An Unconventional Bride For The Rancher (Historical Western Romance)

by Cassidy Hanton

  “We need supplies,” the stranger said, “coffee, flour, beans, salt, sugar.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jean replied, writing it all down and adding up the prices. “We have all that. Charlene, will you go to the storeroom and start fetching what the gentlemen need?”

  Charlene nodded. “Yes. Of course.”

  One of the other men’s voice stopped her when she made to turn. “You sure are a pretty little thing,” he said, his voice as admiring as his eyes. “That your name? Charlene?”

  Charlene nodded, her mouth dry. The one who placed the order frowned, glancing from her to the other. “Let her be, George,” he ordered. “She needs to get the supplies we need.”

  “That’ll be twelve dollars, sir,” Jean said. “Is there anything else you want?”

  Before he answered, the bell over the door chimed. Glancing past the men, Charlene felt relief course through her, making her feel as limp as a wet rag. It was Tyler. And he had his rifle in his hand. The men also turned to view the newcomer.

  Tyler froze for an instant, his face growing pale with shock, his jaw slack. The men, too, half turned away from her, also went as still as statues. What she could see of the leader’s face had darkened with rage in that brief instant of time, his brows lowering in fury. The man named George started to reach for his revolver when Tyler’s rifle snapped down.

  “You!” the leader gritted out.

  Charlene had seen Tyler annoyed and irritated since she had met him but had begun to think he never got truly angry. His temperament seemed so easy going, mild, humorous. None of those traits fit him now as he stared at the men, his gray eyes flat, his lip curled in a snarl. “Dawson.”

  Even his voice had changed into that of a very dangerous man, holding a thick growl within it. Real fear shot through Charlene. She edged carefully away, pushing Jean away from the three men. Jean let herself be pushed, also stepping aside, out of the way if they started shooting at one another.

  “I’m going to kill you, Price,” the first man grated, his hand hovering over his weapon. “You got Benji killed.”

  “I arrested him for the murder of my fiancée,” Tyler shot back. “I didn’t kill him.”

  Charlene choked on a gasp. Tyler had a fiancée who was murdered? Her belly roiled in fear, her body trembling. Still, she continued to push Jean away, trying to inch toward the door, feeling Jean’s body shaking in terror. Charlene cast around, seeking something, anything, she might use as a weapon, yet she saw nothing.

  “He died with a bullet in his back when we sprang him from the prison you sent him to,” Dawson yelled. “It’s your fault he was in there.”

  “You boys chose your own fates when you decided to rob banks and kill people,” Tyler growled, stepping toward the men. “You got him killed, Dawson, not me. If I could have, I would have killed Benji for what he did to Mary.”

  “She got caught in the crossfire, Price,” Dawson roared. “That weren’t Benji’s fault.”

  “If you hadn’t robbed the bank in El Paso,” Tyler retorted, keeping his rifle trained on the outlaws, “there would be no shoot-out, and Mary would be alive.”

  Charlene saw it. A sharp double-edged knife that Harold often used to cut open boxes and had forgotten to put away. Snatching it up, she held it against her wrist, hidden by her sleeve. Jean watched her conceal it, visibly shaking, her face pale. Still trying to move toward the door, Charlene kept her eyes on the trio.

  Instantly, Dawson drew his gun and fired at Tyler. His men scattered, also pulling guns as Tyler shot back, his bullet shattering the wood of the counter. Jacking the shell out, he pulled the trigger again as Dawson leaped back and over the counter, lunging for Charlene, yet his bullet still missed. Knowing she was trapped between Jean and the outlaw, Charlene shoved Jean hard toward the door. Jean ran at the same instant Dawson grabbed Charlene by the arm, yanking her close to him.

  The man named George tried to cover the injured outlaw, shielding him with his body and raising his revolver as Tyler, aiming his rifle from his hip, fired two quick rounds. Choked off cries told how they were both struck. The men collapsed on the floor, George’s gun falling from his limp hand. Before they even finished dropping, Tyler had his rifle aimed at Dawson.

  Hidden behind Charlene, his gun pointed at her head, Dawson sneered. “Do it, Price. Kill me, and the girl dies, too.”

  Tyler lifted the gun from his hip to his shoulder, peering down the sight. “I’ll put a bullet between your eyes before you can pull the trigger,” he said, his voice flat, his eyes behind the rifle as cold as Dawson’s.

  Charlene knew he intended to shoot. If she didn’t want to die alongside this outlaw, she had to move and fast. Twisting her body slightly, she lifted her right arm crossing it across her body, and slashed the knife across Dawson’s gun hand. Caught by surprise at her sudden movement, he yelped as the blade cut across the tendons of his thumb and wrist.

  The gun went off.

  Deafened by the incredible explosion so close to her face, Charlene finished her body twist, and backhanded Dawson across his mouth with the knife. Then she dropped below the counter an instant before Tyler fired his rifle.

  The outlaw crashed backward into the tidy shelving, bringing the shelves and goods down with him as he collapsed on top of Charlene. She covered her head with her arms, the knife falling from her hand, as Dawson’s heavy weight crushed her under it. Panic filled her as she floundered, fearing he was still alive and would yet shoot her in the head.

