Margaret Brownley - [Rocky Creek 02] Read online

  “I’m not filling out your blasted application.”

  Her gaze locked with his. “How can you expect me to consider you as husband material if you refuse to fill out a simple form?”

  “Miss . . .”

  “Higgins.”

  “Miss Higgins, I am here for one reason and one reason alone. I am the town marshal, and you are creating a disturbance.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “I believe you have that wrong, Marshal. You are the one creating a disturbance. I am merely trying to do what I came here to do.”

  He leaned over until his nose practically touched hers. “Well, you’re going to have to take your business elsewhere. Me and the boys here don’t take kindly to having our finances and morals scrutinized by a stranger.”

  His combative attitude gave others the courage to voice their own objections.

  “You’re darn tootin’ I don’t want my morals scrut’nized,” someone called out. “Give a woman an inch and the next thing you know, she’ll want to scrut’nize ev’rythin’.”

  Obviously sensing a shift in the men’s demeanor, Jenny’s eyes blazed. “Now look what you’ve done, Marshal.”

  He pulled back, but not far away enough to escape her delicate lavender scent. “What I’ve done? You’re the one who came to town and got the men all riled up.”

  “And as soon as I have finished my business, I shall leave,” she assured him.

  “If there’s any more trouble, you’ll be leaving before you’ve conducted your business. You can be certain of that.”

  “Here’s something you can be certain of, Marshal. I have no intention of being told what I can and cannot do.”

  Having his authority questioned in front of all these men was intolerable. All eyes were on him, waiting. Though no one moved, he could almost hear their thoughts. What are you going to do about it, Marshal?

  He leveled her with cool assessing eyes. “You’ll do exactly what I say.”

  “You can’t make me—”

  “The last person who said that to me is now cooling his heels in jail.” He placed his hand on the handcuffs at his side to show he meant business.

  Her mouth dropped open. “You wouldn’t!”

  He tilted his head back and glowered at her. “Try me.”

  Mary Lou wanted to die. The horror of it all. Never had she felt so embarrassed in all her born days. All these men ogling her. Now the marshal threatening to put Jenny in jail.

  During the escalating argument, the men standing in line seemed to enjoy the spectacle. Some even took bets as to who would emerge the victor. This only added to Mary Lou’s misery. If Jenny ended up in jail, Mary Lou would never be able to show her face again.

  To make matters worse, she was hot. Though it was only the beginning of June, already it felt like summer. She felt sticky and itchy and just plain miserable. There had to be an easier way to find a husband. Unable to stand another humiliating moment, she picked up her skirts and hurried into the relatively cool hotel lobby, away from prying eyes and unrelenting sun.

  Jenny would be furious with her, of course, but Mary Lou didn’t care a whit about that. All she wanted to do was leave this awful town. What she would give to go back home to Haswell, but that was no longer possible. Jenny sold their small farm and was determined to use every last penny, if necessary, to find suitable husbands for her and Brenda.

  Just as Mary Lou reached the staircase, a male voice rang out behind her.

  “Excuse me, miss!”

  She turned and stared at the serious face of a man she guessed to be in his late twenties. Never had she seen a man so oddly dressed. His short pants cut to the knees looked like they had been fashioned from a mackinaw blanket the U.S. government issued to Indians. He wore a wide scarlet sash tied around his waist, high leather boots, and a red knitted cap. His rugged, handsome face was bronzed by the sun, his eyes so blue they took her breath away.

  “Are you talking to me?” she asked, though there was no one else in the lobby but a droopy-eyed clerk behind the reception desk.

  “Yes,” he replied, his mouth tilted upward in amusement. Pulling off his cap, he walked toward her with a lazy grace at once intriguing and disturbing. He had brown hair that fell to his collar and a neatly trimmed mustache. “If memory serves me correct, your sister introduced you as Miss Mary Lou Higgins. Is that right, ma’am?”

