The Drifter's Mail-Order Bride: (A Western Historical Romance) (The Dalton Brides Book 4)

by Cassie Hayes

  But Bart insisted on using Dimple Junior for work, wanting to give Roamer more time to heal up. The split would have to grow out, of course, and the less he was worked, the less likely it would be to split more. Now the old fella was itching to have free rein and run, but Bart kept him moving slow.

  He still couldn’t believe it had been a little over a week since Walt had suckered him into marrying a mail-order bride! Just thinking on it raised his hackles. Why did his ‘big brother’ think he knew what was best for everyone? When was he going to get it through his thick skull that they were all grown men and could make their own decisions?

  He spent the day fuming on the injustice of it all as they made their way to his favorite little camping spot. It was tucked under some trees next to a sweet little creek and was a great place for thinking.

  Normally, he wouldn’t get set up till close to nightfall, but he’d left so early, he was hunkered over the campfire by mid-afternoon. Roamer had drunk deeply from the creek and seemed happy enough to be done for the day. Bart felt the same.

  It was good to be back out here. There was nothing quite like lying under the stars alone at night to make a man understand his place in this world. He was a speck of nothing, and if he disappeared, pert-much no one would notice the difference. No one relied on him and that was fine by him.

  Hunger started gnawing at his belly so he unpacked the food he brought. As soon as he smelled the meat frying in his little pan, his thoughts turned to Bonnie. A part of him regretted leaving her like that, without so much as a goodbye, but she’d proven she could take care of herself. She didn’t need him.

  Besides, she might as well get used to him coming and going because, soon enough, he’d be gone for good. He’d made a promise to his brothers, and he intended on keeping it, but then he and Roamer would hightail it out of there. Bonnie could take care of his portion of the homestead and keep all the profits, as far as he was concerned. She’d deserve them.

  By the time dark fell, his belly was full and he had a nice pile of firewood. Roamer was fed and resting quietly nearby. In the firelight, Bart thought he saw the horse favoring that leg again. He’d check it in the morning.

  Lying back on his bedroll, he tucked his hands under his head and watched the flickering glow of the leaves swaying above him, stars popping through with the movement. Many more leaves had fallen since his last visit. With a start, he realized that had been his wedding day.

  He snorted. Some wedding. Walt had blindsided him, making him feel responsible for the poor gal standing all alone on that platform. His brother hadn’t left him any choice but to marry her.

  And what choice did Bonnie have? They’d had enough conversations for him to know that she would have been in a hard spot if he hadn’t agreed to her plan. What would have become of her if he’d just walked away?

  She probably would have made her way home, but then she would have been forced to marry that filthy old man. She deserved so much better than that. In fact, she deserved better than what she had, but she seemed to prefer it over the other option.

  As Bart drifted off to sleep, the rustling leaves overhead and all around him formed whispers in his mind. A lady’s whispers. Whispers he couldn’t quite make out. He strained to hear the words. A few times, he almost caught what she was saying but then the words flitted away. Slumber settled over him like a warm blanket, sweet whispers echoing in his ears.

  Chapter 17

  Bonnie got control of herself long before she went over to Gwen’s. Both sisters’ skills were improving greatly every day, and this day Gwen made her very first batch of bread on her own. Of course, Bonnie watched but her once-lazy, spoiled sister managed two perfect loaves without a word of instruction.

  She and Libby couldn’t help giggling as Gwen danced around the cabin in celebration. Then she stopped and gave Bonnie a kiss on the cheek, exclaiming, “You’re a wonderful teacher, Bonnie!”

  Bonnie felt a swell of pride, not only for her ability to teach but at Gwen and Libby’s growth. Gwen always seemed overly confident, but she was secretly so afraid of failing that she’d barely been trying to learn how to cook. Poor little Libby, on the other hand, wanted to learn but was so insecure she kept second-guessing herself.

  Regardless of their inner conflicts, both of her sisters were becoming wonderful homemakers. There was no doubt in her mind that they would have long and happy marriages with their husbands, as soon as Libby fully adjusted. The pained smile she plastered on her face when Gwen went on and on about how happy she was was a dead giveaway. But unless Libby broached the subject, Bonnie wasn’t about to stick her nose in.

