Bountiful, Texas 1878
Molly McGuire stood at the Bountiful train depot, her
Irish ire no longer tempered by womanly grace, then paced
the plank sidewalk, waiting. She'd endured the long
arduous trip from St. Louis, riding in a crowded, dusty
railcar, her hopes for the future mingling with a heavy
dose of uncertainty.
She closed her eyes, briefly sending up a silent prayer
that she wasn't making a mistake in coming here. Yet, what
other option had she? She'd pondered long enough trying to
find a way west to keep the promise she'd made on Mama's
deathbed. Now, she was here, awaiting a man who hadn't the
decency to meet her properly or timely — a man who would
claim her as his bride.
A bead of perspiration fell from Molly's unruly auburn
hair, the shade from under the depot roof doing little to
stifle the sweltering Texas heat. Molly removed her gloves
and her emerald-green traveling jacket, and reached up to
lift the feathered plume hat from her head. She tossed
them onto a nearby bench seat next to her valise and
continued her pacing. Shielding her eyes from the bright
sun, she squinted southward toward a town seemingly robust
with people, who were milling about and conducting
business, as well as exchanging pleasantries on the
street. That and the heavy summer air were reminiscent of
St. Louis yet that's where the similarities seemed to end.
She'd gathered from her correspondence with one Kane
Jackson, her betrothed, that Bountiful was a wealthy
ranching town — a land rich with prime grazing land and
thousands of Longhorn cattle, a special breed that Molly
had read about in one of Charlie's dime novels.
She smiled sadly, thinking about her brother and his
escapades. Charlie had always been a dreamer, a boy
inclined to put his head in the clouds, always thinking
lofty thoughts. He'd run away from home to find grand
adventure out West, to make his fortune to send back home,
but this last escapade had nearly broken Mama's heart.
Molly had come all this way, to marry, yes, but also to
find her wayward brother. She'd promised Mama. And
herself. No one had heard from Charlie in months. No
telling what sort of trouble her sixteen-year-old brother
might have found. Molly would do whatever it took to find
Charlie. He was the only family Molly had left.
"Miss, would you like me to escort you to the
boardinghouse?"
Molly whirled around. The depot operator smiled, an
apologetic expression on his face. She glanced at a
tarnished wall clock just above the depot's front door.
Heavens, she'd been waiting for more than two hours. "Oh,
um, no, thank you." It wouldn't do to vent her anger at
the friendly depot operator. Molly would save that for the
man who'd left her stranded on the outskirts of town for
most of the afternoon.
She grabbed her jacket and gloves, then plunked her hat
atop her head. The feather swooped down to tickle her
nose. With one swift move, she tugged the annoying feather
aside, then lifted her valise and mustered as much dignity
as one could in this situation. "Do you know where Mr.
Kane Jackson lives?"
The depot operator blinked then scrubbed the back of his
neck as if it pained him. "Mr. Kane Jackson, miss?"
"Yes, he was to meet me here."
"Well, uh, he lives north of here. The Jackson spread is
the biggest in these parts. About ten miles out, I'd say."
Molly realized it was far too late in the afternoon to
hire a driver and a buggy. She heaved a sigh and
nodded, "Thank you."
"Wait, uh, miss?"
She peered into the man's light brown eyes. "Yes?"
"Maybe it's a good thing he didn't show. If you don't mind
me saying, Kane Jackson ain't exactly a friendly sort."
Molly's insides churned. Butterflies gripped tight and
fluttered wildly. She didn't know much about Kane Jackson,
but he'd agreed to her terms and that's all that had
mattered. From her understanding there weren't too many
mail-order brides who could dictate any terms — usually
the ladies were the ones making all the compromises. She'd
found a man who would help her in her search for her
brother. She'd gained passage West. Molly had considered
herself fortunate in that regard. But she hadn't gotten
the impression from his letters that he wasn't a decent,
honorable man. In truth, she'd been looking forward to
meeting him, hoping for a future with both a husband and
brother by her side.
"I'm not here for friendship —" she said, glancing at the
name badge pinned to his chest " — Mr. Whitley. I plan to
marry him."
The man's face contorted and his eyebrows shot straight
up.
Molly didn't want to think about his reaction. She had a
brother to find, with or without Kane Jackson's
assistance. And for the moment anyway, it appeared that
she was on her own.
She turned toward town and began walking, the butterflies
in her belly doing a lively Irish jig.
Kane Jackson reigned in his mare and glanced around the
train depot. The place looked deserted, as if no business
had been conducted today. If only that were true. But damn
it, Kane knew without a doubt that the train had come in
early this afternoon, most likely right on schedule. As
he'd ridden off the ranch, he'd seen the Southern Pacific
head north on its way toward Fort Worth, laying tracks
past the Bar J, leaving behind a thick puff of steam.
As well as one young unmarried female.
His mail-order bride.
Kane swore up and down, just thinking about the trick his
grandfather had just pulled. This morning, Bennett Jackson
announced that Kane's "bride" would be arriving in
Bountiful. Without qualm or warning, the ailing man had
just laid that bit of news on Kane as if he'd been
speaking about the weather.
