“That’s Mary Severson’s horse.” A scowling, red-faced man shook his fist at Sarah.
“Ja, dat vas the horse dat ran off after Mary vas shot,” A tall, fair-skinned man bobbed his blond head.
Sarah’s heart lurched. Had her uncle’s gang robbed the Medora bank instead of the one in Wyoming like they’d planned? The shouts grew louder, and the horse pranced sideways. The crowd encircled her and closed ranks. The mare reared up, and Sarah clutched the saddle horn to keep from falling.
Big hands suddenly yanked Sarah backward off the horse. The crowd swarmed her.
A tall man grabbed the bag of gold and yanked it out of the leather saddlebags. He opened it and stared. “Look! He has the stolen gold and paper money from the bank robbery in his saddlebags.”
The roar of the crowd grew louder. Sarah jerked and struggled against her captors, but she couldn’t break free. They propelled her against her will toward the middle of town.
“It’s not my gold. I’m returning it!” Sarah shouted, but her cries were drowned out by the crowd’s frenzy.
“String ’im up!”
“Get a rope.”
“Shoot him. Hanging’s too good for the likes of him.”
Three blasts of gunfire echoed off the surrounding hills, and the crowd instantly grew quiet. Sarah jerked toward the sound, her arms hurting where the two men on either side of her held her tight. This couldn’t be happening. Lord, help me.
“What’s going on?” A tall, middle-aged man with a thick moustache that curled on the edges stood on the elevated boardwalk holding a rifle. A badge was pinned to his vest.
“That man. He’s one of the robbers who shot Mary Severson and stole her horse and robbed the bank,” a deep voice behind Sarah boomed out.
“Yeah,” another man called, “he was riding Mary’s horse and had the gold in his saddlebags.”
“That right?” The deputy scanned the crowd as they yelled their affirmation in unison. “All right then, bring him up here.”
The crowd parted, and the two men holding Sarah hauled her forward.
“Let me go. I’m innocent.” She fought her captors, but they were too strong. Her heart pounded and her legs trembled. Why wouldn’t anybody listen to her pleas?
Surely the sheriff would be more reasonable. When he learned the truth, he would set her free. He had to let her go. She had to get back to her siblings before dark.
Please, Lord. Help me.
The men plunked her down on the boardwalk as the noise of the crowd rose again. One man shoved her toward the deputy sheriff so hard that she collided against his chest. Her hat plopped off her head, and her hair cascaded down around her face.
The crowd, a horde of smelly, bearded men, gaped in stunned silence.
❧
Quinn McFarland was so angry at his grandmother he could yank nails from a horseshoe with his bare teeth. The horse pulling the buckboard jerked its head and snorted, slowing its pace. Quinn relaxed his tight hold on the reins and clucked out the side of his mouth, urging the horse forward. He couldn’t leave that poor woman alone at the depot, even if he only learned he was to marry her this morning.
But how could his grandma do such a thing without talking to him? Didn’t he have any say in the matter? How does someone go about arranging a mail-order bride in the first place?
Quinn thought of how happy his twin siblings were now that they were both married. He hoped to get married one day, too, but to a woman of his own choosing, not one picked out of a catalog or a newspaper ad. And certainly not to one that his grandmother had chosen for him.
Zerelda von. . .Something, no less. He shook his head and pulled back on the reins of his temper, forcing himself to relax.
Since he moved Grandma Miles to the ranch, it seemed as if her main duty was to needle him into finding a good wife. She wanted grandchildren before she died—as if fathering a child was all he had to worry about.
“When am I supposed to find time to court a woman?” He smacked his gloved hand against his thigh. Every waking hour he’d worked hard to keep the ranch going well enough to support his family. Not that it mattered now that they’d all moved away—except Grandma.
Quinn stared at a red-tailed hawk soaring carefree in the sky. What he wouldn’t give to have that bird’s lack of cares. If only his mother hadn’t died suddenly and he hadn’t moved his grandma to the ranch, he wouldn’t be in this predicament. But family cared for family. He loved his grandma but was tired of her meddling.
