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

by Mary L. Briggs

  Charlotte smiled. That certainly sounded like the man who had brought her here, always one step ahead of the crisis at hand. She stared into her coffee. Not that there was much future in loving a man that thought she was a silly woman, fooled by a charlatan and desperate to return to him even after she was told the truth.

  When Sam came back, he would probably stick her on the first stage to Fort Worth. From there, she’d catch a train and be in Springfield in a few days, back to her old life as he had promised. The very thought of leaving froze the hot coffee in her stomach.

  Chapter 9

  By the noon meal, the sun was high and hot in the blue sky. The air in the kitchen was heavy with humidity from the cooking food as Charlotte stirred the pan of beans and wiped her forehead with the bottom of the apron she was wearing. At the sink pump, she filled a glass with water and took a long drink of the cooling liquid.

  Walking to the window, she could see Luther outside the barn, stacking the wood that he’d split earlier. Rosie’s calm voice, encouraging Mrs. Anderson with the bowl of soup she’d taken upstairs, drifted down the staircase.

  Charlotte sighed and took her drink to the table. The smooth oak planks were cool in the hot room and she rubbed her fingers across them, enjoying a break from the warm stove area. Her mind was concerned with so much more than the heat. Where was Sam? Please keep him safe, Lord. Bring him back to me. Or at least to his family, since she had no indication that he felt anymore for her than gentle pity at her situation.

  Back at the sink, she rinsed her glass and picked up a towel to dry it as the sound of horse hooves pounding the ground severed her thoughts. Through the window, she could see a mounted horseman racing toward the house. For a moment, she froze. Surely he wasn’t coming with news of Sam. He’d just left a few hours ago.

  Luther limped out of the barn and waved as the man on the horse attempted to stop, spilling from the saddle onto his back with a thud. Charlotte, still clutching the cloth in her hands and rushed out the kitchen door.

  Her feet pounded the ground in time to the racing of her heart. Something told her that this had to do with the mission Sam was on. Please let him be alright, Lord.

  Luther was on his knees beside the man, who lay still with his eyes closed. He looked up as she arrived. “He’s hurt real bad, Miss.”

  She knelt and saw the badge on his shirt identifying him as a U. S. Deputy Marshall. Had he been riding with Sam, perhaps? His face was wet with sweat and streaked with dirt. Blood seeped from his side. She thrust the dishtowel over the wound and pressed down. He moaned and tried to pull her hand away, but Luther’s hand was fast to take his arm.

  Charlotte glanced around, trying to think what to do. He was a large man and more weight than she and Luther could manage. “How can we to get him to the house?”

  “We’ll have to get a blanket and drag him in, I think. I’ll get Rosie and she can help us.”

  ***

  Charlotte and Rosie each took a side on the end of the makeshift carrier. Luther bore the brunt of the weight on his end. Inside, Rosie nodded towards a door just off the front room of the house.

  Charlotte tugged hard and lifted when Luther gave the word and the three of them managed to deposit the man on the empty bed.

  “I’ll go get Doc Egan,” Luther said, as he went out the door.

  Rosie loosened the man’s collar and spoke to Charlotte. “I’ve got hot water in the kitchen and there’s a stack of towels in the shelves behind the table. Bring 'em all.”

  Charlotte hurried from the room, her heart racing like a tumbleweed on the windy plains. If only he would open his eyes and speak to them. Give them some word of Sam. Wherever Sam is, please take care of him, Lord.

  She found the items and stacked them in the largest bowl she could find. Taking the kettle from the stove, she headed back to the injured man. In the room she removed the towels from the bowl and replaced them with the steaming water.

  “You start washing his face off and I’ll take a look at the wound,” Rosie told Charlotte, handing a wet towel to her.

  Charlotte sat on the bed and began to dab his cheeks and chin. Underneath the dirt, his face was pale as the limestone ridges around the farmhouse. He had lost a lot of blood. She glanced at his side as Rosie cut away the shirt from his injury, revealing a hole in his skin. Visions of soldier’s bullet wounds flashed through her mind.

