Blacksmith Brides

by Amanda Barratt

  Bo knelt beside the kid. “You want to keep testing me, you do that. I’ll keep knocking you on your backside until you understand the way of things.”

  Red finally caught his breath. “What’re you planning to do with me?”

  He hoisted the kid to his feet. “Since you ain’t talkin’, I’ll just press charges and let the sheriff deal with you.” He reasserted the vise grip and maneuvered the kid toward the next street.

  “Press charges? You gotta be joshin’, mister!”

  “Do I act like I’m joshin’?”

  The kid’s feet slowed. “No.”

  “So … you ready to talk, or do I haul your sorry hide down to Sheriff Yeldin?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  He steered the kid toward a bench. “Sit.”

  Shifty-eyed and anxious, Red did as he was told.

  “Why’d you break my window?”

  The kid eventually lifted a slim shoulder. “Dunno.”

  “Who were you with?”

  Silence.

  “What’s your last name?”

  Red’s heel began to tap at a clipped pace.

  Bo clenched his jaw at the lack of answers. “Where do you live?”

  Somewhere down the street, a door squeaked, but Red made no attempt to speak.

  Frustration coiled in Bo’s chest. “Last question, kid. Who are your parents? Answer me, or I’m hauling you to the sheriff.”

  The tapping of Red’s heel continued, though he finally piped up. “Audie and Mary.”

  “That’s more like it.” The coil loosened slightly. “Audie and Mary who? I need a last name.”

  Red gave a slight shake of his head.

  “Let’s go.” He dragged Red from the bench by the upper arm. The kid went limp.

  Bo bit back a curse as he crouched low to keep a grip on the boy. “You little troublemaker. Stand up, or I’ll thrash you then drag you the rest of the way, and I won’t be gentle.”

  “I’m not going to the sheriff,” Red shouted.

  “Then tell me what I’ve asked, and I won’t make you. Audie and Mary who?”

  “Guthrie. They’re dead!”

  Chapter 3

  Heat radiated from the potbellied stove, leaving Leah in a sweat as she ironed. Mae sat at the table nearby, sound asleep with her chin cupped in one hand and pencil poised over the ledger in her other. Leah grinned.

  “Mae.”

  No response.

  She placed the iron on the stove’s burner to reheat then moved to her sister’s side.

  “Hey.” She shook Mae gently.

  The girl came awake with a sharp inhale.

  “You’re tired. Why don’t you go to bed?”

  She blinked heavily. “We aren’t done yet.”

  “I can tally the rest of this order.” Leah plucked the stubby pencil from Mae’s grip. “Go rest.”

  With a sigh, Mae reached for her crutches. “Yes, Mother.” She giggled softly.

  “You watch that, young lady, or—”

  A sharp knock at the door stalled Leah’s words. Deep darkness pressed at the windows. Not the usual time for visitors. “Who on earth is that?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

  A tingle crawled down her spine, and she suddenly wished either Hope or Ethan were home so she could position them with the rifle near to hand. Both were spending the night at friends’ homes.

  “Stay here.”

  Wide-eyed, Mae nodded.

  As Leah stepped past Mae, her gaze strayed to the rifle above the door.

  The firm knock came again. “Miss Guthrie?” The muffled male voice was familiar.

  “Mr. Allen?” What was the blacksmith doing on her doorstep at this time of night?

  “It’s me.”

  “Is something wrong? I don’t usually expect visitors so late.” Particularly handsome male visitors.

  “Yeah. There’s a problem.”

  Her heart stuttered. What problem would require him to knock at her door? Surely not … “Sir, if this is about my missing you in town today, my note said I would return for your clothes.”

  “Would you please open your door?”

  Boots scuffed on the porch, and then a hushed but scolding voice followed.

  “Is someone with you?”

  “I’d be happy to show you, if you’d open the door.”

  Was the man drunk? Typically a solitary man, it was all too unusual why he’d be at her door.

  “Leah, open up!” This time, it was another voice.

  “Ethan?”

  She snatched the rifle from its pegs and opened the door. Leah leveled the gun barrel at a stern-faced Bowdrie Allen, whose meaty hand engulfed her little brother’s shoulder.