He steered the buggy down the hillside to Medora. The town was tucked in a cozy valley in the heart of the Badlands. Medora made a charming picture for newcomers, but life in this part of the country was tough. It took a certain kind of man—and a much stronger woman—to be able to survive the harsh winters and sometimes scorching summers, not to mention the loneliness of ranch life. Somehow he didn’t think Miss Zerelda von. . .What’s-her-name had it in her. She’d probably take one look at the tiny town and its lack of amenities and catch the first train back East.
Red hair, hazel eyes. That’s what the letter had said. There couldn’t be too many women with that coloring arriving by train in Medora. Quinn checked his pocket watch then guided the buggy toward the post office. There was time to run a few errands before he had to be at the depot to meet the afternoon train. Maybe by then he’d know if he wanted to keep the woman or send her back on the next train.
With women being few and far between out West, maybe he should accept the bird-in-the-hand. He’d make his grandma happy and get her off his back, but he’d be saddled with a woman he hadn’t asked for and didn’t want. Could a man come to love a mail-order bride?
Maybe she was so homely she couldn’t find anyone to marry her in her hometown. Or could be she was as crotchety as a hen caught in a downpour.
He climbed out of the rig, his brain tired from arguing with himself. He hadn’t done this much thinking since. . .well, he couldn’t remember.
The June breeze whipped around him, hinting at cooler weather. A north wind like this could be a blessing in summer, but not so in the winter. He paused to take a swig from his canteen, but the lukewarm water did little to soothe his thirst. He returned his canteen to the wagon and entered the post office. “Afternoon, Mr. Simms. Got any mail for the Rocking M?”
“Good day to you, and yes, I believe I do.” The postmaster, a thin man clad in a wrinkled white shirt and black pants, nodded his head. He turned, reached into a slot, and retrieved several letters.
Quinn took the stack and nodded his thanks. Outside on the boarded walkway, he stared at the depot. Should he keep the bride or send her back on the next train?
He watched two cowpokes chatting beside their mounts. A businessman in a suit strode down the boardwalk across the street then turned into the barber shop. Not a woman was in sight. Quinn heaved a sigh. Might as well keep the bride. It wasn’t like he had many opportunities to meet women, and in two years he’d turn thirty. If he wanted to marry and start a family, the time was now. He’d just have to keep the woman. After all, it was what she wanted. Otherwise she wouldn’t be traveling so far to marry him.
Relieved to have finally made one of the biggest decisions of his life, he thumbed through the mail. His hands stopped on one particular missive from Zerelda von Hammerstein. Ah. . .that was her name. The letter was addressed to him, so he flipped it over and opened it. He just hoped she hadn’t changed her arrival date and that he hadn’t wasted half a day coming to town. He shook open the single sheet of paper.
Dear Mr. McFarland,
After much prayer and talking with my minister, I have come to the conclusion that to marry a stranger would be a drastic mistake for me. I hope you don’t take this offensively, for it is no reflection on your character. I just can’t marry a man I don’t know. Please forgive me for getting your hopes up. As a result of my decision, I will not be arriving on the June 4th train. Please accept my humblest apology for any inconvenience my change of mind has cause
d you.
I remain, sincerely yours,
Zerelda Ingrid von Hammerstein
Quinn sighed. He’d been left at the altar—no, he hadn’t even gotten that far. He shook his head, his self-esteem plummeting.
“I’ve been dumped by my own mail-order bride.” A bride he hadn’t wanted or even known about until his grandmother had informed him about her this morning at breakfast. And what about the funds his grandmother had mailed to the bride to pay for her trip here? The woman hadn’t even been courteous enough to return the money. Quinn crumpled up the missive and tossed it at the buggy. Half a day wasted on fetching a bride who hadn’t wanted him. How could her rejection sting when he’d decided to marry her just five minutes ago?
And what would he tell his grandmother? He retrieved the wadded letter and smoothed it out. He may be a tough North Dakota rancher, able to fight wolves, thieves, and rustlers without flinching, but he needed this evidence to prove to his five-foot short granny that his bride had dumped him and not the other way around.
