The Lassoed by Marriage Romance Collection

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

  “The sheriff told me that he was arrested for murder.”

  Murder? Penny’s heart gave a hard thump. To say that she hadn’t instinctively known that would be a lie, but to hear Margaret say the words…

  “Surely there’s a better way.” Margaret stood. “There are other ways, to be certain.”

  Penny shook her head. “But this was the only way available to me, so I took it.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Suddenly uncomfortable with the situation and the conversation, Penny pushed herself to her feet and fortified her resolve. She had made her decision. “I appreciate your concern, Margaret. But really, I’m fine. There’s no need for you to worry about me.”

  “Of course I worry about you.”

  Penny herded Margaret toward the porch steps. The quicker she got the preacher’s wife back into her wagon and on the road once more, the quicker she could forget this conversation ever happened. “There’s no need, really.”

  “But you don’t know this man,” Margaret protested as she took the first step.

  Penny plowed on. “I’m fine,” she said.

  “But—” Margaret continued, still reluctantly making her way down the stairs.

  “I hate that you wasted your time coming out here.” Penny made her voice as cordial as she could. She didn’t have to—shouldn’t have to—defend her decision to anybody. This was her farm, and she could do with it as she saw fit. If that meant going into town and buying herself a husband, then that was what she would do. Did.

  She continued nudging Margaret toward her wagon. Once she got the woman back on the road, she would make them something to eat and have about the rest of her day.

  As if sensing her plan, Margaret stopped and raised one hand. “Penny, I have to say that this idea of yours to buy a husband from the gallows is a terrible one.”

  Never mind that it was already done.

  “I need help with the farm, Margaret,” she patiently explained once again. “I know it might be hard for you to understand. But I need to keep this land in my family for when my father and my brother return.”

  “Surely there’s another way.” Margaret suddenly dug in her heels and refused to go any farther. They were standing closer to the house than to the yard and the wagon Margaret had been driving.

  “If there is, I’ve had yet to find it.”

  Margaret looked as if she was about to say something else, but Penny shook her head and cut off her words. “Margaret, let’s be honest here. I’m not exactly marriage material.”

  Margaret sputtered. “There’s a lot more to marriage than beau—I mean, look—uh, pleasing attributes.”

  That might be true, but a pretty face went a long way when men knew they had their choice of the women. Even if men hadn’t been in such a short supply, she still would be the last one to get married in these parts.

  “Margaret, I appreciate your concern, but I’m quite aware of my lack of beauty.”

  Once again Margaret started to speak, but Penny knew that if this conversation was going to end before supper, she needed to be blunt. “I didn’t get to be twenty-five years old and unmarried without a reason,” she said. “If I was ever going to find a husband, this was the only way.” Not often did she have to say those words aloud, and though she was used to them rattling around in her head, it hurt to hear them. No matter that they were true, no matter that she lived with this every day, they still hurt. So she was proud that her voice was steady and even as she spoke.

  “But, Penny—”

  Penny cut her off once again. “Thank you, for your concern, Margaret. But I think Becky Tyrell needs you more than I do right now.”

  Thankfully the preacher’s wife got the hint and climbed into her wagon. “If you ever feel in danger…” she started.

  Penny hid her smile. “I’ll be sure to let you know.”

  Margaret’s starch deflated as if the worry had seeped out of her rapidly.

  She turned her buggy around and started back down the lane.

  Penny watched her go, trying to pretend that words didn’t cut. Even when they were her own.

  Wash stood at the side of the house, tin cup halfway between the fountain and his lips as he listened to the two women talk. He felt as if someone had taken a flying leap right into the middle of his chest. His breath hung suspended, not quite in his lungs, not quite out.

  Is that how she saw herself? Not attractive, without beauty? No, he couldn’t say that Penelope Pinehurst was beautiful. Not like the woman who had just left. But to hear her say the words aloud, to hear her speak them to another human being, cut him like a knife. Is that what they thought was important around here?

  He remembered the square set of her shoulders as she marched into the jailhouse yesterday and demanded a husband. She hadn’t known he was watching at the time. But a man didn’t sit in jail without keeping at least one eye open at all times. He’d learned that the hard way.

  But to think that she didn’t deserve a husband because somehow God had left her out… He shook his head.

  “Wash!” Penny came around the side of the house and was brought up short when she saw him standing there. She looked back to where she had come from then turned to him once again. “I didn’t know you were here.” Her voice became small. He could almost see the wheels in her head turning over, trying to decide if he had heard what she’d said about herself or not. Trying to decide whether or not she should say something to him about it. Evidently against won, and she kept her mouth shut.

  “I’m hungry.” Finally the water made it all the way to his lips and wet his parched throat. It had been a long time since he’d plowed a field, and he’d forgotten how dusty and dirty it could be.

  “I–I’ll make us something to eat.” She lifted her skirts and started for the house.

