Lacy's Legacy Read online

  “I’m willing to overlook your hostile attitude in memory of your dearly departed husband, a man I esteemed as a friend.”

  “Do you always kill the friends you esteem?”

  Dye’s smile evaporated. “You know as well as anyone I did all I could to keep Mark alive until we got him to the doctor.”

  That had been his story. Mark had fallen off the cliff in back of the box canyon where he was helping Dye hunt one of his stray longhorns. Supposedly, Mark was scaling the rock wall, trying to rescue Sol when the dog had gotten himself stuck.

  A lie. Mark wouldn’t have given Dye help of any kind. Nothing would have forced him up that mountain. Mark hated heights. And Sol would never have strayed from Mark’s side.

  She wasn’t surprised the sheriff believed Dye. All that was in question was how much Dye had paid him.

  He took her silence to be agreement. “I know you can’t keep up this place with just Ole Bert. I came, willing to offer you marriage, but if that doesn’t suit you, out of the goodness of my heart, I’m willing to buy you out.”

  Fingers of rage almost strangled her, and he didn’t know how close he came to her losing control and sending a bullet through his heart—a heart so black it had never contained a bit of goodness.

  Sol growled loud enough for Dye to move backwards a step. Lacy swallowed the lump of nerves and threw her head back. “Sol, stay. Malcolm I wouldn’t marry you or sell out to you if you were the last man on earth. How dare you mention marriage when my husband isn’t even cold, and I won’t sell to anyone. This land belongs to Mark’s son, and I’m going to keep it for him.”

  Dye’s glance flickered over her stomach, and she hated that she’d called attention to her child. Dye would take that as another weakness. She raised the rifle a notch and hardened her stare. “Now get off my property before I put you down like the mangy polecat you are.”

  He slammed his hat on his pomade-slickened head. “All right, if that’s the way you want it. I was willing to pay you because you’re an old friend’s wife, but rest assured, there are other, cheaper, ways.”

  She kept him in her sights until he’d reached his horse, mounted, and all three men turned, tearing up the ground in the direction they’d come.

  All the strength drained out of Lacy, and she stumbled to the porch. She laid the rifle down and sank onto the top step. Burying her face in her apron, she wept. Not since Mark’s funeral had she allowed herself the luxury of a really good cry. Like an over-burdened dam, the tears burst forth.

  Why don’t you help me, Lord? She’d been talking to God a lot lately. There was no one else to talk to, except Sol, and yes, she talked to him too. The dog whined and put his paw on her knee.

  She lifted her head and patted the dog’s head. “I know you love me, boy.” And deep inside, she knew God loved her. He’d work things out somehow, if she held onto her faith. It was the only hope she had left.

  Sol whipped around, forcing Lacy’s gaze to the road. Another rider approached, and she was reaching for her rifle when she recognized Henry. What could be wrong now? She wiped her face and stood.

  Henry dismounted his prized Pinto, Buddy, and pulled something out of his saddlebag. “I had to go to town, and you had a telegram. Was that Dye and his gang I saw coming from here?”

  A telegram? Who could be sending her a telegram? The distant relatives she remembered didn’t even know where she lived. Was it from some of Mark’s folks back in Ohio? Maybe someone concerned about Gramps and Granny.

  “That was them. He wants to buy me out. It didn’t take him long, did it?” She wouldn’t mention Dye’s threats. Henry had enough to worry about.

  “We got to do something about that polecat.” Henry shifted his gaze around the farm like he searched for an answer and, coming up empty, shook his head. “Better be getting on home. Tell Bert we’ll help him with the wheat tomorrow.”

  “Thank you, I will.” They both knew they’d lose half the crop, and winter wasn’t far away. If she could sell the wheat for enough to buy stables for the winter, she’d be lucky.

  She stood with one hand on Sol’s head and the other clutching the telegram as Henry rode away.

