Forced into Marriage

by Ruth Ann Nordin

  Pioneer Series: Book 4

  Forced

  Into

  Marriage

  Ruth Ann Nordin

  Wedded Bliss Romance, LLC

  Forced Into Marriage - Smashwords Edition

  Published by Ruth Ann Nordin at Smashwords

  Copyright © 2017 by Ruth Ann Nordin

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes:

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover Photo images Period images. http://www.periodimages.com/welcome-to-periodimagescom. All rights reserved – used with permission.

  Cover Photo images Dreamstime. www.dreamstime.com. All rights reserved – used with permission.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Other Books in the Pioneer Series

  New Series Coming Soon

  All Books By Ruth Ann Nordin

  Where To Find Ruth

  Sign Up for Ruth’s Email List

  Dedication: To Patricia M. Denke who is a real sweetheart.

  Chapter One

  Early July 1866

  Wyoming Territory

  Brandon Herman was spending another evening at the bar. Sitting at the stool in front of the counter. Not bothering to look at the others who were in the busy establishment. Nope. It was just him and the whiskey in front of him. Just the way he liked it.

  He didn’t have to wonder when his life fell apart. He knew it. In fact, he knew the exact day and time. August 9, 1865 at 11:03. The reason he knew it so well was because he had taken an early lunch break from work and found his wife in bed with his friend. After that, she asked for a divorce, and he’d been so numb he’d granted it.

  Looking back, he had known something had been wrong between them. She’d grown more distant. She didn’t want to spend as much time with him as she used to. She’d been more secretive about the things she was doing when he hadn’t been around. His friend found reasons to avoid him, too, and when they did talk, the conversation wasn’t as natural as it used to be.

  It was so easy to see everything clearly now that he knew what had been going on behind his back. At the time, he had ignored everything, telling himself that he was imagining their odd behavior.

  Wiping away tears from his eyes, he picked up the glass of whiskey and swallowed it. Only when he was drinking did he feel like he could continue on for another day. But…that didn’t make him a drunk.

  Joe Otto was wrong. Alcohol did not control him. He was choosing to drink it. It wasn’t something he had to do. It was something he chose to do. And so what if he’d gotten sick one time from it? So he’d drunk a little too much that night during the lookout on the wagon train? He’d never vomited before when he drank. One time of losing control didn’t mean he couldn’t do a wagon master’s job.

  But Joe had been the head wagon master of the train leaving from Omaha to California. He had dropped Brandon off in this godforsaken town in the middle of nowhere. Then he took the wagon train and continued on his way to California. Leaving Brandon stranded in a place where he didn’t know anyone. No family. No friends.

  But then, after he lost his wife and friend, what else did he have? His parents were long gone. He’d lost an older brother at birth and a younger sister to cholera. So it was just him. Just him and some alcohol. What was so wrong about a man taking comfort in the only thing that wouldn’t die or cheat on him?

  Something slammed into Brandon’s back, and he jerked forward. His glass slipped from his hand and almost fell off the counter.

  “Get out of my bar!” the bar owner shouted at someone behind Brandon.

  Brandon looked over his shoulder. He blinked once and then twice. Two men were punching each other.

  “Go on!” the owner shouted again as he picked up his gun. “Get!”

  But the fight in the bar only got worse because other men joined the fight.

  Brandon heard tables break in half and glasses shatter. A gunshot rang through the air, and the commotion got worse. Though Brandon struggled to hold onto the counter, he started to get dizzy. He tried to make sense of everything that was going on around him, but it just wasn’t possible.

  Another gunshot rang across the room, and this one came much too close to him. He dropped to the floor and tried to get behind the counter, but one of the men came hurling across the table, fell off, and tumbled right at him, his elbow striking his gut. If Brandon hadn’t been so dizzy, he might have been able to move away from the man in time. As soon as the man rolled away from him, Brandon grunted and clutched his gut.

  He scrambled across the floor, hoping none of the bullets being fired would hit him. One of the men in the brawl landed directly on top of him. He shoved him off and hurried toward the door.

  Just as he reached it, someone pushed him outside, and he tumbled across the boardwalk and landed into the water trough. A horse neighed in protest and snorted over him, blowing his hair. Brandon groaned and tried to get away from the animal, but the edge of the trough prevented him from being able to completely avoid getting snorted on again.

  “Well, what do we got here?” a man called out.

  Before Brandon knew what was happening, someone was lifting him out of the trough. Then he threw Brandon on the dirt road. It took a moment for the stars in the sky to stop spinning above him.

