Mail-Order Man Read Free

two nickels to rub together.”
    â€œShe’s got the ranch.”
    â€œIt’s probably all run down and grown over.”
    Brax shook his head. “You know better than that. You heard Titus say he left his foreman to take care of the place. Oren Singleterry will have it in fine fettle.”
    â€œBubba, forget it.”
    â€œNo way.” Arms akimbo, he boomed, “My brilliant pal, thank you for pointing out how I can get the law on my side. Thank you very much. I aim to get us the Nickel Dime.”
    If some oily swain beat him to the tinhorn bride, Brax might never get that ranch—much less a grubstake for California or his revenge upon the ghost of Major Titus St. Clair.
    â€œGeoff, find out how much it’ll cost to send Bella by ship to San Francisco. Then fetch Virgil. Tell that fop of a mouthpiece to sashay on over here.”
    Mr. Reluctance did not hop to attention.
    â€œSo this is the way it is, eh?” Brax dug a gold piece from his pocket. “Let’s flip for it.”
    â€œNawsir. Not on your life. I know about that trick coin. The only luck it’ll bring is yours.”
    â€œMy luck is yours.” Brax returned the coin to its place. “Be warned, Geoffrey Hale. I will get my money. You’re either with me or you’re not. What’s it going to be?”
    â€œYou won’t work me too hard, will you?”

Two
    An hour after sending Geoff on his unmerry way, Brax found himself face to face with the roly-poly Virgil Petry.
    The attorney shifted his weight from one new shoe to the other. “I’m not comfortable recommending you to Miss St. Clair.”
    â€œDoes this have anything to do with your failure to pay me a call in the hoosegow—of your own volition?” Brax watched Petry’s Adam’s apple go north, then south. “Whatcha got against me, Virg? I seem to recall a day in March of 1861. I’d been back from Texas a few months. I tried to save my mother’s life . . . but I saved yours instead.”
    Petry removed his silk top hat to run a nervous hand on thinning hair thoroughly glazed with pomade. “You pulled me from the path of a runaway team.”
    â€œI did. And you did what?”
    â€œSaid thank you.”
    â€œNow, Virg, I recall a more enthusiastic response. Like, typical Virgil behavior. Crying, blubbering, slobbering gratitude. I believe I recall the words ‘hero nonpareil’ and a promise to be forever beholden. I’m collecting on the forever-beholden part. Do whatever you must to recommend me to Skylla St. Clair.”
    â€œI-I . . . I just can’t do that.”
    Brax reached through the bars to grab a fistful of Petry’s collar. Twisting it, he ground out, “By God, you can. I mean to marry the woman, and you will help me.”
    His face grown purple from lack of oxygen, the lawyer managed to nod in agreement. Brax let go of the silk cravat and starched linen. Petry fell back against the corridor wall, gasping. Enjoying the space now between him and the cell’s bars, the little man quibbled, “But I’m not at liberty to help you. I’m grateful for my life, but I’m not Miss St. Clair’s solicitor. I represent Mrs. Claudine St. Clair, her stepmother.”
    Brax itched to finish choking him. “Don’t play games with me, Virgil. Your name is in the advertisement. Tell me what the heiress looks like.”
    â€œI’ve never even met the young lady. Mrs. St. Clair and I have communicated by correspondence.”
    â€œWhat’s the matter? Is the heiress illiterate?” Suspicious, Brax steadied his eyes on the lawyer. “Does Skylla St. Clair know her relative is trying to find her a workhorse?”
    â€œShe knows. Claudine wrote to save her stepdaughter the indelicacy of appearing overeager.”
    That made sense. Southern belles did have their standards. What sort of Biloxi belle did she resemble? Brax decided the