Читать книгу His Substitute Mail-Order Bride - Sherri Shackelford - Страница 12
ОглавлениеOn the road to Cowboy Creek, May 1869
“Something don’t feel right,” the wagon driver declared, casting an uneasy glance over one shoulder. “I travel this road every Tuesday and Friday delivering eggs to the restaurants in Cowboy Creek. But something don’t feel right today.”
“How can you tell?” Anna Linford anchored her bonnet with one gloved hand and squinted against the sun. A narrow creek snaked beside the road with scrub brush lining the steep banks. “We haven’t seen another soul for miles.”
Everything in Kansas was exaggerated and larger than life. The sky was painfully blue, the clouds a preposterous shade of white and the horizon seemingly endless. Even the fluttering prairie grasses were an overblown hue of emerald.
“That’s why I’m worried,” said the driver, Mr. Ward. “There should be more folks traveling this time of day.”
Mr. Ward’s skeletal hands trembled on the reins. Anna’s reluctant companion was somewhere past seventy and as gnarled and bent as the old oak tree outside the window of her childhood home. Layers of wrinkles corrugated his face, rendering his expressions indecipherable. Though he’d politely refrained from smoking in her presence, the sooty odor lingered on his coat, and her stomach churned.
As they rounded the corner, the railroad tracks and what looked to be the site of a previous accident came into view. Anna sucked in a breath. Two railcars lay overturned in the ditch, their metal axels twisted. Fresh weeds growing through the blackened prairie grasses and long, muddy gashes in the hillside indicated the accident had occurred sometime in the past month. The loamy scent of freshly turned earth competed with the stench of machine oil and scorched wood.
A sudden breeze whipped her bonnet ribbons over her shoulder. “What happened here?”
“Some fool engineer took the curve too fast a month or so past.” The driver grunted. “Those last two cars have to be separated afore they can drag ’em out of the ditch. Good thing you didn’t arrive with the last bride train, or you’d have been in the ditch too. Timing is everything in life. Take this morning. Bad timing.” He chuckled at his joke. “Too bad the train left without you.”
After founding Cowboy Creek, the council realized the area needed families to flourish and grow. Since women were scarce, they sent back east for brides. Some of the women corresponded with local men before traveling west on a bride train. Others accepted a ticket paid for by the town, rather than a prospective groom, and hoped for the best. Anna’s unique circumstances had left her somewhere in the middle—there’d been a correspondence, and she was hoping for the best.
Missing the train in Morgan’s Creek had been another stumbling block in a long list of disasters for Anna. Thankfully the distance between towns wasn’t far, and the driver from the poultry farm had taken pity on her. She’d learned through the older man’s reluctant conversation that Cowboy Creek had grown too quickly for the local suppliers to keep up with demand, encouraging cottage industries in the neighboring communities.
A crack of gunfire sounded, and a bullet struck the ground before the wagon. A plume of dust and a spray of dirt pellets exploded into the air. Anna’s heart jerked in her chest. The mule brayed and reared. The cart lurched, and she clutched the seat.
His gun drawn, a man in a long, shapeless duster coat with a hat set back on his head appeared from behind one of the overturned railcars. A second man wearing a similar coat followed close behind. One wore a blue bandanna tied over the lower half of his face, the other wore red.
A chill shivered down Anna’s spine.
Beside her, the driver guffawed. “Get along, you two. I’m hauling eggs. We got nothing of value.”
“We’ll just see about that,” the man in the red bandanna said gruffly.
He gestured with his tarnished pistol and approached the wagon. Judging by the way he spoke, Anna marked him as the leader of the pair. He braced his scuffed boot on the wagon wheel, and the bench seat dipped. With careless brutality, he tossed the elderly driver from his seat. The older man yelped.
“Don’t hurt him!” Anna gasped. “He’s no threat to you.”
“You ought to worry about yourself,” the outlaw declared ominously. “Tie him up!”
