The Bartender's Mail Order Bride Read online

  Meg wasn’t sure what she was referring to, as Sam had told her that his father worked much of the time, and when he wasn’t working, he was practicing—at what, she didn’t know. Not wanting to pry, she turned toward the door.

  “There are clean towels over there for you,” she said.

  “Thank you, dear. You’re taking very good care of me and I’m grateful.”

  “I’ll be working on supper, and won’t disturb you in your rest. Feel free to come downstairs when you’re up to it.”

  “Thank you. But I’m not sure I’ll be able to rest much. I’m terribly anxious to get to know you better, and see what you both do here in town.”

  Meg forced a smile and a nod, then closed the door behind her, falling back to lean against it as she let out a big breath.

  Another close call. She thought it would be easier than this—it was already a bit harder than she’d expected. What was she thinking? Would they ever be able to do this? Shaking her head, she walked down the stairs of her home—Sam’s home—hoping that nothing else would throw her off balance tonight. At least for one night.

  Chapter 19

  Meg laughed when she found no herbs or spices of any kind—with the exception of salt and pepper—in the kitchen. She hadn’t thought to purchase any before Mrs. Allen came as she’d been so busy learning about Sam and the house. She’d kicked herself, realizing that she’d gotten all the supplies she might need—except seasoning.

  She remembered her mother’s herb garden and headed outside, hoping she might find something she would use to make the chicken she’d prepared a bit better. She spent some time searching for something, anything in the garden, but what she found mostly were flowers—lots of flowers.

  She’d found a bench near the far back corner and sat down, finding herself a little nervous as this whole thing began. And when she was nervous, the best thing to calm her down was to sing.

  The weather was changing a bit as fall approached, and she found herself pulling her wool wrap around her more tightly against the chill. Before she knew it, she was singing—almost unknowingly, it was so natural.

  As she finished and stood, she looked back to the house. Mrs. Allen had opened the window and noticed Meg in the garden. Meg had no way of knowing how long she’d been there, but her stomach fluttered a bit as she turned and walked back toward the house.

  “Meg, that was marvelous,” Mrs. Allen said. “Sam hadn’t told me that you sing. And with the voice of an angel, at that.”

  “Oh, it’s just something I grew up doing. Nothing special.”

  “I beg to differ, my dear. It’s very special, indeed. No wonder you and Sam are so well-suited.”

  She smiled down at her, her blue eyes crinkling just as Sam’s did, and slowly closed the window. Meg was left to wonder what she meant. Besides Sam’s ability to read music—a talent she did not have—he’d shown no signs of any interest at all in music. At least not to her.

  She spent the rest of the afternoon preparing the chicken, peeling potatoes and even got some biscuits in the oven before Sam got home. Her mind wandered to what it would be like to cook for Sam—and children, them happily helping in the kitchen.

  “That smells delicious,” Sam said, startling Meg as she took the roast chicken and potatoes that she’d prepared out of the oven and set it on the counter to rest.

  She wiped her hands on her apron. She smiled at the compliment, glad that Sam felt her cooking at least smelled good—and was a little anxious to see if it tasted good also. Maria had taken over most of the cooking since her mother died, and she was feeling a little rusty.

  “What is that herb on there? It truly smells fantastic.”

  “This?” She picked up a green sprig that she’d laid around the outside of the chicken over the potatoes. “You don’t know what this is?”

  He grinned shyly. “I’m not a cook. Not very good at it, never learned. I take most of my meals at the Occidental, so no, I don’t know what it is.”

  “Hm. That must be why your herb garden has few herbs in it besides this rosemary.”

  “I have rosemary in the garden?”

  Meg’s eyebrows rose and she laughed, reaching for Sam’s hand and pulling him to the kitchen door, through to the garden. She reached for a sprig of the plant covered with spiky, gray green leaves and purple flowers. Breaking one off, she pulled off the leaves by sliding her fingers down its stalk and held her palm full of them up to Sam’s nose.

  “Oh, my goodness. That’s exactly what it smells like in the kitchen,” he said as he stared at the rosemary bush.

  “Yes, this is what my sister Rosemary was named after, obviously.”

