“What about lunch?” Cora asked again.
“Feed it to grandpa. He needs the strength. I have business to attend to,” Clay called as he jumped off the porch and headed for the barn and his horse. His brother was not going to beat him to the altar.
Cora shook her head and walked back into the parlor to find grandpa standing in the middle of the parlor chuckling.
“Did you hear all of that, Mr. Hutch? Those boys think your dying, and they’re going to kill each other trying to marry first. What exactly have you done?”
“Nothing, it’ll all work out. Doc says I’ll be fit as a fiddle in a couple of weeks, but he did remind me that none of us are getting any younger. I didn’t change my will. Both boys inherit equally when my time comes. I just want them married and settled. I want a couple of great-grandchildren before I pass on. Is that too much to expect? Now, what did you make for lunch? I could eat half a steer. Doc says I don’t need to eat that broth you’ve been forcing down me for the last few weeks.” He spun on his heel like a man half his age and strode to the kitchen.
~ * ~
Clay rode a fair distance behind Wade along the road into town, but Wade was far too angry to pay attention. Clay reined in his horse when he saw Wade jump off his horse, rush into the mercantile, and then cross the street to the saloon his horse plodding behind him.
Smiling to himself, Clay spoke to his horse, “It looks like Wade just mailed his letter to the paper and has to fortify himself at the saloon. I have a much better idea. Let’s ride to Judge Clancy’s office.”
Five minutes later, Clay stood outside the office of the Honorable Judge J.R. Clancy and knocked on the door.
“Come in,” the gruff voice of the judge filtered through the door.
Clay opened the door and stepped into an office that could only be described as organized chaos. Papers and books were strewn over three tables, and the judge’s desk appeared to match the tables. Judge Clancy sat behind the desk with his nose just inches from the paper he was reading. When he looked up, his bright blue eyes defied the age that had settled on his wrinkled face.
“Clay Hutchison come in son. Don’t stand in the doorway. How the heck is your grandfather? I heard he was fighting pneumonia.”
“I’m not sure, sir. That’s part of the reason I’m here.”
“Grab a chair and sit.”
Clay pulled a ladder-back chair from a nearby table and sat facing the judge. “I wish I knew how grandpa’s doing. He won’t tell us. Both the doc and his lawyer stopped by this morning, and then grandpa called us into his room and inferred he would die soon and told Wade and I we need to get married. He said the first to marry would inherit most of the ranch.”
The judge leaned back and pulled a cigar from the box on his desk, lit it, drew in a deep breath, and blew smoke across the desk. “Well, that certainly sounds like something old Hutch would do. What brings you here? Do you think I can help you find a wife?”
“Not find one but help me marry one.”
“You found a young woman in town to marry? Where is she? I can perform a marriage right now.” The judge said drawing in another lungful of smoke.
“She’s not actually here, sir. I read an article in the paper a month or so ago about a rancher in Montana that arranged for a bride to come from Europe. To protect the woman’s reputation on the long journey, he married her by proxy and then hired a companion to accompany her to this country. I need to know if one of these proxy marriages are legal if the woman is in this country and not Europe or is it only legal for marriages performed in Europe.”
The judge laughed. “You intend to find a bride, marry her by proxy, and beat Wade to the inheritance. Yes, it can be done, but you must marry again upon her arrival here. Either the pastor or I can officiate to meet all legal obligations. You must have a proper reason. I suppose we can stretch the limits to say you cannot leave the ranch due to your grandfather’s health. After all, the old coot is the cause of all this. Smart move, Clay. The ranch would suffer if Wade ran it alone. How are you going to find a bride?”
“Remember Mason Callen?”
The judge nodded.
“He finished school and is working at a small hotel in Chicago. I’m going to send a telegram telling him I need a proxy bride and then have him accompany her back here. He planned to return home this summer anyway.” Clay leaned back in the chair. “He’s my best friend. I trust him with my life, so I think I can trust him to find an acceptable wife.”
“I hope you’re right. The rest of your life is a long time. You send your telegram, and I’ll write up the paperwork we need on this end,” the judge stated while making notes.
Clay sprang to his feet and held out his hand. “Thank you, Judge Clancy. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear back from Mason.” The two men shook hands, and Clay hurried to the telegraph office.
Pushing the door to the telegraph office open, Clay smiled thinking his plan would work far better than his brother’s. He approached the telegrapher and said, “Afternoon, Joe. These telegrams are strictly
