A Bride for Isaac

by Cat Cahill

  A BRIDE FOR ISAAC

  The Proxy Brides Series, Book 34

  by Cat Cahill

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author at:

  http://www.catcahill.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 Cat Cahill

  Cover design by Black Widow Books

  All rights reserved.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Epilogue

  Books by Cat Cahill

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Colorado Territory, April 1876

  Maggie Richmond Trenton stared out the window as Cañon City disappeared into hills dotted with pines and aspen. So far, Colorado looked nothing like she’d expected. She didn’t know what she’d thought she’d see, really, but the snow-crested mountains in the distance were something out of a book. The entire journey had been just the sort of adventure of which she’d dreamed back home in Illinois. She’d already begun to pen a letter in her head to Ivy, telling her all about the incredible landscape and the various people who had boarded and exited the train. One woman appeared to wear an entire peacock on her head, while a twitchy, hunched man had Maggie convinced he was hiding something. Everything here was so fascinating.

  She never wanted the journey to end, and part of that had to do with what was waiting for her at the end of this trip. Not for the first time, she wondered if she had made a mistake. She opened the worn reticule and pulled out the creased paper she’d carried with her for the past two months. Smoothing the folds, she spread it out on her lap.

  Man, aged 27, seeks capable Christian woman of a cheerful and docile disposition.

  Maggie was capable enough, having been on her own for the past year. She tried hard to be a good Christian, and she was often cheerful. Docile, however . . . Well, she’d try her best.

  The ad went on to describe the man as one Isaac Trenton, owner of a ranch and a small home, tall, and with dark hair and dark eyes. It ended with the unconventional line, Marriage by proxy required.

  Maggie had scoffed at those words when she first read the ad, even though the man described above them sounded far more intriguing than any of the other men featured in the paper Ivy had fetched for her.

  “He’s likely worried that you’ll meet him and change your mind,” her friend had said.

  “Because he’s an old toad pretending to be a young man?” Maggie said, only half joking.

  “What would he get from such a pretense? An unhappy wife ready to annul the marriage. I imagine it’s because he doesn’t want to waste train fare on a flighty woman,” Ivy said.

  Maggie certainly wasn’t flighty. Opinionated, yes, and too quick to speak her mind, but once she made a decision, she remained true to it.

  Now, seated on the train that rolled through a valley that stretched between two mountain ranges, she traced the creases in the paper and wished Ivy were here with her. Mr. Trenton—or Isaac, she supposed, since the man was her husband now—was her best opportunity at a normal life. Orphaned at eighteen, she’d taken up work at the Plainfield Mercantile when Mr. Etter, the proprietor, had advertised for help. She’d done good work there, too, helping with customers and keeping the shelves stocked and clean. Mr. Etter had made no secret of his feelings for her, but Maggie had thought she’d kept it perfectly clear that she held no interest in him. After all, the man was nearly thirty years her senior and had a strong penchant for drink. Just when she’d settled into her new life, he’d cornered her with an ultimatum: marry him or leave her work at the store.

  Unable to afford the room she rented at Mrs. Boston’s rooming house, Maggie had moved in with Ivy’s family while she figured out what to do. Mr. Etter was the only man in town who’d shown interest in her. The others found her too sharp and too bold. And so, knowing she couldn’t remain indefinitely with Ivy’s large family—who could scarcely afford to feed another person—and still hopeful for some sort of a future, she’d written to Mr. Trenton. The day his letter had arrived with fare for her travels west, Maggie had cried from relief. She’d been so afraid he’d find fault in her through the letter she’d written to him, but he hadn’t. And so she’d married him with Ivy’s older brother standing in for him, and then she’d promptly boarded a train to Denver. From there, she’d taken another train south to Cañon City. Her final destination was a small town called Crest Stone, nestled somewhere deep within this valley.

  She tried to conjure up a picture of her new husband. She could piece together just the barest of outlines with the few details she had, but it was his face that escaped any imagining. She hoped he was nice to look at, but had prepared herself for quite the opposite. If he had a pleasant disposition, she felt she could overlook any less than desirable physical traits. Mostly, she hoped for a kind man who knew nothing about how people saw her in Plainfield. Out here, she could start anew. Perhaps she could be that docile, Christian woman he’d asked for. She’d prayed to be such a person ever since the day his letter arrived. It hadn’t quite worked yet—she’d managed to let her temper flare when Ivy’s brother teased her the day she’d left, and she’d taken the last of the eggs at breakfast at the boarding house where she’d stayed in Chicago. But there was still hope. If only she could think before she spoke . . .

  A loud squeal jarred Maggie from her resolutions. She gripped the edge of the seat as the train lurched forward. They were stopping, quite suddenly. The other passengers began to talk among themselves as Maggie peered out the window. Only distant snowcapped mountains and light green and tan grasses looked back at her. There was nothing out there.