Anna fumed as Mr. Ward was dragged into the ditch and quickly bound and gagged. To her immense relief, the elderly driver put up little fight and appeared no worse for wear considering his rough treatment.
The lead outlaw leaned closer. He flipped back her bonnet with the barrel of his gun, and her pulse jerked.
“You’re one of them brides traveling to Cowboy Creek, ain’t ya?” he asked. “I heard all about you women at the last train depot.” He gestured toward his companion. “The men of Cowboy Creek are hauling in brides by the trainload. It’s no wonder the town is growing like stinkweed in a wet spring.”
Anna swallowed. “I’m traveling to Cowboy Creek, yes.”
She didn’t bother correcting the outlaw about being a prospective bride. No man wanted a woman who couldn’t bear children. Her late husband had made that fact abundantly clear.
“Must be really desperate to send for a skinny gal like you,” the outlaw said, his mocking laughter muffled through his bandanna.
The insult barely registered. The past two years had rendered her immune to even the most vicious slurs. “I suppose.”
“How come you ain’t on the train with the rest of ’em?”
Her cheeks burned. “I was indisposed when the train departed.”
Exhaustion and stress had exacerbated a recent bout of influenza, and she’d been forced to depart the train at the last minute to visit the washroom. The two brides she’d been traveling with had remained on board since the stop was only long enough to load a freight car with supplies. Though Anna had made the trip as quickly as possible, when she’d rushed outside once more, the caboose was receding into the distance.
“Indisposed, eh? Listen to her talk.” The outlaw glanced at his companion. “We got ourselves a real fancy piece.”
Not hardly. She couldn’t even afford a hotel room for the night. Her late husband’s mountain of debts had exhausted every penny of their meager savings and devoured the profits she’d made from selling the house and furnishings. She’d only managed to set aside a few dollars, which had to last indefinitely. Aside from that, she had nothing. No money. No close family. Even her train ticket was a gift from an acquaintance who’d planned on becoming a mail-order bride before falling in love back in Philadelphia.
The bride’s change of mind had been Anna’s unexpected salvation.
The sound of hoofbeats and a flash of movement in the distance drew her attention.
“Don’t move.” The outlaw pressed his gun barrel hard against her temple. “We got some unexpected company.”
Shimmering through the heat, a rider appeared. The air grew still, and an unnatural silence descended over the outlaws. The rider gradually came into focus, a lone man on a jet-black horse.
As he ambled toward them, a bead of sweat trickled down Anna’s spine.
The rider was lean and fit, wearing a dark suit and boots that gleamed in the sun. His hat brim cast a harsh shadow across his features. He held the reins clasped in one hand, the other loosely fisted on his thigh. The unrelenting black of the sleek horse and the man’s crisp suit was broken only by a glimpse of the stark white shirt beneath his vest.
Her breath hitched. “Russ Halloway?”
She’d expected to greet him, but not here. Not now. Not like this. He’d changed in the five years since she’d last seen him in Philadelphia. His face had been rounder and his shoulders narrower. The man seated on the horse before her had none of the softness of youth.
Russ was formidable, exuding an aura of raw power, both mental and physical. He wore his dark brown hair cropped off his collar, and a neatly trimmed goatee highlighted the sharp planes of his strong chin. Despite his careful grooming, there was something uncivilized about him. His features were too rugged for traditional labels. He wasn’t handsome so much as compelling.
Confusion flickered in his hazel eyes. “Anna?”
The outlaw gave her a shake. “You know this fellow?”
“She knows me,” Russ said, his voice as rough as gravel. “Let her go. I don’t want any trouble.”
The man in the blue bandanna sauntered around the wagon, his gun drawn.
The lead outlaw cackled. “There’s two of us, and one of you. I like my odds.”
“Suit yourself.”
Her captor grunted. “On your feet, boy, or I shoot the girl.”
Russ swung his leg over the side of the horse and casually leaped to the ground.
