Chance Creek Brides (Volumes 1-3 & the Stagecoach Bride)

by Mary L. Briggs

  “Oh, my! What are you doing, Miss?”

  She stared into the dark eyes of a rosy cheeked woman, gray hair pulled neatly back into a bun. The cotton apron she wore over a green calico dress was wet where she had obviously dried her hands. She searched her mind for a name. Should she know this woman?

  “There, there, now. You just settle back. You’ve been through too much to try to get out of bed, just yet.”

  The woman’s hands were quick and smooth in the plumping of her pillows and adjusting the quilt. Her gentleness gave away the fact that she was used to caring for bed patients.

  The woman smiled again and gave a soft laugh. “I keep calling you missy. What is your name, dear?”

  She opened her mouth to reply. Fear tingled down her arms and through her chest, across her face. What was her name? “I. . .I. . .I don’t know,” she managed to whisper.

  “Oh, my,” the woman replied, seating herself on the edge of the bed, a puzzled expression on her face. After a moment, sympathy flooded her eyes and she reached over and patted her hand. “Well, now. You’ve had a bad bump on the head. I’m sure you’ll just take a while to remember. Until then, we’ll just call you Missy.”

  Missy. That sounded alright. Missy’s fingers went to her head and found the lump the woman had mentioned. She winced as pain rushed to the area. “I. . .I don’t remember how. . .maybe in a creek. . .or river. I remember that I was in the water. And it was so cold.” She shivered as the memory flooded her thoughts. The only memory she seemed to have.

  The woman nodded. “That’s right. We found you lying there on the bank, all wet and soggy. About to freeze to death in the early morning breeze, I was afraid. Your cheeks were practically frozen and that blue tinge around your lips sure had me worried. That creek’s fed right out of an underground stream. It makes for a nice drink on a hot afternoon, but it’s too cold to even wade in, unless it’s in the middle of July.”

  Missy nodded, then regretted it as throbbing started anew in her head. “I crawled out myself, I think. I’m not sure. . .” her voice broke. “I don’t remember how I got in there,” she whispered, tears forming in her eyes.

  The woman nodded in sympathy and stood and adjusted the quilt around her again. “Well you just get some rest and I’m sure it will all come back to you. By the way, I’m Aunt Della.”

  Missy smiled and forced her heavy eyelids to stay open. “But not my Aunt Della, I take it?”

  Della Murphy smiled. “For now, until you remember your own family, you can be part of ours. Besides, I’ve always wanted a niece. All I’ve got is three loud, mess-making nephews to take care of.”

  ***

  Missy lay quietly, listening for sounds in the house. Nothing. She threw her legs over the side of the bed and sat. “Hello? Is anyone there? Aunt Della?” It felt silly calling a woman she didn’t even know, ‘Aunt’.

  She pulled the thin blanket that lay loose on top of the sheets a little closer around her shoulders and stood, her feet appreciating the rug beneath. It was nice to be out of the bed, standing on her own. Behind the small curtained area in the corner, she found the little chamber pot she’d been hoping for.

  Across the room, she poured water from the pitcher on the dresser into a bowl and washed her hands and face, drying them on a plain muslin towel. Green eyes stared from the mirror. She was small and medium height. The soft, pink hue of her cheeks stood stark against her otherwise pale skin. Golden blonde hair hung in a thick, single braid down the back of the long cotton shift she wore.

  Her fingers, the knuckles sore and scratched, went to the red and blue bruises on her neck, as well as the large bump on her forehead. The bump suggested an accident. But the red marks sent shivers down her spine. For the moment, it was best not to imagine how those came to be on her throat.

  Searching the reflection, she trembled. If she had been shown a photograph of herself, she wouldn’t have been able to recognize the person. She gazed for a moment longer, then turned away, confusion swimming through her mind. Something, any moment now, would trigger her memory and she would be on her way to. . .wherever it was she was going when she ended up in that freezing water.

