He glanced over at the topmost paper in her hand, decidedly a letter, and easily spied the words “Bank of Calleyville.” “How much was he bringing to you, Mrs. Lowe?”
“Doesn’t matter,” she said. “It won’t be enough. My cattle started disappearing about the time Pitt got sick. Sheriff Drummond did some investigating but never did figure out who was taking them.” She shrugged. “Not much of a ranch without cattle.”
Mack snatched the letter from her hand and jumped down from the wagon. There were few things he could repair about her situation, but this one thing he could.
“Where are you going?” she demanded.
Ignoring the question, he pointed his boots toward the Bank of Calleyville. Before Gloree Lowe could catch up to him, Mack was standing in front of the president of the bank himself.
“This is quite unusual,” the banker, a fellow named Wainwright, said as he swept his hand in the direction of a pair of leather chairs that could have easily come out of Mack’s father’s home in London.
“I think not,” Mack said calmly. “I am merely offering to pay a debt.” He lifted his hand to show the older man the letter he’d snatched from Mrs. Lowe. “By the words on this page, a widow woman is being told her lands will belong to the bank if her husband’s debt is not paid. I wish to pay that debt. It is a simple transaction.”
Wainwright removed his spectacles and swiped them against the fine fabric of his sleeve. “I rarely have a stranger offering money to a pretty lady out of the supposed goodness of his heart.” He returned his spectacles to his nose. “And from what I understand, the goodness—and the integrity—of your heart was notably absent last evening at the card tables.”
Was there anyone in this town who hadn’t heard about his winnings?
He turned to see Mrs. Lowe step inside. “What in the world is going on here?”
“Hello, Mrs. Lowe,” Wainwright said. “This gentleman and I were just having a discussion about your delinquent account. I was explaining to him that I am unable to fulfill his request to pay your debt.”
“That might be his request, but it isn’t mine,” she said as her gaze went from the banker to Mack. “I never asked you to do this.”
“Nor did I ask your permission.” Mack turned back to the banker. “Now, I see the amount here and am willing to pay it in full plus add a sum equal to any taxes that might come due. I understand there is a man due to arrive in this city who will add to what I have put on account.”
“Goodness, Mrs. Lowe,” the banker said with a chuckle. “Widowhood does suit you.”
Mack stood. “I’m sorry,” he said in his most polite tone. “Exactly what were you attempting to say, Mr. Wainwright? Is it peculiar to you that a gentleman might wish to assist a lady without expecting anything in return? And were you insinuating something in complimenting Mrs. Lowe in such a way?”
Wainwright adjusted the lily-white collar that contrasted sharply with the scarlet flush traveling up his neck, and stood. “I am saying those sorts of arrangements are generally left to the other side of town and handled in Miss Callie’s Cathouse, and this great institution will have no part in them.” He looked over at the shocked widow. “However, I stand by my statement that this woman is well suited to her current situation and quite lovely.”
That’s when Mack hit him. Twice. The first blow landed just under the chin and the second sent him sprawling to the floor behind his desk.
The commotion caught the attention of the banker’s associates, who swarmed into the room with gasps. “Get the sheriff,” someone called.
“Yes,” Mack echoed. “Get the sheriff. I think he’d be interested in hearing what Mr. Wainwright said about his best friend’s widow.”
The banker stumbled to his feet and cleared the office of his employees. Closing the door behind him, he pointed at Mack. “You will pay for this,” he said. “Now, before I press charges against you for assaulting me, I want you to understand that my bank will not be party to any transaction that is used for illicit purposes. So if you are not this lady’s husband, your money is no good here.” He pointed to Mrs. Lowe. “As for you, madame, if I am wrong about the nature of this situation, please accept my apologies. However, I cannot let the reputation of this establishment be besmirched in any way.”
