Buttercup grunted in annoyance as William tried to saddle her. She was an old horse, and she was terribly slow anyway. She had no intention of going out now, especially for an inexperienced rider like William.
But the young boy didn’t relent. He forced the saddle onto Buttercup’s back, then leaned forward to whisper into her ear:
“Come on now, Buttercup! Maddie and Bessie need our help! We need to fetch Pa!”
He stroked her dapple coat and the horse blinked her big brown eyes. Then William grabbed Pa’s revolver from the stable wall, threw himself onto the horse’s back, and took a deep breath as he sat upright on the saddle. Then, with the pistol tucked into the waistband of his pants, he gave Buttercup a firm kick in the side.
He wasn’t sure if it was the soft plea for help, or the kick in the ribs, either way, the tired old mare sprang into action.
William hoped that the sound of Buttercup’s hooves beating the soft earth wouldn’t rouse the attention of the intruder in the log cabin.
Once he had made it across the clearing and towards the dense wall of woods, he raised his heel to kick the horse again. But Buttercup didn’t need the reminder, she understood. She quickened her pace, galloping fiercely towards the mountain in the distance… and towards the mine.
William wasn’t sure of the way, but in the end, it didn’t matter. He had made it a mile towards the mountain when the sound of oncoming hooves stopped him and Buttercup cold on their path. Pa had warned William about the outlaws and villains who made the woods their stomping ground, and for all twelve years of his life, William had heeded his father’s warning. He had never ventured out until now, and the adrenaline rushing through his veins had been enough to placate the fears. Until he saw the other horse.
William and Buttercup both froze in place, watching as the black stallion ripped towards them through the forest. Even with Buttercup running her fastest, William knew they were no match for the horse that was dashing straight towards them. He reached behind his back, wrapping his hand around the handle of the revolver, and he gulped.
Pa had taught William to shoot once, the same winter that a coyote had wandered onto their clearing and devoured half of the chickens in the coop. Pa had also made something very clear. He told William that he was never, under any circumstances, to point a gun at another man. Pa had been adamant about that, and now, as William’s hand clenched the revolver, he wondered if he could defy Pa’s lesson.
Luckily, William didn’t need to answer that question: when the steed had gotten directly in front of him, he recognized the rider—it was Pa!
“Pa!” William called. Then, confused, “What are you doing here?”
“Boy, I have half a mind to ask you the same thing!”
“I came to fetch you!” William said, remembering the purpose of his mission. “Some man… all in black… Miss Henson and Bessie…”
“Now you listen here,” Bill said. “I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”
“Sorry, Pa,” William said, taking a deep breath and working against his own rapidly beating heart. “There’s a man in all black back at the house. He forced his way in. He’s got a gun, and he’s there with Maddie and Bessie!”
William didn’t need to say another word. Bill sprang into action, and the two Wiley men galloped back towards the homestead. When they reached the clearing, Bill spotted a black stallion hitched outside the cabin. He promptly drew up his reins and turned to his son.
“I need you to follow the river to town and fetch the sheriff, you hear?”
“But Pa—”
“Go!” Bill barked. “You tell him what you saw, and then you tell him your pa reckons it’s Catfish Carl Jenkins.”
“Catfish Carl?” William was confused.
“The sheriff will recognize the name,” Bill said. “He’s a wanted man, rides around on a black steed, wearing all black—just like you described. Now go!”
William fled towards the river, and Bill hopped down from his saddle and made a slow approach toward the house. It had been years since he had encountered Catfish Carl Jenkins. In fact, the last time the men had met, they’d both been outlaws.
As penance for his own crimes, Bill had given the sheriff details about Catfish Carl’s whereabouts. That information had landed Carl in jail, and it had saved Bill from a similar fate. The favor hadn’t won Bill any kind regard from the town, but it had made him a free man, and he’d been able to marry Laura and start a new life on the straight and narrow.
When Carl had been captured, he made a solemn vow to seek vengeance once he got out of jail. He had broken out of the slammer a few years back, but when he never turned up in Livingston, Bill assumed that the man had given up on his plot for revenge. Catfish Carl was wanted for a number of crimes, but none of them had to do with Bill… and he had forgotten all about the man and his hollow threat.
