The Lawman’s Frontier Bride Read online

  Tate halted and nodded. "Fine." He gestured toward the stairs. "Hope you like it." He touched the front brim of his Stetson. "Maybe I'll see you later."

  Gretchen didn't reply to that suggestion. Instead, she gave Tate a steady look and then turned away from him. She reached the room and entered. Closing the door behind her, she examined the room. A single bed; a wardrobe which stood at an odd angle; a table upon which rested a white pitcher and jug; bare floorboards. A door led out to what looked like a balcony. There was an odd smell in the place, an odor she couldn't quite identify. Gretchen sighed. She'd have to spend a whole week in this room. She certainly didn't plan on wandering around town.

  Now that she was alone, she thought about what had just happened. It was a catastrophe. There was no other way to describe it.

  Leaning back against the door, she lifted up her heart and whispered a quiet prayer.

  Lord. I know I gave in to the temptations of curiosity. Forgive me, Lord. And now I find myself facing a difficult situation. Grant me the strength, Lord, to make my way out of this so that I can finally obey your will. You brought me out here to find a husband and a new life out here on the frontier. Grant me protection, Lord. And wisdom to know what I should do.

  Gretchen stepped away from the door and sighed. It hadn't just been curiosity which had been the cause of this. She'd also allowed herself to be distracted by a very handsome cowboy who'd done everything he could to make a good impression on her.

  And he'd succeeded.

  If Tate was an example of the kind of men out here in Montana, then Gretchen told herself perhaps she'd be able to find a suitable husband, after all. One thing was for sure. After she'd left the town of Refuge, she'd never see Tate Campbell again.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  "Tate. How are you feeling?" Tate was leaning against the bar of the only saloon in Refuge. He recognized the slow drawl of the voice from behind him. Glancing in the mirror on the wall behind the bar he saw a familiar rough-featured face. Through the batwings at the saloon door the street was in darkness. It had been a long day and Billy was the last person Tate wanted to talk to, right now.

  "Billy," Tate replied. "What are you doing back so early?"

  "Boss said for me to come and see how you were doing," Billy replied. Tate turned and faced the man. "You're looking better than you did when we left," Billy continued. "That food poisoning sure cleared up quick."

  Tate forced himself to smile and then rubbed his stomach. "Must be my strong constitution."

  Billy frowned. "Your what?" he explained. Billy wasn't used to long words, Tate reminded himself.

  "Let me buy you a drink," Tate offered and gestured to the waiting barman to set a whiskey up for Billy. Tate knew Billy liked whiskey.

  Billy took his place alongside Tate, quickly knocked back the drink and slammed the empty glass back down on the counter. Tate refrained from offering Billy another. He knew Billy had trouble holding his liquor. Just like some of the others.

  Tate leaned his elbows on the counter and turned to look at Billy. Tate spoke in a low voice. He didn't want the dozen or so men at the tables to hear what he and Billy were saying. "I thought you weren't due back until the end of the week."

  Billy smiled, showing his irregular, yellowed teeth. Days old stubble covered Billy's sun-darkened skin. Haggard features showed evidence of a lack of sleep. His calfskin jacket was dirty; his jeans layered with filth; the leather of his boots was cracking. He looked older than his thirty years. Billy looked like he hadn't had a decent meal in days. Which was probably the truth, given what he and his friends had most likely been doing in the three days since leaving Refuge.

  "Boss wants to know when you're coming," Billy murmured.

  "Just got back on my feet today," Tate explained.

  Billy lifted a skeptical brow. "You look fit to me."

  Tate shook his head. "I'm still shaking on the inside. That was one bad chicken dinner I ate."

  Billy laughed quietly. "Never you mind. A few more months on the trail with us and you'll soon get a stomach made of iron."

  Tate frowned thinking about trail food. He was used to living rough. It came with the job. His real job. But it had been useful to create the impression that he was still green when it came to the hard life lived by Billy and his like.

  "Why don't you come with me, tonight?" Billy asked.

  "No. I won't do that," Tate insisted.

