Ride for a Bride in Wyoming (Rocky Mountain Romances Book 4)

by Charlene Raddon

  He shuffled on to the next passenger.

  She understood. To envision New York with its crowded, narrow streets and towering buildings, caused a tightening in her throat and chest. A trapped feeling, like she'd felt before escaping to Wyoming. Smoke blew in through an open window. She coughed but knew that outside the car she could breathe fresh, clean air once more. The locomotive's whistle blew, reminding her of the noise of New York.

  Closing her eyes, she asked herself why on earth she was going back to the very place she'd fled from.

  Maybe she could get off the train somewhere along the way and settle there. Cheyenne, perhaps. From there, she could go to Denver. She'd always wanted to see Denver. It had its own sky-high mountains. She could be happy there. On Ben’s return trip through the car, she'd ask him how to exchange her tickets for passage to Denver.

  That decided, she relaxed a little, settling back in her seat, her head resting on the window pane. A nap would refresh her.

  ~~^~~

  Panic soared through Birch as he tried to decide what to do. The train tracks curved, farther on, and bordered High Plains land for a few miles. He could cut across and maybe catch it, but he didn't have Arrow with him and the horses hitched to the buckboard would be too slow.

  Hezzie. If ever he needed the buffalo to win a race for him, the time would be now.

  Not the Ride for a Bride Race. That wouldn’t take place until tomorrow. Chance would have brought Hezzie to town with the other stock designated for today's activities. Birch had signed up for team roping with Chance, but he had something more important to do now.

  Climbing into the buckboard, he flicked the reins, driving the team as fast as possible toward the competition grounds. An accident had Main blocked. Someone’s wagon had overturned, littering the street with goods. People ran everywhere, with the marshal and his deputies trying to prevent looting.

  He turned onto Grinnell before taking Gould and kept rolling.

  Would the engineers recognize him, and stop the train? He could only try.

  Reaching the competition grounds, he brought the wagon to a halt.

  Chance used his hat to fan away the dust Birch had raised. "You're in a hurry. What's going on?"

  "Annora left. She's on the train bound for New York." Birch jumped down, entered the remuda, and began to saddle Hezekiah

  "Don't tell me you're going after her with Hezzie." Chance didn't wait for an answer before pitching in to help.

  "I don't have Arrow here. Hezzie’s faster anyway." He tightened the girth, took up the reins, and swung onto the buffalo's back.

  "Good luck," Chance said, as Birch and Hezekiah galloped away.

  Birch kneed the buffalo into a gallop and soon left Sheridan behind. Before long, he saw Charlotte driving toward him in her father's automobile. He cut around her through the open field, ignoring her as she yelled his name, and kept going.

  He passed his ranch and kept rolling.

  In the distance, smoke billowed into the sky from the locomotive. The train’s whistle blared. Birch kept rolling.

  ~~^~~

  Annora let Buttons from her basket. After a little exploration, the kitten settled on her lap for a nap. She petted the cat while gazing out the sooty window at the miles of grass she knew now to be part of the High Plains Ranch. Birch would be at the competition preparing for the day's activities.

  Had he learned of her departure yet? Had Lissette received the note Annora had paid a boy to deliver for her?

  Please, Cousin, don't hate me.

  The knowledge of what her leaving would mean to Lissette and her parents ate at her conscience. Would marriage to Birch be all that bad? A good man, he cared about people as well as his animals. She'd seen in the way he handled a birthing cow how capable he was of patience and gentleness. He wouldn't make her give up her office in town or stop working for the ASPCA. She knew he wouldn't so much as blink at all the dogs, cats, and other creatures she'd bring home.

  She adored the way his hair waved down to brush his collar and the softness of his lips on hers. The thought of having his baby filled her with yearning.

  Why had she left? She loved Wyoming and the High Plains Ranch. Already, she missed Lissette and Chance. It pained her to know she wouldn't be there for their baby's birth. What kind of friend would run out on them this way?

