Tumbleweed Letters Page 3

  Soiled doves braided her wet hair and pinned it into a chignon at the nape of her neck. She put on a linsey-woolsey dark blue skirt and matching shirtwaist, a plain outfit she’d worn to teach school several months ago. Dora gave her new stockings and red garters to hold them up, laughing and claiming Cam would go wild at the sight.

  Her gaze slid toward her new husband, and her eyes narrowed. And just how did Dora know about her husband’s preferences? In fact, thinking back, Cam seemed very familiar with both Madam Dora and Calamity Jane. Annoyance bubbled. Was he a regular customer at Dora’s house of sin? Had she married another man with loose principles? It didn’t bear thinking about.

  The ceremony held in the church was, no doubt, one of a kind, even for this lawless part of the country. Madam Dora stood up for her and Calamity Jane stood up for Cam. God help me, I got married with a madam for a maid of honor and a woman dressed like a gent for a best man, while a chorus of soiled doves cried in the background. ’Twas a wonder God didn’t strike us all dead.

  Her fingers rubbed over the smooth gold band on her ring finger. She hadn’t expected such an extravagance from her new husband. Nor had she expected the power of his kiss. When the parson told Cam he could kiss his bride, she hadn’t expected soft firm lips to caress hers in such a slow exploration. Something hot coiled low in her belly, making her knees turn to mush, and she grasped his shirt so she wouldn’t crumple on the floor. I knew him all of three hours before I joined him in holy matrimony. What in the name of heaven was I thinking? Her fingers clasped so tightly on her lap they pained her.

  Cam gazed at her in the waning light. “Relax. I’ll be a good husband. There’s no need to look as if you’re about to be hung.”

  She nodded. “I’m sorry. It just all happened so fast. There was no period of courtship for us to become acquainted at all.”

  “I rarely come to town, so having a traditional courtship was out of the question. I’m a God-fearing man, Sophie Catherine. I’ll never strike you. I’ll do my best to take care of you.”

  She had to admit he’d been generous at the stores they visited after the ceremony. First thing he did was take her to Bailey and Sons, where he bought her two pairs of shoes. Without so much as a blush, he told the dressmaker at another store to provide his wife with intimate garments and night clothes.

  He slid a hand down her ramrod straight back. “I promise you, no one like Jasper Rhinehardt will ever disrespect you again. If anyone does, they will rue the day they went against Cam McBride’s wife.”

  “Why?” She shifted on the hard seat to regard him. “Why did you marry me? You…you don’t know anything about me.”

  “Wanna bet?” His solemn face turned toward her. “I knew you were twenty-six, a year older than me. I knew you used to teach school back in Pennsylvania and that you married a man named Tommy, who did something wrong. I knew you were alone in the world and hankering for your freedom.”

  “How?” Had she married a wizard who could read minds or look into the past?

  “What I didn’t know was your name—Sophie Catherine Flannigan.”

  How did he know so much about her? Granted, she had to give her full name to the preacher for the ceremony. The white-haired man had also asked about any previous marriages, and both stated their first spouses died. But how did he know her age, that she’d taught school in Pennsylvania, and the rest of her sordid tale?

  “I know something else about you, too.”

  Her stomach tensed. Did he know she was on the run? “What?”

  “You write letters to the four winds and tie them to tumbleweeds.”

  Oh no. She couldn’t believe it. He’d found her letters. She was mortified. “Those scribbled feelings weren’t meant for human eyes.” They were merely her way of voicing her loneliness and fears. She had no one to listen to her many worries. No one who cared.

  “I gave Eli the strips of cloth to play with, which is why he laid claim to the dress you wore earlier. In his little mind, he thought the material belonged to him.”

  Well that explained the child’s absurd behavior. Still, this man had no right. “You shouldn’t have read my letters. They weren’t for you.” The boy turned in her lap and snuggled as if he needed a gentle touch.

  Deepening shadows played across her husband’s stern features. “Those tumbleweeds blew onto my land. That made them mine.”

