Margaret Brownley - [Rocky Creek 02] Page 2

  The town certainly was not what she had expected.

  It wasn’t by chance that she traveled to Rocky Creek. An article in the Lone Star Tribune stated that Rocky Creek had the highest number of rich bachelors per capita than any other place in Texas due to the recent cattle boom. Not that money was everything, of course, but an honorable man was an honorable man regardless of his bank account. For that reason, she saw nothing wrong in limiting the field to men with substantial financial means.

  If what the newspaper said was true—and she was beginning to have serious doubts about the legitimacy of the claim—they were also the least civil-minded men imaginable. Not one penny had gone to improve the condition of the town.

  Eager to finish hanging the remainder of her handbills and return to the hotel before dark, she hastened her step, but the feeling she’d made a terrible mistake in coming to Rocky Creek continued to haunt her for the rest of the night.

  The following morning, Jenny rushed around the hotel room in a whirlwind. “Do hurry,” she called, her voice thick with impatience. Her sisters’ futures were at stake; this was not the time to dawdle.

  She spent the better part of the morning supervising their toilettes, leaving nothing, not so much as the smallest detail, to chance. Every shiny hair on their pretty heads was perfectly coiffed, every fold of their dresses meticulously arranged, every piece of jewelry artfully chosen.

  Already potential suitors lined up in front of the hotel in response to the handwritten notices Jenny had plastered around town the day before. Their rough, sometimes querulous voices drifted through the open window.

  The town was a disappointment. Still, she couldn’t help but feel encouraged by the number of men waiting outside.

  “It’s hot,” Mary Lou complained. She paced the room restlessly, fanning herself.

  “How many times do I have to tell you? You must fan yourself gracefully.” Jenny took the silk fan from her sister and, with a gentle wave of the arm, demonstrated. “See?”

  Mary Lou grabbed her fan away and defiantly fanned herself with the same quick flicks of the wrist as before. Jenny sighed. Her younger sister could be as ornery as a three-legged mule. Though Mary Lou sometimes pushed her to the limits, Jenny secretly loved her spirit and hated having to put a damper on it.

  Jenny threw up her hands. “Mary Lou, how will I ever marry you off if you fight me all the way?”

  Mary Lou’s eyes blazed. “If finding a husband means I have to watch everything I say and do, then I’m not sure it’s worth all the bother.”

  Brenda entered the fray. “Why can’t we be like you? I don’t see you putting yourself out to snare a husband.”

  “I don’t need a husband,” Jenny said with as much regret as bitterness. The burdens of her past weighed heavily on her shoulders. At times she resented her sisters, resented the choices she’d made to provide for them after their father died. She loved them both dearly, of course. Still, it was hard not to resent the circumstances that had forced her to relinquish her own dreams of marriage. No decent man would ever want her as a wife, not after what she had done.

  She pushed the thoughts away. This was no time to count regrets. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Whereas you—” She reached out to straighten one of Brenda’s dark curls. “You’re like our dear sweet mama. You need a man to love and cherish you.”

  Brenda wrinkled her forehead. “Yes, but Mama was lucky. She had Papa, and there aren’t many men like Papa.”

  “I know.” Pain squeezed Jenny’s heart. Many, including her grandfather on her mother’s side, considered their father a ne’er-do-well. Papa had chased the current boom like a dog chasing its tail. His dreams of hitting it big in his youth took him to the California goldfields and Colorado silver mines. Not even marriage or children prevented him from falling for the great Nevada diamond hoax or chasing after the booming wheat business in the Panhandle, though he had no knowledge of farming and even less of business. His faults were as big as his dreams, but as a father none could compare. He lavished his daughters with love and never once tried to change them or make them behave in a way that went against their natures.

  No doubt he would be appalled if he knew what she had put her sisters through these last few months, but then he didn’t understand that their mother came by her grace and beauty naturally. Most women had to work to achieve such desirable attributes.

  Pushing such thoughts away, she glanced about the room. Much to her dismay, her sisters looked close to tears. Even after seven years, any mention of their parents caused grief.