  Distantly, she heard Tyler scream her name. A thudding sound followed, then shirts, shelves and finally Dawson’s body was flung from her. “Charlene,” Tyler gasped, nearly sobbing, “Charlene.”

  He pulled her up with him, holding her to his chest, his arms wrapped around her so tight she almost couldn’t draw breath. “Charlene, oh, Lord, he was going to kill you.”

  Shaking, trembling, Charlene clung to him, tears of fear and reaction wetting his shirt. “Tyler,” she sobbed. “Tyler.”

  “It’s all right, sweetie, it’s gonna be all right.”

  She felt Tyler kiss the top of her head, murmuring soothing words in her ringing ears, stroking her back. She didn’t know how long she hung onto him, but voices raised in shock and horror came to her as men filled the small store. “What happened?” yelled a man.

  Recognizing the voice as Harold’s, Charlene finally lifted her face from Tyler’s chest. Harold, a crying Jean under his arm, gazed around at the dead men, the shattered store. Josiah and three others, all armed, stood near him, staring.

  “The Dawson Gang,” Tyler replied simply.

  Even Charlene had heard of the notorious Dawson Gang, who romped through towns all across Texas, New Mexico, Colorado, and Arizona. Turning her head, she, too, stared at the bodies of the most dangerous outlaws to ride the west.

  Harold’s face went slack. “The Dawsons?”

  “Yeah,” Tyler replied, his voice weary. “Their brother Benji killed my fiancée in El Paso.”

  He gazed down at Charlene, brushing a tendril of hair from her face. “During a bank robbery, Mary was too close when the Dawson’s burst from the bank, shooting. Benji and I fired at one another. I took him down with a bullet in his leg, the others rode off. I arrested him, and only then did I realize Mary had been shot. She was gone before I got to her.”

  “Tyler,” Charlene whispered. “I am so sorry.”

  “Were you the sheriff?” Harold asked.

  Tyler shook his head, his eyes still on Charlene, caressing her cheeks. “A bounty hunter.”

  Seeing the pain and grief in his eyes, Charlene took his face in her hands. “You did what you had to do, Tyler. You saved me, you saved Jean. And I love you for it.”

  * * *

  Two days later, Tyler, stripped to the waist, hammered shingles onto the roof of his house. Wintonta and his companions snoozed in the shade of the cedar trees. Taking a breather, he drank water from the pail he brought up with him, thinking of how he had run like a coward
.

  After the dust of the Dawson Gang’s demise had settled, Victor notifying the federal marshals of their deaths, Tyler had escorted Charlene home to her mother. He had then left her there without a word and gone home to his ranch. She can’t possibly want me now. A natural hunter, Tyler had killed men and been paid for it. True, he did bring some outlaws in alive and turned them over to justice. But there was blood on his hands, and Charlene should have no part of it.

  Yet, in trying to leave his bloody past behind him, he nearly got Charlene killed. “It’s best if I stay out of her life,” he muttered, dumping cool water over his head and bare shoulders. “She can do far better than me.”

  In his love for her, he would leave her safely alone.

  Movement caught his attention and woke the Comanches. They stood, their rifles in their hands as Harold rode his pinto into the yard. Recognizing him, they relaxed, and sat back down, yawning. Tyler climbed down the ladder as Harold dismounted by the porch.

  Harold wasted no time. Scowling, he snapped, “Get back to town and tell that girl how you feel.”

  Tyler stared at his burnt bunkhouse. “She should find someone else.”

  “She doesn’t want anyone else, you idiot,” Harold roared. “She loves you. Has been pining for you. Now must I knock you over the head and drag you back?”

  “Harold,” Tyler began. “I’m a killer.”

  “A bounty hunter,” Harold corrected. “And from what I hear a damn good one. Now saddle your horse and let’s go.”

  Defeated, thinking he would find the guts to tell Charlene to her face that she should not love him, that he would only bring grief down on her, Tyler reluctantly put on his shirt and saddled his horse. Waving to Wintonta, he followed Harold out of the yard and down his lane toward town.

  He found Charlene in the store, busy stocking the replaced shelves, the bullet holes in the counter not yet repaired. But the place still looked as neat and tidy as ever. Charlene turned as he and Harold walked in, giving him a cold stare from the ladder she stood upon.

  “Come on,” Harold called to Jean. “These two children need to have a private chat without us interfering.”

  Also giving him the icy shoulder as she passed him, Jean frowned darkly, and went out with Harold. As the door closed behind him, Tyler gazed up at Charlene. “I’m sorry,” he said simply.

  “You’re sorry?” she asked, her voice tight as Charlene stepped down from the ladder. “You take off with your tail between your legs and you’re sorry?”

  “I’m sorry for involving you in my sordid life,” Tyler replied, his tone even. “I shouldn’t have.”

  “You sound as though you planned for the Dawsons to ride in here with vengeance on their minds.” Charlene stood in the middle of the floor, her hands on her hips, glaring at him.

  “No, of course not. But I always knew my past would catch up with me someday. If I hadn’t have fallen in love with you, you wouldn’t have come close to being killed.”

