The Reluctant Bride

by Leigh Greenwood

  ROCKED BY A KISS

  He put his fingertips under Tanzy’s chin and lifted her head until he could look into her eyes. “No one’s ever said anything that nice to me. Thank you.”

  “You don’t have to thank me for telling the truth.”

  “I don’t know that you have. I’m thanking you for believing in me.”

  He leaned down to kiss her. He’d intended to kiss her cheek, her forehead, even the end of her nose, but somehow found himself kissing her lips. The shock was so great he couldn’t move. Then once he could, he didn’t want to.

  He’d never known something as simple as a kiss could reach out and yank him off his feet so quickly. He’d never realized a woman’s belief in him could make him want to cling to her, to put his arms around her and pull her to him so she could never get away.

  He suddenly realized his arms had encircled Tanzy’s waist, that he had pulled her to him. She hadn’t broken the kiss, she hadn’t tried to pull away. He couldn’t tell whether time stood still or his brain stopped functioning, but the kiss seemed to go on forever.

  Other books by Leigh Greenwood:

  THE INDEPENDENT BRIDE

  SEDUCTIVE WAGER

  SWEET TEMPTATION

  WICKED WYOMING NIGHTS

  WYOMING WILDFTRE

  The Night Riders series:

  TEXAS HOMECOMING

  TEXAS BRIDE

  BORN TO LOVE

  The Cowboys series:

  JAKE

  WARD

  BUCK

  DREW

  SEAN

  CHET

  MATT

  PETE

  LUKE

  The Seven Brides series:

  ROSE

  FERN

  IRIS

  LAUREL

  DAISY

  VIOLET

  LILY

  The

  Reluctant

  Bride

  LEIGH GREENWOOD

  To my readers, who keep me doing what I love most.

  Copyright © 2005, 2011 Leigh Greenwood

  The

  Reluctant

  Bride

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  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 Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Colorado Territory, 1872

  Tanzy Gallant watched with relief and awe as the towering mountains drew nearer. They meant the end of what seemed like an endless journey. It had taken her weeks to travel from St. Louis to Boulder Gap, a small town hugging the base of the Rocky Mountains. She’d traveled by train, stagecoach, and wagon, all of it as uncomfortable as it was exciting to a young woman who less than a year earlier had never been ten miles from her home in the Kentucky mountains.

  Everything was new to her. In the beginning it had been the cities with their high buildings, traffic-choked roads, and men and women in clothes fancy beyond her imagination. Then, to a girl used only to tumbling mountain streams, the Mississippi, a river two miles wide. Next was the endlessness of the prairie. It seemed to go on forever with nothing to fill it except miles and miles of waving grass.

  The Rocky Mountains were nothing like the tree-covered mountains and stream-filled, moss-and-fern-carpeted hollows of home. There was no slow progression from hills to mountains. These mountains thrust up out of the earth like a wall, towering thousands of feet into the sky. Their slate-gray flanks rose majestically to snow-covered caps that glistened brilliantly in the Colorado sun.

  “It takes your breath away,” said her fellow passenger, Dorrie Spaugh.

  “Yes, it does,” Tanzy replied. She had enjoyed talking with this pretty stranger. She’d grown up in a quiet hollow knowing fewer than a hundred people, all of them interrelated.

  She’d fled her mountain home to escape being married to a cousin she disliked. She had hoped to find a better life in St. Louis, one in which she could find respect and the independence to make her own choices. Instead she’d discovered it was impossible to find work except in dance halls, on river boats, or in even less respectable gambling establishments. After six months of fighting to protect her virtue, she’d taken the advice of her friend Angela and become a mail-order bride.

  “Do you have family in Boulder Gap?” Dorrie asked.

  “No.”

  She hadn’t told anyone she was traveling to meet her potential husband, a man she’d corresponded with only by mail. She was a member of a once-proud family that traced its roots back to Cavalier stock from the English Civil War, but a generation-long feud had claimed the lives of everyone she held dear.

  “You have a friend to meet you?”

  “Yes.” That wasn’t stretching the truth too much. Russ Tibbolt would be her husband once they’d had a short period of time to become acquainted. “Do you live in Boulder Gap?” Tanzy asked.

  “No. I live at Fort Lookout. My husband is a junior officer there. I don’t get into Boulder Gap very often. Colonel McGregor, the commander of the fort, considers it too rough for ladies.”

  “What’s it like?” Russ hadn’t said anything about the town in his letters, had given her only a description of his ranch.

  “My husband says the town is populated mostly by rough men, miners and cowhands. Some settlers. There aren’t many nice women around, if you know what I mean.”

  Tanzy knew exactly what she meant. She’d come to St. Louis believing honest men and women would treat her with respect unless she proved unworthy. She’d quickly learned that the barriers separating respectable ladies from other women were high, virtually impenetrable, and directly connected to social position. A woman who worked had questionable status. A woman who worked in a gambling hall had no status at all.

