Chance Creek Brides
(Volumes 1-3 & The Stagecoach Bride)
By Mary L. Briggs
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2014 Mary L. Briggs
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Table of Contents
Bride by Choice
The Sweetgrass Bride
Bride in the Storm
The Stagecoach Bride
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter One
A sharp cry escaped her lips as the hot liquid splashed across her shirt. She sucked in her breath and pulled the searing cloth from her skin. Surveying the damage to her clothing, she sighed. No doubt the dark blotch down the front of her blouse would stain. Common sense should tell her not to stumble across the rocky camp area with a scorching cup of the brown liquid in her hand. No matter, there were more blouses in her bag.
Men’s shirts, really. Grandpa’s. They went well with the split skirts and leather boots she favored for riding and traveling. And it reminded her of him on a daily basis. She fought the tears that stung behind her eyelids. Someday there would be justice for his killer. She would go back to Kansas and see that someone paid for his murder.
She picked up the tin cup and tossed it near the coffee pot that rested on a steady rock next to the dying fire. Picking her way carefully through the stony pathway, she started toward the wagon, already packed for the day’s journey.
“You just think you know everything!” A woman’s angry voice rang out from behind the nearby grove of trees.
She gritted her teeth and tried to ignore the querulous words. The couple’s fighting and arguing had been going on since the day they left for San Antonio. Another few days of hearing their petty squabbles and she’d be free of them. After she parted with three hundred and fifty dollars, that is. Talks of how to spend their new ‘fortune’ had made for common campfire conversations in the evenings.
“You do what I say, or you know what might happen to you? Same as the rest, that’s what,” was the man’s furious answer.
Paying no attention to the shouting, she pulled back the canvas tarp and scanned the gear packed in bags. She spotted one of the heavy green cotton sacks. Was it hers or theirs? They’d grabbed hers a time or two during their journey.
A guilty twinge stabbed through her as she thought about the pearl combs that had disappeared from her things. She had no proof Mrs. Howard had taken them. Still, one couldn’t help but wonder.
A quick peek in the container would tell her if it was her own. Untying the drawstring closure, she pulled open the bag and surveyed the contents. Her eyes widened and all thoughts of a clean shirt vanished. The wad of irritation rumbling in her stomach turned to a fiery ball of fear and confusion as she stared at the pretty white porcelain teapot, yellow roses on its sides. It belonged to Mrs. King, the kindly woman who had given them tea in her home two days ago when they’d stopped to camp near her ranch.
The story of the teapot’s journey to America from England still resonated in her ears. There was only one way that it had ended up in this wagon, buried in the Howard’s bag. Mrs. Howard had stolen it. That must have been what the two of them had done on their evening walk they always took together.
Heart racing, she reached her trembling fingers toward the handle and picked it up. Another item dropped from the bag. The flash of gold sent her heart spinning.
The squabbling voices came closer. Without a moment to lose, her fingers snatched the watch and chain, stuffing them in her vest pocket. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, making it impossible to tell how close they were to the camp. Every bone in her body trembled as she shoved the tea pot back inside. She caught a glimpse of what looked like her grandfather’s medical case inside, too, as she stuffed the bag back together, pulling the canvas cover in place over the wagon bed
Please, Lord, don’t let them notice I’ve opened this. She hurried to the bowl of water that sat on a rock near the remnants of the morning fire. Dumping some of it on her shirt, she scrubbed at the brown spot with her finger, willing it to go away. . .anything to keep her shaking hands busy.
***
“Well you’re sure quiet this morning. What are you so glum about?” Mrs. Howard asked, her voice raspy and hoarse from the earlier shouting match with her husband.
Melissa forced herself to look the woman in the eyes. Faded to a cold, watery blue, they were friendly at the moment. But they were eyes of deceit. Of a liar and a thief. And worst of all, a murderer. A shiver ran through her and she pulled her arms closer to her side.
Mrs. Howard’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not getting sick are you? You look kinda pale.”
She shook her head. “No.” Deep breath, sit up straight. She let her arms fall into a natural position. If she was going to try for an escape, she had to look as normal as possible. She forced her lips into a smile. “I’m fine. Just tired of traveling, I guess. It will be nice to get to San Antonio.”
Mrs. Howard’s eyelids dropped as she stared at her face. “You sure seem anxious to get there and take care of the old lady. Sounds like a lot of trouble, to me.”
Melissa grasped the side of the wagon with her trembling hands, her knuckles white. But she kept the smile. “Well, she is my great aunt. And it’s kind of her to ask me to come live with her, now that my grandfather–” she swallowed hard and looked away. “Now that he’s gone.”
“Must have been a shock for you when he was found like that,” Mr. Howard leaned forward and looked around his wife, his greasy, puffy face studying her own, as if hoping for some sort of reaction.
