Melissa And The Cowboy (Western Night Series 1) Read online

  “The newspaper wrote the advertisement for me,” he admitted, unusually bashfully. “But, I have these letters,” he spread his hands to show Caleb at least ten envelopes. “I can’t read, and I can’t write good enough to work out who to respond to.” Caleb suddenly felt sorry for this odious man. No wonder he was so often arrogant and difficult, he had so much to hide. It must have taken him a huge amount of courage to admit of his ignorances to Caleb.

  “Here,” he took the letters and opened the first one. In turn he read each one to Bartlett who listened in unwavering silence.

  “That one,” he said suddenly, as Caleb finished reading a particularly heartfelt missive. He had to admit he agreed with Bartlett, the woman sounded perfect. She was eloquent, used language beautifully. But it wasn’t just how she said things, it was what she said. Her words had tugged at Caleb’s heart, as she sounded so unhappy in her current situation. To be so young and to have experienced so much hardship seemed wrong. She was frank and honest, and he had to admit he fell a little bit in love with her himself. “Please can you write me something to match, something that will make her want to come here, to be my wife?” he pleaded.

  Caleb wanted to say no. This woman didn’t need to trade her current dire circumstances to move here to Texas to find herself wed to a man just as bad, if not worse, than the one she seemed so desperate to escape. But, how could he say no? He had gotten this far, he may as well just write the letter. At least Bartlett wouldn’t know exactly what he wrote to her. He could pack the letter with enough suggestions that Bartlett wasn’t the man for any woman. She would never make it as far as Texas, he was sure of that. He couldn’t let such a gentle soul be preyed upon by a man likely to blow every penny he ever earned and more on a card game, or in the saloons in Stephenville.

  “Sure,” he said and set to writing a brief, almost unpleasant response. Bartlett walked about him, insisting on things he should include. Caleb lifted up the sheet of paper, and read out words he hadn’t written to Bartlett.

  “That sounds perfect. She’ll be here on the next train after that. Thank you Caleb. I’ll not forget your help on this,” Bartlett enthused, sounding so excited that Caleb almost picked up the letter and threw it in the fire to start again and write the one he had told his neighbor he had written, but he knew he could never live with it on his conscience that a young woman had come here expecting more than this man could ever provide her with.

  Bartlett made his exit, clutching happily at his letters and Caleb decided to leave the door open a while to get rid of the stench that always seemed to take an age to get out of his nostrils. He prayed that the woman was as intelligent as she had seemed in her own letter, that she would be able to read between the lines of what he had written – that she would see that Bartlett was not the man she should pin her hopes on.

  He slouched against the door, hands in his pockets. He pulled out her letter, he must have unconsciously snuck it into his pocket. He opened it up and perused it once more. She had the most beautiful script, and her words were put together so lyrically. He was almost tempted to write to her himself, but a quick look around his cabin, at the calf by the hearth, and the platform bed that was barely wide enough for him alone and knew he had some time to wait before he could consider bringing a woman to be a part of his life.

  Exhausted, he shut his door and banked the fire carefully. He stripped to his undergarments and clambered into his bed. Wrapping the blankets around him and snuggling down, it was not long before he was fast asleep, his dreams filled with thoughts of a gentle and kind wife, like Miss. Melissa Haldane. He imagined her to have a gentle touch and a soft voice. But try as he might, he couldn’t bring himself to give her a face. That would make it too hard to bear, would make it all too real. He jolted awake, a sense of loneliness he hadn’t ever felt overwhelming him. He decided that maybe when he awoke it may be time to pay a visit to the town carpenter, and make the plans for his ranch house after all.

  Chapter Three

  The letter had finally arrived. Melissa could hardly believe that he would have chosen her. He had even included the rail ticket for her to join him in Stephenville, Texas immediately. She was so relieved that she would finally be able to leave this house and the oppressive life Colonel Grantchester imposed upon her, that she barely read anything more than that Bartlett Greive wanted her to be his wife.