Some man he was.
He crossed the dirt street and headed toward the mercantile to place an order. A local rancher, Theodore Roosevelt, strode out of the store and grinned at Quinn.
“Haven’t seen you in a while, McFarland. How are things going?”
Quinn shook the man’s hand. “Good as can be expected. What brings you to town, Mr. Roosevelt?”
“Call me Theodore.” He smiled and shifted the crate of supplies he was holding to his other arm. “I’m staying at my ranch—the Maltese Cross—for a while. Just came into town to get some supplies.” The man fingered his bushy moustache. “Sorry to hear about your mother’s passing.”
“Thank you. It was unexpected.” Quinn clenched his jaw. The fever that took his mother two months ago came fast and swift, surprising them all. He didn’t want to think about missing her—wondering if he’d done all he could to ease her burden after his pa had died. He gazed down the dirt street that would turn into a muddy mess if the storm clouds dumped the rain they were threatening. He turned his focus back on the rancher. “I haven’t been to town in a while. How have things been going around here?”
Theodore slid his hat back on his head. “Heard there was a bank robbery yesterday morning. Most exciting thing that’s happened in a long while around here—at least that’s what the clerk in the store said. It was unfortunate that the banker’s daughter got shot. Seems she had just ridden up to the bank to see her pa when the outlaws came running out. She was shot and fell into the street. Her horse ran off, following the outlaws’ horses.”
Quinn pursed his lips. “Sorry to hear about that. Do you know how Mary is doing?”
The big man shrugged one shoulder. “Not too good, so the clerk said.”
A rider on horseback rode into view, followed by a crowd of people. The rider, a thin boy, looked from side to side as if wondering why so many people were watching him. Quinn wondered the same thing. Normally folks in Medora went about their own business.
He studied the rider and horse. Something was familiar, but he couldn’t pinpoint what. Suddenly, he realized what was nagging him. Quinn glanced at Theodore. “That horse looks just like the mare I sold to Mary’s pa.”
“You don’t say. From the way the townsfolk are acting, I would guess it is the same animal.”
The murmuring crowd suddenly encircled the horse. The frightened mare tossed her head and whinnied. One man grabbed the reins while another man yanked the rider off the horse. Someone shouted the word “gold.” Quinn nodded good-bye to Mr. Roosevelt, stepped off the boardwalk, and moved toward the crowd. What was going on?
Amidst the loud ruckus, the rider was hoisted by each arm and carried toward the sheriff’s office. “Hang him,” someone shouted, and the crowd roared in agreement.
“Get a rope.”
“He needs to pay for what he did to Mary.”
Two men deposited the small man on the boardwalk a few feet from the deputy sheriff.
One of them shoved the captive. Stumbling forward, the man flapped his arms like a chicken with clipped wings and fought for balance as he collided with the deputy. His hat flew off, and the crowd instantly hushed as a mass of black hair cascaded down past the man’s—no, woman’s—shoulders.
Quinn clenched his jaw at the rough way the woman was being manhandled. A skinny man squeezed past her and handed the deputy sheriff a canvas sack. “Look, she’s got a bag of gold coins just like the ones that was stolen from our bank.”
The deputy eyed his prisoner and his jaw twitched. “You come with me. For your own well-being, I’m locking you up. Sheriff Jones will be back in the morning, and he can straighten out this mess.”
The woman dug in her feet. “But I’m innocent. I didn’t do anything.”
The deputy sheriff shook the heavy bag. “The evidence says otherwise.”
Two
Quinn shoved his way through the unruly crowd, trying to get closer. The frightened young woman had looked straight at him, their gazes connecting for a split second before hers moved away, as if she was searching for someone to believe her. She was in the deputy’s custody, so she was safe from the rowdy crowd for the time being. Had she taken part in yesterday’s robbery?
He’d caught the words “stolen gold,” but if the woman was guilty of a crime, why would she ride into a town she recently robbed in broad daylight? It had to be some kind of misunderstanding. Sheriff Jones would get to the bottom of it.
