The Cowboy Meets His Match Page 5

  “The stampede caused a lot of confusion.”

  “Guess that explains it then,” he said with a shrug. “Confusion and weddin’s just seem to go together. Fisher and his crazy cattle sure have caused a lot of bedlam in this town. Would you believe the fool man fenced his property with smooth wire? Plain wire’s fine for sheep, but bobbed wired is the only thing that will hold in cattle.”

  He spit out a stream of tobacco. “Everyone has the right to be a fool, but if you ask me, Fisher’s abusin’ the privilege.” As an afterthought, he added, “First time I heard his cattle causin’ an accidental weddin’ though…”

  A chatty type, Big-Foot Harry seemed to welcome Emily’s silence as it gave him full rein to fill the space with his own voice. For that, she was grateful. She didn’t feel like talking. She had too much on her mind.

  Somehow, she had to convince Mr. Garvey that she had every intention of keeping her promise to marry him. If he refused to live up to his side of the bargain, she’d be in a fine pickle. Staying in her current sham of a marriage and living on an isolated ranch was out of the question. With no means of transportation, she’d be stuck in the middle of nowhere for a full year and dependent on Chase McKnight for her every need. Even the town of Haywire was preferable. At least there, she could get around on her own and maintain some independence.

  The buggy wheels hit a rut, and her thoughts scattered. They had reached a rough patch in the dirt road, and it was all she could do to keep from being bounced out of her seat. That and trying to breathe commanded most of her attention. Neither the rutted road nor the dust seemed to bother Big-Foot Harry, and he just kept jawing away like an old woman.

  “Next time those dang cattle run rampant,” he said with a shake of his head, “I best take cover. The last thing I need is to accidentally find myself with a wife.”

  He’d interrupt himself on occasion to point out various landmarks along the way. “That’s the Buttonwood ranch,” he said. “You better watch out for Mrs. Buttonwood. She makes everyone’s business her own.”

  He was still talking as they drove into town. It was hard to believe, but compared to the isolation of the cattle ranch, Haywire didn’t look half as bad as it had when Emily first arrived. Most of the damage caused by the cattle had been cleared away. Save for a few chickens and a goat, there were no other loose animals running around.

  Spotting the Haywire Pharmacy, Emily gathered up her purse. “You can drop me off here,” she said.

  Big-Foot Harry tugged on the reins, and the buggy rolled to a stop. “Nice meetin’ you, ma’am.” He tossed a nod to the back of the buggy. “Want me to leave your belongin’s at the hotel?”

  Unsure of what kind of reception awaited her, she anxiously eyed the front of Garvey’s shop before answering. “Yes, thank you.” She stepped to the ground, careful to avoid a pile of dung. “Stay away from stampedes.”

  He laughed. “Will do. Will do.” With that, he clicked his tongue and drove away.

  Emily hated to see him go. His friendly chatter had been oddly soothing. Feeling very much alone, she moistened her lips and studied the drugstore with a worried frown. After last night’s fiasco, would Mr. Garvey still want to marry her?

  Smoothing down the front of her dress with a gloved hand, she forced herself to breathe. Her only hope was that Garvey displayed the same courtesy toward her now as he had in his letters.

  A riot of jingling bells greeted her as she pushed the door open and walked into the drugstore. A strong medicinal smell assaulted her nose. There seemed to be no subtle odors in Haywire.

  She spotted Mr. Garvey immediately in the back of the store, sweeping the floor. He looked up and appeared neither surprised nor pleased to see her.

  He simply leaned his broom against the counter and stepped over the pile of broken glass as if she were just another customer. Today, he appeared taller than she remembered but still failed to measure up to McKnight in height. He also lacked McKnight’s robust physique and sun-bronzed complexion. Instead, Garvey’s shirt and trousers hung loosely from his lanky frame, and his pale skin stretched over hollow cheeks and a narrow nose.

  Surprised, even dismayed, to find herself comparing him unfavorably to McKnight, Emily tried to remember the speech she had rehearsed.

