan to do about that?”
Seth swallowed, trying to put his vague ideas into words. “Church on Sundays, of course, as often as the weather and my farm duties permit. Any social activities that would appeal to her.”
Nodding, Reverend Norton relaxed in his chair. “Good to hear.”
Hope rose in Seth.
The minister held up a hand. “I will ask you also to wait to consummate the marriage. Give her time to become accustomed to you, to grow fond of you.”
Seth swallowed. He didn’t like that idea at all. “For how long?”
“Until she chooses.”
“That could be a mighty long time.”
“You’re a handsome man, Mr. Flanigan,” the minister said in a dry tone. “If you are good to her, court her like a woman deserves, even if you are already married, you should have the outcome you desire.”
It’s too late to have the outcome I desire.
“Shall we pray that the Lord send you the perfect helpmate?”
Seth didn’t consider himself much of a prayin’ man. Well, there was that time when a lightning strike set the barn on fire, and he’d made the decision to fight the blaze instead of getting the horses out first.
Yep, he’d prayed darn hard that day, beseeching the Almighty to help him contain the
fire before it burned barn, animals, wagon, fodder, and all. And the Good Lord had answered, sending him a torrent of rain to quench the flames. He remembered holding his face up to the downpour and feeling grateful all the way to his toes. Made sure he’d said so too…loudly. Afterward, he’d woken up for weeks in a cold sweat from nightmares at how close he’d come—how he’d almost chosen wrong.
Seth searched his memory. Nope. He couldn’t remember another prayer since. With shame he realized he’d practically turned into a heathen.
Reverend Norton had waited while Seth thought through his answer and nodded a go-ahead.
Both men bowed their heads as the minister prayed.
Seth let the words flow over him, concentrating on his own prayer, as he vowed to God to become a better man. Silently, he asked for strength and patience because the Lord knew how much he needed both.
When Reverend Norton finished speaking, they opened their eyes and looked at each other, Seth feeling a little uncomfortable—in a good way—with the connection they’d just forged.
“Always important to begin any important endeavor with prayer, “ the minister said with a tone of satisfaction. “Now, why don’t you go into the kitchen and let Mrs. Norton dish you up some pie. I’ll write out the reference while you eat.”
Seth surged to his feet. Even the pain of his stomach didn’t stop his feeling of gratitude. “You won’t regret writing that letter, Reverend. I promise.”
The minister’s smile softened his face. “I will hold you to that promise, Mr. Flanigan.”
As Seth left the study and followed his nose to the kitchen, a sense of relief made him relax his tense muscles. He’d gotten what he’d come here for. Now to figure out what he wanted in a wife, for he had an important letter to write.
CHAPTER THREE
Mail-Order Brides of the West: Trudy (A Montana Sky Series Novel) Page 2