A Match Made in Texas

by Margaret Brownley

  “I’ll write them and have someone else cross the States to deliver them. I love traveling through Texas, and I’ll want to continue working with the groups here, but watching Josie go, I realized I didn’t want to leave home.” She thought of something. “I’ll ask Miss Read. As a schoolteacher, she must have given lots of speeches. She once mentioned she would so enjoy traveling and meeting new people and…” On and on she went as new ideas occurred to her.

  A look of approval crossed his face. “You’ve got it all planned, don’t you?”

  “Not all, but I will.” Now that she thought of it, she could get several people to deliver her speeches. Her messages could spread across the country without her ever leaving the home and family she loved.

  “Oh, Rick, this will work, I know it will.” A similar plan worked for Elizabeth Cady Stanton, who stayed home with her family and put pen to paper. So why wouldn’t it work for her?

  Instead of taking her in his arms as she hoped, he surprised her by jumping to his feet. “I’m mighty glad to hear that, or I might have been in trouble.”

  Confused, she stared up him. “Why would you be in trouble?”

  “For puttin’ the cart before the horse.”

  She laughed. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

  He pulled her to her feet and pointed to the hope chest.

  She bent over for a better look, but there was no mistake. Beneath the four initials of her grandmother, mother, and sisters, were two freshly carved letters that read A. L. Gasping, she looked up.

  He shrugged. “Woodman was havin’ trouble with that particular spot, and I suggested he hide the damage by carvin’ your initials. It would save us the trouble of havin’ to do it later.”

  She stared at him. “Later?”

  He grinned and rubbed the back of his neck. “You know. When we tie the knot.” He gave a sheepish grin. “I know…I know… You’ve got speeches to write and sufferin’ women to organize and…”

  “You’ve got a horse ranch to run,” she said.

  “Yeah, well…” He gazed deep into her eyes. “Speakin’ of horses, the best kind are not the ones that walk behind or ahead. The best ones walk by your side. I reckon the same is true for people, and that’s what I aim to do. Even if it means joinin’ your sufferin’ group. You won’t find anyone who will love you more than me. So what do you say? Are we in for the long haul?”

  Joy unlike any she’d ever known filled her heart until she thought her chest would burst. Still, she held back. She was surprised to learn that in matters of the heart, she was every bit as old-fashioned and traditional as her sisters.

  “Was there a proper proposal in there somewhere?” she asked with a coquettish turn of the head.

  He arched a dark eyebrow. “You’re not turnin’ all ladylike on me now, are you?”

  “Certainly not.” She pointed to the ground. She was willing to compromise on many things, but this moment would remain with her forever and couldn’t be rushed. “But I have my standards.”

  “Do you now?” Grinning, he pulled off his hat and dropped to one knee. “Amanda Lockwood, would you do me the honor of marryin’ this ol’ horse wrangler?”

  “Oh, yes, yes, yes!” She threw her arm around his neck and practically knocked him backward in her effort to kiss him ever so thoroughly on the lips.

  Like she said, she had her standards.

  Epilogue

  A couple of days later, Amanda and Rick stood in the newly painted sheriff’s office sharing the happy news of their betrothal with the now-disbanded Red Feather posse.

  Scooter yelled, “Hold it!”

  She turned and laughed. Two-Time’s newest sheriff stood behind his camera. With a boisterous whoop, he pulled a black cloth over his head and ducked. “Say cabbage.”

  She gazed up at Rick. Mr. Mooney, with some pressure from his wife, had approved Rick’s loan, and he’d already made an offer on some lovely property outside of town.

  “I have a better idea for softening the mouth,” she whispered. And with that, she rose on tiptoes to kiss him. Such a bold move would make even a suffragist blush, but then, it had already been determined that she was no lady.

  Mrs. Perl giggled and dropped a stitch. Becky-Sue got all red in the face. Miss Read, who had been practicing her suffragist speech, stopped to stare. Mrs. Mooney beamed with approval, and the other women averted their eyes. But no one objected, not even when Amanda kissed Rick a second and third time.

