lungs and waited. Then she heard it—a far off sound—the
clip-clop of horse hooves. Shivers began to ripple over her
body again.
She pulled her gaze from the house and flipped around.
Moonlight highlighted the glossiness of new wood. The smell
of fresh cut boards filled her nose. Whatever the structure
would become, it would be huge. The frame work was twice
the size of Danny's place, and though she hadn't seen much
of the cow town, she assumed his had to be one of the largest
in Dodge.
Surely there had to be a place she could hide. Stiff and
tingly, her toes curled against the cold ground beneath her
feet. She rubbed them together, hoping the friction would
help, and slipped her fingers from the beam to slowly ease
her way around the frame of the building. Ears perked to the
growing speed of the clip-clops.
Piles of lumber and large bricks of sandstone were neatly
stacked in rows around the foundation. She huddled behind
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Boot Hill Bride
by Lauri Robinson
one stack, fighting encroaching fear and praying the clopping
sound would pass the building site and fade into the night air.
It did, and that along with the chills settling into her
bones, made her shake and tremble. She eased from her
crouched position. The rider must have been a customer
leaving, she rationalized. Rubbing some warmth into her
arms, Randi also concluded she couldn't return to Danny J's
and had to find some kind of protection from the frigid air—
soon.
Behind the largest pile of timber a square tent stood. Her
sigh of relief left a ghostly, steamy swirl in the air. She
twisted her neck and listened. The quiet screamed in her
ears.
Not a single sign of life appeared anywhere in the
darkness. It was as if even the ever present Kansas wind had
halted its relentless pursuit to cross the prairie at breath-
taking speeds. Silence throbbed all around as she slowly crept
closer to the tent. Even though the property appeared to be
abandoned, nothing lay around haphazardly. Instead, the
stacks of materials and provisions were as organized as a
cook's pantry.
Just this afternoon when Aunt Corrine carried her up a bite
to eat, she'd commented on the site and about the scarcity
and expense of building supplies. Randi shook her head with a
wave of sorrow for whoever had purchased all the supplies,
imagining it wouldn't be long before scavengers loaded up
whatever they wanted.
Creeping closer to the tent, she hoped no one would raid
the place before morning, nor before she figured out a plan.
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Boot Hill Bride
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The icy chill encompassing her body confirmed she had to
warm up before catching her death of cold. Rubbing her arms,
she cautiously walked around the structure. Ropes secured
the thick canvas flaps, and surmising that meant it was
uninhabited, she quickly moved back to the front. With stiff
stinging fingers she diligently worked the knots on the front
flaps. By the time the last one let loose, her bones ached and
every inch of her body, shivering uncontrollably, stung as if
covered with ice.
One hand pushed aside the heavy canvas, and she tiptoed
in. The faint moonlight couldn't filter through the material.
Blinking and squinting, she begged her eyes to adjust and
survey the interior.
Damp grass no longer slid beneath her feet, instead the
rough fibers of a canvas floor covered the cold ground, and
she moved forward. Faint images showed boxes and crates
lined both side walls, and a large feather tick mattress
stretched out from the back wall to fill the center area. A
squeal emitted as she leaped onto the bed and tugged the top
folded blanket off a pile of many. After wrapping it around her
shoulders, she unfolded two others, flapping and tucking
them over her torso and legs. In a matter of minutes, her
skin began to tingle as heat flowed through her body.
Warmed enough to investigate the rest of the bedding, she
slipped out her hands. On the bottom of the pile she found
two fluffy pillows and a set of sheets. Steadfast neatness
she'd acquired years ago made her crawl off the mattress and
start over, making the bed up properly.
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Boot Hill Bride
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While tucking the bottom of the covers neatly under the
mattress, she caught a corner of her gown. She ran a hand
over the nightdress and frowned. It hadn't been the back of
her gown that had caught on the fence. One entire side was
ripped from hem to waist, exposing a large amount of bare
flesh. The bottom was streaked with dirt and wet from her
hurried dash over the frost-filled ground. She pulled the
nightgown over her head and laid it across the foot of the bed
before crawling into the promised comfort.
The shivers slowly ebbed as welcome heat cocooned her.
Tucking the covers below her chin, Randi settled her head
deeper onto the feather pillow. What was she going to do if
Danny J had injured Aunt Corrine? This whole escapade
hadn't turned out the way she'd planned. If only her father
hadn't married Belinda. No, if only Mama hadn't died. Then
her father would never have remarried, and she wouldn't
have had to come and live with her mother's sister.
She twisted onto her side, blinked at the sting of tears.
"I'm sorry, Mama, so sorry. I know it must be a shock for you
to learn Aunt Corrine is..." she swallowed the lump in her
throat, "one of Danny J's women."
The tears came in earnest. She fought them, but it was no
use, especially since she concluded her life was beyond
dismal. Penniless and half-naked, she was completely alone,
with no place to go.
Howard Quinter felt like an old mare who'd been rode hard
and put away wet. If his family wasn't showing up tomorrow
to help with the building of his restaurant and hotel he'd pull
Ted to a halt and let them both get a bit of rest. The gelding
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Boot Hill Bride
by Lauri Robinson
was as tired as he. The trip to Wichita had taken longer than
expected but, wanting the furnishings to arrive as soon as
possible, he'd had to make the trip. The opportunity to visit
the city's opera house in order to have a firsthand idea as to
how he wanted to decorate his place had arrived
unexpectedly, and it had taken a full three days to place the
order with the warehouse there.
