The Goose
Twelve Days of Mail-Order Brides, The Sixth Day
Peggy L Henderson
Copyright © 2017 by Peggy L Henderson
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Introduction
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
Introduction
And on the Sixth Day of Christmas…
After a disfiguring accident leaves her on the run, Molly Norris is seeking a fresh start far away from home. Traveling with her only companion, an overly protective goose, she dreams of having a life of adventure with a new husband. When the town of Noelle does not live up to its description, she can only hope everything else about her journey is true.
Having a horse ranch in the Colorado mountains provides a comfortable life of solitude for Storm Thornton. Removing himself from society seems easier than facing the constant judgment of others due to his mixed heritage. When he is forced to choose between a life alone or one with a total stranger, hiding behind the walls he’s built around his heart seems like his best option.
Both Molly and Storm feel an immediate, unexplainable attraction to one another, but what they see on the surface may not be everything it appears. Will their scars from the past – and that darned goose – be enough to keep them from discovering a deeper love?
Prologue
Noelle, Colorado, September 1876
“I’m tellin’ ya, if ya were a bit more sociable, ya might sell a few more horses.”
Ezra Thornton glared across the room, gripping his hat between his hands. The dark-haired man leaning into the hearth slowly straightened, and glanced over his shoulder. Finally, he turned to fully face Ezra. The table and chairs between them weren’t much of a barrier by the look in the young man’s eyes. Good thing Storm was Ezra’s grandson. The boy could stare a man to his knees with those piercing bluish-gray eyes that reflected his name.
“I told you before, Kunu . . . Grandpa, I’m not interested in being sociable. Why are you trying to drag me into town today?”
Ezra shifted weight, but took a tentative step forward. “Remember last month, when I told you about Reverend Hammond’s idea to bring women to the town to make it more respectable?”
Storm narrowed his eyes. His stare darkened even more with a suspicious gleam.
“I remember, and I’ve heard all the foolish talk about how they think a passel of women is going to make the railroad come through here. What a bunch of fools. The town is dying because the mine isn’t producing as expected. Folks should think about moving on.”
“I know you don’t like the mine, Storm, and for good reason. But if folks leave and Noelle turns into a ghost town, where does that leave us?”
Storm scoffed and moved to the counter that lined most of the wall to the left of the hearth. He reached for two cups, then poured coffee. Setting one on the table, he looked up.
“It leaves us living here in peace and quiet. I have buyers for the horses in other towns.” He leaned his hip against the counter. “Yeah, it means traveling further, but that don’t matter to me. Folks in Denver pay good money for well-bred and well-trained saddle stock.”
Ezra frowned and shook his head. He slurped from the cup Storm offered. “Sometimes I wonder if you wouldn’t be happier riding off and disappearing into the mountains, like Zeke Kinnison does, or like my brother, Buck. He’s off somewhere in Montana Territory, and no one ever sees or hears from him but once or twice a year.”
“Believe me, I’ve thought about it. I bet both of them are happy.”
“If you’ve thought about it, why are you still here?” Ezra challenged his grandson with a glare.
The darkness left Storm’s eyes until they softened. Ezra blinked. For a split second, he saw his daughter’s eyes staring back at him. He shook his head, then dropped his gaze and glanced into his coffee mug. She’d been gone for a long time, twenty-six years to be exact, but every now and then Storm was a painful reminder of what he’d lost. While Storm mostly favored his Shoshone father, his blue eyes were those of his mother, Ezra’s daughter.
Ezra set the mug on the table. There was no answer forthcoming to his question, but Storm hadn’t needed to say anything. All his life, the boy had stood by his side, promising Ezra he’d take care of him the way Ezra had looked after Storm since his birth. That promise had cost his grandson a lot, and it was time Storm found some happiness in his life. While he swore up and down that the horses were all he needed, a man couldn’t go through life all alone. What Storm needed was a good woman by his side.
Ezra plopped his hat on his head. “Well, if you change your mind, I’ll be in the barn saddling up to head into town. Think I’ll visit old Gus and have a beer with him at the Golden Nugget.”
Storm tilted his head. “It’s a bit early to drink, don’t you think?”
Ezra chuckled. “Maybe, but that’s never stopped me and Gus. You’re welcome to join us.”
“You know I only drink if there’s a damn good reason for it.”
“Suit yourself. I’ll be back before dark.”
“There’s a flock of Canada geese on the pond over the hill,” Storm called after him. “While you’re in town, maybe I’ll try and shoot one for supper.”
Ezra nodded. His mouth watered at the thought. Goose sounded good. He pulled open the door and stepped onto the porch, then glanced over his shoulder at the cabin as he made his way to the barn.
This place was too big for him and Storm. Why they’d built such a large cabin a couple of years ago was beyond his comprehension. What it needed was a woman and a few kids. Ezra smiled and nodded. Yes, a few kids he could bounce on his lap while he was still able was exactly what the place – and Storm – needed.
