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

by Mary L. Briggs

  "Some," he answered, giving the big bay some encouragement with another slap of the rein. "The ranch belongs to my two brothers, as well. We raise a lot of horses, as well as a few crops. My oldest brother, Jared, used to sell the horses to the army. But there’s too much competition these days for a smaller ranch. We mostly just market them to individuals. . .ranchers, cowboys, and sometimes the livery in town."

  She adjusted her hat, shading her neck from the sun. “I heard a man talking on the ship. He said the new motorized vehicles are going to replace the horse for transportation.”

  Mark laughed and glanced at her. “Never happen. Would you like for me to put the top up on the buggy? I know the sun is getting hot.”

  He looked nice when he laughed. And he was a good escort, very thoughtful. “No, I’m fine, thank you. Have you seen many of the vehicles?”

  “Not in Chance, but I’ve seen a few in other towns. A fellow had one in San Antonio last year when I was down there to pick up an order of lumber. Lots of folks were crowding around him, wanting to ride in the thing.”

  The fact that he had been so close to one piqued her interest. “Did you? Ride in it, I mean?”

  He looked at her, his eyes widening. “Me? No. No thank you. Why? Have you been in one?”

  She shook her head, enjoying the tiny breeze the movement created. “No. My grandfather said they’re an abomination. He wouldn’t even allow one to be driven onto the estate.”

  “Sounds like he was a smart man,” Mark grinned. “The things are noisy and loud. I’ll take a horse, any day. The fuel for them is right here along the roadside,” he pointed to the grass growing up the bank. “And no rusty parts,” he laughed.

  She returned the laugh and pulled the handkerchief from her sleeve, dabbing at her mouth. “Is it always this hot in the spring?”

  He shrugged and studied the sky for a moment. “I think we’re probably heading into some rain up ahead. We’ll stop at the Mercantile in Goodwin and take a break. Maybe a shower will cool the weather for the rest of the ride.”

  ***

  It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the low light of the store. She closed them for a moment and let her nose take in a whiff of tobacco . . .and. . .fresh baked bread? She opened them and looked around.

  The mercantile wasn’t at all what she expected. She’d never been in a shop that sold so many items. Back in the village near Long Meadows, she usually went into individual shops for each purchase. Here, one could buy a dress, shoes, and food all at the same place. She shook her head. It was going to take some time to get used to America.

  “Why Mark! It’s so good to see you, young man!”

  Addie turned toward the display of hair pins to see the smiling face of a middle-aged woman, her light blond hair pulled tight in a bun. A crisp white apron covered the bright blue calico wrapper she wore. Her friendly smile gave away the fact that she was genuinely pleased to see Mark.

  “Hello, Mrs. Swanson,” he smiled, taking his hat from his head. “How are you?”

  She nodded. “Just fine. And how’s that family of your doing? I haven’t seen any of them over this way for a while.”

  “They’re all doing fine, ma’am. And this is Miss Fleming. Samuel Fleming’s daughter.” He turned to Addie. “This is Mrs. Swanson, manager of the mercantile.”

  Addie nodded and smiled. “It is very nice to meet you.”

  Surprise washed across the older woman’s face. “Why, you’re the daughter from England, aren’t you? I’d heard you were coming. I hope you had a nice voyage.”

  Three hours away from the ranch and they knew she was coming? Had her father sent out riders to the countryside to announce her arrival? “Yes. . .yes, I am. And, the voyage was mostly calm, save a few storms.”

  Mark chuckled and leaned against the counter and turned to Addie. “Word gets around these parts pretty fast.”

  Mrs. Swanson nodded her head in agreement and walked to the cash register. “What can I get for you today, Mark? Or are you just stopping by for a rest? If so, I’ve got some cool water in that barrel over there, as well as some bread just out of the oven.”

  Mark glanced at Addie. “She makes the best bread and pastry in the area. Folks drive for miles for a taste of Mrs. Swanson’s apple bread.”

