Finally a Bride (Texas Boardinghouse Brides 3)

by Vickie McDonough

  OTHER BOOKS BY VICKIE MCDONOUGH:

  TEXAS BOARDINGHOUSE BRIDES

  The Anonymous Bride

  Second Chance Bride

  © 2011 by Vickie McDonough

  Print ISBN 978-1-60260-649-4

  eBook Editions:

  Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-60742-248-8

  Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-60742-249-5

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the publisher.

  All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

  For more information about Vickie McDonough, please access the author’s website at the following Internet address: www.vickiemcdonough.com

  Cover design: Faceout Studio, www.faceoutstudio.com

  Cover photography: Steve Gardner, Pixelworks Studios

  Published by Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, OH 44683, www.barbourbooks.com.

  Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  Table of Contents

  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

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Epilogue

  Author bio

  To preach deliverance to the captives,

  and recovering of sight to the blind,

  to set at liberty them that are bruised.

  LUKE 4:18

  Chapter 1

  Lookout, Texas

  August 1896

  Jacqueline Davis had done a lot of daring things in her life, but this deed had to be the most foolhardy. She held up her skirt with one hand, holding her free arm out for balance, and slid her foot across the roof’s wooden shakes. The mayor’s chimney was only a dozen more steps away. She peered down at the ground far below, then yanked her gaze upward when a wave of dizziness made her sway. She sucked in a steadying breath. If she fell the two stories to the packed dirt below, she’d become tomorrow’s news instead of the story she intended to write about the mayor’s latest scheme.

  She just had to find out what he had up his sleeve. Weeks had passed since she’d landed an exciting story for Lookout’s newspaper. She had to get the scoop—whatever the cost. Maybe then she’d have enough clippings in her portfolio to land a job in Dallas as a reporter and finally leave Lookout.

  The sweat trickling down her back had nothing to do with the bright April sun warming her shoulders. A moderate breeze whooshed past, lifting her skirts and almost throwing her off balance. Her petticoat flapped like a white flag, but she was far from surrendering. She swatted down her skirts and glanced around the streets, thankful no one was out yet. “Oh, why didn’t I don my trousers before trying this stunt?”

  “Because you reacted without thinking again, that’s why.” She scolded herself just like her mother had done on too many occasions to count. Would she never learn? Sighing, she carefully bent down, reached between her legs, pulled the hem of her skirt through, and tucked it in her waistband. Holding her arms out for balance, she righted herself again.

  The hour was still early, but with the mayor’s house resting right on the busy corner of Bluebonnet Lane and Apple Street, she couldn’t exactly stand outside his parlor window, listening to the meeting he was holding inside. If the two well-dressed strangers hadn’t ridden right past the boardinghouse while she’d been sweeping the porch, she’d have never known of their arrival.

  Her knock on the mayor’s door for permission to listen in and to take notes had resulted in a scowl and the door being slammed in her face. Scuttlebutt was running rampant around town that Mayor Burke had some great plan to bring new businesses to Lookout. He was up to something, and she meant to be the first to find out what it was.

  She slid her left foot forward. Listening through the chimney opening was her only alternative. She just hoped the men’s voices would carry up that far. Sliding her right foot forward, she held her breath. Her task must be completed quickly before anyone saw her.

  “Jacqueline Hamilton Davis, you come down from that roof right this minute—or I’m calling off our wedding.”

  Jack jumped at Billy Morgan’s roar. She twisted sideways, swung her arms in the air, wobbled, and regained her balance on the peak of the house. Heart galloping, she glared down at the blond man standing in the street beside the mayor’s house and swiped her hand in the air. “Go away!” she hollered in a loud whisper. If she’d told him once, she’d told him a dozen times she had no intention of marrying him.

  Her foot slid toward the chimney. She had to get there right now or Billy’s ruckus would surely draw a crowd, and she’d have to climb down without her story.

  A high-pitched scream rent the air. “Don’t fall, Sissy!”

  Jack lurched the final step to the chimney and hugged the bricks. She peered down at her five-year-old sister and swatted her hand, indicating Abby needed to leave, but the stubborn girl just hiked her chin in the air. Abby was so dramatic. She’d even practiced her screams until she could blast the shrillest and loudest screeches of all her friends. Parents no longer came running when the young girls practiced their hollering. Jack shook her head. It would be a shame if any of them ever truly needed help one day and Abby screamed, because not a soul in Lookout would come to her aid.

  She peered down to see if Billy was still there, and sure enough, the rascal stood in the middle of the dirt road with his hat pushed back off his forehead and his hands on his hips.

  Uh-oh. Across the street, her ma carefully made her way down the front porch steps of the boardinghouse—the bulge of her pregnant belly obvious even from this distance. She shaded her eyes with her hand as she looked around, probably checking on Abby.

  Jack ducked down behind the chimney. With her ma so close to her time of birthing another baby, she didn’t want to cause her distress—and finding her twenty-year-old daughter on a rooftop would certainly set Ma’s pulse pounding.

