RICKY: A Sweet Western Historical Romance (Mail-Order Brides Club Book 5) (7 page)

"She's a strong woman. She may be able to fight this." Sarah tried to comfort him.

"She is a fighter, but I've never seen her this frail before. I need to get back over there soon. Fortunately, I don't have any trips planned for this week. I'm going to try and stop over mid-day tomorrow."

"That's a good idea. I'm sure she'll be thrilled to see you."

Ricky stood. "Are you both ready to head home?"

R
icky was
quiet on the drive home, seemingly lost in his thoughts, so Sarah didn't want to interrupt him. When they reached the house, he told them he'd meet them inside after getting the horses settled.

When he did come inside, he went straight into his library and said he was going to work for a while. He didn't come out again that evening until nearly ten o'clock.

Sarah was just getting ready to head up to bed herself when he walked into the kitchen, and when he saw her, he rubbed his forehead and looked a bit sheepish. "I'm sorry. I sort of lost all track of time, but I did get quite a bit of work done on this new project. It helped to have something to focus on," he admitted.

"Are you hungry? I had some toast a little while ago. I wasn't very hungry after our large mid-day meal."

"I haven't even thought about eating, but a piece of toast does sound good. If it's not too much trouble?"

"No trouble at all," Sarah assured him. She set about slicing the bread and setting it on the stove directly to toast. When it was ready, she buttered it and set it on a plate for Ricky.

"Thank you." A few minutes later, the toast was gone and Sarah was about to continue on up to bed.

"I'm glad you're here," Ricky said, catching Sarah by surprise.

"You are?"

"Yes, it was nice having you by my side today. Andrew too. It was a strange day, hard with my mother and exciting seeing how much support I seem to have for the campaign. It was a long day and I think there will be longer ones ahead. I just wanted you to know I appreciated having you here."

"Thank you. We are both happy to be here too and I'm looking forward to helping as much as possible."

"We can stop into the mercantile tomorrow morning, before I head out to see my mother. We’ll get you a sewing machine and anything else you need to go with it, needles, thread, fabric."

"I'd love that. I can make you some new shirts, too," she offered.

"Could you? That would be great. I usually buy mine ready made at the mercantile."

"We can do better than that," Sarah said with a smile.

"They will have to vote for me. I will be the best dressed mayor!" Ricky grinned.

"You will be!” Sarah smiled, and then said, “I’m going up to bed now. See you tomorrow."

T
he next morning
, around ten, Ricky and Sarah drove to the mercantile to pick up a sewing machine and everything else she needed to go along with it. She also insisted that Ricky pick out a fabric that he liked and she'd make him a new shirt. When they got everything home, he brought the sewing machine into the library and set it on a small desk in the corner. The room was a large one and there was plenty of room for her sewing supplies as well as his large desk and sofa and collection of books. The air was a bit cool outside, so Ricky lit a fire and then left to visit his mother.

Once he was gone, Sarah got herself organized and settled in to try out her new machine. The time flew by and before she knew it, her stomach reminded her that it was almost past time for lunch. She took a quick break to eat, and then returned to her sewing.

By the time she had to leave to meet Andrew after school, she had made a nice start on a shirt for Ricky. After that, she would make a new pair of pants for Andrew. She also realized that she needed to stop at the mercantile again on the way home, to pick up a spool of white thread. It was the one thing she'd forgotten earlier.

She and Andrew strolled leisurely home. He'd had a good day at school and was animatedly telling her all about it. She was so caught up in his enthusiasm that she almost forgot to stop into the mercantile, but when she saw Colleen walking through the front door, she remembered and steered Andrew over there.

They walked over to the fabric section of the store and Colleen was already there, running a finger over a length of fabric in a lovely lavender shade. She looked up when she heard them approach.

"Oh, I'm so glad it's you. I was hoping to run into you this week. Did you get your sewing machine yet?" Colleen asked.

"Yes, just this morning. I've been sewing ever since."

Colleen's eyes lit up. "What are you making? Have you started on your dress yet?"

"No, not yet, I wanted to get the feel of the machine first and discuss some ideas with you that I'm thinking of. I started with a shirt for Ricky."

"Oh, good, I'm glad you waited. Let's get together soon. Tomorrow ideally, or day after."

"Tomorrow is fine for me. Do you want to stop over around this time? I am usually home from picking up Andrew by now.”

"Perfect. And I think Julia, Emma and Brianna might want to come, too. Naomi offered to watch the children for few hours and we decided we need to let her before she changes her mind."

Sarah chuckled at that. "Are you picking out your fabric? This is the one I chose." She found the shimmery, apricot-colored material that she'd fallen in love with earlier to show Colleen, who was suitably impressed.

