Chapter One
Perseverance,Colorado-Spring1873
It was a trap.
Rafael Garland hesitated in the doorway of Watson’s Saloon. Only the saloonkeeper, the town’s doctor, the newly-elected mayor, and young Billy Morrell sat inside.
“Well, go on now, lest I lose my resolve,” Bartholomew Jackson, carpenter and occasional sheriff’s deputy, said from behind him.
“Resolve to do what?” Rafe said as he stepped inside. “You didn’t say one word about a meeting.”
But Jackson didn’t answer. Instead, he pushed past Rafe and nodded a greeting to the other men gathered in the otherwise closed saloon.
The others were seated at a table or leaning against the bar. It was the first time in recent memory Rafe had seen Watson without his ever-present discolored barkeep’s apron, or Alexander Stanton without the fancy black physician’s bag he toted around town.
Rafe paused by the table. “What is this? Some church gathering?”
Watson chuckled while Billy Morrell simply looked confused.
“I thought you were going to tell him,” Billy said to Jackson, who’d taken a seat next to the doctor. Jackson simply shrugged. All he’d shared with Rafe was that their attention was needed at the saloon.
“Tell mewhat,” Rafe was losing patience. It was early. The saloons weren’t open yet, and the town’s usual troublemakers were abed or dragging themselves out to earn a living. But he still had a job to do. “I don’t have time for this little tea party.”
The mayor, who also operated the largest boardinghouse in town, lifted his eyebrows, as if he took offense at Rafe’s words. “I suppose we’ll get on with it then. If you’d like to sit?” He gestured at the empty chair in front of Rafe.
“I’d rather stand, thanks.” All the easier to run out the door if anyone suggested he join the choir of the church that had started meeting above Watson’s Saloon on Sundays.
Mayor Cabot shrugged and withdrew an envelope from his coat pocket. “I have here the letters from the ladies. I took the liberty of reading through them to see how we could best match them up.”
“Ladies?” Rafe asked, but no one answered.
“This one here’s the oldest.” Cabot passed a sheet of paper to Jackson, who was a good ten years older than Rafe. “And the youngest.” He handed another sheet to Billy Morrell, who lit up like a firework on Independence Day. “This one likes entertaining company,” Cabot said as he handed one to Watson.
“What is—” Rafe started to ask, but Cabot leaned across the table and waved a paper half-filled with handwriting at him.
“This one is perfect for you,” Cabot said, with the kind of smile that instantly made Rafe suspicious.
Rafe glanced down at the page in his hands. It was a letter—short and written in a feminine hand. He skimmed it, gathering the needed information quickly. Her name was Hannah White, aged twenty-three years, worked in an orphanage, enjoyed socializing and cooking, and disliked eating fish and the color orange. She was very much looking forward to marriage—
“Marriage?” Rafe snapped his head up.
“These are the ladies from the orphanage who are looking for husbands,” Billy said, seemingly happy to fill him in.
Rafe glanced down at his letter again. Ladies. Orphanage. Husbands.
He looked around at the group, but they were all absorbed in reading their own letters—save for Jackson, who’d handed his to Billy to read aloud for him. And Dr. Stanton, who finally took pity and explained more clearly.
“They placed an advertisement from New York City,” the doctor said. “There are six of them, all ladies who were orphaned and then took work at the same orphanage later. The orphanage has closed, and they are hoping to come west for a better life than they can find on a factory floor.”
Rafe digested the words, everything beginning to make sense now. “And one of you answered the advertisement?”
“I did,” Cabot said absentmindedly as he perused his letter again.
“We needed a sixth man,” Dr. Stanton said. “One for each of the ladies.”
“And someone volunteered me,” Rafe said, casting an accusing glance at Bart Jackson, who paid him no mind at all. The man positively glowed as Billy continued to read out loud to him.
“Like it or not, you’re the only one who’ll do,” Cabot said, finally setting his letter down.
