Pistols and Petticoats (A Historical Western Romance Anthology) Page 3

  A surgeon's hands.

  He dried her hand on a towel and gently rubbed the juice from the leaf across the welts on her hand. A blister or two had appeared as well. "What is that?" she asked.

  "Aloe vera. It helps the healing. Grows in the deserts nearby. But it's been around since Hippocrates' time."

  "It feels better," she murmured. "I wish I'd had some of it during the war. In my nursing."

  He raised his gaze to hers and with a noise of agreement, wrapped her hand in bandages.

  Ella stared at them while spooning applesauce haphazardly into her mouth.

  "Where did you work?" he asked.

  "Jarvis Hospital, in Maryland Square, Baltimore. It wasn't far from my home. Soldiers were shipped up there from the battlefields when they were able, to recover."

  "Yes," he answered, tying off the bandage at her wrist. "I know the one. I sent my share of men there from the Virginia tents. The ones who survived. I was actually at your hospital once."

  "Really? How strange that we were in the same place. You were a surgeon, then?"

  "Yes." His face clouded at the memory.

  She understood that better than most. The thought of this man, who had so tenderly treated her hand, doing the kind of butchery she'd seen done in those tents sent a shudder through her.

  He gathered up his supplies, replacing them precisely in his black leather bag. "Your hand should heal nicely. Keep it covered and clean."

  "Thank you, Doctor."

  He nodded as he got to his feet and rolled his shoulder as if it pained him. With a sigh, he lifted Ella from her high chair and set her down. She began scouting for a toy.

  "Will you be all right with Ella today? I have to be gone most of the day to check on a few patients in outlying areas."

  "Don't worry about us. We'll be fine."

  Overhearing this, Ella wailed suddenly and launched herself toward his legs like a minié ball. "No, Daddy!"

  Ethan kissed the top of her head and ran a hand down her blonde curls. "Here now, darlin', I'll be home soon," Ethan said, casting a worried look at Violet before detaching the child and pushing her toward his new wife. "Go see Violet."

  Ella looked at Violet. Violet looked at Ella, who screwed up her little face and cried.

  * * *

  "Violet's prettier'n a new leaf, isn't she?" Matthew Lonneher asked Ethan rhetorically as he ran the saddle-soaped cloth along the bridle he'd just finished. "The candles and rose petals were a nice touch, weren't they?"

  Ethan grunted equivocally, glancing around the shop. This morning, Lonneher's Saddlery was littered with harnesses and bridles in various stages of readiness and the place smelled of leather, stain and soap.

  "It was Hattie's idea," he went on. "I mean, I guess I don't have to tell you that, do I? Hattie's tickled pink for you two. Your bride had a spot of nerves at the ceremony. Is she all right now?"

  Ethan had come prepared to complain about the candles and rose petals, but really, what was the point?

  Matthew and Hattie had been like family to him, watching Ella for hours on end while Ethan built his practice and learned how to father an infant. Without the two of them, he would never have survived those first, exhausting few months alone with a newborn. Or the darkness he'd fallen into after Suzanne.

  Matthew and Hattie were more in love than any couple he'd ever known. They were goddamned role models for a happy marriage, he thought.

  But they are the exception to the rule.

  Still, when Hattie first suggested the idea of finding him a wife by advertising in an Eastern paper, he'd had to give the idea consideration. He couldn't rely on others indefinitely to help raise Ella. It had been Hattie who'd convinced him that what Ella needed was a full-time mother, and that he needed a wife.

  But everything he'd hoped for? Aside from the fact that she was, in fact, pretty as a new leaf, couldn't cook, had issues with the word obey?

  "Violet's... fine."

  Matt stopped cleaning the tack and met Ethan's eye. "Fine? Now there's a dangerous word. At least where women are concerned. And I speak from personal experience here."

  Ethan narrowed a look at the room. "She's not really what I expected."

  Matthew frowned back. "I don't like the sound of that."

  Rubbing his sore neck, Ethan said, "I never should have brought her here. I should have found another way."

  "Whoa." Matthew frowned. "It's been less than a day. Isn't that a bit premature? Is she not good with Ella?"

