The Bartender’s Mail Order Bride(5)

Meg watched her cheeks turn crimson in the mirror as Clara began to brush her hair. “I guess I hadn’t thought of my pigtails like that. It was just an easy way to keep my hair out of my way.”

“Oh, I understand. I wore them in the bakery for the same reason, but now—goodness, now you’re a grown young woman. It’s time to think about suitors.”

“I’m not sure Papa would like us talking like this,” Meg said, her fingers still twined together in her lap.

Clara put her hands on Meg’s shoulders and bent down toward her ear, looking her in the eye in the mirror.

“Nutmeg Archer, your father loves you. He may not be thinking that way yet, but he’s going to have to get used to it. You will have suitors and so will all the other girls. So we might as well get started.”

“Thank you, Clara.” Meg sighed, knowing deep down that Clara was right. Whether her father was ready or not, it was time.





Chapter 4





“Coming,” Meg said to Maria when she knocked on her door and called her for supper. Clara had spent a great deal of time on her hair, showing her how to use different kinds of combs, how to sweep it into a bun at the back of her neck and how to braid it as other women did—not in pigtails, though.

“You’ll have a steady stream of suitors now, Meg, if you want that.” Clara smiled kindly at her as she left to get ready herself for dinner.

Meg’s stomach clenched at the thought. She hadn’t even met many men as she’d been busy at the ranch, mostly, and there was no one interesting at church on Sundays. She didn’t venture out much more often than that except lately, now that Sadie and Clara had come from Chicago, aside from her daily trips to the mercantile to deliver milk and eggs.

Besides, since Hank had been off the trail these past few months and Sam had come fairly regularly to visit him, she really only had eyes for her brother’s good friend.

She didn’t know a whole lot about his job as a bartender, and it still confused her a little that women would think that wasn’t a respectable profession. What could be not respectable about anything in the Occidental? She couldn’t even imagine, and having listened to his stories as the family sat on the porch, she was even more confused that any woman who read the Groom’s Gazette wouldn’t jump at the chance to be his bride.

She sighed as she thought of his long, strong fingers, his black hair and striking blue eyes. She blushed at the thought of his strong arms under his shirt as he served drinks to customers and polished the wood at the bar until it gleamed.

She jumped as her youngest sister, Pepper’s, voice came through the door shortly before it opened and she poked her head inside. “Maria said don’t make us wait.” Her eyes grew wide at the sight of her sister. “What happened to you?”

Meg’s hands flew to her hair as she whipped around and glared at her sixteen-year-old sister.

“And what do you mean?”

A grin spread across Pepper’s face as she stood in the doorway. “You look like someone else. Like someone pretty,” she said, laughing as she dodged the pillow Meg threw at her.

“Don’t listen to her.” Clara swept into the room and grabbed Meg’s hands, pulling her out the door toward the dining room. “They’ll get used to it.”

But Meg thought she might never get used to it as she walked into the dining room behind Clara and was met with utter silence, with every eye in the room turned in her direction.

Hank and her father both stood when they saw her, their eyes wide and seemingly stunned into silence.

“What?” Meg said as she hurried toward her chair at the table and felt all eyes following her. Even Maria stopped mid-stride as she came through the kitchen door carrying a plate of enchiladas in her hand and, as usual, she was the first to speak.

“Miss Meg,” she said slowly as she set the plate in the middle of the table. “You look beautiful. Doesn’t she, Mr. Archer.” She pointedly looked at Meg’s father, Beau Archer, who sat slowly but didn’t take his eyes off of his oldest daughter.

He blinked a few times and cleared his throat, looking down at his empty plate and then to Maria, their housekeeper who had come from Mexico to help take care of the family many years ago. “Yes, Maria, she looks beautiful.” He cleared his throat and turned his gaze to Meg, his eyes soft. “You look beautiful, Meg.”

Clara smiled and looked around at Meg’s five sisters, her eyes settling finally on Hank, who still stared at his sister as if he’d never seen her before.

“Meg wanted some tips on how to fix her hair in other ways, and while we were at it we added a little fancying up,” she said. “Doesn’t she look lovely, Hank?” she said to her husband, who seemed startled to hear his name.