  The infernal man looked at the rifle, calmly pushed the barrel aside, then nudged Ethan forward. “Is this your brother?”

  The rifle barrel dipped toward the ground. “Yes.” Leah tried to drag the boy inside. “What is he doing with you?”

  Mr. Allen held Ethan in place.

  When she pulled at her brother’s forearm, both his hands came up in awkward unison, revealing a narrow cord bound his wrists.

  “You’ve tied his hands?” She stepped back and hoisted the gun again, aiming for the man’s broad chest. “Explain yourself and fast, Mr. Allen.”

  No more concerned than if he’d shooed a gnat, the blacksmith brushed aside the gun barrel again. “He and his friends busted the front window of my shop tonight.” He drew a knife from his belt and cut the cord. “In trying to deliver him to you, he kept attempting to make off with my horse. So I tied him to the saddle horn.”

  Her ire withered. “Ethan?”

  The boy rolled his eyes, a behavior he’d displayed with increasing frequency. Her heart sank. His impudence was growing as fast as his body, and she felt helpless to stop it.

  “Your sister asked you a question, boy.” Mr. Allen shook Ethan. “Answer her.”

  “Or what?”

  Mr. Allen spun him so they faced each other. “Or you’ll deal with me.”

  “Are you her protector now?”

  The blacksmith’s jaw grew rock-hard, and he grabbed Ethan’s arms. “No. Just a man who’ll not abide your mouth anymore.”

  Leah’s breath caught as the big man dragged Ethan toward the edge of the porch. The boards creaked as Mr. Allen sat heavily on the step and pulled Ethan, belly first, over his knee.

  The boy flailed. “What’re you doing? Let me go, you big—”

  Ethan’s next word humiliated Leah.

  “This is for my window.” Mr. Allen’s hand connected with Ethan’s backside, and the boy cried out.

  Leah gasped.

  “And this is for kicking me.” Another firm strike, and another pained cry.

  As Mr. Allen’s hand rose for a third time, she moved toward the door, but something blocked her path. Beside her, Mae leaned hard on her left crutch as she blockaded Leah with the right.

  “Don’t you dare stop him.” Mae’s voice trembled. “You know this is exactly what Ethan needs.”

  “This is for spitting on me.” Another thunderous swat, punctuated by Ethan’s now-muffled grunt.

  Mae sidled up close. Whether for physical support, to bolster Leah’s resolve, or to sustain her own, Leah wasn’t sure, but she set aside the rifle and clung to her sister, thankful for her presence.

  As Mr. Allen doled out several more swats, Leah gulped. Her composure flagged as this stranger addressed her brother’s rotten behavior. Spitting? Kicking? Cursing? Breaking another’s property?

  When the paddling ended, Ethan burst past them, all but bowling Mae over. Leah held her as he stomped toward his room. An instant later, Mr. Allen rose to face them.

  His eyes widened as Mae extricated herself from Leah’s grasp.

  “Didn’t realize there was an audience.”

  She cleared her throat. “Mr. Allen, my sister, Mae. Mae, meet Bowdrie Allen.”

  “Sir.” Mae dipped her chin. �
�If you’ll both excuse me, I’ll look in on Ethan and head to bed.”

  “Thank you.” As her sister hobbled off, Leah stepped onto the porch and pulled the door partially shut.

  “Thank you for returning my brother to me, Mr. Allen. Tell me what we owe you for your window, and I’ll be sure to—”

  “You don’t owe me anything. That defiant brat in there does.”

  She bristled, though he was right. Ethan was defiant—and a brat. She’d been so consumed with caring for Mae, working to provide for her family, and keeping this rotting roof over their heads, she’d not realized just how rebellious her brother had become.

  “He can work extra at Tallis’s Mercantile to earn what he owes.” He was already working to pay down their large line of credit at the store. Hopefully Mr. Tallis would agree.

  “Fine then. Just make sure it ain’t your household money. Ain’t your place to pay for his wrong choices.”

  He made it sound so simple. If he only knew how thin a thread they lived on, always wondering when it might break.

  “Thank you again, sir.” Exhaustion pulled at her. “Good night.”

