The Rails to Love Romance Collection

by Brandmeyer, Diana Lesire; Cabot, Amanda; Carter, Lisa

  Afterward Mason could not say how long he battled Chauncey or how many blows each of them delivered. All he knew was that when he was certain he could not last another minute, Chauncey shifted to the left. It was the opening Mason needed. Gathering his final shreds of strength, he struck a blow to Chauncey’s solar plexus. With a loud whoosh, the man who’d abducted Eugenia collapsed, and his eyes rolled backward.

  “Thank God.”

  Mason echoed Eugenia’s words as he scrambled to his feet. God had brought him here and had helped him prevail. Though Eugenia looked frightened, Mason could see no sign of major injuries.

  “Are you all right?” he asked as he made his way to her.

  Though her face was white with strain, those beautiful green eyes shone with relief. “Thanks to you, I am.”

  As quickly as he could, given his bruised knuckles and bloody fingers, Mason untied first her wrists, then her ankles. Though there was nothing he wanted more than to draw Eugenia into his arms and never let her go, he couldn’t take the risk of Chauncey regaining consciousness. Holding out the ropes, Mason managed a small chuckle. “I’ve got a better use for these.”

  Before Chauncey could move, Mason turned him over and secured his arms and legs, trussing him even more tightly than he’d done Eugenia.

  “I’ll send the sheriff out to collect him,” Mason said as he helped Eugenia to her feet. The sooner they were away from here, the better. “You can be sure he’ll never hurt you again.”

  Tears filled her eyes. Though Mason hoped they were tears of relief, her next words told him they were not.

  “He hurt you,” she said, taking one of his hands between both of hers and touching a bloodied knuckle. “Let me help you.”

  “There’ll be time enough for that later.” Mason was still shaking inside at the realization of how close he’d come to losing her. He looked around the decrepit barn. This wasn’t the way he’d envisioned it, but he wasn’t going to let the opportunity slip by.

  “We need to talk.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Eugenia stared at the man she loved, the man who’d fought to save her. His clothing was filthy; his knuckles were raw; the trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth and the bruises on his cheek served as further proof that he’d battled Chauncey. He looked like exactly what he was—a wounded warrior—but to Eugenia he was the most handsome, most wonderful man on Earth. Though she was bruised from the ride, thanks to Mason, she was safe.

  She moved her feet, trying to remain upright as the blood returned to them, but the smile she lavished on Mason gave no hint of her discomfort. “I don’t know how to thank you,” she said, her voice fervent with love and gratitude. “I prayed and prayed, and God sent you.”

  Mason shook his head slightly. As if he sensed how unsteady she was, he reached out and clasped her hands between his. “There’s no need to thank me. Don’t you know I’d do anything for you?”

  His face, his poor battered face, shone with something Eugenia hoped was love as he led her out of the barn into sunshine, and she felt her spirits rise. Though Mason had never said he loved her, surely what he’d done today proved that he cared for her. And maybe, just maybe, he felt more than simple caring. Maybe he loved her, at least a little.

  “This isn’t the way I planned it,” Mason said with a rueful look at their surroundings. Though the prairie was beautiful, the dilapidated barn was not. “I wanted to talk to your father first, but I can’t wait.” His eyes darkening, Mason tightened his grip on her hands. “I love you, Eugenia. I know I don’t have much in the way of material things to offer you, but I love you with all my heart. What happened today only served to reinforce those feelings. When I realized you were gone, my future seemed bleak. I didn’t want to think about life without you.”

  He loved her! He loved her! He’d said it twice. Though she wanted to cry out with happiness, Eugenia’s heart was so full she could not speak. The man she loved loved her. Was there anything more wonderful? She nodded, encouraging him to continue.

  Mason tipped his head to one side in the gesture she’d always found so endearing. “I’m a man who makes his living with words, but I don’t feel very eloquent right now. What I’m trying to say is that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I know I don’t deserve it, but if you love me even a little, I hope you’ll marry me and make me the happiest man in the world.”

