The Goose_The Sixth Day

by Peggy L Henderson

  “What the hell?” he mumbled.

  His eyes drifted to the Christmas tree, then back to the women standing around in obvious discomfort, then to the woman with the goose. This day couldn’t get any stranger. After Kunu’s confession, he should have left and hightailed it back to his ranch rather than coming to the Golden Nugget and getting drunk. Someone else could marry the woman his grandfather had written a letter to on his behalf.

  He cursed under his breath, and for once, he cursed his grandfather for putting him in this position in the first place. It wasn’t too late to leave. He shook his head. Why wasn’t he getting up?

  His curiosity – or maybe it was the whiskey – kept him rooted to his seat at the bar. Keeping his head down, he studied the woman holding the goose. Why would she, along with a bunch of other women, travel high into the Rockies in the middle of winter, to a town as rough and uncivilized as Noelle, and agree to marry a stranger? Were they all that desperate that this was their only choice?

  He raised his head and pushed his hat back on his head to see better. The goose squirmed in the girl’s embrace, trying to get free, as she struggled to keep it concealed. A normal gander would have pecked her eyes out by now, but this one didn’t seem interested in attacking her, only the people standing around her.

  Despite her struggles with the fowl, she smiled at her companions.

  “You can’t hide him forever, Molly,” a dark-haired woman standing next to her said.

  Molly.

  Storm caught the name. His eyes fixed on her, assessing her from top to bottom. She wasn’t short, but she wasn’t tall, either. The top of her head would probably reach his nose.

  Strands of her hair caught in the light from the lanterns in the room, matching the color of the whiskey that remained in the bottle on the bar. Her eyes weren’t as mousy and scared-looking as some of the other women standing far enough away from her to avoid the gander’s beak. No, her eyes were expressive and filled with a confident gleam.

  Storm looked away. What was he thinking, gawking at her like that? Out of all the women standing there, she was the one who caught his eye. He shook his head and reached for the whiskey bottle, pouring himself another drink with an unsteady hand. He downed the strong liquid in one eager gulp.

  He wasn’t getting married, not to any of those women, and certainly not to the one holding the goose. Unlike some of the others, she didn’t seem afraid of standing in a saloon full of men. There were several women in the bunch who were far better looking, but something about the proud and almost defiant way Molly held her head had definitely caught his attention.

  No, you fool. It was the goose that caught your attention.

  Another shot of whiskey oughta help to knock some sense back into his head. He was about to hold the refilled glass to his lips when his eyes once again had a mind of their own and drifted to where Molly stood.

  He coughed, and nearly spilled the drink in his hand. The woman was staring right back at him. Something jolted in his gut, something as strong as a horse’s kick to his belly, as their eyes met across the room. She didn’t look away. He didn’t move, the whiskey glass still in his hand and inches from his lips.

  “I think you’ve had about enough to drink for one day, don’t you think? It’s probably more than you’ve had all year.”

  Storm cursed and set the glass on the counter before he spilled it all over himself. Kunu came up beside him, settling a heavy hand on his shoulder.

  “I don’t think I’ve had quite enough, yet,” he grumbled in reply.

  He directed his gaze back toward the women again – toward the only woman who had remotely caught his attention. She was no longer looking at him, but filed out of the building with the rest of the bunch. Storm singled her out immediately, even with all their backs turned. It wasn’t that difficult. Her goose gave her away, sticking its beak out from under her cloak. Even without the nasty beast, he would have recognized her. The way she’d looked at him for those few fleeting seconds - before Kunu interrupted - had grabbed hold of his mind and wouldn’t let go.

  “You gonna just sit there, Storm? Do you know where those women are going?”

  Storm glanced up at his grandfather. “Hopefully back to where they came from. Why should I care?” he growled. “Don’t look like any of the other men seem all that eager to meet their future wives.” He nodded toward the men who stood around, watching the women leave.

  “They’re all heading for the whorehouse to bunk for the night,” Ezra continued. “That woman leading the bunch demanded accommodations for the ladies for tonight, and you know the only fancy place in this town is the Cat House. We can’t let your future wife stay in that place.”

