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

by Mary L. Briggs

  ***

  The light glowed soft and low in the room, the yellow rose wallpaper fading into the restful shadows. Missy sighed and leaned back on the pillows staring at the gold locket in her hand. It was pretty, feminine. Any woman would be proud to wear it. And maybe it belonged to her. A Christmas gift from someone special, perhaps. Surely she had a home somewhere and they were looking for her, wondering what had become of her.

  Jared’s words still hung cold in her heart. Someone had deliberately tried to drown her in Chance Creek. Would they come back if they found out she still lived?

  She shivered and snuggled deeper under the quilt. If only this was really her own room. Her own family that she’d eaten supper with. Instead, she was a stranger to the group of people that had saved her, fed her, accepted her into the household. How long could they go on taking care of her?

  What am I supposed to think, Lord? The Murphy’s have been so good to me and I don’t know how I’ll ever pay them back. But their love and acceptance of me doesn’t replace my need to know who I really am.

  Tears threatened and she blinked them back. This was no time for crying. She had to reason out what had happened. Somewhere out there was someone who knew her. Surely they were looking for her. She reached over and took the watch from the table, holding it in her hands, as if to warm them. Something about this piece was special to her. If only she could remember the man that owned it.

  A burst of cool wind sent the lacey curtains over the window flying high in the air. She stared at the square of open air that looked out into the darkness. Legs trembling, she scrambled from the bed and slammed the window shut. She tucked the curtains together and wished there was some heavier fabric to cover over the dark panes. Anyone could be out there looking in. Possibly even the man that had thrown her into the creek.

  She shook the ugly thought from her head and went to the lamp on the table beside the bed. The fire flickered at her first blow, then died to all but a tiny spark on the wick. Please, Lord, keep me safe. . .and let me remember.

  Chapter 6

  His eyes slid in her direction. She was silent, staring at the scenery as they slowly made the ride to the creek, taking in each detail of the path. It had been her idea to come. He would have just as soon she remained back at the ranch with his aunt. But she had insisted she needed to see the place they’d found her. Would she remember something from the day someone had tried to murder her?

  Or did she already know where they were going? He shook the thought away. She’d done nothing to make him think she was lying. Maybe Seth was right; he was letting the past determine how he felt about the present. Not a good way to conduct his thoughts, and hardly fair to her.

  Too many times in the last few days, he'd seen a look in her eyes, a yearning, as if she was searching inside, willing herself to grasp something, as if she knew the answer to her own question, but the solution was just beyond her grasp.

  The purple bruises around her throat were beginning to yellow and fade. He swallowed hard and looked away. Having someone choke away the very air that sustained you was hard to imagine. If she was telling the truth about not remembering, in many ways, that could be best for her.

  “I didn’t realize the spot was so far from the house,” she broke the silence.

  He nodded and kept his eyes straight ahead. He had tried his best to insist that she ride in the wagon with Seth, but she had wanted to ride one of the horses. If it was already getting to be too much for her in her weakened state, he doubted she would admit it.

  “Almost three quarters of a mile. I’m sure whoever it was that tried to. . .hurt you, made sure there were no houses in sight.”

  She gave a small laugh. “You mean that tried to kill me.”

  She was a straight talker for a woman. First he’d met. “That’s right. Whoever tossed you into the water never expected you to come out alive.”

  She was silent for a moment, pulling the straw hat his aunt had loaned her lower on her face, as if to hide from the shadow of her near death. “I’m wondering if he knows I‘m still alive.”

  Jared shrugged. It was a statement, not a question. Something he had asked himself a few times. “I guess it depends on how much confidence he has in himself. I reckon most would get out of here as soon as possible.” Visions of the tracks he’d found swam through his head. With a lame horse, you wouldn’t get very far. You’d be forced to stick around until you could replace the animal.

  She nodded and smiled. “Sounds like the smart thing to do.” Her eyes narrowed and she lowered her voice. “But I guess that all depends on why he wanted me dead.”

