Wild Western Women Ride Again: Western Historical Romance Boxed Set

by Kirsten Osbourne

“Don’t bother.”

  She closed her eyes. The annoying stranger’s voice irritated her ears.

  “It’s a stupid and crazy idea. Even if you’re able to get a train ticket, it would be far too dangerous for a woman by herself.”

  “Will you please leave me alone, and go about your own business?” Tori stood and dusted off her dress. She needed to leave this man’s presence and be rid of him.

  With a bright smile, she nodded to the other man. “Thank you so much for the information, sir. I appreciate your help.”

  She turned to glare at the exasperating man, who stood off to the side, grinning. With white-knuckled fingers, she hiked her skirt to reveal dirt-trodden boots. Tori tossed him a raised brow and stalked back to the wagon.

  Thoughts in a whirl, she made plans. If she took the train, it would be safer than racing on a horse alongside a bunch of men like a wild woman. With a determined nod, she rummaged through the wagon to find a set of Michael's clothes. As soon as Rachel appeared, she could get herself bound and ready for a train ride. Her heart pumped with excitement. Going by train would be so much easier!

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  Abigail

  Scandalous Suffragette Brides Book 1

  By

  Sylvia McDaniel

  Author’s Note

  Thank You For Reading!

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for downloading the first book in my new series, Scandalous Suffragette Brides. I know that as a reader your choices of ebooks are limitless. I’m flattered that you choose my book. There will be additional books in this series and if you enjoy my Scandalous Brides, I hope you’ll read the other ones. At the end of the book is a list of other books I’ve written in this series as well as other series.

  If you’d like to learn when I publish new books, please sign up for my Newsletter. Again, I appreciate your interest and I hope you enjoy Abigail’s story.

  Sincerely,

  Sylvia McDaniel

  Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

  To The Wild Western Women:

  I’ve enjoyed the Ride!

  Kirsten Osbourne

  Callie Hutton

  Caroline Clemmons

  Merry Farmer

  Chapter One

  Abigail Vanderhooten wasn’t a thief, a prostitute, a murderer, or a cheat. But here she sat with all of her friends in the Boston city jail. What was their crime? Being a woman!

  Women had so few rights. No bank accounts, no land, and no vote. And owning a business was frowned upon in many cities and outlawed in others. Their sole purpose in life was to become a wife and mother. Marry, procreate, and make their husband look good. Sit down, shut-up, and look pretty.

  Well, Abigail and her friends wanted more. Much more and after attending Matilda Joslyn Gage’s speech at the National Women’s Suffrage Association’s convention, they’d made a commitment to change the world.

  Except, they’d hit a small snag. The Boston city police took exception to them blocking the entrance to one of the local banks. And now here they were waiting in jail.

  “Abigail, I want to draw attention to a woman’s plight, but I’m not certain my daddy is going to keep paying for me to attend Boston University if I keep getting thrown in jail. If my mother finds out, she’s going to take a switch to my hide,” Callie said, shifting on the hard wooden floor.

  The cell held nothing more than one cot, a slop jar, and the eight of them. They’d been in here since yesterday afternoon, and they were exhausted, hungry, and so ready to go back to their dorms.

  “Callie, we must all make sacrifices to bring about a difference.”

  Faith leaned back against the wall and crossed her arms over her chest. “Maybe we’re going about this wrong. Maybe we should start our own town.”

  “Which one of us is going to construct the buildings?” Bella asked.

  Abigail sighed and thought about Faith’s idea. Maybe it would be simpler to just start fresh somewhere and make up their own laws. Their chances of getting what they needed would be a lot easier. “There are going to be things we don’t have the strength to do, but we hire men for what we need that we can’t provide. Being an independent woman doesn’t mean we don’t need men. We just want more control over ourdestiny.”

  “Good, because I kind of like men,” Diamond said with a giggle, pushing back her red hair. The most beautiful of them all, she said her stage actress mother had named her daughter after her favorite jewel her most recent suitor had given her.

