The Bartender's Mail Order Bride Read online

  As Meg closed the door behind her and leaned against it, Sam walked to the far side of the room, his arms folded over his chest. “What are we going to do now?”

  Once again, never in her wildest daydreams had Meg imagined this happening. Here she was, stuck in the bedroom of a man who was her…husband? No, that wasn’t right. Not yet. She wasn’t quite as panicked as Sam looked, but she knew she should get out of there, as soon as his mother was in her room—for good.

  She couldn’t help but laugh at the look on his face—horror mixed with panic. “Sam, it’s all right. I’ll be able to sneak back to my room in a few minutes, maybe ten.”

  “But this isn’t…isn’t proper. I promised—”

  “You promised that we’d do the best we could, and I didn’t feel like there was any other choice right now, did you? We could have said that we need separate bedrooms because—what? You snore?”

  “I don’t snore,” he said, his hands on his hips.

  “Precisely. And don’t you think your mother might know that? I didn’t have time to think up a good excuse that might have gotten us in even deeper.”

  Sam paced as Meg looked around at Sam’s room, one she’d not seen before. The floor didn’t have dirty socks and boots all over, like her brother Hanks’s had—at least until he’d moved in with Clara.

  Meg put her ear to the door, wondering how long she’d be stuck in Sam’s room—something that was clearly bothering him. As he wrung his hands, he sat down on the side of his bed, which was neatly made, a fluffy comforter covering what looked to be a comfortable—Meg covered her smile, her cheeks flushing as Sam looked at the bed and over to her.

  His eyes wide, he jumped up as if the bed were on fire and walked to the window, as far away from Meg as possible. “We’ve got to get you back to your room,” he said, running his hands through his hair.

  “I think maybe the coast is clear. I haven’t heard anything for a while.”

  Sam walked to the door and pressed his ear to it. “I don’t hear anything, either. What do you think?”

  Meg smiled. “I think I need to go. I’ll be as quiet as I can. What about in the morning?”

  Sam groaned and bounced his forehead on the door. “This is awful. What was I thinking?”

  “Now, Sam, we’re still doing well. Try not to worry. Your mother said she’s an early riser and would start breakfast. I’ll stay in my room until I hear her downstairs and then come down. She’ll never know where I came from.”

  “I suppose that’s our only choice, isn’t it?” He reached for the doorknob but stopped, quickly squeezing Meg’s hand before he opened the door a small crack.

  Meg peered through the opening and when she saw that Mrs. Allen’s door was closed and no light came from beneath it, she whispered, “All right. See you tomorrow.” She opened the door and squeezed through, tiptoeing to the door of her room and holding her breath as she opened it.

  Once inside with the door safely closed behind her, she leaned against it and stifled a laugh. Who would ever have thought she’d be sneaking around at night in her own home?

  Chapter 21

  Meg woke up early, but stayed in her room until she heard rustling in the kitchen downstairs. Sam’s attempts at rising early hadn’t been very successful, she’d noticed, so she was pretty sure it was his mother downstairs. She’d been dressed for some time, so she took one last look in the mirror, shook her head at the results of her efforts to do her hair and headed down.

  “Oh, good morning, Meg.” Meg smiled at Mrs. Allen’s cheery voice, and she pulled her wrap around her, shivering at the chill in the air.

  “Shall I stoke the fire for you?”

  Mrs. Allen looked up from the bowl she was stirring, her brows furrowed. “Oh, I suppose you should. I think I’ll need fire to cook with.”

  Meg raised her brows, wondering if Sam had learned his cooking skills—or lack thereof—from his mother. No one had mentioned who had actually done the cooking in their home.

  Closing the door to the stove after the new wood had caught flame, she went to the counter and peered into the bowl Mrs. Allen continued to stir. “You have some flour on your forehead. And would you like an apron? I think there’s some on your dress, too.”

  Mrs. Allen’s hand flew to her forehead as her eyes searched her dress. “Oh, my, I do seem to have made a mess. I wanted to have some biscuits ready before you two came down, but I don’t seem to recall the recipe. Flour and something, I believe.”

