He headed over to the saloon for a drink to give him the courage to do what had to be done, distasteful though it was. Pick out a whore to marry.
“Clay! Clay Moore.” He swung around and Thompson from the mercantile hurried up to him. “I’ve been waiting days for you to call in. Where in tarnation have you been?”
“At the ranch.”
“I’ve got a telegram for you. From the matrimonial agency you mentioned.”
“Did you read it? Come on, what did it say.”
“Of course, I didn’t read it. The delivery boy said it was from them when he brought it over. It was in a sealed envelope. Personal and confidential it said. I don’t tamper with other people’s mail, or for that matter ever mention who I actually hold mail for.”
“Maybe they found a bride for me.” He hadn’t wanted to do it but had to tell Thompson what he’d done so he would hold on to any mail which might come. He didn’t have the time to come into town any more often than every two or three weeks.
His heart pounded, the blood pumped through his veins as they walked back to the mercantile. Please God, let it be good news. He didn’t care whether the woman was a hag, so long as she was respectable. If he could have afforded it, he would have paid for her to stay the whole twelve months at the hotel and not let her anywhere near his ranch.
Thompson was short, so his stride was the same and Clay wanted to yell at him to hurry up. That telegram could make or break him. Please God, let it be good news. I’m desperate, God. He hadn’t prayed this hard in years. After little Laura died, he had lost his faith somewhat.
He was trembling as he stepped through the door of the mercantile. He nearly stumbled such was his haste to get inside.
Thompson hurried behind the counter and Clay heard papers being shuffled. What would he do if the message got lost?
“Ah, here it is.” He shoved a letter into his hands. Clay’s fingers shook as he ran a fingernail under the flap. Get a grip on yourself, man.
He scanned the lines. His bride would be arriving at the Laramie stage depot Tuesday at one o’clock. His ranch was saved. It was signed Jennifer Bennett.
He would have liked to have exchanged at least a couple of letters with her first, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. She was probably as ugly as a dime’s worth of dog meat. Could he keep her hidden at the ranch to save himself the humiliation of being seen with such a hag?
Chapter Five
Spewing out a trail of dust, the stage pulled into the Laramie depot. Jennifer had never been so glad of anything in her life before. She was bone weary, her head ached, and she desperately wanted to cry.
“Goodbye, my dear,” said kindly Mrs. Ridout who held Sam as Jennifer climbed down. “Be good for your mama, my beautiful boy.”
The elderly lady had been a Godsend, helping her from when she joined the coach at Dearmont.
“Thank you so much for all your help. I hope you enjoy your stay with your daughter.”
“I will dear, and if things don’t turn out for you with this young man, you go to God’s house and see the preacher. He’ll see you don’t come to any harm. And remember. If you don’t like the looks of this man. Don’t go with him.”
“I won’t. Goodbye and thank you.” Enviously she watched as the woman was surrounded by three tall boys who were obviously the grandsons, she was so proud of.
The driver and a man from the depot started unloading mail bags, boxes and passenger luggage. A middle-age passenger touched his hat as he strode inside.
The man had slept most of the time or maybe he just had his eyes shut. Sam had grizzled and cried a bit, but considering it was such a long journey he had been well behaved. “Well, baby, here we are.” Please, God let this be the right thing for me to do.
“Are you sure you’re being met, Ma’am?” the driver asked. “You can wait inside if you like.” He tickled Sam under the chin.
“Thank you, I might go inside if my, um, my friend isn’t here soon.”
Full of dread she waited with her luggage beside her. One trunk and a carpet bag contained their worldly possessions. She had put half of the money she had saved from the Julians in her reticule and had shoved a couple of notes in her shoe for safe keeping in case she was robbed. With Sam to care for she couldn’t be left with nothing.
Where was Mr. Claymoore? She had found out his surname from his second letter. Luckily it hadn’t been smudged. Surely the man wouldn’t let her down. Maybe he had changed his mind, although he had seemed keen enough in the beginning. He hadn’t answered her last letter, though, that’s why she had to send the telegram.
Fretting and fuming she walked up and down the long porch. How despicable to let her down like this, especially knowing she had a baby with her.
~*~
Dammit, the stage must have come in early. Clay saw the dust covered coach in the backyard of the depot and the sweating horses being unhitched. Pulling his buckboard up, he jumped down. He couldn’t believe how nervous he felt. This woman held his future in the palm of her hand. Another week and his worries would be over. All he had to do was give the attorney proof of the marriage and the ranch was his free and clear.
He hadn’t figured out exactly what he would do with this woman once he married her. He didn’t particularly want her living at the ranch with him. His privacy and solitude meant a lot to him. “The ranch means more,” he muttered.
He stepped up on to the porch and touched his hat as he passed a young woman holding a squirming baby in her arms. She was pretty with her sun kissed curls peeking out from under her bonnet. He went to push the door open.
“Mr. Claymoore?”
He swung around. “Yes, I’m Clay Moore.”
“I’m Jennifer Bennett.”
He felt his jaw drop. He glanced at her, the baby and the luggage. “You can’t be.”
