Texas Mail Order Bride (2 page)

Safely upstairs in her room, Delta sat numbly on the edge of a bed that sagged on one end and bowed in the middle and let the tears flow. What was she going to do now? She couldn't go back to Cedartown. She couldn't ever go back. That bridge had burned. Her mother had died three months ago, although in truth she'd been dead long before that. Delta had no family, no friends, no place to belong.

She allowed despair to grip her for only a moment. Crying wouldn't solve a blasted thing. What was done was done. She would survive this latest blow somehow.

Wiping her eyes, she opened her small, frayed reticule. There was fourteen cents inside, which was every penny to her name.

What was she going to do? Shaking, she clung to what strength she had.

Battle Creek was her home now. Here she would stay. No one was going to run her out. Surely there was a job of some sort for a woman with willing hands. She'd look until she found one, even if she had to beg.

By the time noon arrived, she'd washed her face and straightened her best dress—the one she had intended to wear to the marriage ceremony—carefully arranging the folds over the tear she'd mended. Inhaling a calming breath, she went downstairs. Mabel King had fixed a simple lunch. Delta took a place at the empty table, wondering where the other boarders were.

“Are you all right, my dear?” Mrs. King passed her a bowl of savory vegetable soup. “I thought I heard you crying.”

“Please, don't you fret about me, Mrs. King. I'll be just fine.” Delta accepted a chunk of bread to go with her soup. “Where is everyone?”

Last night the table had been almost full.

“I'd like it if you'd call me Mabel. I packed their lunches this morning. They eat where they work.”

“Speaking of that, would you know of any jobs around here for an enterprising woman who's down on her luck?”

“Why, yes, maybe I do. Mr. John Abercrombie mentioned that he's hard-pressed to handle the mercantile by himself. His wife died a few months ago. She ran that business mostly by herself. John doesn't know how to make a go of the store without Nell.”

Flickers of hope rose. Delta wiped her mouth with her napkin. “Then I intend to pay him a visit.”

“One thing I should tell you. John…well, John is a hard man to get to know. And since Nell died, he's gotten worse. Just don't let him scare you.”

Like old dogs, Delta supposed. If they sensed fear, they went for the throat. What could very well be the only job in town called for someone with steely resolve.

Yet she doubted she had any choice. Besides, she could always throw John Abercrombie a bone. Or growl back.

Less than an hour later, she strolled toward the mercantile, her heels striking the sidewalk with determination. At the precise moment she passed the saloon, Cooper Thorne stepped out and into her path.

Surprise rippled across his face when he noticed her. It was obvious that he hadn't planned to run into her. But she had to give the man credit—instead of turning away, as she fully expected, he tapped the brim of his hat and gave her a half smile, though it appeared to be with considerable effort.

“Miss Dandridge.” His voice was whiskey-roughened and unapologetic.

Delta raised her chin a trifle and glared. “Mr. Thorne.”

Stepping smartly around him, she continued on her way with her head held high. She should probably thank her lucky stars that she hadn't wed him. It appeared the man had a drinking problem. Swilling whiskey in the middle of the day was a sign of a serious character deficiency.

Why, he'd likely beat a wife if he ever were to take one.

Putting him out of her mind, she entered the dim interior of a mercantile that was narrow across but extended a good ways back. It had only one window to the left of the doorway. As dim as the store was by the window, she could only imagine how dark it was at the rear.

Squaring her shoulders, she approached a thin man behind the counter whose skin was stretched tightly over the bones of his face. “I'm looking for Mr. Abercrombie.”

“What for?”

If Mabel hadn't warned her of his surly nature, she'd have raced from the store. “Would you be Mr. John Abercrombie?”

“So what if I am?”

Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she prayed for patience. “Mrs. King over at the boardinghouse told me about your predicament. My deepest sympathies for your loss. I think we might be useful to each other, sir.”

“Whatever you're peddling, I don't need. Take it somewhere else. Just get on out of here and leave me be.”

“I wish I could. I truly do,” she said softly. “But the fact is, I desperately need a job. And it looks like you're in great need of someone to help you.”

John Abercrombie braced his hands on a nicked and scarred wooden counter. “How would you know what I need? You ever work in a place like this?”

