Margaret Brownley - [Rocky Creek 02] (2 page)

Hank looked so distressed Rhett jumped up from his desk and tore open the door of his office. Stepping outside, he glanced up and down the narrow dirt road running through town. It was midday with not a soul in sight.

He slammed the door shut. “What are you carrying on about? No one’s out there.”

“That’s because they’re at the hotel.”

“That makes sense,” Rhett said, trying to tease the old man out of his ramblings. He took his place behind the desk again. “Strangers generally like to take a bath and rest before attacking a town.”

“You’re right.” Hank made a face and grunted in disgust. “I wouldn’t put it past them to get all gussied up before they confront us. I’m a-tellin’ you, Marshal, not a man alive can defend hisself from the likes of that Jenny woman.”

That got Rhett’s attention. “Did you say
woman
?”

“That’s what I’m tryin’ to tell ya. We’ve been taken over by three womenfolk. The colonel’s name is Jenny.”

“Colonel?” Rhett studied Hank. As far as he could tell, Hank hadn’t been drinking, at least not any more than usual. “Let me get this straight. Three women want to take over this town?” The idea was so absurd it was all he could do to keep from laughing.

Hank, however, remained serious. “Now you’re ropin’ the calf.”

Rhett rubbed his chin. “Why would these women want to do such a thing?”

Hank’s eyebrows disappeared beneath the brim of his hat. “’Cuz they want to catch themselves husbands, that’s why. Heard it with me own two ears.”

Rhett sat back in disbelief. “They came
here
to hunt for husbands?” Any woman aiming to find eligible men in Rocky Creek was either desperate or ill-advised.

“I’m a-tellin’ you, Marshal, it was that crazy war. Nothing ain’t ever been the same since. When that Lincoln fellow freed the slaves, he opened up a whole can of worms. Now womenfolk think they got rights too. And I’ll tell you somethin’ else . . .”

Rhett stifled a groan. Once the old man got on his soapbox, there was no stopping him. The War Between the States had been over for a good many years, but folks still blamed everything that happened, good, bad, and otherwise, on the war. It was the bane of Rhett’s existence. If people would stop talking about the war, maybe he could stop thinking about it—thinking about what happened there.

“I’m telling you trouble’s a-brewin’,” Hank continued. He studied Rhett with obvious misgivings. “So what are you aimin’ to do about it?”

Rhett twiddled his thumbs. “It’s not against the law for women to look for husbands. If it were, I’d be obliged to put Miss Emma Hogg in jail.” It was common knowledge that the spinster’s marital lasso was aimed straight at Redd Reeder, owner of the Rocky Creek Café and Chinese Laundry.

“If you ask me, that’s where the fool woman belongs.” Hank gave an emphatic nod. “It’s your duty to protect the citizens of this here town from sneaky, connivin’ scoundrels.” He stabbed the desk with a tobacco-stained finger for emphasis. “And I’m a-tellin’ you, that Jenny woman is ’bout as connivin’ as they come.”

“All right, if it’ll make you feel any better, I’ll keep an eye on things.” Rhett rose and walked around his desk, hoping Hank would take the hint and leave. “If they cause any trouble, they’ll have to deal with me.”

Hank looked him over from head to toe, doubt written on his weathered face. “I ain’t got nothin’ ag’inst you personally, Marshal. I know you can outdraw, outride, and outsmart practically every man in Texas. I also know you’ve captured your fair share of crim’nals since you took over for that Briggs fellow. But this is different. This woman’s out to find husbands. I’m a-tellin’ ya, them’s the worst kind.”

Rhett reached for the doorknob and swung the door open. “I appreciate your concern, Hank, but I’ve never met a woman I couldn’t handle.”

Hank made a face. “That’s ’cuz you ain’t never met the likes of Colonel Jenny. We’re in for trouble, Marshal, and you better be ready.” Without another word, Hank left the office and Rhett closed the door after him.

Rhett sat down at his desk and chuckled. Imagine thinking the town was under siege by three women. What a ridiculous notion. Nothing of the kind was going to happen on his watch. Since taking over as marshal a year earlier, he had single-handedly turned Rocky Creek into a law-abiding town. Any outlaw who was fool enough to show his face soon saw the error of his ways.

Rhett liked to think of himself as tough but fair. A straight-shooting man who questioned God’s will but never His existence.

People respected him. Outlaws feared him. Nobody ever got close to him. He didn’t let them get close.

He had every reason to believe he could handle whatever came his way.

Even a bunch of husband-hunting petticoats.

Two

The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but never
underestimate the power of a generous dowry.

— M
ISS
A
BIGAIL
J
ENKINS
, 1875

J
enny marched from building to building. She stopped only long enough to hammer a hand-printed billboard onto a door, wooden post, or siding with the heel of a high-button shoe before moving on. The notice read:

WANTED: HUSBANDS

ONLY MEN WITH GOOD CHARACTER NEED APPLY

INTERESTED PARTIES ARE TO MEET AT THE GRAND HOTEL

10 A.M. TO 4 P.M.

MUST PROVIDE PROOF OF FINANCIAL SECURITY

The pounding of heel upon nail brought men running out of saloons. Others hurried from across the street to read the notices, their curiosity stoked by Jenny’s presence. Those unable to read insisted the announcements be read aloud.

For the most part, Jenny ignored the townsfolk—mostly men—milling around in the late afternoon except for a polite greeting and nod. Most showed little regard for good manners. Some didn’t even know enough to lift a hat when greeting a woman. One man actually splattered a stream of tobacco juice in her path, forcing her to lift her skirt and walk around it. Another stood scratching himself like a flea-ridden dog.

What few women she passed looked down their noses with obvious disapproval after reading the notices, then hurried away.

It wasn’t just the uncouth citizens that worried her. The town was in a shocking state of decay and disrepair. Never had she seen a more sorrowful hotel. Grand indeed! The room Jenny shared with her sisters was sparsely furnished with only a lumpy bed, a desk, a small bureau, and a washstand. There was no place to hang their clothes, and she had to pay double to get clean linens.

She wasn’t certain the town had a school or library, and it had only one eating establishment. The Rocky Creek Café and Chinese Laundry stood between two saloons like a slim book flanked by two oversized tomes.

Even the church on the hill tilted to one side as if looking for a place to fall.

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.