A Mail-Order Christmas Bride

by Livia J. Washburn

  She stood in the chilly darkness, trying to collect her thoughts. There would be plenty of time for thinking during their journey to Indian Territory. She shivered, reaching for her clothing, and dressed in a quick rush.

  What kind of conveyance would Rocky rent for them to travel in? And how far was his ranch from Ft. Smith?

  Oh, she was a bother to him! If she hadn’t come out here, he’d be going about his everyday life as he’d planned. And…he had certainly left no doubt as to how he felt about another marriage…

  She poured some water into the basin from the pitcher that sat beside it, then bent and splashed some on her face. How she longed for a warm bath. But that would’ve cost money she didn’t have.

  Maybe Rocky didn’t have it, either. She wiped her face dry with the towel laid out for her use, then stood looking at herself in the mirror above the washstand.

  In the lamplight, she could still see the lines around her eyes and mouth. She was anxious—and who wouldn’t be? Her stomach was one big twisted bundle of nerves.

  Her future had been uncertain for so long, she couldn’t remember when she’d felt at ease. A peaceful spirit eluded her, but wasn’t that a necessity for her happiness? Would her life ever be what she hoped for?

  She shook herself from her woolgathering. He’d be here soon. She needed to be ready when he came. She’d been far more trouble to Rocky Taylor than she’d ever meant to be.

  A few minutes later, just as she’d finished brushing her hair, a knock sounded at her door. She took a deep breath.

  I will be ready for whatever comes.

  She opened the door, and Rocky gave her a friendly smile.

  “Melanie. Did you sleep well?”

  She nodded. “Off and on.”

  He gave a short chuckle. “It’s hard to rest when you have a trip to look forward to.”

  That was an odd way to put it. Neither of them had been “looking forward” to today, and what lay ahead, as far as she knew.

  “Let me grab your trunk—”

  “Oh—” flustered and embarrassed at her lack of manners, she took a step back out of his way. As he entered her room, she smelled the scent of the outdoors, the open air, and the fresh cold against his skin.

  He hoisted the trunk onto his shoulder. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

  “All right. Thank you.” Melanie watched him go, then turned to gather the rest of her things. Her reticule lay on the night table. She opened it for the hundredth time to be sure the change from the gold piece Rocky had given her was still safe, then laid it down once more.

  She wrapped her cloak around her shoulders and fastened it at the neck, enjoying the added layer of warmth, even in the chill of the hotel room. That was all, really. Her cloak and her reticule, along with one lone trunk was all she owned in the world.

  She blew out the lamp and picked up her purse once more, then opened the door. Rocky was coming toward her. He extended his hand.

  “You get tired of waiting?” He smiled at her, and her heart stood still.

  Finally, she responded. “Oh—uh, no. I just—”

  “It’s fine. Just teasing you.” His smile faded. “You don’t need to feel jumpy with me, Mel. I promise, I’m a gentleman.”

  Her face heated quickly. “It’s not that. I never thought you—”

  He laughed as they walked toward the lobby. “It’s all right. Lord only knows what you must be thinkin’ right now about me—about this whole situation.” He shook his head, a grim look replacing the earlier smile.

  “We’ll get it figured out, I’m sure,” she said, giving his arm a quick pat as they passed through the openness of the lobby and headed for the door.

  He pushed it open, and she walked through it into the raw, blistering cold of the December morning.

  “I got us one of the newer coaches they had down at Dawson’s Livery,” Rocky said.

  The coach was not “newer”—it was flawless, and in perfect condition.

  Melanie’s mouth rounded into an “O”. It was like a fairy tale carriage for a princess—shiny, new, and above all, it would protect her from the cold she’d dreaded. But…what about Rocky? He would still be exposed to the frigid temperatures and the snow.

  As if he read her thoughts, he laughed. “Hey, don’t you worry about me. I’ll tie Jack to the back and he can follow along, and—”

  “Jack?”

  “My horse. He’ll be glad for a couple of days without me in the saddle.”

