The Redemption 0f A Hunted Bride (Historical Western Romance)

by Clarice Mayfield

  Hope glanced at Owen before replying. “Definitely staying.”

  When Owen finally put her back on the ground, he did not release her completely. Owen leaned in and they kissed. It was perfect, just the way she always dreamed it would be.

  “I love you,” he murmured between his kisses.

  “And I love you more,” she murmured back.

  Epilogue

  A Few Months Later...

  “Hello, family.” You cannot start like that, it’s too impersonal.

  “My dear family.” Hope tried again but crossed out that option as well. How am I to do this if I can’t even start?

  “What are you doing?” Owen asked, saving her from her own thoughts, at least for a little while. He came in and leaned against the desk. The light from the window was making his hair look even lighter. It grew out a great deal again and June was trying to coax him for days to get a haircut and he refused. Owen knew Hope liked his hair, so he kept it the way it was. She loved that he knew that and that he would do that for her, like he did so many other things.

  He was showing her each day, with small gestures or glances, how much he loved her. And she took care of him to show him how much she loved him in return.

  Owen was looking at her with a small smile. Oh, yes, he asked me something, she snapped herself from her daydreaming about her husband. My husband, she loved how that sounded.

  Hope sighed, showing him her work. “I am writing to my family. Or at least I am trying to.”

  He put his arms around her in an embrace, and she drew comfort from it. “Are you all right?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied honestly. “I suppose it’s normal that I find it so hard to do, yet it has to be done, nevertheless.”

  Hope felt rather hurt by her parents’ behavior, still, what Mr. Reynolds told her after Jessamine’s funeral had some merit.

  She needed to write to them. If she ever planned on forgiving them for what they did, she needed to be the one making the first step and stop punishing them. No matter what happened, they were her parents and they deserved to know she was alive and well. More than well, she was happy and living her life her way. She fought hard and won not just the love of her life but purpose as well. She was not going to be just a symbol of someone else’s wealth and status. Hope was a productive member of society.

  Owen explained to her that he deputized her for real, so now she was a true member of Rippingate’s sheriff’s department. Hope was surprised how quickly the townspeople accepted her as one of their own. They did not have a problem with her being deputy at all, despite being a woman. That was a relief and something she was grateful about.

  The most precious moment after Hope actually decided to be a deputy was when Owen decided to teach her how to shoot because she couldn’t do the job without it. The lesson ended with her beating him in his own shooting game.

  “How?” He asked her then, with wonder.

  She shrugged. “My Father didn’t have a son and had clients from Texas who liked to come and go hunting with him, so he found a way to please them.” Hope was rather young when she learned how to hold a gun, much to her mother’s dismay.

  Owen laughed then. “You are full of wonders. I can’t wait to learn all your hidden talents and tricks,” he teased.

  “It might take a while,” she played along.

  Afterward, they celebrated and Hope was really excited about going to work with him on her first day. Actually, she still was. She didn’t mind being the only woman in the station, perhaps she even preferred it. And the men were grateful she was there as well, realizing how much their job became easier in some cases if a woman was involved.

  Returning to the present, Hope looked at Owen as he spoke. “That’s the spirit,” Owen complimented, kissing her hair. “I’ll leave you to your writing, then.”

  He started to leave yet she stopped him. “Stay a bit longer.” He pulled her up on her feet and gave her a nice, long kiss which left her completely breathless.

  “Are there any new leads about the Michaelson's?” Hope asked since Owen stayed longer at work than she did. Gibson’s cousin gave them a great deal of useful information, so Hope prayed they would catch them soon.

  “No. According to James all their hiding spots are vacant.”

  Hope made a face, not liking the news. “Perhaps they left for good.” Owen simply grunted in return. Neither one of them believed that.

  “We will catch them,” Hope added.

  Owen agreed. “Of course we will.”

  They parted when they started hearing noises, bangs from the other room. They both looked in that direction as though they could see through walls.

  “What is June doing?” Hope asked, in high spirit.

  Owen chuckled. “Kit finally asked June to go with him to that dance tonight, and now she’s stressing she has nothing to wear.”

  Hope was impressed by how openheartedly Owen accepted the idea of his best friend and his sister being together. Hope loved both of them so, naturally, she approved.

  “Perhaps I should go and help her,” Hope said. This time Owen stopped her. Being in Owen’s arms was the happiest place for Hope so she did not fight him.

  “You used your new last name, I see,” he said conversationally, looking over her shoulder at the envelope she addressed, for the letter she did not manage to write. I addressed it perfectly. That was one small task she completed without a problem. Hope felt like patting herself on the back.

  “Of course,” she replied instantly. “I am proud to be Mrs. Rundell.”

  “Even though I’m just a small town’s Sheriff and not some millionaire?” He asked and Hope scowled at him.

  “Ah, don’t give me that look, you know I’m teasing you,” he defended himself, kissing the tip of her nose.

