The Feisty Bride's Unexpected Match: A Western Historical Romance Book

by Lydia Olson

  “David,” Sarah said.

  David, suddenly on alert, stopped in his tracks.

  Sarah looked up at him self-consciously as she bit her lower lip. “Would you mind showing me how to start a fire?”

  A sliver of a smile crept across David’s mouth as he relaxed. “Of course not,” he said. “Come with me.”

  ***

  David piled the wood that he gathered in a pile near the edge of the brook, positioning the pieces in a pyramid or teepee shape. He crouched in front of it, with Sarah sitting beside him.

  “Okay,” David said. “Now, the first step to building a fire is to make sure that you stack the wood in a way that will allow enough oxygen to feed it.”

  Sarah nodded. “I figured as much,” she said. “There was a novel I read that said the same thing.”

  David smiled. “I should have assumed. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to think that you didn’t know.”

  Sarah waved him off. “No, please don’t apologize. I’m sincerely interested in the whole process. Please, assume I don’t know.”

  “Of course. But I don’t want to come across as arrogant or assume that you didn’t know already.”

  Nudging him playfully, Sarah said, “Please, David, don’t apologize so much.”

  Just relax, David, he thought. Stop overthinking so much. She’s a competent woman. “Okay,” he said, grabbing a pair of rocks and the flint he had stuffed into his trouser pocket when he kindled the last fire he made, “now grab some brush.”

  Sarah followed David’s instructions and gathered some nearby brush: a few leaves, pieces of a tumbleweed, and some sticks.

  “Scatter them on the fire,” David instructed.

  Sarah obliged.

  “Now,” he said, “watch closely.” Taking the flint, David struck it against the rocks he gathered, sparks emitting from the strikes he made. He handed them over to Sarah after demonstrating for a moment. “Now,” he said. “You try.”

  Sarah took the rock and the flint and mimicked David’s movements, successfully creating a few sparks that quickly dissipated.

  “Hold it over the firewood and do it,” David said.

  Sarah followed his instructions and struck the flint over the fire.

  David jutted his chin, his focus held on the flint. “A little faster, now.”

  Following his lead, Sarah struck the flint harder several times until the sparks caught the brush and started a small fire. She beamed from ear to ear, holding up the rocks and looking David in the eye with an enthusiastic expression.

  “I did it!” she exclaimed. “I can’t believe it.”

  Feeling a sense of pride welling inside of him, David said, “I can,” as he started stoking the fire and showing her how to do the same.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Is that it, chief?” the man named Fredericks said to Crane as he pointed to the broken-down stagecoach resting just ten feet shy of the road.

  Crane, adjusting his Stetson, sighed as he nodded and spit on the ground to spite the destruction that he saw in front of him. “Yes,” he said in an ominous tone. “Yes, that’s it.”

  Please, Sarah, don’t be part of the damage, Crane thought, his heart having raced intensely for the past couple of hours since he realized Tucker had attacked the stagecoach that his potential wife, Sarah Harris, was on board. He may have been on the wrong side of the law—but he still wanted to lead the life of a family man in order to keep up appearances. He wanted a wife for selfish reasons, to cement his reputation in Clarendon. Seated on top of his horse, Crane approached the wreckage of the stagecoach with the owner of the Clarendon saloon, Barnabas Fredericks, who had been “cleaning” the ill-gotten gains he had been filtering through Clarendon for the past six months. He was the only man Crane could trust to assist him in his “side ventures,” including the current activity they were engaged in of cleaning up after Tucker Willis’ latest mess.

  Crane slapped the reins of his horse and approached the stagecoach with Fredericks following him, the two men having gone off the beaten path to locate the stagecoach after leaving Clarendon several hours earlier. Had they gone the regular route, they would have encountered Sarah and David making their journey back to town just seven miles up the road.

  Examining the surrounding area, Crane saw that the stagecoach was much worse for wear, and the bodies that had been left behind where covered in a thin layer of dust and tumbleweeds. That fool Tucker, he thought. This will be the last time I allow him to do something like this.

  Crane dismounted, hands on his hips as he breathed deeply and shook his head again. The bodies of the businessmen dispatched to the next life by Tucker were in the same positions they’d fallen in, and Crane felt a soreness settle in his jaw from grinding his teeth over the destruction and carnage.

  Fredericks, still in the saddle, covered his mouth with a handkerchief and winced. “Over there,” he said. “Just a few feet to the south.”

  Crane’s eyes followed Tucker’s direction and then he saw the bodies of the stagecoach driver and his man riding shotgun resting in a heap near the wheels on the left-hand side. Hmm, Crane thought. Looks like Tucker took their weapons ...

  “That man Tucker,” Fredericks said, “sure knows how to make an entrance.”

  “Where’s the woman he talked about? The one that fled?”

  Crane held up two fingers. “That’s enough of that,” he barked. “Get off your steed there and help me look over this mess.”

