The Deputy’s Promise (Stagecoach Mail-Order Brides #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

It was a trap.

Rafael Garland hesitated in the doorway of Watson’s Saloon. Only the saloonkeeper, the town’s doctor, the newly-elected mayor, and young Billy Morrell sat inside.

“Well, go on now, lest I lose my resolve,” Bartholomew Jackson, carpenter and occasional sheriff’s deputy, said from behind him.

“Resolve to do what?” Rafe said as he stepped inside. “You didn’t say one word about a meeting.”

But Jackson didn’t answer. Instead, he pushed past Rafe and nodded a greeting to the other men gathered in the otherwise closed saloon.

The others were seated at a table or leaning against the bar. It was the first time in recent memory Rafe had seen Watson without his ever-present discolored barkeep’s apron, or Alexander Stanton without the fancy black physician’s bag he toted around town.

Rafe paused by the table. “What is this? Some church gathering?”

Watson chuckled while Billy Morrell simply looked confused.

“I thought you were going to tell him,” Billy said to Jackson, who’d taken a seat next to the doctor. Jackson simply shrugged. All he’d shared with Rafe was that their attention was needed at the saloon.

“Tell me what,” Rafe was losing patience. It was early. The saloons weren’t open yet, and the town’s usual troublemakers were abed or dragging themselves out to earn a living. But he still had a job to do. “I don’t have time for this little tea party.”

The mayor, who also operated the largest boardinghouse in town, lifted his eyebrows, as if he took offense at Rafe’s words. “I suppose we’ll get on with it then. If you’d like to sit?” He gestured at the empty chair in front of Rafe.

“I’d rather stand, thanks.” All the easier to run out the door if anyone suggested he join the choir of the church that had started meeting above Watson’s Saloon on Sundays.

Mayor Cabot shrugged and withdrew an envelope from his coat pocket. “I have here the letters from the ladies. I took the liberty of reading through them to see how we could best match them up.”

“Ladies?” Rafe asked, but no one answered.

“This one here’s the oldest.” Cabot passed a sheet of paper to Jackson, who was a good ten years older than Rafe.

“And the youngest.” He handed another sheet to Billy Morrell, who lit up like a firework on Independence Day.

“This one likes entertaining company,” Cabot said as he handed one to Watson.

“What is—” Rafe started to ask, but Cabot leaned across the table and waved a paper half-filled with handwriting at him.

“This one is perfect for you,” Cabot said, with the kind of smile that instantly made Rafe suspicious.

Rafe glanced down at the page in his hands.

It was a letter—short and written in a feminine hand.

He skimmed it, gathering the needed information quickly.

Her name was Hannah White, aged twenty-three years, worked in an orphanage, enjoyed socializing and cooking, and disliked eating fish and the color orange.

She was very much looking forward to marriage—

“Marriage?” Rafe snapped his head up.

“These are the ladies from the orphanage who are looking for husbands,” Billy said, seemingly happy to fill him in.

Rafe glanced down at his letter again. Ladies. Orphanage. Husbands.

He looked around at the group, but they were all absorbed in reading their own letters—save for Jackson, who’d handed his to Billy to read aloud for him. And Dr. Stanton, who finally took pity and explained more clearly.

“They placed an advertisement from New York City,” the doctor said. “There are six of them, all ladies who were orphaned and then took work at the same orphanage later. The orphanage has closed, and they are hoping to come west for a better life than they can find on a factory floor.”

Rafe digested the words, everything beginning to make sense now. “And one of you answered the advertisement?”

“I did,” Cabot said absentmindedly as he perused his letter again.

“We needed a sixth man,” Dr. Stanton said. “One for each of the ladies.”

“And someone volunteered me,” Rafe said, casting an accusing glance at Bart Jackson, who paid him no mind at all. The man positively glowed as Billy continued to read out loud to him.

“Like it or not, you’re the only one who’ll do,” Cabot said, finally setting his letter down.

That wasn’t true. This town was filled with men. Some of them were decent.

“Fuller,” Rafe said. “What about him instead?”

