Sherri Shackelford - His Substitute Mail-Order Bride

“I’ve got two men hiding near the creek,” he said. “Stay out of the crossfire.”

A thunderous volley echoed over them. Russ fired several shots at the overturned cattle cars. Her ears rang, and the pungent scent of gunpowder filled the air. The frightened mule lunged, jerking the wagon. Anna dove forward and grasped the trailing reins. Bracing her heels in the dirt, she leaned back, tugging with all her might. As the mule brayed and bucked, the leather dug painfully into her palms.

Russ reached to help, and she shook him off. “I’ve got this. You keep shooting.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s over.”

The chaotic scene went eerily quiet. The mule stilled. Anna dropped the reins, collapsing against the buckboard. For a long moment, the ominous silence was broken only by the steady tick-tick-tick of the watch in Russ’s pocket and the harsh sound of her labored breathing.

He turned and cupped her cheek. “Are you all right?”

“I’m f-fine. What about the driver?”

“He’s safe, don’t worry.”

For the past five years, hatred for this man had been her constant companion. He’d broken her sister’s heart, he’d torn apart their family, and he’d set in motion a chain of events that had ended in disaster. Yet his striking hazel eyes held nothing but concern.

Where was the villain she’d clung to all these years?

An earsplitting whistle sounded, startling her.

Russ heaved a sigh. “You’re safe, Miss Darby.”

“It’s Mrs. Linford now,” she corrected automatically.

“Is your husband traveling separately?”

“I’m widowed.”

That one innocuous word did little to encompass her current situation. Her late husband had been murdered in broad daylight by an unknown assailant. Shot dead on the walkway outside his office building. The police had assumed the brazen killing was a crime of passion. Rather than having too few suspects, they had too many. Her late husband’s philandering was well known around the city. The extensive list of scorned women had produced plenty of enticing leads, but no conclusive evidence.

Following an unflattering story on the front page of the morning post, she’d been outright shunned by the people she’d once considered close friends. The newspaper had gone into great detail about her husband’s numerous infidelities. Though she’d been cleared of any wrongdoing by the lead detective, vicious rumors had forced her from town.

Everyone who mattered was convinced she’d murdered her husband.

* * *

His head throbbing, Russ stood. “We obviously have a lot to catch up on, but now isn’t the time. Can you stand?”

“Yes. I’m fine. Just a bit shaken.” Anna pulled an embroidered handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at his forehead. “But you’re bleeding.”

Russ touched the spot. Their fingers brushed, and she quickly pulled away.

He raked a hand through his hair. She was as skittish as a newborn foal, and his appearance probably wasn’t calming her nerves any. He retrieved his plain handkerchief and wiped away the rest of the blood as best he could, his fingers brushing the growing lump.

Satisfied he was somewhat respectable once more, he held out his hand, and Anna clasped his fingers. She leaned heavily on his aid with a mumbled apology. Once she’d steadied herself, he placed a firm hand on the small of her back.

She eyed him warily, and something shifted in his chest. Perhaps it was their previous acquaintance, or perhaps it was her slight frame, but he felt unaccountably protective toward her.

When he’d last seen Anna, she’d been a round-faced cherub on the edge of womanhood. There’d been a sparkle of mischief in her green eyes and a ready smile hovering on her impish lips. The woman before him was a shadow of that memory. Anna was thin, painfully so. Her cheeks were sunken, and the bones of her wrist pronounced.

Despite her gaunt frame, there was a beauty and elegance about her that hadn’t been there before. She’d lost her bonnet in the melee, and her hair was a shimmering waterfall of golden brown. Her emerald traveling suit highlighted the lustrous strands and brought out the green patina of her eyes. She was delicate and composed, though he sensed a sadness that hadn’t been there before.

Hoofbeats sounded in the distance, and Russ turned toward the sound. The approaching rider sat tall in the saddle, an air of authority about him, as though he was accustomed to giving orders.

Anna started.

“Don’t worry, he’s with me,” Russ said, halting her retreat. “That’s Will Canfield, the current mayor of Cowboy Creek. Tell me, Mrs. Linford, did you happen to board the train in Philadelphia?”

Her gaze skittered away. “I did.”

“Then perhaps you met Susannah Lowe.” He was a cad interrogating Anna following her ordeal, but he’d been filled with worry since the arrival of the bride train. No one seemed to know anything about his intended. “Susannah should have boarded the train in Philadelphia, as well. I spoke with the other brides, but no one recognized the name. I know you’ve had a shock, but I was hoping you could help. Did you see her at the train station?”

Without meeting his eyes, Anna fished an envelope from her pocket and extended her hand. His name was scrawled over the front in Susannah’s now-familiar handwriting.

“She isn’t coming,” Anna said.

“Is she all right?” Shock and confusion burned through him. “Did something happen?”

“She’s met someone.”

Russ staggered back a step. He and Susannah had only corresponded, but they’d both agreed they’d suit. Nothing in her letters had given him any indication that she’d had second thoughts about becoming his mail-order bride.

“I don’t think she meant to fall in love,” Anna continued, her hands clasped. “She was quite remorseful about misleading you.”

“Misleading me?” he repeated.

Everything fell into place. Susannah’s letters had been long and rambling, and he’d taken to skimming the contents. They’d come to an agreement, after all, and they’d said all they needed to say to each other until they met in person. He’d made excuses instead of reading between the lines.

Anna gazed at him with pity in her emerald eyes. “You’re not angry, are you?”

“Odd, isn’t it?” The past came rushing back, and a strange sense of inevitability overcame him. “We’ve already played this scene before, haven’t we?”

“I’m so sorry.” A greenish pallor swept over Anna’s face, and she pressed her fingers against her lips. “I don’t feel well.”

Russ immediately recognized the urgent nature of the problem. He stuffed the envelope into his pocket and scooped her into his arms.

She gasped and wrapped her arms around his neck. “What are you doing?”

“I’ll take you to the stream.” His questions about Susannah could wait given Anna’s current condition. “You’ll feel better after splashing some cool water on your face.”

Her cheeks flamed, and she pressed her face against his shoulder. She was slight and delicate in his arms, and his pulse quickened. Recalling the outlaw’s gun pressed against her temple, his gut clenched. He maneuvered down the embankment in three long strides and gently set her on the soft grass near the stream.

She waved him away. “Please go.”

He hesitated, his hand hovering near her shoulder.

“Please,” she whispered.

She was visibly embarrassed, though she needn’t be. He’d seen far worse. “Call if you need assistance. I’ll be near.”

He moved a distance away, lingering on the edge of the steep embankment. This was not at all how he’d expected to spend his day. He thought he’d be introducing Susannah to his mother and brother soon. Instead, he’d be explaining her absence. Having gone through this once before when he was jilted by Anna’s sister, Charlotte, he dreaded the coming days. The compassion of friends and family only seemed to worsen the humiliation.