  Unreasonable fear made her reluctant to read it. A sigh blew through her parched lips as she opened the telegram and read, hardly believing. Not two weeks had passed since she’d seen Mildred Crenshaw, and that lady, as sympathetic as she was, hadn’t given her much hope she could quickly find Lacy a suitable farmhand, much less a husband. Yet the telegram came from her, and the words jumped out at her.

  Ethan Wilkes arriving four o’clock stage, September 23rd. Object Matrimony.

  Ten words that could change her life forever. Matrimony? She’d thought Mrs. Crenshaw understood she wasn’t ready for that? She needed more time to think. To grieve Mark’s passing.

  Ready or not, did she have any time? Any choice?

  She bounded into the house and to the kitchen where the drug store calendar hung. It took a couple of minutes to count up the days, but yes, it had to be the twenty-second. Ethan Wilkes would be here tomorrow.

  Common courtesy demanded she meet his stage, and she would. Did she even have a clean dress to wear? Was the wagon in good order? Somehow she’d make do and meet the man. More than that she couldn’t say.

  Chapter 5

  Ethan stepped off the stage and slapped the dust from his coat. Since he was the only one getting off in this growing city, the driver tossed him his carpet bag. He laughed under his breath. Calling this a city was a big exaggeration. A dozen wooden buildings lined the dirt street on one side, some with false fronts. Ten on the opposite. Still it was bigger than when he’d last passed through.

  His fellow passengers, a young married couple, got off to stretch their legs and get a bite to eat at the small eatery while the driver changed horses.

  None of the milling pedestrians showed any interest in the stage or him. But the stage was a little early.

  Then he locked eyes with her.

  It had to be Lacy. The lone woman sitting on the wagon seat across the street. She was beautiful as he knew she’d be from Aunt Milly’s description. Her hand lifted in a wave, confirming her identity.

  He smiled and crossed the street. Lacy’s tired and drawn face wiped the smile from his lips.

  “Lacy Avant?” He extended his hand.

  She nodded, giving him hers. He pressed her small hand, callused hard, as a wave of sympathy rose in his chest. This was a woman who’d been beaten down. She didn’t want a husband, but had been forced into a corner. He had to respect that and not pressure her any more than she already was.

  “You got my aunt’s telegram I suppose. I’m Ethan Wilkes.”

  The first bit of interest sparked her amber eyes. “Mrs. Crenshaw is your aunt?”

  He didn’t wait for an invitation, but swung up on the wagon seat. “That’s right. She said you were a mail-order bride, kind of in reverse. Aunt Milly’s never wrong with her match-making, and she thought I’d suit you, but I want you to know it’s entirely up to you.”

  The workhorses pulling the wagon were old but sturdy, and for a while all that broke the silence was their steady clip-clop. He stopped at the livery. “I had my horses delivered here. It won’t take but a minute to see if they arrived.”

  She just stared ahead, so he added, “Could I persuade you to have an early supper with me, over at the cafe? I missed lunch.” He remembered Sally’s Kitchen from past visits to Buffalo Run, and it was situated across the street. He wasn’t all that hungry, but he’d found sharing a meal not only provided an opportunity to talk, but helped people relax. And Lacy acted strung tight as a fiddle’s strings.

  “I could fix you something at the house.”

  “Is the café that bad?” He laughed. “I don’t want to put you out none.” That was probably a stupid statement for a prospective husband. He was expecting a lot more than her company at a meal. “Would you rather we go to the hotel restaurant?”

  “No.” Her objection came a little too fast and loud. She lowered her tone. “I’ve heard the café is much better.”

  “Good, then let me treat you.” He jumped to the ground and when he returned, gestured for her to let him assist her.

  He held her elbow as she leaned onto him awkwardly and dropped down. “Did your horses arrive?”

  “Yes, but I’m only taking the stallion today, a silver quarter-horse named Smokey. The hostler will tie him onto the back of the wagon while we eat.”

  The little café was almost empty of patrons, but it was almost four o’clock. Ethan led the way to a clean, out-of-the-way table and held a chair for Lacy.

