Mail Order Regrets

by Julianna Blake

  “No ma’am. He’s back at his ranch.”

  “At his ranch?” Madeline was shocked. How could he not want to meet his bride-to-be at the train station? It seemed terribly rude, but perhaps he had some kind of emergency, or stayed behind to oversee the staff in making sure his home was prepared for her arrival.

  Would they marry right away, or did he plan to have someone at the ranch act as a chaperone until the marriage took place? Or perhaps he would put her up at a fine hotel. He’d told her that Helena was surprisingly modern, having had electricity and phone lines for a few years already. Plus, there were several hotels—at least two of which were first-class accommodations—and several boardinghouses.

  Yes, a hotel and a hot bath sounded wonderful after the long trip. She hoped that was what he had planned. “Are you taking me to a hotel in town?”

  “No, Miss Barstow, I’m to transport you to the ranch right away. Please, let me help you.” The driver took her arm and led her down the icy platform and out to the lot where wagons and sleighs sat, hitched to horses or teams, and single horses stood tied to rails.

  She was terribly disappointed, but she supposed Mr. Croft was eager to see her. As they reached the open lot, it felt even colder, if that was at all possible. She hoped Mr. Croft’s ranch wasn’t too far outside the town.

  “There are two trunks and another bag you’ll need to fetch from the baggage car, as well, Mr. Porter.” When she looked up at him, his eyes were wide.

  “You brought...?” He dropped her arm, his mouth hanging open—then he snapped it shut. “My apologies, miss, but I only own a cutter, not a bob-sleigh.”

  “Exactly what are you saying, Mr. Porter?”

  “Your baggage won’t fit.” He pointed to a black sleigh as they approached. “All I have is a small, Albany-style cutter.”

  Hitched to the sleigh was one horse, with another horse tied to the back. The sleigh was black with black leather upholstery, with only one bench seat. There was plenty of foot-room, plus some storage area under the seat, which seemed to be crammed with his own belongings.

  “Mr. Porter, why would you bring your own belongings in the sleigh when you knew you’d have a passenger with baggage?” She was appalled at his stupidity.

  “I brought those items for your comfort, Miss Barstow.” He said her name with a hint of irritation.

  “My own belongings are all the comfort I need. Just dispose of those items and make room for my second bag. Then you can make two trips back for my trunks.”

  She stood with her hands inside her muff, waiting for him to comply. Instead, he remained in place, her valise in his hand, looking at her as if she had just escaped from an asylum.

  “Well?” She raised her eyebrows in expectation.

  “I think there has been another misunderstanding. You appear to be under the impression that the Croft ranch is in Helena.”

  “Of course not, but I know it’s just outside Helena. Surely you won’t balk at having to put in a few extra miles. It’s your fault, after all, for not securing appropriate transportation.”

  “Is that what he told you? That it’s just outside Helena?”

  Madeline sighed with impatience. “Yes. What is your point? Really, I’m surprised Mr. Croft would employ a driver who is so difficult.”

  The driver scrubbed his hand over the back of his neck, looked off toward the mountains running along the north side of the Helena valley, then back at Madeline. “Miss Barstow, I’m afraid you’ve been misled. The Croft Ranch is not just outside Helena. Or even nearby. It’s a full day drive in good weather, on good roads.”

  Madeline’s eyes widened in shock. “A full day? That can’t be.”

  “In good weather. On good roads,” he snapped, his patience wearing thin. “But as you can see, it’s winter. The roads are icy, and there is snow on the way. In the summer, with the sun staying up until nine-thirty in the evening, we could make it in a day, despite the rutted roads. But the sun goes down at four-thirty now, and it’s not safe to drive a sleigh after dark. The cutter doesn’t turn well, and the road through the mountains is winding. Plus, we’ve lost half the morning already. ”

  “But can’t you—”

  “The supplies in the sled are for you,” he interrupted, taking a rude tone. “A heater, coal, blankets, furs, a tarpaulin, a rifle, water, and food. They are to keep you comfortable, and hopefully, alive. You never know what can happen out here. There are wolves. And mountain lions. And bears—which should be hibernating, but that’s no guarantee they won’t roust for some reason. We need daylight to be able to see the road, and any predators around us. It will be a two-day drive.”

