The Cowboy's Orphan Bride

by Lauri Robinson

  “What are you doing here?” he shouted above the other noises while shoving the other women aside with his free hand. “In this place?”

  Bridgette batted at him with her free hand. “I knew you’d changed, but I didn’t expect this!”

  “Expect?” he shouted in return. “I didn’t expect to see you here, that’s for sure!” Her nails snagged his whiskers as she batted at him again. He grabbed her other arm and pulled her closer to confine her from hitting him. “Will you stop that?”

  “You make me so mad I could scream!”

  “You are screaming!”

  She kicked him in the shin so hard his back teeth stung. Done. So done. Garth lifted her off the floor and started for the door. Only to be stopped there.

  By a man.

  With a gun.

  And a badge.

  “Hell,” Garth cursed. He’d left his gun with JoJo. Firearms weren’t allowed within city limits. Not that he’d have shot anyone. Well, probably not.

  “Put the lady down, sir,” the man said.

  “I can’t,” Garth replied.

  “Why?” the man asked.

  Bridgette had quit squirming and shouting, and the startled look in her blue eyes was almost laughable. Almost, because he was not in a laughing mood. “She’ll hit me again,” he said. “And I’m tired of being hit by her.”

  The shock in her eyes instantly turned into a stormy glare.

  “Is that true, ma’am?” the man asked. “Did you hit this man?”

  She huffed out air so hot it could have singed his beard. Never pulling her glare off him, she answered, “Yes.”

  “Why? Did he hit you first?”

  Garth couldn’t help but smirk at her while watching her entire face turn red.

  “No,” she snarled. “He didn’t.”

  The man gestured toward the door with his gun. “All right then, both of you come with me.”

  “Can’t we settle this here?” Garth asked.

  “No, you can’t,” the buxom redhead piped in. “I don’t allow any violence at the Crystal Palace. None whatsoever.”

  Garth turned to where she stood behind him, but his gaze landed on the man standing beside the redhead. It had to be Elroy Williams. “You,” Garth said, singling the man out with a glare. “Are needed at the stockyard.”

  He nodded. “I’m on my way.”

  “Deputy Long, remove them from my property,” the redhead demanded.

  “I am, Willow, I am.” The deputy once again waved his gun toward the door.

  Garth lowered Bridgette enough for her feet to land on the floor, but kept a solid hold on one arm. She twisted and grunted, but walked out the door beside him. And down the steps, and along the boardwalk, all the way to the sheriff’s office.

  He let go of her there. Had to because they were put in separate cells.

  “The sheriff will be in to question you both as soon as he arrives,” the deputy said while locking the door on Garth’s cell.

  Bridgette was in the one next to his, holding on to the bars with both hands. “And when will that be?” she asked.

  “Not long,” the deputy said. “He just went over to the train station, and most likely stopped to eat.”

  Garth’s stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten since last night. After the stampede, and searching and finding no evidence for why it had started, he’d caught up with the herd, which they’d kept moving forward all day. The emptiness in his stomach was the least of his worries. He sat down on the bed and rubbed a hand against his forehead. Grit, whether on his hand or face, scraped his skin as he rubbed harder.

  “I hope you’re happy now.”

  Bridgette had moved from the front of the cell to the side, glaring at him through the bars.

  “I wasn’t happy before,” he snapped, “so why should I be happy now?”

  She spun around, and her long hair swayed across her back as she walked across her tiny cell. “Mrs. Killgrove warned me I’d end up in jail if I kept hanging around you. I told her I wouldn’t and that you wouldn’t either.” She’d reached the other side, where her cot sat, and spun back around to face him. “Just one more thing I was wrong about.”

  He could start spouting off things he’d been wrong about—especially when it came to her. “What the hell were you doing at that place?”

  “Working! There was a woman there who needed medical attention.”

  A bit of his anger fizzled because he could believe that, and her.

  “Until you came along and got us arrested!”

