Hallowe’en Husbands by Denise Lynn, Christine Merrill, and Lisa Plumley
October 2008

Marriage at Morrow Creek by Lisa Plumley

During an unexpected stopover in Morrow Creek, Arizona Territory, sassy medicine show assistant Rose Tillson decides to indulge her longtime infatuation with her driver, Will Gavigan, unaware that the rugged bagman plans to pair her up with a suitably straitlaced suitor of his own choosing before they leave town. But mysterious forces have other plans for these two longtime friends…plans that just might lead to love beneath the Hallow-e’en stars.

read on for an excerpt…

E-X-C-E-R-P-T
from “Marriage at Morrow Creek” by Lisa PlumleyOctober 1884
near Morrow Creek, Arizona Territory“Your sister has gone missing again.”

At the sound of her father’s gravelly voice, Rose Tillson jumped. Hastily, she pressed her finger to the account book on her lap, trying to keep her place in the column of penciled figures she was supposed to be tallying.

“Hmmm?” Trying to appear wholly innocent, Rose glanced up.

She felt immediately dismayed at the sight before her. Her father stood grumpily just outside the medicine show wagons that housed their belongings, his gray hair on end and his clothing askew. Typically, Dr. George Tillson prided himself on his dapper appearance. Today though, Viola’s latest escapade seemed to have upset him too much to bother.

“Oh Papa! You haven’t even buttoned your coat.” Rose nodded at the fallen leaves swirling in the autumn breeze nearby. “It’s cold! You’ll catch your death outside. Here, let me help you.”

Clambering down from the wagon—an enclosed affair with the words TILLSON & HEALY’S PATENTED MIRACLE ELIXIR & CELEBRATED PANACEA painted in vibrant lettering on its sides—Rose buttoned her father’s coat. Then she smoothed his hair and fixed his scarf.

“There.” Satisfied that he’d be warm enough, she gave him an affectionate pat. “Now then. You say Viola’s not in camp?”

“Not since sunup, near as I can tell.” Her father shook his head, peering into the ponderosa pine and oak-filled forest surrounding their campsite. A short distance from their doused fire, their four horses nosed aside the frostbitten leaves, searching for breakfast. “She didn’t feed or water the horses either. I told her we were leaving straightaway this morning.”

“I know you did. Don’t worry. I’ll go look for her.”

“Probably off woolgathering again.” He hunched his shoulders. “That girl doesn’t have the sense God gave a goose. Or that mangy mouser that’s been hanging around here lately.”

He pointed. Rose looked, but caught only a glimpse as the small black cat raced into the trees. She had yet to get a good view of the creature. But with All Hallow’s Eve only a few days away, the appearance of a black cat did make her wonder…

“If I find out Viola’s been mooning over some ‘dashing’ customer instead of doing her chores,” her papa said, “I’ll set her to shoveling horse patties for a week to make up for it!”

“Shh. Mind your temper, Papa.” Sympathetically, Rose patted her father’s shoulder. “Remember what Sheng Li says—staying calm promotes wellness. Whenever you feel agitated, you’re supposed to breathe deeply and—”

“Don’t you start on me. Sheng Li is smart as a whip with those Celestial herbs of his, and his elixir has been a godsend to me, that’s for certain. But if that Chinaman got close to the sun, he’d give it advice on how it could shine brighter.”

“He can be a bit of a know it all.” Rose pulled her wrap tighter. “No wonder the two of you get along so well.”

“Indeed we do.” A moment passed. “Now hang on a minute—”

“Except you’d tell the sun to be both brighter and warmer.”

“Cheeky girl.” Her father’s gaze softened as he touched his palm to her cheek. “At least you’ll never worry me the way Viola does with her shenanigans, Rose. You’re as dependable as the day is long and twice as prone to regularity.”

“Papa, please.” Rose made a face. “You make me sound like a dose of Lintel’s castor oil!”

