Caleb's Rain Lily Bride (Texas Frontier Brides Book 1) Read online

  Caleb’s Rain Lily Bride

  (Texas Frontier Brides Book 1)

  By Mary L. Briggs

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2014 Mary L. Briggs

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com to purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  To My Husband

  Thank you so much for your love, encouragement, and inspiration. I could not do this without you. I love you and am so thankful that you are the one God chose for me.

  In Memory of Mona L. Rhodes

  1959-2013

  I miss you my friend, but we will meet again and celebrate together in His presence.

  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 1

  “Look at me please, George,” Maggie encouraged. His blue eyes were wide and innocent when he stared into her face. And those cute little dimples on his cheeks…what was Hallie Bolton thinking? This child was almost shy. And the ginger-headed boy beside him didn’t look like a menace, either. A part of her longed to take them both in her arms, squeeze them tight, and kiss their sweet faces. “You look at me, too, please, Gerald.”

  “Yes, ma’am,’ both boys responded at once, their eyes meeting hers.

  Maggie took a seat behind the desk. She regretted wearing the sheriff star badge, as Hallie Bolton had requested. These were mere children, and while they might need disciplining, there was no need to scare them.

  She cleared her throat. “I guess you both know why Miss Bolton asked me to speak to you.”

  Their heads nodded in unison. “Yes ma’am,’ they said again.

  Maggie smiled. They were sweet, obedient boys. Miss Bolton was barely past being a child herself. Maybe it was Hallie that Maggie ought to be speaking to about this problem. The woman was young, but she had to learn how to handle her students. “Now, is it true that the two of you have been bringing frogs and snakes into the classroom?”

  “Not always, Mrs. Price,” George spoke up. “We just get blamed for it, don’t we?” he looked at Gerald, who nodded in agreement.

  Maggie bit her lip. Maybe that wasn’t the correct tactic to take. She cleared her throat and folded her hands together on the desk. “Miss Bolton is new to the school. All the children need to be making her feel welcome, not disrupting the class.”

  “We wouldn’t do that,” George proclaimed, his eyes rounded and sincere. “We like her, don’t we, Gerald?”

  Maggie sighed and debated on bringing up the subject of the poem Miss Bolton had found written on the chalk board. Something about Miss Bolton being stung by a bee and all the children laughing with glee. She had forgotten the exact words.

  Most of the verse had been spelled wrong, and supposedly, these two innocents were terrible spellers. It was a silly poem, probably written in fun. Still, the children must learn to be respectful. “Miss Bolton told me that she caught you putting a frog in Lena Jacob’s hair, Gerald.” She kept her eyes on his face, waiting for a reaction.

  He glanced at George before he answered. “It was just a little one.” He held up his thumb and forefinger to demonstrate the miniscule proportions of the creature.

  “So you did do it?” At least she was getting somewhere if he admitted it.

  The small boy shrugged and nodded his head, shifting his lunch pail to the other hand. “I guess so. It just seemed like fun at the time. We didn’t mean to make anybody mad. We like frogs,” he added.

  “I’m sure you do,” Maggie said, resisting the smile that tugged at her lips. “But frogs belong at the creek. They are not to be put in teacher’s desks, or a little girl’s hair. Is that clear?”

  They both stared at the shiny lunch tins clutched in their hands and nodded.

  A brief glance out the window revealed Beulah Lewis walking on the far side of the street. The very woman she had a message for. Maggie stood. “You boys sit here quietly and think about what you’ve done. I’ll be back in just a moment and then we’ll talk about it.”

  She stepped outside and hailed Mrs. Lewis. “Good morning,” she greeted as she crossed the street to speak to her. “I just wanted to let you know that Gram has your dress ready whenever you want to pick it up.”

  “Thank you, honey,” Mrs. Lewis said, patting Maggie on the arm. “I have a few more errands to do and then I’ll be right over to her shop.

  Back inside the office, it seemed the boys had finally taken the talk to heart. George’s face was nearly chalk white and Gerald could only stare down at his worn boots. Poor things. She shouldn’t be too hard on them. They were only little boys.

  “Are you two sorry?”

  They nodded, but didn’t look up.

  “All right. You may go on to school. And I don’t want to hear anymore about this nonsense. Do you hear?”

  They both nodded as they dashed out the door. She watched as they made a fast path to the school house. Well maybe Hallie Bolton was right. A trip to the sheriff’s office might just have made an improvement in their behavior.

  She shook her head and laughed as she sat back at the desk. That had been an easy task, compared to some things she had to deal with. Being a stand-in sheriff was no fun, most of the time. The things people complained about and refused to settle themselves created endless problems for her to solve.

  She smiled. At least there wasn’t much more to do in the office this morning, and then she could head home. She stacked the small sheets of paper notes that had been left on her desk this last week. She added a note to the one on top. Recommended Jake Smithson to allow Morgan Cannon’s cows to water at pond. That should settle that problem.

