Wanted: Gunsmith (Silverpines Series Book 3), page 1
Wanted: Gunsmith
Silverpines Series
Book 3
© Lynn Donovan 2018
Cover Copyright JBGraphics
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious and are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Book Blurb
Sarah Gillham has no intention of getting married EVER! Then a series of disasters wipe out the men in her hometown of Silverpines, Oregon, including her own dear poppa. With no men left, she and the other women of Silverpines are at the mercy of evil men who try to take advantage of their situation. In desperation, a plan is formed to save the town and poppa’s gunsmith shop: advertise for a groom. But Sarah wants a fake groom. A man who will actually be her employee not her husband.
Mason Dekum was a man with no heart left. His died the day his wife burned to death in front of him. Now he wants to get as far away as he can. His father-in-law gives him a gun pattern and orders him to go west and never return. He answers Sarah’s ad for a groom, and a plot is hatched to pretend to marry to keep her and her mother safe. For Mason, it’s the perfect solution, a fresh start out west without risking losing anyone else he loves. That is until he finds himself having real feelings for his pretend wife.
Will these two let their happy ever after go, out of stubbornness? Or will they reverse their declarations to never marry and follow their hearts? Will Sarah admit Mason is her wanted gunsmith?
Dedication
To Abbie
CHAPTER ONE
“I won’t do it!”
Sarah Gillham threw her silver hairbrush across the bedroom.
“I’ll figure a way out!” She punched her pillow into submission and buried her face in it.
“I don’t ever want to get married!” Spit flew from her mouth and penetrated her pillowcase. She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and took a deep breath through her nose.
“Ahhhhhh!” she screamed into the feathered object of her wrath so her momma wouldn’t hear her outcry.
As if Momma would do anything, if she did hear her anguish.
In a catatonic stupor of grief, her momma barely functioned, let alone reacted to Sarah or anybody who came to visit. Her poppa had been gone for nearly a month, but momma hadn’t said one word since the day he took his last breath.
That day was forever embedded in Sarah’s memory.
Flora Adams, the saloon owner who had turned the Lucky Lady Saloon into an infirmary after the accidents, told Sarah what had happened. She had taken Sarah into her office so they could talk in private. Her momma was already there, being consoled by two saloon girls.
“You’re poppa was having trouble breathing today.” Miss Flora began. “The healer, Miss Hattie, said something about a blood clot. I think it came from the broken bones in his legs.”
Miss Flora shrugged. While her hand gently rubbed Anna Mae’s back, she spoke to Sarah.
“Your momma is a real hero, you know? If it weren’t for her, your poppa and several other rescuers wouldn’t have made it out of that silver mine alive.” A sardonic chuckle escaped Flora’s ruby-red lips. “She just grabbed the first thing she saw and started shoving that debris outta the way. Your poppa was a lucky man. We thought.” Flora paused, rethinking her words. “I think Miss Hattie truly expected him to recover from the broke legs.”
“But,” Sarah had tried to make sense of what Miss Flora had been telling her. “He was fine when I left.”
Sarah had watched her mother being comforted by three women, yet acknowledging nothing. She wasn’t even crying anymore. Sarah had touched her momma’s arm. “Momma?”
“We brought her in here,” Flora had continued. “So her grief wouldn’t be so… public.”
Sarah had nodded, overwhelmed with guilt for not being there with her poppa when he died.
Two weeks earlier, April fifteenth, the day her world turned upside down, two consecutive earthquakes had shaken the town to its core. Workers had been killed when the mine collapsed with the first earthquake, and rescuers had been killed or badly wounded with the second. Then the accompanying torrential rain swept the loggers away with a landslide. Timber Town was annihilated with the mud cascading down the mountain, taking out the loggers’ families who lived there. A lot of her friends were… just gone.
Every store and residence was in a state of dishevel, some worse than others, including her poppa’s shop. Glass windows were shattered and door frames were twisted and splintered. Everything that wasn’t nailed down had fallen and broken. It would take a lot of time and money, not to mention laborious work, to get everything back in order. The only people left to make repairs were old men, the women, and older children.
Oh, there were a few able-bodied men left. Marshal Sewell for one, and a few elderly men who no longer worked in the mine or the timber. But it was much more than they could do alone. The rail line was mangled or covered by many feet of mud and debris, preventing any men from coming into Silverpines to help.
It had taken Sarah two weeks to leave her poppa’s side and face the shop’s devastation, and then while she worked on cleaning and straightening the mess over there, her poppa died.
Sarah blinked out of her terrible memory.
Was that just three weeks ago?
Her momma moaned in the parlor. Sarah stood from her bed. There was no more time to lament the majority’s decision. It was done.
She washed her face and straightened her flyaway curls. “I’m coming Momma.”
Her mother was so deeply depressed by her poppa’s passing, she didn’t move, or speak, or eat, unless Sarah guided her. Sarah fed her like an infant, cutting her food into small, bite-size pieces and spooning it into her mouth. She put her to bed at night, got her up in the morning, and talked to her as if she understood, even though her momma made no sign of acknowledgment.
