Hec hoped she’d say that they were staying, but he knew that was a stretch. Still, a man could hope.
She stood by the table, putting a jar of something in a basket. “Hector Murdock?”
“That’s me.”
“Did you want to kiss me before I go?”
“I want to kiss you before, during, and after. I want you to stay and let me kiss you all night long.”
“I want to stay, but you know we can’t and why. There’s no discussing it. But I might be persuaded to give you a kiss.”
“How about I give you one and you decide whether you want to give me one back?” He stepped closer to her and put his arms round her. “I’ve wanted to hold you since the first moment I saw you. It felt right laying there by you with your head on my shoulder.” He tilted her head up and lowered his lips to hers.
She leaned into him and his lower parts reacted accordingly—and he wasn’t a bit embarrassed about it. He deepened the kiss, then flicked her lips with his tongue. She moaned softly, which nearly undid him. After he caught his breath, he said, “Your turn. You kiss me, now.”
“Hector Murdock, you’re the handsomest man I’ve ever laid eyes on, and why you’d want me is a mystery. Could be you’ll be glad we went off to Oreana.”
“Nope. Never.”
She kissed him, and he had to admit, she was as good of a kisser as she was a cook, and that was pretty danged good. When she broke off the kiss, she said, “There’s more, but you’ll need to find a genuine ordained minister to get it.”
Through the window, Hec saw Zeke lay one on Stella, and she looked as stunned as Hec felt at the moment. “I think Stella had the same idea.”
****
“I’m not wasting a moment while we’re together,” Dinah said.
Hec made sure she was bundled up good. She’d insisted on sitting beside him in the driver’s seat even though she’d have been considerably warmer in the wagon bed with the heated bricks and blankets.
Zeke and Stella were under the covers in the back. Hec wished he and Dinah could trade places with them. He picked up the lines and snapped them. “Get on, now!” The horses plodded out of the barnyard onto the road. Away from happiness.
The lump in his throat didn’t let him talk, so he didn’t. Dinah didn’t say anything either, but snuggled to his side, which felt nice, but that was the only nice thing about this trip.
A mile down the road, they met Ted Woods and his wife on a wagon.
“Where’re you headed?” Ted asked. “I thought the wedding was at your house.”
“Won’t be any wedding. The ladies want to go to Oreana. They’re planning to open a new restaurant there.”
“Didn’t get along?”
“We get along just fine,” Dinah said. “But we want to be married proper, by an ordained minister.”
“I’m ordained in the Baptist Church.”
“You are?”
“Yep. I’ve got the papers in my Bible—want to see them?”
Stella stuck her head out of the blankets. “You are?”
“Turn the wagon around,” Zeke hollered. “We’re getting married.”
****
She didn’t have any flowers, but Dinah decided it was the happiest day of her life. Stella looked radiant. After Ted, or Reverend Woods, declared them husband and wife, she gave Hec a kiss she hoped he’d remember for a good long while. Stella hadn’t come up for air yet, either.
Then they all laughed, for it was good for the soul and was an outlet for all the turmoil of the last few days.
“I didn’t make a wedding feast, but we have leftovers from Christmas dinner and a little surprise that I’d baked for Hec and Zeke, so you folks sit at the table and I’ll get everything out.”
Reverend and Mrs. Woods did enjoy Dinah’s food. Ted raised his fork to her and said, “Oreana won’t know what it’s missing. This is a wonderful meal.” Then, he dug in again.
“You’re welcome to visit and eat anytime,” Hec said. “My wife’s cooking is the best.”
After he finished his pie, he stood and so did Mrs. Woods. “We best get back to the station before it gets dark. It’s been a pleasure.” He shook hands with Hec, and then Zeke.
Once the Woodses were gone, Stella stood beside Zeke and gave him his coat and hat.
“I’m not done eating yet,” he said, eyeing the squash pie left on his plate.
“Yes, you are. It’s time we started filling that bassinet you gave me for Christmas.”