The lead outlaw kept his gun trained on Russ, while the second man hopped onto the wagon bed. He tossed crates aside, shattering eggs and spilling hay, then ripped open her carpetbag and dumped the contents over the side. Dozens of small burlap sacks tumbled loose. Several broke open, scattering seeds over the dirt.
The chaotic sight unleashed a sudden rage unlike anything she’d ever felt—not even during the miserable years of her marriage.
“Ain’t you got no jewelry or nothing?” The outlaw demanded.
“No.” Anna shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Maybe you’re hiding something.”
Her chest seized, and she wrestled back a tide of guilt. The outlaw was searching for valuables. He didn’t know about the scandal. She was free. She was innocent. She was haunted by a crime she hadn’t committed.
Glancing away, she said, “I’m not hiding anything.”
Russ caught her eye and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. “Relax, Anna, everything is under control.”
“Shut up!” the outlaw ordered.
Anna hung her head. Nothing would ever be fine again. She’d lost everything: her family, her home, her reputation. These men were taking the only thing she had left.
The lead outlaw hopped from the wagon bed and shoved her. “What’s all this, anyway?”
“Seeds.” Two years of pent-up frustration pulsated through her veins. “Nothing but seeds.”
“You’re lying. You got jewelry hidden in one of them bags. I heard you talking to the porter in Morgan’s Creek. You said your bag was filled with precious cargo and that’s why you wasn’t letting it out of your sight. Precious cargo, ya said. I heard ya.”
“I’m telling the truth.” She scooped up the pods and extended her cupped hands. “Look.”
“Bucky,” the outlaw shouted. “Cut them open. Every one.”
“No!” Anna called, throwing her body before the bulk of her hard-earned collection. “These have been carefully collected and cataloged. They’re extremely valuable, just not in the way you think.”
“Cataloged!” The outlaw chortled. “Well, ain’t you something.”
The man in the blue bandanna reached for a burlap sack and sliced open the side. Seedpods spilled onto the ground, and something snapped inside her. She was done being a victim.
When the outlaw reached for another bag, she lunged at him. Caught off guard, he flailed in startled surprise. The blade tore through her sleeve, piercing the skin of her forearm. She winced and stumbled backward. The outlaw followed her retreat and caught her around the upper arm.
“That was real stupid, lady.”
Russ charged. “Let her go.”
The lead outlaw lurched between them, his gun extended. “Hold still or I’ll shoot you both!”
The man in the blue bandanna gave her a shake, and his sour breath puffed against her cheek. “What’s so valuable that you’re willing to throw yourself in front of a knife?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
Russ spread his hands in a placating gesture. “Everyone calm down.”
“Calm down?” The lead outlaw spat into the dust. “You must be the dumbest feller in the state walking into a holdup all by your lonesome.”
“It might look that way,” Russ declared, an ominous flicker in his exotic hazel eyes. “But I’m actually the decoy. While you’ve been flapping your lips, my men have been surrounding you. If you make one threatening move toward the lady, they’ll shoot, and they don’t miss.”
“You’re bluffing.”
The second outlaw struck Russ in the head with the butt of his gun.
Anna cried out as Russ crumpled to the dirt.
The leader clutched her arm and spun her around. “Leave him be.”
She craned her neck, searching for any sign of life. Russ lay sprawled in the middle of the road, his arms akimbo, his black hat crushed beneath his shoulder. Vivid red blood flowed from his forehead.
“Let me tend his wound,” she pleaded. “He’s bleeding.”
“Later.”
The outlaw shoved her away from the prone man. “If you don’t have anything of value, maybe we can ransom you.”
A gunshot echoed through the canyon, and the outlaw’s hat flew off. Shocked by the unexpected violence, Anna and the man stumbled apart.
Her captor yanked his blue bandana off his chin and spun around. “What the—”
“That feller wasn’t bluffing, Bucky!” his partner shouted. “They’re hiding in the creek bed.”
“Don’t shoot.” Bucky dropped the knife and reached for his gun. “Or I’ll kill her!”
