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

by Mary L. Briggs

  Rosie’s eyes widened and she laughed. “Those two need bossin’ sometimes. And it’s so nice to meet you, Miss Turner,” she said, turning to Charlotte.

  Our guest? “It’s nice to meet you, too, Rosie.” It would be untruthful to say she was glad to be there. No doubt Rosie thought she was an invited friend of the family, not an unwilling pawn in Sam's plans. She could see now that it would be useless to find an ally in this house, given the obvious love Sam's employees had for him.

  She looked at him. “Am I to understand your mother lives here?” To convince a woman of her son's heinous plans would be difficult. But maybe it was possible.

  His eyes avoided hers. “She does. You may be able to meet her later. She’s not ...well...right now.”

  Chapter 6

  The large room was light and pleasant, the walls were covered in a rose patterned paper and the lace curtains on the double windows cast soft shadows across the scrubbed wood floor. The Nine-patch quilt on the bed was pieced in various sprigged and solid shades of yellow, pink, and green. On the floor, beside the bed, sat Charlotte's leather bag from the stagecoach, looking no worse for the wear it had acquired on its long ride.

  She gasped. “How did my bag get here?”

  Rosie, busy checking the pitcher for water turned and smiled. “A young man brought it here last night. I didn’t unpack it for you, as I wasn’t sure when you were arriving.”

  “Oh, that’s fine.” Thank you Lord, that she didn’t look inside.

  Rosie gave the dresser one last swipe with a cloth from the pocket of her apron and turned to Charlotte. “I think the room is done up enough, now. I sure hope you enjoy your stay. If you need anything else, just let me know.”

  “Oh, it’s perfect. A beautiful room,” Charlotte assured her. “I’m sure I’ll be very comfortable.”

  Rose smiled and headed for the door. “After you wash up and change, I’ll have some lemonade and food ready in the kitchen.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be down soon,” Charlotte assured her, picking up the bag and setting it on the bed.

  “You jus’ take all the time you need,” Rosie said, closing the door as she left.

  Charlotte listened until Rosie’s footsteps faded down the stairs. She hurriedly opened the bag and dug through to the bottom. Her fingers closed over the cold steel and she pulled it from its hiding place. The small pistol caught a ray of sun coming through the windows and flashed bright against the walls of the room. She smiled as a feeling of hope enveloped her.

  White paper caught her eye and she drew the small bundle of letters from her bag. Sitting on the bed, she opened the last he’d sent:

  My Dearest Charlotte,

  Just the thought of you sends my heart soaring. My arms are anxious to hold you, my lips to kiss you, my own sweet bride. I am counting the days until you arrive. We will be married the day you step off of the stage and our hearts will forever more beat together as one.

  I purchased what the locals call the Milton Ranch, just south of town. It will make a lovely home for the two of us. It will need some work, but the generous dowry you are bringing to our union will more than cover the necessary repairs.

  Remember, my thoughts are ever with you until you arrive.

  Your loving Justice

  Wouldn’t this letter be enough to show Sam that he had the wrong man? If only he would show her what absolute proof he had against the man she’d promised to marry. Some evidence to convince her besides a few random newspaper articles.

  If she could get to Justice before Sam. If she could only ask him a few questions to either settle the doubts in her heart...or plant new ones that would shatter the illusion of these letters, perhaps.

  She folded the letter and put it with the others, shoving the bundle inside of her shirt before pushing it into the waist of the trousers.

  ***

  The window gave a clear view of the barn. Luther had just exited the door and was slowly plodding toward the house, his limp emphasized even at this distance. She scoured the surrounding area for any movement. No one else was in sight, the old family servant the only person she’d seen outside when they arrived. Surely a ranch this size must have more employees. But there was still no one else as she watched the grounds, until Luther disappeared beneath the shadow of the house.

  Tucking the pistol into her belt as well, she opened the door and hurried to the top of the stairs. Voices sounded from below, faded, as if in the back of the house. Probably the kitchen. More than likely, Sam was there now.