  Billy frowned, clearly frustrated at Tate's resistance. Ever since he'd met Billy a few weeks back, he and the scrawny cowboy had almost come to blows a few times. Billy wasn't the kind to forget a disagreement in a hurry, Tate reminded himself.

  "How far away is the boss and the rest of them?" Tate asked.

  Billy's eyes narrowed slightly. "Close enough," he said cautiously. "About half a day's ride."

  Tate got the sense that Billy was still suspicious of him. It had been that way since the beginning. Some of Billy's friends had been easier to persuade than others. Including the boss. For some reason Tate still couldn't figure out, the boss, Frank Wolfe had taken an instant liking to Tate. That had made things easier. But Tate knew he still had some work to do with Billy.

  "How long can you wait?" Tate asked Billy.

  "I figure we should hit the trail tomorrow," Billy replied. "No later."

  "We?"

  Billy nodded. "The boss wants you back. He's got something in mind for you."

  Tate didn't like the sound of that. "Where are you staying?"

  "Hotel," Billy said.

  Tate nodded casually. He felt something heavy settle in his middle. The thought of Billy going anywhere near Gretchen made some of the drink rise in his throat. Tate maintained an even gaze as he looked at Billy.

  Tate was glad about the decision he'd made earlier that day. When he'd looked at Lindsey the hotel manager, and lifted a knowing brow, the other man had understood immediately. He'd given Gretchen the room right next to Tate's. Given what had just happened now, that seemed like a wise move.

  "I'm going to turn in early," Tate said. Before Billy had a chance to object, Tate signaled to the barman to fill Billy's glass again. That was enough to satisfy Tate's unwanted visitor.

  "See you in the morning," Tate said to Billy.

  The other man lifted the glass and peered at Tate. "Think about what I said. Maybe it's time we hit the trail." Billy quirked a brow. "Now that you're feeling better," he added and then knocked back the drink.

  Tate took his leave, bursting through the batwings and out onto the boardwalk. Glad to be rid of Billy, Tate made his way across the street. As he did so, he glanced up at the long white-painted balcony above the hotel entrance. He could see a light in Gretchen's room. There was no movement behind the closed curtains. Maybe she was resting in bed. Tate wondered how she'd react when she found out that, not only were their rooms next to each other, but that they also shared the white balcony. Judging by the way Gretchen had reacted to the events of earlier in the day, Tate was sure she'd make her opinions known in no uncertain manner. Thinking about that brought a smile of anticipation to his lips.

  Upstairs, he paused in the corridor, listening for any sound from her room. Nothing.

  He entered his own room. Not feeling tired enough to lay down, Tate opened the doors to the balcony and stepped out. It was a cool summer night. Later, the air would become chilled. Montana summer nights could surprise with their cold.

  Tate leaned his hands on the wooden balustrade. A small barrier separated his part of the balcony from the one outside Gretchen's room. A voice called out from down in the street. "Tate. Thanks for the drink," Billy said.

  Billy was striding across the street. He waved up to Tate and Tate waved back at him. "No problem," Tate replied.

  Billy halted. "There's a game on back at the saloon. I know you like gambling. You want to come and try a hand or two?"

  Tate froze, his jaw tightening. Billy had a loose tongue, and it was made even worse by the drink. Speaking quietly. "
I'll leave it tonight," Tate said, hoping Billy would go back to the saloon.

  Just as Billy was starting to turn, Tate heard the sound of a door opening to his right. He saw Gretchen emerge through the open door. She was still dressed in her green gown. Gretchen stepped out onto the balcony. Clearly she'd heard the voices. Her eyes widened with surprise when she saw Tate. He heard her gasp quietly.

  "Mr Campbell," she muttered.

  Glancing down to the street, Tate saw Billy was watching with rapt attention. "Miss Ryan," Tate said quietly.

  He saw Gretchen's mouth open and then she hesitated. Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. The initial shock of seeing Tate standing on the balcony had passed. She was about to ask for an explanation. He was sure of it. But he didn't want Billy to hear any of that. It wasn't a good idea.

  Lowering his head slightly, Tate said. "Pleasant evening to you, Miss Ryan." Tate saw surprise on her face.