He didn’t argue with that, and the couple was gone before Dinah could scoot back from the table.
Hec leaned over and kissed Dinah’s cheek. “You filled my belly, and my heart, too. I love you, Dinah Murdock.”
She stood and wrapped her arms around him. “Do you have a bassinet to fill?”
“No, but I can dang well get one in a hurry.”
About the Author—Jacquie Rogers
Award-winning Jacquie Rogers grew up riding in Owyhee County, Idaho, where a good share of her stories are set. Her Hearts of Owyhee books have garnered both the RttA Award and the Laramie Award. She’s a member of Western Fictioneers and Romance Writers of America. For her latest news and a free short story, subscribe to the Pickle Barrel Gazette. http://www.jacquierogers.com
A Marriage of Convenience
Cheryl Pierson
Can a mysterious mail-order bride proposal save two lives—and end in love?
Almost there.
Melanie duBois looked down at her cherished volume of poetry that had been her companion on this long cross-country journey from her home in West Virginia.
Her fingers went to the silver cross at her neck, and she closed her eyes, a fervent prayer that her husband-to-be would be waiting for her at the station in Fort Smith, as they’d arranged.
The other passengers—a drummer and an elderly widow—both had kept to themselves during this last leg of the journey. The drummer had boarded two stations back, and the widow woman two before that. Forty miles, she’d ridden in relative silence, introducing herself only as “Widow Simmons—from Little Rock”. Her sharp eyes had questioned Melanie’s own introduction—and silently inquired at the absence of a chaperone.
Melanie had made no excuses or explanations, other than to say she was on her way to visit relatives. Was a husband not a relative?
The drummer had not questioned at all; in fact, was barely civil as he boarded amid the stench of cigar smoke in his clothing and alcohol on his breath.
Dear God, don’t let Rockford Taylor be like this man, Melanie silently prayed. Surely, he wouldn’t be. Rockford—Rocky—had written to her a few times. And though his letters were rife with misspellings, he had expressed his fondness for her—a woman he’d never met—and his desire for them to start a life together.
Far away from West Virginia.
Could she get far enough away to put the past behind her? She would always carry the ugliness in her heart…in her mind. Her soul would be forever scarred.
Perhaps, a new start would bring peace. She refused to allow herself to think otherwise. She opened her book of poetry to page 21—
Meeting at Night
By Robert Browning
I.
The grey sea and the long black land;
And the yellow half-moon large and low;
And the startled little waves that leap
In fiery ringlets from their sleep,
As I gain the cove with pushing prow,
And quench its speed i' the slushy sand.
II.
Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach;
Three fields to cross till a farm appears;
A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch
And blue spurt of a lighted match,
And a voice less loud, thro' its joys and fears,
Than the two hearts beating each to each.
One of her favorites.
She sighed. Will I ever find a love like this? Will Rocky be this kind of man—or do the
y only exist in poems? I have to have faith. I have to believe. But would a love so rare ever be hers? She read the last line again. Than the two hearts beating each to each. Was it too much to hope for?
A worn newspaper clipping was pressed between the pages. She unfolded it and stared down at the picture of a darkly handsome man—a U.S. Deputy Marshal—who stood amidst three other lawmen…
“LAWMEN BRING JUSTICE TO INDIAN TERRITORY” the caption read. Just under that, their names were listed: Chris Madsen, Bill Tilghman, Heck Thomas…and Rocky Taylor—the man she was going to marry.
****
The stage came to a stop and the drummer reached under his seat for his bag of samples. Standing up, he rudely opened the door and exited before Melanie or the Widow Simmons.
Melanie took her reticule from the seat, along with her book, and waited for the elderly widow to be helped down the steps before her. The driver, Buck Tippins, reached up to Melanie and took her hand, giving her a friendly grin.
“Here we are, Miss duBois! Fort Smith, Arkansas. The last stop in civilization. I’ll carry your bag—”
“Thank you,” Melanie murmured, her eyes still adjusting to the brighter outside light from the dim interior of the coach.