A short while later, he rode his horse into town. The Golden Nugget saloon sounded as if it was busier than usual already. Ezra stopped his horse in the middle of the street, glanced at the saloon, then up the road and across the river. Nudging his mount along at a fast walk, he crossed the bridge over the Cayuga River and headed for the Post and Freight. He nodded a greeting at Woody Burnside, the muleskinner, who seemed to be in a hurry as he headed toward the saloon.
A rhythmic pounding noise grew louder. It sounded like drums coming from the stamp mill. Maybe Storm did have the right idea. Living a couple miles outside of town in a peaceful and secluded little valley did have its upsides.
Ezra reined his horse to a stop in front of the Post. After looping the reins around the hitching rail, he entered the plain-looking log building. He stopped at the long partition and ran his hand over the smooth, highly polished counter, glancing around the deserted room.
“Gus, where are ya, ya old coot?” Had his old friend already gone to the saloon with his grandson, Jack? Doubtful, since the door wasn’t locked.
As if by magic, Gus Peregrine’s head popped up from behind the counter.
“Musta misplaced my . . . ah, Ezra. Good of you to stop by.” Gus’ bright smile was partially concealed behind a bush of red hair that hung in a long beard to his chest. He removed his cap and scratched his head, then looked around again, as if he’d lost something.
“Never mind what you misplaced this time, Gus. We need to get over to the
Golden Nugget.”
Gus glanced at him. “I’d be glad to join you fer a drink. I jes’ don’t know where Jack’s gone off to again.” He shook his head. “I swear, that grandson of mine keeps wandering off an’ I gotta go looking fer him all the time to keep him out of trouble.”
Ezra rolled his eyes. It was more likely the other way around. Gus kept wandering off, and he was getting more absent-minded all the time.
“He’s probably already at the saloon. Let’s go, or we’ll be late.”
“I can’t seem to find that gun belt I made for you, Ezra. I’ll have to give it to you later.”
Ezra narrowed his eyes on his friend. He held out a walking stick that was propped against the counter to Gus while studying him. Not that Gus needed the stick, but his grandson insisted he use it. Gus conveniently tended to forget it most of the time.
He and Gus were about the same age. They were both fit as fiddles, except Gus tended to forget things more and more lately. Ezra frowned. Was he getting to be as absent-minded as his friend? Neither Storm nor anyone else had ever mentioned it if he was.
“’Course ya can’t find it, since I never asked ya ta make me a gun belt.” Ezra chuckled. “What would I be doin’ with a gun belt?”
Gus nodded. “Right you are, Ezra. Gotta leave the shooting to Sheriff Draven and the younger folks.”
Ezra fell in step beside Gus as they made their way across the bridge to the saloon. Inside, men spoke in loud and heated voices over one another so that no one could understand what was going on. Ezra entered ahead of Gus. His eyes instantly fell on Chase Hammond, the preacher, who stood in front of the crowd, trying to calm everyone down.
“Twelve! Ya mean there ain’t gonna be enough?” Silas Powell yelled louder than everyone else.
“Does that mean we’re gonna have to share?” someone else chimed in.
Ezra made his way through the crowd, grabbing Gus’ arm to hurry him along. He found two seats at a table near the back of the room. He honed his ear to listen in on what was going on. A month ago, the reverend, Chase Hammond, had presented the town with the idea of mail-order brides to make Noelle look more respectable, in order for the railroad to run a line through town. Now he was saying something about not enough brides coming for all the men who’d expressed an interest, and that they’d have to draw straws. He frowned. That might complicate matters.
“How’s drawin’ straws fair?” someone shouted.
“It’s as fair as it’s gonna be.” Jack, Gus’ grandson, called out to shush the other man. “Seamus, do you have a broom?”
“That’s my boy.” Gus beamed and nodded. “You tell em’, Jack.”
Heads turned in their direction while the reverend counted the men in attendance. Ezra stood and pointed a finger at his chest to let Hammond know to count him in, too. The reverend frowned momentarily. He glanced toward the ceiling, then smiled at Ezra and nodded.
“We’ll need twenty-four straws,” Chase said, turning to Jack. Seamus Malone, the bartender, appeared from the backroom holding a broom.
Ezra stepped forward when it was time to draw straws. He held his tight, not looking at it as instructed. Gus moved to follow him, but was stopped by Jack.
“Oh no, you don’t, Grandpa.” Jack gave his grandfather an indulgent stare. Around them, men chuckled and laughed.
“I was only trying to keep Ezra here from making a fool of himself. The old geezer should leave the marrying to you young folks,” Gus defended.
Ezra ignored his friend’s comment and held tight to the straw he’d drawn.
“Everyone show your straws,” Chase called.
Everyone talked in unison as the men revealed what they held in their hands. Some cursed, while others whooped and hollered with joy as they compared straws with one another.
“Let’s see yours, Ezra.” One of the miners glanced eagerly at Ezra’s straw. His eyes widened. “Ya got a short straw. That ain’t fair. Ya’r too old fer a bride.”
Ezra stood his ground. His stare was nowhere near as intimidating as Storm’s, but he gave it his best shot. “I drew fair and square, jes’ like the rest of ya.”
