by Ann Mayburn
Their Golden Bride
A Bridgewater Brides Novel
Ann Mayburn
Copyright © 2020 by Ann Mayburn
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author's imagination and used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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All rights reserved.
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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Cover design: Bridger Media
Cover graphic: Hot Damn Stock; DepositPhotos: snehitdesign
Welcome to Bridgewater, where one cowboy is never enough! Their Golden Bride is published as part of the Bridgewater Brides World, which includes books by numerous authors inspired by Vanessa Vale’s USA Today bestselling series. This is a steamy standalone read. Enjoy!
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Bridgewater Brides World
About the Author
Also by Ann Mayburn
1
ROWAN
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Despite the hard sun beating down on her, a little shiver ran down her spine as an icy wind gusted along the dusty street. The broad, faded brown hat she wore to hide her braided long hair also shaded her face, but her hands were getting darker every day as the sun tanned them a deep bronze. They were already rough from years of millwork while growing up in Chicago, but the time she’d unwillingly spent as a shoe shiner in this booming city in the Montana Territory had added another layer of callouses and dry skin.
At least it helped lend credibility to her disguise as a boy. Well, that and some ripped up bed sheets that she’d used to bind her already meager chest.
For the first time in her life, she’d been glad she didn’t have the abundant curves of most women had. She’d been traveling in disguise since Chicago, all too aware of the dangers of simply being female. Back home, she’d had the protection of friends and family, here she had no one.
No one at all.
Swallowing back her tears, she stood slowly and stretched out her back, not even attempting to shout her business like the other shoeshine kids. Her lungs still ached after her illness and the constant dust rising up from the dirt road, and she didn’t want to get beat up again. Many of the boys were orphans in the same situation as her—no money, no food, and no place to live. That made them as desperate as she was to earn the coin of passing men and women who wanted the grime of the wilderness polished off their shoes.
As she crouched back down to brush some dust off the top of her shoeshine box, she traced over the name etched onto the lid. Ted, her brother. Three years younger than herself, they’d been close for as long as she could remember. Rowan had practically raised him before she’d been forced to get a job at the mill in order to help provide for the family. Her mother tried the best she could, but it was hard for a woman who looked like her to find honest work as a seamstress that paid enough to house and feed two children. Out of the many names Rowan had heard her mother called, mulatto was among the nicest.
Dust puffed into the air as a wagon rumbled past, so she looked up, hoping to see someone she could talk into getting a shine.
The elevated sidewalks of Butte were always busy, and she was one of many trying to hustle the crowd. Some sold newspapers, some sold fruit from stands, but a good many had their own shoeshine kits that were in much better repair than hers. And most of them weren’t as dirty and undoubtedly smelly as her. For the past week, since she’d run out of money to stay in even the dingiest of boarding houses, she’d slept where she could. She was tired, beaten down on every level possible, and just about ready to give up.
For a moment, despair threatened to overwhelm her, and she had to bite her lower lip as she tried to take a deep breath. Unfortunately, the tight cloth she’d wrapped around her chest to hide her breasts made that impossible, but she didn’t dare loosen it. Without her brother at her side, she’d have a much better chance at survival if the low lifes in this city thought she was just another orphan boy trying to go West in search of fame and fortune, rather than a woman all alone without anyone or anything to protect her in a rough and tumble frontier city.
But Ted had promised he would come back for her.
He promised.
And he made her promise to stay here in Butte, where he could find her.
But, week after week, she waited at the train station, watched each car empty, and hoped to see his curly blond hair, so like her own.
And each week, she left the train station alone, returning to the cheap boarding house where she shared a room with a dozen equally poor people and cried herself to sleep.
“Hey, lad, can I get a shine?” a smooth, British accented voice said, interrupting her dark thoughts.
Sitting up quickly, she made sure her hat was still in place before she smiled up at the stranger, her chapped lips stinging slightly. “Sure thing, sir.”
Anything else she might have said died in her throat as she took in one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen. A hot burning rush burst through her—almost like the heat of a fever, but far more pleasant. The man, with his boot propped up on her box, wore a dark blue shirt that was lightly stained with sweat and clung to his hard, broad shoulders. His arms were equally impressive, and his pants molded to his heavily muscled thighs, highlighting a body used to hard work. A belt hung around his trim hips, with a pair of guns strapped to the side. The silver buckle on his belt twinkled in the sun, and she tore her gaze from his body to look at his face.
And what a face it was. The golden hair that dusted his jaw drew her gaze to his full lips and friendly smile, and she could barely make out that his eyes were either blue or green beneath the low brow of his black cowboy hat. The faint scent of cloves and cedar came from his clothing as he leaned forward slightly, his gaze growing slightly puzzled as he stared down at her.
