Lula

by Kit Morgan

  Lula

  Cowboys and Debutantes Book 5

  Kit Morgan

  Angel Creek Press

  ANGEL CREEK PRESS

  Lula

  (Cowboys and Debutantes Historical, Book 5)

  by Kit Morgan

  © 2018 Kit Morgan

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  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without permission in writing from the publisher. All characters are fictional. Any resemblances to actual people or livestock are purely coincidental.

  Cover design by Angel Creek Press and Agape Authors.

  Contents

  License Note

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  About the Author

  Also by Kit Morgan

  License Note

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Chapter 1

  Clear Creek, Oregon, May 1888

  In March, Lula May Stout turned eighteen. In April, her father announced that their family was ruined. Now in May, she was about to step off a stagecoach in a town she’d never heard of before. Bother!

  Better yet, bollocks, as her poor father exclaimed when he thought no one could hear him. Too bad for him that Lula had excellent hearing.

  Of course, this meant she’d heard things she wished she hadn’t. Like when she caught her stepmother Fanny speaking with her father about sending his three daughters off as mail-order brides so they could survive. “After all, they eat far too much to support,” she heard Fanny say. So within two weeks after the collapse of her father’s illustrious empire, she was on a train heading west with hardly a clue of what to expect.

  Lula and her older sisters Effie and Minnie hadn’t any say in the matter. At least Lula – the last to get forcibly shoved off the matrimonial cliff – had found out where Effie was sent. To find she also was in Oregon was a godsend, although Fanny hadn’t disclosed where in Oregon, nor where poor Minnie had been shipped off to. She’d had the girls pack, gave each a letter from their prospective groom on their day of departure and carted them one by one to Grand Central Station. A horrible ordeal.

  But she’d think about that later. Right now she had to calm herself, in preparation for meeting her prospective groom.

  Yet she was still really angry over it. They all were – Lula, her sisters, and their cousins Della, Hattie and Pearl. It wasn’t only Papa that had been ruined, but his brother as well. Lula was still in shock her Aunt Jane had agreed to this ludicrous idea, but there it was. And here she was in Clear Creek, Oregon, half a day’s ride past nowhere and the back of the beyond. At least the town looked nicer than she expected.

  “Clear Creek!” Willie the stage driver called out. “Comin’ inna Clear Creek!” Willie was missing some of his front teeth – she’d noticed when she got on the stage in Baker. That seemed to be fairly common among the folks she’d seen during her journey, both men and women. Most of which were missing more teeth than Willie. Didn’t these people know what a dentist was? Tooth powder? Bridgework?

  “Ma’am?”

  Lula jumped. “Bollocks!”

  Willie’s eyes bulged. “Beg pardon, ma’am?”

  At least she hadn’t used one of her father’s more colorful expletives. The one was bad enough. “Excuse me?”

  Willie smiled gummily and offered her his hand. “Clear Creek, ma’am. This’s yer stop.”

  Lula took a deep breath. “Yes, of course.” She placed her hand in his, gripped her reticule in the other and disembarked. It was a warm day, and she took a moment to let the sun warm her face. When she opened her eyes, she was looking at a large colorful sign across the front of what looked like a general store: “Dunnigan’s Mercantile.” “What a quaint-looking place.”

  “If’n y’say so, ma’am.” Willie motioned her toward the mercantile’s front steps. “Most people wait for their kinfolk inside.”

  Lula glanced around. There seemed to be only the main street, and a couple more that branched off it a few hundred feet down. A far cry from Manhattan – except at the far end, where a beautiful hotel stood. “My, will you look at that?”

  Willie followed her gaze as he went to retrieve her trunk. “Yep, that’s the Van Cleet Hotel. Clear Creek’s pride and glory.” He started to scramble atop the stagecoach. “Who ya visitin’?”

  Lula blushed. “I’m not visiting …” She glanced around again. Where was her groom? “I’m, ah … well, I’m a mail-order bride.”

  Willie stopped what he was doing and grinned widely if emptily. “Well, I’ll be – ya are?”

  “Who’s what?” a man behind her asked.

  Lula hadn’t heard the mercantile door open. She spun to face him, hand over her racing heart. “Pardon me, sir – you startled me.”

  “Sorry ‘bout that,” the man said before turning to Willie. “Now what were ya saying?”

  “Wilfred, this here gal is a mail-order bride!”

  Wilfred looked to be in his seventies, of average height with white hair and pale blue eyes. He fixed them on Lula in complete surprise. “A mail-order bride? How come none of us knew ‘bout this?”

  Lula glanced between the two. Why would a mail-order bride coming to town be public knowledge? Hmmm … maybe in a place this small, her arrival would be big news. After all, what else would be going on around here?

  Wilfred smiled at her. “I’m Wilfred Dunnigan. And you are?”

  She gulped, tongue-tied for a moment – and that never happened to her! She was a born chatterbox. “Lula Stout, Sir.”

  “Nice to meet ya, Lula. Who’s yer intended?”

  She glanced at Willie, who looked as if he was straining to hear her next words. “Mr. Baxter Adams.”

  Willie whooped. “Ha! Knew it!”

