The Secret Admirer Romance Collection

by Barratt, Amanda; Beatty, Lorraine; Bull, Molly Noble

  John sprinted for the barn.

  Shakespeare poked his head over the stall door, but Sarah?

  She was nowhere to be found.

  Chapter 8

  Sarah roused.

  What…what was happening? She struggled to focus.

  Why did her middle hurt so? She blinked then realized she was bent over a beefy shoulder like a sack of grain. The stink of sweat and horse assailed her.

  Where was she? The last thing she remembered was the same smells mixed with chloroform as she struggled against a cloth held over her nose and mouth.

  Otis.

  He’d come into the tent while she was baking to say he was heading to town and to ask if she needed anything. She’d turned her back on him to check whether her pie was bubbling…

  And someone pressed the cloth over her face.

  How long had she been unconscious? Where were they? What did Otis want with her?

  Her hands were tied behind her back, a cloth was between her teeth, and she was wrapped in a scratchy blanket. She squirmed against her captor’s hold on her legs.

  “Now, now, love. Don’t make things difficult for the man.”

  Eugene! That was his wretched voice purring with self-satisfaction. “After all, he gets paid to haul things for a living. It doesn’t much matter to him what, as long as he gets paid. Isn’t that right, Mr. Otis?”

  “That’s right.” Otis shifted his stance, lowering Sarah to the ground.

  The blanket around her fell. Eugene and Trudy stood there, side by side.

  “Hello, my dear friend.” Trudy placed a hand over her bosom, a malicious grin contorting her beauty. “You can’t know how wonderful it is to see you…like this.”

  Eugene brayed. Like a mule. His long face and overlarge teeth added to the comparison. How could Sarah ever have thought him handsome?

  Someone, presumably Otis, tugged at the cloth wrapped around Sarah’s mouth.

  “No, no. Leave that in place, Mr. Otis.” Eugene pulled a bag of coins from his pocket. “Here’s your fee. I can handle my fiancée from here.”

  The tugging stopped. Otis stepped into Sarah’s peripheral vision. He reached for the bag, opened it, and poured coins into his palm, pushing them around with his finger while he counted under his breath. He picked out two dollars and gave them back. “This here’s too much. We agreed on twenty.”

  Twenty dollars? That was the fee for abducting a person? If her gag wasn’t in place, Sarah would offer him a hundred times that to haul Eugene and Trudy somewhere—anywhere—as long as it was sweltering hot and crawling with bugs!

  Otis stepped back, and the swishing of canvas announced he’d left the tent.

  Sarah battled against the fuzziness still clouding her brain to look Eugene straight in the eye. She’d beaten a tent, tamed a horse, and bested spiders. Eugene Fromm was nothing compared to all that.

  His smug grin wavered. “Come now. We’ve delayed our nuptials for too long already.” He stepped to her right side, while Trudy stepped to the left.

  Sarah managed to look around. They were inside the church tent, and a man stood behind the wooden pulpit. It wasn’t Pastor McCammon or anyone she recognized. In fact, if she was any judge of people, the man was a drunkard, which, unfortunately, didn’t mean he couldn’t be a preacher. Sarah saw two women sitting in the front pew, facing forward.

  Witnesses?

  “That’s right, dear Sarah.” Trudy looped her arm through Sarah’s. “I’ve waited a long time to be your maid of honor. But, more than that, I’ve waited long enough to see the great Sarah Maffey brought to her knees.”

  Despite her resolve not to show fear or weakness, Sarah couldn’t keep back the tears.

  Trudy’s blue eyes glittered. “You’ve always lorded your wealth over me, over everyone, with your charity and hand-me-downs. Well, how does it feel to know that, this time, you’re getting my hand-me-downs? That Eugene was mine first, and that, as his mistress, I will be spending every penny of your wealth?”

  Sarah yanked her arms free and ran for the door. If Trudy wanted Eugene, she was welcome to him. Sarah no longer cared two beans or a pickle for the man. Not when men like John Tyler lived and breathed.

  John! Where was he now? Did he even know she was missing?

