The Anonymous Bride (21 page)

“And this is Ellie Blackstone,” Rachel said. “Now, let’s head back to the boardinghouse and sort through this mess.”

Garrett grinned at Miss Blackstone and opened the door. Mark hurried around his desk and offered her his arm. She glared at the two men then marched past them and took hold of Luke’s arm. “I traveled here to marry the marshal, and that’s what I aim to do.”

Luke swallowed the cannonball-size lump in his throat. “But I—”

Rachel held up her palm. “Save it for the boardinghouse. You can tell all the brides at once, and that way you won’t have to keep repeating yourself.”

Suppressing a sigh, Luke followed Rachel to the door with Miss Blackstone attached to his arm. He held his hand out, indicating for the third bride to go first. She released her hold and, with a flounce of her head, strode out the door.

He dreaded the confrontation ahead. Why couldn’t things have gone along nice and quiet like when he first arrived? Being around Rachel again had been hard enough, and they seemed to be moving toward a passable friendship, but now she was angry with him, and he didn’t like how that felt. He glanced at his cousins, and his own anger simmered. How could those ornery brothers put him in a situation like this? What could they have been thinking when they wrote to so many women?

He was knee-deep in turbulent female emotions and had no clue how to get free of the muck. He moved closer to Rachel. She had a good head on her shoulders and didn’t buckle during hard times. Maybe she could be the voice of reason in this trying ordeal.

Luke ran his gaze around town, making sure all was quiet. As he’d expected, several groups of people had gathered, and he knew exactly the topic of their conversations. Everyone watched Luke, his cousins, and the ladies like a group of Indians surveying a blanket full of beads and trinkets. They were the news of the day. Shoot, three brides coming to marry one man was probably the hottest news they had all year. No wonder they were curious.

Jenny Evans, the newspaper editor, exited her office door just as Luke passed by, as if to emphasize his point. She fell into step with him, albeit taking three steps to his one.

“So tell me, Marshal, how does it feel to have so many women wanting to marry you?” She held her pencil poised above a pad of paper, awaiting his response.

He grunted.

“Am I to take that to mean you’re not happy with the situation?”

He kept his face straight, watching the bank president step out the door of his establishment. He nodded to the man he’d just spoken to a short while ago. “Mr. Castleby.”

“Ignoring me won’t change a thing, Marshal. I intend to get my story.” Miss Evans hurried to keep up, her breath running short.

“There’s no story here, ma’am.”

“I beg to differ. What’s going to happen to those brides? There are three of them now—am I correct?”

Miss Blackstone tossed a snappish look over her shoulder.

Luke shook his head. News traveled faster than a prairie fire in the small town. His footsteps stopped echoing as he stepped off the boardwalk onto the dirt street. “That’s right,” he finally answered.

“Did you write to all three of them, hoping one might come here?”

Luke halted, and she sped past him, slid to a stop, and turned back. He might not want to comment on the situation, but neither did he want his character defamed. “For the record, Miss Evans, I didn’t write to any of the brides. I knew nothing about them before they arrived in town.”

Her wide gray eyes stared up at him. “Well, someone must have. How else would they have known about you or known to come to Lookout?”

“I’m not at liberty to say just yet.”

She licked the stub of her pencil. “Will you tell me when you are?”

He shrugged. “It’s nobody’s business.” Luke eyed his cousins as they slinked around behind the journalist like two kids hiding from an irate neighbor after they’d pulled a prank. He was tempted to turn the rabid reporter loose on them, but he wanted to see how things played out first.

“It’s a great story, Marshal.”

He crossed the street and followed the others inside the boardinghouse, and turned, blocking the entrance. “The matter is private, ma’am.”

“But—”

He stepped back, hand on the door knob. “Good day, Miss Evans.”

CHAPTER 18

Rachel escorted her small group to the parlor. The scent of chicken baking in the kitchen filled the air and reminded her of all that she needed to do to get dinner ready on time. “If you men will have a seat, I’ll show Miss Blackstone to her room and have the other ladies come downstairs.”

