Libbie: Bride of Arizona (American Mail-Order Bride 48) (5 page)

Nascha had scouted the area and found only a few footprints. He’d set off through the trees to track the culprits but returned within the hour because the rocky ground obscured the rustlers’ trail.

Now, as Dell plodded along in the bright sunlight, he contemplated hiring more hands to establish a night patrol to guard the ranch’s perimeter. The extra wages would cut into his operating budget, especially as winter approached. But the Bar S couldn’t afford to lose a single cattle or keep repairing fences. Nothing could jeopardize his bid to be one of the beef suppliers to Fort Whipple. He had to prove his operation was solid and the supply reliable.

Only a mile or so remained before they reached the ranch. He looked over his shoulder to gauge how far the herd was strung out and check if he needed to switch the drag rider. Above the tree line of the forest to the north, a trail of smoke caught his eye. The southbound train had almost entered the top of Chino Valley.

Libbie’s arrival was today.

Hellfire! His grip tightened on the reins, causing Sparky to sidestep. “Whoa, boy.” Glancing around to see which hand was closest, he spotted Guy and whistled, patting his horse’s neck to keep him calm. “Hey, Guy.” Dell yanked down his bandanna then pulled off his hat and gave a beckoning wave over his head. He eased the gelding a few paces away from the herd and waited for the lean cowhand to reach his position.

“Yeah, boss?”

“I’m putting you in charge.” He leaned a forearm on the pommel and gazed in the man’s dark eyes. Since his foreman’s departure, Dell had been assigning Guy and Floyd to various tasks for the sake of evaluating which hand should be promoted to foreman. “As soon as all the cattle are back in the corral, get Sergio or Nascha to help you mend the fence. Tell Floyd to head back to the bunkhouse. I noticed his tooth is bothering him still. Maybe add some branches partway between the existing ones. Anything to act as a deterrent to a repeat attack.”

“Sure, I can do that. Where you headed?”

Dell jerked his head toward the valley. “I gotta meet that train in Prescott.”

Raising a hand to shield his eyes, Guy straightened in the stirrups and gazed in that direction. “Huh, train must be runnin’ early today. Didn’t know the Bar S was expectin’ supplies.”

“Nope, no supplies.” So far, Dell hadn’t spoken with his hands about the upcoming addition. Doing so would make what still seemed like a maybe situation into a real one. But he had no choice now. “Today Bullock’s train is bringing in the woman who will become my wife.”

Guy snorted then his eyes shot wide, but he remained silent.

The hand’s silence didn’t go unnoticed. Dell appreciated his restraint. “On second thought, have Nascha help with the fence. Send Sergio into town with the buckboard to collect whatever luggage she’s brought along.” Clucking his tongue, he eased the reins against Sparky’s neck and squeezed his calves on the horse’s sides. “Hep up, Sparky.”

“Best of luck, boss.”

Dell lifted a hand in acknowledgment, thinking he’d like to second that notion. Within a couple of hours, his entire life would change. Luck couldn’t hurt.

****

After all the days and nights on the train, anticipating this very moment, Libbie sat rigid on the train seat, not sure she could move. Her journey was over, and the other passengers had already disembarked. A peek through the dusty window showed a very small town with a mix of one-and-two-story structures. Most of the buildings close to the depot were constructed of wood, but a few farther along the street were of stone. She scooted closer to the window, taking in the details of only a dozen people walking on the street and the wooden boardwalk. Wagons lined up in front of what must be a store of some type at the next intersection. The scene showed a town like ones she was used to—either in Australia or South Africa—a community that would not make her feel out of place.

Rising, Libbie took a deep breath, shook the wrinkles from her dress, and then gathered her belongings.

The conductor stuck his head in the doorway. “Do you need help, miss?”

“No, but thank you.” Wanting to appear more happy than nervous, she pasted on a smile and turned. A final scan of her seat and the rack beneath showed no belongings remained behind. She walked toward the front of the railroad car, glad for the simple ease of moving through a motion-less vehicle. “Just getting my bearings.” Accepting the conductor’s assistance, she descended the metal steps and soon stood on the depot’s wooden platform. A quick shake of her full skirt removed any cinders, and she opened her parasol to help ward off the bright sunshine. Grace’s encouragement to make a good first impression floated through Libbie’s thoughts.