Mrs. Lowe marched over to the banker and pointed her finger at him. “Mr. Wainwright, there are plenty of things I would like to say to you right now, but contrary to what your opinion of me might be, my mama raised a lady, and I intend to act like one. I might not have known that my husband mortgaged our place to the point where only a miracle would save it, but I will never let it be said that he wasn’t a good man and I’m not a good woman.”
“Now, don’t go putting words into my mouth.”
“I’d like to put my fist there like Mr. McCoy did,” she snapped, “but as I said, I won’t. I will raise that money fair and square and bring you every penny I owe. You mark my words. Now, Mr. McCoy, if you’ll come fetch your horse, I will take my wagon and go home.”
With that, she turned around and walked out, her backbone straight and her head held high. Mack watched her go, smiling.
“Pretty words for a pretty lady,” the banker said. “But that place is already in foreclosure. It’s not hers anymore.”
“Then I will buy it,” Mack said. “Name your price.”
“I’m sorry,” Wainwright said. “It’s not for sale. Not yet, anyway. It is still listed as belonging to the Lowes, though that is just a technicality. There are details to be handled, paperwork to be filed.” He shrugged. “Who knows how long this could take?”
Mack moved just close enough to cause the banker to cease his talking. “Show me the papers that woman’s husband signed.” When Wainwright didn’t immediately take action, Mack added a single word as a warning. “Now.”
That sent the older fellow scurrying to his filing cabinet where after a few moments of searching, he retrieved a file and set it on the desk in front of him. Mack picked up the file and opened it.
Though he did his best work at a card table, there had been a time when Mack studied the law. Some of what he learned came back to him as he sorted through the multitude of statements on the documents in the file. Satisfied, he closed the file and pushed it across the desk into the banker’s hands.
“Mrs. Lowe still has one option for keeping her land,” he said. “And she will be exercising it.”
Wainwright clutched the file and then opened it to search through the papers. “I see no options for her, sir,” he finally said.
Mack grinned. “That’s where you’re wrong. Page seven, paragraph four.”
Wainwright shuffled through the pages until he located the correct one. “In the event of the death of Pittman Lowe, all rights shall pass to the man who becomes the husband of Mrs. Glorietta Lowe.” He paused to look up at Mack.
“Keep reading.”
“Included in those rights of said husband are the right of sale, transfer, or rescue from foreclosure.” He looked up. “Yes, I remember adding that line to the contract. Thought it an odd request, but Pittman Lowe insisted.”
“And that line means what?”
The banker adjusted his spectacles and held the contract up to read it again. “Well, it means just what it says. Any subsequent husband of Mrs. Lowe has the same legal rights to her property and its upkeep as the current one.”
“Exactly,” Mack said as he headed for the door. He found Gloree back at the wagon, this time offering Mack’s horse an apple.
“I got hungry,” she said with a shrug as she scratched the horse’s ear. “Figured he’d be hungry, too.” She nodded toward the bank. “Thank you for standing up for me in there. I never liked that man, but Pitt said he could be trusted. I’m beginning to see that Pitt wasn’t exactly a good judge of character.”
Mack shook his head. “Maybe not, but he was a good judge of what to put into a real estate contract.” He reached for her arm. “Come with me.”
/> She allowed the Englishman to lead her down the sidewalk, doing her best to ignore the astonished stares of those she passed. “Afternoon, Miz Miller,” she said to the blacksmith’s wife. “Nice day, isn’t it?” she commented to the proprietor of Calleyville Mercantile as she hurried to keep pace with the man whose iron grasp held her wrist.
Finally he stopped in front of Sheriff Drummond’s office. He paused only a moment to remove his hat before opening the door and marching inside. “Come on,” he called as once again he grasped her wrist.
She tumbled inside, and Mr. McCoy caught her and set her upright. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I’ve gotten clumsy since…”
No, she’d not let on about her condition. Not in front of these men. For there stood Sheriff Drummond and a stranger. The pair spoke amicably like old friends, though their laughter and conversation had stopped short when they spied her and Mack.
