The Bartender's Mail Order Bride Read online

She clasped her hands together tightly as she thought of her own mother, who was exactly like Sam described his mother to be.

  He glanced over at her quickly and said, “Oh, I’m sorry, Meg. I remember your mother quite fondly, too. My mother is much like yours.”

  She lowered her head, surprised at the overwhelming emotion she was feeling. It had been a while since her mother had passed, and it had become easier—but now, with Sam’s mother arriving, it somehow felt fresh, new.

  “Thank you, Sam. That’s a nice compliment. My mother was fond of you, too.” She rested her hand on his arm, willing her emotions back in the box they rested in most of the time in her head.

  “Back to your mother—you said she was very supportive and kind. What caused you to leave New York and head West?”

  Finally, the next question she’d been hesitant to ask. Sam hadn’t volunteered the information and, again, she hadn’t wanted to pry, but she worried that it would be one of the important things she’d be expected to know.

  She turned to face him, giving his arm a slight squeeze of encouragement.

  Sam pursed his lips and pulled his hat further down his forehead.

  “It wasn’t so much that I wanted to. My brother had left for college and I was working in a—well, I’m not sure how to explain it. I’d told my parents what kind of career I wanted to have. My father didn’t agree.”

  “Oh, but your mother did?”

  “She did, but my father was most formidable when he made up his mind.”

  “I don’t understand. What is it that your father wanted you to do?”

  “Meg, do you think maybe we could leave this topic alone? It was a very difficult period, and I really don’t want to talk about it.”

  Meg’s heart sunk. How could he not want to share that with her? It seemed to her it would definitely be something she should know about her husband of several years. One look at his face, though, helped her to decide not to press the issue. He gripped the reins so tightly that his knuckles were white, and she felt sadness radiate from him.

  “I’m sorry, Sam. So you came West to start that career that your father didn’t want you to have? As a bartender?”

  Sam turned to look at Meg, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Bartender? Oh, no, that’s not what I’d intended to do. I tried to get a job at what I loved, but it didn’t work out. I fell into tending bar and worked mostly in the saloons in town.”

  “How did you end up at the Occidental, then?”

  “I’d become friends with Hank and Tripp, and when the restaurant was ready to open, Tripp and Sadie asked me to come over. So I did.”

  Meg now had a little more information, as meager as it was. Her curiosity had been even more piqued by now. How would she ever find out? She couldn’t ask his mother. But the pain radiated from her husband, and she knew it was something she’d need to find out somehow.

  She had come to know Sam fairly well, she had thought, from his time at the ranch. He had always been joyful, full of laughter and spontaneity. With this topic, he’d become silent and withdrawn.

  She thought it best that the other Sam be the one to greet his mother, so she changed the subject to much lighter things for the remainder of the journey, but the nagging curiosity never left the back of her mind.

  “Just another little bit,” Sam said as they neared the stagecoach station.

  The weekly stagecoach trips from Benson could sometimes be quite crowded and dusty, and Meg knew Sam had offered to fetch his mother to avoid the stagecoach altogether, and that she had declined, saying, “What kind of adventurer would I be if I can’t make that trip on my own? I’ll be fine. Will meet you in Tombstone.”

  “I think it’s rather brave of your mother to travel this distance alone, especially after the loss of your father.”

  She kicked herself for bringing up another troubling topic as the frown returned to Sam’s face.

  “Yes. Yes, it is. My mother is nothing if not brave.” Could she be brave, if she let his father change his desires?

  Meg wondered what type of person she’d meet in minutes as the stagecoach rumbled toward them. She sincerely hoped that his mother would like her—and also that Meg would like Mrs. Allen. She took a deep breath and released it, readying herself for what was to come.

  Chapter 17

  Meg gasped when Sam said, “There she is,” as a tall, lovely and very elegant woman stepped from the stagecoach, her gloved hands tugging at her smart brown travel coat. Her hat covered what looked to be black hair, fashioned into a chignon at her neck.

  Under her breath, Meg said, “She’s beautiful, Sam.”

