Brides of The West
Michèle Ann Young ~ Kimberly Ivey ~ Billie Warren Chai
_______
A Romance Anthology
Published by Highland Press Publishing at Smashwords
Brides of the West
An Original Publication of Highland Press Publishing - 2008
Satin and Snakeskin © Michèle Ann Young
Gray Wolf’s Bride © Kimberly Ivey
The Chances Are Bride © Billie Warren Chai
Cover © 2008 Deborah MacGillivray
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names, save actual historical figures. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
Print ISBN: 978-0-9800356-4-3
Published by Highland Press Publishing
A Wee Dram Book
Dedication
My story in this Brides of the West Anthology is dedicated to my husband Keith; after all, he did drag me West when we first married.
He is my best friend, my greatest supporter, and my hero, and without him I would not be able to create my fantasy world or have so much fun in my life.
Michèle
~~~
For my husband and best friend, Jeff. You are my one true love, my soul mate, my support and inspiration in all that I do. Thank you for believing in me all these years and for never letting me give up. I couldn't have made it this far without you. This one's for you, baby.
Kim
~~~
My story, The Chances Are Bride, is dedicated to my loving husband, Henry Chai, who has stood by my side for twenty-seven years and gifted me with two beautiful sons, Jonathan and Gideon. With love.
Billie
Contents
Satin and Snakeskin…………………………Michèle Ann Young
Gray Wolf’s Bride…………………………..Kimberly Ivey
The Chances Are Bride……………………..Billie Warren Chai
Satin and Snakeskin
Ann Lethbridge
writing as
Michèle Ann Young
Texas 1867
“Move a muscle, lady, and your days of breathin’ are over.”
The deep voice pierced the fog of Tess’ doze along with her numb buttocks, her parched throat, and the sweat trickling between her breasts. The lock of a weapon clicked.
She froze.
And she’d thought things couldn’t get worse.
Slowly, not daring to breathe, she opened her eyes and stared at a pair of dusty snakeskin boots planted five feet from her rocky perch. Her gaze climbed lean, long muscular legs encased in black pants, skimmed a belt slung low on narrow hips, and encompassed a broad chest clad in pale blue soft cotton. She paused at the wide-set shoulders steadying the rifle pointed at her chest.
Not a comforting sight.
From beneath a large black hat, eyes the shade of a clear winter sky and equally cool, stared unblinking along the dull gleam of the barrel, his lean cheek and hard jaw pressed against the stock.
Mouth dryer than the Texas dust she’d been chewing on for days, she swallowed to create moisture. “Here. Take my money,” she croaked and reached for the satchel at her side.
“That does it.”
***
Tess squeezed her eyes shut.
The explosion shattered the silence. Her ears rang. Small objects peppered her arm, thigh, and temple. The acrid taste of gunpowder hit the back of her throat.
Something long and soft flopped on her legs, twisting and writhing, glistening gold and black.
A snake. She leaped off the boulder, shuddering and brushing at her skirts. “Ooo,” she shrieked. “Get it off me.”
The creature slid off the rock onto the dirt and laid still, a limp sand-colored coil with black diamonds running along its length. Dead. And headless.
She shuddered, her heart pounding as if she’d run a mile.
The rifleman hooked the toe of his boot beneath the disgusting thing and flicked it ten feet into a patch of dry scrub. Another kick disposed of the remains of the head. “Rattler.”
Feeling as damp as if she’d fallen into a steam bath and just as breathless, she glared at him. “You scared me half to death. Don’t you know better than to fire that thing so close to a person?”
He tipped his hat back with one finger.
Her breath hitched as she caught the full effect of the sun-bronzed square-cut jaw, firm lips and straight nose. Her insides gave a twinge of approval.
Mercy. Since when did the sight of a pretty man set her afire?
He narrowed those gorgeous blue eyes, a furrow forming between straight dark brows. “Don’t you know no better than to sit out here on a rock?”
