Chance Creek Brides (Volumes 1-3 & the Stagecoach Bride)

by Mary L. Briggs

  Mark was always late getting back if Seth went into town with him. He said his brother could strike up a conversation with a hitching post. This was the thought in her head as the sound of wagon wheels on the rocky ground found her ear. He was back.

  The wagon stopped just outside the house and Mark jumped down from the seat. Walking around to the back, he pulled a box of supplies out and waved to Seth. Addie waved through the window as her brother in law drove away.

  Mark came through the door, letting in plenty of cold air. Addie shivered and closed the door behind him, as he put the box on the table.

  “Did you get everything?” she asked, grabbing the bag of coffee as it began to spill from the container.

  Mark took off his hat and jacket, hanging them just inside the door. “Everything and more. Your Aunt Birdie sent that packet of tea for you,” he pointed to a brown parcel among the groceries. “She said you should drink a cup every morning.”

  Addie shook her head and smiled. “She’s looking out for this child. Between Auntie and Missy, this baby is going to get here strong and healthy.”

  He pulled an envelope from his trouser pocket and held it to her. “And a letter from Rose and Michael.”

  Addie took the paper from him and settled herself into the rocking chair next to the fire, leaving supper to cool a little longer. A cold winter blast rattled the kitchen window and she looked at her husband. He smiled and came to sit beside her.

  “I guess she sent the wind along with the letter,” he grinned, leaning over and kissing her cheek. His hand went to her growing belly and he laughed as the baby gave a hard kick.

  She glanced over the words before reading them aloud.

  Dear Addie and Mark,

  We think of you often and are looking forward to our visit in the spring. Little George is excited about visiting the Aunt and Uncle we speak of so frequently. It is hard to believe that he is already three years old. Little Annie will be six months in a few days and she is well and growing.

  We congratulate both of you on your news and look forward to meeting the new arrival when we come. Addie, your father would have been so proud to be a grandfather had he lived. Children change everything for the better. Seeing new life here in Galveston is encouraging after so long a time of sorrow.

  It is not the same and never will be for many years, but the island is recovering and moving forward. People have hope. An incident happened that I thought I would pass on to the two of you. Just last week, Michael was speaking with a cab driver that he met. The man’s name is Job Brown. He mentioned to Michael that he brought a man out here the day of the hurricane. He said the fellow had asked his name and was praying for him to make it safely home. He had always wanted to tell him that his prayers were answered and that he and his family made it through the storm. Michael was sure that it was Mark and told him so.

  We pray that you are all well and having success with your ranching. We look forward to hearing from you soon.

  Addie folded the letter and turned to her husband. “Was it you? Do you remember that man?”

  He nodded and scooted his chair closer. “I do, and I’ve wondered about him several times. He risked a lot to take me out to you.”

  She took his hand and wound her fingers through his. “I’m so glad that he did. Maybe next time we’re in Galveston, I’ll look him up and tell him so.”

  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 1

  “Ouch!” An explosion of pain shot through Charlotte Turner’s head. She blinked back the tears that flooded her eyes.

  If the driver would please slow down. Her head couldn’t take much more battering. Holding tight to a strap, her free hand quickly found the offending hat pin that had busied itself stabbing into her delicate scalp like a knife into buttermilk pie. She readjusted the sharp point, resisting the urge to toss the item out the window.

  Another bump in the road sent her bouncing off the seat again. Was the driver blazing his own trail? Maybe he had fallen off and they were left on their own. It certainly felt like it. She would have done as well to ride horseback, instead of paying good money to be bruised days on end.

  But it would all be worth it. There was the packet of letters, safely tucked in her bag atop the stage, tied with pink silk ribbon. A yearning rushed through her to beg the driver to stop so she could pull them out and study them again. Read every sweet beginning of My Dearest Charlotte, and dream about the man who had declared his love for her. But who could read on such a ride? The coach should advertise their trips as instruments of torture, as well as transportation. The journey couldn’t be over soon enough.

