Throwaway Groom

By Therese A Kraemer

A gun slinging cowgirl, Catrina Anderson lives in Dodge City. In order to inherit her uncle’s ranch, she must wed in six-month’s time. Living amongst bandits and hoodlums, her prospects are thin. One day, a young English dandy arrives in town. With time running out, Catrina left with no suitable options asks the handsome stranger to become her husband for just one year, and then he’ll be free. Nigel Winston, working for Pinkerson Detective Agency is disguised as a milksop limey newspaper writer. He falls in love with Catrina but he won’t be easily thrown away.

Editors Note:
Many characters in this book have accents and or different speech patterns. The author has attempted to illustrate this phonically. These are not spelling errors.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Spangaloo Publishing
• Release date: Sep 29, 2014
• ISBN: 9781502232359

Therese A Kraemer

Because I am dyslexic, I find writing a challenge, but my love of writing has inspired me to write more than sixty children’s stories, over two hundred poems and thirty-seven Romance Novels. I have also illustrated two story books used by primary teachers and students as a part of a vocal hygiene program at University of Arizona’s Department of Speech and Hearing Sciences.My credits also include four stories published by McFadden Publishing Co. in NYC. I wrote, illustrated and published two books of poetry used as fund-raisers by the Leukemia and Multiple Sclerosis organizations. I wrote illustrated and published in one book, forty-two children’s stories.I had an exhibition at the King Center for the Performing Arts in Melbourne, Fl of my pen and ink drawings of animals. Recently, I have had three E-Book Romance Novels and a book of short stories published on the Spangaloo.Com website and another on the Smashwords.Com website. I make my home in Melbourne, Florida where I continue to write and illustrate

Book preview

Chapter One

Kansas, 1877.

What!? Get married! The angry girl coughed and hacked up her Spruce chewing gum that nearly went into her throat.

Catrina Anderson didn’t care that folks around here thought that she was a head-strong gal. She loved her independence, but right now, at this moment, it was being threatened. The shrill of her high nasal response would have been heard by people passing by if the windows of the law office were open. But since the weather had been cold and damp on that October day, no one but the people in the outer office heard her ravings. Thank God thought Jim Struthers.

Anger flaring, Catrina shrieked, Never! She swore an oath that could have peeled the paint off a cat house and she ignored his groan. Then she stood with such force, the chair beneath her crashed to a splintery grave. He rolled his eyes and prayed for strength.

I’d rather wrestle a winter starved coyote, she barked, mouth tightened stubbornly as she lifted her chin. Uncle Bill couldn’t have been in his right mind when he drew up the will, she scoffed.

But he knew the deceased man was the sanest person in this cow town. It has only been a week since Bill’s burial, and this little spitfire was making his nerves tighter than a turtle’s butt. Completely flustered, Jim peered over his gold-framed glasses. A look of absolute determination was set on her small, perfect face, in which large ice-blue eyes glowed purposeful anger. He was annoyed at the girl’s outburst but not surprised. He had known Catrina Anderson, known to all here in Dodge City as Calico Cat, since her aunt and uncle took her in at the tender age of three. Her parents were killed in a train wreck, leaving the little tike an orphan.

He sat back against his overstuffed chair and studied her for a moment. At eighteen, Catrina hadn’t changed much. The high-spirited, short-tempered, and somewhat spoiled child grew into a beautiful, high-spirited, shot-tempered, spoiled young lady; if you wanted to call her a lady. Sighing, he had passed a restless night knowing what he would have to contend with in the morning.

When her Uncle Bill passed away weeks ago, he hadn’t a moment’s peace fretting over reading Bill’s last Will and Testament. He shook his head. All he could think about was poor Mr. and Mrs. Anderson and how Marge spent her life trying to make a lady out of that hell bent girl. The woman died two years ago leaving Bill to rear the girl by himself. You’d think owning a ranch and breaking wild horses that the man could have put a burr under her and tame her a mite.

Why me? He mused to himself. This girl could shoot the rattle off a snake some twenty paces away. Rope and ride better than most men and, to look at her, you wouldn’t think so. Only a little over five feet, she had made men twice her size run for cover when she lost her temper. Egad! Placing his glasses on the desk, Jim nervously scratched his balding head, frowning. He had to form his words carefully or he would wind up with an office full of broken furniture, or maybe worse.

Clearing the bothersome frog from his throat, he said, Please, Cat.  He tried to ignore the prickle of apprehension down his back. I know this comes as a shock, still being upset over losing your uncle, but Bill made it perfectly clear in his will. If you are to inherit the ranch, you must be married within six months of his demise or the ranch will go to his brother, Hank Anderson.  He let out a slow, labored breath, anticipating the worst.

Silence. Oh, this wasn’t good. His heart beat double time. He almost rolled his eyes when she slammed a fist into her palm but he dared not move a muscle.