  A glint of gold on the polished wood caught her eye. A watch and chain. She smiled and picked it up, closing her fingers around the case. Something about it was very familiar, almost precious, as if she should know the person who carried it.

  Taking it to the bedside, she sat and stared at the object in her hand.. The open case was nothing special, very plain with the initials GHH on the inside of the cover. GHH? Who was he? Her father? Her. . .husband? No. Surely she would remember if she had a husband, a family. She swallowed hard. How could she not know who she was?

  Setting the watch on the bedside table, the open doorway to the rest of the house beckoned her. Surely the family was close by. Her bare feet stepped through the threshold. Surprise washed over her. She turned and stared back into the bedroom. It was as if the two rooms came from separate houses.

  The floral wallpaper on the bedroom walls looked new, as did the cherry headboard on the bed and the mirrored dresser against the wall. The lacey curtains were white and starched, as if they’d just been hung. The oak flooring next to the bed was covered in a pretty red and blue wool rug.

  The kitchen was part of a log structure, plain and functional. Sturdy pine shelves were lined with white crockery, pretty and stark against the log walls. The oak floors, smooth and clean, were scrubbed to a shine. Simple red gingham curtains hung over the small windows, adding a bit of cheer to the otherwise unadorned room. A faint odor of cornbread and soap permeated the air. Just beyond it was a small sitting room. A fireplace, constructed of smooth river stones, dominated the space. It would be a cozy spot on a cold winter day, she thought, her eyes locked on the two rocking chairs that stood near the hearth.

  The kitchen door opened and she jumped, clutching the neck of the white shift . Her eyes met the brilliant blue ones of a tall, dark, and lanky young man, probably no more than twenty. He took off his hat and hung it on the peg next to the door. He must be one of Aunt Della’s nephews. She had imagined them as little boys, running through the house, wreaking havoc for the woman that cared for them. It had never occurred to her that Aunt Della’s ‘boys’ were most likely grown men.

  “Good morning, ma’am. Or maybe I should say afternoon. We’ve already had the noon meal.”

  “Hello.” She pulled the blanket tighter, hoping she didn’t look indecent. Her ankles were scarcely covered by the gauzy garment Della had loaned her. She should have dressed before leaving the bedroom.

  A flash of concern crossed his face. “You feeling alright, ma’am? Do you need me to get you anything?” He asked, running his fingers through his brown hair. His eyes were locked on her face.

  She smiled at the worry in his voice. “No. No thank you. I just woke up and I thought. . .I mean. . . I wondered where everyone was.”

  He nodded and headed for the pitcher on the counter. Taking a tin cup from one of the shelves, he filled it with water before he spoke. “By the way, I’m Seth Murphy. I reckon Aunt Della’s gone over to the Johnson’s to see their new baby. Just came yesterday. She usually helps out with that sort of thing, but with you getting hurt and all, she. . .”

  Guilt washed over her. Not only had his aunt spent hours caring for her, she had been forced to neglect her duties to her neighbors. “Oh no. I’m so sorry that she had to stay here. I hope someone was there to help at the Johnson household.”

  His cheeks blushed red and he looked away. “Oh, I’m sure they had plenty of help. And I didn’t mean that you’d been any trouble, ma’am. Please don’t think that. Why Aunt Della will have a hickory switch after me if she thinks I’ve hurt your feelings,” he added with a laugh. “She’s real excited about you being here. Another woman to talk to and all, I mean.”

  She bit her lip and looked around. “Exactly where is. . .here?”

  He grinned. “You’re in Texas, ma’am. The neare
st town is Chance. My brother calls it Last Chance,” he laughed. Putting his cup on the table, he shoved his hands in his trouser pockets with a self-conscious shrug. “That was Chance Creek that you almost. . .I mean. . .where Jared and Aunt Della found you.”

  “Jared?”

  Seth nodded and reached for his cup again. “He’s my oldest brother. Chance Creek Ranch belongs to us.”

  Texas? Her mind raced through any facts she could recollect. Texas didn’t seem familiar. A sob rushed up her throat. Why couldn’t she remember? She could imagine being lost on a road, or in a forest, even at sea. But this was worse. She had somehow managed to lose herself.

