Книга - Spring Creek Bride

Spring Creek Bride
Janice Thompson


Indulge your fantasies of delicious Regency Rakes, fierce Viking warriors and rugged Highlanders. Be swept away into a world of intense passion, lavish settings and romance that burns brightly through the centuriesCan't Ida Mueller walk to town without being harangued by rowdy railroad men? The formerly lovely town of Spring Creek, Texas, has been overtaken by saloons disorderly conduct. So when a hsome stranger arrives with plans to open a gambling hall next to her family's mercantile store, Ida makes plans of her own: to foil his! Someone has to save Spring Creek.Since Ida's convinced marriage isn't in her future, the Lord's work will be! But after one look into Mick Bradley's eyes– heart–the plucky beauty might start hearing wedding bells!









Ida couldn’t seem to move.


In fact, she could scarcely breathe as she took him in. Funny, standing here in this close proximity, he didn’t look like the criminal sort at all. But you could never tell with wolves, especially those so carefully disguised. She was a strong woman. She could overlook his attractions with little trouble.

Couldn’t she?

“I don’t believe we’ve officially met,” Mick said.

“I know who you are, Mr. Bradley,” Ida replied.

“And you are?” he asked, extending his hand.

Ida didn’t want to answer his question, and yet her hand clasped his and her mouth spoke the words. “Ida Mueller.”

“It’s a real pleasure, Miss Mueller,” he said, tipping his hat and holding on to her hand. For a moment, she was lost in his gray eyes, until Sophie cleared her throat, reminding Ida of her manners.

She quickly removed her hand from his.




JANICE THOMPSON


is a Christian freelance author and a native Texan. She resides in Spring, Texas, near her grown children and infant granddaughters. Her family is active in ministry, primarily writing, music, drama and evangelism. Janice started penning books at a young age, and was blessed to have a screenplay produced in the early 80s. From there, she went on to write several large-scale musicals. Currently, she has published more than thirty full-length novels and nonfiction books (most lighthearted and/or wedding themed). She’s thankful for her calling as an author of Christian fiction and knows the Lord has brought her to this point so that she can present stories that will change people’s lives. Romances come naturally to Janice, since she’s coordinated nearly a dozen weddings, including recent ceremonies and receptions for all four of her daughters.




Janice Thompson

Spring Creek Bride















www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Who knows whether you have come to

the kingdom for such a time as this?

—Esther 4:14


In memory of my father, Billy Hanna—

a small-town man with a big-as-Texas heart.




Acknowledgments


To my agent, Chip MacGregor: You are a godsend. Thanks for believing in me and special thanks for finding just the right house for this story.

To Krista Stroever: Thank you so much for the opportunity to write for Steeple Hill Books. You helped make a long-term dream come true. I appreciate your patience with the process. You’re a true mentor.

To Louise Rozett, my line editor: Thanks for the spit-shine. You walked me through my first copy edit at a new company, and I’m so grateful.

To my wonderful critique partners, Kathleen Y’Barbo, Martha Rogers, Marcia Gruver and Linda Kozar: Thanks for falling in love with my hometown of Spring, Texas, with me! Here’s to lunch at Wunsche Brothers Café! Let’s meet there again…soon!

To the people of Spring, Texas (past and present): You have left your mark on my soul.




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Epilogue

Questions for Discussion




Chapter One


Spring Creek, Texas, 1902

Ida Mueller pressed a lock of unruly hair behind her ear and rounded the large dining table with a chipped serving bowl in hand. Chair legs scraped against the wood-planked floor as the rowdy lumber-mill workers rushed to sit down for another one of her home-cooked meals. She couldn’t help but smile at their enthusiasm.

“Smells good enough to eat!” one of the younger fellows joked.

Ida plopped a spoonful of crisp fried potatoes onto his plate and kept moving as she responded. “You’ve eaten at my table every day for nearly a year, Carl Walken, and you haven’t found reason to complain yet.” She reached up with the back of her hand and wiped a bit of perspiration from her brow.

His eyebrows lifted mischievously. “Ain’t just the food keeps me coming back.” A playful wink followed.

“Ya reckon?” Another of the men elbowed him.

Several of the fellows let out whistles and Ida felt her cheeks turn warm. She scurried to the opposite side of the room and continued on with the chore of feeding the work crew, trying to ignore their usual flirtatious ways.

“None of that now.” Her father’s stern voice rang out from the head of the table. He always knew how to keep his men in line, especially when it came to his daughter.

“Aw, Mr. Mueller,” one of the fellows groaned. “You never let us have any fun.”

“Better mind your p’s and q’s,” Ida quipped. “I’ve got a platter of Wiener schnitzel in the kitchen, but I’ve half a mind not to serve it.”

The men took to hearty grumbling and she returned to the kitchen for the cumbersome platter of meat. For a moment—just a moment—she leaned against the countertop and drew in a deep breath. The south Texas heat wrapped itself around her like a dressing gown.

On days like this, she missed her mama more than ever. Seven years as the woman of the house had scarcely proven Ida worthy of filling her mother’s shoes. Papa offered plenty of encouragement, but she struggled daily to keep up with caring for her home, her father and a crew of ravenous workers. And she fought to overcome the grief of losing the one person a girl depended on above all others—her mother. Oh, how she longed for what she could not have.

“I need you, Mama,” she whispered. Indeed, at nineteen, Ida found herself in need of a great many things that only a mother could offer. But she had to rely on Papa’s manly advice, and cope with the ever-present teasing from the lumber-mill workers, a daily reminder that she, a lone female, resided in a world of men.

“Mama, I don’t know how you did it.” She whispered the familiar words as she snatched up the plate full of Wiener schnitzel and headed back into the dining room once again.

As she came around the corner, Ida caught a glimpse of her uncontrollable blond hair in the elegant carved mirror that hung above the buffet. Frustrated, she reminded herself to deal with it after feeding the crew. How any of the men could find her attractive was a mystery, to her way of thinking.

Aunt Dinah would never let her hear the end of it if she didn’t start taking better care of herself. Ever the proper lady, Ida’s best friend and confidant was of the notion that a woman should be able to handle a full day’s work, a brisk walk to town to help tend the family store and an hour’s Bible reading in the evenings, with time left over for necessary grooming. All in the hopes of acquiring the one thing Ida wasn’t sure she wanted—a husband.

Ida remained convinced she would never find a man who even came close to the one she held in the highest esteem—her papa. He was strong spirited, full of goodness and had a heart like a jewel. No, surely such a fellow did not exist. And if he did, he certainly didn’t appear to be seated at this table.

“Thinkin’ I’m hungry?” Carl asked. Ida looked down, shocked to see that she had placed five large slabs of veal steak on his plate.

“Oh, dear.”

Her father’s eyebrows arched as if to ask, Where is your head today, daughter?

She lifted three of the pieces of meat from Carl’s plate. “I knew you had a taste for my cooking, is all.”

With fork in one hand and knife in the other, the young man dove into the food. The others followed suit and the air soon filled with the sounds of chomping and cutting.

Her father cleared his throat quite loudly and Ida anticipated his next words.

“I don’t believe we’ve thanked the Almighty yet.” His voice deepened in reverence. “So you’ll be putting down those utensils, gentlemen, or there will be no dinner for you today. Or any other day, for that matter.”

They complied with sheepish grins, as always.

Ida noticed that her father’s German accent became stronger as his prayer began. “Almighty God, Maker of heaven and earth, we thank Thee for this, Thy bounty. For Thy goodness is everlasting, from generation to generation, and Thy blessings overflow. Be with each of these men today as they seek to serve Thee with their labors. Amen.”

“Amen,” the men echoed, then tore into their food once again.

Ida slipped away into the kitchen, anxious for another moment’s peace. Perhaps here she could think clearly. Once the dishes were done, of course.

She worked at a steady pace, allowing her thoughts to drift until a familiar shrill whistle signaled a train’s arrival. The afternoon run from Fort Worth came like clockwork at one-thirty, just as she finished the dishes. Some things could be depended on.

Others could not.



Mick Bradley peered out of the grimy train window and took in his first glimpse of Spring Creek, Texas. Not quite what he had pictured and a sure sight hotter. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dragged it across the back of his neck to remove the moisture. No point arriving in town looking like a vagabond. Not with so much at stake.

