The Wagered Bride: The Ladies Club of Laramie Book 3

by West, Everly

  Accepting her failure at escape, she allowed the excitement of a ride trickle through her. “That would very nice of them.”

  “I bet you was just going upstairs to change out of that fancy dress into one of those riding dresses, wasn’t you, Miss Sammie?”

  “Yes, I was,” she agreed, knowing she had found a friend among the curious inhabitants of Whispering Pines.

  “But first you was going to come find me and tell me to meet you at the stables in half a hour with two horses saddled and ready to go, wasn’t you, Miss Sammie?”

  “That’s exactly what I had in mind.” Sammie headed toward the staircase. “Please ask Patsy to come up to my room. I’ll need someone to help with this dress.”

  “Yes, siree. I could tell she was a fine and caring lady the minute I laid eyes on her. I know I don’t have to worry that she’d try to leave while I was in the stables ‘cause she knows how hard it was for me to find work and she wouldn’t give Mr. Mason any reason to send me on my way,” Isaac said as he turned and walked toward the back of the house, seemingly unaware he was still well within Sammie’s hearing.

  * * *

  The sorrel’s canter grew into a gallop. With each lengthening stride, Sammie’s emotional burdens seem to lift from her shoulders. She had sunshine on her face and the sound of horse hooves pounding the ground drumming through her head. Happiness filled her to near bursting.

  A swift wind tore the ribbon from her hair. It’d be a knotted mess when she returned home, but she didn’t care.

  Home.

  Was Whispering Pines her home now? Did she really have a choice?

  Slowly she reined her mount into a cooling walk as she inhaled deeply of the first smells of spring. Pine needles mixed with the sweet scent of blooming wildflowers tickled her senses.

  The shade of an old sweetgum tree and the thought of the bag of fresh-baked bread and cheese Isaac had handed her as they left the stable urged her to stop. She tied her horse to a low hanging branch. Rummaging through the small haversack, she took inventory of its contents.

  “Ah, I thought there might be something in here you would enjoy,” she said as she pulled out an apple and offered it to her horse. The mare seemed to nicker her gratitude after gobbling up her prize in two small swallows.

  “No, you don’t. The rest is for me,” Sammie chided when the horse nudged her hand holding the bag. “I got sidetracked and forgot to eat my breakfast. This will have to tide me over until lunch.”

  Sammie spread the blanket she’d brought with her to lie between herself and the ground still damp with morning dew. Her brother’s hand-me-down buckskins pants, from when Seth was twelve, were already snug. The ground’s moisture would have them shrinking to indecent.

  She laughed, remembering Isaac’s reaction when he led the horses out to the stable and saw her in her riding attire. Her well-worn buckskin pants with a red and black plaid shirt tucked securely under the waistband and a matching buckskin jacket had poor Isaac spitting and stammering for a full five minutes before finding his composure.

  Mindlessly munching on raisin bread and cheese, she scanned the flower-sprinkled meadow in search of Isaac. He’d been true to his word and had allowed her time and space to deal with her thoughts.

  As she licked the last crumbs from her fingertips, she picked up the dime novel she’d stuffed into her saddlebag along with the sack of food Isaac had given her. Within minutes, she was enthralled in the mystery of Badger and His Shadow.

  But not even an Old Sleuth Library novel could fight off sleep.

  Her previous night’s fitful sleep combined with a full belly and warm sunshine against her skin weighted her eyelids until she lazily closed her eyes. Wrapped in the knowledge Isaac watched over her, she fell into the misty haze of slumber.

  * * *

  Sammie’s eyes fluttered open as fingertips touched the base of her neck. Somehow during her nap, she’d wrapped the blanket around her. Struggling to stand, she gasped, “Mason.”

  “Calm down, kid. I was just—” Mason’s jaw dropped. His eyes widened and he choked on seemingly thin air. After he’d managed to gain his breath, he roared, “What in blue blazes are you wearing?”

  “Pants.” Sammie smothered her smile best she could. This was going to chunk his chili. “You have a problem with that?”

