As the stage rolled to a jerking halt in front of the Fairplay Hotel, Wyatt expelled a pent-up breath. What he needed was an investor, a partner who’d be willing to help him build up his herd.
The gold mines in the mountains surrounding South Park had made millionaires out of numerous men. Would any of them be willing to invest in his ranch?
Wyatt scanned the buildings lining Fairplay, most having the typical false storefronts that made the businesses appear bigger and more significant to draw men in. Set at the center of the flat grasslands along the intersection of Beaver Creek and the South Platte, Fairplay had earned its name from its first prospectors who’d vowed that their mining camp would be different from the others in the area, that they’d operate with integrity and fairness.
Although the town had its share of taverns and dance halls, it was a shade tamer than some of the other colorful mining towns that had sprung up in the area, towns like Buckskin Joe and Tarryall.
Of all the mining towns Wyatt had lived in and visited, he liked Fairplay best, mainly because he liked and respected the men who ran it.
Men like Landry Steele . . .
Steele stepped down from the stagecoach, wearing his usual dark suit coat, vest, and matching trousers. He turned around and offered his hand to a woman in the stagecoach door.
The woman accepted the help descending. The brim of her bonnet hid her face, but from the litheness of her movements and the womanliness of her form, she was awful young to be Steele’s wife. In a blue dress, the woman was also too plainly attired to be Steele’s fancy eastern wife. Besides, Steele had yammered on more than once about his wife refusing to live in the Wild West.
As the woman planted both feet on the ground, Steele reached up to the doorway again and, this time, offered his hand to a little girl.
Wyatt couldn’t contain his surprise and released a low whistle. Maybe Steele’s wife had decided to come west with their child after all, although hadn’t Steele talked about a son, not a daughter?
The girl bounded down, her bonnet pushed back, revealing long, loose hair the color of a newborn fawn. Petite and pretty, the child smiled her thanks to Steele before skipping away.
“Astrid, stay close.” The woman spun after the child and revealed her face. Her hair was the same light brown as the child’s, and her features were just as pretty but fuller and slightly rounder.
Astrid didn’t heed her mother and frisked away from the stagecoach in the direction of Simpkin’s General Store.
“Astrid, please.” The woman grabbed a fistful of her skirt and picked up her pace, then cast a glance over her shoulder at Steele.
Steele smiled and waved her on. “Go and explore. You know where to find me.”
She nodded, her expression emanating gratefulness, before she hustled after her child.
Stroking his mustache, Steele watched the young woman until she disappeared into the store behind the little girl.
Wyatt needed to stop staring, but his curiosity got the better of him. If this woman wasn’t Steele’s wife, then who was she? Couldn’t be his mistress. Steele had never struck Wyatt as the type of man who’d cheat on his wife, no matter how much he had a hankering for a woman.
As if sensing the scrutiny, Steele’s gaze swung to Wyatt, where he still stood in the middle of the road. Steele touched the brim of his bowler in greeting.
Wyatt repeated the action.
“Don’t look at me like that, McQuaid,” Steele called.
“Like what?” Blast it all. Why hadn’t he walked away before Steele had caught him staring?
“Like I’m doing something I shouldn’t be.”
“She ain’t your wife, is she?”
“No, of course not.” Steele huffed.
“I took you for a God-fearing man who took his marriage vows seriously.”
“And I am.”
“Then what are you doing with a pretty lady like that?” Wyatt glanced at the dusty window of the general store but couldn’t see inside past the grime to the woman in question.
Steele pressed his lips together and crossed toward him. “Do you think she’s pretty?”
Wyatt hadn’t seen her long, but it had been enough to know she was a real beauty. “A man’d have to be blind not to think so.”
Steele halted in front of him. The dust from the journey lightened the black of his suit coat to a charcoal gray. “Good. Then I want you to marry her.”
Chapter 3
Marry her? In the process of drawing in a breath, Wyatt choked and began to cough. Steele must have knocked his head hard during the bumpy stagecoach ride. Or maybe Wyatt had heard him wrong. He cleared his throat. “Come again?”
“I want you to marry Miss Nilsson.” This time Steele spoke more decisively, as if the matter was settled.
Wyatt opened his mouth but couldn’t find the words to respond.
“She’s a good woman in dire straits.” Steele peered up and down the street, as though gauging who else might be listening in on their conversation. At the early evening hour, the town wasn’t yet as busy as it would be once the miners finished their work and swarmed the taverns. “Miss Nilsson is Hallock’s mail-order bride.”
Wyatt shot another look at the general store and wished he could get a second glimpse of the woman Phineas Hallock had boasted about to no end.
From the moment Hallock had put the ad in the Chicago Daily Tribune for a bride, Wyatt teased his friend. It hadn’t taken long for Hallock to start exchanging letters with a woman. Wyatt had been surprised along with everyone else when the woman had accepted Hallock’s proposal. Even though Hallock was a decent fella, he was shy and eccentric, with a balding head, a paunch, and too much nose hair. And to top it off, he was ancient enough to be Wyatt’s father.
“The stage got robbed up at Kenosha Pass by the Crooked-Eye Gang,” Steele continued, “and Miss Nilsson lost the entirety of her savings.”
Wyatt shook his head. It wasn’t fair some men thought they could get rich off honest, hardworking fellas. But they didn’t have a regular lawman in these parts, which only made crime worse. When things got too rough, about the best they could do was organize a vigilance committee to serve up justice.
“Now Miss Nilsson has no husband and no money. And she has her sick little sister to care for.”
“The girl is her sister?”
“She brought her west to see if the mountain air would cure her consumption.”
“So that’s why she agreed to marry Hallock?” Wyatt could feel his ire rising.
“Now, hold on, McQuaid. Lots of marriages begin as partnerships.”
Yep. Like Ma’s with Rusty. And look how that had ended. “What was in it for Hallock?”
Steele’s brows shot high. “You saw her. I think the answer’s clear enough.”
Hallock hadn’t been so shallow that he’d marry a woman for her beautiful face and body. More likely he’d been lonely and eager for companionship.
“You knew Hallock better than anyone,” Steele said. “He was a good man with a big heart. And he would have wanted to help Miss Nilsson’s sister if he could.”
Wyatt removed his hat and brushed his fingers through his overlong hair, letting the dry evening breeze cool his forehead. Steele was right. Hallock had been generous and kind.