  She ran to her room, packed her trunk hurriedly, not caring if things would wrinkle. She was determined to be on the next train to Texas. She could hardly wait to see the look on the Colonel’s florid features as she told him that he was alone, and that there would be nobody to care for him. He had done his best to ensure she never met any young men, and had politely rebuffed the invites that had come in for her after her Mama’s passing. Eventually they had stopped coming altogether, and she had felt more and more alone as they had dwindled to a complete halt.

  She picked up her own trunk and bundled it down the three flights of stairs. A year of hard work had toughened her muscles, and there was little she could not do for herself. She dragged it through to the grand entrance hall, and left it in the middle of the floor. She burst into the library; the Colonel’s private domain, a place that was never to be breached under any circumstances. She took a deep breath, and then spoke loudly and clearly, before he even had a chance to bellow some nonsense syllables at her for intruding on his peace. “Colonel Grantchester, I would like to thank you for giving me a home, and a position. However, I am over the moon to tell you that I shall be leaving today, to take the train to marry my future husband!”

  He jolted from his position of repose he had taken up, reclining on one of the plush velvet couches as if he were reading the newspaper – but Melissa knew that all he did was nap. She was triumphant in her newfound freedom, and it would matter not one bit to her any longer that he did or didn’t approve of her choice, or her methods. He had left her no alternative. “Melissa, you do need my permission to marry. You are my ward,” he blustered.

  “Don’t be so silly,” she chastised him as if he were a small child. She had never dared to speak to anyone in such a condescending manner before. “You shall be glad to be rid of me. You will no longer have to provide for me. You never wanted me here anyway, even when my Mama was alive.” She knew that this wasn’t strictly true. He certainly hadn’t wanted her around when she had been a child, but he had enjoyed leering at her once her womanly body had begun to emerge. However, she was thankful that he had never taken it any further than that – even once they were alone in the house he had shown remarkable restraint, had barely so much as touched her arm since.

  “So what do you know of this man? Is he of a good family? Will you be living nearby?” he asked her, feigning interest where he had none, clearly trying to think of what he would do without her.

  “That is none of your concern. I take responsibility of my happiness from your shoulders, Sir. I wish you the very best.” Melissa turned and flounced from the room, shutting the double doors behind her and doubling over with the giggles as she did so. Oh, just to see the look on the old goat’s face. He had so clearly believed that he had a slave for life, that he had cut off her every escape route. It felt more than wonderful to be able to take the rug out from under his feet. She took a look around at what had never really been her home, and marched out into the street to hail a carriage to take her and her things to the station to begin her new life.

  The station was very busy. People seemed to be rushing here and there in such a hurry. Melissa stood at the top of the grand stairwell and gazed down. She could see families on excursions; young men and women, who like her were clearly heading off somewhere for a longer stay, porters scurrying behind them with trolleys full of luggage; business men and their wives. She was surprised that so many people could all be in one place, hurrying across the concourse to meet the trains that waited, huffing and puffing billows of dirty black smoke.

  “Miss, your train is on the platform. It leaves in just
a few moments. We should already be down there,” her own porter chided her gently. He was only a boy, with a freckled face and a ready grin.

  “Of course, I most definitely do not want to miss my train,” she assured him and began to take the stairs quickly. He picked up her trunk and carried it on his shoulder, as if it weighed nothing at all, and followed closely behind her.

  “Right here, Miss.” He pointed at the first train. It was a beast of black and red painted iron, the name on its engine was The Comet, and Melissa smiled as she read the brass plaque. She needed just such a thing to propel her into her new life. “This is your carriage.” The young lad offered her his hand, and she took it, stepping up into the doorway of the wood panelled compartment. It felt warm and cozy and the comfortable looking seats were clean and covered with soft, but hardwearing velvet. She settled herself in as he put her trunk up into the shelves overhead. “Have a safe journey Miss.” Melissa didn’t have much money, but she pulled out a few coins and pressed them into his hand.