  She smiled gratefully as Meg handed her an apron and put one on as well.

  “Biscuits? Sam loves biscuits.” Meg reached into the cupboard for the things Mrs. Allen would need besides flour.

  “I know. He always loved them as a child, and cook made them almost every day. I was hoping to surprise him.”

  “Cook?”

  Mrs. Allen shook her head slowly. “Yes, I’m afraid that cooking wasn’t my strong suit, and with his father’s job, we were frequently away at night anyway. I never really learned, so having a cook was an act of desperation if anyone wanted to eat.” She laughed as she brushed back a stray lock of her black hair with the back of her hand, leaving another streak of white as she did.

  Meg stifled a laugh with a dishtowel, and reached for the heavy iron juicer she’d noticed in Sam’s kitchen. She set it on the table along with a bowl of oranges she’d been given by Suzanne at the mercantile when they’d gotten a shipment from California that was too large for the needs of the Occidental.

  “Does he like orange juice?” she said as she set down a knife and a cutting board.

  Mrs. Allen turned to Meg, her head cocked to one side. She folded her arms over her chest and leaned against the counter. “Yes, it’s one of his favorites. You don’t know that?”

  Meg’s hand froze in mid-air, her back to her mother-in-law. Her stomach dropped as she realized her error. There were so many things that could stump her, and she seemed provide every single one of them.

  She turned slowly as her mind searched for an answer. “Oh, I do know that. I meant to say do you like orange juice. We’ve had a shipment and I thought it might be nice to have with breakfast.”

  She let out a sigh as Sam entered the room, laughing as he saw his mother covered in flour. “Mother? Is that you?”

  Mrs. Allen frowned and nudged his elbow. “Now, don’t tease. I know it’s not something you’ve seen often, me in the kitchen, but I wanted to try.”

  “Between the three of us, Meg’s the only one who can boil water, and you know it. You’d better let her take over if you don’t want to go hungry.”

  Meg pulled out a chair and gestured for Mrs. Allen to take it, and said to Sam, “I know you know how to squeeze oranges, Sam. Why don’t the two of you do that and I’ll make biscuits and eggs?”

  “Oh, thank you, my dear. It was an honest attempt to be helpful, I assure you. I wasn’t trying to harm anyone.”

  Sam’s laughter rang out as Mrs. Allen sat, her cheeks flushed. “I appreciate it very much, Mother. Both your gesture and your willingness to stop.” He pushed the cutting board and knife toward her. “How about if you slice and I’ll squeeze? Be careful.”

  Mrs. Allen gave her son a good-natured grimace and took to slicing the oranges.

  It was a bit of a lengthy process, and they all chatted lightly—Meg making sure to keep the subject off of her and Sam—and the biscuits and eggs were ready about the same time as the orange juice.

  “Are we going to the mercantile this morning?” Mrs. Allen said between bites of her biscuit. “Oh, Meg, these are delicious. You must teach me how to—“

  “Mother, you know full well that you aren’t going to bake biscuits. The ones you have baked could break a window.”

  “You’re horrid to your old mother, Sam,” Mrs. Allen said between peals of laughter.

  Meg’s heart tugged at the easy manner between the two and had a sudden pang that her own mother wasn’t there to join them. She folded her hands in front of her on th
e table, not wanting to cast a shadow on their fun.

  “Meg? Are you all right?” Sam said, frowning at her as he covered her hands with one of his. “You’ve gone pale.”

  The warmth of his touch soothed her, and she nodded. “I’m fine. It’s so nice to see you two together, and it hasn’t been that long since…”

  He patted her hand, his eyes soft. “Meg’s mother died not long ago, and we all still miss her.”

  Mrs. Allen’s hand flew to her chest, her eyes wide. “I am so sorry, my dear. That must have been frightful, and I’m sure she was very young.”

  Meg took a deep breath, determined not to ruin the moment. “Yes, she was young, and a lovely person. Much like you, Mrs. Allen, so I am glad to have your company.”