  “Dang cattle,” he muttered by way of a greeting. “Cost me big in inventory. Lucky they didn’t start a fire.”

  Emily eyed him with more than a little concern. The fact that the cattle had also cost him a wife didn’t seem to merit mention.

  Save for the broken glass, the rest of the store was neatly organized and well stocked, offering every possible remedy for whatever might ail a person. An assortment of sundries, including fancy soaps, perfumery, and fireworks, was also on display.

  Emily’s gaze fell on the broken glass at his feet. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Mustache twitching, he looked her over, his gaze lingering a moment on her feathered hat. Only then did he turn down her offer with a shake of his head.

  “That’s all right, ma’am. Wouldn’t want to mess up your purty clothes.”

  She gripped her purse with both gloved hands. “I just want you to know that what happened was a mistake.” She drew in her breath. “I fully intend to keep my promise to marry you. That is, if you’ll still have me.”

  For the longest while, Garvey studied her and said nothing. His unhurried demeanor was no more than what she had expected. His letters had been neatly written, with no crossovers or ink smudges. He seemed just as careful in person, his every move thoughtful and precise. His ill-fitting shirt and trousers were nonetheless neatly pressed; his dark hair was cut collar-length and parted in the middle.

  “Don’t know how it is in Boston, ma’am,” he said, his voice gentle and unassuming. “But here in Texas, it’s against the law for a man to have hisself two wives. I reckon the same applies to a woman with two husbands.”

  “Oh no! I didn’t mean… Soon as I leave here, I’m heading straight to the courthouse to straighten out the mess.” She gave an indignant nod. “I have grounds for an annulment.” When he failed to comment, she continued. “The marriage was a mistake and should never have happened. I thought he was you.”

  Hooking his thumbs around his red suspenders, he studied her from the tip of her hat to the toe of her polished high-button shoes. “The bigger mistake might have been hitchin’ up with me.”

  She drew back. “Why…why would you say such a thing?”

  “I’m just a pharmacist.”

  “I’m well aware of that,” she said. That was one of the things she’d found so appealing about him. Chemistry had been one of her favorite subjects in school, and she’d thought she could be an asset to him. She also liked that he had downplayed the importance of what he did and found his modesty refreshing. Most men tended to exaggerate their circumstances, making themselves sound more successful than they were. “You made that quite clear in your letters.”

  “Then you know McKnight can give you a better life than I can.”

  She frowned. “On a cattle ranch?” The mere thought of living in such a godforsaken place made her shudder.

  His gaze sharpened. “That’s where the real gold is.”

  She drew herself to her full height. “Had I cared about money, I wouldn’t have agreed to marry you in the first place.”

  “Had I known the kind of lady you were, I wouldn’t have asked you to.”

  Hearing censure in his voice, she stiffened. “And…and what kind of lady am I?”

  “The expensive kind.” He let that sink in for a moment before adding, “Most of my customers can’t afford to pay me.” He shook his head, his face suffused with regret. “Sorry, but I can’t afford to give you fancy clothes or…” He lifted his eyes to the ceiling. “I can’t even offer you a proper home. I live upstairs. You’d be much better off with McKnight.”

  Emily stared at him in disbelief. “That’s it?” she asked. “You take one look at me and decide I’m a…a…a gold digger?”

  He shook his head in protest. “Oh, no, ma’am. I never said that. Never even thought it. It’s just… I can see you’re a fine lady, and I’m just a poor druggist.” He pulled his hands away from his suspenders and dropped them to his sides. “Let’s not make this any harder than it already is.”

  Not wanting to give up so easily, Emily’s mind scrambled. “I-I don’t understand. I knew what I was getting into. You were honest in your letters, and I was honest with you.” Or as honest as she dared to be. She hadn’t told him everything. How could she?

  “Yes, but when you said your uncle was a businessman, I had no idea…” His gaze traveled the length of her again. “Naturally I thought you were equally impoverished and used to living a simple life.”

