The Rancher’s Inconvenient Bride

Dropping the wooden spoon into the large pot of watery stew, Agatha wrapped her arms around her friend. With luck she would believe the tears on her cheeks were tears of joy, and they were for the most part.

But it couldn’t be denied that she was indulging in a big dose of self-pity. She hadn’t a doubt in the world that once Ivy knew where she was, she would send someone to fetch her home.

Ivy would not come herself. She had a newborn to care for, and a ranch to run. But someone would come and she was not nearly ready.

“Don’t look so worried, Agatha.” Laura Lee let go of her and scooped up a cup of flour, mixed it with water. “I know you’re concerned about being forced to go home. But I’ll assure your sister and Travis that you are thriving and the circus people are watching over you like they would their own kin.”

Someone was. Mr. Frenchie Brown. She felt his eyes on her back whenever she ventured from the cook trailer.

In her opinion, his attention was not so protective. He frowned at her often, shook his head. Given the chance he would dismiss her.

Agatha watched Laura Lee stir flour mixed with water into the pot. “Look at that! It’s stew. Nice thick stew.”

“Here’s the secret to cooking, although Mrs. Morgan would paddle me for saying so.”

Laura Lee winked. Mischief made her eyes sparkle.

One day Agatha hoped her own eyes would sparkle. They didn’t now, but one day they would. As much as her friends’ did, as much as Ivy’s did. And Ivy’s eyes always sparkled.

“If a dish isn’t right add butter, lots and lots of butter. If it needs to be thicker, flour, and if it’s dessert lots of sugar, and butter, butter, butter—a good dose of cream doesn’t hurt, either.”

Chapter Two

The door slammed behind the current, and fifth, man that William had presented for sheriff. It was hard to tell if the wind had to do with it or if the fellow was hopping mad to have traveled a hundred miles only to be judged unworthy for the position.

William frowned at the citizens sitting in the chairs facing the council table. The way they were going, they would never agree on a lawman.

“I’m glad to see the back of that one,” uttered Mr. Henry Beal. Henry sat beside William at the long council table drumming his fingertips on the polished wood. His vocation of blacksmith showed in the soot rimming his fingernails. “Too prissy to be sheriff if you ask me.”

“And small,” declared a middle-aged woman perched on the edge of her chair. “We need a larger man.”

“Yes, a much larger man.” This from the younger lady sitting beside the woman.

William glanced away quickly when she winked at him and nudged her companion in the ribs.

The wood legs of his chair scraped across the floor when he stood up. He made eye contact—frowned more to the point—at the four men seated with him at the table.

“I understand that you want the best person for the job. We all do. But that man was qualified and willing to accept the pay you offered. He may have been short, but he came highly respected. You read his letters of recommendation.”

“Still too small.” A man stood up from his chair near the front door of the Tanners Ridge Library where town meetings were held, shrugged his shoulders. “I think we all agree on that.”

“He might be married,” came a muffled voice from the back of the room. Just not muffled enough so that folks didn’t hear the comment.

“Really, Aimee.” The woman’s seat neighbor whispered too loudly. “Why do you care? The most eligible bachelor of them all is standing right in front of you. Forget about winning a sheriff.”

“He’s not married.” William pursed his lips.

This was supposed to be a serious meeting, not a matchmaking fest. He ought to be used to that kind of attention by now. Every unmarried woman and her mother knew he was rich, ambitious and needed a wife.

But the matter at hand was to appoint a sheriff. Surely they understood how urgent the need was.

“We’re running out of time, folks,” he pointed out. The man most concerned about the size of the fellow who’d just stormed angrily out of the library sat down. Feminine giggles stopped abruptly. “You know that Pete Lydle will be here soon. Do you really want him opening up a saloon like the one he had in Luminary?”

“I wouldn’t mind having a nice place to play a game of cards,” Henry stood up to say.

“It wouldn’t be a nice place. Pete’s Palace was a hellhole. Drinking, gambling, prostitution—it attracted a lot of unsavory folks.”

“You been there? How do you know?” Henry spread his arms.

“I’m the mayor. It’s my business to know.”