  Nothing except the man galloping on horseback, a rifle held across his lap.

  Maggie gasped and pressed herself against the back of the seat. Her heart beat triple time. She leaned forward again, peering out the window. Another two men rode by, their faces covered with dull-colored cloths, guns drawn.

  She sat back again, her fingers digging into the edges of the seat cushion.

  She’d craved adventure. Now it certainly looked as if she was about to get it.

  Chapter Two

  Frightened screams sounded from the next car up. Maggie yanked off her gloves to unpin her mother’s broach with shaking fingers. She stuffed it, along with the meager amount of money she carried in her reticule, under the seat cushion. After all she’d been through, she wasn’t about to let some outlaw ruffians steal the little she had.

  When a man in a brown hat and a dirty tan cloth over his nose and mouth bu
rst into the car, Maggie prayed he’d look right past her. When she’d imagined the adventures she’d have in Colorado, this certainly wasn’t one of them. This was exactly the sort of thing Ivy’s mother had feared might happen to Maggie when she’d told Mrs. Grant of her plans. Of course, Maggie had brushed that concern aside. After all, it had seemed so unlikely.

  She could’ve laughed if she weren’t so terrified.

  The man’s eyes scanned the passengers before he spoke. “Money, jewelry, watches.” When no one moved, he shook out an old flour sack, shouldered his rifle, and barked, “Now!”

  His sharp tone made everyone in the car scurry to empty their pockets and reticules. A second man entered the car and followed the first. Row by row, they held out the sack and passengers duly added their most expensive belongings and money. Every once in a while, the first man would snap at those who held items back, while the second, taller man remained quiet and simply collected what each person had to give.

  Maggie twisted her fingers around her reticule. Now she wished she’d kept at least a few coins in her bag. How would they believe she’d come out here with absolutely nothing? But it was too late to pull anything out from under the cushion, not unless she wanted to give up the broach and all of her money.

  She refused to part with either one.

  The more ill-tempered man reached her first. He held out the sack, now drooping with others’ coins and jewelry.

  Maggie kept her hands wrapped around her reticule. “I— I have nothing,” she forced herself to say.

  The man grunted, and quick as a fox after a rabbit, he grabbed the small, slightly frayed bag from where it sat on her lap. He yanked it open, hard enough to tear one of the seams. With that one action, Maggie’s fear was forgotten. Indignation took its place. Who was this man? What right did he have to tear apart her bag?

  “How dare you,” she said, nearly shaking with anger.

  He stopped rooting around in the small bag and raised his eyes to meet hers. She’d caught him off guard. He glanced at the other man, who’d stopped a couple of rows ahead and was now moving toward Maggie’s row.

  “What did you say?” the shorter, angrier man asked. His words were clipped.

  Maggie clenched her mouth shut. She’d said too much already, with just those few words. Why couldn’t she just keep quiet?

  The man eyed her for a moment longer before running a hand through her bag again. “There ain’t nothing in here. Where’s your money?”

  “I have none.”

  The man scanned her with his cold gray eyes. His perusal made her shiver, and it took all of her willpower not to wrap her arms around herself. “And I suppose you also have no jewelry?”

  She nodded.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  If Maggie were the meek woman she’d always wished she’d was, she would’ve fished out her belongings from under the cushion and said nothing else.

  But she wasn’t.

  “How dare you infer I don’t speak the truth. How dare you tear my bag. In fact, how dare you steal from us? What gives you the right to take women’s jewelry? Perhaps the money you’ve stolen from these people is the only money they have. What right do you have to take it?” Fiery anger coursed through her. She hadn’t felt this riled up since Mr. Etter had demanded she marry him. Some small part of her brain demanded she stop, but Maggie was past listening to anything logical.

  The man tossed her reticule to the aisle floor. In less than a second, he’d wrapped a hand around her arm and yanked her forward. “Listen here—”

  “Leave her be.” The voice sounded from somewhere behind the man who now stood inches from Maggie’s face.

  Maggie struggled to breathe normally as the outlaw held her gaze for a moment longer before turning to look behind him.

  The other man placed a hand on his shoulder. “Just leave her be. You get the rest of the car. We need to move on.”

  The gray-eyed man turned back to Maggie. He narrowed his eyes at her before grunting and dropping her arm.

  Maggie could’ve sagged against the seat in relief when the man gathered up his sack and moved to the row behind her. But she didn’t, because the other man now stood over her. His brown eyes caught hers, and even though her hands were shaking so badly, Maggie couldn’t seem to move at all.

  “You ought to be more careful,” he finally said. “Lest you anger the wrong man with your temper.”

  “I’m not in the habit of seeking to impress outlaws,” she said, her voice quivering only a bit even as she laced her trembling hands together.