  Cruel fingers closed on Sarah’s arm, gouging her skin. Trudy pulled her close. “You aren’t getting away again. Not if you value your new friend’s life.”

  What? What friend? Had they done something to John? Sarah stumbled and fell to the tent floor.

  Trudy yanked Sarah to her feet and pulled her down the aisle to where Eugene stood, mouth gaping. “Grab hold of her, and don’t let go this time.”

  Were it not for the threat hanging over her, Sarah would have laughed at the shock on Eugene’s face. Clearly, this side of Trudy was new to him. Nonetheless, he obeyed, and the two tugged Sarah toward the man waiting behind the wooden pulpit. Now that Sarah had a better look at him, he seemed familiar, but why? Where had she seen him before?

  One of the women in the front pew was Mattie Beal, her face stained with tears. Next to her was an unfamiliar woman holding a gun.

  Trudy leaned close and whispered, “Just think what it would be like to live with the death of an innocent woman on your conscience. You will say nothing except your vows, or I swear on all I hold dear, I will shoot your friend myself.”

  Had they held a gun to her head, Sarah would have let them pull the trigger rather than be forced to marry Eugene. Defeat knocked the stiffness from her posture. She wouldn’t risk Mattie’s life.

  “Good girl.” Trudy’s viselike grip relaxed. She reached around the back of Sarah’s head and untied the gag. “Now, let’s get you married.”

  Sarah cast a longing look toward the back of the tent…and saw one of the corners jiggle.

  Someone was loosening a stake.

  Was it John? Please, God, let it be John!

  Sarah jerked her head back to Trudy. “Fine, but I want to know why.” And to stall in case it was John and he needed time to do whatever a Texas Ranger did. “Why the letters? Why smash my mother’s china? What was it all for?”

  Eugene twisted, dropping Sarah’s elbow from his grip. “I thought I told you we weren’t going to do those things.”

  Trudy jutted her chin. “And I told you I wanted to make her suffer for running away and making us follow her to this wretched place.” She glared at Eugene. “I let you have your way by agreeing we wouldn’t kill her after you controlled her fortune, so you owed me that much. Now, grab her arm and help me get her to the altar.”

  After a long pause, he complied.

  Sarah sucked in a breath at his painful grip on her bicep. What had she ever seen in this weak-willed man? Were he not marching her toward a drunken preacher to gain control of her money, she might feel sorry for him. Then again, he’d made his bed, so he could jolly well sleep in it!

  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here…” The preacher gave her a wary look, and Sarah’s breath caught. It was the lout! The man she wrestled with to reclaim her land lottery ticket. Once he performed this mockery of a marriage, would he be rewarded with the deed to her land? Was the woman holding the gun on Mattie his wife? “Eugene Eustace Fromm, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wi—”

  “Wait!” Sarah held up a hand. Trudy had turned at a slight sound from the back of the tent.

  Trudy spun back to glare at her. “What are you doing?”

  Sarah lifted her chin. “If I’m going to be married, I at least deserve to wear a hat.”

  “Well, you’re not getting mine.” Trudy placed a hand atop the wide-brimmed concoction.

  “I would have thought you’d jump at the chance to give me another of your hand-me-downs.” Sarah raised her voice to cover whatever noise John needed to make.

  “Just give her the hat, Tru.” Eugene mopped his forehead with a white handkerchief. “Let’s get this over and get away from this beastly place.”

  With
another glare at Sarah, Trudy unpinned her hat and handed it over. “I’ll be burning it tomorrow.”

  “And then you can buy yourself a new one with my money, so I don’t see why you’re pouting.” Sarah held out her hand, eyebrows arched.

  Trudy smirked. “I suppose you’re right.”

  Oh, what she wouldn’t give to poke her former friend with the long hat pin! Sarah snatched the frilly hat, fit it atop her hair, and returned her attention to the dubious minister. “You may continue.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  The simple comment caused Eugene to gasp, Trudy to swear, and the minister to snap to attention.

  Sarah spun around. John stood there—behind Mattie—every inch the Texas Ranger with guns in both hands. The other woman was staring at her now-empty hands, a look of bewilderment on her face.