  “But…” her mind was muddled “…can’t we at least tie the some of the baggage to that horse there?” She pointed to the extra horse tied behind the sleigh.

  “No, we cannot.” His voice was cold. “Tansy is here to give Sunny a chance to rest a spell on the trip. I’ll switch them out as needed. It’s a long way, and I won’t tire out my horses by making them each pull or haul a load the whole time.”

  “But I—”

  “I’m sorry if it’s an inconvenience, but there is no room for your trunks,” he snapped. “We will have to leave them at the station. I work at the butcher shop, and I have a room above it. I’ll have the trunks and bag sent there, and Mr. Croft can send someone for them later, or hire me to do it, I suppose. And while we’re on the subject, I am not an employee of Croft Ranch—thank God—I am a butcher’s assistant, and I hire myself out to make deliveries on my days off. I have been hired by Mr. Croft to transport you to his ranch, because it seems that he has better things to do than to meet his own bride after she’s come twenty-five hundred miles to see him!”

  At his last words, Madeline Barstow’s world tilted and spun, and her knees went weak just before the ground rushed up.

  Chapter 2

  The color drained from the young woman’s face, and she sank as her knees buckled. Clay dropped the bag and caught her just in time, scooping her up and carrying her to the sleigh. Even with the voluminous traveling dress and coat, she was light as a bird, and he lifted her and set her down carefully on the seat, supporting her head with his hand.

  He was an insensitive lout, browbeating the poor woman like that. She’d just gotten off the train after a cross-country trip. She may have behaved like a highbrow little snip, but that didn’t excuse his tirade. If he was honest with himself, he’d admit that he was angrier at Croft than he was with Miss Barstow. Croft had obviously deceived the woman, at least in part. This was clearly a high society woman used to a certain level of comfort, and Croft had her thinking he lived just outside of a bustling mining town—the capital of Montana—instead of a two-day drive away in winter.

  And I just threw it in her face, along with the fact that Croft doesn’t care enough about her to come for her, himself.

  Clay had been surprised when Croft walked into the butcher shop early in December to ask him if he could pick up his bride-to-be and transport her to the ranch.

  “It’s bother enough coming into Helena once a month for mail and supplies,” Croft had said, “I’ll be damned if I waste time on a second trip to pick up a woman.”

  By his tone, Croft sounded like he was referring to picking up a mangy dog, rather than an elegant lady he was fortunate enough to be betrothed to.

  What is wrong with that man?

  Regardless of Croft’s attitude, it was none of Clay’s business. It just meant more money in the “shop fund” for Clay.

  But now, with the unconscious woman before him, he realized it was his business. He needed the money—desperately needed it, before Herman changed his mind and sold the shop to someone else—but he should be more sympathetic to this unsuspecting woman. She should at least know what she was getting into.

  “Miss Barstow?” He patted her hand with the hand he had free. “Miss Barstow?”

  Her eyelids fluttered, then opened. “What...what happened?” Brilliant blue ey
es met his, wide and afraid. She blinked, looked around. She sat up, scrambling back along the bench. “What are you doing?”

  “You fainted, Miss Barstow. I carried you to the sleigh.”

  “The sleigh,” she repeated, looking down with a sour expression. Her red wool bonnet was askew, and a tendril of dark hair had escaped, hanging against her cheek.

  If she wasn’t such an unbearable snob, she’d be quite beautiful.

  “I am sorry, Miss Barstow, this is all my fault. I let my temper get the best of me, and said things that I shouldn’t.”

  “Yes you did.” She smoothed her skirt down over her knees, where her coat split open to expose it, and avoided his gaze.

  His eyes dropped to her delicate hands, encased in smooth, black leather gloves. She wore a fancy dress, finer than anything he’d seen on any Helena woman—a dark, ruby red that matched her bonnet and coat trim. The jacket that went over the dress had intricate embroidery along the lapel and cuffs, which drew his eyes to the slight wear along the cuff edges. Some small-minded part of him reveled at the minute imperfections. At least it proved that the woman wasn’t the perfect china doll that she appeared to be. Almost—but not quite.

