A Mail-Order Heart (Miners to Millionaires Book 1) Read online

  One of her hips popped out in a huff. "Because it was too late to send for one. Besides, it was just for a night. I was planning on coming into town later this morning to have one delivered."

  "No need. I'll make sure one is sent over and save you a trip." He couldn't keep them in the house forever. He knew that, but having a few more days to get the town acclimated to the idea of nine marriageable women and the boundaries the men needed to obey would be helpful.

  "Thank you. I have other business I need to see to in town, but having that off my list of things to do is helpful. I don't relish the idea of spending another night on that." She glared at the offending piece of furniture.

  "What other things? I could take care of them for you. There's no need to rush to do anything. It's best if you take a few days to recover from your travels."

  Her lips quirked. "I've never taken time to recover from much of anything. But in any case, this is something I need to do personally. The other women and I have decided to find someone to help with the mine. We're all extremely unqualified and would probably do more harm than good."

  Shock warred with anger. "And how are you going to go about finding help?" Had she no idea how many men would kill to get their hands on Ivan's stake? Granted, it had never paid big and likely never would, but that wouldn't stop money-grabbing prospectors from ruthless tactics to get their hands on it. And they had plenty of those types in town. They'd devour her and swindle her out of the mine before she could blink.

  "I figured I'd ask around. There has to be people interested in a job."

  Sawyer closed his eyes and counted to ten before speaking. "And where exactly would you start asking around?"

  "The mercantile? The barber shop? I don't know. Around. I figured I'd see what was in town and go from there." She frowned, finally giving him her full attention. "Why are you breathing like that? Is something wrong?"

  Obviously deep breaths weren't helping. "Do you have any idea what type of men you’ll find there? You'll be taken advantage of before you open your mouth."

  Her back straightened. "I absolutely will not. I'm not a fool. I've dealt with men plenty of times in my life before, thank you."

  She might have spoken with men from the east, but she'd never had to handle roughnecks from the west. "I can't allow you to do that. If you need help with the mine, I will help you find someone."

  "No, thank you."

  "No, thank you?" He gaped. Had she no sense of self-preservation at all? "That wasn't a request, Miss Stewart. I'm telling you flat out not to go into town and hire someone. No good will come of it."

  Her eyes narrowed. "The last I checked, you were neither my father nor husband. You have no right to order me about. I’m capable of seeing to this task, and I intend to."

  "That may be so," he ground out, more angered by the fact that she was right. He never would be her husband. He'd never have the right to protect her or see to her welfare. "But I'm the sheriff here, and I'm the law. You'd do best to remember that."

  "Oh, I think it'll be impossible to forget." She yanked the door open. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some things to do."

  Sawyer smashed his hat back on his head and headed out the door. "I'll be sure to have a bed sent over immediately. Let me know if there's anything else you need."

  Her answer was the door closing behind him.

  He cursed as he mounted Strike. What was wrong with him? He was a great sheriff because he was smooth in every situation. He used strength, sweet-talked when needed, and maneuvered others when necessary. But he'd never lost his temper, had never mishandled a situation.

  But that’s exactly what he’d done.

  Clara Stewart deserved an apology. He had no right ordering her about, regardless of the dangers he saw. He might be the sheriff, but he had no rights over her as she’d said. The next time he saw her, he'd fix this.

  He had to. He had a feeling the women would need his help even more than he first thought.

  Heaven help him.

  "Are you sure this is the right way to go about it?" Belle stood with Clara in the middle of the road as they stared at the saloon's doors. The sun was starting to set, and while they had enough light to make it home, they shouldn’t dawdle after their task was finished.

  The town was small compared to the cities back east, but it was expanding and already boasted more buildings and business than other western communities she’d passed on her travels.

  Clara squashed the flutter of unease in her belly. "I don't see a way around it. We need to find someone to work the mine. The sooner the better. There's a bunch of men in there." Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined barging into a saloon.

  Belle bit her bottom lip. "Perhaps we should've listened to Sheriff Morrison. He knows the people in this town. Maybe we should ask him for his help in finding a miner."

  The truth of Belle's words burned Clara's already raw pride. The fact that she even contemplated going into the saloon let her know just how far she'd gone. No respectable woman would set foot in there. "We can't wait for the sheriff to handle this. We need money. The sooner we find someone to work the mine, the less pressure there will be on all of us to marry quickly. Everyone is counting on me. I said I would find someone, and I will."

  Picking up her skirts, Clara steered clear of mud puddles in the road and stepped onto the boardwalk outside the saloon.

  She gasped as the doors opened and a man flew out, landing just beside her.

  "Sleep it off, Bob," the man who did the throwing said before going back inside without even glancing in her direction.

  Bob groaned on the thick planks, but didn't move. A moment later, he snored.

  Clara rolled her eyes heavenward. This was what it had come to. Her standing outside a place she shouldn't be with a drunk asleep at her feet.

  She darted a glance at Belle who only gave her a concerned smile.

  I hope I'm making the right choice. But even as she thought it, she knew she was. The others were depending on her. She couldn't let them down.