She glanced at the grimy window that barely allowed a sliver of light through and an overturned barrel with mice nibbling on the crackers inside. Everything was disheveled and dirty. And sad. If buildings had hearts, this one would surely be broken.

“No, sir. I never have.”

“How do I know you can do the job, then?” he snapped.

“Hire me on a trial basis. If I haven't made a difference and increased your sales in two weeks, I'll gladly go on my way. You won't even have to fire me.”

“Can't pay you much,” Abercrombie said stubbornly.

“All I ask is enough to pay Mrs. King for my room and board. Then as the store makes more money, we'll discuss the terms of my employment again.”

“Don't expect any favors from me.”

No, she wouldn't. She'd never expected favors from anyone. No need to start now.

***

Cooper's gaze narrowed as he stared at the mercantile. He wondered why Delta Dandridge would decide to go there when she should be buying a ticket for the next stage. Probably needed a button or some thread or whatnot. The things a woman could get in her head to do—a man never could figure them out.

Thank goodness he didn't even have to try. He'd set her straight, and that was the important thing.

He had to admit the lady sure was a looker, had curves in all the right places and the sort of walk that made single, bachelor-type men think of things that would land them in a heap of trouble. He'd nearly drowned in eyes that reminded him of moss at the bottom of a clear, gleaming pool. Instead of hair that glistened in the sun like a shiny gold piece, though, she should've been a redhead, with that hot temper of hers.

That Southern drawl as soft as melted butter did certain things to him.

Yes, her drawl and the dark beauty mark on the right side beneath her mouth had driven him to distraction.

Fair to say he hadn't been prepared for someone so pretty. He'd expected her to be…well, homely. And desperate.

Though she'd tried to hide the sudden tears from him, he'd seen the wet shimmer in her eyes. That part had nearly done him in. Women's tears never failed to turn his heart to mush. Not that she was the kind to give in to tears often, he suspected. The lady seemed to have more grit and steel than most men.

But he'd meant what he said. He was a bachelor and he'd stay a bachelor. The sooner she got that through her head, the better off they'd be. He supposed she'd leave town on tomorrow's stage and go back to Georgia. He doubted he'd ever see her again. No use getting maudlin over her. She'd be fine.

The fact that she'd been duped same as he had been was crystal clear. She'd believed every word in those letters someone sent her. If he ever found out who'd played the cruel trick, he'd pound them into the street and drive a wagon over them.

It occurred to him that whoever did it would want to see how the fruits of their labor played out. He scanned both sides of the street for someone who might show undue interest. But everyone seemed to be going about their business, not giving him a second glance.

But secrets didn't stay buried—he just had to be patient and keep his eyes and ears open.

At that moment a boy he'd befriended some years ago, Ben Barclay, skidded to a halt in front of him. “Hi, Mr. Cooper.”

“Ben, how are you doing these days?”

“Lost another tooth.” The boy's copper hair flamed under the sun's rays. Ben grinned and Cooper could see the gaping hole in the middle of his teeth.

“You sure did. Did you pull it yourself?”

“Nope. Mama did.”

“How's your mama?”

Ben shrugged, staring up at him. “Fine, I reckon. Just wonderin' when I could come out to the ranch.”

“Anytime would suit me. Gonna start roundup next week, though, and I'll be busier than a one-armed blacksmith. Might be better to wait until after that.” Cooper fished in his vest pocket for a small sack of lemon drops he always carried. He took one out and handed the rest to the seven-year-old.

“Thanks, Mr. Cooper.”

“Your father behaving himself?”

Ben's face darkened and he shrugged again. “Guess so.”

Cooper popped the lemon drop in his mouth. The boy's answer fell short of being reassuring. Something was up. Hogue Barclay must be back in town. The man was as sorry as they come. Stuck around long enough to make misery for everyone, and then he was gone again. And to make matters worse, the man had a mean streak as wide as the floodwaters of the mighty Mississippi.

Cooper draped an arm around Ben's scrawny shoulders. “Just remember what I told you. Anytime you or your mama needs me, I'll be there.”

The boy had been a babe in his mother's arms when Cooper rode into town with Rand and Brett. Right off, he'd recognized Jenny's look of pure desperation and decided then and there to watch over them. He could count on one hand the number of people he truly cared about. But for those he did, it went bone deep. Jenny and Ben stood next to his brothers in that way.