Jacqueline must have heard them enter, because she ambled out of the bedroom and up the hall. “What’s goin’ on, Ma? Why’s everybody here?”

Rachel turned to her new guest. “Miss Blackstone, this is my daughter, Jacqueline. She and I have a room downstairs, and if you ever have need of me during the night for any reason, you can find me there.”

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” Jacqueline squinted at the new boarder as if something was wrong, but thankfully, she used her manners.

“Same here.” Miss Blackstone nodded. She lifted her head and sniffed. “Somethun sure smells good.”

“That’s baked chicken. Mom’s is the best in town. Even better than at Polly’s Café.”

A blush heated Rachel’s cheeks at her daughter’s rare compliment. “Why, thank you, sweetie. That’s very kind of you to say. Speaking of chickens, have you fed and watered ours today?”

Jacqueline scowled but turned and headed for the back door. Feeding the hens wouldn’t take her long, and Rachel didn’t want her daughter around to hear what was certainly to be a heated debate. “Wait just a minute.”

Jacqueline stopped near the kitchen door, eyeing her with a suspicious gaze as if she expected her mother to give her more chores to do. Rachel looked at her guest. “Miss Blackstone, would you excuse me for a moment?”

The young woman nodded and shifted her satchel to her other hand.

Rachel motioned her daughter to follow her into their bedroom. She searched her unmentionable drawer for the little bag where she kept her cash. She pulled out two coins and handed them to Jacqueline. “After you feed the chickens, go to the mercantile and get yourself a treat.”

The girl’s deep blue eyes widened. “Oh boy! Thanks, Ma.” Jacqueline snatched the coins as if she thought Rachel might change her mind and hurried out the back door. Its loud bang made Rachel cringe.

She forced a smile and returned to the entryway, where her newest guest waited. She pointed back to her right. “That’s my kitchen back there. You’ve already seen the parlor, and the dining room is right next to it. The only other room downstairs that’s available to guests is the library. We have a large assortment of books if you enjoy reading.”

“I don’t read much.” The woman’s gaze darted around the kitchen as if the room interested her. She looked refined in her cornflower blue and white blouse and dark blue skirt, but she tugged at the sleeves and kept pulling at the high collar as if it were too tight. She watched everyone intently.

“If you’re ready, I’ll show you to your room.”

The woman nodded and followed her back through the hall and toward the stairs. The quiet rumble of male voices echoed from the parlor, and Rachel glanced inside as she passed the doorway, capturing Luke’s gaze. Her heart flip-flopped. How could the man still move her after so many years?

She placed a hand on her chest as a thought hit her. Luke had been looking at her, not the new bride. Was he hoping to find a friendly face in the midst of such a horrendous event? As she climbed the stairs, she tried to consider how she’d feel if the situation were reversed. What if three men had come to town to marry her when she’d known nothing about them? The awkwardness of the situation would be unbearable.

At the top of the stairs, she noted that both brides’ doors were shut. Had Miss O’Neil mentioned the new bride’s arrival to Miss Bennett?

Rachel opened the door to the yellow room and stepped aside to allow Miss Blackstone to enter. The woman’s eyes widened, and her mouth formed an O.

“I ain’t—uh ... never stayed in a place this purty.” She slowly turned, as if taking in everything in the pale yellow room. The log cabin quilt, with its light yellow accents, matched the wall and added a splash of color.

Women always loved Rachel’s rooms, while the men sometimes grimaced. But at least the beds were comfortable and the rooms clean. If the men didn’t like the slightly feminine decor, they could stay in the community room above the saloon.

“Take a few minutes to refresh yourself, and then please join the rest of us in the parlor so we can get this mess sorted out.”

Miss Blackstone nodded, her lips pursed. No doubt she dreaded confronting the men as much as Rachel. The third bride closed her door, and Rachel stood in the wide upstairs hallway. A small table covered with an embroidered cloth held the hurricane lamp that she lit each night to help her guests see in case they needed to go to the necessary. The striped, cream-colored wallpaper brightened the area and blended well with the floral carpet runner that covered the middle of the floor.

