Grace Goodwin - Their Conquered Bride

Perhaps one of these men was Mr. Jenkins himself?

Surely not. It couldn’t be possible, could it? At our last stop, I’d sent a message ahead to Mr. Jenkins telling him we would arrive in three days’ time. I felt a small twinge of guilt for lying to my betrothed, as it had been only two since I sent the message. Mr. Jenkins was not expecting us today, and I was eager to hurry along, to have Judith and Rebekah safely settled in our hotel room, hidden from sight, until after the wedding was over. With only a few stagecoach runs to Hayes, worry took root in my chest. What if he were as anxious as I? What if he came a day early to look for me?

Taking a deep breath, I relaxed my tense shoulders. No. Fate would not be so cruel to me, not after she had taken me this far. I could believe nothing else.

That meant that none of the handsome men before us were Mr. Jenkins. As confirmation of that, none of the men, while they enjoyed looking at the three of us, stepped forward to claim me. I had been sure to send Mr. Jenkins a recent photograph, so he had my likeness, but none of these men had two small sons in tow either. Disappointment was bitter on my tongue as I pasted a smile onto my lips and lifted my chin high. Mr. Jenkins would be wonderful. He simply must be. I was sure of it.

The driver dropped our bags at our feet with the disinterest of a man who had ten more miles to ride before bed. I afforded him a small smile of thanks, then picked up the bag that held my meager belongings. The summer day was warm, but a slight breeze reminded me that fall was on the way. I was thankful for my thin coat, but knew we would need my husband to purchase heavier winter things for us before the ice and snow took hold.

“Let’s find our hotel,” I said to my sisters, offering them a small smile.

The cruelty of our uncle may have pushed me to agree to marry a man and be mother to his children through a newspaper advertisement as a means of escape, but I wanted to at least freshen myself and have a good night’s sleep before I faced my future. Tomorrow, I would be strong again. Tomorrow, I would meet my new family for the first time and allow myself to fall in love with my new sons. Tonight, I would close my eyes, put my feet up and enjoy my last day of freedom.

I urged my sisters to walk ahead of me onto the boardwalk, passing them as we carried our bags to the hotel. The two men I’d noticed earlier turned their heads and continued to look at me as I went by, tipping their hats. I told myself not to look. I swear I did. But it was like they possessed a secret power over my body and my eyes refused to listen to my head. I glanced at the closest man and a shiver raced down my spine at the intense interest I saw there. His friend, a few steps farther, drew my attention directly thereafter. His gaze was dark and thoughtful, but he looked at me as if he knew me, as if he knew my secrets and could see straight into my soul.

I held my breath as I passed in a vain attempt to avoid the spicy scent of their bodies. They smelled so much better than I’d expected. Sweat and dust and the odor of horses clung to the air, yet these men smelled of wild pine trees and earth.

“Miss,” the second man said, his voice rough and dark and deep.

Up close, I could see that the first had green eyes; the other’s were dark as coffee. I should have been wary or even fearful of their unswerving attention. Instead, I felt… hot all over. Lightheaded, as if I would faint. My heart was practically beating out of my chest and my nipples tightened beneath my corset. I pulled my thin wool coat closed around me, thankful it would hide that embarrassing fact, and forced my feet to carry me forward.

As I turned away from them and headed toward the hotel at the end of the block, I could feel them watching me, their gazes like fire tracing a mark on my back. Once in the hotel room, my sisters took over the bed to rest. I stripped out of my dusty clothes. Standing before the mirror, I saw my scrubbed complexion. No matter how much soap I used, how much I scrubbed, I would always feel dirty. Years and years of living with my uncle had reinforced that notion.

Tears of exhaustion filled my eyes as I washed my body. My nipples were hard and when I cleaned myself between my thighs I felt a hot ache there. I knew the throbbing fullness wasn’t caused by thinking of the man I was to marry, but of two rough and handsome cowboys, and a tear slid down my cheek.

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