  Storm reached for the bottle again. He smirked. “My future wife?” he echoed with disdain. “You’re the one who drew a straw for her. You wrote her a letter. Maybe you oughta be the one who marries her.”

  A twinge of guilt rushed through him like a cold mountain stream, chasing away the warm sensation he’d felt moments ago when he’d stared at the girl with the goose. She was plain-looking at first glance. Definitely not as eye-catching as some of the others, but damn if he could figure out the reason why she’d held his attention, even from across the room. She’d had some kind of line on her face, from her eye to her lip. Maybe that goose had scratched her or bitten her or something. Someone oughta just wring the thing’s neck and skewer it over the fire.

  Ezra made an angry noise next to him, something that combined a snort and a growl, a clear indication that he wasn’t at all happy with Storm’s behavior. It was a familiar sound from when he was growing up.

  This time, however, it wasn’t Kunu who had a right to be upset. It was Storm’s turn. What right did his grandfather have to direct his life for him by forcing him to marry some woman he’d never met? Maybe it was the whiskey in him that fueled his annoyance with his grandfather, but at the moment, it didn’t matter.

  He glared at the old man who stood, unmoving, next to him. He blinked several times to bring Kunu back into focus, but it was a futile attempt. Along with his head spinning, his vision was blurred, and the voices around him sounded like distant echoes.

  “I told you, I’m not getting married.”

  “All I’m asking is that you give it some thought. Molly Norris came all this way with the hopes of getting married here today. She’s looking for a new life, and she sounded like a nice gal in the letter she wrote back.”

  Storm’s eyes raised to Kunu. Molly Norris? Something jolted in his chest, as if the whiskey had reignited his heart. He blinked again, and squinted back to where the women had stood moments ago. He straightened in his seat. Molly Norris. Was she the woman with the goose? The one who’d piqued his interest. He shook his head. So what if he’d noticed her? He wasn’t getting married and that was that.

  Fueled by the whiskey in his veins, he glanced back at his grandfather, and smirked. “If that’s the case, it looks like I won’t need to get you that goose for Christmas after all, Kunu. My intended was kind enough to bring one with her. Guess she wants to make a good first impression and cook your Christmas supper for you.”

  Kunu frowned and scrunched his lips to show his displeasure at the snide comment. He sighed, but didn’t give up.

  “You’re making a poor first impression. And in your drunken condition, you’re not going to introduce yourself to the lady, at least not today.”

  “Nope.” Storm smiled and picked up the bottle to pour another drink.

  “Seamus, get that damn bottle of whiskey out of my grandson’s sights,” Ezra barked. The bartender huffed, glancing from Ezra to Storm, then took the bottle.

  Ezra snatched the glass out of Storm’s hand before he could bring it to his lips. The contents spilled all over Storm’s leather britches. He leapt off the barstool, swaying on his feet. The room in front of him began to spin, and he blinked to get rid of the sensation. Then he glared at his grandfather.

  “I’m heading home.” Stor
m moved to step away from the bar.

  Ezra grabbed his arm. “You’re in no condition to go home for the night.” Directing his attention to the barkeeper, he called, “Seamus, we need a room for tonight. With the weather outside the way it is, and my grandson’s mood, it’s best he sleeps it off before we head home.”

  The bartender nodded, smiling smugly. “And before he meets the pretty lass he’s going ta marry.” Seamus glanced from Ezra to Storm, then scurried away when Storm glared at him. “Take room three,” he murmured to Kunu. “It’s a couple of doors down from where Chase Hammond sleeps.”

  Storm pulled away from his grandfather’s hold and staggered while trying to regain his balance. His mind became more muddled with each second he stood there, and the room continued to spin. Loud voices around him sounded as if they came from a tunnel.

  “I have horses to take care of in the morning. And what about the team standing outside?” he slurred.