  She closed her eyes for a moment. If Justice Fletcher had done this to this man, what had he done to Sam?

  “Miss Charlotte?”

  She opened her eyes to find Rosie staring at her.

  “Yes, Rosie?” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

  “You alright? You need to go back in the kitchen for a minute?”

  Charlotte shook her head. “No. No I’m all right. How long will it be before Luther gets back with the doctor?”

  Rosie pursed her lips and pressed new towels onto the bleeding wound. “Could be too long.”

  Charlotte’s heart dropped to her toes. They had to save him. “Isn’t there something we can do?” She forced her thoughts away from war memories threatening to resurface. There had been so many men die from their injuries. She wasn’t ready to see another.

  Rosie looked up and spoke one word. “Pray.”

  ***

  It was over an hour before Luther arrived with the doctor. The man at once began to examine the patient.

  “I need you ladies to get more hot water for me. I think I can get the bullet out fairly quickly. If he hasn’t bled too much, he may live.”

  The physician worked swiftly and had the deputy stitched and bandaged within the hour. “I think he’ll be fine. Just keep him quiet and give him plenty of liquids.”

  Rosie nodded. “C’mon down stairs, Doc, and I’ll get you some coffee and a little bit to eat.”

  Charlotte dabbed the man’s forehead with a damp cloth and stared at the sleeping face. He had to wake up and tell them what happened. Her heart pounded against her chest, her stomach churning. Please wake him, Lord.

  She stepped to the window and stared at the scene below. The doctor’s buggy was parked just outside the front door. He was putting his bag inside the vehicle. Looking past the drive, the countryside was empty. No Sam riding in to say the deed was done.

  A moan sounded from the man on the bed. She hurried to his side and took his hand. “Sir? Can you hear me?”

  Luther and Rosie entered the room at that moment, their approach almost unnoticed by Charlotte in her intense concentration.

  His eyes were focused weakly on her face as he spoke. “Where’s Marshall Brown? Is he here?”

  Desperation filled her heart. “No. Were you with him?” Her mind was filled with the recollection of the conversation between Sam and Rosie in the kitchen, Sam's plan involving Brown and bringing punishment to Justice.

  The wounded man took a gulping breath. “I’m Deputy Alan Banks. We were bushwhacked before we rode into town...at Tyler’s Bluff. It was Fletcher…Fletcher and a couple of men he hired. We never saw them until it was too late. They took out two other deputies. I’m not sure what happened to Brown. I hope he got away.”

  Rosie poured water in a cup from the bedside table and propped his head. She offered a drink to him. “Just a sip. Take it nice and slow.”

  Charlotte had to know for herself before her heart exploded in her chest. Unable to wait any longer she asked, “Sam. What about Sam Anderson?”

  He shook his head and a grimace of pain crossed his face. “He hadn’t met up with us, yet. I think they're still...in town...” his voice began to fade. He managed a last whisper before his eyes closed. “Somebody’s got to get word to the sheriff in…”

  Rosie nodded to her husband. “You gotta go.”

  Charlotte’s eyes met Luther’s. “Saddle a horse for me, too, please. I’ll be at the barn in a few minutes.” She raced from the room and into her own, all but ripping the dress off in her haste to don the trousers and shirt that Sam had given her
mere days ago. Boots on, she found her hat on the table near the window.

  She was going to find Sam and bring him home before he tangled with Justice and suffered the same fate. Even if she had to kill Justice Fletcher herself.

  Chapter 10

  Luther was waiting on a horse, holding the reins of hers, when she made it to the barn. She swung up to the saddle and they were off at a gallop, her heart pounding in rhythm with the equines hooves.

  The hot spring wind stung her face. She pulled the hat low over her brow as dirt devils spun up in the road, stabbing her vision with bits of soil and rock churned upwards from the pounding hooves. She urged the horse faster. The sooner she was there, the sooner she would find Sam and make sure he was safe.

