The Desert Bride’s Last Hope (Preview)

Chapter One

“Looks like you’ve got something here from your son in New York,” Mae said, sorting through the mail for the Russel family. Mrs. Russel’s crinkled lips split into a relieved smile as Mae passed the letter over the counter.

“Oh, I’m so glad!” Mrs. Russel exclaimed. “He’s expecting a child, you know. I’ve been desperate for any news!”

“We’ll keep him in our hearts and pray for him,” Mae’s grandmother, Mrs. Finch, said from her perch behind the desk. She was too old and her joints too achy to do any real work around the place, but she came every day to keep Mae company and get the gossip from everyone in town. She preferred it to sitting by herself at home while Mae got to have all the fun. 

“We’d greatly appreciate it.” Mrs. Russel put a hand on her heart. “Welcoming children into this world can be so uncertain. Such a blessing if everything goes according to plan, of course, but this world is full of such dangers. Did you hear the stagecoach from Tucson got delayed again?” 

“No, we didn’t. What happened?” Mae asked. “I suppose that means we won’t have anything in the way of afternoon deliveries.”

“Bandits,” Mrs. Russel revealed under her breath as if one of them might be right behind her. “They’re crawling around the territory now. I just hope they don’t find us here in Dusty Gulch. Leave us to our peace and go bother some other mining town!”

Mae’s heart sank with dread. She’d lived in Dusty Gulch almost her whole life, and it was a largely quiet town, save for the occasional drunken brawl between miners. With so many outlaws and bandits looking to make their fortune the dishonest way, however, it felt as though the Wild West was closing in on them if the newspapers were to be believed.

“If we mind our own business, they’ll leave us alone,” Mae’s grandmother noted wisely. 

“You’re just lucky bandits aren’t too keen on raiding post offices, as far as I know. For us over at the general store, well, it gives us something to worry about,” Mrs. Russel continued. “But enough about that grim stuff! Did I hear that our own Mae here might be considering her marital future?” 

Mrs. Russel’s overly eager grin made Mae want to take a step back. “Oh, I’m not too sure where you got that idea. No talk of marriage over here! We’re just fine on our own, aren’t we, Grandma!” 

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with considering the future,” her grandmother said, suspiciously avoiding Mae’s gaze. 

“You ought to listen to your grandmother. I’m sure she wants to meet a great-grandchild sooner than later!” Mrs. Russel teased in a sing-song voice. 

At nineteen, Mae still felt she was too young to be considering marriage, though sometimes she thought that was only because there was no one in Dusty Gulch with whom she could imagine herself falling deeply in love. 

There was David over at the saloon, who was close to her in age, but his lazy eye and even lazier work ethic didn’t exactly inspire strong feelings of affection from Mae. Then, there was Simon, the son of the mayor. His position in life was more attractive to Mae, but he was given to delivering long, haughty speeches and often spoke about Dusty Gulch with disdain. 

There were other men in town, of course, but no one that had ever caught Mae’s eye. Maybe it was childish of her to expect to feel the unconditional love that her parents had for each other, but she certainly wasn’t ready to give up on the notion yet. 

Her grandmother was getting older, and Mae knew she was anxious to see her granddaughter set up in life before she passed on. If only her grandmother could trust that Mae was able to take care of herself and not worry so much about her future. 

“In the meantime, you have a grandchild of your own on the way,” Mae announced, shifting the focus from herself back to Mrs. Russel. “When is the baby due?”

Mrs. Russel could have gabbed on for hours about how proud she was of her son in New York and the family he was starting, but luckily, she had to get back to the general store that her family ran, so Mae and her grandmother were soon left in peace. 

When there was no work to do at the post office, Mae would often pull out the Bible and read to her grandmother from her favorite chapters, but when she opened the pages this time, the old woman stopped her. 

“What is it?” Mae asked, concerned. Her grandmother had been getting tired in the afternoons more often than usual. “Do you want to go for a short stroll? We can take a break. Or I can make you a cup of tea.” 

