Bride Gone Bad

by Sabine Starr

  “What are you doing?” Tempest reached out to stop the saloon-keeper from interfering in the march.

  Big Jim brushed her aside, leaped off the boardwalk, and strode over to the front of the group. He grabbed their satin banner, tossed it to the ground, and ground it into the dirt with his boot.

  The ladies bunched up together like sheep before a wolf, but maintained a brave front.

  “Which one of you is the leader?” Big Jim demanded.

  “I’m Mrs. Bartholomew, President of the TSPT.” A pink-cheeked and pleasingly plump lady stepped forward. She wagged a finger. “You, sir, are in danger of having your mouth washed out with soap. As you can plainly see, you are in the presence of ladies.”

  “Then act like it.”

  Mrs. Bartholomew put a hand to her impressive bosom and staggered back, appearing shocked by his words.

  “If I was you,” Big Jim boomed, “I’d give second thoughts to collapsing on the Bend’s main street. It’s a far cry from a lady’s fainting couch.” He scuffed dirt with the toe of his boot. “Men throw up their guts and horses empty their bladders out here.”

  Mrs. Bartholomew steadied on her feet, and then adjusted her hat as if for battle.

  Tempest regretted the situation, knowing she was to blame. She wished she’d never heard of the Red River Saloon.

  “Better pay him off.”

  She felt the heartbreaker’s breath stir tendrils of her hair against the sensitive whorls of her ear. She shivered, caught for a moment in the web of his tantalizing spell as she basked in the scent of him, the power of his presence, the heat of his body. She stepped away, realizing that her heart beat faster from his nearness than from the confrontation in the street.

  “That saloon is Big Jim’s pride and joy.”

  “It’s scandalous.”

  He chuckled, a low, sensual sound.

  She glanced up into his eyes and frowned into the amber depths. “It’s not funny.”

  “If a man melted the starch off you, I bet he’d get a hot-blooded woman.”

  “Maybe he’d get a slug between his eyes.”

  “Not unless he was real slow on the draw.” He held out his hand, a smile revealing a dimple in his left check. “Name’s Lucky. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  “I don’t shake hands with strangers.”

  “What do you do with strangers?” He lifted her hand to his lips, pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles, and then placed a longer kiss to her palm.

  Fortunately, she was wearing gloves, so she didn’t experience the touch of his bare flesh. She jerked her hand away, feeling flushed and irritated by his existence. He was dangerous in too many ways.

  “You didn’t tell me your name.”

  “No need. I’m rejoining my friends and never seeing you again.” He shook his head as if to discount her words. “Life is like a river. You’ve hit an eddy and landed on my shore.”

  “I sincerely doubt it.”

  “Tempest!” Mrs. Bartholomew called. “What have you done to this man’s place of business?”

  She felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. How could something so right have gone so wrong?

  “How-do, Miss Tempest,” Lucky said. “Need some help?”

  “I believe the TSPT can easily handle this situation.” She held out her hand, palm up. “What I need from you is my hatchet.”

  “You ever need something else, let me know.” He placed the ax in her hand, but didn’t let go.

  “Thank you.” As she gripped the handle, she felt the heat and strength of him radiating to her through nothing more than his fingertips. She shivered, doubting that she’d ever met a more compelling man.

  “What’s keeping you?” Mrs. Bartholomew called again.

  She pulled the hatchet away, breaking their connection. She took a deep breath and stepped off the boardwalk, putting one reluctant foot in front of the other. She felt surrounded by disaster, but that was no new experience. She swallowed against a rising need to simply sit down and cry her heart out.

  Instead, she walked toward whatever was to come.

  Chapter 3

  Despite his better judgment, Lucky felt sorry for Tempest. She was trouble, but he was beginning to suspect that she was his trouble . . . at least for the moment.

  He watched Big Jim and Mrs. Bartholomew focus on Tempest like two vultures waiting for supper. As the disgraced lady walked up to them, she straightened her shoulders and raised her chin. She was courageous, but a jutting chin fairly begged to be clipped.

