Mail Order Cowboy (Love Inspired Historical) (6 page)

A
s Nick tied his bay at the hitching post outside the general store, he saw two men standing talking at the entrance, one with his hand on the door as if he meant to go inside. Nick recognized one of them as Bill Waters, the neighboring rancher who'd pressured Milly to sell out yesterday. He'd never seen the other one, the one with his hand on the door.

“Hank, I'm tellin' you, the problem's gettin' bad around here,” Waters was saying, “what with them roamin' the roads beggin' fer handouts and such. Why, a friend a' mine over in Sloan found half a dozen of 'em sleepin' in his barn when he went out one mornin'. He got his shotgun and they skedaddled away like their clothes was on fire.”

The other man guffawed.

“We got t'nip it in the bud, before they try movin' in around Simpson Creek. That's why I'm revivin' the Circle. Bunch of us are meetin' at my ranch tomorrow night. Can you make it?”

Nick wondered idly who the men were talking about. Beggars of some sort—out-of-work soldiers from the
recent war? Certainly not the warlike Comanche. Poor Mexicans? And what was the “circle” Waters referred to?

“Excuse me,” he said, when the men seemed oblivious of his desire to enter the store.

The unknown man glared at the interruption before taking his hand off the door and moving aside just enough for Nick to squeeze past. “I'll be there,” the man said to Waters. “We kin blame Lincoln for this, curse his interferin' Yankee hide. I just wish I could shoot him all over again.”

Nick nodded at Waters as he walked past him, but the man looked right through him.

“Good morning, Mr. Patterson,” Nick said to the man behind the counter in the general store, recognizing him as one of the men of the posse. “Miss Matthews sent me for five pounds of sugar.”

“That'll be thirty-five cents, please,” said Mr. Patterson, measuring out the amount into a thin drawstring bag and wrapping it in brown paper.

Nick counted out the coins, glad he'd become comfortable with American currency before coming to Simpson Creek.

“Nicholas Brookfield, isn't it?” the shopkeeper asked. “How are you getting along out there? And how are the Matthews girls? And old Josh, is he recovering?”

“Nick,” Nick insisted, pleased at Mr. Patterson's warm reception after the way Bill Waters had acted. He extended his hand and the other took it. “I'm well, thank you, and Miss Milly and Miss Sarah are doing fine. Josh is feeling better, though he's still in pain from
his wounds, of course. I'll tell them you asked about them.”

“You do that,” the other said. He looked up, and raised his voice to carry to the far end of the store, where two older men were bent over a game of checkers. “Hey, Reverend—here's Nick Brookfield, that English fellow who's helping out at the Matthews ranch. Maybe he could tell you what you were wantin' t'know.”

The white-haired minister who had come out to the ranch yesterday looked up, then rose and bustled over to him. “Mr. Brookfield, hello,” he said, extending his hand.

“Nick,” he insisted again. “I know Miss Milly and Miss Sarah would want me to thank you again for that very tasty ham.”

“Oh, that was little enough. We were happy to do it,” the old man said, beaming.

“What is it I may tell you, Reverend?”

“I was hoping,” the preacher said, “that you might be able to suggest what else we—as a town, that is—could do for Milly and Sarah. I've known those two young ladies since they were babies, and I'm troubled about the situation they've been left in, especially after the Indian attack two days ago. I asked Milly, but I'm afraid she's determined to be self-sufficient, and I wouldn't want there to be something we could do to assist that she's ashamed to ask for.”

Nick looked down for a moment, rubbing his chin. He wondered if he'd be overstepping his bounds to say what he really thought. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, he supposed. “I'd say their greatest need is for a new barn to replace the one the Comanches burned,” he said.
“Would there be any men who'd be willing and able to help them build one?”

Now it was the other two men's turn to be thoughtful. “Everyone would want to help, but they're pretty busy keeping their own ranches or businesses going…”

“But we could have a barn raising and put it up in a day!” Reverend Chadwick countered, with rising excitement. “Everyone could afford one day away from their own places.”

