The Lassoed by Marriage Romance Collection

by Bell, Angela; Breidenbach, Angela; Carter, Lisa

  Brax placed his finger at the corner of his mouth. “Why don’t you make me?”

  Gnashing her teeth, she sashayed into the cell. To her surprise, he marched in right behind her. Hattie whirled, her skirts swishing. “What’re you doing?”

  “Something I should’ve done first chance I got.”

  Brax wrested the key ring off his gun belt and tossed it out of the cell where it landed with a clatter against the far wall.

  Her eyes enlarged. “Wait…”

  Brax yanked the door shut with a decisive clang as the lock clicked in place.

  She put a hand to her throat. “What did you just do, Braxton Cashel?”

  “Can’t run the risk of you getting away from me this time.” Brax got down on one knee. “At least not until the reverend arrives.”

  The outer door opened, as if on cue. Her brothers, the reverend, and half the town flooded into the small jail.

  “Harriet Margaret Brimfield.” Brax kissed her hand. “Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  If Brax hadn’t kept a strong grip on her hand, with her knees knocking together so hard, Hattie reckoned she might’ve keeled over. “You want to marry me? But the judge? The annulment?”

  “A legal marriage license this time. The reverend’s here to do a proper wedding before God and Hitching Post.”

  “But I didn’t think you wanted someone like me, Brax,” she whispered.

  “I want you—sweet Harriet, pretty as a mountain meadow—to marry me, the sheriff of Hitching Post.” Braxton gazed at her. “Me, who has so little to offer in return.”

  She corralled his face between her hands. “You have everything to offer I’ve ever wanted. Yourself.”

  Brax cocked his head. “Is that a yes? Say it, Harriet. For the love of a mule and the sake of my heart.” His lips quirked. “Will you be my cell mate for life?”

  He moved closer until their foreheads touched, and he was within kissing distance. “Please, Hattie…” His breath fluttered the tendrils of her hair. “Marry me. I love you.”

  She felt the furious pounding of his heart against her hand through the muslin of his shirt.

  “Why yes, Sheriff Cashel.” Hattie brushed her lips across the upturned corner of his mouth. “Since you asked so nicely, I believe I will.”

  But theirs wasn’t the next marriage ceremony performed. They were at the end of a long line of couples waiting to tie the knot.

  Genesis and the widow woman hotel cook. Exodus and the mayor’s niece. Leviticus and the doctor’s sister. Numbers and the spinster schoolteacher. Deuteronomy and the shopkeeper’s daughter. And not to be outdone, Clarissy and Jimbo—a.k.a. James Beauregard, owner of the largest cattle spread this side of the Rockies.

  Braxton presented Hattie with two requests—to marry under the blue Montana sky in the wildflower meadow behind his house. And that she wear the “pretty purple dress.”

  There before God and the good folks who loved them the best, Harriet Margaret Brimfield became—at last!—Harriet Margaret Brimfield Cashel for real.

  Instead of kissing his bride, however, Brax placed both hands around her waist and lifted Hattie onto Sugarfoot. She held on to the saddle horn as Brax swung up behind her. Wrapping both arms around her, he gripped the horn and Hattie angled. Only to give Brax a mouthful of hair.

  She fingercombed her hair out of his face. “Sorry.”

  He buried his nose in her locks. “I love your hair.” Brax clicked his teeth against his tongue and set Sugarfoot in motion toward the cabin.

  She leaned back, not sure she’d heard him right. “You do?”

  At the porch steps, Brax swung down. He reached again for her. “I definitely do. Almost as much as I love this, Hattie Cashel.”

  How she loved the sound of her name on his lips. She slid between his hands and nestled in the lovely embrace of his arms. And his mouth claimed hers. Full of love and promise.

  Love for a lifetime.

  Lisa Carter and her family make their home in North Carolina. In addition to Mule Dazed, she is the author of seven romantic suspense novels and a contemporary Coast Guard romantic series. When she isn’t writing, Lisa enjoys traveling to romantic locales, teaching writing workshops, and researching her next exotic adventure. She has strong opinions on barbecue and ACC basketball. She loves to hear from readers, and you can connect with Lisa at www.lisacarterauthor.com.