  He’d like to know her background. She wasn’t off some hardscrabble farm or from a wild town like the Bend. No matter her current actions, she was obviously born and bred a lady. She reminded him of the pampered belles they still turned out in New Orleans or over in Jefferson in East Texas. At one time, the two cities were connected by riverboats, cotton, gamblers, and their complementary Mardi Gras and Queen Mab festivals.

  Belles like Tempest could turn a man hot and needy with one look. He could testify to the fact that she had honed that skill to a fine art. His blue jeans had shrunk a size since he met her. He needed relief from the pressure of his prick, but he doubted he’d get it any time soon.

  He knew for a fact that belles expected to be respected, appreciated, and obeyed. He grinned at that idea. Around here, no self-respecting man or woman was much inclined to grant those particular favors without a damn good reason.

  Big Jim didn’t have a damn good reason, or any other one, to go easy on Tempest. She was about to find out that he gave as good as he got.

  If pride didn’t get in her way, she might be able to talk her way out of her situation, but he wouldn’t bet on it.

  Lucky stepped off the boardwalk, noted a few bystanders roused from their saloons by the ruckus, and ambled toward the group of blackbirds clustered around Big Jim and Mrs. Bartholomew. Tempest faced them alone, her back to the Red River Saloon. He didn’t much care for her odds. Even more, he didn’t care to see judgment called by the many against the few.

  He stopped just behind and to the right of Tempest, so his right hand was free, warning the blackbirds not to get too rowdy with their hatchets.

  “Lucky, this ain’t your quarrel,” Big Jim said. “You saw what she did to my bar. She ought to be glad I’m willing to take recompense from her group and not send her to jail.”

  “I didn’t know the Bend had a jail.” Lucky glanced up and down Main Street, wondering how he’d missed something like that. “Or a town marshal.”

  “Don’t. Not official like. Marshals come and go, mostly go. Got a room over at the Lone Star Hotel that Saul keeps as a jail. Men who imbibe beyond their limits can sleep it off there.”

  “I never heard of a jail in a hotel,” Mrs. Bartholomew said. “If he’s coddled, how can a man learn to right his ways?”

  “Outlaws don’t stay in the Bend,” Big Jim said. “First sign of trouble, they hightail it to Indian Territory.”

  “Nevertheless—”

  “I stand by my actions,” Tempest said, “jail or no jail.”

  “I’m backing Tempest’s play.” Lucky spread his feet to gain more balance in case one of the blackbirds flew at him or Big Jim threw a punch.

  “This is none of your concern.” Tempest tossed him an irritated look.

  “You shock me.” Mrs. Bartholomew heaved a loud sigh. “I’ve treated you as my own daughter. Now I learn you are acquainted with a gunslinger.”

  “I’m not,” Tempest said.

  “Then why is that man standing beside you as if he’d as soon shoot us as look at us?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “This is ridiculous.” Mrs. Bartholomew adjusted her black hat. “I do not care to be lied to. If he is not your friend, you must have hired him.”

  “Let’s just say I like to even lopsided odds.” Lucky twitched his hand beside his S&W .44. “Comes with my heritage.”

  Mrs. Bartholomew’s eyebrows went up in surprise, and then sh
e looked him up and down. “Surely you’re not, and I mean no disrespect, a Redskin?”

  Lucky smiled, letting her wonder like he let a lot of people. He usually passed for French out of New Orleans, which was true, but the blood of the vanquished Atlahtaw Nation, as well as the Choctaw, also ran strong in his veins. He shared the heritage that mattered most to him with few outside his clan, and certainly not with strangers.

  “If so, you poor dear man. I thought the Indians had all been run out of Texas. I want to assure you that not everyone has forsaken the tribes to demon drink. After Delaware Bend, we’re going to cross the Red River into Indian Territory and bring awareness about the illicit whiskey being sold to those too weak in mind and body to resist the temptation.”

  Lucky sighed. He shouldn’t have alluded to his Indian heritage. It could set off do-gooders. Too often their goals turned into control of others, particularly Indians, and in the process gained them money and power.

