Julianne MacLean

by Prairie Bride

  At that moment, she spotted him. He was pursuing her hat. Her spirits suddenly surged with delight. It was him. She knew it. He wore spectacles, a gray suit and a fedora, just as she had pictured him. He looked very much like her father.

  He picked up her hat and wiped it meticulously with a crisp white handkerchief. When he seemed satisfied it was clean, he turned and walked directly toward her. “Sarah MacFarland?” he asked, reaching her and taking her heavy valise.

  “Yes, I’m Sarah.” She placed her hat back on her head and poked the pin into place.

  “Please, come this way.” He led her past a small group of men. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m George Brigman.”

  Sarah peered at him, confused. Then her stomach dropped. “George? I thought you were…uh. Is Arthur your middle name?”

  He stopped and laughed and held out his hand. “You’ve got it wrong, I’m afraid. I’m George, Arthur’s brother. But I wouldn’t call him Arthur, if I were you.”

  “Why not?” Sarah asked, shaking his proffered hand.

  “Everyone calls him Briggs. No one’s called him Arthur since…” He paused. “Well, I wouldn’t try it.”

  Sarah felt an uncomfortable jolt of apprehension as she let go of George’s hand.

  “Please, the wagon is this way.” George led her around the back of the depot.

  As they walked arm in arm, Sarah wondered why Arthur—or Briggs, rather—hadn’t come to meet her himself. Perhaps he was shy. That must be it, she told herself while fighting a dozen and one fears. That’s why he had advertised for a wife instead of courting one.

  Well, shy was just fine with her. In fact, she preferred it that way. A nice, quiet, reserved husband. Yes, that would be delightful.

  George nodded his head toward a wagon. “There he is.”

  Sarah stopped to look, but all she saw was a beat-up box on wheels, hitched to two prehistoric-looking horses with hairy hooves. “Where?” she asked, shading her eyes.

  Just then, a long-haired man stepped out from behind the team.

  Sarah’s breath caught in her lungs. Her first impression was that he was clearly in need of a bath and a shave. Had he forgotten this was his wedding day? He wore a brown buckskin coat with long, swinging fringe along the sleeves and a necklace made of animal claws. Animal claws? He looked nothing like George at all.

  Fighting the nausea which had suddenly rooted itself in her stomach, she took another tentative step forward. Briggs bent forward to check a hoof on one of the horses.

  “I don’t think he’s seen us yet,” George said, sounding apologetic.

  In her opinion, Briggs was more concerned with his horse than her arrival. But the extra moment gave her time to rein in her emotions and reconsider this situation. It was wrong of her to judge him based on his appearance. She hadn’t met him yet. He could be a very polite fellow.

  He dropped the horse’s hoof and looked up. Sarah’s gaze met his sea-green eyes and a shiver of trepidation skittered through her. He seemed disappointed, as if she were not at all what he had expected.

  The sun moved behind a cloud, bathing Briggs in shade as he sauntered slowly toward her. Tall and muscular, he moved with surprising grace. “You’re Sarah MacFarland?” he said.

  She swallowed nervously, then struggled to keep her voice from quavering. “Yes.”

  George broke in. “Sarah, this is my brother, Briggs. And, Briggs, this is Sarah.”

  The large farmer swept his steely gaze down her body, then back up again to her tall purple hat. “Somehow I can’t imagine her hauling water,” he said to George.

  “I can haul water,” Sarah mentioned uncertainly, but no one seemed to be listening.

  George shrugged at Briggs, and Sarah was sure his eyes said, I told you so.

  “Put her bag in the wagon and get in,” Briggs said to his brother.

  While George climbed into the back, Sarah stood wondering why this man was so displeased with her. She’d tried to appear pleasant. For pity’s sake, she’d done everything she could to primp and make herself beautiful for him.

  “Let’s go.” He climbed into the high wagon seat. “The courthouse closes at five.” When she hesitated, he frowned down at her. Heat stole into her cheeks and she suspected she’d turned a vivid scarlet. “Are you coming?”

