Once he found her, and saved her from Nelson’s clutches, he’d make her listen to his proclamations of love. They’d be married right away, before she could change her mind.
He rode for half an hour before he found the wagon. He slid off his horse and slowly searched the ground for sign. A trail of flattened foliage led west. He followed it, spotting a cabin through the trees. No lantern glowed, no smoke from the fireplace. The cabin looked deserted.
He turned in a circle. If not here, where? He retraced his steps, finally spotting a ribbon fluttering low on a bush. His gaze fell on scuffs in the dirt. “Back 2 saloon.” At least he thought that’s what the markings said.
What if he were wrong and he headed back to town while Nelson took Abigail farther from Turtle Springs? Lord, I need Your help.
He felt a nudging to make haste back to Turtle Springs. He raced for his horse, leaped into the saddle, and galloped the way he’d come.
If they’d gone back, which made no sense to him, then Nelson obviously wasn’t forcing Abigail to marry him. So why take her in the first place?
Once he hit the outskirts of town, he looped his horse’s reins over a hitching post and snuck down the street behind the buildings. At the saloon, a board had been removed from a side door, leaving just enough room for a man to squeeze through.
Pulling his gun from its holster, Josiah slid inside.
“See? I told you there wasn’t any gold.” Abigail’s voice came from the front of the building. “No map, no gold, no treasure. It was nothing more than folklore.”
“That’s unfortunate for you, Miss Melton.” Harper, the snake!
“Just leave me be and go. The two of you can be long gone before anyone discovers us.”
“I do believe a lovely hostage will benefit us better.” Harper moved into Josiah’s sight line.
As he aimed his gun, the man moved away. “Now, where is that sheriff? I’d like to do away with him so no one bothers to follow us.” He sat in an old wooden chair and glanced around him. “A pity we can’t stay. This town needs a saloon.”
Abigail crossed her arms. “I thought you wanted gold then to leave.”
“That plan didn’t work out too well, now did it.” His voice rose. “So, it’s on to plan B, which is make you disappear and then open this lousy saloon. Or plan C, which is to leave and take you as hostage. You’ve got to be worth something. What we choose to do depends on you.”
Her eyes widened. “Plan B means you kill me. Plan C means you take me as hostage then kill me. I don’t like either option.”
“Unfortunate.”
“Not necessarily.” Josiah stepped around the corner. “Drop the gun, Nelson. I’d like nothing better than to shoot you like the dog you are.” He motioned with his weapon. “Go stand next to your friend.”
“Abigail, darlin’, you come stand behind me. There’s an extra gun in my waistband. Take it and keep it trained on these two while I cuff them.”
“Not me, you ain’t!” Nelson pulled the trigger and dove behind the chair.
The bullet grazed Josiah’s arm. He aimed and shot, taking Nelson in the chest. He immediately swung his aim to Harper. “Want the same?”
Harper stood, hands in the air.
“That’s not one of his plans,” Abigail said, with a nervous laugh.
“It is now.” Josiah motioned his weapon for Harper to lead the way. “Stay with us, darlin’. You and I have some talking to do.”
Once he had Harper behind bars and Nelson’s body taken care of, he let Abigail take him home so she could tend to his arm. She sat him at her kitchen table and wrapped a clean bandage around the wound.
She lifted tear-filled eyes to his. “You scared me to death, Josiah Ingram. When Nelson shot—”
“You were scared? What about me? I thought you’d run off with that scoundrel. I chased after you to bring you back.”
“Why?” She cupped his face. “Because you love me? I sincerely hope so because, Josiah Ingram”—she planted a tender kiss on his lips—“I’m asking you to marry me. I can’t wait on you any longer. My heart won’t take it. I know I haven’t taken your declarations serious, but I am now. I’m taking my chances on you having told me the truth. I know I can be a shrew sometimes, I’m strong-minded and opinionated—”
He put a finger to her lips. “Shh.”
