Blacksmith Brides

by Amanda Barratt

  “Is that a no then?”

  Heart pounding, she drew another breath to quell her panic, but the feeling only grew. She shoved both hands against his solid biceps and forced him backward by half a step. Just enough. Head spinning, Leah escaped the confined area into the open, only to stumble once free.

  Lord, please don’t let me pass out….

  The woman sank to the floor, dress billowing around her as she gulped for breath. Bo’s chest seized. Was she sick? He dropped the hammer and grabbed a straight-backed chair from the corner then dragged it to her. He gently took her elbow.

  “Here. Sit.” He applied gentle pressure until she took the offered seat.

  Rocking, she wrapped her arms about her middle. A low whimper peppered her rapid breaths.

  “You need a doctor or something?”

  Her eyes clamped tight.

  “Ma’am?” His heart ratcheted into a staccato rhythm.

  Distant memories niggled at his mind of his own mother’s ministrations. Bo hurried to the corner and dunked a clean rag in the pail of drinking water. As he returned, he squeezed the excess from the rag then gathered her loose red-blond curls and draped the cloth across the back of her neck. She flinched but continued to rock. Holding the rag in place, Bo squatted to peer up at her high cheekbones and porcelain skin.

  Concern froze him to the spot. Should he fetch Doc Bates? Probably, but if he left her alone, he risked that she might stumble the wrong way toward the forge. He could saddle Diego and take her to the doc’s office, but again, he’d have to take his attention from her for too long.

  Only then, a second recollection came to mind, of his ma whispering prayers for almost everything, particularly when she was worried.

  God? The name formed in his thoughts about as easily as opening a severely rusted gate. It’s been a long time. If You hear me, I could use some help….

  What on earth would God’s help look like? He hadn’t any idea, nor did he know how long to wait, but within a moment, her breathing slowed and her rocking stopped. He kept his hand clamped against the wet cloth until, finally, her eyes fluttered open. Only then did he release his grip.

  “Ma’am? You all right?”

  She stared blankly for another moment before finally releasing her grip on her midsection and blinking a few times. Slowly, she pulled the cloth from under her hair.

  “Hey.” Bo brushed the back of a hand against her knee.

  The woman turned his way, her light brown eyes sparking with … was it ire or humor? “I heard you, sir, but I couldn’t answer. I was busy just then.”

  Her pointed words lodged like a well-aimed arrow. Definitely a sharp-witted humor. Few women ventured into his shop, and fewer still stood up to his ornery nature. He rather liked it.

  “Reckon I deserved that.”

  “Good of you to notice.” She handed the rag back. “Thank you. The cool cloth helped.”

  “You sure you’re all right?”

  Her pretty features pinked, and she nodded sheepishly.

  “What was that?”

  Pink turned to crimson. “I sometimes grow overly anxious. My heart races, I struggle to breathe, the room spins.”

  “You sure I shouldn’t fetch Doc?”

  “Yes.” Her throat worked furiously. “It would only be another bill I can’t pay.”

  The last words were spoken so softly he almost missed them.

  She stood. “Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Allen.” Her soft voice shook. “I won’t keep you.” She brushed past him.

  Him … kind? Few, if any, had ever said as much.

  “Wait!”

  Her feet faltered.

  Bo stepped in front of her. At the sight of her brimming tears, his heart sank. Had he caused them?

  His mind blanked. Why on earth had he called after her? “I don’t even know your name.”

  She blinked furiously. “Leah. Guthrie.”

  “Mrs. Guthrie, I wasn’t looking for trouble. I’d be obliged if you didn’t tell tales to your husband that I reduced you to tears.”

  Oh, for Pete’s sake. Had he truly just thrown out such obvious bait?

  Get her out of your shop before you make a complete fool of yourself.

  She patted her cheekbones dry. “No need to worry. The only Mr. Guthrie is twelve and stands half your height. He may be a rapscallion, but I can’t imagine my brother picking a fight with you.”

  “You’re not married?”

  Why in heaven’s name was his tongue wagging so?

