The Stagecoach of Mariah

By Sandra K. Lee

This is a western from the 1890s
Mariah, was taught by the best finishing school to be a lady, but her brothers taught her differently. When her father asked for help, she was prepared, even if she lost her life or her virtue! She would do whatever it took to stop the persons responsible for trying to ruin his business. The men in Bradsport, thought women were just women, nothing more, nothing less, but she was no ordinary woman and no man would control her Not ever!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 16, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477203132

Sandra K. Lee

Sandra K. Lee writes under her maiden name. She has been married to Curtis Utley, a wonderful man, for over forty years. They reside in western Kentucky. She and her husband enjoy cruising the seas and visiting foreign islands where people live off a different culture. She has many children, grandchildren, and one great-great-grandchild. She loves to write books and tell stories. She was born in St. Louis Missouri but reared in a small Tennessee border town by two Christian foster parents that gave her the love that every child deserves

Book preview

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AuthorHouse™

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Phone: [phone]

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, place, and incidents are the author’s imagination, and are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locales are entirely coincidental.

© 2012 by Sandra K. Lee. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 05/09/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-0314-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-0313-2 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

In Honor of

My four

Sons

Michael, Bud

Jim, Dusty

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And forever and a day

My hubby

Curtis

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The sun sets on many

An

Afternoon

The world has its spectacular

Scenes

All year

Nevertheless, there’s nothing in this world

That compares

To

My four sons so dear

By:

Sandra K. Lee

Contents

Part 1

Prologue…

. . . The trade…

. . . The Acceptance…

. . . The McMillans Arrive…

. . . More Girls Are Needed…

. . . The Dancers Arrive…

. . . Bert must talk…

. . . Detros’ men rode into Bradsport…

. . . The McMillans return home…

. . . The abduction…

. . . Back in Lajestic…

. . . Red makes his move…

. . . Sanchez brothers have a plan…

. . . Bert begins to talk…

. . . Mariah goes home…

. . . J.R. gets impatient…

. . . I will do it myself…

. . . Mariah got away…

. . . Timothy McMillan…

. . . The Sanchez brothers

go to Bradsport…

. . . James drove the buckboard

into town…

. . . The Sanchez brothers search…

. . . Lucas Baltazar Ranch…

Part 2

. . . The Comanche village…

. . . Mariah’s brothers meet Lucas…

. . . Marcilio Sanchez…

. . . Timothy stands brave…

. . . Red goes to Lajestic…

. . . The village fire…

. . . Marcilio Sanchez seared the bandit…

. . . The intrusion…

. . . Lucas Baltazar returns home…

. . . The trail gets rough…

. . . The sandstorm…

. . . The McMillan’s relocate…

. . . Timothy returns to

the Sanchez ranch…

. . . The Boys are Missing…

. . . The trait is the eyes…

. . . The Wedding…

. . . Timothy started the framework…

. . . Mariah and Tristan picnic…

. . . The Search for Mariah…

. . . A Close call…

Epilogue…

The Stagecoach

Of

Mariah

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Part 1

Prologue…

Bradsport, New Mexico, 1890.

In the eyes of men, a woman was referred to only as a woman, nothing more and nothing less… That was until… one woman alone changed the thoughts of men in the town of Bradsport, New Mexico.

It was a booming western town. The train to Santa Fe traveled through the settlement to transport beef cattle to market. Corrals were built behind the town to hold cattle until they were loaded onto the train and sent to market.

Many cattlemen boarded in the upstairs rooms over the saloon after a long cattle drive. There was an abundance of gambling and drinking, and here they found pleasure with their women friends.

Early one morning, a shiny gold and mahogany stagecoach with gold colored curtains came to a stop near the hitching post. People gathered around and watched excitedly to see who got off.

The town of Bradsport was built on flat ground a few miles from the Mexican border. This day the sun was parching hot with a steamy temperature that soared over one hundred degrees.

Larado was a well-known ladies’ man. He stood silently with both arms slung across the swinging doors of the saloon as he stared across the street.