“You want some tea, Momma?” Sarah pumped the water into the cast-iron teapot and stoked the fire. “You look cold.”
Her momma always looked cold, and thin. She had obviously lost a lot of weight in three weeks, even though Sarah fed her the same meals she was accustomed to eating. She set about putting together a chopped beef and vegetables dish that she knew her momma particularly liked.
“So…” It was how her family always started a story. They’d just suddenly say, “So,” followed by a long dramatic pause. “You’ll never believe what’s going on among the women, Momma.”
She hit a wooden spoon on the side of a dutch oven to force a glob of lard to drop. Sarah tried to sound chipper despite the angst that lingered in her heart. “They’ve decided that since there aren’t any eligible men left in Silverpines, they are gonna do like Miss Betsy Sewell did and solicit for a husband.”
She looked at her momma for any reaction.
There was none.
“You remember when Betsy Sewell, only she was Betsy Pike back then, was about to marry Marshal Ike Clayton? But that no-good, thieving—“ she cleared her throat and calmed herself.
“That gambler, Charles Little, killed him and tried to take over as marshal? He killed Doc Hamilton, too. Remember? Then he had his sights set to marry Mrs. Sewell, er, Miss Betsy.”
Sarah snorted a giggle. “But Betsy out smarted ole Charlie Little. Put an ad in the Grooms Gazette, and found her, and this town, the kindest marshal, Alexzander Sewell. They’ve been married over a month now, maybe two.” She paused to think about when it was they got married. “It was just before the accidents.”
Everything seemed to be categorized in her memory as: before the accidents, when everything was normal and nice; and after the accidents, when all the men were dead and hell opened its doors to let out a slew of con men who infiltrated their sweet town.
“It’s no wonder Marshal Sewell can’t help with repairs. He’s always chasing down a new con man who’s slipped into town. They’re slicker than a well-oiled snake, I’m tellin’ ya.”
Sarah stirred the meat then slid over to the pie cabinet to chop some root vegetables.
“Momma?” She stopped cutting halfway through the turnip to see her mother’s expression. “I put an ad in, too.”
No reaction.
“Not that I want a husband.” She blew out an exasperated sigh. “Lord, no. But, if I could bring a fella here who knew about gunsmith shops and smithing in general, maybe he could help us get poppa’s shop back in business and…” She fought the tears screaming to pour from her eyes. “He could give them con men the what-for and get them outta our business. I swear if that Tommy Goodnight comes into our shop and tells me one more time how I’m fixing things wrong, and how we women are gonna turn Silverpines into a ghost town… I swear, I’m gonna do something of biblical proportions on his head.”
Now, she knew her momma would react to that outburst. She wasn’t allowed to talk like
No reaction.
CHAPTER TWO
“Silverpines, Oregon, next stop!” The steward strolled through the train, announcing it was almost over.
Mason Dekum pulled at his pant leg, trying to lessen the wrinkles. Having sat in the same suit for ten days, on five separate trains, he was a disheveled mess. He wished, not for the first time, these shortline trains allowed the common passenger the means, other than the privy, to freshen up and change into clean, pressed clothes. He wanted first impressions of him to be favorable.
According to correspondence with Sarah Gillham, there had been several horrific natural disasters in and around Silverpines. Several of its female residents had placed ads in the Grooms Gazette to replace the men that had been lost. For all he knew, every man on this train was a mail-order groom, just like him.
Miss Gillham’s ad had asked for a husband with gunsmith experience. Mason had told her he was a widower and described his apprenticeship experience. He nearly fit the bill.
She wanted to meet him at the depot, but he really wished she’d stay home and let him make a gentlemanly call on her. That way, he could check into a hotel, take a nap, and, most importantly, change into fresh attire. Maybe he’d like to eat a meal before he met the woman whom he intended to refuse marriage.
The train whistle screamed the nearness of their arrival. Butterflies fluttered in his gut, then turned into worms. A sour taste lapped at the back of his tongue. He stood and took in a deep breath to stay the nausea, then pulled his traveling case close to his chest. It held something more precious to his success out here in Oregon than any amount of gold or silver.
Not that he had much gold or silver.
John Wesson’s pretense to send Mason out west to expand the Smith & Wesson manufacturing came with little seed money. It made a lot of sense from a business perspective to locate a gunsmith closer to the buyers. It would reduce the cost of the firearms sold out here because they were available without the cost of transportation from the east added to the bill. Since Mason was now a widower, Mr. Wesson offered him an opportunity to be one of the first gunsmiths the company sent out west.
Secretly, Mason was certain his father-in-law hoped he would be killed by savages or a gunslinger, as was the prevalent thought to being out west. Wasn’t that why they called it the Wild West?