  “Oh dear,” Emma said, shaking her head. “You’ve lost the spirit of the movement. We’re learning to be independent from men and playing kissy face with them does not help the cause.”

  Abigail sat back and looked at each of her friends. “Tell me what you would do if we did build our own town? And what would bring families and men to this town?”

  “I’d be a baker,” Bella said. “You know how much I love to bake.”

  “I think I gained ten pounds off that last batch of crumpets you made. Gosh, those were good. But that’s a woman’s job,” Georgia said. “I’m hungry.”

  Abigail nodded her head, agreeing with her friend. But they had to have bigger ambitions.

  “I don’t know. I just don’t want to do what my mother has done all her life. Do you know what it’s like for a woman who has nine kids in twelve years?” Haley said softly.

  An only child, Abigail would have liked to have had brothers and sisters. It was just her and her father, since her mother died when she was twelve. And then her father, at her mother’s insistence, had sent her back East for her education on how to be a proper young woman.

  Wouldn’t he be shocked to learn she was in jail for protesting the banks’ regulations regarding women?

  “Me, I’d like to be a doctor. I’m going to help women by studying how to keep from getting pregnant. Having a baby every two to three years kills a lot of women,” Emma replied.

  Of all the girls, besides Abigail, in this march to liberate women, Emma was the smartest, and she would graduate from the university at the end of the month. Someday, she would be an excellent healer, and already, she was working with the national organization, talking to women about how not to conceive a baby every nine months.

  Quiet, shy Callie lifted her head and glanced at each of them. “I want to open a bank. Give women bank accounts and loan them money. I would advance each of you whatever it was you needed to start your business.”

  Diamond, the most flamboyant one of the group, laughed. “I just want to have fun. If I can have fun and run a business, I will. If not, then I’m going to find a way. I’m tired of all this seriousness. Yes, I want to help women, but sitting here inside a jail cell is not my idea of a good time.”

  Abigail’s mother would have considered Diamond to be an improper young woman. But Abigail knew that beneath all the flash and flamboyant speech was a scared girl afraid of returning to her mother.

  “Maybe you need to open a saloon,” Faith said, and they knew she was being facetious.

  “Maybe I will. I could sing and maybe even dance,” Diamond said. “I just don’t want to go back to my family and watch my mother entertain her newest gentleman friend.”

  The sound of a door opening made Abigail glance up from the floor, where they were all sitting. She watched as a policeman approached the cell.

  “Ladies, I’m going to let you go with a warning. Any other demonstrations will result in fines. Are we clear?”

  Clear as mud was the response Abigail wanted to declare, but she was ready to get out of this cell. Sitting on a wooden floor was not her idea of luxury.

  “Mrs. Minor is vouching for you, and I’ve agreed to let you go in her custody. No more demonstrations.”

  “I thought we lived in America, the land of the free,” Emma said.

  The policeman frowned. “These are my terms. You can accept them or stay in jail, and I’ll telegraph each one of your families. Your
choice.”

  “Abigail, I can’t have my papa finding out we went to jail,” Bella said.

  Bella’s father was searching for a suitable match for her—a man who would increase the family’s financial empire. Abigail thought he should just hang a price tag around his daughter’s neck. The result would be the same.

  These ladies were all fighting not only for their independence, but the right to choose and marry a man they were in love with. Not a man who would elevate their financial status in the world.

  “I want to go back to our dorm,” Faith said quietly. “I’m tired.”

  “Let’s not concede defeat. Let’s stay and fight,” Diamond replied.

  Just then, Mrs. Minor stepped into the jail area. “Girls, it’s time to give up.” She waved an envelope. “Abigail, I have a telegram for you from home.”

  “Ladies, before I open this door, I need you to tell me you understand. No more protests or I will fine you so badly you’ll have to contact your families to get out of jail.”

