Desperate Lola (The Mail Order Brides of Boot Creek Book 2) (2 page)

B
efore I could leave
with Mr. Brittle, I had to gather my things. He waited for me outside, managing two horses, one of which I assumed I would ride. In my pocket, I held a letter to my mother, which I had planned to mail in Lamy. It detailed my decision to leave home without telling anyone. I had not revealed the truth about Mark’s behavior, for fear of upsetting her further. I simply stated that I wished not to burden them any longer and that I planned to marry someone of substantial wealth. I had secured my own future, and I felt quite pleased with myself on that score.

I approached Mrs. Lancaster. “I’m off now.”

“Please travel safely, my dear.” She smiled, but she looked tired. “I do wish we were going too, but we can wait for the relief train. What an ordeal.”

“I’ve a letter I meant to send, but I wasn’t able. Would you be kind enough to do it for me?”

“Yes, of course.” She took the envelope from my hand.

“Thank you.”

“It’s so dreadfully hot. How will you manage out there?”

“I’m sure Mr. Brittle has water. He’s my husband’s man.”

Her smile remained sympathetic and kind. “I see. I suppose things could be worse. This could’ve been a robbery. I must remember how lucky we are that it wasn’t.”

“Yes, it’s good to look on the bright side of things. The Lord hasn’t forsaken us in our time of need. None of us are ill or starving.”

“That is true.” The porter appeared, carrying a tray of water glasses. “Oh, thank goodness,” exclaimed Mrs. Lancaster. “I’m parched.” She reached for one.

I took a glass as well, downing the contents. “Well, I must be going. I’ve no clue how my trunk will fit on a horse, but I suppose I’ll find out.”

“It was a pleasure meeting you.”

“And I, you. I do hope you’re rescued soon.” I moved past her, heading towards the exit. “Best of luck in El Paso.” They were going in that direction.

“Thank you.”

Mr. Brittle waited at the base of the stairs, holding out a hand. “Here you go.” He helped me down.

“How will my things fit on a horse? My trunk’s terribly heavy.”

“They’ll be sent on the next train.”

I frowned. “Oh.”

“It’ll all arrive in a day or two. Not to worry.”

I would not have my toiletries or clothing. “That’s unfortunate.”

“I’m sure Mr. Kelly has plenty of things for you to wear at the house.”

“Yes, of course.” He led me to the horses; both had saddlebags and bedrolls. “I’m not the best on horseback, you should know. I’m liable to fall off or get kicked off.” I eyed the mare dubiously, hoping the animal and I would get along on this journey. People loitered watching us, while several women stood beneath brightly colored parasols. I had one in my trunk, but it was stashed in the baggage car, and I did not want to make a fuss by asking for it. “How long until we reach Boot Creek?” He held my hand, while I stepped into the stirrup.

“Twenty miles or so. It won’t be until tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” I sat sidesaddle, staring at him, although a hat shaded his features.

“We can’t ride breakneck with you in a skirt. We gotta go slow.”

“Where will we sleep?”

“On the ground.”

My mouth fell open. “But I thought we would ride for a few hours and arrive by sunset at the latest?”

“If I were in an all out gallop, yeah, but you’re not fit to travel like that.”

The idea of being in the middle of nowhere with a stranger did not appeal to me. I owned a small, ivory handled knife, which I kept in a pocket. If he so much as dared touch me, I would stab him.

He seemed to read my mind. “I’m not gonna touch you, honey, unless you want me too.” He handed me the reins. “Here you go.” My expression was duly noted. “I’m pullin’ your leg. Can’t a man tease a woman?”

“This is a serious matter, Mr. Brittle. I’m not accustomed to sleeping outdoors. I don’t normally spend the night in the middle of nowhere with strange men.”

He secured my smaller traveling bag, which hung from the side of the horse. “I’m a trusted employee. I’ll be on my best behavior, ma’am. I promise.”

“I would certainly hope so.”

With a chuckle, he strode to his steed, stepping into the stirrup. “Off we go. We best try to get as many miles behind us as we can.”