  “Baxter, ya say?” Wilfred said with an arched eyebrow. “Well, I’ll be. Wonder if it was Chase or Lena that sent for ya.”

  That got her attention. “Excuse me?”

  “Baxter’s ma and pa,” Wilfred explained. “I thought sure ya’d be meant for Baxter’s cousin Asher. Go figger.”

  Lula had no idea what he was talking about, so she just smiled and nodded. The letter from her intended had been written in a very neat hand – had his mother written it, as this man suggested?

  “Wilfred!” a woman howled from inside the mercantile. “What are you doing out there?”

  “Talkin’ with Baxter’s bride,” he yelled over his shoulder at the open door.

  A plump, angry woman of about Wilfred’s age came out it onto the porch. “Who?” she barked.

  “I said I’m talking with Baxter Adams’ bride,” Wilfred said more loudly.

  The woman looked at Lula. “Oh.” She looked at Wilfred, again. “What about her?”

  Wilfred rolled his eyes. “Miss Stout, this is my wife Irene. She’s a little hard of hearin’ nowadays.” He waved at the woman. “Irene, this is Miss Stout.”

  The woman scrunched up her face and peered at
Lula with beady eyes, as if inspecting her for flaws. “Nice to meet ya.” She looked around. “Where’s Baxter?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know,” Lula muttered.

  “Oh, I’m sure he’ll be along,” Wilfred said. “He knows ya were comin’ on the stage and not the train, right?”

  Lula blanched. At this point she just hoped he knew she was coming at all. “I … hope so.”

  “Why’d you take the stage anyway?” Irene yelled as she looked up and down the lilac-colored velvet of Lula’s traveling dress and matching hat. “Only folks that can’t afford the train take the stage – you don’t look the type.”

  Unfortunately for Lula, she now was. She sighed, glanced at Willie as he got her large trunk onto the ground and willed herself not to panic. She’d assumed that once she got to Baker City, the only way to Clear Creek was by stage. Maybe the stage was just all Mr. Adams could afford.

  “Think someone oughta check the station?” Willie suggested as he hefted her smaller trunk onto his shoulder with a grunt. Red-faced, he brought it to the mercantile steps and set it down. “I’d be happy to, ma’am.”

  “Might be a good idea,” Wilfred agreed. “Baxter ain’t one to be late and the train’ll be in soon. He could already be there.”

  “But I don’t understand,” Lula said. “He sent the train and stage fare. If he’s that prompt, could something have happened to him?”

  Irene’s eyes widened. “She’s got a point.”

  “Now, Irene,” Wilfred said, “let’s not any of us jump to conclusions. Willie?”

  “I’ll head over right now.” He went to the stagecoach, climbed up to the seat and took the reins. “Giyyup!”

  Lula watched the stage lurch forward and head down the street until it disappeared around a corner. “Where is the train station?”

  “Down by the hotel on the other end of town,” Wilfred volunteered. “We ain’t had it but what, five years, Irene?”

  “If that,” she said. “Dang nuisance if you ask me. No one ever comes here.”

  Lula felt her stomach drop. “No one?”

  “Now that’s not true,” Wilfred countered. “Plenty of folks come through.”

  Irene crossed her arms. “But they don’t stay.”

  “They don’t?” Lula was trying to keep the worry out of her voice. To see only the same people day in and day out … it was downright frightening to think about. She was so used to being surrounded by thousands in New York.

  “Name one!” Irene barked. “Name one person who came through recently, got off the train and came into our store.”

  Wilfred opened his mouth to speak, closed it and let his shoulders slump.

  “See?” his wife said in triumph. “At least we got the hotel for when they do come.”

  “She’s exaggerating,” Wilfred said to Lula. “Folks come, just … not every week.”

  “Week?” Lula said.

  “The train only comes through twice a week,” Irene said. “Once going west, once going east.”

  “At least Willie still has a job,” Wilfred put in. “Train don’t go everywhere, ya know.”

  Lula could only swallow. She was truly in the back of the beyond – and where was her betrothed?

  No sooner had she thought it than a man wearing a leather apron came trotting down the street toward them. He was handsome, with brown hair graying at the temples. “Wilfred, Irene!” he called as he approached. He bounded up the mercantile steps, stopped and caught his breath. “Ma’am,” he finally said to Lula with a nod. “I’m Chase Adams, Baxter’s father. I’m sorry he couldn’t be here.”

  “What?” Irene snapped. “Why couldn’t he?”

  “He’s … had a little accident.”

  Lula’s eyebrows shot to the sky as her heart dropped to her toes. “What … kind of accident?”

  He waved a hand in the air. “Not bad – he’ll live. Don’t worry, I’ll see you to the house.”

  “But … I don’t understand. What happened?”

  Mr. Adams glanced at Wilfred and Irene before answering. “He fell off the train platform and twisted his ankle.”

  “What?!” all three said at once.

  Irene rolled her eyes. “Clumsy ox.”

  “Irene!” Wilfred said in shock.

  “That boy is always tripping over his own feet! Deny it if you can!”

  Lula gulped. Was her betrothed some sort of idiot? Oh dear …

  “That will be enough, if you don’t mind,” Mr. Adams said. “Baxter might be clumsy at times, but this was an accident, pure and simple.”