  “Well, it wasn’t that obvious to me,” Sam said as he broke off a sprig of rosemary as well.

  “Are there any other herbs here?”

  “None that I can see. Maybe a lavender bush?”

  “So you came out and picked this just to use on the chicken?”

  She looked to the back of the garden and the bench she’d sat on earlier, envisioning Sam sitting on it, bouncing one of their future children on his knee.

  “Meg? Are you there?” Sam’s voice penetrated her daydream and she blinked a few times before she remembered she had been standing in the garden talking about rosemary.

  “What? Oh, yes. I was just—”

  “Daydreaming, I think.”

  She fiddled with the pockets of her apron, anxious to get back into the warm kitchen. “Yes, daydreaming, but there’s no harm in it.”

  “Not normally, but in the middle of a conversation, it’s a bit awkward.”

  Meg turned quickly to Sam, hoping he wasn’t angry, and laughing as she recognized the grin that meant he was teasing. He heart fluttered at that smile as it always did.

  He took her hand and her heart beat even faster as he turned her toward him.

  “Meg, I want to thank you again. My mother’s been through so much, I just can’t bear to cause her any more pain.”

  She looked up into his eyes. “I’ve told you before that I’m happy to do it. I want you to be happy.”

  “And I want—“

  Meg’s heart dropped as Mrs. Allen said from the kitchen, “Hello. Is anyone here?”

  Sam dropped his hands and Meg’s heart dropped right along with them. She’d hoped that maybe they’d have a moment—a moment when Sam realized this was perfect, the two of them together.

  Sam looked up toward his mother and smiled as he walked back into the kitchen.

  “Hello, Mother. You look lovely.”

  Mrs. Allen looked down at the dress she’d changed into, which looked to be the least fancy of what she’d brought. As Meg entered the kitchen, she couldn’t take her eyes off the pearl buttons and satin, in three different shades of green, all expertly sewn. She really was a striking woman, regardless of the dress.

  “Oh,” she said as she quickly looked down and then back up at Meg. “I’m afraid I hadn’t thought to bring much more casual wear than my traveling dress. Maybe one other. I see you don’t dress for dinner.”

  Sam looked down at his own brown trousers, suspenders and white shirt with his sleeves rolled up. He glanced at Meg, his eyes twinkling as he laughed. “No, mother, we don’t. But we’re quite comfortable with you over-dressed, as lovely as ever.”

  Meg was growing a little more accustomed to Sam’s teasing, and as his mother was smiling as she pinched his arm, it appeared that they were both jolly and liked to laugh. All the more reason to make sure the visit went well.

  “Why don’t you two wait in the parlor and I’ll have dinner ready on the table in no time?”

  “My dear, I am perfectly happy to help. Have you an apron I might borrow?”

  Meg waved her hand and said, “Goodness, no. Sam, take your mother and get re-acquainted. I’m happy to do this, but I very much appreciate your offer, Mrs. Allen.”

  Mrs. Allen smiled warmly at Meg. “My dear, we absolutely must find something for you to call me. What is comforta
ble for you?”

  “Er, I’m not sure. May I think about it?”

  “Certainly. Of course. And there’s no rush at all.”

  Sam nodded at Meg as he opened the door for his mother to precede him into the parlor. As his mother passed through, he turned and winked at Meg before he left, too.

  Meg let out a whoosh of breath, happy that this had gone well enough. She quickly set the table in the dining room, relieved that she knew where the tablecloths, silverware and better dishes were so she didn’t need to fumble.

  As she laid the final place setting and turned to search for some candles as a centerpiece, she stopped dead in her tracks, her mouth falling open.

  From the dining room, she wasn’t able to see the parlor and she walked slowly toward it, wondering who was playing the most magical piano music she’d ever heard. It was even better than her mother’s playing which, in her mind, was saying quite a bit.

  By the time she’d reached the parlor, she’d begun to hum along to the music, mesmerized, and hoping that Mrs. Allen would play for them every night, marveling at the coincidence that Sam’s mother and her own both played so well.

  As she rounded the corner, she grabbed the doorjamb to steady herself for fear her knees might buckle.

