Promises Kept Read online

  “When is the big day?” Colt couldn’t help himself from asking, even though it was obvious the groom wasn’t eager to discuss his impending nuptials.

  Chet glared at Bartholomew, silently telling him if he said one more word he would gladly strip a piece off his old hide. “I’m not sure when she will be arriving.”

  Colt caught the look Chet gave Bartholomew and he figured Bartholomew was about to get his ears chewed off once they were alone. It was the perfect time for him to take his leave. “Extend my best wishes to her. I look forward to meeting her.” He backed his horse up. “We’ll leave you to it. Now keep that rifle in reaching distance. You two might not be as lucky the next time.”

  Chapter Four

  “You a new dove for L. B.?”

  Victoria glanced at the man who was a few feet from her. Even if she hadn’t been able to smell the whiskey emanating from him, it was obvious he was drunk by the way he was weaving back and forth. Curious to see the person he was addressing, she turned to look behind her. Seeing no one there, she turned back to find the drunken cowboy now standing directly in front of her. Still, it didn’t occur to her that he was speaking to her. She looked right, then left, but there was no one near except the scrawny dog that she had rescued during her journey, and he was giving the drunk a low warning growl.

  She stared at the cowboy in openmouthed disbelief. “Pardon me?”

  The cowboy put his hands on his hips and looked at her like she was dim-witted. “Are . . . you . . . looking . . . for . . . the . . . saloon?” he asked slowly, his whiskey-laced breath almost knocking her over.

  The stagecoach driver tossed Victoria’s valise to the ground before he jumped down and addressed the drunk. “Mister, go on about your business and leave the lady alone.”

  “I ain’t bothering her,” he slurred. “I think she’s looking for L. B.’s.” He reached for Victoria’s arm. “Come on, honey, I’ll take you over to her.” He eyed her up and down, and seemed to be pleased with what he saw, if his toothless grin was an indication. “I’m Pete, and I’ll sure be seeing you every Saturday when I get paid.”

  The mangy dog jumped in front of Victoria and snapped at the drunk’s hand.

  Considering how he was swaying from side to side, the cowboy’s reflexes were still pretty good. He jerked his hand back just before the dog clamped down. “That’s a vicious dog!” He fumbled for the pistol at his side.

  Seeing the drunk’s intention, Victoria grabbed the dog by the scruff and tried to pull him behind her.

  Before the drunk could pull his gun, a large hand clamped down on his arm. “Now, Pete, I don’t think you want to shoot the lady’s dog.” Bob, the owner of the livery, was walking toward the stagecoach when he overheard Pete making a pest of himself.

  Pete tried to twist away from Bob’s grip without success. “But he tried to bite me,” he protested.

  “He was just protecting the lady.” Bob pulled Pete’s gun out of his holster and tucked it inside his belt. “Now go on back to the ranch before you cause more trouble.”

  The drunk pointed a finger at Victoria. “I was just offering to take this here gal to the saloon. I didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

  Victoria’s face flamed red. “I am not a . . . I am not going to the saloon!”

  Pete looked her up and down again in an altogether inappropriate manner. A frown creased his brow. “Well, you’re dressed like one of L. B.’s gals.”

  What on earth was this lunatic talking about? She looked down at the suit she had fashioned from one of the dresses Mrs. Wellington had given her. She’d invested long hours copying the design for the suit and matching hat from one of Mrs. Wellington’s catalogues. It was as fine as anything she’d ever seen, though quite dusty from her trip. The ensemble was elegant and not the least bit revealing, unlike a saloon girl’s garment. She should know, she’d made plenty of dresses for the gals back in Abilene.

  “I most certainly am not dressed like a . . . like a . . . I am not!” she screeched.

  Bob tugged Pete’s arm, encouraging him to walk away. “Now go on.”

  “You mean she ain’t a whor—”

  “Pete,” Bob growled in a warning tone, clearly losing his patience. He pointed Pete in the direction of his horse. “Now go!”

  Pete decided he didn’t want to tangle with Bob. Everyone knew he was one of the strongest men in town. He stumbled away in the direction of his horse.

  Once Pete was some distance away, Bob turned his attention on Victoria. “Are you waiting on someone, ma’am?”