  She eyed him up and down warily. She was sure he didn’t mean to harm her. Still, there was something in the way he looked at her that made her nervous. “T–that’s correct,” she stammered. “W–why do you ask?”

  He raised a dark brow as if trying to decide whether the question deserved an answer. “I need to know what to call you,” he said at last.

  “Why?” she asked, impatient to escape to her room before Jenny discovered her gone.

  “I’m Jeff Trevor.” When she made no reply, he added, “Your future husband.”

  She was barely able to control her gasp of surprise. “Oh, you d– don’t understand,” she stammered, annoyed to feel her cheeks blaze hot. “You must first fill out an application, and then my sister—”

  He discounted her words with a wave of his hand. “I can’t fill out a form,” he said. “I can’t read. Can’t write either.”

  This surprised her. He certainly looked educated. His eyes were warm with intelligence, and he held himself with a confidence that implied he was knowledgeable in matters that counted.

  “Without schooling, I’m afraid you don’t qualify,” she said in a kind voice, not wanting to hurt his feelings. She turned toward the stairs. Much to her surprise, he bounded past her and stood on the step in front of her, blocking her way.

  “Don’t get me wrong, ma’am. I had plenty of schooling,” he said. “I just never learned to read. I could never get the letters to stop bouncing around long enough to make head or tails out of them.”

  Mary Lou had never heard of bouncing letters. Was he serious or just having fun at her expense?

  “I–I think you better discuss this with my sister.” The frigid tone of her voice would have put most men in their place, but Mr. Trevor didn’t seem the least bit discouraged.

  “I have no intention of discussing my personal affairs with anyone but you,” he said.

  Alarmed by his persistence, she glanced over her shoulder at the still-sleeping clerk. “I’m really not interested in your personal affairs, Mr. Trevor.”

  “If you’re not now, you will be,” he said. “You’ll save us both a lot of time and bother if you do it and get it over with.”

  She regarded him with open curiosity. “Do what?”

  “Why, interview me, of course. Since you’re the one I’m going to marry, it makes sense that you be the one to interview me. Come on. Don’t be shy. Ask me whatever you like.”

  Not knowing what to do, she looked him up and down. He stood as straight and tall as a towering pine tree, his legs sturdy as tree trunks. Was it possible for a man built so sturdy to have a weak mind? She didn’t think so.

  He gave a knowing nod. “You want to know why I’m dressed like this.”

  Her lashes flew up. “I want to know nothing of the sort.” Unable to hide her reddening cheeks, she glared at him.

  “No need to feel embarrassed, ma’am. I’m a logger. Work at the Rocky Creek sawmill, I do. I own a small cabin outside of town. Built it with my own two hands. All it needs is a woman’s touch to turn it into a real home.”

  Exasperated, she fanned herself furiously, not caring that she broke ladylike conventions. Obviously bouncing letters was the least of the man’s problems.

  “As I explained,” she said, pronouncing each word precisely so there would be no further misunderstanding. “I have no interest in you. Certainly I have no intention of marrying you.”

  He stared at her, surprise written all over his face. “How can you be certain? You know nothing about me.”

  “I know that you are most stubborn.”

  His face split into a devastating smile that made her heart pound. “I guess you know as much about me as I know about you.”

  Not certain if he was insulting her or merely agreeing with her, she drew back. “Yes, well . . . Now if you’ll step aside . . .”

  “That’s it? You don’t want a financial statement from me?”

  “Certainly not!”

  Approval warmed his eyes. “I have to say that speaks mighty well of you, Miss Higgins.” He put on his cap and let her pass.

  Head held high, she walked up the stairs and tried to ignore the feel of his heated gaze on her back.

  Once she reached the second-floor landing, she couldn’t resist looking over her shoulder. He stood exactly where she’d left him, casually leaning against the dull brass banister. He looked about as self-assured as a man could possibly look.

  “Since there’s nothing more you want to know about me, you can consider us engaged,” he called after her.

  She tried to draw a breath, but the air caught in her chest. Never in her life had she met such a brazen man. “I never—” She was so upset, she actually sputtered.