As soon as the old Bascomb Hotel had been sold and rumors of a saloon surfaced, he’d made sure to find out what he could about the new owner. He’d discovered Pete Lydle to be an objectionable fellow who would do anything to earn a dollar. Didn’t matter if the thing was legal or not.

“There are decent watering holes. This town could use one if you ask me,” said a man near the back of the room.

“Maybe Lydle’s gone respectable,” said Henry. “Otherwise why would he come here? Why would old man Bascomb have sold out to him?”

“It wasn’t him who sold out!” Henry’s wife stood to glare at her husband. “It was those next of kin in New York City, did that. And don’t think you will be going to the Bascomb come an evening. Mark my words!”

“Just so!” agreed another woman, coming to her feet and wagging her finger.

“Folks change. You women are seeing the boogeyman when you might not need to.”

“Are you willing to risk the town’s safety on that? You need to hire a sheriff and you need to do it now,” William declared, trying to drive his point home. “What do you think will happen without a lawman to protect you?”

“Maybe that fellow wasn’t so short after all,” Mrs. Peabody declared from her place in the front row. “He did have a hard look in his eye.”

The glare had been because they insulted his stature and questioned his ability, William figured.

“Who else have you got for us?”

“Who else?” Did they think lawmen just wandered by seeking employment every day? “No one.”

“But we need protection!” Mrs. Peabody stood up to speak her mind. She shook her cane to make her point. “We’ll be murdered in our beds when the saloon gets here—if the circus folks haven’t got to us first.”

“We’ve got more’n a month.” Roy Backley, the banker, stood up beside Mrs. Peabody and placed a hand upon her shoulder. “Don’t you worry. The mayor will find us someone by then. For now, I say we all enjoy the circus tonight. Forget about that saloon for a while.”

“I second that,” added the blacksmith. “No need to worry now when it might turn out to be a fine establishment. It’s hard to imagine the Bascomb Hotel turning tawdry.”

The owner of the livery, sitting on the right side of William, stood up. “I third that notion and declare this meeting over. See you all at the circus.”

William had lost count of the times he half regretted accepting the position of mayor of Tanners Ridge, but he had to begin his public service somewhere. He’d hoped to get his start as an appointee to the Territorial Legislature of Wyoming, but it hadn’t happened.

The men who made legislative appointments had voted him down because he was not a married man. In their opinion, married men were more stable of character. In William’s opinion, it was their wives wanting other women to socialize with, hold balls and galas and the like.

The loss had been a great disappointment. Especially since he had planned to be married. He’d made an arrangement with Ivy Magee. His money to save the Lucky Clover from ruin in exchange for her hand in marriage. The union would have given him the prestige that the highly respected Lucky Clover had to offer.

In the end she’d turned him down and married Travis Murphy instead.

She was right to have done so. For all that she would have suited his needs, she was a woman who deserved being loved. And Travis loved her to his bones.

The problem with having befriended Ivy was that it complicated his bride hunt. Eligible ladies who would suit his needs in every way threw themselves in his path daily.

An availability of suitable woman was not the trouble.

The trouble was knowing how Ivy loved her man. Having seen it with his own eyes, well—he wanted that now. Or at least something close to it.

He wanted a woman who sparkled for him. But he also wanted to be governor one day. For that he would need a wife and, God willing, children.

Little girls to bounce upon his knee and little boys to play ball with. He wanted them, governorship or not.

“I’d have voted for your man, Mayor English.” William gazed down into the face of a pretty young woman who smiled up at him with a winking dimple. “May I call you William?”

One day he hoped to be as lucky as Travis Murphy.

Gazing down at the woman preening beside him, he doubted it would be today.

* * *

Agatha reread the first three lines of the book on her lap, unable to concentrate. Here in camp, all was peaceful, although the wind swayed the trailer like a cradle.

Everything added up for a cozy evening in the company of fictional characters whom she knew quite well, having read the book four times already.

But just there, beyond the solitude of the nearly abandoned camp, she could hear a crowd of voices raised in merriment.