  “What are we cooking for dinner tonight?” Gwen demanded.

  Now was as good a time as any to tell her sisters Bart was gone. She shrugged as casually as she could and said, “Bart’s away for a few days on a business trip, so I’ll probably just have a sandwich.”

  Only after she said it did she remember that Bart took all the cooked meat and bread with him. Darn him!

  Of course this revelation brought a round of questioning from her concerned — and clearly relieved — sisters. They didn’t want their husbands leaving them in the wilds of Texas alone, and Bonnie couldn’t blame them. For them, it could be a death sentence. Luckily, Bonnie was more self-reliant.

  Thankfully the subject quickly turned back to dinner, and Bonnie showed her sisters how to make a delicious potato soup. They were fast learners and insisted on doing as much as they could to help. She was quite grateful because, for some reason, she was tired to her bones. If she laid her head down, she was certain she’d be out till the next morning.

  As she and Libby were getting ready to leave, Gwen asked her to stay for supper. “No, thank you,” was on her lips when she remembered she had no leftovers. It didn’t make sense to make a big meal for just one person, plus it was getting late.

  “Walt won’t mind?”

  “Of course not,” Gwen insisted, though Bonnie thought she saw a flicker of doubt in her eye. “Please come.”

  “I’d be happy to. I have something for you anyway. Let me run home and get it.”

  During her meager free time, Bonnie had been working on Gwen’s cornflower blue dress. She’d nearly thrown a hissy fit when she discovered her favorite dress hadn’t been packed in their rush to escape Beckham, and the bolt of blue cloth had been the first thing Gwen bought at the mercantile. It wasn’t as fancy as her previous dress, but she would appreciate the practicality of this one very soon. At least she’d better.

  Bonnie was pleasantly surprised at her reaction. “Oh Bonnie! It’s perfect. When did you find the time? We’re working morning to night.”

  That was true, but Bonnie could do her chores much more quickly, plus she didn’t have a husband who was carrying her off to the bedroom every evening. “I can always find a little time,” was all she’d say.

  While Gwen was trying it on, Walt came in, looking tired and irritable. “You didn’t have to cook for us, Bonnie.”

  “I didn’t! Gwen cooked, I just supervised. She invited me to stay for supper because Bart is on his business trip.”

  She gave him a knowing look and emphasized the last two words so he would understand not to spill the beans to Gwen. He raised an eyebrow at her but was quickly distracted when Gwen came out in her new dress. She looked beautiful.

  Bonnie looked down at her mud-brown work dress and sighed. Gwen’s hair tumbled prettily around her face, while her own was tucked up tight in a bun. Gwen’s lips and cheeks were naturally pink, while she had to pinch and bite her own to achieve such a glow. No wonder she’d been picked last. No wonder Bart left.

  A single tear plopped in the soup.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  “I’ll walk you home,” Walt said after dinner.

  All she wanted was to be alone and was about to object, but she didn’t want to insult her new brother-in-law. “I’d appreciate that.”

  As they walked the short distance to Bart’s — her — cabin,
Walt cleared his throat. “Erm, you know Bart ain’t on no business trip, right?”

  The pity in his voice irked her. “Of course, I know, Walt. There are no secrets between Bart and me.”

  She’d tried to sound confident, but it came across sounding snide. He just shrugged.

  “I’m sorry for being terse,” she finally said as they were approaching her cabin. “But I think it would be easiest for everyone if you could go along with the story.”

  He gave her a hard look. “I won’t lie to my wife, Bonnie.”

  “No no! I wouldn’t think of asking you to do that, but I’m sure Gwen won’t bring it up on her own…”

  Finally, he nodded. “If she don’t ask, I won’t tell. Fair enough?”

  “Thank you,” she breathed with relief.

  “But…” he started, then stopped himself.

  “Go on,” she urged, not truly wanting him to continue.

  “Is it fair? To you?”

  She pursed her lips and tipped her chin up. “I’m quite satisfied with my situation. Thank you for your concern.”