  Chapter 5

  “Jared, Mark, and of course you’ve met Seth,” Della beamed at the three young men she spent her time caring for.

  Missy smiled and nodded, not trusting her voice. They had all hurried to stand when she entered, like the gentlemen that Della Murphy would insist they be.

  “Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Jared and Mark said almost together.

  Mark, blond, and younger than both of his brothers, stared at his boots, shyness seeming to overtake him. The splash of cherry in his cheeks confirmed her suspicions.

  Jared, an older, more handsome version of Seth, had a skeptical expression on his face, as if he wasn’t sure he should welcome her to his home. His intense gaze seemed to stare right through her, like a hawk studying his prey.

  “Now you sit right here, Missy,” Aunt Della indicated the chair next to Seth.

  The boy hurriedly pulled the chair away from the table for her.

  Missy nodded. “Thank you.” At least her voice didn’t shake, which was something, considering the rolling mass of emotions churning in her stomach. She smoothed the blue calico dress that Aunt Della had loaned her and pulled the napkin onto her lap. She’d prefer to just keep staring at the plate in front of her, but she had to be polite.

  “Thank you all,” she cleared her throat, “for taking me in for now. I’ll try not to be a burden for very lo–”

  “Nonsense! Of course you’re not a burden to us. We’re just glad you are doing so well,” Aunt Della insisted, setting a steaming bowl of brown beans on the table.

  Missy smiled, but avoided Jared’s glances. He seemed almost hostile in the momentary looks he cast her way. An uneasy dread began to fill her. Did he know something about her? Something that she didn’t know herself? If only supper was over and she was safe in her bed. Safe from having to think about who she might be. Or who he thought she was.

  ***

  Missy carried the stack of plates to the sink. The water on the stove was steaming and ready to use. “I’ll do these dishes,” she told Aunt Della, reaching for the kettle.

  “You’ll do no such thing. You need to rest, build yourself back up. You do too much and that bad headache’s gonna come back.”

  Missy sighed. Maybe Della was right. She was starting to feel a little tired from just sitting at the table and eating. “Well at least let me–”

  “Can I ask you something, Miss?”

  She turned to see Jared standing next to the table; his eyes were cobalt in the lamplight that reflected shadows across his handsome face. Hadn’t he announced he was going to the barn?

  She put on her best smile for this man who seemed to send shivers down her spine. “Of course.” At least she sounded more confident than she felt. Every time he looked at her, a bit of fear seemed to shoot through her. Surely that little flip of her heart when he spoke was the same emotion.

  He pulled a gold chain from his pocket and deposited it on the table. Opening the bandana he had in his other hand, he emptied its contents. “Do you recognize these?”

  She walked over and picked up the locket. It was a pretty oval shape, an initial that looked like an M was stamped on the front. She opened it. Empty. Setting it down, she picked up the metal object he’d put beside it.

  “Do you know what that is?” He asked.

  Her fingers wrapped around the handle. The metal was icy in her hands, the blade sharp. Something about it niggled at her thoughts, just out of reach of her memory. She rubbed her fingers over the handle and studied the object. “It’s so small and light that I. . .I don‘t know.” But somehow she should know. She glanced at him and met his cold stare. “Why are you asking me about these? Were they. . .with me?”

  He shrugged. “Seth and I found them down by the creek, close to where you were. I figured you might have lost them. Might recognize them. As far as I know, the only thing with you was the watch and chain you had in your vest.”

  Her fingers unconsciously went to the item, buried deep in her pocket. She shook her head. “Was there anything else? Any. . .signs that someone had been down there with me?”

  He seemed to hesitate. “We found some boot prints in the mud and there had been a wagon parked higher on the bank.”

  “What about my prints? Were they there in the mud, too?” Had she been there with a group of people? Family, maybe? But family wouldn’t have left her.

  He grimaced and looked past her. “No ma’am. Just the one set.”

  “But I don’t understand. . .”