  “Is she?” He looked from his mother to Meg and back to his mother, his face softening as his eyes met his mother’s.

  Meg couldn’t help but smile at the warm greeting they gave each other, and her heart tugged as Mrs. Allen wiped away a tear with a delicate linen and lace handkerchief.

  She pushed the thought that she must look like a waif in her country clothes and makeshift hair-do—she was still practicing to get it the way Clara had shown her—to the back of her mind as Sam approached, his mother’s arm through his and wearing an ear-to-ear smile.

  “Meg, I’d like to introduce you to my mother, Mrs. Allen. Mother, this is my wife, um…”

  The tinkling of Mrs. Allen’s laughter washed over Meg, flooding her with relief.

  “Allen, Sam. Mrs. Allen. I am not the only one, I see.”

  Sam’s eyes grew wide as did Meg’s. She’d not been introduced as Mrs. Allen so far, and the words sounded strange to her ears—and, apparently, Sam’s as well.

  “It is very nice to meet you, ma’am,” Meg said, her heart still beating more rapidly than she would like.

  Her new mother-in-law gave her a warm smile as she removed her soft, brown gloves and extended her hand. “How do you do, Meg? It’s very nice to meet you—finally,” she said, casting a sideways glance at Sam.

  Her warm handshake helped to quiet Meg’s nerves. She smiled as Sam squirmed under his mother’s gaze.

  “However, we’ll have to think of something different for you to call me besides ma’am, or Mrs. Allen. They both sound so formal, don’t you think?

  Her bright blue eyes twinkled as she turned back to Meg. “I’m sure we’ll come up with something in time.”

  Meg wasn’t surprised that this lovely lady was Sam’s mother. He had a similar personality and it made sense that they would have been close—at least at some point. And she could also understand why he wouldn’t want to hurt her.

  “I’ll go fetch your bags, Mother,” Sam said, mouthing the words good luck to Meg as he glanced at his mother who had turned toward the stagecoach driver unloading luggage.

  “I just have a smallish blue bag, dear. The stagecoach driver knows which one it is.”

  Sam tipped his hat and headed toward the stagecoach.

  “Now, Meg, you must tell me all about yourself,” Mrs. Allen said as she wound her arm inside Meg’s and they walked toward the stagecoach.

  “Oh, I imagine we’ll have plenty of time to do that.” Meg’s stomach flipped as she fingered the list of questions in her pocket.

  “Well, at least tell me how you two lovebirds met.”

  Meg cringed at the question. How had they forgotten to practice such a big part of their story? Five minutes, and she was already in trouble.

  “Oh, uh, I…”

  “That memorable?” Mrs. Allen said, followed by laughter.

  Meg’s cheeks burned. She searched for the most believable story as she forced a laugh.

  “Oh, yes, it was quite memorable. Uh, Sam had spent a fair amount of time at my father’s ranch—”

  “A ranch? How lovely. I’ve not seen a ranch, coming from the city. Are their horses there?”

  Meg’s eyebrows rose at the question. “Yes, there are horses. And cows and pigs and chickens.”

  “Goodness, that sounds more like a zoo.”

  Meg had never thought about that. “I
suppose it could be, but it’s a working ranch. We sold eggs, milk and other things to the mercantile.”

  That was it. She’d met Sam at the mercantile. That made perfect sense.

  “I suppose it must be done,” Mrs. Allen said and sighed, looking up as Sam returned with her bag. “That’s it! Nicely done. Meg was just telling me how you two met.”

  Sam coughed into his hand, color creeping into his cheeks as he clearly realized what Meg had—that they hadn’t made a story up about that.

  “I was just telling your mother that you’d spent a fair amount of time at the ranch, and I was in charge of the milk, eggs and other products. And that we’d spoken every day when I brought them to your store.”

  “Oh, yes, the mercantile,” Sam said—not with much conviction, Meg noted.

  Mrs. Allen’s eyebrows rose and she turned to Sam. “You own a mercantile? That is the business you spoke of?”

  “It’s the best mercantile in town,” Meg interjected when Sam hesitated.

