by Jillian Hart
Dog Wood Bride
Jillian Hart
Contents
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
Also by Jillian Hart
Copyright © 2019 by Jill Strickler
Cover Art by The Killion Group
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
1
Well, here I go. Skye Weatherby squinted into the direct glare of the late afternoon sun reflecting off the water barrel outside the most disreputable establishment in town.
Maybe this wasn't the most brilliant idea she'd ever had, but dire circumstances required it.
All she could do was to proceed forward with her plan and see how it all turned out.
Would the saloon owner throw her out the door or would he allow her to do her business?
I'll just have to look him in the eye and see. She dipped her chin, pointed the toes of her imported-from-Paris shoes toward the door and pushed a curl of hair back into place.
A gust of wind caught the brim of her New York City made bonnet as she gave the front door a push. This was the moment of truth.
"Miss Weatherby? Is that you?" A woman skidded to a stop behind the nearby table where she was clearing away empty beer tankards. Most of her cleavage showed clearly, pushed up in a gown that was more corset and chemise than dress. It didn't seem to bother her or embarrass her. "Golly, Skye, I don't think you should be in here. You should turn back around and skedaddle."
"I wish I could, Elaine, but I'm meeting a man, although I'm a little early. I have some time to kill." Because of the advertisement she'd taken out in several territorial newspapers, she'd found a solution to one of her biggest problems. "I've come to find a man."
"Honey, if there is a good man in this world, then chances are you ain't gonna find him here."
"That's the honest truth." Skye couldn't deny it.
But she did have a problem and the solution to it mattered. Her brother had said it best, when he'd looked over her choices of candidates, that she had to make her life here in Wyoming Territory as happy as possible.
Since she'd had a broken engagement go wrong back East and great unhappiness had been the consequence. She should pursue what made her happy, if it were good and gentle. She adored Abe for saying that, the kind fellow. Now, she squared her shoulders, set her chin and told herself she wasn't making a mistake.
"I hate to say it, but you can't come in here, Miss Weatherby." Elaine balanced the tray she'd filled on one hand. "It isn't safe for a fine lady."
"Do you see a fine lady? I'm a customer today." She sashayed around the empty table, aware of the ruffians surrounding her.
They sat at tables. They stood at the bar. They drank alcohol. They played cards.
One by one they looked up and turned to stare at her.
"I'm armed." Skye patted her reticule where her little Derringer was tucked safely.
Not loaded with bullets, but at least she'd brought it.
And the bullets, too. One was even in the chamber, although the rest were loose at the bottom of her handbag. But still, she was armed and almost prepared to protect herself.
"See? I'll be okay. I won't be here long enough to get into any real trouble. Did anyone ask for me at the bar?"
"If a man did, you are a nice lady. You won't want to talk with him."
"Today I will." Her heart may be hammering like a hummingbird in her rib cage, but she didn't want the barmaid or anyone to know.
Truth be told, she had no idea if this was going to work.
If it didn't, then she would have spent a chunk of her inheritance on a property, and a project, she couldn't hold or maintain.
Her pride would not allow her to fail nor to ask for help from her family members who believed she'd been wrong from the start.
"There may be someone here that's new to town." Elaine bit her bottom lip. "What am I going to tell my boss?"
"I take full responsibility, so you don't have to tell him anything."
"Then try over at the bar, since you won't listen. But don't say I didn't tell you so." Elaine swished away, leaving her alone.
Well, here I am. I've made it this far. Skye took a look around the seedy establishment.
The tinny piano music stopped. Nearly every face in the saloon had turned toward her. Some sneered. Others leered.
One man shook his head and looked back down at his cards.
Her chin went up in the air. This was not going too horribly, not at all.
She forced her feet forward, certain there was no need to turn around. This was a good plan. It was going to work out just fine.
Relax, she thought. Nothing dangerous is going to happen.
The scantily clad woman at the piano began tickling the ivories again. The tinny sound of Yankee Doodle Dandy rang out, breaking the silence and drowning out the knell of her heels against the scuffed floorboards.
For no reason, her heart bumped in her chest. Tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood up on end.
Each and every one of them.
She took a step and felt a touch to the back of her arm.
"Hey, there, pretty lady." A rough baritone held a note of contempt.
This was a villain. Her stomach went cold. Before she could think to react, she felt a cruel hand clamp around her right wrist and spin her around.
She stumbled, but the man banding her wrist gave a hard jerk.
Pain shot up her arm and into her shoulder, jarring her. Her teeth clacked together and she stumbled, but did not fall.
Her heart galloped wildly in her chest. She opened her mouth, but only air came out.
She was too afraid to speak.
The stranger closed in and she tried to scramble away.
He held fast. There was no way to break his grip on her. Her instincts screamed at her to escape, to run, but her body didn't want to cooperate.