  Fearing their faces would get all red and splotchy, Jenny broke the solemn silence that filled the small hotel room with a no-nonsense voice meant to distance them from the past. “Brenda, shoulders back. And Mary Lou, mercy me. What have you done to yourself?”

  “She’s wearing bosom pads,” Brenda said.

  Jenny leveled a sharp look at her sister. “Is that true?”

  “What if it is?” Looking as defiant as ever, Mary Lou wiggled her shoulders and purposely arranged the neckline of her yellow gingham dress to show as much cleavage as possible. “You said it yourself. What the good Lord doesn’t give us naturally, we have to give ourselves.”

  “I was talking about grace and charm, not body parts.” Jenny held out her hand. “Give them to me.”

  “I will not!”

  “You’ll hand them over, young lady, or I’ll take them myself.”

  “Ohhh!” Mary Lou reached into her dress, pulled out the Zephyr Bosom Pads, and tossed them on the floor. “There! Are you happy now?”

  Jenny heaved a sigh. “You’re beautiful, Mary Lou, just the way you are.” It was true, every word. Her heart-shaped face and delicate pink complexion provided the perfect canvas for her lively blue eyes and ever-changing expressions.

  Brenda, apparently feeling guilty for snitching on Mary Lou, slipped an arm around her shoulder. “Anyone can see how beautiful you are. I’d give anything to have your small waist.”

  “See?” Jenny said, approvingly. “What more assurance do you need?”

  If landing a husband for Mary Lou depended on appearances alone, Jenny would have no trouble. Unfortunately, a man drawn to her obvious beauty would have to be hard of hearing to put up with her constant complaints.

  Voices drifted up from the street below. Jenny peered through the window and gave a satisfied nod. The crowd just kept growing. At least fifty, maybe even a hundred, men gathered below. The line snaked from the hotel all the way to the Wells Fargo bank at the other end of town.

  Jenny smiled. This was going to be easier than she’d thought. It was entirely possible that she would achieve her goal and round up two prospective husbands before the day was over.

  Feeling greatly encouraged, she gathered up her satchel and gave her sisters one last inspection. Mary Lou looked perfect in every way, but Brenda—oh dear, what was she going to do with Brenda?

  Jenny used every possible trick she could think of to draw attention away from Brenda’s full figure. Ruffles and ruching added bulk that could either be attractive or unflattering, depending on the size and shape of one’s form. For this reason, Jenny chose the plainest dress possible for Brenda, a brown, long-sleeved gown with only the slightest bustle in back, and a matching shawl. It was amazing how much a shawl could hide when draped properly.

  By the sound of rising voices, the crowd outside was growing restless. “Time to go. Ladies, your gloves.”

  While her sisters donned their gloves, Jenny checked her own appearance in the beveled glass mirror over the dresser.

  She hadn’t fussed much with herself other than to pull her thick blonde hair into a no-nonsense bun at the nape of her neck. Her blue gown was almost as plain as Brenda’s, but not for the same reason. Her slender form might have benefited from a ruffle or two, and her hat had seen better days, but the excitement of seeing her dreams for her sisters about to materialize put a shine in her eyes and brought a blush to her cheeks.

  If she was successful in her quest for suitable husbands, her sisters would never want for anything again. Maybe then she could put the past behind her.

  Maybe then she might even be able to forgive herself.

  She clapped her hands. “Remember, now. Smile and act like ladies.”

  Three

  Charm and composure must prevail at all times. If a gunfight

  erupts, exit the scene with grace and serenity.

  — MISS ABIGAIL JENKINS, 1875

  Marshal Rhett Armstrong should have known trouble was brewing. He’d first spotted those boldly worded posters early that morning when he rode into town. How could he miss them? They were plastered everywhere, even on the door of his office.

  Most men would take offense at the tone of the posters, but none did more than he. The nerve of the woman. Did she really think the men of Rocky Creek would stand for such nonsense? Financial proof, indeed!