As the train crawled into the station, the porter approached, pocket watch in hand. “Just a few more minutes, sir.”

Mick nodded in his direction, but said nothing as he took in the sights of his new home. Off in the distance a large hotel with a freshly painted sign greeted him. Sellers Hotel. And to his right, The Harvey House. After locating a barbershop, he’d have to settle on one or the other.

A bustling mercantile appeared to be doing quite a good business. Shoppers scurried to and fro with packages, stirring up dust on the street. A couple of women were about, but for the most part, he only saw men. Hundreds of men.

Yes, the booming little town of Spring Creek must surely need his services.

Mick’s brow furrowed as he counted the saloons. He strained to see a bit farther down the street. Three? In such a small area? Their owners would be a source of contention, no doubt. Surely they would seek to complicate his plans to build a new gambling hall.

But he had encountered plenty of trouble when he opened his first place up North. These Texans couldn’t be any worse than Chicago’s most notorious, whom he’d handled with ease.

At that moment, two men took to brawling in the middle of the street, not twenty feet from the jailhouse. The taller, more muscular man clearly had the upper hand. A crowd gathered round, cheering them on. Before long, the two were on the ground, tussling. They went at it, cheek to fist, until one of them was knocked out. With such a large group about, Mick couldn’t tell which one had taken the fall, but it must surely be the smaller of the two. That’s how life was, after all. The boisterous crowd thinned as it declared a victor and the short man stood and raised his fist in the air with a triumphant shout.

Maybe these Texans weren’t going to be so easy after all.

The passenger in the seat next to him stood and gave a polite nod as the train came to a stop. Mick returned the gesture and rose to his feet. His back ached from sitting so long and his cramped legs begged for a good, long walk. How many trains had he boarded over the past several days? Somewhere between Illinois and Texas he’d simply lost count.

The next few months would give him plenty of opportunity to stay put, however. He had his work cut out for him. And before long, he would be the talk of the town.

Probably sooner rather than later.




Chapter Two


The afternoon journey to town provided Ida with an opportunity to think about the day ahead. She didn’t mind the walk, though the late-spring heat continued to fold her in its sticky embrace. Her skirts, dusty and ragged on the ends, twisted about her ankles as she moved along the tiny, jutted road that connected the lumber mill with Midway, the town’s main street.

She looked both ways before crossing the tracks, contemplating the barreling locomotives and the havoc they’d brought with them. Somehow it all seemed exaggerated in the heat. She tugged at the neckline of her dress, and a trickle of perspiration rolled down her back.

Surely Aunt Dinah would scold Ida for her appearance. Ah, well. Nothing Ida could do about that. Nor did she care to. If living among men gave her a tomboyish appearance, so be it. There were worse things, to be sure.

As she made her way from the tracks to town, Ida struggled with the usual attentions from the railroad men. Many let out a whoop or a holler as she passed by The Harvey House, and still more as she eased her way past Sellers Hotel, which happened to be known for a bit more than rooms to let.

As was her custom, she ignored the men, keeping her mouth shut to avoid giving them a serious tongue-lashing. She would gladly tromp through mud, splashing dirt upon her gingham skirt if she thought it would cause them to turn their irksome attentions elsewhere. Let her hair remain mussed. Perhaps then they would focus on their work and not on her.

“Come on, Ida,” one of the fellows chided. “Just one glimpse into those perty blue eyes. They melt me like fresh-churned butter.”

She kept her eyes on the ground and continued walking. The irritating fellow reeked of alcohol and pipe tobacco, and his work clothes were in serious need of washing. His scent, coupled with the overpowering smells coming from the nearby livery stable, almost brought her stomach up into her throat. Add to this the foul odor from the outhouses and the lingering stench of cigar smoke and one could scarcely stand it.

Yet this seemed to be her lot in life. Ida longed for a quieter, more genteel existence that did not include such aromas. If only Spring Creek could return to its former state—a quaint town with good, wholesome neighbors who greeted one another with pleasant hellos.

“C’mon, honey,” the man pleaded, oblivious to her thoughts. “Can’t ya give me a wink or somethin’? Some sign that I stand a chance with ya? I’ll die if you don’t.” An exaggerated groan followed, one meant to get the attention of others nearby.

She willed herself not to look up. Why encourage him?

“Aw, yer killin’ me.” He doubled over and fell onto the road, eliciting a roar of laughter from the other men.

Ida managed to maintain her sense of dignity and simply kept walking.

She made the turn onto Midway and peered up long enough to gauge the distance. If she could just make it beyond the Wunsche Brothers saloon, the jailhouse, the barbershop and the bank, she’d be fine. I can do this.

A minute later, she reached the overgrown lot next to the mercantile and breathed a sigh of relief. Just twenty more paces and she’d be in the store. Dinah would be waiting, as always. Probably with pursed lips, but waiting, nonetheless.

The clock above the bank sounded two piercing gongs. Why is it I can never arrive at a place on time?

Ida picked up the pace and ran head-on into one of the men. With her cheeks flaming, she looked up at the fellow, ready to give him a piece of her mind for not watching where he was going. Why were these railroad men so careless?

Words failed Ida as she took in the handsome stranger with his polished good looks. She’d certainly never seen a man like this before, with such a finely tuned air about him.

Tall and sturdy, the stranger wore a fancy suit and big-city shoes—no cowboy boots like the rest of the fellows. His expression gave the appearance of dignity and confidence, unlike so many of the railroad men. Surely this man didn’t work for the Great Northern, though he’d likely traveled in style aboard one of the nicer cars, from the looks of him. Yes, this was a man with money.

Perhaps he was a banker. Or better yet, a preacher, come to convince the wayward menfolk they were in need of repentance. Then again, he could be a socialite, headed toward the Houston area. Many well-mannered men had passed through Spring Creek on their way to other locations. Oh, if only they would stay and put down roots. They would balance out the bad with some good.

“Pardon me, miss.” The gentleman spoke with a deep, rich voice. He tipped his hat, all politeness and charm, then gave a gracious bow. “My fault entirely.”

Ida stammered in response, mumbling a few twisted-up words that amounted to little more than gibberish. He gave her a curious look and paused, likely to see if she might try again.

Ida managed, “Oh no, please don’t apologize. I take the blame solely upon myself.” She felt the heat rise to her cheeks as she spoke, noting his remarkable gray eyes. Remembering her manners, she quickly added, “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to run you down.” His sandy-colored curls drew her eye up. My, but he was a tall fellow. Stately, even.

He flashed a warm smile. “Oh, you can run me down anytime you like.”

Stifling a smile, she shifted her gaze to his tailored suit and spiffed-up shoes. In all her years, she’d never seen a man with such a handsome wardrobe. Only in catalogs had she seen such finery. Up close, it was a little intimidating.

“Pleasure to meet you.”

“And you,” she managed.

“Have a good day.” He gave her a nod then began to move in the direction of the barbershop. Ida watched as he disappeared through the crowd.

One of the railroad men shouted, startling her. “Ida, sweet pea, you’re the woman of my dreams.”

“More likely the woman of your nightmares, if you don’t back away and let me pass,” she muttered under her breath.

Shaking her head, she plowed forward. Four paces. Three. Two. One. Ida crossed over the threshold of the mercantile and let out a huge sigh of relief. Now, if she could just keep her mind off handsome strangers and on her work, all would be well.



Mick eased his hat back onto his head and continued across the street, ignoring the magnetic pull of the petite blonde. His heart had quickened at the sight of her, likely the result of her undeniable beauty. He was taken with her simple, small-town appeal, her flushed cheeks and determined expression—all things he loved in a woman.

And spunk. Yes, he could read the spunk in those flashing blue eyes, eyes whose image would linger in his mind for quite some time.

Mick quickly reminded himself of his reason for coming to Spring Creek. Not to find a woman, but to build a gambling hall. They were two very different things. Best to stay focused on the task at hand. After all, he had his investors to answer to.

Then again, he would need the help of the local women, wouldn’t he? Yes, he would surely need barmaids and dancers. However, the woman he’d just fixed in his mind looked like the sort who was more at home on a church pew than a bar stool. If all the women of Spring Creek were like the one he’d just met, he’d have to look elsewhere for employees.

But he suspected that the blue-eyed beauty who’d practically run him down was one of a kind. One of a kind indeed.




