Brides Along the Chisholm Trail Boxset

by Maxine Douglas

  “Oh!” Suzanne exclaimed in surprise. “Cyrus, you have really gone too far. These accommodations should be for you, not the both of us. I’ll be more than happy to go it alone in second class, even third class if you’d prefer.”

  “Yes, well, I would have been much more comfortable in second class myself, but Beau insisted. He said that it would make our journey a bit more comfortable and private, er, I mean, pleasant.” Cyrus walked down the aisle, stopping in the middle of the car then gestured to two plush bench seats facing each other. “I hope this is sufficient.”

  “I would say so.” Suzanne laughed, the sound pleasant and alluring. “My, but you’ve managed to take my breath away, Mr. Kennedy.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment, Miss Butler.” Cyrus slid onto the seat across from her, placing his hat next to him. “We have both these seats, so there’s plenty of room to be comfortable. Like I said earlier, it’s going to be several hours before we feel solid ground again, I’m afraid.”

  “That’s perfectly fine. I’ve been looking forward to relaxing for a little.” Suzanne yawned, stretching her arms wide, her breasts pushed forward. “Goodness, pardon my manners. I must not have slept a wink last night. Did you?”

  “Sleep is a matter of opinion. I don’t believe I’ve had a good night’s sleep since I left the ranch. As for last night, all I can say is it was a long night.” Cyrus swallowed hard. Hoping the pang of desire would fade away, he watched as Suzanne burrowed into the corner of the padded bench and closed her eyes.

  Does she suspect I spent the night in a chair outside her door? No, she couldn’t. I made sure I was back in my room at dawn.

  The train lurched forward, slowly picked up speed and moved away from the depot. Several people waving goodbye moved pass the window. A soft snoring reached his ears. He looked over and found Suzanne fast asleep with her head against the back of the seat, a small smile on the edge of her lips.

  Suzanne watched Cyrus watching her through lowered lashes. She wasn’t sure what he found so fascinating about her. She hadn’t considered herself anything but average compared to the refined ladies from back East whom he’d met. But to a man who’d lost his wife a few years ago, maybe it had been a while since he’d—well, been with a woman.

  Surely not! A man as good looking as Cyrus Kennedy couldn’t go long without a woman. He was kind and considerate. Charming as hell, and he turned her inside out with desire. If he could do that to her—a woman who’d grown used to men fawning after her—then what must he do to a proper lady?

  If only she wasn’t on the run, then maybe she could consider being more than an employee to him. Another dream to add to her collection.

  Don’t be ridiculous, Suzie! A man like Cyrus Kennedy doesn’t marry the hired help. She scolded herself then closed her eyes, fully shutting out his image.

  The gentle rocking of the train lulled her to sleep, giving way to visions of her mother cooking a rump roast from one of the Butler cattle. Mother always softly hummed a cheerful tune whenever she was in the kitchen. Whether it was canning, cooking, or cleaning, there was always a happy tune to be heard. Until the day Father had decided it was time his wife was too good to do chores and hired a housekeeper. Then Mother’s happiness began to fade, replaced by Martha’s rigidness that took over the house from top to bottom.

  Ever since she was a little girl, Suzie always played among the new calves until they got their horns or pushed her around a bit too much. As she grew older, she loved laying up in the hayloft, chewing on a piece of straw while dreaming of the big city and one day being more than Will Butler’s only daughter—heiress to the Rockin’ B.

  She’d always have to remember to pluck the hay from her hair and clothes before coming into the house for dinner. It was bad enough she dressed in boys’ britches and shirts, let alone came to the dinner table looking like she’d just had a tussle.

  Father had expressed his dislike for her lack of feminine attire more than once, saying a young lady of her stature should dress like it—not like a ranch hand. Mother would laugh it off, telling him Suzie had plenty of time to become a lady. They hadn’t known that time was coming sooner rather than later.

  Father changed all that the day Regan Murray showed up for dinner. In a show of bravado, Father announced she was to marry Mr. Murray on her twenty-first birthday. It was the most horrifying day of her life!