  Something inside her wanted to say no and make a mad dash for the hills, but the hills, she thought ridiculously, were quite a distance from here. She stood motionless, letting her eyes wander the flat, windy town.

  The sun poked out from behind a cloud, and she had to shield her eyes again to look up at Briggs’s large silhouette. This man was less gentlemanly than she would have liked, to be sure, but she was in no position to be fussy. She would rather take her chances here than back in Boston with Garrison, who could be on her heels at this very moment. At least if she married Briggs, it would be legal and she would change her name. If things didn’t work out, some time would pass and her trail would become a little less visible. Garrison wouldn’t be able to find her.

  Of course, she hoped it would work out, that she and Briggs could get to know each other and somehow have a good life together. One day, she would tell him the truth, after some time had passed….

  Raising her skirts, she scrambled awkwardly into the seat beside him.

  “Yah!” he called out, flicking the reins. Without warning, the wagon jerked forward and Sarah’s head snapped back. She bounced and jiggled, using all her muscles to avoid toppling into Briggs’s lap as he turned the wagon around and headed across the wide street.

  He spoke not one word the entire way, and Sarah wondered miserably if she’d just escaped one dreadful situation only to arrive smack-dab in the middle of another.

  Chapter Two

  With his backside planted firmly on the crooked wagon seat, and his fists clamped around the worn leather reins, Briggs refused to do anything but stare straight ahead. His head throbbed with a tension he’d not felt in months. How in tarnation had he gotten stuck with such a beautiful woman? He needed someone who could gather fuel, empty the stalls and milk the cow! Not to mention helping out with the harvest, and when it came time to slaughter the pig…well, that went without saying. Hadn’t she understood his ad? What was she going to do when she saw the sod dugout she’d have to live in?

  Worse yet, she was exactly the type of woman Briggs had always found attractive. Her midnight-black hair was pulled into a loose bun on top of her head. She had big brown eyes a man could lose himself in, skin the color of fresh cream and lips the color of raspberries. He didn’t want to notice those things because the minute she set eyes on his sod house, she’d no doubt demand to be sent back home. He’d be a fool to think otherwise.

  When they turned up Railroad Avenue, the wagon struck a rock and leaped into the air. Beside him, Sarah bounced like a jumping bean and nearly landed in his lap. “Sorry,” she said, then quickly righted herself.

  All of Briggs’s muscles went rigid. His body tightened with a maddening awareness and an arousal in his groin that he struggled to ignore, but it was no easy task. She seemed so delicate, like a butterfly on a sudden unexpected gale.

  George moved to the front of the wagon bed and sat directly behind them. “Are you tired from your journey, Miss MacFarland?”

  “Just a little,” she answered, politely. Her leg—somewhere beneath all those purple skirts—bumped Briggs’s, but she quickly drew it back to a proper distance, much to his relief.

  “Well, you’ll be pleased to know your travels are over,” George said. “Until tomorrow, anyway. Then it’s a six-hour drive out to the claim.”

  Briggs whipped around. “What do you mean, tomorrow? There’s a full moon tonight. We’re heading back this afternoon, just as soon as the judge gives us the certificate.”

  George pulled out a white handkerchief and blew his nose. “Well, I took the liberty of booking you a room in the Dodge House for tonight. It’s the best hotel in town, and I thought it would be a fine w
edding gift, after Miss MacFarland’s long journey.”

  Briggs made no effort to hide his irritation. This ceremony wasn’t supposed to be romantic. Briggs had planned to be up and fed and in the fields tomorrow by dawn. Now he’d have to spend the morning on the road, wasting even more precious daylight hours.

  “Thank you so much, Mr. Brigman.” The appreciation in Sarah’s voice smacked Briggs like a brick. He turned to look at her, seeing for the first time what a wonderful smile she had. Her eyes were twinkling—at George—and her teeth were as straight and white as pure ivory. Was there nothing ugly about her?

  “Y-you’re welcome, Miss MacFarland,” George stammered like a schoolboy. “And you can call me George.”

  Briggs shook his head at his brother’s syrupy tone.