  “Oh, you stop that flattery, Mr. Murphy,” she laughed. She looked toward Addie. “He knows how to wrangle a free loaf from me any day. Why don’t you two take a seat at that table in the back and I’ll bring you a nice treat.”

  ***

  Addie tucked the shiny green apple into her bag. Mrs. Swanson had insisted she take the fruit. But the bread, cheese, and cider had left no room in her stomach for anything else. And if she couldn’t eat it later, it might be a good treat for the horse a few miles down the road.

  “Your father’s place will be in sight, in another couple of hours or so.”

  Her fingers gripped the buggy seat, digging into the soft leather. Just the thought of standing face to face with her father sent her heart pounding in her ears. In her heart, she knew that lashing out at him would be a mistake. Hiding her true feelings would be a challenge, but she must try. She had no alternative but to come and live with him. What sort of greeting was the man expecting from her?

  “He’s been making a few improvements to get ready for your arrival,” Mark told her, offering a smile. “He’s anxious to see you.”

  Improvements? “I suppose he has a farm house?”

  Mark shrugged. “It’s nice. Some better than a farmhouse.”

  “Something like. . ..like those?” She pointed to a white framed house, a narrow trail leading up the hill to the home.

  He shook his head and gave the reins a slight slap on the horse’s back. “No, Miss. Your father has a stone house. Very nice. The largest house near Chance. Folks drive out to his ranch just to take a look at the outside. It’s very unusual for these parts.”

  Surprise flooded inside of her. “I guess the ranch has changed a lot since my mother and I returned to England. After all, it has been over twenty years.”

  ***

  Rumors and gossip about Samson Fleming swarmed inside his head. This young woman had no memory of her own father. No relationship with him. No idea how hard Samson Fleming had worked to make Blue Seven Ranch a place of beauty. Though largely for show, Mark knew the man felt a sense of belonging to the place he called home. And surely Mr. Fleming hoped the same for his daughter.

  “I don‘t suppose the house was built when you and your mother went back to England. I think you’ll be pleased with what you see.” The girl didn’t seem the least anxious to see her own father. Wasn’t she hoping for more than just a nice house to live in?

  She sighed. “I’m sure it will be fine.”

  Mark gave a quick glance at her face. Her jaw was stiff, her eyes straight ahead. He winced and looked away. Shame soaked through him. She had been turned out of her only home in the country where she grew up, sent on an ocean voyage she never meant to take, and had no idea what sort of life she was walking into. Now she was on her way to meet a man that time had erased from her childhood memories. The least he could do was be supportive.

  Mark gave a slight pull on the reins and slowed the horse a bit. “Horse is getting tired. Just thought I’d slow him for a few minutes.”

  Her eyes held his for a long moment and then she nodded and smiled.

  Maybe his were deceiving him, but he was sure there was a tinge of appreciation in her face.

  ***

  She readjusted her hat and breathed in another breath of hot, wet air. Any steamier, and she would begin to melt. Dabbing her forehead with her soggy handkerchief, she glanced at the sky. It was still cloudy. Perhaps a shower would be nice.

  Mark skillfully led the horse around the numerous holes filled with water. Addie stared at the swift running water that ran in the ditch alongside them, proving that a heavy shower had been through the area. But Mark’s prediction of the weather cooling off the temper
atures had been inaccurate. If anything, it was warmer than before.

  “Looks like we just missed the rain,” he said, glancing at her. “At least we didn’t get wet. Good thing we stopped for that chat with Mrs. Miller.”

  She nodded and searched her mind for something pleasant to say. “I suppose all the cotton will appreciate the precipitation.”

  “It will be good. . .they’ve had quite a downpour through here,” he answered, pulling back on the reins, easing the buggy to a stop.

  “Oh my!” She leaned forward and stared, forgetting the perspiration pouring down her neck. Her eyes took in the pool of water, a virtual small lake, covering the road just ahead. Sitting back in her seat, she turned to him. “What will we do?”

