Hazelanne (Widows of Wildcat Ridge Book 15) Page 3

  Smiling, she stepped closer, her grip tight on her reticule strings. “Maybe you know him. Mister Clay Oliphant?”

  His gut clenched. How had a known drunk, and a mean one at times, wrangled an agreement to wed from this sweet woman? The need to warn her flashed through his mind, but what could he say? He’d seen the man stumbling drunk only once with his own eyes. Other reports of the man’s behavior he’d learned from rumors or talk spoken behind a hand lifted to the side of a mouth. Not one-hundred-percent reliable sources. “I’ve heard of him, miss.” He did his best to keep any condescension from his tone.

  “All aboard. MacAndrew, where in tarnation are you?”

  Ignoring Harry, he stepped toward the woman. “Be sure of your choice before you wed. And know that Marshal Wentz is a good, honest man.” Then before he couldn’t hide the rest of his concern, he rounded the back of the coach and set to his duties. He was in the midst of answering another passenger’s question when she grasped his hand to climb inside, or he never would have squeezed her fingers before releasing them. Then he spent the last leg before Wildcat Ridge, thinking up the right combination of words to apologize for being so forward. His favorite view of coming around a curve and seeing the town nestled in the valley between Moose Mountain and Black Bear Hill didn’t distract him like usual.

  Harry slowed the team and applied the brake on the last downhill grade. The stagecoach entered Wildcat Ridge at a walk along Front Street past Old Chinatown. Townspeople ambled along the storefronts, doing their Saturday errands and visiting with friends and neighbors on the way. The lead animals started the sweeping turn to the right to move onto Chestnut Street and then stop in front of the Wells Fargo depot. A squatty, one-story, wooden building fronted a corral with a waiting team of rested mules.

  Brice noticed a man pacing on the boardwalk in front of the office. Wiry, dark-haired, and wearing a scowl—Clay Oliphant. “Why the dickens is the stage late? Today of all days.” He shook a fist at the two men in the driver seat before yanking open the coach door and reaching inside. “Are you Hazelanne?”

  “Unhand my wife, sir.”

  Wanting to prevent a fight, Brice scrambled down and grabbed the opened door. He looked at the back of the man’s head jammed inside the coach. “Mister Oliphant, my job is to help the passengers.”

  “No need.” He took two steps back and pulled Hazelanne onto the wooden planks, his grip tight on an elbow. “Now, where are her bags?”

  Brice turned to the others and made sure everyone was out before he moved to the luggage boot. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Oliphant shook a finger in Miss Pitts’ face and berated her. Her smile faded and her posture wilted. His gut instinct was to go tell the man a thing or two. How dare he speak to a women he was about to marry with such rudeness. After he set the luggage on the planks, he had to retrieve the mail bags.

  “Hey, you there. Toss down those carpetbags.” Oliphant scowled upward and pointed.

  For a second, Brice looked at Miss Pitts…Hazelanne, what a pretty name.

  When she caught his gaze, she lifted her chin and smiled.

  But he didn’t believe the gesture was from happiness. Before he lowered the bags over the side of the coach and climbed down, he had to watch Oliphant grab her elbow and haul her away, her steps stumbling to keep up. At the corner of the street, she angled a final glance over her shoulder, those amber eyes beseeching.

  Chapter Three

  T

  he bearded man who’d hauled her off the stage growled his name. This angry person was to become her husband? Hazelanne registered he wore a denim coat with sheep fleece lining over a pale blue shirt and denim pants. Scuffed boots and a flat-brimmed hat completed the outfit. He appeared to have just ridden to town after finishing ranch chores. She swallowed hard. “Mister Oliphant, I’m pleased—”

  “Don’t be mealy-mouthed.” His dark brows crashed down, and his gaze narrowed. His long, dark hair brushed the tops of his shoulders. “Do you know how this late stagecoach inconveniences me?”

  “Sir, a delayed stage is hardly—”

  “Hey, I was talking. Women do not interrupt men.” He shook a finger in front of her face. “A wife of mine will not talk back in public. Now, which ones are your bags?”