  When his leg rested against hers, she ignored the feelings his touch set off in her belly. She huffed out a breath and straightened her shoulders. “Well, they weren’t addressed to you. I still say you had no business reading them. And just how did you know I was in Deadwood, then?”

  “Name of the newspaper was on the top.”

  “So you came to town to find me?” How much sense did that make? She knew women were scarce. Mary Jamison, a mail order bride, was married within the hour after arriving in Deadwood. Her ecstatic groom certainly didn’t mind her snaggle tooth and crossed eyes. Widow Stoltz was married the day after her husband’s funeral and birthed a wee babe a week later. Appearances and family heritage didn’t matter in the wilderness. Hadn’t she fought off her share of suitors? Then why? Why had she hitched herself to this mountain of a man? She had no clue.

  Cam turned the team of horses to the right and encouraged them to climb the hill. Leather creaked and fittings jingled in the evening quiet. The smell of pines grew stronger. An owl hooted and something rustled off to the left. She wasn’t used to large open spaces without the lighting of civilization; unease crept up her spine. It was so dark out here.

  Finally, her husband answered, “Eli needed warmer clothes, and we needed enough food to stock the pantry for winter.”

  “So you just added ‘wife’ to your shopping list?” She’d married an odd man. Handsome, but odd. “How much farther till we get ho…”—she couldn’t say it—“to your place?”

  “You’re my wife now, Sophie Catherine. My home is your home. My son is your son.”

  “Most people simply call me Sophie.”

  “A husband should have a name for his wife that no one else uses, don’t you think?”

  Foolish her, she’d always hoped a husband would call her a name of endearment, like darling or sweetheart. Simple-minded notion, to be sure. What man would find her attractive? Hadn’t her Tommy called her plain?

  Now was the time, she supposed. “You…ah…you never mentioned sleeping arrangements.”

  His voice carried deep and quiet in the night. “I run a ranch, not a hotel. As my wife, you’ll be sleeping with me.”

  Her heart pounded in her ears and her breath came in shallow bursts. “Will…will you expect…”

  “Yes.”

  Merciful heavens. She twisted the ends of her shawl between her fingers. “Surely you’ll give me time to get to know you. I…I only met you today.”

  Chapter Six

  He’d lost his mind.

  What else would prompt him to act so impulsively? He’d married a complete stranger. One look into those soft green eyes, and he was lost. They reminded him of springtime, of the fragile green of the first leaves on trees and of the grass as it turned emerald in the warmth of sunshine. He winced. God help me, the woman’s made me turn fanciful as a poet.

  When he’d stepped outside the store and seen Jethro with his hands on her, a red rage swept through him. Although he was sane enough to question his reaction, he was loath to stop it. In that instant, he knew no man would ever again put his hands on this woman—the woman who’d poured out her soul in tumbleweed letters—but him. So in a moment of awareness, tinged with lunacy, he’d laid claim to her.

  During his brief conversation with Madam Dora, he learned this spunky woman scrubbed the upstairs of the brothel, but did not work upstairs. He ran a hand over his face. That was one consolation; his new wife wasn’t a whore.

  Could he consummate the marriage tonight? The starving part of his body thickened and perked up at the possibility. Memories flooded of pulling his beloved Amand
a into an embrace. He allowed the pain of grief to twist his gut, a pain so familiar he was intimate with the contours of it. In the year since her death, he’d lived an eternity of loneliness.

  Could this slip of a woman beside him ease the heartache that all but consumed him like a buzzard tearing at a dead animal? No doubt she could ease the ache in his loins, but could she diminish the anguish in his heart?

  “Cam, I can’t be your wife that way. Not…not until we know each other better.”

  His erection throbbed in painful protest, and he sighed with resignation. He wouldn’t force his new wife. “We’ll give ourselves time. When we come together, it’ll be your choice.”

  “Thank you.” Her voice sounded small in the darkness.

