Dacey: Bride of North Carolina (Amercan Mail-Order Bride 12)

by Shanna Hatfield

  “Then what happened?” Ellie asked, gazing at her with interest. “How did you discover he wasn’t the man he claimed to be?”

  Dacey grinned and leaned forward in her seat. “Only a few weeks after he married my mother and moved out to the ranch, he started disappearing right after supper. He typically had a drink or two with the meal, but he’d be rip-roaring drunk when he arrived home after his nocturnal adventures. The hands and I got to wondering what he was up to. We had a pretty good idea, so one evening I followed him.”

  “You didn’t!” Beatrice gawked at Dacey, placing a hand on her arm.

  “I did.” Dacey squeezed Beatrice’s hand. “I stayed far enough behind the drunken lout he had no idea I was trailing him, but I followed him into Pendleton just to see what sort of tomfoolery he engaged in of an evening.”

  “Where did he go?” Ellie questioned, enthralled with Dacey’s story.

  “Had he wandered into a saloon, I wouldn’t have been surprised at all. The boys and I expected that. But my jaw dangled open like the hinges had come plumb loose when I rode around a corner and saw him boldly march up the stairs to the most notorious bordello in town. One thing we’ve got in abundance in Pendleton are saloons and houses of ill repute.”

  Ellie gasped and clutched a hand to her chest while Beatrice stared at her in surprise.

  Genteel women weren’t supposed to know bordellos existed, let alone speak of them.

  Due to that fact, both women eagerly awaited the continuation of Dacey’s tale. When the girl continued to pause, studying their appalled reactions, Beatrice tapped her hand. “A house of ill repute, you say?”

  “The fellas at the ranch refer to Miss Clementine’s place as the twenty-three steps to heaven. In my opinion, it’s more like twenty-three steps to the depths of he…”

  Laughter from the doorway drew the gazes of the three women across the room. Braxton leaned against the wall near the doorway, clearly amused by Dacey’s story.

  “Please don’t stop on my account. By all means, continue,” Braxton said, pushing away from the wall and crossing the room in a few long strides. He took a seat on a side chair near Dacey and offered her an encouraging nod. “Go on.”

  Nervous in his presence, Dacey shook her head. “I think I’ve said enough.”

  “You most certainly have not.” Beatrice nudged her side with her elbow. “Finish the story. Please?”

  Dacey smiled and slowly nodded her head. “Well, I slid off Thunder, that’s my horse, and tied the reins to a hitching post around the corner. Quietly, I started creeping up those steps. I remember the wood was polished and shiny, and flowery perfume floated in the air. The walls leading up the stairs held numerous paintings of…” Dacey glanced over at Braxton. Her gaze fell to her lap as her cheeks pinked from embarrassment.

  “Of what?” Ellie asked, eyes round and wide.

  Dacey dropped her voice to just above a whisper. “Women without a stitch of clothing. My stars, but it was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen.” Dacey sat back and cleared her throat, appearing to shake off the memories of the images. “I was halfway up those steps when a hand grabbed me around the waist while another clamped over my mouth. Our ranch foreman, Rowdy, dragged me down the stairs and back to my horse. When he let me go, he said, ‘Dacey! What in tarnation are you doing?’ and I said, ‘Finding out where that stinkin’ polecat is spending all our money.’ Of course, he sent me home. He stayed long enough to discover Luther spent every evening at one of the, um… establishments in town. He’d been drinking, gambling, and availing himself of the services most every night. That’s how he lost our ranch.”

  “In a card game?” Braxton asked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

  Dacey nodded her head as tears pricked her eyes.

  From what little she had shared about her life in Oregon, Braxton had gathered her stepfather had lost the ranch her father worked so hard to wrestle from the sagebrush, but he had no idea it had been in a drunken card game at a bordello.

  “Then what happened?” Ellie asked, touched by Dacey’s account.