  The old desk drawer squeaked loudly as she began to pull it open. Really there must be something that could be–

  A yelp sounded from her lips as the first frog hit her squarely in the nose, bounding off her face and into her lap. Another landed atop her shoulder as she wasted no time in pushing her chair back and leaving the seat. A dozen or more petite versions of the first, just the size Gerald had described, began to make their escape from the drawer, some landing on her boots, and then jumping across the room. A few made it to the small window sill and sat there, their beady little eyes on her, as if they were waiting for her to step over and open the framed glass for them.

  Gingerly grasping the frog on her shoulder, she dropped him into the empty coffee cup on her desk, covering the top with her hand. Spying another frog, nea
r her booted foot, she knelt and snagged him as he tried to bounce from his hiding place. Plunking him into the cup with his brother, or cousin, or whatever relative he might be, she blew out her breath. Those lunch pails must have been full of the jumping creatures. Taking the cup, she threw its contents out the door.

  Grabbing the broom, she began what would be a futile clean up. Some of these frogs would be in here for weeks, no doubt. Her sympathy for Miss Hallie Bolton was starting to grow.

  ***

  “Whoa, Kit!” Caleb Hatcher reined his horse to a stop near the edge of the craggy overhang and swung down. His boots on solid ground, he breathed in the dry warmth of mid-morning. The rain-cooled air was now miles behind. Ahead lay green hills and beautiful forests. The sun had broken through the thin clouds and shone bright and clear in the sky.

  “It’s beautiful country, Lord,” he spoke aloud. He laughed when Kit looked his way. But the horse was used to his ongoing conversations to God, and sometimes to himself. It did a man good to get the words out of his mouth.

  He put his hands on his stomach as it gave a protesting growl. Up before sunup, and only a cup of coffee, he had been anxious to move on. See what the day held.

  He mopped his forehead with a dark kerchief pulled from his pocket. It was barely ten o’clock and the temperature was already beginning to soar. Untying the canteen from the saddle, he took a long sip of water, still cool from the night’s chilly air.

  Just the fact that there was no more flat, scrubby prairie as far as the eye could see boosted his hopes. This would be a fine place to raise cattle, and maybe a few crops. Cotton was one of the best for the area, he had read. Growing cotton hadn’t occurred to him before this venture, but it never hurt to learn something new.

  The dampness of his boots testified to the fact that, despite it being late summer, the stream he crossed back a mile or so had plenty of water. And there was still lush grass to be had. Maybe he was almost to a place he could call home.

  He gave a whistle and raised his voice, “Let’s go, Kit,” he urged the horse. No need to poke along at a snail’s speed the rest of the day. If he was really getting closer to what he sought, then there was no time to waste. And in another few miles, he would be ready for a bite to eat.

  Another mile and Caleb guided the horse among the scrubby oaks and limestone rocks. It had been just a glimpse out of the corner of his eye, but he was sure he’d seen a rabbit run through the brush just ahead of him. It could have been a coyote running low, but if he was lucky, it was a rabbit. A good piece of fresh meat would be welcome after a steady diet of bacon and beans. Reining Kit to a stop, he dismounted and pulled his rifle from the saddle scabbard.

  “You wait here, boy,” he said, tying a length of rope to Kit’s bridle and looping it to a nearby tree. Kit could be a little skittish when a gun fired close by. Caleb patted the horse’s neck. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  He stepped into the grove of trees, feeling at once the muggy coolness the shade of their branches offered. Following a narrow trail for a while, he stopped to listen for any sound in the scrubby undergrowth. At once, the birds fell silent and he swallowed hard. He was used to hunting, making his way through woods and forests. He knew how to stay quiet. But maybe someone else didn’t. Maybe it hadn’t been the flash of a rabbit or coyote that his eyes had caught.

  Something scurried to his left and he quickly turned. In a blink of an eye, a loud boom sounded and searing pain ripped through his side. The rifle slipped from his hands as the landscape began to spin. He reached blindly to steady himself, but his fingers grasped only air. Amanda’s name on his lips, he fell backwards into a spinning maze of agony and darkness.

  ***

  Staring through the pane of the second story window, made grimy by dust from the street below, Maggie could see Job Sayer standing next to a big roan tied in front of Bailey’s Saloon. The large, hairless white scar on the steed’s neck fairly glowed in the morning’s sunshine. A matching horse, minus the scar, tied on the other side of Job, probably belonged to one of his brothers.

  To a casual passerby, if there were any on the deserted road, the man would appear to be busy checking the halter. But from this height, it was easy enough to see the slight turn and incline of his head as he observed the street around him. For the moment, he had no one to observe. Nothing could clear the streets of Chance like a visit from the Sayers.