Tess shook her head. “I’m waiting for someone.” Her bridegroom.
A strange feeling churned in the pit of her stomach. The only thing in sight from this crossroads, where the stagecoach had dropped her, to the hazy blue horizon was this man and the gig he’d driven up in while she slept.
Impossible. She was prepared for fat and bald, or old and ugly, anything as long as he was kind. Never would she have dared to imagine this epitome of rugged male beauty.
Tender and delicate, tendrils of hope unfurled deep inside her, like seedlings after a spring rain.
She pushed back the sticky wisps of hair at her temples and straightened her bonnet. What a sight she must look after three days travel and goodness knew how long waiting in the hot sun.
He removed his hat revealing thick, slicked-back, dark hair, his expression nonplussed. “Ma’am.” The deep timbre of his voice sent a shiver down her back. “Are you the widder-woman, Mrs. Dalton?”
“Yes,” she managed in an awed whisper.
He ran a slow glance from her head to her heels. “Ah, hell.” He banged the dust off his hat on his thigh. “What was Tom Wilkins thinkin’?” He shook his head. “Honey, this just ain’t gonna work.”
The tiny shoots shriveled, blasted by the chill in his eyes. Tess swallowed what felt like ten hats worth of dust. “You mean you really are...”
“Jake Redmond, ma’am.”
The name on the contract nestled in her bag. Her heart sank slowly to her shoes. One look and he knew he didn’t want her. It hurt, but she wasn’t exactly surprised. No man ever gave her a second look after they took in her bony form. All twigs and bristles, her mother always said. Pete had only married her for a share of her family’s saddle-making business.
“I see,” she squeezed from her dry throat.
He glanced out to the never-ending scenery of grass and stunted trees then back, as if hoping she might improve with a second look. The rifle swung from one large strong suntanned hand. “I’m sorry, ma’am. You’ve been dragged all the way out here for nothin’.”
His slow drawl seemed to stroke her skin, made her want to purr like a cat and roll her shoulders. It certainly took the sting out of his words. But, damn his arrogance. If he had to buy himself a wife, he couldn’t be much of a catch.
Get a grip, Tess. Life just took a new turn. Come to think of it, she hadn’t wanted to get married in the first place. She’d wanted to get to San Antonio to find Albert. And she had. Almost.
She stared him straight in the eye. “I’m not refunding the cost of the ticket.”
His angular jaw dropped. “No, ma’am. Wouldn’t dream of askin’ you.”
Just as well. She’d lost all her money in New York. “You will pay my passage to San Antonio. You owe me that.”
The tan on his cheekbones reddened. “Yes, ma’am.” He squinted up at the sky and then back at her. “The
stage comes on Wednesday.”
“Not until Wednesday? Four days from now?” Her legs felt weak, and she sagged against the rock, remembered the snake and leaped back.
He watched like she was some sort of wild animal. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Wonderful.”
“I beg your pardon, ma’am?”
Tess stared at him, then realized she’d spoken out loud. “I said, wonderful, Mr. Redmond. First, you were late and then you take me in instant dislike. If you had been on time, I could have continued on to San Antonio. Instead, I find myself stranded in the middle of nowhere. Hence, wonderful.”
She grabbed her battered leather satchel by the strap and started down a road trampled into ruts and baked hard by the sun. “Good day, Mr. Redmond.”
“Where are you goin’?”
She didn’t bother to turn around. “San Antonio. Since I am saving you the cost of a ticket, you should be delighted.”
“Damn,” he muttered. He caught up with her and blocked her path, his rifle slanted across his body. “It’s fifty miles to town.”
She gazed into those gorgeous sapphire blue eyes and wanted to cry from disappointment. What on earth was the matter with her? Marriage to a stranger was the last thing she wanted. Six weeks ago, she thought she’d never make it off the streets of New York and today she was within fifty miles of Albert with no need to make the ultimate sacrifice.
This latest reversal should have her dancing for joy, not feeling as if she’d lost a shilling and found a penny.