The driver opened the gold striped mahogany door of the stagecoach and the beautiful Mariah Sanchez appeared. She was tall, slender and her long black hair glistened in the afternoon sun. Her eyes were dark as black onyx. Her skin was unblemished and she had a golden tan. She looked like a goddess.

Low whistles escaped from the lips of nearby men and they all snickered as Larado stepped quickly from the saloon door to offer the lovely lady a helping hand.

Mariah accepted the outstretched hand and he clasped it tightly as she stepped from the carriage.

The wind whipped up little dust devils in the sand and tumbleweed bounced across her high-topped boots and then whizzed across the street.

Her eyes flashed and she gave him a wry smile from moist, red lips. Larado thought his heart would jump from his body.

Good afternoon, ma’am, he said. I’m Larado. Welcome to Bradsport.

She took his arm and he led her to the wooden sidewalk. Thank you. She smiled and waved goodbye to her stagecoach driver. I’ve had a long ride and I must look a fright. Where can I rent a room with a bath?

The hotel has facilities. I’ll walk you there, he offered, then tripped over his own feet. It’s only a short distance.

My name is Larado.

Yes, she answered with a hint of irritation, so you said.

Mariah strolled along the wooden sidewalk with her shoulders squared and her head held high. Larado held the door open for her as she entered the hotel.

Then she turned and faced the man.

Excuse me now. She gave him a thin smile. I must rent a room.

Sure, he grinned. I’ll have your belongings and trunk sent to the hotel. Later we can get a bite to eat. That is, if it’s okay with you. The food here in the hotel restaurant is excellent.

Mariah gave him a hard stare.

I think not. She tilted her head high. Good day, sir.

Larado tipped his hat and backed out through the door.

He wondered what a beautiful woman like her would be doing in Bradsport.

She strolled across the street, he snickered, as if she owned the town and then she gave me a ‘get lost’ look. I will show her what happens to a woman like her. She’s come to the wrong town, acting like she can’t be handled by a man.

The Stagecoach

Of Mariah

Lajestic, New Mexico

1893

. . . The trade…

On the back streets of Lajestic, a small town not too far from the Mexican border, a young boy pressed his face against the glass window at the trading post. He peered at the many items that caught his eye.

Ethan was fascinated by the little dust-covered stagecoach that sat in the window. He could almost see six white horses hitched in front, trudging along the dusty streets of Lajestic with ladies seated inside wearing their velvet dresses and fine jewelry.

His imagination still ran wild as he entered the store.

The clerk smiled down at the small fry and watched as Ethan’s finger traced the outline of the small replica with the boot in the back.

Ethan stood quietly and gazed at the magnificent stagecoach. His thoughts were of the people that had traveled over the dusty earth many years earlier.

People were different back then. They didn’t poke fun at people as they did today.

His father was a successful shoe cobbler, but he didn’t spend money on things other than necessities, so the towns’ people thought they were poor.

If only he could own this little coach, it would be something he could call his very own.

It was almost time to close. The shoppers had been scarce that day, so the proprietor took time to talk with the lad.

The clerk smiled down at him. What would you do with that coach if you owned it?

Oh, I would take real good care of it, Ethan’s eyes beamed brightly. I would shine it all the time and pretend I was the driver going somewhere I had never been before.

Then he remembered.

I’ll never own it, though. He looked at the floor. I have no money for such a fine piece, but it’s nice to look at.

The man turned and began to pull down the window shades. That item had been there too long on the shelf anyway.

I’ll make you a trade, the shop owner smiled, if you want to bargain.

How can I trade? The lad looked down at his shoes. I have nothing to trade.

Oh, but you do, the owner laughed. I need someone to clean my store. It’s not real dirty, but it needs a good dusting and the front windows need a bit of washing where some kid has pressed his nose. It shouldn’t take more than a week to have my store in tiptop shape and then you will own the coach.

The child was embarrassed. It was his nose print on the glass, to which the man referred.

Sure, I can do that, Ethan looked up, and gave the man a sheepish grin, but I have to tell my dad first.

Okay, then it’s a deal. The proprietor walked the small boy to the door and handed him the little coach. I’ll expect you tomorrow. You be here come rain or shine.