  “Night, Miss Guthrie.”

  She backed toward the door. As she bumped it open, light fell across the porch.

  “Miss?” The blacksmith scrubbed the back of his neck. “I’m real sorry about the hullabaloo. I do hope you can settle yourself and rest.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Allen.”

  The way her heart pounded, it might take some time. But was it pounding from anger at Ethan’s behavior? Perhaps at Mr. Allen’s firm treatment of the boy?

  Or—was it the odd feeling that for the first time in five years, she wasn’t alone in seeing her younger brother and sisters to maturity?

  Bo’s hammer strikes fell into a familiar rhythm. Strike, strike, tap. Strike, strike, tap.

  You’re a fool.

  The rhythm faltered with the accusing thought.

  Strike, strike, tap. Strike, strike—

  She won’t speak to you after the thrashing you gave her brother.

  He struck the metal with too much force and immediately cringed. The strike had misshaped the barrel of the hinge he’d crafted. It was the third mistake he’d made in the last two hours. His mind was not on his work. Rather, it was soundly focused on Leah Guthrie and her kin. But he shouldn’t be worried about whether she spoke to him again or not. Few enough in town bothered, and he got along fine.

  So why did he look forward to bantering with her?

  “Yep, you’re a fool.”

  He paced to the forge, buried the misshapen hinge in the coals, and pumped the bellows to stoke the fire. As he did, a sharp knock came at the door. Bo glanced over his shoulder, ready to offer the intruder a “be right with you,” like Leah Guthrie had suggested.

  Only it was Leah Guthrie.

  He made sure only the barrel of the hinge was buried then crossed toward the door.

  “Morning.” He nodded. “Reckon you’re here for the laund—” His words dissolved when she turned red-rimmed eyes his way. “You all right?”

  Of course she wasn’t. He’d walloped her kid brother.

  “Do you have a moment?” Her voice shook.

  “For …?” Here it came. She would tell him to steer clear of her.

  “I was checking on the cost of a new window for you at Mr. Tallis’s Mercantile.”

  “You what?”

  “I said I was—”

  “I heard you fine. What about it?”

  “Some time ago, I made arrangements with Mr. Tallis that Ethan would work at the store so we could pay down the credit he’s extended us.”

  “All right.” What did this have to do with him?

  “When I asked for Ethan to work more hours, Mr. Tallis informed me he fired Ethan more than two weeks ago.”

  “Why?”

  “He was stealing. Dime novels, candy … I don’t know what else.” The woman’s cheeks flushed. “Ethan never told me he’d been fired, so I’ve no idea what he’s been doing these past few weeks.”

  “So you’re saying he won’t be paying me until he finds another job?”

  Her expression turned hopeful. “That, and …”

  His stomach knotted. “And?”

  Leah Guthrie shrugged a bit sheepishly. “I was told by the butcher that your assistant quit abruptly. Nor do you have an apprentice.”

  Blast Sal Harper’s mouth. “No!”

  “No, you don’t have an assistant or—”

  “I’ll not take on your kid brother as an apprentice.” He shook his head. “Just … no.”

  “Mr. Allen, please. This is not easy for me.” She glanced toward the doors then beckoned him farther into the smithy.

  For some unknown reason, he followed and bent his head close when she spoke in a whisper.

  “I’ve not seen Ethan so … subdued as he was last night and this morning. Not since my father was alive. He needs a firm hand, one that I have struggled to provide.”

  “Grief, woman! You’re asking me to provide it?” Given this request, being ignored would be preferable.

  “Not like you did last night, no. But you need a helper, and Ethan needs a job—and I suspect he’ll thrive having a man to teach him manly things again. How does this not benefit us all?”

  It was a workable plan except that he didn’t need—or want—to apprentice anyone, much less a green kid full of anger and disrespect. He’d been that kid, and under the harsh tutelage of his guardian, he’d only grown more angry. He’d not be the cause of some boy turning out just like him.

  “Please?” She fluttered her long lashes.

  His resolve turned to mush. “Fine. But only until he’s paid me what he owes.” He’d pressure the kid to give up his friends’ names so Bo could make them pay their fair share too. That would cut the time down as well.

