There was something too of the prairie living and maybe because she was happy, Faye was putting on a little bit of weight. When her first husband left her for her brother, it was one of the lowest points in her life. And though her lawyer gave her a positive solution that freed her, she had become gaunt through the process.
Now she was so in love with Jake. And the high points of the day, multiple times a day was to gather around the table to massive meals. Faye also gained physical strength that she never knew possible. She lifted water to the animals. She was fitter than she had ever been in her life. Maybe it was the fresh air and the rigorous ranch life, Faye never slept so soundly.
Marshal Ben and Fiona decided to say their vows at the Harvest Dance that they hosted in October. Neighbors and Dodge friends were present, including Doc and Faye’s lawyer who survived the terrible ordeal of being forced to travel to Dodge to track her down.
As Faye and the other McElroy women were dressing for the ceremony, Merla, Mac’s wife, was having a difficult time buttoning her, her bust had become rather large. And the constriction of her dress made them tender. But Faye dressed first. She found herself longing to nap as the others got ready. It was overwhelming. She almost embarrassed.
“I apologize Ma,” she said. “I guess I am just a city girl still. I am still becoming accustomed to the prairie life.”
“Is that so?” asked Fiona, letting her daughter smooth her hair.
“Yes ma’am,” replied Faye.
“Daughters don’t you think the prairie life becomes Faye?” asked Fiona.
It was the same tone she had taken to the marshal. Faye didn’t know how to take that. She struggled to push herself to the ceremony but she was going to have to make apologies again for she did not think she would last.
Fiona walked out of the bedroom. Faye was almost emotional which took her by surprise.
“Jacob!” called Fiona.
“Ma,” protested Faye.
Jake appeared almost immediately.
Faye was certain she had caused drama.
“Jacob,” said Fiona.
“Ma you look beautiful,” said Jake.
“No Jake, your wife looks beautiful,” said Fiona. “And she just gave me my wedding present.”
“Ma?” asked Faye.
“Ma?” asked Jake.
Faye was confused but she was craving a nap something fierce.
Fiona walked over to Faye and placed her hand on Faye’s belly.
“Oh my word,” said Jake beaming.
The three other sisters in law were also smiling. Faye had no idea.
Everyone left Jake and Faye to themselves.
“What in the world? Have I gone and offended her?” asked Faye.
“I think you’ve gone and made her a grandmother,” he smiled. “We will have a good laugh at the fact that you just might be the last person to know.”
Faye sunk to the edge of the bed. How could she be such a puddin’ head? She counted backwards. The exhaustion. The weight gain. It wasn’t prairie living. It was married living.
“I am sure ma will not be offended in the least if you just put your feet up in this here bed and take a rest. That would just be fine,” said Jake, kissing her hair.
“Can you help me out of this dress?” asked Faye.
“Absolutely Mrs. McElroy,” said Jake. “I believe that is how you got in this condition.”
“Oh yes, now I remember,” she replied flirtatiously. “Of course, I think about it all the time so it’s tough to forget.”
“Do you know?” he whispered.
“I do,” she whispered back. “All the time.”
Jake stood up and locked the bedroom door. He turned to her with the look that said he was going to devour her.
“Mrs. McElroy I think I should give you something more to think about it,” he said.
The End
Rough Trails
A Mail Order Bride Historical Romance
By
Brittany Dreams
Copyright 2017 by Brittany Dreams
Jilted by her mail order fiancé, Maybelle Lewis is stranded at a Dodge City saloon counter in the company of handsome, alas, pestering drunk. When the marshal determines Maybelle’s would-be husband is a work of fiction, she dives into the bottle with the handsome drunkard and wakes up married after all. In the sober light of day Maybelle and Rafe McElroy brainstorm ways to unjam their fix but addictive heat and unbridled passion have a few ideas of their own.
Chapter One
It was the very first time Maybelle Lewis stepped into a saloon. It was the very first time she had ever been near liquor. Mama said it was the devil’s drink.