  ***

  Mark studied the situation for a few moments, his fingers fidgeted against the slick leather strap in his hand. It was up to him to get her safely to her father. If he was alone, he might chance riding through the water. It couldn’t be very deep, but if the road had washed away more than he assumed. . . and proper English woman that she was, she probably couldn’t swim if things went wrong.

  Finally he looked at her and spoke. “We’ll turn around. At that last little settlement we came through, there’s a road that winds around this part of the main road. It’s narrow, but not much traveled on it. It’s higher ground, too. We ought to be able to pass through and come out about a mile up ahead of where we are now.”

  She nodded and appeared to relax against the seat.

  He breathed out the breath he’d been holding. At least she seemed to trust his judgment. It only he had as much confidence. That higher pass could be tricky if it had as much rain as this valley area. But there was no way he was going through what was in front of them. The choice was made.

  “It will be prettier going on this little side road, anyway,” he told her. “No cotton fields back there. Mostly cattle and sheep. A few ranches, as well as some wooded areas.”

  “Oh, it sounds lovely.”

  He winced at her tone. So much for trying to make nice conversation. He loved this part of Texas, but to a stranger, it must look fairly uninteresting. And she didn’t seem like a woman that would be fascinated by ranch talk. Maybe the time would go by fast, once they made it back to the main road. A man could hope.

  Chapter 13

  Addie cringed as the wheel struck another rock. Her teeth were going to shake right out of her head if they kept going on this lonesome back lane. The main road had been much smoother. Horses crossed water all the time. Why hadn’t they just gone through the water? Maybe Mark Murphy wasn’t as competent as her father judged him to be.

  “Sorry about that,” he gave her a sheepish grin. “Looks like they had heavy showers up here, too. Washed up a lot of rock. It won’t be long now and we’ll be heading back down the hillside to the main road. I just hope we don’t get any more rain,” he said, his eyes looking up at the darkening sky.

  She nodded and looked away, not willing to let him see the anger in her eyes. This was all her father’s fault. He should have chosen someone more competent to retrieve her from the ship. Someone that at least knew how to drive, she added, clutching hard to the side of the buggy seat as the wheel found another large rock.

  The sudden burst of thunder caught her by surprise. The large bay, nervous at best, lurched forward, and Mark all but stood on his feet to pull him back. “Whoa, there, boy! Whoa!”

  The horse was barely settled when another loud rumble, followed by a bolt of dazzling light, sent the horse into another frenzy.

  “Hang on!” Mark yelled above the thunder and horse’s whinny.

  Addie clutched tighter as the buggy began to race forward. She glanced at Mark. The muscles in his forearms bulged tight under his sleeves as he pulled back with all his might, but the noise and flashes of light were too much for the big animal, now crazed with fright.

  “Whoa! Whoa!” Mark shouted above the thunder. But it had no effect on the animal.

  “No. . .no!” she whispered aloud, clutching tighter to the buggy as it seemed to speed out of control. She closed her eyes, and for the first time in a long while, she prayed. Please get us through this, Lord. Please calm the horse and let us live. I’ll do my best to be a good daughter to my father. I’ll do. . .I’ll do. . .

  A loud clacking sound interrupted her plea. She opened her eyes just as the horse screamed in pain as a large rock seemed to bounce off of his side.

  “Put your head down and cover it,” Mark shouted above the shrieking of the horse and the clatter of rocks falling fast from the hillside above them.

  After a moment, she realized the screaming she was hearing was her own. Her heart raced out of control and it was hard to breathe. She shut her eyes and concentrated on holding tight.

  The buggy began to sway and lurch to the side. She was going to die. Right here on this wretched hillside in Texas. She would never see her father, never tell him what she thought about the way he had treated her mother.