Every time Jenny's husband, Hogue Barclay, got a snoot full of liquor, he beat Jenny something fierce. Six months ago, Cooper had threatened Hogue with sure death if he ever did anything like that again. He might need to reinforce that threat soon.

“Ain't gonna forget, Mr. Cooper.”

Ruffling the top of Ben's head, Cooper turned toward his horse. “It was real nice seeing you. Watch out that you don't get too snaggletoothed.”

“Bye, Mr. Cooper.”

He stuck a boot in the stirrup and slid into the saddle. Though the ranch lay in the opposite direction, he found himself heading to the mercantile. Dismounting in front of the establishment, he loosely wrapped the reins around the hitching post.

“Need to pick up a few things,” he told his horse as if he owed the animal an explanation.

What things, he hadn't a clue, but he'd think of some.

Cooper sidled up next to the window and tried to peer inside. But seeing as how they could've added an extra street to the town with the dirt on the window, he couldn't make out a blessed thing.

Damn. All he needed was for Miss Dandridge to see his face pressed against the glass like some three-year-old.

Taking a deep breath, he strode to the door and turned the knob. Delta swung around when he pushed it open and stepped inside. Her eyes narrowed to slits and she pursed her lips.

“What do you need, Coop?” John Abercrombie came from around the counter.

The question caught him off guard. He'd figured to walk around the store and hopefully hear what the two were discussing. No such luck.

He quickly scanned the shelves behind the counter. “Bullets. Four boxes.”

A man could never have too many bullets. But four boxes could start a war.

“You figuring on doing a lot of shootin'?”

“Never can tell on a ranch. Want to be prepared.”

Abercrombie gave a quick nod. “That all?”

“And…some chewing tobacco.” Of all the stupid things to say. Hell. He didn't even use the stuff. Coming into the mercantile had been one of the dumbest ideas he'd had.

“I never knew you to use tobacco, Coop.”

“Getting it for one of my ranch hands.” He avoided meeting Delta's gaze and paid for his purchases. Taking them, he got the hell out of there before he did anything else stupid.

Before he could unloop the reins from the hitching post, Delta Dandridge strode from the mercantile and marched right up to him.

“I do declare, Mr. Thorne,” she said in that sweet Southern drawl that flowed out smoother than warmed molasses. “Not that it's a bit of your concern, but if you're curious about what I'm doing, just ask me.”

“Lady, don't flatter yourself. I went in there because I needed to and for no other reason.”

“Bullets and chewing tobacco? That was a pretty flimsy excuse.”

A hot flush crept up the back of his neck. “Around here, Miss Dandridge, we step pretty carefully over piles of manure or else we wind up facedown in them.”

Delta sucked in a quick breath. “Are you threatening me, Mr. Thorne?”

“Nope. Just stating facts, ma'am.” He mounted up and tipped his hat. “Have a pleasant trip back to Georgia, Miss Dandridge.”

Turmoil churned inside him, whipping the contents of Cooper's stomach into a froth as he headed for the Long Odds Ranch. The nerve of that husband-hungry woman. Why, she'd almost come right out and called him a liar to his face.

A darkening in the sky off to the west caught his attention. His eyes narrowed. A whole flock of buzzards circled above something on the ground.

Alarm rested low in his gut.
Maybe
a
dead
coyote
or
wolf.

Or at least he hoped it was.

The saddle leather creaked as he straightened. “Guess we'd best go see about it, Rebel.”

The horse whinnied softly and nodded as though he'd understood every word and agreed.

When they reached the source of the feeding frenzy, the sight curdled his blood.

A cow lay on the ground. The degree of bloating told him it had been dead for a day or so. He couldn't see the brand to know if it was one of his or not, but he assumed it was. He threw a long leg over the saddle and dismounted for a closer look. Then his attention shifted to a half-dozen cows nearby. They swayed on their feet and had thick foaming saliva hanging from their mouths.

Those definitely wore his brand.

Cooper didn't know what it was, but something told him it was more serious than anything he'd ever dealt with.

There was precious little time to waste. He mounted Rebel and spurred him to a gallop. Gathering his three remaining ranch hands, he returned to face the unknown threat.

“What do you think it is?” he asked Zeke O'Grady. The grizzled old man had been the first hand Cooper had hired. Despite Zeke's advancing age, there wasn't anything about cattle ranching the man didn't know. And that made him invaluable.