  “I already took care of them,” Kunu answered. “They’re at the livery, along with your dog. The horses at home have plenty of hay and water to get them through the night and another day, if need be.” He shoved Storm toward the stairs leading to the upstairs rooms. “You get yourself up there and sleep it off. You’re drunk. If you don’t do as I tell ya, I’ll have Sheriff Draven put ya in jail for the night.”

  Chapter 4

  The First Day of Christmas, December 25, 1876

  Molly sat in the kitchen of the fancy whorehouse where she and the rest of the brides had stayed the night. The building had been vacated, for the most part, by the regular occupants and their . . . clients shortly before Reverend Hammond had led Mrs. Walters and the brides here, saying these were the best accommodations the town had to offer. Several men, barely dressed, had scurried out of the building, and a few scantily clad ladies lingered in the hallways. It had quickly become obvious that the establishment was nothing more than a cathouse.

  Understandably, Mrs. Walters had been appalled, as had many of Molly’s traveling companions, but the reverend had told her that there were no other suitable accommodations in Noelle. Mrs. Walters wasn’t the only one who’d been upset. The madam and her working ladies hadn’t been too pleased last night that they’d been ordered to vacate their home.

  Apparently, the madam of this whorehouse had been ordered to clear the establishment by the sheriff at the last minute to make room for the brides. Reverend Hammond had been under the assumption that all brides would be married on the spot upon their arrival.

  Clearly, it hadn’t worked out that way, and he and Mrs. Walters had been in a heated argument over their reception. Mrs. Walters had been angry over the reverend’s misrepresentation of the town. No. Angry wasn’t the correct term. She’d been downright livid, and had demanded decent accommodations for the brides before any of them would agree to marry. One could almost feel sorry for Reverend Hammond. He’d evidently been ready to perform several weddings on Christmas Eve, but instead had to send Mrs. Walters and the brides to a den of promiscuity.

  Molly smiled. It really didn’t matter. She’d slept in much worse places than a fancy whorehouse before. It was certainly better than staying at the saloon, without rooms or beds, and definitely better than if they’d ended up sleeping out in the cold. She’d done that plenty of times, too. For a whorehouse, this was one of the nicest places she’d ever seen, not that she’d ever stepped foot inside a whorehouse before.

  Reverend Chase Hammond had been less than truthful with Mrs. Walters when he’d written to her about bringing brides to Noelle. This town was nothing like what he’d described, and neither were the prospective grooms.

  Molly sighed. That included her intended, Storm Thornton. He hadn’t even bothered to show up and meet her when they’d arrived yesterday. There hadn’t been anyone for her to ask about him, either. After the long journey, everyone was wet and cold, and tired.

  Daniel waddled around next to her, eagerly eating the seeds and pieces of bread she was feeding him. The gander wiggled his tail and made soft goose noises. At her feet was a large bowl of water, and the goose dropped the bread and grains into the liquid, then slurped them up again, sticking his beak in the bowl as deep as it would go.

  “I know you need to get out and go for a swim, and to forage for some other kind of food. It’s been a long time since you’ve even seen a pond. It’s no wonder you’ve been so cantankerous lately.”

  Molly patted the gander’s head and ran her hand down his slender neck. Her forehead scrunched as she sat there, thinking about the journey to Noelle. She shook her head at the strange turn of events. Along with several of the other women, she’d been under the impression that she’d already be married by now. Instead, many of them were sitting in this whorehouse, waiting to meet their prospective grooms or wondering what to do.

  One of the working ladies, a girl named Pearl, had stayed behind last night, offering her help to Mrs. Walters and the other women. She’d helped them all get settled and had mingled with them at breakfast this morning.

  “A goose is a strange pet,” Pearl had said earlier, a wide smile on her face. When Daniel had let out a warning honk and had flapped his wings, she’d wisely kept her distance.

  “He certainly is,” Molly had replied with a laugh. “But we sort of stumbled across each other, and now we take care of one another.”

  “Which one’s the lucky groom who gets to marry you?” Pearl’s question had been friendly, if curious.