“Oh, aren’t you sweet? No, I’m fine, I just…I wanted to talk to you about something,” she said, her tone serious and quiet. 

Mae pulled up a chair, concerned. “Does this have to do with whatever Dr. Crane said to you after church last week?” 

Her grandmother gave her a contemplative smile and shook her head. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about that. No, I want to talk about you. I know Mrs. Russel can be tactless, but I really am concerned about your future. I’m not going to be around forever, you know.”

“Of course, I know that,” Mae replied, getting the distinct impression they were going to have a conversation they’d already had about a hundred times before. “I’ve told you, I’m going to be fine. I’ll miss you terribly, which you know, but nothing else really needs to change! I’ll keep managing the post office and going to church on Sundays. Sarah and I will continue making quilts for those in need, and—”

“That’s not enough,” her grandmother interrupted, sharply this time. “You need to start thinking about your future family, my dear. Who’s going to take care of you when you’re my age?” 

Mae cleared her throat and pulled away. A sinking feeling took over her stomach. “I promise, Grandma, you don’t have to worry about that. I’ll find someone I love sooner or later, and we’ll start a family. Even if I don’t, Sarah is a dear friend, and we will take care of each other if need be.”

“Isn’t there anyone here in town that you can see yourself with?” the old woman asked, stubbornly sticking to her guns. 

“No! I’m sorry if you think that makes me picky, but I want to be careful about my decision,” she argued. 

“I do think you’re being picky.”

“Well, you’re just going to have to put up with it because I’m not going to compromise when it comes to my future husband!” Mae snapped back.

It wasn’t often that she and her grandmother argued, but they both had a headstrong streak that could lead to butting heads. After spending most of her life in the woman’s care, Mae had long ago learned her grandmother’s quirks and she generally knew how to work around them. Occasionally, however, she simply wasn’t willing to compromise, and this was one of those situations. 

Her grandmother shook her head. “I know you idolize the way your parents met, but that isn’t the way it works for most people. Most couples don’t fall in love at first sight. Besides, I’m sure whatever your mother wrote in that journal of hers was an exaggeration to begin with. There are other ways of falling in love.”

Mae felt her cheeks grow hot, suddenly embarrassed by how often she turned to her mother’s diary for comfort. After her parents had gone missing when she was only six years old, Mae had clung to any lasting sign of her mother. The diary that had been left behind in their wagon was one of her most prized possessions, and she loved reading about how her mother had fancied her father from the very first moment he’d turned around in the church pew and winked at her. 

For months, they never said a word to each other but communicated plenty in other ways. Her father and his family only spoke German, but he would give small trinkets or biscuits to her, either by slipping them into her hand as he surreptitiously wandered by wordlessly or by leaving them in hiding spots he knew she’d find. No note was necessary; she always knew who was leaving her the presents. 

Of course, there was nothing practical about falling in love with someone without having at least one conversation first, but still, Mae couldn’t help but romanticize her parents’ story. It was a love story like the ones in novels, filled with intrigue and perhaps too much adventure for their own good. Their dreaming and heroism had been a key factor in their demise, after all. 

“You know, your grandfather and I were not a love match, and yet, love found us in the end. Good things come to those who wait,” her grandmother pointed out more gently this time. 

“But how do you know what’s going to happen? I’m glad it worked out for you, but without knowing and loving someone already…you just can’t be sure who they’ll turn out to be,” Mae argued. 

“Trust me, my dear. Even if you’re in love, it doesn’t necessarily mean you know the man through and through. People can trick you. You’re just as likely to find love with a stranger as you are with someone you think you know.” 

Mae didn’t have any way of refuting it, though she did think her grandmother was being a bit dramatic. That being said, Mae had heard about a woman who fell in love with and married the tailor a town or two over, only to discover a few months into the marriage that he had an entirely different family in Colorado. Still, she thought her chances were surely better with someone she knew and at least liked. 

