by Amy Field
“Hello, Mrs. Bernstein,” said her husband, handing her the red rose.
“What name will we use?” She looked at the rose with a smile and fixed it to the collar of her dress.
“I guess we have to choose,” said Burns. “We can worry about it tomorrow, though. Or maybe you can just choose which name you like best.”
“As long as it’s your name, I don’t care,” said Abigail. She noticed Brent helping Lucy pin a red rose onto her dress and smiled. Couples were beginning to dance, now that the doctor had shown up with a fiddle to play along with the piano. “Let me get us some root beer,” she said. “And then I’ll see if you can dance.”
The evening came on, and soon the lanterns were lit in the saloon. Burns excused himself and slipped out at dusk. He walked over to the hotel and booked their nicest room for the night. Then he walked back to the saloon and found Abigail and told her about the room.
“How far a ride is it to your ranch?” she asked.
“A little over an hour,” he said. “But this way we don’t have to hurry and we can go home tomorrow in daylight.”
“Home,” she said, hugging him. “I can’t wait.”
Soon the new brides and their husbands filtered out, having a bit of a ride home. Before long Clara and the doctor stopped playing, which was a signal to the other guests to leave. Soon it was just Burns and Abigail, helping to clear the tables. When the glasses were lined up on the bar, Jed told them to leave.
“We do this every night,” he said. “We have a system. You two need to go start your honeymoon.” And so they thanked the couple for all they had done and headed across the street to the hotel.
On the porch, Burns took Abigail in his arms and kissed her. He kissed her ear and neck, then pulled away slightly.
“We only met each other this morning,” he said. “If you feel a bit uncomfortable, I will happily sleep on the settee in the room.”
“You will not,” she said. “When I saw you this morning I knew you were a gentleman. I also knew you were the one for me. And now that I have you as my husband, I want to sleep in your arms every chance I get.” She kissed him hard. “Let’s go to bed,” she whispered.
They went into the hotel, past the desk clerk, up one flight of steps, and found their room. Burns unlocked the door, and without another word, Abigail led him into the room and shut the door.
Chapter 11
The Road Home
In the morning Burns and Abigail ate fresh eggs and warm scones in the hotel dining room. They were just finishing when Jed Daniels came in and joined them for coffee.
“The doctor wants to check your arm before you leave,” he said. “I told him I did a good job, but he just wants to be sure.”
“It feels fine,” said Burns. “It’s just a little stiff. We’ll stop by.”
“About you getting home,” said Jed. “You two could use my wagon.”
“If we can borrow a horse, I can ride,” said Abigail.
“The horse is not a problem,” said Jed. “But I’m not sure where we can get a side saddle.”
“I don’t need one,” said Abigail. “I grew up on a farm, so I can ride a regular saddle or even bareback.” She smiled. “I can change into dungarees while Bob gets his arm checked.”
“I can bring the horse back tomorrow,” said Burns.
“No need,” said Jed. “I’ll bring a wagon out tomorrow with Abigail’s belongings, and I can bring the horse back then.” He stood up and left to get a horse for Abigail.
Burns kissed his wife, then headed to see the doctor. The wound was clean and ready to heal, so the doctor put new dressings on it and wrapped it. Burns thanked him and headed out to the street, where he found Abigail on a horse, with his saddled and ready to go. His gun belt was draped across the saddle horn. Burns hesitated, then strapped on the guns.
“Normally I just have a rifle on the saddle,” he said. “But you never know, after yesterday.” He swung into the saddle, adjusted his hat, and they rode beside each other out of town.
The road was flat at first, winding along through grasslands. They stopped at a creek in about thirty minutes, letting the horses drink while they enjoyed the bright sun. Then the road began to climb a bit, so soon they were entering a wooded area. Tall pines shaded the road a bit, and they enjoyed the cool breeze as they rode. Twice they passed little flowering bushes, and Abigail pointed out the small buds adding color to the towering pines.
“We’ll be there in about ten minutes,” said Burns. They rounded a bend in the road and there stood the wounded killer, holding a shotgun.
“Welcome home,” he said. “I was thinking of waiting for you up at your fancy house,” he said. “But this shotgun will make a mess. and I wouldn’t want to do that. I might want to live there for awhile with my wife here.” He smiled at Abigail.
“Just leave now and you won’t get hurt,” said Burns, his voice cold. “This is my wife and you will not lay a finger on her.” He didn’t move, though. The shotgun was pointed at them, and if it fired both he and Abigail would be hit.
“Oh, I’ll lay more than a finger on her,” said the killer. “I’ll let her live with me in the house here, as long as she behaves. And if she tries to fight back or escape, I’ll shoot her with your pistol and leave it, so everyone thinks you done it.” When he looked at Abigail hungrily, she cowered and moved her horse closer to Burns.
“He’ll shoot us both if you stay here,” said Burns quietly. “Get off your horse and go towards him but not between us.” Abigail understood and climbed off her horse, stepping away from Burns.
“Please don’t kill him,” she said quietly. “That’s all in the past.”