  She knew he was and was jesting with him in return. “You are still not funny,” Hope replied straight-faced.

  “And you are still a lousy cook,” Owen did not miss a beat.

  “True,” Hope allowed and they laughed, embraced.

  “However,” Owen said. “Your cooking skills will improve over time but I’m afraid you are stuck with my sense of humor.”

  Hope pretended to ponder about that. “I can live with that,” she said with a smile.

  “Good,” he replied as they kissed again.

  A loud crash from someplace inside the house made them laugh. “You better go and help my sister before she tears the entire house down,” he urged.

  Hope had no idea June fancied Kit this much although she was glad. They will make a lovely couple.

  “You are coming with me, too,” was all Hope said and Owen groaned. He took her arm in his. “Let’s go and face her together.”

  Hope liked that.

  Together.

  Always.

  The End?

  Extended Epilogue

  Eager to read how Hope and Owen’s relationship evolved? Then enjoy this complimentary short story featuring the beloved couple!

  Simply TAP HERE to read it now for FREE! or use this link: http://www.claricemayfield.com/09ij directly in your browser.

  I guarantee you, that you won’t be disappointed ♥

  But don’t go just yet!

  Turn the page for a unique treat from me…

  A Western treat made for you…

  Turn on to the next page to read the first chapters of Caught Between Love and Duty, a sweet and clean Western historical romance with a happily-ever-after!

  Caught Between Love and Duty

  About the Book

  Love has a mystical power to heal every scar on the soul...

  Forced by her father to marry an older man she despises, Georgia Warton decides to escape her mundane life in Boston. Responding to a bride’s ad, she runs away to Texas to meet her new betrothed.

  Sheriff James McCloud opens up his home and heart to his mail-order bride, desperate to find happiness once again. But her arrival triggers events he never expected, and al
ong with a notorious gang that starts terrorizing the city, an unexpected visitor comes looking for her.

  When one day Jame’s brother suddenly goes missing, Georgia is quick to follow. Shockingly, the message finally becomes clear: someone has a personal vendetta against him and it’s up to him to save them both.

  Now, the time to make the hardest choice of their lives is just around the corner...

  1

  Georgia Warton’s jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious, Daddy! That man is more than twice my age. What were you thinking?”

  Charles, sixty years old, stood before his daughter, looking embarrassed but determined to press on with what needed to be said. “Listen, Pumpkin, he’s not that bad, really...”

  Not that bad?! Georgia thought anxiously. Easy for you to say, Father. You’re not the one he wants to get his clammy old hands on. A shudder of disgust trembled through her stomach and she turned away toward the parlor window. A cold, gray December rain dripped on the glass.

  “I mean, Abe’s a good man. And he’s been very good to us,” Charles pleaded. “He will be very good to you too. You’ll lack for nothing, my dear.”

  “Come on, Daddy. What’s the catch? What have you two been up to? I know you and Mama would never even dream of playing matchmaker unless something happened. So come on now, out with it!” Georgia stared intently at her father for a moment, then turned her gaze towards Emilia, her mother, sitting on the sofa next to Charles. “Mama, are you in on this too?”

  Emilia Warton sighed deeply, staring down at tightly clasped hands perspiring in her lap. “Well, dear, your father and I have talked it over, and really, there is no choice in the matter,” she said flatly. Emilia threw Charles a helpless glance, pleading for him to jump back into the conversation.

  “Yes,” Charles boomed in a forced baritone, “there is no choice, I’m afraid, Pumpkin. Without your taking Abraham’s hand in marriage we will lose the business. Period. We can’t begin to cover the costs of the freighter going down last month. Abe stepped in and offered to bail us out – on one condition.”

  Georgia’s jaw dropped again as a cold realization sunk in: her parents had given her away in marriage to save the family fortune. Her head reeled in disbelief. “You can’t be serious, Daddy. This is 1889, not 1700. People in Boston don’t do that anymore.”

  Charles and Emilia looked at their daughter sadly. They didn’t appear to like the arrangement any more than she did. The sight of her parents in such a state broke Georgia’s heart. If they lost the shipping business, the family would be ruined financially. Her father would have to go work for another firm and take a drastic cut in income – if he could find a position at his age. There were no wealthy Warton relatives to bail them out; a fact that Abraham Bishop knew all too well and was willing to exploit to his carnal advantage.

  “Okay,” Georgia said suddenly, breaking the tense silence and startling her parents. “If that’s the only way to save the business, I’ll do it. I can’t bear to see the two of you looking so awfully dour.” Georgia got up from the couch and took her mother’s hands in her own. “The Wartons will not be begging bread in the streets of Boston if I can help it, Mother.”

  “Are...are you sure about this, Pumpkin?” her father asked hesitantly. “It would mean so much to your mother and I.”