But now, when Bill saw that black steed hitched outside his log cabin, he had a hunch that Carl had remembered that grudge after all.
Bill opened the door of the log cabin and let out a gasp when he saw Bessie and Maddie, bound to each other by the hearth. He made a run for them, but the sound of a gun cocking stopped him cold.
“Well if it ain’t Wild William Wiley,” Catfish Carl said, using the name that had once been splashed across wanted posters, all those years ago…
“What do you want, Carl?” Bill asked. Old habits died hard, and he found himself instinctively reaching for the handle of a revolver in the back waistband of his pants. There wasn’t anything there. He winced. He had left his gun in the stable.
“What do I want?” Carl repeated, pointing the gun at Bill. “Well, Bill, didn’t I make you a promise? Didn’t I tell you I’d be coming back for you?”
Maddie and Bessie thrashed against their binds desperately.
“That was nearly fifteen years ago,” Bill reminded him.
“That’s the funny thing about grudges,” Carl sneered. “They’re like a good whiskey, they only get stronger with age.” His lips curled into a vicious smile of jagged yellow teeth. He had the gun pointed directly at Bill’s head, and he asked, “Any last words?”
Bill gulped, and he turned to Bessie and Maddie.
“Maddie,” he said. “I love you. I’m sorry I couldn’t say that to you sooner, but I was scared. I know you might wanna leave me, but I couldn’t let you go without telling you that, first. I’m just sorry it took almost losing you to realize it. I guess it’s too late now, anyway. But if I die—”
“Oh, Bill!” Maddie choked, fighting the restraints around her chest. “I love you, too!”
“Enough!” Carl bellowed. He turned towards Maddie and Bessie, waving the gun in their direction.
“Please!” Bill cried. “Take my life… not theirs. They don’t deserve this.”
Carl’s smile twisted across his face again, and he waved the gun between the captive women and Carl.
“I’m not in any mood to be doing you favors, Wiley,” he snickered. He waved the gun back towards Maddie and Bessie, and they both cried out.
Just then, the cabin door was thrown open. And just as suddenly, a gun fired. A black cloud of gunpowder filled the room, and when it cleared, Bill saw Catfish Carl lying in a heap on the floor. His eyes shot to the door of the cabin, and that’s where he saw William standing, gun still aimed in the air.
“William!” Bill shouted.
“I’m sorry, Pa,” the boy quivered. “But I knew I wouldn’t make it to the sheriff in time to save you…”
Bill rushed to the boy’s side and took the revolver from his hands, then he held his son close to his chest in an embrace.
“I know you told me not to shoot at a man…” William whimpered.
“You did the right thing, son,” Bill told him. “You did it to protect your own.”
Catfish Carl whimpered from the floor, clutching the spot on his leg where Bill had grazed him with a bullet.
“You should probably fetch the sheriff now,�
� Bill told his son, and William nodded as he ran for the door.
Bill hastily untied the binds that held Maddie and Bessie. Carl was still thrashing on the elkhide floor, but just for good measure, Bill wrapped the length of rope around the outlaw’s wrists.
“Bill,” Maddie said, rushing to the man’s side. “I need to tell you something, about that letter—”
“Maddie,” Bill interrupted her. “I’ve done a lot of thinking about that letter. I understand now why you wrote it. When you arrived in Livingston, you were greeted by a broken man. I didn’t know how to love you. I can’t blame you for wanting to leave me, Maddie. But I can beg you to give me a second chance. I meant what I said… I love you.”
Her shoulders fell and she crumpled against Bill’s chest. His arms wrapped around her, and for the first time, she felt the comfort of his embrace.
“There’s something else I should tell you,” Bill said when she pulled away. “I left the mine two days early to deliver the news myself, in person. I struck gold, Maddie.”
Maddie smiled. It was certainly good news, a blessing from the Lord, in fact. But Maddie also realized that it didn’t matter.