“I won’t even be mayor anymore. I’ll just be your wife. Every moment of every day. I’ve prayed long and hard, really I have. This time, I feel certain God—”
“Hush, Abigail.” His own eyes filled with tears. “You silly woman. I’ve been trying to tell you for days that I love you, but you never stop talking long enough for me to make you see reason.”
She tilted her head and smiled. “Is that a yes, Mr. Ingram?”
“That’s a yes, Miss Melton. I’ll be honored to marry you.” He cupped the back of her head and pulled her lips to his.
Epilogue
She was getting married! Maybe her silly plan to bring men to Turtle Springs hadn’t been so bad after all.
Abby smoothed the bodice of her cream-colored dress. Ma had worked long hours stitching the wedding gown. Josiah hadn’t wanted to wait long.
The town was rejuvenated with weddings. Every weekend one or more couples tied the knot. This time, it was Abby’s turn. She smiled and twirled in front of the mirror, feeling like a princess in one of the fairy tales Lucy read.
“I really wanted to marry the sheriff.” Lucy grinned from the doorway. “But, at least my sister is, so that’s second best.”
“Oh it is, is it?” Abby drew her sister into a hug. “Your turn will come. Turtle Springs will continue to grow and young men will flock here to see our beauties.”
“Sure. Let’s go. Ma said she’s ready to marry her beau.” Lucy heaved a sigh. “He’s all right, I guess. Not as fine as your groom, but Ma is happy.”
Abby laughed and tucked Lucy’s arm in hers. “You can pretend you’re marrying Josiah for as long as it takes you to walk up the aisle in front of me and Ma. But no longer.” She tweaked her sister’s nose.
“It’s a deal.” Lucy raced ahead of her.
Hank waited next to the wagon. “No sense in my beauties walking on their wedding day,” he said, grinning. “Even if it is only a couple of blocks.” He helped Ma onto the driver’s seat, then Abby, leaving Lucy to climb in the back. “I’m as excited as a child on Christmas.” He leaned over and gave Ma a kiss.
Abby knew the feeling. If her heart beat any faster, she’d die.
They pulled up to the church and entered through a back door. Lucy dashed off, only to return moments later. “Josiah looks like an angel.” She put her hands under her knees and pretended to swoon.
Abby laughed and took her place behind Ma. This was it. The best day of her life. She took a deep breath as Lucy opened the door.
By the time she’d made her way down the aisle, tears filled her eyes so much she could barely make out Josiah’s face. He took her hand, pulled her close, and wiped away her tears.
“I hope those are tears of joy.”
She hiccupped a laugh. The words stuck in her throat, so she nodded like a ninny. For the first time in a long time, she was at a loss for words.
Josiah laughed, the sound ringing through the church like bells. Abby joined in.
“I love you.” Josiah leaned close, his breath tickling the hair on her neck.
“Oh, dearest, I love you so. I’ll try not to be such a ninny in the future.”
“I don’t want you to change a thing.” He tucked a curl behind her ear. “Except … maybe let me get a word in once in a while.”
“I promise.” With her hand tucked in his, they faced the preacher. She hardly heard the words spoken. Josiah filled her every sense. It wasn’t until her groom bent her over his arm, and the preacher said he could kiss his bride, did she come to her senses.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on while he stole her breath away.
Cynthi
a Hickey grew up in a family of storytellers and moved around the country a lot as an army brat. Her desire is to write about real, but flawed characters in a wholesome way that her seven children and five grandchildren can all be proud of. She and her husband live in Arizona where Cynthia is a full-time writer.
The Kidnapped Groom
By Susan Page Davis
Chapter 1
Turtle Springs, Kansas
April 1866
Sam Cayford rode into the small town and looked around with interest. There wasn’t much to Turtle Springs. A general store, a boarded up saloon, a livery stable, a few other businesses. He tied his horse, Rocker, named for his easy gait, at a rail outside a three-story building with a sign that said TUMBLE INN—MEALS SERVED hanging over the boardwalk out front. The paint was peeling and the windows looked none too clean, but Sam didn’t see any other options. As he mounted the step, a sheet of paper tacked to the door caught his eye. HUSBANDS WANTED.