  The horses trotted to a stop outside the redbrick courthouse. Briggs set the brake, wrapped the reins around it and hopped down. As he rounded the two-horse team, he watched Sarah clumsily wiggle down. She clutched at the splintery side of the wagon, her other hand holding her outrageous feathered hat to keep it from blowing off. Her little nose crinkled as she tried to gather her skirts at the same time.

  Briggs shook his head at the spectacle—she just looked so plumb ridiculous!—until he noticed George clambering out of the wagon to assist her.

  Well, he’d be damned if he’d let his brother beat him to it. Briggs hurried toward her and stopped just behind that wiggling backside. He watched her for a second. One tiny foot was on the ground, the other leg was bent at an impossible angle with the other foot still on the floor of the wagon. “Lean back,” he instructed.

  He wrapped his hands around her narrow waist and lifted her dainty frame to the ground. Holding her so close, he noticed the clean scent of her hair and the faint hint of rosewater on her skin. He had to fight the inclination to enjoy it.

  “Thank you, Mr. Brigman.” Sarah’s face flushed pink as she smoothed her skirt.

  It was one of those things that charmed him—a woman smoothing her skirt. But almost as quickly as the feeling came, he squashed it like a bug under his boot. “Well, don’t expect assistance every time. You’re going to have to get used to things being difficult.”

  Her jaw dropped in surprise and he wished he’d kept his thoughts to himself. But at some point, his wife was going to have to learn to put away any tendencies toward vanity if she was going to survive out on the plains with prairie fires, wind storms and grasshoppers. He had no intention of letting her spend precious hours of the day in front of the mirror, fussing over herself like Isabelle had done.

  They started up the stairs together and headed toward the front door. All the while, Briggs could feel a slow, heated panic moving over him. After all his preaching to George about the problems with a pretty wife, what in the world was he about to do?

  Feeling dizzy, Sarah gaped at the large brick building. Halfway up the steps, she grabbed hold of the handrail. She could not go through with this. The man beside her was not at all the kind of man she imagined she’d be wedding. Why couldn’t it have been someone like George?

  Panic stormed at her from all sides as they entered the building and climbed the creaky stairs to the second floor. They reached the office at the end of the hall and Briggs ushered Sarah through. As she approached the distinguished judge seated behind a large mahogany desk, she realized she was another step closer to going through with it. Sarah heard footsteps behind her and felt Briggs’s looming presence like a net about to be tossed over her head. He was standing too close to her, trapping her in this stuffy office. She couldn’t breathe! She had to call this off. It wasn’t too late until the papers were signed.

  Turning on the oriental carpet to face him, she sucked in a quick breath. He was standing before her like a huge, stone wall. She swallowed, staring at his animal claw necklace, realizing he was taller than she had thought. The top of his white linen shirt had fallen open. She could see his bare neck and it made her mouth go dry. He flipped his long golden-brown hair back, revealing tiny beaded designs on the shoulders of his faded buckskin coat.

  “You all right?” he asked. “You look like you need a glass of water or something.”

  Nodding, she dropped her gaze to the floor. She wished she were anywhere but here.

  “George, get her something, will you?” Briggs led her to the crimson upholstered sofa where he rested his hands on her shoulders and sat her down. He knelt before her, then picked up a few papers from the desk and fanned her with a gentle breeze. She looked up to meet his gaze.

  Perhaps, she thought as she stared into those deep-green eyes, there was some kindness in this man after all. Surely this was the right thing to do. Women traveled west all the time to marry men they’d never met. He’d said in his advertisement that he wanted someone who would enjoy a simple life on the prairie and that’s exactly what she had wanted, too, wasn’t it? She just hadn’t imagined, in all her girlish fantasies, marrying anyone so rugged. So much like this rough, untamed land.

  George hurried into the room with a glass of water and handed it to her. She self-consciously sipped, feeling the eyes of each man watching her, waiting and worrying.

  “Perhaps some air would do you good,” the judge suggested, opening the window. A fast prairie gale dashed inside and swept some papers off the desk. The white sheets floated and rocked in midair before Sarah’s eyes. She felt dizzy, like she was rolling right along with them, falling and swirling into a dark, unfamiliar canyon.

