His Mail-Order Bride

by Tatiana March

  “Get on with it,” Greenwood told the preacher. “And make it quick.”

  With an annoyed frown, the old man closed the prayer book he’d opened, and lowered it in his hands. He took out a small card from his coat pocket and read from it. “Do you, Thomas Greenwood, take this woman, Maude Jackson, to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

  “I do.” The reply resonated clear and firm.

  Charlotte swayed on her feet as she realized how close she’d come to being exposed. She hadn’t known the first name of Miss Jackson. If her bridegroom hadn’t furnished the preacher with the information in advance, she might have been caught in a lie before the marriage ceremony was even finished.

  Behind them, the porch timbers creaked with heavy footsteps. Charlotte glanced back over her shoulder. A squat man in a long canvas duster had arrived. Another man climbed up after him, a battered hat clasped in his hands. Then a third appeared, a dark-complexioned man with a patch over one eye and a neatly trimmed beard.

  “How much?” the first man grunted.

  “Get it done,” Greenwood said to the preacher.

  “Two hundred.” The reply came in an insolent voice Charlotte recognized. She whirled around and saw the lanky innkeeper lounging against the door frame. An amused expression brightened his narrow features.

  “Three hundred,” said the man in a long canvas duster.

  “Four,” one of the others called out.

  Greenwood took a step toward the preacher, tugging Charlotte along with him. He scowled at the ancient reverend. “If you don’t finish it quick, there’ll be trouble.”

  The preacher squinted past Charlotte at the gathered crowd of men, nodded and speeded up his words. “Will you, Maude Jackson, take this man, Thomas Greenwood, to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

  Charlotte stole another glance behind her. The number of men had grown, and the amounts they were shouting had escalated to a thousand. She couldn’t understand the cause of the fracas, but she was left in no doubt about the urgency with which her bridegroom wanted the ceremony completed.

  Instinct told her to stall.

  “Excuse me.” She raised her chin and addressed her words to the preacher. “Is it really appropriate to ask him first?” Her eyes flickered to Greenwood, who stood by her side, bristling with impatience. “Shouldn’t you ask me first?”

  “What does it matter?” The words rumbled out of her bridegroom in a harsh growl, as if they were his heart and guts yanked out. “The end result will be just the same.”

  A solitary burst of laughter vibrated along the porch. Charlotte turned around and spotted the innkeeper chuckling on the doorstep. “What exactly about my situation do you find so amusing?” she asked, irritation overcoming her anxiety.

  The man jerked his chin to take in the crowd of spectators. “You don’t get it, do you?”

  She frowned at him. “Get what?”

  “They are bidding for you.” He shook his head in wry amusement. “It’s like a cattle auction, and you are the cow on the auction block. Greenwood could sell your marriage contract to the highest bidder. If he had any sense at all, he’d make a profit on you and order another bride for himself.”

  Charlotte spun to her bridegroom and tipped back her head to look up at his face. “Is it true?” she demanded..

  His fingers tightened around hers. “Say your vows now, before I have a chance to consider what a thousand dollars might mean to me.”

  Alarm soared inside Charlotte. She surveyed the group of men gathered on the porch and recognized the pair who had alighted from the train with her. One sent her a bold grin, his grimy fingers fondling the moustache that decorated his upper lip.

  She spun back to the preacher and blurted, “I do.”

  “With the powers vested in me by the Territory of Arizona, I declare you man and wife.” The preacher completed the ceremony in haste and invited two of the spectators to act as witnesses. Charlotte watched the strangers scratch their names on the piece of paper, and shivered with the knowledge that she had now become the property of Thomas Greenwood.

  Another ripple of laughter came from the porch.

  Charlotte darted a sour glance at the innkeeper. “What is it now?” she asked him tartly.

  “Of course, if you’d had your wits about you, you could have taken charge of the auction yourself. You could have accepted a thousand, paid Greenwood back his two hundred and kept the rest. You could have taken your pick, married any one of these men.”

  Charlotte swung her attention back to her new husband.

  Greenwood finished passing a handful of silver to the preacher. “Let’s get going,” he said and turned toward her, but he was refusing to meet her eyes. From his reaction Charlotte understood the innkeeper had been telling the truth.

  Thomas Greenwood had tricked her.

  It occurred to her it was not out of laziness that he had chosen to have the wedding performed on the hotel porch, but that he had wanted to get it over with quickly, to minimize the time she would be bombarded with competitive offers.

  Resentment unfurled in her belly at being treated like a fool, but another thought broke through her anger. Could it be that her new husband lacked the understanding of his own worth? Could he not see that she would have chosen to marry him a thousand times before any of the other men clustered on the porch of the Imperial Hotel? And if that was the case, should she enlighten him?

  * * *

  Unable to make sense of his turbulent feelings, Thomas tugged his dainty bride down the porch steps behind him. She was totally wrong. Small hands, delicate frame and a face that could make a man lose his sanity.

  Considering she was wholly unsuitable, why had he been in such a hurry to marry her, instead of making a profit on the transaction? He could have accepted a thousand dollars for her and sent for another bride, someone better equipped for life on his isolated homestead. A plain woman would tolerate poverty more easily, would be grateful for the love and protection he could offer her.

