The Cowboy's Honor

by Amy Sandas

Her gaze darted to the casement windows lining the wall of her room.

  Running away was not something she had ever thought to consider, but in that moment, it seemed like her only option for true happiness—if she was brave enough to claim it.

  Everyone would think her mad. Her mother would never forgive her. But if she settled for anything less than everything she wanted, she might never forgive herself.

  I have a choice.

  With a burst of unnatural energy, Courtney pulled her veil from its pinned moorings and tossed it to the floor. Then she dashed to the window, released the latch, and swung the casement wide. Thank God she was on the ground floor and a drop of only ten feet or so greeted her when she leaned through the window and looked down. She could manage that.

  She did not have to marry Geoffrey. She did not have to commit herself to life with a man who would never truly want her.

  She did not have to end up like her mother. Passionless, resigned, stiff and unfeeling.

  Sitting on the ledge of the windowsill, Courtney tucked her legs through the opening, sweeping her many layers of satin and lace over the edge until they draped toward the green lawn below. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. Then with an odd little laugh and no further thought, Courtney braced her hands on each side of her hips.

  And pushed off.

  Chapter Two

  Open range near Lawton Ranch

  Montana Territory

  June 25, 1882

  “Shit.”

  Dean Lawton swept his Stetson off his head and smacked it against his thigh. It was only morning, but the sun’s rays were already hot enough to cause perspiration to soak into the collar of his shirt and bead across his brow.

  It wasn’t the heat of the summer sun that had his blood boiling, however.

  He had been heading home after spending the last couple weeks out on the range. He rarely got away from his office and all the responsibilities that kept him close to the ranch, but the long days of riding had been exactly what he’d needed to clear his head after a big fight with his brother over mail-order brides, of all things. He’d been reluctant to come in, but tomorrow was his monthly trip to town for supplies and news.

  He’d still been a few hours out from the homestead when he’d come upon what could only be described as a scene of senseless slaughter.

  Nearly a half dozen cattle killed and left to rot on the open prairie.

  Dean scanned the devastation, one hand clenched into a fist.

  Cattle rustling was not uncommon. It was an expected risk when herds were allowed to roam freely over thousands of acres with only a distinct brand declaring what ranch they belonged to. But rustling was done for profit. The stolen cattle were taken and rebranded so they could quickly be sold at market before their loss was noted.

  This was different.

  The murderous destruction Dean was looking at churned his stomach. It served absolutely no purpose. And it wasn’t the first time. Worse yet, if his suspicions about who was responsible were correct, it likely wouldn’t be the last.

  Dean swung down from his horse to walk among the carcasses, surveying the violence up close. He didn’t expect to find any of the animals alive, but he felt the need to check every one anyway. Maybe he’d finally find some evidence—some solid proof—and he’d know for sure whether his suspicions were correct.

  Please, God, let me be wrong.

  His men were all beginning to wonder what Dean intended to do to stop the killings. And perhaps more importantly, why he hadn’t done anything yet.

  He shoved his fingers through his hair and squinted against the sun as he looked out over the open range.

  Always decisive on matters regarding the ranch, Dean knew his hesitation was sure to make his men speculate. As boss, he couldn’t afford to lose their confidence or respect. But the matter of the slaughtered cattle was not something for which he had a ready solution. Especially not if Anne’s family really was behind it all.

  Sick with anger over the senseless killing, Dean turned away from the violent scene. He’d have to get some men out here to see to the carcasses. Leaving them would risk the spread of disease and discord—neither of which he could afford right now. He’d lost too much of his livestock already. And his lack of forthrightness in dealing with the matter had put the confidence of his men at risk.

  Setting his hat firmly back on his head, he mounted his horse and rode hard the rest of the way home, whatever peace he’d managed to find out on the open range long gone.

  * * *

  The next morning, as Dean hitched up the wagon for the ride into town, the thundering hoofbeats of an approaching rider had him looking up to see his brother heading toward him.

  The last time he and Randall had been face-to-face, they’d nearly come to blows—something that hadn’t happened since they were kids. Time to himself had gotten Dean past his anger, but he’d been on edge since finding the dead cattle. If his brother knew what was good for him, he’d avoid any mention of brides.

  Dean finished hitching the wagon just as Randall drew his horse to a stop alongside him.

  The younger man tipped his Stetson back with his thumb as he leaned forward and gave Dean a wide grin. “Still mad at me?”

  “What do you want, Randall?” Dean asked as he checked the girth on each of the horses.

  His brother sighed. “Pilar said I needed to apologize for butting my nose into your business. I know I got your dander up with my little suggestion, but you had to know it was made with good intentions.”

  “I don’t need your good intentions. I need you to mind your own damn business.”

  “You are still mad.”

  Dean scowled before turning away to jump up into the front of the wagon. He wasn’t mad, but if Randall kept it up, he’d likely get there.

  “Shit, Dean. You can’t go on like this forever, you know.”

  “Like what?”

  “All ornery and serious. You need a little happiness in your life.”

