Julia: Bride of New York (Amercan Mail-Order Bride 11) (7 page)

“I have no idea what is wrong with you today, but you’ve been grumpy since we arrived at church.”

“I’m not grumpy, I merely hadn’t noticed until today how many stupid men live in Wickerton.”

“Stupid because they were paying attention to me?”

“Of course not. I don’t care who you want to associate with. Even if they are boring and stupid.” He snapped the reins, and she held on as the carriage rocked and bumped over the ground until they reached the smoother path of the road. Julia had a firm grip on the dash rail to keep from being tossed to the ground.

“I’m sorry I turned down your marriage proposal, but I don’t think we would suit.”

“Ha.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you have no problem working in the jailhouse with me every day. We seem to suit then.”

“Certainly you can’t compare a work relationship to marriage?” She took a deep breath and added, “Although, I suppose there would be no difference to you.”

The carriage jerked as Fletcher pulled on the reins and stopped the horses. “What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing.”

He wrapped the reins around the dash rail and turned to her. “Oh, I may not be the brightest of men, but I know enough that when a woman says ‘nothing’ it means ‘everything.’”

Julia pulled her jacket around her. “May we continue, please? I’m rather chilly.”

“Have you found another job yet?”

“Am I being fired?”

When he didn’t answer, she said, “Never mind, because I quit.”

“You quit?”

“Yes.”

“So you have found another job?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your concern, Sheriff.” She raised her chin and stared out at the passing stores.

“Why don’t you just marry me?”

How many times was the man going to propose? Well, as many times as it took for him to say the right words.

“When I marry, it will be for the right reason.”

“What does that mean?”

“Since you don’t know, there’s no reason to tell you.”

He shoved his hat further down on his head and grabbed the reins, smacking the horses to move forward.

Lord, what was she doing? She had no other job. Well, she would find one. She’d met a lot of the townsfolk at the picnic, and
someone
had to have a job for her.

Someone.

Chapter Six

“Just what in tarnation do you think you’re doing?” Fletcher spun Julia around, almost knocking her off her feet. Anchoring his hands on her shoulders, he glared at her. He couldn’t believe it when Woody Pringle from the telegraph office told him Julia was working at the Full Bucket saloon. He stormed right over there and sure enough, here she was, dressed in the scanty red satin dress all the saloon girls wore.

Here he’d missed his rounds of the saloons only one night due to a meeting with the town council that went on for hours, and Julia had turned into a saloon girl. The tops of her creamy breasts rose from the low-cut neckline, making his palm itch to stroke the soft skin. The scandalous dress came almost to her knees in the front, and despite her leg issues, she wore the low-heeled boots required for the uniform. She swatted at the feather in her hair that drooped, skimming her nose. “I am working, Sheriff Adams.”

“No, you’re not. Get out of that dress and tell that slick owner, Bazz Markham, you quit.”

Her breasts heaving, causing him to hold in groan, Julia fisted her hands on her hips. “I will do no such thing.”

No matter how hard he tried to avoid it, his eyes kept flicking to the expanse of skin above her dress. His gut tightened at the idea that any man, for the price of a beer, could see Julia in this outfit. Anger swelled up in him, so strong he wanted to punch the wall. “Then I’ll tell him you quit.”

She narrowed her eyes and poked her finger in his chest. “Now you listen to me. You have no authority where I am concerned. I am a free woman. I’m not owned by Mr. Johnson, and I am not owned by you. I can work where I please. And if you interfere in any way with my employment, I will…”

“Will what?”

She bent forward. “I will…buy a gun and shoot you!”

He leaned in, meeting her almost nose-to-nose. “Then I will lock you up, and you won’t be working here.”

“Julia, is there a problem?” Mackinaw, the manager, walked over, giving Fletcher a curious look.

Fletcher rounded on the man. “What do you mean, calling her Julia? Her name is Miss Benson.”

The manager raised both hands, palms up, and backed away. “Sorry.” He turned to Julia. “Miss Benson is there a problem?”