  “The man who won the ranch kept on the hands, but Mother, Luther and I had to leave. He would have let me stay, but I couldn’t abandon my mother. Not to Luther. Riding away from the ranch, knowing I’d never be back was one of the hardest things I ever did.” Dacey sniffled and tamped down her tears. “We moved into a tiny little place in town. Mother took in mending and ironing to make a little money while I went to work for one of my father’s friends training his horses. Luther refused to work or give up his proclivity for um… well… Anyway, my mother withered right before our eyes. Within a year from her wedding to Luther, she’d passed away. Before she died, I could see things would end badly with Luther. I contacted the daughter of Mother’s childhood friend to see if she could help me find work far away from Pendleton. Josephine encouraged me to join her in Massachusetts where she worked in a factory. I started making plans to leave. The day we buried my mother next to my father, Luther informed me that with her gone, he expected me to take over all of her wifely duties.”

  Ellie and Beatrice shared horrified looks while Braxton’s hands clenched into fists. If he ever encountered Luther, he might throttle the man with his bare hands.

  Beatrice settled an arm around Dacey and gave her a comforting hug. “You don’t need to finish the story.”

  “Oh, but the last part is good.” Dacey patted Beatrice’s hand in a comforting gesture. “When Luther came back to the house that night, I was ready. I clunked him over the head with a chunk of firewood, hogtied him to the bed, and emptied his pockets of the money that never belonged to him in the first place. My bags were already packed and I caught the morning train east. I’d only been at the factory a few days when it tragically caught fire and we all lost our jobs.” Dacey grinned at Beatrice. “Then I found my way here.”

  “And we’re so glad you did, darling.” Beatrice hugged her again and kissed her cheek. “We all are so glad you did.”

  Ellie hopped up from her seat and gave Dacey a hug before returning to her chair.

  When Dacey looked at Braxton, he offered her a tender smile and nodded his head, agreeing with his mother. No matter how she came to be at Bramble Hall, Braxton was thoroughly pleased she was there.

  The sound of footsteps drew their attention to the doorway.

  “I say, that is quite a remarkable piece of equipment, Braxton,” Mr. Howell said. He, Ernie and Daniel returned to the room after looking through the new telescope Braxton had purchased and set on the topmost balcony to gaze at the sky.

  With a full moon overhead, it provided a perfect distraction to keep Ernie away from Dacey for a while.

  Braxton had quickly lost interest in hearing Ernie and Mr. Howell brag while they looked at the night sky and returned inside. He’d listened to far more of the conversation taking place among the women than they realized. If he hadn’t been so amused by Dacey’s story, he would have gone unnoticed longer.

  He could just picture her sneaking up the steps at a bawdy house and the ranch foreman dragging her away.

  Later, once the Howell family departed, Beatrice and Daniel excused themselves for the evening, leaving Braxton and Dacey alone in the front entry.

  “Is he a good man, Dacey?” he asked as they strolled across the entry toward the stairs.

  “Who?” Confused, she looked at him.

  “The man who won your ranch in the card game? Will he take good care of it? Of your ranch hands?”

  Dacey shrugged. “He isn’t a bad man like Luther, but I don’t think he really wanted the ranch. He has his own place on the other side of town and it would be hard for him to take care of both. Most likely, he sold it to someone else.” Slowly, she meandered her way up the stairs to the third floor. “It breaks my heart to think of all the blood and sweat my father put into building up the ranch for nothing. If Mother hadn’t been so worried, so weak…”

  Abruptly, Dacey snapped her mouth
shut.

  Although she wouldn’t say anything negative about her mother, Braxton could read Dacey’s thoughts.

  He’d thought them himself. The woman hadn’t trusted Dacey to handle the job her father had spent years training her to do in his absence. Instead, she ran to the first man she could find to take over without a thought to the consequences.

  With insight, Braxton stopped at the top of the stairs and grasped Dacey’s chin in his hand, lifting it so she looked into his face. “It’s okay to be angry and disappointed with her, honey. What your mother did wasn’t fair to you, to everything your father worked to build.”

  Dacey shook her head and pulled away, on the verge of tears. Rather than let her go, Braxton wrapped his arms around her in a hug.

  All the emotion she’d bottled up since the day her mother announced her plans to wed Luther Goss surged to the surface, seeking release.