"That's gorgeous! This is the one I am thinking of. I don't have anything this color." She indicated a very pretty, pale green shade that would be very flattering against her almost-black hair.

"That's beautiful, too. It will look lovely on you."

"Thank you. We'll see you tomorrow, then, around this time?"

"Perfect." Sarah bought the white thread she was looking for, and then continued walking home with Andrew. She went back into the library to finish up Ricky's shirt and when that was done, it was time to start dinner. She was surprised that Ricky wasn't home yet.

"
Y
ou made her day
, you know. I think it was a real treat for her to have you all to herself." Ricky's father said as they walked outside. Ricky had intended to just stay for a short while and then go home and work, but his mother was in such good spirits when he arrived, and yet she looked even weaker than the day before. He sat with her for several hours, until her eyes grew heavy and his father suggested that she could do with a nap.

He promised her that he'd be there when she woke up and he spent the next few hours sharing lunch with his father and walking around the fields, talking about anything and everything. Always, the conversation came back to his mother.

"I think she might be getting ready to go," his father said quietly as they stopped to rest for a bit at the base of a pond. His father seemed smaller, somehow, consumed with worry.

"She can still fight this," Ricky insisted.

His father sighed. "She's always been a fighter. I agree with you. But, she's tired and she just doesn't feel good. When she coughs, sometimes it looks as if the effort might break her. It's the look in her eyes that I hate to see. She hurts and I just want to take her pain away, but I don't know how. I'm scared that we're going to lose her soon."

"Do you really think so?" The thought of losing his mother was unfathomable to Ricky. She'd always been such a rock.

"I do, and in a way, I think it will be a blessing, as much as I hate to lose her. I just want her to be out of pain, even if that means she can't be here with us anymore. I just don't know how I'll manage without her." His voice broke and Ricky put his arm around him to comfort him. They stayed that way for a while, just leaning on each other and watching the water ripple on the pond.

Finally, his father spoke again. "She might be awake by now, if you want to go say a few words before you head out for the day. I don't think she's up to much more than that."

"I wore her out," Ricky said ruefully.

"No, soothed her soul is more like it. She'll sleep well because of it."

"I'll come back every day this week, whenever I can, even if it's just for a short visit."

"She'd love that."

An hour or so later, at about half-past three, Ricky drove away from his parents’ house in a bit of a daze. He'd been concerned when he visited his mother the day before, but he hadn't realized how seriously ill she was until he spent the better part of the day there. No one that Ricky loved had ever died before and the thought of losing his mother was alarming, overwhelming even.

He supposed that he should go home and go do some work, but Sarah was sharing that room with him now. He was happy to have her there, but at the moment, he couldn't handle small talk. He wanted to be alone, to wallow in his misery, to have a drink or two and to think or not think.

He was confused as to what exactly he did want to do, but the only clear thing was that he wanted to go to the saloon, sit at the bar and have a whiskey, straight up. And that's what he did.

The saloon was quiet, given the time of day, and that pleased Ricky. He wasn't feeling especially social, not yet. He sat in his favorite seat and when Nick, the bartender, ambled over, he ordered a double shot of whiskey.

Nick set it down in front of him and he tossed it back and ordered another. This one, he sipped slowly as he gazed off into space and brooded. He felt empty and sad and cold. He knew that the next few weeks were going to be difficult ones and as hard as they were going to be, he didn't want to miss a moment, and he planned to visit his mother every day. After a little bit, a very pretty saloon girl, one he hadn't seen before, strolled over and introduced herself. Her name was Paige and normally he’d banter with her a bit, but he just wasn't in the mood.

"Paige, it's a pleasure to meet you, but I'm not feeling very social today, I'm afraid. However, your suggestion of another drink is a very good one, so if you want to go tell Nick, I'll gladly take another."

She wandered off, happy to have sold another drink so easily.

"Rough day?" Nick asked as he set the third whiskey in front of him.

"My mother's sick and it doesn't look promising."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, real sorry."  Nick was a good guy. Ricky liked him and he seemed genuinely concerned which Ricky appreciated.

"Thanks. I thought I'd just stop in here for a bit before heading home. Seemed like a good idea."

"The best. It's what I would do," Nick agreed and then wandered off to pour a beer for a new customer. It was after five now and more people were coming in. Ricky was starting to feel a little better now that the several drinks had kicked in.

Actually he was starting to feel very little, which was exactly what he wanted. He was in a happy warm haze where there were no dying mothers, just smiling saloon girls and affable bartenders. At this moment, it was exactly where he wanted to be.

W
hen Paige stopped
by to suggest another drink, Ricky thought it was a splendid idea. He was happily sipping his fourth whiskey when the trouble started. His friends Peter and Ted had joined him by then, stopping by for a quick one on their way home from work. He told them about his mother and they expressed their sympathy, and then the subject turned as it usually did, to the campaign.

