The Most Eligible Bachelor Romance Collection: Nine Historical Romances Celebrate Marrying for All the Right Reasons

by Amanda Barratt, Susanne Dietze, Cynthia Hickey, Shannon McNear, Gabrielle Meyer, Connie Stevens, Erica Vetsch, Gina Welborn

  “Not yet.” He grinned and handed Sam a covered pail. “Fresh stew and biscuits.”

  Sam hummed his appreciation and wasted no time sitting down and digging in. “Any word?” he asked between bites.

  Mr. Brewster frowned, gazing out over his land. “Rumor is Willie was seen lurking about his home, but vanished again. He can’t show up quickly enough, in my opinion. Sally still flinches at every small sound.”

  “Hmm.” Sam waved the spoon. “If there’s nothing tonight, I’ll go roving farther out.”

  The older man nodded shortly then gave him a slight smile. “My thanks. For staying, for being willing to see this out.” A sharper look this time. “And for behaving yourself while being so close to my daughter. I’m astonished at how easily led astray she is by you.”

  Sam ducked his head. It wasn’t entirely by choice that he hadn’t lured Sally back out to the orchard these past several days. The temptation became especially strong a time or two when he’d glimpsed her at her attic window. “I am determined to see this matter through.” He chewed and swallowed. “To—have something to offer her when this is finished.”

  Mr. Brewster tipped his head. “I think you have more to offer already than you know.”

  “I’m honored you think so, sir.”

  ’Twould seem cold comfort later, he was sure, when the night closed in and he found himself drifting like a ghost around the orchard and inn yard, but for now, the man’s confidence warmed him.

  Mr. Brewster left just before sunset, and once dark had fallen, Sam also made his way down the mountainside. Time to begin his customary night patrol.

  He’d kept the boots and handkerchief with him, tied the tops in place like cavalry boots. A sliver of disappointment still cut him that Sally hadn’t noticed… but then, details of his boots had likely been lost in the shadows when they’d met, and one black handkerchief could look like another.

  The coat and hat, however, he’d left in the storage shed. It was easier just to slip inside and—

  Tonight, the door of the shed stood ajar. Sam withdrew into shadow and looked around, but there was no sound.

  Inside the shed, the chest stood empty.

  Chapter 12

  Sally made a last walk through the great room, wiping down tables and straightening chairs. Her feet ached, but not as badly as a few nights ago, and she’d managed to sleep decently despite rising every few hours to peer out her window.

  She sighed. Tonight she wouldn’t sit up for him. Truly.

  All was tidied and ready for tomorrow. Above, she could hear her parents moving about their chamber, and the more distant thump of the boys roughhousing while they were supposed to be settling to bed. As if on cue, Mama’s voice called out to them.

  Sally chuckled. Ah, she could almost believe life was returning to the usual—

  A heavy pounding came on the great room door. She froze then reached for a lamp, but backed toward the hallway and stairs. She would not, under any circumstances, go answer the door alone.

  The pounding came again, more insistently.

  “Papa?”

  His swift footsteps answered, across the floor and down the steps.

  Thud! Thud! Thud! Whoever was there had resorted to a concerted effort to break the door in. With a splintering crash, it swung inward.

  “Papa-a-a!”

  Sally could not suppress the scream tearing itself from her throat—and then she could not breathe at all.

  The man filling the doorway wore the hat and coat she’d come to love—but the face bore the hated grin of Willie Brown.

  No! No no no no…

  Papa was there beside her, musket raised. “Get out of my inn!”

  Four others crowded in behind Willie, all masked, all bearing pistols and muskets. Willie held a pistol, too, she now noticed. The men fanned out, surrounding Sally and her father.

  “An hour with Tall Sally. That’s all I want, and no one will be hurt,” Willie said.

  “You evil rascal,” Papa growled. “You’ll not touch my daughter.”

  “Of course I will.” Willie stepped forward and reached toward her, but she slapped his hand away. “Come now, don’t make this any more difficult.” He lifted his arms, turning them so the buttons and braid glimmered in the lamplight. “What do you think of my new coat, Sally?”

  As a knife in her breast, was what she thought. She dragged in a breath through the cutting pain. “You aren’t worthy even to touch it.”

