The Mail-Order Brides Collection

by Megan Besing

  “The ring…is…” Waight opened a desk drawer and pawed through the items inside.

  The sheriff squirmed. Del had suspected from the moment he’d been accused that something was off about the lawman. The feeling had only grown the more time he spent around the sheriff.

  The two sheriff’s deputies, one being the fella who’d mailed Del’s letter home, reentered the office after depositing Frank in a jail cell, and Waight straightened. “I remember. The ring is lost. Disappeared after the trial.”

  One deputy’s stride faltered. Hands in pockets, the other hung his head, and both made for the door.

  “You two.” Benson faced them.

  They turned, lookin’ like boys caught elbow-deep in their ma’s cookie jar.

  “Is there a doctor in town?” Benson asked.

  “Of a sort. Got us a barber that dabbles in medicine.”

  “Tell him we’ve a patient lying at death’s door.”

  Waight smacked his hands on his desk, papers scattering. “Just hold on. You will not walk in my office and order my deputies around. I’m the sheriff in Meribah.”

  “Yeah? I’m the federal marshal that just deputized them.” Benson turned to the deputies. “You. Fetch the barber, and you…” He turned to the deputy who’d mailed Del’s letter. “Fetch me the jeweler that testified in Adler’s trial.”

  The deputy shot an uncomfortable glance toward Waight then nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Tension hung thick as fog as the deputy glanced at Waight then exited.

  The sheriff’s jaw clenched, and he slammed the drawer shut. “I got work to do…” He bolted out the door.

  Benson stepped out onto the boardwalk after Waight exited. “Kagan.”

  The other deputy marshal hurried over.

  “I don’t trust that fella. Follow him. I wanna know everywhere he goes.”

  A weight lifted from Del’s chest. Thank You, Lord. Someone’s listening. He twisted to look at Jolie, sitting silently in the corner. “Reckon you can see the judge soon…like you wanted.” An ache leached through his chest like nothing he’d ever felt before.

  Jolie mustered a feeble smile, though it quickly trickled from her lips. “It seems so.” She rubbed at her forehead. “You’ll be rid of me soon.”

  The whispered comment stung. “Jolie, I…”

  She shook her head, and before he could continue, Benson entered with the deputy and the barber. “Take him back to Lovell’s cell and stay with him. Understood?”

  Nodding, the deputy and barber disappeared into the back.

  Del cleared his throat, hoping to share the thoughts spinning through his mind. Before he could speak, Jolie bolted up and approached Benson.

  “Marshal, may I have a private word?”

  Hesitating, the lawman waved her outside and shut the door. When he reentered moments later, he was alone. Wordless, he sat at the sheriff’s desk and riffled through the drawers.

  Del peered out the window. No Jolie. And Benson seemed completely unconcerned. Had she gone on some errand, or…? He scrambled to put the sudden tension crawling up his spine to rest.

  How in blazes had he become so attached to her in a matter of days?

  “Beggin’ your pardon, Marshal, but is Jolie all right?”

  Benson paused, glancing Del’s way. “That gal’s exhausted and overwhelmed.” He shut one drawer to riffle through another. “This has been a lot to deal with.”

  Del’s shoulders ached, whether from having his hands cuffed behind him or the desire to hold and comfort Jolie, he wasn’t sure.

  The office door swung open, and the deputy entered with a curly-haired man in tow. “Here’s the jeweler.”

  Benson stood. “You the one that testified about the banker’s ring?”

  The jeweler nodded uncomfortably. “Yes.”

  “Can you describe the ring to me, please?”

  “Don’t have to.” He removed a handkerchief from his pocket. Unwrapping the cloth, he produced a ring, which he offered to the lawman. “Sheriff Waight told me to melt that down the week after the trial ended.”

  Benson’s brows arched. “Did he, now?”

  The ache ricocheted through Del’s skull again.

  Benson fished in his own pocket, producing the ring Frank had worn. Del’s muscles quivered in anticipation.