  “Two carpetbags still on top.”

  “Of course. Yours couldn’t be the ones already down on the platform.” He strode forward and yelled something, waving toward Mister MacAndrew.

  She wished for the chance to lean against something solid and get her bearings. Their first meeting was nothing like she’d anticipated. Hazelanne took a deep breath and pressed both hands against her jumping stomach. True, their epistolary exchange had been limited. But, he’d advertised for a wife, so why wasn’t he being kinder to the one who showed up? Cheeks flaming, she glanced around, checking if anyone still gawked at their conversation.

  A couple stood near the doorway, talking to the stationmaster. The woman made eye contact then looked away.

  Hazelanne sagged an inch. Not the best impression to make in a new town. Curiosity made her scan the other corners of the intersection they’d just ridden through. She spotted an assay office, a fancy brick bank building labeled Crane Bank on the opposite corner, and the Ridge Hotel directly across from the depot. Then, a hand grabbed her elbow and propelled her forward with stumbling steps.

  “We’re late enough. Don’t dally.” Again, his grip squeezed. “I hope the judge hasn’t given up on us and closed his office.”

  “Judge?” Doing her best not to wince, she hurried to keep pace. For a man only a few inches taller than she, he took long strides. No one in her acquaintance back in Evanston had been married anyplace other than a church.

  “I’m not making another trip into town tomorrow for a wedding when we can stand up right now before a judge and get this thing over with.”

  This thing? She stiffened. That’s the term he uses for a wedding? A shiver ran up her back. Of course, she hadn’t imagined much of a ceremony where none of her family would be present, but she had hoped for a simple church wedding. A modest bouquet and maybe a song played on a piano. Even if no one in the pews was someone she knew, she wanted the sanctity of a holy place. Her anticipation at this arrangement plummeted. At the intersection of Front and Chestnut, while waiting for a wagon to roll past, she glanced over her shoulder.

  From atop the coach, like when she’d first seen him, Mister MacAndrew watched, the brim of his hat shadowing his expression.

  Why she looked to an almost stranger for reassurance she wasn’t sure. His tone when he mentioned consulting with the marshal had been so concerned. Her pulse kicked up. What reason would cause him to inform her about local law enforcement?

  Before she could study Mister Oliphant’s profile to gain a better sense of the man, she was hauled forward and marched along the boardwalk. She did her best to glance at the stores and remember the names of where she would shop. This town was much smaller and less populated than Evanston. She should have asked about that detail in her letter. Because she’d lived in one town her entire life, she had only one frame of reference and had mistakenly assumed Wildcat Ridge would be of a similar size.

  At Tweedie Mercantile, he nudged her to the right, and they walked up Gold Street almost the entire block. A sign read Velvet Kitten, and she shuddered to think what activities went on behind those doors. But the very next building was City Hall, which the city planners in her hometown would never have let be arranged side by side.

  “Come on.” Mister Oliphant pulled her across the dirt street to a non-descript building and released his hold to open the door. “Judge Vaile, we’re here.”

  A chair scraped on the floor, and footsteps sounded.

  A fortyish man dressed in a three-piece suit appeared in an open doorway and smiled. Glad for the change to catch her breath, she pressed a hand to her chest. The air in the room was warm, and she appreciated being away from the chill mountain air. Later, she’d ask what the elevati
on was.

  “Welcome, Clay and…”

  She gazed at Mister Oliphant, waiting for him to make the introductions, but he remained silent.

  “A delayed stage?” A brown eyebrow arched. “Always due to an unfortunate event.”

  Hazelanne thought the man looked distinguished with a touch of gray at his temples. His manners were definitely more refined than those of the man she’d traveled to marry. The words spoken earlier by the stagecoach guard surfaced in her mind. “Be sure before you wed.”

  “Don’t get me started. The company posts an arrival time so they ought to stick by it.” He dumped the carpetbags on the floor against the wall and jammed hands on his hips.

