The Cowboy's Mail Order Bride (The Dalton Brides, Book 3) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  The Rancher’s Mail Order Bride By: Kristen Osbourne

  The Drifter’s Mail Order Bride By: Cassie Hayes

  Dedication

  Dedication

  To the wonderful ladies and gentlemen of Pioneer Hearts. And because you asked …

  NOTE:

  This prologue is available as a separate e-book titled The Escape, as well as in both other books in this series, The Rancher’s Mail-Order Bride and The Drifter’s Mail-Order Bride.

  To find out about my upcoming releases and to keep up to date on all the crazy happenings in Clear Creek, the wackiest town in the old west, sign up for The Clear Creek Gazette: Here

  Prologue:

  The Brothers

  Walton Dalton stood in the middle of his land, knowing he'd found his place in the world. The two sections next to his were both open, and he was staking claim for his brothers. The three of them would own a huge section of Texas dirt, and they would ranch it together.

  Walton was the oldest of three brothers. They didn't like to be reminded that he was the oldest though. With only fifteen minutes difference between him and his brother, Nate, and twenty-five minutes between him and Bart, they preferred to all think of themselves as the same age. They weren't though. Walton was always aware of his burden as the eldest. He had to be the strongest, fastest and best of the three, so that he could live up to what was expected of him.

  He hadn't built his house yet, so he sat down right there in the dirt to write letters to his brothers, asking them to join him. He knew they would. He'd always been the ringleader of the three of them, and even as adults, he was certain he could convince them ranching was the way for them to gain wealth and happiness.

  Rather than writing two different letters, he just wrote one and copied it for the other. When he was finished, he had two letters that read the same.

  My Dear Brother,

  I'm writing you from a section of land that I'm about to begin homesteading in north Texas. The two sections beside me are available. I'd like for the three of us to claim this land and build a ranching empire here in the Lone Star State. We could have land for as far as the eye can see, and the prairie here is so flat you can see a long way.

  I'm about a half day's ride south of a town called Weatherford, which is west of Fort Worth. If you get to the area, people will know me. No one forgets a Dalton.

  I hope you'll consider joining me here, because I need you both. There's enough work for twenty men, but between the three of us, I know we can do the work of thirty. Remember what Pa always said? “When you three team up, nothing can stop you.” The local ranchers won't know what hit them once the Dalton brothers make their mark.

  I'm going to start building my cabin. When you two get here, we'll build a couple more houses and get us some ladies. It's time.

  Don't take too long to get here. Land is going fast.

  Sincerely,

  Walt

  He folded both of the letters and got to his feet. His spirited stallion danced away from him, as if he was trying to get him to not settle down. "We're here to stay, Spirit. No more wandering for us."

  Walton and Spirit had done more than their share of traveling. He had spent the last ten years as a cowboy, learning the ins and outs of ranching. He was finally ready to start a life, and he was going to do it.

  He swung up onto Spirit and rode him into town. It was an hour to the closest small town of Wiggieville, but he knew that with his two brothers' help, they would soon have a bustling town right there. He could picture it already.

  * * *

  For the life of him, Bart Dalton couldn’t figure out how his brother Walt had tracked him down. He’d only ridden into the bustling city of San Francisco the day before, after all, and hadn’t even planned on stopping there. How in high heaven did Walt know to send a letter to the San Francisco post office before Bart even knew he was going there?

  Bart had been on his way from running an apple-picking crew in the Yakima River Valley in the Washington Territory to a new California village called Hollywood when he hooked up with a couple of other drifters like himself. They said they were headed for Frisco, so he tagged along. It wasn’t like he had any pressing business in Hollywood, he just thought the name sounded nice. He could almost see massive groves of holly trees surrounding the little community.

  As he thought back on his last letter to his brothers — he always wrote one and just copied it for the other — he recalled saying something about California. But that was months ago. As far as Walt and Nate knew, he could have come and gone by then.

  But it had always been like that with them. No matter how much distance separated them, they always seemed to know in their gut what was happening with the others. Like that time Walt got bucked from a horse he was trying to break and got a concussion.

  Bart had been dealing faro in a Kansas City gambling hell at the time, and an overwhelming urge to sleep came over him. Somehow he knew Walt had been injured so he walked right out of that hell, jumped on his trusty horse Roamer, and rode east in the direction of St. Louis.

  By the time he arrived several days later, Walt was up and around, and didn’t seem the least bit surprised Bart had shown up. Nate arrived a few hours later. They all had a good laugh, and spent a few days reminiscing and catching up before Bart’s feet started itching to get back on the road. That was the last time he’d seen his brothers, and he missed them something fierce.

  Being triplets, they’d always been close but, aside from his brothers, no one ever let Bart forget he was the youngest, even though it was only by minutes. Walt was the bossy older brother and Nate was the no-nonsense one. Everyone expected Bart to be the wild one of the bunch, the irresponsible younger brother, and he was all too happy to oblige.