  The lawman held them side by side. “They’re similar but certainly not the same.”

  “May I see?” the jeweler asked.

  The marshal handed them over as Del craned his neck to see.

  “They’re both signet rings, but the markings are quite different. Wouldn’t be easy to mix them up.”

  Del glared. “You testified under oath that you made the ring they showed you.”

  The jeweler hung his head. “S’pose I did.” He looked Del’s way. “I’m sorry for the trouble it caused you.”

  “So you lied in court?” Marshal Benson barked.

  “Didn’t want to.” He glanced around nervously. “Sheriff Waight threatened me. Said my shop might get burned down if I didn’t say what he wanted me to. I risked everything to come west. My business fails, and I got nothing left. No way to care for my family. So I lied.”

  Del’s thoughts roiled.

  “He threatened you?” At the jeweler’s vigorous nod, Benson glared at the sheriff’s deputy. “You know anything about that?”

  The deputy shook his head. “About Waight’s threats…no. But I’ve seen things recently that haven’t set right with me. I’ll gladly tell you about ’em when you have some time.”

  Benson nodded. “I’d be real happy to hear.” He shifted back to the jeweler. “What can you tell me about these rings?”

  “This one.” He motioned. “They showed it to me in court. If I’d told the truth, I’d have said it has a name and date engraved inside. Lon Adler, June 1846.” He directed the lawman’s attention to the inscription. “I was born in December 1846, so I couldn’t’ve made that ring.”

  Benson squinted at the ring. “And the other?”

  The jeweler looked at the underside. “This one’s the banker’s ring. There’s my mark.” He shifted so the marshal could see. “And…the banker had uncommon small hands, sir. The two rings aren’t even close in size.”

  Benson held them side by side. After a moment, he fished something from his pocket. “Adler, stand up.”

  Del complied, and the marshal unlocked his handcuffs.

  “Put those on.” Benson deposited both rings in his hand.

  Del slipped the banker’s ring on his fourth finger. It stopped above his middle knuckle. Once the men had all seen it, he slipped the other on. It settled in place easily.

  Relief and vindication stirred in Del’s chest.

  Marshal Benson finally met Del’s gaze. “Adler, never reckoned to say this, but there’s enough proof here to make a monkey question how you coulda committed this crime.”

  Del roughed a hand over his stubbly jaw. “Thank you, Marsh—”

  A sharp sob tore the quiet, and Del pivoted to see Jolie standing at the door, hand clamped over her mouth. Eyes brimming, she turned and ran.

  “Jolie?” He darted toward the door.

  Benson clasped his arm. “You’re still under arrest.”

  “But—”

  Benson snapped at the deputy. “Find her.”

  Chapter 16

  Jolie swallowed hard as the deputy escorted her into the nearly empty courtroom and sat her in the last row. Del waited at the front table, hands clasped as if he were praying. The jeweler sat on the witness stand while Benson stood before the judge’s bench. Silently, the judge studied something in front of him.

  “You’re confessing to perjury.” The judge directed the statement to the jeweler. Squirming, he nodded. “After the sheriff threatened me.”

  “This is the ring you made the banker?” The judge showed the jeweler a ring.

  “Yes, sir. It has my mark.”

  He held the second ring out toward Del. “And t
his one is your father’s ring, as evidenced by the inscription.”

  Del’s chair scraped the floor as he stood. “Yes, sir. I rode into town wearing it and never set foot near that bank.”

  “Come up here and put these on.”

  Jolie held her breath as Del paced to the bench. Lord, I want Del’s name cleared, but…what about me? Even if Frank survived and beat the robbery charges the marshal was mounting, she wouldn’t marry him. And once Del’s name was cleared, she would provide information to convict Brand. In moments, she’d have nowhere to go and no one to care about her. The realization left her trembling.