  “Hell, yes, I have a problem with it,” Mason bellowed.

  She crossed her arms under her breasts. “That’s too bad.”

  “A proper lady wouldn’t wear something that risqué.” Mason gritted his teeth and growled, “Did Isaac see you like this?”

  “Nope, I blindfolded him. It did impede his ability to follow your orders just a tad.”

  “Don’t get cheeky with me.”

  “Then don’t ask stupid questions.”

  “They don’t leave anything to a man’s imagine. I can see every curve, every… My God, I can see the outline of your nipple!” His fury was almost palpable. Still, there was an undercurrent in his tone that worried her more.

  “What do you want, Mason?”

  His gaze slid down her body, lingering at the swell of breasts plumped up by her crossed arms and the curve of her hips encased in smug buckskin. Suddenly, she regretted her choice of words.

  He reached for her. She took a step away. With a sigh, he dropped his hand back to his side.

  “Well, I’m not here to claim my husbandly rights, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He didn’t bother hiding his irritation. “I was out looking around when I came upon you lying under a tree like some kind of wood nymph.”

  “You mean to tell me as immense an area as Whispering Pines encompasses, you just happened upon me. You’re lying. You followed me here just to torment me, didn’t you?” As she spoke each word, she jabbed her index finger into Mason’s chest causing him to retreat a step with every poke.

  Suddenly, his back was flush against the same tree Sammie had been sleeping only moments before. “Did I say wood nymph? I meant a bear, a grumpy bear fresh out of hibernation.”

  “I dare you call me grumpy. Do I look as big as a bear to you?” Sammie raised her hand to slap his face.

  Mason caught her hand before it had traveled half the distance needed to hit its mark. In one quick motion, he pressed Sammie firmly against the tree, his grinning face looming over her. “Perhaps, bear was a bit excessive. You’re more like a snapping turtle—pesky, but harmless.”

  “You are lower than a snake.”

  Outrage rippled through her being as she struggled against his hard body. The tree held her imprisoned against Mason chest. In the midst of battling for freedom, the pointed toe of her boot slammed full force into Mason’s shin. Still, his insidious grin and hold never faltered.

  “Let me go,” Sammie hissed between clinched teeth.

  “All you had to do was ask.” Mason released her with a mock bow.

  As she stepped away, she stumbled over a tree root nearly causing her to go face first to the ground. With the same lightning-fast quickness he’d displayed earlier, he reached out to steady her balance.

  A quiet moment passed as Sammie gazed up into his stormy eyes then she nodded her thanks and went to untie her horse. She glanced around searching for a large rock or tree stump to aid her ascent into the saddle, all the while keeping her back to Mason. A pair of sun-bronzed hands formed a foot cradle barely inside her line of vision.

  Why did he have to be so nice sometimes? He could have let her fall flat on her face. He didn’t have to help her mount her horse.

  He didn’t have to marry her. He could have turned his back on her and let her deal with the shame.

  Careful to keep her tear-streaked face hidden behind a curtain of hair, Sammie placed her boot in Mason’s hands and felt him effortlessly lift her onto her horse. She swallowed hard and lifted her face, allowing her auburn veil to fall away and reveal her tears. “Why is Whispering Pines so important to you?”

  A snow goose squawked overhead as Mason paused
as though deciding whether Sammie was worthy of such information. Finally, he answered. “My great-grandparents came here as Irish immigrates over a hundred years ago. When my great-grandfather looked across his land, he didn’t see the overgrown forests and unyielding mountain terrain. He saw it as it is today.”

  Mason paused a moment and looked around the meadow. “When my great-grandfather died, he and his family still lived in a two-room shack beside the river. My grandfather always said his daddy started digging his early grave the day he stepped foot on Whispering Pines.

  “My grandfather built the big house,” Mason continued, seemingly unaware his hand rested on Sammie’s calf. “You see, even though Grandpa blamed the land for his father’s death, his great love for Whispering Pines had been deeply instilled into him. “My father was the only son as I am his only son. Whispering Pines has always been Mayfield land. With each generation, the passion for this land does not diminish but grows stronger. I don’t just want Whispering Pines. I need it to feel whole again.”