  Mrs. Allen smiled and tipped her head to Meg. “That is quite a compliment, my dear. I am flattered, and happy that we can spend time together.”

  “Speaking of spending time together, we need to get ready to go to the mercantile. Mother, you might take a bit to get, uh, cleaned up.” He gestured to the flour covering her dress and smiled. “Meg and I are ready. How about we head over, then one of us will be back in an hour or so to pick you up?”

  “That sounds like a fine idea, son. I suppose it will take me a moment or two to get my hair back to its original color.” She laughed, taking off her apron and hanging it on the peg by the door. “Thank you for the loan, Meg, but I think it was a little too late.”

  “I really do appreciate your effort. It was very thoughtful.” Meg hung her apron up as well and turned to Sam as his mother left the room.

  “I did it again,” she said, shaking her head slowly.

  “What? What happened? I didn’t hear anything bad.”

  “I asked her if you like orange juice,” she said, tapping her forehead with her palm.

  Sam’s teeth flashed as he laughed and ran his hand through his black hair. She felt awful about the error, but loved seeing him laugh, and thought once more that he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen.

  “Now, I would never have thought to mention that, and we’ve barely even had breakfast together. It was one of my favorite things. Still is.”

  “I know that now,” she said with a smile as she reached for her blue wool wrap. “I think she was pretty surprised that I didn’t know, and I tried to cover up for it.”

  “Good grief. If just having breakfast is this difficult, imagine what we’re in for at the mercantile.”

  Meg groaned. “I can’t even imagine. We’d better cross our fingers,” she said as they headed out the door.

  Chapter 22

  “How’s it going?” Suzanne rushed to Meg as she and Sam walked in and closed the door behind them. She reached for their coats and hats. “You two look a little worn down.”

  “This can’t be an easy thing to do. Are you meeting with success?” James said.

  Meg looked up at Sam as he shook his head. “I don’t think Meg would disagree that this is much more difficult than either of us anticipated.”

  She nodded as Suzanne came back into the room, coats and hats deposited in the office. “I can’t even imagine what it must be like,” Suzanne said, taking Meg’s hands.

  “You wouldn’t believe the little things that can trip you up. How was I supposed to know orange juice was his favorite?” She laughed and tugged at the collar of her dress.

  “And how was I to know she needed to know that?” They exchanged a glance and burst out laughing, Suzanne and James laughing along with them.

  “And now you’re on to the next phase. How long do we have before she comes?”

  “One of us will fetch her in about an hour. Maybe we need to practice a little bit.” Sam looked around the mercantile, his eyes wide.

  James clapped him on the back. “Don’t worry. She won’t be here for very long, will she? Meg can show her around, and you can tend to customers. In the time before she comes, I can show you the simplest way to use the cash register. Just set things aside, and I can take care of the bookkeeping later, when she leaves and we come back.”

  “At least it’ll only be an hour or so. I think maybe we’ll survive.” Sam squeezed Meg’s elbow and mouthed the words, ‘thank you’.

  Meg smiled at the spark she felt and the gratitude she saw in Sam’s eyes. She still held out hope that this would all work out, and that Sam would see that they were destined to be together, the perfect couple.

  For the next hour, Sam shadowed James and Suzanne showed Meg all of the items that Sam’s mother might be interested in. It was one of the largest mercantiles in Tombstone, and Meg was impressed at the things there that she’d never even noticed, from shovels to lanterns and baby clothing.

  “I’ll try to do the best job I can,” Meg said as she tugged at the hem of her sleeve. “I’m a little nervous after my earlier mistakes. I never know when I’m going to make one.”

  “Just say as little as possible about Sam, and focus on the merchandise. Tell her how well things are going. I’m hoping that there are very few customers while you’re here.”

  Meg’s stomach dropped and she felt her hands perspire. She hadn’t thought for one minute that customers who knew her or Sam or both of them might come in. Her chest tightened at what she was now thinking might be imminent disaster.

  “I think it’s time to go fetch Mother,” Sam said, sounding like a man heading to the gallows.

