Brides Along the Chisholm Trail Boxset
Page 1
Brides Along the Chisholm Trail
Box Set
Maxine Douglas
Contents
Maxine Douglas
The Reluctant Bride
About the Book
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
Maxine Douglas
The Marshal’s Bride
About the Book
Acknowledgments
Author Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
Maxine Douglas
The Cattleman’s Bride
About the Book
Acknowledgments
Author Note
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
About the Author
Other Books by Maxine Douglas
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Author.
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition December 2019
The Reluctant Bride
Brides Along the Chisholm Trail ~ Book 1
Maxine Douglas
About the Book
Roseanne Duncan witnesses her employer push his sickly wife down the staircase. Fearing she’ll have to testify against a prominent man in town, she’s given an ad for a mail-order bride in Dodge City. Believing this is a way for her to escape the possible danger of her employer, she travels to Dodge City and marries under the name of Abigail Johnson.
Logan Granger is a Pinkerton Detective assigned to Dodge City area as an undercover bartender. When his mail-order bride, “Abby,” steps off the train she doesn’t fit the description of a matronly woman who has agreed to his marriage contract of no emotional attachments. There’s no time to reconsider, the preacher is waiting to marry them.
Rose hadn’t expected the handsome man waiting for her to be a bartender with a six shooter on his hip and a badge on his chest. Logan hadn’t expected his soon-to-be wife to be young, beautiful, and a runaway murder witness.
To my husband, who will always be my hero and the love of my life.
And to all the cowboy I grew up watching in the 1950s and 1960s, who were my heroes:
Zorro, The Virginian, Adam Cartwright.
I’ve never forgotten you and never will.
Acknowledgments
A heartfelt thank you and big hugs and kisses to Callie Hutton and Heidi Vanlandingham for asking me to be part of an amazing boxed set and for encouraging me to jump headfirst into a genre I was totally unfamiliar writing. I can’t wait to do another project with you both.
Huge hugs to my beta reader, Julie Castle, for making sure everything made sense and flowed. I’m forever grateful for your time, insight, and friendship.
To the following establishments for allowing me to sit for hours writing The Reluctant Bride: the staff of McDonalds of Chickasha, who greeted me each morning with my dose of caffeine, and to the librarians of the Chickasha Public Library, who were always gracious in helping me find the research material I asked for.
Avid western romance readers may recognize my mention of Adelaide Markham, the heroine of Callie Hutton’s book, Prisoners of Love: Adelaide. An enjoyable story if you haven’t already read it.
Prologue
South-central Wisconsin
Late April 1877
“Have you lost your senses?” Miss Roseanne Duncan looked over the advertisement for a mail-order bride, the paper rattling in her hand. “I can’t become a mail-order bride. Besides, he’s expecting you.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Abigail Johnson replied, continuing to sort through the tub of fresh vegetables. “This is your best chance to survive and you know it.”
A sick feeling went through her at Abby’s blunt words, memories of the mistress falling to her death, the master at the top of the stairs assailed her. She shuddered. The memorial was set for today. It was only a matter of time until… No, she couldn’t think it. A chance to get away…could she really take it? Rose read over the advertisement flier again. “Abby, this looks more like a wanted poster than a man in search of a wife.”
“Granted, it shows he is a bit creative and educated by the way it’s worded.” Abigail peeked over the top of the page, then returned to picking out the best of the potatoes.
Rose was still stunned by Abby’s plan to become a mail-order bride. “Yes, I’ll give him that much at least, he’s literate. Why would you feel the need to answer something like this in the first place?” Rose had heard dubious stories of mail-order brides and very few of them ended well. “You’re a wonderful cook and passionate woman; any local man would be lucky to have you. You don’t need to answer an advertisement from a Wild West gentleman, if he is one, that you don’t know and move off to who knows where.”
“Maybe I wanted to grab my last chance for adventure,” she said with a grin.
Rose felt bad not wanting to hurt her feelings. “Oh, I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t you worry about it. I’ll take the next one who suits my fancy. This is exactly what you need after what happened. Rose, what have you got to lose?” Abigail whispered, scrubbing the dirt from the potatoes for supper that night. “You need to leave this house as soon as you can. They’ll be burying the lady in a few days, but people are already talking. It’s no secret she’d become ill, Rose. But sickness didn’t break her neck, and everybody’s talking about it. Even Mrs. Griswold’s family has grown suspicious.”