  The red-and-white checkered oilcloth covered table rocked on uneven floorboards as Ethan seated himself. He spent a few moments to take the measure of the place. He’d sensed a change in the town since he’d last been here, but this place was the same. Rustic but clean. An elk’s head adorned the wall above the exit, a bulletin board to the left, a menu to the right. An elderly gentleman sat at the only other occupied table.

  A serving girl came at harried pace from the back and went straight to the old man. She poured coffee in his outstretched mug and laughed at something he said.

  Ethan didn’t feel the need to call attention to his table since the girl couldn’t have missed them. His gaze settled on Lacy. Sitting as straight and stiff as a sunk fencepost, she stared a hole in the table. With hair the color of newly minted gold coins and lightly tanned complexion without a hint of a freckle, she was indeed a beautiful woman, or would be without those worry lines pinching her features.

  “The waitress will be coming our way in a moment. What would you like for me to order?”

  She started and glanced around like suddenly surprised to find herself in the café. “I’m not very hungry.”

  Ethan scrunched his brows. She might not be hungry, but a woman in her condition needed to eat for two. Or he’d think so. “Their special is chicken stew, but the weather’s a bit warm for stew.”

  “I’d just as soon to have a ham and cheese sandwich and tea.”

  After Ethan had given the waitress their order, he caught Lacy staring at him in a way that demanded some comment. All the questions he wanted to pose seemed too abrupt so he waded into safer waters. “A beautiful spell of weather you’re having. I expect it makes harvest time easy.”

  “Harvest is never easy. Have you ever lived on a farm?”

  “I grew up on a farm back in Illinois, but I expect farming is much the same anywhere. I joined the army at eighteen and served at several forts, mostly in the west. In fact, my last assignment was right here in Montana at Fort Ellis.”

  That hard line across her brow relaxed. “Then you know the area.”

  He smiled. “Yes, I know it well.”

  “Did your aunt tell you about my…situation?”

  He decided to let her tell him what her situation was. “She told me you needed a husband. That’s what Aunt Milly does—matches mail-order brides with suitable husbands.”

  She swallowed hard and her gaze fell back to the table. “I lost…that is…my husband died nearly two months ago.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine a worse grief to go through. It must be difficult for a woman alone out here. Do you have family you could.…go to? I mean…I gathered you were looking to remarry as a last resort.”

  She didn’t object to his assessment of her motives. “My family—or what’s left of it—are back in Kansas.”

  “Surely some of them would take you in, considering—” He coughed. “Considering your condition.”

  “I can’t do that.” Her words held a tone of finality. “Mark, my husband, and I came out here and claimed a full section. It’s less than six months before it’s proved. Mark drew up papers, a will, leaving this land to me. He said it would be his legacy to be passed on to me and then to his child when I die.”

  Ethan couldn’t argue with that, nor would it do any good to try. This woman was as unmovable as a Rocky Mountain boulder. It would take an earthquake. “What do you expect from me?”

  Those amber eyes flew open wide, and she pinned him with an incredulous look. “Didn’t your aunt tell you the conditions of our agreement?”

  “She said you wanted to wait until your property was proved before deciding whether you wanted to get married.” He shrugged. “I figured you were really looking for a hired hand.”

  “Yes, you’re not wrong about that.” She pulled her gaze from him. “Maybe I need a husband—everyone says so—but I want the marriage to be agreeable to both of us. And we need time to know that. Do you agree?”

  “That’s how I’ve always viewed marriage.”

  She shook her head, and her lips twitched like she tried to smile. “I’m making a muddle of this. John Healy, the lawyer, is drawing up the contract. You agree to work for me, and after the property is proved up, you receive half the section.” She laid her hands on the table, palms up. “Gramps and I can manage a half section, if necessary.”

  “Aunt Milly said your grandparents live with you.”

  “Actually, they are Mark’s grandfather and grandmother, but they didn’t want to move…so...” She trailed off.

  He understood. As Aunt Milly had said, no one would think it improper for him to live on the farm as a hired hand. However, the return for his labor was more than generous. “That would be agreeable to me. I want to start a horse ranch, and half a section will be more than enough land.” He knew the army was always looking for good horseflesh. He also knew how hard it was to find them.