The swell of pride expanded his chest. His hotel promised
to be the finest around, and the meals he'd prepare for his
guests would be talked about from the Mississippi to the
Rockies, at least that's what both of his sisters-in-law
encouraged him to believe.
Cooking had been his mistress for years, all he ever
wanted to do. He'd been antsy to start building since last fall,
only Ma's constant urging to wait for spring had held him at
bay. Two weeks ago, when February had given way to March,
he'd traveled the eighty miles from Ma's place to Dodge and
set about finding workers to construct the building.
Tomorrow two of his brothers, Snake and Bug, would
arrive to help as well, and if he wasn't there when they
arrived they'd start building without him—which wouldn't be
good. They were fine men, hard workers, but neither of them
knew the layout of the design he and his oldest brother, Kid,
had created, nor did they know what needed to be done first.
He had to be there to supervise.
The heels of his boots touched Ted's sides, encouraging
the horse to pick up his sluggish steps. Hopefully, he'd make
it to Dodge in time to get a few hours sleep before the
morning light arrived.
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Boot Hill Bride
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Fighting to keep his eyes open, he and Ted ambled into the
cow town an hour or more later. At three in the morning, few
people mingled about, even most of the dance halls and
saloons were closed. He glanced about as his lethargic mount
meandered to the far side of town. Howard's tired mind took
in the names painted across the buildings. The Lone Star, The
Long Branch, The Alamo, The Buffalo House.
He rubbed a hand against scratchy, heavy eyelids.
Concentrating was impossible. It didn't matter. By the time
he had his building built the name he'd call his establishment
would settle in his mind.
The rafters of his place, shooting high above the other
buildings, came into sight. Minutes later his body drooped a
bit more with thankfulness of arrival as he brought his horse
to a stop near the tent.
Ted stomped his hooves and gave a long shake as soon as
the saddle left his back. After settling his riding tack on a
stack of wood, Howard released the gelding into the nearby
paddock he'd built and gratefully stumbled to his temporary
shelter.
He entered, listlessly pulling the boots from his feet as he
walked across the canvas floor. After setting his gun belt on
the floor near the edge of his mattress, he stripped down to
his birthday suit, let the clothes lie where they fell, and
crawled onto his bed.
Half a thought wondered why the tent flaps had been
untied and why the blankets were already stretched over the
feather tick, but his mind was too tired to worry about it for
more than a split second.
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Boot Hill Bride
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The morning sun worked hard to penetrate the thick
canvas of his tent and the thin skin of his eyelids. Like a mule
hitched to a plow, the light pulled his sleep-encrusted mind
from much needed slumber. Howard rolled onto his side,
tugging the covers over his face to block the intrusion.
The blanket tugged back. Irritated, he pulled harder. The
cover wouldn't budge, held tight by some unknown force.
An eerie feeling crept over his skin. He scowled, now fully
recognizing the warmth of something pressed against his
back. Whatever or whoever lay next to him stiffened the
same moment he did.
He reached down, grabbed his six-shooter, and flipped
over, simultaneously bringing the barrel of the gun to point at
whoever else lay upon his bed.
Air locked in his lungs.
The biggest brownest eyes he'd ever seen stared back at
him. A mass of tousled and disheveled chestnut-colored hair
swirled around the head of a breathtakingly beautiful woman.
Her round eyes were framed with long thick lashes and
seemed to be glued to the end of his pistol, which almost
touched the tip of the little nose in the middle of her face.
He swallowed, blinked, and swallowed again.
The gaze from those brown eyes followed the barrel of his
gun, and then crept along the length of his arm before
settling on his face. Both of her cheeks grew scarlet, and her
pert lips formed a perfect
O
.
He lowered the gun. The handle slipped from his fingers.
With a thud the weapon landed on the floor and skidded
several feet away.
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Boot Hill Bride
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"Who? How?" Having no idea where to start questioning,
he shook his head.
"I—uh—" she started.
Before either of them could say another word, bright white
light filled the area.
He swung his head about, squinted at the brilliance and
watched his brothers, Snake and Bug, enter the tent. They
stalled mid-step, their eyes growing wide, and their mouths
dropping open.
He glanced to the girl beside him and then back to the
doorway, his mind too overwhelmed to form a solid thought.
Snake's face formed an odd frown. With a sorry-looking
one-shoulder shrug, his brother slowly took a step sideways.
The next instant, Howard's entire body broke out in a cold
sweat. His mother, all five feet of her, stepped into the tent.
The wide skirt of her red gingham dress floated to a halt
when her gaze settled on the bed. Her hands slapped onto
her hips, and a scowl covered her face, which was turning
redder than her dress. Ma Quinter, even though she was a
foot shorter than all five of her sons, never failed to put the
fear of God into each and every Quinter brother, Howard
included.
His mouth became dryer than Kansas in August.
Ma lifted one hand, thumped his youngest brother on the
back of the head. "Bug, go find us a preacher."
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Boot Hill Bride
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Randi thought she might wet the bed. She'd never been
this scared. Tightening every muscle, she wished she could
make her body shrivel up and disappear. Her groggy mind
still tried to decipher the man lying next to her, let alone the
two tall men and one very angry-looking woman staring down
at them.
"Maybe we should let Hog explain the situation," one of the
men said with a worried frown pulling on his face.