  “Mr. Murray has agreed to make you his bride, come your twenty-first birthday, Suzanne. It will make our families the biggest landowners in the state!” Father beamed with pride at what he’d managed to do—bring the Butler and Murray lands together. Between the two lands, there’d be over forty thousand acres and the herds would double tenfold once the marriage took place.

  “But, Will, she’s only a child!” Mother protested, her face lined with shock. “You didn’t consult me on this; I’m her mother! I’ll not stand for it. Do you hear me, William Butler?”

  “I’ll have no argument from either of you. The matter is settled!” Father slammed his fist on the table, the matter closed as far as he was concerned. “Suzanne will become Regan Murray’s wife. Now, can we act like civilized people and enjoy a meal with our future son-in-law?”

  During dinner, all Father and Mr. Murray talked about was the great deal they’d put together, bringing the two ranches together. And how Mr. Murray hoped there’d be a child on the way as soon as their wedding night. He went on with what he expected of a wife and how he knew in his heart that Suzanne Butler, being young and strong, would be perfect. Suzie sunk deeper into her chair, hoping she’d fade away to a place where no one would find her. Like Alice, she wanted to run down a rabbit hole. She didn’t like Mr. Murray—he was old!

  As old as Father, at the very least. And more cruel, if that was at all possible.

  As soon as dinner was over, Suzie asked to be excused then rushed to her bedroom. Her sanctuary away from all the bad in her world. And Mr. Regan Murray was as bad as they come. At least that’s what she’d overheard the ranch hands say when they didn’t think she was hiding up in the hayloft. Killed his wife, they said. No doubt about it, they agreed.

  She laid on her bed crying when a soft knock on the door was followed by her mother coming into the room.

  “Do I have to, Mother? Must I marry Mr. Murray?” Suzie fell into her mother’s arms, praying she’d say Father was playing a cruel joke. But it wasn’t. In less than six months, she’d be married to the man they called “Martyr Murray.”

  “No, you don’t. I’ll make sure of it.” Mother smoothed back Suzie’s hair and wiped away the tears streaming down her face. “Don’t you worry a bit. I’ll take care of everything, Suzie. I’ll not have my only daughter sold off like a broodmare! Let me take care of things, and don’t you worry your pretty little head about it. Mother’s got things under control.”

  Mother smiled at her and Suzie’s world was righted again.

  Mother came in the middle of the night a few weeks before Suzanne’s twenty-first birthday. Suzie packed a few things, got on the strange horse waiting for her at the edge of the woods, and rode south until she couldn’t ride anymore. Just like Mother had told her to do. The horse would know where to go, all she had to do was stay in the saddle. Father would think Suzie had gone to her Aunt Clara’s in Butte to purchase a wedding dress. With tears streaming down her face, she kissed her mother goodbye.

  By the time the horse stopped, Suzanne was cold and hungry with no idea where she was until a woman pulled her down and helped her up a set of stairs and into a soft, warm bed. For a few coins from her pocketbook, Montana Sue was born. And her previous life no longer existed.

  “Suzanne.” Someone spoke her name, soft and gentle like her mother had, only deeper. “Suzanne, wake up, honey.”

  Suzanne cuddled into her mother’s rocking arms, and her dream slipped away.

  When she opened her eyes, she peered into dark eyes filled with concern. Eyes that belonged to Cyrus Kennedy, not her mother.

&n
bsp; 7

  “You were having a bad dream, Suzanne,” Cyrus whispered, trying to explain the reason for having his very attractive and unmarried housekeeper in his arms. Even now, as she looked up at him with a foggy expression in her eyes, he knew she wasn’t ready for him to let her go. And he wasn’t ready either, not until he was sure Suzanne would be all right. “I only wanted to ease your fears. For you to feel safe.”

  His senses in high gear, she clung to him as if he were her lifeline. She leaned into him so close Cyrus could feel her warm breath on his neck slowly return to normal. The soothing scent of lavender on her skin filled his senses, reminding him of spring in one of the meadows. Her hair playing along the edge his chin was strangely sensual. Her body finally relaxed in his arms as she let go of the nightmare that had plagued her.

