His Substitute Mail-Order Bride

by Sherri Shackelford

  Russ chuckled. “It’s best not to argue with him.”

  “Despite what he said, you don’t have to feel obligated to accompany me.”

  “You’d be doing me a favor. I was hoping to speak with some of the other members of the tribe. There’s a chance someone knows more about the man who was trying to buy the land. There’s even a chance someone might have seen what happened to the dam.”

  “All right,” she conceded. “As long as you have other business. I don’t want to trouble you.”

  “It’s no trouble, Anna. No trouble at all.”

  That breathless feeling took hold of her once more. He was so handsome and kind. She felt as though she was climbing too high, as though she was being granted more than her fair share of happiness. She felt as though she was living on borrowed time.

  It had been so long since she’d been comforted by someone, she gave herself over to the feeling. Unable to resist, she wrapped her arms around his waist and nestled against his chest.

  This time he didn’t hesitate. He held her close, resting his chin on the top of her head. “Everything is going to be all right, Anna. You don’t believe me, I know. But you’ll see. We’re going to just fine.”

  “Yes.”

  She desperately wanted to believe him, but she was afraid, too. Afraid of showing too much joy. Afraid of having her happiness snatched away. Everything seemed too good to be true, and she couldn’t shake a sense of foreboding.

  Nothing good ever lasted.

  * * *

  Russ took Anna’s hand and assisted her into the wagon before taking the seat beside her.

  He patted the basket he’d placed between them. “It’s a long drive. I brought a snack.”

  “You didn’t have to do that for me.”

  “I didn’t.” He chuckled. “I never travel without food. I eat every two hours, or I get cranky. You should know this about me.”

  “You do not.”

  “Every three hours, perhaps.” He glanced at his companion. Her elegant features were flushed a becoming shade of pink. In the short time she’d been living in Cowboy Creek, her cheeks had filled out, and her eyes had brightened. “Cowboy Creek agrees with you.”

  “I’ve been sampling all of Deborah’s desserts.”

  “I don’t mean to gossip, but I’ve heard Preston Wells, the telegraph operator, is pining over Miss Frazier. I’m surprised she hasn’t accepted a proposal yet. She arrived in town wearing a wedding dress, after all.”

  “She did not! You’re teasing me.”

  “She absolutely did. You can ask anyone. Surprising then, that she hasn’t been seen courting anyone since her arrival.”

  “Perhaps she’s shy.”

  “Perhaps,” he said.

  They spent the next few miles talking amiably about the various people Anna had met since her arrival in town. Russ pointed out the notable landmarks along the way and spoke about his law practice. He even asked her opinion on a case. Something Edward had never done.

  He indicated the horizon. “See that bend in the road? There’s a lovely little pond just beyond the curve. It’s the perfect place to stop.”

  Though she hadn’t thought she was hungry, her stomach rumbled, and she didn’t protest the delay.

  Russ had thought of everything. He tamped down the grass and spread a plaid blanket over the surface. Next, he retrieved the picnic basket and two mason jars of lemonade.

  He flipped open the basket and studied the contents. “Let’s see what Mrs. Foster has packed for us. There’s sure to be enough for a small army.”

  “Mrs. Foster? And here I thought you were toiling over a hot stove all morning.”

  He took her good-natured teasing in stride. “She mentioned that she’d spoken with the housekeeper at The Lariat. You haven’t quit your job yet.”

  Anna plucked at a blade of grass, her gaze averted. “There’s no reason I can’t work until we marry. I have nothing else to do, after all.”

  “Would you consider working at the law office? Simon is swamped. The office is becoming disorganized.”

  She lifted her head. “Are you certain?”

  “Sure. Why do you ask?”

  “I assisted my husband once or twice, but he didn’t like me being around the office. He said it didn’t look professional, having his wife hanging about. I think I embarrassed him.”

  “You’d never be an embarrassment.”

  “Isn’t there someone from town you can hire?”

  “I’d rather have you,” Russ said. “Simon isn’t nearly as pretty.”

  She tossed the feathered head of a dandelion at him. “I’m going to tell Simon you said that.”

  “He’ll only agree.”

  The breeze ruffled the prairie grasses and sifted through her hair. All the work that had always seemed pressing faded into the background. Russ spent so much time in the office, his head bent over a stack of paperwork, that sitting in the sun, enjoying a jar of lemonade, was pure luxury.

  Anna stared into the distance, a hint of sadness in her expressive features.

  “You’re looking melancholy again,” Russ said. “What are you thinking?”

  “I was thinking that it’s been a long time since I’ve looked forward to the future.” She touched her stomach. “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this hopeful.”

  “I promise I’ll do my best for you and the baby.”

  “I know you will.”

  Stretched on his side, Russ leaned his weight on his elbow and crossed his ankles. “It must have been very difficult for you, losing your husband at such a young age. You couldn’t have been married very long.”

  She never spoke of her late husband, and when she did, her words left Russ feeling uneasy.

  “Two years. After my father died, I felt adrift. I’d never had much of a plan for the future.” She popped the head off another dandelion. “Charlotte wanted the fairy tale, the happily ever after. I was content with less.”