“Oh, Bill,” she said softly. “I struck gold the day I met you.”
EPILOGUE
Bill Wiley had faced an uphill battle the first time he tried to convince the pastor to marry him and Laura Brent in Livingston’s only church. But when he propositioned the man to ordain his second wedding, he found the response to be far warmer than the first.
It helped, he supposed, that he had been hailed a town hero for the successful capture of Catfish Carl Jenkins. The pastor had readily agreed to marry Bill and Maddie in the church.
Bill only expected five souls to attend the wedding, including the pastor. But when he arrived at the church, he found the pews packed to the brim—nearly all of Livingston had turned up to see the town hero marry his beautiful bride.
Maddie wore a white gown covered in intricate beading. It had been a gift from her parents. They had intended for her to wear it during an opera Christmas concert that was meant to take place in Boston after her return from the conservatory.
Of course, Maddie had never gone back to Boston for that concert, instead she had traveled to Montana. But she had tucked that dress away in her trunk and brought it with her, all of those hundreds of miles, just in case. She knew it would be the perfect wedding gown, should she chose to marry Bill Wiley after all. And indeed, when she slipped it on that summer day, she felt something she had never felt before, beautiful and happy, all at once.
The church doors opened and Maddie stepped inside, beginning her ascent towards the pulpit where the pastor waited.
Bessie and William stood by their father’s side, both beaming eagerly at the bride. Maddie had taken care to ensure that both children would be well dressed for the occasion. She had sold one of her favorite dresses to a merchant in town, in exchange for a handsome tweed suit that would fit William. It was a bit big yet, but that was for the best, as it meant that he would grow into it and it would last him a good while.
For Bessie, Maddie had spent weeks making careful alterations to one of her own dresses. It was the pink silk gown that Bessie had admired so much, and Maddie spent hours by the fireside, working the hems and bodice with a tiny pointed needle, until the dress was suited for a young girl of Bessie’s size.
Bess had been overjoyed when she was presented with the dress, and Maddie suspected the child might never take it off.
Maddie could have just as easily used the family’s new fortune. In addition to the massive fortune that Bill had claimed after his lucky break in the mines, the family was also awarded a handsome ransom for the capture of Catfish Carl. In short, the Wiley family would never want for anything again.
Bill had tried his best to insist that Maddie use a bit of the fortune for the wedding outfits, but Maddie had wanted to provide this gift for her new family in her own way. Besides, after having luxuries handed to her for all of her life, Maddie found something enchanting and wonderful about being able to provide the same joy for others.
As for Bill, he had intended on dressing himself in the only suit he owned—the same shabby suit that he had worn when he met Maddie at the train station. But Maddie wouldn’t hear of it. She had offered to buy him something new, from the same shop in town where she had procured William’s suit. Bill had been far too proud for that, and he had assured her that he would take care of it all himself.
And when Maddie stepped into the church and let her eyes land on Bill Wiley, she saw that he had indeed resolved the matter.
On first glance, she nearly didn’t recognize the man awaiting her at the altar. His face was clean-shaven and handsome, and his hair was freshly trimmed and neatly tucked behind his ears. The suit he wore was simple, gray tweed. It wasn’t the fanciest suit in Livingston, but in that way, it actually suited him better, for Bill Wiley wasn’t a man whose merit relied on material vanities. Rather, he was a man whose inner merit was finally reflected by his outward appearance.
As Maddie walked down the aisle and studied the man waiting for her, she felt overjoyed. She was utterly in love, and she had finally found the family that she had longed for all her life.
They were married that day, and a few weeks later Mr. and Mrs. Bill Wiley used a part of their new fortune to buy a sprawling ranch on the edge of town. It was the closest Bill had ever lived to town, and that was just fine by Mr. Wiley and the folks of Livingston, Montana, alike.
For the first time in a long time, all was right with the world, and everyone was exactly where they belonged.
THE END
PREVIEW: THE NEW MEXICO BRIDE
ONE
“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Mr. Larrabee quipped, his dark eyes glimmering with the distinct glint of ungentlemanly intentions as he leaned forward on the worn-through elbows of his soot-stained work shirt and beamed up at the dainty waitress poised over his table. “Janet, is it?” he asked, lacing his ashy fingers together.