  “I don’t deny that my uncle was once a wealthy man, but”—she searched for words—“recent circumstances changed all that. I now have no money of my own. Not even a dowry.”

  “That’s why you’ll be better off married to McKnight. He can give you the life you’re accustomed to.”

  “I sincerely hope not!” she exclaimed. The kind of life she’d had in Boston had come at a price too high to pay. She would gladly live in insolvency if it meant being able to once again hold up her head.

  He returned to his broom and began sweeping the floor with more vigor than the job demanded. The set look on his face told her his mind was made up. Trying to convince him otherwise would be a waste of time.

  Whirling around to leave, she thought of something and stopped. “I shared some things in my letter that I would prefer no one else in town knew.” She glanced back over her
shoulder with a beseeching look. She’d not told him everything, but enough that an enterprising person might be able to figure out the rest.

  The broom stilled in his hands. “What thangs?” he asked.

  “About my uncle being a businessman.” Since marriage was now out of the question, she hoped to land a job as a governess. If word of the scandal got out, no one would hire her. “I don’t want people to get the wrong idea.”

  He stared at her with furrowed brow. “Not sure I understand, ma’am.”

  She debated how much or how little to say. “They might think I have no need for a job.”

  His gaze traveled from the tip of her fancy hat all the way down to the hem of her tailored skirt. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”

  “I’m truly sorry for the way things turned out,” she said and meant it. She could hardly blame him for feeling the way he did.

  She glanced around the shop. It was modest by Boston standards, but glass vials were lined neatly on the shelves behind the counter and sundries carefully arranged. “You have a fine place here, and I think you would have made a fine husband.”

  Since there was nothing more to be said, she left. Walking along the boardwalk, she felt as if all eyes were upon her. Feeling like Hester Prynne in The Scarlet Letter, she imagined a sign hanging over her head reading, Disgraced. She could almost hear the wind whispering in her ear. For shame.

  * * *

  The moment Chase spotted his fence rider galloping toward him like a bat out of hell, he knew there was trouble. As owner of one of the largest cattle ranches in the Hill Country, he had trouble imagining a day without some sort of problem, but the rider’s haste suggested this was more serious than a distressed cow or stuck calf.

  Chase stepped off the veranda to greet his man. He was in no mood to deal with yet another crisis. Not today. Not when his mind was on other things—like how to save the ranch.

  For all he knew, the judge had already granted an annulment. At least Miss Emily Rose would have gotten what she wanted. If that were true, then the ranch belonged to Royce. Or would.

  Billy Wilder pulled his horse to a quick stop in front of him. At age twenty, he was the youngest cowhand. As such, he was given the thankless job of riding the fences. He was the most reticent man Chase had ever met and doled out words like they were pieces of gold to be given out sparingly. The other cowhands jokingly called him Gabby.

  “Fence cut. North end,” he yelled.

  Chase blew out his breath. “How many we lose this time?”

  “Fifty. Maybe more.”

  Chase cursed beneath his breath. This was the third time in as many months that he’d lost cattle! It wasn’t just the cattle thieves that gave him trouble; it was also the advocates for an open range—the fence cutters, as they were called.

  “Gather up the boys and follow their trail.”

  With a nod of his head, Gabby headed back in the direction he’d come.

  Chase spun around and headed for the stables. Could this day get any worse?

  7

  After leaving Garvey’s shop, Emily walked to the courthouse, only to learn more bad news. The clerk informed her that the judge had been called out of town and wouldn’t be back until Friday. That was three days away.

  Leaving the courthouse, she wandered along Main and tried to decide what to do. What little money she had left would have to last, so staying at the hotel more than one or two nights was out of the question.

  Looking for a reprieve from the heat, noise, and curious eyes, she stepped into the relative coolness of Gordon’s General Store. The air was thick with the mingled smells of plug tobacco, leather, and coffee. Counters were piled high with bolts of gingham and other dry goods. Pots and pans hung from the rafters, along with a wide selection of lanterns, oilcans, and tools.

  Barrels filled with pickles and crackers were arranged about the store, along with bins of sugar, flour, and beans.

