“You haven’t checked his references,” Nellie sat down at the table, as if scared her legs would no longer hold her up.
“It’s a risk I have to take. I’ll carry my father’s Winchester with me.”
“A gun?”
“Yes. Pa taught me how to use it and I’m a good shot.”
“Briony!”
“I am. I can look after myself if I have to.” Inwardly, she wondered whether in fact she could. Pa’s blood runs in my veins. He was brave and I can be the same, if I set my mind to it.
“I was thinking, instead of waiting for the mail coach to take me into Forked River the day after tomorrow, if Dusty could drive me over. I could get the stage from there to Denver, then maybe a train to Laramie and the stage to Fir Ridge.”
“It’s a long trip to be doing on your own.”
“I know, but this Martin Kavanagh is my best bet. He is obviously as desperate to get married as I am.”
The fact that Nellie did not try too hard to talk her into changing her mind, confirmed her suspicions that she was fearful of repercussions and Briony did not blame the kindly woman. People could be so cruel.
“I’m sure Dusty won’t mind taking you over to Forked River. If you’re sure it’s what you want.” The older woman tacked the last sentence on almost as an afterthought.
These people had been kind and it would be heart wrenching to leave Hurstbridge. There was no other choice. She had to go as quickly as possible.
Chapter Four
It was barely light when they set off on their journey to Forked River. Dusty had admitted hearing the latest nasty rumor about her.
“I wish I was brave enough to stand up for you,” he said as they drove along.
“I don’t expect you to risk your livelihood for me. You’ve already done a great deal for me and I would feel awful if your plans were jeopardized because of me.”
“It was good having you around the place, Briony.”
“Thanks, I’ll always remember your kindness, Nellie, too. I know it couldn’t have been easy for you.”
“Lucille is crazy in the head.” He flapped the reins a couple of times to get the horses going.
“She was always insanely jealous. What I can’t forgive her for is turning Hannah against me. Pa’s name has been sullied by all this nastiness. She got the ranch, the house in Denver and everything else. Wouldn’t you think that would be enough?”
“Hatred is a terrible thing,” Dusty said. “That woman is eaten up with it and sad to say, Hannah is heading in the same direction. Your pa would be turning over in his grave if he knew what they were doing.”
At Forked River, Dusty dropped her at the stage depot and she just had enough time to buy a ticket and hand over her carpet bag and trunk to the driver.
“Goodbye, Briony, and good luck. Let us know how you get on.”
“I will, thanks for everything you and Nellie have done for me.”
He waited while she boarded the stage and then, with a wave of one hand, drove away.
One chapter of her life had come to an end. Hopefully, the next one would be a more favorable one.
***
Martin showed the letter from Briony Ashton to Phyllis. “I can’t believe it. She is actually coming here.”
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Marty.”
“You think I haven’t.” There was definitely something strange about this woman. His gut knotted with anxiety.
“I never should have talked you into advertising in that stupid gazette,” Phyllis said. “It’s all my fault. You’re going to be stuck with some desperate hag of a woman now.”
“It’s not your fault, Phyl. I didn’t have to agree. I’m a grown man and can make my own decisions.”
“I’m a grown woman and I should have read between the lines that there was something peculiar about her.”
“If she’s too awful, I won’t marry her. I’ll refund the money she paid to get here and send her back.” He tried to sound convincing, because poor Phyl looked so distraught. Inwardly, trepidation swirled around inside him, its ugly fingers clawing at his gut until he felt sick. His head felt ready to explode as he tried to pull himself together.
Glancing at his sister was almost his undoing. He had never seen her look so worried or upset. It wasn’t her fault; she was trying to help him and look at the mess they had made of things. He wished he had never heard of the Matrimonial Gazette. What if the woman refused to leave?
“What if she won’t leave when you tell her to?” Phyllis might well have read his mind.
“At least she doesn’t know exactly where the ranch is.”
“It wouldn’t take much effort to find out. Write to her, tell her not to come. Take the letter into Fir Ridge tomorrow morning and spread the word that if some strange woman comes asking for you, they are not to tell her where the ranch is.”
“I don’t know about this. What can I say? The woman might be all right.” He gnawed his lower lip.
“Most likely, she won’t be. Look, if I were a woman coming to a strange town and wanting to find someone, I’d go to the mercantile, the sheriff, the bank and the diner to ask for you.”
“Sounds reasonable. What about the hotel?”
“New people took it over a while back, they wouldn’t know you.”
Martin was glad he had seldom socialized. Most of the newcomers in town wouldn’t know him or where he lived. Once the woman got a few rebuffs, she might return to Colorado and find herself some other gullible fool. Maybe I’m not the only man she wrote to. The thought jumped into his head.
A woman who was so desperate to leave where she lived, might try to spread her risk. If one man rejected her, she would have another one lined up ready to take his place. On the other hand, what if she was genuine? She couldn’t be, no sane woman would do what she had done. Not check his references, then try to force his hand by arriving on his doorstep uninvited. Well, Miss Briony Ashton, if that was even her real name, would not be putting so much as a toe on his ranch. How could a man let himself get into such a mess?
