His Innocent Bride (The Brides of Paradise Ranch (Spicy Version) Book 11)

by Merry Farmer

  Julia lifted her head from where she’d shrunk against Sam’s side, but before she could protest and say that no, she didn’t understand what had just happened, Sam said, “Yep, I know.”

  Julia frowned up at him, but something about the cool, calm certainty that radiated from Sam stilled the grieving, aching part of her heart that had wanted everything to turn out differently.

  “You’re still planning to head out this morning?” Athos asked, a father’s concern in his eyes.

  Hubert nodded, stepping over to clap his hand on his father’s shoulder. “Yes, Pops. I have to.”

  Athos nodded, giving his son a smile that was both proud and sad. When he let go, Hubert straightened and turned to the others.

  “Thanks for your help,” he said. “It means a lot to me. But if you don’t mind—” He looked to Sam and Julia in particular. “—I think I’m going to leave. I need to be alone to think about this for a bit.”

  “Understood,” Sam said. Even Julia was beginning to feel like she could see what needed to happen. “You take care, and if you need anything, please ask.”

  Hubert nodded to him, then smiled and nodded at Julia. “Take care of Bebe for me. Make sure she’s not too upset. I will be back.”

  The earnestness of his request ran so deep that Julia found herself in tears again. She nodded, blinking fast. “I will,” she managed to squeeze out.

  Hubert gave them all one final wave, then turned to leave. It felt as though the life and heart of the saloon left with him. For the first time in a long time, perhaps ever in her life, Julia felt as if something momentous had happened to her. She stared at the saloon door, feeling as though part of her innocence had walked out along with her friends. Because true love didn’t necessarily always conquer all. And sometimes difficult decisions had to be made in order to do what was right.

  “You okay, sweetheart?” Sam’s comforting voice, coupled with the way he rubbed a hand across her back, caused a whole other rash of sensations to blossom in her.

  She nodded, trying to smile, then shook her head and buried her face against his shoulder.

  “Aw, honey.” His voice was so sympathetic, so tender, that she burst into tears all over again.

  But his arms around her were strong, and his cheek against her forehead as he held her sent warmth through her. She closed her arms around him and held him tight. Bebe and Hubert might still have a difficult road ahead of them, but life had been uncommonly good to her. It had landed her in the arms of a good man, a man who would put aside his own concerns to help her with hers. And even though things hadn’t turned out the way she wanted them to, he was there with her, holding her up and holding her close.

  “I love you, Sam,” she said, tilting her head up to him at last. “I might not know much, and I might not be very good at anything, but I love you.”

  Sam’s lips twitched into a sympathetic, heated, glorious smile. “Sweetheart, you’re good at a lot of things. More important, you’re a good person and a good friend.”

  “I don’t know if I’d say that.”

  “I would.” He nodded. “Not many women would go to the lengths you went to for Bebe and Hubert. And I’ve no doubt that you’ll be of great comfort to Bebe in the coming days.”

  “If her father lets me near her,” she said, filled with sudden dread.

  “If he doesn’t, he’ll have to answer to me,” Sam assured her with a kiss.

  “Seems to me like any woman in town would be proud to call you her friend, Mrs. Standish,” Solomon said. “I’ll have a word with Honoria about inviting you to tea sometime soon.”

  “And I’ll ask Wendy the same thing,” Travis added. “She’s been wanting to meet you properly for some time.”

  “Elspeth too,” Athos added.

  “You’re all so kind,” Julia said, prying herself away from Sam’s side to smile at them, even as she wiped away her tears. “I would be delighted to meet all of your wives.”

  “Perfect,” Travis said. “Which just leaves me with one question.”

  “What’s that?” Sam asked.

  Travis looked around, the other men following suit. “What the hell happened in here?”

  “Yeah, I was wondering that myself,” Gus—who had been silent up until that point—added.

  Sam looked around at the torn-up floorboards and displaced stones from the fireplace. He ran a hand over his face. “That’s a long story.”

  “We’re hunting for treasure,” Julia said, her enthusiasm slowly coming back to her. “Train robbers hid their loot in the saloon somewhere.”