  Her shoulders relaxed and a genuine smile transformed her face to starkly beautiful, like when the sunrise lit a snow-covered peak.

  His heart squeezed in a strange way. “But if we should both wish to marry before the land is proved, would you agree to divide the land that way?”

  “Of course. We could farm half and breed horses on the other. However, I’d never agree to marriage unless you make out a will leaving my child the property.” Her lower lip poked out in a charming manner. “I suppose I’d have to trust you to keep that bargain, but if I couldn’t trust you by then, I couldn’t marry you.”

  She was being blunt, but he liked that. Most of the women he’d known were evasive to the extent he never knew exactly what they were thinking.

  The waitress returned with their sandwiches. After she’d poured their tea and left, Lacy lifted her cup with both hands. She sniffed the brew before sipping it, and Ethan wondered if she were hard up. The way she savored her drink made him think it had been a while since she’d enjoyed a cup of tea. Sure, she’d have to be hard up. If she were well-off, she’d hire a man for wages instead of using the unusual route of going to a mail-order bride agency to find a farmhand.

  One thing was for certain. She wasn’t in the market for a husband, regardless of what she said. That was fine with him. This was an easier way to secure the land for his horse ranch. He’d been saving the last two years to purchase land outright, and he doubted he’d be able to find land situated in a better place than this.

  Ethan steered the conversation to small talk about the town. Since he’d been through Buffalo Run, it had grown some—more than at first glance. Lacy named the businesses along this street besides the cafe. Stage station, post office, mercantile, butcher shop, feed and seed store, lawyer’s office, sheriff’s office, and Myrtle’s Dress Shop.

  “I gather you don’t come to town very often.” She kept glancing around like she expected someone to jump out and attack them.

  “Not anymore. I don’t have any friends left in town. Ester Granville and Martha Chester, the doctor’s wife, used to invite me and Dottie to quilting bees, and they’d come out to our house just to visit. But they and the town have changed.” The sad droop of her mouth said more than her words.

  Her voice was lovely—soft and melodic. He could listen to her talk all day. But after a second cup of tea, she suggested they go on to the lawyer’s office and sign the papers. Like a shade coming down over a window, something between fear and uncertainty darkened her eyes.

  He got the impression she held secrets, afraid he might not agree with their arrangement if she were completely honest.

  Chapter 6

  A soft breeze hit them in the face as they exited the café. The street was almost deserted, the only conveyance Lacy’s wagon and old Sampson and Pet hitched to it. The beautiful silver stallion tethered to the rail drew her attention. Ethan’s horse. A majestic animal. She went to the horse and rubbed his nose. “He’s beautiful. You said his name’s Smokey?”

  Ethan laughed. “I know, not very original, but he’s a magnificent horse.”

  “Oh, he is.” The stallion nudged Lacy and sniffed her.

  “I had him sent on ahead of me, along with two other horses I’m leaving at the livery to get shoed. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “No, we have plenty of room for your horses.” She tried to rub Smokey’s nose, but he wanted to inspect her hand.

  Ethan laughed again and patted Smokey’s shoulder. “Sorry, boy, we don’t have any sugar.” His smile held as he met her gaze. “I’ve spoiled him.” She couldn’t help but smile back. A man who spoiled his horses could be trusted to treat his women well.

  Lacy sidled around the horse. “We’ll find some sugar cubes when we get home, Smokey.” She turned to Ethan. “Mr. Healy’s office is across the street.”

  She cast him a sidelong glance as they waited for a buckboard to lumber by, kicking up a cloud of dust. Ethan was more handsome than she’d expected, his profile arresting. She appreciated that he was clean-shaven. It fit his strong, square jaw and firm mouth framed with double laugh-lines below a straight, Grecian nose.

  Under the low-setting Stetson, tousled chestnut hair—longer than most men wore—framed his face. His features were as different from Mark’s golden good looks as could be. And she liked that.