Second Chance Brides (Texas Boardinghouse Brides 2)

by Vickie McDonough

  There’s a high ridge across the river where outlaws and later soldiers used to watch for their enemies, so I’ve been told. That place is called Lookout Ridge and is where the town’s name comes from. There’s a river west of town that flows to the south. Then it makes a sharp turn at the ridge before traveling eastward. A pool formed there, and the townsfolk use it as a swimming hole when the water is deep enough. I have not been, though ’twould feel grand on a hot day like this one. Thankful for fall, I’ll be.

  I participated in a bride contest—have you ever heard of such a thing? Only in America. ’Twas quite an event. People for miles around came to town to see the competition and judging. Three women, me being one, traveled here to marry the same man, but one bride turned out to be an outlaw and is now in prison or jail somewhere. I’ve never been so close to an outlaw, unless one counted Da as one—forgive me, Mum. But Carly didn’t seem like an outlaw. Lonely like me, she was, and I think she wanted to live a normal life. But ’twas not to be for her—nor for me.

  Shannon’s eyes stung, and she attempted to smooth out a place on the letter where several tears had dropped and crinkled the paper. Footsteps drew near, and she stuffed the missive into the book, slammed it closed, and held the novel against her chest.

  Rachel stepped into the room and smiled. “How are you doin’? Anything you want?” Her gaze traveled around the room, as if searching for anything out of place.

  Shannon shook her head. What she wanted was to live somewhere else, even though she loved her room upstairs. ’twas the nicest place she’d ever stayed, yet she wanted to be free of the awkwardness that existed now that Rachel had married Luke. But the town had nowhere else a decent woman could stay. If only she hadn’t injured her ankle, she would have been gone by now, on yesterday’s stage. But to be fair, Rachel had been only kind and had tried hard to make the best of the situation. To act as if nothing had happened.

  “It’s a bit warm in here. Mind if I open a few windows?” Rachel smiled, the glow of being in love, of being a newlywed lingered about her. She pushed up a window, allowing in a gentle breeze that fluttered the curtains. She opened another, and a stronger gust cooled the room a small measure.

  “You sure you don’t need anything? Some tea or lemonade, maybe?”

  “Nay, but I thank you. I would just like to be up and about, helpin’ somehow.”

  “I’m sure you must be bored half to death.” Rachel tapped her forefinger against her lips. “Perhaps there’s some way you could help with the meals. I’ll think about it and let you know.”

  Shannon nodded her thanks as Rachel started to leave.

  The boardinghouse owner suddenly stopped and then came back into the room. She twisted her hands together, then lifted her pale blue eyes to gaze into Shannon’s. “I know things seem difficult for you now. I can’t imagine what you’re going through, not knowing what the future holds, but I believe that God brought you to Lookout for a purpose.”

  She glanced toward the window, and when she looked back, her cheeks had a red tinge. “Though marrying Luke is no longer an option, there are a number of fine men in Lookout and others who live on surrounding ranches who would love to find a good woman to marry.”

  Shannon’s cheeks warmed, and she turned to look out the window. A wagon drove by with a big man driving the team. Probably one of the town’s fine specimen of a man.

  “Don’t give up, Shannon. Trust that God has a purpose for bringing you here. He doesn’t make mistakes. It took me a long time to learn that lesson.” She flashed a smile and hurried from the room, as if she’d just uttered a speech she’d been building up to give.

  Shannon laid her head back and stared up at the ornamental plaster design in the ceiling. Could Rachel be right? Had God merely used her supposed marriage to Luke to bring her to town for another purpose? It had been so long since she’d believed that God cared for her. Nothing but bad had happened since she came to America, and she’d spent the past few days since the storm dwelling on those things. Believing God had guided her steps and brought her to Lookout for some grand purpose was too mind-boggling to consider. Why would He care about her?

  She shook her head and tried moving her foot. Her ankle didn’t hurt as much as it had. Sitting up, she rearranged her skirts and tried putting some weight on her foot. A sharp stab made her suck in a breath. She grabbed the side pillow and smacked it against the settee. She’d do about anything to feel useful and to get her mind off her troubles. Leaning back down, she lifted her foot onto the pillows that had kept it elevated.

