Ethan's Wild Rose Bride (Texas Frontier Brides Book 2)

  Ethan’s Wild Rose Bride

  (Texas Frontier Brides Book 2)

  By Mary L. Briggs

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2014 Mary L. Briggs

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Epilogue

  Texas, 1884

  Hallie removed her hat and swatted the horsefly that buzzed around her face. Nasty things! And their bite was definitely worse than their buzz! She pulled the wagon to a halt and took a moment to smooth out her shirt and the front of her trousers, before she jumped to the ground. If Mama could see her now, she would be appalled. But then, with circumstances the way they were, maybe Mama would be wearing trousers, too. She was never one to shirk responsibilities, and a ranch without a man required the women to take over and handle things. Hallie smiled. The thought of Mama in trousers was fairly ludicrous. If you looked up the word ‘lady’ in the dictionary, Mama’s picture was sure to be the drawn illustration.

  The quiet in the air invaded her thoughts, and she stared at the almost deserted street. Even the school was closed on this warm and sunny Friday morning. Only one other wagon was parked on Main Street and it was a block ahead of her. It felt deserted, as if the citizens of Chance, Texas, had all packed up their belongings and moved away to another town.

  Today, however, the sparseness of the street was due to something good. Most folks were at Tucker’s Lake for the annual spring picnic, announced on the banners that covered the windows of several buildings along Main Street. But Stoner’s Mercantile had the door wide open. Wally wasn’t known for his socializing and she had been confident that he would be open for business.

  A day of fun and games sounded relaxing, but she had too much to do at home. Her strawberries were overrunning their rows; the horses needed their stalls cleaned, and most of all, her hay needed to be cut. Hay. A problem on her list. Someone must want to cut it for her. She had all the equipment needed, and they would get the bulk of whatever was cut. But everyone seemed so busy right now, and high grasses for hay was plentiful, due to recent rains in the area.

  All good excuses, but if she was honest with herself, it seemed silly to go to the picnic alone. With her parents gone and Rob and Judith moved to Chicago, she had no one else to go with. There was nothing more pathetic than an old maid school teacher standing around looking sad at a happy event.

  Reaching behind the buckboard seat, she gently lifted the large basket of eggs to her arm and headed into the store. Eggs didn’t bring in much, but they helped pay for the coffee and flour she used on a daily basis. And, more important, allowed her to have more variety to her meals. Eggs for breakfast, dinner, and supper got old after a week or two.

  “Good morning,” Wally Stoner greeted her, as she stepped inside.

  Hallie smiled at the big man, busy polishing the wood planks of the store counter. Wally always kept his business spic and span. His blue apron was pressed and ironed and his long hair, beginning to show a touch of grey, was tied back with a leather band. His scruffy beard was his trademark. If ever he shaved his face, he would be unrecognizable to the townsfolk.

  She set the basket on the counter. “Good morning to you, too, sir. I was just sure you’d be out at the picnic,” she half-teased.

  The storekeeper reached inside the basket and began transferring her fragile cargo to another box on the counter. “You know better than that, Miss Bolton. I’ve got a living to make. Folks depend on the store being open when they get to town. But the truth is,” a twinkle showed in his eyes, “I’m going to lock that door when you leave and ride on out to have a look.”

  She nodded. It was about time Wally Stoner got involved with some of the social activities in town. She hadn’t seen him at the last two dances that the town sponsored.

  “Well, good for you, sir.” She watched as he counted the eggs.

  “Forty-two. That what you counted before you came?”

  She nodded. “It is. I could have made it an even four dozen, but thought I might need them myself.”

  Wally moved the box to a shelf behind him and then turned back to her. “Do you need any supplies before I get your money?”

  “Not till next week,” she shook her head as she took the coins from his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Stoner.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. See you and another batch of eggs next week,” he said as he removed his apron and followed her out the door. Mounting the big horse tied to the railing, he waved as he turned the horse and took off at a gallop toward the lake.

  Hallie untied her horse from the hitching post and glanced down the street. Even Reba Barkley had her shop closed today. It would do the woman good to spend the day with her granddaughter’s family. Maggie and Caleb had a new baby boy, Luke. The infant was Reba’s favorite subject to discuss, these days.

  “Teacher! Teacher!” a high voice screeched.

  Hallie turned to see a small boy hurtling toward her, his cheeks streaked with dirty tears.

  She went to one knee as he got to her. Taking his shoulders in her hands, she gave him a slight shake. “Marky! What’s wrong?” Marky Hanes was the youngest of Cora Hanes’s five children. He must be nearly nine, she thought, staring at his thin face. The widowed mother often left them alone when she found a cleaning or laundry job for the day.