A part of her longed to be out there, laughing and enjoying the thrills. But the nightly customers were loud and lively—there were just so many people.

She ought to force herself to go out, she knew that, but the adventures of Miss Maudie O’Hurley would do for tonight. Indeed, the beleaguered Maudie was about to be carried off by her true love. What could be more thrilling than that?

Being carried off by her own true love, of course.

“You aren’t going to meet him sitting here,” she mumbled.

Still, it was windy outside.

“What if the man of your dreams is visiting the circus at this moment?”

What if the man of her dreams was walking about out there with his dark hair glinting in the torchlight that illuminated the shadowed paths? What if his blue eyes...she’d long known them to be the color of the sky just before sunrise...were sparkling with pleasure at all he was seeing?

What if William was here and she missed him because she was sitting in her safe chair reliving Maudie’s happiness...once again.

Now there was a silly thought. William here? If she was going to indulge in daydreams she might just as soon dwell on something that really happened.

She could at the very least relive the time that William had danced with her at a party hosted at the Lucky Clover. He had only asked her to dance because she was Ivy’s sister, she was certain, but nonetheless it had been magical—the stuff of her dreams.

At the time she hadn’t even had strength enough to stand on her own so that handsome man—that prince—had taken her hand, lifted her with an arm around her back and supported her through a very brief dance.

Nothing that Maudie O’Hurely had experienced came close to that!

Agatha snapped the book closed then crossed the small space to stare out the window. Moonlight cast shadows of tree branches on the roof of the trailer across from hers. They looked like malevolent fingers all twisted and spooky.

“Idiot,” she murmured. “They are shadows and you need to go out.”

Not to find her prince, but to find her strength. The very last thing she needed at the moment was to find a royal protector—or the Wyoming equivalent.

One day that would be a fine thing. Loving a man and having him watch over her, while she in turn watched over him.

At the moment, finding that companion was the very last thing she needed to do. If she fell into a life of being protected, it might be akin to seeking relief in a small blue bottle of laudanum. She would gain strength by standing on her own two feet and no other way.

Plucking her wrap from its hook on the wall, she tugged it tight about her. If she was to become a woman whom men would respect, she had to be a woman that she respected first.

Surely she could be as brave as Ivy’s pet mouse. That sweet creature ventured out nightly.

The moment she stepped outside a small shaggy dog met her at the bottom of the steps.

“Where were you at feeding time, Miss Valentine?” A short time ago the dog had been star of the show, well-groomed and pampered. Now that she was beginning to show her age she’d been cast off, left to fend for herself or die.

As far as Agatha could tell, no one cared about her fate one way or another. It was the same for the other mutts Agatha fed with the scraps left over from dinner.

“Come along. We’ll stop by the chuck wagon and see what’s left.”

Valentine wagged her curly tail and limped along after Agatha. The poor creature hadn’t been limping yesterday. Perhaps that was why she didn’t show up with the other dogs to be fed.

Bending low, she scooped Valentine up. “It’s a crime how they tossed you out. Why, if you were earning them money I reckon they would have the veterinarian look at your foot right off.”

The distance to the cook trailer was not so far, maybe a couple of hundred yards. But the path was dark, isolated and a bit unnerving. The shifting light cast by the torches seemed creepy rather than reassuring.

This was a challenge, nothing more. The shadows at her back didn’t really cry her name. The rush of leaves across the ground was only that. It was her imagination turning them into light, quick footsteps pursuing her.

Hilda Brunne was dead. Everyone believed it. There was no reason not to. Because her body hadn’t been found, Ivy and Travis had hired the Pinkerton agency to search for her.

Even the professionals presumed Hilda was dead. The moaning presence pursuing her was nothing but a dark, emotionless wind.

Agatha no longer needed to fear her. What she did need to fear was what her nurse had tried to make her. A girl afraid of everyone—believing she could only trust one, twisted woman.

Until she became be strong enough to live among strangers, she would never be free of Hilda Brunne’s ominous ghost.

All at once the shadows gave way to bright light, crowds and laughing people.

Tattooed Joe stood on a stage flexing the tiger emblazoned on his back. Near him, Sword-Swallowing Smithy consumed red-hot flames.