  The music stopped and Sam jumped up from the piano bench where he’d been playing. She did everything she could to regain her composure at the sight of her husband playing the piano, almost more beautifully than she’d ever heard.

  “Are you all right, dear? You look pale.” Mrs. Allen walked to Meg and put her hand on her forehead. “No fever.”

  “Meg?” Sam frowned and searched Meg’s eyes as she took a deep breath.

  “I’m fine. I’m fine. It’s nothing at all.” She walked slowly to the settee and plopped down, unable to remove her eyes from the piano—and Sam.

  Mrs. Allen frowned as she sat back down, looking from Sam to Meg. “Isn’t it lovely that Sam agreed to play for me. I’m sure you hear it all the time, but it’s been such a long time for me.”

  “I…I…”

  “Meg hasn’t heard me play, really, Mother.” Sam sat down on the piano bench, facing his wife and mother.

  “It took some convincing to get you to play now, but I wasn’t aware that you’d stopped playing, Samuel. When I sent the piano, I thought surely you’d take it up again.”

  Meg didn’t quite know what to do with her hands as she stared at the piano.

  Sam rubbed the back of his neck and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “To be honest, after what happened with Father, I—”

  “Oh, nonsense, Samuel Allen. One doesn’t spend years to learn to play as you have, with an unusual talent such as you’ve been given all to toss it away and—stop.”

  Meg jumped up, her hand to her mouth and ran toward the kitchen. “Oh, the gravy. I hope it’s not ruined.”

  As she rounded the corner into the kitchen, she took the gravy pan off the stove, knowing full well it wouldn’t have burned. She just needed to get as far away from that conversation as she could before she said anything wrong. How had Sam been able to stop playing? She couldn’t understand. Music gave her so much joy, so much solace, she couldn’t imagine ever abandoning it for any reason in the world.

  “I’m sorry about that, Meg. I guess it’s one more thing we forgot to talk about,” Sam said as he followed her into the kitchen.

  “Forgot? No, not forgotten. You asked not to talk about it.”

  “Did I? I should have known that I wouldn’t have been able to refuse her request to play. I’d intended to, fully, but with her here, I—”

  “I understand. My mother would have been heartbroken if we—”

  “Is everything all right in here? Meg, are you feeling ill?” Mrs. Allen asked Meg.

  Sam and Meg both turned toward the door, each taking a step away from the other.

  Sam cleared his throat. “In here. We’re coming right out.”

  “Goodness, I was worried. But I suppose things take longer when you’re in love.” She smiled as she walked back into the dining room, Meg following with the potatoes and gravy and Sam with the platter of chicken.

  Chapter 20

  Compared to the beginning of the day, dinner passed relatively quietly, Meg mostly silent for fear of getting into a difficult spot. As the dishes were cleared and put away, Mrs. Allen stifled yawn after yawn but refused not to help.

  She smile when Meg said, “Please, Mrs. Allen, I can finish the remainder. You must be exhausted after your journey, even with a rest.”

  Mrs. Allen smiled gratefully and squeezed Meg’s hand. “I do believe I will take you up on your kind offer. I surely do need to be rested for tomorrow.”

  “Yes, we will need to go into the mercantile tomorrow to work. I hope you don’t mind,” Sam said, his ears turning a little bit pink, Meg noticed.

  “Oh, that will be fine. I’d like to come and visit, though, and see what it’s like.”

  Meg and Sam exchanged quick glances. His mother was behaving exactly as they’d expected her to, and they had made a bit of a plan.

  “It will be quite busy in the morning, Mrs. Allen, as it’s the first day of the week. Would it be all right if I went in first and opened up, accepted deliveries and then you come a bit later?” Meg hoped that the compromise would be acceptable to Mrs. Allen.

  “Certainly, my dear, that would be fine. We’ll be able to spend plenty of time together later in the evening at the show.”

  Meg and Sam exchanged quick glances. “The show?” Sam said, his brows furrowed. “I don’t remember talking about a show.”

  Mrs. Allen waved her hand in the air, dismissing his concern. “That’s because we hadn’t yet spoken about it. A friend in New York travels with a vaudeville act and was coming here to Tombstone. When he found out I’d be in town, he gave me tickets.”