  The man bent over and scooped up her reticule from the floor. “I take it you aren’t much in the habit of impressing anyone. Women of that nature often have a tendency to find themselves old maids.”

  Maggie wanted to throw her ruined bag at him, but she settled instead for words. “You make bold assumptions. I happen to be happily married.” It was a bit of a stretch, given she hadn’t even met her husband. But this no-good outlaw didn’t need to know such a thing. “To a rancher,” she decided to add.

  “I’m sure. Particularly when the gentleman can’t be bothered to give you a ring.” He looked pointedly at her hands. In her haste to hide her possessions, she’d also stuffed her gloves under the seat. “Or funds for travel.” With that, the infuriating man winked—actually winked!—at her, touched the tip of his hat, and disappeared down the aisle.

  Words sputtered and died on Maggie’s lips as she turned to watch him go. What a horrible man! It was no wonder he’d turned to stealing and robbing from trains. No woman in her right mind would ever give such a man a second of her time. No matter that he was of a good height, and his dark eyes seemed to sparkle with amusement, and he’d more or less rescued her from his even more terrible colleague; he was far too forward. And he’d soon find himself hanging from a noose.

  Maggie huffed and settled into her seat as the two men left the train. It wasn’t much longer before one of the railroad men came through the car, asking if anyone was hurt and informing them the outlaws had also stolen funds being transferred to a new bank in Santa Fe. And then not too long after that, the train started to move again.

  Despite that awful outlaw’s insinuation that she’d be an old maid, she wasn’t. It wouldn’t be much longer at all before Maggie was comfortably settled into her new life as a rancher’s wife. Isaac would be waiting for her at the Crest Stone depot. She reached under the cushion and extracted her belongings. Repinning the broach under her chin, Maggie smiled.

  She was about to begin a most wonderful adventure, and not even a rude outlaw could ruin that for her.

  Chapter Three

  When the train arrived in Crest Stone, Maggie had finally begun to relax from her encounter with the train robbers. She resolved to put that experience behind her. Isaac would be waiting for her.

  Looking out the window, she saw no one who resembled the man she’d married. Perhaps he was waiting closer to the front of the train, or maybe he had to remain near his team off the platform. Pulling into the depot, she’d seen a large building perched upon a slight hill with the mountains—the Sangre de Cristos, she’d learned—arching toward the sky behind it. The skeletons of a few new buildings spread out from the depot platform, and when she glanced toward the windows on the other side of the car, a few more buildings, older ones and new ones just started, sat nearby.

  Maggie pinched her cheeks and ran a hand over the hair that peeked out from beneath her hat. She’d worn her nicest dress in an effort to look as pretty as possible. Unfortunately, she could do nothing for the color of her hair—which she’d always thought of as the shade of dirty straw—or her impudent upturned nose. She hoped Isaac didn’t expect her to be beautiful. She could pretend to be docile, but beauty was not something one could pass off as a pretense.

  She gathered her torn reticule and followed the other passengers to the door. Everyone still spoke of the outlaws. Maggie wished they wouldn’t. She’d much prefer to forget the incide
nt had ever happened. Once off the train, a porter fetched her trunk and carpetbag. She gave him one of her few coins, and then stood helplessly on the platform. Surely Isaac would see her and introduce himself.

  But the minutes ticked by, and the passengers who’d exited the train had all gone up to the large building—a hotel, she’d learned—on the hill. When no one else remained on the platform, the first feelings of despair began to surface.

  What if Isaac had changed his mind? What if he’d somehow discovered she wasn’t exactly the sort of wife he was seeking? What if he’d met some other woman and opted to marry her instead? Where would Maggie go? What would she do?

  She squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed hard. Fretting would do her no good. No, she needed to ask around. Perhaps Isaac was simply delayed. If that was the case, she could journey up to the hotel to wait.

  Plan in mind, she opened her eyes and took a step toward the depot office when something caught her eye. She stopped and glanced toward her right, to where the platform ended and carriages had waited earlier to take passengers up to the hotel.

  The carriages were long gone, but a wagon sat off in the distance with a figure in the driver’s seat.

  Was that Isaac? It wouldn’t hurt to find out, although she couldn’t for the life of her determine why he’d sit there instead of coming to her, especially when she was clearly the only one on the platform.

  Taking her skirts in hand and leaving both trunk and carpetbag on the platform, she made her way down the wooden steps. “Sir?” she called once she was close enough.

  The man didn’t acknowledge her. He leaned forward, almost as if he were looking at something on the floor of the wagon seat.

  Maggie took a few more steps until she was just about at the wagon. “Sir?” she said again. “If you’ll pardon me, I’m waiting for a Mr. Isaac Trenton.”

  The man started, raising his head and blinking at her. When he rubbed at his eyes, she realized he’d been asleep. Wisps of white hair curled out from under his hat, and his eyes were lined with years of sun and hard work.