From inside a tent Agatha heard the guffaws of the Fat Lady.

Couples strolled arm in arm, gazing more at each other than the bizarre things happening around them. Parents covered their children’s eyes at every turn while their own eyes popped wide open.

Over to the right, a group of young men gathered around a painting of three-breasted Josie. It seemed they could not hand over their quarters fast enough for the chance to see the oddity. They were, of course, being duped. Josie was as two-breasted as any other woman. But the fool boys would see what they expected to see in the dim light of the tent.

Valentine wriggled in Agatha’s arms, trying to lick her face.

The distraction nearly caused her to slam into the back of a tall gentleman who had stopped at the fortune-teller’s stall. A finely dressed woman clung to his arm.

“I see your future, young people.” Leah Madrigal, the fortune-teller, tapped her red fingernail on a glass globe filled with colored water. “For a penny, I’ll share it with you.”

“Oh, yes—please do tell.” The lady clapped her hands. “Mr. English, do you have a penny?”

Mr. English!

Agatha stumbled backward. It couldn’t be—but yes—it was! She knew that silhouette! Indeed, she’d half recognized him earlier in the day when he’d been climbing the hill toward town. The sense of familiarity she’d felt had not been misplaced.

“Come now, Mayor!” The woman fairly bounced on her toes. “I know you have a penny!”

William—her very own William was here! He was mayor?

She wanted nothing more than to hug him about the ribs and feel safe. He’d made her feel that way once before—safe and protected on that awful afternoon when no one knew what her sister’s fate might be. If not for William standing between her and an evil blue bottle she might have succumbed to it.

Leah noticed her cowering in the shadow, nodded and winked.

She prayed that William would not see her! How would she act? What would she say? No doubt she’d trip over her words. It had been some time since she’d seen him. He hadn’t been to the ranch since Ivy turned him down.

What if he didn’t remember her?

The bouncing woman snatched the penny out of William’s fingers then dropped it on the fortune-teller’s brightly decorated table.

“What do you see for us?” The eager miss clung to William’s hand. His fingers had to be going numb, her grip looked that tight.

Leah caressed her glass ball, made a show of staring into it. All at once her brows arched, her lips curved. She leaned sideways to peer around William and his lady. Her puzzled-looking gaze held Agatha’s for five full seconds before she returned her attention to her customers.

“I see marriage—for you both. But not to each other. You, my dear girl, will make a lovely match that will make your parents proud and your friends jealous. But you must be patient. This will not happen in a moment.”

The lady started to protest because clearly she wanted William and she wanted him now.

Dismissing her, Leah turned her gaze on William. She smiled at him, then oddly, she winked one more time at Agatha.

“Now you, my handsome one, you will marry sooner than you think. It will come as quite a surprise to you—and to your bride. Oh, I see you are worried, but this will be a long marriage blessed with many children.”

“I don’t believe her!” the woman exclaimed. “You don’t, either, do you, William?”

It was an odd reading. Agatha had heard a few of Leah’s fortunes and they all ended with happily-ever-after for the hopeful lovers who paid their pennies.

“I believe I was entertained,” William said. Agatha imagined he was smiling, although she could only see the back of his head. “Thank you, ma’am.”

With that, he placed another penny on the table and walked away with the woman who, very clearly, had not been entertained.

With a crook of her finger, Leah motioned for Agatha to come out from the shadow.

“Most of the time, this is no more than a ball of water—but once in a while it does see things.”

“How do you know the difference?”

The fortune-teller tapped her chest with her crimson fingernails. “It’s in here.”

“How lovely for Mr. English, then.” He did want a horde of children. Ivy had told her that about him.

“Go on your way, Miss Agatha. Enjoy your evening.”

Yes, but first she needed to feed scrawny Miss Valentine. It was distressing to feel her ribs, so sharp and angular under her fur.

While walking away, she heard Leah’s throaty laugh, then seconds later, “I see your future young ones. For a penny I’ll tell you what it is.”

* * *

Sitting on the steps of the chuck wagon, Agatha listened to the distant wail of the pipe organ.