  “I’m happy enough.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Dean gave his brother a hard look. He knew where Randall was coming from, and deep down he appreciated it, but dammit—he didn’t need him interfering. Dean had his own way of doing things. He liked his way of doing things.

  “I still think it’s a good idea,” Randall insisted.

  “It’s a terrible idea.”

  “Getting married changed my life for the better.”

  “My life is fine the way it is,” Dean countered. “You should know the last thing I’d ever do is order some fancy Eastern woman out of a catalog like she was some spare part for a plow. What were you thinking?”

  “Well, it’s not like there are a whole lot of women around here to choose from,” Randall argued. “I’m lucky I found Pilar down in Texas.”

  “I don’t. Want. A wife,” Dean said with a growl of frustration as he flicked the reins to start the wagon in motion. “And I’m not gonna keep having this same damned argument.”

  Randall looked like he wanted to push the issue, but shockingly, he didn’t.

  As Dean drove away, Randall called out from behind him. “Oh, hey! I almost forgot. Can you pick up a special package for me at the post office? You’ll know it when you see it.”

  Dean gave a nod but didn’t bother looking back. Instead, he kept his gaze focused down the long dirt drive that took him to the main road into town. Long prairie grass waved gently alongside him and the scent of wildflowers drifted on the summer breeze, but Dean was too irritated to take much notice of the land he’d loved all his life.

  It was long past time for Randall to give up on the crazy idea that Dean needed a wife.

  He had Lawton Ranch. It was his responsibility to ensure that his granddad’s legacy remained as prosperous going into the future as it had been
in the decades before Dean took over. With the issue of the slaughtered cattle requiring resolution, Dean had more than enough to deal with right now.

  Chapter Three

  A little girl with two messy braids tied with yellow ribbon leaned toward her mother to whisper loudly, “But why is she dressed like that?”

  The mother cast a weak smile of apology in Courtney’s direction as she leaned toward her daughter to whisper in a much lower voice. Her words still managed to carry quite well in the confined space of the stagecoach despite the constant rumble of the wheels over the road. “I don’t know, but I do know it isn’t polite to talk about people.”

  Courtney maintained an imperturbable expression and turned her attention to the dust-covered window. The child’s question was innocent enough, but Courtney had already gone through all the curious stares and probing questions she wished to endure from her fellow passengers.

  Yes, she was wearing a bridal gown. No, she did not have any luggage or any personal belongings at all. Obviously, she was running away. And no, she wasn’t sure she had made the right decision.

  At least the child tried to whisper. Some of the others had been much bolder.

  “I think she needs a bath,” the girl added in the same loud whisper.

  Courtney resisted the frown tugging at her brows. Perhaps the child wasn’t so mannered after all.

  Though she wasn’t wrong.

  Courtney had never been so dirty in her life. Not to mention tired and sore from being tossed about as the stagecoach raced over the dusty plains from one stop to the next. She hadn’t had a good meal in far too long. And she was desperately trying to hold off the uncertainty that had been threatening to overwhelm her in recent days.

  The adventure and excitement of being on her own had sustained her quite well in the beginning. She had thought herself quite clever when she’d located a jeweler’s shop on her way to the train station in Boston and exchanged her pearls for cash. With her optimism high, she’d soon been settled in a private car as the train rattled away from the Eastern Seaboard toward new lands and a new life.

  But the more time she’d spent alone, staring out the window at scenery that passed far too quickly to appreciate, the harder it had been to hold back her doubts. Hoping to distract herself, she’d managed to acquire what she needed to write a couple letters.

  The first was to her parents, apologizing for the distress her abrupt departure had likely caused them. She doubted any explanation she could provide regarding her decision to flee her own wedding would be enough to make up for what she had done, but she wanted them to at least know she was all right.

  Her second letter was to Geoffrey.

  She hadn’t realized that she still clutched his own letter tightly in her fist until she’d gone some distance from the church. And then she’d taken the first opportunity to discard the love note.

  In the end, she decided to be completely honest with her former fiancé. Geoffrey had been a friend to her once, after all. She explained the misdirected note and declared her desire for something more in a marriage and in her life.

  Giving words to her feeling had been a liberating experience.

  But it had only kept the creeping doubts at bay for a short while.

  Courtney had always been so assured of her place in the world. She had never lacked for friends, activities, or opportunities to show everyone how charming and witty and gracious she could be. Without all of that—without the trappings of a world she had rejected—what did she have to offer?

  These thoughts of uncertainty and self-doubt were her only companions during the long, solitary days in her private train car. Yet she almost preferred them to the curious stares and constant questions she’d received once she’d transferred to the stagecoach for the remainder of her journey.

  The man beside her shifted position yet again. He’d been doing that consistently since he’d gotten on the coach two stops back. An older man near forty, dressed in a brown suit and bowler hat, and with slightly bulging pale eyes, he’d introduced himself as Mr. Martin. If she’d known what a brief nod of acknowledgment would trigger in the man, Courtney would have made sure to avoid even that.