  Steeling her resolve, she pushed open the saloon doors, but stopped dead in her tracks, unable to cross the threshold. Smoke curled in the air from the men’s cigars at a corner table, their concentration focused on the card game in progress. Bawdy laughter abraded her ears and glasses clinked as men drank small shots of amber liquid.

  "Um. Excuse me." Her voice was lost in the chaos. "Excuse me," she said a little louder, but no one paid her any attention.

  She'd been nervous over this? She was certain her presence would cause a commotion, but no one even cared. The sheriff had gotten upset over nothing.

  While she felt more relaxed than before, she still couldn't bring herself to actually take a step into the establishment. Too many years of her mother's rules about proper etiquette for a young lady stopped her from going in.

  A large man to her left laughed loudly and backed into her. "Get out of my way," he said before turning. He almost jumped out of his skin when he saw whom he'd bumped into.

  "I beg your pardon." Clara's cheeks flushed with color at his scolding. She was blocking the door, after all.

  He immediately ripped the hat off his head and held it to his chest. "No need. I didn't realize who was behind me."

  Clara smiled at his attempt at manners. Perhaps not all the men here were as rough as she'd first thought. She was about to further converse with him when she realized the room had gone silent.

  Slowly glancing around, she noticed everyone stared. At her.

  Her cheeks grew hotter.

  No one spoke. No one even moved. Heavens, this had been a mistake. But she still needed to hire someone, and she'd already made a spectacle of herself. She might as well follow through.

  She cleared her throat. "I'm sorry to disturb you all." She ignored a guffaw from someone at the bar. "But I'm new in town and am looking to hire someone to work our mine."

  A man jerked up from a chair, swaying with the sudden movement. "I'll do its,"
he slurred.

  "No. I will," another man declared.

  Clara glanced around frantically as more men agreed to work for her. "Thank you, but—"

  A man who’s smell would raise the dead gripped her arm and yanked her into the bowels of the saloon. "You'll want to hire me for the job. Let's go to a room to discuss this privately."

  The stench that floated out from his mouth when he grinned with rotted teeth almost knocked her over. It was then she realized that it was one of the men from yesterday. The one that’d claimed her. Simon.

  She tried to free her arm from his grasp. "No, I—"

  "Let go of her." Another man jumped in to defend her, wrenching her arm as he grabbed the man holding her.

  She cried out, her arm throbbing from being ripped from the man's grip and then grabbed by two more. "Stop! Let me go!" she screamed as the men used her as the rope in a game of tug-of-war.

  A fight broke out in front of her. Wild punches flew inches from her face. Fear laced through her, thick and deadly. Entering the saloon doors had seemed so harmless, but now, she'd be lucky to make it out of the building without severe injury.

  A gun shot rang through the air, and the room jerked to a stand still.

  Footsteps sounded behind her through the saloon doors. "I think the lady already asked to be released."

  Clara closed her eyes in relief.

  Sawyer.

  Regardless of what had happened that morning, she was relieved he was there.

  Once meaty hands released her arms, she scurried in reverse until her back connected with Sawyer's chest.

  "Are you all right?" he whispered in her ear.

  She'd never been pressed up to a man before, but she couldn't even think about it. She was just grateful for his presence, for his protection. And with him there, behind her, she knew no one would hurt her. "I'm all right. You got here just in time."

  She felt his slow nod, and she shivered. If he hadn't gotten there when he had…

  One of the men finally snapped out of it and pushed his way forward. "Now see here. You've gots no right comin' in here and shootin' up the place. That woman is up for grabs." More men vocalized their agreement and began rustling again. "And I intend to have one. Move aside."

  More cheers echoed through the group as they surged forward.

  Sawyer gripped Clara's shoulder and maneuvered her behind him. "Take Belle and go back home."

  She didn't argue.

  "Be careful," she whispered and ran from the saloon, both worried and thankful Sawyer had been there.

  As she and Belle raced back to the house, she wondered when she'd stopped thinking of him as the sheriff and just as Sawyer.

  But even more, she wondered what thinking of him as a man meant.

  She was afraid to find out.

  Chapter 6

  When Belle had raced into his office and told him what was happening in the saloon, Sawyer felt his first real zing of panic. But none of that compared to the rage he felt when he'd walked through the door and witnessed two lowlifes ripping her apart.

  Now, with her out of harms way, he stared down the volatile crowd. Insults were thrown at him as he blocked the door, giving the women more time to leave.

  Red-hot fury slowly cooled to a numbness he welcomed. "I'm afraid there's been a misunderstanding here. The women are not up for grabs."

  "Then why are they here? They're brides, aren't they?" The questions set off more rounds of rants and threats.

  "If you would’ve come to the town meeting, you’d know. They came to marry Ivan. However, now that Ivan died, Mayor Bracken made them a deal that they would have Ivan's mine and house if all nine women agreed to stay and be courted. Courted," he said again, stressing the word. "Not manhandled, bullied, claimed, or anything else. The women are the one's with the choice in the matter. If any of you want to take one of them to wife, you'll have to get them the old-fashioned way. Woo them."

  Simon sneered. "But how’s that gonna work? There's more than nine men that want wives. I'm not willin’ to take the chance I won't get one."