I eyed the train, wishing it had not broken down. Engineers continued to work on it, but no one had anticipated it would take this long to fix. I waved to Mrs. Lancaster, hoping she would not forget to mail my letter. I had left a note for my mother before I had departed, but I remained certain she would be beside herself with worry nonetheless. This letter would ease her mind.

Leaving Virginia in such a manner was not something I had taken lightly, pondering the decision and praying over it for more than a year. I felt strongly that it would only have been a matter of time before my stepfather, Mark, did something deplorable, as his attentions towards me had become more brazen. The only solution I could see was to remove myself from their household and go as far away as possible. My brothers, David and Chester, were older and married, and I did not want to impose on their families. Answering the ad in the
Virginia Gazette
, which promised husbands out west to adventurous young ladies, I had taken a chance and written for more information. Mrs. Hershey had given me Mr. Kelly’s address, and we had begun to correspond. He was older than me by almost twenty years, but I felt certain our union would work. It had to.

Mr. Brittle and I rode out across a landscape of prairie grass, spotted with prickly looking cactuses. A range of mountains loomed in the distance, with dark, gathering clouds on the horizon. It wasn’t long before the train became a tiny black spot behind us.

“If we rode faster, would we make it by nightfall?” I sat in a saddle designed for a woman, but my back had already begun to ache, the corset digging into my skin.

“Nope.” He chewed on a piece of grass, which hung from his mouth.

My companion had not spoken often during the last hour. “Are you from around these parts?”

“Nope.”

“Where are you from?”

“Mount Joy, Pennsylvania.”

“What brings you out here?”

“Work.”

“What sort of work do you do?”

“A little bit of everything, but lately mostly minding Mr. Kelly’s business. I run things for him.”

“Like the ranch?”

“Yes.”

“It sounds like Mr. Kelly is rather successful.”

“He is, but there’s always trouble.” He stared straight ahead, his eyes scanning the distance.

“What sort of trouble?”

“Small ranchers and farmers resent the cattle barons. Then they hire thugs to steal our cattle or cause trouble. Your husband—your soon to be husband—got caught up in the Lincoln County War, even though he tried his darnedest not to. Lot’s of good folks died in that conflict.”

“I remember reading about it in the papers. Aren’t they looking for those outlaws?”

He glanced at me. “You mean William H. Bonney? Yeah.”

“Does he still cause problems?”

“He’s in hiding. Sheriff Pat Garrett and his posse’s hunting for him as we speak. It’ll only be a matter of time before he’s apprehended.”

“I see.”

“Mr. Kelly didn’t want to get involved in that nonsense. His only concern is running his business and finding people he can trust to work for him. That’s easier said than done.” He took the end of a bandana, wiping his forehead. “It’s hotter than heck now. We should probably look for some shade and let the horses graze in a bit. I know a watering hole not that far away.” He pointed to a line of trees. “Up there.”

“All right.”

After we had come upon the small creek, the horses were allowed to drink and graze, while Chuck Brittle tossed down a leather bag, using it as a pillow. He left his hat over his face, and he seemed to fall asleep within minutes, his soft snores sounding out. I washed my face and neck in the cool, refreshing stream, while drinking water from a metal canister. There wasn’t anything else for me to do other than stare at Mr. Brittle, who had one booted foot crossed over the other.

I sat beneath a piñon tree, which offered inadequate shade, and waited, while sweltering in the heat. The dark clouds in the distance had drifted away, denying us a cooling afternoon shower that would have lowered the temperature dramatically.

Digging through my traveling bag, I extracted another letter. It was the only thing I could think of to pass the time.

Dearest Lola,

I have had a fair amount of success in business. In my earlier years, I worked on cattle drives, which earned me enough money to buy a small café. From there I married Francine, and we moved to Lincoln County, where I dabbled in farming and cattle ventures. My wife and I were finally able to have children, but my son, Patrick, died shortly after his fifth birthday.

A buzzing sound stole my attention, as a large, fuzzy bee flew over my head. “Oh, go away.” I held the letter, reading it again for the tenth time.

