Authors: Sarah Thorn
These eyes flew
open
moments later, as her dance partner drew back only slightly to stare deep into her eyes.
“See, Miss Abigail?” Cal asked her, tone both tempting and teasing as he rubbed her broad shoulders and tilted his forehead
gentle
against hers. “Dancing isn’t as bad as all that—and neither, for that matter, is romance.”
Abigail smiled.
“Very true,” she
assented
with
a dreamy sigh, adding as she pursed her lips in a mock show of skepticism, “I am still not at all convinced, however, about this thing they call kissing.” She paused here, adding as she inclined her head teasing in his direction, “Care to do some
convincin’
this evening, Cowboy?”
She took
in
her breath as Cal met this challenge with a downright devilish smile.
“Well I’d much obliged Ma’am,” he
assented
on a growl, accenting his words with a good bit of action as he swept her up in his arms.
Claiming her lips in a passionate kiss
, his full moist mouth massaged hers in soft
hypnotic
strokes.
Moaning outright in response, Abigail plied her date’s mouth with feverish kisses as their tongues entangled
between
them; their
public
surroundings
dissolving around them as they engaged in their first passionate kiss.
Sinking full into his sheltering arms, Abigail trembled outright as his ardent kiss set her heart and body afire; sending thrilling tingles down her spine as his long wet tongue licked and laved her mouth.
The moment was fleeting.
“
Well,
I never!”
The couple broke their kiss as the sound of a pronounced sniff resounded just beside them; one produced by a petite, beautiful ebony haired woman dressed in a gown of
stark
black taffeta that seemed to befit her frowning—if still dazzling—face.
“
Well,
I never!” she repeated, regarding the couple with a condemning gaze as she stood beside them on the dance floor.
Unphased in the face of this blatant umbrage, a cool Abigail shrugged her shoulders in reaction to these words.
“No Ma’am, you probably haven’t ever,” she replied, adding with arched eyebrows, “And that’s the whole problem.”
The woman gasped.
“Well I guess that I’d expect nothing more from such a common woman as yourself,” she sniffed, adding as she pointed an accusing finger straight in Abigail’s direction, “You really have some nerve, Girl, living in sin with one of our finest citizens—and under his wife’s roof!”
Cal had heard enough.
“Now you listen here, Mrs. Susie Marks,” he bellowed, stepping between the two women as he
seared
their critic with a cold hard gaze.
“Of the two women I see here before me, I’m afraid that only one could be called a lady,” he paused here, adding as he made a broad gesture in Abigail’s direction, “The fine woman you see before you works hard and diligent on my land—coming home at the end of the day to seek some deserved respite in her own room; one that’s separate from my own.
You, on the other hand, made an inappropriate advance toward me in town two years ago; while both of our dearly departed spouses still lived. And, if you will rightly recall, I rejected you flat.”
Susie shook her head, her delicate cheeks flushing as she considered these words.
“Yes, well, I guess I went a bit out of my mind when Doc told my husband that he didn’t have much longer on this earth,” she explained, adding as she once again faced the couple before her with a rough, cutting glare, “It still ain’t proper for an unmarried man and woman to be sharin’ the same living quarters.”
Cal nodded.
“Well on that point Madame—and that point alone—you and I just happen to agree,” he acknowledged, adding as he wrapped an encompassing arm around the shoulders of his
wide-eyed
date, “And that is precisely why Miss Abigail and I plan to be married next month.”
“We do?” Abigail sputtered, recovering
quickly
as she kissed the cheek of her smiling “intended,” “Oh I mean, yes we do! I do, most literally!”
With this she grabbed her date’s muscled arms and pulled him into the spirited reel that had now erupted on the dance floor; a riotous square dance set to the tune of a lively fiddle.
The couple laughed and chortled like
free-spirited
youths as their steps became fast and frantic; soon they launched into a
fast-paced
do si do that sent them spinning across the floor.
“You make just about everything in life so much more fun!” Cal praised his dance partner, adding as he pulled her off to the side, “Still and all, I do believe I need just a bit of a rest. Care for some punch?”
Soon the couple stood beside a sparkling crystalline punch bowl that rimmed with scarlet liquid; sipping from delicate rose print
tea cups
as their gazes remained clenched.
“Listen, I’m
really
sorry about that miserable shrew back there,” he told her at one point, adding with
a distinct
wince
, “She’s been chasing after me since we were kids, and never got the hint that I was never even remotely interested.”
Abigail shrugged.
“Oh that’s all right,” she allowed, adding
with a slight wince
all her own, “I’m just sorry that you had to lie
for
me.”