Mama. It was the first time Maybelle had ever traveled. Or engaged with a man, albeit by correspondence.
She asked the barkeep if he knew a Mr. Trenton DeWitt. Mr. DeWitt was supposed to have met her at the stage. She reviewed her letters, tied carefully in a ribbon, to make sure she got the right place and time. She was on time. Where was he?
Who was he? The barkeep didn’t know.
Maybelle spent the last three years of her life nursing her late mother. She shepherded her mother from illness to the gates of heaven and found herself on the brink of spinsterhood. The last three years transformed them both and Maybelle saw some ugly moments. There was nothing happy for her in Wichita. There was nothing there at all for her.
It was as if someone sent a telegram to all the long lost relatives when her mother passed. Maybelle, who shouldered her mother’s long and treacherous demise alone, was in sudden competition for ownership of all her worldly possessions. Rather than fight, she left. She made a deal with her scavenger kin, to just let her have a chance to move on.
Maybelle went mercenary. She heard about the Matrimonial News. Even mentioned it to a cousin of hers who she only knew since her mother died. He suggested a marriage broker. He was so supportive of her intent to find a husband and move on, that he handled the entire process for her. She paid a fee which the cousin thoughtfully delivered and the broker located a prospect. Soon the letters started coming.
So it began her relationship with her fiancé, Trenton DeWitt. He was so real. Now as he was hours late, he was a something of a ghost.
The coach dumped her off mid-day and Maybelle sat in the Longbranch, waiting and waiting, till she could no longer stand to be seated on the unforgiving wood of the barstool. It was no place to be. Card players spatting. Whiskey drinkers hoping she would stand in for a saloon girl.
And then there was this one drunk fellow. Handsome as the day was long if he weren’t so sauced. There was something about his form, about his profile that made Maybelle attention. Three other men tried to talk him into leaving. But he wasn’t budging so they left without him.
Maybelle wished she could leave. It was well after dark. She had no money in a foreign town and it was looking like she had no fiancé. The drunk slid down to sit next to her. He turned his head and smiled wickedly once he realized she was a sitting duck, alone at the end of the bar.
“Be nice now, Rafe,” admonished the barkeep. “This little lady is waiting for her fiancé. Hey maybe you know him? Fellow by the name of Trenton DeWitt?”
Rafe’s drunken eyes wandered all over her.
“No,” he said. “Have to be new here because my family and I know everybody. We could ask Marshal Ben.”
Rafe licked his lips, Maybelle noticed. Like a big cat. His eyes hazed over from liquor and lust.
If it weren’t for his being snockered, thought Maybelle, he’d be right nice.
“Well now for a drunk fella you said something right smart,” said the barkeep. “Don’t you worry little lady. I’ll fetch marshal. We’ll sort this out.”
“Here,” said Maybelle excitedly. “I have his address. You can see if that helps matter at all.”
She handed the barkeep a letter with Trenton’s address. Unfortunately as the barkeep sought the marshal, she was left alone with the drunk.
; “Hey,” said Rafe. “Hey.”
He pushed his bottle closer to her, offering it.
“Hey,” he said a third time.
“You said that,” she laughed a little.
“Well now there’s a smile,” he said, staggering on his bar stool.
Maybelle was in the perfect position to look Rafe over. He was so intoxicated he had no idea which end was up. Pity too. He was a thoroughly handsome man. He had the cutest dimples. Beautiful white teeth. But inebriation just made him look dopey. He just wasn’t appealing to her.
“If you can’t find your fiancé, I’ll marry you. I got land. I got, well let’s see. I got cattle. I got three brothers, though one is on my list on account of he stole my girl. I got a ma. Yep. I can marry you,” said Rafe.
Thankfully the barkeep returned with the marshal. He was a giant of a man with perfect manners. He graciously introduced himself to her before getting right to the situation.
“So tell me now, this Trenton DeWitt. He was passing through Dodge to meet you here?” he asked.