…having seen so many things, I am rather careful about who I let into my life. From your letters, I have gathered you are a well-bred young woman, who is in need of a husband. The photograph you sent is greatly appreciated. I was stunned at first to see it, because you are clearly a very beautiful woman. I confess, I have been staring at it often, keeping it on my person at all times, hidden inside my billfold. To think that such a lovely young woman has agreed to become my bride fills me with a hope I had scarcely let myself imagine.

“We should get going soon.” Mr. Brittle had sat up, dusting off his denim trousers. “The horses have rested long enough.”

“I’m ready whenever you are.”

He yawned. “That’s good to know. Did you sleep at all?”

“No.”

“I’ll be back.” Getting to his feet, he disappeared behind the scrubs, his feet crunching over rocks. When he returned, he had brought a horse with him. “Here you are. Do you mind if I call you Lola or do you prefer Mrs. Kelly?”

“Well, I’m not Mrs. Kelly yet, so Lola’s fine.” I placed a booted foot in a stirrup. “I do wish we could just ride through the night.”

He shook his head. “Not recommended at all. There’s old well and mining holes out here. If you fall in, you’re as good as dead. The moon’s not full right now, just a fingernail’s worth. You can’t see anything by it. It’s better not to travel at night in these parts.”

“Didn’t the Indians travel by night?”

“Only during a full moon and only into battle or a raid. Nobody thinks riding in the dark is a good idea. I know you want to see your fiancé, Lola, and you will—tomorrow.”

I wrinkled my nose with displeasure. “Fine.”

Chuck patted the horse’s flank. “There you go.”

“Thank you.”

My traveling companion seated himself a moment later, encouraging his mount forward. “We’ve got to get nearer to that mountain over there before we settle down for the night.” He pointed towards a sweeping expanse of darkly shaped obstacles.

“What are they?”

“We need to go around them to get to the outskirts of Boot Creek. Mr. Kelly’s property is about six miles from town.”

“Oh.” While we trotted on, I felt wetness dripping down my chest, the heat nearly unbearable. “Am I the only mail order bride that’s come through these parts?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Do you know the mayor’s wife?”

“Nope.” His attention remained ahead, while his wide-brimmed hat hid his eyes.

“She said she had brought out another woman to marry.”

“I … might’ve heard something about it. It was a few months back. The fella she married was hung.”

I stared at him. “What?”

“He was a wanted man. They found him holed up in a shack on the outskirts of town.”

“Mrs. Hershey brokered a marriage to an outlaw?” If this were true, it was indeed troubling.

“I don’t think it was done on purpose. But from what I heard, the woman took off with some other fella. They’re in Arizona now or so they say. It all ended well, if that’s your worry.”

I frowned. “I sure hope Mr. Kelly’s not wanted by the law.”

“He’s had run-ins, for certain, but he’s a legitimate businessman.”

My shoulders sagged, while my vision blurred. It was dreadfully hot. “I hope I haven’t been misled.”

“Why would a pretty lady such as yourself need to be a mail order bride anyway? Seems like fellas would be fallin’ all over themselves to court you.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Aren’t there plenty of rich fellas in … where are you from again?”

“Virginia.”

“…in Virginia who need wives?”

“I don’t know.”

“I can’t understand why anyone would want to travel to this godforsaken place to find a husband. Seems crazy to me.”

“I have my reasons.”

“And they are?”

“None of your business.”

He laughed, “Yeah, thought so.”

This was one topic I did not wish to discuss, saying, “I want to get there now. I’m tired of traveling. I long for a nice, cool bath and a cup of tea.”

“I’ll take a whiskey.”

“Suit yourself.”

He shrugged in reply.

A
fter a long day
in the saddle, the last thing I wanted to do was sleep outdoors. I had been tied into this corset for two days straight, having slept in it on the train, and I would not tolerate another night of discomfort. Once camp had been established, Chuck having found a safe spot at the base of a canyon with water and grasses for the horses, I wandered into the juniper scrubs to change. I planned to remove the corset for comfort’s sake. All my clothing remained in my trunk, which was still aboard the broken down train.