  “Yes, well . . . I’m supposed to see Bob at the livery. I was told he could give me transport to the Barlow farm.”

  “I’m Bob, ma’am, and I will be glad to take you to Barlow’s.” He headed back to the livery, saying over his shoulder, “Let me get the team hitched to the buckboard and we’ll be off.”

  “Are you taking that dog with you, miss?” the stagecoach driver asked.

  “Oh yes . . . yes, I am. Thank you for allowing him to ride with us. I just couldn’t leave him on the road.” When the stagecoach had stopped for the passengers to stretch their legs, the dog had appeared from the brush and limped to Victoria. They were still a long way from Promise, and the poor animal looked like he couldn’t make it another step. She felt sure he wouldn’t have survived much longer, so she asked the stagecoach driver if he could ride with them. Thankfully, the two male passengers offered what food they had left over, and she provided water from a canteen the driver provided. Once the dog devoured the offerings, he’d ridden the rest of the way to Promise on the seat beside Victoria, with his large head on her lap. Every time she stroked his head, he would look up at her with his soulful eyes as if he was thanking her for saving him. Victoria promptly fell in love with him, and before their journey ended, she’d made the decision the dog was now a member of her family.

  The stagecoach driver smiled, thinking there was no way he’d ever turn down a request from a woman as pretty as she was. Allowing the dog to ride inside the coach was against the rules, but he’d broken a few of those in his time. How could he say no to a pretty face like hers? It had been worth it just to get a look at that smile of hers. “No problem, ma’am. I think the Lord put him at the right place. My guess is he’ll prove to be a loyal friend. Take good care of him.”

  “Oh, I surely will. Thank you again.” Victoria hoped she didn’t start off on the wrong foot with Mr. Barlow by bringing the dog with her, but she just couldn’t leave him to his own devices. His situation reminded her of how she’d felt not long ago. She leaned down and looked into his large, hopeful brown eyes. “Don’t worry, you belong to me now. You will never have to fend for yourself again. And any man worth his salt would be happy to have a dog like you.” A lump formed in her throat saying the very words she had longed to hear someone say to her when she had no home and no future. The dog whipped his tail against her skirt, sending dust flying in the process. “I don’t know who is the dirtiest, me or . . . I must think of a name for you.” She glanced over his filthy coat. His fur was a reddish-brown color with large white spots, and what looked like the makings of a big fluffy white tail. At least it might be fluffy once he had a bath. His big brown eyes encircled by white fur made him look like he was wearing a mask. “I’m thinking about Bandit. What do you think?” His tail flopped from one side to the other as if he agreed. “Bandit it is,” she told him.

  Straightening, she briskly smacked her palms on her skirt in an effort to knock off more dust. She wanted to be somewhat presentable when she met Mr. Barlow. Exhausted from the trip, she was running on sheer determination. She didn’t look forward to the ride to the farm with a stranger, but it couldn’t be helped. Having Bandit by her side made the situation feel less daunting, since he’d already proven his readiness to protect her. She stroked the dog’s head before she squared her shoulders. “Okay, we can do this,” she whispered, trying to encourage herself. She avoided thinking about how her life might change in a few shor
t hours.

  Chapter Five

  “We’ll be there in about an hour.” Bob covertly eyed the young woman sitting beside him, thinking in all his years he’d never seen a prettier sight. She was a slight woman, but she sat ramrod straight, making her appear taller than she was. Her hair was pulled up in some sort of elaborate fashion at the back of her head, and her blue hat was just barely hanging on by a wish and a prayer. And she had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. She was a sight all right, just like a delicate flower in the middle of a desert. He was nearing sixty, but the way he saw it, a man of any age could appreciate a beautiful woman.

  He thought it odd that Bartholomew hadn’t told him yesterday when he saw him in town that they were expecting company. As far as he could recollect, he’d never taken anyone out to the Barlow farm, at least not in the last ten years. “I haven’t seen Chet in a couple of months. Are you family?”