Cal frowned.
“Lie for you?” he repeated, adding as he shook his head in a show of pure confusion, “Not sure what you mean, love.”
Abigail gritted her teeth.
“Well in a noble effort to save my reputation,” she reminded him, “You told him that we were going to be married next month.”
Cal smiled.
“Well Miss,” he began, putting aside his punch glass and taking her hand in his, “I don’t see those words as a lie, as much as they are a wish or a dream.” He paused here, adding in a whisper, “I’m in love with you, Abigail. And with your kind permission, I would indeed like to marry you next month.”
Sniffing back some unbidden tears, his lady squeezed his fingers tight as she gave a vigorous nod in response to this warm proposal.
“I love you too, Cowboy—dang me, but I do,” she told him, adding as she reached forward to sear his carved cheek with an affirming kiss, “And yes, I will marry you.”
*****
Abigail felt as though he was floating in a dream; most literally.
Never had she imagined herself ensconced in a frock of such regal ivory finery; but indeed, the wedding gown that she now wore was a study in elegance. This white lace ball gown
was culled
from
pure
organza trimmed at the top with a fitted boned bodice and engraved lines of
vertical
ivory lace. A flowing train and an antique veil completed the look, as well as delicate satin slippers that took her through the door of the Dovecrest Chapel; a small but
elaborate
place of worship that would serve as the site of a wedding that day.
Staring
with quiet admiration at the ebullient stained glass windows that lined all sides of the chapel, the bride stepped
into
a plush scarlet carpeted aisle that took her slowly in the direction of the man she loved.
Cal himself shone resplendent in a sleek brown wool
davenport
coat with a black velvet collar and matching trousers; an ensemble accented by a silver brocade vest and an ebony cravat with a gleaming diamond pin.
Another
diamond
glittered on Abigail’s finger moments later, as she and Cal faced a brass bordered altar lined with a wreath of
resplendent
yellow roses.
Inspecting this lush floral display with an analyzing eye, Abigail cocked her head as she whispered to her groom, “These flowers were taken from our ranch, yes?
Well,
they are lovely, but I’ve
been thinking
that we might try a new brand of seed….”
She broke off as her impatient groom silenced her with a binding kiss.
“Hush up and marry me already, sweet Abigail.”
Abigail thought a moment, then nodded.
“All right then. Have it your
own
dag
gum way,” she relented, adding as she took her husband’s hand and turned
with
him in the direction of the altar, “Ring first, seed later. One thing I know for sure; for you and me Cal, there will always be roses.”
*****
THE END
A Heart in the West – A Clean Western Romance
Chapter 1
It was the late summer of 1871 when Cora Sutton left from the big city and boarded the Lil’ Miss, a prize addition to the East Missouri Rail operations. She boasted less than a week’s journey from Boston to the Western territory, and just two and a half weeks to California, notwithstanding unexpected delays in the form of weather and shady characters with sights on her cargo.
It can’t very well be all that bad
, Cora Sutton had thought as she boarded the train, her carpet bag nearly falling at the seams. Perhaps she should have stowed away books in a travel chest, and not in her bag. But what else was she to do with the time? Cora laughed as she bumbled down the aisle to her coach, chiding at her wandering imagination.
Train bandits don’t really exist, not in real life
, she said to herself.
And the Western territory surely isn’t all that wild…
The thought would prove a cruel stroke of irony in the days to follow.
For the time being, all she had to set her sights on was taming her imagination from getting away from her. Cora admitted to herself that she was actually quite excited. A serendipitous ad in the paper. A snap decision. And the promise of a new life out West. It all sounded rather romantic for a simple hosiery girl at Freeman’s Department Store--well,
former
hosiery girl. One day, she was living a dull, hapless life on the bustling streets of New York City, and the next she was set for life. Or she would be, as there were some small details yet to attend to.
It started about two months before the Lil’ Miss even slugged her way into Grand Central Station. Cora worked as the assistant stocker at one of the finest department stores in Manhattan. The marble ceilings rose as high as three levels, with bright crystal chandeliers glittering in the light. The sound of women, of the most well-to-do-sort, clicked their shoes and brushed their puffed dresses through the ground floor, eyeing the delights the store had to offer. For Cora, the closest she could ever come to such a life was spent in the back closets of the store, stocking the hosiery and other ladies’ garments. It was quite the accomplishment even getting that far. Before hosiery girl, she had a stay as a seamstress, but not for long as she had little to no skill in such delicate matters. Then there was a brief stint working in a factory making women’s hat boxes, which proved to be a tedious task that required too much focus for a constant daydreamer. Nanny, flower girl, a shoemaker’s store clerk...and the list went on.
