The Mail-Order Bride Carries a Gun: A Sweet Historical Western Romance (Brides of Sweet Creek Ranch Book 1)

by Thomas,Wanda Ann

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Reeling from the shock of learning he had killed Ella’s brother, Ty left Ella tucked in bed with the promise he’d return shortly.

  Desperate for fresh air, he headed for the front door. The buzz of chatter around the pine dining table quieted and Wyatt, Levi, and Ace stared at him expectantly.

  “What’s wrong with Miss Ella?” Wyatt asked. “She looked awful sad.”

  Ty gripped the brass door handle. “Give me a few minutes, boys.”

  Ace resumed shuffling a deck of cards. “It’s snowing again.”

  “From the racket the wind is making I’d say we’re in for another blizzard,” Levi said, then clapped a hand over the deck of cards. “I told you to stop snapping those cards together. It’s setting my teeth on edge.”

  “How about I knock your teeth out,” Ace growled, dragging the cards free.

  Ty raised his collar and cracked open the door. Wind and snow whistled past his shoulder. “Try not to kill each other in the next five minutes,” he said, escaping the close confines of the ranch house.

  Boots ankle high in fresh snow, Ty walked into the claws of the freezing wind and grabbed hold of the porch railing. Preachers loved sermons on hellfire, but the icy lifeless abyss of winter had a lonely desolate quality that felt bone-chillingly evil.

  For all the winters he’d spent in Wyoming, he would marvel at the wondrous transformation ushered in by spring. But this year, he feared winter would prove triumphant, creating a path of utter destruction. The hard summer drought, followed by the brutal onslaught of unrelenting snow and freezing temperatures had to be putting a tremendous strain on the herd. Hardy as they were, longhorn cattle couldn’t survive if they couldn’t reach the grass buried beneath the mounting snow. Pa Malcolm and Ma Viola’s dreams of a ranch giving homeless boys a second chance would die if the herd was lost.

  Spring couldn’t come soon enough, yet he already dreaded its arrival. What if he couldn’t convince Ella to make her home with him at Sweet Creek Ranch?

  How could she stay?

  He had killed her brother. Ty had only been fifteen at the time, but had felt years older thanks to soldiering for over two years with the Union army. He had shot and killed plenty of men before that fateful day, but never close up and never a boy.

  Johnny Hunter’s death had been even more poignant as the battle of West Point had taken place one week after General Lee’s surrender to General Grant. Johnny had been one of the last deaths of the war.

  The young boy’s saber had acted as a reminder of the terrible waste and destruction. Not wanting to glorify or memorialize the killing and bloodshed, Ty had hidden the saber under the floor boards, with hardly a thought to it afterward.

  The truth was, the horribleness of Johnny Hunter’s death and the war had paled in comparison to the desperate uncertainty of day-to-day life he’d endured as an orphan. Ty had faced the prospect of death, fighting as a soldier, but he hadn’t faced it alone. Pa Malcolm had been beside him. Once Pa and Ma rescued him, he knew true rest, true happiness, true love. The move west with Pa and Ma and Sweet Creek Ranch and his brothers and the second-chance boys had been his salvation.

  Pa and Ma’s death had gashed open an old wound, prompting him to seek out a mail-order bride. The thought of Ella leaving made him feel like he was slipping toward a dark, bottomless pit.

  The selfless route would be to give her the saber and put her on the first train to the East. “That sure as shoot ain’t happening,” he said, and, brushing the snow from his clothes, he strode back into the ranch house.

  “What set your pants on fire?” Wyatt called out.

  Ace wagged his brows. “Maybe old Ty here won’t be sleeping in the bunk room no more.”

  Wyatt kicked Ace under the table. “Don’t go speaking disrespectful about Miss Ella.”

  “I didn’t mean no disrespect,” Ace said, scowling at Wyatt and rubbing his shin. “They’ve been married for a month. It’s about time Ty sleeps in his own bed.”

  Ty went to the fireplace, wrapped a soapstone bed-warmer in a towel, and turned for the bedroom door. Being cooped up inside was a punishment for cowboys. The unrelenting storms were taking a toll. “I’m going to kiss my wife good night. Then I’m going to whip you boys at a game of poker.”