He hesitated. What on earth? All he wanted was a meal, not a wife. Leaning closer, he read the small print: MEN AUDITIONING FOR PROSPECTIVE HUSBANDS SIGN UP AT THE MAYOR’S OFFICE.
He looked down the street, hoping to spot another place he could eat. Other posters looking suspiciously like this one hung on porch posts and walls all down the street. Had this town gone crazy?
His stomach growled, and he decided to risk it and see about getting some food. No telling how long before he came to another restaurant. And besides, somebody in this establishment might know what ranches in the area were likely to hire hands.
Pushing open the door, he surveyed the dim interior. It looked all right. Three long tables filled most of the room, with chairs and benches along the sides. Ten or twelve diners were scattered among them—mostly men, but one couple and a woman with two medium-sized children. The air smelled good—fresh bread and some kind of meat smell … stew, maybe—and grease. Over it all wafted a teasing hint of ginger. That was enough for Sam. He strode to the nearest table and took a seat on a stool opposite a man whose tanned skin and rough clothing pegged him as one who worked outdoors.
“Howdy,” Sam said with a nod.
Chewing, the bearded man across from him nodded. He reached for his coffee mug, took a swig, and swallowed. “New here?”
“Yeah, just passing through.”
“Oh? You didn’t come for the mail-order husband doings?”
Sam shook his head, frowning. “What’s that all about, anyhow? I saw the signs.”
“Women in town who need husbands. They took an ad in some papers, and the men are starting to drift in for it.”
“Well, I’m drifting on through with the breeze.” Sam looked up as a gray-haired woman wearing an apron came to stand beside him. The apron looked clean, but he noted that she kept her hands in her pockets.
“You want the lunch special, sir?”
“What’s on it?”
“Bowl of beef stew, biscuits, coffee, and pie. Only fifty cents.”
“Sounds good.” Sam reached into his pocket for a half dollar, trying not to think how little cash that left him. He glanced at the man across the table and up at the waitress. “I’m looking for a job. Do you know any ranches that are hiring?”
“Try the Russell place,” the woman said. “It’s about four miles west of here. You can skip the Martincheks’ place. They’re full up.”
The other man nodded. “I’ve got my own place, but it’s small. I got all the help I need right now. If Russell’s don’t work out, you might ride on to the Therron place—the T Snake Ranch. They usually hire in the fall. I don’t know about now.”
Sam smiled. “Thanks.”
“I’ll get your food.” The waitress shuffled away.
“I’m Borden Hanks,” his tablemate said, sticking out a sinewy hand.
Sam shook it. “Sam Cayford. Much obliged for the help.”
Hanks shrugged. “You seem like a sensible feller. Not buying into this fool husband thing.” He glanced quickly at Sam. “Not that being a husband is a bad thing, necessarily. I’ve got me a wife, and I like it fine. I just think it’s an oddball way to go about it.”
“Got a lot of spinsters in these parts, I guess?”
“A few. Seems like Turtle Springs might have more’n its share of widders.”
“Oh. Too bad.”
Hanks raised his chin in the direction of the departing waitress. “She’s one of ’em. The owner of this place hired her after her husband died.”
“Well, at least she’s got a job.”
“Yup. Don’t think she needs it, though, with that big house of hers. I think she might just be lonely.” Hanks shook his head. “Does seem out of proportion here. Some war widders, some from other causes. Rather’n pack up and go East, they decided to advertise for men to come here. Least, that’s what my wife says.”
“Hard to know what you’re getting when you throw out bait like that,” Sam said.
“That’s what I say. If you don’t find work in these parts, try closer to Dodge City.”
“Probably good advice.”
The woman returned with a tray, one hand balancing it with a curled fist. As she set Sam’s food and coffee before him, he saw that her fingers were gnarled. He looked up into eyes that sternly warned him against pity. “That stew looks and smells great, ma’am.”
A gentle smile warmed her face. “We have lemon pie or apple when you’re ready.”
“Apple please,” Sam said.
