Mail Order Groom

Mail Order Groom

By Dana Wayne

Chapter One

EAST TEXAS, SPRING, 1878

You’ve got thirty days to find a husband or I’ll find one for you.

Her father’s recent ultimatum bounced around Emma’s head like a hail stone, causing her concentration to falter.

Miss Marshall? Are you all right?

John Ralston, the cattleman she came to Ft. Worth to see, watched with anxious eyes.

My apologies, Mr. Ralston. I guess I am still tired from the trip.  

He nodded. I understand. It’s a long trip from Bakersville. He motioned for the waitress to refill their coffee. I wasn’t aware of your father’s illness until I received your telegram. I have to say, finding a woman such as yourself interested in my Herefords is unusual.

My father told me about them after your meeting last year. I can’t wait to see how they fare. How long has your herd been here? Has our finicky weather had any adverse effects on them?

The next hour flew by, and when it ended, Emma was the proud owner of a Hereford bull and two heifers.

After Ralston left, she lingered over her coffee and savored the success of having completed not only the purchase of new breeding stock, but negotiating the sale of the herd they would bring in next month. The new purchase would be picked up then and driven back to the ranch.

He trusts me to negotiate the sale of our cattle but not to run the ranch. The smile of accomplishment faded. No matter how hard she tried, Rafe Marshall believed only a man could run Twin Oaks Ranch.

Their last conversation, still a vivid memory, played out in her mind.

I’m dyin’, girl. Doc sez I ain’t got much longer. I gotta know Twin Oaks will be in good hands.

"By good, you mean male. It took tremendous effort to keep the hurt gnawing her insides from showing in her voice. That’s what you really mean."

He sighed and squinted. We been over this time and again.  Ranchin’ ain’t woman’s work. You’re almost twenty-six. You should’ve been married years ago with a passel o’ young’uns for me to spoil, not runnin’ round in britches and boots tryin’ to do a man’s job.

I’ve no wish to get married, Papa, I’ve told you so repeatedly. Because being married is like being property. No voice, no face, no freedom.

He ignored her comment. Tom Blakely over to the Lazy B would be good.

She stared in disbelief. You can’t be serious. He’s ancient. At least forty!

Or maybe Hank Walker.

His mention of the local attorney made her skin crawl. Hank made no secret of his interest and was prone to show up unannounced requesting she accompany him for a ride or the occasional dance.

She never accepted. He never gave up.

I wouldn’t marry Hank Walker if he were the last man on earth.

Rafe blew out a noisy breath. I mean what I say. Pale blue eyes bored into hers.  Find a husband in thirty days or I’ll find one for you.

And if I don’t?

He paused. Then Twin Oaks goes to my brother in Ft. Worth when I die.

That thought brought her back to the present with a jolt. Would he really give away her home, force her marry someone she didn’t love? How could a father do something like this do his only child?

The coffee she enjoyed a moment ago turned sour in her stomach. Heart filled with despair, she adjusted the bow on her bonnet, and rose from the table. The desk clerk here at The El Paso Hotel mentioned earlier a new mercantile recently opened down the block. She decided it would be a great place to find gifts for her two best friends, Sarah and Mable.

Preoccupied with her father’s dictate, she collided with a cowboy walking by as she exited the hotel.

Without conscious thought, she grabbed for his arms to keep from tumbling down the steps to the muddy street below. Her fingers clutched strong muscles that tightened beneath them, sending unexpected tingles up her arms.

Large hands grabbed her waist, their warmth adding to the unfamiliar sensations coursing through her.

Whoa, there, ma’am.

His soft drawl caused gooseflesh on her arms and her gaze jerked up to his face. Eyes, grey as a storm cloud, caused her breath to hitch.

He hesitated, then set her away from him and tipped his hat. Excuse me, ma’am. I wasn’t watching where I was going. With a quick nod, he walked away.

She stood immobile for several heartbeats, then looked down at her gloved hands, surprised at the warm tingles lingering there.

The memory of those hypnotic eyes followed her the rest of the day and into the night, disrupting her sleep and making her irritable for the long journey home.

By the time she arrived two days later, she was accustomed to their frequent invasion of her thoughts.

Since her father expected an immediate report, she didn’t bother to freshen up before entering his room.  She removed her bonnet and gloves as she took her usual chair beside his bed.  How are you feeling today?

How did it go? Any problems?

She took a breath before replying. No, there were no problems. Mr. Ralston agreed to the terms we discussed before I left.

I expect so since I had Leo telegraph ahead.  

Her heart sank. I should have known. I’m a woman and therefore can’t do anything without a man to help me.  

He clamped his jaw and remained silent.

She stood and paced around the room. I can do anything any man on this ranch can do, even better than some, and I’ve handled everything just fine these last few months you’ve been sick.

The only reason the men do what you tell them is because I’m still here. He struggled to sit up, then sank back on the pillows when his strength faded. They won’t listen to you when I’m dead, and everything I spent my life building will be gone.

She turned and faced him, emerald eyes stinging with unshed tears. I don’t understand how you can think so little of me.

