Read Online The Bride's Prerogative by Susan Page Davis - Free Book Online Page A

three o’clock.” Traffic in the emporium was always light after noontime, and her clerk could handle it without her.
    “Yes, ma’am.” Florence’s hazel eyes held a hint of solemnity as she looked about the store.
    Libby went out the back. She didn’t like people to see her leave by the front door. The mayor’s wife might try to go over and talk Florence down on prices, thinking she could get a bargain from the inexperienced girl. Libby smiled at the thought. For the first month of Florence’s employment, Libby had made her repeat over and over before opening each morning, “Only Mrs. Adams makes deals with customers.”
    She lurked in the alley between the emporium and the stagecoach office until she was sure no one paid any mind to the foot traffic on her part of the street. As she dashed across the way, she noted smoke puffing from the jail’s chimney. Ethan must be in his new office. He’d been sheriff less than a week, but he seemed to take the position and its responsibilities to heart. Already she’d heard complaints. When Ted Hire came in wanting some lamp oil, he’d mentioned how the sheriff had come into the Nugget three times on Saturday night and told the boys to keep the noise down. It put a damper on the usual hilarity, to hear Ted tell it.
    At the Dooleys’ house, she cut straight around to the back. Gert had already saddled the two horses she and her brother maintained. Hiram Dooley’s Sharps rifle protruded from a leather scabbard on the saddle of Gert’s dun mare, Crinkles. The other horse, Hiram’s docile bay gelding he called Hoss, stood with his head drooping, eyes closed, and tail swishing now and then. His reins hung down from the bit, the only restraint Gert had used on him. That was about all the excitement Libby liked in a horse.
    “Howdy,” Gert called with a smile.
    “Good afternoon. Am I late?”
    Gert glanced up at the sky. “Not on my account.”
    “Are you sure Hiram won’t mind if I take his horse?”
    “No, he’s got the mayor’s rifle in. He’ll be working on it all afternoon, I dare say.”
    Gert unhitched Crinkles and swung the mare’s head around. “Need a boost?”
    “Well …” Libby gathered Hoss’s reins and moved him to an uneven spot in the ground, where she could stand a few inches uphill from him. She was able to lift her left foot to the stirrup from there. “I’ll be fine,” she called, but Gert led Crinkles over anyway.
    “Forgot to put the stirrups up. Go ahead and mount. I’ll run ‘em up the leathers once you’re on.”
    Libby swung up and threw her leg over, struggling to arrange her skirt and keep her bag from bumping Hoss’s side.
    “You ought to alter one of your skirts,” Gert said. “It’d be easier to ride in.”
    “Oh, I know.” Libby had ridden sidesaddle before she’d come west to marry Isaac Adams, but out here, the practice was out of fashion. She doubted the town of Fergus boasted a single sidesaddle.
    Hiram’s legs were a good deal longer than hers, and her toes slid out of the stirrups. In seconds, Gert had adjusted the straps. “All set?”
    “Feels just right.” Libby bounced on her toes, and Hoss swung his head around, fixing her with a reproachful gaze. “Sorry, Hoss.”
    Gert hopped easily onto Crinkles’s back. Her divided skirt settled with modesty about her. Libby decided she would look at the pattern book when she got back to the emporium. Maybe it was time she had the practical Western version of a riding habit. Gert gathered her reins and clucked. Crinkles set out at a swift walk. Libby squeezed Hoss. When he didn’t move, she kicked him lightly, and he shuffled off in the mare’s wake.
    They ambled behind the row of houses and businesses that faced Main Street and soon were beyond the edge of town. Gert urged her mare into a quick trot, and Libby, with some effort, persuaded Hoss to keep up. They rode to a stream that gushed down out of the mountains on its way to the river. This time of year,