  “Mr. Adler, a travesty of justice has been committed against you,” the judge said. “There’s many things that don’t add up here. I’m reversing your conviction, effective immediately.” He turned to Marshal Benson. “Are you charging him for the escape?”

  After interminable seconds, the lawman shook his head. “I ought to…but I reckon this whole ordeal has been punishment enough.”

  “Adler, you’re dismissed. Here’s your ring.”

  Del’s relief was palpable. “Thank you both.” He turned sideways as he slipped the ring on then looked her way.

  “You’ll be investigating the robbery further, Marshal?” the judge asked.

  “Yes, sir, Judge.”

  “Good. Anything else I can help you gents with?”

  Del’s gaze connected with hers. “There’s one more thing, sir.”

  “Make it quick, Adler.”

  He faced the bench. “Miss Hilliard and I…spoke some wedding vows the other day. Only I used another man’s name.” He shrugged sheepishly. “Are they binding?”

  The room erupted with the guffaws of judge, marshal, deputy, and jeweler.

  Embarrassment blanketing her, Jolie lunged for the door, but the deputy caught her wrist and pulled her back down. If she could, she would melt into the floorboards.

  The judge sobered, though an amused grin tugged at his lips. “I don’t see how that could be considered binding.”

  “Then we’re not married?”

  “Nope.” The judge shook his head.

  “Thank you, sir.” Del reached to shake the judge’s hand.

  Panicked, Jolie pried at the deputy’s thumb. “Please, let me go.”

  He tightened his grip. “You gotta talk to Marshal Benson.”

  Tears streaked down her cheeks as the men all congratulated Del. “Please.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Unable to free herself, she stifled a sob as Benson and Del turned her way. Clamping her free hand over her eyes, she tried to hold her emotions in check.

  One set of footsteps stopped, looming over her, while another—Del’s, surely—proceeded out the courtroom door. Out of her life. The deputy released her wrist and stepped away, leaving her to talk to Benson.

  She couldn’t bring herself to look up.

  “Jolie?”

  It wasn’t Benson’s voice.

  Lowering her trembling hand, she found Del.

  He sat beside her. “You all right?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I…don’t know…what to do now.”

  “Reckon you can do anything you want.” He took her hand. “I know one thing I hope you’ll do.”

  Jolie’s breath hitched. “What?”

  “The judge says the preacher’s due back day after tomorrow. Kinda hoped you’d marry me proper.”

  “I married you five days ago.” The hatless preacher balked outside the stagecoach office.

  Del shrugged sheepishly. “That’s a long story, sir. I’ll pay you handsomely for your trouble.”

  Reverend Carter looked at his wife. “Oh, fine. We have to pass the church to get home anyway.”

  Jolie smiled, picking up her satchel. “Thank you, Reverend. You don’t know how much this means.”

  Del took the reverend’s bags, and they hurried to the church. Once inside, they took their positions at the altar.

  The pastor opened his Bible. “Forgive me, but this’ll be short. Do you, Franklin Thomas Lov—”

  “Wait!” both he and Jolie chorused.

  The reverend’s eyes widened. “What?”

  “The name’s Delany Aaron Adler.”

  Confusion etched the preacher’s face.

  Once more, Del shrugged. “Long story…”

  The preacher rubbed his forehead. “Sounds like it. Do you, Delaney…Aaron…Adler, take—wait.” He turned to Jolie. “What’s your name?”

  She giggled. “Jolie Ann Hilliard.”

  “Of course it is.” Reverend Carter restarted, shaking his head at the oddity of marrying the same couple twice in a week.

  “I now pronounce you husband and wife. Kiss your bride.”

  Del swept Jolie into his arms, his left hand cupping her cheek. Her eyes danced with anticipation as he leaned in. He drank in the intoxicating scent of the flowers she’d weaved into her hair as his mouth hovered near hers. Finally, he captured her lips. Soft and tantalizing, she melted against him, a tiny moan rumbling in her throat. He breathed in her sweetness and strength. His head swam as he deepened the kiss, though before he got too lost in it, he pulled away. Breathless, he grinned.

