The Inconvenient Bride Series 1-3

by Sharon Ihle

  Lacey's heart sank. Had he misunderstood what she meant when she said that she'd have married the first man who'd have her? She hadn't meant exactly that, but her poor mind was confused, lost in the puzzles of the past. Lacey thought of calling Hawke back inside, of begging him to listen so she could explain herself a little better, but then it was too late. Next thing she knew, the judge was giving the jury instructions to disregard her prior statement about killing her parents, and her interrogation was underway again.

  After carefully explaining what Braddock had done to her in his office and how the gun had accidentally gone off, the case against Lacey Winterhawke finally went to jury. In less than thirty minutes, they returned with an innocent verdict, and Lacey was once again a free woman.

  After the courtroom had cleared of spectators, and Lacey had attached the other spur to her boot, the Weatherspoons escorted her outside for a breath of fresh air. Shading herself against the bright afternoon sun, she glanced down the boardwalk to see Hawke standing alone at the end of the building. He looked as if he were staring a hole right through her, but she couldn't quite read his expression.

  Desperate to get to him, Lacey turned to Kate. "There are many things we need to talk about, questions I have about my family, but I can not, well—"

  "Go to yer husband, lass." Kate smiled indulgently. "Our wounds can wait a wee bit longer for the healing. I've a few things to explain to my own man, too." Then, cuddling her daughter in one arm, she hooked the other around Caleb's elbow, and the little family slowly walked down the street.

  Anxiety building in her breast, Lacey started toward her husband. Not sure what he was thinking or feeling when she reached him, she awkwardly asked, "D-did you, ah, hear the verdict?"

  "Every word." Hawke's eyes were guarded, suspicious. "I was listening through the window with Crowfoot."

  Lacey glanced around, looking for him. "Where is the lad?"

  "I asked him to wait up the street a ways so we could have some privacy."

  Her uneasy gaze returning to Hawke's still-stony features, Lacey made an attempt to set things right. "I—I don't know where to begin, my husband. You must be very angry with me."

  "I'm not angry, Irish." Hawke reached out and touched her cheek. "As for beginning, maybe you shouldn't even try. There's been enough said for one day."

  "No, there hasn't. I have to explain what I meant when the judge asked me if I married the first willing man."

  "No, you don't." An ironic grin brightened his expression a little. "I had a feeling from the first time we met that there was something wrong with you—why else would a pretty little thing like you want to hitch up with a man like me?"

  "Because I was afraid when I first come here, Hawke. I suppose 'twas true the day I first met you that I'd have agreed to marry any man, but only so I wouldn't be a burden to Kate any longer. I didn't have the means to live on my own, or knowledge of any skills, so I thought if I married Caleb's neighbor, Kate's and my troubles would be over. I ne'er thought of the trouble I would be causing you."

  Again he touched her cheek, this time with a gentle sadness. "You haven't been much by way of trouble, Lacey. You don't need to say any of this."

  "Aye, but I do." She moved close to him, sliding her hand along the chiseled contours of his jaw. "I want you to know that by the time of our wedding, I already felt differently about the whole thing. I felt stronger as a lass on my own, but still hoped mightily that you'd marry with me. I was honored even then, Hawke, to think that someone like you would accept me as your wife. I still am." The stone beneath her fingers softened a little. "If you tell me that you don't want me by your side any longer, I will go away and ne'er trouble you again—but know, too, that if you ask this of me, you'll know my pain as your own, for my soul's within you."

  One of Hawke's eyes twitched a little and his Adam's apple bobbed as if he were having difficulty swallowing. But he didn't speak. He couldn't.

  Encouraged, Lacey went on. "All I want is to live with you at Winterhawke. If that be what you—" Then at once, she remembered. "Oh, Lord. The ranch."

  Hawke shook his dark head. "I couldn't destroy it." His voice was husky, strained. "How could I? Winterhawke is your home as much as mine."

  "And the horses?"

  He smiled at last. "I couldn't turn the mares loose with such young foals, but I did release Phantom up in the Snowy Range."