  “But do you need a wife?” Sammie asked softly, not wanting to break the tenderness of their shared moment.

  “I do if there are to be any future generations of Mayfields to love this land.”

  In her mind’s eye, Mason had gazed up at her with love and devotion burning in his eyes and said, “I need you, Sammie.” It would have gone a long way toward smoothing over her heartache. But nooooo, he had to go and say something stupid—again.

  “You are an insufferable jackass. I will not be your brood mare!” Sammie shrieked as she kicked her foot high in an effort to remove his hand. The heel of her boot fell against her horse’s flank with a solid thud. Anticipating the command to leave since it had felt the weight of a rider upon its back, the mare took off in a ground-eating gallop.

  The trees seemed to come alive around Sammie. Their jagged branches clawed at her flesh while others pulled at her hair and clothes. Desperately, she grabbed at the reins that had slipped through her fingers the instant the horse had taken flight. The reins were elusive, almost taunting her. Another set of horse’s hooves thundered close behind her, but she was too scared to let go of the horse’s mane she held to look back.

  Sammie saw a small clearing ahead. With strength she didn’t know she had, she tugged at the light red horsehair she held and leaned to her side. It could have been her effort or the black beast that had come up along side her that veered her mount toward the opening.

  As the distance to the clearing shortened, Sammie could see it wasn’t a clearing, but a large mud hole. Suddenly there was a flash of white and then the pain of impact as Sammie was knocked from her saddle.

  Mason leaped from his horse to grab Samantha then twisted his body in midair so that he landed between his wife and the hard ground. Good Lord, he hoped it didn’t hurt as much as it had yesterday.

  “That was the most childish stunt I’ve witnessed in quite a while,” Mason bellowed as he pushed Samantha off him and sat up. “You could have been killed running through the woods at such a speed. And fool that I am, I could have been killed trying to save your scrawny little neck.”

  “I wish you’d make up your mind. One minute I’m as big as a bear and the next you’re calling me scrawny,” she shouted even though only inches separated them.

  Mason glared at her, but his wife didn’t seem to notice. A moan escaped her lips when she moved her arm.

  “Are you hurt?” Mason’s fury disappeared at the reminder of their fall. He ran his hands down the length of Samantha’s arms and had started up her leg when she slapped hand away.

  “I’m not falling for that again,” Samantha bit out. “I’m not hurt. I’m muddy.”

  Mason chuckled. “So you are.”

  “Couldn’t you find a cleaner place to knock me off my horse?” Samantha tried to brush the brown slimy mud from her face which only managed to smear it.

  “Probably, but it wouldn’t have been as soft.” Mason gained his footing then reached down to offer Samantha his assistance.

  She promptly refused. “Don’t touch me.”

  Mason shrugged and let his hand fall to his side. “Fine with me. You’re a mess.”

  “Oh, and you’re not? You can’t tell where your shirt ends and your britches start. You look like one big, ugly, mud ball, mister,” she sneered as she struggled to stand. “At least, you can still tell the color of my shirt.” She took a haughty step away from him, tripped and fell face first into the mud.

  Bending to help Samantha to her feet, Mason spoke around his laughter. “Woman, I don’t think anyone could determine the color of your hair much less the hue of your shirt.”

  Spitting and sputtering, Samantha allowed Mason’s help until they reached the edge of the mud pool. Then she jerked free of his grip. “I should push you back into that mud wallow where swine like you belong.”

  Mason shook a muddy finger at his wife. “If I go back, I won’t go alone.”

  A moment passed as Samantha’s gaze swept between Mason and the pool of filthy mire as though trying to determine if the pleasure would outweigh the risk. Obviously, opting on the side of caution, she shrugged a shoulder then wiped a lock of muddy hair away from her eyes. “The least you could do is offer me your handkerchief.”

  “Of course, my apologies.” He made a grand show of pulling his handkerchief from his back pocket and presenting it to Samantha.