  “This has nothing to do with Lucky,” Tempest said. “Who cares if he’s Indian or German or freedman? We came here with hatchets and I used mine.”

  “My dear,” Mrs. Bartholomew said gently, “I don’t know how you could have gotten the wrong idea. We are demonstrators, not destroyers. Our hatchets are symbolic. Others may use extreme measures to get their word across to the public, but we’re not barbaric in Texas.” She glanced around the group. “At least, not anymore.”

  “Now that the Indians are gone?” Big Jim asked, frowning.

  “If I have been insensitive in any way, and for all the wrongs that have been done to the Red race, I apologize.” Mrs. Bartholomew dabbed at her eyes with a white handkerchief.

  “You got the wrong idea,” Big Jim said. “We get full-bloods and mixed-bloods in the Bend all the time. Why do you think this place is called Delaware Bend?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Delaware Indians founded the town. They started the ferry between Texas and Indian Territory.”

  “Good for them.” Mrs. Bartholomew smiled. “Give credit where credit is due, I always say.”

  “Don’t get us any closer to fixing my bar. Pay up.”

  Mrs. Bartholomew shook her head, appearing regretful. “Tempest, you have acted in a headstrong manner without approval from the Texas Society for the Promotion of Temperance.”

  “But I thought—” Tempest started.

  “As that is the case, the TSPT will not pay for the damage you caused to this man’s bar. If a night in jail will satisfy him, then that is what you must do.”

  “What!” Tempest appeared stunned.

  “My dear.” Mrs. Bartholomew clasped Tempest’s hand. “This hurts me more than it hurts you. Yet I must not weaken. This is your opportunity to learn prudence and to listen to your elders.”

  Tempest jerked her hand free.

  “I also regret that it is my duty to inform you that due to your actions, and the sanctity of our cause, you are no longer a member, or secretary, of the TSPT.”

  Lucky doubted a federal judge would have handed down such a stiff sentence. He glanced at the others to see how it was affecting them. Tempest leaned back as if from a blow. Big Jim appeared shocked. The Blackbirds looked frightened.

  “I stand by my actions, even if the TSPT doesn’t support me,” Tempest said.

  “I’ll pay for the damage.” Lucky doubted there was any chance of fixing Lulu, so payment would be more symbolic than helpful to Big Jim.

  “No, thank you.” Tempest glanced at him, her violet eyes full of anger and hurt.

  “If you apologize, I’ll let it go,” Big Jim said.

  “I did what I believe is right. I’ll serve jail time for the sake of my righteous cause.”

  “This is getting out of hand.” Big Jim stomped a boot. “I’ve got a saloon to run. I don’t have time for this foolishness.”

  “Neither do we,” Mrs. Bartholomew said. “Do you agree that a sincere apology from the TSPT and an overnight jail sentence by the perpetrator will satisfy your sense of outrage and settle this matter once and for all?”

  “Doubt the Bend’s ever put a woman in jail,” Big Jim said. “I don’t like it, not one bit.”

  “Are we in agreement?” Mrs. Bartholomew demanded.

  “Will the TSPT be leaving town?” Lucky asked.

  “Immediately. Minus one former member.”

  “I’d agree to her terms,” Lucky said. “Get it over with before it gets worse.”

  Big Jim nodded.

  “The TSPT regrets any inconvenience or monetary loss our former member caused you. As president, I sincerely apologize.”

  “Apology accepted,” Big Jim said.

  Mrs. Bartholomew turned to Tempest and held out her hand, palm up. “Please return your hatchet.”

  Tempest slapped down the flat side of the ax head.

  “I am sad that we must part this way. I suggest you return to your family and think on your actions.” She put her hand in her pocket, pulled out a silver coin, and held it out. “Here is a dollar to see you safely home.”

  “I don’t take charity.”

  “You earned it.”

  “No.”

  “In time, I hope you come to understand my actions.” Mrs. Bartholomew put the coin back in her pocket, then picked up a corner of the dusty, crumpled banner.

  Other TSPT members helped raise their banner, and then they resumed their march down Main Street. Only this time, they moved silently and solemnly toward the Red River.

