Authors: Nathan Adams
Chapter Two
Her eyes widened, and she reached out, grabbing the man’s arm and pulling it away from her door, ripping the paper sign off, her eyes wide and filled with anger.
“You vulture. I am a grieving widow. How dare you try and take away the last thing I have. Haven’t I lost enough?” she asked, tossing the paper to the ground.
The wind swept the paper away, and the man who’d tried to nail it to her door stared at her with a cocked brow.
“Paper or no paper, if you don’t pay your mortgage in 30 days, then this house won’t be yours anymore. You think the banks can just give any grieving woman a break and let her live in her house without paying for it? The entire economy would buckle. Listen lady, it’s a shame you lost your husband, but the rules are the rules. We can’t go around breaking them. If you need some money, head over to the saloon. There are plenty of guys over there who would pay a pretty penny for a peek under your skirt.”
Mary’s cheeks went red, and her hand lashed out, trying to catch the man’s stubbly cheek. He caught her wrist easily and squeezed hard enough to bring her to her knees.
“Women like you—there’s a reason you never stick around long.”
Mary gasped and clawed at his hand, trying to pull away. “Let me go!”
“No one wants a woman like you,” he whispered, eyes narrowed as he leaned forward. “You don’t know your place.” He pushed her away and straightened his vest, turning back toward his horse and swinging a leg over the saddle.
“You start learning how to act like a lady of your stature. Maybe you’ll find a husband.” He slapped the reins and dug his heel into the horse’s side. The beast reared up and took off down the dirt path.
Mary lay in a useless pile in the wet dirt, her dress stained and her heart broken as tears began to pour down her cheeks. She let out a soft sob and covered her mouth as the skies opened up above her, thunder clapping and lightening streaking across the sky. It was only a matter of time before cold, fat drops of rain landed on her cheek and streaked down her pale skin.
It was like even the heavens were telling her it was a lost cause.
_______________________
Rick ducked out of the pouring rain and into the warmth of a local inn. The downstairs served as a saloon and restaurant, and it was packed with locals and weary travelers. Everyone mixed together in a strange way that suggested few people actually know who the locals were anymore. The barkeep cast a weary glance around the saloon, watching everyone else just as closely as he watched Rick.
He settled at the bar and held his cracked knuckle up, waving the bartender over and requesting ale. The man offered him a large metal tankard of beer, and Rick thanked him and slid a few bills across the table. He drank from it happily, enjoying the smooth, comforting taste as he all but drained it in one mighty gulp.
Rick ran a hand through his jet black hair, his green eyes scanning the room trying to take in his situation. His eyes were critical, like that of a man who hadn’t seen much luck in his life but relied on it all the same.
A man at the end of the bar caught Rick’s attention, and he stood up to take a seat near the well-dressed man. He kept a hold on his tankard, not wanting to draw too much attention to himself. A quiet man, he hated attention.
“The widow on the hill is getting desperate, you know.” He murmured, sipping his own beer. “If one of you boys wanted to bed her, all you’d have to do is promise to keep a roof over her head. She’s days away from losing that farm.”
“But who wants a woman with that much fire in her? She’d contradict you at every turn. There’s a good chance a man might end up cooking for her.”
The man in the suit who’d spoken before nodded slowly. “I suppose you’re right. She does have quite a bit of fight in her, doesn’t she?”
“More than some fight. She’s a disrespectful woman,” a fat man said, his round face red from drinking too much. “Maybe this will teach her a lesson. She can’t go around with that attitude. It will be nice seeing her have to grovel for once.”
“I couldn’t agree more. Just this afternoon she got on her knees and begged me to take the bank’s sign down. She would have done anything to keep that sign down.” He smirked wryly, clearly putting unclean thoughts in the other men’s heads.
The fat man started to speak again, but Rick turned his head, pulling the hood of his coat down to get a better look at the gathered men. They continued to talk at length of the woman on the hill, and it gave Rick an idea. Maybe, just maybe, there was a woman in this town, desperate enough to marry in order to save her farm.
He’d heard of mail-order brides before. What was so crazy about this? He found a piece of parchment on the wall, advertising a woman’s magazine, and he tore it down. The barkeep was nice enough to find him a fountain pen, and he went about writing his ad. It was an offer that included payment of the mortgage and farm work until a marriage would be conducted after Christmas. He didn’t state much about himself except for the fact that he was a farmer and could help repair just about any farm that had fallen into disrepair.
He posted the ad on little community board and rented a room for the night, sleeping well into late afternoon the next day. When he wandered down to get some food, he noticed there was an address, directions and a name scrawled on his ad.
“Mary,” he murmured curiously.