“Deadly hoof-and-mouth disease. Ain't seen nothing like this for thirty-odd years.” Zeke ran a hand across his bristly jaw. “Back in forty-four, to be exact. I rode for the Thornhill brand then. We lost half the herd before you could whistle ‘Dixie.' Thornhill came near to losing his ranch. It was bad stuff.”

Cooper sucked in a deep breath. To lose the Long Odds…well, they might as well dig a hole and shove him in. This ranch represented all that he was, all that he wanted to be. It was his one chance to come into his own and prove something to himself.

“What can we do?” He lifted his hat and shoved his fingers through his hair, trying to ignore the fear squeezing his heart.

“Gotta get the healthy livestock separated from the sick ones, an' fast. It's a goldarned good thing you noticed this when you did, Coop.”

“Is that all we can do?”

“Afraid so. Besides a powerful lot of prayin'.”

After separating and driving the healthy cows into a pasture near the house where he and his men could keep a close watch on them for further signs of the disease, they returned and shot the sick ones and burned their carcasses. With luck, they wouldn't lose too many of the herd.

He wondered how in the hell they'd come in contact with the disease. He'd owned these cattle for five years and never had anything like this. Hoof-and-mouth disease didn't originate from the soil like other diseases. Other cattle brought it, and from what Zeke said, it was extremely contagious. That was the part that perplexed Cooper, because he hadn't bought any new cattle.

He'd had a plan from the first day of how best to grow his herd and stuck with it. He always kept his bloodline clean and only sold cows when he needed money to stay afloat or to prevent overgrazing. In five years, he'd doubled the number to over five hundred.

So why this disease and why now? If only he had checked the brand on the initial dead cow before he set it ablaze. Maybe it hadn't belonged to him. Maybe it had wandered onto his land.

Or maybe someone had deliberately run a sick cow onto the Long Odds. No, it couldn't be that. He didn't have any enemies.

Though didn't he, what with someone forging his name and writing letters to the lovely Delta Dandridge? Maybe it was the same damn person. Awful strange that both things happened on the exact dadgum day.

He took off his hat and shoved a hand through his dark hair, racking his brain for the name of someone who might want to both embarrass and destroy him.

There had only been one man who fit the category, but Cooper had killed the sorry no-good jackal. Tolbert Early hadn't given him any choice.

The memory of that day still haunted Cooper. The night he shot Early he'd become his father's son, the thing he'd sworn he'd never be. Now the die was cast and he couldn't change it. He cursed and jammed his hat back on his head.

“We got a lot of work to do. Might as well get to it,” he said to his faithful buckskin. “No use wastin' time.”

Or fretting about the past.

The remainder of the day, the men feverishly worked to inspect as many of the herd as possible. Before Cooper knew it, the sun glowed a fiery red ball low on the horizon.

Thank God, they hadn't found any more sick cattle.

Cooper turned to his men. “Let's call it a day and head to the house.”

“Now, that's a right good idea,” Zeke agreed.

Again, Rand was waiting for them on the porch. It didn't take long to discover the reason—seemed he was busting a gut to find out what had happened between Cooper and the lady Dandridge. Snoop that his brother was.

“I've got far more serious worries than a woman who's trying to leg-shackle me.” Cooper told him about the disease infecting his herd. “It'll be a miracle if I don't lose everything I've worked for.”

“You think it's deliberate?”

“Not saying that. Not ruling anything out, though. But it had to either be a sick cow wandering onto Long Odds land or someone dumping it into the midst of my cattle.”

“Pays to keep an open mind,” Rand agreed. “Anyone have a grudge against you?”

“Only one.”

Rand nodded. “Tolbert Early.”

“Yep. And he's dead, so that leaves me at zero.”

“I'll keep my ears open at the saloon. If I hear of anything, I'll holler.”

“Appreciate it, Rand.”

“One of us has trouble, we all have it.” Rand laid a hand on Cooper's shoulder. “We'll figure this out. You're not in it alone. Brett and I have your back.”

Cooper gazed at the distant horizon as though, if he tried hard enough, he could see the trouble that rode toward him. The only thing was, trouble usually snuck up on a man from behind when he least expected it.

A deep sigh filled the night air. “Have you taken to chewing tobacco, Rand?”