  Marky hiccupped as a sob rushed up his throat. “It’s Roger, teacher. He’s done fell down the old well in back of the school house! And he can’t get out. I reckon he might even be dead,” he ended his sentence with another sob.

  Hallie’s heart dropped at the child’s words. Even before she had resigned from her position a year ago, she had requested the town council to fill in the old well. Children were curious and it could easily become a death trap for them. And if Marky’s words were genuine, her worst fear had come true. “Are you sure?” she demanded.

  “I saw him fall after he climbed up the stone wall. You gotta help him, teacher. Please don’t let him die,” the small boy pleaded.

  Please, please, don’t let it be true, Lord. Was it possible that Marky had imagined all of it? Surely it was nothing more than a game the brothers had
devised. It made her ache inside to think of a child trapped down in that dark hole, hurt and frightened. She refused to imagine what other occupants the empty well might harbor.

  She glanced at the storefront. If only Mr. Stoner hadn’t left. He would have known what to do. Grabbing Marky’s hand, she pulled him behind her and headed to the livery and blacksmith shop, where the sound of loud hammering usually accosted the air. But this morning, all was quiet. She prayed someone might be there.

  Around the corner of the old livery, she found Joe Sikes, the local blacksmith. There was a fire built in the forge, but Joe’s right hand was swathed in bandages. He looked up as she and Marky approached.

  “Is there some trouble, miss?” he asked.

  ***

  With Mr. Sikes close behind, Hallie and Marky ran toward the school house. “Roger! Roger Hanes!” she called aloud as they approached the well. She still had hopes that the boy would step out from behind one of the massive oak trees, an impish grin across his young face. If that happened, they would all have a good laugh at the joke on the teacher. She would hug them both and warn them that those kinds of jokes weren’t nice. And then she would hug them again, filled with relief that Roger was all right.

  “He can’t hear you, teacher,” Marky stared up in her eyes. “He’s down there,” he pointed into the shadowy pit.

  Hallie leaned over the stone well wall and stared below. “Roger? Roger, can you hear me?” She listened to her voice echo in the silence from below.

  “Do you hear anything?” Joe asked, his words gasping from his lips after the long run.

  Hallie shook her head.

  “I’ll see who else I can find to help,” he announced. “I’m afraid most folks are gone out to the lake, but there ought to be someone.”

  Hallie nodded and turned to watch as he left. Out on Main Street she caught sight of someone on horseback. Her heart swelled with hope. Maybe it was someone to help. Joe was headed toward whoever it was.

  Hallie leaned over the edge and called again. And again. Nothing. If Roger was down there, as Marky insisted, then he would be badly injured. She turned to stare beyond the schoolhouse. Surely the rescuers would be there soon. Please, Lord. There must be someone that isn’t at that picnic. Tucker’s Lake was a good three miles away. Please send someone to help

  She held Marky tight against her, as she continued to pray. His little body was racked with silent, choking sobs. Please don’t let his brother die.

  Chapter 2

  She knelt beside the well and held the boy closer. “Listen to me, Marky. Mr. Sikes will bring back help in a few minutes. We’ll get Roger out. For now, the best thing to do is pray.” The words were said with more hope than she felt. If Roger would just call an answer out of the darkness, she would have more confidence that they might really save him.

  In a few moments, she saw Joe and another man running toward them, both carrying ropes. She recognized the taller man as Ethan Kane. He owned the ranch bordering her own. At night, she could see the lights shining from his small log home that perched on a hill behind her house. He was a late-night dweller, like herself, if his lamps were any indication of the hours he kept.

  “I can’t find anybody else. All gone to the lake,” Joe panted as the two men arrived.

  Ethan Kane barely nodded to her as he focused his attention on the well. He leaned over the wall and peered below. “What’s his name?” He asked, not turning.

  “Roger,” Hallie replied, knowing it was no use to call. If Roger was conscious, he would have answered her many calls.

  “Roger! Roger!” the big man shouted down the hole. No answer.

  She watched as he turned his attention to Joe. He shook his head. “This well is narrow and there are only the two of us. And with your hand, you’re not going to be doing much pulling. We’ll need to go find a smaller man to send down there, and more help to pull.”

  “But that could take a couple of hours,” Hallie argued. “Most men are out at the lake. Even the saloon is closed.”

  “No choice,” Ethan told her. “Joe could never pull me back out of here with that hand of his. And same thing for him going down. I couldn’t pull him back up without some help. And he wouldn’t be able to hold on to the rope to get down there, anyway.”

  Hallie swallowed away the fear that rose in her throat. “There is another choice. I,” her voice trembled, “I can go down and get him. The two of you can let me down and bring the child and myself back up quite easily.” Even saying the words left a pounding in her ears. How can I do it, Lord? The darkness and the closed in walls! I know I have to, but I don’t know how I can.