  If she meant to punish Birch by her action, she had better think again. He didn’t want Charlotte, and she knew it. To flee like this would hurt Annora more than anyone else.

  What an idiot she'd been—running to avoid falling in love with a man when she knew full well already owned her heart.

  I love Birch Struthers.

  There, she'd said it. She loved him.

  The conductor entered the car, and she waved him over. "Ben, what are the chances of getting you to stop the train? I want to get off."

  "Here?” He blinked at her. “We're in the middle of nowhere, Miss. Sheridan is a long walk away."

  "I don't care. I don't need to go to Sheridan, just to the nearest ranch. Please, stop the train."

  Around them, an excited buzz of chatter rose. All around them, passengers rose from their seats to gape through the windows on her side of the aisle.

  "What's going on now? I hope it's not a robbery," Ben said and bent to peer through Annora's window. "Well, I'll be. Never seen anything like that before. It's that Buffalo Birch fellow."

  Annora swiveled in her seat to stare out. There, racing through the tall grass, ran Hezekiah with Birch on his back. He shouted, waving his arm. She could make out but one word—"Stop!"

  "Oh, my. Ben, that is the man I am to marry. He's come for me. Stop the train. Please."

  He chuckled. "He must love you a great deal to chase after you on a buffalo." Reaching over, he pulled a cord that ran along the top of the wall. "Good luck, Miss. I wish you well.”

  "Send them back to Sheridan on the next train. Have them delivered to the High Plains Ranch."

  "All right."

  The train lurched, and the train's brakes squealed, rattling as it slowed. Smoke and steam billowed past the windows, blocking the view.

  Annora returned Buttons back to her basket before gathering up her things.

  "Miss Annora Lee Bostwick?"

  She turned toward the voice.

  Birch Struthers strode toward her. "You're not going anywhere, except back to the High Plains, Annora Bostwick. Bring your belongings."

  "I'm ready."

  He blinked at her. "You're not going to argue with me?"

  She threw herself into his arms. "No. I adore you, Birch. I'm ready to become your wife if you'll have me."

  He grinned. "Well, about time we agreed on something. Let's move. I have an important race to run tomorrow to win me a bride."

  "You already won her," she said.

  Pulling her tight against him, he kissed her. "And I aim to keep her," he whispered.

  ~~THE END~~

  A note from the author

  Dear Readers,

  A man riding a buffalo in a race against horses? Some of you might be laughing or shaking your head, but it’s true. Years ago, I came upon a newspaper article, Riding Buffalo Not a Time for Horsing Around, Evanston, Wyoming, about J. C. Thorstenson and his buffalo, Harvey Wallbanger Jr. Thorstenson has been a buffalo jockey since tiring of the pain of bull riding on the rodeo circuit, it said. The author of the article saw Thortenson and his buffalo race at Wyoming Downs and could barely believe his eyes. Thortenson pit his 1,800 lb. buffalo against a trio of quarterhorses in a 110-yard sprint race and win. This buffalo is undefeated against horses, according to the author, whose name I don’t have.

  In a long race, buffalo can’t compete against horses. But their windpipes are three times the size of a horse’s which gives them the advantage in a sprint. Thortenson says not all buffalo are trainable. He’s tried fourteen and only succeeded with five at the time the article was written.

  After reading about Harvey Wallbanger, I had to p
ut him in a book.

  The American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals was founded in New York in 1866, another fact that surprised me. Being an animal lover, I had to use that too.

  While doing the research for Ride for a Bride in Wyoming, I found a brief notice about a rodeo in Sheridan, Wyoming, which featured a Ride for a Bride race in 1909, and the winner did indeed marry the bride who volunteered for the event.

  I hope you enjoyed Ride for a Bride in Wyoming as much as I enjoyed writing it.

  With hugs,

  Please, if you enjoyed this story, share the book with friends, and review it on Amazon and Goodreads. Follow me on BookBub.com and sign up for my newsletter on my website, http://charleneraddon.com.

  Reviews from readers make a huge difference to people browsing for a new book, so take a moment and write a few honest words about how you liked the story.

