Anonymous Bride

by McDonough, Vickie;

  Rachel’s heart ached. Would she ever know the love of a good man again? Her thoughts flashed to Rand, but she knew he wasn’t the man for her. She’d only ever imagined herself married to Luke. With him out of the picture, could she love someone else?

  She shook her head and stared into her soup. No, Luke was the only man she’d ever love. Oh, she’d tried to care for James after they were married, but he pushed her away with his cruel streak. And on the day he first slapped Jacqueline and knocked her down, Rachel knew she could never love him. If only she’d never married him.

  Her mistake had been to allow James to comfort her that day at the river. She hadn’t spent time with Luke in over two weeks because he’d been working so much. When she learned he wasn’t coming, she’d gotten teary-eyed. James had hugged her. Told her he’d never neglect her like Luke had.

  She shivered, remembering how he’d kissed her temple. How his hold on her had tightened. “I love you, Rachel. I have for a long time.” He kissed her lips, and for the briefest of seconds, she’d felt like a princess because the most eligible bachelor in town cared for her. But then she saw Luke’s face in her mind and knew where her heart belonged. She struggled—told him to stop—but James, carried away by his passion, shoved her down. She’d tried to fight him off, but he was too strong. And afterward, he’d told her that Luke would no longer want her since she was a fallen woman. James offered to marry her, but now she realized that she’d only been a pawn.

  James had been spoiled as a child, and as an adult, he took what he wanted. Somewhere along the line, he’d decided he wanted her and was determined to steal her away from Luke. When he realized he couldn’t overcome her love for Luke, he stole the most special gift she had to give her husband, her purity.

  “Something wrong, Ma?” Jacqueline stared at her with worried eyes.

  “Uh ... no baby, I just need to get more soup.” Jumping to her feet, Rachel hurried to the buffet, grabbed the tureen, and hustled into the kitchen where she slowly refilled the big bowl. She hung her head. Did Luke know what James had done? Did he know why she had to marry James?

  No wonder he couldn’t forgive her. She could hardly forgive herself. Tears burned her eyes, but she blinked them away lest they fall in the soup or her guests notice. Somehow she had to find it within herself to keep going until Luke chose a bride. She’d been foolish—hopeful—to enter the contest, but she wouldn’t do it again.

  CHAPTER 23

  Jack hurried through her morning ablutions and dried her face with a once-blue towel, now faded to a soft gray, that smelled of sunshine and the outdoors. She always felt more awake after washing her face in the cool well water.

  The house smelled of fried bacon and eggs, making her tummy squawk. She slipped the hated dress over her head and buttoned up the front. Whoever made the rule that girls had to wear dresses should have been forced to wear one himself. It was hard to run in them—not that ladies should run—but who wanted to be a lady?

  Boys had all the fun. They got to work with horses, fish, even chop wood while women had to cook, clean, wash, and sew. How was that fair? She ran the brush through her hair and braided it. If her ma would let her, she’d cut it all off short; but according to Ma, a woman’s glory was her hair. Men liked women to have long hair, she said.

  Jack smacked the brush down on the vanity, wincing at the loud noise. If her ma heard that, she would lecture her about taking care of what they had and have Jack polishing every piece of furniture in the whole house as punishment.

  She rubbed her hand over the dark wood, thankful that she hadn’t scratched the vanity that her grandmother Hamilton had shipped from New York. Jack appreciated having nice things, because she knew that most of the kids at school didn’t enjoy such luxuries.

  She glanced at herself in the oval mirror, grimacing at how girlish she looked. Why couldn’t she have been born a boy? Then she could have protected her ma from her father.

  Yesterday had been Sunday, and her ma hadn’t said anything about the pies, probably because it was the Lord’s Day. Jack was sure she would today, and she couldn’t wait to tell her again how much Luke had liked her pie. She had no idea how the salt and sugar had gotten mixed up when the brides were baking their pies, but she sure was glad it had.

  Jack walked into the kitchen. Her ma bent and removed a pan of biscuits from the oven. She smiled when she saw Jack. “I was just coming to make sure you’d gotten up and that you hadn’t taken ill. By the way, the Sandersons are leaving today.”