She pulled up the neckline of her dress and smoothed the skirt. “No. Everything is fine.” She glared at Fletcher. “The sheriff was just leaving.”

Fletcher backed up. “This isn’t over.” Turning on his heel, he strode across the floor, the pounding of his boots on the wooden planks marking his exit.

How dare she take a job in the saloon? Was she out of her mind? Was being ogled by every man in town and being on her feet for hours on end preferable to being his wife? If he lived to a hundred years of age, he’d never understand women.

Well, he’d done his best as far as Miss Julia Benson was concerned. If she wanted to work at the saloon, what did it matter to him? He couldn’t care less. He had a job to do. As she’d pointed out a number of times, she was not his responsibility.

Several hours later Fletcher pushed opened the wooden batwing doors. He told himself it was merely a coincidence that the last stop of his evening rounds was the Full Bucket saloon. Ignoring Julia, once he determined she was still working, he took a seat at a table in the rear of the saloon.

Millie, one of the saloon girls, sashayed over to him. “You want a drink, Sheriff?”

“Yeah. Get me a whiskey, but ask the new girl to bring it over.”

The waitress raised her eyebrows, but wandered back to the bar. Once she had the drink in hand, she brought it to Julia and gestured with her chin toward him.

Julia narrowed her eyes and marched in his direction. He watched her expression as she moved across the floor, not sure if she would dump the liquid on his head. Even with her slight limp, she was graceful, making her body sway in a tempting manner. The outfit she wore had his blood pumping and heading south.

“Your drink, Sheriff.” She slowly bent from the waist, her eyes daring him to look lower. Carefully laying the glass in front of him, she smiled, and his mouth dried up.

“Thanks.” Not taking his eyes off hers, he raised the glass to his lips and sipped. If she thought he was going to ogle her like every other man in the room, she was sadly mistaken. He was a gentleman. The liquid burned going down, the heat jolting him. “When do you get off work?”

Julia straightened and tugged on the neckline of her dress. “When we close.”

“You’ve already been here for hours. You shouldn’t have to work until Mac closes the place.” He pushed his chair back and made to stand up. “I’ll talk to him.”

Julia slammed her hand on the table, making his glass jump, some of the liquid spilling over the side. “You will do no such thing!”

He ran his fingers through his hair. “Julia, what are you trying to prove?”

“What makes you think I’m trying to prove anything? I need to work. I have to pay for my room and food. There are no free rides, Sheriff.”

“All right. If you don’t want to marry me, that’s fine, but please come back to work at the jail.” At least there he could keep his eye on her and make sure that all too tempting body was fully covered.

“You know that was a made-up job. Now please let me be. I appreciate all you’ve done for me since I arrived. Truly, I do. But now it’s time for me to stand on my own two feet.”

He knew she was right. He’d offered her marriage four times. The last time he thought she would accept, then, for no reason he could tell, she turned him down again. He needed to admit defeat and let her go. “All right. I won’t interfere with your job again.” Throwing a few coins on the table, he downed the rest of his drink and left the saloon.

Julia watched Fletcher push the batwing doors open and leave the saloon. She sighed and picked up his empty glass. Truth be known, she hated working in the saloon, but two days of trudging up and down the boardwalk, stopping in every store, asking for work had produced nothing.

There were times when her feet ached or when she’d been forced to duck a man’s hands on her bottom that she wished she hadn’t turned down the sheriff’s marriage proposal. In fact, her heart ached a little bit more every time she saw him. But she wouldn’t be bullied into marrying him, and she wouldn’t put her heart at risk by becoming wife to a man who would never give her his heart.

“Miss Benson, will you bring me a drink, please?” Mr. Johnson waved at her from across the room.

Good Lord, why did the man continue to haunt her? Each time she saw him she was once again glad he’d rejected her. How miserable her life would have been had she married the man. She shuddered as she smiled at several men and dodged their wandering hands.

“What would you like, Mr. Johnson?”

He tried what he must have thought was a welcoming smile. “Now why can’t you at least smile? You were supposed to marry me, you know. Why, by now you could have a baby in your belly.”