  Read a chapter from the next book in the Rocky Mountain Romances Series:

  Hazel of Heber Valley

  By Annette Lyon

  CHAPTER ONE

  July 24, 1897

  Midway, Heber Valley, Utah

  Nothing good ever happened to Nathan on Pioneer Day. Just the idea that it had come around once again was enough to make him nauseated. Every time he thought he’d managed to create a happy memory about the twenty-fourth of July, fate had a way of showing him otherwise in the most painful manner.

  This year’s Pioneer Day would be worse than any before, as it marked fifty years since the Mormon pioneers first entered Salt Lake Valley. That meant a bigger parade, more dancing and food, and what would no doubt feel like an eternal firework display.

  He sat on his front porch, attempting to not succumb to his annual dark day of summer, but it wasn’t yet noon, and the old feelings were already bubbling up. He’d made a pitcher of fresh lemonade, thinking it would help cheer him up. Instead, he sat on the porch, scowling at Main Street and daring it to be happy. Even the cool ice in his glass, from what remained of the stash he cut from Utah Lake over the winter, wasn’t enough to cheer him.

  If the heat of the day hadn’t been bad enough, he had the last two Pioneer Days to remember and be miserable over. Most days he managed to forget those events, set them aside, and go about his daily chores and business as if they had been nothing but a bad dream.

  But distracting oneself from past heartbreaks tended to be far harder do when a parade, complete with trumpets and a tuba, marched past your house. Then the residents would gather at the nearby town square for the annual picnic and dancing, followed by the dagnab fireworks after dark. Each time one launched into the sky and lit it up, his heart would ache anew.

  Nathan took another cold drink and leaned back, making his wood chair creak. He’d tried to make decisions that were arguably as bold as Young’s had been, changing what had once been a hard day into something worth celebrating.

  It had worked for Young. But all Nathan had to show for his efforts was a visceral need to withdraw and grouse every July the twenty-fourth.

  Maybe I should go back to work, he thought, drawing his thumb across the beads of water on the glass. The lemonade’s mix of sweet and tangy eased his parched throat, but it hadn’t been enough to distract him. And heaven knew he always had plenty of work to do between his own land and cows and his parents’. Chopping firewood, fixing the loose door in the barn, and a hundred other jobs might help him forget for a few hours.

  But that wouldn’t stop him from lying awake late tonight, staring at the ceiling as firework lit up the sky in the distance. He had no one to cuddle under a blanket with this year. Last year he had Meredith, and the year before, he had Hazel.

  And this is the fiftieth anniversary. Bigger and louder fireworks, he thought with a groan.

  Thanks to his proximity to the town square, he’d hear the parade and the dancing and everything else, all day long, even if he tried to escape it by fixing the blamed barn door. No, nothing would ease the pain until the day itself had passed.

  He wanted to enjoy the holiday as he once had in his youth; he truly did. But how? This year, he had no one to watch the parade with, no one with which to exchange silly remarks about it. No one to eat with at the town picnic. No one to dance with beneath the big brown gables around the town square, with their curly designs carved by men who’d come from homes with similar designs in the Alps. There had been a time when he’d even enjoyed listening to yodelers and clapping along to accordions, back before things went sour with Hazel.

  Happy memories of boyhood Pioneer Days past included family activities and lots of food—watermelon and strawberries from the garden, peach pie made fresh from their own trees, and corn on the cob so delicious it didn’t need to be slathered in butter to have juices dripping from your chin. Nathan always added butter anyway. Pioneer Day and Christmas were the only times Ma didn’t chide anyone for using too much butter. For that matter, she traditionally splurged for the celebration, even making her famous ten-egg cake. That was something the family didn’t get on Easter, Christmas, or Pa’s birthday.

  The ice in his lemonade was fast melting, but as Nathan took another swallow and set it on the table near him, the cubes still clinked. The sound used to evoke feelings of summertime happiness. But he was no longer the boy who could sneak away from chores to climb trees, fish in Soldier Creek, or otherwise get into trouble his brother. No, Nathan was a grown man now, with a modest house of his own next door to his parents. He’d bought land of his own, which butted up against the family’s acreage, and he tended to it now that Pa was getting on in years.