  "She's crazy about her and Ella will warm to her. Eventually."

  "Then what is it, Ethan?"

  "It sounded workable on paper. Equitable, even. She got what she wanted and I got what I needed."

  "I'm not following."

  "A woman like her shouldn't settle for a man like me."

  "Again, I'm not—"

  "I—" Ethan shook his head and paced over to the window. "I was only being honest with her, dammit."

  "About what?"

  "About me. That I can't... won't love her."

  Matthew let the leather he was working drop to the table with a thud. "You did what?"

  "I told her—"

  "I heard you. Why?"

  Ethan ground his palm against the window sash. "It was only fair."

  "I see." Matthew made a disapproving sound in his throat. "And you told her this when exactly?"

  "Of course I told her in our letters."

  Matthew's eyes widened. "Does Hattie know this? Never mind. Of course, she doesn't. She would have talked you off that cliff. And Violet married you anyway..."

  "Obviously. But," he admitted, "even though she's agreed, it seems to be a sore point."

  Matthew raised his brows. "I can imagine."

  "And," Ethan added, as if this would make everything clear, "she's a damned sight prettier than she led me to believe."

  "Ahh. Now you're making no sense at all. You didn't want her to be pretty?"

  Ethan rubbed the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "Just forget I said anything."

  Matthew came around the table and faced him squarely. "I think I see what's going on. And let me remind you, Ethan. Violet is not Suzanne. She deserves a chance all on her own.

  "Look, Ethan," he went on, "putting aside, for a moment, my feelings on the subject of to love or not to love that pretty new wife of yours, let me just say this. First, you never, ever tell a woman she can't have something. It only makes her want it more.

  "Second, in my opinion, you got damned lucky with Violet. You could have ended up with a horse-faced shrew. Instead, you've got... well, her. What more could you want?"

  Ethan scowled. "I wanted someone who wouldn't—I didn't want—"

  "To be tempted? The possibility of starting over? God forbid you should be happy."

  Ethan began again. "I just want peace with her. Someone to watch Ella. Is that too much to ask?"

  Matt lifted his hands, palm up. "You'll get peace with a good dog, Ethan. Not with a woman. Never with a woman."

  Just then, Hattie walked in the door. "Ethan!" she cried, hurrying over with a hug for him. "How's Violet? Did she like the rose petals? What does Ella think? Tell me everything! Well, not everything, for heaven's sake." Hattie laughed merrily and moved to hug her husband.

  "And thank God for that," he told Ethan.

  "Thank God for what?" Hattie asked her husband.

  "You," he told her with a peck on the cheek. Over her shoulder, Matt winked at him and lifted his brows meaningfully. He mouthed the words, a good dog.

  * * *

  Violet held Ella's hand in her own unbandaged one as they headed down the wooden walkway of town. With the promise of a stroll in the fresh air, Ella had deigned to allow Violet to dress her and lure her outside. Her small hand in Violet's felt good, and as they passed rolling wagons, the child's fingers curled more tightly around hers.

  Slowly, the child's heart was unfurling toward her like the head of a daisy opening with the sun. And Violet cr
aved her trust. She tried to imagine a lifetime of it.

  They stopped at the small post office to mail a letter she'd written to her brother, Elliot, and his wife, Nora, telling them what she'd done. She didn't exactly mention the terms of the marriage, but she did say that she hoped, in time, she and Ethan would come to love one another.

  She dreaded his reply when he read it. She had kept her marriage plans secret from them, worrying that they'd try to stop her. And she couldn't let them do that. She would not allow herself to become dependent on them.

  Her family had been wealthy once, before the war. The word, wealthy, even now, made her feel guilty. Her father, a surgeon and businessman, had heavily invested in racehorses, his not-so-secret passion. But the war had put an end to such things as horseracing, and the Union Army had requisitioned all of her father's cherished Thoroughbreds for the war at pennies on the dollar. It had ruined him.

  The stables followed, then the land, then her parents themselves, who succumbed together to cholera in the fourth year of the conflict.

  The money was all gone now and there was no recourse for her but the one she'd taken. She'd be the first to admit she'd been spoiled as a child, spoiled with choices, mostly. To be who she wanted to be.