Don’t start that nonsense again, girl, I –

My name is Emma Rose. Not Girl! She hated it when he referred to her as girl as though she didn’t even rate being called by her name. She lowered her voice. I’m sorry your son died with my mother. I’m sorry I’m not a man. She paused a moment to gather her composure. I finally realize no matter what I do, it will never be enough. You want me to find a husband...fine...I’ll find a husband.

She stormed out of his room, slamming the door shut behind her, ignoring his demand they discuss the new foreman due to arrive soon.

RAFE GLOWERED AT THE closed door, annoyed with himself for once again making a mess of things, but he lacked the time for tact and diplomacy.

He was dying.

He accepted that. What distressed him more than the disease eating away his body one bite at a time was the thought of his only child being left alone when he died. His beautiful, smart, and head-strong Emma Rose who had the misfortune to inherit the predominant traits of both her parents. Tall and beautiful like her mother, with tobacco colored hair and emerald eyes that flashed with life or cut you to the bone, and headstrong and independent like her father.

I should’ve done a better job with her, made sure she knew how to be a woman. Now, it’s too late.

Devastated by the death of his wife when Emma was ten, he’d closed himself off for years. By the time he realized his mistake, the void between them appeared insurmountable.

When was the last time I told her I loved her? How proud I am of her? I just want her to be happy.  His brow furrowed as he tried to remember the last time he saw her smile. It shamed him to admit he couldn’t.

She loved the ranch and it belonged to her. He had no intention of leaving it to his worthless brother; he merely used the threat as incentive to get her to at least look for a husband.

He wanted her to take his concerns seriously. Despite what she thought, he suffered no reservations about her ability to run the place. The men respected her and she worked hard to earn and keep their respect.

What killed his soul was the thought she would grow old alone.

Like him.

He blew out a breath and drummed his fingers on his chest. I should’ve told her about the posters and the ad in the Ft. Worth paper.

Chapter Two

TYLER ROUNDTREE ENTERED the Broken Spur Saloon and paused. Hooded gray eyes scanned the room, marked the position of each customer as well as doors and windows before he sauntered toward the worn oak bar. He angled to the right, his back to the wall, where the door and room remained visible.

The bartender, a huge barrel of a man, his face a mass of wrinkles, gaze heavy lidded and bored, wiped the counter as he approached. What’ll it be, mister?

Whiskey. The good stuff. Leave the bottle.

Ty grabbed the items, dropped coins on the bar, and moved to a table in the corner. He sipped the potent drink, enjoying the pungent bite as it slid down his throat to warm his near empty belly. Brim of his worn Stetson pulled low, he missed nothing around him.

Not for the first time, he asked himself why he had accepted the job at Twin Oaks two weeks ago. The fact that Henry Owens talked him into it spoke volumes for their friendship. They served together in the war and Henry returned home and married Sarah five years ago.

Ty still searched for a home to return to. 

On Ty’s last visit to the Owens ranch, Henry advised him the Marshall’s foreman died after being thrown from a wild mustang. With Henry’s recommendation and encouragement, Ty applied for the job and here he sat, putting off the moment he would meet his new employer with a mixture of dread and anticipation.

Laughter from a nearby table drew his gaze toward it.

What on earth made you think you had a chance with her, Lucky? The question came from a young cowboy, slender as a reed, hair the color of iron ore rocks, whose prominent Adams apple bobbed wildly when he spoke. Hell, she’d eat you alive and spit out your bones!

The one referred to as Lucky ducked his head and grunted. Yeah, well, at least she didn’t kick my ass like she did the feller from the Bentley place.

His comment brought another round of laughter from the group.

Lucky snorted. He should ‘a known better than to try and kiss her. She’s prickly as a cactus.

His cohorts bobbed their heads in silent agreement.

You gonna give it a try, Slim?

The red-headed cowboy spoke up. "Hell no. I mean, she’s purty as a speckled pup when she fixes up, but I got no desire to bed a woman who is tall as me, can probably out shoot, out cuss, and out ride me."

More nods from the table.

I mean, who wouldn’t want Twin Oaks? Three thousand acres of the best water and grazing around. Old man Marshall done a fine job with it. Too bad he raised her to be a boy ‘stead of a girl.

Sure is a shame, said Lucky, it is for a fact.

Slim glanced at Ty. Say, mister, you here to try your luck?

Ty looked up but didn’t reply.

You here cause of them posters? Slim shook his head. I can’t believe Old Man Marshall had notices stuck up all over the place looking for her a husband.

Ty’s curiosity overrode his natural aloofness. She that bad?

A chorus of Hell no’s greeted his question.

She can be right pretty, offered one cowboy, slim, kinda tall, though, brownish hair and crazy green eyes.

Yeah, said Lucky, it’s like they can see right through a man.

Got a smart mouth, though, declared another from group. Don’t know a woman’s place.

Yeah, said Lucky, she runs Twin Oaks like a man. Even wears britches!

And that’s bad? Ty’s question held a note of sarcasm the group didn’t appear to notice.