  She was right. Whoever the man was, he may have had strong reasons, at least in his own mind, of why he needed rid of her. Jared gave a brief glance her way. “What is it you hope to find when we get there?”

  She shook her head. "I'm not sure. I just thought being there might trigger some sort of recall. Anything might help. I. . .I need to remember. Until I do. . .”

  The desperation in her voice sent his sympathy soaring. How could he doubt her? He checked his compassion and ignored the sudden racing of his heart. If he somehow helped her remember, she'd be out of his life, out of his house, and on her way to wherever she had been going. With her gone, he would stop thinking about her. Stop listening for her voice when she walked out to the well, or sat chatting on the porch with Aunt Della.

  Ignoring the pang of guilt in his gut, he gave the horse a small kick and moved on ahead. He felt a smile twitching at his lips as she did the same. She was not a woman to be outdone. No doubt, if she knew the way, she would insist on leading.

  Missy reached up and patted the horse's neck. "What's her name?"

  "Mark says she was the toughest to break. He calls her Grit."

  She laughed. "Maybe we’re a good match for each other. If there’s one thing I need right now, it’s grit.”

  ***

  Standing on the edge of the bank, she watched the water as it hurried along, tumbling over protruding rocks and old tree branches caught along the bank, rushing to get to wherever it was going.

  “It’s headed on down to Revolutionary Creek and then onto King Creek,” Jared said, stepping up beside her.

  She stared at him for a moment. He had answered her very thoughts. “It’s beautiful.”

  He nodded. “Right over here is where we found the boot prints,” he said, his fingers barely touching her elbow as he lead her to the site he and Seth had explored the day she had been found.

  So this was the spot. She stared at the slope of the creek, as mud oozed it’s way around the soles of her boots. Now her prints would be left here instead of the man that had thrown her in. The thought of that unknown male sent a river of coldness down her back. What had she done to inspire such hatred?

  She crossed her arms and shivered. She had to remember. It put her at a distinct disadvantage to whoever it was that wanted her dead. The man could walk right up to her and she would never recognize him. She would never feel safe until she could remember his face.

  The sound of wooden barrels scraping across the wagon bed drew her attention away from her troubling thoughts. Taking a deep breath, she turned and gave her energy to the task at hand. Water for the laundry.

  ***

  Jared laughed. “You don’t have to work so fast, you know. Slow down a little. Laundry day’s not until tomorrow,” he told her, handing another bucketful to Seth, who poured it into one of the large barrels.

  She shrugged and headed back to the creek. It felt good to be doing something with purpose. Aunt Della had refused to let her help much around the house. This gave her a reason to let her mind rest from its constant hurry to remember whatever her life had been before the Murphy’s rescued her.

  She stepped into the shallow part and dipped the bucket into the cold, rushing water. Water that she’d been under only a few days ago. A slight tremor ran down her back. Her memory was sketchy, but she remembered the sensation of not being able to breath,
the rocks under her hands as she pulled herself from the would-be grave.

  “Here, give it to me,” Jared insisted, holding his hand out for the pail.

  She shook her head. “I’m fine. Really. I’m not some delicate flower that has to be pampered.”

  He stared and pushed his hat back from his forehead. “That wasn’t exactly what I was thinking, ma’am. You’ve been hurt. Injured. You’re not fully recovered.”

  She held on to the container as she felt heat rush to her cheeks. “I’m sorry. That sounded rude. I didn’t mean–”

  “Just give me the bucket,” he insisted, stepping beside her, his fingers closing next to hers over the handle.

  “I said I can get it,” she argued, pulling back, splashing some of the icy liquid on her skirt, sending a shiver down her legs. Didn’t he understand that she needed to take care of herself? Be able to pull her own weight? She was not going to spend the rest of her life being indebted to this family. They’d already done far more for her than she was able to repay.

  He kept his hold. “Just stop being so stubborn and give it to me.”