  Lucky watched them go. He shook his head. There was no telling about folks. He just hoped he never had to hear another word about temperance.

  Chapter 4

  Tempest watched the TSPT march away.

  She felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. She desperately needed the silver dollar Mrs. Bartholomew had offered her. She should have taken it, no matter her principles. Now it was too late.

  She was stuck in Delaware Bend with no money, no friends, no family, no nothing. Except a jail cell. At least she had a safe place to sleep for the night and maybe a hot meal. That’d give her a chance to come up with a plan. The TSPT had been her ticket to Indian Territory, where she had to go. Either that or return home in defeat to Jefferson, once famous as the largest inland port in Texas but now sadly in decline.

  Grandma Elmira and Aunt Lamira depended on her for help. The menfolk in their family had died in the War Between the States, and the women like her mother had followed too soon. Now there were only the three of them.

  If not for her affliction, she would have made a good marriage ten years ago at seventeen. Yet nobody had wanted her till a handsome stranger named Haig Colbert had come to town and captured her heart and her hand.

  She’d found out the truth too late. He hadn’t wanted her. He’d wanted her family’s money. Behind her back, he’d talked Elmira and Lamira into giving him the last of their funds to invest in his business on the day he married Tempest. He hadn’t left her at the altar. He’d run out on her at the reception.

  She had given Haig a year to return, bringing love and gold and happiness. Not that she’d have taken him back into her heart, but she’d have taken what he owed her elders. Yet he’d never come back. She’d been left with no choice except to obtain a divorce.

  Now she must find him and get their money. If she didn’t, Elmira and Lamira would work themselves into an early grave. They’d struggled to make ends meet since he’d taken their life savings. They’d worked through the hot summer in the garden, canning vegetables, raising chickens, selling eggs, and making clothes. She’d worked alongside them, but nothing was ever quite enough.

  At least now she knew Haig’s location. News had spread to Jefferson that he had become an illegal whiskey peddler in Indian Territory. He’d hurt her family and he was hurting others with his demon drink. She wanted him out of business and behind bars where he couldn’t hurt anybody else.

  Yet she was in a precarious position. She’d been abandoned by the very women she’d
thought would help her get to Indian Territory. She didn’t know how she was going to survive, much less find Haig.

  “If you hadn’t hurt Lulu, we wouldn’t be in this mess.” Big Jim shuffled his feet. “Go on down to the Lone Star Hotel and tell Saul I sent you for a night in jail.”

  “You trust me to go there?” she asked.

  “I want you out of my hair.”

  “If you want me in jail, you should take me there.”

  “Hornswoggle!” Big Jim glanced up and down the street, as if for deliverance. “If there was any doubt why we prefer our ladies carved into a bar, this is it.”

  “Let me offer a solution,” Lucky said.

  “I’ve got enough disturbance on my hands without you gettin’ into the middle of it.”

  “I’ll escort Miss Tempest to jail while you soothe the ruffled feathers of your patrons. They’re looking out of sorts.”

  Tempest glanced around and noticed that they were the center of attention. Men watched from the front swinging doors of the Red River Saloon. Women dressed in calico listened from the boardwalk.

  “I don’t mean to cause so much trouble,” she said.

  “You need an escort,” Lucky said. “As word spreads, you’re going to be the most unpopular person in the Bend.”

  “I better let them know she’s going to jail.” Big Jim hooked a thumb at Tempest. “Make a citizen’s arrest and get her out of sight. We don’t want a necktie party on our hands.”

  “But all I did was—” Tempest said.

  Big Jim snorted, and then headed for the saloon.

  Lucky tipped his hat. “Miss Tempest, let’s get you off the street.”

  “I suppose that’s a good idea. I’ve never had so many people so upset with me.”

  She set off toward the Lone Star Hotel, not sure if she felt angry, embarrassed, or caught in a trap. Maybe she was too tired and discouraged to know what she felt. When Lucky fell into step beside her, she was glad of his presence.

  “I appreciate your help,” she said. “You’ve come to my rescue twice. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He offered her the crook of his elbow. “Let me escort you properly to the hotel.”