Robby Riverton Mail Order Bride
Page 22
All the love Robby had tried to push down and put in a box, just to survive this parting, came bursting out to fill his being, tightening his chest and throat with unbridled joy. He wanted to shout. He wanted to dance in a spotlight in a top hat and tails. But seeing as how they were in a stagecoach, he just squeezed Trace’s hand. And Trace squeezed back, his eyes warm.
Robby settled back on the seat. He had a dawning sense of brightness and hope. It was made all the brighter in contrast to the darkness and fear he’d lived with for the past months. There’d been so many times he’d thought his life was over, that he’d lost everything. Now it was as if someone had turned on the light in the world. He couldn’t ask for anything more.
“I don’t have much money left,” Robby said. “But I will charm the shirts off those people in San Francisco. I’ll find work.”
“I don’t doubt that for a second,” Trace said. “And I’ll find a job too.”
Robby raised an eyebrow.
“Not that I’m the most ambitious son of a bitch in the world,” he grinned. “But you’re worth it, Robby Riverton.”
Epilogue
Two Years Later
Maguire’s Opera House, San Francisco
“Hell of a show, fellas! Hell of a show!” Mr. Thompson grinned and patted Robby and Trace on the back as they left the stage.
They got cheery greetings from people backstage as they made their way to their dressing room. Once inside, Robby fell onto a settee and poured himself a glass of water. “Lord, all the racing around in that third act does me in.”
He took a long drink, then raised his sweaty shirt to peel off the bloody wound. It always made men gasp and ladies shriek when it was revealed in the kidnapping scene.
Robby was in men’s clothes at the moment, but he only got to wear them for the first scene and the last. It turned out Robby was not through with Rowena’s gowns or bonnet. In fact, he now made a handsome living wearing them.
Rowena and the Bloodthirsty Gangsters, a comedy-drama written by Robby—and edited extensively by Trace—had been a rip-roaring hit at the Maguire for six months. It showed no signs of slowing down.
Robby, of course, played himself. Or rather, he played a hapless New York bookkeeper who witnesses a murder and is forced to go into hiding as a mail-order bride. Trace played the sharpshooting sheriff who comes to Rowena’s rescue.
Trace had taken to the stage like a duck to water. Women adored him. They were constantly sending him love letters, undergarments, even hotel room keys. Robby was grateful Trace couldn’t care less.
All the papers had written that the play was based on a true story of the Wild West, and that Robby had been instrumental in bringing down the notorious gangster Mose “the Terror” McCann, so people flocked to see it. Honestly, Robby would rather be playing Hamlet. But as a way to get established in San Francisco, the play was a godsend.
It was also a hell of a lot of fun acting with Trace.
Trace was examining himself in the dressing room mirror, turning this way and that, with a slight frown. “The applause didn’t seem as big for the shootin’ scene tonight. Did you notice that?”
“No,” Robby said honestly. The scene where Trace did some fancy trick shooting with stacks of fruit cans always got a standing ovation. “The audience ate it up.”
“You sure? I felt a little slow on the draw. Does it look like I’ve put on weight?”
Robby rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop a fond smile. “No, darlin’. You get better-looking each day. Now help me with these boots.”
He held out a leg and Trace tugged off one boot and then the other. With a lazy smile, he took a moment to knead Robby’s toes. “Feel better?”
Robby winked back. “Yes, but you’re giving me ideas. Did you lock the door?”
They felt comfortable at Maguire’s, and Robby figured most people knew he and Trace were more than “friends.” But they preferred to keep their private business private.
“Not yet. I’ll get it.” Trace walked over to turn the lock. While he was over there, he pulled an envelope out of the long, black coat that hung on the coatrack. “I forgot to mention we got a letter from home today.”
He flopped down to sit beside Robby, tossing the envelope into his lap.
“Ooh!” Robby opened it eagerly and read out loud.
Clovis and Harriet’s son Tyler, a chubby baby boy with oodles of black hair, had started to crawl. Marcy swore he was the “cutest thing you ever saw.”
Missy had a new front tooth.
Billy bested Killboar three-to-one the previous week.