Anger burned hot in her stomach, twisting and turning up her throat, like a rattlesnake ready to strike. But not yet. She forced her glance away from his eyes and stared at the large, ugly fingers that grasped the reins. “Of course it was,” she clamped her jaw and forced her eyes to stay on his hands.
Why didn’t they leave her alone? Had they guessed she knew? The timepiece, buttoned in her pocket, was safe from his filthy hands. He would never touch it again. Even if she had to throw it in some passing river. She blinked back the tears that hid behind her lids and prayed for an easy escape. Someday, the two of them would be swinging from the end of a rope. Even if she had to do the deed herself.
“Right here looks like a good place,” Mr. Howard announced, stopping the wagon on a small rise overlooking a fast running creek.
“A lot of water running in there for a drought. Must be fed by a spring,” his wife commented, as the horses came to a halt.
“I’ll get the coffee pot,” Melissa offered, as she jumped off the wagon. She would enjoy serving these two a pot of very hot coffee before she made her break for freedom.
&
nbsp; A loud snort burst from the man’s throat. “We won’t be having any coffee, little Miss Nosy.”
Chapter 2
“Stop, Jared! Stop the wagon! There’s a dead woman down by the creek!” Della Murphy grabbed the reins and attempted to wrestle them from her nephew’s hands.
Half asleep in the afternoon glare, her frantic screams jerked Jared Murphy from his lazy thoughts. Heart pounding, he gripped the lines harder and pulled. “Whoa!”
The horses shuddered to a halt and he jumped from the wagon, close on the heels of his aunt, already running through the tall, dry grass, toward the lifeless pile of fabric beside the stream.
“Aunt Della, wait!” Uncle Abe had only been dead six months. There was no need to cause the woman more grief with another death. Chance was isolated enough that everyone knew everyone else. The woman on the ground was sure to be an acquaintance, even a friend.
Ignoring him, she was already kneeling on the ground, gently pulling the damp blue scarf away from the woman’s neck. Underneath, her skin was red and swollen.
“She’s still breathing!” Della Murphy looked up into her nephew’s blue eyes. “We’ve got to get her back to the ranch.”
Jared crouched on his heels and studied the victim. She was young, probably not much older than his brother, Seth. Streaks of black mud smeared across her pale cheeks, like furrowed rows in a newly plowed field. Her hands were encrusted with moss and bits of dead leaves, her knuckles red and scratched. Wisps of blonde hair, grungy with mire, had escaped from the long braid she wore.
Her boots and riding clothes were covered in slimy muck. The woman had been submerged in the creek at one time. And from the looks of her hands and clothing, fought her way out unassisted.
Had she been thrown from a horse? He briefly allowed his eyes to search the area. But there was no grazing equine, no obvious clue as to how she had landed in the water.
Her head moved and dark green eyes opened for a brief moment, staring straight into his, as if searching for an answer to her dilemma. Jared took a deep breath and stepped back as his heart stirred in a way that he had considered dead and over for him. He shook his head and swallowed hard. No woman was going to weave her way into his life again.
“Jared?” His aunt was looking at him, her fingers touching the young lady’s cheek. “She’s cold and I’m afraid she’s seriously injured. We’d better hurry and get her home.”
***
Slim Erickson shook his bald head and returned the stethoscope to the black bag on the table beside the bed. “Her heart sounds normal and so does her breathing. My guess is that she’s had a severe injury to the head.”
Jared did his best not to roll his eyes. What a brilliant diagnosis, considering there was a bump on the woman’s forehead large as an egg from Aunt Della’s favorite Leghorn hen. But then, what could you expect? The man had trouble giving a decent haircut. And you were practically taking your life in your hands to get a shave from him. How Slim had ever come to consider himself capable of medical work was beyond most who knew him. But there was no other choice for folks in Chance, Texas.
Slim shook his head again and stood, latching shut the bag. “I figure all we can do is wait. A shame you don’t have any sort of way to let her family know she’s hurt.”
His aunt, ever attentive, pulled the quilt closer around the woman, tucking it in above her shoulders. Reaching for a cloth, she dipped it in the bowl of cool water on the table and gently lay it across the ever growing lump. “Surely the swelling will stop soon, won’t it?”
Slim shrugged his skinny shoulders. “Might. Then again, might not.”
Jared sighed. This was the last time he was bringing this man out to the house to treat anyone. It would be cheaper to make up the diagnosis himself, he thought, pulling a coin from his pocket and handing it over. Paying Slim was practically highway robbery.
“I’ll be back tomorrow and check on her,” Slim assured them, as he stepped out of the bedroom.
Jared followed close on his heels and then led the way through the kitchen to the back door. “Don’t bother to come tomorrow, Slim. I don’t figure there’s much you can do either way. I’ll come get you if we need anything else.”
