The Cheyenne Mail Order Bride Changes Her Mind Read online

  Finally, she was at the train station. In her seat. Watching Boston speed past and fade into the distance. As important and exciting as what lay ahead was, her most powerful feeling was the thrill of escape and the relief of shedding the dreary life that was being left behind. It felt as if someone had just saved her life. Thank you, Mr. Butler.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Cheyenne, Wyoming Territory, 1885

  Deputy Ajax Harper was relieved to get out of the jailhouse and head home for dinner. Of all his duties, the most annoying, by far, had to be listening to the jabbering of the prisoners. He didn’t mind going after them. He didn’t mind taking them one-on-one in a fistfight. And if they turned out to be lowlife murderers, he didn’t mind killing them.

  But having to listen to one Timothy Wainwright go on and on about how his boss was always favoring the workers who did the least amount of work, and how his nemesis at work had been spreading lies about him and deserved the punch in the face that he gave him, and how a man really shouldn’t be all that accountable for what he did when he was drunk . . . exasperating nonsense, all of it.

  If Wainwright had been part of a gang that still had to be brought into custody, Ajax would have listened attentively. He would have steered the conversation in all the right directions and gotten the man to give up information without even realizing it. It was a talent that Ajax had honed to perfection in his previous five-year-long career as a bounty hunter. But there was nothing to be gained here, just a whiny drunk who was getting on Ajax’s last nerve.

  But he had to wait until after the prisoner’s meal arrived before he could head out. Mrs. Olson delivered three meals a day whenever someone was in the cell. Her food wasn’t all that great, but Ajax and Sheriff Johnson figured that none of the prisoners deserved any better. Ajax didn’t feel the slightest bit sorry for him as he headed for his Aunt Mabel’s boarding house and her delicious fried chicken and mashed potatoes.

  It was such a short distance from the sheriff’s office on Main Street to the boarding house that he could have easily walked it. But if an emergency arose, he wanted his horse right at hand, so he rode slowly down the street, taking in the end of the day bustle, ever alert for something that looked amiss. It didn’t take long.

  There was a very familiar horse outside one of the gambling saloons. It belonged to Roy Butler, an unsavory type who had been in Cheyenne for about three months without much to occupy him besides gambling and whoring. From what Ajax could make out, he was a gold prospector who had hit it big, and he needed a place to relieve himself of the money burning a hole in his pocket. All well and good.

  But he made a lot of people uneasy, Ajax included. For one thing, he rode his horse too hard and would often leave the beast tethered in the street without bothering to get it to a water trough. That really got Ajax’s goat. What kind of a man didn’t take care of a helpless creature? Especially one as valuable as a good horse.

  As Ajax stopped by a trough, secured his own animal, and filled a bucket to take over to Butler’s thirsty horse, he received a few sympathetic and approving glances from passersby.

  “That’s mighty nice of you, Deputy. There ought to be a law against treatin’ your horse this bad.”

  “Well, I wish I could throw him in jail for it. I surely do. But don’t worry. He strikes me as the kind of man who’s gonna do somethin’ real soon that’s gonna land him behind bars,” Ajax predicted.

  Ajax made note of the saloon. He was going to be sure to include it in his after supper rounds. He had recently gotten into the habit of dropping by the rowdiest of the saloons as part of his evening routine. Technically, it may not have been part of his job, but he had spent some time reflecting on the difference between his old job of bounty hunter and his new job of deputy sheriff. He had been a great bounty hunter and took a lot of pride in the desperate criminals he had taken off the streets.

  Being a deputy sheriff also meant protecting the public from harmful encounters with that criminal element, but it also meant something more. When a bounty hunter sets off after someone, the crime is a done deal, and most likely, someone has been left dead, their families forever devastated and bereft. There was a certain satisfaction in punishing those criminals, but it certainly didn’t bring back the dead.

