by Natalie Dean
Copyright 2017 by Kenzo Publishing - All rights reserved.
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THE RANGER’S WIFE
By: Eveline Hart
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
THE RANGER’S WIFE
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
About Author – Eveline Hart
If you enjoyed this story…
BONUS BOOKS SECTION: Descriptions Included
MAIL ORDER BRIDE COLLECTION
EXCLUSIVE Sneak Peek: MAIL ORDER BRIDE: FOOLS RUSH IN
Chapter One
Jack Walker plucked at an imagined piece of grit from his version of a U.S. Marshall uniform. He wore a pair of dark pants, boots that came to his knees which were polished to a high shine, a dark colored shirt buttoned to his neck, and a deep green vest with a dark coat laid over it. Dark was best. In fact, the lightest colored piece of clothing he owned was the green vest.
He rubbed his black gloved fingers together rapidly, a deep frown marring his normally handsome features. Of all the things he hated in the world, he was sure he hated dirt the most. He had spent even more time than normal that morning using the hot iron to create crisp creases in his pants and shirt. Today was important. His bride was coming.
Jack lifted his head, his lips a snarl, as his dark eyes watched the ship complete its position in port. He looked so angry that a woman passing by lifted her skirts so she could hurry by faster. She kept her eyes pressed down firmly towards the ground. Ever since he had received the first letter from his father with the demand that he choose a bride, he had worn that very scowl every day. Worn it like a banner. He had gone to the frontier to fight the growing wave of crime in that hostile and untamed place, but the bigger reason was to escape the tentacles of his father’s imposing will. He had been such a disappointment to his parents in his refusal to be groomed for the political arena which ran the East Coast. The last salvage for their tarnished reputation was to ensure a proper bride for their son to take back to the wilds he called home. He had refused, but only to himself, and had sent a letter back informing his father to just go ahead and set the whole thing up. Now he was squinting into the sunlight waiting for his mail order bride to walk down the narrow gangplank. A bride all the way from England. Were there not enough snooty women in America?
Jack sighed and ran a hand over his shoulder-length black hair. What would she think of his long hair and slim beard? Did he really care? He knew what to look for: a woman of about 5’8” with red hair and blue eyes. She would most likely be in simple dress, and as his father had described, hold an air of authority.
His father had been delighted to tell Jack that his bride to be was educated and had been raised by her successful merchant father. He also raved about her beauty.
Jack pushed his lips out but stopped himself from spitting. His father hadn’t even seen the woman! How did he know what she looked like? He was given a description, and that was it. A description given by a desperate father who was worried that his daughter of twenty was becoming an old maid. Jack himself was twenty-five. So what did that make him?
In truth, she actually had been the one who picked Jack from an advertisement his father had placed. He had no doubt that some truth stretching had been used to accomplish it. She had been given a few choices by her own father, and Jack had been one of them. He had no doubts a red head with an education was going to walk down that gangplank at any moment, but he doubted she would be beautiful. He even doubted she would be slim and tall.
People were beginning their departure of the ship. Some drug their own chests, some had servants to do it for them. It wasn’t hard to pick out Elizabeth Renwick from the growing throng of people. Jack felt his mouth beginning to hang open, and he closed it with an audible snap. She was, in fact, beautiful, with the reddest hair peeking out from around her bonnet that he had ever seen. The bonnet suddenly was ripped backward as a strong gust coming off the water hit the disembarking passengers. The loose bun and the curls framing her face were like a beacon. Sunlight reflected off of individual hairs, and it made him think of warm fires amidst autumn foliage. She struggled with her trunk, and a rather large carpet bag while attempting to right her bonnet. He couldn’t help but smile as she refused an offer from the man behind her. The man was obviously in a rush to get off the ship and rolled his eyes skyward at her polite refusal of help.
Jack pushed through the people, offering no apologies as he went up the gangplank. He yanked the chest from Elizabeth’s struggling hands and shouldered it easily. Her cry of indignation brought nothing but a grunt from him.
“Sir? Sir?” She called and followed him down to the dock, her bag tightly grasped in her hands.
Jack set the trunk down and offered his hand. “Hello.”
“Thank you.” She replied tartly and began another attempt at dragging the trunk. It was easier for her once it was on a flat surface.
Jack stared after her, the realization dawning that she had no idea who he was. His father must have left off all the important details, the ones he didn’t like either; such as the uniform with badge and the long hair. Jack moved forward, his 6’3” frame towering over her. Elizabeth glanced his way from the corner of her eye, her posture becoming straight and ridged.
“Thank you kindly for your assistance, but I’m here to meet my husband. My soon to be husband, that is.”
Jack worked his mouth, his eyes steady. “Are you Elizabeth Renwick?”