  “A rancher . . . Storm Thornton. A ranch is the perfect place for Daniel.” Molly had dropped eye contact with the soiled dove. She hadn’t even met the man she was supposed to marry, yet. Maybe it wasn’t so perfect after all. He hadn’t come to call or find out about her after they’d been brought to La Maison des Chats, or whatever this place was called.

  Molly had learned a little French from some trappers she and her father had encountered over the years, but something was off about the name of this establishment. If Madame Bonheur was truly a French woman, her grammar wasn’t very good. Not that it mattered. It was highly doubtful any of the men in this town had good grammar, spoke French, or cared what the whorehouse was called.

  Rather than worry about the name of a whorehouse, her thoughts went back to her intended husband. What if he’d changed his mind? Molly had dismissed the thought. The blizzard yesterday had, no doubt, prevented him from coming into town. He did live on a ranch, after all, and getting out in that kind of weather had probably been too dangerous. Surely, he’d come by today and ask to meet her. The thought brought little comfort.

  “Storm?” Pearl had laughed softly when Molly had told her the name of her groom. “I didn’t think he was the marrying kind.”

  Molly had raised her head. There was a knowing smile on the whore’s face. How did she know whether Mr. Thornton was the marrying kind or not? Her earlier fears came back that he had changed his mind and didn’t want her, after all. Molly’s eyes widened and her cheeks turned red. Did Pearl have first-hand knowledge about him? Had they conducted . . . business together?

  She shook her head. She wasn’t going to ask. It was really none of her concern what her future husband had done in the past or what sort of company he kept.

  As long as he doesn’t continue to frequent this establishment once we’re married.

  “You know him? What can you tell me about him?” The questions had spilled out before Molly had been able to keep the words in.

  Pearl’s soft smile widened. “Well, he’s handsome as can be with his dark looks, quiet, keeps mostly to himself. We really don’t see him much in town.”

  Molly had clamped her mouth shut to keep from asking Pearl to elaborate. She’d forced a smile and looked away.

  Handsome as can be with his dark looks.

  The description brought on the image of a man Molly had seen at the saloon the night before. Dark and handsome. He’d sat at the bar, drink in hand, and stared directly at her. Molly’s eyes had connected with his from across the room,
and while she’d wrestled with keeping Daniel firmly in her arms, she hadn’t been able to look away.

  Something about the way he’d looked at her with eyes that were both feral and compelling, had drawn and kept her attention. From the distance that separated them, he’d looked like an Indian, or at least a man of mixed blood.

  She’d immediately thought of Dani, and how her friend had been smitten with a man of mixed blood from the moment she’d first set eyes on him. Molly had forced her eyes away. Love at first sight was a ridiculous notion. After all, she was here to marry another man. If she was going to be smitten with anyone, it would be her future husband.

  Molly sighed. It was already well past the noon hour. She laughed and shook her head. It was Christmas Day, and here she was, stuck in a whorehouse, not knowing what to do or where to go. Her thoughts drifted back to her conversation with Pearl and what little information she had on Storm Thornton. She patted Daniel’s head again.

  “We’ll figure something out, if Mr. Thornton doesn’t want us. In the meantime, maybe you and I can go look around the town.”

  Just then, Daniel stepped into the water bowl with one webbed foot. The bowl tipped over, splashing water all over the floor. Daniel flapped his wings and honked in protest. Molly jumped to her feet. She grabbed for a rag to clean up the mess while Daniel flapped around the room, honking noisily. Luckily there was no one else in the kitchen at the moment, but with all the noise the goose made, he’d probably draw someone’s attention any minute.

  “Oh, I know I need to get you out. Being cooped up for so long isn’t good for you, is it?”

  Molly reached for her cloak she’d draped around the kitchen chair, and slipped it around her shoulders. No sense sitting around, waiting for her groom to make an appearance . . . or not. Perhaps after Daniel’d had a chance to spread his wings a little and get some exercise, he’d calm down enough to be manageable. Then she’d find someone in town who knew Storm Thornton.