  “They what?” Solomon blinked and shook his head.

  Julia nodded, smiling. “They robbed a train, then moved the loot from payroll sacks to old flour sacks. And then they hid it in the saloon. We don’t know how much it is because we haven’t found it yet, but we have to find it soon, before One-Eyed Betty the whore comes to claim it.”

  “Wait, wait. One-Eyed Betty?” Athos asked, waving his hands in front of him as if to clear away a fog. “Train robbers hiding loot in the saloon?”

  “Yes,” Julia said, the very thought of it sending a thrill through her all over again.

  “In flour sacks?”

  “Yes?” Sam’s tone was far more suspicious, and as Athos began to laugh, Sam gave him a narrow-eyed look. “What?”

  “That’s a story,” he said, his laughter growing. “One of those dime novels. I read them to my kids at night. One-Eyed Betty and the train robbery loot stashed in a flour sack in the saloon is part of the plot of the latest novel by Ellis Fairchild, The Marshall’s Terror.”

  “What?” Sam barked, his tone flat, not at all amused.

  “Oh! The Marshall’s Terror. I haven’t read that one yet,” Julia said. “It’s new.”

  “Hold on,” Solomon said, shifting his weight to one hip as a broad grin spread across his lips. “Ellis Fairchild. Isn’t that the name of that author fellow who came through town last spring?”

  “Yeah,” Gus said, brightening. “I sat right over there and played cards with him. He said he liked to visit towns on the frontier and stay in saloons while he wrote so that he could get a feel for, what’d he call it? Setting.” He nodded and wagged his finger at Sam. “You had a famous author under your roof and you didn’t even know it.”

  “A famous author who maybe left some handwritten notes lying around where someone might find them?” Travis added, chuckling.

  “You mean, it’s all a story?” Julia blinked, humor and dread mingling in her stomach. She thought of the mess she’d made upstairs, the broken furniture and the torn-up floorboards and clapped a hand over her mouth. At least they hadn’t started punching holes in the walls yet. “Oh dear.”

  “You tore this place apart looking for storybook loot?” Travis asked, eyes dancing with mirth.

  “Yeah,” Sam answered in a dark grumble.

  A moment of silence passed before all of the men launched into uproarious laughter. Even Julia had to giggle at herself and her impetuosity.

  “You have to admit, it was fun,” she told Sam in a sheepish voice.

  Sam frowned at her as his friends laughed at him. He glanced around his saloon, his precious saloon which was usually so neat, but now looked like a tornado had blown through…and laughed.

  “Good Lord.” He snorted, chest shaking with laughter, and pulled Julia into his arms. “How could I ever think that my life would be boring with you in it?”

  “I have no idea,” Julia answered.

  “I tell you what, though,” he went on. “Forget all that talk about me being a rough and wild frontiersman. After tonight, after all this, I’ll settle for being a domesticated old dog any day. As long as I’ve got you. I love you, Julia Standish.”

  Joy blossomed in Julia’s chest. It didn’t make up for the sorrow brought on by her friends’ misfortune, but it was big enough and warm enough to make her life light again. She threw her arms around Sam and held him tight.

  “You’re the on
ly treasure I need, Sam,” she said, closing her eyes and resting her head against his shoulder. “You’re the best kind of treasure there is.”

  Epilogue

  The back room of the saloon was surprisingly cozy in winter, although Julia would be happy when the house Sam had commissioned for her on the other side of the railroad tracks was finished. Being snug in the saloon was one thing, but in a few more months, there wouldn’t be enough room in the saloon’s living quarters.

  “This one is restless today,” she told Sam when he strode in from the hall, rubbing her hand over her round belly. “He wants to come out and be a wild man like his daddy.”

  Sam laughed, shaking the snow off his hat and tossing the small pile of mail he’d gone to fetch on the table. “How do you know it’s not a she?” he asked, striding over to take Julia in his arms and kiss her.