  As a deputy sheriff, however, there was the possibility of taking a pre-emptive approach to crime. He made it his business to keep an eye on the town’s biggest troublemakers. He knew their names and their favorite brothels. He knew where more than a few of them stashed their money. He kept tabs on who had suffered big losses at the poker table and who was holding a grudge.

  Ajax would hover on the margins, nursing a single glass of beer for two hours, and looking for every chance to dissipate trouble before it got out of hand. Sometimes, it was simply the sight of his badge that helped to keep things from boiling over, for which most of the saloon owners and patrons were grateful. Preventing crime instead of just punishing it after the fact—it was a whole different game, but Ajax had learned to appreciate the challenge of it.

  But some men just live for trouble. If Ajax knew in his bones that someone was ripe for a killing spree, it was better to run him out of town before the damage was inflicted. This was his town now, and he was going to protect it. Yeah, he was definitely going to come back and check out what that Roy Butler was up to.

  *****

  Rough, burly, and forty-two years of age, Roy fit right in with the regulars of the saloon. Except he wasn’t a regular. He had only been in Cheyenne a few short months. His real home was Swine Creek, California, where he held his gold claim. Being away from it this long made him a little itchy, even though he had left it in his brother’s hands. But he was on a mission, namely to find a wife, and that necessitated being in Cheyenne.

  He had tried, quite unsuccessfully, to lure a wife to Swine Creek. He had borrowed the exact same ad that he used now. If it worked well for some other fella, why should he have to come up with his own words? But there had been no response, week after week after week, and he finally had to accept what the other men in town had told him—no woman wanted to live in Swine Creek. It barely had a street—just a couple of stores set up for mining equipment and general supplies, three restaurants on top of that, and two brothels. All the necessaries in life.

  But apparently, there weren’t enough amenities for the ladies back east. They wanted to live in fancy places that were well developed and had dressmaking shops and tea salons, and churches and schools and all manner of unnecessary frills. So, in order to get a wife, he had to give her the impression that she’d be living in real city. He dangled Cheyenne at the end of his fishing line, and he had caught himself a young pretty fish.

  Roy was simply biding time while he was waiting for his bride to arrive. He’d heard good things about Cheyenne way back in its early days, but the city had become far too domesticated for him now. People greeted one another on the Main Street with wholesome goodwill. It was like walking through Sunday School. He much preferred a rough and tumble, Hell on Wheels town, and he was about fifteen years too late for Cheyenne to suit him.

  He liked being in a place like Swine Creek, where men settled their disputes one on one, with no interference from the law. He had had many an encounter where he benefitted from the absence of such interference. His claim had momentarily been contested by another man, but he had been looking for gold for way too long to give up a sure thing to another man. It was finally his time to be a winner, and he had been prepared to put an end to anyone who got in his way.

  Now a pretty young bride was going to complete the picture. Marriage was also an institution that was best conducted away from the prying eyes of the law. With a fresh audience around him at the poker table, he couldn’t resist the urge to brag and pontificate.

  “Swine Creek is exactly the kind of place where a man can breathe and make his own life. But it’s an expensive life. The whores charge four times what they do here in Cheyenne. That’s a lot of money to be giving up, ’specially as often as I need their services.”

  His admission got a big laugh from the table.

  “You sayin’ we got it good here?” one card player asked.

  “Well, it’s cheaper livin’ for sure. If you ever had to pay a full dollar for a steak dinner, then you’d know how good.”

  “Not a full dollar!”

  “The restaurants gouge just as deep as the brothels. And a man can only take so much of his own cookin’. So as fast as the gold is turned into money, it goes back out in the twinklin’ of an eye. But I got plans to economize and keep that money in my own pocket.”

  “How’s that?”

  “A wife, of course. She’ll cook all my meals at cost, and hopefully do a better job than those poor excuses for cafes. But the real savings will be in whores. I’ll save thirty dollars a month, if I save a penny.”

  “You, uh . . . already engaged, is ya?” one player asked, trying not to sound too incredulous.

  “You sayin’ that’s hard to believe?” Roy said, bristling.

