Chapter Two
Rhett Maddox and Nate Smith, boyhood friends, lived close enough to each other for them to be neighbors, and that meant something on the lonely hills of Sonoma Mountain.
But Rhett was regretting his offer to help Nate get over being dumped by his long-time belle, Lola Mercer; his friend was calling in all his markers.
The incorrigible Nate had gotten a bee in his bonnet about ordering himself a mail-order bride, despite Rhett’s cynical objections. “Friend, by the time your calico companion arrives from New England, she’s less likely to be a mail-order bride and more likely to be a return to sender.”
Nate was unperturbed, which was typical of his jovial outlook. He was a lazy fellow at heart and only had to hear the word “shortcut” to want to take it. Of course, Rhett took the polar opposite approach: the Maddox motto could well have been slow and steady wins the race.
“Hold your horses there, Rhett. Now you know darn well that I’ve been down in the dumps since Lola left me holding her engagement ring in the palm of my hand—”
“An engagement ring is a token of a pledge. Lola went ahead and broke the pledge, and that means the ring is yours now.”
Nate gave an exasperated sigh and clutched his hair.
“Even if that’s true, I can’t sit here twiddling my thumbs while Lola is out there somewhere kicking up her heels and having a lark.
” He dug his hands in his pockets and pulled a small box out, then shoved it into Rhett’s hand.
“There’s the ring. You hold onto it as my groomsman. ”
“I sure will.”
Rhett tucked the box into his saddlebag and forgot about it
A few weeks later, Rhett saw Nate trotting his horse up the drive of Maddox Ranch. Rhett was in the training ring, but Nate didn’t try to step inside.
He knew better than to get too close to any of the Maddox livestock.
Rhett’s bull was the meanest animal in the west and would horn-toss anyone who looked at him sideways.
His broncs were fiery and nervous, pawing the air with their front hooves and kicking with the rear ones.
And his hounds were fond of growling and barking.
Rhett kept hold of the rope as he guided the bronc around the outer ring.” Well!” he shouted from the center. “I guess you didn’t ride all the way over here to borrow a cup of sugar.”
“A leak has sprung in the new pipeline, Rhett,” Nate hollered back. “It’s going to take days to dig underground to locate where it is.”
Slowly, Rhett reined in the bucking horse, looping the rope and gripping it with leather-gloved hands. “Whoa, Cannon.” He made a clicking sound with his mouth and gave the rope a gentle flick, then turned back to Nate. “Do you need to use my acetylene welder?”
The question was for Nate, but his friend didn’t immediately reply.
That meant he hadn’t actually come for help with the copper pipes.
Both the Smith and Maddox ranches had access to the Russian River tributaries, but Rhett’s spread also had a pond and water run-off from the mountain, while Nate had to bring his water closer with pipes and a pump.
“A broken pipe is an inconvenience, not an emergency,” Rhett went on.
“Well, you’re right about that.” Nate clutched the top rail. “This isn’t about my water supply. I need you to go to San Francisco for me. I received a telegram telling me that the ship docked, and my mail-order bride is awaiting me at the boarding house.”
“You want me to go fetch your mail-order bride like she’s a lost parcel delivered to the wrong post office?”
Nate chuckled. “I sure do. I’d go myself, but then I’d be bringing her back to a flooded house. And that’s no good.”
One of the ranch hands ran over and took hold of the bronc’s halter. Rhett patted the horse’s flanks and gave an order.
“Let him tire himself out in the paddock, Henry, burn some of the vinegar out of him.”
The ranch hand touched his hat and led the horse away, and Rhett sighed.
“I’d have to ride to Creek Bridge and take the ferry down to San Francisco if I leave now. It could take a while.”
“To get there or to come back?”
Nate sounded impatient, and Rhett thought about giving him another lecture. His friend was being too impulsive and not giving himself time to heal after his heartbreak by trying to bury it with the distraction of a second relationship. He held himself back just in time.
