Robby Riverton Mail Order Bride

by Eli Easton

  Floyd swallowed. “Yes, Sheriff. Do you . . . Ya gonna need an extra gun?”

  Trace was touched. He doubted poor Floyd could hit the side of a barn. “No, Floyd. But thanks for the offer.”

  Trace left the wire office and went to the saloon. Stan was an older man, about Pa’s age. He’d moved to Flat Bottom to buy the saloon when Trace had been away in the army. Trace didn’t know a lot about the man except that he looked like he’d seen trouble a time or two and he didn’t take shit from anyone. He was the main reason Trace felt comfortable leaving Flat Bottom in the evenings.

  Trace sat down at a barstool but held up a hand when Stan went to pour him a shot. “No thanks. We need to talk.”

  Stan put down the bottle and nodded. He leaned on the counter.

  “Remember I said I was expectin’ some bad elements to come to town? Well, they’re comin’ tomorrow.”

  Stan’s face darkened. “How many?”

  “I’m guessin’ six or seven, but I can’t be sure till we see ’em.”

  “Whaddya want me to do?”

  “They should be headin’ for my pa’s ranch. Hopefully, they’d just ride on through. Or they may stop and ask directions. Make sure you’re around and you’re the one they ask. Just point them right to us so’s they move on. Or, if they want a drink or food, go ahead and serve them fast and see them on their way.”

  Stan grunted. “What about you?”

  “We’ll be ready for them at the ranch. But do me a favor. Carson Meeps is keepin’ a lookout for them at Eagle Rock. He’s to ride hell-bent for leather to the ranch to let me know they’re comin’ when he sees them. So, if ya can slow ’em a few minutes, that’ll buy us some time. Don’t do it, though, if they look like they’ll shoot ya down for it.”

  “I got it,” Stan said with a nod. “Delay ’em if possible, but don’t risk any trouble in town.”

  “That’s right.”

  “What about y'all at the ranch? Want me and Pete and Joe to follow up behind ’em? We can back ya up.”

  Trace had thought about that, about trying to gather a bigger force. But he believed he and his brothers and Pa could take care of it. Besides, there were other considerations.

  “No. I want you three to protect the town. Again, I don’t think there’s anythin’ they want here. But if a few of them come back from the ranch het up and ornery, it’ll be up to you to make sure nobody gets hurt.”

  “Got it.” Stan straightened up.

  Trace shook his hand and went off to find Carson Meeps.

  When there was nothing more Trace could do in town, he decided the thing he needed the most was one more quiet afternoon with Robby.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  On Tuesday afternoon, Robby got corralled by Marcy and Emmie into working on a dress for Missy. The time slipped by, and when Marcy mentioned starting supper, Robby realized he’d missed the window to go meet Trace by the river. At supper, Robby offered him an apologetic smile. But the look Trace returned was burning.

  “You gals are gonna stay in the house tomorrow,” Pa-Pa announced. “Breakfast needs to be early, then we gotta hunker down.”

  “What for?” Marcy asked, more curious than alarmed.

  “Yeah, Pa-Pa. What for?” Billy asked.

  “Can I help?” asked Paul.

  “No, now, you kids will be in the house with the gals, and I don’t want any guff about it! That means you, Billy. And you too, Pauly. I see one hair on your head, and you’ll get a tannin’. You hear?”

  “Yes, Pa-Pa,” both boys grumbled.

  Robby heard the words, but they sounded funny. His blood had run cold, his limbs felt weak, and everything sounded muffled. Was this it? He looked down the table at Trace.

  Trace looked back, his face grim. He nodded once.

  Oh God. Robby was going to be sick.

  “Everythin’s fine,” Trace said to the table, maybe responding to the panic on Robby’s face. “Me and the boys have it all under control. But yes, we’re expectin’ some unpleasant visitors tomorrow mornin’. So y’all need to stay in the house.”

  “Excuse me.” Robby stood abruptly, swayed. He left the table, unable to eat or even sit still. He paced in his room on the back porch. Marcy checked on him, but Robby resisted the urge to tell her anything. It was a long three hours before the household went to bed and he could finally seek out Trace.