  Her eyes flashed up at him, catching him just as his gaze rested on her plump, pink lips, set off by her creamy skin. “Perhaps we should just cancel your arrangement with Mr. Croft, and hire a driver with a bob-runner. It should fit my baggage and take the winding turns better.”

  “It would. But Mr. Croft has already paid me for the trip. You may cancel if you like, but you’d have to pay a new driver.” He felt sorry for the woman, but he wouldn’t let her situation or her spoiled-brat attitude cost him the job.

  Her eyes flicked up to meet his. “Indeed?”

  He nodded.

  She appeared uncomfortable, straightening her bonnet and tucking in the stray strand of hair.

  He looked again at the hint of wear on her cuffs, and noticed more wear on the corners of her lapels. Instinct told him that Madeline Barstow wasn’t a woman to tolerate imperfection in her wardrobe unless it was beyond her control. A decrease in circumstances would explain why a woman such as Miss Barstow would deign to accept the offer of marriage by correspondence from a man who lived in what must be, to her, the ends of the earth.

  “Well, Mr. Porter,” she sighed, pulling the collar of her coat up at her neck, “I’m sure Mr. Croft would reimburse me the expense, but I wouldn’t want to waste his money. Let us go before it gets any colder.”

  “As you wish.” He picked up her bag and the discarded muff, and handed them to her. He added fresh coal to the little pan that held ash and smoldering coals, then slid it back inside the square, punched-tin foot warmer.

  “Ugly little thing, isn’t it?”

  He looked up to see the young woman peering over his shoulder at the warmer.

  “I made this myself,” he said, pointedly.

  “Oh.” She blinked at him. “I’m sorry.”

  He wasn’t sure if she meant she was sorry for what she had said, or for the fact that the foot warmer—which she now wrinkled her nose at—was made by him.

  “I’m just used to the type in the sleighs we hired at home. That one is tin encased in a wooden frame. The ones I’ve seen were all cast iron, and would hold the heat quite a while after the coals burned out.”

  He forced himself not to roll his eyes. “Most people around these parts, this is what they use.”

  “I’m sure it will be just fine.” She flashed him a patronizing smile.

  “Good to hear.” This time he did roll his eyes.

  Her condescending smile was all the more irksome for its beauty. Her white, even teeth and full lips were beguiling, making him think about how long—how very long—it had been since his mouth had touched the soft lips of a woman.

  He cleared his throat and turned back to his work, but the curve of those pink lips never left his mind.

  Blast the prideful little thing! Why couldn’t she have been a homely, practical woman? He could tell that two days sitting beside her would likely result in a week’s worth of long, sleepless nights, filled with broken sleep, arousing dreams, and much tossing and turning.

  Once the warmer was fueled up and placed under Madeline’s feet, Clay pulled out the blankets and spread them over her, then laid the heavy furs on top.

  “I’ll just go make arrangements for your trunks and bag, and then we’ll set off.”

  “You’re going to leave me here in the cold?” Madeline pouted.

  “You’ll be far warmer here under the blankets than walking around in the bitter wind with me. I’ll only be a minute.” And I need to get my thoughts under control.

  Muttering to himself as he made his way across the lot and into the train station, he went in and made arrangements at the window to have someone deliver the trunks to the butcher shop, along with a note for Herman. After he got to Croft Ranch, he’d collect the money for the luggage delivery from Croft, and upon arriving back in Helena, he’d make arrangements with another driver to deliver the trunks. The money Clay had to spend on having the trunks delivered from the train station to the butcher shop was unlikely to be repaid to him, he knew, and clenched his jaw at the thought.

  Though he’d like to take the job of delivering the trunks himself, he knew he couldn’t. This woman would want them right away, and Clay was scheduled to work in the butcher shop as soon as he got back. He had already taken an extra two days off to do this job, knowing that Jack could fill in for him. Herman didn’t mind, because he knew the money was for buying the shop, and Jack was eager to work. But Jack was a chatterbox, and though he had a decent work ethic, he drove Herman crazy—there was no way Herman could tolerate Jack for more than four days.