  Willie laughed. “But it’s the coat of your lover, sweet Sally. Could I not be him?”

  “Not now, nor ever.”

  “And where is he?”

  As Willie glanced about, Sally forced herself to calm, and to look closely at the coat. It was even more fabulously embroidered than she’d seen by moonlight. But more importantly—no blood, no rips. No sign of wear since the last time she’d spent time in the company of its owner. That possibly meant no violence done him. Perhaps Willie had merely found it, and the Highwayman himself was alive and well.

  “He will be here,” she said. “He will come for you.”

  Willie looked into her eyes with another terrible smile. “I am counting on just that.”

  He nodded to the others and lunged toward her. An awful scuffle ensued—someone knocked into Papa, his musket went off, then one of the pistols.

  Sally threw herself out of Willie’s reach, toward the hearth. If she could but get to one of the pokers—

  Willie’s arm closed about her neck, and she fought for release. The lamp fell from her fingers. A crash, and fire bloomed in front of her.

  With a curse, Willie hauled her back, but the edge of her petticoat and apron were on fire. “Let me go!” she cried.

  Miraculously, she was free, and with shaking hands she unpinned and untied apron and outer petticoat and kicked them away. The rest of her skirts were not yet ablaze, and she was seized again.

  “No!” she shrieked, as Willie dragged her outside. “Papa!”

  Arms like bands of iron held her fast. “Mama!” she screamed. “Fire! Everyone out!”

  With ragged breaths, she could only watch as in ones and twos, his cronies fled the spreading fire, and upstairs, shouts turned to cries.

  Please, Lord! Please, oh please, let them escape safely! Whatever happens to me, let them be safe.

  The fire spread unbelievably fast. “Oh, God, please!” she moaned then collapsed, sobbing, against Willie’s arms. “Save them, please. I’ll do anything—just get my family out alive.”

  But with an ugly laugh, he pulled her away, deeper into the shadows.

  She let go with the only thing she had left, a long, high, tearing cry that echoed across the valley.

  It couldn’t have been the boys who found the chest, they’d have made immediate outcry. Sam searched everywhere—the barn and its loft, the cattle pens, the whole of the orchard—but found no trace of an intruder. He was on the hillside above the orchard, half a mile from the inn, when he heard the distant pounding.

  That was not a late traveler seeking lodging for the night.

  The coiled whip already in his hand, Sam fairly flew down the hill, through the orchard. Flames danced behind the windows of the great room by the time he rounded the barn.

  Lord, have mercy! It had become his favored prayer of late.

  Several figures crowded around the front—were they the Brewster family and guests, or—? He could not pick out smaller figures of women and children.

  Then came a wild scream that raised every hair on his neck and arms, issuing from just down the hill from the inn.

  Oh, God. Sally.

  And those men were doubtless Willie Brown’s gang.

  He had to choose—those still inside, or Sally? The hostler and other stable hands were spilling from their lodgings now, and he waved toward the inn. “Make sure everyone gets out! I’ll deal with the miscreants.”

  “Where is your lover now?” Willie hissed in Sally’s ear as he hauled her, kicking and
snarling, down the hill.

  “He’ll come! Never doubt that.”

  He stopped in the lee of a rocky outcropping, just above the road, and fetched her about. From below them came the stamps and snorts of several horses.

  She met the gleam of his eyes with all the defiance she could muster. “Murder as well as ravishing now, aye? What did you promise those boys, that they’d follow you to such depths?”

  A deep growl issued from his chest, but before he could speak, a report echoed from the hill above them. And then another, followed by a cry.

  Willie cursed. “I told them not to shoot unless necessary—”

  But Sally felt a laugh bubbling inside her. “That’s no shot. It’s a whip crack.”

  Sure enough, the voice she’d come to love called out, “Rogues and scoundrels! Did you not learn your lesson the first time?”

  Sally wrenched out of Willie’s grasp and scrambled up the hill. With another curse, he caught her and pinned her to the ground.

  More cracks, followed by howls and pleas for mercy. The fire illuminated well down the hill now, where men were running from the town, coming to their aid.