  “My Great Aunt Eileen always said that if you’re carrying low, it’s a boy.” Julia grinned, tilting her head up to steal another kiss. “Then again, she gave birth to two sets of twins where one was a boy and the other a girl, so she might have been a bit confused.”

  “Is she the one who got dizzy and fell off the pier in Baltimore Harbor?” Sam asked, his lips twitching.

  “No, that was Great Aunt Adelaide.” Julia shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Great Aunt Eileen lived a long and fruitful life and died in her sleep when she was ninety-five.”

  Sam blinked at her in surprise. “Really? One of your relatives lived that long?”

  A giggle bubbled up from Julia’s heart, and she traced her fingers over the bold lines of Sam’s jaw. “Yes, because she was married to a wonderful, handsome man who took care of her and kept her out of harm’s way.”

  Sam smiled with a light that felt as though it came from the center of his soul. “I like the sound of that.” He kissed her one more time, then stepped aside to take off his coat. “There’s a letter from San Francisco in there,” he called over his shoulder, a sparkle in his eyes.

  “Oh!” Julia leapt for the table as fast as her large belly would let her and snatched up the letter. She tore into it and unfolded the paper inside. “It’s from Hubert.”

  “Read it aloud. Then I’ve got something for you.”

  Julia had started to scan Hubert’s words, but lowered the letter, buzzing with curiosity. “Oh?”

  Sam took something from his coat pocket and held it behind his back as he returned to Julia’s side. “Read that first.”

  She sent him a curious, teasing look, then read.

  “‘Dear Sam and Julia. San Francisco is bustling as usual. Since the last time I wrote, I’ve made a few new friends. It turns out that one of the senior editors here at the Chronicle also grew up in a frontier town. We have a lot in common and started swapping stories. One thing led to another, and wouldn’t you know it, he promoted me to write for his editorial team.’ Oh, I’m so happy for him,” Julia exclaimed. “I always knew Hubert would make something of himself.”

  “Is there more?” Sam asked, leaning over her shoulder to check.

  “A little.” Julia picked up the letter again. “‘The new promotion means more money and more responsibility, but I’m still a long way off from being able to give Bebe the life she deserves. I know that my ship will come in, as they say, sooner or later. I just hope that she continues to wait for me.’”

  Julia lowered the letter, sending Sam a worried look. “Do you think we should tell him that she’s still mighty sore about the whole thing?”

  “Absolutely not.” Sam nodded to underscore his point. “No sense putting a dent in his hopes. Besides, I’m sure Bebe will come around eventually.”

  Julia sighed and shook her head. “I’m not so sure. Whenever Hubert does return, he’ll have his hands full winning back Bebe’s trust.”

  “No doubt,” Sam said. He paused, then grinned. “Don’t you want to see what I picked up on the way home from the station?”

  “Yes.” Julia set the letter aside, practically dancing with expectation as she turned to see what Sam was up to.

  From behind his back, he drew a small, framed photograph. Julia squealed with joy and took it from him.

  “Would you look at that. It’s the two of us.”

  The photograph was a small print of the portrait the two of them had stood for a few months ago, when a traveling photographer had come through town. For a small fee, he’d taken family portraits of several Haskellians. He’d had to return to his studio in Denver in order to develop and print the photographs, but for the last few weeks, those who had had their portraits taken had been overjoyed to receive them.

  “I also got this,” Sam said, drawing a thick piece of cloth from his jacket.

  “What is it?” She handed the photograph back to him and took the cloth, turning it over. She answered her own question with, “A flour sack?”

  Sam continued to grin. “I hear they’re great for hiding loot in.”

  Julia sent him a wry grin, resting her weight on one hip. “Very funny.”

  “No, really,” he said, more enthusiastic than she would have expected. “I had an idea.”

  “What sort of an idea?” Julia crossed her arms, the flour sack still in one hand.

  Sam plucked the sack from that hand and held it up along with the photograph. “I thought it might be fun to hide our own loot in the saloon.”

  “Our loot?” She blinked.

  “The things that are most precious to us,” he went on. “Since we’re about to move to a new house and all.”