  “Yes! Yes, of course,” Georgia’s voice trembled, her eyes misting at the sight of her mother beginning to cry. “I will do my duty as your daughter.” She turned and walked quickly from the room, a little unsteady on her feet but determined to set her parent’s mind at ease. Closing the door behind her, Georgia heard Emilia burst into heaving sobs and Charles try to comfort her.

  * * *

  Seventeen-year-old William Warton stood at the foot of his sister’s bed with his hands on his hips. They were clenched into tight fists. His eyes were green like hers and they flashed with determination as he shook his head from side to side. “You can’t marry that man,” he said firmly. “You just can’t.”

  Georgia, her tear-streaked face buried in a feather pillow, looked up at him and marveled at the boy’s concern. Dear William. He had always cared so much for her, his only sister. She looked at him and loved him. “You don’t understand, little brother. If I don’t marry that goat, we’ll lose the business and the Wartons will be penniless. Do you want that to happen?”

  William didn’t hesitate a moment. “I don’t care! You’d be heartbroken if you took up with him, sis. I know it. I’d rather go to the poorhouse and break rocks for my breakfast than see you marry Abe Bishop.”

  Despite her distress at the situation, Georgia smiled at the boy’s naivety and chivalry. “That’s all fine and well for a young buck like you to say, William Warton, but what about Mommy and Daddy? They wouldn’t last a week in Boston Almshouse. They’d die of the shame! Well, not Daddy maybe; but Mummy would keel over before she crossed the threshold. You know that. I can’t let it happen to them, Willy. Whatever it takes.” Georgia’s eyes began to fill with tears again.

  William sat down on the bed next to her and put his hand on her shoulder. “There’s got to be another way, sis. Cheer up. I won’t let your life be ruined in this...this devil’s bargain. You’re only twenty-five years old. Too young to throw it away on an old man. If we put our heads together, we’ll find a way out.”

  There was a sharp knock on the bedroom door. “Georgia?” The voice of her father boomed. “You have a caller in the parlor.”

  * * *

  In the well-appointed parlor of the Warton home, Abraham Bishop sat comfortably on one of the couches in the center of the room. One hand rested easily on the gold handle of his cane which he held in a vertical position, propped on the floor, swaying it from side to side playfully. The other hand nestled inside the vest of his formal suit jacket. Abe was sixty-three, short, and rotund. A small but distinctly self-satisfied smile played on his face as he waited to meet his fiancée for the first time since their betrothal.

  On the couch across from him, Charles Warton tried to relax but his right foot kept tapping out a nervous rhythm on the floorboard. His natural, gregarious flow of conversation had trickled to a stop.

  “What’s the matter, Warton? You seem distracted,” Bishop mused in an ironic tone. “Everything all right?”

  “Yes. Yes, of course,” Charles replied quickly. He glanced through the doorway at the staircase leading upstairs to Georgia’s bedroom. The staircase she’d soon be descending to greet her future husband. He pushed the thought away. “And how is our business proceeding, Bishop?”

  “Splendidly,” Abe replied. “As we agreed: half your creditors paid straight away, the rest in full on the first business day after the wedding. No need to worry.”

  “No. Of course not,” said Charles, looking utterly unconvinced. A forced smile appeared on his face and quickly disappeared.

  A sound at the top of the staircase caused both men to look up expectantly. Charles leaned forward. He saw William walk stiffly down the stairs toward them, a pained expression on the young man’s face. As he drew closer, Charles began to call out: “William, please come and say hello to your future brother-in...” His voice trailed off when William turned sharply at the bottom of the stairs and disappeared from sight.

  “Well, well,” Bishop chortled, “seems like your son is having a hard time of it today as well.” Charles flushed with anger and began to reply, but he thought better of it as Georgia appeared on the staircase.

  She descended slowly toward them, wearing a crinoline dress appropriate for the receiving of gentlemen callers. The expression on her face, however, was entirely inappropriate for the receiving of gentlemen callers. As much as she wanted to please her father – to show that his only daughter would not let the family down – Georgia could not hide the dismay welling up inside her. The more she tried to be composed and calm, the more waves of disgust washed over her heart.

  What am I doing? This is crazy. Oh God, help me.

  As she entered the p
arlor, Georgia averted her eyes from Abe Bishop. She couldn’t bear to look at him. She concentrated on her father – trying to draw strength from the sight of him, trying to remember why she was doing this. But it wasn’t working. Charles’s face looked as devastated as she felt inside. His green eyes were filled with pain and compassion. The sight of him made her feel even worse.

  Abe Bishop’s raspy voice grabbed her attention like a splash of cold water. “Good afternoon, Georgia,” he slowly intoned. The sound of his voice was thin and hollow, with the hint of a salacious leer.

  Just like your wicked soul, Abe Bishop, she thought in disgust.

  “Come now, Georgia,” Charles said with forced cheerfulness. “Please have a seat, my dear.”

  Georgia sat down obediently beside her father and glued her gaze on one of the floorboards. An awkward silence fell upon the room.