  She laughed. “Me? I’m not the one being pig-headed. I can take it myself,” she insisted, giving another tug, harder than before.

  His eyes widened and he reached his other hand toward her, as if to balance himself.

  “No. No, wait!” She dug her heels into the rocky bottom, but it was too late. He seemed to teeter for a moment before pitching forward. Still gripping the handle, she was desperate to let go, but her fingers were tangled with his. He was pulling her down with him. Her boots slipped on the slimy rocks and water splashed her face as she plopped down beside him.

  The chilly water seeped into her skirt and soaked up her blouse, blasting the breath from her lungs. But one look at the astonishment on Jared’s face sent laughter bubbling inside her.

  “Oh, Jared, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. . .” She put a wet hand over her mouth and hiccupped to hold back the giggle that tickled her throat. Hat on his head, soaked to the bone, he looked too serious to tease at the moment, like a little boy that just swallowed the watermelon seed he was about to spit.

  Seth’s laughter rang out from the bank. “Bet she’ll let you carry it now, Jared!”

  Her eyes widened as a flood of scarlet crept up Jared’s neck and covered his face. So far no hint of a smile had threatened to cross his lips. No doubt his sense of humor was iced over. She cleared her throat. “Are you. . .alright?”

  He pushed himself up from the stream and offered her his hand. “I’m fine, Miss. I trust you are, too,” he said, ignoring the hoots of laughter from his brother. “You’ll have to excuse Seth’s bad manners.”

  Feeling the chill of the water beginning to sink in, she took his hand. Her teeth chattering, she nodded, “Y-yes. I’m alright. I’m sorry. I guess I should have…”

  “Just an accident,” he said, avoiding her eyes as he bent to pick up the bucket that lay on its side. “There ought to be a blanket folded under the seat. You go wrap yourself up. Now.” He turned toward the shore. “Seth! Get that blanket and get it around her.”

  Chapter 7

  “Now, you’re sure you’ll be alright?” Della Murphy stood poised at the door, shawl on, reticule in her hand. “I won’t be home from Mrs. Scope’s house until at least two o’clock. I thought she could use some help, seeing it‘s just her and the two young ‘uns since her husband died.”

  Missy smiled. “I’m certain she’ll appreciate your help. And don’t worry. I’ve watched you make the cornbread every day. I can do it.” The words sounded more confident than she felt after a few housekeeping mishaps earlier in the week. Nearly burning a hole in Jared’s dress shirt had assured everyone that she’d never ironed before. But surely she could make a pan of cornbread unsupervised.

  Aunt Della smiled. “Of course you can. Now, the beans, and potato soup are on the stove to stay warm, and there’s a buttermilk pie in the pantry. Those boys won’t even notice I’m gone.”

  Missy stood in the door way and watched until the wagon was lost to her sight. One of the brothers, Mark she thought, shouted to Seth from out behind the barn. They were busy trying to break a couple of new horses that Jared had brought home yesterday. Maybe if she got the time, she would go watch. Jared hadn’t been what one might call friendly with her this last week. Probably still sore over his freezing plunge in the creek. But at least he had been civil and polite.

  Turning, she stared at the kitchen, left all to herself. An uneasy tremor rolled inside of her. Had she ever made a meal before? She shook her head. Stop being silly. She wasn’t making a meal, only cornbread. Aunt Della said she could make it early, but she wanted it to be hot for the brothers.

  In the meantime, she could work a little more on the quilt squares Della had stacked in the basket by the fireplace. Taking a seat in the rocking chair, she admired her own handiwork. If nothing else, she seemed to be a good seamstress. Aunt Della told her they were the straightest, most even stitches she’d ever seen.

  Missy sighed. Somewhere inside of her was a woman who at least knew how to sew a straight line. If only she could discover some other talent. Every morning she awoke with the hope that this would be the day.

  It’s been almost two weeks, Lord. When am I going to remember who I am? I don’t feel right having to depend on the Murphy’s for everything. I know that You know who I am. Just please let me know, too.