He ignored the hurt look on the man’s face. Slim had a reputation of milking a situation for whatever he could get. And an unconscious patient would be a dream come true as an excuse to keep his hand out.
“Well. . .whatever you say. You folks just keep a close eye on her,” he said, mounting his horse.
The rancher folded his arms across his chest and watched the man ride away, keeping him in his sights until the cloud of dust obscured his view. He glanced up at the sky. Clear. No sign of rain. Another week without water on the ground and the cattle would be grinding their teeth on nothing more than dead roots. Send us rain, Lord. Please send us rain. Ranching is the only way I know how to provide for my family.
He turned to head back inside, once more stopping to stare at the solid blue mass above. And please get that woman out of my house.
Chapter 3
Jared knelt and scanned the ground. Her clothes had been clammy when they found her, the mud still damp on her skin. She couldn’t have been out of the creek more than a half hour, so there should be some sort of clue as to how she ended up there. What was he missing?
“You reckon somebody just tossed her in?” Seth asked, his blue eyes on the water as he led his horse along with him.
Jared shrugged. Seth must not have noticed the red marks on her neck. Someone had done more than hit her on the head. And she had put up a good struggle if the man had been forced to hit her in the head as well as choke her. “I guess anything’s possible. She was wearing riding clothes, so I suppose she could have been thrown from a horse if something frightened it.”
“Or maybe she stopped for some water and slipped,” he guessed. “She was awful pretty once Aunt Della got her cleaned up,” Seth added.
Jared grit his teeth before he answered. Seth had best learn that an attractive face could be more trouble than a man could deal with. Most women were about as congenial as a wasp nest on a hot afternoon. Apparently the example the boy had seen a couple of years ago hadn’t made much of an impression on his young mind.
Jared shook his head. “That may be, but it has nothing to do with who she is, kid.” Seth following close on his heels, Jared stepped carefully along the bank. The toe of his boot searched and sifted through the dry grass. Nothing. As if she’d been dropped from the sky by an eagle circling overhead.
Discouraged, he walked several yards down the creek edge and stopped. There they were; large boot prints on the water’s edge, sunk in the mud, as if the wearer was a very stout man. Or maybe carrying an injured woman.
A low whistle blew from his lips. What kind of man could toss a living human into water and walk away to let them drown?
“I guess she didn’t fall in,” Seth said, studying the evidence in front of them.
The younger brother moved away and Jared stooped to examine the muddy prints, his eye following their path back up the bank. If the man with the boots had been the one that choked her with the scarf and put the bump on her forehead, he probably thought that she was dead. He shuddered, despite the warm breeze and heat of the sun on his back. Evil existed in many forms, but standing so close to such a senseless act sent the true meaning home to his heart.
“Looks like there was a wagon parked up here,” Seth called from higher on the grassy bank. “And here’s where the wheels pulled away,” he pointed
Still considering the crime, Jared made his way to his brother. Wagon tracks, along with those of horses, showed in the flattened grass and dirt. He knelt on one knee to study the marks. “Looks like the horse harnessed on the right is lame. See how the stride is shorter?”
Seth stared at the ground. “Means maybe they didn’t get too far if the horse got worse.”
Jared chewed the inside of his cheek. Would someone who tried to commit murder really ta
ke a chance and hang around? Not if he was smart. But it might be worth checking out who was camped around the area.
Sunlight flashed on several objects buried in the weedy grass. He stooped down and retrieved a pretty gold locket, as well as a small, metal knife. He held it up for his brother to see.
“What would you do with that?” Seth asked, reaching for it.
Jared shrugged and opened the locket. Empty, except for a scrap in the corner. The photographs had been torn out. Had one of them been of the pretty girl back at the ranch house?
He pulled the bandana from around his neck and took the knife from Seth. He wrapped the items carefully in the cloth and headed toward their horses, grazing a few feet away. “Maybe the woman will be able to tell us what happened when she wakes.” If she wakes.
Chapter 4
Colors blurred and mingled like threads in a tapestry, weaving and moving, as if she was staring through water. She blinked harder and tried to organize her thoughts. Water! She gasped and put her hand on her chest. She was breathing. She had been sure she was going to drown in the cold creek. The bottom had been slimy and slick, no way to get her footing. Only mercy from God and her strong will had helped her crawl to the bank. But if she had crawled out herself, how did she get here?
Her eyes adjusted and searched her surroundings. A bedroom, long and narrow, like two rooms opened to each other. Yellow roses splashed across the pinkish wallpaper, the window frames were painted a soft white. Pretty lace curtains stirred in the gentle breeze from the open window. An oak chest and mirror were across the room. Pushing herself to her elbows, a sharp pain shot through her head. She fell back at once, her heart racing from the small amount of exertion. Had she been shot? This kind of throbbing was certainly not an average headache.
Chance Creek Brides (Volumes 1-3 & the Stagecoach Bride) Page 1