  A broad smile spilled across her face. “Thank you so much. Ethan? Come inside, please.”

  The boy shuffled in, hands shoved in his pockets. He glanced around before finally looking at his sister.

  “You’re going to work with Mr. Allen until you’ve paid for a new window. Understand?”

  “Yes.” The boy wouldn’t look at Bo.

  “What time should I return to collect my brother, Mr. Allen?”

  He thought an instant. “Does five work for you?”

  “Yes. I’ll see you both then.” She turned that beautiful smile on him then swept out of the smithy, leaving him staring at the kid.

  “What do I call you? Ethan, or Red?”

  He shrugged. “Red, I guess.”

  “All right then.” He waved toward several heavy aprons hanging near the door. “Find yourself an apron that fits.”

  Red rolled his eyes as he turned away.

  “Listen here, boy. You’re not saying it, but the way you’re carrying yourself screams how much you don’t want to be here. Keep it up, and I’ll give you more of last night’s medicine, haul you back to your sister, and you can carry the shame of letting your family down. Or we can put aside our differences, you can act like a man, and we can get to work. Which is it?”

  Red plucked an apron from a hook and looped it around his neck, attitude changing none at all. “I’ll work.”

  Blast. This was going to be a long few weeks.

  Bowdrie Allen, you’re a fool.

  Chapter 4

  Four days later

  Crouched under the tarpaulin she’d rigged for shade, Leah wrung Bo Allen’s gray Henley and shook out the garment. Standing, she found the shoulder seams and gave it a firm snap. The hem cracked, drawing Mae’s attention from the new book they’d borrowed from Doc Bates’s wife.

  From the nearby quilt where she sat, Mae’s blue eyes sparkled with mischief. “That Mr. Allen certainly has strong shoulders, doesn’t he?”

  His shirt draped over her forearm, Leah arched her back and stretched, then massaged her aching muscles. “I hadn’t noticed.” She tried to sound disinterested.

>   Grinning, Mae jabbed Leah’s hip with the end of a crutch. “Liar. You can’t help but notice one so handsome as him.”

  “Mae Elizabeth Guthrie!” She threw the wet garment at her sister.

  The girl dropped the crutch to catch the gray fabric and shook it out again. “You know it’s the truth.” Sighing, she gave an appreciative once-over glance as if Mr. Allen filled out his shirt presently. “If you don’t notice, you’re tetched in the head.” Mae lowered the shirt to tap her skull.

  Leah frowned. “You’re shameless.” She crouched again, drawing the last garment from the water, this time, her own blouse. As she reached for the bar of soap, Mr. Allen’s wet shirt sailed back and smacked her hard in the face.

  “And you’re acting like an old maid.” Mae glared.

  She set his shirt in the basket and began to scrub her blouse. “I am twenty-three years old, Mae. Heavens, I’ve never even been kissed. The moniker applies.”

  Truth was, since Pa died, few had paid her a lick of attention. Any remaining male interest stopped after Mae’s illness robbed her of the use of her legs and any remaining inheritance they might have had.

  Mae turned serious. “But it doesn’t have to for you. One old maid from the Guthrie clan is more than enough, sis—and I was the lucky one to draw that straw.”

  The blunt words knotted Leah’s throat. Why, Lord? Why my beautiful sister Mae?

  Mae wouldn’t let up. “But with your reddish-blond hair and fun personality, you’ll make a fine wife. All that’s required is a little effort.”

  Leah continued to scrub. “I haven’t the energy for more effort, Mae. I scour the skin from my hands every week to keep the roof over our heads. You and Hope have been easy to raise, but Ethan? Honestly, some days I wonder if I can deal with even one more of his antics. There’s nothing left after all that to seek a husband.”

  Mae shot her a sympathetic look. “Maybe it won’t take much extra effort. We have to eat, don’t we?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Why not invite Mr. Allen to dinner? Men lose their hearts to good cooks—and you’re a fine one.” Her expression turned almost pleading. “Invite him and see what happens.”

  Leah blew out a long breath. “You make it sound so easy, but the little I know of Mr. Allen, he’s not an easy man.” She rinsed the suds from her blouse.