Mail Order Bride: JUMBO Mail Order Bride 20 Book Box Set

by Hope Sinclair

  “You mean the outlaw. The one they hung.” He had wondered if that man had pulled the trigger that had ended Sarah’s life. After all, he had been involved in the robbery. But there had been so many men. He had wanted to ride to Whitecloud, and find out if the man had been the one who pulled the trigger. But he knew, he’d shoot the man before they could kick the box out from under his feet. He could still see the image of the man holding the gun. He had been short with blond hair, and shaky blue eyes, pulling the trigger like he had never fired a gun before. Blake had always wondered if this had been the young man’s first heist.

  The man folded his hands in front of his waist. “Yes, sir.”

  “I appreciate your honesty. I’d like to judge a man by his character myself.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  He nodded and asked a few questions of the men about their experience as ranch hands, before offering them the job. The men soon walked off to take care of the cattle.

  “Son.”

  Blake turned to the man who had been with his father since they both were young men. A man he considered an uncle. Jacob’s eyes waivered as he tapped his fingers against a leg. Something was bothering him.

  “What is it?”

  “I know I have no right to pry. But I think your pa would want me to watch out for you.”

  He clamped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about rules. You know you’re family.”

  Jacob nodded, wringing his old Stetson with ragged edges. He had bought Jacob a new one for Christmas last year, but the old man still preferred the one in his hands. Jacob swallowed hard, his adam’s apple bobbing.

  “Isn’t the new Mrs. from Whitecloud?”

  “Yes,” Blake replied with a frown.

  “You know many women marry the wrong man.” He shook his head, looking at the ground. “Maybe....”

  “Why would you say that?” A sinking feeling filled him.

  Jacob turned from him. Blake gripped his shoulder, spinning him around.

  “Why would you say that,” he yelled.

  Pain crashed in Jacob’s eyes. “Maybe it’s not her. Dear God, hopefully it’s not her. It’s just....”

  “Just,” he ground out.

  “The new rancher described Oakley’s wife as a woman with golden ringlets and fair skin.” Jacob’s gaze fell to the ground. “His pregnant widow.”

  Blake stumbled back, as darkness engulfed him. No, no, this couldn’t be true. Linda’s husband had died during a drive. Not at the end of hangman’s noose. He shoved his hands into his hair, squeezing his head. Pain sliced through him. It just couldn’t be the same woman. Just couldn’t. Linda was pure. Honest. And she.... His hands dropped to his side. She had golden ringlets and carried a child.

  He spun towards the cattle, his feet pounding on the thick green grass as he raced towards the new cow hands. The new rancher bent towards a newborn calf.

  Blake gripped his shirt, and yanked him around.

  The young man’s eye widened as he stumbled back.

  “What her name?” he screamed.

  “Who’s?” The young man trembled in his grip.

  “Oakley’s wife. What was her name?”

  “Sir, I’m so...”

  He shook the young fool. “Just tell me her name.”

  “Her Christian name was Linda.”

  Linda. Blake’s hand flew open as he stumbled back again. Linda. Her name was Linda.

  “Why?” he screamed out, slamming his hands on his head again. His knees crashed to the ground pain afflicted every part of him. A pain stronger than the loss of his father. Sarah. For this pain contained the bitter weight of betrayal. A betrayal by a woman he had let into his heart.

  Jacob took his arm, tugging. “Son, give her....”

  Blake knocked his hand away and raced towards his mare. He yanked the reins free and in one fluid motion jumped on the horse. He jammed his heels into the horse’s sides, making the beast bolt forward, galloping across the plain.

  How could she? How could she listen to him pour out his heart about his wife’s death, all the while knowing her husband had been there? A viper. That was what she was, a viper. One with teeth that dug deeply into a man, filling him with pure poison.

  TEN

  Once Blake reached his front yard, he jumped from the horse, rushing up the steps. He flung open the door. The sound of laughter jarred his nerves. He rushed to the parlor and spotted his mother sitting across from the Jezebel herself.