  Movement on Main Street drew Jack’s attention. She peered over the bank’s roof to the boardwalk on the far side of the street. Oh, horse feathers! Now her pa was heading out of the marshal’s office and hurrying toward her mother. He probably thought she’d drop that baby right there in the street. Their last child, two-and-a-half-year-old Emma, had been born in a wagon on the way back from Denison, almost a month early.

  She glanced down at Billy, who stood with his hands on his hips, shaking his head. Her ma was looking down Main Street now. With precious few moments before the jig was up, Jack
stood on her tiptoes, concentrating on her task. She listened hard, trying to decipher the muted words drifting up the chimney. The strong scent of soot stung her nose, but all she could hear was the faint rumble of men’s voices.

  She glanced back at the far edge of the roof, trying to decide whether to return to the tree and shinny back down or wait until her mother and stepfather went back inside. Would Billy give her away?

  Jack heaved a frustrated sigh. Even if he didn’t, Abby would surely tattle. She peeked at her sister. Abby ran toward their mother, her finger pointing up at the mayor’s roof. Oh fiddlesticks.

  Why did they have to come outside before she concluded her sleuthing? And now, thanks to Billy’s caterwauling, a crowd was gathering on Bluebonnet Lane.

  She quickly studied the town from her vantage point. This was the perfect spot to view any events taking place in Lookout and garner the news, but it was also dangerous. How could she manage to take notes and still keep her balance? Perhaps she could talk Jenny into building a platform with a fence around it atop her newspaper office so they could view the city whenever community events were happening.

  “Jacqueline! Oh, my heavens. What are you doing up there?” Her ma splayed her hand across her chest. Abby stood beside her, looking proud that she’d gotten her big sister in trouble.

  Jack held tight to the edge of the chimney and laid her forehead against the bricks. She was as caught as a robber in a bank vault on Monday morning. She turned to head back, but her skirt snagged on the chimney bricks and pulled loose from her waistband, causing her to lose her footing. Her boot slipped, shooting her leg forward and raining wooden shakes on the people below. They squealed and scattered then gawked up at her once they were a safe distance away. Jack tightened her lips to keep from giggling. She shouldn’t, she knew, but she’d never seen Bertha Boyd move so fast. That woman had to be as wide as a buckboard.

  Jack’s fingertips ached from clinging to the bricks, and a streak of blood pooled on her index finger from a scrape. She supposed she should admit defeat, even though the thought of it left a nasty taste in her mouth. She stared across the roof and swallowed hard. Going back wouldn’t be as easy as moving forward, not with so many people watching.

  The warm spring breeze blew across the rolling green hills, and she tried to hold her skirts down lest the folks below see something they shouldn’t. Oh, why hadn’t she worn bloomers? Or better yet, trousers?

  Her foot slipped again, and she reached behind her, grasping hold of a brick jutting out of the chimney. Maybe going sideways would be easier. Facing the crowd, she balanced on the peak of the roof. She slid one foot to the left and then the other. Just concentrate. Don’t think how many people are down there. Don’t think how disappointed Ma is.

  “Take it slow,” Ma yelled.

  Loosening her death grip on the brick, Jack slid her foot sideways. The wind lifted her skirts again, and she dropped one hand, hoping to contain them. She swayed forward and swung her free arm for balance and regained it. Had the wind been this gusty when she’d first crossed the roof?

  She dared to peer down at the crowd again and saw Billy Morgan staring up with a big grin on his face.

  Wonderful.

  Just wonderful.

  “Want me to come get you?” Without waiting for an answer, Billy strode forward until she could no longer see him.

  She didn’t need his help, and if he gave it, she’d never hear the end of it.

  As it was, she’d never live this down. And right now, her plan didn’t sound half as good as it had when she’d concocted it after the mayor slammed the door in her face. She heard a scratching noise off to her left and slowly glanced that way.

  “Stay where you are, Half Bit. I’m coming out to help you.”

  Jack rolled her eyes, then realized the action made her dizzy. Relief that Luke had beaten Billy to the rescue made her legs weak—and that was the last thing she needed just now. “I can get down by myself, Papa. Although I sure would like it if you’d make that crowd go away.”

  She heard him snort and then chuckle. “Your mother is spitting mad. What in the world were you thinking?”

  She slid another foot toward her stepfather. “You’ll be upset if I tell you. It’s probably best if you just tell her that I wasn’t thinking. She’ll believe that.”

  Luke coughed, but she thought it was more to hide another laugh than because he had something caught in his throat. “Slide on over here—carefully. No young lady in a dress belongs on a rooftop.”

  “Are you saying it would have been all right if I’d worn my bloomers?” She scooted her foot another three inches and looked up to see how much farther it was to the tree. The wind tugged at her skirt as if purposely trying to make her fall.

  “You know that’s not what I meant. Just be careful. On second thought, I’m coming out there.”

