The Most Unsuitable Courtship
The Kincaids, Book Three
Caroline Clemmons
Copyright 2013 Caroline Clemmons
Smashwords Edition
Cover Graphics
Kim Killion
www.HotDamnDesigns.com
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental.
Acknowledgments
Special thanks to my wonderful husband, Hero, for his encouragement now and in the past. Also to my lovely daughters for their help and support.
What a wonderful critique group I have—Geri Foster, Brenda Chitwood, and Carra Copelin. Couldn’t have completed this book without you three nudging me forward. Major Lesson learned: Never move in the middle of completing a book.
Thanks to my editor, Stephanie Suesan Smith, PhD at http://www.edit.stephaniesuesansmith.com
Author’s Note of Caution
The herbal remedies used in this book are from literature of the time and are by no means recommended by the author. Thanks to Beverly Davis, Beth Trissel, and Susan Horsnell for their herbal assistance. Any errors are mine.
The Most Unsuitable Courtship
Chapter One
Texas, Central Hill Country, 1888
Rena Dmitriev paused from gathering wild grapes when she heard hoof beats thundering toward her home. Visitors? No one came to call on this isolated place, and why the rush? She rose and grabbed her fruit pail and hurried down the sandy ravine toward the house.
A gunshot almost paralyzed her with fear. Chickens squawked then more shots sounded. An anguished moo from her milk cow stopped her. Her animals? Who would shoot her animals?
Only those with the worst of intentions would kill someone else’s animals. What would happen to a man like Abram? She dropped her bucket and ran as fast as her heavy skirts allowed.
Abram cried, “Pfeiffersburg!”
She halted, frozen, and her chest hitched. Her legs trembled and she needed to sit down. No, she must move. Staying here offered no refuge.
Abram and she had chosen Pfeiffersburg as their warning word. Before their families were killed and he rescued her, they’d lived in separate sections of Pfeiffersburg in Bavaria. If Abram shouted that alert, he signaled trouble had arrived too serious for her to help.
Quickly, she must follow his strict instructions for such an occasion and hide without making a sound. She crept to the ravine’s crevice where Abram had artfully concealed a tunnel. Edging her way through the musty, narrow passage, she reached the secret place he had built. He had shaped a dead tree stump so it looked as if it had been cut down from the middle of the plum thicket behind their home.
In reality, he’d hollowed the dead wood and set it firmly with small, concealed holes that offered a view of the house and yard. The stump stuck above the tunnel three feet, with a small platform beneath the dirt floor for her to stand on. At her right, a small shelf held a few provisions.
From that ledge, she grabbed the box containing a spare revolver. Her shaking fingers removed the gun, but couldn’t use it. What she saw forced her to hold back a scream. Four rough-looking men battered Abram. She held her breath until her chest threatened to explode. Almost four times her age of twenty one, her elderly husband’s frail health couldn’t withstand this treatment.
To remain quiet, she gulped down breaths. Her entire body shook while her heartbeat raced. She wanted to help Abram as he had helped her, but knew her efforts would be futile and only result in her own death. Peering from each clever hole, she surveyed the yard.
Already the barn burned. Slaughtered chickens lay strewn across the ground. Blood from the head of her lovely milk cow stained the ground red. The stench of blood mingled with smoke. Why? Why would these men kill a poor cow and chickens? Why attack poor Abram?
Rena forced herself to study the villains and memorized each horrid man’s features. So confident were they, they’d made no attempt to cover their faces. With another gasp, she realized that meant they intended to leave no one who might identify them.
Poor Abram barely lived, but still the men tortured him.
The largest man with long black hair hit her husband. “Where’s your woman?”
Abram’s gasping words were barely audible, “Pfeiffersburg! I told you, she vent to help her sister.”
A man with red hair kicked Abram’s ribs. “Why do you keep yelling that word?”
He’d grown so weak, Abram’s gasps barely reached her. “Ve are from Pfeiffersburg. I vish I vere dere now.”
The large man grabbed Abram up by his shirt and shook him. “You tell me where she’s hiding or I’ll skin you alive. Fresh laundry means she’s here somewhere. Tell me now, old man.”
Abram held fast to his claim. “I vash clothes because she iss gone. A man alone must do the chores.”
“Then why are women’s clothes hanging to dry? I think you’re lying old man.”
“Nein, I am alone. My woman is gone and I vash everything she left.”
The man she believed to be the leader peered around. “There’s a woman here or nearby. I want her.”
Another man limped from the house. “Lookee here what I found.” He held up Abram’s chest holding their savings and all that Abram salvaged from Bavaria.
No, not her dowry. Abram intended that for her fresh start when he died. Without the money, how would she live? Without her dowry, who would marry her? Not as Abram had—in name only. He intended her to find a younger man for a real marriage.
In the same man’s other hand, he held jewelry. She recognized the chain and her mother’s locket dangling from his hand—a hand with two fingers missing. That locket and a few other pieces represented all she had left of her mother.