  “Oh, wow!” Scooter called from beneath the black cloth. “Shall I shoot? Shall I shoot?”

  Amanda pulled her mouth away from Rick’s warm lips and gazed deep into his eyes. “Yes, Scooter, you can most definitely shoot.”

  Author’s Note

  Dear Reader,

  I do so hope you enjoyed Amanda and Rick’s story.

  Amanda had good reason to worry about the feathered hat craze that hit the country in the late 1800s. Believe it or not, there was a plume rush in effect, and it rivaled even those nineteenth-century gold rushes. Hats sporting feathers and, in some cases, entire birds became so widespread that by the middle of the 1880s, five million birds a year were killed by the millinery industry to keep up with the demand.

  Egrets and herons provided the most popular feathers, especially the “bridal feathers” grown during mating season. But even tree sparrows and woodpeckers weren’t safe from plume hunters.

  Things became so bad that when ornithologist Frank Chapman walked down the streets of Manhattan in 1886, he documented forty species of birds—not in the trees or sky, but perched upon women’s heads.

  In that same year, bird feathers were selling for more than twenty dollars an ounce (more than five hundred dollars in today’s currency). This increased to thirty-two dollars an ounce during the start of the twentieth century, which made them worth twice their weight in gold. “That there should be an owl or ostrich left with a single feather apiece hardly seems possible,” Harper’s Bazaar reported during the winter hat season in 1897.

  The feather trade wasn’t confined to the east. Much of it occurred in the American West, and Oregon, California, and Texas were prime hunting grounds.

  Women were called a “bird’s worst enemy,” but in time, they also became a bird’s greatest advocate. Alarmed by the decimation of birds, Harriet Lawrence Hemenway organized a boycott of feathers and helped form the Massachusetts Audubon Society, the oldest in the nation.

  Eventually, the society was able to get the feather trade outlawed in Massachusetts, and the first wildlife protection movement spread across the country. Hats still remained high and wide, but they were trimmed with ribbons, lace, and flowers instead of feathers.

  Why did women go overboard with hats? Hats made women feel more powerful and gave them a presence that was otherwise denied them. Historians credit World War I for making large, outrageous hats go out of favor. But one can’t help but wonder if the amendment giving women the vote might have lessened the need to show power through headgear.

  As for Two-Time, Texas, there are still more changes ahead, not just for the town, but for the Lockwood family as well. Hold on to your hats, folks. It’s going to be a wild ride. Meanwhile, you can reach me through my website: margaret-brownley.com.

  Until next time,

  Margaret

  Read on for an excerpt from Anna Schmidt’s

  Coming July 2017 from Sourcebooks Casablanca

  Arizona Territory, Spring 1883

  Amanda Porterfield gazed out the window at the endless landscape where cattle grazed and wildflowers were in full bloom—this beautiful place where she had spent the entire twenty years of her life so far. Even with all this natural beauty surrounding her, she was quite sure she would go stark raving mad unless something exciting happened to break the sheer monotony of her days.

  Practically everyon
e else in her family had found love, or at least adventure, but here she sat with no prospects, either romantic or adventurous—preferably both—in sight.

  Amanda sighed and drifted toward the sounds of her mother and the family’s housekeeper, Juanita, talking as they sat in the courtyard. “I think I’ll go into town,” Amanda announced after pouring herself a cup of coffee and flopping into a high-backed chair.

  “That’s a good idea,” her mother replied, setting aside her mending. “I’ll come with you.”

  Amanda swallowed another sigh. The point had been for her to be off on her own. If adventure did not find her, then perhaps she needed to seek it. But with her mother along for the ride, it was unlikely Amanda would be successful in her quest.

