by Natalie Dean
“Sure,” Simon finally said, looking down to confirm with Greta. “Hank, will you join us?”
Now Hank looked up, obviously shocked. “M-me? I don’t have a wife.”
Simon almost laughed, but held it in. “No one says you’ve got to have a wife if you’re going to eat dinner. Why don’t you all come over to my—our place.” He hoped Greta wouldn’t mind, but he wanted to extend the offer, and it was easier if they were hosting.
“I’ll see what I can do to make it.”
He nodded at them both and turned toward the town. “This,” he said, leaning down to whisper against Greta’s ear, “is Cypress Creek.”
Chapter 15
Greta snuggled more closely against Simon as they sat on his porch, the valley stretched out in front of them. His friends had left about an hour before, and rather than let her clean up and wash the dishes, Simon had pulled her out to the back porch and onto a comfy bench to watch the sun descend over their land.
It felt strange to think of it as theirs. She’d always lived under her father’s roof, and then she’d moved out West. There had been no time for her to consider what it would be like to share a life—a home—with someone. She was beginning to love it already though.
That night had been filled with laughter and amazing food. After Simon showed her around town, they had stopped at the general store and she’d gotten everything she needed to make the dinner that night. Simon had suggested she bake something German as well, and she’d picked a few items for German dishes that she had a feeling the Americans would like. She then made Simon strudel and was encouraged when he brought up her idea of a bakery. With him, it felt like anything was possible for the future.
When Simon brought her back to his cabin, she’d only been able to laugh though. It spoke bachelor loud and clear. It had taken her the rest of the day to make it presentable as well as fix the meal, but by the time that Andy and Louise and then Hank showed up, she felt it was presentable enough for a small party.
She’d had one question on her mind that she hadn’t been able to ask Simon earlier though. Now, leaning up to press a light kiss on his cheek, she drew his attention.
“Simon,” she said, “I have a question.”
“Yes, my love.” He pressed a kiss to her temple.
“Why did you invite Hank?” He shifted as if her question upset him, and she rushed to explain. “I am so glad you did. Please don’t think my question unkind. It just seemed as if, when you first asked him, he didn’t want to come.”
Simon kept his focus on the land in front of them, but she could see his mind was working. She waited, curious as to what his response would be.
“You see,” he finally said, still not looking at her, “before I left on that train ride to Dry Gulch with Tom and Boomer, I was very much in Hank’s situation.”
“What do you mean?” She didn’t know much about the man, but she did know that he was Simon and Andy’s boss, as well as Andy’s brother.
“I was alone, just like Hank is alone.” He finally looked down at her. “Andy is my best friend, but getting married changes things.” His hand caressed her shoulder blade in a slow circular motion. “It’s a good change, I see that now, but I promised myself I wouldn’t do what Andy unknowingly did to me”
“What was that?” she asked.
“Exclude me.” He kissed her, soft at first but then more passionately. She melted beneath his lips and felt breathless when he pulled back, cupping her face. “I love you, Greta. And I want to spend all of my time with you,” he grinned, “but I don’t want Hank to feel what I felt when Andy made that choice with Louise.”
She nodded. “I understand.” This time she leaned in and kissed him gently. “You are a good man, Simon Brown. You care for others, and you see things when others don’t. It doesn’t matter if it’s in a scary situation like with the train, or among your friends, or with a woman who happened to catch your eye on a train.”
He laughed and pulled her close. “My dear,” he whispered across her lips, “you are so beautiful, I could not help but see you.”
Greta accepted his kisses then, giving them back in turn. She loved this man with her whole being, and no matter what came ahead in their future, she knew that they would face it together, just like they had the danger of the train, and just like they would in their marriage.
Theirs was a beautiful beginning to a new story, one that promised a vibrant future in the town of Cypress Creek.
* * *
THE END
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Other books by Natalie Dean & Eveline Hart
NATALIE DEAN
MARRYING A MARSHAL SERIES
An Unexpected Treasure
The Dangers of Love
The Outlaw’s Daughter
LAWMEN’S BRIDES SERIES
The Ranger’s Wife
Benjamin’s Bride
Carson’s Christmas Bride (Coming in December 2018!)
BRIDES AND TWINS SERIES
A Soldier’s Love
Taming the Rancher
The Wrong Bride
A Surprise Love
The Last Sister’s Love
BRIDES & TWINS Box Set / Mail-Order Bride Compilation (My best-seller! It includes TWO MORE unreleased heartwarming mail-order bride series)
LOVE ON THE TRAILS SERIES
A Love Beyond Suspicion
Picture Perfect Love
Love of a Wild Rose
A Dangerous Time to Love
A Cold Winter’s Love
BOULDER BRIDES SERIES
The Teacher’s Bride
The Independent Bride
The Perfect Bride
The Indian’s Bride
The Civil War Bride
BOULDER BRIDES BOX SET
BRIDES OF BANNACK SERIES
Lottie
Cecilia
Sarah
* * *
Though I try to keep this list updated in each book, you may also visit my website EVELINEHART.COM for the most up to date information on my book list.