Chapter Three


Ida entered the mercantile at exactly five minutes past two. She slipped on her apron and started arranging canned goods.

“Well, it’s about time.”

Ida’s brow wrinkled in concern as she heard Dinah’s voice. She looked up, seeing the strong family resemblance in her aunt’s stern eyes. Papa and his younger sister bore the same features, without question. And they had similar temperaments, as well, despite their vast difference in age. Dinah was a mere twenty-eight, though her mannerisms often led folks to believe otherwise.

Dinah had suffered much over the past couple of years and the cares of life had aged her somehow. But since the death of Dinah’s husband, the family had grown closer than ever and Ida treasured her friendship. Papa had taken his only sister and her son under his wing, caring for their every need. No one could doubt his generous nature or his kind heart. And that very kindness had prompted him to purchase the mercantile and place it into Dinah’s capable hands last fall.

“Because I know you will do it right,” he had proclaimed. “You will make the Mueller family proud.”

And indeed she had. Nestled amid saloons and restaurants, the store remained the town’s last sensible place, where folks could come to share a good story, purchase life’s necessities and hear Dinah’s ardent presentation of God’s love. The shop stayed full from morning till night with those hungry for companionship and direction.

And Ida, always ready to lend a hand, came every day at two o’clock to spend time behind the counter so that Dinah could focus on Carter, her five-year-old son.

Only two o’clock never seemed to come at the right time, particularly not on days like today with so many chores to be done.

“I’m sorry I’m late. Really, I am.” With a gesture toward the street, Ida added, “But this time I have an excuse. I wasn’t watching where I was going and I ran right into this man. He was…It’s hard to describe. He wore the most beautiful clothes. He must have just arrived on the train. Funny—I didn’t even get his name.”

Dinah gave her an inquisitive look. “Why, Ida, I don’t think I’ve ever seen this side of you. You’re smitten.”

Dinah’s comment startled Ida. She tried to busy herself arranging jars of honey. “I would hardly call it that. I’m simply curious.” She paused to think about her aunt’s words before adding, “It’s just that he’s so different from all the other fellas. Those railroad men are…they’re impossible. This stranger was a true gentleman.” She put down the jar and looked out the window at a couple of men who’d taken to scuffling with each other in the street.

“Are they still giving you a hard time on your trip to town?” Dinah picked up a broom, as if ready to do business with anyone who dared to enter in a flirtatious state of mind.

“Yes.” Ida’s dander rose as she revisited the trip down Midway. “Our little town is looking more like Houston every day. Railroad men. Taverns. Primitive behavior in the streets. The place is losing its innocence, which is why it’s so refreshing to see a man of refinement for a change. I do hope he’s here to stay, and not just passing through on his way to Houston.”

“Most of the strangers who come to Spring Creek do not come with the best of motives.” Dinah crossed her arms at her chest, looking more concerned than ever.

“Oh, I know.” A sigh escaped Ida’s lips as she reflected on the problem their town now faced. “And you can be sure the afternoon train brought in more riffraff. Every day they come, headed to the land agent’s office to buy up their piece of the pie. The town is growing up too fast. It’s frightening.” She felt a little shiver run up her spine.

“At least business is good.” Dinah gestured to the cash register with a smile. “I sold several pounds of coffee this morning. And there’s not enough chewing tobacco in the state to keep these men happy.” She paused a moment as she gazed around the very busy shop. “Best of all, they pay cash.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Unlike so many of the locals. I can’t tell you how many of them buy on credit and then don’t pay their bills on time. It’s a problem, Ida.”

“I know, but—”

“I’ve traded some of my best merchandise for butter, eggs, herbs, even chickens,” Dinah said with exasperation. “And then there’s Mrs. Gertsch! Would you believe the woman actually wanted to trade in a stack of her used dime novels for honey?”

Ida couldn’t help but chuckle at that news. After all, she’d sold the elderly woman those dime novels in the first place—they’d spent hours discussing the adventure stories. But this might not be the best time to share that information with Dinah.

“I’m not saying I mind so much,” her aunt continued, “but cash money is a good thing for a business.”

“Still,” Ida argued, “I’ll take a hardworking local over a cash-handling railroad man any day to make the town safe again. It’s hardly worth risking life and limb just to get down Midway. Whatever happened to our sleepy little town?”

“Woke up, I guess.” Dinah took to sweeping the floor.

“Humph.” Ida shook her head in defiance. “I’d give my eye teeth for a return to the way things used to be.”

She continued to look out the window, trying with all her might to remember the little town that had captivated her heart when she was a child. In her mind’s eye, she saw what Spring Creek would be like now, if the railroad had never come through. She saw churches, fields of sugarcane and delightful little shops. Women and children walked about in safety, packages in their arms and carefree smiles on their faces. Men gestured kindly to one another, never shouting obscenities, and never, ever whistling at women. In that quaint place, people would feel safe, secure.

Dinah’s son, Carter, bounded into the room, breaking into Ida’s thoughts. Jam stains covered his face, from brow to chin.

“Son, what have you done?” Setting the broom aside, Dinah rushed to his side and pried the jar of homemade strawberry preserves from his tightly clenched fist.

“Mine, Mother.” He grinned with mischief in his eyes. Though Ida knew he deserved a good scolding, she had to stifle a laugh.

“At two o’clock in the afternoon?” Dinah asked as she placed the sticky jar on the countertop. “You believe this to be the proper time for sweets?”

“Anytime is the proper time, so long as it tastes good. Right, darlin’?” Ida scooped her young cousin into her arms and spun in circles until they were both dizzy. Carter let out a giggle, which bounced around the room and startled a few of the store’s patrons.

Ida didn’t mind a bit. In fact, she couldn’t help but spoil this precious child, who was the spitting image of his father. Oh, if only Larson had lived to see his son grow up. If only that awful railroad man hadn’t—

No, she would not focus on the family’s losses today. Surely this blessed little boy was the good Lord’s reminder to all who gazed upon his innocent face that life could go on, even after tragedy.

“Oh, fine.” Dinah shook her head. “You’re a big help.”

“I know, I know.” Ida carried Carter to the back of the store where she located a rag and some lye soap. “Give us a minute for a Texas spit-shine, and we’ll be as good as new!” she hollered.

She gave the youngster a good scrubbing. He fought her attempts, but only in fun. When they finished, she led him by the hand through the carefully organized aisles of dry goods up to the front, where Dinah stood waiting, hands on her hips.

“See?” Ida grinned. “Cleaner’n a whistle.”

Carter skipped behind the front counter and eyed the candy jars. “Jelly beans, Mommy?” he begged.

“No, son. I think you’ve had enough treats for one day.”

“Peppermint?” He pointed to a second jar.

“Absolutely not.”

Ida stepped in front of the row of glass jars so they would present no further temptation. Surely he would be pleading for licorice whips or gum before long. Or taffy. He loved the colorful, hand-wrapped delicacies from nearby Galveston Island.

Safely distracted, Carter grabbed his bag of brightly colored marbles. As he settled onto the floor to play, the bag spilled open and they rolled around in every direction, making all sorts of racket against the wood-planked floorboards.

“Peawee, Mother!” he hollered, then dashed underneath the counter to capture his favorite marble in his tight little fist. “Peawee!” he said again, holding it up.

Dinah sighed as she reached to pick up the other wayward marbles.

“The only problem I see with boys,” Ida said with a wink, “is that they grow into men.” She joined Dinah behind the counter in preparation for the usual midafternoon influx of customers.

“You’d best not carry on with that train of thought,” Dinah said, “or you will never catch a husband.”

Ida rolled her eyes as she responded, “I’m not looking for one, I assure you.” Before she could stop it, an image of the handsome stranger floated through her mind. She quickly pushed it away, determined to remain focused. Sensible girls were not swayed by fancy clothes.

She thought of her childhood friend, Sophie Weimer, who had no greater wish than to marry and present her husband with a half-dozen children in steady succession. Ida shuddered at the very thought of such a life. No, she would not marry—at least not unless the Lord presented her with exactly the right man. And she wasn’t likely to stumble across the right man in a place like Spring Creek.

At that moment, a couple of rough-looking railroad fellows made an entrance. They jabbed one another in the ribs and let out simultaneous whistles in the direction of the ladies.

“None of that in here.” Dinah faced them, brow furrowed, ready for a battle. “Or you’ll have me to contend with.”