  “It’s been weeks since we went shopping,” her mother added with a sly smile designed to let Amanda know that she understood exactly what was behind her daughter’s sudden announcement. “Perhaps a new dress is in order for the fandango the Johnsons are hosting next weekend?”

  “Perhaps,” Amanda agreed, and she couldn’t hide the smile she gave her mother in return. As much as she tried to mirror her sister’s maturity and sophistication, the truth was that Amanda loved shopping and parties. And who knew? There might just be someone interesting to meet at the Johnson gathering. It was spring in Arizona, and ranches were hiring to handle the branding and other tasks involved in getting the cattle ready for market in the fall. She felt her spirits lift.

  “Perhaps we might visit the Wilcoxes as well,” her mother continued. “It occurs to me that you need something meaningful to occupy you. Doc Wilcox mentioned a friend of his in Tucson—a banker whose wife died several months ago. The man is looking to hire a tutor for his children. I think you would make an excellent candidate. We could stop by and speak with him about how you might go about applying for the position.” As usual, Amanda’s mother was planning her life for her.

  “I don’t want to be a teacher, Mama.”

  “And I didn’t choose to be a widow,” her mother replied bluntly. “We make the best of our lives, Amanda, and right now, you need to find some direction for yours. So go fetch your bonnet—that sun is going to be fierce today. And ask Chet to hitch up the wagon.”

  Reluctantly, Amanda did as she was told.

  Amanda’s brother-in-law was a quiet man and a good listener. “Mama thinks I should apply for a position in Tucson tutoring some rich man’s children,” she groused as she stood by the corral and watched Chet select a team of mules and lead them to the wagon. “She thinks I need direction in my life.”

  “And what do you think?” Chet asked.

  “I think…” What did she think? “If it were up to me…”

  Chet quirked an eyebrow as he harnessed the mules. “If you got that job, it just might lead to something more to your liking.”

  “I don’t see how. I mean, how would spending my days going over spelling and reading and such, and my nights preparing lessons and exercises, possibly lead to—”

  “Of course, you’d have to move to Tucson,” Chet interrupted, as if she hadn’t spoken. “That would be a big change from living out here with a bunch of rough cowboys and your family.” He wrapped the reins around the brake and gave her a hand up to the seat. “Sometimes, Amanda, what seems like nothing special turns out to be just what you didn’t know you were looking for in the first place.”

  She grinned. “Like you winding up here and married to Maria?”

  Chet winked at her. “Exactly like that.”

  Amanda snapped the reins, and the wagon rolled forward toward the house. Why couldn’t she find a man like Chet? Smart and strong and good-looking as all get-out. Of course, in the time Chet and Maria had been married, Amanda had realized that looks weren’t everything when it came to being happy. Chet was content to be a rancher and had settled into a routine. He had little taste for adventure. While that suited Maria, Amanda was pretty sure she wouldn’t last a year as a rancher’s wife. On the other hand, there was much to be said for a handsome cowboy. If only she could find one who shared her urge to try new things.

  It was nearly noon by the time they reached Whitman Falls. The ever-efficient Juanita had packed a full lunch for them to share with Eliza McNew, owner of the town’s general store. “No need to go spending money eating at the hotel restaurant,” Juanita had said as she set the hamper in the back of the wagon.

  Of course, Amanda had been looking forward to eating at the hotel. But with the prospects of shopping for a new dress and a visit with Eliza and possibly her best friend and sister-in-law, Addie, if she wasn’t busy helping her father see patients, Amanda couldn’t help but look forward to the day. She might even reconsider that tutoring position.

  * * *

  Seth Grover was growing weary of his double life. On the surface he presented himself as a man to be watched—a quiet, soft-spoken stranger who was good with a gun and who had no visible means of support other than being very good at playing poker. That combination made most folks believe he was probably operating on the shady side of the law, which suited his purposes most of the time. The truth was that he was an undercover agent for the Wells Fargo Company, hired to go wherever he was needed to foil outlaws targeting the company’s wealth. Most recently, he’d been charged with doing whatever it took to stop the string of robberies that had cost the company close to half a million dollars over the last few years.

