Weddings Under a Western Sky: The Hand-Me-Down BrideThe Bride Wore BritchesSomething Borrowed, Something True

by Elizabeth Lane

  Dragging himself into the bedroom, he peeled off his wet clothes and left them in a heap on the rug. Naked and shivering, he crawled between the worn flannel sheets and closed his eyes. Morning would be here all too soon.

  * * *

  Arabella stirred and woke. A streak of sunlight, falling between the drawn drapes, stabbed her eyes. She turned over with a moan. Her sleep-blurred eyes glimpsed yellow flowered wallpaper, a quilted coverlet and a tall mahogany bedpost. Where was she, and how did she get here?

  She stretched cautiously, wincing in pain. Her body felt as if every muscle had been pounded like a slab of beef. And last night she’d had the most horrible dream about Charles…

  “Arabella?”

  The voice jarred her to full awareness. She raised her head to see Charles standing in the doorway, dressed in a white shirt and a leather vest. His once-pale skin had acquired a healthy tan, but the gentle blue eyes and light brown curls were just as she’d remembered. Talons of pain clenched around her heart.

  “Last night wasn’t a dream, was it?” she whispered.

  He shook his head. “Arabella, dearest—”

  “How could you?” Jerking upright in the bed, she flung the words at him. “How could you do this to me? To us?”

  “I wrote you a letter.”

  “You wrote me a letter! A letter I never received! Is that all you’ve got to say for yourself?”

  He sighed. “I suppose I do owe you an explanation. May I sit down?”

  She nodded toward a bedside chair, then took a moment to adjust the pillow behind her back. The faded flannel nightgown she was wearing felt several sizes too big. How she came to have it on was something Arabella didn’t even want to know.

  She glared at her ex-fiancé, now another woman’s husband. “No more surprises, Charles. Tell me the truth—the whole sordid little story.”

  He fiddled with his thumbs, avoiding her gaze. After a long moment he cleared his throat. “Sally kept house for her brother on the next spread north of here. When I moved to the ranch last summer, she came over with an apple pie, expecting to find a family. Instead she found me. She was shy at first, but over time we became…friends.”

  “Friends.” Arabella cast him a withering look. “Did you tell her you were engaged to be married?”

  “Of course I did. I even showed her your picture. But she was lonely and so was I. Her brother was out on the range for days on end, so it wasn’t hard to find time together. Mostly we just talked or went for rides. She even taught me how to fish. We behaved ourselves pretty well until the big January blizzard. She happened to be here the day the storm blew in. There was no way she could leave. One thing led to another…” He stared down at his thumbs.

  “Oh, Charles!” Arabella felt as if she were scolding a wayward child. It was a feeling she’d had many times before with him, dating back to when he actually was a child, and could never seem to keep himself out of mischief. He was always genuinely sorry afterward, and faithfully promised to mend his ways…until the next time temptation got the better of him.

  Everyone had said his character would become steadier as he grew to manhood, but if recent events were any indication, he still had quite a bit of maturing to do.

  “Why didn’t you tell me then?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Afterward, Sally was upset. She said she’d done a bad thing, sinning with a man who was already promised. When she left here, she told me she never wanted to see me again.”

  “And what about you? Were you even sorry?”

  “Sorry?” He made a little choked sound. “I’d betrayed you and taken advantage of an innocent girl. I despised myself for what I’d done. But the one thing I knew for sure was that I didn’t want to lose you. When I didn’t hear from Sally, I sent you the tickets and put the finishing touches on the house. Everything was going as planned until three weeks ago.”

  “I can just imagine.” Arabella masked her pain with icy calm. “Go on.”

  “I heard a knock at the door. When I opened it, there was Sally on the porch, crying her eyes out. Her brother was with her, looking as mean as a grizzly bear. He’d brought along a preacher and the biggest shotgun I’d ever seen.” His voice choked with tears. “If I’d refused to marry her, I’ve no doubt the man would have killed me. Oh, Lord, don’t hate me, Arabella! I didn’t mean for this to happen!”

