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

by Lydia Olson

  Sarah was shaking. She squeezed her hands together to try and stop it, but it was fruitless. Crane was terrifying her. The man in the letters, the sweet-natured man she thought she met through the marriage advertisements was non-existent. No, this scoundrel of a man was the only thing now in front of her.

  “You can’t do this,” she said. “I’ll—”

  “You’ll what?” Crane growled. “You’ll tell David? You’ll go and tell your little friend about what I plan on doing if you attempt to derail this for me?”

  Sarah swallowed the lump in her throat. “And what do you plan on doing?”

  Crane’s eyes narrowed as he sat forward more, only a few inches away from Sarah. “Oh, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. First, I’ll start by burning your friend’s ranch to the ground. Then, I’ll make it look like he was the one who arranged the stagecoach robbery. I’ll make up whatever story I have to just to make him look like the worst man on the planet. After that, I’ll hang him by the neck myself—and I’ll make you watch as I do so. After that, I’ll make sure every minute of our marriage, which will happen, will be nothing shy of a nightmare for you.”

  The images of the fallout played in ghastly detail in Sarah’s mind. “Please,” she whispered. “Please, don’t do this.”

  “Then the solution is simple,” he said. “You go outside, call things off with your friend, and then you’ll do as I say, when I say it, for the rest of your days on this earth.”

  Sarah was at a loss of words. She had never expected things to go south so horribly. What can I do? I can’t argue with this man—he is the law! He can do anything he says he can do. There’ll be no stopping him!

  “Excuse me,” Crane said, cupping his hand up to his ear. “I don’t hear a reply coming out of your mouth.”

  Tears rolled down Sarah’s face as her world came to an end in pieces all around her. She felt just like she did back when her father perished, and she found herself silently praying for God to make it all go away.

  “I beg you,” she said, “please—”

  Crane waved his hand dismissively through the air. “Begging won’t do you any good. The only option you have is to say yes to my proposal. Otherwise, I’ll just march over to that saloon, shoot David Bryant, and then make it look like it was an accident. Now, for the last time, for sake of my patience and your health—say yes to my proposal.”

  This can’t be happening. Sarah held her head in her hands. This is all a dream, nothing more than a bad dream. She felt the vision she had of marriage to David slipping away, along with all the potential happiness she believed she was on the cusp of having at last.

  “Sarah,” Crane said gravely, “say it. I won’t ask you again.”

  She knew there were no options left. There was no fighting it. There was no denying it. She was going to be wed to Michael Crane. It was the only way she was going to save David, the only way she was going to save herself. So, dabbing at the tears with the back of her hand, she lifted her head, and said in a tone just shy of a whisper, “Yes.”

  Crane clapped his hands together. “Good!” he said cheerfully. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He stood. “Now, you go on and head over to saloon and break things off with that man. But you will not tell him anything about what we discussed here. Lie to him. Say whatever you need to. After that, you’ll come back here, and I’ll escort you home to get settled. And, remember without a shred of a doubt, you will never see David Bryant again. Is all of this understood?”

  Sarah nodded, avoiding eye contact with Crane. There was nothing else she could do. She was now his unwilling slave, with the title of Michael Crane’s “wife.”

  Chapter Thirty

  David hadn’t touched the cold beer that sat in front of him. He simply waited for Sarah to return, curious as to how her conversation with Michael Crane fared.

  Will she tell him? he thought. If she does—what will be his response? Also, is he the corrupt lawman that we were told about?

  David sighed as he pulled his glass toward him. There was only one other patron in the room in addition to the bartender wiping down the counter in front of him. Sure, Michael Crane had told him to put the drink on his tab—but it simply didn’t feel right to David. He was hoping that whatever was transpiring with Crane would go smoothly, and he felt like seconds lasted minutes as he took an occasional glance at the clock in the corner of the saloon.

  “Doing okay there, friend?” the bartender asked.

  David looked up. The bartender had been a pleasant individual when he entered, his blue eyes looking over his bifocals. Wispy hair sat on top of his balding head.

  “Yes, I’m alright,” David said. “I’ve had a long few days, so I’m bushed.”

  The bartender shrugged. “Most folks that come in here feel that way. Some are just prone to complaining.” He gestured at David with his hand clutching the rag as he continued to wipe the counter. “But you? Yes, I can tell you’ve had quite a journey. I can see it in your eyes.” He patted the counter. “That first drink is on me. Go ahead. Have a swig. It’ll settle your nerves for the time being.”

  David raised his glass in a toast. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “And your name is?”

  “Carl,” the bartender said. “Carl Hitchens. A pleasure.”

  “David Bryant. Great to know you, Carl.”

  “Just holler if you need anything, you hear?”

  David nodded as he took a sip of his beer. He sat back on his stool, looking at the swinging doors leading into the saloon, hoping that Sarah would walk in at any moment. Though he was nervous, he hoped for the best, and decided to dwell on pleasant thoughts as opposed to worrisome what-ifs.