  “Not hard at all,” Ajax boomed from behind them. “But we just can’t figure out whether you told her that she was gonna save you a fortune in whores and ready meals, or if you found some other way to charm her into sayin’ yes.”

  “Hmmph. What’s it to ya, Deputy?”

  “Oh, not a thing. Any woman that said yes to you deserves what’s she’s gettin’.”

  “I don’t think I like the sound of that,” Roy snarled. “Now, that’s exactly what I was talkin’ to you fellas about. When a town gets too built up, the law sticks its nose in everythin’. After a man takes a wife, she’s his to do with whatever he wants. You tell her what needs to be done and she’s gotta do it. You can bed her, you can hit her . . . can’t hit the
whores or you can get barred from the facility. A wife now, you can give her a smack when she has it comin’ and no one’s got the right to say otherwise. That’s why I gotta get me out of this town as soon as I can. Too much meddlin’ into a man’s affairs. You’ll see my backside soon enough, Deputy.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  Ajax turned away in disgust. He could only hope that Butler was a shameless liar and that there was no fiancée, because while he had no illusions about himself as a prospective groom—who’d want a fella who’s done as much killing as he’d had to do—it was inconceivable that any woman could have agreed to marry a rotten snake like Roy Butler.

  *****

  Five days on the train had flown by for Molly. Unlike some of the other passengers who became bored and restless, every hour of her newfound freedom felt like a thrilling novelty. By the time the train pulled into Cheyenne, she wouldn’t have minded another five days of safe relief that the train car provided. She had a bit of nervousness about the unknown future. Fortunately, it began in the best possible way, with a big bear hug from Beatrice on a crowded station platform.

  “Molly. You don’t know how many times I dreamed that something like this would happen, and here you are. We will be neighbors and friends for the rest of our lives. I’m so glad that you found someone in Cheyenne.”

  Molly glanced quickly at the handsome man with gray eyes and deep dimples at Beatrice’s side. “You made it sound like the men in Cheyenne were all wonderful, what with you and your two friends being so happy now. I’d settle for half of it.”

  “All of it! You shall have every bit of it. There’s plenty of happiness to go around. And your Mr. Butler sounds very promising. This is Avery, by the way—best lawyer west of the Mississippi, best husband on the continent, and soon to be finest mayor or governor or whatever he sets his mind to.”

  “Darling. You’re going to have to scale back that introduction. People are going to think I forced you to rehearse it. Very pleased to meet you, Molly. I’ve heard a great deal about you.”

  “Same here, Mr. Martin. We loved getting letters from Beatrice and seeing how well things turned out for her.”

  “Avery. Please. Now, let’s drop your things off at Miss Mabel’s and head out for some lunch.”

  A brief stop was made to drop Molly’s luggage off at the boarding house where she would be staying. The proprietor, Miss Mabel, a gruff, no-nonsense woman in her early sixties, gave Molly a steely once-over.

  “Another Boston bride? What’s wrong with them men back were you all come from? That’s what I’d like to know. I don’t see how the selection could possibly be any better out here—present company excepted. He ain’t half bad.”

  “I may have to hire you as my future campaign manager, Miss Mabel. Vote for Avery Martin—he ain’t half bad.”

  Beatrice and Avery were highly amused, and even Miss Mabel cracked a bit of a smile. Molly was somewhat relieved to see that her temporary landlady wasn’t as hard-edged as she had first seemed.

  “Miss Mabel, please see that she gets a hot bath tomorrow morning. She’s going to be meeting her fiancé for supper. But we’ll have her back in time tonight for supper here and a good night’s sleep.”

  “I’ll see to it,” Miss Mabel said.

  Beatrice and Avery whisked Molly away to a tasty restaurant, more down home than fancy, which Beatrice thought would help Molly to relax. They also didn’t want to upstage any special evening Mr. Butler might have planned for her. Even so, for Molly, who had no experience of restaurants in her entire life, it was still quite an exciting treat for her.

  “So tell us some more about your Mr. Butler. What kind of business is he in?” Beatrice asked.