“Are you okay? What’s your name?”
Shaking herself out of the odd daze, she blurted out in her real voice, “Yes, I’m fine.” Worried that he saw through her disguise, she quickly ducked her head and said in an unnaturally low voice, “My names Roger, sir.”
He was quiet for a moment, then said, “What happened to your face?”
Self-conscious, she touched the bruises no doubt darkening her cheekbone and her healing scraped chin. “I fell down.”
If being curled up in a ball on the ground while getting kicked by two grown men could be considered falling down, she thought to herself with more than a tinge of bitterness.
Just like in Chicago, vile men here preyed on the most innocent. One of this city’s pimps, Mr. Charles, had tried to recruit her, saying that there was a lot of money to be made for a young boy with her looks. He’d promised her shelter, and good food—all she could eat—if she came to work for him. When she refused, he had his goons beat her up and encouraged her to think about his offer, because he intended to see her again tonight.
Touching the bruise on her jaw, she winced, then tucked her hat down lower to hide the signs that she’d been in a fight.
“You fell down,” he repeated in a flat tone that practically screamed his disbelief.
>
“Yes, sir.”
“Huh,” he replied, but she was too afraid to look up to get a read on his face. “Haven’t seen you around the city before, and your accent is different. Where are you from?”
Using the brush, she began to scrub the dirt and dust off the man’s black boots. “Back east. Chicago.”
The man let out a low whistle. “That’s a fair bit of travel. Your mum and dad come with you?”
“No,” she said as she looked down. She pretended to mess around with the shoe polish as she tried to swallow back her tears. “Both my parents have passed on.”
Her father, Jonas, had been a dreamer. He’d regaled his children with tales of the American West—stories he’d heard all the way in Norway which drew him to the United States. One day, he’d intended to take his family out west. Rowan had spent many evenings planning with her father on how they’d strike it rich mining for gold.
Unfortunately, when Rowan was only ten, he’d gotten severely injured at his job as a welder. On his deathbed, he’d made Rowan vow she’d someday escape Chicago, and she would go West with her family. She’d worked hard to fulfill her promise to him, but her mother had passed five years after her father.
It had taken awhile, but she’d worked hard and finally saved enough money to buy train tickets for herself and her brother to go to California and start a new life. One of Ted’s friends was already out there, working and making a good deal of money as a carpenter for a construction company. He had a great job lined up for Ted, but her brother had to be there within the next month or it would go to someone else.
Everything had been going well until the first night they were in Butte. They had a three day wait for the next train heading to California and decided to stay at a cheap hotel while they were here. That night, they’d been robbed while they slept. To make matters worse, when Rowan woke the next morning, it was with a raging fever. With only the little bit of money they’d had hidden away, Ted managed to find a doctor for her, but they’d faced a bitter decision. Winter was coming soon, and the trains sometimes shut down entirely for months due to the weather. She couldn’t travel, but if Ted waited for Rowan to get better, he’d miss his chance to get to California and the good job as a brick layer they so desperately needed.
Together, they’d made the decision that he needed to go.
That was six weeks ago. Every day, her remaining hope that he would make it back to Butte before winter dwindled.
“You live around here?” His question pulled her from her dreary thoughts.
She had to cough into her sleeve to clear her throat before saying, “No, sir. I’m heading west, to the gold mines. My brother’s out there right now, and he’s going to come back for me soon.”
Tilting her head down, she bit her lip and cursed herself for saying too much. Something about this man made her want to talk, to tell someone about the trouble she found herself in. Sneaking a glance up at him, she decided it was his eyes. Despite the fact that he was big, leanly muscled and taller than most of the men around them, his turquoise eyes were so kind.
She hadn’t seen a lot of kindness lately.
The sun was starting to set, and she was getting desperate, hoping she’d have enough to at least get a room in one of the hotels, so she’d be safe from Mr. Charles. While part of her wanted to flee, she knew there was a Mr. Charles in every city. Plus, Ted would never find her if she left Butte. Despair soaked through her, making her just want to sit down in a dark alley and never get up again.
Her dreams were over, shattered on the rocks of bad luck.
“He’ll come back for me,” she said more to reassure herself than the stranger watching her so closely. “My brother loves me. He’ll come back.”
When she didn’t add anything more, he made that odd ‘Huh’ again before adding, “My name’s Garret Finley. I live about a two day’s ride away in Bridgewater. We’re in need of a hand on the ranch to help us during sheep shearing season in a few weeks, if you’re needing a place to stay while you wait for your brother to return. We could leave word with the constable for your brother.”
“Constable?” She frowned at him as she motioned for him to turn his boot a little.