  He had a hard time concentrating on the meal. Or rather her continuous chatter during the meal. She talked about each field and what her father and brother had planted there in the years before the war. She rattled on about what the almanac said about planting this year and anything she had heard lately concerning President Johnson.

  She hadn’t been this nervous yesterday. Now he had to wonder: Was she upset because of what the woman had forced her to admit about herself or because she knew his supposed crime?

  “And then I asked for the recipe—”

  “I didn’t kill him.” His quiet words cut through hers.

  “W–what?”

  “I didn’t kill him.” He laid his fork to one side of his plate and leaned back. The bench around the table had no back to it so the motion was small, but he realized as he ate and she talked that he had hunched over his plate as if someone was about to take it from him. Old habits and all that.

  She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Well, then…” she trailed off as if she didn’t know what to say.

  “I was framed. See—” He stopped. What did the details matter? He was still accused of murder, and the guilty man was still out there. There was no justice in this world, but he would extract his. “The true killer is still out there, and I aim to see him pay for his crime. I’ll plant your crops. I’ll even bring them in, but after that…”

  “I see.” She didn’t appear surprised by his revelation. He could only muse that she had realized his plans from the beginning. Or maybe she thought that he viewed her as everyone else did, all these people who talked about her and to her as if she were somehow less of a person.

  “It has nothing to do with you.”

  “Of course not.” She swung her legs around and stood, making her way to the stove as if she had forgotten something there.

  Suddenly, his plans seemed less important than the feelings of the woman who had saved him. Without her, he would be swinging from a rope, and yet the need for retribution burned in his gut.

  Still he wanted to go to her, comfort her somehow, let her know that he was there. She was not alone.

  Instead, he pushed back from the tab
le and crammed his hat on his head. He mumbled something about work needing to be done and stalked out the door.

  By supper time, her emotions were still raw, but she had managed to pull herself together. She should have known better than to have placed all her trust in one man. Never mind that he was an accused criminal.

  They ate in silence, and afterward he headed for the barn without another word. Penny watched him go, sadness dragging at her. What had she expected? That he would somehow miraculously change into a real husband? The idea was more than ridiculous. But she had let her guard down for a brief moment and imagined what it would be like if George Washington Brannock were a real husband.

  Chapter 3

  She was being foolish she thought as she knocked on the barn door. Like he could hear her soft rap. She slid the door open and eased inside. “Wash?” She hadn’t noticed where he had bedded down the night before.

  “Up here.” He started down the ladder from the hayloft. “Is everything okay?”

  She gave a quick nod. “I like to read the Bible every night. I thought you might want to come in and, uh, join me.”

  “Read the Bible?”

  She nodded even as Wash shook his head. “I haven’t read the Bible in…” He stopped.

  “If it’s been that long, then perhaps it’s time to get back into the Word.”

  His jaw clenched, and she could almost hear his teeth grind together. Then he gave a swift nod. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  Penny let herself out of the barn, the feeling that she had won a battle filling her with joy. But was it a battle? Or was it the simple fact that tonight she would have the company of another person for the first time in a long while?

  She started water boiling for coffee and wished she had a little extra money to buy some sugar. But it was too much of a luxury at this time. But maybe next year, once this crop came in. If what the old-timers at the mercantile said was correct, then this would be a good year for wheat.

  A knock sounded on the door, then Wash eased inside. He had cleaned up a bit, his hair gleaming from the water he’d used to brush it back from his face.

  “Go ahead and have a seat. The coffee will be ready in a few minutes.”

  He settled down in one of the wooden rockers in front of the fireplace and waited as she got the coffee ready.

  She handed him a cup then found her own seat. “I’ve been reading in the book of Romans.”

  Wash gave her a quick dip of his chin as she opened the book and started to read chapter twelve. She started at verse one and continued on until nineteen. “Beloved, avenge not yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath: for it is written, Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.”

  He cleared his throat then pushed to his feet. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

  She stood as well. “I meant no harm. I didn’t realize…”

  “Right.” He stalked to the door and had it open before she caught up with him.

  She laid a hand on his arm, stopping him. “Wash, I didn’t do that on purpose. I’ve been reading Romans for the last two weeks.”

  “I understand.” But he didn’t look understanding. He looked angry. Or was that frustration? He shook free of her hold and made his way out the door.

  It wasn’t a sign. It wasn’t a sign, Wash told himself as he plodded back to the barn and climbed into the hayloft once again. And she wasn’t getting to him. What did he care if she prayed before every meal and read the Bible at night?

  Except that her Christian ways brought to mind better times. Times he didn’t want to remember while he was awake. They haunted his dreams so often that allowing those thoughts in at other times was more than he could bear. Thoughts of the family he’d once had. But all of that was a long time ago. War, heartache, and smallpox had taken them from him at one time or another, leaving him alone in the world and asking God why? No matter how many times he asked, he never got an answer. Eventually he stopped asking, stopped going to church, stopped caring.

  The last wasn’t true. He did care. As badly as he didn’t want to, he cared. With those thoughts still knocking around in his head, Wash settled down in the hay and let sleep wash over him.