“That’s not such a bad thing to a person who needs it.” Her father stuck his hands in his pockets, visibly cheered. “Now quit making that face at me. As your poor dear mother would have said, you don’t want it to freeze that way. And when you find Viola, tell her there’s no use trying to sneak in under my nose. I won’t be gulled by her tomfoolery. I’m old, not blind.”

“I’ll tell her. I promise.”

“See that you do. And no lollygagging either.”

Rose agreed, watching fondly as her papa headed for their second wagon with his coat still crooked. An energetic man, Dr. George Tillson was also fiercely loving, famously intelligent, and occasionally eccentric. He’d abandoned a lucrative medical practice in San Francisco to spread the word about Sheng Li’s medicinal elixir, which had restored his own health years ago. Now Rose couldn’t
remember the days when they’d lived in the city. She only recalled trails and towns and days on the road.

Her sister, however, did remember their more sophisticated existence—and she yearned for it all the time. Even now, Viola was probably gazing into Morrow Creek’s general store windows, watching trains arriving at the depot, or spending part of her savings on tea at the town’s fanciest hotel, the Lorndorff.
Viola had a hunger for the bustle and flash of town life, and Morrow Creek—where they’d finished making elixir deliveries to accounts and conducting their popular medicine show yesterday—had captured her imagination more than most. It was one of Rose’s favorite places on the medicine show’s circuit too, bordered by a protective mountain and filled with friendly townsfolk, charming houses, and western-style shops.

But that friendliness couldn’t compete with their father’s rampaging protective streak. As far as Papa was concerned, all unknown men were potential degenerates, just itching to take advantage of a woman alone. Which was why Viola usually sneaked out to gain her freedom…and why Rose typically brought her back before their father realized anything was amiss. Today Rose had gotten distracted—disastrously so for Viola’s sake. After all, nobody liked shoveling meadow muffins.

Resigned to her mission, Rose reached in the wagon for her gloves. Instead, her gaze fell on the bottle of Lintel’s castor oil in a nearby basket. She glowered. Everyone she met thought of her in those castor oil terms—dependable, reliable, and easy to digest.

She’d had just about enough of it too.

Although Rose had been travelling with her papa’s show almost from the day she could toddle up to the wagons, she made it a point to stay out of the spotlight. She was the mousy assistant—the person who kept the accounts, mended the costumes, cooked meals, and circulated among the crowd to sell bottles of Tillson & Healy’s Patented Miracle Elixir & Celebrated Panacea.

She was not an exciting performer like Viola, eager to sing and dance with all eyes on her…or to skedaddle to town on a whim. But for one fleeting moment, Rose dared to imagine herself in her sister’s place, doing something brash and scandalous.

Her imagination stuttered at the very notion.

With a sigh, Rose plucked up her gloves, then hoisted her skirts and petticoats. Thirty seconds later she was on her way into the forest, searching for her wayward sister…and for her own path to undependable, unreliable, uncastor oil-like living.

If only she had the first notion where to look.

~ ~ ~

The dried grass crunched beneath her feet. The scent of pine sap filled her nose. So engrossed was Rose in searching for Viola that she nearly missed the sight she savored the most every morning: Will Gavigan, their medicine show’s driver, bagman, and all around Johnny helper, striding into the camp as he returned from wherever he’d made his bed for the night.

Riveted, Rose stopped in her tracks to stare shamelessly at him. Even tousle-haired and focused on some other task, Will appeared magnificent. He’d outfitted himself in brown trousers, a white shirt, a brocade vest, a suit coat, an outer coat, a knit scarf, and a flat-brimmed hat. He carried a bedroll beneath his arm. He strode with authority and purpose. He needed to shave. He wouldn’t go amiss with a haircut either. But his features were perfect and his teeth were beautiful, and there was something intriguing about him. Something so masculine, so thrilling, so…so headed straight toward her this very minute.

Sakes alive. Will Gavigan had caught her ogling him.

“Rose. What are you looking at?” he asked.

His deep voice shook her, making her yearn for a way to keep him talking. Especially since he so rarely moved in the direction he did now…closer to her.

