The Convenient Bride Collection: 9 Romances Grow from Marriage Partnerships Formed Out of Necessity
Page 45
“Ash’s sisters,” came Honor’s answer.
Eliza and Lucy … here. “What are you doing?” His voice echoed against the building. They motioned for him to wait, then disappeared. His heart pounding, he parked the wagon beside the huge town square. The girls exited the quaint boardinghouse and dashed across the street.
He met them each with a hug. “What are you doing here?”
Eliza’s expression grew serious. “We never left. Father is—”
“Girls!” Father’s voice tolled sharply, and both Eliza and Lucy stiffened. Jaw set, the man marched toward them. Once he reached them, he clamped a hand around each girl’s shoulder and turned them toward the boardinghouse. “Inside. Now.”
Acid rose in Ash’s throat as he watched them go, straight into Mother’s beckoning arms.
Ash looked at the elder Rutherford. “Father. What are you doing here?”
“I’m glad you’ve come. It saves me the trip.” Ashton Junior turned a steely-eyed gaze his son’s way. “It’s time you return home.”
Ash’s thoughts spun. “I thought I made myself clear. I am home.”
“How long are you going to pursue this ridiculousness? You have a life of opportunity waiting in Philadelphia. You have nothing here.”
Nothing? “My wife is here, and therefore, my life is here. And lest you forget, California is a land full of opportunity, Father.”
The man snorted. “Not like I can offer. I’ll hand you everything you could dream of—and more. Out here, you’ll toil for whatever little bits you get.”
“But I’ll respect myself, Father. There’s nothing wrong with working with your muscles.” He looked back at Honor. “It’s a challenge.” One he liked.
Father grabbed his arm. “This is sheer stupidity. You have nothing here. I made sure of it. No ranch. No reason to remain in that sham of a marriage. Wise up and end this foolishness now.”
“You did what?” He’d made sure they had nothing? Ash’s thoughts churned.
“I’ve spoken with Judge Sutton about annulling this marriage. Once that’s done, you will return to Philadelphia and marry—”
Adrenaline poured through his veins, and Ash threw one solid punch. Father stumbled backward, lips spouting blood, and landed in the dirt. Instinct drove Ash forward, but Teagan darted between them and pushed him back.
“You don’t want to do this, son.”
He glared around Teagan as Father tottered to his feet. “Get out of my way.”
Teagan pushed him back, a restraining hand against his chest. “Walk away. Catch your breath. You don’t want to fight your father.”
Oh, but he did.…
“Especially not here.” Teagan nodded at the public square.
Honor slipped in front of him, her arms around his torso, blue eyes pleading.
“Ash, please, come with me.”
The urgency in her voice drained the fight out of him. She pushed him back until he finally turned and walked away of his own accord. Thoughts reeling, he replayed his father’s words.
“Are you all right?” She stared up at him.
“I never told Father how or why we married, yet he called our marriage a sham.”
Honor’s brow creased.
“And he said he had made sure we have nothing. Like the ranch.” He chewed on the information and locked eyes with her. “And the judge called me a Harvard upstart …?”
“I remember that. You made a valid point, and he overruled you, called you an upstart.”
“A Harvard upstart.” He glared across the square at Father and Teagan, exchanging what appeared to be heated words as they separated. “Teagan and Ellie are the only ones I’ve told about my schooling, and I don’t think they’d pass that news around.”
“They wouldn’t.”
Teagan stalked up, face grim. “Your father is something.”
Ash glared after Ashton Junior. “You have no idea.…” He detailed the little evidences to Teagan. “I think my father and Judge Sutton are working together to ruin Honor’s inheritance—and our marriage.”
Teagan looked toward the courthouse. “Leroy Bowen, the judge over the District Court, is a friend of mine. I’ll see if we can’t get an audience with him. Maybe he can call for an appeal about the will.”
Epilogue
Two months later
Today, they would finally learn the fate of her beloved Rancho Regalo de Esperanza. Honor gripped Ash’s hand in eager anticipation.