That drunken fool! What did Hank know about rounding horses and breaking ‘em? she asked he assumed more for her own benefit then his. God, he was so nervous he began fumbling with his shirt collar. Silence again as she paced deep in thought, her boots thudding against the hardwood floor. Jim dared not move. He licked the sweat on his thin upper lip, his gut tightened and he waited. And waited. Thump, thump. His heart beat with every hard step of her foot. Thump, thump.

She-e-e-t! His ears burned.

Why? She spat.

Jim’s thin shoulders slouched as he retrieved his glasses. He fumbled through a pile of papers hoping the girl would take her temper outside. He had no answers for her and he couldn’t afford new furniture. Once again he tried to smooth her ruffled feathers, and said, wiping his brow, I’m sorry. What else could he say?

Even though Bill was a good friend and client, he wished now he had never met the man.

It wouldn’t surprise him if Bill Anderson left this world with a smile on his lips. He pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped the perspiration on his forehead and he thanked the Lord that his own little daughter was a shy girl.

She paced, mumbling obscenities. Her hands opened and closed over her pearl-handled guns that snuggled her round hips. This action didn’t go unnoticed and Jim groaned inwardly and he almost lost control of his bladder. Would she ever leave?

Catrina gritted her teeth and looked down her nose at the lawyer, blurring her vision, but then, she was already seeing red. It didn’t go past her that he seemed to be having difficulty in breathing, as well he be for giving her such awful new. Why hadn’t the lawyer tried to talk her uncle out of such a ridiculous will? Her sigh came out as a disgusted snort. All he was interested in was his fee, what did he care what people put down on paper.

Her breasts heaved under her shirt. She wore men’s clothes all the time ever since her aunt died. She liked them better than frilly dresses which got in the way of her work. And she loved her work and her uncle’s ranch, The Lucky Horseshoe. She’d do anything to keep it, anything but marry. What was he thinking? Her uncle knew his older brother was a tippler. Drunken idiot! For cripes’ sake, he lived in a shack on the edge of the property only because of the goodness of Bill’s heart.

Horseshit! Confusion rolled through her. Why in God’s name would he do this to her? He knew she could run the ranch better than any male. How many horses had she broken? More than she could remember. Shaking her head sadly, Catrina removed her weather-beaten hat and swatted it at Mr. Struthers’ desk. Dust flew. The pipsqueak behind the desk regarded her with raised eyebrows, and then coughed as dust particles tickled his nose.

Damn! Damn! she spat. Her chewing gum now landed on the corner of his desk. There it stayed. Catrina anger blazed in her gut. Why in tarnation would Uncle Bill do this to me?

She was itching to shoot something ... anything. Circling the desk, her thoughts were glued to the fact that this was very unfair. Her eyes searched Mr. Struthers for answers but the lawyer buried himself in his paperwork, pretending to be busy. With a deep frustrated breath, Catrina plopped herself on the corner of his desk but not before she tossed the sticky gum into his ash tray.

Read it again! she ordered drawing one of her pistols, and twirled it around her finger a few times. He read it quickly through steamy lenses and she slammed her weapon into the holster. Damn! No loop-holes, she sighed heavily. She left the office and the clouting of the door didn’t drown out Mr. Struthers very long and relieved whistle a minute later.

Catrina mounted her horse wondering how she’d get herself out of this mess and sped out of town. She would see that drunken fool and try to convince him to give her the ranch. She could pay him and he could drink himself into oblivion for all she cared. Her hopes sail thinking he’d not want the property anyway and believed he’d rather sit in his shack with a bottle of tequila than run a ranch.

Why was she fretting so? She knew the ranch hands liked her; she’d have no problem with the men. They would take orders from her even thought she was seventeen years old. She had gained their respect long ago and they loved Uncle Bill. They wouldn’t grip about a female boss; they’d work for her out of respect for Bill. No, she had no problems in that area. All would be straightened out with Hank. Once he inherited the land, she’d pay him off and he’d sign the place over to her. And that would be that! Her smile reached her ears.

Catrina tied her golden mare, Marigold to a berry bush and rapped on the wooden door. It squeaked open and she peeked inside. Her nose wrinkled at the stale and murky odors that were mixed with body sweat and other fowl snuff. Hank? she called out. The smelly place was empty and a mite disappointed, she turned to leave. Oaf! Catrina collided with the person she was seeking, outside. Her nose had the misfortune to poke into his grimy shirt and she jumped back repulsed, rubbing the injured part of her face.

What’cha want? he groused. I was out back taking a piss.

No need to elaborate, she grumbled wanting to take a deep breath but lost the inclination to do so. One deep whiff and she’d probably pass out. She controlled her breathing into baby breaths and remained out doors hoping he’d do the same. It was better than inside, barely. I’ve come with a preposition, Hank. Catrina rested her hands on her gun handles. His thick, wiry brows quirked and his blood shot eyes widened.