  Her eyes wandered to the other occupants, barely waking with each jolt of the ride. At least they hadn’t noticed her rather vocal outburst of pain. Mr. Brown, the elder of the two had joined them early this morning. The younger, Mr. Harvey Robinson had boarded the stage in Fort Worth, the same day she had. He had been a pleasant enough companion throughout the journey. A true gentleman.

  Opening his eyes, Mr. Brown caught her glance. “Rough ride, isn’t it Miss?” Not waiting for an answer, he yawned and drifted back to sleep.

  She smiled. He seemed a nice enough gentleman, though he hadn’t said much the last few hours. But then, it was hard to talk with all the bouncing and jerking of the stage.

  After the noon stop, they had left two passengers, both women, along with the stagecoach guard, at the station. After eating a small meal, while the driver changed horses, the three of them had become violently ill as they were ready to leave.

  She sighed. If it weren’t for the two gentlemen passengers, she would remove the silly hat all together and maybe try to repair some of the damage. It must look a flattened mess on top of her blonde hair, shards of it probably stuck among the light strands. The pretty cotton daisies would have lost all of their shape and the bits of straw scattered on the floorboards by her feet were a good indication that the whole thing was coming apart.

  What would Justice think of her when he saw her like this? Her hat in pieces, her dress soiled from the dust and heat, not to mention the clinging odor of cigar smoke that continually flowed from the male passengers lips when they were awake. Justice would be expecting a respectable, tidy bride for his wedding day.

  She blinked back a momentary burst of tears. Would he have second thoughts when she stepped off the stage to meet him face to face? It was a worry she had battled since the moment she’d stepped on the train in Springfield. After all, they’d never met. Their letters were the only connection that they had.

  Her fingers wandered to the locket worn on a long chain around her neck. She opened the ornament and stared at the face of her fiancé. Strong, handsome, a man who seemed to know his own mind. At least that was the image he conveyed in his long, thoughtful letters. It broke her heart to think he might be disappointed in her. Even send her back to Springfield. How could she bear it if he chose to do such a thing?

  Her imagined calamity was cut short as several gunshots blasted from behind. A bolt of fear raced through her as she snapped shut the locket and held tighter to the strap hanging from the ceiling. The driver shouted something indiscernible and urged the horses on faster.

  The two men sitting across from her roused from their naps and sat up straighter, holding to the windows, their attention sharp and concerned.

  “What’s going on?” Mr. Robinson’s sleepy eyes were wide with surprise.

  Another shot sounded, ricocheting off the door of the coach. Charlotte screamed and closed her eyes momentarily.

  The older of the two, Mr. Brown, cautiously peered out t
he window. “I can see two, maybe three riders. Looks like they’re going to catch us!”

  Charlotte gasped as she grabbed for the frame of the open window from which she had hoped to enjoy scenic views and wildlife. Straining to see behind the coach, she made out the forms of two men on horseback. A holdup? Something to read about in novels and newspapers. Never once had it occurred to her that she would witness bandits chasing them. She clinched her teeth tighter and tried to ignore the frantic pounding of her heart.

  Bits of rock and soil sprayed inside of the coach, filling the air with the peculiar white Texas dirt. A spasm of coughing surged up her throat and she tried to breathe without choking.

  “Why can’t the driver go faster?” She wondered aloud, her voice hoarse from the grimy air.

  “Don’t worry, ma’am. I’ll take care of us.” The younger man, Mr. Robinson began to search through the small bag nestled beside him on the bench. He pulled a revolver from its depths. The moment he brought it to light, Mr. Brown jerked it from his hand and tossed it out the window.

  “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” Mr. Robinson doubled his fist, ready to strike. His fingers unclenched as his fellow passenger brought a similar revolver from inside his own coat and leveled the barrel in his face.