  "Oh, but Hawke—now he's lost to you."

  Adding a chuckle to the smile, Hawke said, "Not really—In fact, I'm kind of looking forward to tracking him down again."

  Daring to think that now maybe everything would be all right, Lacey let her head fall against her husband's chest. Instead of allowing her this moment of comfort, he gently took her by the shoulders and held her at arm's length.

  "What happened at the doctor's office, Lacey?"

  She suspected what he was asking about, but saved it for last. "Oh, 'tis wonderful news. Crowfoot can be helped."

  "I already know that. What did the doctor say about you? Are you with child?"

  "Aye, my husband." Lacey grinned broadly, aglow from within. "That I am."

  "You don't look terribly upset. I thought you didn't want to have children."

  "Aye, but that was because I thought any babe I bore would be born mad like me. The doctor told me that probably would not happen, but now even that does not matter—I was ne'er truly mad, so the babe is sure to be all right."

  "That's what you've been so upset about?" Still confused, Hawke hadn't truly grasped the idea that he was to become a father. "What about the difficulties you'll have raising the children of a half-breed?"

  "A half-breed? Oh, Hawke." Lacey knew exactly what he was referring to and why he couldn't get it out of his mind—he'd carried a burden not so unlike her own all his life, too. Tears welling in her eyes, she softly said, "My only concern was that I might be forced to give the man I love a mad child. I have told you many times before that your Indian blood makes no difference a'tall—in fact, I've grown rather fond of that side of you. Will you ne'er believe that of me, my husband?"

  Hawke closed his eyes, and Lacey thought she heard him utter a low groan or growl.

  "We are going to have a baby," she went on to say, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Please try to find a way to be happy about this, husband."

  Hawke abruptly released her, turned his back, and for a moment, Lacey wasn't exactly sure how he was taking the news. He took three deep breaths, his back heaving mightily, then he swung back around to face her again. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but something caught Hawke's gaze over the top of her head. Lacey glanced over her shoulder to see that several curious onlookers still stood on the boardwalk watching their exchange.

  Without a word, Hawke turned Lacey toward him, lifted her off her feet, and carried her around the corner, down the alley, and to the back of the building where they finally found complete privacy. Again he opened his mouth as if to say something, but instead, reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew his ledger. After flipping the pages to a blank sheet, Hawke moistened the tip of his pencil and began to write.

  Amused, Lacey watched him awhile, but finally grew impatient and snatched the ledger out of her husband's hand in mid-scrawl. He didn't object, but smiled that dazzling smile of his as she scanned the heading: Loving Lacey.

  The first entry in the Reasons For column read:

  She's the only female in all of Wyoming Territory willing to marry a hard-headed man like me.

  Lacey glanced up at Hawke in surprise, met his gaze, and gave him a shy smile. Then she read entry number two; Because I can't help myself.

  Smiling to herself now, Lacey scanned number three, then reread it to make sure of what she'd seen; She's having my baby and wants it as much as I do.

  "Oh, Hawke," she murmured as again her gaze shot up to his. This time when their eyes met, it left them both a little misty.

  Catching her breath, Lacey read number four, and burst into giggles; Bec
ause I really, really can't help myself.

  And number five filled her heart to bursting; Because she is the sun, the moon, earth, wind, and fire to me.

  The last entry in that column was scrawled across the page, since Hawke had been writing it when she snatched the book away. Because I—

  Giving a grin as big as all of Wyoming, Lacey glanced to the top of the ledger where the Against Loving Lacey column started. It had but one entry; It's too damn embarrassing to tell her how much I love her in public.

  With tears rolling down her cheeks, Lacey let the slender book fall from her fingers as she threw her arms around Hawke's neck and whispered, "And I love you, too, my husband."

  Then, kissing him with all the love and passion she felt inside, she reminded him of yet another entry which belonged in the Reasons For Loving Lacey column.

  Out of the kitchen comes the tune.