  He found Trace in his bunkroom. When Robby slipped in the door, Trace stood up from the cot and grabbed him, holding him tight. He felt so good, his vitality and strength. For a moment, Robby allowed himself the grace to just close his eyes and drink it in.

  “I missed ya today at the cabin,” Trace said, his voice gravelly the way it usually sounded after sex.

  “Sorry. I didn’t know . . .” Didn’t know it might be our last time. He swallowed. “Are they really coming tomorrow morning? You’re sure?”

  Trace stepped back and nodded. “Yeah. I got a wire. They’re comin’, all right.”

  Tomorrow. Robby had thought he had at least another week at the ranch before the looming deadline of the wedding forced him to act. Now suddenly, time was up.

  “Did they hire guns?”

  Trace nodded again. “A bunch called the Durby Gang. Nasty lot, but there’s only four or five of them I think.”

  Only four or five. The bottom fell out of Robby’s stomach. He knew this day might come. But part of him had foolishly hoped the Bowery Boys would forget about Rowena, maybe follow the wagon train’s path back East, looking for him in every small stop along the way.

  “Oh God.” Robby sat down heavily on the cot. “I’m sorry I’m so weak, but I’m terrified.”

  “Don’t apologize, Robby. I know it’s frightenin’, but I won’t let anythin’ happen to ya.” He sounded very determined.

  Robby looked up at Trace, blinked. “I don’t suppose there’s any way they just want to ask Rowena some more questions?”

  Trace shook his head. “We have to assume they know Miss Fairchild is Robby Riverton. They won’t leave here without ya.”

  “I’m going to get you all killed,” Robby said with quiet certainty.

  “No, we’ve got the buildings. We’ve got advantage,” Trace said. “There’s not much cover on the lane. A few trees is all.”

  “Marcy and Emmie and the kids—”

  Trace started pacing in the small space. “Pa and I reinforced the wall up at the hayloft with some chicken wire and boards. I’ll be up there. And we put some bags of grain out behind the hen house to make a blockade—Clovis will be there with his rifle. We made another one across the lane over at the stand of trees. That’s where Wayne will be stationed. Pa will be in the hayloft with me. Roy will be in the parlor so’s he can shoot from the house. And if ya want, ya can be firing from the second floor.”

  Trace was going on about his plans, his body tight with energy. But it all went in one of Robby’s ears and out the other.

  “Trace.” Robby said it loud to get Trace’s attention. Trace looked at him. “Maybe . . . Maybe we should send Marcy and Emmie and the kids away.”

  “Where?” Trace asked doubtfully.

  “Well . . .” Robby thought. “What about that boarding house in Flat Bottom?”

  Trace gave it a moment’s thought but shook his head. “We need all the men here, and I don’t trust Stan and the others to guard them in town. If the Bowery Boys knew who they were, they might grab one of ’em for a hostage.”

  “But they wouldn’t know,” Robby insisted, rising to his feet.

  Trace shook his head sternly. “It’s not worth the risk. No, they’ll be safer here in the house. I can’t watch them both places.”

  “But we’ll be outgunned! Seven to six. The Bowery Boys are good, Trace. And heartless. And I bet those men in the Durby Gang are damned good shots too. Right?”

  “No doubt,” Trace conceded.

  “Well? Your Pa and brothers are ranchers, Trace. And I’ll shoot as best I can, but I’m not that good.�
��

  “Robby.” Trace put his hands on Robby’s shoulders, his face serious and his voice soothing. “Try to calm down. I was in lots of skirmishes in the army, and I know it can be hard facin’ your first one. But trust me. All right? We can do this.”

  Maybe if his voice hadn’t wobbled just a tiny bit on “we can do this,” Robby would have felt more reassured. But the truth was, Trace didn’t know that for sure. He couldn’t.

  “There’s still time for me to leave,” Robby said quietly. “We could go tonight, you and me, take two horses and ride north.”

  “No. Then it would be just the two of us out there, without cover or backup. No, Robby. Our best chance is right here. We know the layout; we’ll have the entrenched position.” His face softened, and he took Robby’s face in his hands. “Ya gotta know that I will do anythin’ to protect you.”

  He kissed Robby then. And Robby let himself be kissed. Hunger rose inside him like a flash flood, obliterating his fear, arguments, and all his words, sweeping them all away like water from a burst dam. They clung together, pressed as tightly as two human beings can be pressed, kissing so deeply they might have been trying to crawl into each other’s bodies.