“To be honest, it all sounds terrifying. Maybe it would be better if Sarah and I figured out a way to take care of each other. Maybe marriage is a risk that isn’t worth taking,” Mae said.

She got up to start sifting through a pile of letters she’d already sorted. Though she didn’t really mean it when she’d said that marriage was, perhaps, more dangerous than it was worth, she simply wanted to put an end to the conversation. 

Her grandmother, however, was not ready to put it to bed. She got up, leaning one hand on her cane and the other on the counter for balance. 

“Grandma! Be careful—”

“I can stand on my own two feet, Mae. Believe it or not, I know a thing or two about this world, and you’ve left me no choice but to take matters into my own hands,” she announced. 

Mae was flummoxed. “Your own hands? What do you mean?” She clutched her hands to keep herself from shaking. She’d never been afraid of her grandmother before, but she’d heard tales about how old age could change a person’s personality. Was her grandmother’s mind going now, too? 

“What do you mean, Grandma? What have you done?” 

The old woman stuck her chin out defiantly. “You are a beautiful girl. Your hair has strands of gold that glitter in the sun, and I’ve heard more than a few men in town talk about your blue eyes. I may be biased, but I think you’re the prettiest girl in all of Dusty Gulch.”

“That’s sweet of you to say, Grandma, but there’s hardly much competition in this town,” Mae replied, still suspicious. Was her grandmother giving her a bunch of compliments before revealing the harsh truth?

“That’s right. There isn’t much competition. You could have any man you want, but no, you stubbornly say you don’t want any of them. And so, what choice did you leave me?” 

Mae’s heart started racing. “Grandma…what did you do?” 

She primly pushed a lock of her grey hair to the side. “I put an advertisement in the paper.”

“An…an advertisement for what?” Mae asked, truly confused. The pit in her stomach wasn’t getting any lighter. 

“For a husband. For you.”

Mae’s eyes widened with panic. She’d never had the urge to slap her grandmother before, and she swallowed it down. Her grandmother was a sweet lady, and she only wanted the best for her grandchild, even if her methods were misguided. 

Taking a deep breath in, Mae started to pace around the small space behind the post office desk, trying to figure out how best to proceed.

“Which newspaper did you place it in?” she asked breathlessly. 

“The Arizona Weekly Star,” her grandmother announced proudly. “And from there, the editor added it to the personals in the Herald too, for wider reach.” 

Mae pulled at her collar, suddenly feeling quite hot. “When did you place it?”

“Last week. It will be on breakfast tables everywhere this morning.” 

Her breath was shortening, and Mae couldn’t decide if she wanted to go to bed and forget the whole world existed or if she wanted to scream in the streets. It was too late to stop the advertisement from going out, but there was still hope.

“Tell me that you haven’t gotten any responses yet. Have you?” Mae asked, her eyes wild with panic. 

“Well, not yet, per se. But I’ve been assured by the editors that I will receive the responses by this time next week, and they expect to have many letters sent in reply. They all agreed that it was a very attractive posting.” 

“What did it say?” Mae demanded, feeling her spirit wither toward despair. 

“I have it right here. You can read it yourself.” 

Her grandmother fished out a small slip of paper from her pocket and handed it over to Mae, who snapped it up. She unfurled it, trying to take it all in at once, but the writing was too faint to read quickly. 

 

Seeking Husband, Dusty Gulch, Arizona Territory: Young lady, nineteen, reliable and hardworking, employed at town post office, seeks an honest, steady man with good character. Prefer a rancher or miner, with humor and respect for an independent lady. Replies to this paper handled discreetly.

 

There it was. Right there, her future husband was summed up in the words “honest and steady,” as if those were the only important characteristics. What kind of a man was going to reply to this? What kind of scoundrels or good-for-nothings looking for a free meal and a woman to take care of them were going to write back with lies about their broad shoulders and whiskey habits?