“Be seated,” Judge Bowen said as he shuffled some papers then looked out at them. “I want to apologize for the delay on the appeal to Orrin Cahill’s will. I know it has affected some of you more than others.” He looked directly at Honor.
Judge Bowen rested his elbows on his desk and steepled his fingers. “The serious accusation against Judge Carl Sutton required careful investigation. He made more than one questionable verdict or performed dubious actions during court cases, including that of Orrin Cahill’s will. Therefore, he has been removed from his position, pending further examination.”
The judge looked directly at Ash. “Mr. Ashton Rutherford Junior admits he offered a bribe to Judge Sutton, though no money actually changed hands. Mr. Rutherford has cooperated with my investigation in every way, so this court has issued a stern warning but will take no further action at this time.”
With a grim expression, Ash nodded to Judge Bowen.
Honor sighed. The Rutherfords had stayed in Santa Rosa while the court investigated. Twice, she and Ash had attempted to make contact with his mother and sisters but were turned away at the boardinghouse door. Soon after the second attempt, they learned that Judge Bowen granted Ash’s father permission to return to Philadelphia for a family emergency, and the family left.
“Now … on to the decisions at hand. Honor Rutherford, I have found the deed, written and signed by your father, which gives you twenty-five-hundred acres and eighty cattle, to be valid. That land and herd are yours. All further discussions will reference only the remaining three thousand acres.”
Ash squeezed her hand, and she returned the gesture, thankful that part of her father’s wishes would be honored.
“Nathaniel Cahill, you contested your father’s will on the grounds that your sister’s marriage was fraudulent. I disagree. They were married before God in a Petaluma church. Their marriage certificate was signed by a reverend and two witnesses. It’s a legitimate union, though the timing is questionable in light of the reading of the will. However, there’s no reason that should negate the provision of the will. Thus, I award the final three thousand acres of Rancho Regalo de Esperanza to Honor Cahill Rutherford.”
A grin exploded across Honor’s face, and tension drained from her body. Ash looped his arm around her shoulders.
Lord, thank You. You’ve blessed us greatly, despite our quick beginnings. I love You, and I love this man—more than I thought possible.
Across the aisle, Nate grunted, and the judge speared him with a fiery look. “I’ve been informed of the intimidating actions you’ve taken against this couple … poisonous snakes thrown at their feet or set loose in their home, sneaking around their property after dark, and the like. If I get word of any more, shall we say, uncharitable behavior by you—or those working for you—I will take a long, hard look into your history. I am fairly certain to find things, knowing the man you are. Be warned, Nathaniel Cahill: you don’t want to be on my bad side.” Judge Bowen paused to look over the room. “Now if there is no further business …” He reached for his gavel.
Heart pounding, Honor nodded to Ash.
Her husband stood. “Your Honor?”
Judge Bowen stilled. “Is there a problem, Mr. Rutherford?”
“No, sir.” He reached for Honor’s hand and tugged her to her feet. “My wife and I would like to make Mr. Cahill an offer, and we wanted to do it in front of the court, for the record.”
Surprise registered on the judge’s face, and suspicion on Nate’s.
“What of
fer?”
Honor cleared her throat. “Sir, we’d like to offer Nate fifteen hundred acres.” She turned toward Nate. “As a peace offering. We’re neighbors … and family. Papa would have wanted us to be on friendly terms.”
Stunned silence fell. “You’re giving me fifteen hundred acres. Free and clear?”
“I ask nothing except that we work at being neighborly.”
Nate’s expression shifted from suspicion to confusion.
Judge Bowen leaned forward. “Mr. Cahill, will you take the land?”
Nate nodded. “Reckon I will.”
The judge turned to them. “Do you have particular boundaries in mind for the division of the land?”
Ash looked Nate’s way. “We have some thoughts, but we’re willing to negotiate privately.”
Judge Bowen looked at Nate as well. “They’re giving you a gift, Mr. Cahill. Be grateful, and don’t let greed rule your negotiations.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We’re adjourned.” One bang of Judge Bowen’s gavel set the courtroom in motion.
