The Mail-Order Brides Collection

by Megan Besing

  “You really are a stupid, good-for-nothing little mouse, aren’t you?”

  Shock threaded through her at the all-too-familiar words.

  He clamped a hand over her wrist, dragging her up. “I forbid you to have anything to do with that liar.”

  Mind swimming, Jolie dug in her heels and picked at his fingers. “Unhand me, you scoundrel. The wedding’s off!”

  Frank tipped his arm, and in an instant a tiny Derringer pistol appeared, so small his hand dwarfed it. He turned it on her. “I dare say it’s not. Let’s go.”

  Eyes darting from him to his gun, her eyes settled on the flashy gold ring adorning his pinky finger.

  Del had only covered half the distance to the two riders before the gent roughly dragged the gal to his horse. The way she struggled, the lady didn’t want to go. Del’s belly churned, and he spurred his horse.

  Lord, I’m all but certain that’s Jolie, and iffen I’m right, I need Your help. But who was the man—one of the marshals, or a sheriff’s deputy? Maybe her intended. No matter who, he didn’t particularly want to make himself known. But no man had a right to manhandle a woman that way.

  As the fella ahead dragged Jolie onto his horse, Del bent over his own mount’s neck and rode hard. The pair lit out for the mountains another mile beyond. Del gained, though he paused long enough to catch the woman’s paint pony and retrieve the Peacemaker then pushed on, praying he could catch up.

  The pair neared the base of the mountains, and Del’s horse, winded though it was, put on one final burst of speed to close the gap.

  “Stop!” he shouted as he dropped the paint’s reins and cocked the Peacemaker. When they failed to heed his command, Del fired a single shot. The pair slowed and they all stopped, the horses laboring for breath.

  “Jolie?” he called.

  The woman twisted, though as she did, the man whispered something, and she faced forward again.

  “Unhand her, mister, and git down from that horse.” Del cocked the pistol. “Slow-like.”

  Positioned directly behind the two, he had no safe shot. He’d hit Jolie. But the fella must not have realized that, for he slipped to the ground and faced Del.

  “Jolie, darlin’, you all right?”

  Again, she started to turn then stalled as her gaze fell on the man. “Fine, Del.”

  “Then walk that horse on over here and show me.”

  “I…I…no. Del, this is Frank. As I’ve said all along, as soon as I found him, I would go with him. Remember?”

  So this was Frank Lovell. About Del’s own height and weight, with blond hair and a well-trimmed mustache and beard. It was her right to stay with him, though. He cocked his head. “Don’t rightly recall you saying that, Jolie. You wanted to get to a judge first.”

  She stiffened and shifted slightly, glancing at Frank.

  He also looked toward the man just as Frank raised his right arm to about shoulder height.

  “No!” Jolie screamed, and kicked at Frank’s arm.

  A sudden pop sounded, and something smashed the left side of Del’s head as the world plunged into darkness.

  Chapter 11

  Jolie’s heart thundered as Del crumpled to the ground, blood sprouting from a spot an inch below his hat brim. Lord, no! Please!

  Frank reached for the chestnut’s reins, though Jolie gripped the saddle horn and kicked again. This time, her left boot connected solidly with Frank’s head. He toppled sideways, and she spurred the chestnut into a gallop.

  God, please…please let Del be alive! If she could just lose Frank, maybe she could circle back and check on him. But— A violent sob wrenched loose. Lord, he can’t be dead.

  The hills rose around her, and relief washed through her. There’d be plenty of places to hide here. Knowing the chestnut had already run hard, she slowed its pace, checking to see what might lie behind. Her belly clenched as Frank easily gained on her, riding Del’s roan.

  Jolie reined her horse to the right and raced on as the terrain grew steeper. She worked to guide the horse safely through the rocky outcroppings and difficult landscape. Seeing a break in the rocks, she turned sharply onto a worn dirt path and barreled up a small rise. As she crested the hill, the ground fell away from either side of the narrow trail and, directly ahead, a towering saguaro cactus blocked her path. She yanked on the reins, her horse skidding on the dusty ground, and finally stopped only a foot or so from the prickly giant.