“I sure didn’t expect to see you back here,” Sheriff Drummond said to Mr. McCoy. “Or you, Gloree.” He nodded to his companion. “This here’s Reverend Clanton, the circuit rider. Don’t reckon you’ve met him before.”
The reverend reached out to shake her hand, and she instantly liked his kind face and quick smile. “No, I don’t believe I have.”
“It’s been some time since the church has had a man riding circuit in these parts.” He nodded to the sheriff. “I was just telling Sheriff Drummond that I’ve been given permission to look for a permanent church location here in Callyville. I’m looking forward to holding regular services here.”
“Yes, that’s wonderful,” Mr. McCoy said, “but there’s a more pressing service you need to hold right now.” He glanced over at Gloree then back at Reverend Clanton. “Mrs. Lowe and I are in need of being wed.”
“What?” She shook her head. “Have you lost your mind?”
The Englishman shrugged. “Looks as if the bride’s nerves have gotten the better of her. Sheriff, is there someplace she and I can speak privately?”
Sheriff Drummond nodded toward a door behind him. “No place to run, though. I use it to exercise prisoners, but the wife thinks it’s for growing her garden. Either way, it works.”
“I assure you neither of us wishes to run.”
Speak for yourself.
“Just give me a chance to explain,” he whispered as he wrapped his arm around Gloree’s waist and escorted her out the side entrance and into the sunshine of the enclosed back alley.
“I can’t imagine what you have to say to me that would make me walk back in there and agree to marry you,” she said, her heart racing.
“The only way to keep your property from being sold to someone else by the bank is to get married, Mrs. Lowe. It doesn’t have to be to me, but it needs to be to someone.” He paused. “And soon. You heard Mr. Wainwright say the property is already in foreclosure.”
She nodded. That was one of the few things she’d heard in the banker’s office that had stuck with her. “All right,” she said slowly, “you’ve got my attention.”
“Thanks to specific wording that your husband insisted on, the property rights he held transfer directly to the next man you marry. Without that clause in the loan, you would have no hope of keeping your land.”
“But with it?” she asked, knowing the answer.
“With it, your husband can pay off the mortgage and the property no longer belongs to the bank.” He leaned against the wall and seemed to be watching her for a reaction. “I assume he had that clause in mind when he sent for this fellow from Texas to come and wed you. Seeing as he hasn’t arrived, I am offering to be Pitt’s man, Mrs. Lowe. Will you let me help you?”
She shook her head and turned away. “I don’t even know you. And why?” She turned around again. “Why would you do this for me?”
“Because I can,” he told her.
“But what if Pitt’s man…” She paused to choose her words carefully. “That is, what if the man Pitt sent for shows up? Then what?”
“Then you will have him if you choose.”
“Thank you,” she said sarcastically, “but I’m old-fashioned. I prefer one husband at a time.”
“And one husband is all you’ll have.” He moved closer then looked around before returning his attention to Gloree. “I will marry you in name only. Give the bank time to process the papers and give you the deed free and clear, and then you can get yourself an annulment.”
“How is that possible?”
“The law allows recourse for a spouse when the marriage has not been…” He gave her a look that completed the sentence for her.
“I see.”
And she did. It helped that Pitt had written the clause into the loan papers. Surely he wouldn’t be opposed to the notion.
“I can see you’re considering it,” he said. “Look, I don’t have a decent reputation in this town, and for good reason. For that matter, there are few places other than my own mother’s home where I’m thought well of.”
“You are not helping your case, Mr. McCoy,” she said.
“I am being honest, Mrs. Lowe.” His look was both direct and intense. “I’m far from a decent man, but I will do the decent thing today if you’ll let me.”
“I won’t take your money permanently,” she said, “even if I am signing up to take your name.”
He looked surprised, and she wondered which of those statements was the cause. “Fair enough,” he said.
“Soon as the ranch is back up and running and we’re making a profit, you’ll be paid back every penny you’ve put into it.”