  A plain woman. The tintype photograph he carried in his coat pocket weighed on his mind. He’d taken the picture out for a good look while he drank his coffee in the lounge of the Imperial Hotel, waiting for his bride to come downstairs.

  He’d turned the image this way and that, studying it close and squinting at it from afar, but however hard he’d tried, he hadn’t been able to reconcile the homely woman in the picture with the enchanting creature in a frothing white petticoat.

  And what about the baby on the way? Even now, with the heavy wool skirts padding out her waist, his bride was slender, but Miss Jackson had to be with child. Why otherwise would a woman like her consent to marry a stranger? Without the disgrace of an unwed pregnancy she’d be fighting off suitors.

  Thomas halted by the cart where the chestnut gelding whinnied and beat its hooves against the dusty ground, eager to start for home. He lifted his wife’s bag over the side of the cart and turned to her. “If you like, you can lie down on the wagon bed, instead of sitting up on the bench. I’ve made a bed with straw.”

  She craned up on tiptoe to inspect the canvas-covered mound of straw in the roughly constructed wooden conveyance. “Why would I want to do that?” she asked, with a quick glance at him. “If I lie down I won’t be able to see where we are going.”

  “I thought it might be better for the baby. Allow you to rest, instead of bouncing up and down on the hard bench.”

  “The baby?”

  “It’s all right,” Thomas said. Gingerly, he touched the back of his fingers to her cheek. The feel of her soft skin filled him with wonder. “I know you’re with child,” he said quietly. “The agency told me. I asked them not to put it in the marriage contract. I didn’t want any record that the baby isn’t mine, in case you didn’t want the child to know.”

  He saw her eyes
grow wide, and he noticed their exact color, a rich hazel that glowed like dark gold against the long lashes. She hesitated a moment, then spoke in a low voice. “Why would you be willing to marry a woman carrying another man’s child?”

  Thomas turned to soothe the horse, which had grown nervous by the wait. What could he say? To save you from shame and destitution. To make sure this child does not have to grow up as I did, unwanted and unloved. He gritted his teeth and kept silent. Some things were too personal to reveal, too painful to discuss.

  “Why did you pick me as your wife despite the child?” she pressed.

  Thomas cleared his throat. “The child deserves a home. He’s done nothing wrong. You might have made a mistake, but I can’t see why you should spend the rest of your life paying for it, and the child should not pay for it at all.”

  Thomas finished untying the horse and faced his wife. He wondered if his breath would ever stop catching in his throat when he looked at her. She stared up at him, an odd, stricken expression on her exquisite face. Regret rippled through Thomas at the thought that she might be comparing him with the man who had fathered her child.

  “Let’s get going,” he said gruffly. “Do you want to sit on the bench, or lie down in the cart?”

  “I’ll sit with you.” She eyed the high bench. “Provided I can find a way of getting up there.”

  Thunderstruck, Thomas froze before her. His heart kicked into a gallop. He curled his hands around her narrow waist, wondering once again how she could remain so small with the baby growing inside her. Holding her carefully, the way one might handle a precious ornament, he lifted her up to the bench of the cart.

  “Are you sure you’re going to be all right?” he asked as he noticed the beads of perspiration glinting on her brow. She had strapped on a green bonnet, and the sunshine filtering through the fabric gave her pale complexion a sickly hue.

  “I’m fine,” she replied with a strained smile.

  For the first time, Thomas saw the dimples that decorated her cheeks. He could do nothing but stare. After a moment, he shook himself awake and climbed up beside her. Conscious of her pregnant state, he kept the horse to a slow walk.

  As they left Gold Crossing behind and turned onto the desert trail, Thomas could feel his body tingling at her nearness. How had it happened? He had chosen a plain wife, abandoned by another man. But instead, he had gained a wife who could start a riot in any gathering of males, and the feelings she stirred up in him alarmed as much as fascinated him.

  * * *

  Charlotte bounced on the rattling bench. The sun beat down on her. Her skin itched inside the thick wool skirt. Dust clogged her nostrils. Her thoughts churned round and round in her head. Beside her, her husband sat in silence, controlling the cart horse with practiced ease. Every now and then, he slanted a hungry glance at her.

  Each time, her breath stalled and her body tensed.

  He thought she was with child.

  Charlotte bit her lip as she recalled the lifeless body of poor Miss Jackson. If Thomas Greenwood had accepted the pregnancy, what had caused the young woman to sacrifice her life and that of her unborn child? Had she been unable to overcome the shame of being abandoned by the suitor who had ruined her? Or could it be that she had loved him so much that she could not tolerate the thought of becoming someone else’s wife?

  With a sigh, Charlotte pushed Miss Jackson out of her thoughts. It was unlikely she would ever find out the answer, or hear anything of Miss Jackson again.

  She slanted another look at Thomas Greenwood from the corner of her eye. He sat leaning forward, forearms resting on his knees, dust painting streaks of brown on his black suit. A jolt of guilt struck her as she remembered the denim trousers and flannel shirts she’d seen most of the men in Gold Crossing wear.