  Her heart pounded as she stared at the cactus then slowly looked back. Frank sat atop the rise, her own Colt Peacemaker pointed straight at her.

  “Be smart and turn that horse around. And keep in mind, I’m not squeamish about shooting people.”

  He’d proven that. By now, Del was certainly dead, shot in the head from close range. No one else in the world would care about her, now that he was gone. With few choices left, she turned the big horse to face him. “What do want with me, Frank?”

  “Your brother was growing weary of your quarrelsome attitude. He’d’ve killed you, but when he learned about your mail-order scheme, I offered to take you off his hands.” He paused while that sunk in. “Now walk on back this way, and keep yourself in check, woman.”

  Del roused to fearsome pain ricocheting through his skull, like wild horses stampeding inside his head. He pried his eyes open, though something marred his vision in his left eye. Carefully, he rubbed it. Sticky. Blood stained his fingers. Recollections of where he was—or why he lay bloodied on the ground—were hazy, as if mired in fog.

  He lolled his head to the side. Something moved. The fog lifted, replaced by fear. Someone or something was near, just out of his sight. Enemy—or friend? He twisted around, the pain arcing with the movement.

  A horse. A little paint that nibbled the grasses that dared to grow here. Where was the owner? Bracing himself for the onslaught of thunderous hooves beating between his ears, he rolled, sat up, and scanned his surroundings. Momentary waves of agony swept over him.

  Finally, he opened his eyes. Alone. Just him and the paint. In the distance lay a town, and much nearer, the mountains. He held his head in his hands. The town. Meribah. Where he’d been falsely convicted of bank robbery. The horse…Jolie’s horse. Pieces slowly fell into place. He’d followed her from town, only she was with Frank. And Frank had manhandled her. He’d tried to get Jolie away from him, but something hit him in the noggin.

  Lord, where’s Jolie now—and my horse? And the Peacemaker he’d turned on Frank?

  Del stood slowly, desert terrain swimming. A few feet behind him lay an unfamiliar hat. He tugged it on. Far too snug for his pounding skull. He removed it and shuffled toward the horse.

  “Up for a ride?” He asked to bolster his confidence, but before he could lift a foot to the stirrup, he spied Jolie’s satchel lying on the ground nearby. He looped it over the saddle horn then opened it. Inside, he found his tattered hat and traded it for the unfamiliar one. It was a slight bit better.

  With difficulty, Del mounted then turned the horse in a slow circle. “All right, Lord, which way?”

  Chapter 12

  Inside.” Frank shoved Jolie toward the door of a mountain cabin.

  Her eye swollen from where he’d hit her, she stumbled over a stone she didn’t see in her path. She righted herself and spun. “Guess you lied when you said you lived near Phoenix, huh, Frank?”

  “Near enough. It’s in the same territory.” He shooed her toward the door with her Peacemaker. “Get moving.”

  Lord, don’t make me go in there. Please. It had been concerning enough riding through the mountains with him. No telling what liberties he might expect once away from prying eyes.

  She pressed a hand to her roiling stomach, reminded again of the folded newspapers she’d hidden inside her dress. Her throat clogged. They’d do little good now that Del was dead. He’d meant to look for clues, information on the banker’s stolen ring. At least she could look into that, see if Frank’s gaudy pinky ring bore any resemblance.

 
He pushed her to the door. “Open it.”

  Once she did, Frank escorted her inside. Unused to the dim light, she squinted to see two shadowy figures look up from a table.

  Jolie tensed. Lord God, two more men to contend with? You’ve got to get me out of here. Please.

  “Welcome back,” the large, slovenly man said, amusement in his tone.

  Jolie glared at Frank. “Who’re they?”

  “Howdy, Mrs. Lovell.” A second, slim-waisted man grinned. “We’re Frank’s business associates. I’m Henry, and this here’s my brother Al.”

  Al leered. “Ol’ Frank musta given you quite a welcome.”

  “I was late, so she’s not my missus yet. We’ll get married when the preacher returns.”

