His Substitute Mail-Order Bride. Sherri Shackelford

than she’d expected. Buildings sprawled into the distance, undulating over the rolling hills. Additional frame structures in various stages of completion surrounded the outskirts. A few of the buildings rose three stories into the sky. A train whistle blew, and she caught sight of a steam engine leaving a trail of smoke.

      Another rider passed them at a gallop, the horse’s tail whipping in the wind.

      The nearer they moved toward the town, the more wagons and riders appeared. Everyone seemed to know Russ. He made introductions and soon all the faces blurred together. After meeting countless new people, she gave up even trying to remember their names.

      As though sensing she was overwhelmed, Russ caught her gaze. “New visitors are always a curiosity. Especially when a bride train comes in.”

      She touched the side of her bonnet. “Will there be any awkwardness for you, because of Susannah?”

      “No.” He bent his head. “I kept the news to a select few. I’ll tell them all soon enough. After I’ve read Susannah’s letter.”

      Anna recalled the letter with a jolt. Had Susannah mentioned the scandal? The thought hadn’t even occurred to her before now. Pressing a hand against her pounding heart, Anna took a deep breath. There was no reason for Susannah to reveal anything about her. Anna was merely the messenger. Her role hardly warranted a mention.

      Russ pointed toward a shopfront. “Marlys Mason is the town doctor. She’s got some newfangled ideas about how to treat illness, but she has an excellent rate of success, so people mostly take her advice. It’s too bad that some of the old timers won’t see a woman no matter what the circumstances.”

      “A lady doctor?” Anna had never considered such a thing but immediately liked the idea. “Why shouldn’t a woman be a doctor?”

      “Folks get stuck in their ways, but times change. Sometimes it just takes a little longer than we’d like.”

      “Women should get to be whatever they want to be.”

      Anna had wanted to write articles about gardening for the local newspaper, but her husband had disapproved. He didn’t want his colleagues to think his wife had to work for a living. Especially at something as coarse and common as the women’s pages.

      Russ made a sound of frustration. “Looks like the doc is out. She often assists the town midwife, Leah Gardner, when there’s a challenging case. It’s difficult to keep regular hours.”

      A large chalkboard had been set up beside the etched glass window of the doctor’s office. Russ climbed from the wagon, retrieved the whittled piece of chalk dangling from a length of twine, then wrote Anna’s name along with The Cattleman as her place of residence.

      Anna made a note of the street. She’d return later and erase her name. A doctor’s visit was an added expense she could ill afford.

      “Put down your name, too,” Anna insisted. “You should have that cut stitched.”

      “I’m fine. It’s too late for stitching anyway.”

      “If I must see the doctor, then so must you.”

      Russ dutifully wrote his name and her gaze narrowed. She had a suspicion he’d come back and erase it too as soon as he ensured she was settled. She stifled a giggle. They’d run into each other if she wasn’t careful.

      “I’m going to ask Dr. Mason tomorrow if you’ve come for a visit,” she said.

      Chagrin flickered over his features, and she grinned.

      “All right,” he said. “But this works both ways. I’ll know if you’ve skipped your appointment, too.”

      Heat crept up her neck. “Except I wasn’t hit over the head.” She couldn’t very well ask the doctor if he’d visited if she wasn’t planning on doing the same. “I’m fine.”

      “You’ve been ill, and someone should look at that cut on your arm.” He climbed into the wagon once more. “Don’t worry, the visit will be charged to the town.”

      Her cheeks burned. The only thing more humiliating than being destitute was having everyone else know her circumstances. One needn’t be a Pinkerton detective to ascertain the situation. She hadn’t exactly concealed the fact. She’d begged Russ for a job before, and she was traveling on a borrowed train ticket she couldn’t repay. As demeaning as her circumstances may be, she didn’t suppose there was any harm if Russ knew the truth of her finances. He’d be more likely to assist her if he knew the dire nature of her situation.

      “I’m not one of the brides,” she said. “And I can’t accept any preferential treatment on false pretenses.” She might as well set her circumstances straight from the beginning.

      “The mayor is responsible for the reputation of the town. Having a lady accosted on the road outside of Cowboy Creek is most definitely bad press. Indulge him, if only for the sake of community pride.”

      “If a visit to the doctor will set the mayor’s mind at ease, I suppose I can concede the point.”

      “That’s the spirit.”

      Perhaps Dr. Mason had some suggestions for regaining her energy. The next few months were going to be difficult, and she needed her stamina. She had to stash as much money as possible before Russ—or someone else—discovered her secret.

      “This may be my only opportunity to meet a real live lady doctor. How can I pass that up?” she said.

      “You never know, we may have as many female as male doctors in the future.”

      “The mills of the gods grind slow,” she quoted.

      “But they grind fine,” Russ completed Plutarch’s line.

      Perhaps finding a job here wouldn’t be as difficult as in Philadelphia. A little anonymity didn’t hurt. Having one’s name slandered in the newspapers impeded gainful employment.

      The town vibrated with activity. Men on horseback and people driving wagons laden with supplies jockeyed for position along the wide, well-kept streets. Shoulders brushed, and a sea of hats bobbed along the boardwalk. Townspeople passed each other in opposite directions, many calling greetings to one another. Russ was forced to wait several minutes before he eased the wagon onto the street once more.

      A low whistle sounded, and she glanced around. A man tipped his hat at her with a leering grin.

      Russ glared at the man, and the whistler rapidly disappeared into the crowd.

      “I’m sorry for that,” Russ apologized. “Let me know if you have any trouble. In some respects, Cowboy Creek is little more than a glorified cow town. Women are still somewhat of a novelty around here.”

      Another wave of nausea that had nothing to do with her previous illness rippled through her stomach. She didn’t want attention. She didn’t want to be courted.

      “How do I make them stop?”

      “Get married, I suppose.”

      “Not likely.”

      His expression shifted. “I’m sorry, Anna. That was a thoughtless comment given your circumstances. Please accept my apologies.”

      He thought her a grieving widow. He couldn’t be further from the truth. One thing was certain, for someone who’d had her fill of men, she’d picked a terrible place to start over.

      “It’s not your fault.” She didn’t want him to be kind. She’d forgotten kindness even existed. “If anyone should be apologizing, it’s me. None of this would have happened if I hadn’t missed the train.”

      “Why did you miss the train?”

      “Bad timing. That’s what Mr. Ward said this morning. He said life is all about timing.”

      Even if she’d been older when Russ had come to call on her sister, he’d have never glanced her way.