  Ace grinned wide. “That will be the day.”

  Wyatt hooted with glee and plucked the coffee pot from the table. “Poker calls for a round of Ma’s special cider.”

  The sound of good-natured banter at his back, Ty knocked on the bedroom door and let himself in.

  Black hair spilling over a white pillow, Ella pulled the brown quilt higher. “You don’t have to knock.”

  The hint of white lace feathering her throat making him weak kneed, he slipped the towel-covered, toasty-warm stone under the covers, next to her feet, and took a seat on the edge of the four-poster bed. “Two bodies would keep the bed nice and warm. But the soapstones work good too.”

  A lone tear rolled down her cheek. “You don’t have to sleep in the bunk room.”

  His gut knotted. “Ella, honey, I was only teasing.”

  More tears flowed, but she seemed oblivious to them. “Kiss me.”

  “Don’t cry,” he whispered, brushing her wet cheeks.

  “Kiss me,” she said more fiercely, rising to meet him, arms circling his neck.

  Blood heating, he crushed his mouth to hers.

  Sobbing in earnest, she tore at the buttons on his shirt.

  He broke the kiss and cuffed her wrist. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  She tucked her chin to her chest. Her shoulders shook with the force of her tears. “I want you. I want this.”

  “Why are you crying?”

  “Sleep with me.”

  He kissed her head, released her, and stood. “Not like this.”

  She reached out to him. “Ty, please. I said one month. You aren’t breaking your promise.”

  Why did she have to call him by name—now? The lost, panicked light in her eyes slew him. How could he deny her? “Don’t cry.”

  “Ty, make me forget.”

  He slowly undressed with Ella watching wordlessly, tears flowing. The winds of the blizzard roared outside the bedroom window. He climbed into his bed with his wife, as he’d been longing to do since bringing her home, but their joining had the desperate quality of two lost souls reaching for what they could not have.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Bundling up against the winter wind, Ella escaped the confines of the quiet ranch house. Thoughtful to a fault, Ty had known she would need some time alone after last night, when she’d told him why she’d come to Sweet Creek Ranch, and he had suggested he and his brothers and the boys ride out to check on the herd.

  Levi was the only one who had stayed behind, even though she’d insisted she knew how to use a gun and could take care of herself. Protective by nature, Ty wouldn’t hear of it, putting her in mind of how Granny Bessie used to fuss over her. She’d rather kiss a porcupine than admit she liked the fussing. After going so long with no one mindful of her welfare, she knew what a precious gift it was to have someone care.

  To Levi’s credit, he had burrowed up inside the bunk room, and so for all practical purposes she was as good as alone.

  The biting cold had her wishing she’d worn a scarf. Her steps quick, she sought refuge from the whistling wind in the barn. She entered through a side door and paused to allow her eyes to adjust to the dark. Engulfed by the smell of dried straw, she heard a horse moving about in a nearby stall. Something brushed against her skirt. She jumped and held her heart, then laughed as Ty’s cat Fox Bait circled back to rub against her leg a second time.

  She petted the cat’s head. “Sweet biscuits and jam, you shouldn’t go sneaking up on jittery ninnies.”

  Fox Bait meowed and padded away, calico tail waving in a lazy arc.

  The blond mare Sweetheart, with a heart-shaped patch of
white gracing her golden forehead, studied Ella with large solemn brown eyes.

  Drawn to the stall, Ella freed the small burlap bag from her pocket and held out a lump of sugar on the flat of her hand. Sweetheart’s soft muzzle moved over her palm soft as a whisper. She stroked the horse’s golden nose. The horse crunched contentedly on the treat. “Wyatt and Ace and Levi couldn’t be happier for Ty,” she told Sweetheart.

  Her faced heated like it had when she’d emerged from the bedroom this morning to Wyatt’s and the others’ knowing smiles. “I haven’t been that embarrassed since The Widow Bonnell and I were on our way to have tea at the White House, and we spotted Rutherford B. Hayes climbing out of a carriage and I blurted out, ‘Is that the man who stole the election?’ loud enough for him to hear. Mrs. Hayes was very nice. Lemonade Lucy they called her ‘cause she banned drinking, dancing, and card playing. The Widow Bonnell never did receive another invitation to the White House.”