“I’ve heard the rumors, but we both know the truth. Mrs. Griswold wasn’t ill enough to fall to the bottom of the staircase on her own, Abby. I know what I saw.” Rose grabbed her friend’s hand and squeezed it lightly. “He knows I saw him do it.”
“All the more reason to get out of town before someone questions you.” Abigail ceased her scrubbing, her brow furrowed she looked Rose square in the face. “Have you considered the consequences of that testimony if her family presses forward with an investigation? You know he could make it look like you’re the one who ‘helped’ his wife down the stairs that night. He’ll make them believe you were in love with him, throwing yourself at him at every opportunity to lure him from his poor, sickly wife.”
Rose recoiled from the thought of that snide monster touching her. “No one will believe that story. They can’t, it’s not true.” Even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t true. She was a mere servant and an impoverished one at that. He was wealthy. No one would believe her if it came to her word against his. It was why she hadn’t gone to the law even though
it pricked her conscience to keep silent. It just plain went against her personal code of justice to let him go unpunished. The horrific scene played across her mind again.
Rose had been starting her morning duties when she heard them arguing at the top of the stairs. Mrs. Griswold didn’t want to go down for an early breakfast that day; she wanted to go back to her room. Mr. Griswold kept insisting she make an appearance so the staff wouldn’t think she was sickly. Rose had often wondered if the source of the wasting sickness had come from the master’s own hand. All he’d have to do was slip something into her tea. She shuddered, knowing it was too late to save her mistress now.
That morning, they’d continued to argue and then came the scream. The horrible sound of a body tumbling down the stairs, and Mr. Griswold standing at the top of the landing with smug indifference on his face. When he turned and saw her, the look in his eyes when they locked on hers was dark, dead, and cold as a winter’s frigid night, promising retribution if she said anything. She’d shivered and dashed back up the servants’ staircase, hiding in her room until the other maids began to move about the house. Then a scream rang out from the scullery maid, and Rose knew the mistress had been found.
So far there hadn’t been any question as to how Mrs. Griswold came to be at the bottom of the staircase. Mr. Griswold told the doctor and police officers that she’d tripped over a rug at the top of the landing. She hadn’t had a lantern with her so she could see in the hallway. And since Mr. Griswold was a wealthy man, his explanation had gone unchallenged. Even so, Mrs. Griswold’s family threatened to hire an investigator for all the good that would do Mrs. Griswold now.
Rose chased the fresh memory from her mind and looked over the advertisement again. Abby was right; she had no other choice but to run. But this, could she even contemplate being a mail-order bride, tying herself to a man she didn’t even know? According to the paper, a man named Logan Granger was looking for a mail-order bride to help manage his household and his six-year-old daughter. It indicated he was a widower of means, healthy, and respected at the age of thirty. Mr. Granger wrote that he lived in a stylish house in the frontier town of Dodge City, Kansas. Far from Mr. Griswold’s reach, she thought, taking heart. There was no mention of wifely duties, just the household and the child. Mr. Logan Granger basically wanted a housekeeper and nanny for the price of marriage and a home.
But, Kansas? Could she move so far away just to escape the fury of Atticus Griswold, who would certainly become her former employer before long and probable accuser? How could she be sure she wasn’t walking into something far worse than she’d be leaving? What could be worse than the gallows, she thought wryly as her conscience smote her. Marrying someone she didn’t love. So who needed love?
Looking at the ad, it seemed love wasn’t one of the requirements. Besides, when she got there, if they didn’t suit she could cry off. She was afraid her heart wouldn’t allow her to marry a man she couldn’t at least feel affection for in time. Would she make an exception for one who made no mention of love? And then there was Dodge City itself. She’d read the papers. Dodge City had a reputation for being a wild town brimming with gamblers, gunfighters, and saloon girls of the night.
“Abby, even if it were possible, there’s no reason for this man to even want me. I’m a housemaid with no experience at taking care of a little girl. Not to mention, he sounds like he’s a pretty important man in his town. What would he want with a housemaid for a bride who doesn’t even know how to cook?” Rose placed the paper on the countertop, her heart heavy with sadness. She had no right to think a man like Mr. Granger would actually want a servant for a wife. Then again, maybe that’s exactly all he wanted. After all, he did indicate he was looking for someone to manage his household and look after his little girl, nothing more. Would that mean she’d have her own bedroom, or would she have to share a room with Mr. Granger, her prospective husband?
“You can follow a recipe, can’t you?” Abigail shot her a side glance, the corner of her mouth moving into a small smile. “What if he didn’t care what you did for a living?”