  He’d get into all sorts of trouble and blame it on his brothers. Of course, they did the same to him, so it evened out in the end. He pretended it was all in good fun, but deep down he felt empty, like something was missing. It was like he hadn’t yet found his true identity, and everyone’s expectations — or lack of them — were holding him back from discovering it.

  As he and his brothers grew older, he felt stifled at his family home in Oregon City. His brothers seemed perfectly content helping out around the dairy farm, but Bart knew there was so much more out in the world than milking cows and shoveling manure. He wanted to see it all. Maybe once he saw everything there was to see, he’d settle down and live a ‘normal’ life, but until that day, he’d never be truly happy.

  The day after their seventeenth birthday, Bart woke up ready to break the news to his brothers: He was leaving and didn’t know when or if he’d ever see them again. He was giddy with excitement but also heartbroken at the idea of leaving them.

  They were a part of him and he was having trouble imagining life without them, but he had to do this. As much as he wanted them to come with him, he had to strike out on his own and find that elusive thing that was missing from his soul.

  His gut churned as he crept through the quiet house in the early morning hours. He’d get Roamer saddled and packed, then go wake his brothers. If he was lucky, he’d be able to sneak away without waking his folks. Ma would have a
fit and Pa might refuse to let him go. He longed to say goodbye but it would be too risky.

  Stepping into the barn, he was stopped in his tracks by the sight of his entire family — Ma, Pa, Walt and Nate — standing around an already-saddled and fully loaded Roamer. Tears were streaming down Ma’s plump cheeks, and Pa had a comforting arm wrapped around her shoulders. Walt had a worried look on his face and Nate just looked irritated. Only Pa was smiling, even though it held a twinge of sadness.

  “How did you know?” Bart stammered in surprise.

  Pa tilted his head at Walt and Nate. “Your brothers told us. You didn’t tell them?” He chuckled and shook his head. “Figgers.”

  “I packed you several days worth of food,” sniffled his mother. “Don’t eat it all at once. I can’t stand the thought of you starving out on the trail.”

  “Yes, Ma,” he whispered, humbled at his family’s support and love. Why hadn’t he trusted that they would understand?

  Walt sidled up to him and slapped him on the back. “You’ll be fine out there, Bart, but you know if you ever need anything, me and Nate are here for ya.”

  “I know, brother.”

  As irritated as Nate looked, he still pulled Bart into a fierce hug. “Don’t be stupid.”

  Bart smiled. It was an old joke between them, going back to when they were little kids. He returned his brother’s hug, and soon his whole family had their arms wrapped around him.

  Pa was the first to pull away. Clearing his throat of emotion, he croaked, “Sun’s fixing to come up, son. Best you get while the getting’s good.”

  Bart gritted his teeth as he rode out of the barn, willing himself to not look back. If he looked back, he might change his mind, and the last thing he wanted was to be stuck in Oregon City for the rest of his life.

  Leaving his family behind was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. And in the ten years he’d spent rambling around the country, it remained at the top of the list.

  Rereading Walt’s letter, Bart bristled a bit at the commanding tone. Walt always assumed the others would do whatever he told them to, like he was their ringleader or something simply by virtue of being a few minutes older. Bart had spent much of his youth rebelling against his oldest brother’s overbearing ways, and he was amused to find the instinct was still there. Some things never changed.

  “Whatcha got there, Bart?”

  Bart was startled out of his reverie by one of his latest riding companions. Chuck was his name, and he was as shifty a drifter as Bart had ever met. And he’d met a lot. He would never dream of doing business with the man, but Chuck was pleasant enough to pass the time with on the trail.

  “Oh, just a letter from my brother, inviting me to settle near him in Texas,” Bart replied, carefully folding the letter and slipping it into an inner pocket he’d had sewn into his duster.

  “Oh, yeah?” Chuck’s eyes sparkled as he leaned back against the wall of the post office next to Bart. “I hear they’re giving away land left and right out there. Whereabouts is he settling?”

  There was an unspoken code among drifters like them: Never ask personal questions. Too many men were running from something, and all were suspicious by nature, so it was best to keep your questions to yourself.

  Obviously Chuck hadn’t learned that lesson yet.

  “North, I think,” Bart evaded.

  Chuck took the hint and nodded sagely, as if that explained everything. “You goin’?”

  The man’s question took him by surprise. He honestly hadn’t even thought about it. He’d been too wrapped up in memories.

  “I dunno.” And he really didn’t. He’d been moving around so much over the years that he didn’t think he’d know how to sit still for very long, even if he was so inclined.

  Which he wasn’t.

  But something tugged at his insides, remembering the day he rode away from his family. He’d do anything for them, and now Walt was asking for his help. I hope you'll consider joining me here, because I need you both. That was as close to begging as Walt ever got.

  Bart was honestly surprised that his brothers hadn’t married and settled down by now. They’d both always been more traditional and down-to-earth than he had ever dreamed of being — or ever wanted to be.