  Robby felt Trace’s need hot and hard against him and he wanted it—wanted to feel every bit of this man, needed to have him inside and over and smothering him and—

  He tore at Trace’s clothes, not stopping until they were both naked. He begged Trace to take him and Trace did, slicking Robby up and filling him with possessiveness that was a little too frantic, a little too shaky.

  Robby was unable to be passive. He rolled Trace onto his back and sat up, riding him with slow, rolling hips. Trace’s expression was pained, and he grabbed Robby’s hips to stop him. Robby stopped. They stared into each other’s eyes, panting.

  Robby reached behind himself to feel where they were joined. He tried to memorize the sensation, inside and out. He wanted this so badly. His body was desperate to move. But he knew why Trace had stopped him. Because once this was over, it was over. And they might never—

  Robby pushed aside the thought and the hot ball of sorrow that accompanied it. Not now. He didn’t want to think about that now.

  “I just want you to know,” Robby said, his voice thick. “That I love you, Trace. I really do. And I know that doesn’t change the way things are. But I just . . .wanted you to have that to keep. However, you want to keep it. And I thank you from the bottom of my heart for helping me.”

  Trace didn’t reply. He pulled Robby down and buried his face in Robby’s neck. But Robby felt the emotion in his hands as they petted his back and ass, grasped his hips. And he felt the heart of Trace when he began to move, driving up into Robby, and working them both so slowly and carefully, up and up, on their journey to the sun.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “I’ve been thinkin’ a lot about them fences,” Pa-Pa said.

  Robby jumped. He’d quietly let himself into the house after leaving Trace. It was dark, and Pa-Pa’s voice scared the crap out of him. He looked around and saw Pa-Pa was sitting at the dining room table by himself. In the dark.

  “Hey, Pa-Pa,” Robby said.

  “Them fences you were talkin’ about. I never thought of it like that. But you’re right. When I ride by a place where the fences are in bad shape, I feel sorry for the man who can’t keep up his own land. And I feel all kindy proud that I ain’t that man.”

  Oh.

  “Only I never thought about it like ya said, with the kids and gals and all. Guess I see the point now.”

  “Well,” Robby said philosophically. “Different people see different things. And that’s why we’re better off in a group.”

  Pa-Pa scratched his neck. “I was thinkin’ maybe that could be your job around here. Ya can make sure the Crabtree . . . fence posts . . . never get too shabby-lookin’ again.”

  It made Robby feel like the lowest of the low. He wouldn’t be here to do any such thing.

  “Though it shouldn’t have to cost twenty damn dollars every time!” Pa-Pa said with more bite.

  Robby smiled in the dark. “Yes, Pa-Pa.”

  “Yup. Guess we got into some bad habits after the boys’ mama left. God rest ’er. And Marcy and Emmie, they’re so soft-spoken, they wouldn’t say boo to a lamb.” He looked thoughtful. “Ya remind me of her a bit. Not that she was fancy. But she did have a way of talkin’ a man around.”

  “The boys’ mama?”

  Pa-Pa nodded.

  Robby wondered if he should be so bold, but he figured he had little to lose. “What happened to her?”

  Pa-Pa said nothing, but his face pinched like he didn’t like the conversation.

  “You said ‘God rest her’. She passed away, didn’t she?” Robby pressed gently. He went and took a seat next to Pa-Pa.

  Sadness washed over Pa-Pa’s countenance, clear as day even in the unlit room. “Yeah.”

  “Why didn’t you ever tell the boys?”

  He hesitated, prodding around his mouth with his tongue. “My wife, Anne . . . her mother had that typhoid fever. And Anne got it nursin’ her, and she died out there.” He shook his head. “How do you tell four little boys that their mama’s dead? I figured it’d be easier if they expected her to come home someday. And maybe I wanted to pretend she would. But that’s the kindy lie that can get away from ya.”

  Robby felt angry for Trace’s sake. “Trace, Clovis, and the others—they think their mama abandoned them. That she didn’t love her little boys enough to come home. Something like that, it can make you go your whole life believing love has no more substance than . . . than a dandelion puff. It can poison you inside.”