Their gazes shifted to the floor and they wandered off to play dominoes, pulling wooden-slatted chairs around a barrel and settling in for a game. The menfolk often gathered in the store to pass the time this way. No wagering, of course—Dinah would never abide such a thing.

Ida didn’t mind their presence in the store so much, as long as they kept their language clean. And they were better off here than in the saloons, after all. There was nothing wrong with an innocent game of dominoes.

“I wish I had your patience.” Ida spoke to Dinah in a hoarse whisper. “Truly. I can’t seem to look a man in the eye without wanting to slap him.”

Dinah gave her a sad smile. “That’s because you haven’t yet loved a man.”

Ida nodded, as if Dinah’s words settled the matter, but a feeling of uneasiness settled over her. Love did not carry the same appeal for her that it did for others. It almost seemed to be more trouble than it was worth. “I could happily live my whole life without knowing what that feels like.”

“Oh, my dear,” Dinah said, turning to face her. “I predict you will one day look a man directly in the eye and slapping him will be the furthest thing from your mind.”



Mick managed to locate the barbershop in short order and entered to the sound of raucous laughter from the patrons inside. The barber, an elderly fellow with smiling eyes, introduced himself as Orin Lemm, a native of Spring Creek. His assistant, a young fellow named Georg, ushered Mick to a chair and promptly took to lathering up his whiskery chin, a minty smell filling the air.

“Work for the railroad?” Orin asked as he finished shaving a man in the chair next to Mick’s.

Mick guarded his answers. “I’m from the Chicago area. Just visiting.” There would be plenty of time to explain his reason for being here later on.

“Really?” Orin’s face lit up. “I have a cousin who lives in Sha-ka-gee. Maybe you know ’im.” He dove into a monologue about his cousin’s liver condition, scarcely pausing for breath.

Once Mick was lathered and ready, Orin moved over to take Georg’s place. As the older man worked the razor this way and that, he continued to talk nonstop. His knowledge of Spring Creek was clear, and his pride in the town surely exceeded that of anyone else. In fact, Mick couldn’t remember when he’d ever heard someone brag to such a degree.

“Spring Creek was just a tiny place when I was a boy,” Orin explained with great zeal. “Mostly farmland.”

“Oh?” Mick found that hard to believe, considering the current state of the town. How long had it been since the hotels and stores had been built? Likely they’d come about as a result of the influx of railroad workers.

“Yep. Sugarcane and cotton,” Orin continued. “But when the railroad came through, everything changed overnight. Much of the land was acquired by the railroad. We’re a major switchyard for the Great Northern now. Fourteen lines of track and a roundhouse.”

“Not everyone’s happy about that,” one of the railroad men interjected. “Folks ’round here’ve made me feel about as welcome as a skunk at a picnic.”

Several of the others made similar comments, though most agreed they’d grown to love the area, in spite of the heat and the poor reception from the locals. Mick wondered how they’d stopped perspiring long enough to fall in love with the place.

“I’ve got no complaints,” Orin was quick to throw in. “Having you men in town has really helped my business. Never seen so many whiskers in all my days. And life’s not boring. That’s for sure.”

His young assistant nodded in agreement. “You won’t hear me complaining.”

Orin proceeded to fill Mick’s ears with all sorts of town gossip, covering everything from who was bickering with whom to where to buy the best liquor. He thought the whiskey at the new Wunsche Brothers Saloon was the best around.

And he discussed, in great detail, the shapely legs of the dancing girls at the town’s most notable saloon, The Golden Spike. This certainly got Mick’s attention, though not because of the women who worked there or their legs. Any saloon, notable or otherwise, would soon pale in comparison to his gambling hall. If everything went according to plan, anyway.

On and on Orin went, discussing the exceptionally warm weather and the cost of a meal at The Harvey House, a place he heartily recommended, especially on the nights when Myrtle Mae was cooking. Whoever she was.

Orin snipped away, shifting his conversation to the women in the town. “Not many to be had,” he commented, “so I hope you haven’t come with hopes of finding a wife like the rest of these fellers.”

“The thought never crossed my mind.” Though appealing women back home had drawn his eye, he’d never spent enough time with any one of them to be tempted. Not that he had any negative feelings regarding marriage in general.

No, Mick had no bias against matrimony. And he had nothing against the women in Texas, either, for that matter. He’d already taken note of at least one lovely female. His thoughts shifted to the beautiful blonde he’d just met. Why hadn’t he asked her name?

Well, no matter. In a town this size, surely someone would know her. He would have no trouble giving an accurate description, having memorized every detail, from the wild hair swept up off her neck, to the blue eyes, to the determination in her step.

The barber finished up his work, and Mick stood to leave. His cheeks stung from the brush of the razor strokes and the pungent smell of the lather lingered in the air. He rubbed his palm across his smooth chin and smiled at the older man. “Thanks so much.”

“My pleasure.”

Mick dropped a couple of coins into Orin’s hand and turned to leave. Exhaustion washed over him. He needed to locate a quiet room for the days ahead, a place where he could sleep off the train trip and begin to sort things out.

After a few paces, he found himself in front of The Harvey House. From what he’d been told, it was the nicest place in town. Hopefully, it would turn out to be the quietest, too. He’d check in first, then visit the local mercantile to make a couple of necessary purchases, then get some much-needed sleep.

Holding back an escaping yawn, Mick climbed the steps to the hotel, wishing a rainstorm would come along to wash away the sticky south Texas heat. He stood atop the steps and turned to look out over the little town. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but Mick actually felt the definite stirrings of a storm ahead. Only this one likely had nothing to do with the weather.




Chapter Four


Ida tended to the shop throughout the afternoon. Seemed no matter how hard she worked, she could scarcely find space enough for all the goods. Every square inch of the mercantile was stacked high with barrels, boxes and bins, from front to back. It always seemed to be this way when the season changed. The goods in the store shifted to accommodate seasonal needs.

With time, Ida managed to make sense of it all, but not without a considerable amount of strategy on her part. Boxes of summer goods were emptied, jars and bins were stacked and spring items that hadn’t yet sold were placed on a sale table.

As she worked, the locals came and went—many making purchases, others just passing the time. Ida swept the wood-planked floor, and then began the arduous task of dusting the upper shelves that housed the store’s finer merchandise, above the pine showcase. She smiled as she studied the handiwork of the showcases, which held higher-priced glassware. They ran the entire length of the store, from back to front. Papa had worked for weeks on the detailing, and it showed.

After dusting the shelves, Ida opened a showcase and repositioned the china dolls inside. Why in the world Dinah would stock such delicate items in a town like this remained a mystery. Ida had never asked, wondering if perhaps Dinah secretly longed for a daughter, someone who might play with beautiful dolls like these. Regardless, these breakable beauties would likely never sell in a town like Spring Creek.

Ida turned her attention to a hand-painted porcelain washbowl and pitcher. It reminded her of the one her mother had used each morning. Determined not to grow sad, Ida forced the memory from her mind. Only hard work could head off a somber attitude and with the heat hanging so heavily in the air, she could scarcely imagine adding a sour disposition to an already difficult day.

A few minutes before four, the brother of her friend Sophie entered the mercantile, red-faced and clearly upset. Ida didn’t intentionally listen to Eugene Weimer’s dissertation, but his booming voice rang out across the store, leaving her little choice.

“Just came from the barbershop,” he explained in a huff. “A big-city fella in a fancy suit and hat rode in on the afternoon train from Chicago. Really tall fella. Maybe ya seen ’im.”

Ida stopped what she was doing. She knew exactly who Eugene was talking about.

“Chicago?” several of the men echoed. One mumbled “Yankee” under his breath.

Ida hadn’t considered the fact that the man might be from up North. Still, she couldn’t imagine why that would make much of a difference these days.

“What’s he doing here?” one of the fellas asked, his eyes flashing with anger.

“That’s the problem,” Eugene said. “No one seems to know. But be sure he doesn’t look like one of us. Mighty suspicious to me.”

“Traveling salesman?” another man asked.

Ida secretly hoped the man didn’t turn out to be of that particular occupation. Traveling salesmen had poor reputations, at least the ones who’d dared show their faces and their wares around these parts. They were often ushered onboard the next train out of Spring Creek. And Ida was never sad to see them go. They stole business from the mercantile, after all, and their highly touted products usually left much to be desired.