Behind her came the sounds of people making connections with the newly arrived passengers—happy voices, hailing friends and relatives, greetings and laughter. Poised in the shade cast by the overhanging roof, she stood with one foot slightly ahead of the other, back straight, chin up—Mrs. Templeton would be proud—and waited for her name to be called. In her mind, she’d enacted this first meeting over and over. She’d hear her name, take a deep breath then turn with a wide smile and greet Dell for the first time.

Seconds passed, and no one appeared. Her mind drifted, wondering what quality her future husband’s voice would have. Nasal and high like a tenor? Clear and strong like a baritone? Or deep and gravelly like a bass?

Several minutes passed and the others moved off, their voices fading in the chilly air, until she was alone on the platform. Vanity precluded her from wearing a wrap because she’d wanted to be seen in this lacy ensemble. Now that goose flesh rose on her skin as her wait lengthened, that idea seemed rather silly. What if something happened? Her fingers tightened on the carved parasol handle. The last she’d heard from Dell was more than a week ago. Had he changed his mind? Fear formed a tight ball in her stomach. She stepped to the platform edge and looked toward the freight cars.

Jomo worked with two other men to unload the crates onto a clearing a distance from the tracks. But no trees stood close by, and the ostriches sat in the direct sun. A situation which could not continue for long.

Libbie walked to the opposite side of the platform and scanned the dirt street, looking for a solitary man moving in the direction of the depot. Among the men currently in view were tall ones in jeans and wide-brimmed hats, two rotund gentlemen in business suits, and a few in coveralls. How foolhardy not to have exchanged the most basic of physical details. Her jaw tightened and she paced.

Her priority was her precious birds, so she’d have to make arrangements for their transport. Decision made, she spun to head toward the back of the train and spotted Jomo approaching from that direction.

“Miss Libbie, de birds unloaded now. Where this man who be your husband?” Jomo held his battered felt hat at his waist as he glanced around the area.

“He’s obviously delayed.” She refused to say a bad word about Dell until she knew the circumstances. “I see a livery stable in the first block so I’ll make arrangements to rent wagons.”

“Yes, miss. I wait at de crates. Maybe feed a handful of grain.”

“That’s good, Jomo, and thank you.” She smiled at his competence. The routine of caring for animals always calmed her. If today wasn’t supposed to be such a special one, she’d have done the feeding herself. She extended her carpetbag toward him. “I’ll join you when the wagons are secured.” Grabbing a handful of her skirts, she stepped down from the platform and headed across the dusty street. Each step kicked up a cloud of dirt that would stain her hem in no time, but she had no other choice.

The sign overhead read “First Prescott Livery” in yellow block letters. Libbie entered through the open double doors and paused, leaning forward and glancing around. The familiar scents of fresh hay and animals calmed her nerves a bit. What was the protocol at such a place of business? Was there an office to speak to a clerk like at the train depot? She reached out a hand and rapped her knuckles on the nearest wooden surface. “Hello, anyone here?”

“Hang on.” The shout came from an end stall right before a head of black hair rose over the wooden slats. A tall man sauntered down the middle of the row of stalls, wiping his hands on a towel. “How may I help you?”

Libbie liked the sound of his deep voice, maybe a mid-range bass. “I have a need to rent wagons to transport several crates.”

The man’s brown eyes lit with a spark. “That accent means you’re not from this region.”

“No, sir. I am formerly of South Africa.” Although she’d read the population of America was made up of immigrants from many countries, she suspected this man would not be the first to comment on her accent.

“Who-eee, that’s a long way.” He narrowed his gaze as he took in her dress and lifted a brow at the parasol.

With quick moves, she compressed the folds and held it at her side. “I’m afraid I am unaccustomed to making such arrangements. Perhaps you can explain what is available.”

“First off, miss, my name’s William.”