“Yeah, we haven't had a barn raisin' in a coon's age,” put in the man who'd been playing checkers with the preacher, who came forward now. Nick vaguely recognized the man who'd been introduced to him as the livery stable proprietor, although he couldn't remember his name. “Let's do it! Our ladies could provide the food, and we could all make a day of it.”

“You'd all come out and put up a barn for them?” Nick was frankly floored that his tentative request for labor help was meeting with such an enthusiastic response. No wonder Americans had won their independence against the mighty British army—and maintained it in another war just a score of years later, if they always seized the initiative this way.

“Sure,” Patterson said with a grin. “It's hard work, but at the end of the day there'd be a barn standing there, by gum. The ladies always have a great time visiting with each other at these things, and the children run around with each other and play, then nap like puppies in the shade. Usually the day ends with some fiddlin' music and a big supper.”

“But what about the lumber needed?” Nick asked.
“Miss Milly and Miss Sarah don't have much in the way of ready cash…”

“Not many do, these days,” Patterson said. “You may have heard Texas was on the losing side in the recent war.”

Nick figured it would be impolitic to do more than nod his acknowledgment.

“We're gonna need lumber,” the livery owner went on, thinking aloud.

“Maybe Mr. Dayton could be persuaded to donate it,” Reverend Chadwick suggested. “Or at least offer it at a discount.”

“Hank Dayton give something away?” snorted Patterson. “That'd be something new.”
Hank Dayton.
Had that been the man who had just been outside, talking to Waters? Nick had to agree—he didn't seem like the generous type.

“You never know. The good Lord still works miracles,” Chadwick said with a twinkle in his eye. “I'll ask him. Failing that, perhaps he would at least extend credit 'til the Matthews ladies could pay him back, or we could hold a fundraising party…”

“When are we gonna have this barn raisin'?” Patterson asked. “The ladies'll need some time to organize the food and so forth.”

“Shall we say a week from Saturday? When do you think would be good for Miss Milly and Miss Sarah, Nick?”

Nick shrugged. It wasn't as if Milly and her sister had a complicated social schedule of balls and dinner parties to work around. “The sooner the better, probably. Will you be coming out to tell her about it, sir?”

“No, I'll let you bring the good news, Nick. Just let us know if that date won't be convenient.”

 

The proprietress of the boardinghouse hadn't been surprised that he would no longer need the room, having already heard of his new, temporary job—there certainly were no secrets in a small town. She'd probably already rented out his room. He gave her a quarter for keeping his valise for him, though, prompting a surprised thanks from the woman.

He couldn't help feeling a certain pleased anticipation as he drove the buckboard back to the ranch. Milly was going to be so surprised that the ranch would soon have a proper barn again! He was glad the preacher had left it up to him to bring the news.

On impulse, he stopped the wagon on the road home when he spotted a cluster of daisylike yellow flowers with brown centers growing alongside the road and picked a bouquet-sized handful for Milly. He wondered if this was violating his offer not to press her with courting gestures during their time of hardship. Yet had she ever actually said she would hold him strictly to that? He couldn't actually remember her saying it in so many words, so surely this small cheerful bunch of flowers would cause no offense.

It didn't. After unharnessing the horse and turning him out into the corral, he found Milly in the grove of pecan trees that stood next to the house. She wore a calico dress that had seen better days and was bent over a washboard set in a bucket of water, scrubbing stains from an old shirt. Wet garments hung to dry from low branches and across bushes. In spite of the shade, she
looked hot and tired. Beads of sweat pearled on her forehead. He strode over, holding the brown paper parcel of sugar in one hand and keeping the hand holding the bouquet behind his back.

Swiping one damp hand over her forehead to push an errant lock of black hair out of her eyes, she caught sight of him and stopped. She looked as if she felt embarrassed to be caught thus, but she smiled and said, “Oh, the sugar! Thanks so much for getting that for us, Nick. Were you able to pick up your things?”

“Yes,” he said, putting the sack of sugar down on the table at a safe distance from the tub of water, “and I brought you these.” He brought his other hand from around his back and offered them to her. “They looked so cheerful and appealing, I wanted you to have them.”