When I returned to camp, I eyed Mr. Brittle, pleased to see that he had a metal pot hanging over the fire. “What are you making?”

“Sourdough biscuits and beans. I got coffee going too, if you want some.”

He had laid out two bedrolls as well. “That sounds surprisingly good.”

“You think, huh?” He grinned. “I probably should’ve killed something, but we’re only here one night. It’s just the two of us. A lotta meat would’ve spoiled. No sense in wasting meat. Beans will do the trick. Tomorrow night, you can have a fancy dinner with Mr. Kelly. He’s got a cook who’ll make you Curried Lamb or Apple Tartlets or something.” He looked thoughtful, smiling. “Darn, that sure sounds good right about now.”

“It does.”

“Wonder how I can beg my way in for that meal?”

I was loath to admit it, but Chuck Brittle’s company had been enjoyable. He had an appealing sense of humor, and he was thoughtful to my needs, having set out my bedding. Sitting on the thin blanket, I gazed at the fire. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I got it under control.” He held out a tin cup. “Coffee.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s not as hot as before. Sorry, but there’s no cream or sugar.”

“That’s all right.” I took a sip, the fluid sliding down my throat. “Not bad.”

“Have you ever traveled on horseback?”

“No.”

“It’s not something most women care to do, although lots did coming out west.”

“The gold rush?”

“Yeah.”

“There were several, from what I recall.”

“Yes, there were.”

“Aren’t they still mining?”

“In the mountains in Colorado, yes. Silver.”

“Ah.”

He busied himself with supper, the beans bubbling in the flattened pan, while the biscuits cooked in another. “It smells nice.”

“Typical cowboy supper, but it’ll keep you satisfied and alive.”

“Do you have a wife?”

That question startled him, because he blinked. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Too busy working.”

I watched him bustle back and forth, ladling out a portion of beans onto a metal plate. After he added the biscuit, he handed it to me. “Here you go. Here’s a fork.”

“Thank you.” I bowed my head. “Lord, thank you for the meal we’re about to eat. Bless us with your grace, so that we may arrive at our destination in peace and safety. Please watch over us tonight, and keep us from harm. Amen.”

“Amen.”

We spoke little while we ate, the food tasting surprisingly good, although the biscuits were a touch too hard. Mr. Brittle sat on his bedroll with his legs crossed before him, his mouth working as he chewed. The food filled my belly, but it also left me tired, my body realizing it could sleep easily on the thin, yet clean bedding.

“What do you think those people are doing on the train now?”

“Being taken back to Santa Fe.”

“Why didn’t I stay then? It seems strange to be traveling in such a manner, when all I had to do was wait for another train.”

He shrugged, but I got the sense there was something more he would not reveal. “You’ll arrive in Boot Creek faster this way.”

“If you say so.” I did not want to meet my fiancé smelling like campfire and sweat, with dark circles beneath my eyes, but it seemed inevitable. “I think I’ll go wash up. I’ll clean the plate while I’m at it.” Getting to my feet, I had his attention. “Should I take the pan too?”

“No, ma’am.” He grinned, exposing a mouthful of food. “You’re my guest on this adventure, and you’re not supposed to do anything but travel. You can leave that plate right there.”

“But that’s ridiculous. I can help, sir.”

“I was told to pamper you the best I could.”

I wanted to roll my eyes at that. “I’m washing my own dishes. Go pamper your horse, Chuck.”

His laughter rang out.

Later that evening, after the crockery had been put away and the fire had died down, Mr. Brittle pulled out a harmonica, playing the refrains of a familiar tune. I reclined on the bedding, having folded my traveling bag in half for a pillow, while staring at the stars over my head. The coolness of night felt refreshing against my skin, especially after a day of heat.

“You’re quite good at that instrument.” He stared at me, while playing. “I suppose that’s how you cowboys entertain yourselves, isn’t it?” He nodded. “It’s nice.” I yawned. “Gosh, I’m tired.” But the need to use the privy had me on my feet. “I’ll be back.”