  In the early years of his life, he’d sown enough wild oats to earn his reputation as a rebel. In his first years undercover, he had quickly established himself as a man good at poker and handy with a six-shooter. The combination had earned him the right to travel under his own name, for many outlaws had been brought up in good families with strong moral values before they turned to lives of crime.

  For several weeks now, he’d been hanging around the small town of Whitman Falls—a place the railroad had bypassed, but a thriving town nevertheless. Fort Lowell was near enough that the stagecoach carrying the monthly payroll for the soldiers garrisoned there came right through town on its way. That delivery was one of the reasons Seth had decided to take a room above the local saloon and stay for a spell. The fact that the saloon’s owner—Lilly Goodspeed—was a friend and one of the few people who knew his true profession helped make his stay in the small town more tolerable.

  A gang thought to be responsible for a couple of bank robberies and stage holdups in northern Arizona was rumored to be moving south. Seth had a hunch that they planned one more big strike—possibly the payroll—before they struck out for the border and Mexico. It was a pattern he’d seen before, and it was his job to make sure they didn’t succeed—hopefully without revealing his true identity.

  He also had a personal reason for foiling this particular robbery. He’d gotten word from his mother that his youngest brother had run away from the family’s Chicago home around the time that the gang had been operating farther north. He knew his brother, knew he was reckless and always seeking adventure. The latest reports Seth had received from his supervisor had mentioned a kid—fair-skinned and blond, with a missing finger—who appeared to be working as a lookout for the gang. The description was broad, but it fit Sam—a boy who had spent years in the city and one who knew little about life on the frontier.

  It was certainly possible that Sam could have joined the gang—a long shot to be sure, but if he was that kid, this might be Seth’s last chance to save his brother from spending his life on the run, rotting in prison, or getting killed.

  As he walked from the shadows of the livery stable where he’d left his horse, he squinted into the sunlight and watched a wagon creak its way around the plaza that anchored the town. He spotted two women, the younger woman driving the team. Seth stopped next to a hitching rail and watched as she pulled to a stop in front of the mercantile.

  He kept watching, telling himself that it was out of boredom. The higher the sun rose
, the quieter and more deserted the streets seemed. A few people had sought the shade of chestnut trees, but other than that there was little activity.

  The older woman climbed down while the younger woman set the brake, wrapped the reins around it, and jumped down as well. She was talking the whole time, waving her hands to make her point, and when she pushed her sunbonnet off her head and allowed it to hang down her back, held by thin ties, he saw that she was a redhead—strawberry blond, his ma would say.

  Either way, in Seth’s experience, women with red hair, and the lively temperament that seemed to go along with it, could be trouble. It was as if something in their blood made them high-spirited. Still, there was no doubt she was the prettiest thing he’d seen in some time, and he was far from immune to the natural desires of a man in his prime.

  He forced himself to look off to the opposite side of the plaza, toward the saloon. He mentally reviewed the information he’d picked up the night before while playing cards with a couple of strangers and a local by the name of Gus Abersole, who seemed to be a fixture in Lilly’s saloon. One of the strangers had asked Gus about the garrison at Fort Lowell, how many men were stationed there and such. The man kept his tone casual, but Seth was practiced enough to know when somebody was fishing for information. Abersole’s tongue had been loosened by the three shots of rye the man had bought him. He’d babbled on about troop numbers and routines until Seth had wanted to clobber him.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a feminine squeal of delight, and he looked back toward the mercantile in time to see the store’s owner greeting the new arrivals, and then leading the women inside. As the younger woman held the door, Seth got a better look at her. She was a beauty all right, and there was something about the way she carried herself that made him want to move closer.

  It wouldn’t hurt to indulge himself. After all, he’d been working hard for weeks now. On the other hand, why tempt fate?