  Miss Guthrie’s chin jutted. “No, sir. I’ve been busy raising my younger sisters and brother since our pa died. There’s been no time to wed.”

  She was raising her kin….

  The silence grew awkward. “I’ll go.”

  Right. She should before he opened his—

  “How old are they? Your family.”

  Oh, blast!

  “As I said, my brother’s twelve. My sisters are fourteen and eighteen.”

  Miss Guthrie looked to be about twenty-two. As beautiful and spirited as she was, surely she’d attract a man’s attention. “Why haven’t you left the young ones with your eighteen-year-old sister and gone your own way?”

  He cursed himself roundly for the question.

  Her eyes flashed. “Not that it’s any of your concern, but Mae’s health is such, she needs care herself.”

  He furrowed his brow at that.

  “Besides, what member of a loving family would abandon everyone to seek her own happiness? That would be the height of selfishness.”

  “Yes, miss, but I’ve seen it before.” One too many times.

  She folded her arms. “You won’t see it here. As hard as it’s been to feed four mouths on a laundress’s income, I’ll not leave my family to seek my own happiness.”

  He’d overstepped. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to offend, and I wasn’t purposely casting aspersions on your character.” Yet he’d done exactly that, blast it all. There were reasons he kept to himself, and this was one. “Don’t reckon a caring woman like you would abandon her kin.”

  “Never. Speaking of, it’s past time I get home.” She nodded to the rag still in his hand. “Thank you again for the cool cloth.” Miss Guthrie turned.

  Bo groaned inwardly. He’d angered her. His customers often left upset, so why he cared whether this one was flustered, he couldn’t quite explain. “Um, about your wagon—”

  She rounded on him. “The truth is, Mr. Allen, I can’t afford to pay single, much less double. I’m sorry I wasted your time.”

  “You said you’re a laundress?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “You the one I heard picks up and delivers the clothes to her customers?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you really can’t do without your wagon, can you?”

  Her voice softened. “No.”

  “How ‘bout a trade? In exchange for you doing my laundry, I’ll charge you the going rate for a wheel repair or replacement—whichever it takes—and I’ll have it ready by tomorrow afternoon.”

  Her eyes widened. “You would do that?”

  For a woman who’d willingly saddle herself with three younger brothers and sisters? “Yeah. Just don’t tell anyone.” He shrugged. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold, y’know.”

  A smile blossomed on her lips, and she giggled. “So I’ve heard.” The smile faded all too soon for his liking. “You have a deal.”

  Chapter 2

  Where have you been?”

  “You’re late!”

  Leah cringed at her sisters’ gentle chidings. “I’m sorry. The wagon wheel broke.” She moved aside, allowing Mrs. Peterson room to enter. “Please set the laundry in the corner, Mrs. Peterson. Thank you.”

  The woman placed two bags along the wall and hurried outside for more.

  Once alone, Leah put down the basket she carried and looked again at her sisters. “I’ll tell you all about it once we get the orders in. Where is Ethan? He can help
.”

  Hope shook her head. “He said Mr. Tallis had work for him at the mercantile. But I’ll help.” The girl scurried outside after Mrs. Peterson.

  Leah turned to Mae. “I didn’t leave you in too bad a way, did I?” Today had been one of Mae’s weaker days.

  The girl shrugged. “I did all right alone. I was starting to worry, but Hope arrived home and kept me company.” Using both hands, she hoisted her useless right leg down from the footstool—a milking stool with a pillow atop it—followed by her weakened left. “I’ll start supper.”

  Once Mrs. Peterson and Hope filed through with more of the laundry orders, Mae pushed up onto her crutches and shuffled to the kitchen table.

  Leah discreetly watched as Mae hobbled to the nearest edge of the table and all but collapsed into a chair. The girl breathed deep, the short jaunt having obviously taxed her. After a moment, Mae hoisted herself onto her elbows and, shifting all her weight to one side, dragged the basket of vegetables and the knife from the far side of the table.

  “Go on, Leah.” Mae settled again in the chair, never turning to see that her sister was truly there. “I’m fine.”

