The Bride Lottery

by Tatiana March

  There was only one penance great enough.

  He had to give up the dream. He had to give up Miranda.

  For he could think of no other way to keep her safe.

  * * *

  Miranda lay in Jamie’s arms. She wanted his warmth, wanted to be comforted by his strong body pressed against hers, but the peace and contentment didn’t come. Cold shivers rippled over her as she struggled with the knowledge that had revealed itself during that terrible instant framed by the roar of gunfire.

  She’d been foolish, foolish in her quest for adventure. She’d been lured by the excitement, by the thrill of danger. Bounty hunting had seemed like a game, where those on the side of the law always won. Instead, it was real and bloody and ugly and lethal—a gamble with one’s life.

  She loved Jamie. And she had failed him. She had appealed to his love for her, to the longing for a home and family he hadn’t been able to hide. She had encouraged him to dream. And then she had almost gotten him killed.

  Why hadn’t she pulled the trigger? The answer was simple. And it was complicated. When she’d aimed her gun at the outlaw, she’d pictured Rose embracing him, but another mental image had superimposed itself over it—herself and Jamie, dancing and kissing in the firelight.

  What would it feel like, if he died? The mere thought had filled her with a sense of loss so tearing it had felt as if her heart had ceased beating. She couldn’t do that to another woman. Couldn’t be responsible for plunging Rose into that dark world of grief. And, through her hesitation, she had almost brought that grief upon herself.

  What future could she and Jamie have?

  How could their worlds unite?

  It would be impossible...impossible...

  She had insisted they could be a team, but it was not in her to face death or be prepared to deliver it, however honorable it might be to bring an outlaw to justice. It would never work for her to join Jamie as he hunted for outlaws, courting danger while he saved money to buy land of his own. And yet she could not tolerate the idea of waiting in Gold Crossing while Jamie went away, “taking care of business” as he called his deathly trade.

  It might take years for him to save enough money for his dream. During all that time, fear would rule her life. Every letter, every telegram, every sight of a stranger who might ride in with news would fill her with terror, until fear overshadowed everything else. Until she almost welcomed the news of Jamie’s death, for that meant she could stop being dominated by fear and get on with the grieving.

  Of course, Charlotte had money...

  Miranda frowned into the darkness. Papa might have been wrong to follow the English custom of leaving everything to the firstborn, but he had been adamant that the fortune tied up in the shipping line must not be broken up. It would be unfair to ask Charlotte to ignore their father’s wishes. And Miranda very much doubted Jamie’s pride would allow him to accept money from his wife’s relatives.

  There was only one answer.

  She must give him up.

  She must sever all ties with Jamie.

  Once he was gone, she would find some worthwhile activity to occupy her days. In time, the memories would fade. She would build a satisfying life as a spinster aunt. Or, perhaps one day she might forget Jamie enough to settle down with someone else. Even as the thought formed in her mind, Miranda knew it would never happen. She would grow old alone.

  * * *

  Jamie had feared that once Miranda recovered from the horror of the shootings she might insist on another bounty hunt. He could not have been more mistaken. Instead of making demands, she withdrew into herself.

  Each day, she performed her chores in melancholy silence. In the evenings, as they sat by the firelight, she no longer bombarded him with questions. The distance between their bedrolls grew each night, until they were sleeping so far apart Jamie could no longer hear the words to the forlorn melodies Miranda sang softly in the darkness.

  “We’ll cross the Colorado River today,” he said as they broke camp.

  Miranda nodded and slipped the silver-studded bridle on Alfie.

  “We’ll take Lees Ferry,” he added. “It’s operated by Mormons.”

  “Men with many wives.”

  Good luck to them, Jamie thought. He hadn’t been able to keep one wife safe, let alone several of them. “I hear the Mormons cultivate the valley on both sides of the river,” he went on. “The horses will have alfalfa, and there’ll be fruit and vegetables to buy.”

  “That’s nice,” Miranda replied.