  The sound of a pistol shot broke the calm. “What’s that?” Tanzy asked. “Why is the stagecoach slowing down?”

  “Probably bandits,” Dorrie said.

  “What do they want?”

  “Our money and jewelry. Sometimes they rummage through luggage to see what they can find.”

  “Is that all?”

  Dorrie laughed. “I expect you’ve heard bandits murder and rape their victims. If they harmed a woman, every man in the Territory would be on their trail within the hour. Men out here have great respect for a good woman.”

  That would certainly be different from the men she knew. Her father and brothers had had more respect for their hunting dogs than for her and her mother. The men she met in St. Louis had no respect for any woman outside their own social class.

  Tanzy’s curiosity increased as the stagecoach slowed and she got a look at the man riding alongside. A mask covered his face, his clothes were rough and dirty, he hadn’t shaved recently, and he swore viciously at the driver, threatening to put a bullet through his head if he didn’t slow the stagecoach more quickly.

  There’s only one,” Tanzy said. “Why doesn’t the driver shoot
back?” She thought western men were supposed to be full of spunk, even reckless.

  There’s always at least two,” Dorrie said, “one to do the stealing, one to hold a gun on the driver.”

  Tanzy’s appearance should be proof she wasn’t hiding any valuable jewelry. She wore a modest, unadorned brown dress of coarse cotton that buttoned under her chin and at her wrists. A plain, dark bonnet covered most of her black curls. Her small cloth purse contained little beyond a few coins and Russ’s letters. The rest of her worldly belongings were packed in two small trunks and a valise. When the stagecoach came to a halt, the bandit leaned from the saddle and yanked the door open.

  “Everybody out!” he shouted. “Come on, come on,” he said impatiently when Dorrie showed no inclination to leave the coach.

  “You have to let the steps down,” she told him. “You can’t expect me to jump.”

  Tanzy doubted he cared how she got down as long as he got what he wanted, but he dismounted and lowered the steps. He even helped Dorrie down.

  “You, too,” he said when Tanzy couldn’t make her feet move.

  She knew immediately he could tell the difference between Dorrie and her. He didn’t bother to help her down the steps. So much for respect for all women.

  “Don’t want to hurt nobody,” the bandit said. “I just want your money and your valuables.”

  “I don’t wear any jewelry when I travel by stagecoach,” Dorrie said.

  “A fancy lady like you don’t go about without her rings,” the bandit said.

  Dorrie took off her gloves to show the man her bare fingers. “You won’t find anything of value in my luggage, either.”

  “I’ll take your purse and check for myself,” he said. He waited for Dorrie to hand it to him, then turned to Tanzy. “You don’t look like you got two pennies to rub together,” he sneered. He was obviously angry he’d found so little. He snatched her purse out of her grasp without waiting for her to hand it to him.

  “Hurry up,” the other bandit called. “We can’t be standing out here in the open forever.”

  The bandit dug around in Dorrie’s purse, taking out first one thing then another, pocketing the money and tossing each rejected item on the ground despite Dorrie’s protests. “I never knowed a fancy-dressed lady to be so poor,” he said, handing back Dorrie’s purse. He dumped the contents of Tanzy’s purse on the ground, then cursed violently when he found neither valuables nor money.

  “Get a move on,” his companion said. “What’s holding you up?”

  “I’m gonna have a look through their trunks.”

  “Well, hurry up. We ain’t got no cover.”

  The first bandit crossed to the back of the stage and started to unfasten the cover over the boot. The crack of a rifle followed swiftly by a cry of pain from the other bandit caused him to jump back, a frightened look on his face. His companion slumped in the saddle and, clutching his shoulder, spurred his horse and raced away from the stage. The first bandit ran, cursing, to his horse, mounted up, and swiftly followed his cohort. A second rifle shot failed to find its mark. Moments later a horseman galloped up to the stage.

  “Is anybody hurt?”

  Dorrie started to explain that the bandits wanted only their valuables, but the rider, apparently sensing everyone was all right, was already galloping after the bandits.

  “Who is he?” Tanzy asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “That’s Russ Tibbolt,” the stagecoach driver said.

  Tanzy’s heart lurched in her breast. Russ Tibbolt was the man she had come to marry! He’d said nothing in his letters about being a lawman. She’d had enough of men with guns.

  “I’ve heard he doesn’t have a good reputation,” Dorrie said after the driver had retrieved the contents of their purses and they had resumed their journey.

  “What do you mean?” Tanzy asked. “Isn’t he a lawman?”

  “He’s a rancher who sells beef to the Indians on occasion, but my husband says he’s a dangerous character.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I never asked.”

  If Russ Tibbolt wasn’t a lawman, what was he doing chasing the bandits?