Was he here? She didn’t see him anywhere. A tall man with dark hair walked past, and her heart pounded, but when he turned to look her way, she saw it wasn’t Rocky.
“Uh…someone gonna meet you here?” Buck asked.
“He—oh, yes, there he is...I think.” She nodded toward where a man was turning away to head back down the street. “Excuse me, but is that not Deputy Marshal Rockford Taylor?”
Buck nodded. “That who you’re meetin’, little lady?” He chuckled. “Hold on.” A piercing whistle sounded, then he called, “Hey, Rock! Over here!”
****
Rocky turned at Buck’s whistle and shout. Did he have some information for him?
One of the outlaws Rocky had brought in two weeks ago had given him a tip—there would be a “surprise” for him on the stage one day this week.
Mike Ferguson was the kind of man who was hard to figure. He lived on the wrong side of the law with no regrets. He also had the reputation as a practical joker—and you’d better laugh at his jokes, even if they weren’t the least bit humorous.
When Mike had promised Rocky there’d be “a surprise” on the stage, Rocky had immediately thought Mike must have decided it would be funny to trip up another outlaw friend—deliver him right into Rocky’s hands.
What else could it be? Rocky would have been gone last week—back to Indian Territory—but he couldn’t leave until he knew for certain what Mike had orchestrated.
He’d been meeting the stage every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for the past two weeks, ever since Mike had given him that wink and smile and told him about the “surprise”. Maybe that was the joke. Ferguson was probably sitting in his cell, laughing his ass off every time the stage rolled into town, imagining Rocky waiting, wondering, and being disappointed every single time. How long would he do it? How could he afford not to?
Now, as he turned toward Tippins, he saw a lovely woman at the driver’s side. Probably needed directions or information…He walked toward them.
****
Didn’t he recognize her? She’d sent him a daguerreotype—but it might have gotten lost, coming from so far away. Rocky moved around a lot, he’d said in his letters. Of course, a U.S. Deputy Marshal would.
“What can I do for you, Buck?” Rocky asked.
Melanie loved the deep richness of his voice. His eyes were nearly black, they were so dark. And he was dark, too, his skin an olive color that was due to more than the hard days he spent in the sun. He wore his hair long—longer than many, here in “civilization”, she noted, glancing around.
He tipped his hat. “Ma’am.”
Melanie put a hand to her throat. She wanted to speak, but she dared not—at least, not just yet.
“Miss duBois, this is Deputy Marshal Taylor. Rocky, this is Miss duBois. Uh…from—West Virginia, didn’t you say?”
Surely, he’d understand now. She put an expectant smile on her face…waiting for him to make the connection. He was so tall. His eyes penetrated hers…but there was no recognition. Her smile faded.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am.” He glanced back at Buck.
Buck grinned. “Got to get these hosses seen to. Later, Rock.”
Panic seized Melanie. He really had no idea who she was! But how could this be?
“Something I can help you with, ma’am?”
Backed into a corner, Melanie drew herself up and stood as tall as possible. She still needed a good eight inches to look him straight in the eyes, but this would have to do.
“Yes, Rockford. I’m here to marry you. Just as you proposed in your letters.”
She ignored the way his mouth opened as he searched for words…the momentary panic in the tight lines of his face.
“My bag—” she nodded to where her one small trunk had been placed beside the door of the station, “—is there.”
He made no sound, no move. She laid a gentle hand on his rigid forearm. “Shall we go?”
Lord, she hoped he didn’t hear the anxiety in her tone. What had she gotten herself into?
****
The touch of her hand brought Rocky to himself, and he flinched. She stiffened, but didn’t remove her hand. He had to escort her properly, or appear uncommonly rude to the rest of Ft. Smith.
Gallantly, he offered her his arm, still searching for something to say as they walked toward her trunk.
His mind whirled. Was she the surprise Ferguson had alluded to? How would he have known about her?
