by Carré White
“What?”
“What if you never made it to Boot Creek? What if you maybe decided to go off with a fella like me instead?”
Not being able to see very well in the darkness, I leaned nearer to assess if he was teasing. He could not be serious, could he? “Go off with you?”
“Marry me instead.”
“Why on earth would I do such a thing? I don’t know anything about you. I’ve been in correspondence with Mr. Kelly for almost a year. I feel as if I know him rather well. I would hope he feels the same about me.”
“But he’s old, Lola. Really old.”
“W-what do you mean by that? I was told he was thirty-eight.”
“That’s pretty darn old.”
“Not if you’re healthy. He assured me he was in excellent health. Is there something I don’t know? Is he ill?”
“He’s fine, but he could drop dead at any moment.”
“Are you making light of this situation? You can’t possibly be serious.”
“You can’t be serious about coming out all this way to marry some old guy, although maybe it’s his money you’re after.”
How had this conversation begun? Irritation prickled me. “My reasons for marrying Mr. Kelly are none of your concern. I’m quite happy in my choice, sir, even if he’s an older gentleman. Older gentlemen have something I value greatly.”
“Money, I'm sure.”
“No, manners. They would never question a woman’s motives. They would never pry into things they know nothing about.”
“I’ve been saving up a pretty penny. I’m not poor, darlin’. I could take care of you.”
“That’s fine and dandy, but you’re not the person I’m in love with.”
He snorted. “You fell in love with a letter?”
“Yes.”
Another snort resounded. “You’ve some strange notions. If you think this is love match, you got another thing comin’.”
“What do you mean by that?” I felt an annoying suspicion that there was something he was not telling me. “What do you know about Mr. Kelly?”
“Old, set in his ways, and unyielding. You want to marry something like that?”
“He just knows what he wants. He has a vision of how things should be, and he aims to achieve that.”
“You’ll find him cold and unaffected. Why do you think he’s been alone all this time? He’s about as entertaining as wax on paper. He’s a rich recluse, who prefers books to women, that and collecting rare bottles of wine. I can’t understand why somebody has all those bottles and they don’t drink them.”
“You wouldn’t understand, but I do.”
He leaned nearer, which was slightly alarming. “Now a fella like me likes women plenty.” He had spoken in a low, seductive purr. “I got a soft spot for blondes with pale blue eyes. You’re the prettiest thing I’ve seen in these parts in years.”
It distressed me that his words flattered me immensely. “You’re an accomplished sweet-talker.”
“I can do a heck of a lot more than talk, honey.”
Reaching out, he grasped my face, and, before I could push him away, he kissed me. Shocked, I wanted to tell him to stop, even opening my mouth to do so, but his tongue silenced me almost immediately. To my consternation, I felt myself softening towards him, leaning in, while my hands rested on his shirtfront. The drugging quality of his kisses soon had me yearning for something else, wicked and forbidden, which at last brought me to my senses. I pushed him away, slapping his face.
“Stop that!”
“You don’t want me to,” he said huskily.
Scrambling to my feet, I hurried towards camp and the dying fire, seeking solace. “I’m not going to mention this to Mr. Kelly. I would suggest that if you wish to keep your job, you don’t mention it either.” I sat on the bedroll, wrapping my arms around my legs, while chastising myself for that weakness. If I had anticipated his attempt at seduction, I could have better prepared myself for it. Oh, he knows how to turn a ladies head. Blast him!
Mr. Brittle approached, his grin knowing. “It’s gonna be a long night. It might even get cold. Real cold. If you need something to warm you up—”
“I won’t.” I scowled at what remained of the flames. “Goodnight.”
While he threw more branches into the pit, I dug through the traveling bag, retrieving another letter. The sage words from my husband-to-be would bring me comfort and restore me to my senses. The guilt I felt for kissing Chuck remained acute and it smarted like a bee sting. I hated that I had so easily succumbed to his advances, but I was hardly adept at fending off the amorous inclinations of men, as I had rarely courted. My stepfather had been just as bold once, when he had been drunk, but he wasn’t in his right mind at the time.
