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

by Elizabeth Lane

  As he thundered down the drive, he willed himself not to look back at her.

  * * *

  Arabella collapsed on the top step of the porch and buried her face in her hands. Her intentions had been entirely good. How could she have made such a mess of things?

  Stewart had long suspected her of scheming to break up his sister’s marriage. Now she was certain that he believed he’d seen proof of it, and he wasn’t the sort of man to change his mind. She had lost him for sure; and after she heard his story, Sally would never want to be her friend again. The best she could do for all concerned was leave.

  Hot tears scalded her cheeks. She smeared them away with her hand. At least Charles hadn’t followed her outside. He was probably scared of what Stewart might do to him.

  The storm clouds that roiled overhead matched her mood. Sheet lightning flickered against the blackness. Out of habit, she counted between the flash and the thunder. Four seconds. Four miles. Not so close yet but the wind had freshened. The storm was moving in fast.

  She could no longer see Stewart. Horse and rider had vanished behind a low hill. From there they could be headed in any direction. Even if she tried, she’d have no hope of catching up with him.

  Something cool and wet touched her arm. The dog, its fur coated with dust and mud, pressed against her side. It must have come here with Stewart and decided to stay.

  She stroked its head, heedless of the smudges on her yellow dress. Whining, it pushed its nose into her hand. “What is it, boy?” she asked. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

  The dog’s tail thumped against the porch. Pawing at her skirt, it gazed at her with eager, golden eyes. Such an intelligent animal. Arabella remembered how it had run off with her hat and led Stewart to her rescue when she’d fallen off her horse.

  Could the dog lead her to Stewart now?

  Lightning cracked across the sky, chased almost immediately by an earsplitting boom of thunder. Terror gripped Arabella’s throat. The storm was closing in. If she left now, she would be in the open—but so would Stewart.

  Stewart knew the prairie well, but that didn’t make him immune to danger—especially if he was feeling betrayed and prone to recklessness. What if something were to happen to him? What if he were to die—like her parents had died—without ever knowing that she loved him?

  Arabella was on her feet now, running across the yard with the dog at her heels. Raindrops spattered the ground as she dashed into the barn. The gray gelding that had thrown her was in its stall. Despite her bad experience, she knew the animal was swift and sturdy. She would choose it any day over the carriage horses and the showy bay Charles favored. But no more sidesaddle for her. She found a well-used Western saddle, lifted it onto the gelding’s back and buckled the cinch.

  Outside the barn, she hiked up her skirts and mounted the nervous horse. The dog was dancing with anticipation. “Find your master, boy,” she said. “Go!”

  The dog was off like a shot, with Arabella flying along behind. The rain was coming down hard now. Within seconds it had plastered her clothes to her skin. The memory of her nightmares stirred and rose—the thunder, the screams… She willed them away. All that mattered now was finding Stewart and forcing him to hear the truth.

  She could only hope he would listen.

  * * *

  Stewart had ridden straight out onto the prairie. He hadn’t wanted to go home, where Arabella’s sweet fragrance still lingered in his bed. And he was in no condition to go back and face his men. All he wanted to do was crawl into a hole and lick his wounds like a wild animal.

  What was he going to tell Sally? Nothing, for now, he resolved. There was too much danger that her distress could harm the baby. But the next time he caught Charlie Middleton alone, he would threaten to shoot off the bastard’s balls if he didn’t behave himself. As for Miss Arabella Spencer…he didn’t know what to think, or what to believe. It was as if the world had turned upside down. His eyes and his mind told him one thing, but with all his heart and soul, he didn’t want to believe it.

  Lightning cracked the roiling sky. The boom of thunder seemed to shake the earth. The strike had been close—too close. In a storm like this one, the open prairie was a dangerous place to be. It was time he headed for shelter.

  Rain streamed down as the clouds opened. Stewart scanned the country around him. He’d been riding aimlessly, but he recognized the hollow between two low hills. In a shallow canyon was an abandoned homestead with an old sod shanty. Last time Stewart had seen it the shanty had barely been standing, but as least it might offer some protection.

  Pushing the horse to a gallop, he made for it.

  * * *

  Numb with cold and terror, Arabella urged her horse through the streaming rain. The dog was a brown blur in the long grass. It was all she could do to keep the creature in sight. What if it wasn’t leading her to Stewart at all? What if it was just out for a run?

  A hundred yards to her right, lightning struck a burned-out tree stump. The crack of thunder was like a cannon going off inside her head. The gelding screamed and reared. Arabella clung to its neck, sawing at the reins. Seconds crawled past as she struggled to quiet the frightened animal. Little by little, she managed to bring the horse under control.

  Exhausted, she sagged in the saddle and glanced around for the dog. The shaggy mutt was nowhere to be seen. Fear crawled up her throat as she whistled and called. There was no bark, no rustle in the grass; no response at all. Arabella was lost in the storm.

  She had little choice except to keep moving. But with the deadly lightning so close, she realized it would be safer to dismount and lead the horse. Now that she no longer knew where she was going, there was no reason to hurry.