“You had to go and shoot me,” said the killer to Burns. “So, I might not kill you right away. I think I’ll make you watch how I treat my new wife.” He kept the gun on Burns.
“Come over to me, girl,” he said. Abigail moved away from Burns, but not in a line to the killer. “Don’t be sh. I won’t hurt you.”
“Let him go, and I’ll do what you want,” said Abigail.
“You’ll do what I want no matter what,” the killer said. “Take off that shirt right now, or I’ll kill him.” Abigail stopped moving. “Get your clothes off.” He aimed the shotgun at her. She turned to look at Burns.
“If you shoot me, you’ll kill my horse, too,” said Burns. The killer looked back at Burns, taking his eyes off of Abigail.
“I don’t care about your damn horse. You can die together.” He swung the shotgun away from Abigail towards Burns.
“I care,” said Burns.
Abigail had never seen such speed. The hand that Burns had been resting on his thigh suddenly had a pistol in it, spitting flame. As the Dragoon roared in the quiet
woods, the shotgun never fired. The killer dropped it, his hand shattered by a bullet. He stared at Burns, who kept the Dragoon aimed at him. He saw Burns aim, and screamed.
“Don’t kill me,” he shouted. “I quit.”
Burns swung the pistol and fired, hitting the killer’s other hand.
“My wife saved your life,” he told the killer. “And she saved mine, too. Now get out of here and never come back. Your hands won’t be able to fire a gun anymore.” He watched the killer turn and run for his horse, tied in the woods. When the blonde man was on the horse and riding away, Burns dismounted and hurried to Abigail, taking her in his arms.
“It’s over,” he said. He felt her trembling.
“I was so scared he’d shoot you,” she sobbed. “But he killed my husband-to-be. What did you let him go? He should be hanged!”
He was a very bad man,” said Burns. But I had a debt to repay. Remember I told you about Charity and her husband, Seth? They never pressed charges against me, even though they could have put me behind bars for a long, long time. This is my act of charity, my repayment for their forgiveness.”
Abigail sobbed even more as he held her.
“Where’s the horse I was riding?” she aske
d, still sniffling.
“Halfway back to Jed by now,” said Burns. “He didn’t like the noise.”
Within ten minutes they arrived at the large house. Burns let his horse into the barn, then came back to Abigail. Together they went up the steps and into the large entrance way.
“It’s so beautiful,” she said. “Everything is perfect.” He showed her the house, room after room, ending with the large bedroom upstairs. From the bed you could look through the large window and see the Montana mountains in the distance.
“How about I see what’s in the kitchen and maybe make us some coffee?” she asked.
“Sounds great,” he said. “I’ll go unsaddle my horse while you do that.”
Burns went to the barn and unsaddled his horse. He fed and watered it and gave it a good rubdown. When he finished, it was late afternoon. He sat with Abigail on the porch, enjoying the cool day, before they realized they were hungry. Then, they went inside together to prepare their first dinner at home.
.
Chapter 12
The Brides Make Homes
The next morning, they were sitting on the porch drinking coffee when Jed’s wagon drove into the yard. The horse Abigail had been riding was tied to the wagon.
“Everything under control?” asked Jed, who climbed down carrying a rifle.
“It is now,” said Abigail. “I have a mug of fresh coffee here for you.” Jed put his rifle back on the wagon and came up onto the porch.
“The horse was halfway back to town when I saw her,” said Jed. “Made me a mite nervous.” He sipped the coffee and sat down.
Burns told him what had happened.. Jed wanted to be sure they were both unhurt, and Burns assured him the problem was over.
“Well sir, it is now,” said Jed. “The marshal’s deputy from Bozeman rode in today to investigate Morgan’s murder. He’s staying a couple of days, so I’ll get back to him tonight. He thinks the killer is a wanted man from near Yellowstone, a real bad character. I bet this is him.”
“Think the deputy will want to come up here?” asked Burns. “I don’t mind meeting if he wants.”
“I’ll tell him that,” said Jed. “But if this guy matches the description he has, I think he’ll be happy to head for home. It’ll be a problem he don’t have to deal with.”
“I think we’ll come into town in a couple of days,” said Burns. We’ll need some supplies and I want to ask around about ponies.” Abigail squeezed his hand and smiled.
Burns helped Jed unload Abigail’s belongings. While she carried them into the house, he and Jed went back to the wagon.
“This was a bad way for the brides to learn about Montana,” said Jed. “It’s normally such a peaceful territory.”
“Each settlement has problems,” said Burns. “Now hopefully we won’t have any more for awhile.”
“Come see us when you drive into town,” said Jed. “Thank Abigail for the tasty coffee.” He snapped the reins and the wagon started back to town.
Burns checked on his horse, then turned it out into the pasture before heading back into the house. That afternoon he and Abigail walked out into the pasture to see the ten horses feeding peacefully. She decided what she really wanted was a young colt to raise and train. They planned to ask around when they were in town.
Three days later Burns brought in two of their horses and hitched them to his wagon. They took their list and drove into town. Abigail was relaxed and happy, because Burns had put his guns away. He had a rifle tucked under the wagon seat in case of trouble, but none was expected.