Well, yeah, said the leader of the group, a woman should be doing woman stuff like cookin’ and havin’ babies, not brandin’ cattle.

I help out from time to time, offered the man nearest Slim. Last year I seen her wrestle this bull calf to the ground and castrate him right then and there.

Lucky actually shuddered. A woman ought not do that.

Ty’s attention swung to the front door where the squeak of rusty hinges announced another arrival.

A man entered and stopped, surveying the room with a commanding air of self-confidence. He wore a black derby hat cocked over one heavy brow and an unlit cigar protruded from the corner of thin lips. He wore a dark suit and tie even though the Texas heat steadily climbed. He stood about six feet-tall, with broad shoulders and an arrogant swagger. He strode toward the cowboys’ table and stopped. He removed the cigar from his mouth and sniffed it, disdainful smile aimed at Lucky. I hear things didn’t go well today.

Lucky avoided looking at the man, a bright flush on his cheeks. So what?

The man patted him on the shoulder, gaze shifting to Ty as he spoke. Told you it was a waste of time. Emma’s mine. You all best remember that.

The hair on the back of Ty’s neck tingled like it did the time he walked up on a rattlesnake ready to strike.

The man eyed him a moment, then stepped forward. Haven’t seen you around here before.

Haven’t been here before.

Name’s Hank Walker. He held out his hand.

Ty eyed the hand but made no move to shake. Tyler Roundtree.

Well, Mr. Roundtree I –

No mister, just Tyler.

I see. Well, Tyler, what’s your business here in Bakersville?

Ty sipped his whiskey, right hand dropping to grip the handle of the Colt strapped to his leg. Don’t see as how my business is any of yours.

Walker’s smile never reached his eyes. If you’re here about Emma Marshall, you can leave now.

The last thing he needed or wanted was to get in the middle of someone else’s problem. Already, this job had earmarks of trouble in spades.  He had no doubt he’d just met an adversary...one with his eye on Emma Marshall, who he assumed to be his new employer’s daughter.  But, he promised Henry he would take this job until they found someone else, and he would not break his word. Plus, he didn’t like Walker on sight and had no qualms about provoking him.

What if I am?

As I said, you can leave now.

And if I don’t care to?

Chair legs scrapped against the rough wood floor as Slim and his companions moved toward the door.

I’m the Marshalls’ attorney. Walker pulled his coat open to show he carried no gun. I have their best interest in mind.

Ty studied the man intently. Evil eyes. That include Miss Marshall? You looking out for her best interest, too?

Walker’s nostrils flared and his jaw tightened. When he spoke, his voice was cold and flat. She’s none of your concern.

He sipped his whiskey. "Well, since I’m the new foreman, and she’s the boss’s daughter, I reckon she is my concern."

Walker flinched, gaze darting around to see who might have heard him. Since when?

Since I was hired two weeks ago.

He never mentioned it to me.

The man’s arrogance grated on Ty’s nerves. Not my concern. He pushed his chair back, nodded toward the irritated man and ambled out the door, certain he had not heard the last from Hank Walker.

Chapter Three

EMMA HAD THE HORSE out of the stall and saddled in record time, so angry she was on the verge of tears. A hard tug on the cinch gave evidence of her indignation. I swear, Midnight, if one more cowboy rides up and says he wants to marry me, I won’t be responsible for what happens. She grabbed up the reins, loped out of the barn and turned west but stopped when hailed by one of the hands.

Ever’thing all right, Miss Emma? Where you off to in such a hurry?

I’m fine, Leo, just taking Midnight for a quick ride.

Ain’t the new foreman gonna be here today?

I won’t be gone long. Gentle pressure to the horse’s flanks sent the mare into a gallop before Leo could say anything else. She had to get away before she exploded, or worse, broke down in front of the men.

Once out of sight, tears flowed freely, their salty trails drying as Midnight’s powerful legs ate up the ground.  She reached the edge of Cherokee Creek three miles from the ranch and pulled to stop under the shade of a massive live oak. Her legs shook as she dismounted, sank to the ground, and cried until only soft hiccups remained.

Drained, she sat up and patted the nose pressed to her cheek. How could he put me out there like a prized heifer for sale to the highest bidder?

The horse snorted and nudged again.

He put up posters, Midnight. Posters! All over the place. Even advertised in the Ft. Worth paper. Heat crept into her cheeks as she recalled the line of men, young and old, who had paraded through the house the last ten days, offering their services as a husband, among other things, which mortified her soul.

Hank Walker topped the list.

She still trembled at the thought. He made her uneasy, though she couldn’t pinpoint the precise reason why. On the surface he appeared cordial and polite, and while not handsome, he wasn’t bad. But a look appeared in his dull, brown eyes from time to time that made her skin crawl.

There were others after him, some shy and embarrassed, others blatantly masculine and overbearing who became angry when refused. Which explained the holstered Colt on her thigh. Whether coincidence or by design, one of her regular hands was always nearby when a new suitor came to call, and she appreciated their concern and show of support.

For her, marriage to