Already she felt more at ease. In Boston, clerks and service helpers rarely offered familiarities, always being in a rush to conduct the business transaction. “I’m Libbie.”

“Ahh.” A grin flashed, and then his mouth pressed into a smooth line. “I’ll need to know how many crates, their weight, and, of course, the final destination. Then we will talk fees.”

More fees
. She’d hoped Dell would be present to help with this process. “Six large crates, but I’m not sure of their weight. I have the destination, they’re going to the Bar S Ranch. Do you know the place?”

“Six, you say?” William turned and moved toward a shelf near the first stall. A strangled chuckle was followed by a loud throat clearing. Ducking his head, he fussed with a newspaper and a couple pamphlets before lifting a pad of paper and grabbing a lead pencil.

Is he laughing?
Whyever would he be?
She shifted on her feet. What if right this moment Dell stood on the train platform? The possibility pushed her to the doorway so she could keep the depot in view.

“I’m familiar with the ranch. The distance to the Bar S is approximately three miles.” William grinned as he jotted numbers on the pad. “And the contents of the crates are what? Furniture, household possessions, or…?”

“Oh no, nothing like that.” She squared her shoulders and smiled, as she always did when speaking of her precious babies. “The crates hold one male and five female ostriches.”

William’s mouth gaped for several seconds before he snapped it shut. “Ostriches, as in big birds?”

“That’s right.” She spotted a single rider approaching along the tracks and her pulse beat faster.

“And they’re headed for the Bar S?” His dark eyebrows arched high.

At first, this gentleman had seemed to possess an easy-going manner. But his latest responses had been hesitant. “Please, sir, they’re in the sun right now.”

“This I got to see.” Grinning and shaking his head, he strode toward the doorway. When he drew abreast, he angled his elbow to escort her. “To gauge the total weight, of course.”

They walked side-by-side down the boardwalk with William murmuring greetings to those who spoke to him.

Libbie kept her gaze on the rider, holding her breath for the moment Dell would recognize her and change course in her direction. But then he angled to the saloon across the way, and she knew her intended had not arrived. As soon as she and William reached the back side of the depot, she spotted several men gathered near the crates. Some snickered and pointed, other just gawked. The arrival of foreigners—both fowl and human—was something different and novel. She resigned herself that they’d be the object of interest for several weeks until the townspeople got used to them.

“Well, would you look at them?”

William’s admiring tone cut through her worry, and she turned a smile his way. “Wonderful, aren’t they? Maybe not everyone can see their beauty, but I think they’re special.” She hurried forward, almost tripping on her dress hem. “Jomo?”

The bird handler stepped from the shade of the biggest crate and lifted a hand. “Here, miss.”

Within a few minutes, the arrangements were made, rental fees paid, and William headed back to the livery to harness the teams.

Weariness tugged at her limbs, and she relinquished the idea of a grand first impression. She clomped up the steps to the platform and went inside the depot to plunk herself onto a bench. Nothing about this day was working out like she’d thought. Her dress boots pinched her toes, her corset stabbed her ribs, and she was hungry. This morning, she and Jomo had split the last loaf of hard bread and eaten a slice of cheese. Seeing she was alone in the waiting room, she stretched her legs atop the wooden seat and rested her arm along the top of the bench. Dell must be on his way. Surely, he wouldn’t leave her…

From far away came the rhythm of footsteps, hollow and echoey like strikes on a
balafon
. Then they stopped. To be followed by the scratchy rattle of a
shekere
. Instruments from home.

“Excuse me, miss.”

Libbie moaned. Blessed sleep held her in its grip, and she flapped a hand like waving away a pesky fly.

“Miss!”

Something nudged her shoulder, shifting her position, and her head knocked against the hard wood. “Oww.” She sat upright and shoved damp hair from her forehead. Squinting in the bright light, she looked at who had disturbed her and spotted a shiny silver belt buckle etched with a rearing horse. She angled back her head so her gaze could track a chambray shirt under a light caramel long coat up to a faded cherry-red bandanna hanging under a strong, stubbled chin. A few inches higher, she saw a strong nose and a pair of cinnamon-brown eyes. Maybe she was hungrier than she thought.