Promises Kept (6 page)

She was still nervous to be alone with him, but she preferred that option over being left alone in the middle of nowhere. “Thank you, Mr. Bob.” She was so tired and tense she didn’t give a second thought to the dust covering the porch step when she plopped down. Bandit settled down right beside her.

“Just call me Bob, no mister needed,” he told her.

“I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Victoria Eastman.”

Bob nudged his hat with one finger. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.” He pointed to the mangy dog that sat snuggled to her side, positioned between them. “How long have you had him?”

She glanced down at Bandit and looped her arm around his neck. “Only a day. I saw him on the road, and the stagecoach driver was kind enough to let him ride with us.”

Another man who couldn’t say no to a pretty face, Bob figured. “He sure could use a bath.”

“Yes, I think we are both in dire need after our trip. I hope Mr. Barlow doesn’t mind that I brought him with me,” she added uneasily. It was difficult enough for her to think of meeting Mr. Barlow for the first time. If he objected to Bandit she didn’t know what she would do. But her mind was made up, and under no circumstances would she abandon the dog. Nervously, she removed her blue hat and placed it beside her on the porch. She tried in vain to repair her hair that had escaped her combs and was tumbling around her shoulders. She longed to freshen up before she saw Mr. Barlow, but she didn’t dare presume to go into his home.

“Chet is a God-fearing man who cares for all creatures. I doubt he’ll mind the dog.” The way he saw it, if Chet was lucky enough to know this little lady, he wouldn’t be upset over a dog she brought along. He didn’t figure there was a man alive who could stay angry at her over anything. He for dang sure couldn’t.

Victoria eyed her surroundings, taking in the condition of Mr. Barlow’s home and barn. The home wasn’t large, but it was well built of stone and wood and looked sturdy enough. There were no flowers around the house, leading her to think Mr. Barlow was obviously not a man for frills. The property was neat and functional, but nothing to indicate a woman’s presence. She absently wondered if he would object to her planting a few flowers to bring some color to the drab surroundings.

She’d helped Mrs. Wellington plant flowers at the boardinghouse, and in the spring they were rewarded for their hard work with glorious color. Her gaze drifted to the barn, and like the home, it was old but in good repair. She could almost envision the boys running around with Bandit in the field. She thought they could be happy here. She might not enjoy marriage, but she could be content for the boys to have a home.

She glanced back at Bob. “Have you known Mr. Barlow long?”

“Yes, ma’am, all my life.”

Just as she started to ask him to tell her something about Mr. Barlow, Bob straightened from the post and walked to the wagon to retrieve his rifle.

Victoria jumped from her perch on the step. “Is there a problem?”

“Riders,” he said, pointing to a speck in the distance. “Out here you can’t be too careful, ma’am.” Bob cocked his rifle, and Bandit leaped from the porch, assuming his protective position in front of Victoria. When the riders approached, Bob recognized the big black horse. He relaxed the grip on his rifle and gave Victoria a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, he’s a neighboring rancher.”

“Bob,” Colt said, reining his stallion in beside Bob’s wagon.

“Colt, Chet’s not here. We were just waiting for him.”

Looking past Bob, Colt glanced at the young woman standing behind him. Big blue eyes returned his regard. He recognized that face immediately, and he couldn’t believe his eyes! What was she doing here? Was she related to Chet? Did she come for his wedding? He vaguely recalled the Englishwoman saying something about her relatives living in Wyoming. But how was it possible they lived in Promise? Giving no indication that he recognized her, Colt tipped the brim of his Stetson politely. “Ma’am.”

“Colt, this is Miss Victoria Eastman. She’s here to visit with Chet.” Bob turned to face Victoria. “Mr. McBride’s cattle ranch borders Chet’s farm on the east side.”

Colt wasn’t sure what to say since she gave no indication that she recognized him. He swung a long leg over his horse to dismount and closed the distance between them.

Victoria couldn’t believe her eyes. How could he possibly be Mr. Barlow’s neighbor? Impossible! She remembered Mrs. Wellington say he was from Wyoming. What were the chances he would live here? He just couldn’t be the neighbor of the man she was going to marry.

