Bartered Bride Romance Collection

by Cathy Marie Hake

  She worked hard to keep her crying silent, both to avoid disturbing her daughters and to keep Matty from hearing her distress. There was no way she could discuss this with anyone. Yes, she cared deeply about Luke, but how could she do so if she’d truly cared about Brian? It hadn’t been even a year since his death.

  She forced herself to remember the awful day when she had become a widow. Her heart still ached over the loss, but she no longer felt emotionally crippled by it. Should she be able to recover so easily? She opened the brooch to stroke the lock of Brian’s hair within. The hair could have belonged to anyone for all the comfort it brought her.

  Sleep eluded her, even in the hours when her daughters slept. Every time she tried to slip into slumber, her thoughts chased one another in endless tangles, never creating a solution. Her love for Brian still caused her heart to ache. Yet her growing love for Luke demanded equal attention. What kind of woman could love two men?

  The next morning, she didn’t even try to go downstairs. As she expected, Matty came to check on her, looking no better than Corrie felt. “Are you okay, dear one?”

  “Just a rough night.” Corrie tried to manage a small smile. “You don’t look so great yourself. When are you going to announce your news?”

  Matty enfolded Corrie in a delighted, though shaky, embrace. “I should have known I couldn’t hide it from you. Jim knows, but we’re waiting another few weeks before we say anything. We like having our own secret.”

  Tears again pushed at Corrie’s eyes, remembering hers and Brian’s similar feelings not so long ago. “Don’t push yourself too hard, okay? Remember what you told me—if something makes you sick, don’t do it.”

  “Yes, Mother,” Matty responded with mock resignation. “Would you like me to bring you some breakfast?”

  “Only if it won’t make you lose yours,” Corrie answered, reaching for Madeline, who’d begun yelling for her own breakfast.

  Just that easily a new routine established itself. Matty brought Corrie’s meals and carried out the laundry. Corrie and her daughters remained ensconced in the bedroom, the one place where Corrie wouldn’t have to face Luke or deal with her feelings. Without the distraction of his presence, her grief for Brian settled back into place, comforting in its familiarity and yet, if she were completely honest, feeling like a shoe that had its sole worn through.

  Three days passed. Corrie’s grief spent itself. The babies grew restless, having become accustomed to more company than just their mother. “You need to get used to this,” Corrie told both herself and them. “The day will come soon when it will just be the three of us.”

  The conclusion had come to her slowly but settled in with certainty. As soon as the girls were eating solid food, she planned to move to town and resume her bakery business. She and her sisters had planned to make the jail habitable. Why couldn’t she do it for herself and the babies? She knew it wouldn’t be easy to meet their needs and support all of them financially, but it was what she needed to do. If, by the twins’ first birthday, the attraction between her and Luke remained strong, then she would allow herself to put Brian’s memory to rest.

  A knock sounded on the door. “Come in,” she said, expecting Matty.

  Instead, Luke answered. “Are you decent?”

  Panic coursed through her. She hadn’t expected him to breach her hideaway. “No, I’m not. Just set my food out there, and I’ll get it when I’m finished with the girls.”

  But the babies had heard his voice, and both started howling. She rocked the cradle, trying to settle them, but to no avail. “Sounds like you need a hand.”

  At the repeated sound of his voice, the babies wailed even louder, and he had the nerve to laugh. “Sounds like they won’t give you any peace until you let me in.”

  “Okay, come in, then.” Corrie had to raise her voice to make herself heard.

  Luke pushed the door open with his foot, carrying a plate in one hand and a tall glass of milk in the other. “Why don’t I entertain the ladies while you eat?”

  Corrie’s stomach rumbled. One penalty of her self-imposed exile had been having to wait for food until Matty brought it rather than snacking whenever she felt hungry. Her appetite seemed insatiable these days. Gratefully, she accepted the plate.

  Luke took a seat on the trunk and somehow lifted both babies into his lap. They stopped fussing, and both gazed at him intently. The shadow of Brian’s memory threatened to fade in the bright light of the moment. Corrie forced herself to remember her grief.