  “Are you all right, darlin’?” Though John spoke to Sarah, he kept his gaze on Trudy. Even more proof of his excellent instincts.

  A crazy fluttering filled Sarah’s stomach. He’d called her darlin‘. In a church, so he had to be serious. Should she be bold? Call him an endearment in return? In front of God and witnesses? “I’m just fine, sweetheart.”

  “Does that mean you’re getting hitched, Miss Maffey?”

  Sarah spun around again. While she’d been focused on John, two more men had snuck inside the tent and now held guns trained on Eugene, the preacher, and Trudy. There would be no escape for the villains.

  “Mr. Ventner.” Sarah smiled at the young man who’d proposed so awkwardly a few days ago. “I suppose this means I’m unavailable to receive another offer from either you or”—she shot a look at the second man—“Mr. Zediker over there.”

  Abe Ventner tipped his head and leaned toward Mattie. “Miss Beal? Any chance my brave rescue will get you to marry me?”

  Mattie managed a shaky laugh. “Not right now, but you and Mr. Zediker just went to the top of my list.”

  The news made both men whoop, but neither Mr. Ventner nor Mr. Zediker allowed their guns to waver. They rounded up the four villains and escorted them out of the tent. John started to help, but Abe Ventner whispered something in John’s ear to make him stay behind.

  Mattie rushed to Sarah, pulling her into a bone-crushing hug. “I was so worried about you.”

  Sarah pulled away. “You were the one with the gun to your ribs.”

  “I don’t think that woman would have—”

  “Mattie!” A man’s voice came from the back of the tent. Sarah turned to see Mr. Charles Payne run into the tent. “Are you all right? Otis told me you were—”

  “Otis?” Sarah’s amazement doubled when the burly cart owner followed Mr. Payne inside the tent. “I would have thought you were long gone with your twenty dollars.”

  John shook his head. “Now, Sarah girl, don’t go accusing a man before you’ve heard all the facts.”

  The reminder of how she’d done just that so often of late snapped her lips closed.

  “Otis here was sworn to not say a word, isn’t that right?” John patted Otis on the back. “However, it didn’t keep him from driving so slowly a man riding a fast horse couldn’t catch up to him at the edge of town and follow him to where he was taking you.”

  Shocked, Sarah walked closer to Otis.

  “I took the job ’cause they said they was your friends and just tryin’ to get you home to your pappy. Said you was touched in the head.” Otis shrugged. “After you said you didn’t want no help with that there tent a’ yours…” Another shrug filled in his assessment of her mental capacity.

  “Then why let John catch up with you?”

  “Some a’ the things they said about you made me suspicious. And they never said I couldn’t say nothin’ ’bout Miss Beal,” Otis added. “Didn’t know about that ‘til I got you inside here. I’m right sorry, Miss Maffey.

  A laugh bubbled through her chest and burst into full-throated bloom. She pulled the man into a quick hug, his distinctive odor no longer offensive. “Mr. Otis, since you don’t much care what you haul in your cart, I will pay you two hundred dollars to take those four to the nearest jail.”

  Otis’s mouth dropped open. “That’s too much.”

  She squeezed his beefy biceps. “You saved me from a fate worse than death. Allow me to put the proper price on my gratitude.”

  Either out of shock or because he didn’t want to give Sarah a chance to change her mind, Otis flopped his straw hat in place and ran out of the tent. Mr. Payne and Mattie, their arms wrapped around each other’s waists, followed.

  Leaving Sarah and John alone.

  “That was kind of you.” John tilted his head toward the tent flap. “Otis will be able to purchase land with that much money.”

  Sarah didn’t know what to say…or where to look. She wanted to talk about the endearment, what it meant, or even if it meant anything. She needed to know what the green fire in John’s eyes meant, too. Only a proper lady didn’t ever bring up such an intimate subject.

  Oh, who was she kidding? She stopped being a proper lady when she left Boston. She didn’t want to ask because she was a coward.

  “You called me ‘sweetheart.’” John proved his bravery yet again.

  She mustered every shred of courage. “You called me ‘darlin’ ‘first.”