  Forced to sit so close to Bob on the cramped buckboard, Victoria’s nerves were at the breaking point. She was unaccustomed to being alone with a man, and she’d already fought her fears the entire trip with two strangers on the stagecoach. Fortunately, they turned out to be gentlemen, and she was especially thankful for their kindness to Bandit. She told herself that Bob also seemed to be a gentleman, but that did little to put her at ease. He was a large, muscular man, and just looking at those massive hands holding the reins made a shudder shimmy down her spine. She’d seen what a man’s fist could do to a woman’s face. She’d lived too many years in a saloon to be fooled by a man’s polite demeanor. They could turn plain mean with that first drop of alcohol, and often it didn’t even take whiskey to make a man cruel. Suddenly, it occurred to her that Mr. Barlow might drink whiskey. She’d be in a fine fix then. She promptly pushed the thought aside.

  “No . . . no, I’m not family.” She chose not to disclose that she didn’t know Mr. Barlow. “Do you see Mr. Barlow often?”

  “Not too often. Most of the time he sends Bartholomew into town for supplies. I saw Bartholomew just yesterday, but he didn’t mention they were expecting company.”

  “He wasn’t certain when I would be arriving,” she told him truthfully.

  Seeing she wasn’t going to offer an explanation for her visit, he didn’t pry. Still, he couldn’t help but mull over what business this young woman had with Chet. He glanced at her again, thinking she was certainly pretty, but she was also one nervous filly. If she isn’t Chet’s family, who is she?

  Bob stopped the buckboard in front of Chet’s home, but when no one came to greet them, he figured Chet was out on another part of the farm. He helped Victoria from the buckboard, and placed her valise on the porch. “Doesn’t look like Chet’s around right now, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you go on inside to wait for him.”

  Bandit scrambled down from the back of the buckboard to stand beside Victoria.

  Before Bob turned to leave, Victoria pulled a rumpled piece of paper from her reticule and held it up to him. “Are you sure we are in the right place?” She didn’t want him to leave and find out later she was in the wrong place with no way to make it back to town.

  Bob scanned the paper before his gaze moved back to her pale face. No doubt she was as nervous as a cat with its tail under a rocker, but he didn’t know why. “Yes, ma’am, this is the right place, the Barlow farm.” He was reluctant to leave seeing how frightened she was, and it might be some time before Chet came back. Bartholomew had told him about the confrontation with Wallace and his men. He’d hate to have her face those gunslingers alone. Instead of leaving, he walked to the barn and yelled out Chet’s name, but there was no response. Since he had no place in particular to go, and his curiosity had been piqued, he decided he would just wait with her. He strolled back to the porch and casually leaned against the railing. “Why don’t I just wait right here with you until Chet gets back. If you decide not to stay, then I can take you back to town with me.” Maybe he’d learn more about her while they waited.

  She was still nervous to be alone with him, but she preferred that option over being left alone in the middle of nowhere. “Thank you, Mr. Bob.” She was so tired and tense she didn’t give a second thought to the dust covering the porch step when she plopped down. Bandit settled down right beside her.

  “Just call me Bob, no mister needed,” he told her.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Victoria Eastman.”

  Bob nudged his hat with one finger. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.” He pointed to the mangy dog that sat snuggled to her side, positioned between them. “How long have you had him?”

  She glanced down at Bandit and looped her arm around his neck. “Only a day. I saw him on the road, and the stagecoach driver was kind enough to let him ride with us.”

  Another man who couldn’t say no to a pretty face, Bob figured. “He sure could use a bath.”

  “Yes, I think we are both in dire need after our trip. I hope Mr. Barlow doesn’t mind that I brought him with me,” she added uneasily. It was difficult enough for her to think of meeting Mr. Barlow for the first time. If he objected to Bandit she didn’t know what she would do. But her mind was made up, and under no circumstances would she abandon the dog. Nervously, she removed her blue hat and placed it beside her on the porch. She tried in vain to repair her hair that had escaped her combs and was tumbling around her shoulders. She longed to freshen up before she saw Mr. Barlow, but she didn’t dare presume to go into his home.

  “Chet is a God-fearing man who cares for all creatures. I doubt he’ll mind the dog.” The way he saw it, if Chet was lucky enough to know this little lady, he wouldn’t be upset over a dog she brought along. He didn’t figure there was a man alive who could stay angry at her over anything. He for dang sure couldn’t.