He knew the boy’s father to be an honest man. They lived just north of town. Many people had a hard time right now since the mill closed, but his father was lucky and knew another trade.

The coach was heavy and hard to carry. Ethan had to set it down several times to rest, but he knew it would be worth all his trouble when he got it home.

Timothy smiled as Ethan stepped through the door.

That’s some coach you have there, son, but it sure is dirty.

Tim McMillan put his arm around his son and gave him a big hug.

Ethan couldn’t take his eyes off the royal coach. With his imagination running wild, he sat on his bed with a rag and began to rub the tarnish from the buttons. It shined like new money.

He lived with his father in a log cabin along the Rio Grande. He was nine years old, and had hazel eyes with sandy brown hair.

Ethan was an only child. His mother had died from pneumonia, the year he turned two.

Timothy McMillan, his father, had enjoyed boxing in the ring until he married Ethan’s mother. Then he worked in the paper mill factory until it closed down. Now, he cut leather and turned the leather into shoes. Then he shipped the finished product to a company in Chicago to resell.

The people in this small New Mexico town would make sly remarks and snicker about how poor they were when Ethan and his father walked past them on the street. It was always just loud enough for them to hear.

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Ethan was a tall, lanky young man. When he turned twelve years of age, he found work at Mr. Parker’s general store. It wasn’t long before the storekeeper had him to open and close the shop.

One morning, after Ethan unlocked the store, a girl came in.

I need to pick up my momma’s order, the red-haired girl grinned. She doesn’t feel well today, so she sent me to fetch her groceries.

When he turned his back, she whispered a little too loudly about how poor he was to her friend.

Just watch him, she giggled. I bet he has cooties, too.

Ethan had heard the same silly things from others at school, but today it made his blood boil.

Her order isn’t finished yet. He cocked an eyebrow as he looked into her eyes. I guess you will just have to wait.

She lost her grin and stood there with her mouth agape, stunned.

There’s a checkerboard over there beside the pot bellied stove, he said, that you and your friend can use until I finish your mother’s order.

The girls then walked over to the checkerboard, sat down quietly, and began to play while watching him closely from the corners of their eyes.

Here you go, ladies. Ethan smiled a half hour later as he handed the parcels to the girl. Sorry it took so long.

Well, it’s about time! The hateful little red haired girl snatched the package from him and hurried out the door.

Come back again soon, Ethan called after them. You’re always welcome to play checkers.

Girls, Ugh! he thought. I have been saving most all my money until I take a wife, just like Dad told me, but if they are all like that… then I will be a rich old man.

That will teach them to be nicer, he chuckled. I already had the order filled, but I just had to get even with them at least one time.

Ethan closed the store, put a little skip in his step and began to whistle as he headed toward home. He felt good about his day.

When he entered the front room, he looked at the table in the corner and then picked up his mother’s picture that hadn’t been cleaned in quite some time. The frame looked tarnished.

Dad, would you look at all this dust? he grinned. I think I’ll dust and clean some tomorrow.

Ethan reached out and touched the little coach. It and the picture were his most treasured possessions.

During the night, it began to rain. The next day was Saturday and his day off. Ethan decided the dusting couldn’t wait any longer. He dusted his mother’s picture first, then took a cloth and machine oil and began to rub the coach.

The more he rubbed the tarnished studs that held the boot in place, the more they shined. He noticed that they seemed quite loose.

The boot had somehow slipped from a pin, leaving a gap that exposed the inside. Ethan cautiously started to re-pin the boot back in place.

There’s writing inside, he thought. I wonder what it says.

He carefully opened the boot. When he had completely exposed the inscription he saw the name, Mariah Sanchez. Main Street, Bradsport, New Mexico.

Ethan studied the address, then re-pinned the leather back in place.

That night he couldn’t sleep. The image of the stagecoach and the six white horses kept running through his dream. Every time he closed his eyes he saw them. Now, he had a name to accompany the coach. His dream was so vivid that he could see her inside the coach wearing beautiful garments.

What’s bothering you, son? his father asked the next morning as Timothy had his morning coffee and Ethan had a glass of milk and a buttered biscuit. You seem a bit disturbed.