Terror changed to anger. What right had these men to steal and kill? She and Abram hurt no one, minded their own business, and worked hard. Now these four evil men took everything, including her husband’s life.
The three-fingered man yanked a tablecloth from the clothes line and emptied the chest onto the square. He knotted the corners together then wrapped the knotted section with a rope he tied to his saddle.
Poor Abram had lasted longer than she could have imagined for a man of his years. Sobs shook her body and she pressed a hand to her mouth to prevent an outcry. With a final shot, Abram’s suffering ended. She thanked God her poor husband was free from those brutal men’s pain and torture.
The large man she believed to be the leader scanned the area. Did he sense her presence? Would her hiding place really fool him? He mounted his horse.
The four set her house on fire, pulled the clothesline down, and rode away. Once again, she’d lost everything. The quilt she’d pieced last winter. Curtains she’d sewn. Furniture she’d polished only yesterday.
What should she do? She had to bury her husband, but what if the men came back? Afraid to move, she clasped the revolver and waited in case they returned for her.
She sent up prayers for Abram’s soul and her own safety. Was it wrong to pray while she held a gun? She lost track of time, weeping to herself in great, gulping sobs. Always she had tried to please her elderly husband to repay him for rescuing her years ago. What was to become of her now with no dowry an
d no one to help her?
The sound of a horse approaching frightened her more than she thought possible. She shook uncontrollably. Had the evil man returned?
A new man rode a huge blue roan and led a second chestnut animal. He leaped from his mount with grace that still spoke of masculinity. Tall and dressed in black, he wore one of the broad hats these Texans favored. Handsome and not much older than her, he appeared fit and strong.
The man wasted no time. After a glance at Abram, the newcomer pulled his bandana over his lower face and nose. The blaze consumed the barn in loud crashes. The cabin walls and roof still stood, but greedy flames licked at the contents. Smoke billowed from the small building.
She feared this man might also be a thief, but he rushed into the house.
“Anyone here? Call out so I can find you.”
A few seconds later, he emerged coughing and gasping for air. He removed the handkerchief from his face and neck and wiped away sweat and ash. With quick motions, he retrieved a sheet from the ground and spread it near Abram’s body.
As if Abram weighed nothing, the large man laid her husband on the linen. Using the care one saved for a living infant, he tucked Abram into the sheet. Och, surely such a gentle, considerate man could not be bad.
The stranger stood and looked where she hid. “You can come out now.” He opened his jacket to display a badge on his waistcoat. “I’m a Federal Marshall chasing the men who did this. My name is Storm Kincaid.”
Slowly, she tipped back the stump’s top. She parted the thorny plum stems and emerged from the dense thicket that tugged at her skirts. Still clasping the Colt in one hand, with the other she swiped at the tears streaming down her face.
“He is dead, ja?”
When the lawman looked up, she saw his eyes were an unusual shade of blue, almost purple. “Yes, ma’am.” He stared at her for a moment then at the thicket. “That’s quite a hiding place.”
She glanced back at the secret shelter before she met his gaze. “But you knew I was there.”
He shrugged. “One of my odd talents. Is that where you were when all this happened?”
“Ja . . . yes. Always Abram prepared for such a time. Because he was old, he thought others would rob us.”
“Wise man. He your grandfather?”
“No. Meine mann. My husband.”
The lawman stared and she thought he would comment on the great age difference. With another shrug, he moved. “I’ll get a shovel and bury him.”
She gestured to the barn. “Iss burned.”
“I have a camp shovel.” With no loss of motion, he removed his jacket and waistcoat and laid them across his saddle. He opened his saddlebag and retrieved a small folding shovel then strode to Abram’s body. “Where do you want him buried?”
“Machs nicht mit mir.” She realized she’d answered in her native German tongue. “It matters not to me.” Abram had insisted she practice English each evening. But speaking to this stranger was very different from talking to Abram inside their cozy little house.
“If you have no preference, I’ll choose the edge of the garden where the ground is not so hard.” He set to work digging. He barely paused to peer over his shoulder. “Ma’am, this will take a while. You’d better gather whatever clothes you find. You can’t stay here.”
“Ja, I vill.” She shook her head. “I will. I feared the bad men would return.” She looked at the small house that had been her home for over three years. Neither she nor Abram had many possessions. But why did those men have to destroy everything?
She retrieved the box that had held their savings and clutched it to her. The fine workmanship spoke of care and age. How long had it been in Abram’s family? She could salvage this one thing for him. Keep it forever in his memory.
The lawman raised his head to gaze at her. “You have a horse?”
“They took them.” She bent to retrieve the laundry. “Ve…We had two and a mule. And a wagon that by now is no more.”
Although frozen inside, she forced herself to gather and fold her clothes. When she picked up a pair of her husband’s trousers, anger melted the ice around her heart. Abram had not been a true husband, but he had taken care of her as well as he could. And hadn’t he planned for her future?