  “I don’t know what to say—” She stood looking at him, his thoughtfulness bringing tears to her eyes.

  “Here, let’s get you inside. I had Tom rig up a foot warmer for you inside here, see?” He opened the carriage door and handed her up inside. The seats were made of butter-soft leather, and lap blankets lay across from Melanie as she seated herself. The warmth from the heated, wrapped bricks was welcoming.

  It seemed Rocky had thought of everything for her comfort. But…why? She was so grateful she wasn’t sure she could find the right words to thank him. He was beyond kind. As the coach started forward, Melanie settled back into the pliant leather, her mind filled with questions.

  It seemed to her, had she been in Rocky’s place, she might have been—well, put out that someone had used his name, ordered a bride and had her step off the stagecoach in search of a man who had no idea she expected marriage.

  Rocky had taken it in stride. He’d fed her dinner, bought her a hotel room, and rented this wonderful coach for her—and hadn’t asked for anything in return.

  Was that all going to change on this journey? She had been foolish to trust him so completely. They were headed for the wilds of Indian Territory. Ft. Smith claimed to be the last of civilization….and that might be true. What did she know about this part of the country?

  She took a deep breath. He didn’t seem dangerous. And he was a deputy marshal, after all. But…he was also a man. A virile, handsome one, who probably had never been turned down by a woman in his entire life.

  And she had entrusted herself into his care—traveling into unfamiliar country…

  She was too tired to think of it anymore. The rocking and swaying of the conveyance made her close her eyes, and she gave herself up to the sleep she so badly needed.

  ****

  What was he going to do with Melanie duBois? Rocky stretched out his left leg before the cramp seized him full bore—a recurring “gift” from the bullet Ferguson had put in him over a year ago when he’d brought him in for attempting to murder another deputy.

  Ferguson…what was his game? At least the first part of the mystery was solved—Rocky now knew who was behind it. But why? Why had Ferguson gone to the trouble and expense of building the tenuous relationship with Melanie through letters? And why had he sent for her…sent her money for the passage out here…and why in the hell had he used Rocky’s name?

  Dammit, if Ferguson had wanted himself a bride, why not send for one under his own name? It wasn’t as if someone from West Virginia would be aware of Ferguson’s black reputation.

  Was it simply Ferguson’s idea of a huge joke? A lot of trouble and expense, if that was so…

  …and a lot of heartbreak for one very scared young woman.

  Rocky cursed under his breath. The last thing he needed was a bride.

  An unwanted thought scorched through his mind. Would Jessaree Ames invite herself to the Lazy T for Christmas? It wouldn’t be the first time.

  Jessaree lived a scant five miles down the road from the ranch, toward the southern border of the Lazy T land. Though Rocky had always been polite and maintained an air of aloofness toward Jessaree, she wanted more. And she was persistent. Aggressive.

  She was one of the reasons he stayed away from the Lazy T in longer stretches than he might have, otherwise.

  The older he got, the more he found himself wanting to spend time in one place. Right now, that meant the Lazy T with his brother, Kevin. Maria, his sister-in-law, always welcomed him with open arms.
And now, with their new son, Lucas, Rocky felt the loss keenly. His nephew wouldn’t know him at all if he didn’t make an effort to visit more often.

  He’d spent a good many years in avoidance, since Eleanor had left him. Once she’d gone, he swore he’d have nothing more to do with women and serious relationships. Marriage was for others, but not—evidently—for him. Eleanor had flown the coop. And Jessaree was definitely not what he wanted.

  Somehow, he found himself staring at the tintype he’d taken out of his pocket. What did he want, anyhow? It was high time to figure it out.

  He stared down at the serious expression of the young woman gazing back up at him. The arresting eyes, that he now knew were the most beautiful blue…changeable, depending upon Miss Melanie duBois’s emotions. Fascinating.

  In the picture, she wore the barest hint of a smile, as if she were looking into the future, seeing the ragged edge of a dream she’d waited for…

  A kind of hopeful expectation radiated from the image…but a wistful yearning lay behind it. How would she fare now?