Life, she had long ago decided, was
unutterably dull
.
So it came to her surprise when she was informed she would no longer be needed at Freeman’s department store. There were always prettier, talented, more qualified girls to work the store and spruce up the general atmosphere.
A new direction for a new age
, she was told. And that new age did not include the likes of her.
That was what brought her to take the first step. To be exact, it was that and the upping of the next month’s rent.
“But Mrs. MacDonough, I’ll get a new job soon, ma’am. If you just give me a little more time, I can pay you what I owe.”
Cora’s mind drifted to an earlier conversation she had with her landlord, Mrs. MacDonough, a stout and rather stern Irish woman who rented out her building to all sorts, mostly immigrants and newcomers into the city.
“Aye, Co-ra, I can’t be bothered’ with ye all the time,” she bustled across the hallway carrying a basket of her linens, and Cora traced after her.
“Ye never bring yer rent on time,” the woman continued in her thick accent. “And on top o’ that, I hear ye been sacked from Freeman’s this mornin’.”
“You already know about that?” Cora followed behind.
Mrs. MacDonough stopped and sighed as she waved her finger toward Cora’s face.
“Now lookee, Miss, I can’t be competin’ like I do with all the other landlords around. There’re plenty of others who need a place, jus’ as much as you. And they deserve it every bit, too. And they’re also in dire straits for an opportunity”
“But…”
“No buts, Cora. I’m broken hearted as much as you, but that’s jus’ life, it is.”
It was a miserable few months following. Cora moved into a dingy hostel in Brooklyn, making her way with measly compensation at a butcher’s shop. The boss didn’t much like the idea of hiring a young woman for such a job, but Cora insisted she could just as easily pick it up. It didn’t mean that the work was pleasant.
One day, she made her way out from a long shift, after having cleaned the back room, her clothes smelling like raw meat, her boots wet after hosing off the blood. She was headed down a street she headed down every day. Took the same turns, watched the same faces walk past. Everything was quite the same. That is, until a certain leaflet from a newspaper caught her eye. It seemed positively serendipitous. A stray page, a gust of wind, and soon she was staring at an ad that seemed to be shouting directly at her.
Wanted
: Young woman of intelligence, refined, and possessing means. Gentleman landowner seeking a match of high pedigree. Must be willing to relocate at short notice.
At first Cora laughed. The idea of being a mail-order bride certainly seemed like an odd one, like from a story in a magazine or a tale that old grandparents tell. But Cora was sure of one thing: she had no family, no ties, and no where to go but up.
Besides
, she reasoned,
it really is quite the romantic story.
Cora nestled herself onto the seat, sliding herself against the window as the locomotive wheezed, her wheels beginning to make the heaving creak out of the station. The ticket master came and punched her ticket, and her insides leapt with excitement as the view outside begin to whir past, the loud whistle sounding, the steady churn of the wheels matching to the rhythm in her own heart.
This is it
, she reminded herself.
This is my new start.
From here on out, Cora imagined life going by without a hitch. Well, perhaps there was one small fly in that ointment. There were, after all, a few...liberties...Cora had taken to grab the opportunity before it escaped.
The end justifies the means
, she told herself.
Besides, in her eyes, Cora Sutton deserved just as much a happy ending as
Mistress Cora LeBlanc
, the wealthy and debonair young aristocrat aboard the Lil’ Miss, on her way to meet the man she’ll marry.
Chapter 2
“Expecting a shipment this afternoon, Mr. Dansby?”
The mustached outpost manager tipped his hat toward the tall and dark Joshua Dansby. Mr. Dansby tipped his hat toward the man, his other hand tucked neatly into his suited pocket.
“Nothing big, Mr. Stanfield. Waiting for a person, actually. Not a shipment.”
Mr. Stanfield raised an eyebrow, but kept his words to himself. No sense in poking into the affairs of a man as private as Joshua Dansby, or at least as private a man could be in his position. Mr. Stanfield looked at the stopwatch in his hand, and dropped it into his front vest pocket, and made his way into the station house.
Joshua Dansby leaned toward the rail, the balls of his feet bouncing on the wooden boardwalk of the outpost. It was a rather overcast day, but generally clear sights as far as one could make out. He kept looking impatiently toward the sky, as if somehow he could discern from the clouds or the breeze the distance of the oncoming train, or hear faintly the loud whistle of the Lil’ Miss making her way into the outpost. No such luck.