With the sun behind him, Victoria shadowed her eyes with her hand to watch as he approached, his spurs clinking with each step. For the first time, she really looked at him. From head to toe. Mrs. Wellington’s words came to mind.
He is the largest man I have ever seen
. The leather bands at his wrists had to be eight inches wide, and he wore leather chaps over his jeans. Cartridges lined the circumference of the belt he wore around his trim waist. That pistol she remembered so well was in his holster. He took the time to remove his gloves and tuck them in his belt before removing his Stetson.

“Miss Eastman.” His thoughts went back to the morning he saw her as he was leaving St. Louis. She was standing in the window looking so beautiful she took his breath away. She’d remained in his thoughts on the long trip home and many times since.

Victoria’s hand flew to her hair, trying in vain to bring order to the tangled mass of curls. “Mr. McBride.” That night at the boardinghouse she was awed by his size and his unusual black-as-sin eyes, and she hadn’t really noticed his other features. Once he removed his Stetson she stared at his darkly tanned face and strongly chiseled features. The deep creases etched into his jaw were, no doubt, carved by the harsh Wyoming climate. All of his features were remarkably attractive, but she was drawn to his eyes. They were so black she couldn’t tell the irises from the pupils, and framed by long, thick black lashes that seemed incongruous on such a masculine face. He’d probably made more than a few men quake in their boots with his powerful stature, but there was no denying women would find his eyes . . . well . . . to borrow a word from Mrs. Wellington . . .
stunning.
It wasn’t hard to imagine they would also think him ruggedly handsome with his perfect granite features. To her, he was dark and dangerous. His size alone made him one of the most intimidating men she had ever seen, and combined with the intensity of his stare, he appeared absolutely fearsome.

Recalling what Mr. Barlow wrote in his letter about the cattlemen surrounding his land, she wondered if he was one of the men who wanted Mr. Barlow’s land. He didn’t look like a rancher to her, with that pistol on his hips. Gunfighter, more like. Or with those black eyes, maybe even Lucifer himself, a fallen angel full of sin. When he moved closer she instinctively took a step back.

Colt noticed her retreating step and the wary look in her eyes. After what had happened at the boardinghouse in St. Louis, he could understand why she would be cautious around men. She couldn’t possibly be the bride Bartholomew mentioned, since she already had a family. He hadn’t seen her husband, but he’d seen her boys.
Boys
. Bartholomew did say Chet’s bride had two boys.
It couldn’t be
. She was way too young for Chet—at least, to his way of thinking. He was never one for robbing the cradle, and he thought she might even be too young for him. Of course, there were many men who held a different opinion on that matter. This gal looked sweet and innocent, and way too young to be the mother of those two boys he saw at the boardinghouse.

Even with her hair hanging in total disarray, and the streaks of dust on her face, he’d never seen anyone more lovely. Just like the first time he saw her, he thought she sure had nice curves packed in all the right places.

Colt’s scrutiny made her uneasy, but she was determined not to let it show. “Mr. McBride, do you know where we can find Mr. Barlow?”

Unsure of what to say, he simply said, “Excuse us a minute, Miss Eastman.” He closed his hand over Bob’s shoulder, urging him in the direction of the barn. Once they were far enough away so their voices wouldn’t carry, Colt faced Bob and whispered, “Is she Chet’s intended?”

“What?” Bob whirled around to look back at Victoria. “Chet’s intended? What are you talking about?”

“Shh . . . not so loud. Chet told me he was waiting for his bride. Is that her?”

Bob stared at Colt in disbelief, trying to make sense of what he was saying. Collecting his thoughts, he said, “She never said that to me. But she sure is nervous about something.” He shifted his eyes toward Victoria again. “Ain’t she too young for Chet? Where is he, anyway? I guess he’s the only one we can ask. I don’t think it would be right for us to ask her if she is his intended, especially if she ain’t.”

“Chet’s dead.”

Chapter Six

Bob stared, slack jawed, at Colt’s grim face. Once he absorbed the impact of Colt’s words, he asked, “What happened?”

“Some of my men were rounding up strays and saw Chet’s horse. They figured he’d been thrown, but they found his body a few miles away. He was dead—not shot, so I’m thinking he might have had a heart attack. I don’t know what he was doing; he wasn’t farming that far out.” Colt glanced back at Victoria. She was staring at them with a quizzical look on her face. “I told the men to take his body to town. I came here thinking I would find Bartholomew. How do we go about breaking the news to her?”