Her eyes focused on the flowers, then locked with his, and the color rose on her already-pink cheeks.

“Of course, they were just growing wild by the road,” he added apologetically. “I don't know what they are. But I didn't see any roses…”

Wiping her wet hands hurriedly on her apron, she came around the table and took them from him, beaming. “They're
beautiful,
Nick! Thank you. That was so nice of you! Brown-eyed Susans, we call them. The only one I know who can keep roses alive around here is Mrs. Detwiler, and I'm pretty sure she wouldn't share hers. I think she counts and names each one,” she added with a laugh. “Why don't we take them inside and put them in some water? It's almost dinnertime, and I'm ready for a break,” she added, rolling her eyes toward the pile of laundry that remained. “And I happen to
know Sarah made some lemonade with the last of the old sugar. She's inside cooking.”

He nodded his acceptance, happy that the flowers had pleased her. “Good. I have some news from town to tell both of you.”

Milly looked curious, but led the way inside.

Sarah looked up from the stove when they entered, and sent him an approving look as Milly reached for an empty Mason jar to use as a vase.

“Now, what's this news?” Milly said, gesturing for him to sit while Sarah poured lemonade into glasses.

He told them about encountering Reverend Chadwick, Mr. Patterson and the livery store owner in the general store and about the conversation which had ensued.

Milly's eyes went wide. “They want to hold a barn raising? Here?”

Sarah grinned. “Well, here
is
where one is needed,” she said wryly. “Everyone else around here who needs one has one. I think it's wonderful news, Nick.”

“But Sarah, we don't have any money to pay for the lumber and nails and so forth!” Milly pointed out, her voice rising. Worry furrowed her brow.

“Reverend Chadwick thought he might be able to persuade the lumber mill owner to donate the lumber for the roof and stalls, or give you a discount—”

Milly interrupted. “There's about as much chance of that as a summer blizzard in San Saba County.”

“Failing that, he thought Mr. Dayton could be persuaded to extend credit until you could pay him back, or maybe the town could hold a fundraising party.” Nick was thinking of another option, too, that of offering her
some money to help from his own funds, but he knew she would balk at that. “We're
not
taking charity,” Milly said in a tone of finality and with a stubborn jut to her chin. “Papa never would have considered it, and he always said never to go into debt. I'm afraid we'll have to tell them we can't accept this. Not 'til we can pay for it.”

“But Milly…” Sarah began, looking distressed.

Milly Matthews was as proud as a duchess, Nick thought, but before he could say anything to try to persuade her, another voice spoke from the back hall.

“Your pa never planned on leavin' you two girls alone on this ranch like he did neither,” said a voice from the hallway, and all three looked up to see Josh standing there, leaning heavily on a cane, his face pale with the effort it had taken to walk from his bedroom.

Milly sprang up, crying “Josh! What are you doing out of bed?” She rushed toward him, supporting him under the arm that wasn't holding a cane.

“I told him he could have dinner with us,” Sarah muttered, going to his side, too. “Josh, you promised you'd wait 'til Nick came home, or Milly and I could help you!”

“Got tired a waitin',” the old man said, as Nick gently pushed Sarah aside and began helping Josh to the nearest chair. “'Sides, I heard Miss Milly spoutin' somethin' that sounded suspiciously like false pride to me, and I thought I'd better come remind her ‘Pride goeth before a fall.'”

“You think we should
allow
the town to build us something we won't be able to pay for 'til only God knows when?” Milly asked, still with spirit, but Nick
heard the tiniest note of doubt creep into her voice. “We'd never live it down—Bill Waters would see to that!”

“Oh, what do you care what that feller says?” Josh retorted. “He always seems t'have the ammunition to shoot off his mouth, but when he needed your ma to help him take care a his sick wife, he was glad to let her do that, and your pa lent him his prize bull fer his heifers whenever he asked. Ever'body needs help sometime, Miss Milly. You git back on yer feet, you kin help somebody else.”