  “Thank you, you have been most kind to me,” she said warmly. He flushed, his freckles standing out like little islands in a sea of beet red. Young lads truly were such funny creatures, she thought. See them amongst a group of their peers and they can be brash and uncouth, but alone and at the simplest touch of a woman’s hand and they melted into puddles of insecurity. She watched as he disappeared into the crowds, off to find his next customer to assist. He was certainly not afraid of hard work.

  A whistle blew and the train began to slowly move. Melissa could hardly contain her excitement. As a child she had delighted in the tales of the West that her Papa had told her when he was at home on leave, he had brought photographs and watercolors of the lands he had served in to show her. She had fallen in love with its rugged charms, and the possibilities of adventure. Now, here she was about to take on her own, its outcome far from certain of a happy ending. She settled in to the seat by the window and watched avidly as the stunning scenery passed her by.

  Each territory, and State seemed to be different as the train sped through mile after mile. From deeply green, wooded beauty; to stark and arid plains; winding rivers with crashing waterfalls; to gentle, rolling hills and deep lakes. She was constantly in wonder and awe and her anticipation of what Texas would bring heightened with each new landscape she passed through. The stops along the way, the changing of trains, allowing for her to get her to her precise destination, happened smoothly; porters bustling in to remove luggage and escort passengers to the next carriage. She found that the sleeping and restaurant cars were far better than she could ever have anticipated. The journey was undoubtedly an adventure, but one she was more than happy to undertake in extreme comfort.

  Finally she reached her destination. Texas had been everything she could have ever dreamed of. From its deep, iron-red soil plains, to the lush green farmland that surrounded her now - it was perfect. Mountains, plateaus and scenery that simply took your breath away could be seen in every direction. The train pulled to a halt at the pretty station in Stephenville at just past three in the afternoon. Melissa stepped down carefully from the train, and gazed around her. She was the only person to disembark here, and there was only one person standing on the platform. A man in a cowboy hat, his head down as if he was scrutinizing his boots. She could only assume that he must be Bartlett Greive, her future husband. She walked slowly towards him, and felt her breath catch in her throat as the smoke cleared and she could make out his features more clearly.

  He was simply perfect. He was tall, around six feet she thought, like her Papa had been. He wore a pair of new blue denim trousers that Mr. Levi Strauss, a clothing designer had developed. The Colonel had been entirely disparaging of them, but seeing the way this gentleman looked in them she would have to disagree with him. They flattered him in every way. He had broad shoulders and a lean muscular torso that tapered to slim hips, snugly encased in the form fitting pants. He wore a broad leather belt, with a shining oval buckle. His simple flannel shirt was unbuttoned at the neck and she could see a tiny curl of dark hair. But when he lifted his head and tilted back the brim of his hat she was almost lost. He had intelligent eyes, the color of sparkling emeralds; a chiselled jaw and the cutest smile.

  “Miss Melissa Haldane?” he enquired politely. She nodded, unable to utter a word. His voice was rich, like chocolate. He took off his hat and gave her a small bow. He had the softest looking black, curly hair that she had ever seen. She longed to run her fingers through it. In fact, she caught herself just in time to stop herself from reaching out to do just that. She clasped her hands tightly, clutching hard at her reticule. “I’m sorry Miss Haldane, but Bartlett was unable to greet you today. He asked me if I would do so. He has had word from his sister, who lives about thirty miles from here, she was most unwell. He sends his deepest apologies for not being here to meet you himself, but…”

  “I would expect nothing less, would run to my unwell sister’s side in a moment were the tables turned,” Melissa said, her voice choked as she tried to hide the hurt in her chest that this beautiful man was not her husband to be, after all. “I’m sorry, but you didn’t give me your name Mr…?”

