A Bargained-For Bride

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  So, there’s also the fact that new felons are often called “birds”—and that when they enter prison, they are stripped of everything and processed for jail. Again, “naked as a jaybird.”

  In the end, I discovered that this is one phrase that really doesn’t have a fulfilling, definitive answer. And though that frustrates me, I’ve been able to let it go—though I think the baby bird analogy is probably the best. Don’t you?

  And now, enjoy the first chapter of

  The Prairie Prince

  by Marcia Lynn McClure.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Breathing a sigh of perfect contentment, Katie Matthews gazed into the bright azure of summer’s sky. Grateful for the shade of the pine tree beneath which she lay, Katie watched the soft, billowy clouds drift slowly across the canvas of perfect blue. The breathy, whispered breeze caressed the pines and prairie grasses, mingling with an occasional cicada chorus to soothe the warm summer air like a mother’s calming lullaby.

  Closing her book and laying it on her bosom, Katie considered the shapes of the clouds above. A vaporous ship seemed to float overhead, white and soft and dreamy. Katie smiled, thinking of the book she’d only just finished. It was her very favorite. At least the final third or so of it was her favorite. In truth, the first part of the book was gloomy and long, and Katie found it difficult to enjoy. Yet the last chapters were wonderful, and she liked to think again and again on the brooding, heartbroken hero and the small, plain heroine who gifted him happiness.

  She remembered how terrified she’d been the first time she’d read the book and come upon scenes of maniacal laughter wafting through the dark hallways of the ominous manor house. She’d nearly jumped out of her skin when the hero’s estranged, insane, attic-bound wife appeared, attempting to murder the hero. Oh, it had been a deliciously frightening experience, and Katie still shivered each time she read the passages. It was all so romantic, so wistful, and she sometimes wished she were a governess living in a dark manor abroad rather than a farmer’s daughter living in a small cabin on the prairie. Still, the clouds overhead were beautiful, the sky resplendent, and Katie knew she would never prefer a dark and rainy country, even if it did provide handsome, brooding champions of female hearts.

  There certainly seemed no hope of finding any handsome young men in the small town of Custer’s Creek. Katie sighed again, somewhat disappointed at the reality of life. Life wasn’t anything like fairy tales or romantic novels. Life was filled with hard labor and marriage to a man neither unusually handsome nor capable of truly loving a woman. Men didn’t have time to spoil and dote upon women. At least, so Katie’s father told her.

  Men are meant to work, and women are meant to work alongside ’em, her father always said. Ain’t no time for courtin’, sparkin’, and other silliness the like.

  But for all her father’s bleak complaining, Katie was amazed at her mother’s kindness toward him. It always seemed completely unfair to Katie, the way her mother smiled at her father, fixed his favorite meals, mended his clothes, and spoke only kind words to him. Her father hardly ever smiled at her mother or anyone else for that matter, and Katie couldn’t remember a time when he’d thanked her mother for anything or treated her any better than he did their dog, Rusty. The fact was, Katie’s father treated Rusty better than he did any human being—family member or otherwise.

  Yet Katie held fast to the dream that perhaps there were men in the world who appreciated good women—men capable of loving a woman enough to die for her. Something had to inspire the heroes in fairy tales and books. Her Aunt Augusta always said it was only womenfolk’s eternal wish for better men that inspired such stories, but Katie liked to believe that living or, at least, once-living men inspired them.

  There certainly weren’t any such men living in Custer’s Creek. Still, Katie admired the good men who did live and work there. Maybe Custer’s Creek hadn’t produced any handsome, princely type men, but it was home to some very hard-working and kind ones all the same. Katie thought it possible she might find happiness with someone—as long as he didn’t treat her as poorly as her father treated her mother.

  Katie closed her lovely blue eyes, listening to the breeze in the grass. So many of the scents she loved were upon the air—cedar, soil, sagebrush, wildflowers. As the cicadas began another soft chorus, Katie drifted off to sleep, embraced by visions of heroes and heroines and happy endings.

  *

  “One of these days yer gonna wake up dead,” Jared said. He nudged Katie’s leg with one foot.