  Jamie frowned as he tried to think of something more to say. Things seemed to have reversed between them. Miranda had become the quiet one, and he was desperate to talk, to shake her out of the shell she had formed around herself.

  In the past week, they had shared the trail with other travelers, mostly Mormon settlers, spreading from Utah into Arizona, but not even the company of friendly strangers had restored Miranda’s former liveliness.

  Jamie wished he had a nimble mind, the kind that could spin funny stories and tell jokes. In some way, the journey now reminded him of the ride to Devil’s Hall after he won her in the bride lottery. The same strained atmosphere, the same doubt over what would happen when they reached their destination.

  At Lees Ferry, they rode down the steep slope of rust-red earth, into the narrow valley where the river gushed between its banks with a mighty roar. Ahead of them, a party with a dozen head of cattle was chasing the frightened animals onto the craft.

  The ferryman was called Johnson. Jamie told him they would wait for the next crossing. He paid the fare, one dollar fifty for a horse and rider, and two bits each for the pack mules.

  “Don’t go anywhere,” he warned Miranda, leaving her to feed the horses with the bundles of freshly cut alfalfa he’d bought from a farmer’s stall.

  He came back with a melon that had cost too much. Something eased inside Jamie when he saw a smile brighten Miranda’s face. He sliced the ripe, sweet-smelling fruit for her and watched her eat it, only tasting some when he was sure she’d had enough.

  “Ready?” he asked when the ferry inched back across the river.

  “Ready,” Miranda replied.

  The ferry was a big scow, twice as long as it was wide, with knee-high sides. There was no steel cable to guide it across. Jamie recalled hearing stories of how the current had once seized the craft and hurtled it downstream, drowning everyone on board.

  They led the horses on board first, and then the pack mules, their hooves echoing on the timber planks. One of the Mormon wagons filled the remaining space.

  “Come and stand beside me,” Jamie called out to Miranda, who had ventured to the edge where a cool spray from the river was flying up.

  Without a comment, she returned to his side, pausing to reassure the restless Alfie. Of all the changes in Miranda this one worried Jamie the most, made him fear that her spirit had been crushed by the horror of the shootings—she had begun to obey his commands.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Each day, Miranda’s mood sank deeper into gloom. Did she really want her marriage to Jamie to fade away? She had made her decision that she must give him up after her failure had nearly cost him his life but she had never expected it would be so easy to drift apart.

  When they reached Flagstaff, Miranda sent another telegram to Charlotte and received a reply that her sister and her husband would meet them at the Imperial Hotel in Gold Crossing two days later. The trail became a bittersweet collection of lasts.

  Last evening camp.

  Last morning sunrise.

  Last packing of the mules.

  Last stop for coffee.

  They drew up along the dusty thoroughfare through Gold Crossing at dusk. Startled, Miranda surveyed the town. It was nothing but a single street of ramshackle building
s, most of them boarded up. Farther away, she could see a small white church and another tiny building that might be a school.

  Half a dozen children were racing up and down the rutted street, playing some kind of game with sticks and hoops. When Jamie and Miranda dismounted outside the building that bore a sign for the Imperial Hotel, a boy of around ten separated from the others and hurried over.

  “Hey, mister, I’ll watch your mules for two bits.”

  Jamie tossed the boy two quarters. “Watch the horses, too.”

  He’d be a good father. The thought flashed in Miranda’s mind. Then she was up the steps and through the doors. A cozy, civilized scene met them inside the hotel. Two elderly matrons sat knitting at one of the tables, acting as chaperones for a couple taking tea at the next table. A tall man with neatly trimmed light brown hair played solitaire behind a reception counter in the corner.

  “Captain Blue!” The joyous call came from near the window.

  Miranda spun around. “Bosun Flint!”

  The two sisters ran into each other’s arms. “Where’s Scrappy the Deckhand?” Miranda asked. The childhood nicknames emerged at times of high emotion. When other girls might have played with dolls, they had played pirates, with velvet patches over one eye and mustaches drawn on with charcoal and swords made from sticks of wood.