  He’d started out in the seat across from her and had proceeded to make himself a nuisance all day, asking questions and giving her leering glances. He’d even changed seats at the last stop to sit right beside her. With the coach filled to capacity, there was nowhere for her to go. She was already pressed up against the side of the vehicle.

  He shifted again, and the hand he had been resting on his knee just happened to graze Courtney’s thigh.

  She was already sitting ramrod straight, thanks to her constricting corset, but somehow she managed to stiffen even more at the contact. It was on the tip of her tongue to loudly and succinctly berate the man for his forward behavior. But the desire to avoid a scene was too deeply ingrained in her and everything he did was so subtle, he could easily claim it an accident and her response an overreaction.

  He did it again. This time, his upper arm pressed briefly to the side of her breast.

  She was going to go mad.

  Before the heat of her temper rose any higher, the coach rolled to a jostling stop. Almost immediately, the doors opened.

  “Everyone off,” the driver called from outside.

  There were a few annoyed glances and some low-muttered grumbling from the other passengers, but they started disembarking all the same.

  “Have we arrived in Helena?” Courtney asked hopefully, but the others were too busy gathering their things and making their way from the coach to respond.

  “Allow me to assist you, ma’am.” The smell of cheap cigars and sweat assailed her nostrils as Mr. Martin leaned indecently close to speak directly into her ear.

  Courtney grasped the edge of the door and hoisted herself forward. “I’m quite all right,” she replied as she stepped—or stumbled, rather—from the stagecoach to the dusty street. Giving an impatient sweep of her arm to gather the trailing skirts of what had once been a pristine white wedding gown, she stepped up onto a wooden boardwalk. While the other passengers collected their belongings, Courtney, who had no possessions to worry about, glanced around.

  The town they had arrived in consisted of only one street. A dirty, dusty street with a row of buildings running along each side and houses scattered beyond. From the way Alexandra had described it in her letters, Courtney had expected Helena to be…bigger. It was late morning, and a good number of townspeople were out and about in the summer sunshine. A few of them had stopped to watch the travelers disembark from the stage and were now staring unabashedly in Courtney’s direction.

  It took every bit of self-control not to roll her eyes. Goodness, had no one ever seen a wedding gown before?

  As the driver of the stage hoisted a bag onto the boardwalk beside her, Courtney asked, “Excuse me, but have we reached Helena already?”

  Without glancing up, he said, “No, ma’am. This is White Sulfur Springs.”

  “What? But I bought a ticket to Helena.”

  The driver shrugged. “Last stop,” he said, then turned back to the coach to take another bag being handed down from the top of the vehicle.

  Courtney was left standing there in uncertainty.

  She regretted yet again not being more frugal with her limited funds. She was down to her last few dollars, and now it seemed she might be stranded in this little town. Panic started to rise in her chest, but she refused to allow her emotions to get the better of her. There had to be something she could do.

  She’d sent a telegram from Billings before getting on the stagecoach, notifying Alexandra of her expected arrival in Helena. Although Alexandra and her husband preferred to travel about, exploring the territories they both loved, her friend had mentioned in her last letter that she intended to be at her father’s home near Helena for an extended v
isit over the summer.

  Now that she wasn’t going to make it that far by stage, Courtney needed to let her friend know where she was. Maybe Alexandra would be able to send someone to come fetch her.

  Doing her best to ignore her personal irritation and physical discomfort after so many days of travel, Courtney took another look around.

  She noted signs declaring a dentist’s office, a general store, a saloon…but nothing indicating a telegraph office.

  Then she saw the post office.

  Perfect. She’d send a letter to Alexandra. It would take a few days to get to her, but it was better than nothing. Hopefully, she had enough money for a hotel room and a few meals to get her through until her friend came for her.

  Clasping her hands together to hide the dirt smudges on her elbow-length white gloves, Courtney tipped her chin up and walked confidently toward the post office. Fully aware that her trailing skirts were passing over the rough wooden boards, she told herself it didn’t matter. She had tried for a while to keep the gown as immaculate as it had been when she’d set out, but the effort simply grew tiring in its futility.

  Stepping into the post office, Courtney resisted the urge to sneeze. Dust from the street hovered in the stifling air. A counter ran through the center of the room, separating the shelves of postal packages and letters in the back from customers entering at the front. Courtney approached the harried-looking man behind the counter with a faint smile.

  “Good afternoon. I would like to post a letter, please.”

  “The rates are over there,” the man replied as he gestured toward a sign hung on the wall without even bothering to look up.

  “I am afraid I must write the letter first,” Courtney said. “Do you perhaps have some paper and ink I may use?”

  The man looked up then. His eyes went curiously large, and he immediately straightened to full height, which happened to be a few inches shorter than Courtney.

  She’d gotten that same look of incredulous surprise so many times over the last weeks that it really shouldn’t have bothered her any longer. But it did. Keeping her expression placid, she forced a sedate smile.