A Mail-Order Christmas Bride Page 27

  “What? No, I can’t spend the winter in jaaaaail—”

  Adele burst into tears, although Vera wasn’t certain if she’d perfected that trick in tight situations before. She wailed and wept when Cormac handed her over to the sheriff, who pushed her toward Baxter Cunningham. He grabbed Adele and kept her from bolting toward the nearest door. Sheriff Daniels shook his head.

  “If you still want to marry her, I’ll agree to let you keep her under lock and key out at the Double C Ranch. That would save me a heap of trouble. I can’t guarantee much privacy for a woman at the jail. What do you say?”

  Baxter pushed Adele back into his arms. “Depends on how sticky her fingers are. I’m curious if she stole more than that locket, so let me think about it till Christmas. Maybe by then she’ll be ready and willing to marry.”

  “No, no! I’ll marry you now.” Adele scrabbled at Baxter’s arm. “Please!”

  “Well, maybe a scrawny chicken is better than none.” He grinned at everyone. “Gus, get the preacher. It’s time for another wedding.”

  “Won’t you let me change my dress—”

  “You look fine, little chicken.”

  ****

  Within thirty minutes, Sheriff Daniels had found most of the items on the list hidden among Adele’s trunks, hatboxes, and valises—including a solid gold watch she’d hidden in her skirts. She protested at first, but then fell silent under Cormac’s withering stare. When Vera found a plain silver brooch that she hadn’t missed yet from her belongings, her fading sympathy completely vanished. She refused to hear the young woman’s excuses any longer. Her late husband had given her that brooch, and glad she was to have it back.

  The afternoon light had faded when Baxter and Adele—or whatever her true name was, since everyone was now convinced she’d lied about that, too—left for the ranch as man and wife. Bart Cunningham, Gus, and the other hired hands followed. Sheriff Daniels also rode north with them, since he wanted to make certain the new Mrs. Cunningham had made it safely to the Double C. All the guests had gone home. Even Duncan had bundled up to participate in a snowball fight with friends. Cormac and Vera stood alone in the parlor.

  Her husband laughed long and hard. “The li’l minx will be surprised once she gets there. Dinna tell me she won’t try to slip through the net, but the Double C is guarded be’er than the jail. They’ll drag her back and make her pay, all right.”

  Vera sank down on the closest chair. “You said earlier that you knew she’d been keeping a secret. Did you know I’d taken part in it?”

  “Ach, she used her wiles on you. Dinna blame yerself.” He pulled her up into a tight embrace. Cormac nuzzled her temple. “I knew, Vera. I knew.”

  She loved the way he said her name—Verrra, with a long rolling sound. “How did you know? And why didn’t you say something?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  He led the way to their bedroom. Cormac rummaged in the tall chest of drawers and then handed her a long envelope. Vera retrieved several folded sheets.

  “A letter? From Adele—I sent Baxter a telegram when I saw his personal notice in the newspaper. But Adele never mentioned sending you a letter.”

  “Go on. Read it,” he said, “and you’ll see how I could tell right away.”

  She scanned the flowing script, which sounded exactly like Adele’s magpie chatter. Vera shook her head and folded the sheets again. “All about her, and plenty of criticism of her so-called grandparents, their house, the way they treated her. Nothing about sharing a life with you and starting over. Why did you answer her back?”

  “I figured it was worth a chance, hopin’ she could work as well as talk. I was wrong about that.” Cormac pushed her onto the bed. “But things worked out for the best.”

  She kissed him back, hard. “You’re right. I’m honored to be your wife.”

  “Ah, lass. I’m not too old fer ye?”

  “Not at all.”

  He sighed with pleasure, his hands roaming over her soft curves. “I didna expect to receive such a wonderful gift this year.”

  Vera snuggled against his broad chest. “Merry Christmas, Cormac Ferguson.”