  —An old Irish saying

  Epilogue

  Hawke didn't get the opportunity to enjoy rounding Phantom up again. When they returned to Winterhawke Ranch the following day, the stallion was standing in the lush meadow which bordered the mare's enclosure, calling to his "girls." A bucket of grain was the final persuasion that coaxed the silvery stud back into his own corral, and there he was happy to keep watch over his lovely ladies.

  Lacey and Kate had worked out their troubles by then, too, and came up with an agreement; since neither of them wanted to live in the past, they decided never to look on it again.

  Thanksgiving supper was held at Winterhawke Ranch that year—not because Lacey suddenly became adept at cooking, or because Hawke's culinary talents moved beyond simple stews and roasts, but because the log house was bigger than the Weatherspoons'. With three babies and an eleven-year old boy among them, the weary adults needed all the room they could get.

  Shortly after the twins were born in October, Crowfoot had finally agreed to move into the house. His surge of protectiveness made it impossible for him to let them out of his sight for more than an hour at a time. He bedded down in the babies' bedroom, still content to lie upon the little straw mattress he'd fashioned in the barn. This arrangement was fine with Lacey, who wasn't getting much sleep, and Hawke was darn near agreeable to anything, so awed was he over the perfect little boy and girl he and Lacey had created.

  As William Braddock's only living relative, Hawke did indeed inherit everything the man owned, including Winterhawke Ranch. Other than their home, which Hawke had considered as his own property anyway, the inheritance didn't really mean so much to him. He and his wife were content just to live in peace to raise their family and the horses. Of course, the extra money Braddock's holdings afforded them did come in handy here and there. Especially for frivolous, nonessential items. Like sterling silver spurs.

  Eyeing the pair of miniature spurs hanging from a wire above each of his red-haired babies, Hawke impulsively reached out and flicked the tiny shamrock wheels at the backs, setting all four of them to spinning. For luck, he told himself. Not that the Winterhawke family felt they needed any more than they already had. But just for luck.

  The End

  Page forward for

  Marrying Miss Shylo

  The Inconvenient Bride Series

  Book 2

  Marrying Miss Shylo

  The Inconvenient Bride Series

  Book Two

  by

  Sharon Ihle

  Bestselling, Award-winning Author

  Dedication

  For my beautiful daughter, Lisa; her own Greek god, Panagiotis Kabouridis; and their adorable sons, Stylianos Joseph Kabouridis and Alexandros Leith Kabouridis; and, as always, for my husband, Larry—thanks for filling my days and nights along the Mediterranean with so much romance!

  Special thanks to Janice Griffith, director Old Trails Museum/Winslow Historical Society; The San Diego Historical Society; and Billie Wade for the story of the orphan train and her great collection of Arizona Highways magazines.

  Part 1

  Oh, what a tangled web we weave,

  When first we practice to deceive.

  —Sir Walter Scott

  Chapter 1

  New York City, 1888

  Awestruck and surprisingly mortified, Shylo McBride stood with her younger sister and stared up at the huge brownstone mansion on the corner of Fifth Avenue. Although she rarely second-guessed any plan of hers once she'd put it in motion, this one suddenly seemed almost too crazy to have a chance in hell of succeeding.

  Her knees were nearly knocking, and her throat was dry, parched as if she'd been staked out in the desert for weeks on end. A sense of fear—something foreign to her—whispered that she ought to run away while she still could. But her obsessive need to find her mother kept her in place and urged her to continue her search. Besides, she hadn't come all the way from Kansas just to turn tail and bolt like a frightened rabbit.

  Shylo took a deep breath and went over the details with her sister one last time. "Remember what you're supposed to do and who I'm supposed to be?"

  Cassie gave her an exasperated sigh. "For the thousandth time, yes. I'm still a McBride, but now you're pretending to be a Folsom. I'm your traveling companion, not your sister, and have to act like a maid-type female. I'm not to speak to anyone unless spoken to, and then mostly just 'Yes, ma'am' and 'No, sir' type answers. And no cussing."

  "Especially not that shit word," Shylo amended. "Anything else?"