  She spoke as though she was picking her way through a field of nettles, trying to navigate carefully. That same sense of unease nagged him, drawing him back to his work with soldiers after the war. Some of them were beaten down and quiet, turning inward. Others were angry, and they lashed out. Their loved ones often had the same way of speaking around the wounded soldiers, as though afraid they might trip a live wire at any moment.

  “I’m glad you’re not like Charlotte,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “Because Charlotte wasn’t nearly as adventurous as you are. She’d have stayed in Philadelphia and found someone else to take care of her.” An ant scuttled over his outstretched hand. “I don’t mean to speak ill of your sister, but I’m happy you came to Cowboy Creek. I’m happy you took hold of your life and came west. I’m glad we were able to meet again.”

  “I never thought of it that way.” She sat up a little straighter, as though surprised. “I thought everyone would think I was running.”

  “What does it matter what others think? Susannah stayed behind. Charlotte eloped. Only you took the initiative. That’s a brave thing.”

  “I suppose.”

  He brought the conversation back to the topic he wanted to discuss, with another question. “Was your late husband in the war?”

  She tore off a piece of bread and added a slice of cheese. “No.” She laughed, a hollow, humorless sound that gave him chills. “His father was wealthy. Edward had an issue with his foot or something. You know how it was.”

  “I do.”

  People with enough money bought their way out of the war, leaving the fighting to the farm boys and the immigrants. They left the war to people who couldn’t afford to bribe doctors and congressmen for waivers. He’d never had much respect for those folks.

  “We should go.” She tossed the bread aside and rose on
her knees to gather the mason jars. “I don’t want to be late.”

  “There’s no rush.” He rested his hand over her trembling fingers. “We can stay awhile and talk.”

  A lock of her hair fell loose, covering her eyes. “But I’m already keeping you from your work.” She went to work packing the picnic basket.

  He didn’t mind the delay, but she’d obviously made up her mind. They gathered the rest of the food and Anna folded the blanket into a neat square. He assisted her into the wagon once more, carefully watching for signs of fatigue. Perhaps he should speak with Leah about how best to care for her in the coming months.

  As he drove the wagon under a sunny sky, he saw clouds gathered along the horizon. In minutes, they passed a brick marker that noted the edge of the Shawnee land, and they rode for a while before seeing signs of dwellings. The Shawnee land rolled into the distance, beyond the creeks, reaching to the railroad tracks. The tribe had planted trees and cultivated crops, built houses and barns alongside more traditional dwellings. The settlement was a curious mixture of the old and the new, of the traditional and the modern.

  Russ guided the wagon around the last bend. Touches the Clouds had wanted to show Anna the communal barn where they stored the seeds each year, which wasn’t far from the main lodge.

  A familiar, saddled horse was tied to the hitching post outside the large communal building that served as the lodge. He recognized it as Jason Mitchell’s.

  “I was hoping to speak with Jason,” Russ said. “I didn’t expect to see him this soon.”

  “He’s here?”

  “That’s his horse. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised he’s visiting the Shawnee.”

  “Will he pressure them to sell?”

  “Jason isn’t like that. Still, it doesn’t hurt to speak to the man. He might have some insight.”

  A flash of movement in the distance caught Russ’s attention. “Did you see that?”

  Anna followed his gaze. “I didn’t see anything.”

  “I thought I saw a horse and rider.”

  “Surely that’s not unusual. We’re very near the Shawnee settlement.”

  “Yes.”

  Yet something nagged at him. The Shawnee had a certain way of sitting in the saddle—tall and proud, their movements perfectly aligned with the horse. The man he’d seen had been wearing a hat as he hunched over the pommel of the saddle. Russ shook off the uncomfortable feeling. Probably it was nothing. A visitor or one of the younger men of the tribe.

  Since the encounter on the road with the outlaws, he was reading something sinister into even the most mundane events.

  He slowed the horses and steered toward a shady patch beneath a brace of poplar trees.

  Jason Mitchell ducked through the doorway of the lodge and shielded his face from the afternoon sun streaming through the growing cloud bank. He caught sight of them and recognition spread across his face in a welcoming smile.

  “Mr. Halloway,” Jason called. “I didn’t expect to see you here. And who’s your lovely companion?”

  Russ glanced between the pair. Jason was young, in his early thirties and a handsome, successful bachelor. The owner of the coal mine cast Anna an admiring glance, and Russ’s stomach dropped. Was he selfish? Was he keeping her from the chance at finding love again? She’d agreed to marry him, yet he couldn’t even talk her into lingering over a picnic on a beautiful day. He didn’t know what to think anymore.

  “This is Mrs. Anna Linford. My fiancée,” he added without an ounce of regret. “Anna, this is Jason Mitchell of the Mitchell Coal & Mining Company.”

  “I believe I’ve heard your name around town,” Anna replied.

  “I see my reputation precedes me.” Jason hooked his thumbs in his vest pockets and grinned. He caught the sharp glint in Russ’s eye, and his smile faded a notch. “Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Linford. Congratulations on your engagement.”

  “Thank you,” Anna said, inclining her head.

  Russ only trusted Jason to a point, so he asked sharply, “Bought any more land?”