  Then she became aware of Luke talking. She focused on her food, but his words trickled into her consciousness. “What have you little girls been doing to make your mommy look so worn-out? You shouldn’t work her so hard, you know. She’s a wonderful lady.” The babies cooed at him, and Corrie couldn’t suppress a smile. “I’m glad you agree. You see, I need to tell you a secret. Your mommy loves a man whom I know must have been one of the best God ever created. She wouldn’t have loved him if he weren’t. He was your daddy. Then he had to go live in heaven and left your mommy all alone and very sad. I’m hoping one of these days, when she’s less sad, she’ll let me love her and you, too. I hope she’ll tell me more about your daddy so I can help you get to know him at least a little. I wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t have room in her heart for more than one man, but I’m hoping that she will.” He paused, leaned close to the girls, and whispered, “Someday.”

  Madeline let out a giggle and then Brianne did the same. Corrie looked at Luke in astonishment. “Do it again! See if they’ll laugh.”

  He leaned close and whispered again, “Someday.”

  The girls grinned and then giggled again.

  At that moment, Corrie gave up the struggle to keep her heart barricaded against Luke. There before her was the evidence. Her daughters needed a living man who could cuddle them, tell them stories, and, yes, make them laugh. She couldn’t be everything to them, and with the bounty of Luke’s love being offered to her, there was no need for her to try.

  The passage from John’s Gospel that had sustained her through the long days of her bed rest came to mind again. “Let not your heart be troubled.”

  She reached out to trace the hearts on the cradle’s headboard. “Babies, tell Luke that someday is here.”

  Corrie’s Cinnamon Buns

  Prepare your favorite bread dough recipe. Let rise until double. Punch down, and separate out the equivalent of one loaf. Flatten this portion of bread dough to about ¼-inch thick. Spread thickly with butter then with enough sugar to cover well. Sprinkle with plenty of cinnamon. Roll dough together to form log shape.

  Melt two tablespoons of butter in the bottom of a baking pan. Slice log into ½-inch slices and place slices cut-side down in the baking pan. When pan is full, let buns rise until doubled in size.

  Bake in moderate heat in oven until buns are golden brown on top. Remove from oven and turn pan upside-down over cloth to let cool.

  Janelle Burnham Schneider has published six novels with Heartsong Presents. After thirteen years as a Canadian military family, she and her loved ones are now settled in Manitoba, Canada, near the geographic center of North America. In addition to being an author, wife, and mother, she has also worked as an administrative assistant, catalog delivery person, school bus driver, and Starbucks barista.

  FROM PRIDE TO BRIDE

  by JoAnn A. Grote

  Dedication

  To Linda Mitchell,

  for telling me, “Of course you can write a book.”

  Thank you for your friendship and encouragement.

  To Joe, Victoria and Joey—

  Thank you for all the love, joy, laugher, craziness, and wonder.

  You’ve made my life better and more beautiful in ways I

  never dreamed possible.

  Chapter 1

  May 1869

  From the hay-filled back of the Collingswood brothers’ spring wagon, Bess Craig looked out at the crowd gathered in front of the Lickwind jailhouse for the
Sunday service and bit back a groan. Luke Collingswood looked back over his shoulder from the wagon seat and chuckled. “Looks like your usual admiration society is gathered, Bess.”

  “I’d be more impressed if I thought even one of those men came to worship the Lord instead of to ogle Bertie and me.”

  Beside her, Matty laughed softly. “Maybe the Lord’s using you and Bertie to bring these men to hear His Word.”

  “Perhaps, but I doubt their ears are open.”

  The Craig sisters had been in Lickwind almost a year, and the bold attentions of the male population still amazed and unnerved Bess. A number of men had asked for her hand during that year, not even bothering to suggest the civilized tradition of courting. The winter months at the ranch had offered some, but not total, respite.

  As Luke reined the horses to a stop, Bess glanced at the sky. Gray clouds rolled over each other. They’d been a mere shadow on the horizon when the group left the Rough Cs Ranch an hour earlier. No one had expected to encounter rain. Lickwind seldom saw more than a foot of rain in an entire year, as the area’s sand and sagebrush testified.