I found a name and address inside the little stagecoach, Ethan replied, and I’d like to meet that lady. Somehow I feel as if it still belongs to her.

His father had always tried to keep the young boy happy. He knew the town talked about them, but he could do nothing about that.

Timothy had put almost all his savings into the cobbler shop after the mill closed, but now after working hard and saving he had quite a bit of money put away for emergencies and this seemed as if it might be one of those times.

Other than the emergency money, the only things he had left were his son and the memory of his wife who was buried in the family plot out behind the house.

You want to take a trip? Timothy asked. We could take the buggy to Bradsport. Who knows, maybe you could find her.

Timothy thought about how hard the times had been, but he had refused to sell his horse and buggy. Now, he was glad that he had strived hard and kept them.

Ethan grinned from ear to ear.

Could we, Dad? His eyes sparkled as he rubbed his hands together anxiously. When can we leave?

First thing Monday morning, Tim smiled, if that would be soon enough.

Good, I’ll let Mr. Parker know I’ll be gone for a few weeks, Ethan grinned. I have money put away at the store that’ll help us with our needs once we get there. I’ve saved most of the money I made this year.

Timothy gave his son a big hug and could see the excitement in Ethan’s face. He just hoped his son wouldn’t be disappointed if they didn’t find her.

. . . The Acceptance…

Mariah strolled up to the desk. She wore a full-skirted dark purple taffeta dress with a low-cut, white-laced bodice that added to her décor and an expensive wide-brimmed hat that shaded her face.

I need a room, she said to the clerk, for tonight.

Did you say for only tonight? He looked her up and down, let out a low whistle and then snickered softly. Are you sure one night will be sufficient?

Before he could spit, she jerked him halfway across the counter and glared at him with eyes that reminded him of a cat from the wild.

I’m sure, she seethed. If I change my mind, you will be the first to know.

She shoved him back behind the counter and then calmly removed her gloves, using them to knock the dust from her clothing.

His smile faded and with trembling hands he held the book for her to sign.

I’m sorry, ma’am, he gasped after he read her signature. The room at the top of the stairs is the best I have. Let me know if you need anything else, anything at all.

She glared at him through squinted dark eyes.

There is one thing. She gave him a ruthless smile. I don’t expect you to speak my name anywhere. I’ll let myself be known when I’m ready. Now, have someone draw me a bath.

Mariah’s first impression of the clerk wasn’t good. She wondered why someone hadn’t already split his throat from ear to ear. She wouldn’t take insults from anyone and most definitely not from a man!

The clerk nodded his agreement. He knew there was no way he would deny her anything.

And close your mouth, she hissed at him over her shoulder, as she gracefully climbed the stairs. Her body swayed and the long taffeta dress rustled with every step, she turned and her eyes looked evil. You might catch a fly.

The keeper of the hotel had seen that look before, but it was from a man that asked very few questions.

I remember him well, he shivered. He had the same hard look that she has and the same black onyx eyes. I will never forget him.

The clerk looked at the small stub that once had been a finger. He frowned and rubbed the ache that suddenly developed.

I played cards with him at the saloon, the clerk shifted in his chair, and when he caught me cheating he threw a bowie knife on the table and cut off my little finger.

The trunk dropped on the floor with a thud that brought the clerk back to reality. He jumped and grabbed for his pistol.

Where did that woman go? Larado barked at the manager. I want to deliver the trunk to her myself.

The clerk chuckled under his breath.

By all means, be my guest, he tugged on his mustache. Take it on up. She’s in the suite at the top of the stairs. Just set it beside the door and knock.

Larado gave the clerk a grunt and hurried up the stairs. When he reached her door, he knocked and called out in a low voice.

Your trunk is here, lady, he grinned. I brought it myself.

Mariah had begun to undress for her bath and was only clad in her undergarments. She opened the door a crack and peeped outside, keeping her body hidden behind the door.

Okay, now get lost. Mariah looked at him through squinted eyes. "Good day, sir… Now, leave!"

He grinned as he shoved her backward and rushed into the room.

Now, that’s no way for a lady to treat a man.

And this is no way for a man to treat a lady. She moved swiftly to her dresser.