  Harvey Robinson spat at Mr. Brown. “So you’re one of them, I take it?”

  Mr. Brown’s shouted answer was cool and calm. “Just follow orders and everything will work out well for you.”

  Charlotte’s jaw slacked as she stared at the pistol in Mr. Brown’s steady hand. He had seemed so polite and charming earlier in the ride, offering her a bit of candy for her dry throat. Apparently just biding his time until the others of his ilk arrived.

  She swallowed back the bitter taste rising in her throat. “You wouldn’t dare use that in this small space!”

  “Just be quiet, ma’am.” His words were to her, but his eyes were on Mr. Robinson.

  The clamor of the wooden wheels racing over the rocky soil sounded like a rockslide in motion, but the sound of pounding horses hooves racing behind, rose above the clatter. Another shot sounded.

  “Halt the coach!” a man on horseback shouted.

  She closed her eyes and steadied her breathing. This might be it. The end for her and Mr. Robinson.

  A fresh round of tears threatened to sting her eyes, but she blinked them back. Another few hours and she would have been safe in Justice’s arms. Forever. Man and wife. Lord, please no. Please let this all be a mistake. Let them take what they want and then leave. Please keep us safe and get me to Justice.

  She dug her fingers ever tighter in their hold as the stage began to slow. An uneasy drench of fear filled her stomach. Why was the driver giving up? What kind of man would willingly sacrifice his passengers to bandits?

  Mr. Robinson leaned toward her. “Miss Turner. Just do what they say. Everything will be all right.” He turned his gaze back to Brown. “I think we’ve been set up from the start of this ride. What did you give to those other passengers?”

  Brown’s eyes narrowed. “Nothing that will kill them. This isn’t what you think, Robinson. As long as you don’t make any sudden moves, you’ll be on your way soon.”

  Charlotte stared at the man with as much contempt as she could muster. Maybe the situation would be different if her own pistol wasn’t stashed in her bag atop the stage. He would never have suspected a woman of carrying a gun. Her good sense had told her to keep it handy, but, no, she’d reasoned it away. Disgust poured over her. How could she have been so foolish? And while the thought of actually having to shoot another human turned her insides into a mass of knotted rope, her uncle had convinced her there were times when it might be necessary.

  The coach jerked as the driver engaged the brake, spewing even more dust inside with them. Regaining her balance, Charlotte pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and covered her mouth and nose.

  The coach door swung open to reveal a tall, sandy-headed man clad in brown trousers and a blue shirt. A broad-brimmed Stetson covered his light hair. His face was hidden beneath a red bandanna, obscuring his nose and mouth. He was holding a Colt 44 in his right hand, the barrel pointed inside the stagecoach.

  “Good job.” His eyes found Mr. Brown. His voice was quick and tight. “You two keep your hands where I can see them and step out of the coach, nice and easy. You first, ma’am” He holstered his gun.

  Surely she had misheard. But his eyes were on her. Charlotte swallowed and forced seemingly paralyzed limbs to move. Her heart pounded inside her ears like rain on a rusty tin barrel . Calm, Charlotte, calm. She’d read about these holdups. Just obey their orders and hand over all your valuables. As long as you cooperated, no one got hurt. In a few moments, this whole scenario would be a memory and she would be on her way to meet her beloved Justice.

  Unable to stand completely straight, she moved carefully past the two men and stopped. The bandit would have to move before she stepped down. A spasm of revulsion rushed through her as he offered his hand to help her down. Was he pretending to be a gentleman?

  She pushed her tongue hard against her teeth and gulped down the retort that threatened to erupt. When she spoke, her voice was raspy from breathing so much dirt. “No thank you. . .. I can get out without your help.”

  He stood his ground. “Take my hand, ma’am.”