  Her brother Elliot and her stepbrother, Chase, had called her headstrong. And she was. That's what she missed most, she thought. Not the money, but the choices money allowed her. Choices, she had learned, were a luxury.

  She hoped her brothers would accept her choice here, whether she'd made the best one or not.

  The street was busy and crowded with wagons and miners heading off to their claims. At this hour, the ladies of the night were still sleeping, and the few respectable women who resided here were about. Several nodded to her, then whispered to one another as she and Ella passed.

  Violet brushed a hand down the green muslin gown she wore and checked for stains or food she might have accidentally spilled. She decided it was not what she wore, but the fact that she was Ethan's new wife that had tongues wagging.

  Adjusting her bonnet, she took a deep breath, thinking about Ethan's kiss at the ceremony. Of course, it had only been for show, for the witnesses.

  But that kiss... she could still feel it on her lips. His were unexpectedly soft, and though it was the briefest of brushes, she could still remember the taste of him.

  Violet wondered if he'd been thinking about his late wife when he'd kissed her.

  It wasn't unusual for a man to take a wife to mother his children, even as he grieved his late wife. The unusual part was, well, her. She was the new wife and she was the one who'd accepted a loveless marriage in exchange for motherhood.

  As Ella's small hand tugged on hers, she wondered how many other women had made such a bargain with the devil and whether any of them had been successful in changing their husband's mind?

  According to her late mother, there was nothing more foolish than thinking one could change a man, in any way. As usual, Violet had dismissed that advice as applying to everyone but her. But now that she'd met the man, she was beginning to think her mother's words might be true.

  If she was going to survive this thing intact, she needed rules about this marriage. Rules that could not be broken.

  And rule number one, the most inviolable rule, was: Do not fall in love with Ethan Walker.

  She glanced up at the granite-carved mountains that surrounded the town, whose hillsides were covered in shimmering aspens. The leaves shook in the breeze like shiny coins with their silver undersides. Even now, in late August, a few were already turning yellow with the cool evenings.

  For reasons she hadn't anticipated, autumn loomed like some tacit deadline. She'd married him. She'd given her word. But now second and third thoughts were creeping in. Would it be enough if he never loved her? What if, God forbid, she fell in love with him?

  And Ella.

  She glanced down at the child whose hand rested in hers. Perhaps Ella would forget her in time if she left, but Violet knew she couldn't claim the same. Leaving wasn't an option. But hope. That was another thing. She could hope for things to resolve themselves with Ethan, but what if they didn't?

  There were limits to hope, she supposed. And if Ethan didn't show signs that he might love her by the turn of the leaves, what would she do?

  Harden her heart? Put all of her focus onto Ella? Or maybe it would be enough. Maybe she could learn to settle for what he offered her.

  Stop thinking of it now, she chided herself. No point in buying trouble. What was done was done. She would just have to see how it all played out.

  She looked down at Ella who pulled her toward a doorway, and glanced up to find they'd reached Tucker's Mercantile.

  The little bell over the door jangled as they stepped inside the store.

  "Well-ll, if it isn't Herself," the plump woman behind the counter said, clapping her hands together. "The wee EllaWalker come t' visit."

  Ella broke free and ran to her, allowing herself to be scooped up in the storekeeper's ample bosom for a lovely hug. Ella giggled.

  Violet bit her lip and swallowed hard at how easily the child ran to the other woman. But of course. They were friends.

  "My wee darlin'. And this," the woman said, setting Ella down, and reaching for Violet's hand, "must be your pretty new ma."

  Ella tilted a look from the safety of her friend's proximity and scowled in a perfect imitation of her father.

  The woman laughed and shook her head. "Ach, two-year-olds," she remarked. "I'm Maeve Tucker. My husband John and I own this establishment, such as it is. And ya know, as much as he tried to keep it quiet, it's no secret that Ethan Walker's taken a wife. And we're all so happy for him. Fer ye both. "

  She gladly took the woman's hand. "Thank you so much, Mrs. Tucker. Please call me Violet." She couldn't pull her gaze away from the amazing array of merchandise crammed into the small space. "You have a remarkable store."