  Katie had heard Jared coming but had chosen to pretend she hadn’t. She opened her eyes, irritated by his insensitive way of waking her. “It’s perfectly safe out here, Jared. And ya know it,” she told him. She stood brushing the dust and pine needles from the seat of her skirt.

  “There’s coyotes and snakes—not to mention any drifters that might happen by,” Jared said, frowning. “Yer plum ignorant sometimes, Katie.”

  “Oh, I’m fine,” Katie argued. “I heard you comin’, didn’t I?”

  “I wasn’t tryin’ to sneak up on ya,” Jared grumbled. “Anyhow, Ma wants ya home. It’s time to start supper.”

  Katie sighed and smiled at her older brother. Dark-haired, blue-eyed, and handsome, Jared was an old grouch most of the time. Not in the way their father was, but grumpy all the same. Often she wondered whether her father weren’t the reason for her brother’s lack of cheerfulness. She’d seen Jared happy and joyful quite often but never in the presence of their father.

  “That frown’s gonna stick if ya don’t smile once in a while, Jared,” she told him.

  Jared shook his head and said, “Ya show me somethin’ to smile about, and I’ll smile. Meanwhile, Ma wants ya home—now! And put yer shoes on, ya fool girl. Ya’ll get goat-heads ’til ya bleed.”

  Jared glared at his sister, even though he had no reason to. In truth, Katie was his one source of joy. He studied her dark hair as she laced her shoes, wondered if it would remain the color of night as she aged. Would his sweet, kindhearted sister end up like their mother had—silver-haired all too early, the result of hard work and a lack of appreciation? He secretly hoped some new cowboy, rancher, or farmer would move into the county, gather Katie into his arms, and carry her off to a life of happiness and joy. It caused him great heartache to think of her enduring life unloved, unappreciated, and unhappy. But Custer’s Creek was a small town, and even the outlying farms and ranches didn’t offer much in the way of good young men. It seemed to Jared men had the better gender to choose from, and he often wondered why God had made it so. Why were there so many good women and seemingly so few good men?

  “Yer lucky the ants didn’t find ya,” Jared said, taking his sister’s wrist and leading her away from the solitude of the prairie toward home.

  Katie smiled at him and shook her head. “Always see the black in everythin’, don’t ya, Jared?” she giggled.

  “Not necessarily,” Jared said, smiling. “It’s them red ants I was worried about.”

  Katie smiled. Jared wore a tough exterior, but she knew deep down in his soul, he was as soft as she was. She wished there was a sweet, lovely girl in Custer’s Creek to make her brother happy, a young woman to love him the way he deserved to be loved and give him the strength to break from their father and start his own way. Mary Arnold was nearly seventeen—a sweet, kind, and pretty girl. Maybe she would catch Jared’s eye in a month or two. Still, Katie doubted even Mary Arnold could love Jared the way he needed to be loved. Yet there was always hope. Katie Matthews was never one to give up on hope. Grasping Jared’s hand, Katie followed him toward home.

  “Roast beef and potatoes tonight,” she told him.

  Jared smiled and nodded. “Yep. My favorite meal,” he said as brother and sister walked hand in hand across the open freedom of the prairie.

  *

  “I done sold the south one twenty to that new feller in town,” Bart Matthews told his wife as he shoved a slice of roast into his mouth. “He done
give me a good deal on it too.”

  “Pa!” Katie exclaimed. “Not the south acreage! It’s got the best pines of any land round these parts!”

  “Trees don’t make a man no money, girl,” Katie’s father told her. “Not a farmin’ man, anyhow.”

  “But, Bart,” Katie’s mother, Evelyn Matthews, said, “it’s such a purty piece out there.”

  “What’s done is done,” Bart said, shoveling a spoonful of potatoes into his mouth. “And I don’t recall needin’ a woman’s opinion on any sort of man’s business. It’s sold. That’s that, and I don’t want to hear no more ’bout it.”