“The undertaker?” Cabot shook his head. “A noble profession, but can you imagine the reaction from a lady?”

“Understandable,” Rafe grumbled. “Tate Thomas, then.”

“Wasn’t he in prison for a year?” Billy said, handing Jackson’s letter back to him.

“Right.” Rafe clenched his jaw, every other name coming to mind one that could be immediately dismissed. Perseverance was filled with men of dubious backgrounds. He stared down at his letter, wondering what had possessed these men he’d call friends to consider such a scheme.

“You want to bring unsuspecting city ladies here,” he said. “To Perseverance.”

“That’s the plan,” Cabot replied.

“We have five saloons and one church without a building. Not to disparage saloonkeepers,” he added with a glance at Watson. The man nodded, well aware he ran the nicest one in town.

“All the more reason we need women,” Billy said, a little too eagerly.

Rafe thought of the few women who already lived here.

There was Lina, Sheriff Rodgers’ wife, the daughter of an outlaw.

Miss Danforth, who ran her laundry service with a pistol on her hip.

Mrs. Garner, whose diner required Billy’s presence to keep the soused men from the saloons on either side of her from causing trouble.

Mrs. Huron, a forthright widow who somehow ran a dress shop with very few customers.

Both the postmaster and the proprietor of the hardware store had wives, both of whom kept to themselves.

And that was all. Except, of course, for the number of women of questionable morals, who spent their days sleeping and their nights in the saloons.

And this was where his friends wanted to bring a passel of innocent ladies.

He could have laughed out loud at the prospect.

He and Hawk Rodgers, the sheriff, kept the worst at bay.

They required the help of Billy and Bart Jackson more often than not.

The jail was eternally full, and outlaws regularly roamed the mountains that overlooked the town.

At least there wasn’t an official brothel in operation in Perseverance—and that was about the only good thing he could say.

“I think you’ve all lost your minds,” he said, standing up. “Besides, I’ve got no interest in marriage.”

“Just the other day you were saying you wished you had someone to bring you lunch,” Billy said. “Remember? When Lina came by with—”

“I didn’t mean a wife,” Rafe said quickly. Although that had been exactly what he’d meant, but only in passing. Couldn’t a man wish for a good meal without tying himself down? “And where are you going to keep a wife, Billy? In that room you let at Cabot’s Boardinghouse?”

“My rooms are well-kept,” Mayor Cabot said, lifting an eyebrow at Rafe’s insinuation.

“You’ve got that house with a second room upstairs,” Jackson said to Rafe. “Seems a shame to keep it for yourself.”

Before Rafe could rebut, Watson added, “You’re more qualified than I am. All I can hope is the lady doesn’t turn up her nose at my profession.”

Rafe shook his head. He had no interest in the responsibility of ensuring a woman’s safety out here. He tapped the letter he’d laid on the table. “Find someone else.”

He started to turn as Cabot said, “I suppose we could ask the undertaker.”

“Living with the dead can’t be too terrible,” Jackson added. “He makes a good living.”

“Have you noticed how pale Fuller is? The man’s half-dead himself,” Watson said.

“Surely Miss White won’t mind. She won’t get to do much socializing though, seeing as how she’ll be so busy fixing up folks for their burials,” Billy said.

Rafe paused near the door. He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to shut out the images of some vivacious young woman, trapped for life with a dull, listless fellow like Fuller.

“I’ll go fetch him,” Jackson said. “It won’t take much convincing, I’m sure.”

Rafe’s conscience got the better of him. “All right. I’ll do it.” He turned around to find Jackson right behind him. A smile lit up the man’s face.

“Only because that poor woman deserves better. If you marry her off to Fuller, she’ll go running for the hills,” he grumbled as he sat back down.

Cabot went on to discuss the details of the women’s arrival. Rafe half paid attention, his mind wandering as he tried to imagine upending his entire life.

Part of him wished he’d walked out that door. But as he glanced down at the feminine script on the letter, he had to admit he was curious.

Even though he didn’t wish to marry, the idea of getting to know Miss White was intriguing.