  He smiled at Meg as he recovered his composure. “Yes, the mercantile.”

  Meg held her breath, hoping that a mercantile was a decent enough business to make Mrs. Allen happy, and let it whoosh out when Mrs. Allen spoke.

  “That’s wonderful, son,” she said, pulling Sam into a hug. “Good, honest work and it provides a service. I don’t imagine it’s easy to get supplies way out here, even with the mines booming.”

  Sam cleared his throat. “It’s a bit of a challenge, but Meg’s made good work of it. She’s a whiz at the business end.”

  Now Meg’s eyebrows rose. This was getting more complicated by the second, and she only hoped her memory served her well.

  “Sounds like a perfect match to me,” Mrs. Allen said as they walked to the buggy. “Your father would be proud.”

  Sam stopped short and turned to his mother. “Would he?”

  Mrs. Allen’s eyes softened as she pulled her handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. “Yes, he would. I’m just sorry he passed away before he could see you, and meet your lovely wife. All he wanted was for you to be happy, Sam.”

  Sam’s lips formed a thin line. “He sure didn’t show it,” he said as he placed his mother’s bag in the back of the buggy and reached for her hand to help her up.

  “Now, Sam, you two really should have had a better conversation before you left. I really do think—”

  “It’s fine, Mother. It all worked out in the end, although I would have liked to see him before…”

  Sam had told Meg that his father had passed away suddenly, killed in an accident. And he’d regretted that he hadn’t been able to make peace with him beforehand. Meg thought it must have been awful to not be able to say goodbye and thought of her own mother’s passing, grateful that she had been there and was able to share the gift of music with her.

  “We all would have liked that, son.” Mrs. Allen took one last swipe at her eyes and patted her chignon. She tucked her handkerchief back in her sleeve and straightened her skirt.

  “I’m very happy to be here. Let’s concentrate on that, shall we?”

  Meg and Sam exchanged glances.

  “Yes, let’s do that.” Sam untied the reins from the post and climbed in the buggy, heading in the direction of his house.

  “You must be tired, Mrs. Allen,” Meg said, remembering the distance she’d had to travel from New York.

  “I do believe I could use an opportunity to freshen up and maybe rest a little. I’m not as young as I used to be.”

  “We have your room prepared, and everything’s ready to heat you a bath when we get home, if you’d like. And then maybe a bit of a rest before supper?”

  “That would be lovely, Meg. Very thoughtful of you,” Mrs. Allen said as she patted Meg’s hand. “Sam, you’ve done yourself proud with this young lady. I like her already.”

  Meg blushed at the compliment. She wondered how Mrs. Allen would feel about her if they failed in their mission, but pushed the thought out of her head—for now.

  Chapter 18

  Mrs. Allen had seemed very happy with Sam’s house upon her tour when they arrived. Sam had shown her around, and she appeared very pleased until her eyes settled on the large piece of furniture covered by a white sheet.

  Meg was confused by the awkward silence that followed for a few moments.

  “Is that what I think it is, son?” She pointed to the piano.

  Sam rubbed his forehead before answering. “Yes, Mother, it is.”

  “And it’s covered because…”

  Meg held her breath, anticipating the answer that would come, but her shoulders sagged when Sam spoke.

  “I’ll show you to your room, Mother, and Meg can start heating the water for your bath.” He picked up Mrs. Allen’s suitcase and headed up the stairs, clearly expecting his mother to follow.

  Mrs. Allen turned to Meg, but all she got in return was a shrug as Meg headed into the kitchen to heat the water. “There are clean towels on the vanity for you, Mrs. Allen,” she said as Sam’s mother turned and started up the stairs behind her son, clearly as confused as Meg.

  As she stoked the wood stove to heat the water, she wondered what could possibly be uncomfortable about the subject of the piano. Sam had mentioned he read music, and she assumed he could play if he had a piano in his house, but couldn’t guess as to why he didn’t want to. Maybe he’d just been too busy, although the sheet did appear to have been there for a very long time.