  “So that’s all that worries you,” he said, looking immensely relieved. “Sounds like you’re a fine Christian woman. A man couldn’t ask for anything more. Don’t you worry. Once we’re married, I’ll teach you everything you need to know. I have a feeling you’re a fast learner. Good day.” With that, he hurried down the stairs and through the lobby toward the double doors leading outside.

  Cheeks burning, Mary Lou stared after him until he had vanished. “Of all the nerve.” She glanced at the desk clerk, but much to her relief, the man was still asleep. No one had witnessed her embarrassing encounter with Mr. Trevor.

  She turned and ran down the hall to the room she shared with her sisters, and she locked herself inside.

  Shaking, she leaned her head against the closed door until her cheeks no longer burned and her knees finally stopped shaking.

  She threw her fan on the bed, pulled off her gloves and hat, and paced the floor. It was all Jenny’s fault! Had Jenny not forced them into traveling to this horrid place, she would never have met the likes of Mr. Trevor.

  As much as she wanted to confront Jenny, she knew that her oldest sister would only lay the blame on her shoulders for returning to their hotel room unchaperoned.

  Not that she had anything to worry about. Not really. No one could marry her without her consent. Not even Jenny could force her to do something she didn’t want to do.

  Mr. Jeff Trevor was simply having fun at her expense. Bouncing letters, indeed! Chances are she would never set eyes on him again, and that was just how she wanted it.

  Four

  If you don’t know whether or not to kiss a handsome man, give him the benefit of the doubt.

  — MISS ABIGAIL JENKINS, 1875

  That night, Jenny sat in their hotel room at the battered oaken desk, reading through the stack of applications. An oil lamp flickered and hissed, casting a yellow glow across the form in her hand.

  This particular application had been filled out with scrawling handwriting that was difficult to read. Every other word was misspelled and the writer described himself in such glowing terms, she couldn’t help but laugh. He wrote, Handsum, edukated, and lively. I have two dolars under the matres and there’s more where that came frum.

  Sighing, she placed the application on the fast-growing rejection pile and debated whether to call it a night.

  A stack of reference books took up most of the desk, leaving little room to write. The dog-eared pages addressed everything a proper lady needed to know from fashions to writing letters, from finding a suitable beau to planning the perfect wedding.

  Grateful for the cool air that drifted through the open window, she glanced at the bed where her sisters slept, making certain they were adequately covered.

  After a full evening listening to their incessant chatter, she welcomed the peace and quiet.

  The day had been far more exhausting than she expected— and far less successful. True, an amazing number of men had shown up at the appointed time. But never would she have guessed so many of them could neither read nor write.

  More than half of the applications had been left blank or simply signed with a single X. Of the forty-some forms that had been completely filled out, a dozen or more showed real promise. The number was nowhere near what she hoped for, of course, but she would take quality over quantity any day.

  She reached for The Compleat and Authoritative Manual for Attracting and Procuring a Husband and flipped through the well-marked pages. Using the book as a guide, she fully expected to determine the suitability of each candidate in quick order.

  Her major concern at the moment was getting her sisters to cooperate. Unfortunately, the author didn’t address that problem. She returned the book to the pile.

  She was still furious with Mary Lou for sneaking away. Sometimes she didn’t know what got into the girl. Finding a husband was serious business, not to mention hard work. The sooner Mary Lou got that into her thick skull, the better for all of them.

  The marshal, now, he was another problem. There was something about the man that made her feel . . . what? Threatened? Vulnerable? Perhaps it was the way he looked at her as if her carefully constructed defenses were nothing more than see-through glass.

  He hadn’t left her alone for a minute, not until she returned to her hotel room. And later when she’d glanced outside, she saw him standing across the way, no doubt watching her window. It was nerve-wracking. He was nerve-wracking. One look into those analytic eyes was enough to send goose bumps down her spine. Not even her closely guarded secrets seemed safe beneath the marshal’s scrutiny.