Her brow drew together, her full lips puckered in a frown. “Yes. How…” Her eyes grew wide.
Jack extended his hand to her once more. “I’m Jack Walker.”
She looked him up and down before taking his hand lightly, letting it go as soon as possible. She eyed the badge he normally wore on his vest but had transferred that morning to the outside of his jacket.
“You’re a constable?”
Jack liked her accent. It was soothing, carried by a low silky voice.
“No. Not a constable. I’m a U.S. Marshall.”
“I see.” It was obvious she was disappointed. Jack had a sinking feeling she was disappointed in more than just his uniform. She eyed his beard and hair critically but said nothing.
“I have a room for us,” Jack said and shouldered the trunk again.
“A room…as in a single room?” She shook her head and began to follow him, her gray skirt hiked to just above her ankle. “Sir, we cannot stay in a room together until after we have been married!”
“Well, unfortunately, there isn’t time to set things up with a minister.”
“Priest.” She corrected.
“Right.” He glanced at her, already growing irritated. “Anyway. The caravan I have to help secure leaves first thing in the morning. The hotel where we are all staying is booked up.”
&nb
sp; “I didn’t realize we would be traveling right away.” She pushed loose strands of hair back under her fancy bonnet and sighed audibly. “I also didn’t realize we were traveling with a group.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you.” He replied dryly. “This trip is part work, and…” He glanced at her uneasily. “Part pleasure.”
“Be that as it may, we simply cannot reside in the same room tonight.” She lifted her chin as she hurried to keep up with him, her small feet needing to take three steps for each of his one.
“Believe me; we will be safer in a group anyway. Indians are still an occasional problem, and there is a gang of thieves wreaking havoc from here to Maine.”
“Thieves…”
Jack almost laughed out loud as he glanced back at her blanched face.
“They didn’t have thieves in England?”
Elizabeth blinked and stepped up onto a wooden walkway. “I suppose so.” She gave her head a little shake. “I know so, but I wasn’t directly affected by any.”
“Here we are.” Jack said and opened the doors of a simple hotel called ‘Thompsons’.
Elizabeth followed him in, looking around with a mild form of distaste. The hotel had a large dining area, complete with bar, which seemed to take up at least half of the first floor. The other half was a sitting area. Several men looked up from their newspapers and brandies as Jack sauntered across the patterned rug and headed for the stairs.
“Don’t we have to check in?”
“No. I already took care of the room.”
Elizabeth lowered her eyes as one of the men, a handsome man with a thin mustache, watched her appreciatively, with an open curiosity concerning Jack. She was used to the attentions of men but often thought it crass the way they openly stared. Had none of them heard the words of Jesus concerning looking upon a woman lustfully?
Elizabeth followed Jack up the stairs and to their room. She was about to voice more of a protest about sharing the room when he opened the door and set her trunk on the floor. He had hung twine across the room and a wool blanket separated a bed from a deep gold chaise lounge.
“I had to pay a little extra for the sofa, but I wanted this to be as proper as I could make it.”
Elizabeth appreciated the gesture, but it would hardly do. Unfortunately, she would have to make it do.
“Thank you, Mr. Walker.”
“You can call me Jack. Our situation doesn’t call for formality now does it?”
“I suppose not.” She cleared her throat. “You may call me Piper.”
“Piper?”
“Yes. It’s the nickname my father gave me when I was a child.”
“Piper,” he repeated, allowing the word to roll off his tongue. He liked it. It was the type of nickname someone would give a spirited hearty child. He hoped she would be both as a grown woman. She would need to be.
“Are you hungry? I already paid for meals for us for the night.”
Piper raised her eyebrows. He certainly had tried to think of everything. “I need to freshen up and perhaps take a short nap.” She forced a small smile. “I still have my sea legs about me.”
Jack nodded. “Sure. You go ahead and do that. I’ll come back in a couple hours and get you for supper.”
Piper nodded her head. She remained standing still, staring at the door for a long moment after he had left. The sting of tears threatened her eyesight, but she pushed them back, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin.
She set her drawstring purse on the bed and opened her small carpet bag, pulling her worn Bible from the contents.
“Father God. Is this truly what you have portioned for me?” She whispered and sat on the edge of the bed. Her solace since she was a small child, since she had been left without a mother, had been God’s holy word. It was still her solace. At times her only solace.
“Please show me how to handle this.” A small tear leaked from the corner of her eyes, escaping the rigid strength she had honed with a prideful persistence. She sniffed once and wiped it away, flicking her fingers as if the wetness was an annoying bug, and opened her Bible to the Psalms.
Jack stepped to the bar and slid his eyes to his old friend and mentor, Benjamin Graves. His cowboy hat was pushed back on his head revealing his brown hair with gray speckled through it. His beard was the same, and a bit untidy.