“I can’t ride straight out like a Western Union courier, friend. How about I ride for San Pablo Bay this evening and catch the Green Point ferry in the morning?”
Nate reached over and shook his hand. “You’ve just made me the happiest man in the county. I can feel it in my bones that”—Nate hesitated, took a letter out of his pocket, and glanced at the name briefly—“this Miss Anne… Farley… is going to be the perfect wife for me.”
With all the amenities he would ever need in Sonoma and hunting and fishing a-plenty, Rhett hadn’t felt the need to travel to San Francisco since his youth. But he would do it… for a friend.
It was over sixty miles from Maddox cattle ranch to the boarding house on O’Farrell Street. Sixty long, hard miles over land and sea.
Rhett Maddox rose early that morning, but not just because he had a long way to ride. His duties on the ranch had him up before dawn every day, anyway. Traveling to the city for a chance to scoop up a mail-order bride just added more to an ordinary full day.
And it was all Nate’s fault. Rhett had ventured another attempt to persuade Nate to wait, but to no avail.
Still, there were worse ways to spend the day than riding down the hillside into the valley and crossing the misty bay by ferry.
The conductor on the ferry punched his ticket and smiled when he saw Rhett’s final destination. “You brought a suit and change of clothes, sir?”
Rhett was busy settling his horse in the stall and stroking its nose. “Nope. Why would I?”
The ferryman scratched his head. “You won’t see many city gentlemen dressed in chaps and Stetson, sir.”
“I’m not planning on staying longer than I have to. Could you give me directions to a livery where I can stable my horse?”
“Sure thing, sir. Not many folks ride in town now, not with those new cable trolleys clanging for everyone to get out of the way.”
The noise of the city hit Rhett like a wall when he disembarked, leading his mount by the halter. The air was thick with dust and smoke. Wagons pulled by longhorn cattle made their way to the docks, the flatbeds weighed down with steel-forged farming equipment and mill-sawn planks.
At the livery, he unbuckled his spurs and put them in the saddlebag. He was about to remove his chaps next, but the stablehand stopped him. “Are you planning on leaving those nice silver spurs and the saddlebag here, mister?”
“Yep. Why do you ask?”
“Then you’ll have to hire a room, because that’s the only safe place to leave them.”
He’d been in San Francisco for less than an hour, and he was already tired of the place. “Where do most riders leave their spurs and saddlebags if they aren’t staying overnight?”
The stable hand looked embarrassed. “Most folks don’t dress like you, mister.”
Rhett was raised not to give two hoots about what people thought of his appearance, but he was here as Nate’s envoy. Miss Anne Farley would take one look at him dressed up like a buckaroo and probably go hide in her bedroom.
He felt frustrated for not having thought this through and seeing it from the mail-order bride’s point of view. She would be expecting a debonair beau, not a rough-riding cowboy.
“How far is it to O’Farrell Street?”
The young boy answered, looking as if he was on more solid ground. “Just wait by the curb and flag down the cable car when you hear it ring. Tell the conductor to stop close to O’Farrell. It’s about ten blocks up Market Street.”
He’d be able to find his way to Yerba Buena Boarding House from there.
There was nothing else he could do but fold his chaps into the other saddlebag and hoist the pair of worn leather satchels over his shoulder.
Rhett pulled the brim of his Stetson real low so he wouldn’t be able to see the stares.
He heard a few giggles and whispers, but that didn’t bother him.
It was a hard slog to reach the boarding house, hefting the pair of saddlebags all the way, and he was not in the best mood when he saw the Yerba Buena sign.
Two bay windows overlooked a neat garden and picket fence.
He noticed a gathering of women inside when he surveyed the house’s facade.
Somewhere inside was Nate’s future wife.
He had hardly lifted the knocker when the door opened. A matronly-looking woman stood there, gazing at him as if she was sizing him up.
“Howdy, ma’am. Forgive my appearance—”