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His continued displeasure made her temper rise. In her mind, he was being terribly unfair. Even if he was still angry, he could at least acknowledge her apology.
“I’m not sure we’ll mesh,” he finally said.
“Neither am I. A grown man should be able to acknowledge a sincerely offered apology and converse in sentences consisting of more than five words. Good day, Dr. Lee.”
She turned on her heel and stormed out.
Outside, she found Sheriff Lambert talking with Mr. Denby. All her trunks and valises were off the coach and waiting. “I’m ready to go to Minnie’s,” she declared hotly. “Wherever that may be.”
“Got a temper, too, do you?” the sheriff asked, taking in her tight face.
She glared.
His thick mustache framed his smile. “You may be just the tonic Colt needs.”
“The doctor needs a colonic. Not a wife.”
Denby hooted.
The sheriff laughed, too, and after Mr. Denby left them, turned his attention to her trunks. “All these yours?”
“Yes.”
“You going on safari?”
She gave him another glare, even though she did have a small mountain of belongings.
“Just pulling your leg. Give me a few minutes to get a wagon from the livery and we’ll be on our way.”
“Thank you.”
While waiting for his return, she noticed a man on a bay stallion riding towards the outskirts of town. It was Lee and she wanted to yell after him, “Coward!” Instead she settled for fuming. This was not how she’d envisioned her journey as a mail-order bride would begin.
Chapter Two
While the sheriff drove, Regan sat on the wagon seat beside him and took in the small town of Paradise. They rolled down the rutted dirt road that served as the main street, past Miller’s General Store, and a small log cabin with a sign over its door that readTelegraph.
“Can we stop long enough for me to send a telegram to my family?” she asked. “I want them to know I arrived safely.”
“Sure can.”
People on the walks paused to watch her go inside and she wondered what they thought of her.
The interior was small. Three older men, all sporting whiskers and beards, were seated around a table. In the center was a checkerboard. They all looked up at her entrance.
One of them was the buckskin-wearing man of earlier. He grinned. “You didn’t come in here to shoot us, did you?”
Regan dropped her head. Would she ever live this down? “No, sir. Just to send a telegram to my family in Arizona Territory.”
“Then I guess we’re safe,” one of the other men said while studying the board. He moved a black disc, then smiled proudly. “Odell, your move.”
Odell was the buckskin man. Bright blue eyes studied the board. He moved his red disc and hopped it over three of his opponent’s pieces to the king row. “Beat that, you old possum!”
Regan wondered which of the men was the telegraph operator. “Gentlemen—”
Odell said, “Sorry, ma’am.” He walked over to the desk and handed her a piece of paper and a pencil. “Write what you want sent, where it’s going, and to who.”
So she did and handed it back.