  He could point out that she’d played the major role in that, but chose not to. Mainly because silence would irritate her far more than anything he said. And a bit of time behind bars might just show her how foolish working at the Palace had been. With a grin, he kicked up his feet and swung them around to lie down on the cot.

  Bridgette growled like a mad cat before saying, “What are you grinning about? It’s not funny.”

  No, it wasn’t funny. He’d never been in jail before, and wouldn’t be now if not for her. Garth pulled the front of his hat over his forehead. Out of the corner of one eye, he watched her grab the bars with both hands.

  “This is serious, Garth! How are we going to get out of here?”

  He folded his hands behind his head and crossed his ankles.

  “Garth!”

  And then let out an exaggerated sigh.

  “Garth McCain, don’t you lie there and act like you don’t have a care in the world. I know better.”

  So did he. His cattle were bearing down on Dodge, set to arrive any moment, and he wasn’t there to oversee it because he’d been caught bickering with her in a whorehouse. He almost said as much, but stopped himself. A smart man would just be quiet and wait for the sheriff—to whom he’d explain everything—then he’d be released and head straight for the stockyards.

  She’d be released too, most likely, and could go wherever she wanted. There was no reason for her to be in Dodge—ill woman or not. Yet she was. Because she was as impulsive as ever. Had she forgotten about the tree? About falling out and dang near killing herself? He hadn’t. It had taken him years to get the vision of her crumpled body lying on the ground under that tree out of his mind. He didn’t blame that all on her. At the time his life had been turned upside down too. He’d lost his friends from the streets, his mother, and he’d been afraid he’d get blamed for her injury just like he had that little laundryman Bridgette had been the only thing about the orphanage he’d found tolerable. She hadn’t been like the other kids. Her attitude and smart mouth had reminded him of the friends he’d lost.

  Just as he’d thought, Mrs. Killgrove had thought he’d put Bridgette up to climbing that tree, to running away, and he’d been punished for it. Thankfully he’d finally outgrown that. Or gotten wise enough to know he didn’t need to take the blame for others. That’s why he’d decided to let her go when he let his past go, knowing she—actually no woman—had a place in the life he’d now made for himself. It had taken time for that to happen. Time, and others who helped him understand if he wanted a future he had to put the past behind him—and leave it there. He had. He was done with his past.

  He was done listening, too. She hadn’t stopped talking the entire time he was thinking. Flipping his legs over the edge of the cot and tearing off his hat at the same time, he barked, “Shut up, Bridgette. Just shut up!”

  Her face turned bright red and she slapped at the bars. “Don’t shout at me!”

  “It’s the only way you can hear me over your screeching.”

  Her glare turned stormy and cold. “You’ve changed.”

  “Yes, I have, and you haven’t.”

  Indignation flared in her eyes. “Fine. Be that way.”

  “I am that way.”

&n
bsp; “Yes, you are, and you stink!”

  He let her have the last word, mainly because he did stink. Dried cow dung was crusted to his britches from the stampede last night.

  She plopped down on the cot in her cell. Back stiff and chin out, she stared at him through the bars.

  Unwilling to let her take hold of him again, he stared back. He’d put up with weeks of whippings from Orson because she’d lived so strongly inside him. That wouldn’t happen again. No one but him would live inside him.

  Neither of them said a word. They barely blinked.

  That’s how the sheriff found them. Even as the man walked down the narrow walkway to the cell, neither he nor Bridgette moved.

  “Mr. McCain?”

  Garth broke their staring contest with a grin before he stood and walked to the front of his cell. “Yes. I’m Garth McCain.”

  “Your bail’s been paid,” the sheriff said.

  “Bail? You haven’t heard our statements. We haven’t been charged.”

  “I heard there was some commotion down at the Crystal Palace and stopped by there. Willow told me what happened. So did your cook, JoJo. He’d gone looking for you when you weren’t at the stockyards. Ludwig Smith confirmed the rest. You’re charged with fighting in public.”