Sneak Peek, The Outlaw’s Daughter
Marrying a Marshal Book Three
Chapter 1
1886 Western District of Texas | Cypress Creek, Texas near the Guadalupe River
U.S. Marshal Hank Fulton strutted down the boardwalk of Cypress Creek. He’d been gone too long on his last assignment to rustle out a den of thieving cowboys, and it felt good to be back. He knew the quiet wouldn’t last, but he’d enjoy it for as long as he could.
“That you, Hank?”
Hank pulled his gaze from where he’d been studying the outline of the mountains in the distance and focused on the shop keep ten feet from him. It wasn’t like him to slip away from the present like he had, but the last raid had been hard and he’d lost a man. That never got easy; he didn’t think it should.
“Howdy, Junior,” he said, nodding his head at the rotund man he’d known ever since moving to Cypress Creek years ago.
“You’re back. Glad to see ya, Marshal,” the man said, clapping him on the shoulder in place of a handshake.
“Yes, you too.”
“It was close to a month, wasn’t it?”
“A month and a week actually,” Hank admitted. He’d missed sleeping in his own bed, albeit a ratty cot in the corner of his rundown cabin, but it was his.
Hank didn’t need much in the way of comfort, never had, but as of late, he’d been thinking about making his little cabin more of a home than a shack.
“Say,” he said, scratching the back of his neck, “I may be in to make some orders in a week or so. When would they arrive?”
Junior’s eyebrows rose. “Orders? I
ain’t never known you to order a thing in your life, Hank Fulton.”
Hank wanted to remind the man that he hadn’t known him his whole life, but instead he just gave a mysterious smile. “People change.”
“That they do. Sure, come on in. I’d say they’d be here in three to four weeks’ time, depending on what you order.”
“Sounds about right. Thank you kindly, Junior.”
The man nodded. “Glad to have you back. Town’s not the same without you.”
Hank nodded in the face of the compliment and shuffled on his way. He was never sure what to say. “You’re welcome” sounded a little too arrogant, as if he was responsible for all the good the town experienced. The voice of his mother telling him the best way to accept a compliment was to say “Thank you” rose up in the back of his mind. He’d certainly done her proud.
The rustle of leaves in the streets brought to mind the reality of winter. It wasn’t upon them yet, thankfully, but Hank knew it would descend soon, and he and the deputy marshals would be holed up for most of it.
It was his least favorite time of year. He could do without the months indoors, the cold rain, and the time of family. He cringed at the uncharitable thought. It wasn’t so much family, he was happy to spend time with his brother, Andy, and his wife, Louise, but it wasn’t the same as when they were children. Things changed, and Hank felt it wasn’t always for the best.
When he approached the U.S. Marshal Service’s office door, he peered in through the murky glass. The waves made whoever was inside look like they were reflected through water, but it was enough of the profile for Hank to know that it wasn’t either of his deputies.
“Howdy,” he said, coming inside and pulling his hat from his head.
“Good afternoon,” the man said. He’d turned to the door when Hank opened it and now stood tall and with the fresh-pressed look of a man on a mission for someone else.
“How can I help you?” Hank made his way around his desk. “I assume you’re here to see me.”
Seeing as how the man hadn’t engaged in conversation with either his brother or Andy Fulton, the other deputy marshal, Hank could only conclude that he was the reason behind the man’s presence.
“I’m Mr. Worthen and, well, yes.” The man shot a furtive glance to the deputies. “Is there somewhere we could speak in private?”
Hank’s interest was piqued. “There something you can’t say in front of my deputies?”
“I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you.”
It wasn’t, but Hank didn’t feel like fighting it at the moment. “This way.”
The man followed Hank out the back door and toward a bench that sat under a tree with orange leaves in full array.
“It’s nothing fancy, but it’s private.”
“This will do just fine,” the man said, brushing off the leaves before taking a seat. “Mr. Fulton—”
“Let me get one thing straight,” Hank interrupted. “Are you here talking to me because of my capacity as a marshal?”
“I am.”
“Then it’s Hank to you.”
The man inclined his head slightly. “All right. Hank.” He cleared his throat as if thrown off by Hank’s informal manner. “I am here as an intermediary for the government and the marshals. We’d like to have you look into a…matter for us.”
“Matter?” Hank repeated the word and cocked his head to the side. “What type of matter are we talking about?” He’d much rather the man get to the point than this beating around the bush.
“We’d like you to persuade a member of the Jenkins Gang to turn on the family.”
Hank was sure his eyes were as wide as saucers. “The Jenkins Gang?”
“The very same.”
Hank leaned back, his mind whirring with possibilities. “What do you mean by persuade?”