Eugene shook his head and shoved his thumbs into his belt loops. “He was traveling light, from what I could tell, so I doubt he’s selling anything. But my gut tells me he’s got a story to tell, and it ain’t a good one.”

“Likely he has family in the area is all,” Ida said with a shrug, unable to resist joining the conversation. How dare they judge the man without even knowing him! Didn’t they know the Bible spoke against such things?

“Nope,” Eugene said. “Orin weaseled that much out of him. He’s got no people here. And he don’t work for the railroad, neither.”

“Hope he ain’t come to Spring Creek lookin’ fer a wife!” one of the men hollered out. “He’ll have to get in line. And if’n he tries to cut in front of me, I’ll take him down in a minute!”

Ida held her tongue, though it took every ounce of strength to do so. If he had come looking for a wife, he’d jump to the head of the line simply because of his genteel nature and fashionable attire, no doubt about that.

Eugene folded his arms at his chest and shook his head. “I’m guessing he’s here to buy up land, not fetch a wife.”

“I heard someone bought the Salyer farm,” Ida interjected. “Maybe he’s the new owner.” Yes, an explanation like that would make perfect sense, wouldn’t it? Purchasing a local farm wouldn’t make him suspect, by any stretch of the imagination.

“He don’t look like any farmer I ever saw,” Eugene said. “Dressed all uppity-like. And his shoes—never seen a shine like that on any man’s feet. I could almost see myself in ’em.”

“Hmm.” Ida knew the men would find this the most suspicious evidence of all. Every man in Spring Creek wore boots—nothing but.

“What kind of a fella would show up in a place like this, wearing slick, show-offish shoes?” one of the older men grumbled.

Eugene leaned in to the crowd and spoke in a strained voice. “I’m guessin’ he’s here to buy up our local businesses and take over the town. It’s been happening all over the state—not just in Spring Creek. Yankees movin’ in and buyin’ up shops and mills on the sly whilst the locals are lookin’ the other way. I’d wager he’s a sly one, and well trained at that.”

“Well, we ain’t gonna let him get away with it,” one of the fellows hollered out.

“We’ve had enough of that,” another added.

Eugene squared his shoulders and added his final thoughts on the matter. “The whole thing just gripes my gizzard. I’ve had enough of folks sweeping in and taking over.” He began to list all the times such a thing had happened, and Ida sighed. She couldn’t argue the point. Spring Creek had been taken over by out-of-towners, after all.

“What is this man’s name?” she asked when Eugene finished.

“Bradley.” Eugene’s eyes held a gleam of suspicion. “Mick Bradley.”

“Did someone call my name?”

The crowd grew silent and a parting of the waters seemed to take place as Mick made his way through the throng. Ida kept her distance, just in case the men got riled up.

“Someone got something to say to me?” Mick asked as he looked around at the crowd.

No one uttered a word, and the beating of Ida’s heart seemed to drown out everything else for a moment. Even though he might have come to town to create trouble, she still found him an inordinately handsome man. With a fresh, clean-shaven face, no less.

Focus, Ida.

Nothing in the fellow’s air spoke of ill will for the people of Spring Creek. Surely the others were wrong about him. Likely, he would turn out to be the new owner of the Salyer farm, was all. And, if so, she would take over a pecan pie once he got settled in. Just to be neighborly, of course.

Just then he looked her way and they exchanged a glance. She couldn’t help but notice the pleased look in his eye when he saw her. She tried not to react, but the edges of her lips betrayed her. Ida swallowed hard, trying to maintain her composure.

When no one responded to Mick’s question, he tipped his hat and went on about his business looking over the items on the shelves. He asked Ida to help him with a toothbrush and tooth powder. A feeling of contentment washed over her. See there. He’s well groomed in every conceivable respect. And he didn’t come in to purchase chewing tobacco, like most of the other men. No, this one is certainly different from the others.

Ida waited on Mick at the register, ignoring the whispers and stares of the others in the room.

When he left the store, another lively conversation erupted. Ida did her best to ignore it, though she was as intrigued by Mick Bradley as they were. But she was hoping for the best, while they were expecting the worst. Would he be good for Spring Creek, or bad? Ida didn’t know, but she was sure of one thing—she would take a dozen Mick Bradleys over those foolish railroad men any day.



As Mick made his way across the street to the hotel, he thought about the reception he’d just received in the mercantile. Just the little bit of conversation he’d overheard while entering the store had been enough to convince him of their distrust. But what had he done to prompt such a reaction? What motivated such a hard and swift judgment on their part?

His suit, maybe? Some of the fellas had seemed to give him a once-over, taking in his clothes. Sure, most of the Spring Creek men were dressed in more casual attire. But a man’s suit shouldn’t make him suspect, should it? A few men had looked at his feet. So what if he opted for shoes over boots? Nothing odd about that, at least where he hailed from. Were Texans always this skittish as far as Northerners were concerned?

Mick tugged at his collar and willed the heat to go away as he entered his room. How in the world would he stand this? Surely in this sort of heat, the pine trees must be whistling for the dogs.

Why had he come to Spring Creek again? From his second-story window at The Harvey House, the town didn’t seem terribly impressive, at least not in comparison to Chicago.

Well, that’s why I’m here. To make it impressive.

He chuckled as he lay down on the bed, remembering the greeting he’d received at the front desk when he’d checked in earlier.

“You ain’t from ’round here, are ya?” the clerk had asked.

“No, sir. I’m from the Windy City.”

“Amarillo?”

Mick couldn’t help but laugh. The fellow had looked a bit miffed.

He certainly wasn’t making a lot of friends here in Spring Creek.

Maybe, as Orin had suggested at the barbershop, the local men feared he’d come to town to find a wife. Mick found himself smiling as he thought about the blonde. What a lucky coincidence to see her again. And luckier still that he’d learned where he could find her on a regular basis. She’d given him an impish smile, one that made him want to visit the mercantile again soon.

Well, no matter, Mick thought as his eyes began to close. He shook off any ill-conceived notions of courting her or any other woman in the near future. No, he’d better keep his head on straight while he was in Spring Creek. Otherwise someone might just come along and knock it off.




Chapter Five


Mick’s stomach rumbled for the umpteenth time. Now that he’d had a good rest, he was ready for a meal. The smells coming from the kitchen caused his stomach to leap as he entered the dining room. Wonderful, blessed food. How long had it been since he’d had a meal in a room that wasn’t rocking back and forth as he ate, the clacking of train wheels reverberating in his aching ears? Too long.

He glanced around the noisy room. Dozens of men, mostly railroad workers, he would guess, filled the place. He couldn’t help but notice their inquisitive stares, their eyes filled with distrust. Had the rumors of his presence spread that quickly?

He observed his prospective patrons. He’d seen worse than this scraggly bunch. Before long, these fellas would be his allies.

Mick soon found himself seated across the table from a stern-looking older man with a broad cigar hanging from his lips. Unlike the others in the room, he was dressed well. Surely he didn’t work for the Great Northern.

“Cain’t say as I’ve seen you ’round these here parts,” the fellow quipped, the lit cigar jumping up and down as he spoke.

Mick nodded. “New to the area.”

“Come in on the afternoon train?”

“Yes, sir.”

The man gave him a pensive look. “Don’t look like the other railroad fellas.” He paused for closer inspection. “There’s something different about you.”

I was just thinking the same of you.

“Ah. Well, that’s because I don’t work for the railroad.” Mick hoped the conversation would shift in another direction.

At that moment, the waitress appeared with a menu in hand. Mick quickly ordered the largest steak in the place, along with sliced potatoes and a huge piece of apple pie.

His dining companion made introductions, though the look in his eye did little to make a stranger feel welcome. “Name’s Chuck Brewster.”

“Mick Bradley.” He extended his hand and gave the fellow a hearty handshake, then turned his attention to a glass of sweet tea.

For the better part of the meal, Mick avoided the older man’s probing questions. Brewster could be a local businessman sniffing out competition. Or maybe he worked for the law. When Mick asked him a question or two, Brewster was as cagey as Mick had been about answering. For sure, he had something up his sleeve.