  About the Author—Meg Mims

  Award-winning mystery author Meg Mims lives in Southeastern Michigan with her husband and a sweet Malti-poo. She loves writing novels, novellas and short stories, both contemporary and historical. Meg earned a Spur Award for Best First Novel for Double Crossing, a Laramie Award for Double or Nothing, and (writing as one-half of the team D.E. Ireland) an Agatha Award nomination for Wouldn’t It Be Deadly, book one of the Eliza Doolittle & Henry Higgins Mystery series from Minotaur. Book 2, Move Your Blooming Corpse, was released in October, 2015.

  I Heard the Brides on Christmas Day

  Jacquie Rogers

  A raging blizzard and a peckish chicken threaten to come between two ranchers and their mail-order brides.

  Chapter 1

  Owyhee County, Idaho Territory

  December, 1869

  Hector Murdock was a mite worried about the present he bought for his brother, Zeke, for Christmas. Truth be told, he was worried about what he got for himself. But the time for fretting had passed.

  He pulled the team to a stop in front of the stage station, and none too soon, for he was nigh to freezing, what with a snowstorm kicking up. With luck, the stage would get in before the storm hit full force.

  The station master, Ted Woods came out. “Want I should unhitch your team?”

  Hec nodded, and would’ve tossed the man a nickel if he could’ve moved his cold fingers. “When’s the stage due in?”

  “Regular time, I expect, unless this storm blows in faster than I think it will. We didn’t get news of any delays over the wire.”

  That meant Hec had maybe thirty minutes to rub some feeling back into his fingers, nose, and toes. “I’ll be inside by the stove.”

  “Best place in this weather.” Woods dusted some snow off his shoulder. “Coffee might help, too.”

  Coffee sounded danged good—even the notoriously awful stage stop coffee. Hec nodded at the man and headed inside. Without even being sociable with the people who waited to board, he went straight to the stove and almost hugged it.

  “Coffee, Mr. Murdock?”

  “Please.”

  The stage master’s wife, Mrs. Woods, still showed signs of beauty even though she led a tough life on the Idaho desert. Her brown hair grayed around the temples and her skin was weathered by wind and sun. Even so, she wore a smile and Hec happily accepted the coffee she offered.

  “Sorry, no cream or sugar to offer until the freight wagon comes in.”

  “It’s all right, ma’am. I’m just glad to hold the hot cup, and I drink it black, anyway.” He let the heat from the enamel cup seep through his leather gloves.

  “What brings you here?” she asked.

  “Picking up our Christmas gifts.”

  She moved a chair by the stove and waved for him to sit. “This stage only carries passengers and mail. No freight.” Mrs. Wood took the dishtowel from her shoulder and headed toward the dishpan on the counter.

  “Ain’t freight—I ordered brides.” He sat, making sure he didn’t slosh the coffee.

  She whirled around and faced Hec. “Brides?”

  The man across the room grinned but didn’t say a word. His wife frowned.

  “For me and my brother. It’s time we hitched up and got ourselves some young’uns.”

  “Um, well, good luck to the both of you—four of you.”

  That was the end of their conversation. Hec had other things to think about and he expected Mrs. Woods didn’t cotton to him ordering brides for Christmas. Besides, he had all he could do to warm up and get his joints to working again. He didn’t know which was colder—riding horseback or driving a wagon. Likely the wagon, because a horseback rider got at least a little of the horse’s body heat.

  Mrs. Woods brought the pot over to refill his coffee. “I put some bricks in the oven for you to wra
p in blankets. They should keep your brides from turning to icicles by the time you get to the ranch. But I want the bricks back next trip.”

  Hec hoped she didn’t get the brides back as well as the bricks. Zeke and he were a mite rough around the edges—the ladies might want to find better men. What with the shortage of women around these parts, plenty of fellows would be all too willing to hitch up with them. Hec and Zeke had built two cabins, but they were on the rough side, too. They did have plank floors, though.

  “That’s another thing—would your husband say the words over us? Ain’t a preacher or a judge to be had until February. I already checked.”

  “If he’ll do it, it won’t be until the day after Christmas. We’re extra busy what with everyone going wherever they ain’t.”

  Hec wanted the hitching done right away, lest the ladies take off. He wanted a woman to love, and even though Zeke would never admit it, he did, too. Came a time in a man’s life when he needed a good woman, and that time had come for the Murdock brothers.