  Jack sighed. School had ended on Friday, and she’d hoped to go fishing today, but with the boarders leaving, she and her mother would have extra work cleaning the empty room.

  “Put these on the buffet.” She slid the bowl of biscuits toward Jack. “And please set the table and put out a plate of butter. I’m running a bit late myself.”

  Wondering if her ma had overslept, too, Jack carried the bowl to the buffet, then pulled cloth napkins from a drawer as well as silverware. She set the table, thinking how her ma had looked tired rather than rested. Maybe she was upset about Saturday’s events. Jack had expected questions about the pies, but Ma had been especially quiet last night.

  Shouldn’t she have been happy that her pie was the only edible one?

  Breakfast was a quiet affair. Miss O’Neil didn’t come downstairs. Jack glanced over at Miss Bennett. The pretty blond slathered peach jam onto her biscuit and took a bite. Miss Blackstone ate with her face almost in her plate, as if she feared someone would take the food away from her. Jack’s ma would never let her get away with that kind of behavior.

  “I’m finished, Ma.” Jack placed her silverware on her plate.

  “Very well. Take your dish to the kitchen, please.”

  Jack looked at her ma’s plate as she passed her, surprised at how little she’d eaten. Something was certainly bothering her.

  She dumped her food scraps in the bucket for Max and set her plate in the sink, just as her ma entered the kitchen. Jack grabbed the partially filled scrap bucket and hurried to the door, hoping to make a quick escape.

  “Wait. I need to ask you something.”

  Ack! Too late. “I gotta get these scraps to Max. You don’t want him goin’ hungry do you?”

  Her ma followed her outside and grabbed her shoulder. “Just a minute, missy.”

  That stopped her. If her ma said “missy,” she meant business. Jack swallowed the lump building in her throat.

  “Did you swap the sugar and salt containers the day the brides were baking their pies? I want a truthful answer.”

  Jack felt her eyes widen. She’d thought about doing that very thing, and guilt wormed its way through her, even though she was innocent. Her remorse shifted to anger. Why did she always get blamed when something went wrong? “No Ma. Honestly, I didn’t. I swear.”

  “Don’t swear.” Rachel crossed her arms. She lifted her eyes to the heavens as if she were praying. “Just tell me the truth. Did you do it so I might win?”

  Jack flung her arms up. “I told you. I didn’t do that.”

  “If I can’t win fair and square, I don’t want to win at all. Can you understand that?”

  Jack shrugged. “I guess so. But if you don’t win, we’ll lose Luke.”

  Her ma closed her eyes as if the thought pained her. “Luke was never ours to win. And I won’t win by cheating, no matter what the cost.”

  Jack thought of a few times she’d cheated and won. It felt good to win, but afterward guilt had eaten away her joy, except for the time she’d beaten Butch Laird in a spelling contest. A light breeze lifted a lock of hair and blew it across her face, bringing with it the scent of wood smoke. Her ma reached down and tucked the wayward strand behind her ear. Jack studied her ma. Why couldn’t Luke just pick her? She was every bit as pretty as the brides, although she was older than them. But didn’t someone say older was better?

  “Sweetie, I appreciate that you wanted to help me, but you were wrong to tamper with the pies.”
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  “But I didn—”

  Rachel lifted her hand. “I just wish you’d be honest. Other people were affected by your actions, and you’ll have to be punished.”

  “But Ma—”

  “I’ve decided not to enter the next round.”

  Jack’s mouth fell open. Her ma still believed she was responsible, but even worse, she was giving up on the contest. “You can’t quit.” She tugged on her mother’s sleeve. “I want Luke to be my pa, and you gotta marry him for that to happen.”

  Her ma looked up again, and Jack searched the sky to see what was so interesting up there.

  After a while, her mother released a loud sigh. “Go feed Max, but when you get back, I’ll have a list of extra chores for you to do as punishment.”

  Jack scowled and stomped off. Getting punished for something she’d done was bad enough because she deserved it, but knowing her mother didn’t believe her made her stomach ache. Yeah, she’d opened the pie safe doors, but that’s not what her ma had asked her about.