  She was a slender woman, but she had a regal bearing about her when she wasn’t scrapping and fighting for her dignity. He respected her for that. Yet on the other hand, something about her worried him. “Mind if I ask you something?”

  Her skirt rustled in the darkness. “I guess not.”

  “In one of your letters, you said you were alone, on the run, and without funds. If I’m going to entrust my son to you, I think I have a right to know who you were running from and why.” No doubt he should have asked these questions before he married her, but a sense of urgency had evidently dulled his common sense.

  Silence screamed between them like a howling wind. Wasn’t his new wife going to answer his question? He wouldn’t be put off; he had to know. “Sophie Catherine?”

  She cleared her throat. “Yes?”

  He could hear his son’s gentle snore as he slept in Sophie’s arms. “I asked you a civil question.”

  “Yes, you did. There’s so much, I barely know where to begin.”

  “It’s always best to start at the beginning. All I’m asking for is honesty.” He wished he could see her face, look into her green eyes and see emotions play out on her face. He could feel the power of her regard as she turned toward him.

  “I’m not a liar, Cam McBride.”

  He glanced in her direction. Even in the darkness softly illuminated by the full moon, he saw the flame of indignation. “I’m sorry if I offended you. We have a right to inquire about each other’s past, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, I suppose. You go first.”

  The woman was stalling. Apprehension twisted his gut. A strong inkling told him this wasn’t going to be good. But maybe if he opened up about his past, she would, too. “All right. My parents and I moved here from Georgia when I was ten. We settled this land and named the ranch the Double-M. I was my parents’ only living son. They lost two older sons in the war.”

  “How sad.”

  “Both maw and paw thought the war would never end and feared I’d go off to fight, the same as Angus and Ian. They sold what they had, and we headed west trying to escape the misery of that war.”

  “Are they still living? Your parents?”

  “No. They died in the smallpox epidemic that swept through here last winter. I lost my wife then, too. Lost all three of them in the span of five days.” A small hand touched his arm, both surprising and soothing him.

  “That’s how I met Calamity Jane. She helped nurse a lot of folks around here. She and Madam Dora both took care of people, earning undying gratitude and respect. Their quick action, quarantining my parents and my wife, helped save Eli and me. My maw went first. Then paw, and finally my Amanda.” He swallowed a huge lump of pain and glanced off into the darkness.

  “I’m sorry for your loss. My, how you must have suffered. I know how painful that can be.”

  “Your parents are dead, too?”

  “Yes. My dad died in a cave-in. Mum died a month later from a broken heart. Dad worked the coal mines back in Luzerne County in Pennsylvania. Two men died that day. When their lives snuffed out, the Molly Maguires just grew stronger.”

  “Molly Maguires. I recall reading about them in the newspaper. A secret Irish organization. Right?” A dangerous organization, from what he’d read.

  “Yes, so secret I didn’t know the man courting me was a member.”

  “You’re speaking of your husband now?”

  “Yes. He came into my life when society claimed I was past my prime. Tommy was the only man who paid me any mind. So I felt if I didn’t grab onto Tommy Flannigan, I’d always be a lonely spinster.” She heaved an audible sigh. “He was a hard man, my Tommy, but he seemed to have a weakness for me. I responded to that.”

  “How long were you married?”

  “Three…three hours…” Her voice held a weepy quality, and she sniffed.

  He put his arm around her and drew her close. He could understand Tommy’s weakness for this woman; he seemed to have a weakness of his own where this redhead was concerned. “Three hours? He died on your wedding day?” My God, how awful.

  “Yes.” She sniffled in the darkness. “We couldn’t afford a party after the ceremony, small that it was. We’d gone back to the little house I inherited from my parents. We were…we were in bed…” Her voice trailed off, and he imagined she was remembering the scene.

  After heaving a great shudder, she pulled away. “Men—Pinkertons—broke down my front door. They charged into my home and dragged Tommy from our bed. Two days later, his body was found inside a mine. He’d been beaten and shot.”

  “Why?”