  “Thank you,” she said tersely and snatched it from his hand.

  He knew the instant she realized her mistake. The handkerchief was as muddy, if not worst, than her face and hands. He didn’t duck fast enough when the mud-laden piece of cloth came flying through the air and landed on his head with a resounding slop.

  “Where is my horse?” Samantha growled as he pulled the wet, gooey handkerchief from his face.

  “Probably as far away from you as she can get,” Mason snarled. “I wish to hell I was with her.”

  “Does she know her way home?”

  “How would I know?” Mason snapped, angered at the reminder of his stranger status on his ancestral land.

  “What if she gets lost? We have to get back and form a search party.” Samantha was on the verge of tears.

  “Don’t worry about it, kid.” Mason laid his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Thomas has a crew of men working a field just on the other side of this thicket. He’ll find her and bring her home.”

  She nodded. After a moment, she looked at him and beamed. “Isaac. I’ll ride home with Isaac.”

  “Afraid not. I saw him earlier and sent him home. I told him I would make sure you found your way to the big house.” Mason sighed and raised his hand palm up. “I didn’t think anything like this would happen.”

  “And what did you think would happen?” Samantha crossed her arms and waited.

  He smiled sheepishly, but said nothing.

  She still waited.

  He still knew better than to answer.

  Finally, she huffed, giving up on their standoff. “How am I supposed to get back? Walk?”

  “If I thought it would wring some of the vinegar from your deposition, you would.” He glanced around the small clearing.

  “Well?” Samantha stood beside him with her hands on her hips. He could almost see her toes tapping with impatience beneath the inch-deep puddle of mud where they stood.

  Mason placed his two index fingers in the corners of his mouth. The quietness around them split with an ear-piercing whistle. A black beast of a horse emerged from the trees in answer to his master’s summons like a genie from a magic lamp.

  Samantha walked to the animal. “I’ll send someone with a horse.”

  “There’s no way in hell you’re going to ride that beast by yourself.” Mason strode up beside her.

  “Why not? I’m a very good rider.”

  “Because Sinbad won’t allow it. He allows me and only me to ride him and there are times when that is a battle of wits.”

  She smiled sweetly. “Oh, and who win
s?”

  “Do you want to ride or walk?” He left his threat unspoken as he placed his foot into the saddle’s stirrup and swung his other leg over the horse.

  Samantha glared up at him a moment before she stepped closer and raised her hand in answer. Mason removed his foot from its resting place, allowing her to use the stirrup as a step. His long fingers wrapped her wrist and with one easy, fluid motion, he seated her in his lap. He quenched her scrabble to get away from him by banding his arm around her waist. His hold was relentless.

  “Be still, woman, before Sinbad decides to rid himself of both of us.”

  “Let me go.”

  “No.” He nudged Sinbad in a slow gait as they picked their way out of the thicket of trees.

  “I want to walk,” Samantha announced.

  “No.”

  “If you don’t let me down, I’ll…um…I’ll scream.”

  “Suit yourself,” Mason suggested with a shrug of his shoulder.

  Samantha stopped her struggling and folded her arms under her breasts. A shrill scream rented through the tranquility of the spring afternoon. Sinbad reared, kicking the air with his forelegs at the unexpected, unnatural sound of the screaming banshee on his back.

  Wordlessly, Mason regained control of the horse with very little effort. She probably expected him to give the command to stop, but he didn’t. Sinbad’s gait never slowed.

  “Stop this beast,” she demanded.

  “No.”

  She took a deep breath. Mason gripped the reins more firmly. Once more, a hair-raising scream echoed through the meadow.

  Sinbad didn’t flinch.

  Thirty minutes later, the sight of Whispering Pines big house popped up on the horizon. Every muscle in Mason’s body ached from his earlier fall. His skin itched from the sunbaked mud that seemed to cling to every inch of him and his ears still rung from Samantha’s caterwauling. Thankfully she hadn’t uttered another sound after her second unsuccessful attempt to get him to release her.