“Excuse me, Mr. Redmond.” She gestured for him to stand aside. “If I am to arrive in San Antonio today, I think I should...make tracks. Isn’t that what you people say?”
His jaw tightened. “Us people?”
“Yes. Texans. The farmer on the stagecoach said it all the time.” She mimicked the slow drawl of her traveling companion. “We gotta make tracks if we’re gonna get there tonight.” She sidestepped him.
He cut her off again. She narrowed her eyes and heard the blood of temper rush in her ears. “Stand aside, sir.”
“You can’t get to San Antonio before dark, ma’am. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to come to my ranch. I’ll bring you back to catch the stage on Wednesday.”
Oh, so he didn’t want her as a bride, but he wanted to take her home. Did he think she was green? “No.” She walked around him.
The sun beat down on her back, sweat trickled between her shoulder blades.
“Ma’am?” he called out. “Mrs. Dalton? Watch out for the snakes.”
Instinctively, she shuddered and glanced back, uncertain.
He nodded.
She dropped her bag and placed her hands on her hips. “Are you trying to scare me? I think you are the only reptile here.”
His chiseled features turned to granite, blue sparks seemed to shoot from his eyes. Clearly she’d disturbed his infuriating calm. “It won’t do you no good to argue, Mrs. Dalton. I ain’t lettin’ you walk to San Antonio. That’s final.”
Her stomach did a slow lazy roll of appreciation. God, but the man looked gorgeous when roused. And blast him, he was right. She might be angry enough to claw his eyes out, but she wasn’t stupid. Fifty miles was like walking from London to Dover. She wouldn’t try it in England, where she knew the country and its hazards. She’d be lucky to make fifty yards in this heat without dissolving into a puddle and soaking into the dust. And she didn’t want to walk in the dark. Dash it all. She had no alternative but to accept his hospitality. On her terms.
“Lay one finger on me and you’ll talk in a high voice for the rest of your life,” she said.
He recoiled. “A Texas gentleman wouldn’t dream of touchin’ a lady agin’ her will.”
“Gentlemen don’t leave their brides standing at the altar,” she muttered.
If he heard, he didn’t show it. He waved his hat in the direction of his gig. “This way, if you please.”
***
Jake watched her narrow shoulders sag as she realized her predicament. She picked up her bag. The resolute cast to her generous mouth sent a twinge of guilt straight to his gut, where tears would’ve left him cold. Not having a way with words, and afraid he might say something he might regret, he grabbed for the small leather satchel that seemed to be the sum total of her luggage. She clung to it as if she thought he planned to rob her. The strength of her momentary resistance surprised him. He gave it a jerk and she let go.
He strode ahead and dropped the bag in the back of the buggy. He turned to help her, but she’d already climbed in like a cat up a tree. He unlooped the reins and joined her on the seat. With a click of his tongue he turned the horse homeward.
“How far is it to your farm?” she asked.
“Five miles north, and it’s a ranch.”
“Is there a difference?”
He stole a look from the corner of his eye to see if she was being mean, but her thin face held no malice and her green eyes were bright with nothing but curiosity. “Farms are itty bitty things with fields and crops and fences. A ranch is a big open hunk of land with free range steers.”
“Steers? Is that what you grow?”
“It’s what we raise. Cattle for beef on a hundred thousand acres.”
She looked completely unimpressed. “No cows or horses?”
Why the hell did he give a cuss what this scrawny scrap of a female thought of his ranch? “I got a cow for milk and I got horses for work. I got some chickens, too. But I raise cattle.”
“Oh.”
A silence filled with the sound of grinding wheels and clopping hooves stretched out. It must be his turn to ask a question. Cuss it, he hated small talk.
“Where are you from, Mrs. Dalton? Seems like you ain’t from around these parts. You got one of those eastern accents.”
“I’m from England. London.”