Unfolding one of the more recent letters, I read.
Sweetest Lola,
Your assessment of my current state of mind was rather accurate. I do wonder if a letter has gone missing, though, because you never did respond to what I had to tell you about the colors I suggested for the walls in your bedroom. I’ll repeat the questions again at the end of this letter. They are on a separate page. The mail is at times not reliable. I wish a better means of communication were available, but unfortunately, we will just have to make due.
You had asked me what I loathed most about people, if you will remember. I never did answer you, as we then discussed our likes and dislikes in all aspects of child rearing. But I will tell you now how I feel. The one thing I abhor the most in a person is dishonesty. I hate a lie, but I do realize most people tell little white lies. It would be impolite to utter exactly what one thinks or feels at every moment of the day. In a marriage partner, I would expect complete honesty. I will not hesitate to tell you what I feel, my darling, and I hope you would do the same. A marriage without trust and respect is something I wish to avoid.
The reason for my prolonged bachelorhood is that my standards in this area have always been too high. I don't expect perfection, but for some reason, most of the women I have encountered in this part of the world are fast, loose, and fickle. My chances of finding a woman who shares my old-fashioned beliefs are higher with someone well bred and from a respected home back east. These western women are far too self-sufficient for my liking. Many harbor independent streaks, the likes of which would shock good society. I want a woman who needs the protection of a man. I relish the idea of spoiling my wife in every capacity. I do hope you feel as I do on this issue. This may sound odd, because I own a ranch, but I am pleased you know little about riding and shooting. If I required another ranch hand, I would hire one. I want a wife who will be the queen of my house and devoted to my children. I want someone who will be kind and true, and who trusts in the goodness and righteousness of the Lord. That is all I have ever wanted.
Yours truly,
Jack
PS. I do hope you would be entirely devoted to me as well.
I folded the paper, feeling miserable. I glared at Mr. Brittle, wanting to vent my anger towards him. “You won’t say anything about what happened, will you?”
“That you kissed me?”
“I did not kiss you!” I seethed. “You attacked me.”
“And you liked it plenty from what I recall.”
“I did not!” Thrusting the letter into the bag, I folded the satchel in half. “I won’t mention this to Mr. Kelly. He’d have your head, if he heard about it.”
“I imagine.” He seemed entirely unremorseful, even cocky, which was annoying.
“I don’t want to marry a cowboy. I prefer my partner to be cultured and affluent, and with a wine collection too. There’s nothing wrong with collecting wine. It’s how it’s done in the civilized world.”
He gave me a look. “I know women, honey. I know a thing or two about that. I could please you far better than some wine-collecting dandy, but have it your way. If you want some old guy, who’s stodgy and cantankerous, be my guest.”
I glared at him, hating the twinges of doubt that had taken root
. I might have succumbed briefly to Mr. Brittle’s charms, but it had not dampened my enthusiasm for the life I truly longed for. I was going to be Mrs. Jack Kelly, whether anyone approved of the union or not. I felt I knew my fiancé rather well from our correspondence. I was entirely qualified to take on this position, although … there was the one, tiny issue of my last name. I wasn’t Lola Parsons, as I had maintained over the past year. Jack could not know my real last name, because I did not want my family to discover where I had gone.
Some secrets would have to endure.
Chapter 4
I did manage to go to sleep rather easily, exhausted from having been in the saddle all day. Mr. Brittle slept across the fire on his bedroll snoring softly, while I drifted into a series of dreams, the last of which disturbed me greatly. Although I could not remember a single thing about it, I awoke with a sense of dread, fearing something terrible might happen. This was a poor way to start what should be a momentous day. I would meet my husband in only a matter of hours.
“Good mornin’, sunshine,” said Chuck, who had made a robust fire, the heat fanning out in all directions. “Coffee’s done.”
