Promises Kept (2 page)

Colt McBride sat in the dining room across from George Milford, the banker and executor of his uncle’s estate. It was Colt’s last night in St. Louis, and he was anxious to head back to Wyoming. He’d made the arduous trip to St. Louis after receiving a telegram from his uncle saying that he was dying and wanted to see him. Though Colt didn’t question his decision to come to St. Louis, it was difficult for him to be away from the ranch for any length of time, particularly with the problems he was having lately. The way he saw it, he didn’t have a choice. He’d only seen his father’s brother a handful of times, but he felt it was his duty to come. Arriving in St. Louis just in time to spend a few short hours with his uncle before he died, Colt’s intention was to be on the next stage back to Wyoming after the funeral. Upon learning from banker Milford that he had inherited his uncle’s estate, he was forced to change his plans. Working with Milford, they’d managed to have the details of his uncle’s estate settled within a week.

“Have you eaten here this week?” Milford asked.

“No, I’ve only eaten at the hotel,” Colt replied. He scanned the well-appointed dining room, thinking it was homey and inviting. The aromas wafting from the kitchen already had his stomach growling.

“You’re in for a treat then. Mrs. Wellington, the owner, has employed a cook with exceptional culinary skills. I daresay you’ll not taste better desserts in the finest restaurants in New York.”

Mrs. Wellington was making her rounds with fresh coffee, and stopped by their table. “George, it’s nice to see you again,” she said. She recognized the tall cowboy sitting across from George as the man she’d seen at Edward McBride’s funeral.

“Mrs. Wellington, I was just telling Mr. McBride about your delicious food,” George said. “Mr. McBride is the nephew of Edward McBride.”

“Mr. McBride, I saw you at the funeral. My condolences, sir,” she said.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“George is correct. If you’ve been dining at the hotel, then you will soon make a change once you eat Victoria’s fine fare,” Mrs. Wellington assured him.

“Then I’m sure sorry this is my last night in St. Louis, since I appreciate a fine meal,” Colt answered politely.

“I’m sorry to say that Mr. McBride is headed back to Wyoming in the morning,” George offered.

Mrs. Wellington shook her finger at the banker. “Shame on you for not bringing him to dine before now! You know how bad the food is at that hotel.”

“I feel so guilty that I’m buying his dinner to make up for my bad manners, so make those steaks extra special tonight,” George responded, looking appropriately repentant.

Curious about the handsome stranger, Mrs. Wellington lingered at the table. “Would you like cream, sugar?” She’d only seen him at a distance at the funeral, but up close he was even more striking with his impressive size and square-jawed good looks. When he walked into the dining room with that large black Stetson on his head, every patron turned to stare at him.

“No, ma’am, black is fine,” Colt replied, still smiling at how the Englishwoman had dressed down the banker.

Mrs. Wellington excused herself to hurry to the kitchen. She simply couldn’t wait another second to tell Victoria about the handsome cowboy. “Victoria! Oh mercy! You should see the cowboy in the dining room. He is the biggest man I have ever seen, his shoulders are so wide he barely fit through the doorway. A stunning man. He is the nephew of Edward McBride, the owner of the sawmill, who died recently. His eyes are actually black, I’ve never seen anyone with black eyes, but his are as black as sin . . .” She drew in a deep breath and continued, “His hair is black as coal too, wavy and shiny, and though a bit too long in my opinion, it is quite attractive on him.”

Mrs. Wellington was still prattling on, but Victoria paid little attention; she was busy preparing the orders and she didn’t want to make a mistake. “Hmm,” was her only response.

“George Milford—you know, banker Milford—said Mr. McBride was from Wyoming. Perhaps he knows some of your relatives. That would be an excellent way to start a conversation with him. It helps to have something in common,” Mrs. Wellington added just in case the young woman had forgotten how to converse with a man. She rarely had interactions with men, other than to take their orders in the dining room.

Ignoring her running commentary, Victoria thrust two platters filled with steaks sizzling and a mountain of mashed potatoes into her hands. “This is the order for table six.”

Mrs. Wellington hesitated, and pushed the platters back toward Victoria. “Why don’t you take these out so you can get a look at that cowboy? Mercy me, he is so handsome. You simply must go take a peek! It’s not often a woman gets the chance to see a man like that!”

Disregarding the proffered plates, as well as Mrs. Wellington’s excitement over the cowboy in the dining room, Victoria turned back to the stove. “We have a lot of orders, Mrs. Wellington, and I need to get them done.” She didn’t have time to waste; she had more steaks to cook and two pies in the oven that she needed to watch. Besides that, if she never saw another cowboy in her life it would be fine with her.

They’d had similar conversations before, and Mrs. Wellington knew what was on Victoria’s mind. “I know what you are thinking, dear. Not all men are like some of the no-account cowboys that come in here from time to time being a nuisance. Some men are decent men who may actually want a wife.” She pointed a finger in the direction of the dining room. “That cowboy out there seems particularly well mannered.”

“I’ve seen enough cowboys to know what they are like,” Victoria countered. Her thoughts drifted back to that night in Abilene when a drunken cowboy had nearly raped her in her room. She was just fifteen at the time. After the hardships she’d faced in her young life, not much frightened her. Yet she hadn’t overcome her fear of most men . . . cowboys in particular. No, she didn’t have an interest in any cowboy. She hoped the letter in her apron pocket was from anyone but a cowboy. “No cowboy I want to meet will walk through that door,” she said with conviction.

Mrs. Wellington released an indignant huff of air. “You never know who will walk through that door. Just think how I was blessed when you and your brothers showed up on my doorstep.” Seeing she wasn’t going to change Victoria’s mind, and not wanting the food to get cold, she took the platters and turned to the door, muttering to herself, “The Good Lord can get them in the door, but you need to help Him out once in a while and show yourself
.
” It wasn’t that she didn’t understand Victoria’s hesitancy to meet men. Many times she was forced to intervene when men were behaving badly toward Victoria, so her caution was well-founded. The girl drew attention simply because she was so lovely and men naturally gravitated to her.

