by P. Creeden
Promenade with Penelope
The Matchmaker’s Ball
P. Creeden
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
About the Author
Love Western Romance?
A Marshal for Christmas
An Agent for Josie
An Agent for Opal
A Bride for James
A Bride for Henry
Promenade with Penelope © 2020 P. Creeden
Cover by Erin Dameron-Hill
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
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Chapter 1
Penelope Warner stood on a ladder in her grandfather’s study, reaching for a book on the top shelf. Her pale skin shined in the light of the lantern almost like the moon. As she pulled the volume from the shelf, dust came down with it, blowing into her face. She scrunched her nose against it, hoping to stop the inevitable, but no such luck. When the sneeze struck her, the volume slipped from her hand as she closed her eyes and gripped the ladder. With bated breath, she waited the compulsory second sneeze until that shook her small, frail body as well. Once both had passed, she sniffled as she descended the ladder and picked up the book from the floor. Little Briar Rose. This particular volume of the tale also had another version in it. Talia and the Sun and Moon.
At the mere mention of the sun, Penelope’s gaze darted toward the heavy black drapes that covered the windows in the study. All the windows in the house were covered with the same dark drapes. Her grandfather had a sensitivity to sunlight, and Penelope had developed it along with him. She remembered as a child, what it had been like to feel the warmth of the sun on her skin and squinting her eyes against the rays of light that came from the sky. But it had been so long since she had seen or felt anything but candlelight or gas lamp, that she could scarcely remember the pain that she felt when she stood in it. Her skin would ache and burn at the thought of letting it touch her skin.
She stood in the study, holding the book to her chest and peering at the landscape in the large painting that hung above her grandfather’s mantle. The sun was displayed prominently in several landscape paintings around the house, so that her grandfather didn’t miss the loss. Their two servants, Mr. and Mrs. Honeycutt went to the general store in their stead and got anything that they might need. The doctor came once a week to check in on her bedridden grandfather; otherwise they rarely received visitors. As she made her way back up the stairs, Penelope lightly touched the ornately carved banister, carrying the gas lantern in front of her to light the way. When she reached the top of the stairs, she knocked twice before entering her grandfather’s bedroom.
“It’s me, Grandfather. Penelope,” she announced as she came into the room.
Her grandfather lay upon the bed, his breath coming in shallow wheezes and whistles, other than the occasional coughing. Except for the swelling in one arm, he was barely more than skin and bones. The doctor had told them that Grandfather’s heart was failing him in addition to the consumption he’d contracted from her mother and caused them to move out to the Arizona Territory to begin with. At that time of the heart diagnosis, the doctor had said that he had little more than a few days to live, but somehow her grandfather had managed to survive a month beyond the time that the doctor had given him. “Penelope,” her grandfather whispered, “Come closer.”
Even though the fireplace in the room cast both warmth and light throughout the space, somehow, her grandfather’s bedroom still felt cold. She brought her chair closer to her grandfather’s bedside. “I’m here.”
He turned his head toward her and gave her a weak smile. His frail head sank into the pillow, his pellucid skin becoming even paler against the satin blue of his bedclothes. “Read to me, Penelope. Help me to sleep.”
That had been the other problem that her grandfather had been struggling with. Since he’d been bedridden for nearly a month, he struggled to get anything more than a dozing, piffling sleep. But if she read to him, he’d find a way to a deeper, more substantial rest. For the past week, he’d asked her to come to read to him promptly at eight in the evening, and to bring a specific book he requested, usually at lunch earlier in the day. Today it had been Little Briar Rose. “I brought the book you requested, Grandfather,” she said and opened the volume to the first page.
Then she began to read the words that were penned by the Grimm Brothers. Her grandfather had a penchant for fairy tales. She didn’t mind. Penelope loved them, herself. But somehow the story of the sleeping beauty appealed to her. She wouldn’t have minded being stuck in her home and sleeping her life away. Ambitions didn’t strike her, and would she really miss much of anything if she did? The outside world barely struck a nerve of curiosity in her. Rather, it struck her with fear much more often when she thought about it. As she finished the second chapter of the story, her grandfather had already begun softly snoring.
Though he still looked restless sleeping in the bed, she knew that it was better if she left him, but somehow he knew if she didn’t finish the story. So she turned to the last page of the book and began reading it, but another slip of paper kept trying to fall out from behind it. When she finished the last page, she turned beyond it and found the paper at the back, folded in half and wedged in the binding. Out of curiosity, she unfolded it to read. Written on it were words in neat penmanship that swirled across the page. And she found that it seemed to be a love letter from her grandmother to her grandfather. Penelope couldn’t help but smile sweetly as she folded it once more and put it back in the book. Maybe she’d read it to him tomorrow. The letter made her think of her own lack of love in her life. The two of them were certainly younger than she when they were married. A long-time spinster is what she’d become, though she’d not been interested in ever leaving her place of safety to find a man. She didn’t need one.