  “He didn’t say. It just seemed that he was doing awfully well. He . . . sent me two hundred dollars.”

  “That is unusually generous. Most long distance grooms cover traveling and clothing expenses. He does sound quite successful, and most eager to make a good impression on you,” Avery said.

  “I just hope he’s not disappointed. And if he is, he’d better not want his money back, ’cause I gave one hundred and fifty of it to my grandmother.”

  “Molly!” Beatrice said.

  “She always runs short of money for groceries. And now that I’m gone, there’ll be nobody to help her out. That money will make things easier for her for a long time. Maybe in a year or so, after we been married awhile, with Mr. Butler’s help, I can send a bit more. Of course, I’ll have to make sure that the letter doesn’t look as if it’s coming from Cheyenne. I wouldn’t ever want my father and brothers to know where I was.”

  Avery nodded sympathetically. Beatrice had filled him in on the cruelty of Molly’s family. “Let me know whenever you’re ready to do that. I have colleagues all over the country who I could send the letter to and have it forwarded to her. It can look as if it came from Chicago or San Francisco or San Antonio.”

  “Thank you. That would be so helpful.”

  Soon after, Avery was obliged to return to his office to prepare for meetings, and Beatrice was free to give Molly a tour of her new town.

  “It’s small. I think I warned you about that. You can walk the full length of Main Street in twenty minutes. And you can get from one far edge of town to the other in about two hours, not including the ranching area. You’ll know your way around by the end of the week,” Beatrice said. “Unlike Boston, where I would go out on my day off and get lost on many occasions.”

  “It has a certain . . . smell to it.”

  “Leather and hay and gunpowder and horses. And cigar smoke wafting out from the saloons. It didn’t take very long to get used to it. In fact, I love it so much more than Boston. I hope you will too.”

  “I think I already do. What is that big store?”

  “It’s the mercantile. You can get groceries there, horse feed, tools, sewing goods . . . everything but a herd of cattle. You want to look in?”

  She certainly did, as well as stop at a dozen more establishments. The rough hewn but welcoming feel of these western storefront businesses helped to further put her at ease. In Boston, she knew very well that she wouldn’t be welcome in a majority of retail stores, even if she was clutching a fistful of dollar bills. But here, there was nothing but smiles and greetings and politeness. Perhaps she owed most of that to being in the company of Beatrice.

  “It’s nice to be treated so nice,” Molly said. “It’s a whole lot different from being at home.”

  “Hmmph. I wonder what went through your father’s mind when he read the letter you left him and realized that you had rid yourself of them for good.”

  Molly laughed. “I think about that every day. The look on his face. The screaming and the yelling, and him hardly being able to sleep knowing I got the best of him. And he and my brothers having to cook for themselves! And clean for themselves! Maybe it’s bad of me and I shouldn’t even admit it, but—”

  “Don’t you dare feel bad about it. A little domestic purgatory is exactly what they earned. You go right ahead and have a good laugh at their expense. I certainly will. Now, have you given any thought to a wedding dress?”

  “I haven’t even met him yet!”

  “But you will, and there’s no harm in getting ready for it. Let’s have a look in this dress shop.”

  And so the afternoon was passed in the pleasant, exhilarating anticipation of days to come. Cheyenne was promising to live up to its reputation as a place where dreams come true.

  *****

  Supper at Miss Mabel’s was a boisterous, slightly unnerving event. Molly had never sat down to eat with so many people in her entire life. All told, there were twelve bodies squeezed around a double row of tables. Molly got a seat of honor right next to Miss Mabel herself, all the better to receive a grilling about her background and her future plans in Cheyenne. She tried to ignore the nervous, bashful young fellow with dark curly hair sitting opposite her who wouldn’t take his eyes off her.

  “Sounds like you come from plain folks, which is all right by me,” Miss Mabel said. “They ain’t gonna be no truffles and oysters here. Ordinary home cookin’ and plenty of it. I hope Mrs. Martin didn’t lead you to think otherwise.”