  Garth waited for the man to unlock the cell and stepped out before he asked, “What about her?”

  Bridgette bit her lips together so hard they went numb. She also sent up a silent prayer that Willow hadn’t told the sheriff the name she’d called herself. Garth was borderline furious already. She knew the feeling. Seeing him with those girls hanging off his arms and shouting he was going up the stairs had made her see more colors of red than she knew existed.

  “Her bail’s been paid, too.”

  Relief made her shoulders dip, but she didn’t release her breath. The only person who might have paid her bail was Willow. This was not going to be good. When the sheriff unlocked her jail cell, she marched out the door, passed Garth and continued down the narrow hall between the cells and a solid brick wall.

  “Hello, Bridgette,” JoJo said as she walked through the doorway. He added, “Hey, Boss,” as Garth and the sheriff entered behind her.

  Seeing no one but the cook, she released the air in her lungs. “Hello, JoJo,” she answered. “It’s nice to see you.”

  “Have the cattle arrived?” Garth asked.

  “They were about an hour behind me,” JoJo said. “If you hurry, you could get to the stockyard about the same time as them.”

  “Hold up a minute, Mr. McCain. I need your signature.” Turning toward her, the sheriff said, “Yours too, ma’am.”

  She’d heard Sheriff Myers was a fair man, but she’d never met him. Almost as tall as Garth, he had shiny black hair and a friendly, clean-shaven face. “What is that?” she asked as the man slid a piece of paper toward where Garth stood near the desk.

  “An affidavit that your bail was paid and that you won’t cause any more disturbances while in Dodge City,” he answered, sliding another one in her direction.

  She stepped forward as Garth finished scrawling his name. Using the tip of the pen, he pointed at a number the sheriff had written on the form. “You owe me ten bucks.”

  JoJo cleared his throat. “Actually, I paid her bail with my money. Yours too, Boss. So, in all rights, you owe me ten bucks. Twenty counting hers.”

  Garth dropped the pen on her piece of paper. “You owe JoJo ten bucks.” He tipped his hat toward Sheriff Myers. “Sheriff. It wasn’t a pleasure, but good to meet you.” Spinning around, he said to JoJo, “I’ll see you later.”

  Bridgette’s hand shook as she picked up the pen. If she’d had ten bucks, she wouldn’t have been bartering her doctoring skills for room and board at the Crystal Palace. A place she surely couldn’t return to now. After JoJo’s visit, Willow would know Garth’s name, and assume he was the McCain part of her Mrs. McCain name.

  “Ma’am? Are you all right?”

  “Yes, sheriff, I’m fine. Just reading this affidavit,” she lied. Flat out lied. Garth was most definitely a bad influence. He’d only been back in her life less than a week and she’d already run away from home, taken on a false identity, gotten arrested and lied to everyone she’d met. Squeezing the pen tighter, she told herself, what’s one more, but as she pressed the tip against the paper to sign the name that was printed on the top, her fingers stalled. Mrs. G. McCain. Had Garth noticed the name when he’d pointed out the amount written right beneath it?

  “Just sign it and you can be on your way, ma’am,” Sheriff Myers said. “There’s not that much to it. It’s really just a record for the bail money.”

  She nodded, wrote the name and dropped the pen before lightning could strike her. It wasn’t storming, but in this moment a lightning strike wouldn’t be uncalled for. Swallowing against the burning in her throat and blinking at the sting in her eyes, she turned to face JoJo.

  He smiled, a crooked, missing-teeth smile that was the kindest she’d ever seen.

  She trembled.

  After putting his hat on his head, JoJo grasped her elbow and led her toward the doorway. “Thank you kindly, Sheriff.”

  Bridgette waited until they were several steps away from the sheriff’s office before saying, “I don’t have ten dollars.”

  Without missing a step, JoJo nodded. “That’s all right.”

  “Garth won’t pay you for my bail,” she said.

  “Won’t bother me none.”