“No, he lives at the address on the envelope,” she said.
“Well ma’am, these letters weren’t posted in Dodge. They were posted in Wichita. See here,” said the marshal.
He showed her the stamp.
“Doesn’t that just mean they arrived in Wichita? Couldn’t they have been stamped either going or coming?” she asked.
“I’ll be happy to check with the postmaster. But I am pretty sure I am right about the way it works,” he said. “No one here, not me at least, knows this Trenton DeWitt.”
“And you think you would?” she asked, her stomach bunching with nerves.
“Well if he owns a house, I would. But I can also tell you, there is no such address around that matches the one he gave you. How was this engagement arranged?” he asked.
Maybelle sat in her chair. She had a feeling she had been swindled. Yes. Her helpful cousin. But maybe not.
“A marriage broker,” she said quietly.
“Where is this broker? Back in Wichita?” asked the marshal.
“Never met him. A family member arranged everything,” she said staring blankly.
“I see,” said the marshal sitting back.
Maybelle could tell by the tone in his voice, he was getting the same feeling as she was.
“How much are you out?” asked the marshal.
“Everything I had left,” she said, choking back the sobs. “I can’t go home. I can’t even pay for a room for the night.”
“Unfortunately these room are for saloon girls and guests,” said the barkeep.
The marshal placed a gentle hand on her arm. She felt relieved.
“Leave that to me,” said the marshal. “Mind if I keep this letter?”
“Please go right ahead. I don’t need it,” she said, her spirits sunk about as low as they could go.
The marshal took off, envelope in hand. Meanwhile, Maybelle was stranded.
Rafe pushed the bottle one more time, towards her. Whiskey never passed her lips but suddenly, somewhere inside her wanted some bad.
“Now cut that out,” scolded the barkeep.
“No that’s fine,” said Maybelle. “May I have a glass?”
And that was literally the last that Maybelle remembered before she woke up in the hayloft of the barn on McElroy’s Bend.
Chapter Two
“Rafe McElroy!” some man hollered, approaching the barn.
Maybelle raised her heavy, throbbing head. Next to her sprawled the gorgeous, dormant form of the drunk from the saloon. Rafe.
“Rafe McElroy!” called the man, now inside the barn. “You come down here! Mama wants to talk with you! Now!”
Rafe’s gorgeous eyes fluttered. He opened his eyelids and stared at the ceiling. He did not appear to be in any shape to reply, let alone move. She couldn’t move herself. Maybelle had no idea how she got where she was. But as she was laying next to a man, she thought it wise to feel whether or not she was fully clothed. She was.
Miraculously, Rafe sat up and shimmied down the loft ladder.
“Boy what have you gone and done?” asked the man.
“What would you be talking about?” asked Rafe.
“You’re married,” said the man. “That would be what I am talking about.”
“Oh brother,” scoffed Rafe.
Maybelle heard a scramble. Rafe hustled up the ladder and eyeballed her.
“Do you?” he asked her. “Did we?”
“I have no recollection as to how I got here,” said Maybelle shyly.
“You best come down with me. My apologies, but what’s your name?” he asked.
“Maybelle Lewis,” she replied.
“Come with me Ms. Lewis,” he said. “We may be in a heap of trouble.”
The day was much too bright as Maybelle and Rafe followed a man, who had to be Rafe’s brother because the resemblance was so strong, out to the ranch house. It was coming back to her slowly how Rafe said he had cattle and such.
Standing at the base of the porch steps was a tiny but feisty looking woman with her arms locked across her chest. Next to her stood the enormous marshal. And next to him was a preacher whose face was beet-red. He was sweating fiercely.
“Mama,” began Rafe.
“Don’t you ‘mama’ me. What’s this?” she asked.
Rafe took the paper from his mother. Maybelle scanned it as well. It was a marriage certificate. Seems Rafe made good his promise and the two of them married in their drunken stupor.