A gust of wind threatened to steal Quinn’s hat away, and he glanced at the sky. A dust devil swirled at the end of the street, and the air smelled of rain. The clouds had thickened and blocked out the sun that had shone so brightly earlier in the day. He ought to head back to the ranch but didn’t want to get caught in a downpour. If he’d been on horseback, he would have toughed it out, but he had the buckboard and wasn’t about to drive it in a storm. Not after what happened to his father.
A raindrop tapped against his hat. He hurried his steps and headed toward the general store to place an order for some spices and other supplies his cook and grandmother needed. He’d stay the night in town, and tomorrow morning he’d tend to some business and then ride home.
After checking into his room at the Metropolitan Hotel, he stared out his window watching the heavy raindrops pelt the street. That mail-order bride fiasco had cost him most of a day’s work, the cost of the money they sent her, and a hotel stay. His gaze traveled to the jail. He couldn’t get that young female outlaw off his mind. Would the sheriff let her go? Was she locked up in the same jail cell Quinn had been confined to after he and his sister had been mistakenly arrested for being outlaws the previous year?
He leaned his head against the cool glass as the darkness of that day crowded in on him. He’d hated that hot, clammy cell that stank like an outhouse. He’d hated not being able to see the sky or feel the warmth of the sun on his skin. Was that what the young woman was now experiencing? If she was guilty of her crimes, she deserved confinement, but if she wasn’t. . .
He shook his head and sighed. He had his own problems, mainly being how to keep his grandma from ordering another mail-order bride for him. As soon as he returned home without his bride, the meddling woman would probably start searching the ads. Then again, he could just forget to bring her a newspaper.
Quinn grinned for the first time that day.
❧
“Hey in there! Why won’t you listen to me?” Sarah shook the flat bars of the cell that reminded her of wooden lattice, but they held firm. “I’m innocent, I tell you. I didn’t rob anyone. I was returning that gold.”
She swallowed, her throat raw from yelling so much. She pulled her bodice free from her sweat-dampened chest and fanned it as she paced the tiny, dark cell, her mind racing. Had Ryan and Beth stayed at the shack when she hadn’t returned before dark? Had last night’s storm frightened them?
A moan escaped her mouth. What if they’d gone back to Uncle Harlan’s or attempted to get to
town? He could use them as hostages and threaten their lives if she didn’t return his gold. Or, what if they were lost in the Badlands?
Tears burned Sarah’s eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Had Beth been scared of the storm? Had she awakened this morning and been frightened when she realized her big sister hadn’t returned? The little girl had been so fearful that her big sister would be taken away, just like their parents had been, that she’d hardly let Sarah out of sight for the past few months. She shook the black bars of the cell again, but they didn’t give.
“God, please, help me. I have to get out of here.”
Something skittered across the floor. Sarah jumped back, her heart hammering. A mouse sniffed at something on the dirt floor then dashed under the cot—the cot she’d just spent the night on.
Her thoughts turned back to bigger problems. Why wouldn’t that deputy listen to her?
At least the sheriff was due back in town this morning. Maybe he’d be more compassionate and willing to hear her out.
The lock on the entrance to the sheriff’s office clicked and the door opened. A tall man with dark hair walked in and stared at Sarah. He leaned against the wall opposite her cell, and his silver badge, which matched his dull gray shirt, reflected in the lantern light.
“I’m Will Jones, Medora’s sheriff.”
She pressed her face against the slats, glad that he had returned. “I’m innocent. Please, you have to believe me, Sheriff Jones.”
The man held up his hand. “I’ve heard the story.”
She had to make him believe her. “I was heading into town and found the horse. I rode it to Medora, thinking maybe it had run away from here or one of the area ranches. I didn’t steal it. Only rode it so I could get to town and back to my brother and sister sooner. Please, they’re little and alone in the hills. Last night’s storm probably scared them half to death.”
“If they’re so helpless, why’d you leave them alone? Why weren’t they with you when you came into town?”
Straight For The Heart Page 2