  The Sweetwater Bride

  by Mary Connealy

  Chapter 1

  Montana

  July 1897

  Despite the worry about drought rabbiting around in his head, Tanner Harden’s chest expanded as he rode around his property. He hadn’t explored it all yet, and he would find water.

  Nothing could stop him from making a home in this beautiful place.

  Yes, it was in one of the meanest stretches of mountain the world had to offer—not that Tanner knew much about the world beyond his home—but it was hard to imagine anything more rugged than this. And he loved it. It was his.

  But it wasn’t just mean. What he and his family knew that nobody else did, was that between all these stretches of jagged rock and treacherous trails, the crumbling cliffs and the soaring peaks, were pockets of sweeping green meadows, lush, belly deep. Tall grass that’d fatten a cow and make a man prosper.

  Pa had helped him scout this land, and then he’d left him to run it…unless Tanner needed help. He couldn’t help but smile when he thought of how much his folks had done to help already.

  Silas and Belle Harden were the best parents a family of nine kids ever had. They’d been generous to him when he struck out on his own. They’d said he’d worked for it and deserved it. And he’d worked mighty hard all his growing-up years—that was the plain truth.

  They’d helped set his big sisters up when they married, too, so this seemed fair. But still, he knew he was starting out much easier than a lot of men.

  This stretch was up where the eagles soared. It was between his folks’ property and near his sisters Emma and Sarah and Betsy. And on past them was Lindsay. He closed a gap that might one day, if all his brothers did as he did and claimed stretches along the spine of the Rockies, connect Harden land all the way to Helena, Montana.

  He’d bought his land, and Pa had cut some good young stock out of his herd. Then his family had come up here and helped him build a tight little cabin.

  Just two days ago, he’d hugged his ma and shook his pa’s hand, and they’d left him alone…at home. His chest expanded some more. His own home. His own land. And yes, he was worried because it was a dry summer, and he was out today scouting for springs. A couple that he’d thought he could depend on had dried up. But he’d find water. It was all part of building something in a wild, unsettled land.

  He smiled as wide as his face would allow.

  A scream ripped through the thin air and wiped the smile away.

  Gunfire followed. A rifle. One shot.

  Another scream so sharp it seemed to rip into his bones.

  That was a woman’s scream. There were no women up here. But when a man’s common sense told him one thing and his ears told him something else, a man was apt to believe his ears.

  Tanner turned his horse trying to find the source.

  The peaks and tumbled boulders, many taller than a man, echoed with gunfire, bouncing and surrounding him until he couldn’t tell what direction it came from, but he had a notion and he was a man to trust his instincts.

  Except his instincts told him the sound came from a pile of rocks that he saw no way to cross, a pile that seemed to lead straight to a wall of solid rock that reached overhead fifty feet. His black stallion, a descendant of Tom Linscott’s prize thoroughbreds, might well break a leg crossing the rock—and this young giant was to be the foundation of a herd of horses Tanner planned to raise. He hated taking it onto the rock-strewn path, and if it got any more treacherous, he would leave the horse behind rather than risk its safety.

  But the black moved f
orward with surprising speed, picking his way between scattered rocks. Tanner, who considered himself a mighty savvy tracker, finally realized this was a barely visible trail. Each step was taken carefully, and he was glad to trust his horse.

  Another shot rang out. No scream this time. His horse responded to tension in Tanner’s grip on the reins and picked up speed. They walked forward, approaching the sheer rock wall. He had no idea what he was supposed to do when he got there.

  And then, only a dozen feet before he had to stop or run his stallion’s nose into granite, the trail twisted right—Tanner wouldn’t have seen it, but his horse did—then it turned left, and he looked straight into the heart of the mountain. A crack in stone that was only a bit wider than his shoulders. Yet the black kept going without pause.