  Anger mingled with panic inside her chest as she reached out her trembling hand to obey him. Her brown eyes locked on his bright sapphire gaze. His grip was gentle, yet firm, and strong as she stepped from the coach. For a moment she imagined safety in his grasp. She blinked and shook her head as her feet touched the rough ground. This man was here to take what was not his. Surely he didn’t imagine his gentlemanly gesture could raise respect for him in her eyes. Only a spineless man would hide his face from view.

  A second cowboy, short and burly, a bandana covering his nose and mouth , waited outside. Pistol drawn, he nodded to her and pointed for her to stand to the side.

  Mr. Robinson disembarked immediately and took his place by the driver. Charlotte’s eyes were drawn to the rifle and pistol on the ground. The poor man had never had a chance to use them.

  Bile churned in her stomach and she swallowed hard to keep it from moving up her throat. These men were nothing but weasels, pure cowards. The two that had been on horseback had their faces covered, making sure no one recognized them. Apparently Mr. Brown’s identity had been sacrificed for the heist.

  She avoided eye contact with the one that had helped her from the coach. He had been overly familiar and his attempts at imitating a gentlemen had made him even more repulsive to her.

  Silently, she willed her hand to resist touching the pin she wore on the scarf that wrapped around her shoulders. She would not give it to these highwaymen. The precious cameo was all she had left to remind her of her mother. How dare they think they could take it from her.

  Mr. Brown nodded at the short cowboy. “You better get on up there and find the luggage.”

  Relief and suspicion flowed through her. The man hadn’t even asked for her pin, much less anything she carried in the bag clasped tightly to her side. His eye for expensive items was not so keen as he probably thought.

  While the cowboy began untying the bags on top of the stage, the spineless leader sauntered back to the rifle and pistol taken from the driver. Bending down, he picked them up and began to unload, stashing a handful of bullets in his pockets. Finished, he carefully returned the firearms to the ground. He nodded toward the man with the bag.

  A bag dropped from the top of the stage, sending a cloud of dust into the air as it hit the dry ground. Several others followed it until the top of the stage was empty. The cowboy jumped to the ground and began prying open each one.

  “Stop right now!” Charlotte shouted, starting forward before she had time to think of the possible consequences. “That’s my bag. I didn’t give you permission to go through my things, you. . .you thief. . .” the words choked in her throat.
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br />   The fellow in the Stetson laughed. “Well that solves one problem. Thank you, ma’am.”

  Charlotte gasped as he reached for her bag. He secured the clasp and handed it to Mr. Brown. She folded her arms tighter across her chest. What exactly were these men looking for?

  “Looks like we’re ready to go, boys,” Mr. Brown announced, taking the bag and walking to the horses behind them.

  The driver of the coach dropped his arms. “Just what sort of robbery is this, anyway?”

  “A lucky one for you,” the leader of the group laughed.

  Charlotte stared as he reached up and barely tipped back the brim of his hat. His eyes met hers and held them. “You’ll be comin’ with us, ma’am.”

  Her eyes widened and she shook her head. “No.” She caught the pain in the eyes of her fellow passenger. His expression told her he longed to help. But she knew he had no way of assisting her.

  Begging was all that was left. “Please, sir, no.” She reached for her scarf pin and tried to rip it from its hold. “Take this. It’s worth some money. Just leave me, please.”

  “Keep your pin, Miss. That’s not what we’re here for.”

  His fingers held tight around her elbow as he guided her to his horse, the other men’s guns still trained on the coach driver and passengers.

  “Stand still, Smoke,” he commanded the horse.

  Charlotte caught the horn of the saddle in her hand and held on for her life as he all but threw her onto the animal. “No side-saddle riding today, ma’am,” he said as he swung up behind her. He reached around and pulled her gloves from her hands. “These silky things are too dangerous to ride with. You won’t have any grip.”

  She watched as her newly purchased gloves floated to the ground. Instinctively, she shoved her elbow into his stomach. His grunt was loud and sweet satisfaction to her ears. Her heart raced as she struggled to dismount–she would not be kidnapped by these highway bandits.