Nate ambled their way. “If you were so hell-bent as to marry a stranger to keep all the land, why’d you give me some of it?”
Honor shrugged. “I never wanted all of it, Nate. But the will said I had to be married to have any of it. You had the land Papa gave you. I wanted a piece, too, to feel connected to Mama and Papa. By giving you these acres, we both have equal parts. I’m hoping it might end some of the bitterness between us.” After much discussion and prayer, she and Ash had decided to offer Nate the olive branch, hoping it could soften his heart—toward them and God.
His jaw muscle popped. “It might … we’ll see.”
Honor smiled. The begrudging statement gave her a kernel of hope for bigger changes to come, though she knew it might take years for true reconciliation. “Come to dinner tomorrow. We can talk about dividing the land.”
After arranging the details, Nate departed. Teagan and Ellie waited near the door, and as they all exited the courtroom, Teagan shook Ash’s hand and winked at her. “Congrats. Hope you two can get settled once and for all.”
Honor laced her fingers with Ash’s and smiled. “We have some work to do, but it’ll be nice to make the house ours.”
Ellie sidled up next to her. “Julia and I are available if you need help.”
Outside, they talked briefly before parting from the Donovans.
“Ash?” A woman’s voice called as they headed toward their wagon.
They both turned. Near the corner of the courthouse building sat Gwendolyn Rutherford and her two daughters.
“Mother?” Ash released Honor’s hand and hurried toward them. Both Eliza and Lucy launched into his arms.
Hanging back to give them a moment, Honor smiled at the warmth with which he hugged his sisters and mother.
“We heard you’d gone back home.”
“We did … and your sisters and I have returned.”
“Without Father …” His tone held a twinge of sadness.
Tears pooled in Ash’s mother’s eyes. “You know how fiercely prideful your father can be. But don’t lose hope. When he saw how heartbroken the girls have been, he grudgingly agreed that we could return for a lengthier visit.”
Ash offered a solemn nod. “It’s a start.”
“It is. Now …” With a genuine smile, Gwendolyn approached and drew Honor into a warm embrace. “I’d like to know the brave young lady who captured my son’s heart.”
Dear Reader,
As an author, each new story presents a cast of characters that are waiting to be discovered. Some come bursting forth on page one in all their glory, and others are shy and reserved, not wanting to reveal themselves fully until well into the story. No matter what type of character, though, I find that they all live on in my heart after I write “The End.”
Some characters just demand more “page time” than what a single story can contain. This was the case with Ellie and Teagan Donovan. If you are interested in learning the history of this couple, you can find their story in my novella, Sioux Summer, which appeared in Barbour’s The Oregon Trail Romance Collection. I hope you’ll check it out.
Blessings!
Jennifer Uhlarik
Jennifer Uhlarik discovered the western genre as a preteen, when she swiped the only “horse” book she found on her older brother’s bookshelf. A new love was born. Across the next ten years, she devoured Louis L’Amour westerns and fell in love with the genre. In college at the University of Tampa, she began penning her own story of the Old West. Armed with a BA in writing, she has won five writing competitions and was a finalist in two others. In addition to writing, she has held jobs as a private business owner, a schoolteacher, a marketing director, and her favorite—a full-time homemaker. Jennifer is active in American Christian Fiction Writers and is a lifetime member of the Florida Writers Association. She lives near Tampa, Florida, with her husband, teenage son, and five fur children.
A BRIDE FOR BEAR
Erica Vetsch
Dedication
For Peter as always. You are the hero in my real-life romance.
Chapter 1
Idaho Springs, Colorado
September, 1874
Someone has made a big mess here, and I am not going to clean it up. This is not my problem. Please, Lord, don’t let this be my problem.
Bear McCall pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing his thumb and forefinger into his eyes, and then looked across the depot once more, praying what he’d thought he’d seen would turn out to be a mirage or hallucination or something.