“I am, who were you expecting?”
“A woman on her own.” He pushed the words past the lump in his throat. “This woman had tricked him.
“I specifically said in my application. No children.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Is that your baby?” He desperately hoped she was minding it for another woman who was in the stage office.
“Yes, he’s mine.”
“Well, you’re here under false pretenses,” he growled. Never in his wildest dreams had he supposed Jennifer Bennett would be a pretty woman with a baby in tow.
“When I told you about Sam you told me you liked children.”
“I did no such thing.” Something wasn’t right here. “I didn’t receive any letters from you, just the telegram.”
The color drained from her face and she looked ready to burst into tears.
“You better sit down; you look ready to collapse.”
“I am. You, you said you’re Mr. Claymoore.”
“Yes. Clay Robert Moore.”
She would have fallen had he not leapt over and grabbed her arms. The baby made to snatch off his hat and he brushed the chubby little hand away.
“Here.” He led her over to a seat.
“I feel sick.”
“Yeah, you look it.”
“How could anyone be so despicable as to trick me like this?”
“What are you talking about.” Was the woman of unsound mind? That’s all he needed, a maniac on his hands.
“I exchanged three letters with a man who said he was Mr. Claymoore.”
“Through the Discretion Matrimonial Agency?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I signed up with them, too.”
“But you said you didn’t write to me. If you don’t want to marry me, just say so.” Her voice wavered and he almost felt sorry for her.
“I don’t want to marry you.”
Her face crumpled.
“You’re not what I ordered, and I didn’t write to you.” He said the words slowly, clearly so there would be no mistake about what he meant.
“You mean I’ve traveled all this way for nothing?”
She sure was pretty with her big blue eyes and creamy white skin. What was he thinking? She had a child. Where was the father? She didn’t look like a woman of ill repute, but who knew with females of the species. Look at how Roseanne had led him on then cast him aside for someone richer. He glanced at the snowy haired baby who sat on her knee sucking it’s thumb and staring at him through the same blue eyes as hers.
He snapped his fingers and she started. “Claymoore and Clay Moore. That wretched woman at the agency got things mixed up.”
“You think so?”
“What other explanation is there?” There was no guile in her eyes. She had been genuinely as shocked as him.
“You think this Mr. Claymoore might still turn up for me?” Hope flared in her eyes and he didn’t know why he hated letting her down.
“How could he? I got the telegram.”
“Oh, so you did. Silly of me. I can’t think when I get upset.”
“Look, um Jennifer. There’s a sign over there saying coffee is served inside,” he said. “You look like you could do with one.”
“Well….”
“I’m paying.”
She gave him a sad little smile. “Thank you, that would be nice, but tea please.”
“All right. If they serve it.”
She glanced at her luggage.
“Don’t worry, no-one will take it.” He forced a laugh. “Looks like we’re the only ones out here.”
“Thank you Mr….”
“Call me Clay.”
“Thank you, Clay.”
There were only two tables each with four chairs. He picked the nearest one to the door as Jennifer Bennett didn’t look as if she would make it to the farthermost one.
A woman came from behind a curtain and bustled over to them. “Could I have a black coffee please, Ma’am, and cup of tea.”
“Weak black tea if you serve it please,” Jennifer said in a soft wavering voice.
“I don’t normally serve food, but if your wife….”
“She’s not my wife.” He knew he shouldn’t be so surly and uncivil, but tarnation he was about to lose his ranch. “Where’s the kid’s father?” He asked after the woman left them.
“He’s dead.”
“Sorry.” He hoped she wasn’t going to start crying. He hated seeing women weep. He watched her trying to blink back tears and grudgingly admired her for it.
The baby was wriggling and squirming, and she finally put it on the floor. It hung on to her skirt and gabbled away.
“What is it?”
She stared at him. A man could drown in those eyes. “Your child, what is it?” Why should he care?
“A little boy. Sam, well Samuel, it was my husband’s name.”
“Oh, you’re a widow?”
“Yes.”
Only recently widowed if he was any judge. “How long ago?”
“A few months.”
What kind of woman would want to marry again after being so recently bereaved? A desperate one.
“Don’t condemn me, Clay. I’ve got very little money and no relatives. I can’t work because of the baby. What do you expect me to do? You surely don’t think I like the idea of giving myself to another man after Samuel.” She swiped at a wayward tear.
He felt his cheeks heat up. There certainly weren’t many choices for her.
“Anyway, you should talk. Why can’t you find yourself a wife in the usual way?”
“Because I don’t have time. If I don’t get a wife by the end of next week, I’ll lose my ranch.”
“Really? I’m sorry.”
“Not as sorry as I’ll be when they boot me off my own place.”
“You could marry me.”
“What! You’ve got a child.”
“Is that so bad?”
“Yeah, for me it is. I don’t want a kid hanging around my place.” He didn’t want to tell her why he and kids didn’t mix. He was too ashamed. A little gal had died because of his carelessness. Every time he saw a child he was stricken with guilt.
“He wouldn’t be any trouble. He’s a good baby. I would keep him out of your way. Please, Clay. If you don’t marry me, I don’t know what I’ll do.” She touched his hand and he jerked it away.