  Jolie stifled a derisive laugh. Never…never would she promise to love, honor, and cherish Frank Lovell. Not after he’d hit her. Nor after admitting this was some twisted arrangement between him and Brand. Certainly not after he’d gunned Del Adler down. And then there was the ring…. No. She’d escape if it took her last breath.

  “Move.” He guided her toward a ladder leading to a second story and pointed with the pistol. “Climb up there.”

  Her mouth went dry. “Why?”

  He traced her cheek with the cold barrel of her Peacemaker. “Because I said so, beautiful.”

  Trembling, Jolie complied, aching to retrieve the razor from her pocket. She dared not risk it. Not yet. Perhaps if Henry and Al left her alone with Frank, she could give him a surprise—a sharp blade to his throat.

  Jolie swallowed hard. At the top of the ladder, she peered into a small loft with a sloping roof and a bed for two. She froze.

  “Keep moving.”

  She glanced down. Frank waited as if he meant to climb the ladder also.

  When she didn’t move, he leveled the pistol. “I said move.”

  Jolie fought for composure. “The least you could do is say please, Frank.”

  “Move. Please.” He snarled the last word.

  She scrambled up the ladder and, feet planted on the floor, reached for the razor as Frank joined her.

  “Open that door.” He pointed to the left wall.

  Confused, Jolie faced a doorway centered on the wall. Nerves jangling, she turned the knob. A musty garret stacked with steamer trunks and crates opened before her. A single dingy window lit the space.

  Frank nudged her forward, and once she entered, he pulled the door halfway closed. “I’ll bring your dinner later.”

  The door clapped shut, and a key turned in the lock. Instantaneously, relief washed through her. He hadn’t intended what she’d feared.

  She tiptoed to the window and tried to lift the glass. It went up two inches and stopped. Only then did she see the nails driven into the window jambs. Closing it, she pulled on the nail heads. Neither budged.

  She was trapped, and no one in the world would care now that Del was gone.

  Voices sounded nearby, warning Del someone was near. Head still pounding, he halted the paint and glanced around. The voices seemed to be approaching from beyond a bend in the forked trail to his left. Heart pounding, he scanned the terrain. Cactus and ocotillo dominated the area, none of it dense enough to hide a horse and rider. He could turn tail and retreat, but he’d leave an easy trail to follow.

  Lord, You got any good ideas?

  He rubbed at his forehead, trying to smooth away the ache. He focused on a clump of prickly pear, spanning a good six feet wide and four feet tall. Hardly large enough to hide a horse standing upri—

  He reined the paint behind the cacti, dismounted, and unhooked the satchel from the saddle horn. His heart pounding, he led the horse a few feet away and tied one end of his rope around a front hoof. He glanced heavenward as he hoisted the horse’s leg up and wrestled the animal off his hooves. The pony rolled onto his side, and Del lay across his neck to keep the horse down. One hand over the paint’s nostrils to keep it from making any noise, Del shook his hat from his head.

  His skull crackled with pain, but he gritted his teeth and squinted through the prickly pear. A lone rider came into view, dull silver badge pinned to his vest. Connor Benson, the territorial marshal who’d come to transport him to Yuma. The marshal stared at the ground, moving slowly.

  The paint attempted to stand, and Del adjusted his bodyweight. Lord, keep this beast still, please. He whispered soothing words in the pony’s ear.

  Two more marshals appeared, trailing Benson. Del held his breath and ducked low as one man glanced his way. Benson dismounted to look at the ground. Del’s heart pounded. Lord, please don’t let me be caught. Jolie needs me. He couldn’t stomach stranding her with Frank while they carted him off to Yuma. As his hazy memory had cleared, he recalled the feeling he got seeing them together. She was afraid. No way could he leave her until he knew the source of that fear. Had to be more than just her riding off with the stranger she’d promised to share her life with.

  The pony flinched, drawing him from his thoughts. He willed the animal to remain still, praying hard for divine help.

  The marshal finally nodded toward the other fork of the path. “We’ll head that way.”

  “It’s getting late,” one of the others spoke. “This spot would make a good campsite.”