“I put a lot of thought into it. I even made sure to note that you’re looking for someone with humor,” her grandmother exclaimed proudly. 

Mae sank down onto a hard wooden chair, her nerves frayed. She didn’t want to be too harsh on the woman who had raised her after losing her daughter, but it was all frightfully embarrassing. 

“You’re blushing, I can tell!” her grandmother went on, teasing. 

“I’m blushing because I’m ashamed, Grandma,” Mae admitted. “This is humiliating. I thought the only people who wrote advertisements like this were lonely men living in the middle of nowhere trying to scrape together a crop a half day’s ride from town, where no woman is likely to want to go. They’re for desperate people, incapable of finding love.”

“At this point, my dear, you are desperate.” 

“But I’m not! I’m nineteen, Grandma. I’m not a destitute spinster! I still have plenty of time to fall in love. I don’t need to turn to the papers where men twice my age with missing thumbs have to go to find someone desperate enough to marry them. What kind of men do you imagine will respond to this?”

Her grandmother’s face was now turning red as well, but Mae couldn’t stop herself. “I’ll tell you what kind of men!” she continued, not leaving her grandmother time to get a word in. “Ugly ones! Drunks who can’t get a life started for themselves looking to leach off of everything we’ve built. Worse yet, I’m sure you’ll get letters from criminals wanting to start a new life for themselves. No self-respecting man would marry a woman from the newspaper. What if you write to someone, and he turns up on our doorstep with an eye in the middle of his forehead?”

Suddenly, the tip of her grandmother’s cane was pointed in her face. Mae had awakened the rage of the old woman, and she was not someone to be toyed with. 

“Watch out, Mae. You’re starting to sound awfully spoiled and ungrateful. You turn up your nose to everyone in town, but you’ll end up alone if you keep up that snobbery. You ought to be thanking me for taking the initiative and sorting out your future,” her grandmother spat back. 

It was the nastiest argument they’d had since Mae was a child. They stared at each other, both shocked by the things they had said. It wasn’t like them to stoop so low. Mae’s grandmother’s eyes started to go glassy as she put down her cane once more, shaking from the effort of it all.

Right away, guilt swept through Mae. Her grandmother was simply worried for her, whether she needed to be or not, and Mae couldn’t blame her for that. She took a step forward and opened her arms in a gesture of peace. 

“I’m sorry. You’re right. Not about me needing a husband, but about my temper. I appreciate you trying to take care of me. I really do,” Mae apologized. It didn’t take much for her grandmother to soften and give in to her embrace. 

“I just worry about you. You can’t blame me for that. I’m sorry I kept it a secret from you, but I knew you’d stop me if I told you about it first.”

Mae laughed. “You’re right. I certainly would have stopped you.”

They parted ways once more and retreated peacefully to their respective corners. “I promise I won’t keep the responses from you. We can go through them together. Or, if you’d prefer to read them on your own without me staring over your shoulder, I understand,” Mae’s grandmother offered. 

Mae swallowed, trying to ignore the wave of nausea that came when she thought about reading through letters from men who wanted to get their hands on her. Her anger had now dissipated, and she didn’t want to appear rude. 

“I think I’d rather not read them myself, but you can go through them and tell me which ones you approve of,” Mae offered, knowing full well she was going to put all the letters in the fire the very first chance she got. With any luck, her grandmother would find something else to worry about in the meantime and distract her from trying to find Mae a husband by any means possible. 

The rest of the afternoon was quiet. Mrs. Russel’s information about the stagecoach being delayed was accurate, so there was no additional mail delivery to sort through that day. Mae’s dear friend, Sarah, came by as she usually did at the end of the day once her cleaning shift at the boarding house was done. 

The three of them walked home together, but Mae was disappointed not to get a moment alone with her friend to discuss her grandmother’s foolhardy decision. Without Sarah, there was no one else in town that she could talk to about such matters. A fellow orphan with no living parents, Sarah had been fending for herself for several years and had no one to bother or pressure her into getting married. 

