Promises Kept (3 page)

The man hesitated, his eyes flickering from Colt to the two men beside him.

To Colt’s amazement, the two men looked ready to draw.
Whiskey brave
. “Don’t,” was all he said.

That one word was uttered in such a deadly cold voice it sent shivers down Victoria’s spine.

The man released his pistol, allowing it to drop the few scant inches to the holster. The other two men held their hands in the air as they backed away.

Colt kept his gun trained on them. “Pay up.”

After digging in their pockets, they threw some coins on the table and hurried toward the door. Before he left, the man with the broken finger turned back and yelled, “You’d best be leaving town, stranger.”

Holstering his pistol, Colt glanced at Mrs. Wellington. “I think George and I would like some of that apple pie you mentioned, and please tell your cook that was the best steak I ever ate.”

“Thank you for lending assistance, Mr. McBride. Maybe those rowdies will stay out of here now,” Mrs. Wellington responded appreciatively. She smiled at him and added, “And you just told her.”

Colt didn’t catch her meaning at first, until he heard a soft voice behind him.

“Thank you . . . and thank you for . . . handling those men.” Victoria didn’t know what to make of the man standing in front of her. He’d just faced four men ready to kill him and he was ordering pie just as calm as you please.

Turning around, Colt gazed down at the woman he’d defended, and he felt like he’d been kicked by his prize bull. The most beautiful blue eyes, bluer than his Wyoming sky in summer, were staring up at him. A few seconds ticked by before he found his tongue. “You’re the cook?” He’d expected that some little old lady like Helen, the older woman who cooked for him, had prepared that excellent meal. He enjoyed Helen’s food, but he had to admit, even she had never served up such a perfect steak.

“Yes, I am,” Victoria replied, thinking Mrs. Wellington was correct on another score. His eyes were as black as midnight.

When he’d seen her from across the room, Colt thought she was a real looker, but he hadn’t expected her to render him speechless. He found himself regretting his decision to leave St. Louis in the morning. If he’d seen her when he first arrived he would have made a point of taking her to dinner.

“Victoria will get that pie for you, and I’ll warm up your coffee,” Mrs. Wellington offered.

Turning away from those intense eyes, Victoria half ran back to the kitchen on wobbly legs. She was still shaking from the confrontation as she carefully placed the dishes into the sink. After taking several deep breaths, she finally calmed down enough to cut the pie instead of her fingers. She couldn’t decide who was the most frightening: those four drunken cowboys, or the cowboy who had intervened. Yes, she could. The man with the ominous black eyes was, by far, the most terrifying.

Victoria delivered the pie to Colt’s table, and found Mrs. Wellington chatting comfortably with the two men.

“Victoria, I didn’t introduce you. This is Mr. McBride from Wyoming. Perhaps he knows some of your relatives.”

Colt almost laughed. Mrs. Wellington had obviously never been to Wyoming or she would have realized that it was so vast it would be a miracle if he knew the young woman’s relatives. Not wanting to be rude, plus the fact that he wanted to talk to Victoria, he asked politely, “Where are your relatives located?”

“They’re . . . ah . . .” Victoria stalled, trying to think of what she should say. She was saved from telling another lie when the twins appeared in the doorway, waving to get her attention. “Excuse me,” she replied, and rushed over to the boys. The boys were ready for bed and they came to remind her she had promised them a story tonight. She took them by the hand and walked upstairs, without sparing a glance back at the cowboy.

Colt watched her lean over to speak with the two little boys in the doorway. He heard her say, which was difficult with Mrs. Wellington’s chatter, “Of course you get your story tonight.” So much for wishing he didn’t have to leave tomorrow. Wasn’t that just typical, he thought, all the beautiful women were already taken. Too bad.

Chapter Two

Once the boys were settled for the night, Victoria trudged downstairs to finish cleaning the kitchen. Seeing Mrs. Wellington had finished washing the dishes, she spent her time making preparations for breakfast. It was after eleven o’clock by the time she climbed the stairs to her tiny third-floor room. Pulling the leather pouch from her apron pocket, she clutched it to her chest as she crossed the room to open the small window. She looked out at the thousands of twinkling stars in the night sky surrounding the full moon. It was such a clear night that the man in the moon looked like he was smiling at her. There was a time she would have said a prayer, but that time had long past. God didn’t listen to her prayers.