When the dinner rush was over, Victoria set about cleaning the kitchen. Once she finished washing the pots and pans, she walked to the dining room to help Mrs. Wellington clear the tables. It was a relief to see the dining room nearly empty; there were only three tables with diners left. After clearing off several tables, Victoria moved to a table next to one occupied by four rough-looking cowboys.

Colt spotted Victoria as soon as she walked into the room, as did the four cowboys across the room. The foursome were difficult to ignore; they had been loud and obnoxious since they’d entered the dining room. Right now their full attention was on the lovely woman in the yellow dress as she moved around the room collecting dishes.

Colt watched her fill her arms with dishes and then head back to the kitchen. He’d kept his eyes on the door until she returned again. He was watching when she moved to the table next to the four cowboys. Even though she was some distance from him, he could see that she was a sight to behold with her dark auburn hair curling past her waist. He was waiting for her to make her way to his table so he could get a closer look.

As soon as Victoria reached the table next to the four men, she recognized them. They had been drunk and disorderly in the dining room a month ago, and the sheriff had to be summoned. Even with her back to them, the distinct odor of whiskey filled the air. Quickly stacking the dishes in her arms, she turned to leave when one of the men reached out and snagged her skirt.

“Hey, honey, don’t hurry off. Sit down with us,” the leader of the foursome said.

Victoria ignored him and tried to move away, but he maintained his hold on her skirt. When he gave the cloth a tug, she almost fell backwards into his lap. She struggled to keep the china from falling to the floor. His three companions found his antics humorous and guffawed like misbehaving children. Victoria tried to turn back to the table to set the plates down, but the man tightened his grip. She feared if she tried to pull away from him her dress might rip.

“You can have dessert with us, honey,” the man said to her. “I like what I’m seeing.”

“I got a better idea. We can have her for dessert,” one of his companions added.

“Yeah, that sounds even better,” another agreed, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

“Let me go!” Victoria demanded, showing a bravado she didn’t feel. Her heart was fairly pounding out of her chest from fear. She was always fearful around men who consumed too much whiskey. It was difficult to know if these men were just having a little fun at her expense, or if their intent was more nefarious. By the way they were leering at her, she assumed the worst.

Mrs. Wellington walked from the kitchen and saw what was happening across the room. She promptly set the coffeepot aside and made her way to the table. Before she had taken more than a couple of steps, the tall cowboy appeared at Victoria’s side.

“You boys need to mind your manners,” Colt said in a pleasant but no-nonsense tone.

Victoria’s tormentor looked up at the man beside her. “You need to mind your own business,” the man retorted. His companions laughed and jabbed each other in the ribs at their buddy’s bluster.

Victoria thought the drunk must be crazy to challenge the man looming next to her. He was a huge, dangerous-looking man with a deep, commanding voice as ominous as his appearance. The top of her head barely reached his chest. No doubt he was the man Mrs. Wellington was going on about in the kitchen, and for once she wasn’t exaggerating. Victoria may not have chosen the word
stunning
for him . . .
lethal
was the word that came to her mind.

“Let her go,” Colt demanded.

The man grinned at Colt as he pulled Victoria’s skirt higher, showing the men at the table her petticoat. “I don’t think so. We’ve decided this gal is gonna join us for dessert.”

Victoria shifted all of the dishes to one arm, and with her free hand reached back to tug at her skirt, to no avail. The miscreant wouldn’t release her.

The largest man of the four stood. “In case you haven’t noticed, cowboy, there’s four of us and one of you.”

Colt smiled, but it wasn’t a smile that reached his eyes. “Then I guess we’re about even.” He made a quick mental note that the man holding the woman’s skirt was wearing his gun on his right side. The same hand he was using to hold her captive. Big mistake. He leaned over and wrapped his fingers around the man’s hand and squeezed until he heard his trigger finger snap.

The man yelped loudly, released the cloth, and clutched his hand to his chest. “You broke my finger!” he cried. The two men who were still seated jumped to their feet.

“I’d say that’s three to one now,” Colt stated.

Even though she was free to move, sheer terror kept Victoria frozen in place. She couldn’t take her eyes off the cowboy who was facing down the four men.

Seeing the woman hadn’t moved, Colt stepped in front of her.

“I’ve told you men before I will not tolerate problems in this dining room. Now pay your bill and leave and do not come back,” Mrs. Wellington instructed when she was a few feet from the table.

Colt held his hand up to halt Mrs. Wellington’s progress. In case bullets started flying he didn’t want her getting too close. “I think they were just leaving, Mrs. Wellington,” he said, not taking his eyes off the men.

The four glared at Colt, taking measure of the man and the weapon he wore low on his hip. They glanced at each other, passing an unspoken signal.

They’ve done this before
, Colt thought. It didn’t matter, he was confident he could take them. He understood the necessity of assessing a situation quickly—a man didn’t live long in this country by being careless. All three were right-handed, and they wore their holsters too high to be fast on the draw. And judging by their bloodshot eyes, they had consumed a lot of whiskey, which would make them even slower than normal. If they were anything like most bullies, they liked to taunt women, but they would back down when confronted by someone equal in size. He reasoned the man who stood first thought he was the most fearsome of the group. Watching their eyes, he instantly knew when they’d made a decision. The big man was going to be the one to draw. Another mistake.

Before the man pulled his gun halfway out of the holster, he was staring down the barrel of Colt’s pistol. “I wouldn’t if I were you,” Colt said. “Now pay what you owe the lady and leave.”