  Then he turned quickly, ignoring Billy's puzzled expression and made his way back into his room. From outside, he heard Gretchen's balcony door close. Thankfully, she'd acted prudently and gone back into her room.

  It had been a brief encounter. Now she knew he was only a wall's thickness away from her. Tate wondered what she'd make of that. He hoped she wouldn't demand a change of room. Billy's appearance in town made it imperative that Tate keep a close eye on Miss Gretchen Ryan. Tate had seen the way Billy had looked at Gretchen. He hadn't liked it one bit. If there was the slightest hint of trouble, Tate was confident he'd be able to react instantly.

  From now on, he wasn't going to let Gretchen out of his sight. Billy coming into town in search of Tate had added a complicating factor to the situation. Tate had expected Frank Wolfe to call him back. It was time for Tate to pick up from where he'd left off a few days ago.

  Tate glanced through the thin net curtain, down into the street. He saw Billy making his way back to the saloon. Tate smiled. Gambling would keep the man busy. For now. What Billy would do tomorrow was a whole different matter, though.

  Tate made his way to the drawers by the side of his bed. Opening the drawer, he took out the pistol which lay inside. Checking it carefully, he laid the Colt .45 on top of the table and then he stretched out on the single bed.

  Closing his eyes, Tate felt the weariness in his muscles. He thought about Billy. Thought about Frank Wolfe. And the others. All twelve of them.

  The gang he'd come to bring to justice.

  It had been a long few weeks. Now all of Tate's scheming was about to pay off.

  He thought about how he'd come to this part of Montana a few weeks before. How he'd ingratiated his way into boss Frank Wolfe's good graces by saving the man's life from a bullet during a robbery in the nearby town of Danton Flats. Tate had just happened to be around when the outfit had showed up to carry out their robbery. Of course, his being in Danton Flats had been no coincidence. Tate smiled to himself as he recalled how easy it had been to act on the information he'd received before the robbery had taken place. He'd made sure he'd been in just the right place at the right time. It had all worked out perfectly. Saving Wolfe's life had been an unexpected bonus.

  After that, Tate had ridden with the gang into their nearby mountain hideout. Long discussions had taken place. Angry ones, full of accusation and doubt. Some members of the gang had voiced powerful suspicions about Tate the newcomer. Tate had seen hate in the eyes of some of the men.

  But, Tate's actions in saving Frank Wolfe from a deadly bullet had clinched the deal. Twenty-four hours later, around the campfire outside the cave, high in the mountains, Frank Wolfe had come to Tate and asked if he wanted to join the group. Carefully, feigning reluctance, Tate had agreed.

  It had all been going perfectly.

  Until the arrival of the beautiful newcomer from back east. Now, everything had changed. It wasn't just about Tate and his reasons for forcing his way into the gang. That had been achieved, and he'd been readying himself for the final move.

  Now, though, everything had become complicated by Gretchen's arrival. Tate couldn't afford to let her anywhere near the gang members. It had been bad enough that Billy had seen her. It was too late to change that, Tate reflected.

  He thought about the true danger he faced. The one which threatened his life.

  He'd come to Montana to bring a gang to justice. But now, he faced another problem. How to make sure that the beautiful woman sitting in the room next door would not come to harm. The Wolfe outfit had caused enough misery. Tate wasn't about to let them add Gretchen to their list.

  Frank Wolfe ran a notorious group of outlaws. They'd been terrorizing this part of Montana for months. And now Tate was a part of that outfit. Had been for weeks. They were a wild bunch, and no mistake. And they needed to be brought to justice.

  One thing, at least, Tate had said to Billy had been true. Tate had suffered from food poisoning. And that had meant he'd been laid up in bed for a few days. The pains had been real. However, there was one thing which had been a necessary lie. One thing upon which his survival depended.

  His real identity.

  US Deputy Marshal Tate Campbell stretched himself out to his full length and started to think about how he could ensure the safety and survival of Miss Gretchen Ryan.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  When Gretchen left her room the next morning, she started to make her way along the corridor. Hunger gnawed at her stomach as she thought about breakfast. She heard a door opening behind her and footsteps on the corridor floor. Turning at the head of the staircase, she saw Tate Campbell making his way toward her. He was dressed in jeans, plaid shirt and black boots. His dark hair hung loose to his collar. Eyes filling with sudden delight, Tate smiled at her. Seeing that smile, Gretchen felt her heart skip a beat.