  “Oh, all right,” Abigail said, a trickle of worry scurrying along her spine like a rat deserting a sinking ship. “I need to read that message.”

  “Now, ladies, no more trouble. Boston has had enough of you.” The officer opened the jail door with a clang.

  Abigail rushed to Mrs. Minor, and she handed over the telegram.

  COME HOME. YOUR FATHER IS ILL.

  A pang zipped through Abigail’s body, and her chest clenched with pain. He must be bad if they’d sent for her. She knew what she had to do.

  “Ladies, my father is ill. I’m catching the next train to Fort Worth.”

  ***

  As the stage pulled in to New Hope, Texas, Abigail noted how the small town set on the edge of the prairie had changed. Wooden sidewalks were filled with people and the streets were congested with wagons, but other than that it didn’t look much different than when her father had sent her away to school when she was barely twelve.

  Oh God, she remembered begging him not to make her go, but he’d made a promise to her mother on her death bed that Abigail would receive the proper education of a young woman. And he’d sent her to Boston to the school her mother had attended when she’d been a girl.

  But how had it helped Abigail’s mother? She’d married a man who’d taken her to a ruthless frontier town. Where the men ran the town and the women were seen and not heard. Well, Abigail required more out of life than what her mother had wanted.

  When the stage came to a halt, Abigail opened the door and stepped down. It had taken her two weeks to reach the West from Boston. She felt tired and dusty and just wanted to see her father and rest.

  “Miss Vanderhooten?” a tall handsome man asked.

  The very sight of the brawny cowboy made her breath catch. She didn’t know who he was, but he was more attractive than any of the boys in college with his sandy blond hair, large hazel eyes framed with long dark lashes, and a full sensuous mouth.

  “Yes, sir,” she said curtly. Gorgeous men left her feeling gangly and awkward and she was no longer charmed by their persuasive behavior.

  The man reached out his hand. “Jack Turner. Your father sent me to meet your stage. Welcome home to New Hope.”

  “Thank you,” she said, glancing around as boisterous music blasted from the end of the street. “Is there some sort of celebration going on?” she asked, searching for the source of the music.

  Jack smiled. “No, that’s the saloon.”

  She shook her head. That was a typical saloon, cranking out music. “Doesn’t the city have some kind of ordinance against making noise all hours of the day and night?”

  “No, miss.”

  “Are you sure? Good grief, I would be contacting the mayor, complaining about the volume of the music. Even in Boston, our saloons weren’t allowed to be that loud.”

  “I’ll let the mayor know,” he said.

  “You do that,” she said, feeling put out and cranky. She was hot, dusty, and dirty, and the clothes she was wearing had been perfectly fine in Boston, but here, the extra layers were making her skin sizzle and sweat like she was in a sauna.

  She sighed. She was home, yet somehow, she felt like she’d left civilization.

  Mr. Turner had the station men load her trunk in his wagon. Then he placed his hands on her waist and lifted her into the wooden contraption before she could utter a word of protest.

  “Mr. Turner, you’re being presumptuous.”

  He turned and stared at her in surprise. “Excuse me?”

  “Placing your hands on me and lifting me into the wagon.”

  Hazel eyes stared at her like she had no sense. He gave her a charming smile. “How else were you going to get in the wagon? That skirt of yours is fitting, and that bustle would probably have you falling over backwards. I was trying to help you.”

  She glanced over the side of the wagon and noticed the ground was a ways down, and she would have had a hard time crawling up in her traveling dress.

  “Oh,” she said, feeling a bit of embarrassment. Suddenly, she realized life was a lot different in New Hope from Boston. There, the carriages were made for women to crawl into, not so here. But, she was an independent woman—a lady who didn’t require a man. “Well, I didn’t need your help.”

  “Good, I won’t help you down,” he said clearly put out with her.

  Abigail almost fell out of the wagon as he clicked to the horses. With a lurch, the wagon took off down the street.