After she let out a slow breath, she folded the paper and stuck it back into the book, set the book on the nightstand and left the room quietly with her lantern.
Jeremiah Washington often had a habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Perhaps he should have listened to his mother who said that nothing good happened outside of the house after nine p.m. But in Creede, Colorado, where there were electric street lamps and well-lit saloons, it was too easy to be out in the night. Even though he’d usually not have been anywhere near the inside of a saloon, he had accepted a meeting with a man about a cattle drive job. Of course that job turned out to be nothing but smoke and mirrors and a way to get Jeremiah to pay for a round or two of liquor. With distaste, Jer
emiah left the saloon and was walking down the boardwalk and passing another saloon when he ended up in just that type of bad situation. A man who smelled of cheap whiskey and sickness swung at him again. Jeremiah ducked and tried to get the man to calm down. “I don’t know what your situation is, sir, but I’m sure we can talk this out.”
“Talk is for ladies. Aren’t you man enough to fight me? Come on!” the man said in a slur, his voice growing louder and more commanding with each word.
Chewing on his lip, Jeremiah ducked again as the man threw another slow punch. Each punch the man threw might have been slow moving enough for Jeremiah to avoid, but the man was heavy and not holding back. If he happened to land one, it was going to hurt. “Look, sir. I think you should settle down.”
“And I think you should mind your own business. Like you should have from the start!” The man yelled and rushed toward Jeremiah to tackle him.
“I have to agree with you there,” Jeremiah mumbled. He should never have helped the guy to stand up straight after he’d been thrown out of the saloon. If Jeremiah had just walked on and left the guy alone, perhaps he’d never have been noticed by the man who was obviously thrown out of the bar for being belligerent. Jeremiah stepped out of the way and helped the man continue to fall forward after being rushed. The man flew past him and landed in the horse’s water trough sitting out front of the saloon by the hitching post. The two horses that were tied there whinnied and shied away from the splash of water, but still remained tied to the post.
The man growled. “You’re going to regret that!”
Jeremiah took his time to get off the boardwalk in front of the saloon. The space was much too tight, and made the footing uneven. As he stepped out into the street he was much happier with the wide open area and his feet on solid ground. Though the man’s duster was dripping with water, and his wet hair was smashed to his face, it didn’t seem to do much to help cool him off. Red tinged the man’s cheeks with something akin to anger, but also embarrassment. People were gathering. Even though Jeremiah didn’t take his eyes off the man who was a physical threat to him, he could hear the murmurs and the sound of shoes hitting the wood on the boardwalk. The man’s eyes were wild and darting around as though he, too, was noticing the crowd, and it only seemed to make him angrier. Jeremiah tried again. “Look, sir. I know that we can work this out if you’re willing. Could we call a truce?”
A sneer pulled up the man’s lip. “Not on your life.”
Then, like a bull, the man charged toward Jeremiah again. Enough talk. This time, Jeremiah was going to need to disable the man and get him to give in. Jeremiah wasn’t a small man, and the muscles he’d accumulated from wrestling steers and young, feral horses on the trails were taut and ready to fight. He waited until the man was almost upon him, then he stepped to the side again. Only this time, Jeremiah left his leg in such a position as to make the man lose his footing. Then, as the man began to trip, Jeremiah took his fist and pounded him on the back, one time, right between the shoulder blades. An “oof” escaped the man’s maw as the breath wooshed out of him. With a thud, he hit the clay dirt road, but Jeremiah wasn’t going to let the man get back up and rush him again. Instead, Jeremiah landed on the man’s back with a knee and pulled one of the man’s arms up and behind him so that it would have to bend backwards just a bit.
“Hey!” the man cried out when he caught a breath again. “Stop that! Let me go!”
Jeremiah held tight while the man struggled. And as the man continued to struggle against his hold, Jeremiah raised his arm more so that it would cause greater pain in the shoulder.
“Yow! Ouch! Come on. Let me go!” Now the man’s voice was taking on a higher pitched, pleading tone that was much more satisfying to Jeremiah’s ears.
“Settle down and sit still then,” Jeremiah said. “Or I might have to yank this arm right out of its socket.”
A whimper escaped the man as he settled down and lay still.
Jeremiah counted a full five seconds before he loosened the pull on the man’s arm, but still didn’t relinquish his hold. “Now. Do you think you have time for that talk? Look. I don’t want any trouble, but I can handle any trouble you’re going to dish out. So, how about you don’t give me any? Is that all right with you?”