She looked at the three closed doors, knowing she couldn’t put her task off any longer. How had she become the mediator of this mess?

She clutched her chest as a thought slapped her across the face. Three brides, each lovely in her own way, were now available, which meant that each man—Luke, Garrett, and Mark—could possibly marry one of them. If that happened, any hope of getting back with Luke would be dashed.

Remaining a widow and unmarried had never bothered her until Luke had come back to Lookout. Even Rand’s frequent attentions hadn’t swayed her to want to marry again. But with Luke’s return, she’d begun to hope—hope he would forgive her and they could have a second chance. She clenched her fists. What could she do? She could hardly force Luke to forgive her for marrying another man, even though she’d been so in love with Luke. He didn’t know the truth of the situation, and she could never tell him.

Heaving a sigh, she lifted a hand and knocked on Miss O’Neil’s door. Rachel studied the floor. Why would Luke even consider her again—a tired, aging woman with responsibilities and a rambunctious child—when he could have his pick of these three pretty, young ladies?

Miss O’Neil opened the door a slit and peered out as if she were frightened of who might be on the other side of the door. “Oh, Mrs. Hamilton.” She pulled the door open, offering a half smile.

“I wonder if I might have a word with you and Miss Bennett for a moment.”

The young woman glanced across the hall and scowled. Rachel wondered if the two brides had suffered an altercation of some sort or if she was just concerned about losing Luke to Miss Bennett.

“Aye, of course you can.” The younger woman straightened her skirt and stepped out of her room.

Rachel knocked on Miss Bennett’s door, and after a moment, the woman flung it open, staring with curiosity at the two women in the hall. “I need to speak to you and Miss O’Neil, if I may.”

Miss Bennett nodded and stepped into the hall, closing the door behind her. “What is it?”

Rachel licked her lips, wishing she could be anywhere but here. “The men are downstairs, ready to discuss the ... uh ... situation.”

“Finally.” Miss Bennett crossed her arms over her chest, but the worry in her gaze belied her tough demeanor.

“Yes, well, there’s been ... uh ... a new development.”

“What sort of development?” Miss Bennett asked, her eyes wary.

Rachel glanced at the door to the yellow room. “I’m afraid another bride has arrived.”

Miss O’Neil looked down, wringing her hands, still upset over meeting Miss Blackstone earlier.

Miss Bennett’s blue eyes widened, her nostrils flared. “Why, that is utterly preposterous. What kind of game does the marshal have going? I left my home and family to come all this way to marry, and I intend to do so.”

The door to the yellow room slowly opened, and Miss Blackstone stepped into the hall. All eyes turned in her direction as each woman sized up the other. Rachel wondered what they were thinking. What would she think if she were in their situation?

A verse from Psalm 82:3 popped into her mind. “
Defend the poor and fatherless: do justice to the afflicted and needy.
” In spite of the possibility of losing Luke again, sympathy filled her heart. None of this was the brides’ fault, and as a Christian woman, she was obligated to make things as easy for them as possible, no matter the cost.

Miss Blackstone lifted her chin and glared at the other two brides. “Maybe I was the last to arrive, but I’ll tell y’all here and now that I plan on winnin’ the marshal’s hand.”

***

Jack tossed a handful of feed in the air and grinned as the chickens flapped their wings and raced to be the first to catch one of the tasty morsels. She didn’t like tending the dumb, smelly birds, but she sure enjoyed eating them. She sprinkled another scoop of feed on the ground and then poured water from the bucket into two water bowls.

The two coins her mother had given her clinked in her pocket. Jack left the pen, set the bucket by the well, and fingered the coins. Ma must have really wanted to get rid of her since she’d given her so much money. Her mind raced with all the things she could buy with it. Twenty pieces of penny candy. Or maybe she could get a dime novel
and
a sweet treat. Or a dill pickle from the barrel—those never failed to make her mouth water.