  He rushed to Linda, gripping her arm hard and yanking her up. The teacup fell from her hand, crushing to the floor.

  “Blake,” his mother screamed.

  The color left Linda’s face as she gripped his arm. “What is the...?”

  “Mrs. Oakley,” Blake whispered.

  A gasp escaped her, her hand flying to cover her mouth. She stumbled back, shaking her head as tears began slipping from her eyes.

  “Blake what is the meaning of this?” His mother swatted his arm.

  “Mother, you brought Jezebel herself into this house,” he replied, his voice as cold as ice.

  “Blake...” Linda reached for him, but he knocked her hand away. “I can explain.”

  “I’m sure you can weave a tale of lies. You did a good job with my mother.”

  “It’s just....”

  “I want you gone.”

  She fell to her knees, her arms wrapping around her waist. “Please Blake, don’t.”

  “Your husband was there. At the bank.”

  A sob escaped her as she withered, her face falling forward.

  “What do you mean?” Tears filled his mother’s voice.

  He spun towards her. Through clenched teeth, he said. “She’s Max Oakley’s wife.” He jabbed a finger in Linda’s direction.

  His mother clamped her eyes closed. A visible pain crossed her face.

  “I will not raise that murderer’s child.” He spun back to Linda. “Nor harbor his wife. You best be gone, before I get back.”

  He rushed out the door, slamming it shut.

  ***

  Her stomach clenched, sending sharp pains up her body. Linda doubled over, the deep sobs escaping from her. How had he found out? How? The tremors flowing through her body intensified, matching the crushing blows that kept smashing into her heart. She gripped the edge of the rug, laying her head against it. She should have known the joy she had found would be short lived. It always was. The Lord ought to just snuff her out, like Lot’s wife. It would be best.

  The pain pushed through to her toes. A cry escaped her. She rolled to her back, bringing her knees to her chest. Was the babe coming? She flung her arms around her waist and focused on the ceiling. But the babe needed a chance. A chance to see milkweeds and the beauty of the world.

  “The pains are attacking you again,” a strain voice said.

  She nodded and rolled back over, pushing to her knees. She needed to leave. To get out of this home before Blake returned and threw her out.

  “I’ll just take my leave, Mrs. Pickett,” she said, pushing to her feet. She gripped the end table. Another shot of pain sliced through her. She flopped back on the couch, pushing a sweaty ringlet from her face.

  Blake’s eyes had been full of so much hate. Hate for her. Once again, she heard those insults flung at her by the town folk. Saw the spit flying towards her. Felt it seeping through the back of her dress.

  Mrs. Pickett gripped her arm. “You can’t leave in this state. I’ll have Cora send for the doctor.”

  Gone was the warmth from her voice. The gentle motherly touch. “Mrs. Pickett, I can’t...”

  “Hush now. We must pray and seek the Lord’s guidance,” she said.

  Linda glanced at her mother-in-law as she looked over her head. This was not what she wanted for her son. A woman who became his wife through deception. She should have told them. Been honest before they entered this union. But she was selfish and now, she’d lost the home she had come to love.

  Mrs. Pickett helped her t
o stand, and with Cora’s help they made their way upstairs to her bedroom. She collapsed on the bed, burying her face into the pillow as the front door, slammed open downstairs. She flinched, clenching the pillow.

  Blake was back. His fury would be swift.

  ***

  Blake seethed as his mother walked down the stairs, her face chalk white. A few wisp of hair had come loose from the bun at the nape of her neck, and lay across her face. The rain had started and now poured from the sky as if the Almighty himself wanted to keep Linda from leaving.

  “Mother.”

  “Her pains have started,” Mrs. Pickett said wringing her skirt. “She can’t leave at the moment.”

  He stepped towards her, until he was inches from her. What did he care, if the babe lived, but even as he thought the words, a little bit of the callousness fell away from his heart. He didn’t wish the babe to die, no matter who the father was.

  “Son, I agree, once she can, it’s be best she’d leave, but we can’t force her out right now.”

