Chapter Three
Virginia City, Montana
Jackson watched the flow of people steadily flocking in and out of the boardinghouse across the road. Men arrived in their Sunday best, collected a woman, and trotted off as if they had accomplished something oh so grand.
To order a wife through the post as though she was nothing more than a tin of coffee or a new hat was the most absurd thing he had ever heard.
One could send a tin of coffee back if it was spoiled, or return a hat if it didn’t fit, but what did you do with a full-grown woman expecting to say ‘I do’?
His friend Ethan was in no way ready to take on the responsibility of a wife, let alone one he’d never met before.
Jackson had pointed out that Ethan was already caring for two elderly parents, his sister, and a large cattle ranch, and that meant he needed a partner he could trust, not a complete stranger from the other side of the country.
Ethan had laughed Jackson off saying it would all work out, but Jackson felt uneasy about the whole situation.
Jackson shook his head and pulled his hat back on.
He strode across the street, trying to ignore the growing chatter and giggles from the groups of women standing outside the boardinghouse.
He tried to avoid making eye contact with any of them as he hurried towards the entrance, tipping his hat slightly by way of greeting.
“Excuse me,” a blonde woman said as she bumped into Jackson in the doorway.
He turned back to see if the woman was okay and noticed she was giggling, a faint blush across her cheeks as she hid her face beneath her bonnet.
“Are you…hurt?” he stammered, aware that his bulky frame stood out awkwardly amongst all the frills and bonnets.
“You wouldn’t happen to be…” she began hopefully, covering her mouth with a gloved hand.
“I’m not here for a wife!” he said a little too loudly, drawing away from her in fright.
There was a chorus of giggles behind him and Jackson felt the color rise in his own cheeks as he lowered his gaze and pushed on into the boardinghouse.
He was nearly thirty, could grab a bull by the horns, break in any horse, and build a house from the ground up, but a group of snickering girls made the hair on the back of his neck stand up straight.
As he stepped inside, the air was several degrees warmer and a wave of lavender, rose, and orange blossom permeated the air.
A group of women approached him, hope written on their faces, but by the time Jackson had violently sneezed three times, the huddle of ladies had scattered.
He’d take mucking out cow dung or the smell of a wet chicken any day over the combined perfumes of forty different women.
Jackson wiped the tears from his eyes and glanced around the entrance hall, hoping to find someone who looked as though they were in charge.
His eyes landed on a young woman standing alone at the base of the staircase, one hand resting lightly on the banister.
Blonde curls escaped her bonnet and swept across her cheeks as she scanned the room around her.
She turned, and light danced in her hazel eyes as she looked his way, their eyes briefly meeting.
Jackson was momentarily stunned at her beauty that needed no face powder or heavy perfume. Before he could greet her, she lowered her gaze and was absorbed by a crowd of ladies moving past him.
“Are you looking for someone?”
“Yes,” Jackson said, his eyes finding a short man with a large mustache at his side. “I’m here to collect Hope Caldwell.”
The man flipped open his book and ran a finger down the length of rows.
“Ethan Blake?” the man asked.
“Yes,” Jackson said with relief.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Blake-”
“No!” Jackson stated firmly, waving a hand. “I’m not Ethan Blake-”
The man with the mustache raised a bushy eyebrow. “Then what do you want with Ms. Caldwell?”
“You see, I’m here on Ethan’s behalf,” Jackson said, wiping sweat from his brow.
The shrill giggles and cackles of the ladies, combined with the heat in the room, was enough to make him want to turn and run.
Another woman bumped into him, and Jackson froze.
“Could we talk outside?” he demanded more than asked.
The man nodded and gestured towards the door.
Once in the light of day again, Jackson breathed deeply and tried to shake off the discomfort he felt.
He was used to being out on the ranch, working long hours under the sun and stars.
He could more readily take being trampled by a horse than deal with the pressing heat of a crowd against him.
“Would you like to tell me what you’re doing here then?”
Jackson was feeling more and more agitated at the interrogation. The man with the mustache eyed him as if he was out to steal one of these precious brides.
“Ethan Blake is unable to fetch the bride he ordered. I’m here in his stead to pick her up. I have a letter from him.”
“I see,” the man said, making an illegible note in his book and snatching the crumpled letter from Jackson. He scanned through it, then nodded briskly. “Wait here.”
The man disappeared into a throng of ladies while Jackson paced in front of the boardinghouse, feeling that every snort and whisper was directed his way.
He and Ethan had been friends since boyhood, and while they had helped each other out of various sticky situations, it would take Ethan a long time to make up for this one.
“Fetch his wife!” Jackson muttered as he lashed out a booted foot at a stone in the road. “Who asks another man to fetch his wife!”
It was hard to imagine Ethan as a married man.
Just the other day, they had been swimming in the creek trying to catch fish in their shirts.
He thought of how they had each stolen their father’s horses to go moonlight riding across the prairie when they were young men, and also of the lashings they’d received from their respective mothers the following morning.
Ethan had been a brother to h, and now he was preparing for marriage. Ethan’s whole life would become focused on his new wife. Was that what Jackson was kicking against? Was he concerned he’d lose his closest friend to some woman? Jackson shook his head and snorted in disbelief.
He had not believed himself to be so childish, yet Ethan had always been one of the few people to speak up for him and who could understand him.
So maybe he was wary at the prospect of losing him to married life.
Jackson was certainly uneasy about the change, but he would never want to deny his friend happiness.
Perhaps there was even a part of him that was jealous.
Ethan had easily opened himself up for marriage by advertising his bachelor status in a newspaper.
One of the beautiful women in there would take on Ethan’s name, whereas Jackson didn’t believe he’d ever be able to let another person carry his own.
What did he have to offer a wife? A lonely ranch and occasional, stilted conversation?
“Excuse me,” the man with the mustache said. “Hope Caldwell is over there.”
Jackson turned and saw the woman with the hazel eyes and dark blue bonnet from earlier.
She was waiting nervously a few feet away.
Jackson started to walk towards her and she looked up at him briefly, her cheeks flushing as her eyes flitted away again.
Beneath her right eye was a birthmark that almost looked like a star.
‘Admit it, you fool! You are jealous!’