  Meg opened her mouth and then shut it again. She’d never been allowed to go to a vaudeville show, although many came through Tombstone now that it had grown so large. Her father hadn’t allowed any of them to go, and she thought it was because he had never been and thought that all theaters were like the Birdcage, but Meg knew they weren’t.

  “They wouldn’t be at the Birdcage, would they?” Meg said, not sure why she was concerned about what her father would think if she went there.

  “Oh, no, dear. I admire what they do there to entertain and encourage the minors, but we will go to a show of a different sort. Like the ones they’d have in New York. Have you not been?”

  Meg shook her head slowly, casting her eyes down again toward her simple dress and feeling her simple hair. She looked up at Sam, and he didn’t seem too sure about the prospect.

  “Mother, you know I—”

  She lifted her palms toward him. “I know, I know, but when he offered the tickets, I remembered how much you enjoyed it in the past. Consider it a bit of a peace offering, from me and your father.”

  He slowly shook his head. “That would never have come from Father, and you know it.”

  “Well, if he had lived longer, I am positive that it would have. Please, Sam, let me do this. I’m anxious to go, and I hear it’s a wonderful show, and Eddie Foy, the man who gave me the tickets, is becoming quite famous. He’s actually a friend of Wyatt Earp, I’m told.”

  Meg watched the scene unfold, hoping very much that Sam would let them all go. Her shoulders relaxed when he swallowed hard, but said, “All right. I don’t see what harm it could do. Only if you want to go, Meg. It’s not normally something that most people go to.”

  “I’ve never been allowed to go. I guess my father is one of ‘those people’.” She laughed and opened the icebox, putting the cream away that they’d used for coffee after dinner. “I’d love to go.”

  Mrs. Allen clapped her hands together. “Well, it’s settled. Splendid. They’re all the rage and becoming quite popular.”

  “If we’re all going after a long day at work,” Sam said, “we’d best get to bed early tonight
along with Mother, Meg.”

  “All right, but you two head on up. I’ll be right there.”

  “There’s nothing in here that can’t wait until tomorrow, Meg.” Mrs. Allen cast her eyes about the kitchen. “I’ll get up much earlier than you to, I’m sure, and I can start breakfast. You two can take your time.”

  Meg’s cheeks flushed as Mrs. Allen winked at her.

  Sam blew out the lanterns in the kitchen and lit the one kept by the stairs to lead the way up to the bedrooms.

  As they reached the top of the stairs and turned left down the hallway, Mrs. Allen said, “I want to thank you two for your hospitality and kind welcome.” She reached up and gave Sam a quick peck on the cheek. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, son.” Turning to Meg, she patted her cheek and said, “And I’m so glad he has you to look after him, my dear.”

  Sam smiled. “We’re glad you’re here too, aren’t we, Meg.”

  “Yes, of course,” Meg said, following Sam and his mother down the hallway.

  Meg stopped at her bedroom door, her hand on the knob as she turned to say goodnight to Mrs. Allen. “Good night, Mrs. Allen. I look forward to another fun day—“ She stopped mid-sentence as Mrs. Allen looked to Sam, who had his hand on the doorknob to his room and to Meg, who had now opened the door to hers.

  Mrs. Allen’s eyebrows rose and Meg looked at Sam, her eyes wide and her stomach fluttering.

  “Which one is your bedroom, the two of you? I thought the one Sam showed me at the end of the hall was it.”

  Meg chewed her bottom lip and shut the door to her room. “Um, yes. Yes, it is. I was just going to get something, but I don’t need it.” She turned to walk the few steps to where Sam was standing, his mouth open.

  Mrs. Allen frowned and cocked her head to one side. “Well, good night, then.” She didn’t move, however, and Meg knew she was waiting for them to go into the bedroom together.

  She nudged Sam with her elbow as he seemed to be frozen to the spot. “Sam, open the door, dear.”

  “What? Oh.” He swallowed hard and opened the door to the bedroom, allowing Meg to precede him as he said, “Good night, Mother. We’ll see you in the morning.”