  “Annabel hasn’t arrived yet,” Charlotte replied. She eased away and gave Miranda a thorough survey. “You look wonderful. I had a Pinkerton agent looking for you at every stop between Boston and Gold Crossing but you fooled him by going the wrong way. I hope Annabel has not done the same. And what was your strange message about Cousin Gareth?”

  Pausing for breath, Charlotte turned to wave someone forward. A big man with a powerful body and hair as golden as a wheat field stepped forward.

  “Meet my husband, Thomas Greenwood.” Charlotte gestured between them, an introduction fitting for a Boston parlor. “Thomas, this is my sister Miranda, the beauty of the family.”

  “You’re just as beautiful,” the blond giant said, with an adoring look at Charlotte.

  Miranda decided there and then that she liked her new brother-in-law. She glanced behind her. Jamie was standing to one side. Unlike the other men in the room, he hadn’t removed his hat, as if to indicate he wouldn’t be staying.

  “This is James Blackburn,” Miranda said. “My...”

  Jamie stepped forward. “We signed a piece of paper to say we’re married. Made it easier on the trail. Now that Miranda is safe with her family she can arrange an annulment.”

  Charlotte, the small and slight Charlotte with big hazel eyes and tumbling dark curls, had a way of surprising people by turning into a tiger when they had taken her for a mouse.

  She lifted her chin. “I know my sister. She is wild and reckless, and there is absolutely no way I shall accept responsibility for keeping her safe. That will remain your task until you cease to be her legal husband, and after that she can terrorize the world on her own.”

  Oh, the surprise on Jamie’s face! Miranda stifled a grin. For an instant, amusement lifted her spirits. Charlotte had done it again, shown her hidden claws. And now the eldest sister was directing her blunt, probing questions at Miranda.

  “Are you married to this man or not?”

  Miranda’s response was a quick flicker of her eyes. Not in front of the parents, it had meant when Papa and Mama still lived. Now she hoped Charlotte would understand the new meaning. Not in front of husbands.

  Charlotte gave a light nod. I understand. Later.

  “I guess I’ll be heading off,” Jamie said.

  “We booked a room for you,” the blond giant said. “Only one room, though. We didn’t know Miranda had a husband. I assume you were properly married, under your real names, so you will be man and wife until the annulment.” His blue-green eyes twinkled at Charlotte.

  Miranda’s curiosity flared. It appeared that she was not the only sister whose matrimonial state wasn’t quite straightforward.

  “Mr. Langley, do you have a room for Mr. Blackburn?” Charlotte called out.

  Miranda could see Jamie tense as he glanced over at the innkeeper, who kept turning his cards over on the reception counter. The tall man looked up. “I only one have one room, so the couple has to share. Just a warning, though, this place is run as an orphanage now. I guarantee no peace or quiet, but the room is clean and warm.”

  Jamie lifted his brows at Miranda. She nodded. With a bittersweet jolt she realized the art of wordless communication was no longer limited to sisters. She watched Jamie walk up to the counter, fill in a card to register. What would he write?

  Mr. and Mrs. James Blackburn?

  James and Miranda Blackburn?

  Suddenly, it seemed important to know. She hurried up beside him, glanced at the card before he handed it back to the man behind the counter.

  James and Miranda Blackburn.

  Married...for just a little while longer.

  * * *

  Miranda sat on the floor in front of the small stove, drying her hair. She had bathed downstairs, and now Jamie was taking his turn. Instead of joining Charlotte and her husband for supper, Miranda had arranged for a tray to be brought up to the room.

  The door swung open. Jamie walked in, soundless in his bare feet, boots carried in one hand. He wore a clean shirt and trousers, the dirty ones slung over his arm. Miranda watched him as he crouched to pack his things in his saddlebags.