Another shot sounded, and Bucky jerked. The gun dropped from his slack grip. His knees twitched, but he stayed on his feet. Tearing open his duster coat, he revealed a red stain blooming over his chambray shirt.
The wounded man gaped at something behind her. “I’ve been hit.”
Anna followed the outlaw’s gaze, and her jaw dropped. Russ stalked toward them, a smoking pistol dangling from his fingertips. Blood obscured half his face, and a growing scarlet stain darkened his shirt collar.
Unable to reconcile the sudden change of events, she stared in stunned silence. Russ had been unconscious a moment before, and now he was swooping toward them like an avenging savior.
A shot whizzed past her ear. Stifling a shriek, Anna pressed her hands against her mouth. Without slowing his stride, Russ shoved the stunned outlaw, dropping the wounded man instantly. Shock rendered her immobile, and she remained rooted to the spot.
The remaining outlaw took one look at the gun in Russ’s hand and stumbled toward the ditch, then disappeared behind the derailed cattle cars.
“C’mon, Anna.” Russ grasped her around the waist. “Stay down.”
The urgent note in his voice cut through her torpor, and she willed her legs to move.
Russ urged her toward the wagon. He crouched behind the spoked wheel, shielding her with his body, his gun at the ready. With the back of his hand, he swiped at the blood streaming down his face.
“I’ve got two men hiding near the creek,” he said. “Stay out of the crossfire.”
A thunderous volley echoed over them. Russ fired several shots at the overturned cattle cars. Her ears rang, and the pungent scent of gunpowder filled the air. The frightened mule lunged, jerking the wagon. Anna dove forward and grasped the trailing reins. Bracing her heels in the dirt, she leaned back, tugging with all her might. As the mule brayed and bucked, the leather dug painfully into her palms.
Russ reached to help, and she shook him off. “I’ve got this. You keep shooting.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s over.”
The chaotic scene went eerily quiet. The mule stilled. Anna dropped the reins, collapsing against the buckboard. For a long moment, the ominous silence was broken only by the steady tick-tick-tick of the watch in Russ’s pocket and the harsh sound of her labored breathing.
He turned and cupped her cheek. “Are you all right?”
“I’m f-fine. What about the driver?”
“He’s safe, don’t worry.”
For the past five years, hatred for this man had been her constant companion. He’d broken her sister’s heart, he’d torn apart their family, and he’d set in motion a chain of events that had ended in disaster. Yet his striking hazel eyes held nothing but concern.
Where was the villain she’d clung to all these years?
An earsplitting whistle sounded, startling her.
Russ heaved a sigh. “You’re safe, Miss Darby.”
“It’s Mrs. Linford now,” she corrected automatically.
“Is your husband traveling separately?”
“I’m widowed.”
That one innocuous word did little to encompass her current situation. Her late husband had been murdered in broad daylight by an unknown assailant. Shot dead on the walkway outside his office building. The police had assumed the brazen killing was a crime of passion. Rather than having too few suspects, they had too many. Her late husband’s philandering was well known around the city. The extensive list of scorned women had produced plenty of enticing leads, but no conclusive evidence.
Following an unflattering story on the front page of the morning post, she’d been outright shunned by the people she’d once considered close friends. The newspaper had gone into great detail about her husband’s numerous infidelities. Though she’d been cleared of any wrongdoing by the lead detective, vicious rumors had forced her from town.
Everyone who mattered was convinced she’d murdered her husband.
* * *
His head throbbing, Russ stood. “We obviously have a lot to catch up on, but now isn’t the time. Can you stand?”
“Yes. I’m fine. Just a bit shaken.” Anna pulled an embroidered handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at his forehead. “But you’re bleeding.”
Russ touched the spot. Their fingers brushed, and she quickly pulled away.
He raked a hand through his hair. She was as skittish as a newborn foal, and his appearance probably wasn’t calming her nerves any. He retrieved his plain handkerchief and wiped away the rest of the blood as best he could, his fingers brushing the growing lump.