  “That’ll do,” Hec said, even though he’d rather it be that afternoon. “We’ll make it worth your while.”

  ****

  “Five miles to Oreana!” the stage driver hollered.

  Dinah Goode had high hopes for Idaho Territory, even though her teeth chattered and her hands were freezing. The rabbit-fur muff couldn’t ward off such bitter cold. “I expect there’s a good fire in the stove at the station.”

  “And that our grooms actually show up,” her travel-mate, Stella Clemmons, said. “I’ve heard stories—not that I think such would happen to us.”

  “No matter, we can make our own way.” Dinah didn’t need to admit that she worried a mite herself. “If the grooms aren’t suitable, we’ll start a restaurant—we can do that in Idaho— own property, I mean. I heard that lots of women here own their own businesses.”

  “I’m dreadfully hungry. We haven’t had a decent meal for the last week. I hope the facilities are such that good food is available.”

  Every time Dinah had brought up starting a business, Stella had changed the subject, but at least this time the topic was food, and Dinah loved to cook, which is why she planned to operate her own restaurant someday. “If there’s any way at all, I’ll cook us a scrumptious meal. Don’t you worry about that.”

  Stella beamed a smile. “We’ll be sisters-in-law. Mrs. Ezekiel Murdock—kind of has a nice ring to it. And you’ll be Mrs. Hector Murdock.”

  Dinah worried a little about Stella. They hadn’t known each other before their trip out West, but had grown fond of each other on the train and subsequent stagecoach travel. Dinah, a cook, would probably never have met a schoolteacher otherwise, but Stella would be a good and true friend. Even so, Stella had a bit of a pie-in-the-sky attitude—overly optimistic, for sure.

  “We should be there within an hour.”

  “We better freshen up as best we can.” Stella pulled one hand from the muff and patted her hair.

  “I’m not taking my hands out of this muff for anyone,” Dinah said. “The Murdock men will just have to not look at us until we’ve had a chance to warm up and put ourselves to rights.”

  “I’m utterly positive the Murdock brothers will be handsome.”

  Dinah wasn’t positive about that at all. The poor quality photos didn’t show the men’s features much, other than they each had two eyes, a nose, and a mouth. “They look to be the age they said, so maybe they told the truth about the rest of it.”

  “Thirty-four is just the right age for my husband.” Stella sighed, pressing her muff to her breast. “I thought I’d be an old maid.”

  “At nearly thirty, we are old maids.”

  “I expect we should have children soon before it’s too late.”

  Children hadn’t been a priority with Dinah after she’d miscarried her baby and two weeks later, received word that her husband had been killed in the war. With a hardened heart, she’d been driven to become one of the best chefs in Cleveland, even knowing only men could hold the position—women were merely cooks.

  Dinah didn’t have to respond to Stella because the stage lurched to the right and then tilted. “That can’t be good.” Once she righted herself, she peeked out the curtain, hoping the driver would let them know what was wrong without her having to open the window—or worse, the door. Cold as it was inside the coach, outside was considerably more frigid. Icicles hanging from the driver’s mustache and hat brim testified to that.

  “Why are we stopped?” she asked, hoping he wouldn’t say the coach had broken down.

  “Eh, just a little rut in the road. We’re early, so thought we might stop by and deliver you personal-like to your new husbands. Ain’t far off the road, and like I said, we’re early. Besides, I could use a little warmin’ up.” He took a long pull from a flask, then nodded at her. “A little Christmas cheer warms the innards.”

  Dinah shut the curtain so he could imbibe in his cheer and get the coach out of the rut. They were in the middle of a snow-covered valley. Not a tree in sight. The endless snow-covered desert rose mightily toward the Owyhee Mountains.

  “This sure doesn’t look like Cleveland,” Stella whispered. “Are you sure there are two other humans out here?”

  “You mean other than our inebriated driver and equally jolly stagecoach messenger?” Dinah leaned back and pressed her muff to her breast. “No.”

  Stella beamed a smile. “But whatever we find, we’ll make the best of it.”