  Clay saw Miss Barstow’s two trunks being unloaded as he left the station—there was no doubt who those monstrosities belonged to. Why on earth would a body need so many things? He’d never heard of one person traveling with so much baggage.

  By the time he reached the sleigh again, Miss Barstow was nestled snug into the warm blankets, and eyed him impatiently as he double-checked the harness on Sunny, then circled around to make sure the lead that fastened Tansy to the sleigh was secure.

  “I still don’t understand why you won’t hook up both horses, so we can make better time.” Miss Barstow complained, as he settled into the sleigh beside her.

  He stared at the young lady, waiting for her to finish the joke.

  “I know you said you wanted them to take turns,” she continued, “but won’t they be just as tired by taking turns and stretching it out into a two-day trip, as they would be if they worked together, thereby going faster and shortening the journey?”

  He stared at her.

  She blinked at him, waiting for an answer.

  “You’re serious.” It wasn’t a question—it was a shocked declaration. “Miss, have you no knowledge of horses at all?”

  “Of course, I do.” She frowned at him, lifting her chin with indignance. “What a ridiculous question! Father hired a carriage or sleigh to take us wherever we needed in the city. And when we rented a seaside estate in Mattapoisett each summer, it came with the use of a carriage and a driver.”

  Clay snorted out a laugh. “I don’t think sitting six feet behind the rump of a horse on occasion while someone else drives would qualify as truly having knowledge of horses.”

  “I’m happy that I’m able to keep you amused.” She pressed her lips together and looked away. “Something tells me that this will be a very long trip, indeed.”

  That only made him laugh all the more. He slapped the reins lightly and Sunny started out. Bells tinkled lightly from the leather straps fastened around both horses’ middles.

  “So you won’t be using both horses?”

  Clay didn’t answer. He was too busy biting the inside of his cheek to hold back the laughter.

  “Are you merely trying to vex me, Mr. Porter?”

  That did it, and the laughter burst f
orth, a deep belly laugh, until his stomach hurt and his eyes watered. He could barely keep hold of the reins, and the stern expression on Miss Barstow’s lovely face did little to squelch his mirth.

  “Miss Barstow,” he caught his breath, wiping a tear from his eye. “If I hitched up both horses, they would tire in a few hours, and would need a long rest. They cannot pull a sleigh through snow, in the mountains, all the live-long day without rest. On a long journey, you need at least two horses to be able to switch them out, or four, if you’re driving them in pairs. When Sunny is tired, I’ll switch her with Tansy, so Sunny can rest up a bit.”

  “Oh.” She was perturbed. “Well, how would I know that? It’s not as if I drive myself around Boston, and I certainly don’t take the horsecars.”

  Clearly, in Miss Barstow’s opinion, ladies who take horsecars—whatever those were—must be coarse and vulgar.

  As he guided the sleigh out of the lot and down the road, they picked up speed, and the sleigh bells jingled faster and louder.

  “Will we have to listen to that racket the whole way?”

  Clay bit his lip to hold back a sharp retort. “Sleighs don’t use bells in Boston?”

  “Of course they do.” Her tone was that of one speaking to a child. “But these seem to be much louder.”

  “This isn’t Boston. I’m sure it’s much quieter here—that probably makes them seem louder.”

  “Hm.” Miss Barstow took in the town around them. The sleigh swished through the slushy streets. “It’s not a very clean city, is it?” Her nose was tilted in the air, as if she smelled something bad.

  Will this tiresome woman complain the whole blasted way? “Actually, it’s very clean, especially compared to Coulson, which is where I lived when I first came to Montana. It’s hard for me to imagine that Boston is very clean. I’ve seen a big city or two in my time.”

  “I suppose some areas are dirtier—I wouldn’t know. Where I live, it is clean.”

  “Well, this may not be Boston, but Helena is a young city, and about a mile from here, a few blocks off of Last Chance Gulch, there are some rather nice houses owned by the well-to-do.”