Bob wasn’t listening. He was still trying to come to terms with Chet planning on marriage. “What was Chet going to do with a young thing like her?”

Colt imagined there were plenty of things he would do with her, but now wasn’t the time to let his mind wander on those particular thoughts.

“I’ll tell you one thing—if she’s Chet’s bride, he was going to have one heck of a wedding night,” Bob stated.

With a woman who looked like her, Colt figured Chet’s wedding night would have been one to be remembered, but he had a feeling that wasn’t what Bob was talking about. “What do you mean?”

“I think she’s afraid of being around men. The way she hugged the other side of that seat on the buckboard all the way out here, it was a plumb miracle she didn’t fall off.”

“She was traveling alone to a strange place; I imagine that would be enough to make most women nervous around a man they didn’t know,” Colt replied. He’d seen how some men responded to her, and he figured that accounted for her nerves around men. “I wish Bartholomew would show up so we could ask him if she’s Chet’s bride.” Colt walked inside the barn and looked around. “The buckboard is gone, so I bet Bartholomew’s in town getting supplies.”

“I saw Bartholomew in town just yesterday, and he sure didn’t say nothin’ about a woman visiting either. And he darn sure didn’t mention no bride.” Knowing he didn’t want any part of what had to be done, Bob started walking toward his buckboard. “She’ll probably want to stay out here to rest before the next stagecoach. I’ll leave you to it.”

Colt watched as Bob hurriedly jumped into the buckboard, all the while wishing he could ride away with him. He glanced at his men who had ridden in with him, and they both gave him a look that said
, Sorry, boss, but this is your party
. “Aw hell,” Colt muttered. He walked back to Miss Victoria Eastman to deliver the sad news.

Stopping in front of her, he snagged his hat from his head and nervously resettled it again. He gazed off in the distance as he tried to form the right words, and said a quick, silent prayer that he wouldn’t muck it up. Whether she was a relative of Chet’s, or his betrothed, the news was sure to be devastating. Just as he was about to deliver the news, his attention was diverted by the sound of a buckboard coming down the road.

Bartholomew pulled the team of horses to a halt in front of Colt. “Colt,” he said, but his old gray eyes landed on the young woman standing beside him. He set the brake and climbed down from the wagon, hurriedly yanking his hat from his head. “You must be Miss Victoria,” he said with a wide smile.

Victoria couldn’t have been more shocked. This gentleman, with his wild white hair and a limping gait, had to be near eighty. What in the world was he doing trying to find a wife at his age? It took a full minute for her to find her voice, but she finally choked out, “Mr. Barlow?”

“No, ma’am, I’m Bartholomew,” he replied, with a chuckle in his voice. “Chet is expecting you though. He should be back shortly.” He couldn’t stop staring at her beautiful face, and he knew Chet was going to be the happiest groom alive. “Let me tell you, when he gets a gander at you, he will be thanking the Good Lord all night.”

He looked around nervously, trying to decide what was proper for him to do with Chet’s bride. He glanced at Colt, who seemed unusually quiet. He figured he was caught off guard by the beauty of Chet’s bride, too. He turned back to the buckboard. “I reckon I might as well climb back in and go fetch him now. I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about before marryin’ up before dark sets in. Go on inside and make yourself comfortable.”

“Before . . . dark . . . isn’t that . . .” Victoria couldn’t manage to finish her sentence. She hadn’t planned on Mr. Barlow wanting to get married so quickly. It seemed reasonable to her that they would take some time to get to know each other before they wed, or even agreed to wed.

Colt’s eyes darted back to Victoria. That answered one of his questions. She was definitely here to wed Chet. At the moment she didn’t look too keen on marrying up before sundown. Wonder how Chet met her in the first place? And what in the world was he thinking, wanting to marry such a young gal? He felt a stab of jealousy at the dead man. What was she thinking by agreeing to marry someone so much older? It wasn’t that Chet wasn’t a fine man, there was none better, but he had to be at least thirty years older than this gal, probably more. She wasn’t a sportin’ woman like so many that had come west in search of a man. He’d heard of many women lying about their past in an effort to land a husband. Then he remembered her boys. Maybe she was a widow and was forced to do what was necessary to find a way to raise her boys, he thought more charitably. But she had a job in St. Louis, he reminded himself.