Katy Madison - Bride by Mail

“Olivia,” he called, and then louder, “Olivia!”

Farther out was a pool of white. His chest tight, he ran down the slope. As he drew near he made out a petticoat and her lilac-colored jacket. What had happened? A disgruntled miner or a rogue brave could have stripped her of her clothes. Jack’s heart caught in his throat.

Horrible images flashed in his mind of her knocked out, gagged and bound.

Was she even now being abused in the worst possible way?

His boots thudded against the ground and his hands grew slippery on the rifle. Oh, God, was his wife being raped because he was more worried about his horses and supplies?

Chapter Three

Here is the photograph you requested. I am standing in front of the offices of The Rocky Mountain News by Cherry Creek. The natives say that it is unwise to build so close to the water, but their knowledge is often ignored. Tell me more about yourself. Would you be willing to travel far into the mountains?

Now he comes for me, thought Olivia with exasperation. The only way to make it up the hill was to loosen her corset and remove her hoops, which meant half undressing. She’d thrown off her jacket, then fought through the tall grass to a gray-and-green-speckled boulder for privacy. After struggling for several minutes, she finally got the back of the dress unbuttoned.

The lavender material puffed around her ankles as she tugged off her petticoats to access her corset strings.

“Olivia!” His voice was much nearer.

Bending down so he wouldn’t see her state of undress, she jerked at the strings. The ability to draw in full breaths was a blessed relief, but she barely got the strings retied and her dress pulled up before he was upon her.

Her husband would eventually be privy to her undressing, but she wasn’t prepared to share everything now.

“Olivia, where are you?”

Drat, the man was practically on top of her.

She rammed her arms into the sleeves and popped up. “I’m here. Go back—” A long black barrel pointed at her. She jerked, bolts of shock zinging through her body, making every fiber tense.

Frozen, she stared. Just beyond the stock his jaw pulsed. After an immeasurable pause his narrowed eyes relaxed. He lowered the gun. His gaze dropped to her petticoats draped over the rock and then rose back to her face.

Her cheeks burned as she held up the unfastened dress. “Could you give me a moment, please,” she said in a prim voice.

“Sorry.” He turned and walked back toward the path. He stopped with his back to her.

Why in heaven’s name had he drawn a gun on her? Shivering with a sudden cold that had nothing to do with the air temperature, Olivia slipped the buttons she could fasten into their holes. She snatched her extra petticoats off the rock, draped them and the excess material of her skirt over her arm and rejoined Jack.

He looped the metal bands of her crinoline around his shoulder. Her jacket was wadded beneath his arm. With the back of her dress half-undone, she needed the jacket to cover the gaping opening.

She hesitated. “Why would you point a gun at me?”

“I thought you might have been attacked,” he said. “Next time answer when I call.”

His tone was matter-of-fact, but she felt scolded all the same. She nodded. Men didn’t carry around guns back in Connecticut. She scanned the tall grass, wondering what vicious animal he’d suspected was lying in wait.

“Do you need me to carry you?” he asked.

“I can walk.”

He swiveled toward her. He looked at her as if she’d told him she could fly or some other absurdity.

“I like walking. I walk all the time. I just wasn’t dressed for walking.” Olivia ducked her chin.

“I didn’t realize walking required special attire,” said Jack slowly. He pulled at the collar of his shirt. The garment she’d labored over didn’t suit him.

“This is a carriage dress. It is for sitting and riding in a carr...” Well, a wagon hardly qualified as high transport. “For riding or visiting, not for scaling mountains.” Not for having a gun pointed at her.

His brown gaze slid down her dress.

Her heart did a little jig.

“Do you have dresses for mountain scaling?” he asked.

Good gravy, was her husband an imbecile? Was all that brawny masculinity just a shell around nothing? “No.”

“Mmm.” The corners of his eyes crinkled as if he were about to smile.

Was that all he could say? Or had he been trying not to laugh at her? She was tired of traveling and being stared at as if she were an oddity. Her palm up, Olivia gestured for him to lead.

Jack gave a tiny shake of his head as if rousing himself from a stupor. “I should have told you to change.”

Olivia huffed, a feat she wouldn’t have been able to manage before loosening her corset laces.

“But you looked so pretty in your carriage dress.” He mimicked her gesture as if he expected her to go first, and then looked over his shoulder at the rays that haloed up from the out-of-sight sun.

His compliment was so embedded in criticism, she didn’t feel obliged to acknowledge it. Why call her pretty, then look away? If he thought her pretty he would look at her more often. He was probably just trying to soothe her ruffled feathers. Perhaps he didn’t want a sulky bride on his wedding night.

A cold wash traveled down her spine. Olivia shivered all over.

“We have a lot to do before night falls,” Jack said.

“I’ll be right behind you.”

His forehead furrowed. “You’re not a squaw.”

She had no idea what he meant by that. She stared at his broad shoulders as he transferred his gun to his left hand and reached to put his hand at her back.

She twisted away, not wanting him to discover the open back of her dress.

“You don’t have to walk behind me,” he said.

“I’d rather.”

He shook his head. “Stay with me or I will carry you.” Then he took off up the incline at a fast clip. She trotted to keep pace. He left the road and Olivia waded through the tall grass. Her thin heels sank into the soft ground.

He tossed her clothing into the wagon, peeled back the hides and then pulled out the peeping box. “Watch the chicks while they forage. Don’t let them get away. I’ll see if a stream is in those trees.” He scooped out the half-feathered chicks and set them on the ground. “The fire pit is over there.” He pointed to a patch of bare dirt. “Gather up kindling, too.”

She retrieved her matching jacket and put it on. She couldn’t button it, but at least her exposed laces were hidden.

Jack walked toward the stand of trees in the distance. “I’ll hear you if you shout.”

Why would she need to shout for him?

“If you see a bear, or the horses start acting odd, yell.” With that he strode off.

The hairs on the back of her neck lifted. Were there bears around? Had Jack had the gun ready because he feared a bear had attacked her?

* * *

Bears weren’t what concerned Jack. But warning Olivia that she should be wary of all beasts, four legged or two, had seemed unkind. Blood rushed in his ears. He’d been so sure when he saw her jacket near the road and her petticoats on the rock that he’d find her on the ground being violated by one of the low men who’d come West in search of easy money.

Jack had been ready to kill any man who dared touch her. And it angered him that she attracted attention and couldn’t fend it off.

The horses needed watering and the camp needed setting up. He slowed his breathing, attuning to what was around him.

The breeze shimmied through aspen leaves and pine trees darkened the woods. He slung his rifle strap over his back and walked into the shade. The tinkle of running water floated through the air. He’d been so focused on Olivia that he’d neglected to bring a bucket.