  He loved her and he wanted to marry her. The happiness that bubbled through her reminded Eugenia of the night they’d danced in the kitchen, the night they’d shared thatunforgettable kiss. And with that memory, the bubble burst. What if today ended like that night? What if Mason raised her hopes only to dash them?

  Eugenia pulled her hands from his and took a step backward, needing distance for what she was going to say. “I love you,” she said slowly, “but…”

  His face fell. “But what?”

  “I don’t understand why you changed after the night we…” She hesitated, unwilling to pronounce the word.

  As if he understood, Mason nodded. “The night we kissed.”

  “Yes. I thought it was the most wonderful moment of my life, but the next morning you were gone.” And so were her dreams of happily ever after. “Ever since, you’ve treated me like a casual acquaintance.” And that had hurt, oh how it had hurt.

  Mason’s lips turned down. “I’m sorry I hurt you. That wasn’t my intention. I found that kiss just as wonderful as you did. I couldn’t forget it—I didn’t want to forget it—but I knew you were practically engaged to Chauncey. I also knew your father would never agree to let me court you. So, no matter how wonderful it was, the kiss was wrong. I knew it couldn’t be repeated, but if I stayed in the same house with you, I couldn’t be certain I would be strong enough to resist.”

  His words rang true, reassuring Eugenia. Everything he said proved what an honorable man he was. Now it was her turn to reassure him. “I never loved Chauncey. A few weeks ago I told him I wouldn’t marry him. I didn’t want to add to my father’s worries, so I agreed not to say anything to Papa until after the cornerstone was laid.”

  Mason nodded. “Which is why he had to abduct you today.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that, but it makes sense.” She had sensed desperation in Chauncey’s words. “No matter what he did, I wouldn’t have married him. How could I when I loved you?”

  The smile that teased the corner of Mason’s lips turned into a full-fledged one. “If you love me, will you marry me?”

  Her eyes shining with happiness, Eugenia nodded. “Yes, Mason. A thousand times yes.”

  “Then let’s see what your father says.”

  It was two hours later when Papa stormed into the library. As soon as they’d returned to Cheyenne, Eugenia had cleaned Mason’s wounds then retired upstairs to change clothes while he did the same at his boardinghouse. Only when they were both ready had they sent a message to her father and a second one to the sheriff, telling him where he could find Chauncey.

  “Where were you?” Papa demanded, focusing his anger on Mason. “You’d better have a good reason for missing the ceremony.”

  Somehow he hadn’t noticed the bruising on Mason’s face or the plasters Eugenia had stuck to his knuckles.

  “He does,” she assured her father. As she explained what had happened, the blood drained from Papa’s face. He clenched his fists, and Eugenia guessed he was imagining the punishment he would like to mete out to Chauncey.

  “It seems I owe you an apology, Mason,” Papa said when he’d gotten his temper under control. “I was too hasty in my judgment. How can I ever thank you for whatyou’ve done? You saved my daughter from an unspeakable fate. Name your price. I’ll give you anything.”

  “Anything?” Eugenia asked the question she knew Mason would not.

  “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

  His face solemn, Mason faced her father. “There is something I want, but it’s beyond price.”

  For the first time since he’d ent
ered the room, Papa seemed confused. “What is it?”

  “I would like your daughter’s hand in marriage. I love Eugenia.”

  “And I love Mason.” Eugenia turned toward her father, hoping he’d understand just how important this was to her. “There’s nothing I want more than to be Mason’s bride.”

  Papa’s gaze moved from her to Mason and then back again. Taking her hand in his, he extended it to Mason. “You shall be his bride,” he said slowly, “but I have one stipulation.”

  Eugenia turned toward Mason, shaking her head ever so slightly at his unspoken question. She had no idea what her father had in mind.

  As if he recognized their confusion, Papa smiled. “Don’t worry. It’s not difficult. Since it was the depot that brought you together, I want you to include your wedding portrait in the book. After all, Eugenia, you’re not just my daughter; you’re also the depot bride.”