  Within half an hour, she recognized the limestone outcropping that Luther had described to her. They slowed as they neared the landmark of Tyler’s Bluff. The town was just around the dusty curve of the road. Adjusting her hat, she felt her hair, making sure her braids were safely tucked under the covering. No need to call attention to herself as a woman when she was riding forth with a man's courage.

  They slowed the horses to a walk, Charlotte clutching the reins as she forced herself to go slowly despite her pounding heart. The little town was busy with its usual Saturday morning trade from nearby farms and ranches. She counted seven wagons parked along the block in front of the mercantile. A man was putting crackers in a barrel in the front window of the store.

  A group of young ladies, dressed in pretty sprig dresses, shrieked as a dog of indeterminate breed scampered past them, pursuing a small boy running down the wooden sidewalk. The girls managed to steer clear of the chase as the child hurried on with the black and white mutt on his heels.

  Self-conscious of her appearance, Charlotte pulled her hat even lower on her forehead and followed Luther to the hitching post nearest the sheriff’s office. Tying the animals securely, they entered the building. A lone man was leaning back in a chair, feet propped on the desk. Loud snores filled the room.

  “Excuse us,” Charlotte spoke loudly.

  The man had his boots on the floor at once, a wide-eyed look plastered across his face. “You folks need something?”

  “Are you the sheriff?” She asked, doing her best to speak in a low voice. Right now didn’t seem the best idea to reveal her true identity. "We need to speak to him. Trouble just outside town."

  He stood and shook his head, resting his hand on the pistol holstered at his side. “I’m the deputy. Sheriff’s over at the saloon.”

  Luther glanced at Charlotte. “Guess I’d better go. You wait here.”

  She followed him out the door and to the horses. “I’ll wait. And watch for Sam,” she said, her eyes on the crowded sidewalk across from them.

  Luther grimaced. “You just stay out of trouble. Me and Rosie promised Mr. Sam we’d take care of you.”

  Irritation stung her words. “I can take care of myself, Luther. You just be careful in that saloon.”

  He nodded and turned to head down the dusty street. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Charlotte watched him until he was lost in the throng of people. She waited a moment longer, then struck off herself.

  Now that Luther was busy, she was free to look for Sam on her own terms. Crossing the street, her heart somersaulted when she realized the reflection in the bank window of the young man, hands in trouser pockets, casually strolling down the sidewalk, was herself. No one would guess she was a proper young woman intent to marry a local citizen just days ago.

  Marry a local murderer, she corrected herself with a shiver.

  A block ahead, three men stood talking. The largest of the group turned and stared in her direction. She halted as a stab of recognition pierced her heart.

  It was Justice. His image was seared in her mind, not to mention the picture kept inside the locket she wore, the chain covered by the scarf tied round her neck. A special gift from the man that planned to kill her. The golden cord around her neck burned hot on her skin as anger and resentment boiled with her. She resisted the urge to jerk the loathsome jewelry from her neck, a foolish gesture which would draw immediate attention to herself.

  He took no notice of her as he turned back to his companions, absorbed in conversation. Probably these two men were working for him, perhaps even complicit in his crimes.

  Keeping her eyes on the men, she stepped out of the way of a heavy-set woman laden with packages, followed by a teenage boy carrying several more.

  She turned her attention back to Justice and his hired gun. After ambushing the Marshall and his deputies this morning, it was a bold move to show themselves in town unless they believed the entire group to be dead.

  Her thoughts went immediately to Marshall Brown, whose fate the injured man hadn't known. Had they killed him, too?

  As she watched, a fourth man approached, the sight of whom caused Charlotte's heart to stand still momentarily. It was Sam, walking up to the man like an old friend glad to see him. She watched as Justice greeted him, shaking his hand and giving him a friendly slap on the back.