The woman nodded and walked toward the kitchen.
“Well, I’d best push off,” said Hanks. “If you find a job, I expect I’ll see you again. If not, well, good luck, Cayford.”
“Thanks.” Sam watched him leave with a pang of regret. Borden Hanks was the friendliest soul he’d encountered in weeks. When his pie came, he’d ask for explicit directions to the Russell and Therron ranches.
An hour later, he and Rocker were a couple of miles west of town. The Flint Hills made up a pretty region, with lots of trees and views that made him long for a piece of land where he could start his own ranch. The afternoon had turned off hot, and when Sam heard the sound of running water, he decided to stop and let his bay gelding get a drink. He watched the side of the trail, and after a while spotted a path through the willows that might lead down to the water. He rode through the trees, appreciating the coolness of the shade.
Sure enough, a brook rippled over the rocky bed below him. From the look of the banks, he decided the water was lower than usual.
Sam dismounted and led Rocker down to where the horse could reach the stream. The gelding stretched out his neck and slurped water. Holding the end of the reins loosely, Sam crouched on his upstream side and cupped his hand, bringing a small amount of water to his mouth. It was cooler than he’d expected, and refreshing. He scooped another handful.
Rocker stepped out into the water, feeling his way in until the stream covered his hooves and eddied around his pasterns. Sam indulged him by stretching out his arm and giving him all the rein he could. Rocker lowered his head to drink again.
“Hold it, mister,” a voice said from behind him.
Sam stiffened but didn’t rise.
“Put your hands up.”
Slowly, he obeyed, tugging Rocker’s reins as he did so, making the horse lift his head and step toward him. No way was Sam going to lose hold of his horse right now. Just his luck to get held up. Now he was glad he’d spent fifty cents on a good dinner.
He turned his upper body ever so slowly, until he could see over his shoulder toward the trees.
“What—?” He stared at the two boys standing on the path. The older one looked about twelve years old, not a day older, towheaded and blue eyed, his face set in what might pass for a fierce scowl. A step behind him lurked another lad, younger and even blonder, peeking from beneath the older boy’s elbow and the shotgun he held up with difficulty. That one looked scared.
“You robbing me?” Sam asked incredulously as he turned fully toward them. “
Boys, if you need money, you picked the wrong person.” He took a step toward them, and Rocker came with him. “Hold it,” the boy with the gun growled.
Sam stopped. They’d better not be trying to steal his horse. Sam couldn’t allow that. The shotgun would hold only one shell at a time. He wondered what the load was and hoped it was bird shot.
“Boys, you know horse thieving is a hanging offense.” Sam looked gravely into the bigger boy’s eyes.
The younger one tugged his brother’s shirttail—Sam had no doubt they were brothers. Same china-blue eyes, same pale hair.
“Fred, you gonna get us hung. You heard him.”
“Hush,” Fred told him. “You get his horse and bring it along home.” Still aiming pointblank at Sam’s chest, though his arms trembled with the weight of the shotgun, he smiled. “We’re not stealing nothing, mister. In fact, you can thank us. This is your lucky day.”
“Lucky?” Sam shook his head, his hands still at shoulder height. Could he make the four steps from here to the boy and safely wrestle the shotgun from him? “I don’t consider it lucky to be held at gunpoint.”
“Oh, you’re lucky all right,” Fred said. “Today’s your weddin’ day.”
Maggie Piner hurried her steps toward home. She hadn’t meant to stay in town so long. Her two boys were generally well-behaved, and she trusted them, but after all, they were boys.
Fred, at twelve, was old enough to be left in charge of his younger brother, Benjy, for a short while. He had matured greatly since they’d learned of his father’s death. He seemed determined to be the man of the house and the boss of the fledgling ranch.
But she had figured this jaunt would only take an hour. Wishful thinking. She had left home shortly after noon, and it must be nearing three o’clock now. After the meeting at the church, she had stopped at the general store to see if she could buy a cup of sugar. That was all she needed.
Seven Brides for Seven Mail-Order Husbands Romance Collection Page 8