“Jane,” the waitress replied stiffly.
“Jane,” Mr. Larrabee repeated, his voice perverting her name as his smile spread, revealing a mouth full of yellow teeth that bore a stunning resemblance to the bright yellow kernels of corn that were bobbing around in that night’s supper—a brothy vegetable soup.
It was just after ten at night, which meant that the steel mill had just rotated shifts—releasing the men who had spent the late afternoon and early evening toiling over the molten vats of liquid steel, and replacing them with the next crop of workers who would carry on through the night and into the early morning.
Every shift rotation at the steel mill was marked by the sudden influx of patrons at Bosko’s Restaurant. The steel mill was built on the outskirts of Chicago, and workers faced at least a mile-long trek back into the city after each shift. Bosko’s was the only restaurant located on the otherwise barren stretch of road that led to the city, which made it an easy choice for steel workers coming off of a shift already tired, and oftentimes burned or injured. The men couldn’t face the walk on an empty stomach. The warm aroma of fresh, home-cooked Polish food wafting from Bosko’s was, more often than not, a temptation too great to resist.
For men like Mr. Larrabee, it seemed that food wasn’t the only temptation to be found at Bosko’s. A frequent patron of the restaurant, Mr. Larrabee had made it quite clear that his cravings extended beyond the plain Polish staples that were offered on the restaurant’s menu. Rather, it was the beautiful young waitress who caught his interest, and he certainly wasn’t the only one.
Jane Brooks was beautiful, with a soft youthful face that looked even younger than her twenty-two years, sharp eyes that shimmered like gray pearls, a crown of vibrant auburn curls, and the delicate womanly figure that seemed reserved for romantic paintings or marble sculptures—pinched narrow waist, curved bosom, and hips that proved more than adequate for childbearing—the young waitress was an easy target of male
affection, particularly from the unrefined men who came to Bosko’s after a lengthy shift at the steel mill.
Drenched in sweat and ash, it seemed as though any decency that these men might usually have had melted away with the steel, leaving them immune to the normal rules of decorum and formality that governed interactions between gentlemen and ladies, and rendering them unashamed of flaunting their ill intentions brazenly.
Jane was sorry to say that she had grown accustomed to unwanted attention from the rough and impolite steel workers that patronized the restaurant. The young woman had first taken the waitressing job at Bosko’s a year earlier, after her mother’s death, and in that time she had quickly become disenchanted with the stark realities of life as a single woman in the city.
“What will you be having tonight, Mr. Larrabee?” Jane asked, already growing impatient.
“What are my options?” The man’s voice was smooth and sultry. A year ago the crude hint of suggestion in his voice might have made Jane’s skin crawl, but she had long perfected the delicate art of avoiding an unwanted advance. As a young, single woman living alone in Chicago, it was a necessary skill.
“Vegetable soup or pierogi and kielbasa,” Jane said.
“Is that all?” Mr. Larrabee asked. “I was hoping for something a little more comforting on this cold winter night.” He glanced up at the waitress, his eyes twisting with lust.
Jane sighed heavily, returning the man’s sultry stare with a defiant glare. “If you’re unsatisfied with the menu offerings,” she said bluntly, “you’re more than welcome to air your grievances to the chef. Though I must warn you, Mr. Bosko doesn’t take kindly to criticism.”
Mr. Bosko, the restaurant’s owner and chef, was a hulk of a man. Towering at nearly seven feet tall and appearing to measure just as wide, he was an intimidating figure. He was certainly not the sort of man you’d want to test by openly insulting his cooking.
Of course Jane knew that Mr. Bosko’s personality and mannerisms couldn’t be further opposite from his intimidating stature and presence. He was a warm and kind man, through and through. But the patrons of the restaurant didn’t know that Mr. Bosko had a soft side, and Jane had no intention of disclosing that her boss was a gentle giant at heart.
The Outlaw’s Bride (Mail Order Bride Adventures) Page 5