At Mr. McCoy’s nod, Gloree inhaled deeply of the sun-scented air and then let it out slowly. “Then we have a deal?” she said as she reached out to shake his hand.
If the Englishman thought it odd that a woman would make such a gesture, his expression did not show it. Instead he gripped her hand firmly and looked her in the eyes. “We do.”
Ten minutes later, she walked out of Sheriff Drummond’s office as Mrs. McCoy. She couldn’t help but notice that though the sheriff easily agreed to act as witness, he wasn’t nearly as free with congratulations afterward as his wife was. In fact, he appeared not to like her new husband at all.
No matter. She didn’t have to like him, either, for he wouldn’t be around much longer. She would always respect his decision, though, and would never forget the man who made it possible for her to keep her land.
Gloree touched the slight beginning of a swell just below the ribbons of her dress. Now to decide how to tell Mr. McCoy he would be a father. If he stayed married to her, that is. Which he wouldn’t. So why bother with such personal information?
Her decision made, Gloree kept her mouth shut as she and her new husband walked over to the bank to have their second meeting of the day with Mr. Wainwright. This time Sheriff Drummond and the preacher came along to verify a wedding had taken place and to sign papers as witnesses that the Pittman Lowe property, now known as the Lowe-McCoy property, was owned free and clear by Mack and Gloree McCoy.
“Once the papers are in order, the bank will officially remove the foreclosure proceedings from the property,” Mr. Wainwright said when the last page was signed. He met her gaze. “Congratulations, Mrs. McCoy, on your very recent wedding.”
Ignoring his obviously sarcastic statement, Gloree watched the banker deposit the signed papers into a folder and then place that folder into a cabinet behind him. “How long will it take until the land is officially is mine? Ours,” she corrected.
The banker closed the cabinet with a thud and shrugged. “I will do my best to get this situation handled with all the expediency it deserves.”
Though the pastor and sheriff probably did not understand the meaning behind those words, Gloree did. Likely her new husband did, too.
Gloree turned her attention to the lawman. “But the bank can’t take the property as long as it’s paid for and they’ve given you a receipt for the money. Isn’t that right, Sheriff?”
Sheriff Drummond laughed and nudged the
pastor. “Well, that’s true, but what possible reason would Mr. Wainwright have for delaying a payment your husband made fair and square?”
The lump rising beneath the banker’s right eye was one. The fresh bruise on his chin, another.
Gloree exchanged a look with her new husband and then affected her sweetest smile. “I’m sure I can’t think of a thing.”
“All right, dear,” Mr. McCoy said as he patted her arm. “Now that we have taken care of things with the preacher and the banker, what do you say to a trip to the mercantile before we go home? I sure would like some of your biscuits and gravy tomorrow for breakfast, and our flour is running low.”
“Biscuits and gravy, Mr. McCoy?” Gloree said when they were back in the wagon headed for home. “You’re assuming a lot for a man who agreed to a temporary marriage in name only.”
He slid a grin across the space between them. “It was all I could think of at the time, and I was afraid if I didn’t get you out of the banker’s office, you’d hit him harder than I did.”
She matched his smile. “I was tempted, that’s for sure.”
“However,” he said, “I feel I ought to point out that even a temporary husband has to eat. So if you can’t cook biscuits and gravy—”
“Oh, I can make it just fine. And I do owe you for getting the ranch out of hock and filling the pantry with the things you bought at the mercantile.” She paused to count her blessings even as she bit back the fear that came along with them. “And the livestock you managed to buy off Mr. Quentin are going to bring this place back to being profitable again.
“Fancy running into the man whose cattle are considered the best in three counties while waiting for our order to be filled at the mercantile. That’s quite a coincidence.”
“There are no coincidences.” She brushed a strand of hair from her face and focused her attention on the road ahead. “I know the Lord arranged it all.” At his scowl, she shook her head. “What?”
“I’d rather not argue with you.” He paused. “Not on our honeymoon.”
The Lassoed by Marriage Romance Collection Page 44