  Katie looked to Jared, pained by the angry frown puckering his brow. She knew Jared had been planning to buy the south one hundred twenty acres from his father as soon as he’d saved up enough money from cowboying summers. She was angry at her father for brushing his son’s dreams aside—more angry about seeing Jared’s dreams destroyed than the fact the land had been sold at all.

  “Pa…ya told Jared he could…” Katie began. She stopped when she felt Jared’s hand on her knee.

  “I don’t have to explain myself to nobody,” her father said, glaring at her. “That new feller had the money in hand. I woulda been a fool not to take it.”

  “That the new feller I seen in town today?” Jared asked. “He’s a cantankerous-lookin’ ol’ boy.”

  “You’d be cantankerous too, if’n you had three silly little girls and a spinster sister to look after,” Bart said.

  “Has he lost his wife then?” Evelyn asked.

  Bart shook his head. “Nope. They’s all his sisters,” he answered. “Seems he got saddled with one sure sister and three half sisters when his Pa passed last winter. And if they ain’t the silliest bunch I ever seen, then I don’t know what is! Them little ones—they’s all the same age and lookin’ exactly alike. Don’t know how a body would begin to tell ’em apart. And that older one—ain’t a wonder he ain’t been able to get her out of his hair. She’s ugly as a mud fence.”

  “Please don’t speak so cruelly, Bart,” Evelyn scolded.

  “What’s so cruel ’bout the truth?” Bart grumbled.

  “And do ya mean to tell us that the three little ones are triplets?” Evelyn said.

  Katie smiled at her mother. She knew her mother was making certain Bart had no further opportunity to speak cruelly about the elder sister.

  “I already done told ya they look alike! I’m a-guessin’ they’re round seven or eight—rat nests for hair and dirtier mugs than any boy in town.” Bart shook his head again. “Don’t know what kinda sinnin’ a man had to do to get saddled with a bunch a females the like of them four.”

  Katie closed her eyes for a moment, attempting to calm her temper. She thoroughly disliked her father. How could he speak so cruelly, belittling women the way he did, especially in front of his wife and daughter?

  “Well, what’s the ol’ boy’s name?” Jared asked.

  “Steele. Stover Steele,” his father answered.

  Katie set her fork down on the table. She’d lost her appetite. She loved the south acreage! It was a magical place for her—solitary, quiet, and beautiful. Her father had other land that was nice enough. She resented Stover Steele and his handy money. Still, she thought seeing triplets might be interesting. Katie had only read of the miracle of identical triplets, and she was sure that actually seeing a set would be fascinating. And what of the homely, unmarried sister? She wondered if the woman were really as homely as her father implied.

  Well, new owner or not, Katie would visit the south acreage one last time. Yep! The very next day she’d sneak out to the old pine she loved to linger beneath and say goodbye—no matter what her father said.

  “I know what yer a-thinkin’ there, Kate Matthews,” her father growled.

  “What do ya mean, Pa?” Katie asked, feigning innocence.

  “You stay off that acreage! I done sold it, and if ya go wanderin’ around over there, you’ll be tresspassin’. That Stover Steele—he’s a hard feller. I don’t doubt he’d just as soon shoot ya as look at ya.”

  “Oh, Pa,” Katie argued, “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if I just—”

  “I said to stay away, girl!” her father shouted.

  Katie sighed, defeated. “All right, Pa. All right,” she agreed. Still, her determination was undaunted. She would visit her favorite spot on the acreage—Stover Steele or not!

  *

  The day was glorious! After making certain the villainous new owner of the south one hundred twenty was nowhere about, Katie sat down in the prairie grass beneath her favorite pine tree. Sighing, feeling somehow defeated, she studied the beauty of the land her father had stripped from her and her brother. How would she find any solitude now? Where would she go to read and think in peace? The renewed realization of the loss brought tears to her eyes as she reached out and plucked a wild daisy growing nearby. She hated Stover Steele for bribing her father into selling him the land. She hoped his little triplet half sisters kicked him in the shins, pulled his hair, and dipped his long-johns in syrup! She hoped his homely spinster sister never married and nagged him incessantly for the rest of his life!