Satisfied he was somewhat respectable once more, he held out his hand, and Anna clasped his fingers. She leaned heavily on his aid with a mumbled apology. Once she’d steadied herself, he placed a firm hand on the small of her back.
She eyed him warily, and something shifted in his chest. Perhaps it was their previous acquaintance, or perhaps it was her slight frame, but he felt unaccountably protective toward her.
When he’d last seen Anna, she’d been a round-faced cherub on the edge of womanhood. There’d been a sparkle of mischief in her green eyes and a ready smile hovering on her impish lips. The woman before him was a shadow of that memory. Anna was thin, painfully so. Her cheeks were sunken, and the bones of her wrist pronounced.
Despite her gaunt frame, there was a beauty and elegance about her that hadn’t been there before. She’d lost her bonnet in the melee, and her hair was a shimmering waterfall of golden brown. Her emerald traveling suit highlighted the lustrous strands and brought out the green patina of her eyes. She was delicate and composed, though he sensed a sadness that hadn’t been there before.
Hoofbeats sounded in the distance, and Russ turned toward the sound. The approaching rider sat tall in the saddle, an air of authority about him, as though he was accustomed to giving orders.
Anna started.
“Don’t worry, he’s with me,” Russ said, halting her retreat. “That’s Will Canfield, the current mayor of Cowboy Creek. Tell me, Mrs. Linford, did you happen to board the train in Philadelphia?”
Her gaze skittered away. “I did.”
“Then perhaps you met Susannah Lowe.” He was a cad interrogating Anna following her ordeal, but he’d been filled with worry since the arrival of the bride train. No one seemed to know anything about his intended. “Susannah should have boarded the train in Philadelphia, as well. I spoke with the other brides, but no one recognized the name. I know you’ve had a shock, but I was hoping you could help. Did you see her at the train station?”
Without meeting his eyes, Anna fished an envelope from her pocket and extended her hand. His name was scrawled over the front in Susannah’s now-familiar handwriting.
“She isn’t coming,” Anna said.
“Is she all right?” Shock and confusion burned through him. “Did something happen?”
“She’s met someone.”
Russ staggered back a step. He and Susannah had only corresponded, but they’d both agreed they’d suit. Nothing in her letters had given him any indication that she’d had second thoughts about becoming his mail-order bride.
“I don’t think she meant to fall in love,” Anna continued, her hands clasped. “She was quite remorseful about misleading you.”
“Misleading me?” he repeated.
Everything fell into place. Susannah’s letters had been long and rambling, and he’d taken to skimming the contents. They’d come to an agreement, after all, and they’d said all they needed to say to each other until they met in person. He’d made excuses instead of reading between the lines.
Anna gazed at him with pity in her emerald eyes. “You’re not angry, are you?”
“Odd, isn’t it?” The past came rushing back, and a strange sense of inevitability overcame him. “We’ve already played this scene before, haven’t we?”
“I’m so sorry.” A greenish pallor swept over Anna’s face, and she pressed her fingers against her lips. “I don’t feel well.”
Russ immediately recognized the urgent nature of the problem. He stuffed the envelope into his pocket and scooped her into his arms.
She gasped and wrapped her arms around his neck. “What are you doing?”
“I’ll take you to the stream.” His questions about Susannah could wait given Anna’s current condition. “You’ll feel better after splashing some cool water on your face.”
Her cheeks flamed, and she pressed her face against his shoulder. She was slight and delicate in his arms, and his pulse quickened. Recalling the outlaw’s gun pressed against her temple, his gut clenched. He maneuvered down the embankment in three long strides and gently set her on the soft grass near the stream.
She waved him away. “Please go.”
He hesitated, his hand hovering near her shoulder.
“Please,” she whispered.
She was visibly embarrassed, though she needn’t be. He’d seen far worse. “Call if you need assistance. I’ll be near.”