“There has to be some mistake. I’m here to pick up a package.” The telegram his neighbor, Charlie, had delivered yesterday said clearly that a package would arrive for him on the noon train and he must pick it up in person that day.
A package from Chicago. The only person he knew in Chicago was his cousin, Isabelle, and he hadn’t seen her in a score of years, not since he’d headed west when he was sixteen. What she would be sending him, he couldn’t imagine, but his curiosity had been piqued enough to make him travel down his mountain and into town to find out.
The station clerk looked up from his puttering and gave him an I-already-told-you-once stare. “If your name’s McCall, that is what was left for you. And I’d appreciate it if you’d take delivery so I can go to lunch. Been waiting all morning for you to show up.” He went back to punching and stamping and tapping cards together.
The skinny clerk must’ve felt safe behind the metal grill and high counter. Most men didn’t have the nerve to brush Bear off like that. He hunched his shoulders inside his flannel jacket and flexed his hands. No matter what the dunderhead behind the counter said, there had to have been a mistake somewhere along the line.
He approached the bench along the far wall as he would a pint of nitro.
If there was one thing that made him more uneasy than a woman, it was a little girl. And here sat three of them looking at him like they expected him to pound them to powder like rocks in a stamp mill.
Hair red as fire, and those eyes. Big as globeflowers in high summer. And pinned to each of their coats was a paper that said “Deliver to Mr. C. McCall, Idaho Springs, CO.”
The biggest one—who still looked mighty small to him—stood and locked eyes with him, her chin coming up. She was pale and tight as a bowstring, but she didn’t run away. Bear almost smiled. Grown men had been known to avoid looking him right in the eye, but this little sprite held his stare like a stone-cold gunfighter.
“Are you Mr. McCall?”
Scratching his beard, Bear shrugged and nodded.
Her wrists stuck out a good few inches from the sleeves of her thin coat, and one of her black stockings had a sizeable ladder running up the outside. Her shoes had seen better days, too. She was probably about ten—not that he had much practice in guessing little girls’ ages—but her face had a world-weary look to it, as if she’d seen too much hardship for her years. With a quiet dignity, she
opened her coat and tugged out a battered envelope.
“I’m supposed to give this to you.”
He took the envelope, careful not to let their fingers brush.
The middle one jumped up like she’d been sitting on a coiled spring. Her braids bounced on her shoulders, and sprouting up all over her head, wispy strands escaped, making a red halo.
“You took a long time. We been here forever.” Her hands went to her narrow hips and she tilted her head to the side, squinting up at him. She had more freckles than a speckled pup. Her greeny-brown eyes accused him.
“Sorry,” he mumbled then scowled. Pint-sized they might be, but they were women for sure, already putting him in the wrong.
The smallest one, her hair a mass of strawberry ringlets, stuck her finger into the corner of her mouth and stared at him like he was a freak in a sideshow. Her hair was the lightest of the three, and her eyes, though still hazel, were more green than brown. Her feet swung from the edge of the bench in impossibly small buttoned-up boots. This one scared him more than the other two combined. The kid was practically a baby.
Number One picked up a battered valise and motioned to the other two. “Come on.”
“Hang on a minute. What are you doing here in Colorado, and where’s your ma? Is she gonna be back soon?”
“Ma’s dead.” Number Two crossed her arms. Her bottom lip trembled in a way that made Bear’s knees wobble and his chest cave in. Please don’t cry. Please-don’t-cry. Please-don’tcry!
Then it hit him. Isabelle was dead?
And her girls were here.
Staring at him.
Panic clawed his chest like a hungry badger.
“Ma died last week, and she left a paper that said we was to be sent to you,” Number One said.
Her matter-of-fact tone did nothing to lessen the mule-kick her words delivered. Before he could grab hold of this bit of news, Number Three scooted off the bench, reaching for the floor with one toe before slipping off the edge. She sidled up to Number One and tugged on her sleeve.
“I gotta go.” Her version of a whisper filled the room.