Mrs. Wellington’s curiosity about the letters was understandable. She had never received a single visit, much less a letter, since she had been at the boardinghouse. But how could she possibly explain what she had done? From the day she arrived at the boardinghouse, she hadn’t been forthcoming with Mrs. Wellington about her past. Now, two years later, she didn’t know where to begin with the truth. Mrs. Wellington was a woman of some means, and she had been fortunate to have a husband of forty years who had cared for her until his death. She had never had the responsibility of supporting two young boys weighing heavy on her shoulders every day. There was no way she could possibly understand Victoria’s reasons for advertising for a husband.

The idea had come to her when she’d overheard a man in the dining room relating a story about his friend in Wyoming advertising for a mail-order bride. The man had placed an advertisement for a wife in the newspaper and had received so many responses he had a wide selection of ladies to choose from. Why couldn’t she place an advertisement like that? She didn’t necessarily want a husband, since most men frightened her, but she would set aside her fears for the boys. She had to think of their future, and that road led to finding a husband. It wasn’t as if men were beating down her door asking for her hand. Oh, plenty of the men who frequented the boardinghouse flirted with her, but not one had expressed an interest in a ready-made family. She’d received her fair share of crude offers, but Mrs. Wellington had a way with words that shriveled a man in his boots if she overheard anyone uttering a word that might be considered the least bit disrespectful. Judging by the remarks she’d heard from the women diners, she was to be pitied. They often told her no man would want to take on the responsibility of a woman with two small children. They were right, she grudgingly agreed. She needed to widen her horizons if the boys were to have a home.

In the past, it had been necessary for her to accept whatever job she could find just to keep the boys fed. Circumstances had forced them to sleep in barns, or just about any dry place they could find. Now they had a roof over their heads and regular meals, but most of her small salary was used for clothing and shoes for the boys. If it weren’t for the dresses Mrs. Wellington had given her to alter for herself, she would have been parading around the boardinghouse in her birthday suit. She’d even used some of the cloth to make reticules to sell at the general store for extra cash. They now had the basic necessities, but she was no closer to being able to afford a home. While she appreciated the two small rooms Mrs. Wellington included in her compensation, she wanted Cade and Cody to have a home of their own. She wanted a place no one could take away from them.

A home wasn’t the only thing the boys needed. They talked incessantly about having a father who would teach them all the things boys wanted to know. Just tonight, before they fell asleep, they’d asked her if they would ever have a pa. Many times they would end their nightly prayers asking for a pa to teach them to ride and rope. They wanted to be cowboys, and she had never even been on a horse. If she had any say in the matter they wouldn’t be cowboys, but she recognized every boy needed to know how to ride a horse. Finding the right man, a good man, was the challenge. She wanted them to grow up to be honorable men, not like the men she’d seen in her young life. No matter how she circled the problem, she needed to find a man who could provide a home and teach the boys skills to survive.

She’d heard what Mrs. Wellington said tonight about needing to do her part when God provided a man. While she appreciated Mrs. Wellington’s beliefs, they were no longer her own. When she was younger she’d prayed and prayed for a different life, but nothing ever changed. The time for praying and dreaming about what she wanted was over. She was determined the boys would have a home and respectability, and it was up to her to find a way to change their circumstances. She decided, as the cattlemen who dined at the boardinghouse were so fond of saying, it was time to take the bull by the horns. So she’d written the advertisement:
Lady of marriageable age with two young boys in need of husband. I am a good cook and used to hard work.
She’d finished the ad by including her name and address at the boardinghouse. She had decided it best to say straightaway that she came with responsibilities, so there would be no surprises down the road. She didn’t actually state the boys were her children, but the implication was there all the same.