  Victoria eyed her surroundings, taking in the condition of Mr. Barlow’s home and barn. The home wasn’t large, but it was well built of stone and wood and looked sturdy enough. There were no flowers around the house, leading her to think Mr. Barlow was obviously not a man for frills. The property was neat and functional, but nothing to indicate a woman’s presence. She absently wondered if he would object to her planting a few flowers to bring some color to the drab surroundings.

  She’d helped Mrs. Wellington plant flowers at the boardinghouse, and in the spring they were rewarded for their hard work with glorious color. Her gaze drifted to the barn, and like the home, it was old but in good repair. She could almost envision the boys running around with Bandit in the field. She thought they could be happy here. She might not enjoy marriage, but she could be content for the boys to have a home.

  She glanced back at Bob. “Have you known Mr. Barlow long?”

  “Yes, ma’am, all my life.”

  Just as she started to ask him to tell her something about Mr. Barlow, Bob straightened from the post and walked to the wagon to retrieve his rifle.

  Victoria jumped from her perch on the step. “Is there a problem?”

  “Riders,” he said, pointing to a speck in the distance. “Out here you can’t be too careful, ma’am.” Bob cocked his rifle, and Bandit leaped from the porch, assuming his protective position in front of Victoria. When the riders approached, Bob recognized the big black horse. He relaxed the grip on his rifle and gave Victoria a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, he’s a neighboring rancher.”

  “Bob,” Colt said, reining his stallion in beside Bob’s wagon.

  “Colt, Chet’s not here. We were just waiting for him.”

  Looking past Bob, Colt glanced at the young woman standing behind him. Big blue eyes returned his regard. He recognized that face immediately, and he couldn’t believe his eyes! What was she doing here? Was she related to Chet? Did she come for his wedding? He vaguely recalled the Englishwoman saying something about her relatives living in Wyoming. But how was it possible they lived in Promise? Giving no indication that he recognized her, Colt tipped the brim of his Stetson politely. “Ma’am.”

  “Colt, this is Miss Victor
ia Eastman. She’s here to visit with Chet.” Bob turned to face Victoria. “Mr. McBride’s cattle ranch borders Chet’s farm on the east side.”

  Colt wasn’t sure what to say since she gave no indication that she recognized him. He swung a long leg over his horse to dismount and closed the distance between them.

  Victoria couldn’t believe her eyes. How could he possibly be Mr. Barlow’s neighbor? Impossible! She remembered Mrs. Wellington say he was from Wyoming. What were the chances he would live here? He just couldn’t be the neighbor of the man she was going to marry.

  With the sun behind him, Victoria shadowed her eyes with her hand to watch as he approached, his spurs clinking with each step. For the first time, she really looked at him. From head to toe. Mrs. Wellington’s words came to mind. He is the largest man I have ever seen. The leather bands at his wrists had to be eight inches wide, and he wore leather chaps over his jeans. Cartridges lined the circumference of the belt he wore around his trim waist. That pistol she remembered so well was in his holster. He took the time to remove his gloves and tuck them in his belt before removing his Stetson.

  “Miss Eastman.” His thoughts went back to the morning he saw her as he was leaving St. Louis. She was standing in the window looking so beautiful she took his breath away. She’d remained in his thoughts on the long trip home and many times since.

  Victoria’s hand flew to her hair, trying in vain to bring order to the tangled mass of curls. “Mr. McBride.” That night at the boardinghouse she was awed by his size and his unusual black-as-sin eyes, and she hadn’t really noticed his other features. Once he removed his Stetson she stared at his darkly tanned face and strongly chiseled features. The deep creases etched into his jaw were, no doubt, carved by the harsh Wyoming climate. All of his features were remarkably attractive, but she was drawn to his eyes. They were so black she couldn’t tell the irises from the pupils, and framed by long, thick black lashes that seemed incongruous on such a masculine face. He’d probably made more than a few men quake in their boots with his powerful stature, but there was no denying women would find his eyes . . . well . . . to borrow a word from Mrs. Wellington . . . stunning. It wasn’t hard to imagine they would also think him ruggedly handsome with his perfect granite features. To her, he was dark and dangerous. His size alone made him one of the most intimidating men she had ever seen, and combined with the intensity of his stare, he appeared absolutely fearsome.