  “I think maybe the man that made those prints was. . .was carrying you. I think maybe he put you in the creek.”

  She pulled out the chair her hand was on and sat before her trembling legs buckled. “You mean. . .someone threw me in the creek?” Her eyes searched his face, ignoring the scorn he seemed to have for her.

  His cold stare wavered, then recovered. “I’m sorry. That’s the way it appears. So you have any idea why someone might want you dead?” His eyes drifted to her neck, then looked away.

  He cleared his throat. “I rode into town but nobody has seen anyone camping on this side of town in the last few days.”

  She nodded and covered her throat with her hand, softly rubbing the painful welts that scarred it. The information he had for her was useless, but at least she could feel more at ease about the closeness of her would be killer. “I. . .no. I wish I could remember.”

  Supporting her weight with the table, she stood and tried to hand the items to him; her fingers touched his strong hand, sending a fiery bolt through her arm. He jerked his hand away the same moment as hers touched it.

  He took a step back. “You’d better keep them. Maybe they’ll spark a bit of your memory.” He turned and walked out the door, almost slamming it behind him.

  She sat back in the chair, willing her racing heart to calm, as well as to push away the ugly thought he had conveyed to her. The thought that had been spinning through her mind since she’d first caught site of the marks on her throat.

  Someone had tried to kill her. And Jared had found proof.

  ***

  Jared slowed his steps as he approached the barn. The locket hadn’t made much of an impression, but she had seemed unsure when he’d handed her the knife. And when those green eyes had searched his face, it was all he could do not to reach out and touch her cheek, assure her everything was alright. That he would keep her safe.

  How pathetic can you get, Jared? Was he so lonely that he would be attracted to a woman without even a name? It was ridiculous to even consider such a thought. Soon, she would recover her memory and be on her way back to her own family. Maybe even her husband. The last thought left a cold sensation in his stomach.

  Seth looked up from the far stall the moment Jared stepped into the barn. “So what did she say?”

  “Says she’s never seen the knife or the locket.” He took a pitchfork hanging on the wall and headed for the pile of hay in the corner. “Can’t seem to remember anything about them.”

  “Probably will eventually,” Seth suggested, stooping to scratch the ears of the yellow striped barn cat. “I mean, since she can’t even remember her name, seems right she probably won’t recognize much else.”

  “If she’s telling the truth,” Jared argued, pitching a forkful of hay into a nearby stall. “She sure took her time looking at the funny little knif
e. Like maybe she knew what it was for.” At least it had seemed that way.

  Seth nodded and removed an empty bucket from one of the horse’s stalls, replacing it with a full container. “But she didn’t admit to recognizing it?”

  Jared stood still and leaned on the handle of the pitch fork. “I can’t help but be a little suspicious of her memory lapse. Seems pretty convenient, considering someone must want her dead.”

  Scratching his head, Seth stared at his older sibling. “I can’t think of any reason why she’d try to hide who she is. It’s not like we’d throw her out the minute she told us her name,” he laughed.

  Jared’s eyes narrowed. “When a woman wants to keep a secret, there’s not much you can do to get it out of her. And maybe she has good reason to hide who she really is. What if she’s running away from the law? I don‘t hold much to harboring a criminal in my house.”

  The younger brother gathered up an armful of hay and tossed it into the freshly cleaned stall. “She doesn’t look like any criminal to me. Seems nice.”

  Jared gripped the handle of the implement tighter. If there was one thing he didn’t need, it was a lecture from a nineteen year old. Seth probably had a point, but he was too innocent when it came to women. Too young to know that they could look you straight in the eyes and lie with a smile on their face.

  “You just watch what you say to her. And you don’t have to believe everything she tells you, either.” It was something he needed to keep reminding himself of, too. Especially when those pretty emerald eyes were looking into his own.

  Seth sighed and shook his head as he latched the stall shut, giving the dark mare a pat on her nose as she nuzzled against his hand. “You’ve got to let the past go, brother. Else, it’ll ruin your whole life.”