  Who was this woman? And what gave her the right?

  She obviously had a thing or two to learn about his town, and he was just the man to teach it to her. He ripped the poster off the door and tossed it into the wastepaper basket. No man in his right mind would fall for such feminine foolishness.

  By the time he heard the commotion outside, close to a hundred men had proven him wrong. At least half of them were proving it with their fists.

  Rhett ran outside where a brawl was in full swing. He pulled out his pistols, pointed the barrels toward the sky, and fired. The loud pop of gunfire got the brawlers’ attention, and for a fleeting moment the rowdy men froze in place, some with their fists midair.

  “Get up, all of you,” Rhett bellowed. One by one, the men staggered to their feet, some with bloodied lips.

  Satisfied that or
der had been restored, at least temporarily, Rhett holstered his guns and followed the line of men all the way to the hotel. “If there’s any more trouble, you’ll all find yourselves in jail.”

  He reached the front of the line, which started at the Grand. Three wide-eyed women stood on the boardwalk in front of the hotel staring at him.

  Well, now. He hadn’t seen so much feminine finery since he’d last traveled to New Orleans. Womenfolk came to town to shop at Fairbanks General Merchandise and attend Sunday worship service. But since there wasn’t much else to do on Main Street but drink and act rowdy, women mostly stayed away.

  That’s why he was surprised to see several members of the Rocky Creek Quilting Bee in town so early. The show hadn’t even begun, and already the women’s mouths puckered in disapproval.

  Rhett pushed his hat back on his head, leaned against a wooden post, and hooked his thumbs onto the belt of his holster.

  At the front of the crowd, a tall woman with hair the color of honey stepped forward and regarded the men with a slow, sweeping glance that registered neither disappointment nor approval.

  Her eyes met his with none of the usual feminine fluttering of eyelashes, matching him stare for stare.

  Bold as a bull, she was, with flashing blue eyes and a stubborn chin that rose a notch higher as she gazed at him. He sensed her measuring him against standards that he didn’t have a prayer of meeting.

  She studied him with keen interest before glancing at the shiny marshal’s badge on his vest. Her eyes narrowed and an obvious look of dismissal crossed her face before she turned away.

  He squinted and tightened his jaw. She knew nothing about him and yet she had clearly judged him and found him lacking. Only two other people had been foolish enough to make that mistake, and both had lived to regret it. He didn’t need anyone to tell him that this was the woman old man Applegate called the colonel.

  Well, she was the prettiest colonel he’d ever set eyes on, that’s for sure, even if she did lack tact or the ability to judge a man on more than just appearance and bank account.

  She lifted her voice and addressed the crowd with businesslike demeanor. “My name is Miss Jenny Higgins,” she said. She held a leather notebook in one hand and wielded a parasol in the other.

  You could have heard a pin drop as the men hung onto her every word. Even the Quilting Bee members fell silent.

  One by one, Miss Higgins introduced her sisters, pointing out their many accomplishments. Rhett was surprised to see Miss Higgins’s gaze soften as she regarded each of her sisters with evident pride. Both young women stepped forward in turn and the crowd went wild. The men shouted approval. They clapped and stomped their feet, tossing their hats in the air.

  Brenda Higgins was the plump one with brown hair, unlike her blonde sisters. Dressed more conservatively than her slender siblings, she won the crowd over with her shy smile.

  The one named Mary Lou made no such attempt to endear herself. If anything, she looked bored to tears. Not that it seemed to matter. The men were too dazzled by her big blue eyes, blonde hair, and shapely figure to care about anything else. They stomped their feet and called her name.

  Mrs. Hitchcock clucked her tongue in disapproval, the feathers on her shiplike hat flying in every direction. “Disgusting,” she said, repeating herself.

  Next to her, Mrs. Taylor trembled with outrage. “There ought to be a law against women parading around like that.”

  Both women glared at Rhett as if it were his fault that no such law existed. He shrugged and turned his attention back to Miss Jenny Higgins.

  “I love you, Mary Lou,” one spectator called out.