  Leah went to the wagon for one of the baskets. Mae had been nothing if not brave in the face of the illness that stole the use of her legs. Perhaps even braver than Leah herself. How many nights had she cried over Mae’s deteriorating condition, begging God for a miracle? Let her sister walk again like the stories of miraculous healings in the Bible … only, so far, the prayers hadn’t worked.

  If her sister had such thoughts, she’d locked them deep inside and never shared them. There were days when Mae grew moody and withdrawn. At such times, Leah wondered whether Mae was lamenting the loss of her ability to walk—and all that meant. The end of her formal schooling. The fact she was mostly homebound. That people gawked when she did go out in public or gushed effusively when they saw her, only to spread false tales later.

  Mae’s beauty shone through despite her condition. Her thick brown hair and striking blue eyes complimented her shapely figure. She had a quick wit and a sweet spirit—all the things Leah imagined a young man might want in a wife. But at the time Mae ought to be thinking of suitors, instead, she lived in their rickety house, barely able to move from one side of the cabin to the other without falling. Any young men who’d expressed interest before the illness disappeared afterward.

  “That’s the last of it.” Mrs. Peterson deposited the final basket along the wall.

  “I can’t thank you enough for your help.” Leah gave the woman a hug.

  “You know we’d do anything to help.”

  Mr. Peterson appeared. “Samson’s watered and put up in the corral. Can we do anything else whilst we’re here, darlin’?”

  There was a list of twenty things she might ask his help with, but most were chores that couldn’t be accomplished in a few minutes, even if her pride might allow her to ask. “No, thank you.”

  After brief goodbyes, Leah herded Hope toward the kitchen to assist with dinner preparations.

  The girl took a seat and plucked a potato from the basket. “All right. Tell us what happened with the wagon.”

  Leah stirred the potbellied stove’s coals to life with a long piece of kindling. “I was just descending into Elverton when the wheel broke on the east road. I was worried about leaving the fully loaded wagon untended.” Tiny flames sprouted, and she fed more wood in.

  “So, what did you do?” Mae pinned her with a questioning look as Leah stood.

  She explained about the Petersons’ timely arrival and her visit to Bowdrie Allen’s smithy, leaving out the details except that he’d agreed to fix the wheel.

  “Is he as much of an ogre as everyone says?” Hope’s eyes sparkled with morbid interest.

  Mae dropped a peeled potato into the pan. “I’ve heard he’s mean as a bear startled out of hibernation.” She bared her teeth and snarled at Hope.

  At the younger girl’s frenetic giggles, shame spiraled through Leah.

  “Stop!”

  Her sharp word brought both girls up short.

  “You’re not to speak so uncharitably toward Mr. Allen again. Am I understood?”

  Repentance tinged Hope’s expression. “We were just joshin’, Leah, like we’ve done a hundred times before.”

  That was it. They had poked fun. All of them, Leah included. But the man wasn’t near as curmudgeonly or mean-spirited as he liked to be thought. At least he hadn’t acted so with her. “We needn’t be unkind, so I’ll thank you to stop.”

  Mae arched her brows. “There’s something you’re not telling us.”

  She shook her head. To tell them of the episode she’d had would only worry them. They’d seen Leah’s attacks a time or two, and the heart-pounding incidents only caused them to fret.

  “We’re waiting.” Mae pinned her with a look.

  Hope also pressed for details.

  Leah sighed. “Yes, there is more.” Lord, please don’t let this upset them. “Mr. Allen was rather rude at first.” She told of their tiff over his not acknowledging her when she’d entered. “So I walked to his anvil to demonstrate how he could’ve called out to me, but he followed me there.” She avoided the detail of his muscles. “When I turned, he had me pinned in a tight space and was pressing for an answer on what to do about the wheel, and—”

  “And what?” they chorused.

  “It felt a lot like the day that awful banker kicked us out of our house.”

  Hope’s eyes widened in understanding. Not quite ten when it happened, she’d had nightmares after watching her eldest sister almost lose consciousness.

  “You didn’t pass out, did you?” Mae prodded.

  “I was close.”