  “Sorry, I am terrible at all this sort of stuff,” he admitted with a wry smile. “My name is Caleb Green. I will be your neighbor. I’m sure we will see a lot of each other once you get yourself settled in.” All at once her heart soared and crashed; he lived close by, she would see him often – and yet he would be out of reach. Lucky would be the woman who got to marry this man, she only wished it could be her. “Bartlett has arranged for you to stay in the boarding house in Stephenville until he can return and arrange your nuptials, Miss Haldane, I hope they will be suitable for you.”

  “I am sure they will be more than adequate. Did Mr. Greive say how long he expected to be gone?” she asked, anxiously. She wasn’t sure if she could take the suspense much longer, praying he would come home in a day or two. She was also suddenly scared that people would not want to get to know her, that she would be all alone until he did.

  “I’m sorry,” Caleb shook his head. “Bartlett just said that the message was quite worrying, and that she has come down with a fever. The doctor was afraid it may be fatal. It could be a few days, maybe even a few weeks or months before he comes back. He has asked me to run his herd along with my own while he is gone.”

  “Are you close?” Melissa asked him, he certainly seemed well informed as to her future husband’s family, and even the personal details that she wouldn’t have thought many men would share with a neighbor.

  “I wouldn’t say that, but out here we all help one another out if we can. It’s a tough life, so kindness goes a long way. Come, let’s get you settled in the boarding house. You must be exhausted after your journey,” he said kindly, as he picked up her trunk and ushered her towards a small wagon, pulled by a handsome grey pony.

  The boarding house was clean and bright, and Melissa was quickly made to feel very welcome by her new landlady, Mrs. Suttle. She was a homely lady, with a waistline that clearly reflected her love of sweet things. Melissa had barely put a foot across the threshold before she held a delicate china plate with a thick slice of home baked cake, and a warm cup of tea in her hands. “Well, I can see you are in good hands,” Caleb said with a smile that made a single dimple appear in his right cheek. “I had better be off, two herds of cattle will be wondering where I am.” He winked and tipped his hat. Melissa watched him drive away, sadly.

  “He’s a handsome one,” Mrs. Suttle said as she encouraged Melissa to take a seat. “If I were only ten years younger. A good worker too, his ranch is the best kept in the Territory.” Melissa tried to look as if this information meant nothing to her, but she couldn’t help but feel that the kindly woman was holding something back, and maybe even something about her husband-to be.

  “Mrs. Suttle, Caleb was not too forthcoming about Mr. Greive himself – though he told me the reason why he was not here to meet me, maybe you could tel
l me a little about him?”

  “Well, Bartlett. My! Bartlett is one of a kind,” the older woman said, diplomatically. “Now, you must be tired my dear, why don’t you go upstairs to your room. I’ll have Betty bring up the tin bath and some hot water, so you can have a nice long soak. Get all the smut from those dirty old trains off of you.” She said quickly, changing the subject. Melissa couldn’t help but be concerned. True, Bartlett was off assisting his sister, and that had to show he had a kind heart, but nobody seemed willing to tell her much else. She began to wonder if maybe she had been just a tiny bit too reckless after all.

  Chapter Four

  Caleb drove away from the boarding house as fast as Harry’s legs could take them. God damn! He had fallen half in love with Melissa Haldane from only a single letter, seeing her in the flesh had made his misery complete. She was either stupid, or even more desperate than he could possibly have imagined. How had she missed his warnings in that letter? Or had she just seen that a man was willing to marry her so she could escape the hell she had been living in?

  She had the most perfectly upturned nose, a smile that made his entire being come alive, and the bluest eyes he had ever seen. When she dipped her lashes, they touched onto her cheeks; they were so long and full. She wore no makeup, had a rosy glow on her pale cheeks that made her look better than any amount of makeup could ever achieve. Her blonde hair had looked lustrous and full under the little bonnet she wore. Her dress had been plain, but he had still found himself imagining using his hands to measure that tiny waist of hers, and the sway as she walked spoke to parts of him that no gentleman would ever discuss. Quite simply, she was captivating – and far too wonderful to be wasted on an oaf like Bartlett Greive.