But with dinner still to be made and another early morning on the horizon, Mae would have to wait for another day before she could vent as much as she wanted to. 

Chapter Two

Gideon fiddled with his coffee mug impatiently. It wasn’t like Peter to be late, but considering how generous the man had been with his information over the years, Gideon wasn’t exactly in a position to become irritated. As one of Tucson’s finest deputies, Peter didn’t have to take the time to tell a civilian like Gideon everything he knew about the Rusty Reapers, one of Arizona’s most notorious gangs. 

The saloon was busy that afternoon, but Gideon wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone. It had been five years since he’d been looking for the men responsible for his brother’s death. He’d traveled from town to town in Arizona, taking work where he could and checking in with Peter as often as possible. Most of the time, Peter had nothing to tell him, but a note left by his door that morning telling him to meet the deputy in the saloon could only mean one thing: He’d discovered something. 

Sunlight fought to stream in through the dusty windows that hadn’t been washed in years, but Gideon preferred the dark anyway. The player piano had been repeating the same tune for half an hour, and no one but him seemed to mind. Every time the doors swung open, Gideon looked up with hope, only to be disappointed when someone else walked into the room. 

He was surprised, to say the least, when Peter suddenly appeared right in front of him. 

“Where did you come from?” Gideon asked, moving his hat from its place on the small table to make room. 

“Came in the back. I don’t have a lot of time. I need to get back to the office soon, but I had to see you. Guess who’s finally popped back up?” Peter asked with a mischievous smile. 

“If you say anyone but the Rusty Reapers, I’ll send you back to the office myself,” Gideon replied, anxious to get to the point. 

“You are right on the money. Mind if I have a sip?” Peter sat down and picked up Gideon’s cold coffee before he could say anything one way or the other. 

“Help yourself. So, where are they?”

Peter pulled a small map out of his coat pocket and put it down on the table. “Well, word is that they commandeered a stagecoach headed for a town called Dusty Gulch just two days ago.”

“Dusty Gulch?”

“I know, I’ve never heard of it either, but apparently, it’s just a two-day ride to the south,” Peter said, pointing to a small dot on the map beside a winding river. 

“Did they get caught?” 

Peter rolled his eyes. “No. Of course not. But my contacts tell me that they’ll likely be staying put in Dusty Gulch for a while. Regroup while they figure out where to take their thieving ways next.”

“Right,” Gideon replied, eyes still glued to the map. Judging by Dusty Gulch’s remote location, he couldn’t make a good guess as to where the gang would be headed next or what might have led them to the small town in the first place. 

“Gideon! This is your moment. Get yourself to Dusty Gulch and see what you can find out.”

Gideon’s heart started racing with anticipation. It would be no good to get too excited, of course. There was a good chance he’d get to Dusty Gulch, and the gang would be long gone, but it wasn’t an opportunity he could afford to let pass him by. 

“Time to find the Rusty Reapers in Dusty Gulch. Maybe they chose that town for the name alone,” Gideon said with a chuckle. 

“Seems like something they’d do,” Peter agreed. “Now, you’ll need a reason to be in town. Something that won’t raise anyone’s suspicions.”

“What’s the place like? Maybe I can get work as a ranch hand or something.”

“It’s a mining town. It would be best to figure out some kind of work before you get there, so you’re not wandering around like a vagabond,” Peter pointed out. 

Gideon narrowed his eyes. “I’ve been looking for the Rusty Reapers for years. If I need to pick up work wherever I am, then I find work. No one thinks a man looking for work is suspicious.”

“I’m telling you, Dusty Gulch is different. It’s a nice town. Besides, it’s the Rusty Reapers you really have to worry about. They know there are people looking for them after everything they’ve pulled over the last few months. They’ll be keeping an eye out for bounty hunters pretending to be normal civilians,” Peter argued. 