  “Are you all right?” The tightness in Hope’s voice told her she’d better turn the conversation in a happier direction.

  “I am, thanks to Mr. Allen. He brought a chair, a cool rag, and stayed with me until it passed.”

  “Bowdrie Allen?” Mae’s mouth dropped open.

  “Yes. He was very kind in his gruff way.”

  And so very handsome.

  One week later

  Bo stood under the old oak tree between his corral and smithy, enjoying the cool evening breeze. His arms ached and his feet throbbed after long hours of work. It would be nice to sit, kick off his boots, and relax. With the horses fed and settled for the night, he’d soon turn in himself in his small quarters behind the smithy. Perhaps draw a little, if he wasn’t too tired. However, as was his custom, he gave Diego, his dun, a few minutes of attention before he turned in.

  Despite his rubbing the horse’s neck vigorously, Diego nudged his chest playfully.

  “What?” Bo laughed. “Isn’t this enough for you?”

  It probably wasn’t. He’d not had time to ride in a week, and Diego liked to run. Surely by now, he needed to stretch his legs. Maybe he should take the spirited horse for a run before starting his day tomorrow.

  He could ride to Leah Guthrie’s and deliver his laundry since he’d missed her that afternoon. Before she’d showed up, Bo had gone to ask the butcher, Sal Harper, if he could help with a two-man job. He returned to find a paper crammed between the locked doors. Unable to read, he’d had to wait until Sheriff David Yeldin made his afternoon rounds to discover what the note said. It took work to hide his disappointment at missing the feisty gal.

  Yes, indeed. Maybe he needed to drop off his dirty clothes….

  As he considered the plan, all his horses’ heads came up, and their ears pricked toward the smithy. Bo also focused in that direction. The sound of breaking glass shattered the stillness, followed by pounding feet and laughter.

  Bo launched himself toward the corner of the smithy in long strides. Before he reached it, a shadowy shape darted around the building and slammed into him hard. Bo staggered back but kept his feet, unlike the small figure who tumbled into the dirt with an oof. Bo hauled him up by the shirt collar, able only to tell it was a young boy.

 
“Let me go!” The kid squirmed.

  Two smallish shadows darted to the far side of the street.

  “Move, you idiot!” one called.

  “But what about Red?” came a second voice. Bo gave the captured boy a rough shake. “Red, huh? Is that your name?”

  The brat kicked, his foot landing square against Bo’s kneecap. Pain lit his senses and, grunting, he hoisted the kid over his shoulder and limped into the shop. All the way, the boy squirmed, driving bony knees and elbows into Bo’s chest and back.

  Inside, a fist-sized rock and shards of glass littered his desk and the plank floor, glittering in the forge’s glow. Bo huffed. He crunched past the glass shards and dropped the kid none too gently.

  “Thought it’d be fun to bust my window, did ya?”

  The boy, lanky with an overgrown mop of auburn hair, stared, wide-eyed.

  “Answer me, Red.”

  The kid tried to inch backward, not uttering a word.

  “Where you going?” Bo snagged him by the shirtfront. “We got a long talk ahead of us.”

  Red’s eyes narrowed, and he spat in Bo’s face.

  Shock rattled through him, though he schooled his expression. Deliberately, he wiped the spittle from his cheek with the rag he kept in his back pocket then pinned the little hoodlum with a glare.

  “You want to handle things this way, let’s go.”

  Bo hoisted Red to his feet, clamped a firm hand around the scruff of his neck, and guided the boy toward the wide doorway.

  “Where are you takin’ me?” Red grappled to free himself.

  At the wide double doorway, Bo dragged one sliding door closed then the other, laced the chain through the handles, and clicked the padlock shut. Then he roughly pointed his young charge toward the cross street a half block away.

  “Let me go!”

  Bo dragged him to a halt. “You ready to talk?”

  Despite the darkness, the narrowing of Red’s eyes was unmistakable. This time, Bo was ready. At the slight shift in the boy’s weight, as if he prepared to kick again, Bo also shifted—and swept the kid’s legs out from under him. Landing flat on his back with a whoosh, Red gulped air like a dying man.