  Speaking calmly to the skittish gelding, she slid to the ground and took the reins. Her boots were spongy with water, the sharp-edged grass knee-high. She was soaked to the skin, shivering with cold and nauseous with terror. Her sprained ankle, which was still healing, had begun to throb. But she didn’t dare allow herself to rest. If she sat down she might not have the strength to get up again.

  Was Stewart somewhere out here, cold, miserable and alone just as she was? Arabella battled a growing hopelessness. Even with the dog, finding him would have been a matter of luck. Now not even luck would be enough.

  She needed a miracle.

  * * *

  Stewart huddled in the driest corner of the old soddie. Most of the roof had caved in, but at least the walls lent some protection from the wind and the lightning. Too bad he had no walls against the bittersweet memory of Arabella in his arms.

  Could he have been wrong about what he’d seen? Now that he’d had time to think, the question tormented him. She’d come running after him to explain, but he’d stormed off without giving her a chance. What if he’d stayed long enough to listen? If he’d misjudged her, he could pay the price to the end of his days.

  The horse snorted and stirred in the shadows. Stewart had led the animal inside the walls to protect it from the lightning, which had been known to kill men and animals on the open plain. He remembered Arabella’s story of how her parents had died, and the fear that was buried inside her, deeper than memory. At least he’d left her in a safe place. No matter what she might have done, he could never wish her harm.

  He loved her too much for that.

  The horse nickered, pricking its ears. Stewart was instantly alert, moving toward the Winchester he kept slung from the saddle. Before he could reach it, a wet, muddy canine hurtled through the crumbling doorway, flinging itself on him in a paroxysm of joy.

  Stewart managed to shove the squirming, licking animal to arm’s length. “Fool dog,” he muttered, “don’t you even have the sense to stay out of the rain?”

  The dog wheeled toward the doorway, whining and yipping. It was a behavior Stewart had come to recognize.
“What is it, boy? Do you want me to follow you?”

  The dog yipped and trotted outside. Knowing it would be safer to go on foot, Stewart slung the rifle over his shoulder and hurried into the storm. Whatever the mutt wanted him to see, he could only hope it wasn’t far off.

  Minutes later he spotted the bulky outline of a horse through the rain. His heart plummeted as he recognized the gray gelding from the Middleton Ranch. It was the horse Arabella would have taken if she’d come after him.

  With a prayer on his lips, Stewart plunged ahead. Arabella was terrified of thunder and lightning. She would never have ventured out in a storm like this one—not unless she was crazy enough to love him.

  He could have stayed and listened to her. Instead he’d mounted up and galloped away. If the worst had happened, he’d have no one to blame but himself and his damned foolish pride.

  He had nearly reached the horse when he saw her. She’d fallen to her knees in the grass, her head drooping forward. Was she praying or merely exhausted? It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except that she was alive, and he’d found her.

  At the sound of her name she looked up. Stewart strode forward, caught her in his arms and lifted her like a child. Shivering, she curled against his chest. She was so precious, and he loved her so much. He would do everything in his power to make her happy.

  “Stewart—” She looked up at him. Her lips were blue with cold.

  “Hush, it’s all right. Don’t try to talk, Arabella.” He strode toward the old sod house, the horse and dog trailing behind.

  “No, I have to tell you.” Her hands gripped the front of his rain-soaked shirt. “When you saw me with Charles, he was wishing me well, as an old friend. That was all. I’d just told him that I…” She hesitated. “That I was in love with you.”

  “Hush, I know, my love.” All doubt vanished as he spoke. “I should have known all along. If you’ll forgive me, I want to spend the rest of our lives making it up to you.”

  She pressed her head against his chest as he carried her into the crude shelter and settled against the wall. “Let me warm you,” he whispered as he held her close.

  The rain would soon be letting up. Already, through the clouds, Stewart could see a glimmer of sunlight. Before long the storm would pass. Then they would mount up and ride home side by side, under a blue Montana sky.

  Maybe there would even be rainbows.

  Epilogue

  One week later

  The setting sun had turned the clouds to flame. Ribbons of gold, pink and vermilion streamed above the western peaks, casting the prairie in a rosy glow. A flock of wild geese, flying north, winged across the sky.

  Arabella rested her head on her husband’s shoulder as the buggy pulled over the last hilltop. “Look,” she whispered. “Even the sky is celebrating with us.”

  “I think the sky is telling us it’s almost bedtime.” Stewart chuckled as he lifted the reins to drive forward.

  “No, wait.” Arabella laid a hand on his arm. “Give me a moment to look down at the place from here. It’s so beautiful. And I’m seeing it for the first time as my new home.”

  “Whatever pleases you, love.” He slipped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. The ranch house nestled below the hill, a perfect symphony of logs, stone and glass that harmonized with the land where it lay. The windows glowed in the golden light.

  “I think I realized I was in love with you when I first saw your house,” Arabella teased.

  “Well, now you have both—the house and me. I hope you’re pleased with yourself, Mrs. McIntyre.”