  Two men leaned over him, and something wet and sticky fell from one of their mouths and landed right on Brandon’s cheek. Grimacing, Brandon wiped his cheek with the sleeve of his shirt. If he was right, it was tobacco. The man chuckled and kept chewing his tobacco.

  “What a pathetic thing he is,” the man with the tobacco said, shaking his head. “He’s much too drunk to do anything.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” the other man replied. He knelt by Brandon, grabbed him by the chin, and turned his head so Brandon had to look directly at him. “Can you speak?”

  “Get away from me,” Brandon slurred. He tried to swat the man’s hand away, but he missed.

  The two men chuckled. “Yep, he can talk alright,” the one with the tobacco said.

  “What are you two doing?” a third man asked.

  Oh good. Someone was going to help him. Brandon was ready to roll to the side so he could get up, but the two men held him in place.

  “Don’t be in such a hurry,” the one with the tobacco said. “We’l
l get you to your bride soon enough.” He whistled and waved for someone to get over to them. “You got the wagon ready yet?”

  Bride? Wagon? “What are you doing?” Brandon asked again.

  But neither man answered him. Instead, they picked him up and threw him into the back of a wagon. He hit the side of it and grunted. He’d been thrown around so much in the past few minutes that his head was starting to hurt. He grabbed his head as if it was in danger of falling off.

  Usually after he was done drinking, he went back to the hotel room. He then looked for odd jobs to do during the day, and these jobs were enough to get him room and food. What was left over, he’d spend at the bar. He’d gotten used to the routine over the past week since he’d been here, but that routine was about to change. Just like his marriage had suddenly changed. Changes, he was quickly learning, were never good.

  ***

  Lokni, a young woman from the Crow Tribe, watched as two men dragged an unfamiliar man out from the back of the wagon and dumped him onto the ground.

  “You want her to get married,” Orson Pitt told the preacher, who stood next to Lokni. “There you go.”

  The four men had brought her to the old preacher’s cabin earlier that day and told the preacher they were going to get her a husband. Then they went back into town, which was at least a mile away. And now, after a year of using her, they were going to pawn her off on someone else.

  The tall, skinny man, Hank Pitt, dumped a bucket of water on the stranger’s face. The stranger gasped and coughed. Hank laughed and gave him a swift pat on the shoulder.

  “Good,” Orson said. “He’s awake.”

  The baby in Lokni’s belly moved, and she instinctively brought her hand to the large mound that marked her nine months pregnant. She couldn’t run. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t. They would catch up to her and bring her back. She’d cry if she had any more tears left. But the past year had drained her. She had no more fight to give.

  Zane Wilson and Hank brought each of the stranger’s arms around their shoulders and half-walked, half-dragged him over to her and the preacher. The man was just as white as the rest of them, and just like the others, he hadn’t shaved in days. His head bobbed forward, and his dark strands fell over his forehead.

  Zane slapped him on the cheek. “Come on. You got to wake up. This is your wedding day.”

  “I don’t know about this,” the preacher told Orson. “When I said she needed to be married, I meant one of you four ought to do the right thing and make her an honest woman.”

  “We can’t do that,” Orson replied. “Not when we don’t know whose child she’s carrying.”

  “Right,” Barney Pitt added as he chewed his tobacco.

  The preacher frowned at him.

  Orson shrugged. “Someone’s got to take care of her and the brat when it’s born. And you’re too old.” He gestured to the preacher’s white beard. Then with a grin, he added, “Unless you like them real young.”

  The preacher grimaced. “The lot of you disgust me.”

  “Yes, but the sheriff’s my brother, so what are you going to do about it?”

  The preacher glanced in her direction, and she looked away. She didn’t want to see the pity in his eyes. She was done with pity. She was done with feeling sorry for herself. People in town knew what the four men had been doing to her, but no one did anything because they were afraid of Orson and his gang.

  “Don’t feel bad for her,” Orson told the preacher. “She’s not a person. She’s one of those savages that roam from one place to another. No one cares if she lives or dies.”

  “Don’t talk like that,” the preacher said. “God cares. He doesn’t care if she’s an Indian or not. She’s got value.”

  “Then it’s only fitting that she marries a decent man, isn’t it?”

  The stranger let out a groan and then started to vomit. Hank and Zane dropped him, and the rest of them stepped away from him. Lokni had to cover her eyes so she wouldn’t gag and lose what little food the men had seen fit to give her that day.

  “He’s a drunk,” the preacher said when the man was done.

  “Well, he’s as good as you’re going to get,” Orson replied. “You want to do this or not?”