Mr. Dansby stopped his movements and straightened his suit coat. Moving so much would make him seem nervous, and in fact it served to
actually
make him nervous, if not for just a moment.
There’s nothing to be nervous about
, he reminded himself.
It was unconventional for the both of them. He never really anticipated being one of
those
type of men who would place an ad out East to find a wife. But there were extraneous circumstances out of his control, and if he was going to take matters back into his own hands…
He cleared his throat and walked toward the station house. He removed his hat, the coolness from being under the awning shadowing his dark brown hair.
“Mr. Stanfield, correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t the Lil’ Miss supposed to have come in over an hour ago?”
Mr. Stanfield stood upright and checked at his pocket watch, then at a chart along the wooden panel wall of the station house.
“That’s correct, Mr. Dansby. It
is
quite odd that she’s not as on time as she usually is...but perhaps the weather hit them first and has slowed them down.”
“Weather,” Joshua Dansby echoed.
“Yes, sir.”
Joshua Dansby sighed and fixed his hat once again atop his head.
“Is there something I can do for you?”
Mr. Dansby draped off his suit coat and handed it through the station house window toward a surprised Mr. Stanfield.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Dansby, I don’t know what you mean--”
“Just hold on to it for a while,” Joshua made haste down the outpost steps, calling out with a waved hand. “I’ll be back in a bit. Get ahold of the Sheriff.” And to himself, he said in a low, hushed tone, “I’ve got a bad feeling.”
A stunned Mr. Stanfield merely stuttered a “Y-y-yes, sir.” before Joshua Dansby had fled from the site.
He approached the buggy he arrived in, with his horse, Kan, enjoying the overgrown yellow-green grasses nearby. Joshua untied the reins and slung himself atop his horse.
Leaving the buggy behind, the broad shouldered man took off into the distance. The clouds seemed to be gathering faster, and darker, and Joshua Dansby continued headlong beside the tracks, Eastward.
This is impossible
, Cora thought to herself as she ducked breathlessly into her coach cabin.
A scream and some shouts filled the passenger car in front of her. There weren’t many in her own car, but she could hear murmurs and worried rustling in the cabins beside her. They heard it too.
She had read of stories of bandits and seen news clippings of railway robbers, but nowhere had she accounted for the possibility of it ever really happening. And especially not to her.
The Lil’ Miss had come to a complete standstill about three and a half miles out from the post. A pretty daring proximity to town for a band of robbers in the Western territory.
There were more shouts and rustling coming from the cabin before her. Probably looting the passengers. If they were like any of the smart bands of thieves she read about in books, no doubt some were going through the cargo hold at the tail-end of the train, mounting what they could onto their getaway buggies. The others were slowly making their way through the cabins, scaring the passengers into giving up their on-hand possessions.
Cora smirked.
Good thing I’ve got nothing worth stealing.
It wasn’t the best thing to necessarily be proud of.
The footsteps and sounds came closer. Cora had to think fast.
She quickly checked that her boots were laced tightly, and with an air of rather unlady-like behavior, brought her dress into a knotted tie at her waist.
I can’t very well make a getaway with this cumbersome number
, she smiled to herself. She had to admit. The thrill of the adventure was quite a rush.
Much better than sewing hat boxes
, she thought to herself.
Baring open the cabin window, Cora peeked out, and up toward the roof.
Looks like rain.
A light breeze wafted its way past, lifting at some stray strands that became untucked from her braided hair. For a moment, she thought she heard the sound of horse hooves in the distance, but she brushed off the idea as her imagination once again getting carried away. In the city, there were so many sounds and sights that rarely did anything jump out in particular. Everything melded together after a while. But out in the country, with such vast expanses of quiet, each noise was something new to her, and entirely unfamiliar.
There was a slight rim siding below the window of the car. If she could scale along the rim as a step, perhaps she would be able to get down and…
What then?
Cora could at least hide until the bandits passed, maybe summoned for help somehow. They weren’t to be too far from their destination anyway…
She could work out the details later. For now, the thrill awaited.
Cora propped herself, though rather clumsily, at the sill, and over, her hands keeping at the window sill, and using her feet to prop against the outside wall of the car as she slowly felt for the rim below her. When her boot’s toe caught on, she heaved a sigh.
But then the unthinkable began to happen. A loud wheezing sounded from far ahead the train, as if the brakes…
“Oh no,” Cora mumbled.
The train began to move. Had the robbers decided on a faster getaway? And were they taking everyone along with them?