  “Is he all right?” Lula asked in a small voice.

  “He will be once Doc Drake has a look at him,” Mr. Adams replied. “Willie’s bringing him now.”

  “Well, at least we know he was waiting for you,” Wilfred said. “You’d think he’d remember you were coming on the stage, though.”

  “The stage?” Mr. Adams said in surprise. “But we sent train fare. To take the stage would mean this poor thing would have had to get off in Baker City to transfer, and that’s a rough and tiring journey. We wouldn’t do that to you, ma’am, I assure you.”

  “But that’s what happened,” Lula commented, even as she realized why it had. Fanny. There was no other explanation – she must have pocketed the difference. “I’m terribly sorry …”

  “For what?” Mr. Adams interjected. “Arriving? We’re just glad you’re here now. Baxter was so excited when Willie told him, he back up, tripped over the mailbag and fell off the platform.”

  Wilfred began to chuckle. “Bet that was a sight.”

  Mr. Adams did his best not to laugh, but Lula could see the effort.

  They heard the stage returning. Willie passed them by, coming to a stop in front of a two-story whitewashed house a few doors down the street. “That’s Doc Drake’s house,” Wilfred explained. “I’d best go lend a hand.” He headed down the steps; Mr. Adams was already striding up the street.

  Irene arched an eyebrow. “Well? Feel like meeting your intended?”

  Lula gulped and nodded – might as well get it over with. She followed the men across and up the street, Irene close behind.

  By the time she reached the stage, Mr. Adams and Willie were helping a young man out of it. He looked at her with big hazel eyes and a broad smile. “Howdy! You must be the future Mrs. Adams!” His good foot (at least she assumed it was his good one, as he was favoring the other) slipped on the step and out from under him. The only thing keeping him from falling flat on his face were the two men on either side.

  “Oh!” Lula exclaimed. She certainly hoped he hadn’t injured himself further. “Are you all right?”

  He popped up, using his father’s arm as a handhold. “Sure!”

  Mr. Adams sighed in relief. “He usually is.”

  “Usually,” Lula echoed.

  Wilfred brushed dust from her betrothed’s trousers. “Young Baxter here bounces back like a rubber ball every time. Ain’t that right, Chase?”

  Baxter’s father grimaced. “Thank Heaven he does.”

  “Put yer arm ‘round me, Bax,” Willie said. “I’ll help ya in to see the doc.”

  He did, and smiled at Lula. “Care to come along? We can get to know each other a little better while Doc tends my ankle.”

  She managed a weak giggle. “Why not?” She kept to herself another question: what have I gotten myself into?!

  Chapter 2

  Mr. Adams and Willie helped Baxter limp into Doc Drake’s house. Elsie, the doctor’s wife and assistant, ushered them down a hall to the patient room. “Bowen’s upstairs,” she said. “I’ll fetch him.”

  Lula watched her brush past and head for the front hall staircase. It was a small home with a parlor on the right of the front hall, a dining room on the left with the patient room past it. It had two beds, a desk, small table and a hutch.

  Mr. Adams and Willie eased her betrothed onto one of the beds. “I best see to my team, Chase,” Willie told Mr. Adams.<
br />
  “All right – I’ll be there in two shakes.” He looked at his son. “Will you be okay? It’s not broken, is it?”

  “Don’t rightly know, sir,” Baxter said. He glanced at Lula. “I hope not. Wouldn’t do to be on crutches on my wedding day.”

  Lula felt herself blush despite the circumstances. “I hope it’s not broken. That would be horrible.”

  “Sure would,” Baxter agreed. “Poor Pa here needs help at the livery, and I’m the only one that can give it.”

  “Livery?” Lula asked as her eyes darted between them.

  “Yes, we own the local smithy and livery,” Mr. Adams said. “Didn’t you know?”

  Her blush deepened, now from embarrassment. “I’m afraid I didn’t.”

  “She really didn’t, Pa,” Baxter said. “I wrote we had a family business, but I never said what.”

  “I see.” Mr. Adams rubbed his chin. “How many letters did the two of you exchange?”

  Lula’s eyes dropped. She hadn’t had time to write him back – Fanny did it for her, accepting his proposal and letting him know when her stage should arrive, no more. For all she knew, her stepmother had done the same with Effie and Minnie. They’d all been plunged into such an awful situation so quickly … Tears stung her eyes at the thought of her sisters, and she collapsed into the nearest chair.

  “Are you all right?” Baxter asked, trying to get off the bed. He grimaced in pain but still sat up.

  She held up a hand. “No, sit down. Your ankle …”

  “Never mind my ankle. Doc Drake’ll have it mended in no time.”

  “Not if it’s broken.” She looked at the joint in question. “It’s probably so swollen by now you’ll never get your boot off.”

  He glanced at his booted foot hovering over the floorboards. Clearly he didn’t dare put any weight on it. “I’m not worried. You don’t know Doc Drake.”

  Wilfred cleared his throat. “Maybe I’d best see what’s keeping the doc.”

  “Thanks,” Mr. Adams said. “Son, lie down.”