  “You brigand,” Jolie whispered, blue eyes sparking.

  His smile faltered. “I thought we were past all that name-calling.”

  “This time, it fits.”

  Irritation slinked down his spine. “How do you reckon?”

  She blushed. “Every time you kiss me like that, you steal a piece of my heart.”

  The irritation dissolved, and in its place, desire grew. He leaned in again.

  From behind them, someone cleared his throat roughly. They turned to find Marshal Benson. “Congratulations to the happy couple.”

  Del stepped down from the altar but turned back long enough to hand Reverend Carter his payment. “Thank you again, sir.”

  Without further conversation, they retrieved their satchel and exited the sanctuary, Marshal Benson falling in beside them.

  “Just wanted you both to know. My men found your brother and his gang right where you said. They’re in custody, and we’re already building our case. The Brent Hill gang won’t bother you again.”

  Jolie smiled, and Del looped an arm around her shoulders.

  “Thank you. There’s no better wedding gift anyone could’ve given me.”

  “You’re welcome, ma’am.” Benson turned Del’s way. “You two are leaving town soon?”

  “Tomorrow. Heading home to Colorado. You need anything from us, you can find us there.”

  Benson nodded. “I’ll be in touch. Best wishes.” He shook Del’s hand and nodded to Jolie then slipped out of the church.

  “Shall we go, Mrs. Adler?”

  Jolie reached to unfasten the satchel’s flap. From inside, she retrieved the preacher’s hat and, looking back to be sure the preacher didn’t see, hung it on the hook beside the door. “I’m ready, Mr. Adler.”

  Jennifer Uhlarik discovered the western genre as a preteen, when she swiped the only “horse” book she’d 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 four fur children.

  The Mail-Order Mistake

  by Kathleen Y’Barbo

  Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church, and gave himself for it.

  EPHESIANS 5:25

  Chapter 1

 
Pinkerton Agency Headquarters, Chicago, Illinois

  March 1857

  Heads up, Bingham. We’ve got another one.”

  Pinkerton Detective Jeremiah Bingham swiveled in his chair to see Alan Pinkerton headed his way. “Another fellow wondering where his bride is, boss?”

  “Baroness Fleurette has stolen another rancher’s dreams,” Mr. Pinkerton said as he tossed a letter atop Jeremiah’s desk. “To the tune of five thousand dollars and a stake in a gold mine out in California.”

  “So much for connubial happiness and eternal love.” Jeremiah moved the letter to the growing stack on the corner of his desk. “Or whatever she called it in this ad.”

  For the past two years since the Pinkerton Agency signed a contract with the railroads to assist in mail fraud, they had become the owners of bags and bags of letters from men whose bought-and-paid-for brides had gone missing. By far, the largest offender of fraudulent marriage brokering using the mail system was the elusive Baroness Fleurette.

  Jeremiah returned his attention to Mr. Pinkerton. “From the way you’re looking at me, I am guessing you’ve got a plan.”

  “I do.” His boss grinned. “Congratulations, Detective Bingham. You’re about to become a gentleman of means looking for a sweet dove who will gratefully accept the arrow from Cupid’s bow.”

  “Me?” Jeremiah shook his head. “I don’t know the first thing about pretending to want a mail-order bride.”

  In truth, he had enough trouble trying to shake off the would-be Mrs. Binghams ever since he came into his share of the Bingham Mining fortune five years ago. Sure enough, he’d see the back side of his twenties soon, but that was no reason to hurry into sticking his head into the yoke of marital entanglement, despite his sister Stella’s attempts. Especially since he’d finally found some anonymity working for the Pinkerton Agency.

  “I would be willing to wager neither did those men,” Mr. Pinkerton said, indicating the letters. “Now see what you can do about putting Baroness Fleurette out of business.”

  New Orleans, Louisiana April 2, 1857