  Not giving two hoots about Lemonade Lucy or the Widow Bonnell, Sweetheart stared blankly back.

  Ella gave a long sigh. “Ty promised not to tell his brothers and the boys about what happened with Johnny. I can’t face more questions. Not just yet. What will they think if I send Ty back to the bunk room tonight?”

  Memories of Ty’s hands and mouth moving over her body swirled through her. She hugged Sweetheart and buried her face in the horse’s coarse mane. “I’m a horrible person. I can’t stay and be Ty’s wife. But I burn for him.”

  He had repeatedly tried to comfort her. Don’t talk, she’d said. Kiss me. Make me forget. “And we made wild love and I never once thought of Johnny.”

  Sweetheart nickered softly and shifted closer.

  Ella swallowed, and the sick feeling in her stomach worsened. “Don’t feel sorry for me. I’m a disgrace. I know I am. Granny would be so ashamed.”

  Ella would be leaving the ranch in the spring, but when Ty returned from his ride she would tell him he could move back into his room, and she would lose herself in lovemaking until thoughts of the lonely life awaiting her back east scattered like snowflakes before the wind.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The pine dining table littered with the remains of the holiday meal and Christmas joy enlivening the air, Ella placed her napkin next to her gravy-stained plate.

  Ty stood. “Go sit by the fireplace, while Ace and I go retrieve your present.”

  Though a week had passed since she and Ty had started sharing a bed, she couldn’t get comfortable in her own skin or look at him without blushing on account of what happened between them during the long, dark nights. “Why on earth would you need Ace’s help?”

  He ambled to the door. “I mean to see you have a proper Western Christmas.”

  Ty and Ace strode out into the frozen cold before she could offer a protest. “But I don’t have a present for you,” she murmured.

  Bubbling over with boy-like excitement, Wyatt led her to one of the fireside chairs. “I’m thinking of putting my photograph in the Marriage Gazette and finding myself a mail-order bride, seeing it’s working out so well for you and Ty.”

  Levi joined them. “Pa and Ma would be happy for you and Ty. They were afraid he would die a lonesome bachelor.”

  Wyatt frowned. “I wish Pa and Ma were here to see you celebrate your first Christmas at Sweet Creek.”

  Uncomfortable with their happiness on her and Ty’s behalf, she sought to distract them. “How did you get that nasty scar on your chin?”

  Levi rolled his eyes. “Ace running his mouth when he shouldn’t.”

  “The look on Blackwell’s face was worth it,” Wyatt said.

  Levi made a face. “A real hoot, right up until I got clobbered in the face with a plank.”

  Wyatt grinned. “Gives your face character.”

  Levi punched Wyatt’s shoulder. “How would you like a fistful of character?”

  “You have done your folks proud, coming together to save the ranch,” Ella said, hoping to head off a fight.

  Levi shrugged a shoulder in an embarrassed fashion. “We care about the ranch, but not like Ty. The work of Sweet Creek is his life’s blood. The rest of us will move on. Boone already has. But not Ty. I will feel better about leaving, knowing he won’t have to go it alone now he’s found a wife.”

  Don’t count on me remaining at Sweet Creek beyond spring, she wanted to say, but the words stuck in her throat. She turned a beseeching look on Wyatt. “You love the ranch as much as Ty.”

  Wyatt stuffed his hands in his pocket and rocked on his heels. “Actually, I had thoughts of moving to Cheyenne to open an eating house.”

  “You plan to run a saloon?” Levi said, incredulous. “I suppose it’s better than rustling cattle. Maybe.”

  Wyatt made a face. “Not a saloon…an eating establishment. And I’ll do the cooking.”

  Levi smiled. “I never figured you for a city fellow.”

  “You’re too busy keeping Ace out of trouble to pay attention to much else,” Wyatt said without heat.”

  Levi shifted in place. “Does Ty know?”

  “Does Ace know you fancy becoming a lawman?” Wyatt shot back.

  Levi poked Wyatt’s chest. “No. And best keep your big mouth shut.”

  “I’d hate to have to clean a bloody nose on Christmas day,” Ella said, keeping her voice cheery, when she wanted to give them a good scold for making plans to desert the ranch and Ty.