It figured. Even if she was a mite taller than most women, she reminded him of a porcelain doll he’d seen in a shop window. Pale and fine boned and delicate enough to break at a touch. That white skin of hers would fry in ten minutes in the sun. If he wasn’t mistaken, her nose was already pink and covered in freckles. Worse yet, she didn’t have enough meat on her to survive a cold day in winter. Tom Wilkins must have thought it was a fine joke to send him a woman who needed tendin’, instead of one who could take her share of the work. Damn his no-good hide to hell and gone.
“Can you cook?” he asked.
“Yes.”
The little pause before she answered added fuel to his rage. A liar and a city woman. No woman dressed like her would know how to cook. Only the Calico Queens who worked in the Dry Gulch Saloon wore the shiny silky stuff she had on. Gals who spent their days lazing around when decent folks were at work and spent their nights helpin’ cowpokes out of their hard earned cash for a roll in the hay. He’d had his fill of that kind of woman.
And like a softheaded fool he’d offered to feed her and take care of her for the next four days...and three nights. Three nights of a woman under his roof that he couldn’t lay a finger on and he wouldn’t be able to see straight. He’d have to join Uncle Raven and the boys in the bunkhouse.
Another stolen glance at her out of the corner of his eye, showed little more than the tip of her nose around the brim of her straw bonnet. He’d seen enough back there at the crossroad. All skin and bone and enormous green eyes in an angular face, she reminded him of a half-starved cat. She wouldn’t last a week out here. She sure looked as if she wanted to scratch his eyes out when he’d up and told her the truth. She’d thank him later.
Jake hauled in a deep breath and let go a long sigh. No doubt about it. The boys and Uncle Raven were sure gonna be fit to be tied when he gave ‘em the bad news. Hell, he was disappointed himself. He’d been so damned hopeful at the thought of a helpmate to share his troubles and his toil, not to mention the vision of a soft willin’ woman in his bed at the end of the day. There was nothin’ soft about this one.
Nothin’ except a full soft mouth that
begged to kiss and be kissed.
Nor did she have the hard-eyed look of a saloon girl. She reminded him more of a prickly pear, with spines that got under a man’s skin. And a soft, honeyed center. Curse it to hell. Had what happened to Bill taught him nothing?
Oh yeah. He’d sure like Tom Wilkins to eat his knuckles next time he saw him in town, ‘cept it would add to his troubles.
“Circle Q is just up ahead,” he said.
“Circle Q? That is a strange name for a village.”
“It’s the name of my ranch. There ain’t no villages here ‘bouts. The nearest neighbors are five miles down the road.”
She turned to face him, eyes narrowed and as suspicious as a cornered barn cat. “Are there really lots of snakes out there?”
He cursed the urge to smooth her hackles and gentle her sharp tongue and nodded.
She gestured to the range at large and then pointed to the rifle he kept close at hand on his other side. “Is that why you carry a gun?”
Jesus. City women didn’t know a thing about country life. “I bring it for the rabbits mostly. They make good eatin’.”
She grimaced. “In London we buy our rabbits from the butcher.”
Why wasn’t he surprised? Perhaps if she understood what he’d been looking for in a wife, she wouldn’t be quite so mad about his rejection. “It’s the woman’s job to skin ‘em.”
“Are you planning to hunt now?”
“If I see game, I shoot it. But we’re here.” He couldn’t help the ring of pride in his voice as they passed between the posts with the board emblazoned with his brand swinging overhead.
***
To Tess, adrift on an ocean of dry grass interrupted by the odd flash of a green bush, the long, low buildings seemed to float waves of heat. No trees softened their hard outlines. No flowers offered a welcome. Not even any cows, or steers as he called them. Just the three clapboard buildings. The one with the chimney and the covered porch must be the house. A large barn stood a short way off with a split-rail fence out back and a smaller building at right angles, also with a chimney. A henhouse? Or storage? Maybe a smokehouse? It didn’t really matter, since she wasn’t staying, so she swallowed her questions.
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