  ****

  One helluva clamor broke Zeke Murdock’s peaceful nap after pulling calves out of snowdrifts all damned night. Fred, his dog who’d also been sleeping, clawed his chest as he barked and scrambled to the door. Zeke sat up with a start.

  Danged if he didn’t dream he’d heard a stagecoach in his own barnyard. Likely, it was Hec bringing supplies back in the wagon. Might as well throw another stick of wood in the stove while he was up.

  “Shut up, Fred.”

  The brown mutt cocked his head and whimpered some, but didn’t bark anymore.

  Zeke pulled up his suspenders and padded across the chilly room in his stocking feet. Chilly actually meant warm, though, compared to the outside temperature of below zero. The stove door creaked when he opened it—he swore it sounded like a woman hollering. He really had to get to town more often.

  Then he put in a log, only it thumped twice. Fred sat studying the door so it hadn’t been him making the noise. Zeke shook his head to get the cobwebs out.

  Must have been a dilly of a dream. He didn’t remember dreaming, but his head sure wasn’t right, and he hadn’t been nipping the hot-buttered rum, either. When he shut the stove door, he heard another two thumps, and the unmistakable sound of clattering wagon wheels—only they didn’t creak like their old farm wagon.

  Had that crazy brother of his bought a new one? There wasn’t a danged thing wrong with the one they had—no sense in wasting money on another even if theirs was a bit on the rickety side. It’d do for another year or two. But Hec always thought he needed something fancy.

  Zeke tossed another log into the stove for good measure, because the cattle were bound to have another hard night, which meant he would, too, so he’d need all the shut-eye he could get. He headed back to the cot and sat, shucked his suspenders, then curled up under three quilts. Sleep visited him as soon as he was horizontal.

  For about five seconds. Someone knocked on the door. Wouldn’t be Hec. A man wouldn’t knock on his own door. Who the hell would venture out in this foul weather? They picked a piss poor time to interrupt his beauty sleep.

  Another knock, louder this time. “Well, damn.” He groaned as he stood. If his brother was playing a joke on him, he’d...

  Knock, knock, knock. “Mr. Murdock, it’s cold out here.”

  A woman’s voice? Here? He hurried to the door and opened it. Two women stood carrying valises. Both were rather tall, one was a mite sturdier than the other, but they shivered just the same.

  “What are yo
u doing here?” Then it occurred to him that they knew his last name, which puzzled him even more.

  “He doesn’t look as handsome as the picture,” the slender one said.

  “You can’t tell a thing by that picture. He could be a lot worse.” The sturdy one looked him straight in the eye and said, “Are you going to let us in? It’s cold out here.”

  He stood back and they entered.

  “Our trunks are sitting out in the snow—two each. You could put them in the barn and we’ll go through them later. But first, I’m cooking dinner. We haven’t had a bite of decent food since the day we left Cleveland.” The sturdy one had nice bosoms, but she had a big mouth, too.

  “Are you Hector or Ezekiel?” the slender one asked.

  “Zeke. And if you’re gonna cook, you might as well tell me your names.”

  “I’m Miss Stella Clemmons, soon to be Mrs. Ezekiel Murdock. This is my friend, Miss Dinah Goode, and she’s...”

  “What?”

  Chapter 2

  Stella didn’t know what to make of her future husband. He looked like he could clean up fairly well—shave off the three days of stubble, trim his hair, and put some decent clothes on him. He seemed a mite on the crabby side, though. And confused.

  “I repeat, I’m your mail-order bride. And Dinah is Hector Murdock’s bride. I’m assuming he’s your brother?”

  “Yep, and I may knock his block off as soon as he gets back.” He dug his fingers through his hair, then kicked a shirt out of the middle of the floor. “I can’t say as I was expecting you.”

  Dinah had already migrated to the corner of the cabin that served as a kitchen, and was snooping around as if she were taking inventory for the tax man. “Do you have any molasses?”

  “Uh, I think so. Look in the potato bin.”

  “Potato bin?”

  “The bull got out.”

  Stella would have her work cut out for her to understand this man. Before she could say anything, Dinah held up the bottle of molasses, nodded, then set to preparing whatever it was she found to cook.