Spring Creek Bride

Mick was perplexed by the change he saw in her. Was it not just a few days ago she’d smiled at him in that particularly fetching way? Now, suddenly, she’d taken on a different attitude, one he didn’t much care for. The way she’d said, “I know who you are, Mr. Bradley,” was all business, and he’d opted not to ask for her help, as he’d originally planned. Maybe she’d discovered his reason for being here and had taken it as an affront.

Why he cared what she thought remained a mystery. They scarcely knew each other, after all. Still, from the moment of their first encounter, he’d locked those beautiful blue eyes into his memory.

“Stop it, man. Don’t be thinking about a woman. You’ll be back in Chicago before long and there are plenty of sensible—or not-so-sensible—women there to fill your thoughts.”

Indeed, as soon as the gambling hall began to go up—he’d decided to call it The Lucky Penny—Mick would search out the perfect candidate to run the place in his stead, someone from his neck of the woods, most likely. If he selected a local for the job, the community would surely turn on the poor fellow; the whole thing might even end in bloodshed. No, he couldn’t risk that. Wouldn’t be good for business. It would have to be someone his investors approved of—someone with a head for numbers, a heart for turning a profit and big-city experience.

Shouts rang out and Mick turned his attention to the street below. Several of the railroad men had gathered there, instigating yet another fight. These Texans were certainly boisterous, and a sure sight more complicated than he’d figured. Prideful, to be sure. And standoffish. Maybe it had something to do with all the dust they swallowed as the trains barreled by. Clogged up their throats. Regardless, many of them had already voiced an opinion by refusing to do business with him. Pure stubbornness.

And then there was the issue with the property. According to the land agent, the owner—a man from the Houston area—was holding out for more money. Mick would pay it after all, just to get the game under way, though he hated to give in to such tactics.

He sighed as he thought about the situation. Really, what did it matter, when all was said and done? The payoff would be worth it. And he needed to get started on the building as soon as possible.

“Soon, fellas.” He watched the brawling men as the quiet words slipped from his lips. “Soon you will have much more to do than duke it out in the streets. Soon you will be sitting at The Lucky Penny dropping all your hard-earned money into my lap.”

If everything went as planned, the new building would be up before summer’s end.

Mick used his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Troubling thoughts continued to plague him as he climbed into bed. He ached to shut the window, to drown out the whoops and hollers from below. Mick knew that many of the sounds came from The Golden Spike, just a few doors down, and that knowledge only added to his aggravation. Unfortunately, the heat simply wouldn’t allow him to reclose the window. He shoved the pillow over his head in an attempt to silence the ever-present shouts and laughter of the men.

Out of the darkness, a shot rang out. Mick sprang out of the bed and raced toward the window, his heart pounding. With great relief, he saw that the sheriff had fired the shot into the air to send the men on their way. They scattered with little trouble, drifting off to the various hotels and boardinghouses.

Mick fell into bed a second time in a more hopeful state. Surely these Texans would eventually thank him for coming. Once The Lucky Penny opened, offering them more gambling opportunities, better liquor and a classier decor with a real stage for entertainment, Mike felt confident he’d be Spring Creek’s new hero, if they’d just give him half a chance.

Chapter Eight

The shrill whistle of the morning train from Galveston roused Ida from her groggy state. The grinding of brakes, the piercing squeal of metal against metal, the rhythmic clacking of wheels against lines of track—these familiar sounds at daybreak merged with the shouts of the railroad men as the cars inched their way by. Why must we live so close to the switchyard?

Papa had built the lumber mill years before the track was laid. But then the railroad had come through and taken over the town—in a hundred different ways.

Ida stretched for a moment and allowed her eyes to become accustomed to the sunlight peeking through the lace curtains. She propped up her pillows and sat up in the bed. Then Ida reached for the worn Bible on the bedside table, one of her most precious possessions, and ran her finger across her mother’s name inside.

“Oh, Mama, I wish you were here.” She missed their morning prayers together and her mother’s nightly readings from the worn book.

Ida leaned against the pillows and opened the Bible to the book of Esther, where she read, for the hundredth time, the story of the young queen approaching the king’s throne with fear and trembling.

Ida closed her eyes, deep in thought. Every time she pictured Esther approaching the throne, she couldn’t help but envision herself doing the same thing.

Oh, but what would it be like, to come into the king’s chambers uninvited? To approach without invitation? And yet, Esther braved the journey, taking one courageous step after the other, and all because of God’s calling—for such a time as this.

One step at a time, Ida saw herself inching toward the Savior’s outstretched arms.

Come to me, child. Don’t be afraid.

At some point along the way, fear gripped her heart and her eyes flew open.

“I am afraid,” she whispered as she clutched the Bible to her chest, tears springing to her eyes. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to do what You have called me to do. Or that I will somehow do it incorrectly. And I’m afraid—” she paused, startled by her thoughts “—that Papa will die someday, too, and I’ll truly be alone.”

She began to cry in earnest now. Where did this fear come from? Just because she’d lost her mother didn’t mean Papa would soon follow.

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