  “Fine, I’ll just make myself scarce.”

  “Blake.”

  He ignored his mother’s cries, as he raced out of the home, into the pouring rain.

  The cold droplets did nothing to cool the heat burning through him. Thunder sounded and was soon followed by a bright streak of lightning. He looked up at the sky, wanting to shout out every curse he could to God above. Apparently, the Lord wanted him to live a lonely bitter life. Well, he would. A life out driving cattle to the market. Thankfully, he’d leave in two days. But until then he’d bunk with the cowhands.

  ELEVEN

  Blake spread his bedroll out, and then lay down on the hard ground. The small campfire began to lose its heat as the embers flickered out. The night was eerily silent now that the cattle had been sold. The cowhands chatting had long died away, and once again he was left alone with his bitter thoughts. His hand slipped under his small pillow, and bumped against the letter he had found there. Someone had slipped it in his bedroll. Someone sympathetic to Linda. What did she want to tell him? How could she make up for the pain she had caused?

  He gripped the letter: it crumbled in his hand. It had been days since he found out and still the betrayal stung deeply.

  The sound of footsteps caught his attention. He looked up at Jacob, who lay his bedroll at Blake’s feet. “You ought to read it. Hear her out.”

  Blake looked away. He should. Though surely, Linda must be gone by now, he needed to know what that letter contained in case she wasn’t. He couldn’t imagine that there was anything she could say to make him forgive her.

  He pulled the letter out, just as a coyote howled in the distance. The cottontail story trickled across his mind. The story he had told her in order to make her trust him. What a fool he had been. He slid a nail under the envelope, the slight ripping filling the air. He pulled out the letter, and unfolded it. The script that filled the page was masculine.

  At the top of the letter, he spotted a more feminine script with soft strokes and curves.

  Blake, I know there is nothing I could say to make up for the hurt I’ve caused. So I won’t plead my case, but I do wish to give you something that might lead to the arrest of those who took your dear Sarah. I can’t help but believe this letter mentions the outlaw’s hideout.

  Hide out. Blake began reading the words of a man pleading for forgiveness. Begging her to understand the steps he took and why he hid his actions from her.

  She hadn’t known. Hadn’t had a clue. Small chips fell off the stone wall that had cemented around his heart. He took a deep breath, trying to find the hate, the heat, to make it rise again. She had known afterwards, but still hadn’t said a word.

  But he had a feeling, he knew why. What would she have done? The town folk of Whitecloud had obviously scorned her and she had a child to provide for? She should have admitted the truth to him, but in the deep places of his heart, he understood why she had latched onto him and the protection he offered her. He was the only one who had.

  He continued reading, and stopped at the mention of gold at the Old Man’s Mine. She had underlined it, and written off to the side that many feared venturing in it, because local legend said it was haunted by the town drunk’s ghost.

  Blake refolded the letter, and placed it in the envelope. In a week, they should arrive back home. Perhaps on the way, he’d stop by the sheriff and see if this letter might help the law track down the men that had terrorized the people of Baxter Springs.

  ***

  Today, she’d leave. Linda pulled the sheet off her body, and let her stocking feet touch the cold hardwood floor. If she hurried, she’d be gone before Cora or Mrs. Pickett stirred.

  She caressed her belly. It had grown larger over the last month and a half as the tremors attacked her body, keeping her in the bed. Only by the grace of God had the child stayed within. A miracle, she often questioned. Was the Lord trying to make her stay in Baxter Springs? To wait for Blake’s return? An ache sliced across her heart as she thought of the anger flaring in his eyes. Anger that she had caused. No, the good Lord, couldn’t want Blake to be forced to endure her presence. Which is why she must hurry. He was due home any day.

  She bent down, reaching for her satchel as the muscles in her back tightened. She stilled, waiting for the rolling pain that had plagued her off and on, but it didn’t come. She slowly rose to her feet, and pushed a wayward ringlet from her face. Last night she had gone to bed with her dress on to make it easier to slip out this morning. The clothing had made her sleep uncomfortably, but she forced herself to endure the discomfort.