“Well, there’s always this Claymoore person.”
“How will I find him? He didn’t answer my last letter.”
Could a marriage between them possibly work? At least she was a pretty, respectable young woman. It would certainly be no hardship having her around, but a baby. Cold dread ran down his spine every time he glanced at the child.
“Am I so ugly, you’d rather lose your ranch than marry me?” Jennifer couldn’t believe the way Clay Moore was acting. He was certainly a fine-looking man with his dark hair and unusual green eyes. His tanned cheeks were covered by a dark shadow of beard even though he had probably shaved recently. He looked and smelled clean. He wore pants and a grey shirt covered by a black vest, all in reasonable condition.
“Do you think you’ll know me if you see me again?”
“I was staring, sorry. Why will you lose your ranch if you don’t get married?” She gave the woman a wistful smile as she handed over their tea and coffee, which was served in thick, white china cups. Clay nodded his thanks.
“What about the baby?” the woman asked. “I can get him some milk.”
“No thank you. I’m still feeding him myself.”
With a nod she left them.
Clay’s eyebrows rose, his lips compressed. “You’re still feeding him?”
“He’s only fourteen months old.”
“He’s walking around.”
“What’s wrong with that? It’s not as if I’m in the family way again.”
She heard him mutter. “Well, thank goodness for that.”
“What did you say?”
Red ran into his cheeks. “Nothing.” He took a gulp of his coffee, cursing as it burnt his mouth.
On the other hand, she took a careful sip and the tea tasted heavenly. Nectar of the Gods. She would savor every mouthful because she wouldn’t be able to afford pay for one. She would have to stay the night in Laramie, then head back to Raeburn. At least she had some support there even if Abby and Murray had gone. The couple from the mercantile, who owned the house where Abby and Murray had lived, had given her some work to do at the back of the store in exchange for letting her stay at the house after her friends left. Maybe she could come to some similar arrangement with them when she arrived back. The couple were kindly, God-fearing people.
Chapter Six
It was dreadful how some careless person at the agency had mixed up Ralph Claymoore and Clay Moore, both from Laramie. An easy enough mistake, but they were paid to match people up. Goodness only knew what Mr. Claymoore was feeling like? That’s if he’d ever really wanted to marry her in the first place. Could it have been a cruel hoax?
She had spent half of her savings and traveled miles to get here and Clay Moore stood to lose his ranch all because of the incompetence of someone at the matrimonial agency.
She watched Sam toddling around, the peeling wallpaper obviously attracted him, and his baby fingers tried to pull pieces off. For his age he was intelligent. And it’s not just because I’m his mother. He had walked at eleven months.
“Why will you lose your ranch if you don’t have a wife?” The silence between them was deafening and she felt compelled to break it.
“Because the ranch belonged to my uncle. For years I helped him run it. He promised me the place when he died so I worked for minimal wages.”
“He didn’t leave it to you?”
“Yes, the old fool left it to me all right, with the stipulation I had to be married to get it.”
“I’m sorry. It doesn’t seem fair when you worked there. Who gets it if you don’t?”
“Some distant relative who
wouldn’t know a cow from a dog. If I don’t get myself a wife within twelve months of my uncle’s death and stay married for twelve months, I get nothing. I started courting a gal, and a few weeks ago she told me she found someone richer and was marrying him.” His eyes were ice-cold, a pulse ticked in his jaw. “She left me with hardly any time to find someone else, which is why I went to that wretched matrimonial place and see where it got me.”
“Stuck with a woman and a child you don’t want,” she said bitterly.
“Yeah. Look, Mrs. um Jennifer. You’re a pretty gal, but I just can’t abide children.”
“Why? What did a child ever do to you?”
The color drained from his face, leaving the skin ashen. His eyes froze over. “None of your business.” He ground the words out.
Something terrible had happened involving a child. She didn’t doubt it for a moment. It couldn’t have been his child because he had mentioned never being married. Well, it could be his child. What was she thinking? There could be a dozen reasons why he didn’t want a child in his life and none of it was any of her business.
She jumped up when Sam looked ready to tear off a piece of the wallpaper. “No, you don’t.” She picked him up and gave him a cuddle. Spinning around she caught the strangest expression on Clay’s face but couldn’t decipher what it was. Anger, sadness, or a combination of both?
“Is there somewhere cheap and respectable where I can stay in town?” she asked.
“Well….”
“I’ll have to go back to Raeburn. There’s not much there for me, but at least I know a few people. I’ll have to stay a night or two here. I don’t think I’ve got the strength to go back tomorrow. Sam was good really on the trip here, but he’s only a baby and I need to rest up.” She sighed. “Apart from the long journey in the coach, the shock of well, this awful mix up seems to have drained the energy out of me. If I get sick on the way back, what will happen to Sam?”
Clay gnawed his lip. “Marry me.” The proposal fell out of his mouth with such suddenness it shocked him. Once uttered he couldn’t take the words back, not when hope flared in her eyes, banishing the fear and worry he had seen before. He wasn’t that callous.
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