  But at 27, they were a bit overdue in starting their own families. He ached for them a little because they’d both always talked about having a bunch of young’uns running around. He didn’t really understand it but he felt bad for them that they didn’t have it yet.

  Resolve settled in his belly like a glowing coal. His brothers would do anything for him, and had already helped him out of more jams than he cared to think about. Walt was right; it was time. Time to return the favor.

  He’d ride out to Texas and help Walt and Nate set up their ranch, even if it took a year or two. It was the least he could do. When everything was rolling along, and his brothers had a couple of nice wives — maybe even some babies — he’d leave his portion to them and continue his search for whatever was missing in his life.

  “‘Scuse me,” he mumbled to Chuck and strode back into the post office.

  Walt,

  You can count on me, brother.

  Bart

  * * *

  “Get him, Nate!”

  A growing crowd of townspeople and cowhands cheered as Nate Dalton landed face first in the dirt. He rolled to his back and, with lightning speed — at least it felt like it, considering the blow he’d been dealt — climbed to his feet to face his opponent. The dirty chuck-eater clobbered him with a piece of firewood, and even now held it before him like a shield.

  “Seems we have a difference of opinion,” Nate told him as he wiped away the blood trickling down one side of his face. This had to be the worst cattle drive he’d ever been on.

  The Easterner, a man Nate figured had no business changing the price per head, swallowed hard and raised the wood as if to hit him again. The difference was, this time he faced Nate instead of sneaking up on him like he did when he’d struck him the first time.

  “As Mr. Meyer’s du…duly… appointed representative…” he stammered, “I must ask you to concede to the new price given.”

  Nate shook his head against a bout of dizziness, and hoped he didn’t have a concussion like the one his brother Walt did a few years back. For a scant second he wondered if his two brothers would show up to check on him as they’d done for Walt.

  The thought was lost however when the good-for-nothing dandy took another swing at him. Nate ducked and dodged, and blocked the next blow with one fist as he punched the low-life in the face with the other to send him sprawling. “I’ll do my business with Mr. Meyers, if you don’t mind.”

  The man didn't get up. In fact, he didn’t respond at all. Nate stared at him a moment as Sam Wheeler, one of his drovers, slapped him on the back. “You showed him!”

  Nate leaned forward and peered at the unconscious form. At least he hoped he was unconscious. He didn't hit him that hard, did he? “Where’s Meyers? How come he sent this idiot for me to deal with?”

  “He's at his ranch. I hear tell from folks down at the post office his wife is having a baby. That's why this yellow-belly is in town.”

  “This yellow-belly tried to gouge the price per head. Now I’ll have to ride out to the Meyers’ ranch to get our business done.”

  Sam looked at the man on the ground. A couple of their fellow cowboys tried to get him to come around by slapping the side of his face a few times. “Maybe you should take this fool back with ya and tell Mr. Meyers what he did?”

  “Won't have to,” Nate said. “This is a small town, with enough people here to let Meyers know what happened. I'll wager this duffer to be out of a job come suppertime.”

  “Oh, good point,” said Sam as he reached into his pocket. “I almost forgot, here’s a letter for ya.”

  “A letter?”

  “Yeah, it's from your brother. He wants ya to come to Texas.”

  Nate's eyes narrowed. �
��You read my mail?”

  “No help for it! There’s a tear in the envelope, see?” he said and pointed. “Is it my fault if’n the letter fell out?”

  Nate rolled his eyes and shook his head in exasperation. It hurt. He winced as he touched his wound and blinked a few times to clear his vision. He was tired of dealing with ranchers who didn't know how to run their business or make a good profit. He hoped whatever Walt wrote didn't add to an already disastrous cattle drive. He unfolded the letter and studied it, but the words were too blurry for him to read. Not a good sign.

  “Looks like the dandy got ya a good one,” said the grizzled cowhand as he stared at Nate’s head. “Want me to read your letter for ya?”

  “I'll be fine, go make sure that idiot is still alive, will ya? And then tell the rest of the boys to wait for me. I'll be back.”

  “Where ya goin’?”

  “Post office.” He strode past Sam and headed down the street. He didn't get far when another bout of dizziness hit, and he slowed his pace to keep from falling over. He'd been hit in the head before, be it from a fist, a kick, or the occasional hard object, but this particular hit, coupled with Walt's letter, managed to do something Nate hadn’t yet. It knocked some sense into him. “Sense” being the operative word.

  Nate used to have his share of good sense at one time, the type other men respected and sought out so they could benefit too. Nate, being as sensible as he was, gave his advice freely. Not only did he give it, he was willing to receive it.

  Except for a piece of advice given him by his last employer, one Thomas Adams, who advised Nate to stay away from his daughters, or else. The “or else” meant Nate would decorate a cottonwood come morning if Mr. Adams found any of his precious daughters compromised.

  Nate wasn't stupid and, lucky for him, wasn’t attracted to any of the four women. This made it easy to stay away from them. Keeping them away from him, on the other hand, was another matter.