  Her lips twisted into a bitter smile as she watched his wary inspection of Main Street. The Sayer’s couldn’t be too careful. There were too many people that wanted them dead. What must it be like to be hated and feared by so many?

  She could see the muslin curtain hanging in the window of Royce’s Barber Shop move a bit as the barber showed a glimpse of his face before fading back into the shadows of the building. The man’s hands were unsteady on a good day. It was bad timing for anyone that might be sitting in his chair at this moment. For their sake, she hoped they were getting a haircut and not a shave.

  Her eyes shifted to a door that opened a few more stores down. Wally Stoner, mayor of Chance, stepped out of the mercantile. He stood, hands on his hips, making sure that Job saw him. They stared for a few moments, before Job went back to his examination of the surroundings.

  Wally might be young, but he was brave and fearless when it came to protecting the town. Many a time, he had wanted to get up a posse and go after the brothers, but too many of the residents were afraid of the consequences. Scared their family might pay a price too hard. The fear took away their desire to do what was right. Her sympathies were with both sides. How could you make yourself put your own children in danger?

  She would have gone with Wally in a heartbeat, but the sheriff’s widow would not be considered for a posse, though she served quite well as sheriff-in-the-mean-time. None of the cowards hesitated to bring her a problem whenever one arose. She grimaced and fingered the gold star, now tucked inside the pocket of her shirt.

  Her fingers itched and tingled as she gave a glance at the loaded rifle that leaned against the wall. She was a good enough shot. One less Sayer in the world would be a small step toward a safe town. And she wouldn’t let him go easy. A shot to the knee, then maybe another in the hand. He should have to beg.

  She blinked and shook her head. Forgive me, Lord. Why did she have such thoughts lately? Lynching and vigilantes would only make the town become what they had fled after the war. Only make her the same as them. Chance was mostly law-abiding, except for the Sayers, and a few stragglers that passed through, now and then. The brothers had to be brought in the right way, by a lawman. When God saw fit to give one to them. And He was taking His own good time about it, she bristled.

  “I will make sure the right thing is done, Ian,” she whispered. It still tore at her heart that he had survived the war, only to be gunned down on Main Street by Hobart Sayer. Fresh blood on his hands from shooting another man at a card game, Hobart had wasted no time in drawing on Ian. And Hobart still walked free, while her husband of seven years rested forever in the cold ground.

  Job, younger than Hobart, had killed two men last year. The first was in a fit of jealous rage over a dance with one of the girls in the saloon. The other took place at the livery. In cold blood, he gunned down a boy who hadn’t curried his horse to his liking.

  The youngest brother, Allen, had managed his first kill, too. With a horse instead of a gun. Poor old Dutch Thompson was sent on to his heavenly reward that day. His only crime against Allen was that his crippled legs couldn’t get him out of the street fast enough.

  Bile rose in her throat as the memory returned. Allen stood there in the dusty street, his brothers behind him. An accident, he had claimed, a whisper of a smile on his lips while he spoke. And they’d all listened and done nothing. She swallowed back a mixture of shame and regret. Ian would have never let him get away with it. But it didn’t matter anymore what Ian would have done. If she had the strength and ability, she would take over the sheriff’s job in more tha
n name only and put the Sayers in prison. Or the grave. Their choice.

  The activity below caught her eye, again. The saloon door swung open and a man walked to the sidewalk. Allen. He had been seen in town often, lately. Probably anxious to acquire the same reputation as his older brothers. He was out of luck in the saloon. It was common knowledge that all card games immediately broke up if a Sayer entered the establishment.

  A small sigh of relief washed through her as Job nodded toward his sibling and then mounted the horse. Allen walked to his and did the same. They were leaving town.

  She picked up Ian’s rifle and headed for the staircase. As always, she would make sure they saw her as they rode away. They needed to keep their coming judgment in the front of their minds.

  ***

  “They’re gone now. I think it’s safe to put the rifle down,” Reba commented, calmly sewing a seam on the red calico fabric she had positioned under the machine’s needle. “I didn’t hear any gun fire, so I don’t suppose they did much damage today.”

  Maggie unclenched her jaw and set the rifle on the counter of her grandmother’s dress shop, located in the front room of their town house. “I don’t know how you can be so calm, act so...so commonplace every time they ride into town.”

  Reba Barkley pulled the fabric from the machine and snipped the thread with a pair of fancy scissors. “What would you like me to do, Granddaughter? Go outside and shout and scream, get everyone else riled up?”

  Maggie shook her head and walked to the window. “I don’t know. I just keep thinking there ought to be something we can do. Besides pray,” she added quickly, knowing what Gram’s response would be. Praying was well and good, but didn’t God expect some action from them, at times?

  “Well there’s nothing wrong with praying. The Lord tells us to bring all our cares and problems to him. Just because He hasn’t answered this one yet, doesn’t mean He’s not working on it. You’ve got to wait for His time to take care of them, not yours.”