***
After spending the night tossing and turning, Martin felt like a dying dog as he dragged himself out of bed to get a few essential chores done before his journey into Fir Ridge. He hated going into town at the best of times, but a mission like this, was a hundred times worse.
Over and over, the words he had written to Briony Ashton echoed in his head. They had been brutally frank, and he hated having to write them. She had to be stopped. He only hoped she received the letter before starting her journey to Fir Ridge.
Dear Miss Ashton,
I am sorry. I have changed my mind and do not wish to marry you. Please do not come here.
Martin Kavanagh.
There was no way this woman could misconstrue what he meant. She would be left in no doubt he did not want her as a wife. He felt bad about it, especially if she was not the desperate, crazed hag of a woman he perceived her to be.
As Phyllis served him breakfast, she looked as bad as he felt.
“Bad night?” he asked.
“Terrible. I couldn’t sleep thinking about Briony Ashton. What if she was a decent, respectable woman?”
“That’s what I was thinking,” he said. “But if she’s not, where does that leave me?”
“Post the letter, Marty. This woman just announcing she is coming seems suspicious. What is she running from?”
“Or who? We could be bringing a lot of trouble down on our heads.” Martin groaned. “If only we had exchanged a few more letters. She provided no references, gave me no reason why she is so desperate to get out of town.”
He tried to justify writing such a blunt, nasty letter. He could not have a troubled woman here, who was fleeing goodness only knew what. He had enough problems of his own. It didn’t sit well, though.
He rode part of the way into town with his sister, watching as she turned the buckboard into the school gate and headed up to the paddock where the hor
ses were kept. Most of the children rode their ponies here, and according to Phyllis, only a couple were dropped off by their parents.
As a boy, he could remember riding six miles to school on his own, then having to look after Phyllis a couple of years later. He kneed his horse into motion. The sooner he got this letter posted the better he would feel.
As he rode down the main street of Fir Ridge he glanced around, seemingly there were more strangers now. Dismounting outside the mercantile he tied his horse to the hitching rail and strode inside. “Howdy, Cyril,” he greeted the owner.
“Howdy, Martin, no new letters for you.” He grinned, showing tobacco stained teeth.
“Can I post this letter?”
“Sure. To your new lady friend?”
“Yeah. I’m calling the whole thing off. I’ve become suspicious of her motives.”
“You have? Why?”
He hated airing his personal business, although there was no choice now. “If some strange woman comes asking for me, don’t tell her where the ranch is, okay?”
“Sure, I will. I don’t blame you for getting cold feet. I read in the paper only the other day about a mail-order bride who married the man, killed him after two weeks and got all his money. The whole thing is fraught with danger.”
“I know, Cyril. I would never have done it except for Phyllis. She refuses to marry Jarrod and leave me on my own. I didn’t even want a wife, just a housekeeper. I don’t suppose you know of any woman who would come to the ranch a couple of times a week to do my housework? Phyllis might be satisfied with that. She thinks I’m useless.”
“You are, aren’t you?” Cyril grinned.
“When it comes to housekeeping, I am.”
“I’ll ask around for you.” He scratched his head. “I don’t like your chances.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“I’m off to see the sheriff, then the bank to warn them.”
“You see the sheriff and I’ll do the bank, if you like. I have to go over there this morning,” Cyril said.
“Thanks, much obliged. You will make sure the letter goes.”
“Yes.”
“I’m hoping it will catch the woman before she leaves, but I fear she may have already started her journey. I don’t mind paying her return fare back to where she came from. I just don’t want her coming to the ranch and causing trouble.”
“I can warn Tilly at the diner, too. I promised Mildred I would take her there for supper tonight.” He grimaced. “It’s her birthday.”
“Wish her happy birthday from me. Is there anyone else you think I need to speak to?”
“With all the newcomers in town now, I don’t think many people know you. I can see the preacher if you like. I have a delivery to make for him.”
“Thanks. Do you think that’s everyone I need to warn?”
“Yes, we’ve covered the main places a woman would go for information in a strange town.”
“I feel like a real polecat, Cyril, but what else can I do?”
“I don’t blame you. Right from the start I thought it was a foolish idea.”
Martin strode from the shop, nodding to a couple of passersby who knew him.
Sheriff Olaf Schmidt sat with his feet up on the desk reading the paper.
“Morning, Olaf.”
The sheriff dropped the paper. “Tarnation, Marty, what are you trying to do, give a man a heart attack?”
“Sorry. If you didn’t have your head buried in the paper, you would have seen me coming.”
“Yeah, yeah. What do you want?”
Martin told him about Briony Ashton.
“You were a dang fool getting mixed up in something like this. What kind of desperate woman would write to you?”
“I’m not that bad.” Martin bristled. “I just chose the wrong woman. She might be okay, but I’m worried she might be some crazed hag.”
“She could be hiding from the law. I’ve got a woman on a Wanted Poster here somewhere.” He shuffled through a pile of papers. “What does she look like?”