  Sally kicked against Willie’s hold. She realized, dimly, that he was without the coat. Where had he left it? “There’s no place for you to hide, Willie Brown! He’s found you.”

  Please, Lord, let him hurry!

  “He’ll have to come pry you from my fingers himself—”

  “’Twould be my pleasure, blackguard.”

  Sally caught only a glimpse of a dark form outlined against the fire before Willie shoved her away and fumbled for his pistols. A shot went off at the same time as the whip crack, but it was Willie who cried out, hoarsely.

  The shadowy figure drove him back. “You—will never—touch this woman—again,” he said, each phrase accompanied by the lash.

  She couldn’t help it—he was so terrible, so like an avenging angel, she had to bury her face in her arms.

  And then Willie was gone, having run away sobbing into the dark like a small boy.

  A pair of hands took her gently by the shoulders. “Sally—Sally love—”

  It was him, it truly was. She pushed off the ground, let him help her rise and turn her around—

  And there, in the light from the burning inn, she thought she recognized Sam.

  A sob clogged her throat then another. She covered her mouth with both hands to silence herself.

  “Sally,” he sighed. “Are you hurt?”

  The voice was right—and the whip—aye, he still held it in his hand. But he stood still, watching her, waiting. His chest rose and fell with breaths that matched her own. “Sam?” It was naught but a squeak.

  Another sigh. “Aye. ‘Tis me, Sally.”

  “It was you—all the time?”

  “It was.”

  She fought back another sob or three.

  He held out a hand. “Come. Let’s get you back to your family.”

  “They are safe?”

  A half smile lifted his mouth. “Aye.”

  Oh, thank You, Lord! Still she could not move. Her thoughts spun back over the past days—the past weeks. The looks and the smiles and the funny way he’d had of saying his words of late.

  And she thought of when the Highwayman came to her rescue in the orchard, what sounded like shock in his voice, and—

  The kisses. All those kisses. The way he’d held her, as if—as if he truly did love her.

  Sam Wheeler was the Highwayman. She’d kissed quiet Sam Wheeler.

  His hand was still outstretched. Without another word, she let him lead her up the hill, to where the inn burned high, but Papa sat on the grass with Mama’s arms around him, and the boys huddled close. She ran to them.

  Papa didn’t let her hold on to him long, but pushed her away. “Go on, girl, he’s waiting for you.”

  She stood and looked where he nodded. Aye, it was still Sam, whip yet unfurled, his face etched with what looked like pain.

  “You knew?” she said to Papa.

  “Aye. He confided in me late on the Sabbath. He felt responsible for Willie’s last attack and wanted to make sure we were kept safe.”

  “At which task I failed miserably,” Sam said.

  “You couldn’t have known,” Papa said.

  “I came down this evening to find the coat and hat missing.”

  “Aye.” To Sally’s surprise, Papa chuckled. “Your girl here, she never doubted you for a moment.”

  “Where’s the coat now?” she asked.

  “I think it caught fire when you dropped that lamp,” Papa said.

  She looked at the fire, and to her dismay, her eyes filled. “All your hard work, Papa.”

  “We’ll get it back, sweet girl.”

  Slowly, she turned to Sam. He looked entirely different—harder, sure of himself.

  “If you’d be willing, sir,” he said, “I’d be pleased to stay and help you rebuild.”

  “Help would be welcomed. And what of after?”

  Sam shifted and met Sally’s gaze. “That, sir, depends upon your daughter.”

  Chapter 13

  He’d never seen her more beautiful—cap gone, hair loosed about her shoulders, dirt smudging her face.

  Tears in her eyes as she stared at him, openmouthed. Like she still couldn’t believe it.

  Well, he’d a lot of years of silence to make up for.

  Her eyes narrowed, her lips firming for a moment. “Did you mean anything you said to me? Out there in the orchard?”

  “I meant all of it.” He stepped toward her. “Every word, Sally. I have loved you since—oh, I can’t remember when. But not until the night you first met me as the Highwayman could I bring myself to speak.”

  She swallowed, and her lips parted again. “That was a lot of words for Samuel Wheeler… but spoken like the Highwayman.” She closed some of the distance between them. “Courtly. Gallant, even.”