  Following his “boss’s” instructions, Fredericks dismounted and approached the bodies, thankful for the light wind blowing that kept the stench of death at bay. For a moment, he felt as if it were the breath of God breathing down on him in harsh judgment.

  This was not my doing, Crane thought. Lord, if you are listening, if you are even a real entity—do not hold me accountable for the actions of Tucker Willis.

  Crane got down on one knee, examining the bodies as he removed the Stetson from his head and held it to his heart to show respect for the two dead men lying in front of him. “Hopefully,” he said out loud, “you all died quickly.” He hung his head for several seconds, Fredericks doing the same as Crane stood back up and cleared his throat.

  “What now, chief?” Fredericks asked.

  Crane gestured to his saddle. “Get the kerosene,” he said. “Douse the bodies. I’m going to check the stagecoach.”

  As Fredericks set about fetching the two tin cans filled with kerosene, Crane approached the stagecoach and opened the door. He closed his eyes as he stepped over the bodies of the dead men on the ground, sighing with disgust as he climbed into the stagecoach and began searching it from top-to-bottom.

  “Anything?” Fredericks called out.

  Crane did one final search before shaking his head. “No, nothing.” He prepared to move out of the stagecoach—and then something caught his eye under the cushions. Slipping his hand in between them, Crane felt a small stack of papers graze his fingertips. He grabbed them, pulling out the stack of papers and discovering that they were letters.

  “What is it?” Fredericks asked.

  Crane said nothing as he sifted through the letters, and his eyes went wide once he saw his own name signed at the bottom of each and every one of them.

  “Well, I’ll be …”

  Fredericks approached with the kerosene cans. “What is it?”

  A frantic sensation settling over him, Crane moved to the body of the driver resting near the wheels and turned him over. He patted the body down, looking through his pants and jacket pockets before finding the passenger manifest folded up inside of the left jacket pocket. He pulled it out, skimming the names on the list before finding the name of his future bride written at the bottom in cursive:

  SARAH MARIE HARRIS

  DESTINATION: CLARENDON, TEXAS

  Below her name, Crane found another name also written in cursive:

  DAVID WILLIAM BRYANT

  DESTINATION: CLARENDON, TEXAS

  That man is
with her, Crane thought. No doubt about it. And maybe he’s the one who took the weapons off the driver.

  Folding the manifest up and placing it on top of the letters, Crane looked at Fredericks and said, “Burn it all, quickly. We have more ground to cover.”

  Fredericks thought for a moment. “How come?”

  Crane looked ahead at the main road that led to the town of Clarendon, cutting through Arkansas and Oklahoma not far away. “We’ve got a pair of passengers to track down. One of them is the woman I believe I’m set to be married to.”

  Frederick’s eyes widened. “No kiddin’?”

  “No, I am not. And we better hope that she’s dead, if I’m being honest, though I don’t wish it to be that way.” He rolled his eyes. “I’ll have to put down more money to order another wife.”

  “Why do you hope she’s not alive?”

  Crane stared at Frederick’s as if he’d said the most foolish thing Crane had ever heard. “Because, you imbecilic ingrate,” he said, “she’s seen Tucker’s face. If she’s alive, if she does get to Clarendon and report this to the Sheriff before we find her, she can identify him. If Tucker gets backed into a corner, he’ll take me down with him. He’ll rat on us all, you included.”

  Frederick’s face turned a shade of green. “Oh, no,” he said solemnly. “You’ve got to be kidding me. That damned Tucker. What is wrong with that head of his?”

  “He’s crazy. Nothing more to it than that. Either way, we gotta find them as soon as we bury the bodies. This woman might be travelling with a male companion. If he’s competent, he might be able to get them to the next town in one piece.”

  “Okay,” Fredericks said. “And if she is alive?”

  Crane paused for a moment. “Then we better hope she doesn’t identify Tucker,” he said. “Otherwise—I’ll have to take care of her myself.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “David!” Sarah screamed out, panicked as the sun was in the final stages of setting in the distance and the chill of the incoming night started to settle in. She wasn’t sure what she had just seen—but the guttural noise it made as a pair of eyes flashed in the darkness let her know it was a wild beast that was capable of harm.

  David shot up from the fire, grabbing his rifle, finger instantly on the trigger as Sarah ran to his side. “What is it?” he asked.

  Sarah, feeling both fear and embarrassment, since she initially set off to attend to private affairs, pointed in the direction she had seen the wild animal. “Over there,” she said. “I saw something coming toward me, some kind of animal.”

  Sarah stood behind David as he approached the area she had fled from, hearing a guttural growl from a nearby pair of bushes. She grabbed his arm, hiding behind him as he walked toward the animal with careful footing.

