Page 7 of The Banker's Bride

The marshal laughed. “Glad to do it.”

“Be careful on the way back, marshal.” Dallas shook his hand.

“Will do.” Then the U.S. Marshal turned to his men. “Let’s go!”

“I’ll get you, banker! Mark my words!” Brock yelled through the steel bars.

Gentry chimed in, too. “Yeah, we’ll get you!”

“Shut up, Gentry!”

“No, you shut up!”

The two took turns yelling and arguing as the wagon pulled away.

“I don’t envy the marshal.” Colton chuckled, shaking his head as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “He has his hands full.”

“They all do.” Dallas laughed.

Later that night, Dallas sat by the fire in the parlor of his ranch house, enjoying a brandy and a cigar after dinner, rocking back and forth in a rocking chair. He took a puff and blew out a smoke ring as the sweet cigar scent filled the air.

“Would ye be needin’ anything else before I go?” Mrs. Daly asked as she slid her reticule onto her wrist and adjusted her cloak. She had been working for Dallas King since he came to Whiskey River. “I’ll be retirin’ here momentarily.”

Dallas smiled. “No, thank you, Mrs. Daly. I can manage.”

She nodded. “Very well, then. I’ll be here bright and early in the morn’, sir. Don’t ye fret.” Mrs. Daly and her husband had moved to Whiskey River from Ireland when they were newly married. When Dallas moved to Whiskey River, he needed a housekeeper, and she fit the bill. Dallas had also hired Mr. Daly to help with the horses. Come to find out, he was a good horseman. Dallas had set up a private cabin for the two of them a good ways away from the bunkhouse for privacy.

Over the years, Dallas had come to depend upon Mrs. Daly. She did his laundry, cooked his meals, and cleaned the house. But what he lacked was companionship.

Dallas swirled the brandy around in the glass before taking another sip, letting the alcohol warm him. He ticked off the names of the women of marrying age in Whiskey River but none of them interested him. That was why he had contacted Madame Samantha Chase, Matchmaker, and had taken out another advertisement for a mail-order bride. He just hoped that he had made the right decision… and that it worked out better this time than last.

His mind went to his failed foray in the mail-order-bride business a few years before. Ella Raines—now Ella Hill—had been his mail-order bride, but she had fallen in love with her escort, Colton Hill, on the way. But when Dallas madearrangements with Madame Chase this time, he’d made sure to tell her not to send an escort with his betrothed.

He took another sip of his brandy, swirling the caramel-colored liquid. It reminded him of his father, a drunkard whose entertainment was beating his wife and children when he was drunk. When he was sober, he was the nicest, most caring and charismatic man in the world. But when he drank, it was another story; he became another man entirely.

Luckily, alcohol had never affected Dallas that way; it just soothed and relaxed him. But he was also sure to drink in moderation. However, he had to work to control his temper which he inherited from his father. It was an aspect of his character that he was working on.

Dallas guessed that he inherited his sense of perfectionism from his father, as well. Not that his father had been a perfectionist. Oh, heavens no! But over the years, Dallas had worked hard to achieve perfection in an effort to break the bonds of his past.

When he was growing up, Dallas felt he always had to be perfect. If he had been, then he wouldn’t have received the beatings. Looking back, it seemed that Dallas had always done something to set him off, triggering the beatings. But of course, the beatings always happened when his father was drunk. And the more his father beat him, the more perfect Dallas tried to be. After all, his father was beating him because of his imperfections, wasn’t he? Dallas found that the less mistakes he made, the less attention he attracted from his father when he was drunk, then the less beatings he received.

As a child, Dallas wondered why his father beat him. He had come to this conclusion early in his life: Because of his imperfection, he was unlovable. After all, if his mother had loved him, she would have stopped the beatings. Wouldn’t she? Andif his father had loved him, why would he beat him? Being unlovable was the only conclusion he could manage.

Dallas had also grown up poor and remembered walking for what seemed like miles—sometimes in snow and rain—to get an education in a one-room schoolhouse in Minnesota. His own father, John King, had been educated at home by his mother and had never received a formal education.

John’s father, Wesley King, would expect him to work in the fields during harvest time, and school was pushed to the wayside. Wesley had never gone to school and believed that an education was a waste of a man’s time, preventing him from learning the meaning of a hard day’s work. Every hand was needed at harvest time, no matter how small. The survival of the family became much more important than an education.

As a result, Dallas’s parents had struggled to support him as a child and money was scarce. Christmases often consisted of fruit, a few pieces of store-bought candy, and the treats that his mother made for him.

Learning from his childhood, Dallas had been determined to break the cycle of poverty. Although John scoffed at his getting an education in his youth, he never stopped Dallas from going to school. And the more he learned, the more he craved. And Dallas soon found he had a nose for business.

John taught Dallas how to farm so he would always have a trade to support himself. But Dallas was eager to make a break from his life and was determined to make something more of himself. Dallas’s teacher, Mrs. Menton, had taken a liking to him and had helped him to apply to a university. As a result, Dallas left home for the University of Chicago in May 1861 at the age of seventeen. His teacher had graduated from the same university. Stories she had told the class about her time there had captured his fantasies and hope for a different life.

When his teacher asked him if he would have rather applied to a local university, Dallas balked, telling her that he wanted to start a new life. Miss Menton had cautioned him not to forget where he came from, but it didn’t matter to Dallas.

In college, Dallas’s grades were so good that he received a scholarship, but he had to work in the cafeteria and took odd jobs tutoring other students to make enough money to stay. That was when he met Charles Whitfield.

He and Charles became fast friends when three students had cornered Charles in a dark alley. Dallas was on his way to the dorm from the library after a long night of studying. When he saw what was happening, he stood by Charles’s side. Together, they took on the three other students. When they were finished, no other student bothered Charles again.

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