“But I’m not a bounty hunter.” Gideon didn’t need the promise of money to want to find the outlaws. 

“I know that, but they won’t! All they’ll see is a strong man, new to town, with a nasty scar across his left cheek, asking a few too many questions. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were a bounty hunter. You’re going to need a good cover story.”

Gideon leaned back in his chair, out of arguments. In a place like Tucson, he blended in easily. In fact, he blended in most frontier towns, as far as he was concerned. If the Rusty Reapers were getting nervous, however, and if Dusty Gulch really was as different as Peter said it was, then he was better off safe than sorry. 

Still, Peter’s suggestion didn’t make much sense to him. “How am I supposed to get work ahead of time? I don’t think that’s really how it’s done. What rancher is going to hire me sight unseen?” 

Peter wiggled his eyebrows and pulled something else out of his pocket: a newspaper. “I told you, it’s a mining town. Not much work for ranch hands. My point is, if a man like you wanders into a town that outlaws have just invaded, you’re going to get some sideways glances at best. Look, we can search through the listings to see if there are any job postings in the area. It’s not entirely unheard of, you know.”

He handed Gideon one newspaper while Peter flipped open another. “I guess it’s good to be careful. I don’t want to wait too long and miss them, though,” Gideon pointed out. 

“Don’t worry. From what I hear, they’re going to be there for a while and lay low. I can’t offer you any support, unfortunately, because it’s outside my jurisdiction, but you can always reach out to the local sheriff for help,” Peter pointed out. 

Gideon grimaced. Aside from Peter, Gideon wasn’t entirely comfortable working with the law, considering his own shady past. Questions would undoubtedly come up about why exactly he was so intent on stopping the Rusty Reapers in their tracks, and he wasn’t exactly prepared to answer those questions just yet. What the Rusty Reapers had taken from him was personal, and so he wanted to personally exact his revenge. 

He flipped open the newspaper and went to the last page, where postings were listed for anything from jobs to selling farm equipment to folks looking for long-lost loved ones. As far as he could tell, there wasn’t one mention of “Dusty Gulch” anywhere. Even if there had been, Gideon didn’t love the idea of taking work at a silver mine, but if that’s what it would take to get closer to the outlaws who had killed his brother, then he’d do it. 

“Huh, this is interesting. Not what I had in mind, but…it could actually be your best bet,” Peter said. 

“What’s the job? Is it in Dusty Gulch?”

Peter shrugged. “It’s the only listing that actually mentions the town by name, but…doesn’t sound entirely unpleasant.” He grinned and turned the paper around, his finger pointing to a single listing. 

 

Seeking Husband, Dusty Gulch, Arizona Territory: Young lady, nineteen, reliable and hardworking, employed at town post office, seeks an honest, steady man with good character. Prefer a rancher or miner, with humor and respect for an independent lady. Replies to this paper handled discreetly.

 

Gideon started laughing. “Good one. Seems like the perfect time to get married!”

“Hey, some might say that being a husband is the best job available!” Peter retorted. “In all seriousness, this could be the perfect cover. The sheriff won’t think you’re a bandit, and after all this time, I doubt the Rusty Reapers will recognize the perfect-husband version of Gideon Beckett. You could even change your name if you wanted to.” 

“Peter, are you seriously suggesting that I should write to this poor woman, promise to marry her, and then leave the second I exact my revenge? Enough people have been hurt by the Rusty Reapers. I don’t want to add to their list of casualties.”

Peter shook his head and pushed the paper toward Gideon again. “If you’re going to get to them, you’re going to have to start thinking like them. You’re not planning on killing this woman, are you? No. And you’re not going to break her heart either! You’re a handsome man even with that scar, but I don’t think she’ll be in danger of falling in love with you in a matter of days or weeks.”

“I know, I know, but—”

“It will be an inconvenience to her, nothing more,” Peter interrupted, putting his hat back on. “She can put another advertisement in the paper once you skip town, and then make up for it with the next man who comes along. She’s only nineteen, after all. She’s got plenty of time to find a better husband than you’d make.”