His grandfather had sent for a bride from the East without
his knowledge. He'd penned a letter in Kane's name and
offered her marriage. His grandfather had probably been
planning this since the moment Kane stepped foot back onto
Jackson land, six months ago. It was clear now in the face
of Bennett Jackson's secret maneuver that Kane hadn't yet
earned his grandfather's trust. The elder Jackson wanted
to see him settled, married with a wagonload of children
running about, before he died. "A woman will steady you,"
he'd said. According to his grandfather this Molly McGuire
would make a fine wife and provide an heir for the Bar J
Ranch. Beyond just about anything else, Bennett Jackson
wanted his legacy to live on.
Hell, Kane wanted a wife like he wanted a Texas-size hole
in his boot. He'd had a wife once. And her death had cost
him his soul, the ache of her loss gouging out his heart.
He'd been left hollow inside, vowing never to marry again.
Nothing was going to change that.
But Bennett Jackson knew a thing or two about sugarcoated
blackmail. And he also knew when to play his ace card,
leaving Kane no choice but to come into town to retrieve
his "betrothed."
"Whitley," Kane called out, peering inside the darkened
depot office. He pounded on the glass window.
"Whitley, you in there?"
Elmer Whitley appeared through the doorway, a startled
expression on his face. "I was just closing up." He
stepped out and locked the depot door behind him. When he
turned, Kane pushed the tintype of the mail-order bride
under Whitley's nose.
"Have you seen this woman?"
Whitley straightened abruptly, glanced at the image then
frowned with disapproval at Kane. "Yes, I've seen her.
Miss Molly McGuire was here all right. Came all the way
from St. Louis. She waited the afternoon...for you. She
wouldn't accept a thing I offered, except a glass of
water."
"Damn it!"
"I know. She weren't at all happy about being left here by
herself, a pretty young woman like that."
Kane scowled at Whitley. He was half hoping the woman had
changed her mind. He was half hoping she hadn't boarded
the train in St. Louis in the first place. But she was
here in Bountiful, at his grandfather's bidding. If
Bennett Jackson were in better health and not recovering
from a bout of pneumonia, Kane would have had his
grandfather welcome the young woman to town. He would have
let his grandfather explain his deceit and put Miss Molly
McGuire right back on that train. But the older man was in
no shape to travel and Kane wouldn't put another woman in
jeopardy by leaving her stranded in an unfamiliar town.
He'd done that once before and that woman, his wife, had
met with an untimely death.
Kane had no choice but to find her. "Did she say where she
was going?" Whitley shook his head. "Nope."
"But she took off toward town, right?"
Whitley shrugged.
"Well, did she or didn't she?"
Again, Whitley shrugged.
Kane took a step toward the man. He had a notion to grab
Whitley by the scruff of his neck and shake the answers
out of him. Six months ago, he would have done it with no
regard or regret, but Kane saw the futility in that now.
He knew he had a long road ahead of him, proving his worth
to his grandfather.
But marrying Bennett Jackson's handpicked bride wasn't
part of the plan. Kane wouldn't submit to his blackmail.
Hell, he even felt a bit sorry for Miss McGuire. No doubt
his grandfather had painted a rosy picture of the man she
was to marry. No doubt, his grandfather had lured her with
vivid descriptions of lawn parties, church socials and a
home that needed a woman's touch.
No doubt, his grandfather had left out all of the un-
seemly details of Kane's disreputable past. He was twenty-
six years old and had lived more lifetimes than most men
he knew.
He wondered what his mail-order bride would think about
their wedding nuptials if she knew the absolute truth
about him.
I'm a mail-order bride without benefit of a groom, Molly
thought grimly, as she marched into town. She'd come all
this way to forge a new life for herself. She'd come all
this way to meet a decent man, to perhaps find comfort and
companionship within his arms. She'd come all this way
with the promise of finding her brother. Instead, all
she'd found was disappointment.
But Molly had no choice but to continue on with her quest.
She strode into the center of town, plaguing her memory
for one hint, one clue as to where Charlie might have
gone. Those doggone dime novels came to mind. He was
forever reading them, curled tight into bed, with the
lamplight burning low so that Mama wouldn't catch on and
holler for him to turn down the lamp and get to sleep.
Those dime novels — outlaws, Indians, saloons and women.
Molly stopped abruptly and peered at the White Horn
Saloon. Tinted windows displayed the finest liquor and
pictures of bawdy half-dressed women. Oh, heavens.
Charlie would love this place.
Molly mustered her courage and stepped inside. Her lungs
filled instantly, the gasp coming rather unexpectedly as
she glanced around. She'd never been so bold as to enter a
saloon. The whole place stirred with commotion, a noisy
boisterous room filled with smoke and laughter and music.
Bright golden-flocked wallpaper decorated the walls along
with signs depicting the different beverages served and a
moose's head appeared to be coming straight out of the
wall. Tiered chandeliers draped from the ceiling. She
could only imagine how those dozens of candles illuminated
the saloon at night.
No one seemed to notice Molly. Relieved, she approached
the bar, hoping the barkeep would recognize Charlie. She
set her valise down and dug into her reticule, coming up
with a picture of her brother taken when he was twelve. It
was the most recent image she had of him. She showed him
the picture, explaining a bit about her search.
"No, sorry, miss. I haven't seen him," the barkeep
offered, shaking his head.