“Ah, yes—sorry, the local law enforcement. We can visit with them and make sure word reaches your brother as to your location. In the meantime, you could help us with work on the ranch. We need the assistance and will give you room and board in addition to paying you.”
Buffing the cloth in the small tin of shoe polish, she shook her head. “Thank you for the offer, sir, but I’m not sure how much help I’d be on a farm. I don’t know a cow from a bull.”
He laughed. The deep, rich sound reached out and tickled something low in her belly. “Well, my family raises goats and sheep, so you wouldn’t have to worry too much about identifying bulls.”
A strange burst of jealousy went through her as she imagined some beautiful mystery woman being married to the attractive and kind man. “Surely your children can help out?”
“Children?” he switched feet, putting his dirty boot on the box as he admired the one she’d just polished. “No, no children. I’m not married. My best friend Edward and I run the ranch together.”
As she worked, Garret went on to explain that he and Edward had served together in the British Army, regaling her with tales of traveling all over the world. She worked slowly as he talked, entranced by both his voice and the stories he told. In a way, it reminded her of how her father used to tell her stories when she was young. Garret was so descriptive, and she could easily imagine the lush, hot jungle palace where he’d spent five years serving as an emissary to a foreign government. A place where elephants roamed free, and everyone had dark skin like herself.
“You know,” he said in a low, contemplative voice, “You kind of remind me of the people from there with your copper skin, but your eyes are a pale blue like ice.”
“We’re done,” she said quickly, noticing that the sun had set while he was talking.
Admiring his shoes, Garret smiled then handed her five dollars.
Gaping at the money, she said, “Uh, sir, the shine is only seven cents. I don’t have any change.”
“Consider it a tip,” he replied with a wink that made her feel that strange warmth in her belly again.
Her hands trembled as she gaped up at him, but she made herself say, “Are you sure? That is a lot of money.”
“I’m sure. Take it.”
Standing, she quickly stuffed the money in her pocket, afraid one of her fellow street urchins would see it and decide to rob her tonight. “Thank you, sir. Thank you so much. You have no idea how much this helps.”
“Name is Garret, Garret Finley,” he reminded her in a gentle voice. “You take care of yourself out there. And remember, if you ever need some work, come find me in Bridgewater.”
“I will, sir, thank you!”
The money felt like it should be glowing in her pocket as she quickly packed up her kit and pulled her heavy pack onto her back. Her breath came out slightly wheezy as she walked down the smooth, clean planks of the nice part of town, her head down and her shoulders hunched. Hopefully, no one else had seen the five-dollar bill Garret had given her, and she had to keep her hand from reaching down to pat her pocket and make sure it was still there. A thick, harsh cough rattled around in her chest as she took a moment to catch her breath and clear her lungs.
While her first urge was to run off to the nicest hotel she could afford, she had to make the money last. More than anything, she wished for a bath to wash off the dirt and the stink of the streets, but all the bathing houses were communal, and she couldn’t exactly sneak into the woman’s side while dressed as a boy. But she had to clean up a little, somehow, or the decent hotels that would keep riffraff like Mr. Charles out would never allow her through the door.
Looking back over her shoulder to the nicer part of town, she thought she saw Garret in the crowd for a moment, but when she glanced back again
, he wasn’t there.
A city lamp lighter came by, and she realized she’d spent more time than she’d wanted standing there catching her breath.
Quickly glancing around, she remembered the stables on the outskirts of town not too far away. There were horse watering troughs there, and if she was quick and careful, she might be able to get off enough of the dirt and dust that encrusted in her skin so they’d allow her in the hotel. With five dollars, she could get one of the nicest beds in the city, but she had to be careful to make the money last. For a moment, she regretted saying no to Garret. If she’d accepted his offer, she’d have some kind of job security rather than trying to hustle every day for pennies.
Hefting her pack, and trying to ignore the wheezing in her lungs, she made her way through the dwindling crowd, then down packed dirt streets until the smell of the stables hung heavy in the air.
Putting her pack and shoeshine kit down, she peeked around the corner of one of the buildings, trying to see if anyone was out tending the horses.
She didn’t see anyone, so surely—
Her thought was cut off as a big, rough male hand wrapped around her mouth, large enough to cover her nose as well, and cut off her oxygen. Another wrapped around her throat, squeezing tight enough that tears came to her eyes as she choked. Her scream strangled in her throat as she clawed at the hand holding her, terror filling her as she was dragged into another alley.
One where Mr. Charles waited.
The tip of his cigarette glowed as he took in a deep inhalation, then he removed it from his mouth with a gloved hand. The light coming from the street illuminated half his face, and the smile he gave her made her stomach feel weak. It was the smile of pure evil, of a man who enjoyed hurting people and causing pain. He strolled closer to them, his long pale gray duster free from the dirt and grime that clung to her.
