As Meg pulled herself up into the buggy, she thought her nerves might just jangle her to bits and as Sam untied the reins from the post, she knew he couldn’t have gotten much more sleep than she had.
How had this day come so fast? Mrs. Allen’s stagecoach was due in less than an hour, and although she and Sam had practiced many times—he’d called her a taskmaster at one point, although he was laughing at the time—they still didn’t know all that much about each other.
It had taken time for her to familiarize herself with the house, for one thing. She knew it wouldn’t do for her to fumble for things if her new mother-in-law needed something, or heaven forbid wanted to help her cook. What if she hadn’t known where the potatoes were? Or the flour? Or the pots? So after her first tour, she’d spent extra time just searching through cupboards and drawers so she’d at least have some idea of the contents of what was supposed to be her house.
As the buggy bounced toward the train station in the rutted dirt road, she hoped it would make a difference. She very much wanted this to be a success, and although she hadn’t made any inroads as to why it was so important, she had found out that Sam had a brother—a very successful brother who was a doctor—and had an inkling that that piece of information might have something to do with this ruse.
Sam held the reins tightly and stared straight ahead, his lips a thin line. They had a bit of a drive ahead of them, so she pulled out the paper with her questions and answers on it and said, “Could you go for another round?” She waved the paper in his direction as he turned and groaned.
“I don’t think I can do another one. I don’t mean that it isn’t interesting,” he said quickly, turning to catch her eye.
Meg laughed. “Interesting isn’t the purpose right now, I’m afraid. Let’s just do a few more.”
“All right, shoot,” Sam said. He held the reins in one hand for a moment and rubbed his eyes. “I’m sure I know everything by now.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. Let’s try this one. What is my favorite color? That’s easy.”
“Red?”
She tapped his arm playfully and said, “Sam. You know that one. What color was my wedding dress?”
“Oh, purple.” He rubbed the back of his neck and turned to Meg. “Maybe I’m just nervous. I did know that one.”
She looked at the list again. With Sam’s mother arriving shortly, it probably was too late to learn anything new, and they’d practiced as much as they could. She slowly folded up the paper and returned it to her pocket, hoping for the best.
“We’ve been so busy I haven’t really gotten a chance to hear much about your mother. That would be helpful, too.”
Sam pushed his hat back on his head. “Hm, what to say about Mother.”
Meg waited patiently. It wouldn’t do to push him. If he’d wanted to tell her much more than he had, he would have already. But now, when meeting his mother and beginning their charade was imminent, it was worth asking one more time.
“You know that I have a brother and that he’s a doctor.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t tell me much about you or your mother,” she said, her hands folded in her lap as she waited.
“No, I suppose it doesn’t. My mother is a very kind, charming, funny woman. She was a good mother and supported us as children in every way you could imagine.”
She clasped her hands together tightly as she thought of her own mother, who was exactly like Sam described his mother to be.
He glanced over at her quickly and said, “Oh, I’m sorry, Meg. I remember your mother quite fondly, too. My mother is much like yours.”
She lowered her head, surprised at the overwhelming emotion she was feeling. It had been a while since her mother had passed, and it had become easier—but now, with Sam’s mother arriving, it somehow felt fresh, new.
“Thank you, Sam. That’s a nice compliment. My mother was fond of you, too.” She rested her hand on his arm, willing her emotions back in the box they rested in most of the time in her head.
“Back to your mother—you said she was very supportive and kind. What caused you to leave New York and head West?”
Finally, the next question she’d been hesitant to ask. Sam hadn’t volunteered the information and, again, she hadn’t wanted to pry, but she worried that it would be one of the important things she’d be expected to know.
She turned to face him, giving his arm a slight squeeze of encouragement.
Sam pursed his lips and pulled his hat further down his forehead.
“It wasn’t so much that I wanted to. My brother had left for college and I was working in a—well, I’m not sure how to explain it. I’d told my parents what kind of career I wanted to have. My father didn’t agree.”
“Oh, but your mother did?”
“She did, but my father was most formidable when he made up his mind.”
“I don’t understand. What is it that your father wanted you to do?”
“Meg, do you think maybe we could leave this topic alone? It was a very difficult period, and I really don’t want to talk about it.”
Meg’s heart sunk. How could he not want to share that with her? It seemed to her it would definitely be something she should know about her husband of several years. One look at his face, though, helped her to decide not to press the issue. He gripped the reins so tightly that his knuckles were white, and she felt sadness radiate from him.
“I’m sorry, Sam. So you came West to start that career that your father didn’t want you to have? As a bartender?”
Sam turned to look at Meg, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Bartender? Oh, no, that’s not what I’d intended to do. I tried to get a job at what I loved, but it didn’t work out. I fell into tending bar and worked mostly in the saloons in town.”
“How did you end up at the Occidental, then?”
“I’d become friends with Hank and Tripp, and when the restaurant was ready to open, Tripp and Sadie asked me to come over. So I did.”
Meg now had a little more information, as meager as it was. Her curiosity had been even more piqued by now. How would she ever find out? She couldn’t ask his mother. But the pain radiated from her husband, and she knew it was something she’d need to find out somehow.
She had come to know Sam fairly well, she had thought, from his time at the ranch. He had always been joyful, full of laughter and spontaneity. With this topic, he’d become silent and withdrawn.
She thought it best that the other Sam be the one to greet his mother, so she changed the subject to much lighter things for the remainder of the journey, but the nagging curiosity never left the back of her mind.
“Just another little bit,” Sam said as they neared the stagecoach station.
The weekly stagecoach trips from Benson could sometimes be quite crowded and dusty, and Meg knew Sam had offered to fetch his mother to avoid the stagecoach altogether, and that she had declined, saying, “What kind of adventurer would I be if I can’t make that trip on my own? I’ll be fine. Will meet you in Tombstone.”
“I think it’s rather brave of your mother to travel this distance alone, especially after the loss of your father.”
She kicked herself for bringing up another troubling topic as the frown returned to Sam’s face.
“Yes. Yes, it is. My mother is nothing if not brave.” Could she be brave, if she let his father change his desires?
Meg wondered what type of person she’d meet in minutes as the stagecoach rumbled toward them. She sincerely hoped that his mother would like her—and also that Meg would like Mrs. Allen. She took a deep breath and released it, readying herself for what was to come.