  Her blood froze in her veins. Justice Fletcher was every bit as merciless as Sam had described him. Not even five hours ago, he had murdered two, possibly three men, and there he stood talking and laughing, as if nothing had happened.

  But Sam was obviously well in control of his emotions as he seemed to be replying in friendly fashion. It must be part of his plan, although the sight of his friendliness made her shudder with loathing. If there was ever a hint that he was in league with such a man, she would never forgive him–and if this was what it took to bring Justice's crimes to light, it was a plan beyond her skills of emotion.

  As of this moment, Sam knew nothing about the attack on the Marshall and his men. Her gaze wandered on up the sidewalk to the saloon, where Luther was just now stepping inside.

  She swallowed hard. There had to be a way to warn Sam, to tell him what had happened before he tried anything desperate–but there was no need when he looked up at that moment, his gaze landing on her. She was afraid he might recognize her–but he turned his attention back to the conversation.

  Glancing behind her, she spotted the opening to the General Mercantile. This might be a good time to slip out of the group’s sight until she could find a way to tell him what had happened to his reinforcements.

  Chapter 11

  The store was cool and dark, a refreshing change from the heat beating on her head outside the outdoors. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light as a man bumped into her and nodded an excuse.

  Across the room, she recognized the profile of her former fellow stage passenger, Harvey Robinson, examining some merchandise. He looked well recovered from the stage hold-up. She stopped herself just in time from going to greet him, since he would never recognize the slender young man she was dressed to be.

  Bolts of calico stacked on a table caught her attention and she stopped to look, her fingers running across the smooth fabric. The light-weight material was much better suited to this weather than the heavier clothes she had brought with her.

  “May I help you, son? Son?”

  Charlotte gave a slight jump. The tall woman in the black dress was talking to her. “I, uh, no thank you, ma’am. Just looking for…my sister.”

  The store clerk shook her head as she started to move away. “Humph. Never met a brother yet that could pick out something for his sister.”

  Charlotte retreated to the men’s hat section. That should be safe enough. She fingered the fine leather on the black brim, imagining Sam in such a hat.

  A hand closed over her elbow and squeezed hard.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Despite her hammering heart, she breathed a sigh of relief. Sam. Even the sound of his angry voice brought her the most joy she had felt in a long time.

  “Let’s go. . .kid,” he said, pulling her out the door and into the alleyway between stores.

  His blue eyes flashe
d black with anger in the shadow of the passageway as he turned towards her again, her words spilling out as quickly as she could let them.

  “I’m so glad to see you, Sam. We were all worried–”

  He grabbed her shoulder and his thumb dug into her soft skin. “I’m asking you again, Charlotte. What are you doing here? Are you alone?”

  She pulled away. “Luther is with me. He’s gone to talk to the sheriff up at the saloon. We came to warn you because Marshall Brown and his posse were ambushed by Fletcher and his hired guns. One of the injured deputies managed to make his way to the ranch.”

  A grim shadow crossed his face. “Brown’s dead?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “The deputy didn’t know. He said that he saw Brown riding away and Fletcher and his men in pursuit.”

  Sam turned and began to pace back and forth, pulling a corner of the bandana tied round his neck to mop his forehead, grimacing as the cloth swiped across the still-tender wound. “Where’s Luther?”

  “He’s still up at the saloon. I thought he would be back by now.”

  Sam glanced toward the establishment down the street. “Did you bring the warrant?” he asked. Not giving her time to reply, he probed for more. "Did the deputy have it on him–a warrant to arrest Fletcher."

  She shook her head. “Marshall Brown must have it. ” If only she had thought to ask the man about it. But her relief that Sam hadn’t been in the altercation had erased any other concerns about his plans.

  Sam muttered something under his breath as he trained his gaze on Fletcher and the two men still loitering at the street corner ahead.

  “I wonder what they’re up to? After attacking those men, you’d think they would be laying low. ”

  "Maybe they have a reason for being here," she said, softly.

  He turned to her. “I’m going to talk to them again. You wait here.”