Chapter Three
Mary sighed and ran an ivory brush through her long blond curls before carefully braiding them into a simple plait. She sighed and looked in the mirror of her vanity at her pale face and ran her fingers along her own plump lips. Maybe this was how it was always supposed to be. She’d been a fool to fall in love and think that it could be that simple. She was a fool to think that she could be in love and be happy. Girls like her weren’t meant to be in love.
She should have stayed in Boston and married a lawyer or a businessman. She should have just been happy with her life the way it was. If she’d just accepted her plot in life, Jacob would still be alive, and at least she’d have a dream. Mary closed her eyes at the thought and dropped her head into her hands, fighting off the tears. She was surprised she could still cry. She’d cried so much these last few months.
A knock on the door dragged her from her thoughts, and her head snapped up at the sound, eyes wide and confused. She stood from her vanity and moved to answer the door, cracking it open just enough to see who was outside. The storm from the night before was still raging and she could barely make out the shape of a man.
“Are you Mary?”
“I am,” she said. “Who are you?”
“Did you reply to an ad in the saloon for a mail-order bride?”
She was silent for a long moment, brows furrowed. “Who are you?” she asked again, her voice stronger and more demanding.
“My name is Rick Larson. I’m the one who put that ad up in the first place.”
“You can help save my farm?” she asked nervously. She knew she couldn’t do it on her own, and if this man was who he said he was, then he was her saving grace.
“I can,” he said, sounding cool, calm and collected.
Mary hesitated for a moment but slowly opened the door. She realized that trusting this man was dangerous and probably not the wisest idea, but what did she have to lose? At this point, death didn’t seem like the worst possibility.
As Rick crossed the threshold, he ducked down to avoid hitting his head. He was a tall man and stood at a good 6-feet-4-inches, an impressive height to anyone, but even more so to Mary. She was a small woman, weighing barely 100 pounds, which suited her 5-foot-3-inch frame. She took a moment to look him up and down, and then took a step away from him, instantly regretting letting him into her house.
“How do you think you can save my farm?” she aksed, putting a hand to her chest in an attempt to still her racing heart.
“As I said in my ad, I have enough cash to pay the mortgage until Christmas, and I’m a skilled farmer. I can make this land profitable again.”
She frowned a little and wrapped her arms around her own small frame. “And you’re willing to do all this in exchange for a wife?”
“Of course not. I want joint ownership of the farm.”
“And if we get married, you’ll be able to take over ownership of my farm.”
“Precisely.”
“I know I responded to your ad, but I’m having second thoughts,” she said. “I’m not even sure I can trust you,” she whispered, her heart beating erratically.
“Well, you have a decision to make. Either we are married by Christmas or you lose your farm.”
His words were blunt and almost cruel. There was no patience to his voice, and it made her heart drop into her stomach. Was this really her only option? She swallowed and ran her hand through her own hair.
“You are asking a lot of me very suddenly,” she said.
“I disagree. Tomorrow is October first. You have three months to come to a decision. Three months where you will be allowed to see my work ethic and talents. By the time Christmas comes around, you will have a healthy harvest and cattle people will be willing to buy. Not the sickly creatures I spotted behind that barn,” he said. “You say that I am asking you to make a decision quickly. Well, if anything, I’ve bought you more time. Those banker men were ready to steal this home out from under you. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than being on the street.”
Tears came to Mary’s eyes, and she nodded numbly, realizing that everything he said was true. “All right, I suppose I can take a chance on you, Rick.”
“You’re making the right decision, Mary. I hope we can make this little transaction work.” He offered Mary his hand, and the blond woman stared at it for a moment, unsure of whether she was making the right decision.
She finally took his hand and nodded slowly. “Me, too. Hope is all I have now.”
Chapter Four
The deal was that Rick would sleep in the barn. It was warm and dry enough to be more than comfortable. The very first night she’d sent him away with a pile of blankets and feather down pillows, and he’d thanked her for it. She knew that if Jacob could see her trusting this complete stranger, he’d have a heart attack. Mary was a sheltered woman who came from a very protective family. She’d never learned to be cynical because everyone around her did that for her. She was free to be as trusting and naïve as she wanted. It was one of the things that terrified Jacob about moving out West. There always seemed to be someone ready to take what they wanted from you or hurt you. That’s what happened to Jacob, and Mary could only pray that wouldn’t happen to her as well.
A week passed since Rick first came to the farm, and in that time they’d only interacted at meal times. He was a little rough around the edges with a very coarse personality and intense demeanor. She wasn’t really sure what to make of him. She’d tried to start conversation with the admittedly handsome man, but he would just grunt and offer her a single word answer that left her wonder more and more about this mysterious man.