  Spinning on her heel, she walked through her door and closed it firmly. How dare the overbearing brute stick his nose in her business! Once he soundly rejected her at the train station, he gave up all rights to interfere in her life. She was absolutely fine.

  So why was she trembling again?

  Chapter 18

  Bart woke up with the sun after a night of disturbing dreams. He’d been trying to find something — a hat, he thought — but every time he got close, it disappeared. He’d never really thought much about hats before, but he really wanted this one. He was desperate to have it, but he could only catch glimpses of it. At one point, it was sitting right in front of him but when he reached for it, it turned into a blue mockingbird and flew away.

  Why on earth was he dreaming about hats turning into birds? Normally when he was out on safari, he had peaceful dreams he rarely remembered, if he dreamt at all. He couldn’t figure it out and it put him in a sour mood all morning.

  Eating didn’t hold any appeal so he just stoked the fire and brewed some strong coffee in the same pan he’d cooked dinner the night before. While it was brewing, he checked on Roamer, who was favoring his bad foot a little, just as he suspected.

  “Hang it all,” Bart muttered, angry at himself for pushing ol’ Roamer when he knew the horse wasn’t as young as he used to be. He rubbed some McLean’s Volcanic Oil liniment from Roamer’s hock to fetlock and hoped a day of rest would help. He’d planned to get some more miles under him, but he didn’t want to risk the horse coming up lame.

  Settling himself on a log in front of the fire, he took a sip of his coffee. “Gack!” He nearly spit it out but managed to swallow it. Out on the trail, drifters would call coffee this bad coffin varnish. Bart figured real coffin varnish would taste a might better than this brew.

  Why was it so bad? It was the same coffee he used last time, same pan, same water. Yet it tasted bitter and foul. He threw it out and made a fresh batch. Maybe he let it boil too long. That could ruin a good cuppa mud.

  After the long night of fitful sleep, he needed the coffee so he was careful to not let it sit on the fire too long. He slowly poured the brew into his mug, making sure to keep most of the grounds out. Raising the mug to his lips, he breathed deeply.

  “Ahhhh,” he sighed. There was nothing so fine as enjoying a good cup of coffee in front of the campfire. There was something magical about it. The steaming black liquid was hot on his tongue but he ignored the little bite of pain. He was desperate!

  “Bleck!” he cried, spitting it out this time. It was worse than the first batch. What the…?

  He stared into the black depths, wondering why his coffee tasted so bad all of a sudden. Then it dawned on him. He’d been drinking Bonnie’s delicious coffee long enough that he was spoiled. This swill couldn’t compare to hers.

  “Well, you better get used to it, fool,” he muttered, bracing himself for another sip of the vile brew. It took a good half-hour but he managed to finally choke it all down, in spite of himself.

  He was a drifter, through and through, and drifters lived hard lives, dagnabit. They slept on the ground, drank bitter coffee and were lucky to find decent meals. After just a few days, he was as mollycoddled as a newborn! This wouldn’t do. Nope, not one little bit.

  Digging a piece of jerky from his saddlebag, he sat by the creek and gnawed on it. Might as well have been chewing on rawhide, but he was determined not to eat the rest of Bonnie’s leftovers. He had something to prove to himself.

  He guessed he was grateful that he’d been sleeping on the floor since she arrived. It was harder than the ground, at least out here where the leaves had fallen and formed a nice bit of padding. The campfire kept him just as warm as the fireplace, too. Yup, being in the great outdoors was where he belonged.

  Since he wouldn’t be going anywhere that day, he decided to try a little hunting. A rabbit would make a nice supper. Besides, his legs needed stretching after riding most of the day before.

  All day, he wandered around, trying to figure out all the nonsense spinning around in his head. It was a jumbled mess that he couldn’t make heads nor tails of, and that made him sore. What it boiled down to, he figured, was that he hated everyone.

  He was still angry with Walt for being his overbearing, know-it-all self and forcing him into a marriage he didn’t want. Nate made the list by sticking his nose in his business the night before. Bonnie didn’t do anything wrong that he could think of, but he was mad at her, too. And her silly sisters who were so spoiled that she had to teach them like children. Why couldn’t they be more like her? How was it possible they were raised by the same parents?

