Page 73 of The Rancher's Wedding

“How ya’ doin’?” the old man said. “How’s our little town treating you?”

“Quite wonderfully,” Ethan said, lying through his teeth, the only part of his body that didn’t seem to be covered in dust.

“I bet you don’t have barbecue like this back there in the city. Am I right?”

Ethan gave the man a half-hearted chuckle. “You certainly are.” The truth was that Ethan wouldn’t be caught dead eating any of the meat offered to him here. They didn’t have any standards. Whereas in Philadelphia, he could get a fine steak, served medium rare, that would practically melt in his mouth, out here, they would just char any cut they could find and douse it in salts and sauces. It was an assault on Ethan’s tastes. The smell alone made him nauseous. In fact, everything in the town made him want to vomit. He couldn’t wait to get his wife and bring her back to the city with him, where they could live amongst other dignified adults.

That was enough small talk for Ethan. He jumped straight to why he was talking to this man. “You haven’t happened to see Estelle around town, have you?”

The man pondered the thought for a moment, then shook his head. “I can’t say I have.”

“Or her husband?” Ethan asked. “I apologize, I can’t recall his name at the moment.”

“It’s Michael,” the man said. “Michael and Estelle Holden.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Ethan said. “Michael Holden.”

The man hadn’t seen Michael either, but Ethan had what he needed.

“I must be going, then,” Ethan said.

“Wonderful talking to you,” said the old man, but Ethan’s back was already to him.

He walked into the post office and rang a bell sitting on the counter. A kid, he couldn’t have been much more than 16, walked up to the desk.

“Can I help you, sir?” the boy asked.

“Excuse me, young man,” Ethan said. “I need to find Michael Holden, would you be able to direct me to his ranch?”

“I’m sorry, but we don’t generally give out that information,” the boy behind the desk said.

“I understand,” Ethan said, “the issue is that I need to get in touch with him immediately. It’s in regard to an inheritance of a distant family member. If I don’t contact him before I head back to Philadelphia this afternoon, it could be months before he receives it.”

The postal worker did understand and drew Ethan a map of how to get to the Holden ranch.

***

The directions were clear and the ranch was within walking distance, though perhaps longer than Ethan would have preferred to go by foot.

As he approached down the path, the ranch itself was impossible to miss. As he got closer, he saw Estelle and the man who had stolen her away from him. They were talking and walking a horse to a tall, open building. He slowed his pace, knowing that he could take his time. They didn’t see him approach and when he got to the building, he knocked on the frame.

“Pardon me. Am I interrupting anything?” he said, surprising both of them.

Estelle looked as though she was on the verge of crying and the man, a large oafish thing who could use a shave, shower, and actual tailored clothing, just had a blank look on his face.

“Can I help you?” the man asked.

“I think you can,” Ethan said. “You see—”

“Ethan,” Estelle said. It may have been the first time he felt she was talking directly to him. “You need to leave.”

“You know him?” the man asked, looking back and forth between them, then extended a hand to Ethan. “I apologize, my name is Michael. May I ask your name?”

Ethan shook the hand, glad to be wearing his gloves.

“Ethan Fitzgerald,” he said.

Michael had a firm grip and dry, leathery skin from the daily farm work, no doubt. These were not hands that should be touching Ethan’s porcelain doll wife.

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