  “There’s cold chicken and bread and ham.” She gestured at the tray set out on the small table beside her. “Shall I pour you a cup of coffee?”

  Jamie glanced up. “We’re not eating downstairs?”

  Miranda shook her head. “It’s too late.”

  And I wanted one more evening with you. Her gaze drifted around the room. Furnished with heavy pieces, the setting reminded her of the honeymoon suite in the railroad town after they left Devil’s Hall. A painful mix of doubt and regret stirred inside her. What might have happened there if she hadn’t been in such a hurry to get away from Cousin Gareth? And could she make it happen now?

  Her fingers rose to the buttons at her neck. Why hadn’t she put on her pale blue wool gown with a low neckline, instead of the shapeless dress made from an old shirt? How would Jamie react if she slowly pulled the garment over her head, baring herself in front of him?

  Would he take what she offered?

  Would he seal their marriage and be forced to stay?

  “What’s on your mind, Princess?”

  “What makes you ask?”

  “The expression on your face. You look ready to fight.”

  Fight? Perhaps it was the right word. Fight for the future, fight for what she wanted. For, despite her decision that she must give up Jamie, Miranda had never believed it would come to that. She had thought he would be the one to fight—fight to hold on to her, fight to remain her husband, but to the contrary, he seemed keen to be on his way.

  “I’ll leave the mules with you,” Jamie said. “Your sister can use them on the farm. The livery stable has closed down but Art Langley lets people put their horses in the stalls, provided they do the cleaning. I’ve arranged for one of the orphanage boys, Timothy Perkins, to muck out after Alfie. He’ll do it for two bits a day. I’ve paid him for the first month.”

  Tidying up loose ends. That’s what he was doing. If it didn’t hurt so much, it would have made Miranda laugh. How to get rid of an inconvenient wife while still doing the honorable thing and looking after her.

  “I can muck out after Alfie,” she told Jamie, an edge of bitterness creeping into her tone. “At least I now know how to do it. Something good has come out of this temporary marriage. I am no longer a spoiled Eastern princess.”

  “You never were.” Jamie put down his packed saddlebags, then noticed her forlorn expressi
on and took a step toward her. “Oh, Princess... Miranda. Don’t...”

  “It’s all right.” She spoke lightly, fighting back tears.

  Jamie came over to her, sat on the floor beside her, long legs stretched out in front of him. Wrapping one arm around her, he pulled her against his side. Miranda had left the hatch open on the small, square stove, and the flames crackled and danced, like a campfire.

  How many times had they sat like this?

  How many opportunities had she had to tell him that she loved him?

  “I’m sorry, Princess,” Jamie said softly, as if reading her mind. “There is no other way. I should have known it from the start but I let myself dream. I should have known how hopeless it was when that woman chased us out of her hotel with a rifle. Because of me, you had to sleep in the hayloft. Because of me, you were put in danger, with a stranger grabbing at you in the darkness. Because of me, you witnessed death and bloodshed.

  “I can’t ask you to give up your safe, comfortable life. I saw my mother and my sister give up everything for love, and they ended up alone, penniless, with children to support. I won’t allow that to happen to you.”

  “You have it backward.”

  Puzzled, Jamie contemplated her. “Backward?”

  Miranda studied his face, storing it in her memory. His hair was damp, framing his features that looked stark and fierce in the flickering firelight. She met his gaze, the deep, mysterious gaze in those clear gray eyes, and held it while she formulated her thoughts.

  “It was not your mother, or your sister, who made the sacrifice. Your mother had already come out West to marry a soldier, even though she ended up marrying a different one. And your sister had already chosen to move to the reservation, to embrace the Indian ways. She merely reinforced that choice by marrying a man with Indian blood.”

  Miranda lifted one hand to emphasize the words that tumbled out as she finally understood the restless frustration that had been niggling inside her. The only way for them to stay together was for Jamie to give up bounty hunting, but she couldn’t demand it, or seduce him so the choice would be forced upon him.