  Jenny cast a disapproving glance in his direction and the others, taking the hint, fell silent.

  Rhett was amazed how quickly the colonel could control the crowd. While he sometimes required a gun to manage a mob, her weapon of choice was nothing more than a disapproving glance and the men grew still as tombstones.

  Jenny glanced at her sisters as if to offer encouragement. The soft, loving look she gave them came and went so quickly, Rhett wondered if he imagined it.

  Her expression now stern, she cleared her throat. “As you know, I’m looking for husbands for my two sisters.”

  This announcement drew shouts of approval from the men and groans of protests from the women. Mrs. Hitchcock swooned and looked about to faint, but Mrs. Taylor quickly relieved her of that notion with a firm shaking.

  Jenny frowned and waited for quiet.

  A man whom Rhett recognized as Timber Joe yelled out, “Just let us know where we can sign up.”

  Men began to push and shove, trying to move closer to the hotel, but Jenny could not be persuaded to rush things.

  “Not all of you need sign up,” she said, her voice ringing with command. “I shall only consider those of you with adequate financial means.”

  “Shucks!” Theo Barker moaned. “That leaves me out.”

  “Better luck next time,” someone yelled.

  Jenny gave the wooden railing one swift rap with her parasol, commanding silence. “Along with a bank statement proving financial means, I insist that you be of good moral character.”

  She quickly listed the qualities she sought: honesty, devotion, and kindness. “Vulgar language will not be tolerated, nor will a man who spits in public. And if you have a fondness for whisky or gambling, do not bother filling out an application.”

  Consulting her notebook, she continued to list her stringent requirements, which included how a man should talk, walk, and dress.

  Rhett’s eyebrows kept rising. No such man existed. At least he hoped not.

  A few men left, but most stayed, including those whom Rhett knew didn’t have a gnat’s chance in a sandstorm of meeting her strict standards.

  “You must also prove you know how to treat a lady,” Jenny continued.

  “How can we prove that?” one man shouted.

  Jenny leveled him with eyes cool enough to douse a prairie fire. “If you have to ask, then you’re probably not qualified to be a husband.”

  Turning back to the crowd, she resumed her instructions. “You are not to make contact with my sisters without my express permission. If your application is approved, I shall inform you as to which of my sisters you may court.”

  Inching his way around the outer circle of the crowd, Marshal Armstrong studied the faces of the men and was stunned by what he saw. Each man hung on to her every word. Indeed, they were practically eating out of her hands.

  Traitors! All of them.

  What was the matter with these men? A woman couldn’t just stand up and announce she was looking for husbands like so many head of cattle. It wasn’t right. Such delicate matters should be discussed in parlor rooms, behind closed doors.

  The only male growing up in a household that included his mother, grandmother, and three sisters, Rhett had a strong opinion on what constituted proper behavior for a woman, and Colonel Jenny clearly failed on all accounts.

  “Fill out this application,” she said. The men called out and waved their arms as she walked through their ranks, passing out forms.

  Rhett shook his head. The way the men carried on, you’d think she was handing out currency instead of life sentences.

  That did it! Someone in this town had to restore order, if not sanity. He waited until she stepped onto the boardwalk in front of the hotel and again faced the men. He then made his move.

  Forging a path through the crowd, he charged up the steps and confronted her head-on. Her two sisters moved away, allowing him full rein.

  “Now see here, miss,” he began. He remained cool on the outside, but inside he seethed. His anger was fueled as much by her earlier dismissal of him as it was by the trouble she caused.

  Had he expected her to cower or drop her uppity demeanor, he would have been sorely disappointed. She didn’t look the least bit intimidated by him. Not a good thing.

  Up close, she was even taller than he supposed, but he still towered over her, forcing her to lift her head to look him in the eye.

  She didn’t even flinch. “I’m afraid you’ll have to get in line and wait your turn like everyone else.”

  “Wait my—” he sputtered. “I have no desire to—”

  “Just write it on the application,” she said. She held up a form.