  She hadn’t cried when the horrible man took over their home, when he lost the ranch, or her mother died.

  Sentiment wasn’t something she’d had the time or energy to express when Luther tossed out his despicable threats. Before he could make good on them, she poured all her efforts into running away.

  Tears were kept in check as she traveled across the country to start a new life, only to lose her job a few days later when the factory burned.

  With dry eyes, she’d accepted the proposal of a stranger and found herself in Asheville, North Carolina. Even when she’d discovered Beatrice’s deception and no husband awaiting her, she hadn’t cried.

  Yet, she struggled to maintain her control with Braxton holding her so caringly and telling her she had every right to be upset with the stupid choices her mother made. Choices that left her homeless and at the mercy of strangers.

  From deep inside her soul, the fear, frustration, anger, doubt, and heartache bubbled to the surface, spilling out in salty tears and anguished sobs.

  Unable to stop, Dacey clung to Braxton as she cried out the bitterness, pain, and disappointment.

  Nearly undone by her raw emotion, Braxton lifted her in his arms and carried her to a bench in the hall where he sat with her across his lap. He let her cry until she’d soaked the front of his shirt with her tears.

  Upon hearing the heart-wrenching sobs, Beatrice hurried toward them, but Braxton gave her a look that let her know he would handle the situation.

  Soundlessly, she retreated to her bedroom, secretly pleased by her son’s affectionate care of Dacey.

  Although she hated to see Dacey in such a state of distress, Beatrice smiled as she thought how well the evening had gone. Just as she planned, the bothersome presence of Ernie Howell and his blatant interest in making Dacey his next conquest had stirred every protective instinct Braxton possessed.

  With a little more effort on her part, Beatrice was sure he would realize what she’d known all along — Dacey was the one meant to be his bride.

  Chapter Eight

  Leisurely stretching in her bed, Dacey slowly opened her eyes, feeling better than she had in a very long time.

  The weight that had pressed against her very soul seemed to have dissipated as she sat up. Without the burden of it, she hopped out of bed, skipped across the floor, and pushed the button that bathed the room in soft light.

  Continually amazed by the wonder of electricity, she jigged her way to the closet. As recollections of the previous evening flooded over her with sudden clarity, she tripped on the rug and caught herself on a chair.

  What had she done?

  Not only had she shared the whole story of her past, but she’d also soaked Braxton’s shirt with her tears, sobbing like a helpless baby.

  He’d held her and crooned words of comfort until she was so spent, she slumped against him in exhaustion.

  With great care, he’d carried her into her bedroom and summoned Cornelia to help her undress. Once she was ensconced beneath the warm covers, he returned to the room and tenderly brushed the hair back from her face, staying with her until she fell asleep.

  Mortified that she’d broken down in front of Braxton, of all people, and let him tuck her in like a needy child, she didn’t know how she’d face him.

  “Good gravy,” she muttered, sinking down on the chair and holding her head in her hands. “I sure enough stepped in it this time.”

  The last person she wanted to see her as weak was Braxton Douglas. In the weeks she’d been at Bramble Hall, she’d come to admire him for his strength and kindness, as well as his gentleness.

  What would he think of her now? Now that he knew she was an emotional wreck, resentful of the fear-driven decisions her mother had made.

  Only Dacey didn’t feel like a wreck. She didn’t even feel as resentful of her mother.

  Perhaps she’d needed to release all the emotions she’d bottled up for so long so she could move forward into her future, whatever it held.

  Regret that Braxton happened to be the one present when her tears spilled all over added haste to her actions as she dressed.

  On quiet feet, she made her way down the stairs to the kitchen where she begged Cook to give her two biscuits spread with a thick layer of apple butter. She planned to sneak outside before the rest of the house awakened. Eventually, she’d have to face Braxton, but she hoped to put it off until dinner.

  With the biscuits in one hand and a tin cup of coffee in the other, she rushed out the back door. She stood on the step as the mere hint of a glorious sunrise began to lighten the sky. The edge of the cup brushed her lip as a warm hand settled on her back, making her squeal and jump, spilling coffee down the front of her skirt.