  The next three weeks fell into a similar pattern: a strained breakfast, followed by a morning of separate chores. A strained dinner and an afternoon of chores. A strained supper and an offer to join her in reading the Bible. He turned her down then retired to the barn to sleep, only to get up the next day and start it all over again.

  He had just come back to the house for the noon meal when he heard the rattle of a wagon coming down the lane. Wash turned back to the water fountain, using his bandanna to wipe the grime and grit from his face and the back of his neck. Whoever had ridden up was not there to see him.

  “Mr. Alexander.” Penny’s voice carried to him from around the side of the house. Like the woman herself, the voice was strong, confident, and sure. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  She said the words, but she didn’t sound like it was a pleasure at all.

  “I recently heard the most distressing news.” The man’s voice sounded pampered and soft. Or maybe that’s what Wash wanted him to be.

  Did he stay where he was? Did he see just who this visitor was? Was it any of his business?

  Penny took the choice from him. “And what is that, Mr. Alexander?”

  “That you married a common criminal.”

  “I don’t know why that news would cause you any discomfort.”

  “Penny, I can’t believe that you would marry another. Not after I just asked for your hand.”

  Everything made sense now.

  Wash stepped around the side of the house. As expected, the man who visited was a dandy. Where he got the money for such clothes in these trying times, Wash could only suspect. The man was too slick, too smooth. Wash hated him on sight.

  “What have we here?” Alexander looked from Wash to Penny, then back again.

  Wash gave him a curt nod of greeting then loped up the porch steps to stand by his wife. For good measure, he slid one arm around her waist and tugged her a little closer.

  She gasped but didn’t resist his hold. “My husband,” she said, her voice cracking on the last word.

  Alexander stared at them. “I see,” he finally said. His tone was neutral, his true thoughts undetermined.

  Wash waited there by her side as Alexander apparently mulled over the situation and decided to cut his losses.

  “I guess I misunderstood your feelings,” he said. He gave them each a nod then turned his wagon and headed back down the lane.

  Wash stood there, Penny at his side, and tried not to think about how warm she was and how sweet she smelled. She was his wife, but thoughts like that didn’t have a place in their relationship. He took a step away from her. “I take it that’s the man who wants your father’s land?”

  She nodded. “Thanks for your support.”

  He smiled at her. “That’s what husbands are for.”

  The rest of the day fell into the same pattern as the ones before it. Wash went back to work in the field and Penny stayed near the house doing her chores. But by dinner it seemed something had changed. Penny was quiet, more withdrawn than she had been before, and Wash could only surmise that her neighbor’s visit had caused this difference in her attitude.

  “I think I’ll go hunting tomorrow,” he said. It would be good to have some fresh meat on the table. Salt pork could only take a man so far, and beans… Well, beans were good, but not every day.

  “Is something wrong with your meal?” she asked. Her tone was level, but he could hear the thread of frustration underneath.

  “No, it’s fine. Good even, but wouldn’t it be nice to have some rabbit? Make some stew?”

  She sniffed. “Be even better if we had some vegetables to go with it.”

  “How about dumplings? Rabbit dumplings are good.” His mouth watered just thinking about it. Suddenly his beans seemed less appetizing
than they had before. Despite this, he shoveled in another bite. Hunting and plowing, those things took energy, and energy required food. Regardless of how tired he was of eating it.

  “I suppose.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you. I was just trying to help.”

  She ducked her head and swallowed hard, but she nodded all the same. Then she picked up her plate and made her way toward the wash pan, her back turned toward him as she effectively ended the conversation.

  The last thing Wash wanted to do was hurt her in any way. Maybe her attitude would change come tomorrow night when they had more than beans on their plates. But until then he was going to give his wife a wide berth, give her time to work through whatever was going through her mind and heart. He hadn’t grown up with a mother and a sister not to know that sometimes women needed time to themselves.

  He scraped the rest of the beans from his plate and guzzled down the last of his coffee then took his dishes to the wash bin and laid them next to hers. Without another word, he turned on his heel and headed out the door.

  He managed to avoid Penny for the rest of the evening. He kept to the barn, and she kept to the house. At least he thought she did. A light burned on the table, the same one that had been going while they were eating, though he hadn’t seen her at all. He figured she was mending or something. He had been grateful when she let out her brother’s clothes for him. At least his ankles didn’t get cold in a strong wind these days. She was probably working on something else, but he wanted to tell her good night. Check on her one last time before he went to bed. Once more to make sure she was okay. Not that he would know what to do to help her, but he couldn’t leave it like this.

  He loped up the porch steps and gave a small knock on the door before he opened it. He peeked in but couldn’t see her in any of the main rooms.

  “Penny?” he called, but he heard no answering rustle, no sound of her voice. “Penny?” he said louder, but she was not there.

  He had not known her to leave the house this time of night. He’d been out in the corral with the horses. So he would have known if she had left with one of them. She had to be close. He shook his head and made his way back outside.