  We’ll be married, he thought. We’ll live on the ranch. We could even get married there. It will all be so—

  The doors to the saloon opened—Sarah stood in the doorway. All of David’s gibbering thoughts immediately ceased as he saw her standing there, and he smiled when she levelled her focus on him.

  “Hey, there,” David said. “Glad you’re back.”

  Sarah approached him with a slow, timid expression. Her focus shifted to the floor, and David could sense that whatever conversation took place between her and Michael Crane did not fare well.

  “David,” she said disconsolately.

  He turned to fully face her. “You look upset,” he said. “What happened?”

  She kept her focus on the floor. She said nothing for what felt like the longest time.

  David reached out and took her by the hand. “Sarah, please—what’s wrong?” His heart raced. He feared whatever words were about to come out of her mouth.

  “I can’t, David,” she said before holding her breath.

  David furrowed his brow. “You can’t what?”

  “I … can’t …”

  “Sarah,” David said with a sigh, “I don’t understand. Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

  It took Sarah a moment to look up at David, with tears pooling in her eyes. “We can’t see each other anymore,” she said, each word the equivalent of razor blades hurtling toward him.

  David didn’t know what to say. He felt completely at a loss as the words fell on him like anvils. It felt like he was being crushed, the very wind in his lungs punched out of him. This can’t be, he thought. Please say that this is just some kind of ghastly joke.

  “Are you …” David began, “… are you serious?”

  Sarah nodded. “We can’t see each other anymore,” she repeated in a monotone. “I’m to be wed to Michael. I have to fulfill my obligation.”

  David shook his head. She’s being coerced. This doesn’t sound like the Sarah that I know. “Sarah, please. You don’t mean what you are saying.”

  “I do. This is how it must be, David.”

  “No!” David said defiantly. “I would believe you and abide by what you say if I knew it was the truth—but that is not the case. I can hear it in your tone. I can see it in your expression. What did that man tell you? What did he force y
ou to do?”

  “Please, David!” she pleaded. “Don’t make this any more difficult than it needs to be. We need to go our separate ways.”

  “But we confessed our love for each other. We said that we—”

  “It was a mistake. Nothing more.”

  David kept shaking his head, hoping that he would awaken from what was nothing more than a nightmare. “No, this is not right.”

  “I’ve said what I needed to say,” Sarah said. “There’s nothing more that needs to be discussed. I appreciate all you’ve done for me—but I need to leave. Please, do not contact me. Do not make this any more difficult than it already is.”

  With that, Sarah spun around and fled the saloon. Dazed, David watched her disappear and felt like he were tumbling down a cliffside. It all felt so surreal, so out of the blue, so wrong, and coming from a place of dishonesty and untruth.

  Take it back, God, he thought. This is not right. This is not how it’s supposed to be. Please—take it all back.

  But Sarah never returned, and David was left all by himself in the bar. As he kept his focus on the door, waiting in vain for her to return, Carl the bartender set down a glass of whiskey after overhearing the whole ordeal. He made sure to place it on Crane’s tab.

  ***

  “David,” the voice said, distant—miles away. “David, did you hear me? David!”

  David blinked himself out of his trance. He looked around Russell Twombly’s legal office and remembered where he was and why he was there. He sat up in the cushioned leather chair across from Twombly’s desk, clearing his throat before saying, “I’m sorry Mister Twombly. Please—continue.”

  The lawyer was a well-kempt man with slicked-back hair and an expensive-looking suit. A pile of papers was in front of him, including the deed to Uncle Fletcher’s property. “As I was saying,” he continued on, “you managed to get here just in time. Your uncle’s land was set to revert back to the state tomorrow. It would have gone up for auction, and I’m pretty certain a wealthy individual in Clarendon was planning to raze it.”

  David was still thinking about Sarah, still reeling from what she had said. His uncle’s attorney’s words had, for the most part, fallen on deaf ears in the past fifteen minutes they had been talking. All he wanted to do was see Sarah. All he wanted to do was hold her close—but he couldn’t.

  “I’m glad I got here in time,” David said, forcing enthusiasm. “And thank you for taking care of the matter so quickly.”

  “Well,” Twombly said as he arranged the papers on his desk, “the entire matter will be settled once you sign a few places on these documents.” He pushed a few of the papers toward David. “Here,” he grabbed a pen, “you can use this.”

  David glanced at the deed and the other papers that would show he had taken possession of his uncle’s ranch. Several areas were marked with an “X” for him to sign his name. He should have been thrilled. He should have been inclined to write his parents the moment the ranch became his. But he wasn’t thrilled. He wasn’t inclined. He was saddened and dismayed—nothing more or less.

  David signed on the lines marked with an X next to them. He did it quickly, and as soon as he handed back the papers to the lawyer, Twombly said, “And it’s done. Congratulations, Mister Bryant.” He extended his hand. “You are now the official owner of your uncle’s property.”