Gideon chuckled, covering the slight sting under the surface. He wasn’t looking for love, let alone marriage, but there had been a time when he’d dreamed of such things. The older he got, however, the more those dreams had fallen to the wayside as his obsession with finding the Rusty Reapers had taken over. 

Peter got up. “I should be heading back, but let me know if you need anything else before you head up. Good luck out there, Gideon.”

 “Thank you. I appreciate all your leg work here,” Gideon responded. 

The deputy took one step toward the door before turning around and giving Gideon one last word of advice. “You know, maybe it wouldn’t have to all be an act.”

“What do you mean?” 

“The marriage. Maybe you could get married. Feels like the right time for you. And once you put this Rusty Reapers business behind you, you’ll have to find something else to dedicate your life to. If you like her…it might be something to think about,” Peter said with a shrug of his shoulders. 

“I’ll take it into consideration,” Gideon replied sarcastically. Marriage might as well have been the last thing on his mind. 

Still, as he read over the words in the advertisement, he couldn’t help but wonder what kind of girl had written it. Why was she looking for a husband, and what kind of man was she hoping for? Apart from her request for honesty, he fit the bill. He had a decent sense of humor, he was respectful, and he could be depended upon. 

He chuckled at himself, realizing just how foolish the thought was. Finding the Rusty Reapers was his first order of business. He didn’t have time to think about love or marriage. 

***

The newspaper sat open on the small table of Gideon’s tiny boarding room. He’d been there for three months, yet hadn’t done anything to make the place feel like home. There was no point. He always knew he wouldn’t be in one place for very long, even though Tucson was the closest place to a permanent residence he’d ever had. 

It had been the same pattern for five years. Catch wind of the Rusty Reapers being in this town or that, Gideon chasing them down and finding nothing but wreckage along the way, forced to chase down the next clue or retreat back to Tucson to wait until the next bit of information was slipped to him. 

Gideon had become a jack of all trades in the meantime. He’d taken work as a ranch hand, farm hand, blacksmith’s apprentice, cook (though he’d been terrible at that), logger, and trader along the way. Sometimes, his fellow workers would try to befriend him, but Gideon always had a larger purpose that took up most of his time. 

He’d long ago given up hope that any kind of sheriff was going to help him. As far as he could tell, the lawmen were scared of the Rusty Reapers. Everyone, even Peter, continually shifted the responsibility to someone else. Gideon’s head was swimming with conspiracy theories. He was beginning to suspect that the Rusty Reapers had arranged some kind of deal with every sheriff they came into contact with, though Peter always said that everyone was too busy to chase down a gang that never stayed in one place for very long. 

Something felt different about this time, however. He was tired, but from the sounds of it, the Rusty Reapers were even more exhausted from running. If Peter’s information was right and they were planning on hiding out in Dusty Gulch for a while, something must have gone wrong for them. 

He stared at the newspaper late into the night, unable to fall asleep. Through the open window, he could hear the laughing and singing from the saloon down below. He wondered if there would ever come a time when he would be able to laugh freely like that again. 

A life after the Rusty Reapers were behind bars seemed strange and unfamiliar. To be honest, Gideon didn’t like thinking about it much, but that wasn’t going to stop him from hunting his prey. He could almost taste victory now, and he’d be damned if he was going to let some bounty hunter take down the men who had stolen his brother’s life. 

With a disgruntled groan, Gideon went to get his pen and ink. He knew what he had to do. As much as he didn’t like getting anyone else involved in his search, this wasn’t the time to take unnecessary risks. 

 

To the Young Lady looking for a husband,

I would be honored to fill the position. My name is Gabriel Winters, age twenty-four, and I am an honest, hard worker. I’m looking to settle down and start a family. I have a good deal of ranching experience, though I hear Dusty Gulch is a mining town. If it sounds like I would be a good fit, please let me know. I am currently in Tucson, so I can be there in a matter of days.