The gun cracked loudly as the man fell at her feet.

Hey, clerk, she yelled downstairs. Come up here and get this piece of garbage off my valise.

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Mariah was here in this town for one purpose and one purpose only. She had received the letter that Marcilio Sanchez had written her.

Dearest daughter Mariah,

Something is going wrong at my establishment in Bradsport and it needs attention. I know your brothers would try, but I need you to do something for me.

I want you to rent a room at the hotel under an assumed name. Then listen and try to find out what is happening at the saloon. Just stay the lady you are and you will find out more than your brothers ever could.

Love, your father

Sorry, Father, but I must find the man responsible for trying to close down your establishment in my own way.

I will do whatever it takes to accomplish my mission. No man will stand in my way!

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Mariah watched from the upstairs window as the undertaker and the sheriff, Pat Garcia, packed the man down the street.

Too bad he wasn’t man enough to recognize a lady, she thought, or he would have lived a lot longer.

Mariah dropped the curtain and went behind the screen to finish the last details of her dress that she had chosen for her first appearance across the street. The look became her skin tone. The high-topped boots and flamboyant low-necked red taffeta dress covered most of the many frilled petticoats. A gold necklace nestled in her neckline.

"Okay, Father, you wanted me find out what is going on in the saloon, she inhaled a deep breath, so here I go."

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Mariah went to the back door of the saloon. A cowboy was leaned against the door. He whistled and looked her over.

Not today, cowboy, she spoke sharply, I don’t have time to play your silly games.

He stepped aside and let her enter without a hassle.

The door opened into a room adjacent to the saloon, where the barkeeper slept. It was too early for the morning customers to begin their daily drinking routine. Bert Arnez was seated at his table with a cup of freshly poured coffee and he wore only his long-handled underwear.

He grabbed for a pair of pants as she walked in. The room consisted of a woodstove, table, two chairs and a cot. It was dimly lit and had no window.

Who the devil are you, the stunned man yelled, and what are you doing here?

He was embarrassed and his face turned redder than a hot poker in ashes.

Mariah could only stare at him and laugh. She wasn’t expecting to see a half-dressed man, but surely he didn’t think it would bother her. She, after all, was dressed like a ‘Tap and Kick’, Fancy Dancer’ from England.

I have a proposition for you, she said between laughs. One I don’t think you can pass up.

He eyed her with interest.

Well, girlie, I’m a little too old for you to proposition me and, besides, I don’t like women like you.

Before he could say anything else, she had him by the top of his long handles and pulled it tight around his fat neck.

"Whatever you’re thinking, you better change your mind and quick. I didn’t come here for what’s in that pea brain of yours, so get that through your thick head and fast! Mariah shoved him backward into a chair. Here’s my proposition, take it or leave it."

He was so stunned that all he could do was nod.

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That evening she stepped through the swinging doors and looked around. She placed her foot on a chair and snapped a whip that popped loudly across the bar. The men stopped talking, turned their attention to her, and stared.

My name is LaTory, she called loudly. I want all of you to remember the name… and the drinks are on me.

The raving beauty plucked the bottle of bourbon off the counter and held it in her hand. The men were awed at what they had just seen.

Well, don’t just sit there gawking, grab a glass. She waited to see if they accepted her. Look, this is how it’s done.

Mariah turned the bottle up, took a long swig, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. The men waited for her to lose her breath from such a gulp. She slung her long black hair back and pointed to the bar.

Thanks, lady, if that’s what you are. A man staggered over to Mariah. You aint a man under all that dress, are you?

Drinks are at the bar, not over here. Smiling, she shoved him away with the butt of her whip.

Aw, shucks, he headed toward the counter, you ought to be nicer.

Bert Arnez, the barkeeper, had exchanged the bourbon with tea, but she needed to look tough if she was ever to pull off what she had planned.

The men were so excited about the free drinks that they paid no attention to LaTory. She slipped up the stairs and disappeared behind the curtains that led to the stage.

Mariah stepped out as the piano player began to play her chosen tune.

The men turned and stared at her. They had never seen a ‘fancy dancer’ before.

Mariah began to sing a