  The aroma of Rosie’s stew drifted up the stairs and her stomach grumbled. She put her hand over the offending area and willed it to silence. Hunger would have to wait. She had something more important to do than satisfy those physical pains.

  She moved silently down the staircase, pausing after each step, listening. At the bottom, she slowly blew out the breath she’d been holding. The voices were louder now.

  She edged her way along the wall until she was standing just outside the kitchen door. It was slightly ajar and the conversation inside carried well.

  “I’ll be leaving by dawn to meet Brown,” Sam said. “I’ll need you to keep Miss Turner entertained tomorrow.”

  “Don’t you worry about that, Mr. Sam. I’ll make sure she stays here.”

  Charlotte’s heart dropped to her stomach. So Rosie knew that she was here against her will. She leaned her back against the wall and slowed her breathing. The conversation in the kitchen continued.

  “We’ll find Fletcher as soon as we get to Black Well. There shouldn’t be any problem. I figure he’s too much of a coward to resist us if we take him by surprise.”

  Charlotte set her jaw. How dare Sam call him a coward.

  She could hear the hesitation in Rosie’s voice. “Well, you just be careful. You never know what a man like that is capable of. Once someone like him gets a taste for killing, they’re liable to do anything.”

  Justice wasn’t the man they were making him out to be, was he? His letters were proof that he was a good man. She resisted the urge to burst into the room and tell them so, to defy the claims Sam had made since he hauled her out of the stagecoach.

  A hallway was to her left with a windowed door at the end. She walked quietly, making sure to keep her boots on the rugs scattered in a row. She pulled back the muslin curtain and looked out the window. The barn was straight in front of her. Her fingers closed over the knob. Only moments to freedom.

  ***

  The darkness was warm and smelled of hay and grain. Several horses were locked in stalls. Sam’s big gray one, Smoke, whinnied and nodded to her. She stopped and patted his nose. He would be too tired for the trip.

  She walked slowly down the aisle, studying each horse. She needed one that was fast, but not too wild. Unfortunately, she didn’t know any of these creatures, so she would have to judge on looks alone. She bypassed Coffee, who seemed to have a lot of nervous tendencies, and settled on the Morgan in the third stall. She grabbed a halter hanging on a post and opened the stall door.

  It would be quicker to ride bareback, but she wasn’t used to it. Nerves pulsed through her arms, causing her hands to shake. She had to work quickly. With the blanket on the horse’s back, she threw the saddle over it.

  Strong fingers held her wrist, circling it like an iron clamp. A familiar deep voice declared, “This horse is lame. You won’t get very far.” He reached with his free hand and pulled the pistol from her belt, tucking it inside his own.

  Her heart sank to her boots as she turned. Even in the low light, she could see the blaze of anger in Sam’s eyes. “You let go of me,” she hissed through clinched teeth.

  He shook his head. “I ought to. . .to. . .”

  Charlotte ripped her arm from his grasp. The fire in her eyes met his. “You said your mother is there in the house. How do you think she’d feel about you kidnapping another woman and holding her hostage? Is this the way she raised you?”

  A shadow blanketed his expression. He
answered in a low, hard voice. “My mother knows exactly what I’m doing. And the reasons why.”

  The blood drained from her face, filling her veins with icy liquid. “Your mother would approve of this?”

  Sam rubbed his hand across his scruffy jaw and sighed. “Just get in the house, Charlotte. Change your clothes and behave yourself for a couple of days. Then I’ll let you go home. On the first stage out of Black Well.”

  A low laugh flowed from her mouth. “A generous offer, but what if I decide not to comply? What if I don't want to go back home, since I came here deliberately.”

  “You’re going to do what I say. On your own, or under force.” His eyes were black in the low light of the barn. “You choose.”

  Courage shivered to defeat inside of her. She had no choice. The fact that he let her walk freely was no different than if he’d tied her with a rope and led her like a dog. But he didn’t know her very well if he thought she would give up so easily.