  The preacher shifted from one foot to another and glanced her way again. After a long moment, he gestured for the men to take the stranger to another part of his front yard. “Fine. He can’t be worse than you four.”

  “Now, that’s what I’m talking about,” Orson said with a grin as Hank and Zane picked the man back up and dragged him over to the spot where the preacher had instructed them to put him. “I figured you’d come to your senses.”

  The preacher took Lokni by the arm and gently led her over to the stranger. “I’ll pray that this is the best thing for you, my dear,” he whispered.

  His words offered her little assurance. They were words of a white man, and as she’d witnessed firsthand, white men couldn’t be trusted. And now, she was about to marry one of them.

  Hank and Zane sat the man up, and Zane slapped his cheek. “Come on. Wake up.”

  The man groaned then opened his eyes.

  “He looks like he’s doing better,” the fourth man, Nolan Anders, called out as he approached them. He tipped his hat back and studied him. “I think I recognize him.”

  “We got him from the bar,” Hank said. “About a half hour ago.”

  “No, I didn’t first see him at the bar.” Nolan knelt beside him. “I think he got dropped off here a week ago from that group of people heading to California.”

  “You think he was part of the wagon train?” Hank asked.

  “Yep. I think the wagon master dropped him off at the doctor’s, and he’s been here ever since.” Nolan stroked the stubble on his jaw. “I saw him cleaning up the streets. Probably did it to get more alcohol at the bar. Am I right?” he asked the stranger.

  The stranger didn’t answer him. He only groaned and held his head in his hands.

  “You got a name?” Nolan asked. “The preacher’s got to call you something so he can marry you.”

  Again, the stranger didn’t answer.

  This time Nolan wasn’t so gentle with him. Nolan grabbed the man by the hair and pulled his head back. “Answer me when I talk to you.”

  To Lokni’s surprise, the man spit in his face.

  Nolan gave him a swift punch in the jaw then wiped his face with his bandana. “Get him married and out of here,” he barked at the preacher.

  “Yeah,” Orson agreed. “Stop wasting our time. She could give birth before you’re done. Then your fear will come true, and the kid will be a bastard.”

  The preacher took a deep breath and began the wedding ceremony, such as it was. His voice shook at certain times, but he managed to get all the words out.

  “Do you,” the preacher looked at the stranger, “take Lokni to be your lawfully wedded bride? Will you keep her and protect her all the days of your life, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?”

  When it came time for the stranger to say, “I do,” he refused to respond. He only glared at everyone.

  Orson stooped down and grabbed him by the throat. “You either say the words, or I’ll twist your neck until it breaks.”

  “Orson, don’t,” the preacher argued. “You’ve all done too much already. Don’t add murder to your list of sins.”

  But Orson only tightened his grip around the stranger’s neck. The preacher moved in to stop him, but Hank and Zane got in his way so he couldn’t do it.

  The stranger struggled for a good minute before he croaked out, “I do.”

  Orson let go of him, and he collapsed on the ground, coughing.

  “God forgive me,” the preacher whispered. Turning back to Lokni, he asked, “And do you, Lokni, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? Will you respect and honor him in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, for better or for worse for as long as you both shal
l live?”

  Lokni had no strength to fight them like the stranger had. Maybe if she hadn’t spent the past year being abused by them, she might have had the will to fight, but she’d been worn down. Anymore, she found it hard to feel anything. When she nodded her consent, she felt numb. The whole thing was surreal. It was as if she was watching this happen to someone else. The only indication she had any feeling left in her was the single tear that fell down her cheek.

  Orson and his friends let out a whoop and congratulated each other on getting rid of her.

  “Get him on into my house,” the preacher yelled over their cheers. “And be careful with him!”

  The men picked the stranger up and hurried him on to the little home.

  The preacher turned to her and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Come in. You and your husband will spend the night here, and in the morning, I’ll give you both something to eat before you head out.”

  Head out to where? Back to town? Into the grassy plains? Up into the mountains further up north or south? She could never go back to her family and friends. Not after they’d either been slaughtered or scattered. The only thing she had were the clothes on her back and the child she was carrying.

  She was responsible for an innocent child. It wasn’t the child’s fault he or she would soon be in the world. Feeling the same resolution she had ever since she realized her fate was tied to the whims of others, she followed the preacher to his home.

  Chapter Two

  Brandon woke up the next morning to the sound of a man humming from another room. He squinted as the sunlight hit his eyes and rolled over in the bed. Last night was a blur. He could only recall bits and pieces of it. He’d been drinking at the bar. Then he remembered scrambling along the floor as men were yelling and gunshots were buzzing around him.