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The Bride Lottery: A Sweet Historical Mail Order Bride Romance (Prosperity's Mail Order Brides Book 1)

Page 14

by Kristin Holt


  “Distracted by the stage. Have you seen Mrs. Brandt?”

  “Nope.”

  “Sorry, Dave, I gotta find her. Now.”

  “Is she in trouble?”

  He considered the emotional wringer he’d put her through and decided that yes, his woman was likely furious. “Oh, yes.”

  He must’ve taken too long to answer, because David clapped him on the shoulder. “If you’re having lady problems, you can take care of it in five minutes when I’m good and married to Miss Vincot. Say the words and let us sign the book.”

  Sam could’ve kicked himself. Why hadn’t he stopped at the Quarters on his way past? Considering how mad she’d likely been, he imagined she was holed up in her room. He could’ve run up those stairs and knocked on her door. If he had, he wouldn’t be in this fix.

  But maybe she’d run here first, then hied off somewhere. Surely she wouldn’t skip her best friend’s wedding without making her apologies. Evelyn wasn’t like that.

  “Miss Grayson.” Sam singled her out. “Have you seen Mrs. Brandt?”

  The bride-to-be glanced from female to female, surprised her friend wasn’t among those gathered. Her brows puckered. “I thought she’d returned. I sent her back to the Quarters for hair pins to hold this in place.” She lifted a fluffy length of white lace that must be a bridal veil.

  “I need to talk to her.” A cold sweat broke out on Sam’s forehead and his shirt stuck to his back.

  “And you will,” David emphasized in his no-nonsense way, “right after you do your duty here.”

  Facing two brides and two grooms he’d already kept waiting, Sam knew David was right. Besides, giving Evelyn five more minutes to cool down didn’t sound like a bad idea.

  He sighed. “O.K., everyone. Let’s see these weddings done, shall we?”

  Miss Caroline Grayson searched the pathway toward the Quarters, but apparently didn’t see Evelyn coming. Her features registered disappointment. “Maybe we should wait a few minutes.”

  But Lily Vincot, the red-headed bride in her cream-colored gown had already pulled her groom across the small glade, closer to the waterfall. “We’ll go first. I’m ready.” She smiled at David, her husband-to-be. “You ready, Mr. Ingram?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Sam mopped his shirtsleeve over his damp brow and stomped to the designated spot. “Take each other by the hand,” he said, intentionally speaking faster than natural to his Georgia upbringing. He glanced at the pair, so lost in one another they paid him no mind.

  Everyone else gathered ‘round to observe.

  “By joining hands, you consent to be bound together as husband and wife.” Sam felt a tug of conscience. This was David Ingram, a man he’d called friend since the day he’d unpacked his first wagon load of supplies and set up shop in a tent.

  David had defended Sam, been a loyal friend through these years in camp—er…Prosperity. He really should slow his speech, make this special, do it better than just acceptable as far as the law went.

  He closed his eyes, imagined Evelyn safely tucked away in her room, her temper cooling.

  Five minutes is all it would take to make this civil ceremony a nice one and pronounce each couple husband and wife. He’d take care of this responsibility and then give his whole attention to the most important priority—winning Evelyn’s forgiveness.

  He swallowed hard. “You both promise to honor, love, and support each other, every day of your lives.”

  The onlookers had fallen silent. One of the ladies whispered, “Amen.”

  “You promise to live together as husband and wife in fidelity and honor.” Saying the words for another couple made Sam ache to have the applied to his union with Evelyn. He wanted to take her to wife more than he wanted his next breath. Would she forgive him?

  David pulled his gaze free of his bride to glance at Sam. “I’ve got a word or two to say.”

  Sam nodded. The lump in his throat wasn’t going anywhere. What would a few more seconds matter?

  David brought Lily’s knuckles to his lips for a kiss that lingered. “I swear to you, Lily, before God—no offense Sam, to you or this civil ceremony—that I’ll love you, honor and cherish, be a faithful husband every day. I’ll keep my vows.”