  A few steps later, she stopped. “You bring me out here and hold me prisoner on your ranch with no explanation other than a few unsubstantiated newspaper clippings. All the time pretending it’s for ‘my own good’. How do you expect me to act? To believe you're doing this for some virtuous cause when the only evidence you show me is your own deceitful plan?”

  His jaw set. He exhaled a breath he’d been holding. “It’s not something I can talk about very easily, the reasons I won't let you go free. Now let’s get back to the house.”

  Her heart softened as she stared into his indigo eyes. She swallowed hard and looked away, reaching for a reserve of courage. “I won’t.” Her very words made her feel like a spoiled little girl. He definitely brought out the worst in her.

  “Have it your way.” He clamped his fingers around her wrist and began dragging her from the barn.

  Charlotte tried to dig her heels into the ground, but it was dry, hard as a brick street in an eastern city. “Let go of me!” She twisted and turned trying to break his grip, but it was useless. Outside the barn, the toe of her boot caught on a small rock and she almost went to her knees, barely saving herself at the last moment.

  He stopped and drew her close to him, their faces only inches apart. “Stop being so mule-headed and listen to me,” he commanded.

  Her throat began to close. She pulled harder and tried to step back, but his hold was too tight. Her heart raced beyond anything she could imagine as her eyes met his. She was almost in his arms. His breath on her throat sent shivers down her spine. Any closer and their hearts would be beating against each other.

  “Charlotte, I. . .” his voice was hoarse and trailed into nothing as his sapphire eyes locked with hers. She blinked, but it only drew her deeper into the blue gaze. His grip on her wrist loosened and he touched her cheek with his fingers, sending the swarm of butterflies in her stomach into a frenzy.

  His arm was around her, holding her, as if she belonged to him. His soft caress on her cheek sent tingles down her face and across her lips. The packet of letters all but burned a hole of guilt in the skin under her shirt.

  In this moment, her heart wanted to believe that he was the man she came to meet in this place. Sam Anderson. The kind of man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

  But the letters. . .Justice. . .the promises she made to him, the future they planned.

  He cleared his throat and stepped back, wiping the beads of perspiration from his face. “What I mean to say, is that. . .we’d better be getting inside. Rosie’s wondering where you went off to.”

  She nodded and let out the breath she’d been holding. If getting inside meant time away from him, then it was the best thing that could happen at this moment.

  ***

  Charlotte washed with the water Rosie had supplied in the pitcher and basin stand. She opened the bag which contained all the worldly possessions remaining from her life in Springfield. From the bundle of clothes in the saddlebag, she unwound her scarf to find the precious pin she had feared Sam's would-be gang would steal.

  She put on her most practical calico, a dark blue print with white sprig flowers. Her hair braided and pinned on her head, she let the reflection in the mirror tell her that she looked her best. Her mother’s cameo pinned to the high collar of the dress, she smiled at the image before her.

  She had pictured making herself attractive for Justice in this manner; but instead of the imagined figure from the letters, Sam’s face floated through her mind. How would he think she looked?

  The sun had left its rosy mark on her face, hiding the blush on her cheeks at this moment. The ladies sewing circle in Springfield would be appalled at her appearance, but at this moment she preferred having a little color on her cheeks. The couple of days without a corset had been another relief from the everyday bondage of being ladylike in Springfield. No doubt about it, she was already taking to Texas.

  A cloud of guilt billowed in her heart at the notion she was also taking to a certain Texan when she’d already promised her heart to someone else.

  ***

  Sam and Rosie were deep in conversation as she approached the sunny kitchen. Gathering her skirt, she walked softly toward the entrance, taking a deep breath. She entered the room, forcing her lips into a smile.

  Their conversation ceased at once. Rosie, sitting at the table across from Sam, pushed back her chair and stood.

  “There you are, Miss Charlotte. You come on in and sit down. I’ll have something for you to eat in just a second.”