What? He removed a flask from his soiled shirt pocket and took a large gulp. Then he wiped his whiskered chin against his sleeve adding more grime to it. She had crossed many skunks in her day, and they hadn’t smelled as bad.

I’ve just come from Uncle Bill’s attorney and if I don’t marry in six months, the ranch is yours. She came right to the point so she could leave quickly. She waited for a comment but he merely took another swig. Again the sleeve received added stains. Now, I don’t want to enter into wedded bliss, so I’m willing to pay you handsomely if you sign over the deed to me.

Hank entered the shack and sat on the worm eaten bench and swore. The hell ya say? I hit pay dirt! Well, Gauddamn!

Catrina frowned. That wasn’t the reaction she was hoping for. You can’t possibly mean you’re interested in running The Lucky Horseshoe? What do you know about running a ranch?

What’cha think suga’, that I can’t boss a few hired hands around? Lay back and let ‘em do all the work. I’ll be rich, richer than ya can pay me. I may be a crazy drunk, but I ain’t no fool!

Why you cur dog! she hissed. Horseflies seemed to have found a place in her belly and they were stinging her fearfully. She couldn’t believe it and her innards heated from anger.

Besides, yer too young, suga’, he taunted.

Thwack!

She kicked at the wooden door and it slammed against the inside wall, nearly coming of its rusted hinges. I’ve been practically running the ranch since I could rope and ride. When’s the last time you sat your sorry drunken ass on a horse?

Ain’t’cha a bit riled, he snickered. Yer temperaments will git ya into hot water, suga’. Besides, my donkey, Slow Poke is the only critter I need to get around.

Oh, that certainly got her dander up. Stop calling me, sugar! she riled. Your donkey and you are both no good asses! Then seeing shouting hadn’t worked, she switched to another tactic. In a calmer tone, she said, The Lucky Horseshoe needs someone in command that knows what they’re doing. And I have every right—-

Right? he scoffed. "Seams old Bill thought differently. Ya should be thinkin’ about

gettin’ married and startin’ a family," he belched and took another gulp, this time he didn’t wipe his chin.

Ohhh! She was so repulsed; she wanted to shoot him between his blood shot, shifty eyes. Put them both out of their misery. But she couldn’t run a ranch from the poky and she liked her neck too much to see it swing from the gallows. This was not her day by no means!

Marriage! she snorted. There’s not a fella in this valley worth taking notice of, much less marry!

Dang shame, suga’, he answered in a downright mean voice. Catrina clenched and unclenched her fists over her gun handles seeing his eyes widen for a split-second before smiling smugly. Yer ain’t gonna waste a bullet on me, suga’, he taunted.

Ha! And give the devil a chance to toss ya back! You left me with no other solution, Hank! If that’s what it takes to keep the ranch, then I’ll marry the first man I see!

Impertinent little twit! he snapped. It took a measure of control not to allow her frustrations to alter her voice. I’m being absolutely serious, she promised, her jaw set tight.

It was Hank’s turn to become red-faced. I’m tired of this tedious chitchat. You’re like a boil on my arse. Now, g’wan! he drawled and waved her away before he stood and slammed the door. This time it did fall from its hinges.

She rode off hearing him cussing up a storm. She be damned it she led him have the spread. Her ride home was not as pleasant as her trip there. Catrina stopped a few yards from the house and dismounted. Marigold grazed while she stopped by the small cemetery. A white picket fence surrounded four headstones where parents and her aunt and uncle were buried in the small patch of land. She knelt beside her mother and father to tell them how much she missed them, though she was young at the time and had vague memories of them. But she did remember how beautiful her mother was. Then she knelt by her uncle’s stone and told him again of the problem he had caused her.

I know you meant well uncle but I also believe you know I can run The Lucky Horseshoe without a husband. Were you afraid that I’d become a spinster? Or did Aunt Marge put you up to this? Her last words surprised her. Never had she considered that until now and she looked at Marge’s plot and smile. Auntie, I’d bet my last double eagle gold coin you did. Even from the grave you’re trying to make a lady out of me. So you thought if I dress like one, I’d catch a man? She wiped a tear. Well, you were always a smart lady, Aunt Marge, I give you credit.

Chapter Two

Much too soon for Catrina’s liking, daylight filtered wanly through her bedroom window. She hardly slept a wink thinking about what to do. By midmorning, after nearly wearing her carpet thin, reluctantly she decided that she had no other choice than to do what she had threatened Hank with. Look for a husband if she wanted to keep the ranch. She didn’t much fancy the idea of Uncle Bill’s brother inheriting the place. And try as she might to hate her uncle for putting her in this dilemma, her heart told her that he had his reasons. He and Aunt Marge loved her very much, but for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why he wanted her married. Again she wondered if it was he, or her aunt who was concerned that she’d die an old maid? She didn’t care, so why would they?