“Nothing untoward,” the man assured him, “but we’ve recently found out that there is a relative of theirs living right here in your town. We think you’ll be the best man for the job, but it must be done with caution. This matter must happen without the rest of the gang hearing about it. The member’s return must appear…genuine.”
“So as to make sure the infiltration is complete. I see.” He rubbed his jaw, considering the possibilities. If they could convince this member to return to the gang and set up a trap for them, they could capture the whole family at one time. It would be an extensive operation, but it could have far-reaching rewards.
Hank didn’t care about money or the like, but he did care about the law. Even more than that, he cared about keeping people safe, and it sounded like, with the Jenkins Gang out of commission, there would be a lot of people saved from their terror and wild nature.
“Mr. Worthen, you’ve got yourself a deal.”
* * *
Ella Jenkins hadn’t asked to be born into a criminal family. She’d never wanted to do anything other than abide the law like any good church-going woman would, but that had proven to be more difficult than she would have expected.
At the age of five, Ella had seen her first dead body. It had been a jarring thing, and her pa had told her to get used to it, seeing as how she was a member of their family. That had been the first time Ella had vowed to leave her family behind for better—less bloody—things.
At age ten, Ella had grown adept at disappearing when the family “needed” her the most. They’d taken to putting her into houses through windows, due to her small size, preying upon her to open the doors in order for them to thieve and pillage. All the while Ella had known it was wrong. She’d tried to tell her pa that she wanted to stay home, but he wouldn’t hear it. Since Ma had died bringing her into this world, she had no recourse. No safe haven.
At the age of fifteen, Ella decided she’d had enough and had set off one evening to find her own way in this world. She’d packed only what truly belonged to her—purchased from money she earned through her job as a shopkeeper’s helper—and set off to make her way in the world as anyone other than a Jenkins.
Ella Jones, as she now went by, had first stepped foot in Cypress Creek five months prior. It was a small, dusty town with a big river running near it that had captured her fancy. The train stop, heralded by the train attendants as enchanting, had been anything but that, but she’d met Missy Franklin within the first ten minutes of her arrival and that had sealed the deal for her.
“Ella?” Missy said from the kitchen. “Will you be home for supper, or should I plan to eat without you?
Missy had looked as lost as Ella, standing on the platform and looking up and down it like someone was going to magically appear. After watching for several minutes, Ella had mustered the courage to speak to the young woman, who looked about her age. Finding out that they were indeed close in age—her nineteen to Ella’s twenty-two—they had struck up an easy conversation.
Missy had shared that she was a mail order bride in search of her husband-to-be, and Ella had dodged most questions of her past and left it at the reality that she was starting up a new life. Somehow, Missy had known not to pry.
After two hours of conversation, laugher, and no sign of Missy’s husband-to-be, the girls had decided to split a meal and a room at the hotel.
The rest, as they always said, was history, but Ella was more than happy that they now shared a small cabin on the outskirts of town and had become the best of friends.
“I don’t think I’ll be back in time. Don’t wait for me.”
“Sounds good.”
“Bye!” Ella called out.
Missy said goodbye, and Ella stepped into the crisp autumn air. It had only recently turned into true fall, and Ella loved it. She took in the beauty of the trees with their changing leaves and the colder mornings that promised rain and a reprieve from the summer’s heat. She felt like she could live in fall if it were possible.
Her walk to the heart of town only took her fifteen minutes, and she’d found that she enjoyed all of those minutes. Sometimes, they even felt too short t
o her, despite the pinch of her toes in her too-small boots or the cooler wind nipping at her cheeks.
But what Ella relished most was the beauty of anonymity.
Growing up as Ella Jenkins, she’d known what path her destiny had sent her on. The one with robbery and murder, but as Ella Jones, she had created a life that was valuable. She dreamed of starting up a home for orphaned children someday, making a place for them to belong and maybe even to find a home of their own. It was a big dream, one that seemed almost too far out of reach, but a girl could pray, couldn’t she?
Until then though, she had to be content working as the local seamstress and practicing her stitching. While Missy had found a job at the restaurant as a waitress, Ella knew her prior skills as a seamstress could come in handy. When she found the local tailor, Mr. Hobbs, she had offered up her help for the female clients in town.
While Mr. Hobbs, a man who looked more like a skeleton than a human being, treated her well, he had no consideration for her time. He’d keep her much past supper time in order to finish up orders he hadn’t gotten to.
She’d thought to complain at first, but as he often let her leave early when there was no work to be done that day, but paid her the same all around, she decided it was best to let sleeping dogs lie.
This evening, however, Ella knew she would be staying late. It was near the end of the month, and that meant that all of the orders Mr. Hobbs hadn’t gotten to would be coming to her. She’d step out for a bite to eat at the restaurant, something her employer paid for much to her surprise, but she would stay late until all—or most—of the sewing was done.