Yours,

Gabriel

 

Gideon re-read the words before throwing the pen down in frustration. His words were too cold and factual. What kind of woman would want to marry such a boring man? If he was truly hoping to be picked, then he was going to have to stand out from the crowd. 

Sentimentality didn’t come naturally to him. His heart was so full of grief and anger over losing his brother that there wasn’t much room for anything else. Gritting his teeth, Gideon got a new piece of paper and tried again, forcing himself to pretend to be someone else. 

If Gabriel Winters was to be his new name, then he could take on a new personality, too. Maybe Gabriel was more of a poet. Maybe he was an idealistic, affectionate sort of man, and maybe if he pretended to be someone else, such sweetness would come more easily to Gideon. 

 

To the Young Lady looking for a husband,

I would be honored to fill the position. My name is Gabriel Winters, age twenty-four, and I am an honest, hardworking man with much love to give. I’ve long hoped to start a family and share some of that love but have been unlucky in that department. A consumption outbreak got the better of the woman I once thought I would marry. For a long time, I thought my heart would never have room for the affection of another, but I find myself yearning for such a love now.

I have plenty of experience in a vast number of fields, so I have no doubt I will be able to put myself to good use in Dusty Gulch. If you need help at the post office, I have good reading skills and can sort and lift heavy packages. 

Currently, I reside in Tucson but can travel easily and enjoy life on the frontier. I have no family of my own to speak of, having lost my parents and brother at a young age. I was born in New York City but have been in the Arizona Territory for most of my life now. I’ve been wandering, but my heart is calling for a home. 

If any of this rings true for you, let me know, and I will make my way to Dusty Gulch.

Yours,

Gabriel

 

Gideon sat back and read over his work. Something about it set his stomach on edge. He wasn’t sure if it was because it was filled with such lies, or if it was because of the kernels of truth it contained, as of yet unadmitted to even himself. Either way, he didn’t want to look at it again. 

Once the ink was dry, he folded it up and promised himself that he would go to the post office first thing in the morning. He did his best to sleep again, knowing he had an early morning ale delivery to take care of. The more tired he was, the less pleasant it would all be. When sleep finally came, it was a fitful one, filled with strange dreams.

“My dear! You were gone for so long I almost thought there had been an accident at the mine,” a beautiful woman with red hair said, rushing up to him as he closed the door of a modest cabin behind him. He knew without needing to be told that this woman was his wife. Though part of him felt as though he’d never seen her before, another, louder part was sure that they had a deep history. 

“There was a hold-up in town. Some kind of a parade,” Gideon replied. Suddenly, memories of a parade for some unknown cause flooded his mind. Visions of brightly colored flags and dancing children flew by. 

“Ah, of course! The governor is in town. I would have gone except that there was a leak in the roof to take care of. Would you mind taking care of that when you have a moment?” she asked sweetly. 

“I’m so sorry I haven’t fixed that yet.” Suddenly, the smell of a roast filled his nostrils. He hadn’t caught the scent of such a delicious meal in months. 

“Thank you! You are the best husband I could possibly have asked for, and you’re going to be a wonderful father.” She kissed his cheek, and Gideon looked down to see that her stomach was full with child. He pulled her close without thinking, holding tight to the one good thing in his life, soon to be two. 

As soon as his eyes closed, however, he heard a gunshot. Out of instinct, he sank to the ground, pulling the wife whose name he didn’t even know down with him, desperate to protect her from the Rusty Reapers he knew must be only seconds away. 

Hadn’t he taken care of those villains yet? What was he thinking, bringing a child into such a dangerous world?

The guns rang out again, and Gideon’s eyes flashed open. 

Someone was knocking on his door. Through the fog of sleep, Gideon realized where he was. Safely, back in his dull, dark boarding room. No wife and no child to worry about. Just the anger that was bound to haunt him until he got to the bottom of it.