  “At his funeral, some of his friends—cohorts, really—took me aside and told me about his secret activities. Tommy was one of the Molly Maguires. They’d intimidated, beaten, and even killed some mine owners and managers. When the group started targeting the railroad owners, one of the railroad barons hired the Pinkertons to intervene. Something very precious had been stolen from a railroad owner, and he wanted it back. They suspected Tommy had it.”

  “Did he?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t even know of his secret activities until after he was dead. Twice, men from the Pinkertons came to my house, insisting I give it back. One of them hit me a few times and…”

  Protectiveness surged through him. What kind of man would strike a woman? “This person was part of the Pinkertons?”

  “Yes, they carry a great deal of legal weight in some areas. Some handle the power well. Others do not. I figure I ran into one who allowed his power to go to his head—and his fists. He scared me so badly, I took what little savings I had, threw some clothes into the valise Tommy bought me for a birthday gift, and hopped a train west. Between rail and stagecoach fees and paying for food, my money was almost gone by the time I reached Deadwood. Madame Dora gave me a job and a place to sleep, so I stayed.”

  “So you ran away because you were innocent?”

  “I ran away to save my life, because that was all I had left. You see, my brief marriage to Tommy branded me as one of the band who terrorized and brought about bloodshed. I was a schoolteacher, not a criminal or a radical. I lost my teaching job, and the bank took possession of my house.”

  He wrapped his arm around her shoulders again and patted her arm in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. Dear God, what all has she been through? He’d make it up to her somehow. He’d give her a good life.

  “Did you read in the newspaper about ten men being hung back in June? The lot of them were Mollies.”

  He nodded as if she could see him in the darkness. “Yes, I read about that. Gabe Thatcher sets copies of newspapers back for me to pick up when I’m in town. Nice to have that touch with the rest of the world. Article in the newspaper called it the Day of the Rope, if I recall correctly.”

  “Yes. That’s right. The hanging sent a whirlwind of panic through our community.” A shaky audible sigh filtered through the night. “I hope I’ve outrun those Pinkertons.”

  Was that why she had so eagerly agreed to his impromptu proposal? To hide out on his ranch? Maybe this marriage of convenience wasn’t such a wise idea.

  “I guess you’re sorry for bringing a woman into your family with the possibility of law officials on her heels.”


  “We McBrides protect what’s ours, Sophie Catherine. Your worries are mine now, and mine are yours. You help me raise my son and be a good wife, and I’ll gladly keep you safe.”

  She sighed and moved so that her skirts rustled again. A faint smell of roses wafted over him, and he was surprised at his immediate arousal.

  “I’m thinking I don’t know how to be a good wife to you, Cam McBride. I suppose your first wife knew how.”

  Pain took a stranglehold around his heart. “Yes.”

  “How long were you married, then?”

  “Three and a half years. Amanda’s mother and my maw were childhood friends and kept in touch after we left Atlanta. Both women had it in their heads Amanda and I should marry. Letters were exchanged. We wrote each other for a couple years and grew close. One fall, after the harvests, we traveled to Georgia for a month. Amanda and I married two days before we came back home.”

  “I guess the wide open spaces out here were a change for her.”

  “Yes. She cried for home and her family.” She’d threatened to leave him a time or two, but once she found out she was carrying his child, it seemed as if her nesting instincts kicked in. She began thinking of the ranch as her home.

  The team of horses evidently smelled their corral and feed; they picked up their pace a little. “We’re almost home.”

  Sophie shifted on the wooden seat. “I’ll confess to being eager to stand for a spell. I’m sorry we didn’t have the time to be better acquainted. What little you know about me must raise concerns.”

  “If you’re innocent, we have nothing to worry about.” She was innocent. Right? “A lot of people move out west to start over and undo mistakes of the past. We tend to judge people on how they treat others, not on what went on in their lives before. Even so, we McBrides have always lived within the law. Family and home come first. I promise you one thing. As long as I’m alive, no man will ever lay a hand on you again.”