  What she needed to do was figure out where she’d go when she left Lookout. There were a myriad of tiny towns like Lookout in Texas, but did she want to stay in the state? At least it was somewhat familiar now.

  One thing she knew was that she had no desire to return to Louisiana. Only bad things had happened to her there. Maybe she’d go to Dallas. She’d heard it was a big city and would surely have opportunities for employment for a woman.

  Her hand ran over the edge of the letter. It wasn’t finished and probably never would be, for she’d lost the desire to complete it. Hasty footsteps sounded on the front porch, but where she lay, she couldn’t see the visitor. A quick knock sounded, and the door opened.

  “Rachel? Luke?”

  ’Twas one of the Corbett brothers, but she couldn’t tell which from the sound of his voice. She scowled, not wanting to see Mark. What could she say to him? She felt a clod for being the cause of his broken wrist. If he hadn’t come to her aid, he’d still be fine and not suffering, but she might well be dead.

  “Hello?” Garrett stopped in the parlor doorway, and Shannon held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t notice her. He looked down the hall, up the stairs, and turned his head. His eyes sparked when he saw her. He tipped his hat and grinned like a rogue. “Just the person I wanted to see.”

  Shannon sat up straighter, combed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and peeked at her skirt to make sure it covered her ankles. Why would he be wantin’ her? Would he expect her to pay the doctor’s fee for setting Mark’s arm? He’d be sorely disappointed, for she had not a penny in her handbag.

  “Morning, Miss O’Neil.” He approached, still grinning and his sky blue eyes twinkling.

  “’Tis a fine day, Mr. Corbett.” She nodded, fearing the man was up to no good. Having been on the short end of his interfering with other people’s lives, she was wary of him. ’twouldn’t happen again.

  “Indeed, it is.”

  Rachel entered the room, wiping her hands on the bottom of her apron. “Garrett, what brings you here today? Luke’s out somewhere doing his rounds.”

  “I don’t need him anyhow. Came to talk to Miss O’Neil, here.”

  Rachel’s brows lifted, and she made no effort to hide her surprise. “All right. Can I fetch something for you to drink?”

  “No, thanks. I’m fine. Just had my last cup of coffee for the morning.” He shifted from foot to foot and fiddled with the hat in his hand.

  Rachel’s gaze darted to Shannon. “Would you…uh…like me to stay?”

  Garrett chuckled aloud. “No need. You know I’m a perfect gentleman.”

  Rachel’s brows dashed clear up under the edge of the scarf that held her long, brown hair away from her face before they dropped back down. “I’m not so sure about that, Garrett. You’re a rascal and a prankster.”

  Garrett’s smile grew even wider, as if she’d offered him the greatest of compliments. “True, but I’m always nice to the ladies.”

  Shaking her head, a bemused smile wrinkled her lips. She looked at Shannon. “Would you like me to stay?”

  Part of her wanted to say aye, but she didn’t fear this man, in spite of all the trouble he’d caused her. “Nay, I’ll be fine. If he bothers me, I’ll conk him on the head with your lamp.”

  Rachel splayed her hand across her chest, her eyes dancing with mirth. “Oh, not my new lamp. Please. Use that footstool down there beside the settee. It’s made of walnut
and sturdy enough not to break against Garrett’s hard head.”

  A wounded look crossed Garrett’s face. “Ladies, please. I’ve simply come to do business with Miss O’Neil. I promise her virtue—and everything else—is safe.”

  “All right then. I suppose I’ll go back to my kitchen. But if you need me, Shannon, just holler.” Rachel left the room, casting a curious glance back over her shoulder at Garrett.

  He grabbed a side chair and pulled it closer to Shannon. Even though she’d told Rachel not to stay, not knowing what Mr. Corbett wanted made her apprehensive. What business could he possibly have with her?

  He placed his arms on his legs and leaned forward until his face was just three feet from hers. His startling blue eyes were the exact same shade as his brother’s. His straight hair was a wee bit darker than Mark’s curly blond hair, and though they looked similar, there was something about Mark that appealed to her. Something that wasn’t affected by Garrett’s presence.