In town, they heard about a colt due to be born in a month. Burns left word about his interest, and then they headed for the general store to purchase supplies. They got the food items on the list and were loading them on the wagon when Brent came up to the store. He looked happy and shook hands with Burns. Brent went inside to shop and Burns went in as well to get Abigail. Lucy was talking with her, also looking happy, too.
“Lucy was just telling me the news,” said Abigail. “She and Brent have decided to start a family.” Lucy nodded happily, then went to help Brent.
On their way back to the ranch, Abigail looked at Burns. “Lucy said Brent wants to thank you for everything.”
“I just had a talk with him when he was feeling down,” said Burns. “He just needed to relax and things would work out. Looks like they have.”
Abigail squeezed his arm, and they rode the rest of the way quietly. Abigail pointed out a bald eagle watching them from a tree, and a bit later they spotted an owl sitting on a low branch. They watered the horses in the stream, then rode on into the yard by the barn. Burns unloaded the supplies with Abigail, then turned the horses out. He rolled the wagon back into the barn. Finally finished, he climbed up onto the porch.
Inside, he found Abigail peeling potatoes in the kitchen. Burns took down a slab of beef hanging in his cool room and cut two large steaks. He carried them to the large woodstove. When Abigail’s potatoes were frying, he dropped the steaks in a large skillet with some sliced onions and mushrooms. He stirred the vegetables and flipped the steaks so that everything was ready at once.
They sat together at a table in the kitchen enjoying the meal. They chatted about town life and were happy for Brent and Lucy. When they were finished, Burns cleared the dishes while Abigail cut two slabs of apple pie she had baked the day before. They took the pie and mugs of coffee onto their porch and ate while they watched the red Montana sunset.
“This is almost perfect,” said Abigail. “I know winter will be different, but I like snow and cold weather, too.”
“Well,” said Burns. “What can we do to make it perfect, then?”
“I think raising a colt and training it would be fun, but it can be hard, too. I realize there are mountain lions and grizzlies around, so you have to be certain it’s always protected. It can be a full time job.”
“We can do that,” said Burns.
“But I’m not certain that’s what I really want,” she said. “I thought about it today, and I think what I really want is to start a family ourselves. I want you to be the father of my babies.”
“I’ve always wanted to be a father,” said Burns. “But I had almost given up hope.”
“Now we’re married,” said Abigail “We can be great parents. We will be great parents.” She smiled at Burns, who stood up and took her hand and kissed her. Then, together, they went into the house and closed the door’
The End
A SELECTION OF STORIES FROM THE ROMANCE READING ROOM LIBRARY
Regency Romances
Book I
The Duchess Runaway
Chapter One
Lyndhurst Hall
Derbyshire
July 1815
“Why would you have me do this?” Lady Eleanor, the second daughter of His Grace, the Duke of Carrington, questioned in disbelief.
“Because I am your father, and therefore, it is my duty to assure that your marriage arrangements are beneficial to both you, your family and your country,” her father replied, looking longingly at the stack of unopened letters sitting in a pile on his mahogany desk.
“How is marrying a complete stranger much older than I am an advantageous match for me?” she argued.
“The Earl of Southerland is well-respected throughout all of England, Ellie. His wealth and estates are vast, and as the Commander in Chief of the British Army, his influence knows no boundaries. You are the niece of a king, and this match is well suited to your station,” he explained impatiently.
Ellie stomped her foot. “I don’t care if he is the king of England, himself,” she hissed, “I don’t want to marry him!”
“Such a headstrong child you are. Harry and Eloisa never question my instruction, and they do as they are told with no complaints,” her father sighed, shaking his head. He dropped his writing pen and folded his hands as he stared down his wayward child. “You will marry Lord Southerland, and you will make no more mention of your objections to me o
r anyone else. Do I make myself clear?”
Tasting defeat, she swallowed the lump forming in her throat. “Yes, Father.” Her head held high; she left the study, refusing to allow him the privilege of seeing her cry.
As soon as the heavy oak door closed behind her, she hurried down the corridor and through the grand hall as fast as her silk slippers would carry her. Darting through the kitchen courtyard after scooting past the servants milling about in preparation for afternoon tea, she sought solace in the one place always guaranteed to renew her spirit. Sinking her knees onto a patch of lavender grass, she breathed in the calming beauty of Lyndhurst Hall’s private gardens.
Her eyes burned with unshed tears as she arranged her taffeta gown about her, situating herself in the shade of a lush maple tree. The midday sun shone brightly above—banishing, if only for a brief moment, the shadows of dread creeping into her thoughts and dreams.
How could her father marry her off to such a hard man? Did he not care for her? Lord Southerland, known to many as the Commander, was well-respected, but kindness wasn't what his reputation was built on. How could Father marry her off to a man more accustomed to the battlefield than a proper gentleman’s study?
A gust of wind whistled through the garden as the first of her tears escaped, dripping down her cheeks and onto her satin gloves and gown. She sniffled.
