The Reliable Cowboy

By Susan Page Davis

Isabella Johnston lost her husband to the sea, and now she wants to get as far from the coast as she can. She is tired of always worrying about men on the water. When she hears about a plan to send mail-order brides from her church to Wyoming Territory, she sees it as the ideal chance to move far from the ocean. She leaves Maine to marry a cowboy, reasoning that he will be safe on the ranch. Edwin Gray is being considered for the job of ranch foreman by the owner. This job would include a small cabin, and Edwin decides to put his name on the list for a mail-order bride. Afterward, he wonders if that was a mistake. If a bride comes for him, and he doesn’t get the promotion to foreman, how can he marry her? He needs to be sure he’ll have a place for them to live. Isabella arrives, and they wait for word from the rancher. Every time Edwin is late for an engagement, she finds herself worrying. Has he had an accident, the way her first husband did? What could be horrible enough to make him late for their wedding?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susan Page Davis
• Release date: Jul 12, 2017
• ISBN: 9781947079014

Susan Page Davis

A Maine native, Susan Page Davis is an award-winning author with more than seventy novels and novellas. She's a winner of the 2012 and 2016 Will Rogers Medallion Awards and a past winner of the Carol Award and two Inspirational Readers' Choice Awards. Enjoy her mysteries, romantic suspense, and historical romance with a faith thread in most of her stories. Susan now lives in Kentucky.

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The Reliable Cowboy

By Susan Page Davis

The Reliable Cowboy, Copyright ©2015 by Susan Page Davis

Published in 2017 by Tea Tin Press

Published at Smashwords

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means — electronic, electrical, chemical, mechanical, optical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise — without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

Inquiries may be sent by email through www.susanpagedavis.com.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

The Reliable Cowboy

Chapter One

June 1877

Merville, Maine

Maggie! Where are you?

Out here.

Isabella Johnston followed her friend’s voice around to the back of the small house the Crain family rented. Maggie struggled with a wet linen sheet, draping it over the clothesline behind the cottage. A sharp wind blew in off the bay. Summer was on its way, but it never put down roots in Merville.

Let me help you. Your hands must be freezing. Isabella dropped her handbag on the back step and hurried to Maggie’s side.

No sense two of us getting our hands chilled. Go in and fill the teapot. I’ll be along soon.

Hush! Isabella grabbed a wet shirt from the wicker basket and pinned it tails up to the line. Your men certainly make a lot of wash.

Maggie smiled at her putting a husband and boys, aged five and seven, in a pigeon hole marked, ‘her men.’ That’s right, they do. I suppose you’re here to tell me all about the Ladies’ Aid meeting I missed.

Oh, Maggie, you won’t believe it. Isabella had started to shake out a linen pillowcase, but she stopped and stared at her friend in dismay. I may have done the most foolish thing I’ve ever done in my life.

Maggie paused with a clothes peg in midair. What on earth did you do?

Isabella gulped. Becky Patterson read a letter asking for women to go to Wyoming for brides, and I—I told her I was interested.

What? Maggie stared at her. Brides? For men?

"Of course for men. They have a mining town, it seems, where there aren’t many decent women. But there are some decent men, and they want wives."

Where did you say this is?

Wyoming.

For a long moment, silence hung between them as the two young women gazed at each other over the clothesline.

At last, Maggie said, I’m not even sure where that is.

Isabella started to laugh. She couldn’t help it. Gales of mirth exploded from her throat. She doubled over, pressing her hands against her waist.

Maggie ducked under the line and came to her side. She put her arms around Isabella. Here, now. Calm down. This is a pile of nonsense.

No, Isabella gasped, straightening. It’s true. Becky had the letter, and they’ve got a whole group of men who are willing to pay for the women’s train tickets. They’re offering holy matrimony.

But, dear Isabella, you—you’ve only just lost your Henry. Surely you don’t want to marry again so soon. And to a complete stranger!

I haven’t said for sure I’d go. Isabella squared her shoulders. They’ll write to us, so we can know more about them first.

But—

I need to get away from here, Isabella blurted, and her friend stared at her. Away from the sea. I can’t look at it every day, knowing it took Henry away from me. And Pa too. Every night, I lie awake, and I hear it, Maggie. The waves breaking on the rocks. And I dream about the boat going down, and them trying to get to shore and—and drowning. It’s awful. When I wake, I lie there shaking, and I can’t stop thinking about it. Maybe if I go away from the ocean …

Maggie took her arm and turned her toward the house, abandoning the clothes basket. Let’s go in and have that tea.

###

Dear Mrs. Johnston,

My name is Edwin Gray. I work on a ranch called the Bar L. The L stands for Leman, our boss’s name.

Edwin stopped writing and scratched his head. In doing so, he flung drops of ink from the pen’s metal tip onto his shirt cuff and the tabletop. He yanked off his neckerchief and quickly wiped the drop on the table, but it only smeared across the surface. With a sigh, he rose and went to the water bucket near the bunkhouse’s stove, where he dipped the corner of the bandana into the water.

When he got back, Hab Shriver was leaning over the table.

Get away from that, Edwin growled.

Mrs. Johnston, hey? Hab grinned at him. Who’s Mrs. Johnston?

None of your business.

I bet she’s one of those angel brides, Bronc Adams said laconically. He was playing poker on his bunk with two of the other men, and he never looked up from his cards.

You gettin’ married? Hab’s wide eyes nearly popped out of his head.

Go away, Edwin said. How could he ever write a letter with this lot hanging over his shoulder?

Where will you put ’er? Hab persisted.

She can’t sleep here in the bunkhouse, that’s for certain sure, Bronc said.

No siree, said Roddy Hayes, one of the poker players.

Don’t be stupid, Edwin said. Of course she wouldn’t live here.

Well then, where? Hab asked.

Edwin sighed and shook his head. No way on this earth would he tell the fellows he had hope of getting the foreman’s job and cabin by the end of the year.

He’d have to get him a house, Bronc said slowly, as though he were instructing a child.

Hab was silent for a while. Houses cost money, he said at last.

Edwin shoved the bench back and picked up his paper, the pen, and the bottle of ink and strode out the door. There must be someplace quiet on this ranch where he could write the letter. He wandered into the shadowy barn and on into the harness room. He sat down on a keg of horseshoes and used a crate for a desk. The tiny window high on the wall gave him barely enough light to see his work.

I’m kind of wishin’ I’d signed up for one of them brides.

Edwin spun around as the voice began, knocking over the ink bottle. He grabbed at it. Most of the ink spilled on the dusty floorboards, but a teaspoon or so discolored his hand and his shirtsleeve. Edwin let out a big sigh.

"Bronc, look what you