  He looked like a little boy who’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Arabella felt frozen inside. “You’re not worth hating, Charles Middleton. All I can do is wish you and your bride the best and get out of your life.”

  Charles reached for her hand, catching it tight. “You’ve got to understand. Sally’s a sweet girl, a fine girl. I care for her. But, so help me, it’s you I love, Arabella. If there’s a way, any way at all…”

  Disgust thawed Arabella’s composure. She jerked her hand away. “I can’t believe you’d suggest such a thing! Shame on you, Charles! You’ve made your bed, so lie in it with that poor girl and try to be a decent husband! As for me, I’m well out of this mess. As soon as my trunk arrives, one of your hired hands can drive me back to Buffalo Bend.”

  He rose, his mouth set. “Your trunk was on the front porch this morning. But you can’t leave yet. The bridge is washed out. Even if you could get to town there’s no place to stay, and the stage only comes through every ten days—less often if the weather’s bad. For now, I’m afraid you’re stuck here.”

  “Stuck here. In this house, with you and your bride.” Arabella felt as if she’d just pronounced her own prison sentence. This was unthinkable—a nightmare with no escape. She thrust out her chin, fighting tears. “Very well, I’ll stay if I must. But the less I see of your lying face, the better!”

  He flinched as if she’d slapped him. Good. The cheating bastard deserved that and more. But her own self-control was cracking around the edges. “Get out,” she muttered. “Just go.”

  “Your trunk will be in the hall. I’ll have some breakfast sent up.”

  When she didn’t reply he walked out, closing the door behind him. As his footsteps faded, Arabella gave in to fury. She had loved Charles, trusted him completely. But he was weak and deceitful. While she’d been dreaming about him and planning their future, he’d been sleeping with another woman—sleeping being the polite word for an act so intimate that Arabella could scarcely imagine it. Then, as if nothing had happened, he’d sent her the blasted tickets!

  If he hadn’t gotten the wretched creature with child, Arabella would have married him and never been the wiser—until the next time he strayed. Oh, there would always be a next time. A man didn’t change that much.

  How could she have been such a fool?

  Turning over, she punched her pillow—once, then again and again. Was it Charles or herself she was pretending to beat? It didn’t make much difference. The release felt like something she needed.

  A solid blow split the stitching of the pillowcase. Feathers exploded in a blizzard of white, falling around her like the fragments of a shattered dream.

  All her hopes, all her plans—her wedding, her home, her future family—everything was gone because of a scheming little Montana prairie flower with an apple pie and a man too weak-willed to keep his word. What had she done to deserve this? And what was she going to do now?

  Clutching her ribs with her arms, she doubled over in the bed. As the feathers settled around her, Arabella’s body shook with hard, dry sobs.

  A light rap at the door riveted her attention. Swiftly composing her features, she sat up. “Who is it?”

  “Breakfast.” The voice was a woman’s, the word so faintly spoken that it barely penetrated the wood.

  Arabella sat up, adjusting herself in the bed and smoothing back her unruly red curls. At least the hired help wouldn’t be expecting her to answer any questions. “B
ring it in,” she said.

  The door opened slowly. The young woman who stepped over the threshold with a tray was uncommonly tall and dressed in faded calico. Her hair fell over one shoulder in a thick flaxen braid. Arabella’s spirits sank to a new low. The last person she wanted to see this morning was Charles’s wife, Sally.

  “I hope you like ham and eggs,” she said. “I brought fresh biscuits, too, and—” Her dove-gray eyes shot open as she noticed the feathers. “My stars! What happened?”

  Arabella bit back a stinging retort. She was starved, and that breakfast did smell good. Her stomach growled. “Excuse me.” Her politeness was brittle. “I’m afraid I took out my frustrations on that pillow. I’ll be happy to pay for a new one.”

  “No, no!” Sally set the tray across Arabella’s knees and began scooping up the feathers. “I can mend it. No trouble at all. Oh, and I washed your muddy clothes and hung them to dry. Your beautiful silk gown had some mud stains, but I managed to get the worst of them out. Maybe you can add a row of lace to cover what’s left of them, along with the watermarks.”