  “How’s your leg? Better? Can you walk yet?” He fired questions like a shooter fired bullets.

  “’Tis somewhat better, but I cannot put much weight on it yet.”

  “Hmm…we can work around that.” He stared into her eyes. “The reason I’m here is that I want to offer you a position of employment at Corbetts’ Freight Office.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Leah trotted downstairs to the lower floor of the boardinghouse. She simply had to find something to do or she’d go batty. As she reached the final step, she heard voices coming from the parlor. Slowing her steps, she glanced in as she reached the doorway. Shannon sat on one of the settees with her feet lying across the cushion. Her shoes were off, and one ankle had been wrapped in a bandage.

  Garrett Corbett had moved one of the side chairs closer to the settee so that he could sit facing Shannon. What could he want with her? Maybe he was just checking up on her since his brother had been partially to blame for her injury. She longed to listen, but Garrett was speaking in such a low tone, and she knew eavesdropping was rude, so Leah forced her feet to keep moving.

  She found Rachel in the kitchen, where the woman spent a large portion of her day. Leah knew what slaving over a hot stove for hours at a time felt like. Hadn’t she cooked hundreds of meals for her family? At times she missed her parents and brothers and sisters, but she wouldn’t return home for all the pecan pie in Missouri—and there was plenty, to be sure. She’d worked from before sunup to well after dark and never seemed to catch up. Her mother’s health was poor from bearing so many children, and Leah felt guilty at times for abandoning her, but her twin sisters were old enough to help out, and it would cause the girls to grow up.

  Leah leaned on the door frame. Besides, if she’d stayed at home, by now she’d probably be married to old Mr. Abernathy and wouldn’t be helping her ma anyway.

  “Oh, Leah. I didn’t see you standing there.” Rachel rested her floured hand over her chest. “Do you need something?”

  Leah straightened. “Sorry, I just got caught up thinking about home.”

  Rachel returned to braiding the lattice top of her apple pie. “Do you miss it?”

  Leah pressed her lips together for a moment, fighting a smile. Rachel had an almost perfect handprint on her chest from the flour. Once she regained her composure, she nodded. “Sometimes I do.”

  “But not enough to return home?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “Might I ask why?” Rachel paused, holding a strip of dough in the air.

  What could she say that didn’t make her sound selfish? That she didn’t want to care for her siblings all the time but rather wanted a life of her own? That she couldn’t marry the man who all but purchased her from her father? That she’d wanted an adventure before settling down to marry?

  Leah fought back a snort. Well, she’d certainly gotten that, hadn’t she?

  She looked at Rachel, who still watched her. “I suppose it mostly comes down to the fact that I couldn’t marry the man my father wanted me to.”

  Rachel’s eyes widened. “You were betrothed?”

  “No, not betrothed.” She pressed her lips together and cocked her mouth up on one side. What did it matter if Rachel knew? She wasn’t the kind of person to tell everyone. “There was an older man in town, one with a goodly amount of money, I’m told. He offered my father a sum of money to marry me, and my pa accepted.”

  Rachel’s mouth opened and closed, reminding Leah of a fish. “Your father sold you? I can’t imagine how awful that must have felt.”

  Leah shrugged, not wanting to reveal the depth of her pain and betrayal. After working herself half to death, not socializing as young girls her age did because of her responsibilities, nearly raising her siblings because her ma had taken to her bed so often, her pa showed his gratitude by selling her. It sounded so much worse when someone said it out loud. “I might have gone along with it if the man hadn’t been nearly as old as my pa and rather creepy. He gave me the shivers.”

  “I’m sure.” Rachel wiped her hand on a towel and crossed the room. She laid her hand on Leah’s shoulder. “I know it must be uncomfortable at times for you and Shannon to live here with Luke and me, but you’re welcome for as long as you need to stay.”

  Leah offered a weak smile, grateful for Rachel’s hospitality and compassion. “I’m much obliged for that. I’m not sure what I’ll do. I just know I don’t want to go back home.”

  Rachel nodded. “Would you like to sit down and have some tea?”