  "Morning," Tate said. "Looks like its going to be a sunny day."

  "You think so?" she asked and started to walk down the staircase.

  Tate caught up with her. His measured steps sounded loud on the wooden staircase. Gretchen glanced at Tate. If she wasn't mistaken, he looked slightly tired. She wondered if he'd slept much during the night. For her part, she'd slept fitfully. The anxieties of her predicament had awakened her many times. Now, though, all she could think of was getting some food into her stomach. Then she might be able to figure out what she was going to do to get through the next few days.

  "Is the breakfast good in this hotel?" she asked, eager to keep the conversation with Tate nice and polite.

  "Probably the best in these parts." He quirked a brow. "Although, since this is the only hotel for about thirty miles, that might not be saying much." He grinned at her and she shook her head. It was too early to be playing this game with him, she told herself.

  Inside the dining room, she took her place at the table by the window. She placed her reticule on the table. Tate paused as she sat down on the chair. Glancing up at him, she saw an expectant expression on his face.

  Sighing, she gestured to the chair opposite. "Would you like to join me for breakfast, Mr Campbell?" she asked.

  "I'd be delighted, Miss Ryan." The way he'd emphasized her last name made her think that he didn't exactly approve of her attempts to maintain a sense of propriety.

  She watched as Tate settled his large frame in the chair.

  He leaned his head lower and peered at her from beneath the ridges of his brows. "We should skip all this Mr and Miss thing. You know that, don't you?"

  Gretchen tilted her head. "You think so?"

  "My name is Tate," he insisted. "And you're Gretchen. As far as I'm concerned, that's the way it's going to be."

  He seemed determined to have his way. She shrugged. "Fine. Tate, it is."

  "Thank you, Gretchen. That should make the next few days a whole lot easier."

  Gretchen frowned. "What do you have planned for the next few days?" she asked sharply. "Didn't you say you might be leaving town soon?"

  Tate shook his head firmly. "Change of plans."

  "Oh?"

  Tate gla
nced at the other empty tables in the dining room. "It comes with the job."

  "What job?" she asked, suddenly curious.

  "A cowboy never knows what's coming up next. He has to be adaptable. One day, a chance comes up to do something real important. And, if he's smart, he'll seize that chance with both hands."

  Lifting a napkin from the table, Gretchen laid it on her lap. "And an opportunity has come up?"

  "Call it an obligation," Tate said cryptically.

  She smiled at him. "That sounds mysterious."

  Interestingly, he didn't reply to that last remark. She thought she could see him put up his guard, just like he'd done a couple of times yesterday when they'd been talking.

  They gave their food orders and she settled back in her chair. After the solitary night she'd spent in the unfamiliar room, she was glad of the company.

  Tate grabbed a napkin and dropped it onto his lap. "Did you sleep well?"

  "Not really." She lifted a brow. "It took me a while to get over the shock that you were in the room right next to mine."

  "I was planning to tell you about that," Tate replied. "When I got a chance."

  "I see. I guess it wasn't just a coincidence, then. I saw the way you and the owner looked at each other when I was checking in."

  Tate laughed quietly. "Lindsey and I arranged that between ourselves." Gretchen knew she should have been shocked at his admission, but she wasn't. She let her gaze linger for a moment on his warm smile. She liked it when he smiled. Most of the time, he seemed to hold himself taut, like a spring ready to unleash. But then there were moments when he let himself relax for an instant. That was when she saw another side of him. One she liked.

  "I suppose all the rooms are the same," she said.

  "Apart from the view," he replied. "You wouldn't want to be looking over the dark alleys on either side of the hotel. And as for the view from the back of the building?" He scoffed good-naturedly. "Let's say it isn't inspiring first thing in the morning. Lindsey keeps his garbage out there, a few hogs, and anything else he doesn't want folks to see. He's particular about keeping the hotel look nice. In spite of the fact that he doesn't get a whole lot of visitors."