  Del’s chest constricted. If they made camp, he’d be stuck trying to keep a fidgeting pony down and still.

  Benson swung into his saddle. “We’ve still got an hour of daylight. We’ll move on.”

  “You’re the boss.”

  When he could hear no further murmuring, Del rolled off the paint, and the animal scrambled up and gave a swift shake, the wave seeming to travel from its head right out its tail. He looped the satchel over the saddle horn and mounted, patting the pony’s neck.

  “You did real good. Now let’s go get Jolie.”

  Chapter 13

  In the hours since Frank locked Jolie in the garret, she’d read through the newspapers and tucked them back inside her dress bodice then looked through the various steamer trunks and crates she could get into. By the time the sky turned brilliant hues of pink and orange, her mind swam with what she’d found.

  The articles detailing the robbery and trial both referenced the banker’s gold signet ring, though little was mentioned about it. From what she’d seen of Frank’s ring, it was a gold signet ring. A coincidence?

  The articles also mentioned eyewitnesses to the robbery, among them brothers Henry and Al Mabb. Each had testified that a blond-haired, blue- or green-eyed man had been seen fleeing the bank. Al Mabb testified that the culprit shot the banker and stole his ring. Hard to believe two brothers named Henry and Al would witness the robbery—and two other brothers with those same names would be here at the cabin. The chances were slim.

  And then there was the garret full of trunks. Every last one had its lock jimmied, making it easy for her to open them. They were full of odd items—quilts, letters, clothing. Particularly women’s dresses and unmentionables of various sizes. The letters were all in different handwriting, addressed to different people. These weren’t the belongings of these men. They were stolen, probably from stagecoaches up and down the line from Meribah.

  Footsteps sounded, and the key turned in the lock. Frank entered, balancing a tray on one arm.

  “Dinner.” He set it atop the nearest crate.

  “Is this how you treat your bride, Frank?” She’d spent hours thinking how she could escape, return to Meribah for help, even considering cutting Frank’s throat when he came in with her dinner. But even if she’d been able to do that, how far could she have gotten with the Mabb brothers downstairs? No, getting out of the room was the first step, and then she could escape the house. “You lock her in a room and ignore her?”

  “Thought you said the wedding was off.”

  She ran her finger across her bruised cheekbone. “I don’t take kindly to my husband hitting me.”

  “So you’ve changed your mind?” He eyed her suspiciously.

  Jolie smooth
ed her dress. “You treat me like a lady deserves, and I’ll consider the idea. But…no more holding me at gunpoint. No more hitting me. No expectations of marital privileges, like we agreed in our letters. And you speak to me like I have a good mind. Am I understood?”

  His eyes narrowed. “What do I get in return?”

  “The things I’ve done for Brand—cooking, cleaning, laundry. And if we should fall in love, then…maybe more. But not if you treat me as you have today.”

  Frank contemplated what she’d said. “You got a lot of rules, lady.” He swung the door wide. “But we’ll try it your way.”

  Jolie stifled a devious smile as she crossed the garret. Yes, they would.

  Despite the lawmen going in exactly the direction Jolie’s tracks led, Del followed their path at a cautious distance. When the marshals made camp another two miles beyond, he hesitated. Their camp was smack in the middle of a cactus-filled canyon, cutting off his best path through the area. Any alternate route through there would be in plain sight of the lawmen. The sky, streaked heavily with myriad colors, warned of the coming darkness. Little chance he’d get any farther tonight, even if he could circle around the marshals’ camp.

  Del rubbed his throbbing skull. Iffen I can’t find her tonight, Father…You protect her.

  He scanned the canyon. Navigating it on horseback would be impossible after dusk.

  But iffen he walked…Hope speared his heart. He’d navigated equally tricky terrain the night Jolie tied him, and—

  Had that truly been just two days ago? The way he cared for her, it felt like it’d been far longer.

  Del shook away the rambling thoughts then regretted it, pain stabbing through his noggin. One hip against the rocky canyon wall, he held his skull until the pain ceased. Head clear again, he eyed the camp. He could leave the paint there, cross the canyon on foot, skirting their camp, and at least check the far end of the canyon.