  Sawyer's eyes narrowed as he rested a hand on his weapon, threatening the man for the second time in forty-eight hours. "And what exactly are you going to do?"

  "Make one marry me."

  "Listen to me." Sawyer looked around the room and made sure he had each and every man's attention. "If I hear of one of the women being mistreated as I witnessed in here today, or if any of them are threatened or pressured into marriage, there’ll be hell to pay. The women were given my word that they’d be protected. So help me if you make me a liar."

  "You can't stop us from marrying them," another called from the bar.

  "I'm not trying to. All I'm doing is making sure they're won fairly and married to men of their choosing. If any of you are unwilling to take the time to court them, you're welcome to send off for a mail-order bride of your own as you've always been."

  Grumbles sounded, and a few glares were tossed his way, but no one else argued. Not even Simon. That only made Sawyer more unsettled. It should’ve been harder to wrangle the men.

  As he thought of what he'd witnessed when he'd first walked in, he backed out of the saloon before he did something really stupid. Like shooting them all.

  Things were turning out worse than he'd imagined and additional safeguards would need to be put in place to ensure the women's safety. But what else could be done? They'd been removed from the town and put on another property.

  They could post a guard outside the house, but who could he trust to handle such a task? Every single man in town was looking for a wife. Having the women completely at one man's disposal was dangerous, but it was also unfair. There'd be no end of complaints when someone got extra time to get to know the women.

  Besides, who was capable enough? Certainly not any of the drunks back at the saloon. Whoever was put in charge of the women needed to be honest, respect the law, and have the means to defend them.

  But as Sawyer mulled over the limited options in town, he slowly came to one glaring conclusion.

  He was the only choice.

  The men that had the means to protect them couldn't be trusted, and the ones he knew that respected the law, weren't skilled enough to ward off unwanted suitors.

  Damn. It had to be him.

  He rubbed the back of his neck as he strode to the jail to pack his bags. Whether he wanted to or not, his job had gotten a lot more complicated.

  He couldn't leave the women on their own. No matter how much he had to sacrifice, and torturing himself by constantly being by Clara’s side without touching her was a sacrifice.

  But he couldn’t allow them to go unprotected.

  He shoved clothes into a sack faster as an image of his mother came to mind. He hadn’t been there the day she was attacked, but he replayed the scene over and over in his mind. Her, forced into an alley at gun point, and his father going in after her to save her.

  He never saw the gun before her attacker shot him. The police found his mother’s body next to his father’s.

  Sawyer’s nostrils flared as he yanked the sack closed.

  No one would ever suffer what his parents had as long as he lived.

  Clara wasn't above admitting when she was wrong. And perhaps she'd been wrong about going into town yesterday. Sawyer had warned her that it wasn't a good idea.

  Actually, he forbade it, her mind taunted, but Clara continued to make her new bed. What's done is done. She'd made a decision, it was the wrong one, and—and she'd almost gotten into serious trouble.

  She sunk down on the patchwork quilt, tuning out an argument between Violet and Willow in the next room. If Sawyer hadn't come when he had—she shivered—God only knew what would've happened to her.

  Her arms ached where she’d been stretched and pulled like taffy.

  She should’ve been safe surrounded by all those people. But she wasn’t.

  What was she going to do? They couldn’t stay locked up in the house forever.<
br />
  She'd have to be much more careful next time. Not take any chances.

  New policies would have to be created to keep them all safe.

  She sighed, guessing some of the women would love the restrictions as much as a hearty dose of Castor oil. That was exactly how Clara felt about such limitations.

  A knock sounded at the door. "Clara?"

  "Yes? Come in."

  Olivia opened the door, lingering in the frame instead of entering. The reserved, delicate woman watched her with kind, indigo eyes.

  "Sounds like we're about to have another civil war out there," Clara said, trying to lighten the mood. Olivia was one of the quieter women, but she saw more. Felt more. Some people were just blessed with that ability.

  Olivia chuckled. "Those two seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot."

  "Tell me about it." Clara rolled her eyes. "If we all manage to stay alive until they're married, it'll be a miracle.

  "If they get married."

  Olivia's words set off alarm bells. "Of course they'll get married. That's what we've come here to do, isn't it?"

  "A few of the women have mentioned that there wasn't a need to marry now that we have a way to support ourselves with the mine. We aren't as desperate as we were before."

  Clara slowly leaned forward. "That's true. But we did give our word that we would allow men to court us."

  "Yes. But courting and marrying are two different things."'

  Olivia had a point. If the mine was profitable, there was no rush to the alter.

  A shriek echoed down the hall. "Oh, Lord, save us." Clara breathed deeply. "Was there something you needed?"

  The woman's lithe back straightened. "I forgot. Sheriff Morrison is here to see you."

  Clara's shoulders slumped. "Of course he is," she mumbled.

  "What was that?"

  "Nothing."

  Olivia arched a brow.

  "All right, fine. I might have made a mistake yesterday, and I'm sure he's here to rub my nose in it."

  "I don't know him well, but I don't think he's the type of man to do that."