  Indeed, it was stocked floor to the ceiling with not only canned goods and barrels of fruit and pickles, it boasted an amazing array of miner's equipment and clothes. Readymade shirts and denims lined one whole shelf in stacks and, on another, sat large, dish-shaped metal pans and even piles of mining rockers.

  In the back, she could see a small section of readymade items for women. The whole place smelled of a mix of dilled pickles, the fresh apples stacked on the counter and the distinct scent from the indigo dye on the denim.

  "We try to please all of our customers." Maeve pushed a graying strand of hair from her cheek. "Though," she chuckled ruefully, "I suppose you've noticed there's an abundance of men in this town. So I don't stock as much as I'd like for women, though if there's something you need that I don't have, I can order it for you. I do have lovely fabric over here and ribbons and such. Even some boots if you're in the market."

  "I really don't need anything for myself," she said. "But Ella might like a pretty ribbon for her hair. Would you like a ribbon, Ella?"

  Ella was hanging from the countertop by her fingertips, eyeing a canister full of peppermint candy. Well, Violet mused, more bees were caught with honey than with vinegar, and she was not beneath outright bribery.

  "Candy it is." She reached for a peppermint stick and handed it to the child. Ella's eyes widened and she popped it in her mouth with a shy smile.

  Two other bonneted women strolled into the store to browse. They glanced at her and whispered to each other.

  Maeve motioned to Violet's bandaged hand. "Ach, you've hurt yourself."

  Violet's hand still throbbed. "I don't suppose you'd have any potholders? Even though," she amended under her breath, "I don't think that will help much. I'm not much of a cook."

  The older woman winked at her and pulled a thickly woven potholder from behind the counter and set it down. "And it happens I've just got in the loveliest cookbook. It's called Mrs. Beeton's Book of Household Management and there are hundreds of recipes in it. And other helpful hints. Quite an expert, this Mrs. Beeton, appare
ntly."

  She would need an expert if she had any hope of succeeding here. "Sounds like exactly what I need."

  The shopkeeper handed her a thick tome and patted the cover lovingly. "Here you are. And I'd be grateful if you'd consider this our wedding gift to you."

  Touched, Violet felt tears threaten. It had been a while since she'd known such kindness.

  But it wasn't just the kindness. It was more the fragile line she felt like she was walking today, between possibility and outright failure. "Thank you so much, Mrs. Tucker. That's so generous of you."

  "Call me Maeve. Oh, dear, are ye cryin' now? There, there. It's just the new bride jitters. And don't you be lettin' that bear of a man scare ya with his gruffness. He's a lamb underneath. Ask anyone. And he's got God's own skill in those hands of his."

  Violet touched under her nose with one knuckle. "He doesn't scare me."

  "Ah, there's my girl. Doc Walker has his reasons, God knows, to be the way he is. But he's a modest, private man. And this town is lucky to have him."

  The mousy-haired woman who had been sidling up to hear their conversation added meaningfully, "Especially after what happened with his wife."

  "Isn't that the truth?" her shopping companion agreed.

  Violet glanced at Maeve, whose face betrayed her displeasure at the gossip. "Ah, Lydia, Mary, I suppose you're here for the fabric you ordered. Why don't you come with me and I'll—"

  Lydia thrust her hand at Violet. "I'm Lydia Bankstrom. You must be Doc Walker's new wife."

  "Yes, I—"

  "Didn't I tell you, Mary? Well, welcome to Clear Creek. All the way from—?"

  "Baltimore," Violet answered. "Maryland."

  Lydia tittered. "A darn sight more elegant than this place, isn't it? He's got you holed up in that little apartment over his office. But now I suppose," she added before Maeve could intercede, "you'll be moving into that house Doc left nearly finished up the hill. Now that there are three of you, that is."

  "House?" Violet asked.

  Maeve waved her hand and cast a dark look at Lydia Bankstrom. "Ach. Never mind that, now."

  "Oh, yes," Lydia went on. "He just gave up on it after his wife... well, there it sits. Just up that hill. You can't miss it." She pointed out the window of the shop to a pretty little house built into a clearing on the side of the hill above town.