  “Botheration!” she fumed, turning around to look into Braxton’s smiling face. In the dim light, she could still see humor flickering in his mesmerizing gray eyes.

  He smirked and took the cup from her, offering her a snowy white handkerchief. She handed him her biscuits then wiped her hand and brushed at her skirt.

  “If you planned to scare the dickens out of me, you succeeded, Brax. What in thunderation did you do that for?”

  Braxton smiled, biting into one of the biscuits before replying.

  “I saw you come outside and wanted to make sure you were well after last night.”

  In the cool morning air, the warmth of his breath turned into white, feathery plumes as he spoke. His deep voice did strange things to Dacey’s insides.

  A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with Braxton coursed through her, making her tremble.

  Braxton noticed and assumed she was chilled. He tossed the biscuits to one of the dogs lounging on the porch and took Dacey’s arm in his, pulling her back inside the warmth of the house.

  “Where’s your coat? Why don’t you have on your gloves? Are you trying to take ill?” He peppered her with questions as they walked through the kitchen. He thumped the empty tin cup on a counter as they passed through then urged Dacey up the back stairs to the third floor. “What were you thinking? Do you always run around in the cold without adequate covering?”

  “Just hold your horses, buster.” Dacey stopped partway up the steps and glared at him, fisting her hands on her hips. “I leave my chore coat at the horse barn, my gloves are in my pocket, and if I take ill it’s because you made me soak my skirt with coffee. Since I rarely get sick, I ain’t gonna worry about it. And I planned to eat those biscuits, you know. They had apple butter on them.”

  Braxton held back a smirk as she took two more steps upward until she stood on eye level with him.

  “While you’ve got me riled up, I reckon I better speak my piece.” She drew in a deep breath and continued. “I was heading to the barn early so I wouldn’t have to apologize to you first thing this morning, but it looks like I get to do it anyway. I reckon that’s a good lesson learned, to not put off something unpleasant just because I don’t want to face it.” A long sigh escaped her and she looked to Braxton with an expression of sincere regret. “I’m sorry about last night, Brax. I didn’t mean to cry al
l over you like some simpering fool. And I appreciate you staying with me until I fell asleep. In addition, I’m sorry for losing my temper a minute ago. You just…”

  “Scared you spitless?” Braxton teased. His index finger traced along the smooth line of her jaw and over the sweet arch of her cheek. “Apology accepted, Dacey, although you shouldn’t be concerned about last night. I think you’ve needed to do that for a while and I’m glad I was there.”

  Frightened by the flames flickering in his eyes as he studied her, she nodded her head in agreement. Before she threw her arms around his neck and discovered how wonderful it would be to kiss his inviting lips, she spun around and raced the rest of the way up the stairs.

  “I’ll see you at breakfast,” she called over her shoulder before disappearing down the hall.

  Braxton rolled his eyes heavenward, wondering how long he could keep his desire to kiss Dacey, to own her completely, under control.

  ~~*~~

  “Oh, Ernie. How wonderful to see you.” Beatrice greeted Ernie Howell as he made a delivery to the kitchen. She’d been watching for his arrival, excited to implement the next phase of her plan to open Braxton’s eyes to the treasure he had in Dacey, if he’d just accept her.

  “It is providential I happened to catch you this afternoon,” Beatrice gushed, guiding a befuddled Ernie down the hall toward the blue parlor where Dacey worked with her tutor.

  “It is, ma’am?” Ernie asked, clearly confused.

  “It most certainly is, young man. Miss Butler is in need of a dance partner and here you are.”

  “Miss Butler?” Ernie warmed to the idea of dancing with the lovely Dacey. Although she’d been polite to him, she hadn’t appeared won over by his good looks or charm. Most women had a hard time resisting him, but Dacey seemed to be an exception.

  With a little effort on his part, he was sure he could convince her to share at least a few kisses.

  “I’d be happy to help Miss Butler,” he said, smiling at Mrs. Douglas. She led the way into a large room where a harried little man attempted to instruct Dacey in the fine art of dancing the polka.