  She set the satchel on the bed, and tied her hair in a simple knot at the nape of her neck, before reaching for her bonnet. She raised it to her head when a shot of pain ripped through her. She fell grasping the nightstand. Her hand knocked a teacup, sending it and the tea smattering against the wood floor.

  The pain subsided and she grasped for breath, her shoulders rising up and down. None of the pain she had endured had been this harsh. Did that mean the baby would be here soon? She clamped her eyes closed. Cora had said since she made it to eight full months the baby had a chance at life. But what kind of a life would it be?

  She sat back on the bed glancing at the satchel. What should she do?

  She needed to leave. Despite the pain, she needed to see through what she had decided last night. She couldn’t imagine what Blake would do if she was still here when he returned. She pushed on the nightstand, straightening her wobbly legs, just as a warm sensation trickled down her thigh. Tears rushed to her eyes, as she slowly lowered herself back to the bed, there would be no leaving today.

  Another shot of pain roared through her, making a cry escape. She fell back against the bed, clamping her eyes closed. A pressure pushed on her lower body.

  The door to her room flew open and Cora rushed in, with Mrs. Pickett behind her. As Cora examined her, Mrs. Pickett’s gaze latched onto the satchel. She slowly turned to her, closing her eyes. She must realize what Linda had been attempting to do.

  Mrs. Pickett walked to her and helped Cora lay her legs on the bed and began removing her clothing. Once she was stripped to her shift, the older woman lay a handkerchief across her forehead.

  “The Lord knows best,” she whispered. “I shall go heat some water.” She then turned to leave.

  Linda closed her eyes tight as another pain ripped through, stealing her breath. She couldn’t imagine how forcing her to stay could be in the Lord’s plan, but at the moment she couldn’t argue. No, all she could do was get ready to bring a murderer’s child into this world. A world ready to hate him just like they hated her.

  TWELVE

  Blake walked up the steps of the small brown building in front of him. A poster hanging next to a window caught his attention. Bile rose up his throat. An image of Cherokee Dave stared at him with his scarred cheek and glaring black eyes. That man had led the gang that had robbed the bank that fateful day. He was rumored to have murdered many in
his lust for gold. What would he give to see him at the end of a noose? Maybe he’d just have to give the sheriff a letter. A letter given to him by a woman, who he didn’t know what to do with. Though he still felt so much hurt from her deception, part of him fought against forcing her out of his home. Maybe he should give her another chance? But that was foolish. She was surely gone by now.

  Blake opened the door, and walked in, spotting Sheriff Brown leaning over a table, looking at a map. A deputy stood next to him.

  “Howdy,” he said.

  Both men looked up at him. The sheriff, an older man with a stern weathered face, and a lean frame, straightened. “Howdy. Can I help you, Mr. Pickett?”

  Blake pulled the letter out of his pocket, and handed it to him. “My wife gave this to me. She thought it might help.”

  The sheriff pushed his lips into a thin line, just staring at the letter. Rumors must have gotten around town that the bride who had showed up at his doorstep was none other than Max Oakley’s widow.

  “Will you take it and see if you can catch em?”

  “Who wrote it?” the sheriff asked.

  “Max Oakley wrote it to Linda before he was hung. He seems to be confessing a location the gang might have kept stolen property at.”

  The sheriff took the letter, and tossed it on the table. “We’ll look into it.”

  That was not the response Blake wanted but apparently it was what he would get. One got nowhere arguing with the sheriff.

  He walked out of the building and made his way to his horse. There was no use delaying. He best be getting home. Surely the cowhands were there by now, waiting to collect their pay. He unwrapped his horse’s reins from the hitching post and swung onto her back. He just wished he could figure out if he wanted Linda to be there. And what would he say, if she was. Last night when he couldn’t sleep, he had read several verses about the need for forgiveness and how husbands were supposed to love their wives as Christ forgave us with just a small amount of faith. What he couldn’t find was a verse on what a husband was to do if he found out the woman he married was not who he assumed she was.