  Bonnie was whip-smart, knew how to cook better than anyone he’d ever known and had a unique beauty her sisters couldn’t hold a candle to. Why his brothers fawned and drooled all over those other two was beyond Bart. Bonnie was the real prize, they were just chuckleheads who couldn’t see it.

  He had to admit, Gwen and Libby weren’t all bad. Gwen was full of life and, after a few days, she seemed to really want to be a good wife. And Walt seemed to think she was sweet as Bonnie’s apple pie. Nate had always been a closed book, but Bart could tell he was already devoted to his new bride, even though Libby seemed scared and unsure of everything. If he was being honest, he had to admit he rather liked his sisters-in-law.

  Bart took a couple pot shots at a battered old cactus, imagining Nate’s face. He’d spent his entire life being bossed around by his ‘older’ brother because everyone seemed to expect it. He’d heard Pa tell Walt once that it was his duty to watch out for his brothers because he was oldest. Didn’t matter that they were triplets and born just minutes apart.

  It was easy when they were kids. Bart didn’t have to make too many decisions for himself, and if he got in trouble, Walt took the brunt of the punishment because he was oldest and “should know better.” Eventually, though, that chafed Bart. He’d never be responsible for himself if he was around Walt, so he took off.

  He’d spent a decade with no one to answer to but to himself, and that was fine by him. Making his own decisions suited him. If he screwed up, he paid the price. If he succeeded at something, no one could take away the victory as their own. No way he could have that as long as he was around Walt.

  The ranch had been Walt’s idea, his dream since he was a young’un. Bart might be mad at him now, but he’d never refuse to help either of his brothers find happiness. He figured he could play along for a few months, let Walt be his bossy self, because he wasn’t invested in this project.

  Then Walt had gone off and ordered him a catalog bride! The nerve of the man to think he knew what was best for Bart. Just thinking about the position his brother had put him in, and the risk he put Bonnie in, made him angry all over again.

  A rabbit darted across his path and Bart shot it easily. It was deader than a door nail, but he was so riled up, he shot it three more times to work out
his frustration. It should have made him feel better but it didn’t. Picking up the bullet-shredded rabbit only made him feel disappointed in himself. He’d lost control and took it out on this poor creature.

  Slowly he headed back to camp, pondering his situation. Something Nate said the night before kept running through his mind but he couldn’t quite figure it out. He’d said, “Ain’t nobody can make you do nothin’ you don’t want, deep down.”

  What was that supposed to mean? Was he suggesting that Bart wanted to get married that day? Ridiculous!

  Walt had put him in an impossible position. Bonnie was smart enough to come up with a solution that took the pressure off but he honestly wasn’t sure what he would have done if she’d expected something more…traditional.

  He always liked to think he was a free spirit, a man who could never be tied down, but he wasn’t like a lot of drifters he’d met throughout the years. He didn’t hustle, cheat or steal. If he couldn’t find work and no one invited him to supper, he’d go hungry rather than steal a loaf of bread. Nope, his pa had raised him right, and he never turned his back on his morals, even when he was surrounded by scoundrels.

  And that strong sense of right was his downfall. Walt played him like their granddaddy’s fiddle and he’d walked headlong into the trap. What else was he supposed to do? Nope, Walt had tricked him into marrying Bonnie, and that was that.

  He cleaned and spitted the rabbit in a trice and sat back watching it crisp up. The familiar smell took him back to one of his many adventures, one which involved a scraggly old ship captain with an honest-to-goodness peg leg. Claimed he won it in a card game and that it once belonged to the famous pirate François Leclerc. Bart wasn’t buying what the man was trying to sell, but it was a good story so he played along.

  Bart caught himself as he was opening his mouth to tell the story to Bonnie so she could write it down. He’d miss telling her stories once he was gone for good. He loved the light in her eye as she scribbled down his tales. Her laugh was light yet hearty, kind of like her bread. That sorta described her, too, now that he thought about it.