  “Because that—I don’t wish to disparage the term by calling her a woman, so let’s just call her a female, shall we?”

  Sarah chuckled at the reminder of his similar description of the men who’d surrounded her that first day in the land office tent. It strangled into a choke inside her tight throat.

  “Because that female was talking about how she wanted you to have her leftovers.” John shrugged a shoulder. “I wanted her to think you’d already replaced that no-account, miserable excuse for a man with someone better.”

  Disappointment stabbed her throbbing heart. She’d hoped it meant something else, something wonderful and too good for what she deserved. She wanted to run, get as far away from John Tyler as possible and how he was unknowingly crushing her heart. Only she’d done that once before. And, unlike with Trudy and Eugene, this time Sarah wasn’t an innocent bystander in her pain. This time, she’d brought it on herself with her callous treatment of John.

  She touched her ring finger to the corner of her eye before a tear fell. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

  “Friends?” John stepped so close she smelled the combination of earth and soap and strength she loved. “I didn’t do it because I want to be your friend.”

  Sarah couldn’t stop the tears. “Of course not. I ruined any hope of that when I accused you of—”

  John’s lips covered hers in a crushing kiss that stole the last breath from her lungs. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer in case he let go. In case this was a dream. And in case her legs gave out. His kiss cleansed her, transported her, and made her weep with joy. Against everything she deserved, John Tyler loved her and was proving it with action instead of words.

  Eugene had kissed her. Once. The day they got engaged. True to everything else, John Tyler’s kiss was very anti-Eugene.

  Very!

  Becca Whitham (WIT-um) is a multi-published author who has always loved reading and writing stories. After raising two children, she and her husband faced the empty-nest years by following their dreams: he joined the army as a chaplain, and she began her journey toward publication. Becca loves to tell stories marrying real historical events with modern-day applications to inspire readers to live Christ-reflecting lives. She’s traveled to almost every state in the United States for speaking and singing engagements and has lived in Washington, Oregon, Colorado, Oklahoma, and Alaska. She can be reached through her website at www.beccawhitham.com.

  The Princess of Polecat Creek

  by Kathleen Y’Barbo

  Dedication

  For Jack Jack

  I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the LORD, whic
h made heaven and earth. He will not suffer thy foot to be moved: he that keepeth thee will not slumber.

  PSALM 121:1–3

  Chapter 1

  East Texas

  May 15, 1886

  The Bible said to look to the hills because that’s where our help comes from. Try as she might, Pearl Barrett could spy neither help nor any other sign of rescue among the forested hills of this part of East Texas.

  Sliding her father a sideways glance, she reminded herself that in that same psalm, God promised that her foot would not be moved. To her mind, that meant she would stay right where she’d been born and raised until that stubborn Deke Wyatt finally came to his senses and asked her to marry him.

  And yet here she sat in a fine railcar with all her worldly goods packed in trunks in the luggage car and a ticket marked Denver, Colorado. Worse, one of those trunks held her wedding dress.

  Her best friend, Frances, or Frank, as she preferred to be called, had encouraged her not to lose hope. In Frank’s last letter, she’d offered her own example of the benefit of waiting for the Lord to bring the man she loved to his senses. That might work for Frank, but Pearl was losing hope.

  After all, she’d been quietly waiting for Deke Wyatt most of her life.

  Offering up yet another prayer, she clung to the hope that the Lord was listening even as the train whistle blew and the conductor called a departure warning. Papa might think marrying her off to that Simpson fellow in Denver would be good for all of them, but the way Pearl saw it, the only improvement would be to her father’s bank account.

  “Sit still, Pearline,” Mama said as she nudged her. “A lady does not fidget.”

  “A lady also does not marry one man when another holds her heart,” she said under her breath, echoing the very words she’d written to Frank this morning.

  “What’s this?” Her father folded his copy of the New York Times and swiveled to face her. “Would you kindly repeat that?”

  “Go back to your paper, dear. Our daughter is overcome with the excitement of this trip and the anticipation of her wedding. She’s saying things that are quite ridiculous.”