  “More than pleased. Now let’s go home.”

  Arabella’s wedding had been far different than she’d imagined. There’d been only a few days to plan it before the circuit preacher came through. Grandma Peabody’s silk wedding gown was splotched with water stains that not even Sally had been able to remove. Arabella had chosen to wear it anyway, for luck. The wreath of wildflowers in her hair had matched the bouquet she carried down the aisle of the little white church. She had never felt more beautiful. And when she looked up into Stewart’s eyes to recite her vows, his love had flowed through her like warm sunlight.

  In attendance at the simple ceremony were a few friends from town, as well as Charles and Sally who’d smiled and held hands the whole time. A special guest of honor, Stewart’s dog, had been bathed, brushed and adorned with a garland of ribbons and daisies around its shaggy neck. During the ceremony, the wayward mutt had wandered off to romp in a puddle with a canine friend, then returned to the church, leaving muddy footprints down the aisle. A wedding picnic at Charles and Sally’s had capped the festivities.

  In other words, the day couldn’t have been more perfect.

  Stewart pulled the buggy up to the front walk and turned the horse over to Miguel, who waited with a shy grin on his face. Arabella was about to climb to the ground when Stewart swept her up in his arms.

  “Remember the first time I carried you into this house? I was wondering then how it would be to carry you home as a bride,” he said.

  Arabella laughed. “As I recall, I was thinking along the same lines. Let’s find out.”

  She nestled against Stewart’s chest as he carried her across the porch. Some things, she’d learned, didn’t work out according to plan. And life’s unexpected gifts could be the dearest blessings of all.

  * * * * *

  The Bride Wore Britches

  Kate Welsh

  Dear Reader,

  You can’t imagine how excited I was when I was asked to participate in this anthology. I’ve written a few very short stories for magazines, but I’ve never written in novella length. My excitement grew when I learned I would be able to link this story to the series I’ve been working on for Harlequin® Historical.

  The question about my writing I’m asked most often is “Where do you get your ideas?” My answer is always “Everywhere.” The inspiration for this novella came from my husband’s sister. She married his best friend—his childhood friend. That happened after what we all laughingly call “the miracle.” She was an unashamed tomboy, who had a date one Saturday night when my husband and his friend happened to be heading somewhere as well—being a man, my husband doesn’t remember where. As they were readying themselves to leave, my sister-in-law came downstairs, all prettied up for her date. His friend looked up and lightning seemed to strike him. He asked a now infamous question. Watch for it, because Dylan asks it, too. My sister-in-law, who is now my best friend, answered in much the same way as Rhiannon Oliver.

  I hope you enjoy this tale inspired by our family history. There’s always something exciting happening in Tierra del Verde, so watch for other installments of the characters who settled the Wild West in Texas’s beautiful Hill Country. You can find out what sent them west in the first books of the series. They’re at www.Harlequin.com.

  Kate Welsh

  To Deb and John. Thanks for the inspiration.

  I love telling your story! Hope you have

  many more happy years together. All my love, Kate.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter One

  Tierra del Verde, Texas—March 1879

  Rhiannon Oliver pulled the buckboard to a stop in front of Wheaton General Store. She glanced up and down the main street and smiled a little sadly. The town had grown because of the stagecoach line having put them on their route. S
adly a few families had moved on because of the growth.

  Unfortunately with progress came problems. Strangers drifted in and out of town more often now. Which forced her to continue wearing a disguise of britches and loose shirts that had come about accidentally when her figure had begun to blossom six years ago. With her mother long dead, neither Rhia nor her father had known what to do other than pretend she was a son. But she wasn’t.

  Since her father’s death two years earlier, she’d had no one to rely on but herself. Her friend’s mother had filled in, so in some personal matters she hadn’t been completely bereft of a woman’s counsel. A woman alone was in danger, however, so what had been a convenience for her father now had to be continued for her safety.

  Recent Comanche raids worried everyone, too, especially since no one had been able to track the raiders or find evidence they even existed. Some called them Ghost Warriors. Some looked at the bigger operations with suspicion but the source of the murderous raids remained a mystery.

  Rhia just kept putting one foot in front of the other trying not to let resentment take root in her soul because no one saw past the disguise. Two cowboys walked along then, passing her without notice. Rhia sighed. Yep. Still invisible.

  She set the brake and jumped down. Her gaze fell immediately upon a poster tacked to the upright of the covered boardwalk. Spring Social. April 4. Rocking R. Five To Midnight. Apparently Alex Reynolds and his wife were hosting again.

  She would stay home. Again.

  Tying her old horse, Jessie, to the hitching rail, she watched with a smile as Scout, her border collie and constant companion for as long as she could remember, took a flying leap from the wagon’s seat to the boardwalk. Rhia grabbed her basket of eggs and ran lightly up the steps. She and Scout entered the general store together—the way they did everything else.

  “Good afternoon, Abby,” she called out to the proprietor as the screen door smacked shut behind her. “I hope you need eggs.”