“No trouble. I ain’t going to be no trouble at all. Please. Let me go!”
“All right. Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to release you and you’re going to lay here for the count of three while I take a couple steps back. If you try to get up before then, my knee is going to slam much harder into your back for the second time. Do I make myself clear?”
“Understood,” the man said, spitting a bit of dry clay from his lips.
With a nod, Jeremiah slowly released his hold on the man’s arm, then let his weight off his knee. He took three steps back while dusting off his denim trousers and keeping a close eye on the man, ready to leap on him once more if he made a false move. But the man remained on the ground for the full three seconds and then a bit more before taking his time and getting up off the ground. It seemed the man had finally sobered up enough to know that he’d better straighten up if he wanted to keep from hitting the ground again. Without even a glance in Jeremiah’s direction, the man dusted himself off—as much as he could considering that his wet clothing had converted the dust to mud—and then started away silently.
A measured breath expelled from Jeremiah’s lips as he removed his hat and pushed his hair back.
“Nice work,” a deep voice said from behind him.
Jeremiah turned back and found a man about as tall as he was, in a duster with a side arm and a sliver circled star exposed on his chest. A marshal. In response to the man’s compliment, Jeremiah shrugged. “I did what anyone else would have done.”
The man huffed a laugh. “Not necessarily. You took care of the situation without throwing a single punch and without letting one land on you. That’s more than most men could do. Not to mention you kept a level head throughout the whole situation. I could use a deputy marshal or two like you. Any chance you’re looking for a job.”
Blinking hard, Jeremiah flinched a bit. “A deputy marshal?”
It was true that Jeremiah had been looking for a job. In fact he had been at the saloon to meet a man about one before it had fallen through. But becoming a lawman had been far from Jeremiah’s mind. He’d always thought that his talent had been with horses and cattle. The man tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at Jeremiah. “That is of course, provided that you aren’t a wanted man or a convicted felon, and that you are a citizen of the United States.”
Lifting a brow, Jeremiah nodded. “I am a citizen, but neither of those other two things.”
The man smiled wider and slapped Jeremiah on the shoulder. “Then you’ll do great. Just say that you’re willing to take the job.”
Taking a deep breath, Jeremiah felt a bit of excitement building in his chest. This offer felt too good to be true, but still, he took the man’s offered hand. “I’ll take it.”
Chapter 2
As Jeremiah had suspected, the job was, in fact, too good to be true.
“I’d like you to begin tonight,” Marshal Keeley said, scratching his chin and looking Jeremiah full in the eye. “All we need to do is get you deputized in front of the judge and notarize it and you’ll be a deputy marshal officially with the court.”
A frown tugged at Jeremiah’s lip. “It’s the middle of the night.”
Marshal Keeley nodded. “Judge Milton knows the situation we’ve got right now. We’re transporting three hardened criminals from Canon City prison to Yuma Territorial. Though I have two deputy marshals with me, I need two more. I couldn’t swear in anyone too close to Canon City, because it’s possible that that person might have ties with one of the criminals and sabotage the mission or help one to escape. So, Judge Milton has been informed that I might find some men I feel are trustworthy to take the position tonight. I’ve already found the other man. All I need
to know is that you’re willing to take a shift so that my other men can get some rest.”
Jeremiah nodded. “I’m willing.”
With a slap on the shoulder, Marshal Keeley’s face spread into a wide grin as he and Jeremiah stopped in front of the judge’s house. “I’m so glad to hear it. I knew I could rely upon you the minute I saw the incident in front of the saloon. Let me go in and have a few words. Wait here.”
The night was clear and allowed for a perfect view of the sky, even though many of the stars were washed out because of the electric street lamps. Jeremiah still recognized the big dipper and the summer triangle. Those were two of the few constellations that he knew on sight. But on the trail, they were often used to help him get his bearings and know directions. In the distance and coming down the hill, the chatter of folks and the soft padding of horse hooves walking on the dirt road continued toward him. Jeremiah leaned against a tree and watched the colorful and extravagant ladies sitting on the seat beside the driver. Some of their conversation reached him.
“Wasn’t that the most lovely Matchmaker’s Ball you’ve ever seen?” a woman asked another while the gentleman beside the two younger girls nodded in Jeremiah’s direction.
“That’s what you said about last month’s ball,” the other woman said with a dry laugh. “And obviously that matchmaker’s magic isn’t working for us. Neither of us have found ourselves engaged by the end of the dance.
“I still believe in the magic. And I’ll go to the ball every month for a year if I have to in order to find my match. After all, God blesses determination, faith, and perseverance,” the other said with a shake of her red curls.