  What a pity that such a handsome face was wasted on the likes of him! He had some nerve, threatening to put her in jail if she caused another disturbance. As if it were her fault that the citizens of Rocky Creek didn’t know how to behave in the presence of ladies.

  Feeling oddly restless, she rose from her desk and paced around the room, careful not to wake her sisters. She paused in front of the window. Surely the marshal wouldn’t still be spying on her. Not at this late hour. Still, she couldn’t resist looking outside to make certain.

  The sound of fiddles, drunken brawls, and an occasional gunshot had kept her on edge for most of the night, but now the town seemed deserted. A full moon cast a silvery glow on the street below.

  Then she saw him. The dark form of the marshal on the opposite side of the street in front of the Rocky Creek Café and Chinese Laundry could not be missed. Even in the shadows, he was a formidable presence.

  Heart pounding, she spun away from the window. Her back to the wall, she tried to think what to do. Did he plan to stand guard all night long? Unbelievable. He treated her like a criminal. Fuming, she decided to put a stop to such nonsense.

  Head held high, shoulders back, she quietly let herself out of the room. With determined steps, she hastened along the dark hall, ran down the stairs, and rushed through the lobby. The thin fabric of her shirtwaist and skirt offered little protection against the cool night air, but she was too angry to care. She charged across the street, ready to confront the marshal face-to-face.

  Here she comes.

  Somehow Marshal Rhett Armstrong knew she would. Moments earlier he had dropped off his laundry at the Rocky Creek Café and Chinese Laundry across from the hotel. The café was owned by a range cook by the name of Redd Reeder. By night, Lee Wong, a former railroad worker, operated a laundry on its premises. This explained the large vats that took up half the dining room, the bags of laundry piled up on the boardwalk in front, and the clotheslines in back. It also accounted for the strong smell of lye soap that permeated the air, burned the eyes, and tainted the taste of café food.

  After leaving his dirty laundry by the door, Rhett happened to look up at the single lit window of the hotel. Somehow he knew it was her room even before he saw her pacing back and forth.

  He couldn’t help but wonder who or what kept the lady pacing the floor so late at night.

  Now he watched her hurtle toward him and chuckled. He couldn’t help it. He could practically feel the heat emanating from her like a rampaging bull. He told himself to stay calm. Don’t let her get to you.

  He waited until she had crossed the dirt-packed street and stomped onto the boardwalk in front of the café and laundry.

  “Is it my turn to be interviewed?” he drawled softly.

  “Don’t flatter yourself.” Hands at her waist, she glared at him. “I wouldn’t let you marry either of my sisters if you were the last man on earth! I came to tell you to stop watching my every move.”

  He could tell her he was there to drop off laundry. It was the truth, and it would put the lady’s mind at ease. Instead, he decided it would be more to his advantage to let her think he was, indeed, watching her.

  “As long as you persist in this harebrained scheme of yours, you don’t give me much choice.”

  “I am not doing anything illegal,” she said.

  “And I mean to see that you don’t.” In the light of the full moon, he imagined he could see stars in her eyes. More likely they were barbs pointed straight at him.

  “How do you propose to do that?” she demanded. “Surely you’re not going to threaten to lock me up again, are you?”

  “Don’t tempt me,” he said. If she were a man, she’d already be in jail for causing a ruckus that morning in front of the hotel. “As long as you understand I’m in charge of this town, we won’t have a problem.”

  She gave her head a haughty toss. “You may be in charge of the town, Marshal, but you’re not in charge of me. In fact, you have no control over me whatsoever.”

  It was a challenge if he ever heard one. “Are you sure about that, Miss Higgins?”

  She paused a moment before answering. “Quite sure!”

  He noted her hesitation with satisfaction. Obviously, she wasn’t as sure as she’d like him to believe. Finding a chink in her armor, he studied her. She was something, all right. Righteous indignation had never looked so appealing. She stood ready to fight him tooth and nail, but it was the softer, more feminine side that worried him. That was the part that was dangerous.