  Sam entered the kitchen and said, “I can take the water up if you’d like.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he sat down at the table.

  “Thank you, but I think I should. I can then pour the bath and see if she needs anything else. I’m surprised that it’s been a little challenging already, and that it hadn’t occurred to us to come up with a story about how we’d met.”

  Sam looked up at Meg as he smiled. “You did a great job of that one. Very quick.”

  Meg’s stomach fluttered at his words. “Thank you, but you didn’t hear the first part when I practically stuttered. I thought the truth would be out in the first five minutes.”

  “That would have been awful. Thank you for that.”

  “You’re welcome, but it doesn’t bode well for the rest of the visit, that there are topics we haven’t even considered that may come up in conversation.

  “I suppose we’ll just have to take it each day at a time.”

  “Or each minute at a time, more likely.” Meg laughed as she readied the pail for Mrs. Allen’s bath.

  “Would you mind if I walk over to the Occidental for a bit while Mother is resting? I wanted to explain to Tripp what’s happening, and when he might expect me back. Hopefully, this week will be the fastest to pass in history.”

  “Of course. I’ll start supper.”

  “I thought maybe we could take her to the Occidental for dinner.”

  “Oh, dear. Might that be a little risky? All the patrons there know you’re the bartender. They might ask you for a drink. Or at the very least, a chat. She might get suspicious.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” Sam said, his chin falling into his hands as his elbows rested on the table.

  “I’ll ask your mother what she’d like to do, depending on how tired she is. It’s a fairly rigorous trip.”

  “That’s true. She just might want to have an easy night.”

  “Oh, yes, I’d forgotten.”

  “I’ll just put something together for supper. I have several options,” Meg said, rolling over in her mind what she’d like to make. She certainly wasn’t as good a cook as her mother had been—no one was, but Tripp—but she’d learned a fair amount and could put something together that she thought Mrs. Allen would enjoy. She had yet to cook for Sam, as there hadn’t been time, and she looked forward to the opportunity to please him, too.

  “Thank you, Meg. You are truly a help in all this. I couldn’t do it without you.”

  As Sam took his coat and hat from the rack and opened the
door, Meg sighed, happy for Sam’s gratitude but also hoping that they were getting to know each other better, and that he would see they were the perfect couple—just as she’d known all along.

  As Sam left for the Occidental, she carried the pail of hot water upstairs. She knocked quietly on Mrs. Allen’s door and twisted the knob as she heard, “Come in.”

  Meg couldn’t help but stare as Mrs. Allen sat at the vanity, brushing out long, beautiful black locks, her hat on the peg and hairpins on the vanity. She suddenly wished she’d had more time with Clara to learn how to do more than brush and plait it, with the one exception being the simple style Clara had taught her.

  Mrs. Allen had unpacked her suitcase and hung several lovely, intricately sewn dresses in the wardrobe. She followed Meg’s eyes and said, “I think I may be a little over-dressed here. I hope not. I wasn’t at all sure what to bring.”

  “Oh, no, your dresses are lovely. They are perfectly appropriate in Tombstone. So many new people come every day as the mine grows, and they wear dresses like that.”

  “But you don’t?” Mrs. Allen said, and Meg glanced quickly down at her simple, blue cotton dress and apron.

  “I suppose, for more special occasions. Gathering eggs and milking cows calls for a different type of dress.”

  “My, do you and Sam have cows and chickens?”

  Meg opened her mouth, then shut it as she realized that she had been referring to her previous life—all of three days ago—and that now, she did not, in fact, do those things.

  “Oh, no, my sisters have taken that task over for me at the ranch. I work mostly now at the mercantile, and even there we have a bit of physical labor to do. Satin doesn’t suit the job.” She laughed, hoping that Mrs. Allen thought her story plausible, and she poured the pail of hot water into the bath so as not to give her any more cause for suspicion.

  “That certainly makes sense. I love a practical attitude like that. In fact, when Sam’s father…” She turned quickly back to the mirror, not finishing her sentence. “Let’s just say that I had to have several different types of dresses at the ready at all times. For my different duties.”