“And how would you know that? This man doesn’t want a runaway witness for a bride. He’ll want someone to match his stature. Someone substantial who comes with the full knowledge of how a household runs.” Rose took the paper between her fingers, giving it one last look over before tossing it into the day’s waste.
“And you don’t have that knowledge?” Abigail wiped her hands on her apron, then reached into her pocket. “I don’t know, but there’s only one way to find out.” She offered Rose an envelope with Abigail’s name and address scrawled across it. “He wants me, and I’m only a cook and much older than he is. So obviously he isn’t fussy. Why wouldn’t he want a pretty young wife instead of a matronly one?”
“Abby, what have you done?” Rose took the envelope, pulling out a piece of parchment folded neatly into thirds. Tucked into the folds of the letter was a ticket for the next train to Kansas City, where she’d then switch trains and continue to travel the rest of the way to Dodge City.
“Giving my dear friend the chance to live, if she’ll take it.”
1
Dodge City, Kansas
Early May 1877
Logan Granger tugged at his vest once again. What a fool, harebrained idea it was to advertise for a bride and expect her to come to Dodge City of all places, but he was between a rock and a hard place. If not for Lilly, he wouldn’t have done it. But Dodge was no place for a six-year-old girl to be running around without supervision. He couldn’t watch her and do his job without having to worry where she was all the time. It wasn’t fair to keep her locked in a room at the Lady Gay either. She needed room to run and play and grow into a fine young woman like her momma.
Logan pulled the watch from his vest pocket. His father had given him the keepsake the day Logan graduated from Harvard Law School. He smiled, remembering that day. Pop had been so proud of him. All Logan had to do was find a respectable law firm to establish himself in, then find a girl from a good family to marry and settle down. He’d done it all. He’d taken up with the law firm of Winston & Blodgett in Chicago in 1870 after he married Katie Blanchard of Boston, became a father to Lilly the following year, and then lost Katie to scarlet fever within five years of their marriage—the exact date escaped him. He’d wanted to find a way to escape the pain of losing her, but soon realized what he’d really been looking for was a way to join her.
So he resigned from the firm and went to work undercover for the Pinkerton Detective Agency in Chicago. He’d worked with the detective agency through the law firm for a few years on various court cases he’d taken on. Many of his cases had him working hand-in-hand with Mr. Pinkerton himself, and Logan found a real camaraderie with the man every outlaw feared. His work gave him a newfound purpose, and he soon realized Lilly needed her daddy more than Logan needed to join Katie. It was only then that he realized the error of his ways. He might need the oblivion of danger to make himself feel whole again, but Lilly’s needs had to come first. Pushing the sadness aside, Logan flipped the gold inscribed cover closed and pushed the watch back into his waistcoat.
“Sure hope you know what you’re doing, bringing that woman here, Logan.” Marshal Dane Jones stood next to Logan, rocking back on his heels. The marshal had recently sent four women on the last wagon train from the fort to Santa Fe. Chaperoned by Nellie Ward, Jones felt it was in the young women’s best interests to find husbands to look after them. Logan smiled; he’d heard the Widow Markham had married before she even left town.
“So do I, Marshal. After all, I got the notion from you.” Logan looked up and down the tracks, avoiding eye contact with the marshal. “I didn’t see any other way. Lilly’s gonna be a young lady before I know it, and she needs a mature woman to guide her along the right path.”
“I know a few ladies in town more than willing to be your wife. You didn’t need to send for a store-bought one.” Jones chuckled, slapping Logan on the back.
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br /> Logan looked at the marshal, shaking his head. “I’m particular, Marshal. I don’t need that kind of distraction in my line of work.”
“How particular can it be to find a wife? As long as she’s willing to lay with you, cook your meals, and wash your clothes, what is she there for?” The marshal winked, then chuckled again.
“You never cease to astound me, Marshal. How about a little something called companionship, trust, honor? Bed doesn’t come into the equation.” No, he couldn’t even contemplate letting a woman get that close to his heart again. To make sure of it, he’d handpicked the right candidate. “I’ve got a little girl to think of. Taking this wife to bed is not what I’m looking for.” Logan shuffled his feet, then took his hat off, slapping the dust off the brim before settling it back over his thick, black hair. “Abigail Johnson will be my wife in name only. She’s older, respectable, and well versed in the running of a household, and she’ll be the perfect woman to properly guide Lilly along.”