He moved a distance away, lingering on the edge of the steep embankment. This was not at all how he’d expected to spend his day. He thought he’d be introducing Susannah to his mother and brother soon. Instead, he’d be explaining her absence. Having gone through this once before when he was jilted by Anna’s sister, Charlotte, he dreaded the coming days. The compassion of friends and family only seemed to worsen the humiliation.
Russ stifled a groan. He’d missed the signs both times. Was there something fundamentally wrong with his character? An inherent insensitivity to the feelings of others?
He discreetly checked on Anna, then looked away before she caught him. Susannah’s betrayal wasn’t her responsibility any more than Charlotte’s had been, yet her presence exacerbated his shame and frustration.
Given his past acquaintance with Anna’s family, however, he couldn’t avoid her during her time of need.
He raised his voice over the gurgling stream. “Can I get you anything, Mrs. Linford?”
“Perhaps a drink of water,” she replied, her voice strained.
He glanced toward the creek bed, and his chest grew heavy. Why was she traveling alone with Susannah’s letter? Did she need more than a drink of water? And what had become of the carefree girl he recalled from all those years ago?
He didn’t know Anna’s plans, but he doubted Cowboy Creek was her ultimate destination. Her family was well-to-do, and though the town was rapidly adding all the amenities of an Eastern city, they were still a long way from the civilized Philadelphia society teas she and her sister had attended.
Given her current difficulties, there’d be time enough to sort out the details later. She’d been attacked by outlaws—rendering his own problem pale in comparison. She deserved his sympathy—not the irritation of his self-pity.
“Back in a moment,” he said. “I’ll signal my return, Mrs. Linford.”
With a last look over his shoulder, he reluctantly strode toward his friend.
Will Canfield was a lanky man with an engaging charm and a wry wit. Since Russ’s arrival in Cowboy Creek, Will had been an ally and a mentor. He’d guided Russ through the rough and corrupt world of land grabbing and false deeds. The mayor had even encouraged him to send for a bride.
Will reined his horse near the wagon and surveyed the damage. “The driver, Mr. Ward, is bruised, but he’ll be all right. No bones were broken. What about the woman?”
“Her name is Mrs. Linford,” Russ interjected quickly—lest Will think they’d discovered Susannah. “She’s a widow. She needed a moment to collect herself.”
“What about you? That was quite a hit you took.”
“It’s nothing.” Russ lied, his head pounding. “Looks worse than it is.”
“Shouldn’t have happened. We took too long getting in place.”
When the three men discovered one of the brides had missed the train, they assumed the woman was Russ’s intended, and decided to escort her personally. Upon hearing the gunshots, they’d immediately realized the overturned railcars were the ideal place for an ambush. Russ had volunteered to distract the outlaws while Daniel and Will took cover near the creek and surrounded the men.
“I knew what I was agreeing to,” Russ said.
“Go back to town,” Will ordered. “Perhaps there’s been some news about your bride.”
“Miss Lowe isn’t coming.” Russ balked at leaving Anna this soon after her ordeal. She was a stranger in town, to everyone but him. She wasn’t feeling well, and she needed a friend. “Susannah met someone else. She sent a letter forward with Mrs. Linford.”
Shock flickered over Will’s face before he quickly masked the emotion. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t the news I was expecting.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“I talked you into sending for a bride,” Will said, his voice heavy. “I bear some of the responsibility.”
There it was: the compassion, the sympathy. It should have made Russ feel better. It didn’t. “What’s done is done.”
Will scratched his temple. “How does Mrs. Linford fit into all this? I thought perhaps they’d mistaken the name of the bride who missed the train. Linford and Lowe are close enough.”
“That’s the thing. There’s more.”
“More?” Will guffawed. “Save something for dinner, will you? A missing bride and a shoot-out before lunch is plenty.”
“I know Anna Linford,” Russ said.
A familiar pang squeezed his chest. He’d been jilted twice. Once by Susannah, and once by Anna’s sister, Charlotte.
And Anna had delivered both letters.