Miss Valentine had finished her second plate of stew and was nosing about in the dirt for fallen scraps.

Agatha drummed her fingers on her knees and wondered if William was going to marry the bouncing woman or the one who would bear him many children.

She sighed. She had never truly considered the possibility that she would ever be William’s bride. Although she could hardly control her nightly dreams. But the light-of-day truth was, she was not at all the woman he needed.

That was why, when the Lucky Clover had been threatened with financial ruin, Travis had gone in search of Agatha’s missing sister and brought her back to marry William.

Everyone knew Agatha would never be a suitable match for their wealthy neighbor. She didn’t have the stamina; she was too shy.

Sadly, her father had been informed by the doctor that she should never have children, being much too frail for the stress. Over the years Nurse Brunne made sure Agatha understood that she was not fit for any man because of it.

“I don’t care if you think you’re in the family way!” Frenchie Brown’s voice slammed the wall of the food trailer, bounced off and echoed down the dim pathway.

“I will not be shot out of the cannon!” came the outraged reply.

“I have a signed contract, Mrs. Otis. You have no choice.”

Agatha stood up and peered three trailers down.

Frenchie Brown’s big fist was clamped about the pregnant human cannonball’s arm. No wonder the woman was struggling to get free. This was a dangerous act—even when the wind was not blowing.

“Put the costume on or take it up with my lawyer.”

The red-sequined outfit lay on the ground glinting in lamplight—flaunting its indecency. Why, the wicked garment didn’t even have a skirt. It was no more than a pair of fancy long johns.

“Take it up with God!”

“Around here, I am God.” Now his voice was low, but unmistakably growling.

What a terrible situation! No one was in the area who might help Mrs. Otis.

No one but—

Agatha stepped into a wavering beam of torchlight. “I’ll run for help!”

Frenchie Brown let go of Mrs. Otis. She dashed away into the darkness.

“You! Girl! Come here.”

In spite of the fact that she had been willing to go get help, she was not good at dashing. No, she doubted she could do it if she tried.

She approached her boss, who apparently believed he was equal to the Almighty, with her heart beating madly against her ribs.

He studied her silently, walked around her in a slow circle.

“You’ll do.” He snatched up the costume from the dirt and tossed it at her. “Put it on.”

“I couldn’t.” She really could not. It was a comfort that Miss Valentine had trotted up to stand beside her.

“Do not try my patience. Folks paid good money to see a woman get shot out of a cannon. The reputation of this company depends on you.”

“No, it does not. My contract is to feed you.” Be bold, be bold be bold! “It’s far too windy for that stunt, anyway.”

“Danger is what it is all about! Folks like to get all het up inside. Gives them a real thrill.”

“I must decline,” she said while he tried to shove the costume at her. “Most firmly.”

“You leave me no choice, then.”

With a grunt, Frenchie squatted down.

Really, folks might pay to see that feat.

He snatched up Miss Valentine. “Put it on or I’ll break the mongrel’s neck.”

She did believe that. No doubt he would stuff the dog and mount her high on the elephant’s trunk.

“Very well.”

Agatha snatched the long johns and marched into the cook house. She would put the awful thing on, act like she was going to comply, then when the dog was safe, she would run. She would make a dash for it—as best she could. Clearly she would need cunning as well as speed.

Her plan fell apart when Frenchie’s fist anchored about her arm before he dropped Miss Valentine in the dirt.

He yanked her toward the cannon exhibit. She dug in her heels.

“I won’t do it!”

He grabbed her around the waist and lifted her off the ground.

She wriggled and pounded his arm, tried to peel his fingers off.

“Put me down!” she shouted. “I will not do this!”

“Take it up with your lawyer later—if you are able. It is a blustery night. Anything can happen.”

Chapter Three

The thing William regretted most about the evening was the encounter with the fortune-teller.

Somehow Aimee Peller had convinced herself that the seer intended to say that they would be married soon. For the past half hour she had clung to him, pride of conquest clear in her smile. He’d lost count of how many times she’d stared at her hand, at the finger a wedding ring would circle.