  Sam, at the table, his hand cupping a bowl of stew, stood to pull out a chair for her.

  She bit her lip and sighed inwardly over this gentlemanly gesture. “Thank you.”

  “I take it your room is satisfactory, Miss Turner?”

  For a prison. “Yes. It’s fine.” It would be easier to talk if her jaw wasn’t so stiff with tension.

  The stew was warm and enticing to her mouth. She felt like inhaling the bowl all at once, but it would be impolite. “This is wonderful, Rosie,” she managed in between mouthfuls. She had to eat enough to keep her strength up, no matter what might happen next. Such as facing Justice to learn the truth.

  “Are you comparing it to our supper last evening?” Sam teased, wiping his mouth with a cotton napkin.

  “If you’ve been eating Mr. Sam’s cooking, it’s no wonder you’re so frightful hungry, right now,” Rosie laughed, ladling another serving into Charlotte’s bowl.

  Charlotte paused, spoon midway between the bowl and her mouth. “I don’t think this is a good time to discuss last night’s meal,” she said, feeling a shudder run through her. “I’d just as soon enjoy this one.”

  Rosie picked up a bowl full of scraps and headed out the kitchen door. “Here chicky, chicky,” her voice faded into the yard. Charlotte gazed after her figure disappearing out the door, cast in the evening light.

  Sam's eyes narrowed. “Don’t even think about trying to leave again, Charlotte.”

  She sighed. How could he know what she was thinking? Leaning across the table, she lowered her voice. “You’re going to kill the man I’m supposed to marry," she answered.

  Too late, she realized she had described him without any terms of feeling, namely, the love she had expressed for him before. She had meant love. Why hadn’t it come out that way, the feelings she had instead of the promises she intended to make?

  “Just how do you think I’m supposed to react?" she continued. "Do you want me to cheer you on in these efforts to–to punish him for something he may be innocent of? There is such a thing as a legal process. A trial, a jury...”

  Sam shook his head. “I told you who he really is. Why don’t you believe me?”

  Her heart pounded in her throat as she replied. “You have the wrong man. That’s all there is to it. I’ve been writing to him for over a year. I know him–and he isn't the man you've described.”

  Scarlet colored his neck, sending streaks of red across his handsome face as if Sam's anger equaled hers. “I’m telling you th
at you’ve been fooled by a man that’s both a murderer and a thief.”

  Charlotte let out a low laugh and sat back in her chair. “So now he’s a thief, too? I give up. There’s no reasoning with you, Sam Anderson.”

  He took a deep breath. “I don’t know much about you," he answered, "but I’m willing to wager that you have a bit of money that you’re going to bring to this marriage. Am I right?”

  Her throat closed as the words she’d been about to speak dissolved.

  He seemed not to notice her reaction as he continued on. “All the others did. He made sure of it before he proposed. What did he tell you it would be used for? A nice little house? A ranch?”

  His features softened at the sight of her face growing pale. He reached across the table, taking her hand, his thumb gently caressing her skin.

  “I’m sorry, Charlotte. But you have to know the truth about who he really is.”

  She shook her head and pulled her fingers from his. For the moment, her appetite was gone. Her lips cold, numb. Justice said the money would be for their home together. For their future. How could Sam possibly know about this?

  She stood and fled the kitchen, her feet stomping as she took an extra stair at a time to her room. Inside, she slammed the door and flopped on the bed, face down.

  ***

  Sam stood as she escaped from the room. He followed and stopped at the bottom of the stairs, wincing as the door to her room slammed shut.

  “What am I going to do about her, Lord?” He whispered aloud, his eyes resting on the closed door above. She was supposed to be nothing more than a hindrance to the vengeance he was seeking. A justified vengeance, he reminded himself. But she was becoming something far more precious to him now.

  Her face, her voice, was in his every thought. . . and in his every prayer. Her heart belonged to another man and it wasn't possible for that to change anytime soon. She was emotionally tied to the man he had made his life’s duty to see hanged.