  The thought of her ma quitting the contest brought tears to her eyes. She swatted at them. She’d promised herself she’d never cry, because crying was a weakness. Boys made fun of kids who cried and picked on them.

  She thought again of her ma not entering the other contests, and the idea sobered Jack. Somehow, she had to make sure her ma had an entry. She couldn’t quit.

  A few minutes later, she stopped at the marshal’s office. Luke was gone, but Max lay sprawled on his blanket as if waiting for her. He lumbered up and wagged his tail. The old dog licked the gray whiskers around his nose and looked up eagerly. Jack set down the bucket, and Max started eating.

  “I wish you could talk, old buddy.” She scratched his back while he ate. “I’m sorry for being mean to you before. I didn’t know what a good dog you were.”

  She thought of the many times the townsfolk had shouted at Max and chased him away from their trash heaps. Why should they care if a hungry dog helped himself to what they no longer wanted? Ricky and Jonesy had liked to chase Max and throw sticks at him, but she always tried to make them stop.

  She knew what it was like to have someone yell at you and threaten to hurt you. She shivered just thinking about the evenings her pa would come home drunk or having lost at gambling. He’d holler at her ma like it was all her fault, shove her, and sometimes even slap or hit her. He hadn’t been much of a father and never seemed to like her. Many times, he said he wished she’d been a boy.

  Tears stung Jack’s eyes again, and she swiped her sleeve over them. Max whined as if sensing her frustration and licked her cheek. “Oh Max, why can’t Luke marry my ma and be my pa?”

  ***

  Luke crossed the dusty street, waving to Simon O’Malley as he drove by with a load of hay in his wagon. The man kept Dan Howard, the livery owner, well-stocked in hay and feed. Luke could see Jack sitting on the floor, patting Max. As he neared, her words about wanting him for a father nearly made him stumble. He righted himself, looked around to see if anyone had noticed, and then stood outside his door. Luke’s heart ached for the child, but he wasn’t the answer to her prayers.

  Jack didn’t say anything else, but she suddenly jumped up. “Gotta go, boy.”

  She ran out the door and straight into Luke. He grabbed her shoulders to steady her, and she gasped and peered up. Her wariness changed to delight, warming his insides.

  “Howdy, half bit. I just heard your ma holler for you.”

  She frowned and plodded back toward home.

  What was wrong with her? If he wasn’t mistaken, her lashes had looked damp from tears—and Jack never cried. Halfway home, she turned while walking backward and waved. “See you later.”

  His gaze followed her to the end of the street to make sure no one bothered her. She was a cute kid and reminded him of himself when he was young. Ornery, feisty. If only she were his child.

  He scowled. Better not to think such thoughts. Spinning around, he marched back to his office, scanning the town and thinking about the wanted posters he’d looked through earlier. If he could capture one or two of those outlaws, he would get enough reward money so that he could order lumber for a house. He already had a lot picked out with a view of the river and could imagine a white clapboard house sitting on it.

  He stopped and leaned against a hitching post. If he were to marry, he’d need a bigger house. The one the town provided was fine for him alone, but a wife would want to cook, and that Sunday house had no stove. He supposed he could build an outdoor kitchen. Lots of homes in Texas had them, usually on ranches and farms rather than in-town houses. That would be much easier, and maybe it would solve his problem for now.

  The bigger problem he had was envisioning a woman other than Rachel in his home. Maybe because she cooked his meals now and did his laundry. He’d run into her a few times when she’d come over to clean or return his clothing. He shook his head. Somehow he needed to rid his mind of such images.

  Forcing himself to focus on the brides, he stared across Bluebonnet Lane at the boardinghouse and tried to decide which woman would make the best wife. They were all pretty, but he wasn’t attracted to any one of them in particular. He sighed and thumped the railing. That pie contest sure hadn’t helped.

  Who was the anonymous entry from? He’d racked his mind, trying to figure out who she was, but had no luck. He turned around and moseyed into Foster’s Mercantile, nodding at Trudy Foster. “Everything all right in here?”