  “Oh dear,” she said, hanging on tightly.

  “I guess they don’t have wagons up in Boston?”

  “No, sir. They have carriages, which are much lower to the ground. A lady can get in and out on her own without the help of a man.”

  He frowned at her and then returned his gaze to the road in front of him.

  “I could have walked.”

  A chuckle escaped him. “No, I don’t think so. Your papa would have been most upset if his daughter had not been met at the station. Besides, it’s a good half mile, and in this heat that would have certainly worn you out.”

  “I’m not so fragile that the heat would wilt me.”

  A grin spread across his face. “Miss, not to be disagreeable, but you’re dressed like a blue norther is about to hit in the middle of June.”

  Abigail wasn’t certain what a blue norther was, but she did feel like she was slowly cooking under all these clothes. Back home, she would have been perfectly fine, but here, the temperature was quite a bit warmer.

  “I’d suggest maybe removing some of those layers of clothing, including that petticoat,” he said with a smile. “You’ll be a lot cooler.”

  Abigail bristled. “You, sir, are entirely too forward. The nerve of talking to me about my petticoats.”

  The man shook his head. “Fine. But when you faint from the heat, I’m going to say I told you so.”

  Sure, she could remember the warmer temperatures from when she was a young girl, but that had been over six years ago. And she hadn’t known what to expect on the journey home.

  They arrived at the mercantile, and she glanced up at the building. It looked the same, yet not as large as she remembered. The paint was faded on the outside of the building, the wood worn and bleached from the sun.

  Jack jumped down from the wagon and secured the horses. He walked around to her side, paused for just a second, and then continued on. The silly man wasn’t going to help her alight from the wagon, and she had brought his rudeness upon herself.

  She grasped the side and swung her leg over, trying to find the ground. It wasn’t like she could jump with her bustle; it made it difficult to get enough width to spread her legs and climb down.

  Jack carried her trunk into the building and then came out again. She was still sitting in the wagon.

  “I’m stuck. I can’t reach the ground.”

  “Oh my, you’re in quite a pickle. I don’t want to be too forward and place my hands on your person without your permission. How are you going
to get down?” He stood there, his arms crossed, his legs planted firmly like a tree sprouting roots. Not moving, waiting for her to grovel.

  She glared at him. “You’ve made your point, Mr. Turner. Would you please help me out of the wagon?”

  He laughed and walked over to the side of the vehicle, placed his hands beneath her knees and back, and scooped her out of the wagon.

  She gasped with indignation. This was even more personal than if he’d touched her waist. “Mr. Turner, my father will be outraged.”

  “Yes, Miss Vanderhooten,” he said with a smile, his lips mere inches from hers.

  While she was frustrated as hell with the man, she had a sudden urge to touch his mouth, run her fingertips across those full lips, and maybe even kiss the man. She’d only kissed two boys in her life, and both had been so sloppy she’d never gone out with the men again.

  He dropped his hand from beneath her knees and let her body slide down the front of him, a wicked grin on his handsome face. Abigail could feel the heat spread across her cheeks, with the shame of what he’d done, on a public street no less.

  “Now, that was what is considered being touched inappropriately by a man. But I must admit, I enjoyed every second. In the West, I would suggest you let a man help you in and out of the wagon, Miss Vanderhooten.”

  “Hrmph! Thank you, sir, but you are no gentleman.”

  Laughter bellowed from his chest. “Never pretended to be one. Now, let’s get you inside and check on your papa.” Jack opened the door and waited for her to enter.

  Hot and flustered even more than when she’d gotten off the stage, she rushed through the door, hoping to see her papa and find out this was all a huge mistake. That the urgent telegram she’d received was a joke.

  She glanced around the store and noticed nothing had changed since she was a little girl—the same displays, the same canned and sacked items in the same places. The store actually looked old and run down. Nothing like what she’d seen in Boston.

  “Who are you?” she asked the man behind the counter.