  “It’s too dangerous, Miss Bolton,” Kane said, shaking his head. “It’s a task that will be hard for a man to do.”

  So, did he think she was incapable of going down? And did she look too weak to lift the child? All the Hanes children were nothing but skin and bones. Half starved, she imagined. “I understand that. But, I can do it. Besides, the longer we wait, the less chance that boy has of making it.” She gave a quick glance to Marky, and was relieved he didn’t seem to comprehend what she had said.

  “I think we have to let her try,” Joe Sikes intervened, his dark eyes fixed on her face.

  Ethan Kane shook his head and started to speak, then stopped. Hallie could see the resignation in his eyes.

  But her brief moment of triumph was shadowed by a growing fear.

  ***

  Ethan secured the ropes around the former school teacher’s waist and under her arms. Even as he knotted the fiber, he fought the voices inside that warned him this was foolish and risky for a woman to attempt. Would she be able to tie the boy well enough for them to pull him up? If there were snakes, would she panic and cause both she and the child to die? What if the rope broke and she fell to her death? He would be responsible if any of those things happened.

  He pushed away the thoughts that plagued him. Sikes was right; there really was no other choice if there was any chance for the child. Either she went down to rescue Roger Hanes, or they would all stand up here and let him die. And the fire in her brown eyes told him that wasn’t going to happen.

  He cleared his throat as he finished with the rope adjustments. “Now, we’re going to put you over the edge and let you down, slow, a little at a time. None of us knows how deep this well is, but it is dry, so there shouldn’t be a danger of much, if any water in the bottom. I figure it isn’t much more than twenty or thirty feet to the bottom. We’re sending this lantern with you,” he indicated one of the three that he and Joe had brought back with them. “And we’ve got these two on top that we can lower down, if need be. Once you start down. . .”

  ***

  Hallie listened. Or tried to do so. She’d been afraid before, but what she felt now was sheer terror, as if a mountain lion resided inside of her, roaring in her ears, sharp claws tearing and shredding the lining of her stomach.

  “Do you know how to shoot, Miss Bolton?”

  Hallie jerked from her thoughts and tried to understand his words. “I. . .yes, I can shoot a pistol.”

  “It’s possible that there might be some snakes down there.”

  “Snakes?” Her voice was a mere whisper in her ears.

  He pulled the gun from the belt that he wore. She recognized it as a Colt Peacemaker. There had been one at the ranch, but Rob had taken it to Chicago with him. She had felt a slight resentment that her older brother had left her with an unreliable pistol that tended to misfire. At some point, she would have to use some of her own, hard-earned money to purchase one like Mr. Kane was handing to her.

  “Only shoot if absolutely necessary. It’ll be narrow down there. By the time you make it to the bottom, the walls should be dirt, so not much worry about the bullet ricocheting off the walls. Just be careful.”

  She took it from him and tucked it into the waist of her britches. The cold metal on her skin sent a shudder through her and brought home the reality of what she was about to do. Roger might
be dead when she got to him, or there might be several rattlesnakes, already finished with Roger and waiting for her. A spiraling wave of nausea swept up her throat as an image of a dark, coiled snake covered the body of the lifeless boy in her thoughts. She grimaced. If these men saw her fear, they might not let her try to help Roger. And right now, she and the Lord were the boy’s only hope. And it’s mostly all You, Lord. Please help me know what to do.

  ***

  The ropes tightened and dug into the skin beneath her arms. Her fingers gripped tighter and she felt the fibers of the rope bite into her hands. Holding so tight her fingers ached, as she began to slowly descend into the pit of blackness.

  The lantern, tied to the loops of rope, wobbled and sent ghostly shadows dancing on the old stone walls that surrounded her like a cold, dank, prison. She shivered and imagined the chilly dungeons of the castles in England that her father had spoken of when she was a child. Stories from his own father, passed down through several generations of those from the old country.

  She’d always dreaded the dark, feared the blackness that surrounded her in the night. Her brother had teased her mercilessly for not going into the caves that occupied part of the ranch. She had always stayed outside, constantly calling to Rob, worried that he would get lost in the darkness if his torch extinguished. And now, it was up to her, Hallie Bolton, to brave the black, closed air of the old school well. Only for a child would she do something like this.

  “You alright, Miss Bolton? Speak to us.”

  She recognized Wally Stoner’s voice. How had he made it back so soon? “Yes. I’m OK.” Her heart was beating so hard, it might leap from her body at any moment, and her breathing was speeding up. Was it a lie to say she was OK? She certainly wasn’t. And wouldn’t be until she and Roger were safely back on top of the ground with all of them.