Behind him, Reverend Hammond was arguing about something with Percival Penworthy, who ran the land office in town. It was difficult to hear the conversation and what was being said, especially since Gus walked up to him at that moment and handed him a tall mug of beer with foam dripping down the sides.
“I’m doing the right thing for Storm,” Ezra said, taking a long gulp.
Gus looked at him. “A storm?” He shook his head. “It don’t look like it’s gonna storm. Weather’s been nice lately.”
Ezra glanced at the ceiling. “Not a storm, ya old geezer . . . Storm, my grandson. I’m doing the right thing.”
Now that he’d done it, dread started creeping down Ezra’s spine. How was he going to break the news to Storm? The boy was liable to kill someone over the news, and that someone would probably be him. Gus tapped him on the shoulder and leaned toward him as if Ezra was hard of hearing.
“You know, I think with all this talk of brides and folks getting married, you oughta talk to your grandson. He oughta think about getting hisself a wife, like my Jack is doing.”
Ezra shook his head, and held his beer mug to his mouth. He smacked his lips after the bitter brew slid down his throat, then smiled at Gus. “Right ya are, my old friend. Right ya are.”
Behind them, Chase Hammond was going on about needing letters for the brides from the lucky grooms by tomorrow. Ezra glanced at Gus. “Got any paper and pen at that post office of yours, Gus? I gotta write a letter, and you’re gonna forget all about this in my grandson’s presence, ya hear?”
Gus’ eyes sparkled as he smiled mischievously. “Forget what?”
“That’s exactly right.” Ezra laughed and slapped Gus on the back, then led his old friend out of the saloon.
Chapter 1
Christmas Eve, December 24, 1876
“What are you doing, Kunu?”
Storm Thornton stopped in his tracks when he opened the door to his cabin. A cold breeze, along with his canine companion, followed him inside, making the flames from the fire in the main room’s hearth flicker wildly and cast dancing shadows on the walls. Wolf trotted across the room and curled up on his blanket by the hearth.
“Close the blasted door before you let out all the warm air.” Ezra Thornton rose slowly from kneeling on the floor, a dripping wet rag in his hand. “And don’t let that darned fleabag drag mud across my clean floor.”
With his gaze fixed on his grandfather, Storm stomped the mud from his boots, peeled off his gloves, and rubbed his icy hands together. The morning chores were done. Good thing, too, since it looked like they were in for some nasty weather later today.
His grandfather, or Kunu in his father’s tongue, groaned as he straightened. He tossed the rag into a bucket, making dirty water slosh out the sides. Storm’s eyes swept across the living room. He sniffed the air. The usual smells of coffee brewing and saddle leather mingled with the fragrant scent of evergreens.
Storm’s brows rose. Sure enough, a few freshly cut spruce boughs lay on the table on the far side of the room, making the place smell like a walk in the woods. The old man was cleaning the cabin?
“Thought the place needed a little spiffing up, don’t ya think?” Ezra Thornton stood with his hand pressed to his lower back. “It’s been ages since anyone’s cleaned in here. Come to think of it, I don’t think we’ve ever cleaned the place in the three years since we built it.”
Storm narrowed his eyes. He walked over to the stove and poured himself a cup of coffee.
“Are you feeling all right, Kunu? What’s the occasion for cleaning today? Seems a bit foolish in winter, don’t you think?”
Ezra rubbed at his unshaven chin. “Well, on account that it’s Christmas Eve, might be nice to have a clean home for a change.” He glared at the spot where mud had sprayed all over the floor when Storm had walked in.
Storm shook his head and scoffed. Christmas? What did that matter to him? It was a day like any other.
“Have you taken leave of your senses, Kunu, or have you been on an early-morning drinking binge?”
Storm pulled out a chair and sat at the table. He spied Kunu’s coffee mug on the table and raised it to his nose. It didn’t smell as if whiskey had been added. He set it back down, then took a sip of his coffee while keeping his eyes on his grandfather. The old man had seemed all right last night, but Ezra Thornton was getting on in years, as hard as it was to think about.
“Your mother, rest her soul, enjoyed Christmas.” Ezra pulled up a chair across from him, and moved the cut evergreens to the side. “It’s a tradition she learned from your grandmother. Coming from the old country, my Gerlinde loved the Yule season, and I think it’s about time we bring the tradition back.”
Storm cocked his head to look more closely at his grandfather. The old man’s eyes actually watered slightly. Storm cursed under his breath. Talk of Ezra’s wife and daughter always led to him moping and reminiscing.
Storm had only vague memories of his grandmother. Shadows of a smiling, friendly woman who’d made him laugh as a little boy passed through his mind. She’d baked good pies, too.
She’d passed on when he’d been about five years old, and since his mother had died giving birth to him, he’d only known her through his grandfather’s stories. He sighed and pressed his lips together. If it meant this much to his grandfather for the place to be cleaned up for one day out of the year, then he might as well do his part to help. He glanced at the mud he’d tracked into the house.
The Goose_The Sixth Day Page 1