  “Thank you.” David slowly rose from his chair. “Let me know if there’s anything else.”

  “Everything on the property is as it was left. I also thought you might be curious where your uncle was buried. He’s in plot twelve in the local cemetery. I’m sorry that you could not attend the funeral. Rest assured—many were there in attendance.”

  David said nothing. He simply held up the papers for his uncle’s ranch and turned to leave—and then a thought occurred to him.

  “I’m curious,” he said. “You’re the lawyer in this town.”

  Twombly smiled. “Uh, yes, I’d like to think so.”

  “I’m sorry,” David said, “I mean, you probably have seen your fair share of clients in a town this small. I imagine you practice more than property law.”

  “You’re not wrong. I have quite a few clients. I’m, well, the only other lawyer in this town. In fact, by default, I’m pretty much your lawyer now, as well.”

  “Then I’m curious,” David said carefully, “about how much you know about the misdeeds in this town?”

  Twombly looked at him quizzically, showing a half-smile. “Misdeeds?”

  “Yes. I speak of things along the lines of, well, men like Tucker Willis.”

  Twombly closed his eyes briefly. “Yes,” he said with a disappointed frown. As a matter of fact, I do. Why do you ask?”

  David shrugged. “I heard quite a few things about him on my way to Clarendon.”

  “I’m sure you have. He’s quite notorious.”

  “Well, rumor is he’s been killed.”

  A look of shock came into Twombly’s expression. “Really?”

  “Yes,” David said, “Deputy Crane told me. I was also told by several people during my travels that Tucker had some kind of connection to the law in Clarendon. Does that make any sense to you? Did you ever hear of anything like this?”

  The lawyer steepled his fingers and turned back to his desk. “I’m sure you know about client-attorney privilege, Mister Bryant.”

  David offered a nod. “I do.”

  “Then you know that I cannot divulge details of conversations that took place in regard to your inquiry.”

  David took a tiny step forward, his lips upturned slightly. “You realize you just answered my question, don’t you?”

  The lawyer slowly turned his head and nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I do.”

  “Is Michael Crane corrupt?” David asked.

  The lawyer sat back. “Do you have to be so blunt about it?”

  “Something has happened to the woman I was with. She and I were set to be engaged, but after a brief conversation with Michael Crane, all of that changed. I had suspicions and heard that he was possibly corrupt, and now I’m starting to believe that is the case.”

  Twombly crooked a finger at David. “This is what you need to understand: Michael Crane is the law in Clarendon. That is all that matters. The man can do, say, and react to any situation however he sees fit, and if, indeed, he took your woman from you—he is going to get away with it. Clarendon is a good town, Mister Bryant. But there is a pecking order. I learned that right away when I moved here. So, please, heed my words and understand that life will be infinitely easier for you if you just let the man have what he wants. There is no point in telling me anything more.”

  “But I—”

  “I’m sorry, Mister Bryant,” Twombly said. “But you need to be smart. If this woman you speak of is someone you care for, if you value your health, then don’t interfere with Michael Crane’s plans. You’ll be better off for it.”

  David could see the fear in Twombly’s eyes. He could sense the resolve. The lawyer, his lawyer, was telling him the score of how things played out in Clarendon. It was in that moment that David Bryant realized that he would never get Sarah Harris back in his life, no matter how wrong it was or how hard he tried. Only two words came to mind when he realized that fact, bitter and rough to swallow as they were: It’s over.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Two months—that was how long Sarah had been living with Michael Crane. That was the length of time she had been behind closed doors. That was the jail sentence she was serving as his soon-to-be fiancée, and time itself felt like it had slowed to an interminable creep.

  Today was the day that Crane was going to propose. He had told her in advance that was his plan. In fact, he had outlined nearly every minute of every day for Sarah after taking her to his lofty residence in Clarendon. It was as if every moment had an itinerary she had to abide by, along with a set of rules she was instructed to follow to a T.

  Speak when spoken to.

  Don�
��t leave the house.

  Ask for permission to do anything.

  Always be on time; don’t ever be late.

  There was no contesting what Crane pressured Sarah to do. She simply had to do it. Her life, David’s life, were constantly at stake. It felt like that threat was always dangling over Sarah’s head, and it had affected her appetite and her energy as a result.

  The situation Sarah was in, on paper, should have brought her joy: she had every meal catered. She lived in a large mansion with enough rooms for a family of six. She was given the finest jewels and dresses almost every day. But none of it brought her joy. It was all a show, and the gifts that Crane bestowed upon her cost so much more than a small-town deputy could afford on a regular salary. There was no question they had been acquired through illicit means. But Sarah did as she was told. She followed Crane’s rules—and every day she thought of David Bryant, praying that he was okay and hoping that she would one day see him again, even from a distance.