Mick left the restaurant at a quarter after six with a very full stomach, surprised to see the sun only just leaning toward the western sky. The slight oranges and reds ran together, casting a colorful haze across the street. For half a minute, the town almost looked presentable. He pulled a map from his pocket and began to walk in the direction of the property where his new facility would go up, passing the land agent’s office on the way. He’d have to stop by first thing in the morning to seal the deal. After that, nothing could stop him.

He located the lot in question, and found it to be an overgrown field next door to the mercantile—a ragged piece of property at best.

Mick looked it over with a careful eye. A considerable amount of work would need to be done before any building could begin, but at least the patch of land was strategically nestled between the bank and the mercantile, perched and ready for notoriety. In his mind’s eye, Mick saw the place—roulette wheels spinning, cards slapping against tables, glasses filled with alcohol, barmaids laughing, the heady scent of tobacco hovering in the air…

Only one thing seemed poised to get in his way. He turned and looked directly across the street at Spring Creek’s largest—and from all rumors most notorious—saloon. The Golden Spike. The name shimmered in lights above the doorway. And standing just beneath the glittering letters was a familiar man with a lit cigar dangling from his lips.

With a silent nod in Chuck Brewster’s direction, Mick turned and headed back toward the hotel.




Chapter Six


The late-May sunshine rippled through the trees, causing the pine needles overhead to glisten like an emerald-green parasol. Ida wound her way beyond the gristmill, through the comfort of the familiar forest, and entered the clearing to the west of Spring Creek’s tiny schoolhouse. The rustic wood-framed building hadn’t changed much over the years. Indeed, it had remained every bit the same since Ida’s childhood days.

Standing there brought a rush of warmth to her soul, and memories surfaced. She saw herself as a little girl once more, rolling hoops with a stick across the schoolhouse yard. Pigtails bounced about on her head, and gingham skirts twisted around her ankles, just as they did now. Oh, the joy of those days! What sweet and simple times she had known as a child in this blessed place. What innocence and wonder.

Immediately, a dark cloud hovered over her reminiscing. Would the few children who remained in Spring Creek fare as well? How could they, with the town on such a downward spiral?

Ida’s thoughts shifted to a conversation she’d had with Papa just that morning, a most revealing chat about Mick Bradley, the handsome stranger in the fine suit. Unfortunately, he was not the man of integrity she’d made him out to be in her imagination. No, his intentions were clearly of another nature altogether. According to Papa, who’d heard it from the sheriff, Mick Bradley had come to Spring Creek to build a gambling hall.

Ida trembled with fury at the very idea. Didn’t the townspeople have enough trouble with Chuck Brewster and his house of ill repute? And weren’t there two other such establishments in town already—places where the railroad men and all those who were just passing through could get liquored up and wreak havoc? Did they really need another?

No indeed. And now that she knew the truth, Ida would do everything she could to stop Mick Bradley in his tracks before he brought more pain and corruption to her town. With determination taking hold, she resolved to do all she could to dissuade him from his task.

Just one small piece of business to take care of first.

Ida made her way across the schoolyard. The pungent scent of gardenias filled the air, the bushes nearly bursting with excitement. She remembered the day they were planted, just six years ago. Her teacher, Miss Marta, had thought it a lovely idea to offer the children a flower garden of their very own.

Of course, Miss Marta was Mrs. Hollander now. She had long since married and moved on to Houston, like so many others. But the flowers remained a testament that things of strength continued to blossom and grow, in spite of adversity.

Was Spring Creek strong enough to keep blooming with so many villains about? And how could she, a simple girl, accomplish the kinds of changes she sought? Only one way. She must seek out help—and she knew just where to begin.

Ida tiptoed a bit closer and squinted in an attempt to see through the classroom window. The boys and girls squirmed at their desks. With school letting out in less than a week, they were likely to be anxious for a romp in the sunshine.

Sophie Weimer, her dearest childhood friend, stood at the front of the classroom looking quite scholarly as she gave the children their assignments. Her shirtwaist showed off a tiny waist, and her broad skirt swished this way and that as she tended to the needs of her students with great enthusiasm and a broad smile.

“It’s a shame you’re only filling in until a real teacher can be found,” Ida whispered as she watched her friend at work. “You’re quite good at this.” She tugged at her collar, trying to gain some relief from the heat. “Come on, Sophie. It’s time to ring the bell. Let ’em go.”

As if she had somehow heard Ida’s thoughts, Sophie reached for the bell on her desk and dismissed the students for the day.

Out they flowed, like tumbleweeds rolling across a plain. Little Maggie Jordan shrugged off the attentions of one of the boys—a bully by the name of Everett. Several of the lads raced from tree to tree. Ida watched them all with amazement. How long had it been since she and Sophie had run from that same door, headed out to pick dewberries? And how many years had it been since she’d worn her braids twisted up on her head like so many of these little darlings?

Ida walked up the steps to the schoolroom and peeked inside, taking in the familiar desks and inkwells.

A smiled broadened her friend’s face. “What brings you to our schoolhouse this afternoon?” Sophie asked.

Ida pressed a hair behind her ear and gave Sophie a knowing look. “I’ve come to see what kind of a teacher you make.”

“I’ve heard from the students that I make a fine one,” Sophie said with a laugh. “Of course, I also made a fine waitress for The Harvey House, and a fine worker at the gristmill before that. And I can shoe a horse with the best of ’em. Any other questions?”

“I dare say, you excel at everything,” Ida said with a nod, “which is exactly why I’ve come to ask your opinion on something.”

“What is it?”

“I’ve come to speak with you about a matter of utmost importance to our community,” Ida stressed. “Something I believe you will find very troubling.”

“Ah. I see.” Sophie closed up the classroom and together she and Ida stepped out onto the playground, where several of the children were still gathered around.

“Run along home now, boys and girls,” Sophie instructed. “I’m sure you’ve afternoon chores to get to. We don’t want your parents to worry.”

Everett let out a groan. “Aw, Miss Sophie, you’re no fun.”

“If they had any idea the kind of trouble you stirred up as a child,” Ida muttered under her breath, “they might think otherwise.”

Within a matter of minutes, the students had all scattered to the winds, their childish ramblings now just a whisper among the pines.

“You look as if you don’t feel well,” Sophie commented as they started on the path to town. “Has something happened?”

Ida sighed. “I’m afraid so.” Pulling out a handkerchief, she swabbed the back of her neck to rid herself of the moisture underneath her hairline. “You know that piece of property next to the mercantile?” She folded the hankie and tucked it into her sleeve.

“Yes, of course.”

“Any guesses as to who’s bought it?”

Sophie spilled out a long list of names, and Ida shook her head with each one.

“Who, then?” Sophie asked.

They stopped walking and Ida looked Sophie in the eye. “A stranger. From up North.” She felt foolish as she realized how easily she’d been taken in by the man’s polished exterior. Why, if not for the sheriff’s conversation with Papa, she might very well have continued on with her fanciful notions about Mick Bradley. But no more. Now that she knew the truth, justice would surely follow.

Concern filled Sophie’s eyes. “I’d been told that piece of property would be ideal for a new feed store. Mr. Skinner was looking into purchasing it, wasn’t he?”

“That’s not to be. Mrs. Skinner told Dinah that her husband is considering building on the outskirts of town to avoid the chaos on Midway, or perhaps abandoning the idea of a new store altogether.”

“Can’t say as I blame him.”

“Me, either.” Ida sighed again. “But there is more to the story.”

“Do tell.”

“I heard Papa talking to the sheriff, who stopped by our place just this morning. The new owner of the property next to the mercantile is a gambling-hall fellow from Chicago named Mick Bradley, come to bring more greed and despair to our town. He’s going to open a place for the railroad men to load up on liquor and gamble their earnings away.”

“No.”

“Yes.” Her anger intensified as she continued on. “And right next door to our store, no less. Can you imagine? Isn’t it enough that we have to contend with the brawls from Chuck Brewster’s place? And the Wunsche Brothers’ saloon? The last thing we need is another such place.”

Sophie paused, her brow furrowed. “This is a matter for prayer, Ida.”

“Yes, of course. But don’t you think the Lord would ask more of us?” Ida said as they continued to walk.

“More?”

“Someone has to do something,” Ida implored. “We’ve watched and waited, prayed and pleaded, but things are only getting worse. It’s time to grab the horse by the reins.”

Sophie shook her head. “Oh, Ida. Have you talked to your papa about this? I can’t imagine he would be happy to hear what you’re saying. You know how he feels about your concerns.”