Humph! She plopped her old hat onto her head tucking in the ends of her dark, sable hair disgusted with what she had to do. Catrina went to get something to eat, maybe she could think better on a full stomach. No use in beating a dead horse. If it’s a husband she had to get, than it would be to her picking.

As she passed her uncle’s picture in the hall, she looked up at his smiling face. Well, we’ll see who has the last laugh, she snorted smugly. But she could’ve sworn that his smile was telling that it wasn’t going to be her.

Five months later, she was still in the same pickle and she was just as sour.

Morning, Cat. Mr. Struthers tipped his hat in a mannerly fashion, and then smiled. Still single, I see, he stated, standing by Catrina in the muddy street.

Yoo-hoo! someone hollered from the wooden sidewalk and she turned to see Mrs. Bertie Cutter waving to her. Catrina waved back. She didn’t like that old busybody and turned away to show Bertie that she was engaged in talking to the lawyer, hoping that the busybody took the hint.

Howdy, Mr. Struthers, Catrina was surprised she could form a syllable through her clenched teeth. They stood eye level; he was no taller than she. She believed that the foolish lawyer must have felt pretty brave that day to tease her, for she was none too happy that the husband-to-be she was searching for had not appeared in her life yet. Squinting, Catrina leered at the lawyer, sending him a message that he better watch his tongue. Her disposition wasn’t very cheery and she was in no mood for his barb. Wisely, the pipsqueak made it his business to leave without further conversation.

Catrina grinned; filled with mischief she dipped her gloved hand into the muck and flung a wad of wet dirt. It met its mark, causing the lawyer’s Derby to go sailing into the air and land in a puddle a few feet away. She could hear his cursing over her giggling as she strutted away.

You’re lucky I wasn’t in a bad mood, she called over her shoulder. The next time it might be a bullet! She broke into a hearty laugh until she heard Bertie clucking her tongue.

Tsk, tsk, child. What would your poor dead Aunt Marge say about you bad behavior. Have you no shame? Tsk, tsk. Hitting poor Jim Struthers like that. Tsk, tsk. Well, someone has to scold you now that Bill’s gone.

Now everyone knew that she was a hellion and she wasn’t shy about telling it as she saw it and Bertie should have known better. But apparently, the nosey woman thought it necessary to make it her business to reprimand her. Bertie, she placed her hands on her hips. Haven’t you got better things to do than to mind everybody’s business? Bertie gasped and clutched her small bosom. Two soiled doves happened to pass by at that moment adding to the lady’s chagrin.

You tell her Calico Cat, they giggled

Again Bertie gasped. Well I never!

The prostitute in red laughed high pitched then added a rude snort, Apparently not in a long time.

The one in blue turned the knife. Wasn’t that her husband with you last...?

Slam! The door nearly went off its hinges. Bertie went back into her dressmaker’s shop and the two ladies of the evening snickered. Catrina frowned. She hadn’t meant to hurt the woman so cruelly, but maybe from now on Bertie would mind her own business. That notion made her shake her head. Yeah, when donkeys dance.

Catrina went her way thinking she had her too many of her own problems to be concerned about other people. From the barbershop came the mingled scents of bay rum, razor paste, bergamot, and men’s bath salt but she faintly notice too wrapped up in her self-pity. Moments later, Catrina stood in front of the empty newspaper building. The town hadn’t a paper since Mr. Winthrop died last year. She sighed. She missed old Windy; he was her friend.

Her upturned nose pressed onto the dusty glass as she tried to peek inside. The crusted dirt prevented her from seeing anything but she recollected her thoughts and visualized in her mind’s eye how the office had once looked. Catrina remembered the fun she had in helping Windy with the printing type, making more of a mess than anything. But the old man never scolded her. His fat belly would bounce when he laughed at her upon noticing the inky smudges on her face. She recalled her thoughts as if it were yesterday, and his comment to her.

You look like a colored child. Wait until your auntie sees you. Come, we’d better clean you up.

Recalling how Windy would spit on his grimy handkerchief then try to scrub the dirt from her face made her wince. Try as he might, he only smeared it more. He would slap his knee and shake with great guffaws but it only made her frown knowing she’d catch it from Aunt Marge when she got home. Even now, her eyes misted as her aunt’s voice rang clearly in her head.

Look at you child. You look like a street urchin. Now, get yourself into that tub. I don’t know why your uncle lets you get away with such goings on? I try so hard to bring you up a young lady. She shook her head. He lets you get away with murder. Her aunt would let out a hefty, overdramatic sigh and then she’d pull Catrina’s long pigtails, declaring the girl should have been