  A loud cracking filled the air and the buggy beneath her began to teeter. She opened her eyes to see the world spinning around and turning upside down. She hit the ground with a force that stole the breath from her lungs. Small stones pressed into her back, sending sharp stabs of pain down her legs. She tried to breathe, but it was as if her lungs had been closed. Help me, please help me, Lord.

  After what seemed an eternity, strong arms scooped her from the road. She opened her eyes. Mark. He was carrying her. His hat was missing from his head and there was blood on his face.

  He gently set her down beneath a large pine tree. The ground was soft and welcome after the stony road and she closed her eyes for a moment, grateful for the release from pain. She opened her eyes and moved as water began to seep into her clothes. A shiver of cold ran down her back and she closed her eyes again.

  ***

  Mark knelt beside her as he carefully arranged her on the bed of pine needles. Her dress was wet and muddy, but there was no sign of blood. Please, please let her be alright, Lord. Help me to get her safely to her father. He’s trusting me with her life. And right now, I don’t feel like I’m doing such a good job of protecting her.

  “Miss Fleming? Addie? Can you hear me?” Her eyes fluttered open again and met his. She seemed dazed, unable to answer.

  “Just breathe slowly, Miss Fleming. Take your time. You’re alright. Everything is going to be fine.”

  “Just. . .just let me sit up, please,” she said, placing her hands beside her, ready to push herself up.

  Mark put his arms around her shoulders and felt the warmth of her skin beneath the fabric. He pulled her to a sitting position. “How do you feel?”

  Her eyes focused on his face. “You’re bleeding.” She reached up and touched his cheek.

  Despite the cold breeze, her fingers made a fiery path as they brushed his skin. The sharp pain that bolted through him as she found the wound was barely noticeable.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Not much.” He wrapped his fingers around hers and he took them from his face. The same blistering sparks ran through his hand. What was wrong with him? “What about you. Do you feel pain anywhere? Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head and felt the top of her hair. “My hat’s gone. And so is yours.”

  Mark nodded. “We’ll find them.” She still seemed dazed by the accident. If only he could be sure that she wasn’t injured. For the moment, he would have to take her word as fact. A soft whinny from behind reminded him of another task he had to attend to. One he never liked to face.

  ***

  Addie took a deep breath as Mark began to stand. She held her hand to him for assistance. Despite the pelting bits of rain, her dress seemed to be soaking more moisture from the pine needles beneath her.

  He hesitated. “There’s. . .” he glanced toward the overturned buggy, “there’s something I have to do.”

  She let her eyes follow his. Her heart lurched as she spotted the horse on its side. The b
uggy, turned over and twisted beside the animal.

  “Are you going to see to the horse?”

  Mark nodded and wiped the rain from his chin. “Now you stay here and don‘t try to get up on your own.”

  If only she could, but her ankle was beginning to throb.

  He looked away and rubbed the trickle of blood that ran down his cheek. His hand went to the pistol he had holstered at his side.

  “No!” She screamed, attempting to scramble to her feet without his help. She fell back with a sharp cry as the pain surged from her ankle to her foot. “Wait! You can’t do that!”

  He turned back to her. “Listen to me. . .”

  “No! Help me up,” She commanded. She could see the reluctance in his eyes as he reached for her outstretched hand. “Take me to him. Now.” She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. She would not cry in front of this lower-classed cowboy.

  She cautiously tested her weight on her foot. A shot of pain charged to her knee. She grit her teeth and forced herself to take a step. Her fingers dug into his arm with each movement. But she was determined. The rain was beginning to wane, but the few cold drops washed away the beads of perspiration growing on her lip.

  “Let me down,“ she said, as they reached the animal. Kneeling beside the injured horse, she began to stroke the rain-drenched neck, feeling the flailing heartbeat beneath her fingers. The bay gave a slight snort and closed its eyes. A quiet whinny sounded.

  Mark‘s voice was soft and kind. “Addie, he’s hurt bad. No one can help him.”

  She looked up at him. He was wrong. He had to be. “It’s not right. We should try to do something for him.”