“My papa is a strong man,” she said. “And he has raised a strong daughter.”

Sophie nodded. “To be sure.”

They rounded the corner onto Midway, where activity abounded. Ida clamped her handkerchief over her nose as the overwhelming scent of horse manure assaulted her.

“Little good this does,” she grumbled. The tiny square of cloth could do nothing to block out the mix of nauseating aromas—the ever-present stench of railroad men in need of a bath, the smell of soot from the nearby trains and the overwhelming scent of burnt grease from the restaurant at The Harvey House.

With great determination, she pulled the handkerchief away from her face and looked Sophie squarely in the eye. “I am on a mission,” she stated quite plainly. “One from on high.”

Sophie chuckled. “You have such a way of putting things, Ida. Perhaps you should be writing novels, not just reading them.”

“I am quite serious, Sophie. Have you not read the book of Esther—in the Old Testament?”

“Of course I have.” Sophie gave her a quizzical look. “But what does that have to do with you?”

“Esther was put upon the earth to save her people. The Bible says she was born for such a time as this. Remember?”

“Yes, of course. But—”

“I have no doubt that I was born for such a time as this,” Ida explained, triumphant. “To save our little town from the evil influence of men like Mr. Bradley.”

“Ah.” A hint of a smile crossed her friend’s face. “If I believed anyone were capable of saving our little town, it would be you.”

“Truly?”

Sophie gave Ida a pensive look and arched an eyebrow. “You and the Lord working together, of course.”

They stopped in front of The Golden Spike as Nellie DeVries, one of the dancing girls, sprinted past them in full regalia, almost knocking them down.

“Sorry!” the young woman called out with an apologetic giggle. “Chuck needs me inside.”

Ida drew in a breath and kept walking. “This is just the sort of thing that concerns me most, now that a new gambling hall might be opening up,” she whispered. “Barmaids. Saloon dancers. The few women left in this town will eventually have little choice but to turn to occupations such as these.”

“I do hope you’re wrong.” Sophie fanned herself.

Anger took hold again as Ida said, “What other choices will they have? All the reputable businesses will be gone, if these strangers have their way. And I, for one, won’t have it. I will not allow the girls of Spring Creek to grow up into women such as…such as…” She pointed at the door that Nellie DeVries had just vanished behind and sputtered, “Women such as that!”

Sophie looked at Ida carefully. “Ida, perhaps you’re judging a bit too—”

Ida never heard the rest. Her attentions shifted to Mick Bradley’s property across the street. She gave it a stern once-over. “This is the spot where that good-for-nothing out-of-towner hopes to weave his web. And I plan to stop him in his tracks.” Ida turned to look her friend in the eye. “I do need the Lord’s help. But I’ve come to ask for someone else’s assistance, as well.”

Sophie’s eyes lit with understanding. “Ah. You mean me.”

“Indeed.” Ida nodded, knowing Sophie would understand the depth of her meaning. “I mean you.” She leaned in, and added, “Even Esther couldn’t manage alone, you know.”

Sophie linked arms with Ida. “In that case,” she said with a smile, “I am all yours. Someone’s got to keep an eye on you, Ida Mueller,” she teased. “At this rate, you’re likely to set the entire town ablaze with your great passion for propriety.”



Irritation set in as Mick gazed at his property. Only three days into his new venture and already his plan was fraught with problems. The land agent—the same one who had assured him by letter that the lot would be his as soon as money changed hands—had suddenly turned up with another offer. The scoundrel was probably just trying to up the ante, but Mick wasn’t playing that game.

Still, he had come a long way, and for what? To lose the piece of property he’d been assured would be his? Could he risk that? What would the investors back in Chicago say?

Maybe he should up his offer, just to be safe.

On the other hand, folks weren’t exactly warming up to him. The local sheriff, a burly fellow with an overgrown mustache, had paid a visit to his hotel room just last night. What was it he had said, again? Ah, yes. Something about making his visit to Texas brief. Not exactly a threat. More of a warning.

And the ever-present stares from the saloon owners—especially Chuck Brewster—who clearly saw him as a threat to their businesses, did little to calm Mick’s troubled mind. How could he keep the peace and still get the job done?

Maybe he could convince the pretty blonde to help people see him as the upstanding businessman he was. She probably knew everyone in town, since she worked at the mercantile. Perhaps he should pay her a visit and see if he could win another one of those lovely smiles. Purely for business reasons, of course.




Chapter Seven


“You’re late, Ida.”

“I know, Dinah. I know.” Ida flashed a sheepish grin as she slipped behind the mercantile counter. She busied herself refilling a jar with black licorice, avoiding her aunt’s accusing glare.

“I’m partly to blame,” Sophie added as she leaned her elbows on the countertop, a habit Ida knew Dinah disliked. “We got to talking and the time slipped away from us.”

“Still,” Dinah said, glancing at the clock and then at Ida with a look of frustration, “you are exceptionally late…even for you.”

A guilty sigh escaped from Ida’s lips. “I am sorry. Truly. But I needed to ask Sophie’s opinion about the new gambling hall that’s going in next door.”

A couple of their regular customers passed by the counter, slowing as they heard mention of the gambling hall. Ida closed her mouth and continued on with her work, an act of penance.

“Ah.” Dinah’s eyes narrowed. “I see. And what does your friend have to say about this latest dilemma?”

“That it is a matter for prayer,” Sophie said, looking at Ida.

“The Lord is calling us to action,” Ida explained, “and I’m to lead the way.” She contemplated delving into her story about Esther, but decided to keep it to herself for the moment.

“Oh?” Dinah raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve arranged a meeting with Reverend Langford tomorrow afternoon. He will know best how to advise me. And I am convinced he will agree that we cannot sit idly by with the enemy so clearly at work.”

“Reverend Langford is a good man,” Dinah agreed, “and a sensible one. He will give you a reasonable answer. He is not prone to violence, so he will respond with caution.”

“I am not advocating violence, of course,” Ida insisted. “But the Almighty expects his people to take action, to face their enemies with courage. Remember David and Goliath? Remember Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego?”

“Your second example bears little practical application, Ida,” Dinah corrected, “but I can certainly see the resemblance between our situation and what young David went through as he faced the mighty giant. Perhaps we’ve a goliath of our own in this out-of-towner.”

“Yes, that’s it.” Ida’s heart quickened at the thought. “And the saloon owners want to see this latest one gone, as well. They’re on our side for once.”

Dinah crossed her arms. “I dare say the saloon owners make for somewhat strange and uncomfortable allies.” She lowered her voice. “And I suspect they have their own reasons for wanting to see him gone.”

“True,” Sophie responded. “He will surely steal much of their business. That won’t go over well.”

Dinah drew in a deep breath and the look on her face grew more serious. “I hate to think of what will happen if they become angry. We will find them a force to be reckoned with, to be sure.”

Ida could hardly imagine what sort of trouble the saloon owners would stir up, if crossed. She’d never thought about any of this from that angle before. Truly, she only wanted to stop Mick Bradley.

Carter interrupted their conversation as he scurried behind the counter, chattering merrily. He opened his palm and showed them several of his most colorful marbles, gabbing all the while about his favorites.

Ida reached down and lifted the tiniest one from his hand to serve as an illustration. “I might be small like David. But with just one little stone, I could take those giants down. I could take them all down!”

She looked up, triumphant. Immediately her heart plummeted. Directly across the counter stood Mick Bradley with an amused look on his face. The little marble slipped between her fingers and hit the floor, plink-plinking against the wood-planked floorboards as it rolled out of sight.

As they all stood in stunned silence, Ida wondered just how much the man had heard. Dinah finally came to her senses and gave him a welcoming smile. “Can I help you, sir?”

“Yes, please.” He extended his hand, and Dinah gave it a shake. “I need to make a few purchases.” He handed Dinah a list to be filled.

Dinah took to gathering the items, but Ida couldn’t seem to move. In fact, she could scarcely breathe as she took him in. Funny, standing here in this close proximity, he didn’t look like the criminal sort at all.

But you could never tell with wolves, especially those so carefully disguised. This one’s smoky gray eyes were a distraction, that’s all—like puffs of smoke from one of the passing locomotives. And his broad smile was clearly a well-rehearsed bit he’d learned somewhere up North. A true Texan could sense dishonesty, particularly in a Northerner. His sandy-colored curls caught her eye again, but she forced her attention elsewhere. She was a strong woman. She could overlook them with little trouble.