  “Johnny would have nightmares sometimes. I’d go into his room and hold him until he knew he was safe and nothing could harm him.” Cyrus tipped her chin up with a finger, searching her face. “Care to talk about it? It seemed to help my boy find enough peace to sleep again.”

  “No, it’s too painful.” She shook her head, then moved out of his embrace. “And a private family matter. I do appreciate your concern though, Cyrus.”

  “I was concerned. You were sleeping peacefully for a long time, and then suddenly you started whimpering and muttering—” Cyrus stopped. The frightened look on her face told him she was still as shaken as he felt she would be. Could she have been dreaming about Murray? If so, then he didn’t need a telegram from Pinkerton confirming his query. Suzanne’s face about said it all—she was terrified.

  “What did I say?” She looked at him with worry in her eyes.

  “Not much I could make sense out of.” Cyrus contemplated for a moment whether or not to say more. She’d muttered her mother’s name more than once, as well as Murray’s. Only one way to get the truth; speak it. “You called out for your mother once or twice. Something about your father and then the name Murray, followed by a rather distraught whimper.”

  She sat against the seat, as far from Cyrus as she could. Those few inches felt like miles to Cyrus. Holding her in his arms had felt, well, good. Right. And now everything felt like it was in a tailspin in the other direction.

  “What was Johnny dreaming about that scared him so?” Suzanne asked, dabbing at her eyes.

  Cyrus knew she was skirting talking about her dream. It was what Johnny always had done before telling Cyrus what had scared him almost every night. And it always had something to do with snakes and falling into a pit of blackness. Sometimes Cyrus would fall asleep with his son in his arms to make sure Johnny was all right. The one promise that was the easiest for him to keep.

  Cyrus slid over to the seat opposite Suzanne and watched her. She was genuinely interested in Johnny; that much was clear. He needed to trust her with the pain he kept tucked away from the outside world. If he told Suzanne about Maggie, then maybe she might tell him her secret about Murray. He didn’t like talking about Maggie with someone who didn’t know her. He preferred to keep her memory all to himself. It was time he shared that part of him—just this once.

  “Johnny’s mother, Maggie, my wife, died almost three years ago after a snake bite became infected. Many nights after Maggie’s death, he had nightmares about snakes biting him, taking his life away from him.” Cyrus sat further against the back of the seat, the guilt of that day surfacing after so many years. He swallowed it back. Unable to stop now that the gate was open, he forged ahead.

  “I was out riding the south range, checking on some newborn calves. My brothers, Beau and Cordell, were branding with the rest of the ranch hands in the western part of our land. Maggie was supposed to be at the house getting the meal ready for the branding celebration. Instead, she’d decided to saddle the new blue roan and ride out for a while. She was like that, never doing what a typical woman should do, and she was itching to get a saddle on that gelding.” He smiled, remembering the day he bought Blue as an anniversary gift. Cyrus didn’t think she’d ever stop crying. “She came across a lone calf, roped it, and started to bring it back to the ranch. Her horse spooked, reared, and Maggie landed in a nest of rattlers. By the time that horse got back to the ranch and we found her, the poison had set in.

  “I got her back to the ranch, but—” Cyrus’s chest tightened like a barbed wire fence with guilt. If he could go back—but he couldn’t. “The doc did all he could for her. If I’d been at the ranch, then she might be alive. Johnny wouldn’t be without a mother.”

  Cyrus focused on his boots for a moment then closed his eyes, shutting out the painful memory. He didn’t want to feel that pain again. Telling it now after years of having it buried, along with his Maggie, was like a fresh wound on his soul.

  Cyrus felt Suzanne in the space next to him before she’d laid her hand over his. He looked up, somewhat surprised at the tears on the edge of her eyes. There in those beautiful green orbs was all the pain he felt, reflecting back at him plain as day. His mouth went dry, and his insides began to tremble. Finally, someone understood his pain.

  “I’m so sorry, Cyrus. I’m sorry you lost your wife. Sorry that your son has missed his mother.” Suzanne then took him in his arms, and for the first time since that day he shoveled dirt in a hole onto a box, he shed the tears he should have three years earlier.