  “Thank you. That gown was my grandmother’s.” Arabella nibbled a piece of flaky biscuit. Strange, how the dress she’d saved for her wedding had been salvaged by the very woman who’d laid ruin to her plans. It was as if she’d stepped into a world of smoke and mirrors, where nothing was as it seemed—including Sally’s friendly manner. What schemes and plans lay behind that sweetly smiling face?

  “My grandmother was married in that gown,” Arabella added. “She and my grandfather were happy together for almost fifty years. I thought it might give me luck to wear it.” She shrugged. “So much for luck.”

  “You’re so pretty, Arabella. Even prettier than your picture. Surely you’ll get other chances.”

  Other chances. Arabella’s spirits sank a notch deeper. True, there were men standing in line back home. But none she wanted to spend her life with. Her heart had always been set on Charles.

  Cheating, lying, two-faced Charles, who’d fathered another woman’s child and married her only because he was forced to.

  Assuming a mask of politeness, Arabella changed the subject. “This breakfast is delicious. My compliments to your cook.”

  Sally flushed. She had skin like a ripe peach, with the lightest dusting of freckles across her classic nose. There was a part of Arabella that wanted to fly at her and yank that long golden braid until she screamed. But what purpose would that serve now?

  “I’m the cook,” Sally said. “There’s a Chinese man who does the heavy work and washes up in the kitchen, but I enjoy cooking and cleaning—and it does save Charlie a bit of money.”

  Arabella choked on a bite of airy scrambled egg. She’d assumed that Sally had set out to snare herself a rich husband. But Charles’s wife seemed as guileless as she was pretty.

  That, or she was putting on one humdinger of an act.

  “Charles has plenty of money, Sally,” Arabella said. “In fact he’s quite wealthy. He can certainly afford to hire more help for you.”

  “Oh, but I don’t mind.” Sally was stuffing handfuls of feathers back into the pillowcase. “I’ve worked hard all my life. I’m used to it.”

  “But you’re expecting a baby. You’re certainly going to need a woman’s help soon.”

  “My mother raised seven children in a log cabin without any help at all. I’m strong, just like she was. I’ll manage fine.”

  Putting the pillowcase aside, she sat down on the foot of the bed. “I know you’ll be needing some time to yourself. I’ll have Chung bring in your trunk and fill the bath. But before I go, there’s something I want to say.”

  Her work-worn hands clasped and unclasped in her lap. She wore no wedding ring—evidently that hadn’t been included in the shotgun ceremony. Someone should tell Charles to buy her one.

  “I know you have every reason to hate me, Arabella,” she said. “You came here expecting to be married. Instead you found…me.” Her hand brushed the curve of her growing belly. “I never meant for you to be hurt. When I found out about the baby, I planned to raise it on my own. I kept the secret from my brother for as long as I could, but he finally noticed. He was the one who forced Charlie to marry me.” She shook her head. “I can’t blame Stewart. He was only trying to do the right thing.”

  “Do you love Charles?” Arabella was startled by her own question.

  She nodded, blinking back tears. “If I didn’t love him, this—” Her hand stroked her belly again. “This never would have happened. But he was yours. I never meant to take him away from you.”

  Arabella’s emotions caromed between anger and pity. Sally had Charles. She had his house, his child and the status of being his wife. But how much was that worth if her husband claimed to love another woman?

  What a mess! Arabella could hardly wait to be on that train back to Boston.

  “I was thinking this morning,” Sally continued. “You’ve traveled all this way. Maybe there’s still some good that can come of it. My brother, Stewart, is a good man. He’s kind and responsible, and he has his own ranch, bigger even than this one. Now that I’ve married Charlie, he’s all alone. What if you and he—”

  Arabella’s fork clattered to the tray. “Your brother?” she gasped. “What makes you think I’d be interested in the man who forced you and Charles to marry?”

  Sally’s face fell. “You could give him a chance while you’re here. Stewart’s a quiet man, but he can be pleasant once you get to know him. He’s even a war hero. He won a medal for bravery at Gettysburg.”