His dear father-in-law had tried to have Mason brought up on charges of murder, but the local constable recognized Mr. Wesson’s accusations were based on a deep-seated grief for his daughter.
Only married a few months, Mason didn’t understand why Wesson wouldn’t believe that Mason had not intentionally allowed his wife to burn to death.
A shiver shot down his spine. The torture of the memory hadn’t faded over six weeks. Mason died in his heart that day.
Lucy had come to his forge to surprise him with a cake she had baked for his birthday. An ember from the fire popped onto her skirt and instantly burst into flames.
In slow motion, he saw his precious Lucy twist and scream as the flames engulfed her dress and lit up her hair. He leapt to save her by knocking her to the ground, trying to cover her with a tarp. The fire was smothered, but she had been too badly burned. She died by the end of the week. April fifteen had become a day in which he would never celebrate something as trivial as the day of his birth again. Instead, it would forever be the day he lost the love of his life.
He could never love another as he had loved his Lucy.
Mason stooped to look out the train car windows. A sea of bonnets flittered on the platform like a swarm of butterflies. Nothing but women vied for a better position to see those disembarking. Mason stood to his full height, his travel case held snug against his chest, along with several other men who were lining up to leave the train. He had been correct in his assumption that the other men were going to Silverpines. How many of them were here, like he, to meet their brides?
Of course, that wasn’t completely true. He had no intention of marrying Miss Sarah Gillham. He only wanted the position as gunsmith. Still, just for now, he had to play the part. He smiled nervously to the gentleman behind him as they shuffled forward.
“A bit of a backward approach, isn’t it?” Mason turned his head to face forward and grimaced, squeezing his eyes closed. Why had he said anything?
The gent behind him didn’t let it go as Mason had hoped. “I beg your pardon?”
Out of deference to the stranger, he turned back. After all, he’d started this ridiculous conversation. “Oh, never mind, just a nervous tongue.” He pointed at his tongue, as if that made his jabbering make sense, and made an exaggerated, wide-eyed face.
The man tipped his head back and grunted, “Hm.” He had a dignified air about him, like a maitre ‘d or something similar. Then he grinned a dismissive smile.
The cowboy who stood in front of Mason turned back with an empathetic grin and nodded. Perhaps he at least understood Mason’s nerves.
A sense of dread washed over Mason. The town didn’t look all that large. As the gunsmith, it was inevitable he’d come across this gentleman again. Hopefully, he’d have an opportunity for a redeemable mends to this encounter. He lifted his eyes. The line had moved, a lot. He quickly caught up and flashed an apologetic smile to the man behind him.
Mason took a deep breath and slowly let it out, then put his foot on that first tread. The sea of bonnets had thinned to only a few women. A few older women. They stared at him with anxious, expectant eyes. Shielding their mouths with their hand, they chattered among themselves, but no one spoke directly to him. He expected his “betrothed” to call his name or make herself known somehow. Should her announce he was here to meet Sarah Gillham?
Wait, her letter said she was nineteen. None of these women appeared to be younger than forty. Had he been deceived? Could he turn around and continue on down the rail? Silverpines was sixty or so miles from the Western coast, he could settle somewhere farther away. Maybe act like he had accidentally gotten off, or just needed to stretch his legs. But then again, with his travel case clutched to his chest, it was obvious he intentionally disembarked to stay here. His eyes darted from one aged, anxious face to the other.
Could it be Miss Gillham had changed her mind and didn’t want him after all? Perhaps he could find her anyway and talk her into letting him run the gunsmith shop. That was all he really wanted. That and to be as far away from John Wesson and his accusations as possible.
Just then, a petite little spitfire of a girl shoved herself through the women as if she were ripping a hole through a curtain to emerge on the other side.
“Please, let me through!” Crankiness resounded in her voice. “You can get a good look at him after I meet him!”
The women glanced at her with alarmed expressions, as if they hadn’t realized they were blocking her path.
Mason chuckled at her feisty demeanor. She was entertaining, he’d give her that. “You must be Miss Sarah Gillham.”
She stumbled as her shoe caught something when she stepped past one of the older ladies, tripping forward. Instincts caused Mason to shift his case to his left hand and reach out with his right to catch her arm before she fell headlong into the metal handrail on the train steps.
She looked up at him, exasperated. Her golden-brown eyes pulled him into her gaze.
“Yes, yes I am…” She swallowed. “I’m Sarah Gillham.”
Her voice was soft, dreamlike, as if she had lost her thought. Her cherub face flushed crimson. Her caramel brown eyes penetrated his mind. They were warm like a mug of cocoa. The blush in her cheeks blanched as their eyes met. His heart doubled its beat. She seemed to be just as befuddled.
No, this can’t be happening. Mason mentally shook the amorous notions from his head. He couldn’t be feeling these… feelings. He had intended to tell her his true intentions right away.
Then they both cleared their throats and backed up from each other. She straightened her jacket and smoothed down her skirt. He shifted his travel case and extended his hand to shake hers.