  His horse twisted through pure stone, open overhead. And then he saw green.

  A thrill of discovery urged him onward. He entered a mountain valley that perched on top of the world.

  Before he could study the valley, he heard a voice again, shouting this time, not screaming. And now inside this vast expanse of open ground, he could tell exactly where it came from. The ground was easy to ride now and he urged his horse to a trot.

  The land rose gently then crested. He reached the top. Grass spread wide in front of him, a vast land, a thousand acres or more. The expanse was dotted with maybe a hundred longhorn cattle. At the far end of the meadow a small house stood, nearly swallowed up by a beautiful stand of majestic Douglas fir trees. Two smaller buildings were spread out beyond the house, also right against the woods that seemed to climb the edges of the mountain that created a bowl to conceal this beautiful land.

  And in front of one of those buildings stood a woman.

  A woman who looked nearly as wild as this hidden land. She wore leather, and her shining red hair was long and wild as if it had never seen scissors or a comb. She had a shotgun in one hand that she wielded ably. It was an old one that reminded him of a Sharps his ma kept hanging over the door, though it wasn’t her preferred weapon.

  He’d been in this area many times hunting a place to settle, and he’d never seen hide nor hair of a woman, nor a cattle herd, and he’d had no idea this rich valley existed.

  She faced the woods near her house, gun in one hand, the other arm full of… Tanner wasn’t sure what. It looked like a bundle of something brown.

  Wary of that gun she held, he stopped at the top of the crest. “Howdy, miss.”

  The woman spun around, leveled her rifle, then froze. She stared at him as if he were a ghost. Something beyond her understanding. Her eyes got round, her tanned skin went pale as milk.

  “Don’t shoot, miss. I just came to see if you were all right.” He braced to dive off his horse. He had no idea what she was thinking, nor what she’d do.

  She dropped the rifle and the brown thing, which flapped its wings and went running…but not far. She covered her face with both hands, including her eyes, and some sound he didn’t quite recognize came from her, a song maybe? No, not a song. No reason for a body to start singin’ right now.

  She was acting mighty crazy, which was bad. On the good side, she was disarmed.

  “Are you all right? Was that you I heard yellin’ and shootin’?”

  She didn’t move. Not sure what came next, Tanner pressed his heels to his horse’s side and they descended the gentle slope.

  He rode right up to her and she drew her hands down to uncover her eyes and stare. Her hands lowered farther until she clutched them together on her chest, maybe in prayer.

  Her throat worked as if it’d gone bone dry beneath the collar of her strange leather outfit. He wasn’t sure quite how to describe it. Leather, and very clearly made by hand. It wasn’t an Indian dress, and she definitely wasn’t a native woman with her bright red curls that hung nearly to her knees.

  Then she said, “Wh–who?” her voice was like a rusty gear. He’d heard her scream then later shout. She’d sounded nothing like this.

  “Name’s Tanner Harden.” He tugged the brim of his Stetson. “I’m getting down now. I mean you no harm.”

  He moved smooth and slow, no sudden moves. Her rifle was within grabbing distance, and he didn’t want a nervous woman like this to decide she was in danger.

  He ground-hitched his stallion and came face-to-face with her. She had eyes a shade of blue the Montana sky would envy. She licked her lips.

  “Are you all right, miss?” He paused over the word, wishing she’d supply a name. Nothing, just staring. “I heard you scream and there was gunfire. Were you in danger?”

  The woman glanced away at the bird she’d dropped. Tanner realized it was a grouse. Tanner had hunted them many times. But he’d never seen one that scratched and pecked at the ground ten feet from a man. They were always wild, flapping and running away. This one seemed to be her pet.

  He looked back at her and saw her looking past the bird, past her house. Tanner looked at what must be a chicken coop, except a flock of grouse were inside a fence made of woven saplings.

  Right near the pen lay a full-grown wolverine.

  Dead.

  Tanner had only seen a couple of them in his life. They were night creatures. Vicious killers who fought shy of people. He’d seen the damage they could do to a pen full of chickens. The time he’d seen their handiwork, a wolverine had killed the whole flock and only eaten a few.