  “Indeed she is.” The look Mason gave Eugenia was so filled with love that it took her breath away. And then there was no need for words as he drew her into his arms and pressed his lips to hers.

  Dear Reader,

  Do you ever wonder what inspires an author to write a specific story? In my case, the answer is that I was intrigued by Cheyenne’s train depot on my first visit to what is now my adopted hometown. At the time, the depot hadn’t been restored and reopened, but there was no hiding the building’s beauty. While others might argue that the Wyoming State Capitol is the city’s most beautiful building, for me the depot’s rounded arches, its clock tower, and the combination of two different colors of sandstone make it my favorite landmark. Now that it’s been reopened as a major tourism site, I’ve attended lectures and parties there, I’ve eaten in the restaurant, and I’ve spent hours at the museum devoted to—what else?—train travel. Can you tell that I enjoy the depot?

  After hearing all that, you won’t be surprised to know that when Kim Vogel Sawyer suggested a novella collection with a railroad theme, it took me less than a second to decide that my story would revolve around the depot. What better part of its history to celebrate than the early stages of construction? And so The Depot Bride was born.

  I’ve tried to make my story as accurate as possible by including historical details, such as the initial workers’ strike and the anointing of the cornerstone. One thing is pure fiction, though, and that’s the commemorative book. If there was one, I have found no record of it. Still, the fictional book provided the perfect way for Eugenia and Mason to meet and spend time together.

  I hope you enjoyed their story. And, if you’re intrigued by the hints I dropped about Esther and Jeremy’s romance, their story is available as an e-book short, The Christmas Star Bride. Or, if you prefer a print copy, it’s included in The 12 Brides of Christmas Collection.

  I love hearing from readers, so don’t be shy. Let me know what you think of The Depot Bride. My web page includes my e-mail address and social media contacts. I look forward to hearing from you.

  Blessings,

  Amanda

  Amanda Cabot is the bestselling author of more than thirty novels and half a dozen novellas, including Jeremy and Esther’s story, The Christmas Star Bride, and Waiting for Spring, which tells Madame Charlotte’s story. Although she grew up in the East, a few years ago Amanda and her high school sweetheart husband fulfilled a lifelong dream and are now living in Cheyenne. In addition to writing, Amanda enjoys traveling and sharing parts of her adopted home with readers in her Wednesday in Wyoming blog. One of Amanda’s greatest pleasures is hearing from readers, and so she invites you to find her online at www.amandacabot.com.

  Last Stop, Cordelia

  by Lisa Carter

  Chapter One

  Autumn, 1868

  Wyoming Territory

  The Sioux warrior dragged her off her horse and onto the back of his painted palomino. And Cordelia Cochrane realized she’d made a mistake. A bad mistake. Possibly a fatal miscalculation. For a newspaper story.

  She’d ridden into the middle of an ambush. The ambush set by the Indians as they lay in wait for the search party. And she, like the railroad men, had fallen into their trap.

  Cordelia struggled against the Indian’s iron grip, her arms trapped against her sides. She cringed at the sound of the firefight between the war party and the railroad men. Pressed against the Indian’s chest, she tried not to gag from the pungent aroma of bear grease.

  Everyone from her editor to the head of the railroad had warned her. This was no place for a woman. She fought her growing terror. Would she be killed outright? And if not, how much would she suffer first?

  God, help me. Please…

  When the Sioux warrior grabbed the lady reporter and hoisted her onto his horse, Neil MacBride sprang out from behind the burned-out buckboard.

  “Keep firing!” He thrust his rifle at John Tierney. “I’m going after the woman.”

  There’d been no word from the Union Pacific surveyors sent ahead of the graders. But with a sinking feeling in his gut, Neil could guess what happened to them.

  Breaking cover, shoulders hunched, he ran toward his horse, Mulligan. The lady reporter must’ve followed the search party to the missing surveyors’ advance camp. And only moments before the surprise attack.

  Expecting to feel the burning sting of a bullet in his back, he zigzagged. A move he’d learned in battle to avoid certain death at the hands of Johnny Reb sharpshooters. A maneuver he prayed would serve him today in the face of the bloodcurdling cries of warriors.