“Hope you’re going to clean up before we leave tomorrow.”
“What for? We’re riding into the wilds. Who cares?”
“You used to always care. We need to present ourselves as the authority that we are.”
Benjamin licked his lips and signaled the bartender.
“My friend here will enjoy what I partake of.” Benjamin gave the bartender a wide grin. “Make it a double. He suffers from a deplorable case of stuffiness.”
“You’ve been reading that Dicken’s fellow again, haven’t you?” Jack asked as he nodded to the bartender.
“A tad.”
“Great maybe you and my bride will have a lot to talk about.” He said dryly.
Benjamin turned his head and studied his friend’s profile as he sent the double shot of liquid fire down the back of his throat. He admired the way Jack barely winced.
“Is she everything your father had said she was?”
“She’s beautiful. I will give him his truth on that one, but I suspect she will be a handful.”
“Why?”
Jack shrugged, shaking his head as the bartender tried to refill his glass.
“She seems used to…”
“Servants?”
“No. More like, she seems used to being in control.”
“Ah. Well, a strong woman will be good. She can’t be weak.”
“No, but I need one who will listen to me.”
“So, set some rules.”
Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “I will. After we leave. I don’t want her hightailing it back to the docks to wait for the next ship back to England. My father would have a fit.”
Benjamin laughed heartily. “I doubt she came all this way just to run off the minute you set a few rules. Most will be for her own safety anyway.”
“Any word on the Faceless Gang?” Jack asked, happy to change the subject.
“No. I went over to the jail and tried to speak with some of the lawmen, but they have their heads stuck where the sun doesn’t shine. Talking about how equipped they are.”
Jack blew air from his nose. “I hope Detroit doesn’t grow into the snobby city this one has.”
“Me too.”
“I tried to explain that the gang hit a train coming from New York to Boston already. They just laughed it off. Said that was not under the jurisdiction of Boston, and the train line should be more careful.” He grimaced over his last words. “Cocky. They had the nerve to say that I should be out there doing my job.”
Jack grinned. His friend was known for his temper. “And how did you respond?
“I’d rather not repeat it.”
Jack talked with Benjamin for another hour before wandering outside to check the final travel arrangements for the horses and wagons. Five covered wagons, one uncovered, and twenty horse’s total, counting the ones pulling the wagons. And there was also some fancy buggy that he was sure wouldn’t make the trip. It was a small caravan by western standards, but this wasn’t men and their families going to claim land or cash in on the growing gold fever. This was men and their families who were under the siren’s call for money and power. Most were bankers, but a few business men were in the mix. One such man hoped to open a textile company once he reached Detroit. Unlike Boston, Detroit was an up and coming city. Boston held obstacles for this particular group of men. The main one being old money and an established network of power surrounding said old money. Jack would be happy to be rid of Boston. He wanted to breathe the heady air of the wilderness and look out over rolling hills to see distant mountains. Even he despised the fact that his Marshall base was a ‘city’, but it wouldn’t have to be forever.
His hopes were to one day have a farm near Detroit. A farm that he and his wife could build together. Thankfully his mother and father were secure in Williamsburg and nowhere near to meet and influence his soon to be wife.
Jack grimaced as he walked back to the hotel. He didn’t quite think Piper was going to like his plan for the future. She certainly was simpler in manner and dress than he had expected, but that didn’t mean she was cut out for life as a farmer’s wife. Besides, Jack knew he had his own siren’s call to deal with. Giving up chasing the bad guys might not be as easy as just saying it. It worked like a drug for Jack. Nothing pushed his senses quite like the chase. Was Piper cut out for that kind of life? A life of worry whether or not her husband would return every time he had to leave?
Jack took to the stairs and hesitated when he came to the room he shared with Piper. Should he knock? It was unfortunate that the door opened to reveal more of her side than his. He sorely wished it was the other way around. To be safe, he rapped on the door twice and counted to three before he entered. His eyes widened in surprise when he ran into Piper as soon as the door opened. She stared up at him blankly.
“I was coming to answer the door.”
“Oh.”
“Did you need something? You don’t have to knock, you know. This is your room too.”
“I didn’t want to catch you…ah…unawares.”
“I see.” She folded her hands primly in front of her. “That’s kind of you.”
“Are you ready for supper?”
“I assume that’s the same as dinner?”
Jack bit back his words to the point that his tongue hurt. “Yes, Ma’am, it is.”
“Then yes, I am ready.” She walked past him and through the still open door.
Jack raised his eyes to the ceiling. Please give me strength.
Dinner was spent in near silence. Piper was looking around herself most of the time with nervous and, at times, judging eyes. Jack could only imagine what she was used to in England. It apparently wasn’t anything like Boston.