  Cassie thought a minute, and then frowned. "I'm not to give in to a fit of jealousy or pout because you're all decked out in that fancy ball gown and getting all the attention while I'm stuck with this plain old traveling dress and purple hair."

  Shylo shook off the residual guilt she still felt over the experiment she'd done on Cassie's hair. "It's not like I knew something could go wrong with the henna. It was a mistake. Now stop worrying so much about it. It'll wash out in time."

  But to Cassie, at the age of sixteen—a full five years younger than her sister—even one more day of those hideous locks would seem like a lifetime. "It will probably stay this color until I'm too old to get a beau."

  Though sorely tempted to lecture Cassie about keeping her mind on the main reason they were back in New York—to find their mother—Shylo did recognize that as a dreamer, Cassie lived for the day some nonexistent Prince Charming would come along on a big white steed, sweep her into his arms, and vow to love her forever. Shylo, practical soul that she was, knew such a thing would never happen to either of them, but she kept her opinion to herself, allowing Cassie the one luxury that didn't cost them a dime: her fantasies.

  Shylo tugged her sister's oversize bonnet forward to make sure none of the purple strands showed. "With the pretty face God gave you, you could be bald and still have beaux lined up for miles. Now let's go inside and get this over with."

  With a more agreeable Cassie right on her heels, Shylo climbed the elaborate marble stairs and rang the bell as if she had every right to do so. The door opened within seconds, and a butler dressed in the peacock blue livery of the house of Vanderkellen appeared, his right arm positioned carefully across his waist. "May I be of service, madam?"

  Shylo lifted her chin to what she figured was an aristocratic tilt and said, "Yes, you may. I'm here on a brief visit, one that came up so quickly, I'm afraid I neglected to bring my calling cards. I have a message for William or Victoria Vanderkellen. Please tell them Miss Shylo Folsom of the Buffalo Folsoms is here to see them."

  His frown was almost indiscernible as he glanced from Shylo to Cassie in her drab brown dress, but it was there in any case. If she couldn't get past the butler, how would she ever get into the party and set her plan in motion? Deciding to parry arrogance with arrogance, Shylo raised her chin to another, haughtier level and arched one sable-colored eyebrow as high as it would go. "Well?" she said, trying to act offended. "Aren't you going to invite us in?"

  Uncertainty flickered in his eyes for a long moment, but at last the butler backed away and showed them into
a lavish foyer bigger than any home the McBride girls had ever lived in.

  "Wait here, please," he said, gesturing for them to take a seat on a gilded settee upholstered in crushed maroon velvet. Then he turned on his shiny patent-leather heels and disappeared behind a pair of huge doors.

  Music and laughter, the sounds of gaiety, drifted into the entry before the doors whispered to a close again. Alone and unobserved, Shylo and Cassie took a quick look around. Bouquets of aromatic flowers adorned each of the several occasional tables in the reception area, and tall palm trees with shiny fronds rose up from each side of a curved marble staircase.

  Shylo allowed herself a moment of awe. Here she was, a complete nobody, and she'd actually gained entrance inside the Vanderkellen mansion. She'd done it. Filled with more excitement now than anxiety, she turned to see if her sister felt the same way. Cassie was gawking at the richly appointed home, clearly agog over the excesses of marble and oil paintings and the liberal use of gold in trim, trinkets, and figurines.

  Shylo elbowed her in the ribs. "Quit looking so darn impressed. Remember that you're supposed to have been in hundreds of houses just like this, one as fancy as another. You're so doggone big-eyed, I'd swear you'd just crossed paths with your first naked man."

  Cassie gasped, and then giggled into her gloved palm as the doors parted and the butler stepped back into the room. The most elegant woman Shylo had ever seen was standing at his side. The diamonds and emeralds around her neck and on her ears sparkled, setting off her gorgeous strawberry-blond hair, which was the very color Shylo's would have been had the henna worked better on Cassie. The woman practically floated as she moved across the marble floor, the train of her emerald velvet gown slithering along behind her like a serpent.