  “Once it’s finished,” she reminded him.

  Sam nodded, then went on. “I thought it might be fun to put together some things from our most precious memories of the early days of our marriage. Those letters we exchanged, for one. Maybe some broken glass from one of your many disasters.”

  She laughed. “Pregnancy makes a woman clumsy. Everyone knows that.”

  “And how long have you been pregnant?” Sam arched an eyebrow.

  Julia swatted his arm, unable to keep from smiling. “Go on.”

  Sam shrugged and slipped the framed portrait into the sack. “I just thought it would be fun to hide our own loot so that someday, someone else can go around tearing up the floorboards and making a mess of things.”

  “Why, Sam Standish. Who knew you had such a romantic imagination.” Julia slid her arms around him and hugged him close.

  “So you like the idea?” he asked.

  “I do,” she said. “It’s beautiful.” She paused and glanced up at him. “But can we wait to put the photograph in there until we’ve looked at it for a while?”

  Sam chuckled, holding her close and planting a kiss on the top of her head. “Of course we can, sweetheart. We’ll do whatever you want. We’ve got all the time in the world to store up the perfect loot together.”

  Present Day

  Calliope Clutterbuck had no idea what possessed her to help the Standishes renovate the bar. She had her own projects that needed doing, her own job that wasn’t going to do itself while she ripped up dusty floorboards. She’d never considered herself a home improvement type either. So why was she wielding a crowbar, gritting her teeth at the sound of old nails shrieking as they parted from the wood that had been their home for over a hundred years, and exerting her muscles to yank the old boards up?

  “Good job,” a deep male voice said behind her. “You’re getting the hang of that.”

  Calliope’s heart beat in double-time, and she jerked straight and turned. Jonathan Cross. Paradise Space Flight’s resident camp director. All six-foot-three of him. Six-foot-three, dark hair, darker eyes, and muscles that were way, way beyond what Calliope usually found attractive.

  And, okay, so he wasn’t a camp director. He was an engineer. But Howie always seemed to pick Jonathan to be in charge of whatever wacky mixer activity he had planned to get his employees together with the locals. Like the community service day she was stuck participating in, for example. The community service day she never would h
ave signed up for if Jonathan hadn’t backed her into a corner with a clipboard.

  Damn his eyes.

  His gorgeous, sultry eyes.

  “You, uh, waiting for something?” he asked, his voice a rich baritone.

  “Nope.” Calliope whirled back to her work, jamming the crowbar into the crack between two other floorboards.

  “Here, you’re doing it wrong.”

  Jonathan set his ever-present clip-board aside and bent over to close his hands over Calliope’s on the crowbar. A shiver shot down Calliope’s spine at his touch, at the heat and scent of him encompassing her. None of it was a good idea.

  “I can do this by myself, you know.”

  She tried to shake him off, but Jonathan only laughed. “You’re such a prickly pear.”

  “I am not,” she said, twisting to him.

  “I’ll be the judge of that.” His voice was low and warm near her ear.

  “Hey, buster, you need to—”

  She stopped as her eyes caught something under the floor. It was large and white-ish and old. Definitely old.

  “What’s that?”

  Ignoring Jonathan, she let go of the crowbar and reached into the space she’d made by tearing up the old boards. Her hand closed around the soft fabric, but as she lifted, the whole thing was heavier than she supposed it would be. She reached her other hand in and pulled it out altogether, standing straight.

  “What is it?” Jonathan glanced curiously over her shoulder.

  “I don’t know.” Calliope turned the object over in her hands. “It looks like an old flour sack. There’s something inside.”

  She moved over to the table in the old storeroom, set the sack down, and picked at the string that tied it closed. Her eyebrows inched up as she took a flat metal box out of the sack. Two sets of initials were etched on the top, SS + JS, with a heart around them.

  “Interesting,” Jonathan said. Calliope could feel his grin as he moved to stand behind her.

  She frowned, ignoring him, and looked for a way to open the box. Lucky for her, it wasn’t locked. As soon as she popped it open, lifting the lid and setting it aside, she gasped….