“Miss—ah…duBois…would you join me at Lucy’s Restaurant for an early supper? We can talk things over there.”
She nodded, but seemed reticent. Was she in on Ferguson’s plan? Or did the two occurrences have anything to do with one another? Ferguson’s warnings about who or what might be aboard the stage may have nothing at all to do with Miss Melanie duBois and her arrival in Ft. Smith.
Rocky let the stationmaster know they were leaving Miss duBois’s trunk there while they went to eat, and they headed for Lucy’s.
“May I call you Melanie?” Rocky asked, hoping to glean something from her reaction.
But she seemed relieved, if nothing else, and smiled up at him, her beautiful eyes the color of a turquoise sea. “I’d like that…Rocky.”
Her voice was soft, with the barest hint of an unfamiliar accent. She wore a dress of the palest blue that set off the color in her eyes, with a small matching hat perched atop her golden hair. She’d been traveling all day, every day for weeks…yet looked as fresh as if she’d just dressed for a morning stroll.
He’d seen a flash of determination in her eyes earlier, when she’d announced her reason for being here in Ft. Smith. To marry him. To accept the proposal he’d sent to her.
Only, he never had.
Still, as they entered Lucy’s and heads turned, the appreciative stares from the men and envious glares from some of the women made him proud.
Even if he had no reason to be.
****
Rocky had ordered for both of them. Hardy plates of roast beef and mashed potatoes with gravy and green beans. As they waited for their food, Rocky asked about Melanie’s trip.
“Long, hard, and cold. I’m wondering if I’ll ever be warm again.” She smiled when she said it, and he knew it wasn’t a complaint—just a tease.
There was a silence, and Rocky reached to take her hand.
“Melanie, you said I proposed to you. That you’re here to marry me.” He shook his head. Her eyes came up to meet his, and he saw the bewilderment there.
“I know you must not have written the letters.” She sighed. “But I believed you—him—whoever did this. I—don’t understand—and now, I don’t know what to do about it—or about my life.”
“Start at the beginning,” Rocky said, g
iving her fingers a gentle squeeze. “Maybe we can unravel this together.”
****
Unravel. A good word for what was happening, Melanie thought. Her entire life was unraveling. She’d left in the dead of night to get away from everything. She’d pinned her hopes and dreams on getting a new start in a new place where she couldn’t be found.
Only—she’d been the butt of a joke. The only thing she could be thankful for was that whoever had sent the letters, led her on, offered her marriage—had paid for her ticket to leave Wheeling, West Virginia, behind.
She hadn’t cared what she found at the end of her journey—at least, not until she’d had time to consider it over the long miles she’d traveled. Still, it was better than what she’d left behind. An unspeakable, unthinkable threat of what would befall her at the hands of her lascivious stepfather, once he’d committed her mother to an asylum “for her own good.”
Mama had died in that horrible place only days after Stuart Whitworth had put her there. Melanie felt certain her mother had been murdered to insure her silence. And then, Melanie had been at Whitworth’s mercy.
She’d already been corresponding with Rocky. Or…whoever was impersonating him. That was the place to start. She couldn’t bear to talk about her stepfather and what he had done…what he had promised to do, once she came into her inheritance at the end of the month. She shuddered at the thought of it.
“I…was unhappy for many reasons, with my circumstances…” Melanie began. “I secretly answered an ad for a mail-order bride. Rocky—or whoever was impersonating you—selected me after we exchanged a few letters. He sent me this.” She opened the book she’d carried with her and pulled the clipping out, opening it carefully so he could see.
Rocky’s eyes narrowed. “Has to be someone who lives here in Fort Smith—or nearby. This was in the paper several months back.”
“I just received it in October.”
He smiled. “It’s pretty well-worn.”
Heat immediately rose to Melanie’s cheeks. “It…came to me that way.” Which wasn’t true at all. She’d looked at the clipping at least a million times. She was surprised when the grin faded, and disappointment flashed across his handsome face.
A Mail-Order Christmas Bride Page 32