Emmie and Roy were expecting again.
There was news that the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railway would soon lay tracks to Santa Fe. Pa-Pa said that once it was in, he expected them both home for Christmas or “they was no kin of his.”
Marcy sent her love.
Robby and Trace chuckled over the letter. When it was done, Robby let it drift to the floor and snuggled up to his stage-sweaty beau.
Trace carded fingers through Robby’s hair. “Ya know, it’s only a matter of time before the railroad goes all the way to Omaha and hooks up with the line to New York. Mr. Thompson wants to finance takin’ Rowena on the road.”
“Umm-hmm.” Robby kissed Trace’s chin.
“Wouldn’t you like that? Goin’ back to New York City as a big star?” Trace wrapped his arms around Robby and pulled him close.
Robby thought about it. The idea of taking Rowena on the road, seeing new places, and showing Trace the sights of New York City, had its appeal. But then he thought about the two-bedroom bungalow they’d bought in the Western Addition, a new section of the city, and about the vibrancy of the town, and how fast it was growing. There was the Maguire and the Dramatic Museum and the Jenny Lind. The theater scene in San Francisco was bawdy and booming, seats packed every night. It exceeded all of Robby’s wildest dreams. And they’d made friends here. Good friends.
“Honestly?” Robby said. “I’d like to visit your family someday and mine. And God knows, my mother will be the first in line for a ticket west when the train does go through. But as for going on the road for years with a traveling show—it doesn’t appeal. There’s no place I’d rather be than right here.”
Trace smiled against Robby’s forehead. “Honey, I’m just as happy to sit in this here town with you until we grow old.”
And so . . . that’s what they did.
THE END
Dear Reader
Thank you so much for reading “Robby Riverton: Mail Order Bride”. I’ve always loved historical Western romances, and I’ve long dreamed of writing books in this category myself. I have lots more ideas for stories set in the Old West. If you’d like to see more books like this one, you can help Robby Riverton succeed by sharing about it online, reviewing it on Amazon and Goodreads, and recommending it to your friends.
Thank you! Your reviews really make a difference.
I appreciate my readers so much. It is awesome to hear from you and to know that I made someone smile or sigh. Feel free to email me: eli@elieaston.com.
You an also visit my website: www.elieaston.com. I have first chapters up for all my books and some free stories too. And you can sign up for my newsletter to get a monthly email about new releases and sales.
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I can promise you there will always be happy ending and that love is love.
Eli Easton
About Eli Easton
ELI EASTON has been at various times and under different names a preacher’s daughter, a computer programmer, a game designer, the author of paranormal mysteries, an organic farmer, and a profound sleeper. She has been writing m/m romance since 2013.
As an avid reader of romance, she is tickled pink when an author manages to combine literary merit, vast stores of humor,
melting hotness, and eye-dabbing sweetness into one story. She promises to strive to achieve most of that most of the time. She currently lives on a farm in Pennsylvania with her husband, bulldogs, and a cat.
Her website is elieaston.com
You can e-mail her at eli@elieaston.com
Also By Eli Easton
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The Trouble With Tony (Sex in Seattle #1)
The Enlightenment of Daniel (Sex in Seattle #2)
The Mating of Michael (Sex in Seattle #3)
A Prairie Dog’s Love Song
Heaven Can’t Wait
The Lion and the Crow
From Eli Easton
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How to Howl at the Moon (Howl at the Moon #1)
How to Walk like a Man (Howl at the Moon #2)
How to Wish Upon a Star (Howl at the Moon #3)
How to Save a Life (Howl at the Moon #4)
Before I Wake
Blame it on the Mistletoe
Unwrapping Hank
Midwinter Night’s Dream
Merry Christmas, Mr. Miggles
Desperately Seeking Santa
www.elieaston.com
Howl at the Moon
If you enjoyed the humor in this book, check out the author’s “Howl at the Moon” series—gay romances featuring dog shifters in the little mountain town of Mad Creek, California.
LEARN MORE HERE.
A Second Harvest
A Second Harvest – a love story between a Mennonite farmer and a man from the city who inherits the house next door