“I don’t know. She said she is five feet three inches tall and has auburn hair and green eyes.”
“Age?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“Not her. This woman is in her forties, mother of the two Hargrave boys. Train robbers who escaped from prison in Laramie.”
“Thank goodness for that.”
“Did you think she might be a soiled dove?” Olaf asked.
“No, I didn’t.”
“A husband killer?” Olaf grinned.
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Are you sure you’re not just getting cold feet at the thought of marriage?”
“No, there’s something suspicious about this woman, even Phyllis thinks so.”
“Okay, leave it to me. I can’t run her out of town unless she breaks the law, but you can be sure I’ll give her no information about you.”
“Tell her I’ve changed my mind and I don’t want to marry her. That should get rid of her.”
“Okay.” Olaf chuckled. “You have got yourself into a mess of trouble.”
All right for the sheriff to think it was a joke, Martin thought sourly as he strode off.
Chapter Five
Briony could barely drag herself off the stagecoach. If the man riding shotgun had not helped her, she probably would have fallen over. Not since the war had she felt so exhausted and disheveled.
She had sent a telegram to Martin Kavanagh, asking him to meet her at the stage depot and hopefully, he would have received it.
The driver unloaded her trunk and placed it on the porch. A middle-aged woman had alighted with the other two passengers, both men who were continuing their journey.
Enviously, Briony watched the woman receiving a rapturous welcome from a man who was obviously her husband. She tried to brush the creases out of her dress as she waited. I must look like a wrung-out rag, she thought.
She trudged over to a wooden seat and slumped on it.
“A lady always sits with her shoulders back,” Lucille used to yell on the few occasions she did bother speaking to her. “Don’t slouch. You are not setting a good example for Hannah.”
As Briony and her father spent more and more time at the ranch in his declining years, Lucille rarely spoke to her on the few occasions when they did meet. No person who had travelled so far on a mixture of train and stagecoach like she had, would be sitting up with straight shoulders. They would be slumped with exhaustion like her.
The horses had been changed over, so, too, the drivers who had disappeared inside leaving her alone. Not a soul was about. Martin Kavanagh obviously was not going to meet her. Now what?
She gnawed her lower lip. He had mentioned about his ranch being five miles out of town. If she could hire a buckboard and someone pointed her in the right direction, she could make her own way there.
She stood, glancing around to make sure no one was heading her way before going inside.
Yes, Miss,” said the wizened man, sitting with his arms propped up on a desk.
“I thought someone was meeting me, but he must have got the dates mixed up.” She forced a laugh. “Martin Kavanagh, do you know him?”
“Nah, never heard of him, I’ve only been here a couple of weeks. The town center is only a couple of hundred yards away, maybe check in with the sheriff.”
“Thanks, sounds like a good idea. Will my trunk and carpet bag be safe here?”
“Yeah. I’ll put them in the luggage room.”
“That would be good, thank you. I can help you move it.” He hardly looked strong enough to lift anything.
“There’s a boy here who does all the heavy lifting, strong but not real smart, if you know what I mean.”
“Do you have any facilities here where I could wash my face and hands?”
“Yeah, go through the door on the side and it will lead you to another room for use by the ladies.”
She stepped over to the door he had indicated and
entered a narrow room with two doors. One had ‘Cowboys’ written on it the other ‘Gals.’
Dubiously, she pushed the door open and peered in. Two wooden chairs and a closet with a full-length mirror on the door was the only furniture. She used the privy, emptied cold water from a jug into a bowl on the dresser. The water was so cold it made her shiver as she washed her face and hands. Tidying up her hair as best she could, she tried to brush out a few wrinkles from her skirt. The sheriff would be the ideal man to ask about her husband-to-be’s whereabouts.
Once she decided she could not better her appearance, she returned to the man who still sat in the same spot.
“Your trunk and carpet bag has been taken to the luggage room, Miss. You can leave it overnight if you like.”
“Thank you. I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”
“I’m here until six. There’s a stage coming in around five.”
“All right, thank you.”
“Can you find your way into town? Once you step out the door, turn right and start walking, you can’t miss it.”
She nodded her thanks and walked outside. The depot was at the end of the main street. Fir Ridge was a small place. She guessed people would probably go into Laramie for their main purchases.
The temptation to step into the diner was great. She would just about sell her soul for a nice, hot coffee. Finding out where Martin lived had to be her priority.
She easily found the sheriff’s office and walked in.
“Can I help you, Ma’am?”
She knew he was the sheriff only because of the badge he wore. “Yes, I hope you can. I need to find Martin Kavanagh.”
His mouth dropped open and he stared at her. What was wrong with the man? Did she really look that bad?
“Um, you wouldn’t happen to be his mail-order bride, would you?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.”
“I’m sorry, Martin is no longer interested in marrying you.”
“What!”
“He doesn’t want to marry you.”
Shock raced through her, faster than a speeding bullet. Had she heard right? “How would you know?”
An Unwanted Bride for Christmas Page 3