Being as dark as it was, with only a sliver of the moon poking out behind what appeared to be a bank of clouds, I would not wander far, fearing snakes and other creatures. When I had finished my business, I found the creek, bending to wash my hands. A snap nearby had me jumping.

“Who is it?” I whispered.

“Just me.” Chuck approached, his boots crunching over rocks and dirt. “You shouldn’t go far in the dark.”

“I know.”

He knelt beside me, his face in shadow. “You sure are a pretty woman.”

The tone in his voice worried me. “You’ve said that before, but it’s still better not to say such things.”

“Because you’re the boss’ fiancé?”

“Yes, of course.”

“What if you took a detour?”

“What?”

“What if you never made it to Boot Creek? What if you maybe decided to go off with a fella like me instead?”

Not being able to see very well in the darkness, I leaned nearer to assess if he was teasing. He could not be serious, could he? “Go off with you?”

“Marry me instead.”

“Why on earth would I do such a thing? I don’t know anything about you. I’ve been in correspondence with Mr. Kelly for almost a year. I feel as if I know him rather well. I would hope he feels the same about me.”

“But he’s old, Lola.
Really
old.”

“W-what do you mean by that? I was told he was thirty-eight.”

“That’s pretty darn old.”

“Not if you’re healthy. He assured me he was in excellent health. Is there something I don’t know? Is he ill?”

“He’s fine, but he could drop dead at any moment.”

“Are you making light of this situation? You can’t possibly be serious.”

“You can’t be serious about coming out all this way to marry some old guy, although maybe it’s his money you’re after.”

How had this conversation begun? Irritation prickled me. “My reasons for marrying Mr. Kelly are none of your concern. I’m quite happy in my choice, sir, even if he’s an older gentleman. Older gentlemen have something I value greatly.”

“Money, I'm sure.”

“No, manners. They would never question a woman’s motives. They would never pry into things they know nothing about.”

“I’ve been saving up a pretty penny. I’m not poor, darlin’. I could take care of you.”

“That’s fine and dandy, but you’re not the person I’m in love with.”

He snorted. “You fell in love with a letter?”

“Yes.”

Another snort resounded. “You’ve some strange notions. If you think this is love match, you got another thing comin’.”

“What do you mean by that?” I felt an annoying suspicion that there was something he was not telling me. “What do you know about Mr. Kelly?”

“Old, set in his ways, and unyielding. You want to marry something like that?”

“He just knows what he wants. He has a vision of how things should be, and he aims to achieve that.”

“You’ll find him cold and unaffected. Why do you think he’s been alone all this time? He’s about as entertaining as wax on paper. He’s a rich recluse, who prefers books to women, that and collecting rare bottles of wine. I can’t understand why somebody has all those bottles and they don’t drink them.”

“You wouldn’t understand, but I do.”

He leaned nearer, which was slightly alarming. “Now a fella like me likes women plenty.” He had spoken in a low, seductive purr. “I got a soft spot for blondes with pale blue eyes. You’re the prettiest thing I’ve seen in these parts in years.”

It distressed me that his words flattered me immensely. “You’re an accomplished sweet-talker.”

“I can do a heck of a lot more than talk, honey.”

Reaching out, he grasped my face, and, before I could push him away, he kissed me. Shocked, I wanted to tell him to stop, even opening my mouth to do so, but his tongue silenced me almost immediately. To my consternation, I felt myself softening towards him, leaning in, while my hands rested on his shirtfront. The drugging quality of his kisses soon had me yearning for something else, wicked and forbidden, which at last brought me to my senses. I pushed him away, slapping his face.

“Stop that!”

“You don’t want me to,” he said huskily.

Scrambling to my feet, I hurried towards camp and the dying fire, seeking solace. “I’m not going to mention this to Mr. Kelly. I would suggest that if you wish to keep your job, you don’t mention it either.” I sat on the bedroll, wrapping my arms around my legs, while chastising myself for that weakness. If I had anticipated his attempt at seduction, I could have better prepared myself for it.
Oh, he knows how to turn a ladies head. Blast him!