  That was what made her scream and shoot. He couldn’t say he blamed her.

  Finally a strange scratchy noise drew his eyes back to the woman. Who asked, “Where did y–you come from?”

  The way she said it made Tanner doubt she’d ever had a visitor before. As suddenly as he thought it, he decided it might well be true. After all, the entrance to this place was about as hidden as could be.

  She was probably about one thousand times more surprised to see him than she’d been to see that wolverine.

  Tanner really didn’t know where to start.

  “I’m your new neighbor?”

  Those beautiful blue eyes widened until he could see right into a mind full of pure terror. “You are moving in here? Into my valley?” She glanced at her rifle.

  “No!” He’d started out all wrong. But maybe there was no right. “I’m going to live outside your valley. I’ve built a cabin and brought in my herd. I didn’t know anyone lived near.” He tried a friendly, neighborly smile. “I reckon we’ll get to know each other well.”

  She just watched, her brow furrowed.

  “Do you need any help? Did the critter hurt more of your animals?”

  The woman opened her mouth, closed it, then as if forcing the words out, she said, “He was getting to my chicken house.”

  Tanner glanced at the tame grouse. “This is your…chicken?”

  The girl smiled. “I know it’s not a chicken, but I raised them. I gathered up hatchlings and brought them home and gentled them. I’ve got a nice little flock, and they provide eggs and—” Suddenly her eyes were filled with tears. She took a swipe at them and fell silent.

  He decided he needed to ask simpler questions. “What’s your name?”

  There was a long moment of hesitation, as if she had to think the answer over. “Debba McClain.”

  “Debba. It’s nice to meet you. I welcome company up here.”

  “No one should get in here. And I never go out.”

  “Never?”

  “Why would I? I have everything I need.”

  Why indeed? Tanner could think of a lot of reasons. “You never go to the general store?”

  She shook her head. “I went as a child. But I have nothing to buy.”

  Tanner had four big sisters and a ma. Women always needed to buy something. Why, they took the long ride to Divide at least twice a year. And of course once a year they made the cattle drive to Helena.

  “Do you live here alone?”

  Nodding, she said, “Since my pa and mama died.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “I don
’t keep track of such things. I think it’s been four or five winters.”

  “You’ve lived here alone, completely alone, for four or five winters? And you’ve never gone out? Never seen anyone or gone to town?”

  Those tears were back. She shrugged, the smallest motion possible. Her voice dropped nearly to a whisper. “I don’t know where a town is.”

  Something odd and painful snapped in Tanner. Such sympathy for her swept through him he could hardly breathe.

  He had to take her out of here. Take her to his mother. Ma would know what to do. She was something when it came to raising up girls. Boys, too, for that matter, but Tanner loved all his feisty big sisters, and Debba could use some kindness and attention from Belle Harden.

  Of course, here she stood with a tame grouse and handmade clothes and a wolverine pestering her that had died for its trouble.

  Add to that, she said she’d been here alone for maybe five years and she still had bullets left. This was a woman who knew how to take care of herself. Ma would love her.

  “Can we talk?”

  “We are talking.”

  At her confused look, he smiled. “I mean sit down and talk for a while, get to know each other.”

  Her nodding was as tiny a motion as her shrug. Tanner realized she was out of practice making gestures, the little clues people used to communicate. Maybe she yelled at wild animals all the time, but more likely, she spent more time in silence than any human alive.

  “I don’t have time.”

  Tanner fought back a smile. “You have an appointment somewhere?”

  “Nope, I will skin that skunk bear before the smell sticks to the fur. And get my hen locked up before something else gets her.”

  Tanner had heard a wolverine called a skunk bear before, but mostly he had little experience with the critters. “I’ll help you.”

  “Have you skinned a skunk bear before?”

  He had to admit he had not.

  “We must be mindful of the scent glands—the fur is unusable if they are punctured, and I shot it very carefully to avoid that.”