  A war hero? No wonder he was able to scare Charles into the wedding ceremony. Mean-as-a-grizzly, shotgun-toting Stewart, Charles had described him. He’d probably scared the Rebels to death.

  “We invite him over for dinner every Sunday,” Sally said. “He’s coming this evening. You might enjoy spending some time with him. What have you got to lose?”

  Arabella chose not to answer the question. But it did start her thinking. Paying a little harmless attention to another man might show Charles that she was capable of moving on. And Sally was right about one thing—even if Stewart proved to be a troll, what did she have to lose? She’d be leaving on the next stage out of Buffalo Bend.

  Arabella drained her tea and set down her fork. “All right, Sally. No promises, mind you, but I’m willing to meet your brother.”

  “Oh, but you’ve already met him. Didn’t he tell you who he was?”

  Arabella’s jaw went slack. She groaned as the truth sank home. How could she not have seen the resemblance—the height, the strong features, the deep-set gray eyes.

  “Stewart McIntyre.” Sally’s smile confirmed her worst fears. “My brother’s the man who brought you here.”

  * * *

  Stewart surveyed the banquet laid out on the white linen

  tablecloth. Sally had outdone herself tonight, with roast chicken, braised potatoes and carrots, hot buttered rolls and a fresh apple cobbler with cream for dessert. Much as he relished a good meal, he worried that his sister was working too hard. Maybe it was time her husband took a firm hand and hired more help.

  Not that Charlie Middleton took a firm hand in much of anything. Stewart didn’t have a high opinion of any rancher who wouldn’t get his fingernails dirty. And after what Charlie had done to his sister, he could scarcely abide the man’s company. But he accepted these weekly invitations to keep in touch with Sally and make sure she was well taken care of.

  He’d been of a mind to make his excuses tonight. With Arabella Spencer in the house, tensions were bound to be running as high as the Missouri in flood. But early that morning, when he’d delivered Arabella’s trunk, Sally had met him on the porch and begged him to come. Sensing that she needed his support, he’d said yes.

  They sat around one end of the long table, Sally on her husband’s right
and Arabella on his left, directly across from Stewart. From where he sat, there was no way to keep his eyes off her.

  She’d cleaned up right fine since he’d left her, shivering like a wet pup at Charlie’s gate. Her pale yellow gown was simple but elegant, with a pert little ribbon at the throat. Her fiery locks were twisted up and pinned at the crown of her head, leaving a few loose curls to tumble around her heart-shaped face. He noticed for the first time that her eyes were the color of fresh spring grass.

  She looked like a little porcelain doll. And the sidelong glances Charlie Middleton was giving her made Stewart want to stand up and punch the bastard.

  It had been his worry all along—that the presence of Charlie’s former fiancée would put a strain on his sister’s marriage. Seeing Arabella for the first time had doubled his worries. Sally was a beautiful girl with a true and tender heart. Given time, Charlie might see her fine qualities and grow to love her. But Arabella Spencer was a dazzler—lively, spirited and confident of her charms. If she made up her mind to get Charlie back, poor Sally wouldn’t stand a chance.

  Maybe he should’ve left the damned woman back in town!

  “Sally tells me you’re a war hero, Mr. McIntyre.” Arabella had turned her wiles on Stewart now. She was clearly trying to make Charlie jealous. Stewart fought the urge to get up from the table and walk out, away from all of this nonsense. Only Sally’s pleading eyes kept him in his seat.

  “Oh, call him Stewart, Arabella. We don’t hold with formality in these parts.” Sally’s gaiety was as brittle as glass.

  “Very well, Stewart.” She smiled and batted her impossibly long eyelashes. “I was told you won a medal at Gettysburg. There must be a good story behind that, if you’d care to entertain us.”

  Stewart took the time to spear a drumstick from the white china platter. “It was a long time ago, and it’s hardly fit for entertainment. If I told you what Gettysburg was really like, you wouldn’t be able to finish your dinner.”