"I think that is an exchellent idea," Ricky said in response to a suggestion Peter had. His two friends exchanged glances. Apparently, they'd caught that he'd slurred his words just the tiniest bit.

"How many of those have you had?" Ted asked.

"These? I don't know, four or maybe five." It was hard to remember.

"Maybe this one should be your last," Peter said gently.

"Thas probably a good idea." Ricky was starting to feel tired. Perhaps he would go to bed early.

He picked up his glass to have another sip and felt a poke in his back. He turned around slowly to see two unfamiliar faces staring back at him.  They were men about his age and neither was smiling.

"You Ricky Donovan?" one of them asked. They both looked like businessmen but he couldn't place them.

"Yes, I am. And you are?"

"I'm Tim Meadows and this is Jim Carlson. We just opened an accounting practice on Main Street."

"Oh, that's very good. I might be in need of an accountant in the future. I wish you good luck."

The two men exchanged glances, and then the one named Jim, spoke, "Thank you. I am curious, though, is it true you married a saloon girl? One who used to work here and even has a child?"

The look of disgust on his face was shocking to Ricky. It was the first time he had encountered such a reaction. He struggled to keep his tone civil.

"Yes, it's true that Sarah used to work here. Is that a problem?" His voice was icy as he spoke and he noticed both Peter and Ted leaning in to listen to the exchange with interest.

Tim answered this time, his voice dripping with disdain. "A saloon girl? That's the best you could do? I'm just not so sure that reflects well for someone who wants to be mayor."

"Have you ever met Sarah?" Ricky asked.

"No, but I don't see what difference that makes. A saloon girl is a saloon girl." Tim's tone was belligerent.

"Sarah is a respectable woman. She was a widow working here to support herself and her child. I think that's commendable."

"Some people think a saloon girl is the same thing as a prostitute," Jim taunted. "How do you know she wasn't earning extra money upstairs with customers?"

Ricky was off his stool before Jim finished speaking and he swung his arm with all his might, connecting with Jim's nose, before losing his balance and almost landing on the floor.

He was saved from falling and from any retaliation from Tim and Jim by Peter and Ted, who immediately jumped up when they sensed trouble and caught Ricky's arms after he swung. Tim helped Jim up from the floor and Nick came out from behind the bar at this point to make sure things didn't escalate.

"Tim and Jim, it would be a good idea if you both left right now. Our saloon girls here aren't like that. This is a respectable place and Ricky is darn lucky to have married Sarah. That's all I have to say about that. Here, you can take this with you." He handed Jim a clean cloth to stop the blood that was gushing out of his nose.

"Fine, we'll go," Tim said and then turned to address Ricky. "This just proves that you're not the right man to be our mayor. A drunk married to a saloon girl. I think Bozeman can do better." The two of them left in a huff and Ricky sat back down, feeling defeated.

"This goes down as one of the worst days on record," he said as he swallowed the last drop of whiskey in his glass.

"Let's get you home. Things will look better after a good night's sleep," Peter said. Ricky paid his bill, left a generous tip for Nick and then followed Peter and Ted outside.

"I'll take you home and Ted can follow with your buggy," Peter said and Ricky didn't argue. He climbed into the passenger side of Peter's buggy and they drove off with Ted behind them. When they reached Ricky's house, Ted got the horses settled in the barn while Peter helped Ricky inside. At this point, Ricky couldn't wait to fall into bed.

S
arah heard
voices outside the door and was concerned until she recognized one of them as Ricky's. Finally, he was home. She'd gone from worry to anger that he'd missed dinner completely to worry again that something had happened. She went to open the door and saw Peter helping Ricky walk up the front steps and into the house.

"Is he okay?" she asked, wondering what had happened.

"He's fine, just had a little too much whiskey. Sounds like it was a rough day. You know his mother isn't doing well?"

"Yes, we saw her just yesterday."

"He went to see her today and didn't like what he saw. Spent the rest of the evening at the saloon. We brought him home and got the horses settled."

"Thank you for that."

"Can you make it upstairs?" Peter asked Ricky, who just nodded yes.

"Need to go to bed," Ricky muttered, and then wobbled toward the stairs. Peter stayed and watched to make sure he got all the way up, and then waved goodbye to Sarah. She shut the door behind him and then went to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea.

While the water was heating up, she went upstairs to check on Ricky and make sure he’d made it into his bedroom. Sure enough, he was facedown on his bed, fully dressed and still wearing his shoes.

She tiptoed into the room, being careful not to disturb him, and quietly took off his shoes and then left the room and went back down to the kitchen. When the water was hot enough, she made her tea and went into the library to curl up on the sofa there and stare into the flames.