The sun was barely up, so Mary was surprised by the sound of a loud banging at the door. They didn’t have breakfast until late morning. What was Rick doing waking her up so early? She put on a robe, shivering as she climbed out of the bed she’d once shared with her husband, and all but ran outside, her hair a wild mess from sleep.
She tried to pat her golden locks down as best she could but knew it was futile. Mary threw open the front door, surprised to see a thick layer of powdery snow covering the ground. It was the first snowfall of the year. The cold wind whipped her dress around her ankles, and she gasped, bringing her robe around her body even tighter in an attempt to keep the chilling wind at bay.
“Rick, what is going on?”
“You’re going to help me today.”
She stared at him as if he was crazy and then laughed. “I don’t do farm work.”
“You do today. Now go put on something appropriate,” he said, waving his hand a little.
“You’re serious?”
“Of course I am. This place is a wreck. If you’re going to own half the farm, you’re going to help get it back in working order.”
He turned and stomped off into the snow, leaving Mary bewildered and wondering if this was all some joke. When she returned to the bedroom, she stopped and glanced over at her closet, taking in the myriad of beautiful dresses she’d managed to buy since moving to Wyoming. They were beautiful but not suitable for farm work.
Hesitantly, she pulled a pair of working trousers from her husband’s closet as well as one of his shirts, tucking it in so that she didn’t drown in it completely. The pants tucked into the boots she also pulled from the closet, and within moments she’d pinned her hair back and rouged her cheeks, wanting to at least try to maintain a ladylike appearance.
She wrapped herself in a heavy coat and wandered out into the snow, looking around for Rick. He was at the stables piling hay into each pen. The barn was one long corridor with 10 stalls on either side. Each could hold two cows. It was by far the biggest building on the farm, which was originally used as a dairy farm.
Mary walked over to Rick and crossed her arms over her chest, looking none too pleased. “What is it you would have me do?”
He pointed to a second pitchfork against the wall and motioned to the pile of hay. “We need to fill each stall with hay so that the cows can sleep in here tonight. The temperatures are dropping fast, and if we don’t bring them in, we’ll lose them all.”
Mary grabbed the pitchfork hesitantly and started scooping small amounts of hay into a stall. They were dwarfed by the massive chunks of hay Rick managed to pick up and toss into the sizable wooden stall.
Each bunch of hay got easier and easier, and although the work made Mary’s body ache, there was a certain satisfaction in it. She grunted and set her pitchfork down a moment, settling down on a bale of hay and wiping her sweaty brow. It was only a fraction of the work Rick was doing, but she was far less used to manual labor. In the week he’d been here, Rick managed to get the barn back into shape and even repaired the broken roof tiles.
“Rick, can I ask you a question?”
He offered her a grunt in response that she took as, “OK.” Mary thought for a moment, figuring out how she was going to word her question. “You’re clearly a skilled man. You’re very good at this kind of work. Why don’t you have your own farm? You seem almost as desperate as I am.”
He paused a moment and sighed, sticking his pitchfork into the packed dirt that made up the barn floor. Rick glanced over at her, leaning against the stall door and stroking his thick black beard. His emerald eyes stared off into the distance, and his eyes went blank, and his face pulled into a deep frown as he scraped his toe against the dirt.
“I suppose I owe you some kind of explanation, don’t I?” he said, closing his eyes slowly.
“It would help me trust you. You’re a complete mystery to me right now,” she admitted.
He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “I did have a ranch. Out in California. There was so much space out there, and they were just giving the land away, so my wife and I went out there and made a home for ourselves.” His eyes seemed to be searching the ground for an invisible answer. “There was a man who lived a couple miles away from us. He was sick in the head, but I didn’t think much of it because he was so far away. Everything was so scattered out there.” He looked up to the roofing beams and closed his eyes. “I was out to town, picking up supplies for the next few weeks, and while I was gone, the sick man got it in his head that he had to burn my house down. He never said why. Just that he had to do it. My wife and son didn’t make it out. They died in the fire.”
Mary’s eyes widened and she reached out to touch his shoulder. “Rick.”
He shook his head and raised a hand. “I came out here to start over. I didn’t think I was going to make it. I didn’t think I was going to be able to go on without them, but I needed to try. That’s why I came to your farm. You needed help, and so did I. I thought that maybe it would be good for me to help someone.”
Mary nodded and smiled gently, tucking a few loose strands of hair out of her face. “I think you made the right decision, Rick. I spent a lot of time mourning the loss of my husband and this,” she nodded toward the hay and the pitchfork, “this is the first time I haven’t thought of him.”
Rick smiled and stood up, picking grabbing the handle of his own pitchfork. “I suppose we should keep working then.”
Mary chuckled and nodded, her cheeks going pink underneath her light dusting of rouge. “I suppose you’re right.”