  Still, Katie knew she was wicked to wish ill on a man she’d never met. It was her father who sold the land. How was this newcomer to Custer’s Creek to know how devastating his purchase would be to Jared and Katie Matthews? She sighed and looked at the flower she held in her hand.

  “He loves me,” she said to herself as she plucked a petal from the flower. “He loves me not,” she said, plucking another petal. She felt even worse, having plucked the petals from the innocent bloom when she knew darn well there was no one to be plucking petals about. Placing the maimed flower in her lap, she looked up into the splendor of the sky. Only yesterday she’d read, slept, dreamt beneath her tree and the blue of nature’s curtain. Only yesterday the possibility of princes, heroes, and happy endings seemed real. Now, with the loss of her favorite space on earth, her happy dreams seemed lost too.

  Katie removed her shoes and stockings and set them aside. The air and grass felt good on her bare feet. How she hated shoes and stockings! Certainly they were helpful, necessary in protecting feet from the elements, rocks, goat-heads, and various other things feet were exposed to. But they were uncomfortable and confining all the same. To the constant exasperation of her mother, Katie preferred not to wear them.

  You’re in long skirts now, Katie, her mother had reminded her only the week before. Bare feet are for little boys—completely improper now that you’re a young lady.

  Katie didn’t care, however, and stretched out beneath her tree, watching the clouds lazily drift overhead as she wiggled her toes. Soon the breeze’s soft breath and the warmth of the day lulled Katie to sleep, and she dreamt she was a princess, whose beauty and grace bewitched a strong and handsome prince into becoming smitten with her. The prince of Katie’s dreams was always the same—tall, dark-haired, and wildly handsome! Though his face was never truly clear in her mind’s unconscious wanderings, the knowledge he was handsome permeated her sleeping wonders. Katie loved these visions of her dream-borne prince. They somehow brought her a secret delight, a hope in the possibility of fairy tales being true. And so, beneath her favorite pine, the breeze playing through her hair, Katie dreamt of her prince, of happiness, and of true love.

  To my hero and inspiration…

  Kevin from Heaven!

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Marcia Lynn McClure’s intoxicating succession of novels, novellas, and e-books—including Shackles of Honor, The Windswept Flame, A Crimson Frost, and The Bewitching of Amoretta Ipswich—has established her as one of the most favored and engaging authors of true romance. Her unprecedented forte in weaving captivating stories of western, medieval, regency, and contemporary amour void of brusque intimacy has earned her the title “The Queen of Kissing.”

  Marcia, who was born in Albuquerque, New Mexico, has spent her life intrigued with people, history, love, and romance.
A wife, mother, grandmother, family historian, poet, and author, Marcia Lynn McClure spins her tales of splendor for the sake of offering respite through the beauty, mirth, and delight of a worthwhile and wonderful story.

  BIBLIOGRAPHY

  A Bargained-For Bride

  Beneath the Honeysuckle Vine

  A Better Reason to Fall in Love

  The Bewitching of Amoretta Ipswich

  Born for Thorton’s Sake

  The Chimney Sweep Charm

  A Crimson Frost

  Daydreams

  Desert Fire

  Divine Deception

  Dusty Britches

  The Fragrance of her Name

  A Good-Lookin’ Man

  The Haunting of Autumn Lake

  The Heavenly Surrender

  The Highwayman of Tanglewood

  Kiss in the Dark

  Kissing Cousins

  The Light of the Lovers’ Moon

  Love Me

  The McCall Trilogy

  Midnight Masquerade

  An Old-Fashioned Romance

  One Classic Latin Lover, Please

  The Pirate Ruse

  The Prairie Prince

  The Rogue Knight

  Romantic Vignettes-The Anthology of Premiere Novellas

  Saphyre Snow

  Shackles of Honor

  Sudden Storms

  Sweet Cherry Ray

  Take a Walk With Me

  The Tide of the Mermaid Tears

  The Time of Aspen Falls

  To Echo the Past

  The Touch of Sage

  The Trove of the Passion Room

  Untethered

  The Visions of Ransom Lake

  Weathered Too Young

  The Whispered Kiss

  The Windswept Flame