Julia fought the nausea that rose up the back of her throat. Not at the idea of a sweet little baby, but at the image of what would have happened to put that baby there. Just the thought of the man’s hands on her was repulsive.

“What do you want to drink, Mr. Johnson?”

He scowled as she sidestepped his question. “Just get me a whiskey.”

She made quick work of getting his drink and dropping it off. The man sat there for over an hour, nursing the one drink, never taking his eyes off her.

It would be another long night. This truly was a difficult job. The only good part of her employment was the comfortable room she’d secured at the boarding house, so she was no longer at the hotel. Mrs. Sylvia Beamer, the owner of the lovely home on the corner of Birch and Memory Streets, offered room and board to single ladies.

Although the woman had been reluctant at first to allow her a room because she worked at the saloon, once Julia told her she had worked for the sheriff for a while, Mrs. Beamer gladly offered her space.

Each evening Julia put part of her nightly wages aside so she could pay back the town for the meals and hotel they’d provided. Maybe one day she could save enough to buy herself a small house. How wonderful it would be to have a sense of belonging. Especially in this little town that she’d grown to love. She would no longer yearn for a man to ride up on his white horse and take care of her.

If she couldn’t have love, she’d have a cat.

“Good night, Mac,” Julia called out to the manager as she opened the back door of the saloon and stepped into the alley. Raising the collar on her coat, she lowered her head and hurried to the front of the building. This was the part of her job she hated the most. It was only a two and a half block walk to her boarding house, but it might as well have been miles for as panic-stricken and out of breath she was when she arrived safely at her door.

She carried a lantern with her to help light the way, the circle of light providing some sense of safety. About a block from the saloon, she stopped to listen to what she thought was the sound of footsteps behind her. Difficult to hear anything with her heart beating so loudly, she turned slowly, but saw no one. Her imagination was getting the best of her.

Continuing on her way, she found herself tiptoeing, trying to see if there was someone behind her. No footsteps. Certain she was alone on the boardwalk, she hurried her steps, breathing a sigh of relief when lights from the boarding house came into view.

Once more she was gulping air as she raced up the steps, almost tripping in her eagerness to reach the front door. Mrs. Beamer had provided her with a key since she was the last one in every night. Fumbling in her coat pocket, she pulled the key out and let herself in.

She took a deep breath when she closed the door behind her and turned the lock. Another night over. Weary now, she unbuttoned her coat as she climbed the stairs and entered her room. It was a lovely space, and if it wasn’t for the awful job she had to do to keep the rent paid, she would really love it.

From behind a large maple tree, Fletcher watched Julia hurry up the steps to the boarding house and let herself in with a key. He’d followed her home every night since he’d learned she was working at the Full Bucket. At least she had the sense to watch her surroundings and carry a lantern with her.

He lit a cigarette and began his walk home. Why couldn’t he get the woman out of his mind? From the time he’d seen her standing, all alone, at the train station, he felt a connection to Miss Julia Benson. She was pretty, smart, funny, and had guts and honor not always seen in some men.

If only he could figure out why she’d turned him down. Better yet, why couldn’t he accept that she’d rejected him and just forget about her? Because somehow his brain was not connected to his body. In all honesty—he wanted her. But even if they married, he vowed not to allow another wife of his to suffer through childbirth.

A true dilemma. Somehow he knew if he and Julia did marry, he would be hard-pressed not to take her to bed and make her his. The woman had him going in circles.

The next morning Fletcher sat in his office, sipping coffee and writing up his weekly report when the door to the jail opened. The woman who was constantly on his mind stood in the doorway. Julia’s shiny hair was swept back from her face, fastened at the nape with a hair clip, leaving a few curls near her ears. She unbuttoned her coat to reveal a dark brown wool skirt and white shirtwaist that clung to all her curves.

This Julia who stood in front of him was so different from the one in the red satin dress that it was hard to reconcile the two. Julia, with her pert little nose and slight freckles, was meant to be some man’s wife, not a saloon girl.

He lowered his feet from the top of his desk and stood. “Good morning. What can I do for you?”