  “Stand back,” David said softly. “Let me see what it is…”

  Sarah stood aside as he nestled the butt of the rifle into his shoulder. She saw the same type of militaristic stride she had seen in other veterans, and even though she was nervous—her fear was soothed slightly as he prepared to take care of the intruder.

  “What is it?” she asked timidly, as David crouched down on one knee as he took aim.

  Two seconds passed. Three.

  And then David began to laugh.

  “What is it?” Sarah insisted as she bit her thumb.

  He cast a look over his shoulder. “It’s a boar,” he said. “Vile little critter.”

  “Can you shoo it off?”

  He shrugged. “I can do one better,” he said. “How hungry are you?”

  Sarah couldn’t deny the rumbling in her stomach, and a few seconds after she nodded, David raised the rifle, took aim, and slowly applied pressure to the trigger.

  ***

  The sizzling meat from the slaughtered boar created an aroma that made Sarah’s stomach rumble hungrily. It took some time for David to clean the animal of all of its bones and vital organs before disposing of them, but once he had, Sarah watched in anticipation as David cooked the meat over the fire, not vexed in the slightest that her dress was now sporting the combined aroma of meat and smoke from the fire.

  Thank heavens, she thought. I am more than ready for a proper meal.

  “Have you ever had boar before?” David asked as he turned over the meat as a delightful hiss from the fire emitted into the air.

  Sarah shook her head. “No, I have not,” she said. “I’m afraid I’ve only had chicken and beef.”

  “It’ll be pretty smoky,” David said, “but it is a rather delicious meal. I’ve had it a few times in my life. We’ll have to eat with our hands. I hope that’s alright.”

  Sarah nodded. She would have never guessed in the days that preceded her journey with David that she would be partaking in eating wild boar over a campfire with her bare hands, but the adventure she was on was slowly turning her from a more domesticated individual to that of a weary road traveler who didn’t mind greasy fingers and the smoky smell of a fire. After a few more minutes, David wiped his hands, and said, “It’s ready.”

  The two travelers consumed the boar meat voraciously as they sat comfortably by the fire. Sarah chewed on the meat and exhaled a breath laced with enthusiasm as she ate the boar meat, looking up at the night sky and trying to tally the countless number of stars painted across the black of the night sky, vast, mesmerizing, and complimented by the hoot of an owl somewhere off in the distance.

  “It’s quite delicious,” Sarah said. “You weren’t kidding.”

  David nodded. “I told you. There are plenty of fine delicacies to find in the desert.”

  Sarah recalled all the meals she had with her father in the past, more specifically the four-star meal they once had in Denver when her father took her on the road with him when he served as a guest lecturer at a university. Yes, she thought, what a fine meal that was. Sea bass glazed with a honey-based sherry sauce, sweet rolls, and a crème-based dessert.

  She recalled how excellent the meal tasted, and without thinking, she asked David, “What’s the finest meal you ever had.”

  David tilted his head as he wiped the back of his mouth with his hand. “That’s a good question,” he said. “It would have to be my mother’s meatloaf.”

  “Really?” Sarah said. “It must be quite good. I only ever had it twice. I can’t say I was much of a fan of it.”

  “It is rather good,” David said with a smile. “It’s not your typical meatloaf, I guess you could say. She glazes it with brown sugar that gives it a kind of crisp texture outside.” He sighed. “Yes, my mother is quite the cook. She taught me all I know about how to season a meal.”

  Thoughts of Sarah’s own mother began to fill her mind, thoughts of the memories that she never got to share, of meals they never partook together. “I wish I could have met my mother,” she said with a wistful tone.

  David, standing and moving to the brook, swallowed the last of his meal and ran his fingers through the waters to clean them. “What was her name?” he asked. “You don’t have to talk about her if you don’t want to, of course.”

  Sarah shook her head. “No, it’s quite alright,” she said. “Her name was Helen. She was a sweet-natured woman, from what I’ve been told. My father fancied her quite a lot.” She smiled. “I decided long ago to name my daughter Helen, should I ever have one.”

  “Well,” David said with a shrug as he stood up and shook the water off his hands, “perhaps you will, after you marry that deputy you’ve been corresponding with.”

  It occurred to Sarah that it had been some time since she thought of Michael Crane. In fact, she had almost forgotten for a spell that she was to be wed to him. I don’t wish to think of it now, she thought. I’m … starting to fall skeptical of the whole thing.

  “Yes,” Sarah agreed, “perhaps I will.”

  David cocked his head slightly, a curious look in his eye. “You sound … unsure of the prospect.”

  Sarah smiled. “Again—very good word usage, David.” She stood
up, moving toward the brook to follow David’s lead of rinsing the remnants of her meal from her hands. “And you’re not wrong. I’m just … well, nervous, I suppose.”

  “I would be, too,” David shared. “I’ve never understood the whole ‘mail-order bride’ scenario, to be honest. I hope that doesn’t offend you.”

  “It doesn’t,” she said. “I think I feel the same.”