  “Not today, I’m afraid.”

  Anna’s gaze flicked over Jason without any hint of interest, and the tension eased from Russ.

  He’d taken Susannah’s defection without an argument, and he’d even accepted Charlotte’s change of heart with little more than an annoyance. But he’d fight for Anna, and it was best the rest of the single men in Cowboy Creek understood that—sooner rather than later.

  * * *

  Jason was tall and dark and strikingly handsome—and appeared to be well aware of his own countenance. His smile was charming and his demeanor sure. He was a man accustomed to having women fall at his feet, but Anna wasn’t just any woman. The heart of a man mattered far more to her than the superficial trappings.

  “You must call me Jason,” he said, offering a wink that was probably meant to be endearing.

  “Call me Mrs. Linford.” Anna found the gesture annoying, and winked broadly in return, hoping he’d recognize the silliness of the gesture. “I don’t want to be forward.”

  “You’re from back east, I presume.” Jason removed a silver case from his breast pocket and extracted a slender cheroot. “I detect a Pennsylvania accent in your speech.”

  Before Anna could reply, Russ crossed his arms over his chest and spoke up. “What’s your business here, Jason?”

  “What do you suppose?” He tapped the end of the cheroot against the case. “I wanted to see if the Shawnee were interested in selling their land. Much as you’d expect, the answer was no.”

  “You’ll respect their decision?”

  Jason’s eyes widened. “That’s an odd thing to say. Have I ever given you a reason to doubt my sincerity?”

  Something very akin to anger flared between the two men. Anna glanced between them. They both had their hands on their hips, their chests puffed. Even with Russ sitting up on the wagon, the men reminded her of two bantam chickens pecking around each other in the barnyard.

  “Not yet,” Russ said, an edge of threat in his voice.

  He climbed from the wagon and reached up for her. She expected him to take her hand, but he caught her around the waist, gently lowering her to the ground. When she would have stepped away, he kept his arm circling her waist.

  Gracious, if she didn’t know any better, she’d think he was acting like a jealous man.

  Touches the Clouds appeared in the doorway then and splayed his arms in an encompassing gesture. “Welcome.”

  Anna stepped from Russ’s proprietary hold and took his hand in greeting. “Thank you so much for inviting me.”

  Jason tipped his hat to the Shawnee. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, sir.”

  “The pleasure is mine,” Touches the Clouds said, then he motioned for Anna. “I will give you a tour of our seed collection.”

  She turned toward Russ, and he waved her on. “Jason and I have some business together. I’ll catch up with you.”

  The owner of the mine raised his eyebrows but didn’t dispute the claim.

  Touches the Clouds motioned her forward. “Follow me.”

  The two of them made their way across the clearing to the enclosed barn. Painted red, the structure was built in the shape of an octagon with a domed roof that peaked in the center. Enormous double doors opened beneath a dormer hayloft.

  He tugged open the doors and ushered her inside. “We farm as a community. There are twenty families who share in the harvest.”

  “You combine all your resources?”

  “It is our tradition. We work and live together as a community, as did my father and his father before him.”

  The air inside the barn was heavy with the scent of hay and feed. Light shimmered through the vented opening at the peak of the roof. Grain bins containing seeds lined the walls, and an enormous table, almost li
ke an altar, featured a carved wooden box.

  “What’s that?”

  Touches the Clouds flipped back the lid and retrieved a leather pouch. “This is called the medicine bag. The bag contains the most holy of relics among the tribes of the plains. Though few men may hold the medicine bag, its power is sacred to the whole tribe. It is opened only on sacred occasions.”

  His tone indicated his reverence for the item, and she was fascinated by the tradition. “What holy relics does this medicine bag contain?”

  “Each object has a spiritual meaning to the keeper. There can be animal skins or ceremonial pipes. Seeds or arrowheads. Some items are too sacred to name.”

  He replaced the medicine bag with equal reverence. She sensed he was honoring her by merely showing her the item, and she was awed by his consideration.

  For the next twenty minutes, they toured the supply of seeds. Some of the varieties had been provided by the government’s bureau of land administration, while others had been passed down through generations.

  There was even a drought-resistant strain of maize the Shawnee had developed through the years. She desperately wanted a sample, but asking felt far too presumptuous. Speaking with someone who understood her passion for collecting and saving the different varieties of vegetable seeds warmed her soul.

  “We have several fields planted,” Touches the Clouds said. “We keep some of the seeds back from planting in case we lose the crops. The weather is uncertain. There are droughts and rains. Sometimes fire.”

  Touches the Clouds lifted a leather pouch from around his neck and knelt before the wooden bin containing the maize seeds. He scooped three large handfuls into the pouch and tightened a leather strap around the top. When he finished, he handed her the satchel. “This is for you.”

  “I can’t. They’re far too precious to your tribe.”

  He jostled the bag. “They are a gift.”

  She sensed refusing him would be an insult. Unsure how to respond to such a precious gift, she hugged the satchel to her chest. “Thank you. I’m honored.”

  She slipped the leather straps around her neck as Touches the Clouds had done.

  He smiled, and his eyes crinkled around the edges.