  Nathan eyed the lemonade, wondering if this moment would be the best part of his day. Rather pathetic “best” part, indeed, as even the delicious drink couldn’t overcome the bitterness that this day brought with it.

  He’d long had eyes for Hazel, and two years ago on this very day, everyone assumed they would soon be engaged to marry. When they were children, she joined the boys’ activities. She and the boys all shared the assumption that she could climb trees and shoot marbles as well as any of them. And she did. Sure, she wore a dress—only because her mother would have fainted away and died if Hazel had so much as suggested trousers. But dress notwithstanding, she’d earned her place among them.

  Of course, none of the boys truly forgot, even for a moment, that Hazel was a girl—a smart and fast one, but a girl no matter how you sliced it, and a pretty girl to boot. Downright beautiful, when she spent the slightest amount of time at her vanity table, doing her hair just so, wearing pearls and a fancy dress. But then, Nathan found her devastatingly gorgeous no matter what the occasion, even the time she fell face first into a puddle.

  That day several years ago, she’d laughed so hard she cried. Hazel scrambled to her feet, slipped, and fell again. By the time she got out, she was covered head to toe in mud. Yet she didn’t utter a word about her mussed hair or stained dress. She just laughed and wiped her tears, smudging the mud across her face even more.

  That moment, Nathan fell unapologetically, completely in love with her.

  But while he saw Hazel as a woman and as the sole object of his desires Hazel took longer to consider him as a potential suitor. At last they did court. Two summers ago, on Pioneer Day, he kissed her under the magic of the fireworks, and she returned the kiss. Yet an hour later, something changed in her, and she determined that he would no longer be her beau. He went home heartbroken.

  After several months of trying to mend his ego and his heart, he gave his attentions to Meredith Chancery. Last Pioneer Day, they’d announced their engagement, and he thought he’d forever remember the day as a magical, happy one. What a joke that turned out to be.

  At the memory, Nathan downed the dregs of his lemonade, wishing he were the kind of man who got drunk. A pint or two would certainly be a welcome distraction.

  At least Meredith is gone. The thought didn’t exactly provide comfort. She left town last October, three months into their engagement and three days after he found her wi
th Joey Archer, a man who’d come to the valley to work the harvest season. He found her not just with him, but, well, knowing Joey. In the Biblical sense.

  Nathan hadn’t the heart to make public the reason their engagement had ended, but Meredith sowed plenty of rumors. Every last one was a lie designed to ruin the town’s opinion of Nathan. Each twisted the knife of betrayal that she’d already plunged into his chest. Only his brother Peter knew the full truth, although Hazel had likely guessed parts. After all, she knew Nathan better than anyone besides his own mother. She’d never believe rumors of his infidelity. She’d laughed at them with almost as much gusto as she had the mud puddle.

  Meredith conveniently found a position as a nanny in Connecticut and left town amid a shower of sympathy. He hadn’t heard from her since, a fact he was beyond grateful for. The town seemed to have a short memory, because after a matter of weeks, only Meredith’s family whispered when they saw Nathan, and he’d stopped hearing new rumors. His life returned to normal, or as normal as it could without his old easy friendship with Hazel.

  What if Meredith had been the woman he thought she was? Then today, he’d be spending Pioneer Day with someone. He’d be spending it happily. Perhaps he’d be enjoying the festivities with a wife.

  Wife. The word brought a face to mind, but it wasn’t Meredith’s. It was Hazel’s. He breathed out a frustrated grunt and refused to think on her—or on the fact that by trying to court her before, he’d irreparably damaged their lifelong friendship. Oh, they were still friends, in a manner of speaking. Hazel would never be so cruel as to cut him off. But instead of feeling comfortable talking with her about any old topic as they once had, instead of having a fiancée or wife to snuggle under a blanket with below a black sky decorated with explosions of color, today he sat alone.