  Despite the popping retorts of the firefight, Mulligan hadn’t drifted far. “Good horse.” Requisitioned from the army by the Union Pacific, Mulligan was also a veteran of the uncivil war.

  Tightlipped, Neil swung into the saddle. He dug his boot heels into the horse and spurred the animal. The horse’s hooves pounded the prairie earth. He urged the horse to greater speed.

  Ahead, the woman grappled against the copper-toned arms of the Dog Soldier. While the rest of the raiding party battled Neil’s men, this Indian galloped for thetree line. He prayed the woman could slow the Sioux long enough for Neil to overtake them.

  Clutching the reins, Neil leaned over the corded muscles of the chestnut quarter horse, balancing his weight.

  More braves possibly waited in the shelter of the trees. Reinforcements. But Neil couldn’t take the chance of using his holstered Colt for fear of hitting the woman.

  Had the woman been taken as bait to lure the railroad team into a massacre? Neil clamped his jaw and whipped leather.

  Pulling alongside, he grabbed for the blond woman, whose hair tumbled down her shoulders and blew unhindered in the brisk prairie wind. Leaning out of the saddle, he seized the woman around the waist. The Indian snatched at the woman’s locks. Crying out, she reached behind her head in an attempt to loosen the pressure on her hair.

  A tug of war ensued between Neil and the Indian. Both horses raced ever closer to the looming tree line. Trusting Mulligan, Neil let go of the reins. He lunged as far out of the saddle as he dared.

  Neil drew back his fist and punched the Indian. With a grunt, the Indian’s grip slackened enough for Neil to pull the woman over the gap between the horses toward him.

  She landed with a whoosh on her stomach across Mulligan. The Indian pulled a knife. Neil tensed, but hooves sounded behind them. Shots were fired. Bullets whizzed past.

  The woman screamed. Neil flinched. But the Indian slumped and then veered his horse toward the trees.

  In one smooth motion, Neil turned Mulligan. He pressed his hand against the woman’s back to keep her from sliding off.

  He motioned at his charging men to give up the chase. The rest of the raiding party dissipated as quickly as they’d appeared, like morning mist over the mountains.

  “Rendezvous at the camp,” he shouted.

  He wanted to put as much distance between them and the Sioux as possible. He dashed across the open prairie. The men followed close behind. The woman trembled beneath his hand.


  Reaching the ruined remains of the base camp, Patrick O’Malley pulled his horse up short. “Boss?”

  Neil jerked the reins. And getting a good look at the destruction, he grimaced. Mulligan pranced sideways. The woman made a sound in her throat.

  Tierney rested both hands on the saddle horn. “You okay, Boss?”

  Young Doolittle coughed through the cloud of dust rising from the hooves of the horses. “Is Mulligan okay?”

  Trust Doolittle’s primary concern to be the horse.

  Neil willed his heart to settle. “Thanks a million, lad, for asking. Yes, by the way, I’m fine.”

  He dismounted. Beneath a tangle of yellow hair, her face lay hidden in horseflesh. Neil started to reach for her but let his hand drop. “Ma’am?” He darted his eyes at O’Malley, at fifty-five the old man of the crew.

  They’d fought and survived in the Army of Tennessee because they stuck together. Because they always had each other’s back. And these men trusted him with their lives once more when—at Neil’s urging—they signed on to build the transcontinental railroad for the Union Pacific.

  O’Malley—the only one ever married among them—shrugged.

  Neil cleared his throat and touched the woman’s ripped sleeve. She jolted, and Mulligan reared. Young Doolittle, true to form, grabbed for the reins. Neil caught the woman in a flutter of skirts as she crumpled.

  A gentle hint of lavender teased his nostrils as he lowered her to the ground. She wobbled. He steadied her.

  She was by far the prettiest, sweetest-smelling anything he’d come across since… Since ever?

  Gaining her balance, the woman in her fancy city skirts whirled. Her eyes were the color of Wyoming bluebells. And the fact that he noticed set his teeth on edge.