  “May I assist you, Miss Craig?” The portly banker extended his hand as Bess moved to climb down from the wagon. “Thank you, Mr. Llewellyn.”

  As soon as her high-buttoned shoes touched the ground, she removed her hand from his and turned back to help her sisters. She didn’t want to give Mr. Llewellyn any reason to believe she’d welcome his company at the service.

  “I’ll take the baby.” Bess reached for Brianne bundled in Matty’s arms then waited while Jim gently helped Matty from the wagon bed. Even such simple things as climbing down from a wagon were difficult for Matty with a babe expected to arrive in another month.

  Luke rounded the back of the wagon. “Thanks, Bess. I’ll take Brianne now.”

  Bess couldn’t keep back a smile as she handed the baby to her father. He so obviously loved holding his children. She found it endearing.

  She started toward the jail, her sisters and brothers-in-law close behind her. Immediately, the wind caught her gray cape and her dress’s black-and-gray-striped skirt. In spite of her attempts to keep her skirt vertical, it danced about, revealing more of her ruffled petticoat than modesty allowed. Her face heated. The Wyoming wind waged a constant battle with the Craig sisters for their skirts and propriety.

  The men who crowded the street between the jailhouse and the railroad tracks stepped back to make a path for Bess and her sisters. Men pulled their hats from their heads. Their greetings mixed into one. “Morning, Miss Craig.”

  “Good morning.” Bess nodded at no one in particular, keeping her gaze on the open door.

  When she reached it, she discovered more men filled the one-room building to capacity. Lean, dark-haired Parson Harris stood just within the doorway. “Good morning, Miss Craig. I believe I’ll need to hold the service outside. Wonderful the Lord brought so many people.” He smiled broadly.

  “Certainly is, Parson,” agreed Mr. Llewellyn, who had followed right behind Bess. “Afraid your congregation is going to get a mite wet though.”

  A rumble sounded overhead as if to confirm the statement. A moment later, a large raindrop splashed in the dirt at Bess’s feet.

  Bess stepped quickly aside to clear the doorway. “Corrie, Luke, you’d best get inside. We don’t want those babes getting wet.”

  There was barely room for the four, even after Parson Harris stepped outside to allow more space.

  The clouds opened and the rain filled the air with a sh-sh-sh. Men slapped their hats back on their heads. Bess and her sisters pulled their capes tighter and ducked their heads so their hat brims kept the worst of the rain from their eyes.

  “Some of you gentlemen move outside,” Parson Harris called into the building, “and make room for the ladies.”

  “We need someplace larger.” Bess raised her voice to cover the sound of rain and restless men’s shuffling feet.

  “There isn’t anywhere else,” Luke reminded her.

  Bess nodded briskly. “Yes, there is. Follow me.”

  The crowd parted again as she started through it. As soon as there was enough room, she broke into a run, one hand clasping her bonnet to her head, the other hand clasping her skirt to keep it from tangling with her legs. She knew from the sound of boots hitting the earth behind her that others followed.

  “Where are we going?” Bertie asked from beside her.

  Bess didn’t answer. They’d already reached her destination. The heels of her shoes clunked against the saloon’s boardwalk when she stepped onto it. The wooden awning offered welcome relief from the rain, which came down harder every minute.

  “Bess?” Jim Collingswood’s voice held a note of trepidation.

  The saloon’s large wooden doors were shut tight, hiding the batwing doors that offered customers easy access and tempted them with sounds of piano music and revelry during business hours. Bess pounded her fists against the door.

  “Bess Craig, have you gone loco?” Jim grabbed one of her hands. “We can’t hold church services in a saloon.”

  “We’re closed,” an angry voice announced from the other side of the door.

  Bess continued beating with her free hand.

  “Hold your horses,” the voice demanded. The door swung open, revealing an unshaven man with wavy, golden brown hair that reached to his shoulders. A black patch covered his left eye. It took all Bess’s courage not to step back at the sight of him.