“I’ll have some in a moment.” Getting to my feet, I stretched, reaching my arms over my head and arching my back. I had pulled out the pins in my hair during the night, because they had dug into my head. Messy strands of straw colored hair hung down my back past my waist.
Mr. Brittle’s attention remained on me. He seemed thoughtful. “You sure do look pretty. Pale as ivory snow with lips like raspberries. Not a bad combination, if I do say so myself.”
“You needn’t flatter me.”
But I felt a pang of pleasure nonetheless from that artful description. Hating this reaction, I strode from the camp, determined to wash my face and fix my hair. The sooner I was presentable, the better. I dreaded the thought of having to don the corset again, but any decent woman would never be caught without one. When I returned, I sat on the bedroll and brushed my hair, while Mr. Brittle cast several inquisitive glances my way. I ignored him, working the strands into a serviceable bun at the back of my head. The bonnet would hide my handiwork soon enough.
“There’s beans and biscuits again, I’m afraid.”
“That’s fine.” He handed me a plate. “Thank you.”
“We got about four hours of riding ahead of us.” He squinted into the distance. “I expect to be at the Kelly Ranch by lunchtime.”
“That’s wonderful.” Relief flooded me, because the ordeal was nearly over.
“It’s not too late, you know.”
“Pardon?”
“You don’t have to marry him.”
“You’re right, I don’t, but I want to. There’s the difference.”
He scratched his chin. “If you say so.”
“I certainly don’t expect you or anyone else to agree with or understand my decisions. It’s none of your business anyhow.” He continued to stare my way, which felt unnerving. “I’ll have coffee, if there’s any left.”
“Certainly.” A charming and gregarious grin surfaced. “Have as much as you like, Miss Parsons.”
“Thank you.”
He remained polite and attentive, helping to roll my bedding and tidy the camp before kicking sand on what remained of the fire. I had gone into the bushes to don the corset, hating that it pinched my ribcage and rubbed against my skin, irritating it. The ride to the Kelly Ranch would be torturous, but I could withstand four hours in the saddle, because I had little choice in the matter.
“Here you go.” He helped me onto the stirrup, holding my arm, while smiling pleasantly. “You’re light as a feather. You probably don’t weigh ninety pounds soaking wet.”
“That’s not true at all, Mr. Brittle.”
“Chuck. Please call me Chuck.” His horse waited, bulging with saddlebags and bedrolls. “It’s your last chance to change your mind.”
“Why do you keep saying that?”
“Cause you don’t want to marry a cold, old man, honey. There’s fire in those pretty veins of yours. I felt it when I kissed you. You need somebody who appreciates a passionate woman.”
His observations were coarse and disgusting, and I shouldn't be subjected to such talk. Passion was reserved for “ladies of ill repute”, which was one category of woman I did not belong to. “I would appreciate it if you kept your opinions to yourself for the remainder of the journey.”
“You asked.”
“I won’t make that mistake again.”
He chuckled, which rankled me further. “Very well. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. In six months, when you’re desperate for the feel of warm, loving arms, you’ll seek me out.”
Closing my eyes, I cursed him silently, wishing he would shut up. Lord, give me strength to put up with this horrid man! “I’m ready. We’ve several hours yet to go. The sooner we’re on our way, the better.”
He tipped his hat. “Yes, ma’am.”
With any luck, Mr. Brittle would remain quiet for at least an hour, and, as the morning wore on, he did not speak again, but he did whistle for a considerable amount of time. I gazed at the landscape, admiring the vastness of the terrain, as we meandered through prairies and canyons, winding around the base of a formidable looking mountain. The sun’s rays felt relentless, although the bonnet shielded my eyes and the high-standing collar protected my neck from the elements.
We stopped for lunch, which consisted of fried cakes and an apple apiece. Chuck had said, “Sorry. We’re outta beans. Mr. Kelly will have a hearty supper waiting for you later.”
“I know. It’s fine. Thank you.”