She was paralyzed, unable to move, fear rat-tat-tatting through her.
She'd never seen such cold, unfeeling eyes.
What kind of man was this? Why, he was no man at all.
In her mind, she'd fisted up her hand, powerfully wrenched her wrist out of his grip and towered in front of him with great, awe-inspiring outrage that would impress anyone watching.
But nothing actually happened. Too frozen, she couldn't manage to draw in an extra breath.
All around her the poker games had resumed, conversations continued and men had turned back to nurse their drinks at the bar and at their tables, refusing to look her way at all.
"Aren't you a sweet-smelling thing?" The man gave a sniff, followed by a low-throated groan.
How vulgar! But could she summon up the words to tell him that? No.
"Uh." That's all that came out before the stranger twisted her wrist.
Pain shot through her shoulder and into her spine. Every bone in between screamed with pain.
"Why don't you come with me?" he grated out, with breath that reminded her of a skunk who regularly passed by her property.
"Hey, let her alone." The man looked up from his cards two tables away. He still did not look impressed with her. "Let her go."
She snapped her mouth shut. She'd gone icy all over. The man could be an outlaw in his all-black wardrobe. Muscled and rock-hard strength, he seemed to be hewn of shadow and stone. Why, he looked strong enough to beat up anybody.
Or save them.
Neither the lamplight nor the sun streaming through the big front window could touch him or lessen the way he seemed to belong to the shady side of town.
The other man, mere a scrawny, frightening lout of a creature, tightened his hold on her wrist. "Pay attention to me."
She didn't want to. A bead of sweat rolled down the back of her neck. The man wasn't going to let go. And nobody else but the man in black noticed or cared.
This was not a good turn of events.
"What were you going to do, walk out of here with a woman like her?" The man in black's voice thundered again, like cannon fire above the din. He stood up from his card game. His shadowed, rugged face held a look of disbelief as he threw down his cards. "You heard me. Now you've cost me my ante."
"This ain't your business, stranger." Those fingers tightened with bruising force on her wrist. "Sit back down."
"Are you sure you want to tell me that?" The man in black towered over. "That's what I thought. Go manhandle someone more your size."
The scrawny lout let go. He spit out a crude response, stomped toward the door and slammed it behind him on the way out.
"You're a good man, Mister." She rubbed her hurting wrist. "Thank you for getting involved."
"In this part of the country, a good man has to. Too bad I'm not a good man." He arched one dark eyebrow. "Do your folks know you're out on the bad side of town, little girl?"
"I'm not all that little and I'm not a girl anymore." Her finely carved chin shot up hopefully. "I'm here on my own."
"On purpose?" He squinted harder, taking a step back to study the willowy lady's heart-shaped, very beautiful face. "What are you doing here? You look like you got off the train at the wrong town, Debutante."
"No, I'm here deliberately."
"That can't be a good idea, being alone, unchaperoned and without an armed man with you. This is Wyoming Territory, not a drawing room in the best neighborhood in Boston."
"I know, but it's safe during the day, and I owe you a favor. A big one." The young woman gave her bonnet rim a tug upward to see him better. "You saved my life. Who are you, Mister?"
He frowned. "I'd rather not say. Is your husband around town somewhere? I don't see a ring on your finger."
"I'm not married."
"Of course not. I couldn't be that lucky."
The woman didn't come closer but untied her bonnet ribbons, revealing a dainty curve of her porcelain cheek. "Lucky? I'm a spinster and happy to stay that way. Thank you so much for intervening. Can I pay for your drink?"
At least she's polite. And fair, he added. Brennan Mosley ambled closer, and at least he'd figured out who she was.
He couldn't say he'd ever seen a woman with a beauty like hers, quiet and so fragile, she looked like she belonged in a china shop on the highest, most protected shelf.
Pure graceful loveliness, easily broken, no surprise what she was doing in a place like this.
"Are you all right?" he belted out. "You are going to have more problems like that if you don't head for the door."
"I've had worse problems."
"I don't doubt that." Brennan ambled closer, zeroing in on those eyes. Big and hazel, framed with long curly lashes. "Your wrist is bruised. Looks like you're pretty sore."
"I don't think it's serous, although it hurts more than I'd like to admit."
"That can't be good. Want me to talk to the sheriff for you?"
"I'm not prepared to do that."
Huh. She was a pretty female. If he were wiser, he'd turn around, go back to his game and keep as much distance from her as he could and turn down her brother's offer.
But he really liked her. Her pretty light yellow riding dress hugged rather than hid her feminine curves. Not that he approved of women riding horseback, but that could not lessen his appreciation of how sweet she seemed or how she smelled like fresh strawberries, sweet and ripe.
Or of how her Cupid's bow mouth curved when she smiled.
He winced, not much liking that he'd gotten hard, too fast and involuntary.