  A bespectacled man greeted her from behind a counter that displayed knives, mouth organs, and pocket watches. “Haven’t seen you around these parts. I reckon you’re new in town.”

  “Yes, yes I am,” Emily said.

  “Mack Gordon.”

  “Emily…” Recalling with a jolt that her legal name was now McKnight, she fell silent.

  A lady did not introduce herself by her Christian name, but if the shopkeeper thought her ill-mannered, he kept it to himself.

  “Well, howdy do, ma’am,” he said in a full Texas drawl. “What can I do you for?”

  “I’m looking for employment.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “’Fraid I can’t help you there,” he said. “I’m not lookin’ for anyone to hire.”

  “Actually, I’m looking for employment as a governess,” Emily explained.

  In a small town like Haywire, the general store proprietor probably knew everyone and was privy to everything that happened there. Certainly, he would know if someone needed a governess. At least, that was what she was counting on.

  Gordon pushed his spectacles up his nose. “Well, ma’am, it’s like this,” he said, drawing out his words beyond endurance. “We already have a governor. Name’s Ireland. Far as I know, we’re not lookin’ to replace him yet. And certainly not with someone of a female persuasion.”

  Before Emily could explain that she didn’t want to run the state, an elderly woman dressed in widow’s weeds walked up to the counter and set her basket next to the cigar display. “She means she wants to tutor,” the woman said, rolling her eyes. “Men!” She held out a gloved hand. “I’m Mrs. Peters.”

  Surprised that the woman so freely offered her hand to a stranger, Emily shook it. “Please call me…Emily.”

  “Nice to meet you, Emily. You must be from the East.”

  “Ah…yes,” Emily said, not wanting to mention Boston by name.

  “Unfortunately, you’ve come to the wrong place. I’m afraid the citizens of Haywire wouldn’t know what to do with a governess if they had one.”

  “I see…” Emily’s already low spirits spiraled another notch lower. “Do you know of an opening of any kind? I’m a hard worker.”

  Mrs. Peters gave her a once-over with a dubious look. “Hmm. Let me think.” After a moment, she brightened. “Do you sew?”

  “I do stitchery.”

  The woman discounted this with a shrug of her shoulders. “Don’t we all?” She tapped a finger on her generous chin. “What other skills do you have?”

  “I speak French and play the harp.”

  “Oh dear.” Mrs. Peters’s expression dropped in dismay. “I think you’ll be hard-pressed to find a harp in town. As for speaking a foreign language, I don’t know anyone who speaks French locally. German, but not French.”

  “What about that other foreign language she speaks,” the store proprietor added helpfully in his same slow way. “You know, An-glish.”

  Emily blinked in confusion. “You don’t speak English here?”

  The store owner gave a mischievous grin. “Nope! Here, we speak Texan.”

  Mrs. Peters rolled her eyes. “Don’t listen to Mack. He’s just pulling your leg. Have you no other skills?”

  Surprised that the woman would use a crude word like leg instead of the more socially accepted word limb, Emily tried to think how to answer her. “I’m quite good with numbers. Perhaps I could work as a bookkeeper. Or…or secretary. I’m slow on a typing machine, but accurate.”

  The woman looked less optimistic than Emily had hoped. Mr. Gordon just looked baffled.

  Mrs. Peters cleared her throat. “Most folks around here like to keep their own books. As for typing machines…” She shook her head and patted Emily on the arm, her face suffused with sympathy. “Sorry we aren’t more help. But if I hear of anything, I’ll let you know. Where can you be reached?”

  “Uh…I’m not sure. For now, I’m staying at the hotel.”

  “Very well. I’ll ask around.”

  “Thank you. You’re very kind.”

  Thanking them both, Emily left the shop. Pausing, she glanced up and down the boardwalk, reading each sign in turn. Almost all the shops were male-oriented, but there was the Feedbag Café, a bakery, and the candy shop. She knew nothing about baking and even less about candy-making, but the café offered possibilities. How hard could it be to wait tables?