  He felt a smile tugging at his mouth. “Jed and his family always did say I was too bookish, by half.”

  She stepped nearer, skimmed his chin and jaw with her fingertips. A half frown warred across her features, and she sniffed. “The Highwayman was too bold, by half, for a girl he’d never courted before.”

  “Aye, that he was.” His hand stole out to touch the waves of hair falling across her shoulders, shimmering like the fire it reflected. “He might be forgiven, perhaps, if it were known that he intended to reveal all and make it right.”

  She gulped a breath, sniffled—and suddenly was in his arms. He gathered her close, breathing her in.

  “Aye. Oh, aye. This is familiar.” She shook in his embrace—was that a laugh? She tipped back her head, one hand still on his face, the other at the back of his neck, and gave another watery chuckle. “I’d never imagined the Highwayman with fair hair and blue eyes.” She met his gaze. “Nor that it was Sam Wheeler I’d kissed.”

  “And what of now? Can you bear the thought of kissing him again?”

  “I don’t know, let me see.” And there in front of her family and half the town, she pulled him in.

  Lost in her sweetness, he was dimly aware of the cheer that rose around them.

  When she drew away, eyes shining, she said, “I can bear it, I think. But only if you promise to kiss me like that every day for the rest of my life.”

  His grin stretched from ear to ear, and the blaze in his cheeks surely matched that of the inn beside them. “I will most certainly do my best, sweet lady mine.”

  They’d stood hand in hand when the magistrate arrived, fuming and sputtering at the sight of his son in irons. The other four young men had been likewise arrested. The sheriff, so easily swayed before, now shook his head to the magistrate’s demands. The men of the town had enough of Willie Brown’s misbehavior, and the burning of Brewster’s Inn was the final straw for them.

  The sheriff was still an elected official, they reminded him, and liked his job. And if the chief justice wanted to keep his, he’d stop subverting
justice. The tide of change had begun, and they’d no longer stand for anything smacking of tyranny.

  Papa and Sam had a quiet talk with the sheriff after. Because none but Willie had been seen wearing the Highwayman’s coat, and none could say with any surety who the original owner was—and said coat had disappeared somewhere in the inferno that was the inn—the sheriff saw no reason to do aught but drop the matter. Let the Highwayman disappear as all legends did, into the mists of time.

  Sally felt a touch of sadness at the loss of that beautiful coat. But truth be told, it was the man inside she loved—not the costume.

  And Sam still sported those tall boots. Sally smiled as she realized why they’d seemed so familiar that one morning.

  He turned, as if he knew she watched him, and met her eyes across the stable yard. His eyes widened, and then he gave her that unbearably sweet smile that had so broken her heart on Sabbath’s evening.

  Sam—her Sam—the Highwayman.

  Who would have thought it?

  Transplanted to North Dakota after more than two decades in Charleston, South Carolina, Shannon McNear loves losing herself in local history. She’s a military wife, homeschooling mom of eight, and a member of ACFW and RWA. When not sewing, researching, or leaking story from her fingertips, she enjoys being outdoors, basking in the beauty of the Dakota prairies.

  Four Brides and a Bachelor

  by Gabrielle Meyer

  Dedication

  To my parents, George and Cathy VanRisseghem, thank you for teaching me how to believe in God, in dreams, and in myself. I love you both.

  Acknowledgments

  My heartfelt appreciation goes out to my agent, Mary Keeley, from Books and Such Literary Management who diligently champions my work; to the wonderful editors at Barbour Publishing who have fulfilled my lifelong dream; to my amazing writing friends, Alena Tauriainen, Lindsay Harrel, and Melissa Tagg, who make me laugh and hold me up; to my faithful beta readers, Andrea Skoglund, Angie VanRisseghem, Sarah VanRisseghem, Lindsay LeClair, Sarah Olson, Beka Swisher, and Kimberly Perry, who put their lives on hold to give me feedback; to Susan May Warren who is a phenomenal writing teacher and mentor; and to my extended family members and friends who encourage me every day. A very special thank-you goes to my husband, David, and our four children, Ellis, Maryn, Judah, and Asher. Thank you for being my biggest fans and my greatest joy. I’m grateful God planted this dream in my heart and is allowing me to see it come true.