Couldn’t she?

Mick flashed that practiced smile in Ida’s direction and approached her.

“I don’t believe we’ve officially met,” he said.

“I know who you are, Mr. Bradley,” Ida replied, trying to ignore the fact that she couldn’t seem to overlook his handsome features after all. No, I will not be taken in by this heathen from up North, this tool of the enemy come to bring corruption and vice.

“And you are?” he asked, extending his hand.

Ida didn’t want to answer his question, and yet her hand clasped his and her mouth spoke the words, “Ida Mueller.”

“It’s a real pleasure, Miss Mueller,” he said, tipping his hat and holding on to her hand. For a moment, she was lost in his gray eyes, until Sophie cleared her throat, reminding Ida of her manners. She quickly removed her hand from his.

“This is Sophie Weimer, Mr. Bradley.”

“Please, call me Mick. I’d appreciate it, ladies,” he said, shaking Sophie’s hand but keeping his eyes on Ida. Ida felt a flush rise in her cheeks, and she took Sophie by the arm, pulling her to the storeroom.

“Th-that’s him?” her friend whispered, eyes wide. “Why, he’s the handsomest thing I ever did see. Better than a picture in a book, to be sure. You forgot to mention that part, Ida!”

“Sophie,” Ida whispered, “do not be deceived. This is not a man to be trifled with. He is evil through and through, despite his looks and fancy clothes. Besides, do you not remember what the Bible says? The enemy comes at us like a wolf in sheep’s clothing.” She turned back and gave Mick Bradley another look through the doorway. “He is on the prowl, even now.”

Yes, that wolf of a man was certainly adorned in sheep’s clothing. His fine gray suit. His shiny shoes. His stylish felt hat. In fact, she couldn’t say when she’d seen a finer-looking sheep.

Sophie gave Mick a second glance. “There’s no denying, he is the most handsome man I’ve ever set eyes on. I can’t help but wonder if he’s married.”

“Sophie!” Ida shook her head in exasperation.

Dinah called out her name, and Ida left the storeroom with Sophie following on her heels. Ida turned and gave Sophie a stern look. “What’s come over you?” she whispered. “You’re acting like a smitten schoolgirl.”

A slow smile spread across Sophie’s face. “Why, Ida Mueller. I do believe you’re jealous!”

“Jealous? How can you say such a thing?” Ida sputtered.

“I think I’m not the only one who’s wondering if Mick Bradley is married.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ida said, reaching to straighten several bolts of fabric that were already straight. “And please wipe that annoying expression off your face.”

Sophie tried to look serious. “Will this do?”

“Now that’s the girl I know and love,” Ida replied.

Sophie broke into laughter as Ida turned in a huff and joined Dinah to fill Mick’s order with haste.



The dirt-streaked hotel room window provided Mick with a near-perfect view of the town. From here, he could almost see the sign on the front of the mercantile. Why he felt drawn to the place, he could not say. If anything, he should steer clear of it at all costs. The women inside that establishment clearly took issue with him, though they were all politeness and smiles during his visit. He sensed their concern and would do his best to put their minds at ease. No point in quarreling with the neighbors, after all, especially one with startling blue eyes, like Ida Mueller.

Mick was perplexed by the change he saw in her. Was it not just a few days ago she’d smiled at him in that particularly fetching way? Now, suddenly, she’d taken on a different attitude, one he didn’t much care for. The way she’d said, “I know who you are, Mr. Bradley,” was all business, and he’d opted not to ask for her help, as he’d originally planned. Maybe she’d discovered his reason for being here and had taken it as an affront.

Why he cared what she thought remained a mystery. They scarcely knew each other, after all. Still, from the moment of their first encounter, he’d locked those beautiful blue eyes into his memory.

“Stop it, man. Don’t be thinking about a woman. You’ll be back in Chicago before long and there are plenty of sensible—or not-so-sensible—women there to fill your thoughts.”

Indeed, as soon as the gambling hall began to go up—he’d decided to call it The Lucky Penny—Mick would search out the perfect candidate to run the place in his stead, someone from his neck of the woods, most likely. If he selected a local for the job, the community would surely turn on the poor fellow; the whole thing might even end in bloodshed. No, he couldn’t risk that. Wouldn’t be good for business. It would have to be someone his investors approved of—someone with a head for numbers, a heart for turning a profit and big-city experience.

Shouts rang out and Mick turned his attention to the street below. Several of the railroad men had gathered there, instigating yet another fight. These Texans were certainly boisterous, and a sure sight more complicated than he’d figured. Prideful, to be sure. And standoffish. Maybe it had something to do with all the dust they swallowed as the trains barreled by. Clogged up their throats. Regardless, many of them had already voiced an opinion by refusing to do business with him. Pure stubbornness.

And then there was the issue with the property. According to the land agent, the owner—a man from the Houston area—was holding out for more money. Mick would pay it after all, just to get the game under way, though he hated to give in to such tactics.

He sighed as he thought about the situation. Really, what did it matter, when all was said and done? The payoff would be worth it. And he needed to get started on the building as soon as possible.

“Soon, fellas.” He watched the brawling men as the quiet words slipped from his lips. “Soon you will have much more to do than duke it out in the streets. Soon you will be sitting at The Lucky Penny dropping all your hard-earned money into my lap.”

If everything went as planned, the new building would be up before summer’s end.

Mick used his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Troubling thoughts continued to plague him as he climbed into bed. He ached to shut the window, to drown out the whoops and hollers from below. Mick knew that many of the sounds came from The Golden Spike, just a few doors down, and that knowledge only added to his aggravation. Unfortunately, the heat simply wouldn’t allow him to reclose the window. He shoved the pillow over his head in an attempt to silence the ever-present shouts and laughter of the men.

Out of the darkness, a shot rang out. Mick sprang out of the bed and raced toward the window, his heart pounding. With great relief, he saw that the sheriff had fired the shot into the air to send the men on their way. They scattered with little trouble, drifting off to the various hotels and boardinghouses.

Mick fell into bed a second time in a more hopeful state. Surely these Texans would eventually thank him for coming. Once The Lucky Penny opened, offering them more gambling opportunities, better liquor and a classier decor with a real stage for entertainment, Mike felt confident he’d be Spring Creek’s new hero, if they’d just give him half a chance.




Chapter Eight


The shrill whistle of the morning train from Galveston roused Ida from her groggy state. The grinding of brakes, the piercing squeal of metal against metal, the rhythmic clacking of wheels against lines of track—these familiar sounds at daybreak merged with the shouts of the railroad men as the cars inched their way by. Why must we live so close to the switchyard?

Papa had built the lumber mill years before the track was laid. But then the railroad had come through and taken over the town—in a hundred different ways.

Ida stretched for a moment and allowed her eyes to become accustomed to the sunlight peeking through the lace curtains. She propped up her pillows and sat up in the bed. Then Ida reached for the worn Bible on the bedside table, one of her most precious possessions, and ran her finger across her mother’s name inside.

“Oh, Mama, I wish you were here.” She missed their morning prayers together and her mother’s nightly readings from the worn book.

Ida leaned against the pillows and opened the Bible to the book of Esther, where she read, for the hundredth time, the story of the young queen approaching the king’s throne with fear and trembling.

Ida closed her eyes, deep in thought. Every time she pictured Esther approaching the throne, she couldn’t help but envision herself doing the same thing.

Oh, but what would it be like, to come into the king’s chambers uninvited? To approach without invitation? And yet, Esther braved the journey, taking one courageous step after the other, and all because of God’s calling—for such a time as this.

One step at a time, Ida saw herself inching toward the Savior’s outstretched arms.

Come to me, child. Don’t be afraid.

At some point along the way, fear gripped her heart and her eyes flew open.

“I am afraid,” she whispered as she clutched the Bible to her chest, tears springing to her eyes. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to do what You have called me to do. Or that I will somehow do it incorrectly. And I’m afraid—” she paused, startled by her thoughts “—that Papa will die someday, too, and I’ll truly be alone.”

She began to cry in earnest now. Where did this fear come from? Just because she’d lost her mother didn’t mean Papa would soon follow.





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