Sherri Shackelford - His Substitute Mail-Order Bride

The mayor muttered something she couldn’t quite discern before saying, “That wallop saved the day. Gave Daniel and me time to get in place.”

Anna pivoted toward the creek. Russ’s suggestion of a little refreshing water splashed on her face was the perfect excuse for a delay. If she appeared now, they’d know she’d been listening, albeit unintentionally.

She located a large, flat rock and knelt on the hard surface. After tugging off her gloves, she dipped her hands in the cool water.

Footsteps sounded, and she glanced up. Canteen in hand, Russ made his way down the embankment once more. Her stomach dipped, and she whipped around. Everything had seemed so simple back in Philadelphia. Given the unexpected turn of events, her justifications for taking Susannah’s ticket were rapidly evaporating. She’d painted Russ a villain, but he wasn’t living down to her expectations.

“Here.” Russ extended the canteen. “Water will help.”

Though her life might have turned out drastically different had Russ married her sister, she couldn’t use the past as an excuse to defend her current questionable behavior.

Anna offered a weak smile. “Thank you.”

He dipped his handkerchief in the clear water and knelt beside her. “You’ve got some, um, dirt on your face.”

Her hands trembling, she accepted the cloth and wiped her cheek.

“Your arm.” His eyes widened. “You’ve been cut. You’re bleeding.”

“It’s nothing.”

He took her hand and gently turned her arm until her palm was facing up. The scratch was several inches long, though not deep, and the bleeding had slowed. With everything else happening, the sting barely rose above the rest of her aches and pains.

“We’d best wrap this,” he said.

Confused by his actions, Anna remained passive as he carefully wound the handkerchief around the gash. Why was he being kind?

Her carefully practiced speech hinged on diffusing his anger. First, she’d planned on appealing to their past connection. If that didn’t work, she’d appeal to his conscience and hope the man her sister had initially fallen in love with was still present in the man who’d eventually jilted her.

What Anna hadn’t expected was Russ’s immediate compassion, and she didn’t know what to make of him. Trust did not come effortlessly these days.

She caught his eyes, and her breath hitched. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I insist.” He knotted the length of material and leaned back. “Can you stand?”

Perhaps he was merely acting this way because the mayor was near. Her late husband had been adept at playing different roles based on the company he kept. Only when they were alone did he show his true character.

“Yes,” she said. “I’m fine now.”

She pushed off and stood, then wobbled.

“Let me help you, Anna.”

She instinctively backed away, and he followed.

“I can manage.”

“Please. I can’t have you tumbling into the creek.” He softened his words with an engaging smile. “I’ll ruin my new shoes wading in after you.”

“All right,” she reluctantly conceded.

Let him put on a show for the mayor. She needed his help, and distancing herself served no purpose. She’d made it as far as Kansas alone, but her meager funds were swiftly depleting. Finding work wasn’t easy for a woman, and she desperately needed a job.

She allowed Russ to take her elbow as they ascended the hill but stepped away immediately once they reached the top. A tarp covered a body on the side of the road, and the scene bustled with people and activity. A man wearing a tin star pinned to his barrel chest glanced at her and quickly looked away, a blush staining his ruddy cheeks. Anna frowned and glanced behind her. She wasn’t the sort of person who turned heads. Another man tipped his hat her way.

Russ placed his hand on the small of her back in a proprietary gesture. “I’m afraid you’ll have to get used to the attention. The arrival of the bride train is always cause for hope.”

“They’re interested in courting me?” She scoffed. Times must be truly desperate in Cowboy Creek if the men were casting glances her way. “How should I correct the assumption?”

Russ frowned. “If you didn’t want to become a bride, why take Susannah’s ticket? Cowboy Creek isn’t the usual place for widows to relocate.”

“It’s a long story.”

“Give it time, then. Will and I will do our best to staunch any speculation.”

His authority and importance were evident in the deference the men paid to him. She’d known Russ held a notable position in Cowboy Creek, but she’d thought Susanna had exaggerated his reputation.

In the center of the street, Mr. Ward’s mule stood placidly, still hitched to the wagon. To Anna’s amazement, the animal was unharmed despite the volley of bullets.

She crossed the distance and shook her head. “Poor Mr. Ward. They’ve broken all his eggs.”

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Linford,” the mayor said from where he knelt beside the wagon. “I’ll see that he’s reimbursed. If any of your clothing has suffered, the town will reimburse you for the expense, as well. You were traveling under our care, after all.”

“That’s very kind of you,” she said, knowing she’d never take him up on the offer.

She wasn’t traveling under anyone’s care—not really. Though she fully intended to repay Russ for the cost of the ticket, she mustn’t accrue any more debt in the process. Her clothing would survive. She’d sold most of her best dresses anyway. The frills and fripperies required for Philadelphia society weren’t appropriate for her new life.

She bypassed the hastily arranged pile of clothing from her carpetbag in favor of the scattered burlap sacks. The damage was even worse than she recalled, and a wave of exhaustion crashed over her.

Unwanted emotion forced its way past her defenses, and she pressed a fist over her mouth, stifling a sob. Of all the things the outlaws could have vandalized, why had they destroyed her collection?

“What’s all this?” Russ asked.

He and Will exchanged a glance. They must think her odd, crying over a bunch of sacks.

“Seeds,” she said, her voice hoarse with unshed tears. “I know it seems stupid, but I’ve been collecting them for years. Some of these varieties don’t exist anymore except in those bags.”

She’d always enjoyed gardening, and she’d become obsessive with her hobby during the years of her marriage. There was something infinitely satisfying about nurturing a flourishing plant from a tiny seedling. In nature, there was no prevarication. Water and sunlight created a thriving sprout. Neglect led to death.

When her world was falling apart around her, there was order in the beauty of her garden. Flowers bloomed, and the plants bore fruit. Even after a harsh winter, delicate hyacinth, beautiful harbingers of spring, pushed through the soil and snow. There was always new life in nature. There was always a fresh start.

Will rubbed his chin. “Can you sift the dirt and sort the seeds?”

“I suppose.” She stifled a sigh. The process would take ages. Time she didn’t have.

In order to survive, she must find work immediately. A tide of despair threatened to overwhelm her, and she wrestled with her emotions. What was wrong with her? She’d always considered herself a sturdy, practical person. Lately, everything seemed overwhelming and impossible. Perhaps if she shook off this lingering illness and managed a little rest, she’d be more resilient.

Russ knelt and grasped her torn carpetbag. “Why don’t we gather everything together, and I’ll help you sort them later? The task won’t seem as daunting when you’re rested.”

“Thank you.” She gazed at him, perplexed by the suggestion. “But why would you do that?”