  Frowning, she glanced toward the man spouting nonsense. Didn’t he know that all modes of transportation were at the mercy of weather and other conditions? Other passengers had spoken of a downed tree blocking the road prior to Evanston. They spoke of how the shotgun guard hacked it apart so the coach could pass. He looked like a man capable of such a vigorous task. Straightening, she shook her head. She’d come with Mister Oliphant to a judge’s office to get married, and she shouldn’t be wool-gathering about a different man—even if the corners of Mister MacAndrew’s eyes crinkled when he grinned.

  Again, she was caught off-balance when Mister Oliphant grasped her elbow and urged her forward into the judge’s office. What was the man’s hurry? Nerves attacked her stomach, and she wondered if she was being rushed for a particular reason. She glanced around at an office holding a big desk and a bookshelf lined with thick volumes. A framed certificate hung on one wall, and a set of double windows let in plenty of bright sunlight.

  Two people, a bespectacled young man dressed in a suit and an older man wearing a vest with a shiny badge pinned to the chest, appeared from behind a side door and stepped to the back of the room.

  The judge nodded at the new arrivals then turned to the prospective groom. “Clay, please introduce me to your lovely bride-to-be.”

  Mister Oliphant cleared his throat. “Sorry, judge, that late stage got me a bit peeved. I should have started the entire conversation with that important detail.” He turned and pointed. “This here is Miss Pitts.”

  Hazelanne smiled. “Pleasure to meet you, Judge Vaile. I’m so glad you could accommodate this ceremony.”

  Judge Vaile raised a hand. “No apology needed, Clay. Always happy to meet a new resident of our fair town, Miss Pitts.” He angled to the side and lifted a black leather-bound volume from the desk. “May I have your full names for the ceremony, please?” He glanced at each as they provided the requested information and nodded. “And to know if a ring will be given.”

  “I have a ring to use. Right here.” He dug fingers into his front trouser pocket and came up with a metal bottle opener which he stuffed back inside. “Er, wrong pocket.” He rummaged in other pockets until he held up a simple gold band.

  The judge extended the opened book and waited for the ring to be placed in the middle.

  Hazelanne noticed the book’s text wasn’t broken into two columns like in a bible but spanned the whole page. Probably a law book. Frowning, she blinked. Again, her mind wandered when she should be focused. The pending ceremony would be the most important act she ever undertook in her life so far.

  Judge Vaile nodded toward the back of the room. “Two witnesses are present to hear your oaths and agreements. First, I ask if you both come to this ceremony willing and unencumbered.”

  Feeling his gaze on her, she glanced up from the circle of gold that would bind her to the man at her side. “I am willing.” She wished her voice hadn’t trembled.

  “I’m ready.” Clay shuffled his feet.

  The judge held Mister Oliphant’s gaze for several beats then nodded. “Do you, Clayton Kevin Oliphant, take Hazelanne Asta Pitts to be your lawful wife, to love, honor, and cherish her through sickness and health, while rich or poor, through times of happiness and travail, until death do you part?”

  “Yea, I do.”

  The judge extended the book forward. “Place the ring upon her left hand and repeat after me.” He spoke the vow for the groom to recite.

  Clay held her hand steady then pushed the plain band down her ring finger. “With this ring, I thee join and forever pledge my devotion.”

  Glancing at him as he recited the words, Hazelanne noticed he didn’t once look her way.

  Judge Vaile angled toward her and flashed a smile. “Do you, Hazelanne Asta Pitts, take Clayton Brian Oliphant to be your lawful husband, to love, honor, and cherish him through sickness and health, while rich or poor, and through times of happiness and travail, until death do you part?”

  Until death. Such a long time. At the question, she thought about the rapid changes happening in her life that had previously been so set in its routine. Had that life been so bad that she’d thrown herself into this forever situation with a gruff man for whom she felt no affinity? She glanced at the band weighing down her ring finger then nodded. Then she remembered how much the family would be helped by her establishing her own separate life. “I do.”

  “By joining hands here…” The judge set aside the book, reached for their right hands, and clasped them together, resting his on top. “You display your consent to spend the rest of your lives as man and wife. By the authority that I hold in this town and in the Territory of Utah, I declare you man and wife.” He released their hands and stepped back.