  “Yes sir, Marshal. We’re fine and dandy.” Trudy smiled and continued sorting skeins of colorful thread.

  Luke looked around for a few minutes, thinking about all the things he’d need to buy if he did get a house of his own. Finally, he exited the store. As he turned right, a woman’s shapely body appeared in the doorway of his office. Miss Blackstone.

  She looked down the street right at him and waved. “Morning, Marshal Davis. How are you this fine day?”

  He’d been fine—until he saw her. Now his neck felt as tight as if he were dressed up in his church clothes. He pushed away from the hitching post and shoved his hands into his pocket as he walked toward her. Just what had she been doing in his office? And how had she gotten in there without him seeing her?

  She looked pretty in her pine-colored calico, which made her brown eyes look almost hazel. Her hair was always a bit disheveled and tended to just be tied behind her with a ribbon, as if doing anything more to it was a chore. Something wild sparked in her eyes on occasion, making him wonder about her past.

  He walked up to her and stopped since she blocked his doorway. “What can I do for you today?”

  “I noticed that you never eat at the boardinghouse and thought you might be hungry.” She stepped back into the office and motioned to something on his desk. She removed a towel from a plate, and the scent of bacon and eggs filled the room. His mouth watered.

  “You made this?” he asked, walking over to look at the plate. His stomach rumbled.

  She shifted her feet and looked around his office. “Well, uh ... nope, but Mrs. Hamilton let me bring it to ya. I couldn’t very well cook up somethin’ else when she had all this left.”

  No, he didn’t figure she could—and somehow didn’t think she would have even if Rachel had allowed her use of the kitchen. Still, he sat down and tucked into the food since he hadn’t had time to get over to the boardinghouse for breakfast this morning.

  Miss Blackstone looked at a map on his wall. Luke noticed her hands trembling. Was she nervous being alone with him?

  “Do you catch many outlaws in this little town?”

  He shook his head. “No, but I run a tight command here and don’t let things get out of control.”

  “Well, that makes me feel safer.” She stared at him with her head cocked to one side until he looked away.

  The hairs on the back of his neck lifted, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. A horse whinnied outside, and Miss Blackstone turned to look out the door. Luke studied he
r profile. Yeah, she was pretty, but something about her set him on edge.

  He leaned back in his chair, holding his lukewarm coffee. Miss Blackstone pivoted back toward him and smiled. She looked softer, more approachable when she was happy. Maybe he was overreacting. Or just touchy, since she could be his wife one day soon. A shiver charged down his back.

  He turned back to his food and noticed one of the two desk drawers was off kilter. He ignored it for the moment but knew it hadn’t been like that when he’d left his office earlier. He took several more bites of food, hoping she hadn’t noticed him looking at the drawer.

  Had Miss Blackstone gone through his desk?

  And if she had, what had she been looking for?

  ***

  Carly resisted tapping her foot while the marshal ate. Just being in the jail office around a lawman made her itch to leave. Did she look more casual than she felt? Or could he tell she was nervous?

  She cast a glance at the two cells in the shadows at the back of the room, and her throat threatened to close up and choke off her breath. One door was open, as if daring her to enter. If the law ever caught up with her, she would be locked up in such a place. A cold shiver snaked down her spine.

  She forced her gaze back to the marshal. There hadn’t been any information about payroll shipments in his desk. Tyson had said that town marshals always had that kind of information, and without it, she was stuck in this dinky town. Maybe she needed to come up with a better plan. Besides, how could she pull a payroll heist alone?

  Trying to sway the marshal in her direction by flirting and taking him breakfast had probably been a dumb idea, but she had to do something to make herself stand out from the others. The marshal’s fork scraped against his plate. He ate the last of the eggs and took another sip of his coffee.

  “Could I freshen that up for you?”

  He shook his head. “No thanks. I’m about done.” He shoved the last third of a biscuit into his mouth.

  The marshal was a fine-looking man with his lean, muscular body, handsome face, and dark hair and eyes. She had hoped he might like her nut pie better than the others, but that had hardly been the case. She had switched the salt and sugar before the other brides mixed up their pies, but she hadn’t counted on burning hers.