  Anger spit from Gideon Riker’s unpatched eye. “Can’t you see we’re—?” Anger changed to confusion when he saw Bess then the crowd behind her.

  “We need to use your saloon—that is, would you allow us to use your saloon for church services?” Bess amended.

  Gideon’s incredulous gaze met hers. “Church services?”

  She lifted her chin and met his brown-eyed gaze unflinchingly. “Yes. It’s raining, and yours is the only building large enough to accommodate everyone. Since you’re not open for business, I was certain you’d wish to offer your premises.”

  Gideon hastily slid brown suspenders up over the shoulders of his gray Union Jack top, as if suddenly aware he stood before the entire town.

  Behind Bess, Parson Harris cleared his throat. “We’ll understand if you don’t want us here, Mr. Riker.”

  Bess sidled past the saloon owner and into the building. “Of course he’ll allow us to use his establishment.”

  The eyebrow above Gideon’s patchless eye rose slightly as he watched Bess. She lifted her chin higher, silently challenging him to deny her statement. A drop of water fell from her hat brim and splashed onto her nose. She blinked in surprise.

  Gideon’s lips twitched into a smirk. He stepped back, opening the door wider. “I will not only allow it, Parson. I insist.” He invited the crowd inside with a wave of one hand.

  The matter decided to her satisfaction, Bess turned to survey the temporary chapel.

  A boy of about ten, his long red hair falling over his forehead, stood beside the bar. He stared at her with wide eyes. Was that Gideon Riker’s boy? She hadn’t heard Gideon had a son, but then, there was no reason anyone should have mentioned the child to her. She flashed him a brief smile and continued to scan the building. She’d been inside for Ellis’s trial, but she’d been too worried about the outcome to pay much attention to her surroundings. Besides, the room had been cleaned and rearranged before the trial.

  The yeasty odor of beer filled her nostrils. The room was dark, even with the light through the windows and door. The walls were unpainted and the floor bare. Round tables surrounded by chairs stood about the room. A couple of chairs lay on their backs. Empty bottles and glasses stood on the tables and on the bar, which stretched across the opposite wall. A man appeared to be sleeping at one of the tables, but she couldn’t be certain since he wasn’t facing her direction.

  “Amos, get Doc out of here,” Gideon ordered the blacksmith. Bess caught her breath in surprise. The man sleeping off a dr
inking spree was Dr. Mitchel. Thank the Lord, Luke hadn’t allowed that man near Corrie when she delivered her babies.

  “Harry, where are you?” Gideon called, searching the crowd. The barkeep who’d played piano at the Craig sisters’ weddings—a young man who looked about eighteen—stepped out. “Clean off these tables,” Gideon ordered. The boy jumped to business.

  The crowd trailed in. Some of the men seated themselves at the dirty tables. Some stood along the wall. A number of them chuckled and snickered at the situation.

  Gideon, his hands full of bottles, waved toward the room. “Could use a little help here. You don’t expect people to worship before the place is cleaned up, do you?”

  Looking shamefaced, men stepped forward to help.

  Bess noticed her sisters and brothers-in-law stood near the door. Jim gripped one of Bertie’s arms, as though to make sure none of the town’s rowdy men walked away with her. Probably wise.

  Ever-helpful Matty reached for an empty glass on the table in front of her. Jim grabbed her elbow. “I don’t want my wife’s hands smelling like liquor.”

  Matty flushed and stepped back beside him.

  Corrie, with daughter Madeline in her arms, slipped up to Bess’s side to whisper, “Bess, are you sure this is a good idea?”

  Bess started to respond, but something in the corner of her vision stopped her. She turned for a better look. “Oh, my.”

  “Oh, my,” Corrie repeated.

  Bess hurried across the room to where Gideon was noisily piling used bottles and glasses behind the bar. She leaned across the bar, not wanting the entire room to hear her. “Mr. Riker, shouldn’t you do something about that … that … painting?”

  His face grew dusky as he darted a look at the painting of a scantily clad woman. He muttered something she felt it just as well she couldn’t make out. A moment later, chuckles from the crowd resounded as he removed the gild-framed painting and set it on the floor behind the bar.