  “Darn wind never stops.” The judge pressed his palms to the desktop to hold down what was left.

  Still kneeling in front of her, Briggs waited for her to finish the water, then took her empty glass and set it on the desk. She stared blankly at his strong facial features—the square jaw, the dimpled chin, the long lashes like an awning over his green eyes. His lips were full for a man’s, and she found herself wondering with a strange inner excitement what his kiss would taste like.

  He touched her forehead with the back of his hand, and Sarah instinctively jerked back. Briggs hesitated, his eyes narrowing with a dozen questions.

  Surprised at her impulsive reaction, she tried to relax and allow him to examine her. He seemed to sense her readiness, and again he touched her forehead. The hand was gentle.

  He lowered it to rest on his knee. “You’re a little warm.”

  “It’s just the heat.”

  The judge laughed, his voice deep and booming. “Happens all the time,” he joked. “But usually it’s the groom. Some days they drop like flies, facedown onto the rug.”

  George joined in the judge’s laughter, but Briggs kept his attention focused on Sarah. “You all right, now?” he whispered privately to her. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

  Suddenly her skin beneath her clothes erupted in strangely pleasant goose bumps. She felt protected and cared for—something she hadn’t felt in a very long time, not since her parents had died. With that sensation, her heart began to slow its speedy pace and her instincts told her clearly that beneath the hard exterior, this man was decent and kind and would make a fitting husband.

  It was all she needed to lift her up off the sofa. “I’m fine,” she heard herself saying. “Let’s go ahead.”

  Standing in front of Judge Fraser, gazing into the depths of Sarah’s coffee-colored eyes, Briggs was surprised by his sudden lack of cold feet. She’d seemed so innocent just now, sitting on the sofa looking up at him, desperate for him in a way he couldn’t quite understand. Isabelle had never looked at him like that. No one had. He felt an inexplicable need to take Sarah into his arms and tell her everything was going to be all right.

  Briggs glanced at the judge and reminded himself of his vow to avoid the kind of heated attraction he had felt for Isabelle. After the lesson he’d learned, he hadn’t thought himself capable of it ever again.

  So why was his body betraying him with such a powerful surge of excitement?

  The judge turned a page and startled Briggs out of his tho
ughts, reminding him to listen to these important, lifelong words. “Repeat after me,” Judge Fraser said, his gaze directed at Briggs. “I, Arthur John Brigman, take you, Sarah Jane MacFarland…”

  Feeling as if he were floating, Briggs repeated the words, ending with “to love and to cherish, until death us do part.”

  Great God, what was he saying?

  Until death us do part!

  To love and to cherish!

  He tried to remember Sarah’s letter a few weeks ago. It had convinced him she was the right woman. She’d mentioned her parents’ recent death, her loneliness, and he’d thought even before meeting her that she possessed a family loyalty that Isabelle had not. Wasn’t it possible that another woman would be everything he had wanted Isabelle to be? Wasn’t it possible he could trust her?

  He listened to Sarah’s shaky voice repeating the same words he had spoken; he sensed her anxiety, but there was no turning back now. As he slipped the ring onto Sarah’s slim finger, he promised himself he would build her a real farmhouse just as soon as he brought in the harvest. With any luck, they’d move in before the first snow. He would finally sell that necklace he had bought for Isabelle. His hopes and dreams belonged with Sarah now.

  The judge said his final words and Briggs gazed down at Sarah’s expression in wonder. Her eyes were wide and unfathomable, her cheeks flushed like two strawberries. They were man and wife now, he realized, and his heart pounded hard enough to knock him over.

  Briggs felt George nudge him in the back, then looked at the judge and realized they were both waiting for the kiss. His stomach flipped. He let his gaze fall back to Sarah’s frightened face. How was he to do this?

  Taking a deep breath, praying for a lifetime of courage, he leaned forward and pressed his lips lightly to hers, all the while resisting the sizzling desire to let his tongue wander inside.