  Charlene stepped up close, staring into his eyes. “You don’t know that, Tyler. You don’t know that they still wouldn’t have ridden in and shot the town up, and me with it. Ever think that because we fell in love that you were there to save my life?”

  Tyler shunted his eyes away. “Well, no –”

  “Perhaps you would have been at your secluded ranch while they rode in and shot us all.” Charlene’s hard glare softened. “I know what you’re trying to do. But you need to give me the choice.”

  “The choice to love me?”

  “Yes.”

  He gazed into her huge hazel eyes. “The choice to marry me?”

  Charlene’s face went still for a long moment before a silly grin etched its slow way across her mouth. “Is that a marriage proposal, mister?”

  “It certainly is.”

  Hope and happiness wormed its way into his heart as Charlene gazed up into his face, her grin increasing. Taking her in his arms, Tyler kissed her, her arms around his neck, moving his lips over hers. “Well?” he asked, his brow up.

  Breathless, Charlene gasped, “I have to think about it.”

  Tyler kissed her again, a long, loving, tender gesture that he poured into all his powerful emotions for her, feeling her heart race within her chest. Releasing her lips but not her body, he stared into her wide hazel eyes. “Now?”

  “Yes,” she burst out. “Keep doing that, and I’ll marry you a hundred times over.”

  Tyler chuckled, briefly kissing her again. “You make it sound as though I’m blackmailing you into marriage.”

  “You are. By kissing me into submission.”

  The door opened with its bell chiming musically, Harold and Jean stepping partway in. “Oh, look,” Harold marveled. “They kissed and made up. Isn’t that just sweet?”

  Jean clapped her hands. “I hope there’s a wedding in our future.”

  “Are you marrying them?” Harold asked, gazing down at her. “I rather think three is a crowd.”

  Tyler and Charlene laughed as the Maples began yet another husband/wife argument. Gazing into one another’s eyes Tyler nuzzled her nose with his own. “I love you, the future Mrs. Price.”

  “And I love you, mister former bounty hunter Price. More than anything.”

  Epilogue

  Arguing with Jean over which cloth to purchase from the catalogue for her wedding dress, Charlene glanced up from the counter as the front door opened. Her mouth dropped open in shock. “Mother, what’s wrong?”

  Olivia, on her first venture from the house since the funerals of her husband and sons, wept as she walked in, her thin face swollen from her crying. “Oh, Charlene,” Olivia sobbed as Charlene ran around the counter to take her mother in her arms. “Tosahwi is going home. The Comanche are here to take him back with them.”

  Holding Olivia close, Charlene tried not to laugh. “Mother, Mother,” she murmured, rocking back and forth. “That doesn’t mean you’re losing him. He loves you. He’ll come back for a visit.”

  “But what if he doesn’t?” Olivia wailed. “What if I never see him again?”

  “Come on,” Charlene said firmly, steering Olivia back toward the door. “Let’s go talk to his father.”

  Outside, she found the Comanche dismounting their horses, Tosahwi sliding down from a black and white pinto, his splints gone. It had been four weeks since Tyler brought him into town, and while Charlene knew Tosahwi shouldn’t walk on it too much for a while longer, at least he could ride home. Looking further, she found Tyler had ridden down from his ranch with the Indians.

  Wintonta and Tosahwi walked toward them, Tosahwi limping, but with a big grin. “Olivia,” he said, taking her from Charlene and hugging her, Charlene had no idea the boy was so tall, thinking that perhaps he had grown under all the food Olivia stuffed down his throat. “Thank you. I come back. I love. You.”

  “His English is improving,” Tyler commented, standing beside Charlene.

  “I will teach him your language,” Wintonta said, his tone serious. “It will be good for them to learn from one another.”

  At last Olivia patted Tosahwi’s cheek. “Now you rest that leg, Tosahwi. It won’t be fully healed for another two to three weeks. And you eat. You are still far too skinny.”

  As though he understood, Tosahwi kissed her cheek. “I will. Olivia.”

  Limping away, he vaulted aboard his pony, gazing long at the woman who had cared for him. Charlene took Wintonta’s hand. “We want you to come back for our wedding,” she said. “You, Tosahwi and your friends.”

  Wintonta smiled. “We will be honored.”

  Mounting his horse, he led his son and his companions down the street toward the hills. Olivia sobbed into her kerchief, watching them go. Charlene put her arm around her shoulders. “See? You aren’t losing him, Mother.”

  “Oh, what am I going to do?” Olivia wept, still sobbing. “With you getting married, I have nothing.”

  “Oh, yes, you have plenty to do. You are going to come inside and he
lp me and Jean plan this wedding.”

  With a smile for Tyler, Charlene led her mother into the store where she put Jean and Olivia into arguing over lace and satin, veils and flowers, Olivia blowing her nose into the handkerchief. Strolling back to Tyler, Charlene grinned, slipping her arm around his waist. “Whew,” she said, watching her mother and Jean. “That was tougher than I thought it would be.”

  “Your mother needs purpose in her life,” Tyler observed. “She’s lost without it.”