  The groom grabbed her shoulders, pulled her toward him, and ground his lips against hers.

  At the surprising move, Hazelanne shuffled her feet sideways and endured the press of his kiss. Wiry hair scratched her cheeks and chin. Her youthful imaginings conjured up a gesture of soft give and take, not like this possessive one. Heat flared in her cheeks, and she couldn’t identify embarrassment or irritation. Her mind whirling, she followed instructions and signed on the correct line where the judge indicated in his log book. Then she waited as the judge pulled aside her husband—what a strange term she’d have to get used to—and spoke in low tones. His brows wrinkled as he talked.

  The only sentence she heard was the judge admonishing him to wait a while before insisting on marital relations. Had the judge spoke that sentence louder for her benefit? Her insides roiled. On her last night at home, she’d listened to Mama’s instructions about a wife’s duty. Mama’s telling had been full of fits and starts and throat clearings about what to expect and what she must submit to. Waiting until they’d become better acquainted would ease her mind, and she hoped her new husband would bring up the subject himself.

  Frowning, the groom approached her side. “Let’s go.” He cupped her elbow and turned toward the door.

  Hazelanne was grateful his touch was gentler and wondered if she had the judge to thank for the change. She walked through the doorway then realized her groom was no longer at her side. A glance over her shoulder clued her that now the marshal had detained him. Alarm shot through her. Was her husband in trouble with the law? Not knowing what else to do, she stopped next to her bags and waited.

  Hard footsteps rattled the flooring, and her scowling groom stomped past, barely pausing to bend over and grab the handles of her carpetbags. “The wagon’s back at the depot. You’d best keep up.”

  “Thank you, Judge Vaile.” She gave the kindly man a weak smile and then scurried to follow her husband’s fast pace. At the moment she stepped outside, she realized neither of them had removed their coats or hats for the ceremony. That she’d fretted over which of her two best blouses to wear hadn’t mattered, because Clay hadn’t yet seen the mauve one she chose. Down this side of Gold Street, she spotted names painted on windows for Wildcat Ridge Journal, a real estate office, and a jeweler before heading left on Chestnut Street.

  From the mercantile, a family exited, and a young boy darted into her path.

  Hazelanne nodded and smiled then stepped around them. Walking this way on Chestnut Street gave her a view of the open country past the town limits. The road curved and
disappeared into trees after only a few hundred feet. Approaching the Wells Fargo depot, she saw the stagecoach had already departed. Thinking back to her four-hour trip, she remembered the short stops that allowed for the replacement of the mule team and not much else.

  No bags occupied her husband’s hands, and he waited at the left side of the buckboard, watching her approach with a narrowed gaze.

  By the time she reached his spot, she panted a bit. Remembering the coach ride, she knew this town was higher in elevation. Her body would take a little while to adjust. Or maybe she’d loosen her corset for everyday wear since her new husband had one speed, and that was fast.

  Without a word, he held out a hand to assist her to climb on the wheel hub and then into the driver’s box. Next, he moved to the driver’s seat and set the single black horse in motion.

  Eager to learn more about Wildcat Ridge, Hazelanne gazed in every direction. To her right were a creek and a set of rusty railroad tracks and then the open countryside. The buildings along the left side of Front Street included the Ridge Hotel with the Crystal Café next door. The following businesses were Sugar & Spice Bakery, Last Chance Saloon, the solid-looking jail, an opera house, another saloon, then a bathhouse, a barber, and another hotel, this one larger than the first. Although the town wasn’t big, it appeared to have at least one of each essential business. The juxtaposition of jail and opera house proved to be another strange coupling. Uncomfortable with the protracted silence between, she cast about for a topic of conversation. “Has the town been growing?”

  He shrugged. “Dunno. Town’s been about the same size since I moved here five years ago.”

  “Don’t you find some of the adjacent businesses an odd choice?”

  “Never thought about it.”

  Opposite from the last building a bridge spanned the rushing water, and he turned the horse to cross it.

  “What’s the name of the creek we’re riding over?”

  He stared straight ahead. “Moose Creek and the mountain is Moose Mountain.”