The lack of food did not concern me, as my appetite was never all that hardy to begin with. I only wanted to continue the journey to my new home, feeling a growing sense of excitement with each mile that passed. I was eager to finally meet my fiancé, having only imagined what he would be like from his letters. I expected to find a distinguished-looking older man, who was kindly and concerned. I desperately wanted to be loved and taken care of, which was something most women hoped for.
Being free of the stresses of my family had lifted a burden from my shoulders. Living with my mother and her new husband had become intolerable, especially after I discovered Mark’s disturbing interest in me. The tipping point had been finding a small hole in the wall of my bedroom. This hid behind a painting, which also had a hole. I could not be certain how long it had been there, but Mark had been spying on me, night and day, which had left me mortified and disgusted. After this discovery, I had purchased a screen, behind which I changed, but I never felt at ease in that house, always wondering what other schemes he might employ.
“It shouldn’t be long now,” said Chuck. “We’re on the outskirts of Boot Creek.” He pointed into the distance at the vague outlines of a building. “I wasn’t planning on stopping in town. We’re going directly to the ranch.” He wiped sweat from his brow with his bandana.
“I’ll visit town another time.” I was less than presentable at the moment, heated through and through from the sun, while perspiration dripped from my neck to my belly. I longed for a bath and a change of clothes.
“All righty then. That was your last chance.”
“Last chance for what?”
“To change your mind.”
I rolled my eyes, irritated again. “I’m not having this discussion.”
“You can come away with me. I’ll take care of you. I’ve got some connections. I might look like a poor drover, but I’ve made some money over the years.”
“I’m happy to hear it.” I glanced at him, seeing his frown. My disinterest upset him. He was a man used to getting his own way, well, not this time.
“I don’t encounter that many pretty girls, not pretty like you anyway. Never in my life was I jealous of another man—until now. It just doesn’t seem fair.”
I would not be swayed by his flattery. “You shouldn’t have any trouble sweet-talking some woman in town, wherever that may be. If I weren’t already
spoken for, I might consider you—maybe. But I do have my standards, Mr. Brittle. I’m accustomed to living in a certain manner, and I don’t wish to step down from that.”
His look soured. “Pretty and spoiled. Probably spoiled rotten.”
“Think what you want. I don't care.” My attention remained on the buildings that had come into view, although, from this distance, they appeared like a mirage glimmering on the horizon.
The conversation died, as he scowled. He continued to turn his head my way, while unpleasant thoughts seemed to be drifting through his mind. The lines on his face deepened because of this, and I had to wonder what troubled him so, but it should be of little consequence to me. Excitement left me anxious to see my new home. Once we began to wind our way from the pit of a canyon, a flattened expanse of prairie appeared, spotted with cattle.
“There it is.” Chuck pointed, squinting into the sun. “In all her glory. It’s the second biggest cattle ranch in the territory. The finest Black Angus beef you’ll encounter anywhere. Thousands of acres and twelve-hundred head of cattle.” He glanced at me. “I’d say you’re marrying very well.”
Something about that irritated me. “I answered an ad in the newspaper, Mr. Brittle. I wasn’t offered that many choices in who to correspond with. I had no idea Mr. Kelly was a wealthy man.”
“Of course you didn’t.”
Once I settled in at the ranch, I needed to have a word with my future husband about Mr. Brittle and his less than gentlemanly behavior. Were all the cowboys this outspoken and impertinent? What should have been a pleasant ride to my future home had left me fraught with questions and insecurity. Although excited about the prospect of meeting Mr. Kelly, I now doubted every decision I had made since agreeing to become a mail order bride.
I glanced at Mr. Brittle with suspicion. “You’ve been working for Mr. Kelly for a long time, haven’t you?”
“Years.”
“Would you consider him your friend?”
“He trusts me. I’ve always done exactly as he’s asked.”
He had not answered the question. “You’re an employee to him. Nothing more.” That statement hit it’s mark, as his jaw clenched.