she’d been taught to do. “I’m well, sir. Thank you.” She glanced toward her mother who remained near the open door of the room they shared, wondering why she’d brought Mr. Grace here instead of calling for her to come down.
“Would you mind if I sat?” he asked, already doing so.
Fear fluttered through her. Was this Madame Rousseau’s doing? No, it couldn’t be. Her mother wouldn’t look so pleased if that were the case.
Her gaze returned to Mr. Grace. “I’m afraid I haven’t any refreshments to offer you, sir.”
“Quite all right. I’m here for a different reason.”
“Different reason?”
“Miss Crane, the truth is, I’m here to ask for your hand in marriage.”
“Marriage?” Her eyes widened in disbelief. “But we only just met.”
He smiled again. “I know more than you think, Julia. When I first saw you in town, I inquired about you. And now we’ll become better acquainted. First of all, I’d like you to call me Angus. Would you do that?”
“I —” She glanced toward her mother, who nodded ever so slightly. “I suppose that would be all right … Angus.”
The wedding took place less than a week later. It was held in Madame Rousseau’s private suite on the first floor above the saloonearly on a Wednesday morning. All of the girls who worked for Madame Rousseau were there, a few of them attending in satin robes and bedroom slippers. No one seemed to think that strange, not even the justice of the peace who performed the brief ceremony.
In no time at all, Angus and Julia were declared husband and wife. Angus gave his bride a perfunctory kiss on the lips, took hold of her left arm, and propelled her out of the suite, down the stairs, and out onto the boardwalk, where a wagon and team of horses awaited them, Julia’s trunk already in the bed.
“Julia,” her mother called before Angus could help her up to the wagon seat.
She turned to accept her mother’s embrace.
“Be happy. I’ve done the best by you that I could.”
“I know you have, Mama. I’ll be happy.”
“You’ll never have to work in a place like this. You’ve got a husband and a home. Make the best of it.”
“I will.”
Her mother looked at Angus. “You treat her good now, you hear?”
He grunted his response.
“You write me as soon as you get to your new home,” her mother continued, looking once more at Julia. “You write me as often as you can. I know you’ll be busy, learning how to be a proper rancher’s wife and all, but just write enough so I’ll know you’re doing okay.”
Tears flooded Julia’s eyes as she whispered, “I will, Mama. You write to me too. I … I’ll miss you.”
“Let’s go.” Angus took hold of her arm again, his grip painfully tight. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover before nightfall.”
He sounded almost angry, and a flicker of doubt passed through her heart. But it was too late to change things now.
Once again, Hugh slapped the reins against the rumps of the horses as the animals strained forward in the harness. “Giddup there!” They pulled with all of their might, their coats covered with sweat.
“It’s starting to move,” Peter shouted. “Keep ‘em going.”
“Hey there. Giddup.”
For a few moments longer, everything was as it had been for the past ten minutes, men and horses all doing their jobs. Then the groan and rattle of leather and chains was replaced by a sharper, louder sound. Unexpectedly, the horses broke into a trot, no longer meeting resistance. Hugh was jerked to his knees and the reins soared out of his hands. Completely free now, the team hurried toward the barn.
“What hap —” The question died in Hugh’s throat as he looked behind him. Peter was on the ground near the splintered stump, his head bleeding, his eyes closed. “Collins!” Hugh jumped up, rushed to where the injured man lay, and dropped to his knees a second time.
The wound in Peter’s head looked both long and deep, although it was hard to be
“Would you mind if I sat?” he asked, already doing so.
Fear fluttered through her. Was this Madame Rousseau’s doing? No, it couldn’t be. Her mother wouldn’t look so pleased if that were the case.
Her gaze returned to Mr. Grace. “I’m afraid I haven’t any refreshments to offer you, sir.”
“Quite all right. I’m here for a different reason.”
“Different reason?”
“Miss Crane, the truth is, I’m here to ask for your hand in marriage.”
“Marriage?” Her eyes widened in disbelief. “But we only just met.”
He smiled again. “I know more than you think, Julia. When I first saw you in town, I inquired about you. And now we’ll become better acquainted. First of all, I’d like you to call me Angus. Would you do that?”
“I —” She glanced toward her mother, who nodded ever so slightly. “I suppose that would be all right … Angus.”
The wedding took place less than a week later. It was held in Madame Rousseau’s private suite on the first floor above the saloonearly on a Wednesday morning. All of the girls who worked for Madame Rousseau were there, a few of them attending in satin robes and bedroom slippers. No one seemed to think that strange, not even the justice of the peace who performed the brief ceremony.
In no time at all, Angus and Julia were declared husband and wife. Angus gave his bride a perfunctory kiss on the lips, took hold of her left arm, and propelled her out of the suite, down the stairs, and out onto the boardwalk, where a wagon and team of horses awaited them, Julia’s trunk already in the bed.
“Julia,” her mother called before Angus could help her up to the wagon seat.
She turned to accept her mother’s embrace.
“Be happy. I’ve done the best by you that I could.”
“I know you have, Mama. I’ll be happy.”
“You’ll never have to work in a place like this. You’ve got a husband and a home. Make the best of it.”
“I will.”
Her mother looked at Angus. “You treat her good now, you hear?”
He grunted his response.
“You write me as soon as you get to your new home,” her mother continued, looking once more at Julia. “You write me as often as you can. I know you’ll be busy, learning how to be a proper rancher’s wife and all, but just write enough so I’ll know you’re doing okay.”
Tears flooded Julia’s eyes as she whispered, “I will, Mama. You write to me too. I … I’ll miss you.”
“Let’s go.” Angus took hold of her arm again, his grip painfully tight. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover before nightfall.”
He sounded almost angry, and a flicker of doubt passed through her heart. But it was too late to change things now.
Once again, Hugh slapped the reins against the rumps of the horses as the animals strained forward in the harness. “Giddup there!” They pulled with all of their might, their coats covered with sweat.
“It’s starting to move,” Peter shouted. “Keep ‘em going.”
“Hey there. Giddup.”
For a few moments longer, everything was as it had been for the past ten minutes, men and horses all doing their jobs. Then the groan and rattle of leather and chains was replaced by a sharper, louder sound. Unexpectedly, the horses broke into a trot, no longer meeting resistance. Hugh was jerked to his knees and the reins soared out of his hands. Completely free now, the team hurried toward the barn.
“What hap —” The question died in Hugh’s throat as he looked behind him. Peter was on the ground near the splintered stump, his head bleeding, his eyes closed. “Collins!” Hugh jumped up, rushed to where the injured man lay, and dropped to his knees a second time.
The wound in Peter’s head looked both long and deep, although it was hard to be
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