  “Oh, perk up. You need to be confident about this or she’ll surely sense it.” Suzanne handed her coat to James and he helped her on with it. “We’ll be next door at the Occidental, and will be watching for when she leaves. Sadie’s saving us a table right by the window.” She bent over and pecked Meg’s cheek, giving her a reassuring smile. “Everything will be fine. You’ll see.”

  Meg sighed with gratitude as she closed the door behind the three of them, Sam heading home to walk over with his mother. She strolled the store, familiarizing herself as well as she could with the other types of merchandise that Suzanne hadn’t shown her—picks, axes, mining supplies. She hoped that Sam knew something about those kinds of things, because she sure didn’t.

  She looked up quickly when the bell on the door tinkled and smiled as Mrs. Allen entered, her eyes wide and smile broad. Sam followed her in and held up his crossed fingers from behind his mother and winked at Meg.

  “Oh, this is marvelous!” Mrs. Allen twirled in a circle as she admired the store. “You’ve done a fabulous job. It’s so big!”

  Sam cleared his throat as he helped Mrs. Allen off with her coat and hung it up in the office. “Thank you, Mother. I’m pleased that you like it.”

  “I am, as well.” Meg clasped Mrs. Allen’s hand and said, “We have no customers at the moment. Would you like a tour?”

  “Absolutely. I want to see every little thing. I hope you don’t mind, but I plan to make a few purchases. There are some things I need.”

  Sam frowned at his mother. “That’s not necessary, Mother. We can get you anything you need. You’re our guest.”

  Mrs. Allen held up a finger of her gloved hand and shushed Sam. “I know you are a grown man, but I can support your efforts, can’t I? I send anyone I know who needs a doctor to your brother, and so I should like to support you as well.”

  Meg thought his mother might actually pinch his cheeks, but she looked at Meg and stopped herself. “It’s so difficult to let your children grow up. Thank you for understanding.” She threaded her arm through Meg’s and said, “Show me everything. I want to see it all.”

  Meg strolled the store, glancing up regularly as Sam handled customers. She tried not to laugh at his clear discomfort every time the doorbell rang and he looked at her for assurance every time. She didn’t think his mother had noticed yet, as Meg was trying to keep her busy. She was grateful that she’d spent a fair amount of time in the store before and knew what and where most things were. If she didn’t know, she told his mother, “That’s Sam’s area of expertise.”

  “You two are such a
good team,” his mother had said as she walked around the store. Meg was glad that she was pleased, and that the mercantile was large enough for them to just keep going.

  The doorbell rang once more and Meg glanced at Sam to give him her customary smile of assurance and felt her chest tighten. She’d become accustomed to his look of discomfort, but this one—this one was different. Pure panic.

  She turned to the door and immediately understood why as she saw her sister, Rosemary, enter the store, followed by their housekeeper, Maria. Rosemary knew all about the ruse, but not the part about the mercantile, having attended the wedding. However, Meg hadn’t had the opportunity to speak to Maria at all and knew full well that she was the most outspoken woman she’d ever met in her life.

  She turned back to Sam, her eyes as wide as his. She wished he was close enough for her to poke him in the eye as he shrugged and turned back to the customer he’d been helping.

  “Mrs. Allen, I believe we have a produce delivery. Can you excuse me for a moment?” Meg said.

  “Oh, of course, dear. I’ll go and talk with Sam.”

  Meg smiled and hurried to the door to head off Rosemary and Maria.

  Rosemary set her milk pails down when she saw Meg and rushed to hug her. Meg hadn’t realized how much she’d missed them both, and her heart melted as tears threatened to spill from Rosemary’s eyes.

  “We’ve missed you so much, Meg. How are things going?”

  “Yes, how are things going?” Maria said as she set down the basket of eggs and folded her arms over her chest.

  Meg hadn’t expected Maria to be happy with this development, and didn’t have an opportunity to explain much at that moment. Not enough time.

  “Maria, I am sure that Rosemary has explained to you what I’ve decided to do. Do you remember when you asked me a few times what was going on? Now you know. It was Sam I was pining for. And now I’m his wife.”