  He shook his head. It was none of his concern. He wasn’t responsible for her. But another part of his soul whispered, “Yes…you are.”

  He’d taken responsibility for her when he’d invited her to come home with him…or was it before that? Was it when he’d paid for her hotel room? No…it was when he’d bought her dinner…

  Oh, hell. It didn’t matter. They’d figure it out over Christmas, and come the new year, she’d be on her way. And he’d be back riding these lonely trails again, bringing in wanted fugitives. Same ol’ six and seven.

  This was what he wanted. But he needed to put this damn picture away to convince himself.

  ****

  Rocky kept to the rudimentary roads that the stagecoaches and other travelers followed, thankful there was no inclement weather to deal with.

  The next stage station wasn’t far. He wasn’t pushing the horses, knowing they’d make it to the Lazy T comfortably early tomorrow afternoon.

  It was close to lunchtime, and he figured Melanie was ready for something to eat. He smiled, remembering her wide-eyed surprise when he’d handed over the double eagle. She’d been speechless, and he got the feeling that didn’t happen often.

  Just then, a tapping sounded from inside the coach, and he drew the reins up. “Whoa, now,” he called to the horses in a soothing tone. He brought the coach to a stop beside a pair of elm trees at the edge of the road and swung down from the bench seat.

  Melanie had already opened the door. He took in her full lips and the wisps of blonde hair that had escaped her carefully-pinned up tresses. Her eyes were a darkened blue, and she met his gaze sleepily.

  “Rocky? How much farther until we can stop?”

  “Soon,” he answered with a smile.

  “Aren’t you cold?” She reached for his gloved hand, as if to warm it with her own. At that sweet gesture, a shot of fire ran through Rocky like lightning. He’d never known a woman to be concerned about his welfare and comfort. It was a small gesture, but to him, it was everything.

  His smile faltered as he took her hand briefly.

  “See? I’ll wind up making you cold with these paws of mine.”

  She’d looked down at their joined hands, but now raised her eyes to his once more.

  “Oh, goodness.” She squeezed his hand. “You could’ve already been home by now, couldn’t you? Sitting in front of a warm fire with your brother and—”

  He moved closer and reached for her as she stepped out of the coach.

  “Now, don’t worry about it,” he said, steadying her with his arm. When she stumbled, he held on to her tightly until she nodded.

  “Sorry. I guess my legs are still asleep.”

  She looked up into his face, so close—so beautiful…so innocent. Hell, he had to be years older than Miss Melanie duBois. And though he’d done many things in his life he wasn’t proud of, he’d never taken advantage of a young woman who was counting on him to keep her safe.

  “Rocky—” She tilted her head back, holding his gaze with her own. Around them, the woods were still. “I wish—” she breathed, then let the rest of the words die unspoken.

  But he didn’t have to hear them to know what her wish was. For a moment, he read it in the clear want in her eyes; in the determined set of her jaw; in the kissable pout of her lips.

  And God help him, he wished the same thing.

  ****

  Something was wrong. A sick feeling of dread settled in the pit of Melanie’s stomach as the miles rolled away, bringing them nearer to the stage station. She tried to push the emotions back and ignore them, but she had learned from the past not to do that. It was dangerous not to listen to these “gut feelings”.

  She only wished she understood what this uneasiness meant, and yet, she was all too afraid she already knew.

  Since she’d fled West Virginia, she’d had an odd feeling that something was—out of place—about the entire arrangement. Her best friend, Anne Marie Thompson, had brought her the mail-order bride advertisement that she’d ripped from a newspaper.

  Anne Marie was already engaged, and had been for over a year. But, wouldn’t this be a perfect opportunity for Melanie to escape and start a new life? Far away from her stepfather…an adventuresome location…and with—no doubt—a handsome officer of the law for a husband…

  Anne Marie knew all about Melanie’s predicament. The two had been friends since they were six…in happier days, when Melanie’s parents had both been living.