He was kind and a good man who deserved a better life than the one he’d lived. And he ought to have met a gentle death instead of the terrible one those men created. Who besides her would mourn him?
Who would even know of his passing?
An idea struck her to avenge him and recover her dowry and locket. She stepped around the corner of the smoldering cabin and stripped off her brown muslin skirt and petticoats. After folding them neatly, she pulled Abram’s trousers up over her drawers and fastened them.
Poor Abram had been so wiry his britches fit her if she rolled up the legs. After taking a few steps, she realized the freedom pants allowed. She might shorten them later to wear when she required escape from skirts’ confinement.
Rena hoisted the Colt and wondered if she should stick it into her waist as she’d seen men do or try to carry it in the britches pocket. When she tried the pocket, the gun was too large and fell out. She put the bullets into her pocket, and stuffed the gun into her waistband.
Using a pillow case as a carrier, she shoved in her clothing plus another pair of her husband’s trousers—all he’d owned except the pair he now wore for burial. She picked up their other pillowcase and filled it also. Although she hadn’t many clothes, her skirts and petticoats required a lot of space.
The lawman’s strangely-colored eyes widened, but he didn’t mention her strange attire. “If you’re ready, we can say a few words over him.”
“He was Jewish, so I think it must be from the Torah.”
“Don’t reckon I know a proper funeral passage from those books. How about the Twenty-third Psalm? That’s still the Old Testament.”
“Ja, das ist gut. That is good. He would like that I think.” She set both bags of clothes on the ground beside the chest and stood by the marshal.
He brushed his hands together to rid them of dirt. “What’s his name?”
“Abram Dmitriev. I am Renata, but he called me Rena.”
After donning and straightening his waistcoat he slid his arms into his jacket. He squared his wide shoulders. “Mrs. Dmitriev, if you’re ready, I’ll recite the Psalm.”
The marshal’s voice resonated with respect and authority. She didn’t know why, but the deep timbre reassured her. His actions indicated him as an honorable man. But was he?
Tears streamed down her face for all the suffering her husband had endured, both here and before they’d come to Texas. Those men would pay. She’d see to it. Abram had protected her many times. Now she would avenge him and recover her money and locket.
Often she had wondered what it would be like to have a real husband, a man who slept with her as a man does his wife. Foolish notions for a woman who had been bound to a man almost four times her age. She and Abram never even held hands.
Shame on her. Had not Abram always been kind and thoughtful? Had he not taught her English and saved her a dowry for when he died? Even though those men had stolen the savings, Abram’s efforts could not be overlooked. Gratitude to the caring man did not eliminate her longing for more.
When this man who called himself Storm Kincaid had filled the grave, he strode over and placed his shovel back into his saddlebag. After he secured the thongs, he picked up one of the stones that edged her flower bed.
“Couldn’t dig deep enough with that small shovel. Better weight down the grave to keep out the coyotes and other varmints.”
She’d worked so hard to build that border and grow her flowers. What did it matter? She bent to retrieve a large rock, hoping nothing lurked underneath. “I vill help.”
Working swiftly, he moved three rocks for each of hers. “Ma’am, you have folks nearby?”
Desolation swept through her when she considered his question. “I have no one
. Not here or anywhere else. No one in world.”
He led his horse toward her. “Then you come with me to the nearest town. My horse Thunder will let you ride him if I tell him to do so. You can ride him and I’ll ride bareback.”
“He is very large, but I can do this.” She mounted his gray horse with his help.
He tied her pillow cases to the pommel and adjusted the stirrups. He wrapped the box in a shirt and made a sling of the sleeves. “This should protect and keep it on the saddle until we reach the next town.”
She wiped tears from her face and determination straightened her spine. “But I am not staying in the town.”
She expected him to guide the unsaddled brown horse to a raised place where he could mount, as Abram would have had to do.
Instead, the stranger vaulted onto the mare with apparent ease. “Where will you go then?”
“After those men.” She clicked the reins and headed for the road.
He caught up with her. “Don’t be careless. Do you know what they would do to you if they could?”
She sent him a stony stare. “Ja, and until they are killed, they will do to others whatever they wish. They must be stopped.”
“Ma’am, that’s my job and I’ll see they’re captured and sent to jail. You wait in town where you’ll be safe.”
“And what would I do? They stole my money, my future. I have nothing but a few clothes. What man will marry me with no dowry? How will I pay for my food and lodging? Nein, I will go after them.”
“You know how dangerous these men are. I can’t let you go after them.”
“Let me?” She glared at this man who acted as if he governed her. “Who are you to say what I do?” Rena shook her head. “I am going after them. If you will not let me ride with you, I will go alone.”
“You’re grief-stricken and angry. Listen to reason. I’ll catch them and return your money to you.”
“You were kind to bury poor Abram, Marshal Kincaid. But that does not mean you would not keep my dowry and I would never see it again.”
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