  “Sh-sh-sh,” Suzanne cooed, holding Cyrus next to her. His tears trailed down over his chiseled face, bringing out the little boy in him. Her heart pounded against her breasts while it cracked from the pain she felt in him.

  Is this how Mother felt after she kissed me goodbye and I rode away? I was such a coward to run.

  “Cyrus, look at me,” she encouraged continuing to smooth back his hair. “Please look at me.”

  Pools of brown mud gazed at her. Although she wasn’t sure he really saw her. His face had reddened slightly from embarrassment, she supposed. It took a lot for a man as proud as Cyrus Kennedy to show his feelings so openly. Even more so after keeping his sorrow bottled up for years. It took courage for him to break down the way he did, especially with Suzanne, someone he didn’t know at all really.

  “I won’t pretend to know what losing a loved one feels like, but I can imagine. I lost my parents a few years ago, but not to death.” Suzanne contemplated taking that leap of faith, but should she? What if he didn’t want to be bothered with a woman who was hiding from her betrothed? He could very well send her right back to Montana to face the man she had betrayed.

  “Is that why you had the nightmare?” Cyrus asked, having somewhat composed himself. She had his attention on something other than his sorrow at least. “Does the person named Murray have something to do with it?”

  Suzanne looked out the window, considering her options. The man she’d offered comfort to wasn’t an ordinary man. He was one of compassion as well as stature. She believed he was an honorable one as well if the past few days meant anything. There was something in the way he said Murray’s name that brought those beliefs forward.

  “Yes, in some ways. It’s a long and complicated story, I’m afraid,” she said, deciding to forge ahead and cleanse herself of the guilt and shame.

  “I’m a captive audience, and we have several hours before we arrive in Texas,” Roles now reversed, Cyrus took her hand, squeezing it lightly. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  There it was—that leap of faith starring her in the face. And she knew it was now or never.

  “I haven’t been completely honest, I’m afraid.” Suzanne chewed on her bottom lip for a moment then returned to her seat across from Cyrus.

  “Oh?”

  “Well, most of it is true.” She took a breath for courage then began. “It’s true that I grew up on a Montana ranch. One of the biggest in the area. The Rocking B is approximately twenty thousand acres. Father purchased it after the war and moved us out west. Mother, being a city girl from a middle-class family, gave him no resistance, believing her place was with her husband, regardless of where
that was. So, she packed up our Boston household items, and we were on our way to Montana.”

  Suzanne skipped over their journey west. She’d thought it a great adventure until there wasn’t a soft bed to sleep in at night and no shelter from the storms that came and went. She’d been a child then with foolish, childish dreams of the west. Nothing about the west was like the dime store novels she’d read every chance she got.

  “Father had become acquainted with our nearest neighbor, Regan Murray. Mr. Murray had fought in the war as well, so they had that in common—the war and ranching.

  “Mr. Murray lost his young wife during childbirth; the baby girl died a few days later. Father hadn’t been at all surprised when Mr. Murray took up with another woman twenty years his junior shortly before the appropriate grieving period ended. Mary was only a few years older than me, and we became friends. She’d confided that she’d had several miscarriages in the years that followed and that she was afraid of her husband. He treated her roughly and bred her like a bull, not like a husband. She died suddenly one night. Mr. Murray’s foreman found Mary face down in the Bar M’s breeding bulls’ pen.”

  “Surely, she knew the dangers of that,” Cyrus remarked softly.

  “Yes, she did, and everyone knew she never went near the livestock.” Suzanne looked at Cyrus, noting the concern etched on his face and in his eyes. “That’s when the rumors began. People started saying that Mr. Murray must have killed Mary then put her body in with the bull. There’s been no evidence to the matter. Just rumors and people supposing since both his young wives turned up dead Murray had something to do with their deaths.

  “It wasn’t long after when Mr. Murray came to dinner one night. Father beamed with pride as he announced that he’d betroth me, his only daughter, to Mr. Murray. We were to be wed on my twenty-first birthday.” Suzanne felt her body cringe at the memory of Murray’s assessment of her.