  Now, Papa and Mama were both gone, and her older brother, Tony, had never come home when the war ended…she bowed her head as the coach rolled on. Tony, with his wicked sense of humor and rakehell ways… Though they’d never received official word, they’d been left to assume that Tony had been killed.

  Now, those days of Mama waiting at the gate, of Papa’s sad eyes, and of the undying hope in Melanie’s heart were all over with. The years had passed. Papa had died, and Mama had remarried…then been “put away”…and then, passed. Tony had never come back. When Anne Marie brought Melanie that newspaper clipping, it had seemed like divine intervention. She’d posted a letter to Ft. Smith to Mr. Rockford Taylor that very afternoon, and she’d almost danced when she’d received a response.

  Now, anxiety took control of her heart and mind, nearly leaving her boneless as she imagined all sorts of reasons as to the cause of this nameless dread.

  Her stepfather had evil plans for her, and he had never been one to accept defeat. Her mother had learned that, soon after they’d married. Melanie squeezed her eyes shut to blot out the images of Stuart Whitworth standing over her dear mama with an upraised hand, her mama sobbing on the floor.

  For years, they had lived in fear, she and Mama. And Melanie had hoped in one forbidden part of her heart that Tony would come home and rescue them both. Did Mama feel that way, too? Had she hoped—even to her dying day—that Tony would return to them somehow?

  Melanie fought back the tears, but her grief was too strong. With Mama dead less than six months, she felt she had still so much sadness in her heart that she’d never be free of it again. And when she thought of losing Papa and Tony as well…and leaving her beloved West Virginia and Anne Marie so far behind—it was almost too much to bear.

  The sobs shook her, and she couldn’t control the tears any longer. It didn’t matter, now. Nothing mattered anymore. She had lost everything. Even the future she’d looked forward to had been wrenched from her. And to make matters worse, she was forced to admit to herself that she was truly beginning to care for Rockford Taylor.

  She was in danger of losing her heart, on top of everything else she’d had taken from her.

  Which was utterly foolish. She barely knew Rocky. Was she going to fall for anyone who just happened to be nice to her? Was she that desperate?

  The slowing of the coach penetrated her gloomy thoughts. They must be getting close—Rocky had told her it wasn’t much farther. She’d pulled the
shades down as far as possible in order to keep out the cold. There was little warmth left in the heated bricks. Her stomach growled.

  They’d be going in. She must look a mess! Oh, Lord. She scrambled for her reticule and took out a small looking glass. Quickly, she pinched some color into her cheeks, straightened her hat, and felt for the errant strands of hair, re-doing the pins as best she could by touch.

  By now, the coach was coming to a stop, and she could hear Rocky calling to the horses. He levered the brake into place and jumped down.

  When he opened the carriage door, Melanie gave him her brightest smile.

  Danger lurked here. But she was determined to do her best to take care of herself. She could only hope that Rockford Taylor cared enough about her to add his protection to what little she might brandish.

  He held out his hand and helped her down.

  ****

  A young man led the horses toward the barn as Rocky and Melanie made their way to the door of the hostelry and the warmth that awaited them inside.

  “Come in!” Silas Marlow, the station proprietor, shouted as Rocky opened the door. Silas hurried toward them. It was obvious he’d just put another log on the fire, as it settled and threw off sparks just then.

  Melanie gave the grizzled old man a grateful smile as he reached to push the door closed behind them.

  “Rocky, you son of a gun. Where’ve you been keepin’ yourself these days?”

  “Here and there, Si. You know how it is.” Rocky swept his hat off and hung it on one of the many pegs by the door.

  Silas laughed, shaking his hand, then turned to look at Melanie again. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone and got yourself hitched again.”

  Rocky swallowed back the ready response. Denial hovered on his tongue. But wouldn’t it be safer for Melanie if everyone believed she was under his protection?

  She looked up at him with a measure of humiliation and uncertainty in her eyes.

  “Yeah, I sure did, Si.” He put his arm around Melanie’s shoulders. She melted against him—from shock, or relief—he wasn’t sure which.