  The distant sound of galloping hooves drew her back to the door. Two men on horseback were approaching. For the first time in several days, fear sparked inside of her. Out here on the ranch, she felt safe from whoever it was that had tried to kill her. But with the men out back, she would be alone to greet these riders.

  She glanced to her left and saw a rifle leaning against the wall. Grabbing it, she shut the door and stood at the window as they approached. Her eyes on them, she failed to hear the back door open.

  Strong hands covered hers and jerked the rifle from her grasp. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  She stared up into angry cobalt eyes. “I…I just…”

  “For all you know, you don’t even know how to shoot.”

  She swallowed hard at the bitterness in his words. She could shoot. She was sure of it. All the same, she was glad he was here. “I’m sorry. . .it’s just–”

  Ignoring her, Jared walked out the door, leaving it ajar. Missy stepped close to the opening, hoping to hear their conversation.

  “Mornin’, Sheriff,” Jared spoke as they pulled the horses to a stop.

  The sheriff? She clutched the front of her apron and held her breath. She could hear the men dismounting from the horses.

  “Mornin’, Jared. Mr. Lloyd here says he saw a blond headed woman running out of his store late last week, leaving the till open behind her. A twenty dollar gold piece is missing from it. Says she got away before he could catch her. I thought we might ought to take a look at the woman you and Della found by the creek.”

  Missy turned and pushed her back against the wall. A blond headed woman? Could she have done something like that? Had she been so desperate that she’d turned into a thief? If so, maybe that was why someone tried to kill her. Scenarios swept through her mind of reasons she might steal from someone. But none of them were justified. And nothing inside told her she was capable of taking something that wasn’t hers. But how could she ever prove it?

  The door squeaked open wider and Jared stepped inside. His eyes were shaded in the low light of the room. “I need you to come out here on the porch for a minute, Miss.”

  She took a deep breath and pushed herself away from the wall. Her eyes met his and for a moment she was sure there was a flash of compassion in them. Maybe somewhere underneath all of the animosity there was a soft-hearted man.

  “You first,” he said, holding the door for her.

  Her boots on the boards as she walked to the edge of the porch, her eyes on the lawman.

  “Howdy ma’am, I’m Sheriff B
arley,” he tipped his hat. “Do you recognize this gentleman?”

  She stared at Mr. Lloyd, a short, stout man, with tobacco juice stains on his chin and hands. She squirmed as his eyes seemed to be taking a little bit too much pleasure in looking her up and down.

  Jared stepped beside her, the rifle cradled in his arms. “Well? Is this her?” He sounded angry, as if the man was trespassing on his property, accusing him of harboring a criminal.

  The portly man nodded his head and grinned. “Says she can’t remember nothin’, huh? Well, that’d be her, alright. Couldn’t forget a pretty face like that,” he answered, stretching his neck a bit to get a better look at her.

  Everything inside of her froze. The world began a slow spin in front of her and she clutched the post beside her, splinters piercing her arm as she held her balance.

  “Well, then. Guess I’ve got an arrest to make,” the sheriff started forward.

  “Oh, no. That won’t be necessary,” Mr. Lloyd argued, stepping up beside him. “She can work off that twenty dollars in a couple of months. And I’ve got a room in back of the store for her to stay in. She’ll be nice and comfortable back there.”

  The stranger’s greedy expression bored into her very being. Her legs begin to slump and she pressed harder against her support. Her heart skipped a beat as strong fingers circled her elbow.

  “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Lloyd. I’m sure we can work things out to your satisfaction,” Jared stated, his fingers gripping her tighter. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

  He steered her inside the house and shut the door behind them.

  Hysterical laughter threatened to erupt from her throat. She swallowed hard and looked at him as she pulled her arm from his grasp. “If we’ve come inside to get my things, I don’t have any to pack. I guess I’ll just go with them as I am.”