Mr. Brittle approached, his grin knowing. “It’s gonna be a long night. It might even get cold.
Real
cold. If you need something to warm you up—”

“I won’t.” I scowled at what remained of the flames. “Goodnight.”

While he threw more branches into the pit, I dug through the traveling bag, retrieving another letter. The sage words from my husband-to-be would bring me comfort and restore me to my senses. The guilt I felt for kissing Chuck remained acute and it smarted like a bee sting. I hated that I had so easily succumbed to his advances, but I was hardly adept at fending off the amorous inclinations of men, as I had rarely courted. My stepfather had been just as bold once, when he had been drunk, but he wasn’t in his right mind at the time.

Unfolding one of the more recent letters, I read.

Sweetest Lola,

Your assessment of my current state of mind was rather accurate. I do wonder if a letter has gone missing, though, because you never did respond to what I had to tell you about the colors I suggested for the walls in your bedroom. I’ll repeat the questions again at the end of this letter. They are on a separate page. The mail is at times not reliable. I wish a better means of communication were available, but unfortunately, we will just have to make due.

You had asked me what I loathed most about people, if you will remember. I never did answer you, as we then discussed our likes and dislikes in all aspects of child rearing. But I will tell you now how I feel. The one thing I abhor the most in a person is dishonesty. I hate a lie, but I do realize most people tell little white lies. It would be impolite to utter exactly what one thinks or feels at every moment of the day. In a marriage partner, I would expect complete honesty. I will not hesitate to tell you what I feel, my darling, and I hope you would do the same. A marriage without trust and respect is something I wish to avoid.

The reason for my prolonged bachelorhood is that my standards in this area have always been too high. I don't expect perfection, but for some reason, most of the women I have encountered in this part of the world are fast, loose, and fickle. My chances of finding a woman who shares my old-fashioned beliefs are higher with someone well bred and from a respected home back east. These western women are far too self-sufficient for my liking. Many harbor independent streaks, the likes of which would shock good society. I want a woman who needs the protection of a man. I relish the idea of spoiling my wife in every capacity. I do hope you feel as I do on this issue. This may sound odd, because I own a ranch, but I am pleased you know little about riding and shooting. If I required another ranch hand, I would hire one. I want a wife who will be the queen of my house and devoted to my children. I want someone who will be kind and true, and who trusts in the goodness and righteousness of the Lord. That is all I have ever wanted.

Yours truly,

Jack

PS. I do hope you would be entirely devoted to me as well.

I folded the paper, feeling miserable. I glared at Mr. Brittle, wanting to vent my anger towards him. “You won’t say anything about what happened, will you?”

“That you kissed me?”

“I did not kiss you!” I seethed. “You attacked me.”

“And you liked it plenty from what I recall.”

“I did not!” Thrusting the letter into the bag, I folded the satchel in half. “I won’t mention this to Mr. Kelly. He’d have your head, if he heard about it.”

“I imagine.” He seemed entirely unremorseful, even cocky, which was annoying.

“I don’t want to marry a cowboy. I prefer my partner to be cultured and affluent, and with a wine collection too. There’s nothing wrong with collecting wine. It’s how it’s done in the civilized world.”

He gave me a look. “I know women, honey. I know a thing or two about that. I could please you far better than some wine-collecting dandy, but have it your way. If you want some old guy, who’s stodgy and cantankerous, be my guest.”

I glared at him, hating the twinges of doubt that had taken root. I might have succumbed briefly to Mr. Brittle’s charms, but it had not dampened my enthusiasm for the life I truly longed for. I was going to be Mrs. Jack Kelly, whether anyone approved of the union or not. I felt I knew my fiancé rather well from our correspondence. I was entirely qualified to take on this position, although … there was the one, tiny issue of my last name. I wasn’t Lola Parsons, as I had maintained over the past year. Jack could not know my real last name, because I did not want my family to discover where I had gone.

Some secrets would have to endure.