Startled, Rose blurted the truth. “I’m looking at you.”

A baffled silence greeted her admission.

Rose scarcely noticed. She fancied she could feel the warmth emanating from Will’s brawny, fascinating body, and she wanted to snuggle nearer to him—maybe touch his shadowed beard. Those bristly hairs looked as dark as those on his head…and on his eyebrows, which were currently raised in query.

I’m looking at you, she remembered herself saying. Oh no. Rose whipped her gaze upward, feeling her cheeks heat. “Your, er, walk is odd this morning,” she prevaricated.

“Ah. That’s the greenbacks in my boot.” Appearing more easygoing now that she’d explained herself, Will dropped his bedroll. He slipped off one big boot, then withdrew the hidden currency from inside. “God bless fools and gamblers.”

“Oh.” Brilliant. Rose stifled a nervous titter. She’d loved Will Gavigan for days, months, years on end. For equally as long, he’d been insensible to her infatuation. “You say that as though they’re one and the same. Fools and—”

He smiled. “In my experience, they usually are.”

“But if you’re wagering, aren’t you a gambler too? And therefore a bit of a fo—”

“Touché.” Folding the bills, Will tucked them securely in his boot again. He replaced his footwear, then grinned at her. “As usual, you’re my conscience, Rose. It’s a good thing you can’t play Faro, else I might never add a thing to my bankroll.”

She wrinkled her nose. “First castor oil, now a conscience. At this rate, I’ll be downgraded to a pinworm by lunchtime.”

He gave her a puzzled look. “A pinworm?”

“Never mind. It’s not important. Especially not since—”

“Your sister is missing again. I know. I just saw your father a minute ago. He asked me to be on the lookout.” Hoisting his bedroll, Will shook his head. “If it’s not one thing, it’s another with Viola. That girl’s a passel of trouble sometimes.”

To Rose, his tone sounded approving—almost admiring. It galled her more than she cared to admit. As usual, Viola was audacious and attention grabbing…while Rose was a walking, talking, helplessly smitten deterrent to Faro playing. “—not since I have such an important question to ask you,” Rose barreled on, determined to change the subject. She crossed her arms and arched her brow, trying to appear an adventuress in her own right. “You’ve been traveling with the show for three years now, Will. When are you going to stop keeping to yourself so much? You sleep apart, take your meals apart—”

“Sometimes a man’s better off alone.”

“No one’s better off alone. If only you’d try—”

His upraised hand stopped her. “Right now, I’ve got to try to find that foolhardy sister of yours.”

He touched his hat brim, then loped off in the opposite direction. Rose was left with only the sage and leather scent of him, the fleeting warmth of his nearness…and a desperate urge to bring him back.

“Will, wait!”

He turned. The sunshine highlighted his jaw, outlining its strength and stubbornness. My, he was splendid. If only he’d look at her with a little of the dedication and possessiveness he applied to his work for the medicine show. If only he’d see her for the independent woman she was, instead of the tagalong Tillson she’d been when he’d joined them on the road. If only…

“We could…search for Viola together?”

He shook his head. “Not this time.”

“I could”—hold your hand, gaze into your eyes, say something witty so you’d smile again—“make you breakfast?”

Her offer earned her another of his delectable smiles. “Burned biscuits again?”

“They’re well-browned,” Rose pointed out with a lift of her chin. “Just like the cookery book says.”

“Thank you, but right now your sister is more important.” Will lifted his hand in farewell. “Stay on the lookout, Rose.”

Watching him leave, his broad shoulders marching against those shafts of sunlight as he moved between the trees, Rose sighed. Your sister is more important. Wasn’t that the story of her entire life? What did she have to do to make Will see her?

To make him, if she were lucky, fall in love with her?

Before Rose could reason out a solution, a noisy splash sounded from nearby. The creek! Had Viola fallen while crossing the flat stones used as a footbridge? Had she sneaked back to their camp, only to be waylaid by a freezing, watery fall?

Holding her wrap tightly, Rose ran toward the water.

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