  Pa-Pa scowled at Robby. “Hellfire. You sure talk a lot of bunk.”

  Robby shrugged. “You need to tell them.”

  Pa-Pa said nothing, just heaved an unhappy sigh. “Ya know, Rowena, sometimes I like ya. And sometimes you’re just a big ol’ pain in the behind.”

  Robby laughed. “Oh, believe me. I know.”

  He got up to go to the back porch, but Pa-Pa put a hand on his arm. “Just so’s ya know, ya don’t have to worry about tomorrow. Me and my sons, we’ll take care of it. You’re marryin’ Clovis, so you’re part of the family now.”

  Robby took a deep, shaky breath. “Thank you. Good night, Pa-Pa.”

  After Robby went back to the house, Trace lay awake. He knew he should sleep. He’d need all his strength tomorrow. But he was so filled with thoughts and feelings, he felt like a young colt, unable to slow down.

  I love you, Trace.

  Robby had been emotional, that was all. Men said and did a lot of things that they wouldn’t normally say or do when they were getting ready to go into battle. In a few weeks’ time, Robby might forget all about him.

  Except . . . Trace believed him. Robby didn’t say things he didn’t mean.

  It surprised the hell out of Trace. He’d never expected to hear a man say those words to him. I love you, Trace. No, he surely hadn’t. But then, he’d never met anyone like Robby Riverton. He didn’t even know such a person could exist.

  Robby was bigger than life. When he was in a room, he took up all the space. When he was speaking, or moving, he was mesmerizing. And it wasn’t just Trace who felt that way, out of lust. Everyone else was just as taken with him.

  His straight-shooting, lively essence was infectious. Marcy and Emmie had blossomed since Robby arrived. The kids loved him. Clovis looked like a different man. Even Pa-Pa was charmed. No one had ever gotten around Pa-Pa like Robby did. It was because, Trace realized, Robby always acted from a place of utter conviction and confidence, from a sense of fairness. When he spoke, he meant it. And he was smart, so he was always right too.

  It was funny. Robby often apologized for being afraid. But he was the most courageous person Trace had ever known. Trace had simply grown disgusted with his father, with the way things were done at the ranch, and he’d run away. Twice. But Robby had looked at the situation, pushed up his sleeves
, and he’d changed it. He’d stared Pa-Pa down, and Wayne and Roy and even the gals, and he’d made them do—be—better.

  Now Robby said he loved him. The idea was terrifying. Trace admired Robby to hell and back. Heck, it was the first time Trace had really had a lover, not just someone to slake his lust with quick and fast while hiding in the shadows, but a true lover.

  But being in love? To Trace’s mind, that had always been a state close to madness, and it only existed between men and women, some crazy hoodoo nature put on folks to get them to marry up. Trace figured it had more to do with the backed-up lust of courting a lady than anything else. But whatever it was, it wasn’t for him.

  Sure, Robby made Trace’s chest ache and his body yearn. He made Trace do stupid things, take chances, feel on fire with purpose again, filled him with an energy he’d believed he’d never find again. But that was lust, surely. He lusted for Robby something terrible. And he admired him. And he liked him. But all that didn’t add up to love.

  What was love, anyhow?

  Whatever it was, it wasn’t for men like him. That was just how it was.

  Funny, though, he could imagine love being for a man like Robby. He was so good with the family. He deserved one of his own. And he’d make a wonderful roommate or partner or whatever they’d call it—he was good at all that household stuff. He’d be the person you’d want on your side in a crisis. Or when you got old. Or were injured, as Trace had been. Because Robby knew how to get things done and make burdens light. Plus, Robby had the strength and confidence to thumb his nose at society’s expectations. He’d do what he wanted to do, regardless.

  Yeah, Trace bet someday Robby would meet a man he could live such a life with, maybe in a city somewhere, where they could get lost in the shuffle of bodies and goings-on. Have their own private home and . . . be happy.

  That would be one lucky man.

  The idea that Robby might find that someday, with someone else, caused such an awful, crushing feeling that Trace had to stop that line of thought dead.

  No. No point dwelling on shit that he couldn’t change. They had enough troubles right here and right now. Trace had to focus on the next twenty-four hours and keeping Robby and his family safe. And for that he needed a few hours rest at least.