  Her husband had dressed up for her, had done his best to celebrate their wedding. Getting a wife must be important to him. When the time came for her to make her confession, she would explain, beg for his forgiveness. Perhaps he would understand. And she would offer him ample financial compensation for the inconvenience of having to find another wife.

  “Did the agency tell you how far gone the baby is?” she asked.

  Thomas arched his brows and cupped one hand behind his ear, to indicate he hadn’t been able to hear her words. She repeated her question, raising her voice to carry over the clatter of the horse’s hooves and the grinding of the wagon wheels.

  “Five months,” he replied. “I’ve arranged to take a job at the copper mine in Jerome to earn enough to pay for the doctor when the baby is due in September.”

  Five months. By the end of the summer, he’d expect her to waddle about. Experimentally, Charlotte puffed out her stomach, until her muscles strained against the waistband of her green wool skirt. It was no good. She couldn’t fake a belly ballooned in pregnancy, even if she gorged to gain weight.

  And, judging by her husband’s comments about scraping the money together to cover the medical expenses of childbirth, overeating wouldn’t be a solution, even in the short term, for food would be too scarce. Charlotte gritted her teeth. She had a month. Two at best. Then she would have to either make her confession or escape.

  Chapter Three

  The bouncing of the cart made her stomach twist with nausea. Charlotte swallowed hard to keep down the bile rising in her throat. If she retched up the remains of last night’s beef stew perhaps she should blame it on the plight of a pregnant woman instead of motion sickness.

  “How long before we get there?” she asked.

  They had been traveling at least an hour. After the first few miles, they’d left behind the sandy plateau and were now weaving between rolling hills covered with desert scrub. It seemed impossible fertile farmland could be located anywhere nearby.

  Her husband turned to her, his gray eyes flickering over her with concern. “Are you all right?”

  “Just a little tired.” Charlotte tugged at the stifling fabric of her wool skirt. “And hot.”

  “You ought to have changed into something cooler.”

  She gestured at her leather bag that rocked up and down in the cart behind them. “Do you think I carry an entire wardrobe in there? All I have is another blouse, the undergarments you’ve already seen and the petticoats you complained about.”

  His brow furrowed. “You should have told me. We could have stopped at the mercantile to get you a plain cotton dress.”

  A plain cotton dress. Charlotte pursed her lips. She’d never owned such a garment in her life. Seeking to blend in with the crowd when she escaped from Merlin’s Leap, she’d worn her oldest clothing, but she hadn’t expected to end up in a hot climate.

  “Dresses cost money,” she commented.

  Thomas stiffened by her side. “I can provide what you need, and what the baby needs, even if it means selling my land and working for others.”

  “Don’t say that!” Charlotte sat bolt upright on the bench, twisting around to stare at him. A gust of wind caught the brim of her bonnet, and she raised both hands to hold it secure.

  Their eyes locked, and the naked longing in his gaze slammed into her heart like a blow. In that single look, all his dreams, all his hopes poured over her.

  Every thought scattered from Charlotte’s mind as the strength of her new husband’s emotions flooded out to her. Without thinking, she released her grip on the bonnet and reached out to brush one fingertip along the curve of his cheekbone.

  A strangled sound tore from Thomas Greenwood’s throat. His hand came up to capture her wrist and he pressed his cheek into her palm. His eyes closed, as if he wanted all his senses to focus on that simple touch.

  Charlotte couldn’t breathe. An alien tension tugged deep in her belly.

  She’d hated it when Cousin Gareth touched her, but this was different. She fought the temptation
to slide her fingers into the golden hair of Thomas Greenwood, so she could hear him make that sound of longing again.

  The cart sank into a rut and bounced into sudden lurch that jolted them on the bench. Greenwood released his fingers from her wrist and turned to study the trail ahead, controlling the reins with both hands.

  Charlotte gripped the edge of the wooden platform and clung on tight. As she slowly regained her mental balance, her imagination rushed ahead.

  She saw the coming year unfold. They would forge a companionship, a life together, with shared domestic routines and moments of leisure. And, even though she had to find a way to keep Thomas from consummating the marriage, some level of intimacy might develop between them. And then, when it became safe for her to return to Merlin’s Leap, it would all come to an end.

  A premonition added to her guilty conscience.

  She would end up breaking Thomas Greenwood’s heart.

  * * *

  The journey over the rolling scrubland lulled Charlotte into a fatigue that bordered upon sleep. After those few tense moments of staring at each other, with the hot desert air between them sizzling with unspoken emotion, they had retreated behind neutral manners, conversing in awkward snatches.

  Thomas Greenwood was what she’d heard the people on the train call a sodbuster. He grew wheat and corn and vegetables. Because of his isolated location, he didn’t get caught in the feuds that raged between cattlemen, who demanded open range, and farmers, who sought to fence their fields to protect their crops.

  “It’s after the next turn,” he told her, pride evident in his tone.

  Charlotte sat bolt upright on the hard bench and surveyed the hillside ahead. The trail snaked in twists and turns between clumps of cacti. Greenwood took a sharp turn left and urged the horse into a canter to clear the steep rise of the hill.