  “No, I got up here, and I can get back down. Besides, these shakes are half-rotten, and I doubt they’d hold your weight.”

  “Take it slow and easy then. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

  Abby let out another bloodcurdling scream as Jack glided her left foot along the peak. The sole of her shoe slipped on another loose shake and shot out from under her, the right foot following. Like a child on a sled, she slid down the roof on her shame and mortification. Luke lunged for her, stretching out his arm, but he missed. The last thing she saw before going over the side was his frantic brown eyes.

  A sudden jerk jarred her whole body, and she stopped sliding. Her hips dangled over the edge of the house. She heard a tear, felt a jolt, and then she hurled toward the ground.

  She flapped her arms like a winged bird but gained no altitude. Abby’s scream rent the air. The ground rose up to meet her like an oncoming locomotive. Billy lunged sideways, reaching for her. They collided—her head against his chest—and landed in a pile in the street. Searing pain radiated through her leg and head.

  Jack lay there for half a second before she realized she was on top of Billy. She let out a screech that surpassed Abby’s and rolled sideways, ignoring the pain in her leg, fighting fabric to gain her freedom. Struggling to catch her breath, she stared up. Her mother’s anxious pale blue eyes blurred from two to four. “I’m all right, Ma.”

  Laying her aching head back against the dirt, she closed her eyes. If she wasn’t dead in the morning, she could just imagine the headlines in tomorrow’s newspaper: MARSHAL’S DAUGHTER ATTEMPTS TO FLY.

  Noah Jeffers slowed his horse at the creek bank and lowered the reins so Rebel could get a drink. He stretched, then dismounted and walked around, working out the kinks from his long ride. He’d experienced many blessings during his month-long circuit of preaching to the small towns of northeastern Texas, but he’d be glad to be back home.

  After a few moments, he led Rebel away from the water and hobbled him in a patch of shin-high grass. He removed the horse’s bridle and hung it on a tree stem where a branch had broken off. He rummaged around in his saddlebags and pulled out the apple, cheese, and slice of roast beef that Mrs. Hadley had sent with him this morning when he’d left for home.

  Settling under a tree, he bit off a hunk of apple and watched the creek water burble over the rocks. Shadows from the trees danced with the sunlight gleaming on the water in a soothing serenade. A rustling caught his attention across the creek, and he tensed, but then a mallard with seven ducklings waddled into view. Noah smiled, enjoying the tranquil scene. The mother led her tiny crew into the water and drifted downstream.

  Peace settled over him. He finished his lunch then leaned his head against the trunk and thought about all the folks he’d met during the past month. Most had been more than friendly, offering him a bed if they had a spare and three meals a day whenever he was in a town. Yes sir, he’d eaten well—for the most part. But he missed his bed—and Pete. A yawn pulled at his mouth. He’d take a short rest then head on home—

  A scream yanked him from a sweet dream, and he sat up, listening. He rubbed th
e sleep from his eyes. Had he just dreamed that he heard someone yell?

  “Help! Somebody help me!”

  Noah bolted to his feet at the child’s cry and searched the trees to his left. “Where are you?”

  “Over here. Help!”

  He plunged through the brush alongside the creek and ducked under a tree branch. The undergrowth thinned out, and he noticed a girl no more than six or seven hopping beside the creek a short distance away. A half-dozen men’s shirts and lady’s blouses lay drying on bushes.

  The girl saw him and ran in his direction, her untidy braids flopping against her chest. “Please, mister, my brother—” She pointed toward the creek. “I cain’t swim.”

  Noah’s heart tumbled. He saw no sign of anyone in the quiet water. Dropping to the ground, he yanked off his boots. “Where’d he go in?”

  The girl’s face crumpled. Tears ran down her freckled cheeks, and red ringed her blue eyes. “I don’t know. He was sitting on the blanket while I was doing the wash. He must have crawled in when my back was turned.”

  Crawled? That means a tiny child—one who can’t swim a lick. Noah plunged into the creek. It was deeper than he’d expected. The warm water hit him waist level. He bent down, running his arms back and forth as he turned in a circle. Nothing.

  “Ma will turn me out for sure,” the girl wailed from the edge of the creek. “Oh, Benny. Where are you?”

  Noah ducked his head below the surface, hoping to search underwater, but his thrashing had stirred up too much mud. He moved forward several steps and hunted some more, swiping his hands through the water. His heart pounded as his dread mounted. “Help me, Lord. Where’s the boy?”

  He stilled for a moment and gazed over at the tattered blanket where the child had been. If he’d crawled in from that point, he’d most likely be upstream a bit. Noah quickly pulled his legs through the water then ducked down. Stretching. Reaching.

  His left hand brushed something.

  Fabric?

  He lunged forward, snagged the cloth, and tugged. A frighteningly light-weight bundle rose up to the surface. Noah turned the limp baby over, grimacing at his blue lips.