  Whatever he was, her brief meeting had told Tansy he was more handsome than she’d ever expected. A strong nose and generous mouth gave his face a definite sensuality. A prominent chin and jaw spoke of a man with a strong will accustomed to sweeping aside opposition. His cobalt blue eyes looked out at her from under heavy brows shaded by the wide brim of his hat. Tanzy had always believed a man’s face was a map of his character, his eyes the window to his soul, but Russ Tibbolt hadn’t given her time to peer inside.

  As they approached Boulder Gap, Dorrie lost interest in anything but the impending reunion with her husband. Only half listening, Tanzy’s thoughts centered on Russ Tibbolt. Until now she’d known him only as the author of captivating letters so down to earth and at the same time so charming, she’d overcome her reluctance to promise herself to a man she’d never met. How could she reconcile that man to one of dangerous reputation who chased bandits? If she hadn’t been at the end of her journey, she might have turned around right then.

  But there was nothing to go back to. Her only hope was to go forward. And that meant Boulder Gap and Russ Tibbolt.

  The town didn’t impress Tanzy. After St. Louis, it looked more like a collection of false-fronted shanties, most of which looked like they’d blow over during the first winter blizzard. The paint, if the buildings had ever been painted, had chipped off, leaving everything a weathered gray. The jail, the only non-wooden structure, appeared to have been built out of mismatched stone. The street was a churned-up mass of mud and manure. Tanzy had no idea how a lady was supposed to cross the street from one boardwalk to the other. At the very least, a pair of very serviceable boots would be required. Fortunately everything she had was serviceable.

  A young man in uniform appeared the moment the stagecoach came to a stop

  “That’s my husband,” Dorrie said, smiling happily and introducing them. “Do you see your friend?”

  “No, but he said I was to wait if he wasn’t here.” Russ had been riding away from town. She had no idea how long it would take him to return, but being alone in Boulder Gap couldn’t be any worse than being alone in St. Louis. She was glad to be relieved of the torture of a stagecoach that rattled every bone in her body and made her almost too sore to sleep.

  “You can come with us if you like,” Dorrie said.

  “Thank you, but I’ll stay here.”

  “There’s no stage station,” the officer said. “You’ll have to wait on the boardwalk.”

  “I don’t mind. It will be easier for him to see me.”

  “And everybody else as well.”

  Tanzy thanked the couple, then turned her attention to making sure all her luggage was taken off the stagecoach. It wasn’t much, but it was everything she owned.

  “You want me to take it to the hotel?” the driver asked Tanzy.

  “No. Just leave it here.”

  The man looked relieved but said, “You can’t just sit here on the boardwalk. It ain’t safe.”

  “Who would harm me in broad daylight?” She looked around. Several men who looked in need of a bath, clean clothes, and a shave were showing an interest in her, but nobody looked dangerous. Except for their boots and hats, they looked a lot like the men back in Kentucky.

  “If you sit out here by yourself, a body might think you was trying to invite a certain kind of interest,” the driver said.

  “I’m quite capable of correcting any such misapprehension,” Tanzy said. Her six months in St. Louis had given her plenty of experience.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to take you over to the hotel?”

  “Thank you, but I’m being met.”

  To her relief, the driver gave up and climbed back into his box. He slapped the reins, yelled at the horses. The stage drove off and soon disappeared.

  It wasn’t too ho
t in the sun, but she still hadn’t gotten used to sun coming at her from all angles. Back home, no matter how hot the day, she could always find a deeply shaded glade or a cold stream to make the heat bearable. Out here men sweated until it soaked through their clothes, but nobody seemed to mind. She already knew they smelled bad. She’d had to sit next to too many people—male and female—during the last thousand miles.

  Several women stopped to speak, to ask if she was staying, and to welcome her to Boulder Gap. She talked to so many people she was beginning to feel conspicuous. She decided she wouldn’t feel so self-conscious sitting on the boardwalk if she had something to do, so she started to take a mental walk through the town. Boulder Gap had only one business street, and most of the buildings seemed to be saloons and restaurants. She noted a bank, a hotel, a lawyer’s office, a surveyor, an assayer, a dentist, a doctor, a general emporium, a blacksmith’s shop and livery stable, several banks, a bath house, a dance hall, a boot and saddle shop, a hardware, a dry goods, a newspaper called The Weekly Echo, and a Wells Fargo office. There was even a shop that made ladies’ dresses and hats!

  “You lost?”

  Tanzy looked up to see three roughly dressed men watching her from close range.

  “I’m waiting for my friend to pick me up. He should be here any minute.”

  “If I was your friend, I wouldn’t leave you sitting out here without no one to make sure you weren’t bothered,” a large and heavily bearded man said. “Somebody’s liable to think you was looking for some likely man who’s interested.”

  “That somebody would be very wrong,” Tanzy said.

  “It’s hot,” another said. “Why don’t you let us buy you something to drink at Stocker’s Saloon?”