“Who witnessed this?” asked Rafe.
“Well apparently not you,” replied his mother acidly.
She grabbed him by the ear and he wailed.
“Hey now,” he complained. “I am a grown man.”
“You don’t act like it,” she said.
By now couples had gathered on the deck of the porch. One lone man tended to chores in the front pens but was within an earshot.
“It cain’t be legal,” said Rafe. “I was drunker than the Lord.”
Rafe’s mother swung her foot at the knee and landed his backside with it.
“Do not go taking your savior’s name in vain. Bad enough you play willy-nilly with the sacraments,” she barked. “And you, miss. What do you have to say for yourself? You look like you might be the decent sort. How in the world could you go about behaving as you have?”
Maybelle had no answer. She was numb.
“Fiona if you would just let me speak,” said the preacher feebly.
“You’ve done enough,” she bellowed.
“Now hold on,” said the marshal softly. “We can annul this marriage if they weren’t of sound mind. By the looks on their faces, no one is more surprised than they are that they are married.”
“Well they are a married couple,” said Fiona angrily. “And that’s what they’ll stay.”
She picked the straw from Maybelle’s clothing.
“They’ve made their bed obviously. They’ve had a lie in it. They’re married,” she said.
Fiona turned on her heel and marched back into the ranch house. The marshal squinted, staring Rafe down with one eye.
“I know what your mother says, but this can be undone,” he said.
“No offense,” Rafe said to Maybelle. “I did not mean to marry you. You’re pretty and all.”
He said, finally taking a good look at her, sober. Maybelle saw his face transform. She knew she was a pretty girl. She had taken a look in the mirror. Rafe had nothing left to say.
“Marshal,” said Maybelle quietly. “I don’t behave this way. I never had a drink before in my life. I am just kind of stuck. I don’t need to be married to anybody’s boy –
“Who you calling ‘boy’?” demanded Rafe.
But Maybelle continued, ignoring him.
She said, “But I would be beholden until I can figure out what happened to Trenton DeWitt –“
Then she remembered that part about how she believed her cousin swindled her.
>
“Darn, darn and triple darn,” she stomped.
Tears fell from her eyes whether she wanted them to or not.
“Now don’t go on like that,” said Rafe. “We’ll figure this out.”
“Figure this out?” she shouted. “I got took by my cousin at my mother’s funeral! The son of a bitch took all the money I had and sent me as far away from him as he could. I got no way home and nowhere to go. And my head hurts something fierce.”
She sobbed.
“Well I am sorry about all that but you had no call to take advantage of me –“ said Rafe.
Maybelle thought her eyes would pop; she threw them open so wide.
“The most thoughtless, conceited, full of yourself man!“ she bellowed.
She took another breath to let him have some more but the marshal intervened.
“Rafe McElroy, you apologize to this young woman. Maybe she shouldn’t have had that first drink but mister, you poured it. She shouldn’t have said “I do” but you showed her where to find the preacher,” he said.
The preacher piped in.
“Thank you,” he said with some relief.
“And you,” the marshal turned to the preacher. “What were you thinking?”
“I was a little tight myself,” said preacher. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Maybe a few people here need to go on and stay on the wagon,” said the marshal.
Rafe shook his head.
“I gotta get out of here,” he said.
“Seems like running off the last time is what got you running off now. Maybe if you stopped doing that, you wouldn’t find yourself in these messes,” said the marshal.
“When did you go and become my father?” countered Rafe.
The marshal drew his arm back but both the preacher and Maybelle caught it. Rafe stormed off in a huff.
Chapter Three
Meeting Fiona McElroy was awkward to say the least. The marshal led her into the house and acted as the peacemaker between them. Both women stood silently as the marshal explained Maybelle’s plight. She could see Fiona’s face begin to soften.
“I suppose you can share a room with me until this is all sorted out,” she said stiffly. “But I’ll not have a boy of mine divorced.”
A Fall From Grace. Mail Order Bride Western Page 21