So far, she had been less than impressed with the responses. One man wrote that she should come out West, and if he liked the looks of her and she performed her
wifely duties
to his satisfaction, then he might send for the boys.
Well, no, thank you very much
. She’d seen enough men at the saloon in Abilene to know when they were just interested in one thing. As Mrs. Wellington so aptly stated,
They want the milk and not the cow
. Another letter she’d received was from a man describing himself as a married man of considerable wealth who wanted to hire her as a housekeeper. Of course, she would be required to share his bed because his wife was beset with headaches.
As if!
Every letter she’d received had mentioned her
wifely duties
.
Is that all men think about?

After striking a match to the lamp on the table, she took a seat in the rocking chair and carefully opened the pouch. Several gold double-eagle coins dropped to her lap. Puzzled, she peeked inside and saw the folded letter with her neatly printed name on top. Tracing the letters with her fingers, she was nervous and excited at the same time.

She stared at the letter. Maybe this one would be different. She took a deep breath and slowly unfolded the letter.
Dear Miss Victoria
. . . She read the letter a second time, and questions filled her mind.
How old is Mr. Barlow? Is he a widower? Does he have children? Who is Bartholomew?
He described himself as hardworking and honest.
Good, he’s not a cowboy but a farmer. He reads the Bible and goes to church. He reads Shakespeare.
Maybe that was a sign he was the right man. Since living at the boardinghouse she had access to Mr. Wellington’s vast collection of books, and it seemed he’d had a particular fondness for Shakespeare. Surprisingly, she had also developed a liking for the man’s writings.

Mr. Barlow offered more information than the other men had given her in their terse replies. The most telling line he’d written was his promise to provide for her and the boys. Those few words touched a soft spot in her heart. Unlike the other letters she’d received, he hadn’t once mentioned her wifely duties. Of course, if they were wed he’d have every right to expect her to . . . well, she knew what would be expected. She picked up the coins from her lap. It was no small sum of money, certainly more than she needed for the stagecoach. Perhaps he didn’t have to scratch out a meager existence as she had done her entire life. It must have occurred to him that she could take his money and never make it to Wyoming. That trusting gesture told her more about the man than his written words. He obviously dealt honestly with people and expected the best from them. Maybe this was the one man she could trust. A farmer.

Dawn peeked through the window, and Victoria had to force herself from the comfort of her small bed. She had tossed and turned all night, trying to decide what she should do. She walked to the window and pushed back the curtain, allowing the morning breeze to fill the room. Hearing voices from the street, she peeked out to see Mr. McBride talking to the stagecoach driver. Mr. McBride’s deep voice resonated in the quiet of the early morning, and the light of day did nothing to lessen his intimidating countenance. He looked even larger than he had last night with that big, black cowboy hat on his head. She watched as he tossed his valise to the top of the coach with little effort.

The banker approached and Colt turned to him and shook his hand in farewell. The banker walked away and Colt opened the door to the coach and started to step inside, but paused in mid-motion. As if he knew she was watching, he tilted his head back and looked directly up at her window, pinning her with his dark gaze. Their eyes held for a long moment before he tipped his hat and climbed inside the stagecoach.

Colt leaned back and stretched out his long legs in an effort to find a comfortable position in such a confining space. He thought about the woman at the boardinghouse window. He’d had a feeling someone was watching him, and when he caught her reflection in the window as he spoke to the banker, he was certainly surprised. He halfway expected it to be the hombres he’d tangled with in the restaurant last night. When he looked up at her, all he could do was stare. He’d never seen a more lovely sight, with her dark auburn hair cascading over her shoulder, shimmering in the morning sun. He had to force himself to get in the stagecoach and leave.

He wasn’t sure why, but she’d occupied his thoughts most of the night. That was a first for him; he never lost sleep thinking about a woman.
Cattle maybe, but a woman? Never.
He told himself she was so lovely, any man would have difficulty forgetting someone like her. There were a few attractive women at home, but he couldn’t think of one who equaled her beauty. He covered his eyes with his hat and let out a loud sigh. If she didn’t have a family, he would have told the stagecoach driver to leave without him.