Whoa there, down boy. He should walk away but he didn't. Probably because he'd already taken this to its logical conclusion. He wanted her.
He rubbed the back of his neck, unable to explain the tension there. "Maybe we should get the doc to take a look at that. Can you move your fingers? How bad does it hurt?"
"Not your worry, and I'm fine. Truly." Pain shadowed her eyes, which showed a hint of distrust. Not that he blamed her.
She rocked back a few steps, soft as a waltz step, deliberately putting more space between them.
So, he scared her a bit, did he? It wouldn't be the first time he'd sent a pretty little female scurrying.
He cleared his throat and softened his voice. "You don't look fine. Half the men in here are likely hiding out from the law. The other half are on the verge of it, riding a narrow line of lawfulness. And then there are a few men like me."
"Which would be?"
"Men who do the right thing. No matter what."
She bit her bottom lip as she gently rubbed her wrist. She had dainty hands, which was obvious even with the riding gloves she wore.
She seemed to think over what he'd said. "A man like you can be mighty rare. And is a good thing to be."
"I try, and don't go being polite to me or I'll have to stop disliking you. If you aren't going to leave, you ought to sit down at a table. Catch your breath. You had quite a scare."
He caught hold of her hand, so small and slender and tugged her toward an empty chair.
He caught the leg of it with the toe of his boot and scooted it out for her. "There, you are. Sit and take it easy. I'll go order up a drink from the barkeep."
"I don't drink alcohol. My mother would fall over backwards at the thought."
"Why am I not surprised?" He shook his head. He didn't feel good about leaving her alone, but he walked away anyway. Gamblers barely glanced up from their cards. A few dedicated beer drinkers looked up from their tankards.
The bartender arched a brow when he saw him coming. "What do you want?"
2
"Get her something sweet." He glanced over his shoulder. "Got anything that'll work?"
The bartender didn't bother to answer. He plunked a bottle onto the counter, popped the top and gave it a slide.
"Put it on my tab." Brennan wrapped his hand around the bottle and pushed away from the scarred wooden bar.
She was talking with the barmaid again, just like she'd done when she'd first breezed in through the door looking like a million bucks in a light yellow dress, just like spring itself.
"I know you're right, that it isn't safe here, Elaine." Her voice had gone up a few notes, sweetly musical and incredibly revealing. A slight tremble betrayed her fear. "But I have to meet a man."
"Will just any man do?" the barmaid asked.
"No, I'm looking for a specific one, and I hope that he's a fine gentleman."
"Skye, all of us girls need a man like that. They're as rare as hen's teeth, as my ma always says."
"Mine, too," Skye said gently, with a lilt of humor in her light-hearted alto, gentle and kind.
Hard not to like that. She would surely do for a wife. He took himself and his lonely heart over closer to her and kerplunked the bottle down on the table.
The barmaid excused herself. Skye gazed up at him with eyes as intriguing as dreams found.
"Sarsaparilla?" She quirked up one corner of her mouth, utterly charming and cute, as lovely as could be.
It was too bad her family had to find her a husband. The brother said they desperate for it, and he didn't doubt it. A lovely lady, so cute and clueless about life, just couldn't be roaming around by herself.
The ruffian was back, almost as fast as he'd left and had joined a card game in progress. Brennan didn't like that much. Judson, the bartender had said the rough man's name was, and a temporary hire over at a nearby ranch. A man looking for trouble, no doubt, but Brennan knew a problem when he saw it.
And she was a problem, too. He trained his gaze on her sitting there so quietly, as if she were in a fancy tea parlor, waiting for crumpets to be served on a silver tray. Except she was entirely likable. Entirely everything kind and loving, just the way he'd want a woman to be.
Guess I'll try to court her after all, he thought and felt pleased with that decision. The trick was not letting her know it. Look at her, sitting there so quietly with her pretty rosebud-soft mouth pursed up, as if she were debating what to say to him next. She had trouble and she didn't even know it.
Two attempted break ins, her brother Abe had told him. The horse of hers in highly valuable but Skye is infinitely more so.
No need to doubt that, Brennan thought. His attention remained on Judson's buddy seated alongside him at the table, the man with the red bandana at his throat. He looked if he'd come fresh from a bank robbery, or at least, had that feel to him.
Definitely, not a good situation. Brennan felt weary of such darkness in the world. With any luck, Judson would go back to his poker game and give his controlling, predatory attention to winning his next hand and forget Skye.
"How much do I owe you?" She gazed up at him, sweeter than any sugared drink, than any candy. "You didn't have to help me like that."
"I know, it's my pleasure, and there's no charge."
"I insist."
"Too bad, this is my treat, little beauty. Be more careful the next time you're on the wrong side of town, huh?" His hand accidentally brushed hers and despite the gloves she wore, he could feel a lightning hot sear travel through him.
Like nothing he'd ever felt before. That was a clear sign to step back and ponder.