  Leah glanced past her to scan the kitchen. Rachel tended to keep things tidy as she worked, so it didn’t look as if there was much to do here to help her. Other than the area where she was making pies, the only thing out of place that Leah saw was a jar of what looked liked last night’s stew. “I was actually hoping you might have some work I could help you with. I’m sick to death of doing nothing.”

  Rachel turned and looked around the room. “Um…well…I feel odd asking a guest to help me.”

  “You didn’t ask; I volunteered.”

  Smiling, Rachel nodded. “I suppose that’s true. Well, I was going to take a basket to Mrs. Howard, but you could do that if you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Sure, I’d be happy to. It would give me a reason to go outside and take a walk.”

  “Clara’s been ailing for a while. Her son takes good care of her, but he works hard, and I like to help them out with a meal now and then.” Rachel opened her pantry door, rummaged around for a minute, and pulled out a basket and a bowl covered with a towel. “She’s Dan Howard’s mother. Do you know Dan? He runs the livery.”

  Leah felt her cheeks flush at the name of the man who’d rescued her from the ditch after the storm. She was grateful that Rachel didn’t look up and was busy packing the basket.

  “You’ll like Clara. She’s a real sweetheart, but she doesn’t get out much anymore. I know caring for her is a weight on Dan’s shoulders, but he’s a good son and does what he can. Don’t know that he’s much of a cook, though.” Rachel tossed a grin over her shoulder. “Clara is always so thankful when I bring food.”

  A few minutes later, with directions to the Howard home, Leah walked out the kitchen door and around the side of the boardinghouse. On her right was a house known around town as the Sunday house. It was a small structure with a roof that slanted down in the back like a lean-to. She’d gone there once to deliver a meal to the marshal and had seen the inside. One big room was used as a parlor, except it also had a table and chairs. In the back of the room where the roof slanted down was the bed. What would happen to the house now that the marshal was living at the boardinghouse with his new wife?

  It would be the perfect place for her to set up a home, if only it had a kitchen and stove. But she had no means of making money to pay rent. She shook her head. No sense dreaming such foolish dreams as living on her own.

  She crossed Bluebonnet Lane and stared at the pile of rubbish that had been the mercantile. People had been working to clean up the mess
since the storm, but there was still a ways to go. How would the town survive without it? What a shame.

  Two men she didn’t recognize, who were working on the edge of the property closest to her, straightened and then tipped their hats. She nodded and smiled but continued walking. As she walked down Oak Street, she noticed that the Foster home, which had sat right behind the destroyed mercantile, was also severely damaged. A tent had been set up behind in the back yard behind where the house had sat. Were the Fosters living there? Or maybe they were keeping the stock they’d salvaged in it. Those poor people. How would they ever manage to rebuild after this devastating loss?

  She shifted the basket to her other arm and counted houses until she found the Howards’ home. The house looked well maintained, with a fresh coat of pale yellow paint and white trim on the woodwork. The lace curtains were closed, though. Could Mrs. Howard be resting, even though it was midmorning? What if she was asleep?

  Leah hated bothering the woman if that was the case. She looked past the house to the livery and nibbled her lower lip. Perhaps she should ask Mr. Howard if it was all right to visit his mother. Besides, it would give her a chance to see him in his workplace.

  She continued walking and stopped at the side entrance of the livery. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim interior. The placed smelled of hay and horses and reminded her of her pa’s barn. Six stalls ran down one side of the gray, weathered building, three of which contained horses.

  She found Dan at the front of the building unloading a wagon filled with large burlap bags with another man’s help. Dust motes drifted lazily on fingers of sunlight that stretched into the livery, attempting to drive back the shadows. Dan hoisted a heavy-looking bag over one shoulder and toted it to an empty stall, where he dropped it. The other man did the same but seemed to have a harder time lifting and carrying the large sacks. As Dan reached for another bag, the back of his shirt pulled tight across his shoulders, making Leah’s mouth dry. Muscles flexed in his tanned forearms, made visible by his rolled-up sleeves. Dan was the tallest man in town, so far as she knew, and though he was wide-shouldered, he didn’t look to have an ounce of fat on him. Perhaps she shouldn’t be too hasty in ruling out Dan Howard as husband material. He had come to her rescue, after all.