  Levi shuffled. “Pardon my poor manners, Miss Ella.”

  Wyatt cast her a shy smile. “The conversation was getting a might heated.”

  The front door swung open and Ty backed into the room hauling the stump end of a tree. He grinned at Ella over his shoulder. “Where should I put your present?”

  Garrett, Ox, and Billy hooted with delight at the size of the tree and raced to help carry the sprawling fir. A fresh pine scent spread on the wings of the chilly air rushing through the room.

  A joy unlike any she’d known filled her heart. “A Christmas tree?”

  Ace swaggered inside, arm looped around the treetop as though embracing a buxom woman. “I told Ty women prefer jewelry or perfume, but he assured me you’d like the tree fine.”

  She hurried to the fireplace. “Stand it here. It will look lovely beside the stone chimney.”

  In no time at all the Haven men worked to stand the tree upright on the wooden base nailed to the bottom of the trunk. Ella clapped and stood back to admire the white pine towering to the height of the post and beam ceiling.

  Then she noticed the forked top. Memories of the night of passion in the solitude of the frozen shelter swirled up, sending heat rushing to her face. She glanced at Ty. “You went back? Through the snow and cold.”

  His golden brown eyes were locked on her. “It was our tree. None other would do.”

  There’d never be another man like Ty in her life. One so thoughtful and giving. “It’s perfect,” she whispered back.

  Billy tugged on her skirt. “Can we open the presents?”

  She hugged his thin shoulders, envisioning the deprivations Billy and Seth would be suffering in the absence of Boone and Ty’s generosity. “This is Mr. Ty’s home. He’s the one with the say.”

  Ty’s smile dimmed. “Pa Malcolm and Ma Viola always read the Christmas story first.”

  “Here’s Ma’s Bible,” Ace said, retrieving the well-thumbed tome from its honored spot on the clerk’s desk.

  Ty opened the Bible, flipped through the onion-thin pages, and, finding the appropriate verses, he read in a strong, clear voice. “Now when Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, in the days of Herod the king, wise men came from the east to Jerusalem saying…

  Her heart warmed watching Garrett, Ox, and Billy speculate over the small pile of gifts stacked on the raised hearth. Seth sat at the clerk’s desk by himself, wearing a derisive smirk. Why couldn’t Seth let go of the past and embrace the opportunity to make a new life?”

 
Wyatt sidled up next to her and spoke in her ear. “You won’t mention the eating house to Ty, will you?”

  She fixed her eyes on Ty, standing tall and rugged beside the majestic white pine. He would endure here, carry on by himself if he must. Of course, if she left, Ty might decide to put his picture in the Marriage Gazette again. A stab of jealousy shot through her at the image of Ty holding another woman. She hugged her arms. “I wish you wouldn’t leave Ty and the ranch.”

  “I’ll come visit you both,” Wyatt promised.

  The reading finished, Ty’s eyes met hers. “Christmas must have been a much grander affair in Georgetown.”

  “This is the best Christmas I can remember since…” Since before the war. Christmases at the Widow Bonnell’s mansion had been dreary affairs, the opposite of the joyous, warm celebrations with Johnny and Momma and Daddy. Then Daddy had gone off to fight in the war and their happy life seemed more dream than real. She squeezed her eyes closed.

  The next moment Ty’s comforting arms circled her and his mouth brushed her hair. “What’s wrong?”

  He’d gone through so much trouble to please her. Not about to allow her melancholy to ruin the day, she summoned up a smile. “Don’t mind me. Christmas always makes me go all mushy.”

  A sudden gust of wind whistled through the room and everyone turned toward the open door. A shadowy figure filled the doorway. Ella’s eyes slowly adjusted to the contrast in light, revealing a man clothed in buckskin leggings and breechcloth, with black waist-length hair, bronze skin, and fierce proud eyes. “Fresh meat for your stew,” the unsmiling Indian said, locking eyes on her and hefting a brace of rabbits.

  Pulse speeding, she pressed closer to Ty.

  “White Wolf!” Wyatt called out enthusiastically.

  Wyatt, Levi, and Ace rushed to the door in welcome.

  “White Wolf is one of us,” Ty said, a note of caution in his voice. “Another one of Pa and Ma’s boys.”