  “It’ll bother me,” she said. “I’ll find a way to pay you. I promise.”

  “You have anything at that place you need me to fetch for you?”

  She knew what place he meant, and so did he. That was the awkward part. “Yes. Everything I own is in a bag in the washroom off the kitchen.”

  “All right, I’ll take you to the chuck wagon and then go fetch your belongings.”

  “Garth won’t like that,” she said. “Me at the chuck wagon.”

  “Well,” JoJo said slowly. “I suspect he don’t have a choice, now does he, Mrs. McCain.”

  Chapter Ten

  It was good and dark, well after midnight by his guess, but clocks didn’t hold much weight when it came to Dodge City. The town was just as busy after midnight as it was before. Some nights busier. That’s how cow towns were. Grinning, Garth let out a pleasure-filled groan as he slid deeper into the steaming hot water. Nothing had felt this good for months. He’d taken a dip or two in rivers and ponds since leaving Texas, but nothing beat a tub of hot water. With or without a shot glass of whiskey. He’d forgone that addition tonight. Remnants of the aftereffects of Cecil’s hooch were still too fresh.

  “My mother used to tell me that someday I’d appreciate a bath, but I never believed her,” Brad said from where he sat in a tub on the other side of the room.

  Garth had handed out twenty-dollar gold pieces to each of his men. They’d get the rest, another eighty dollars apiece, when he got paid. That would be in a couple of days. After the buyers examined his cattle and the sale actually took place. Buyers were in town from not only Chicago packing houses, but New York ones, and they were eager. That was the buzz of town. How eager those houses were to buy up every cow hitting the yard. And his, the first of the season, would bring top dollar.

  The other men in the bathhouse—it hosted six tubs, and they were all full of his cowboys—talked back and forth. Mainly about their plans for what they were going to do next. Garth heard the hum of the conversations, but wasn’t listening to what they said. He’d already given them the talk about staying out of trouble, and keeping a portion of their money to see them back to Texas. Ultimately, it was all up to them now. They each had a job with him next year if they wanted it, and they were all welcomed to bed down near where JoJo had set up a camp in the tent city on the edge of tow
n. Soon there would be more tents out there than buildings in Dodge. That’s how it was in cow towns. Some tent cities lasted year round.

  He hadn’t seen JoJo since leaving him at the Sheriff’s office, and wouldn’t until tomorrow. Tonight, right after soaking off three months of dust and grime, he was going to the soft bed he’d already paid for and sleep until his eyes wouldn’t stay closed any longer.

  Bridgette came to mind, and Garth slid all the way down in the tub, dunking his head to wash her from his brain as easily as he washed away the dirt. When he came up for air, he grabbed the bar of soap and started scrubbing. After rinsing, and needing to keep his thoughts on something, he called for an attendant to bring him a razor and mirror.

  Clean from tip to toe and wearing a new set of duds, Garth left the washhouse and headed for the hotel. He’d secured a room before hitting up the mercantile for clothes and then the bathhouse. That was another bonus of being the first drive in town. In a few weeks, there wouldn’t be a room to be found, and men would be waiting for hours for a dip in hot water. An inch of sand would layer the bottom of the tubs then, because they were rarely completely emptied. That took too much time between customers.

  Thoughts of Bridgette still hung in the back of his mind, but he refused to let them come forward. Tomorrow would be soon enough to learn why she was in Dodge. Cecil said the doctor farmed her out, but Garth doubted he’d have sent her to the Crystal Palace.

  Garth chomped his back teeth together. He wasn’t going to think about her. Not tonight. He needed sleep. Then, with a clear head, he’d contemplate the ins and outs of Bridgette, and how to get her back to Dr. Rodgers.

  He entered the hotel, nodded at the clerk and climbed the stairs to the second floor. In his room, he removed little more than his boots and hat before dropping onto the bed. The image of Bridgette was there as he closed his eyes, but so was sleep, and it won out.