  Happy tears ran down Lily’s smiling face. The pair had clasped both hands, their absorption in one another a beautiful thing to behold.

  Evelyn had looked at him that way, the night she’d accepted his proposal of marriage, and pretty much every moment they’d spent together since…until the circus in the mercantile with Octavia.

  Hope unfurled within him. She loved him. Love like theirs didn’t wither and die over a misunderstanding or a threat from another man or woman. Love like theirs would come through this O.K. He simply had to believe she’d accept his apology, would listen to his heart-felt plea for understanding and forgiveness.

  She would—he knew that about her nature.

  He realized, belatedly, that Lily must’ve added some promise to David’s, for they both looked to him expecting the rest of the ceremony.

  Sam cleared his throat. “Right.” Another attempt to dislodge the lump that settled rock-hard behind his Adam’s apple.

  David fished in his pocket and held up a ring—a cue to Sam things weren’t quite finished.

  Oh, right. David had purchased that ring from Sam’s simple offerings, just two days ago. How could he have forgotten? “Go ahead.”

  David slipped a slender gold band on Lily’s finger. He lifted her hand to kiss the ring.

  Chuckles and soft sounds of appreciation came from those gathered.

  Sam clapped his friend on the shoulder. “By the authority vested in me by the State of Colorado, I pronounce you husband and wife. Now kiss your bride.”

  David pulled Lily close for that first kiss as married folk.

  All eyes were on the newlyweds. Including Sam’s. Longing filled him. He wanted this kind of joyful new beginning for himself and Evelyn—he wanted it bad.

  Sam tamped down the desire to abandon the second bride and groom and run to Evelyn, now. “I present to you Mr. and Mrs. David Ingram.”

  “Wedding is off, eh?”

  Evelyn whirled about, stunned to realize she wasn’t alone. She searched the dense clusters of firs and spruces, more shadows than light. She knew that voice. Putrid Pike. Where was he hiding?

  Her pulse seemed to thunder in her ears, making it even harder to hear if the snake slithered nearer. Fear had her breaths coming in short gasps.

  The man thrived on scaring those weaker than him.

  She wouldn’t give him the pleasure. She straightened her spine, folded her arms, and determined to address his hurtful comment head-on. “Mr. Pike. I see you’ve been loitering on Main.”

  His chuckle came from off to her left. The noise gave her a point of focus. Slowly, she turned and there he stood, in the shadow of a blue spruce.

  “That’s a purty little bit of lace that stepped off the stage,” he commented in a rather off-hand sort of way. “Fairly ran into Sam’s arms, she did. I guess you’ve been…displaced.”

  Tears stung Evelyn’s eyes but she would not—would not—give this man the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Images of that pretty little scrap of lace, as Putrid Pike described Miss Octavia Sheline, skittered through her mind, a bit too Southern Belle and a great deal too much emerald silk. That corset must have been cinched to a fourteen-inch waist; Sam’s long fingers would easily overlap when spanning her waist with his hands.

  Evelyn’s heart sank.

  Would he show her the courtesy of breaking their engagement? Or had he completely forgotten her?

  As her posture wilted and one hand had found her protruding belly and significantly thicker than fourteen-inch waist, Evelyn realized she’d given in to Pike’s bullying tactics.

  That’s all he was, a schoolyard bully.

  Mean as the day was long, preying on the weak, striking where he perceived the battle could be easily won.
<
br />   His campaign wouldn’t work on her, not now and never again.

  In that moment, isolated on the side of a mountain with little more than trees and squirrels to witness her triumph, Evelyn realized she did have more control over the situation of Pike’s unwanted advances, his tormenting, than she’d ever given herself credit for.

  “Now as you’re…” he seemed to search for the right word, even as he crept closer, “…available…you might do yourself better by lookin’ around, seeing who else would make you a more faithful husband.”

  Evelyn held her ground. “I am not available, Mr. Pike. As I have expressed at length, I am not interested…in you.”

  Pike’s features hardened, turned dangerous.

  Oh, no. She hadn’t thought this through, had she?

  Pike approached, the set of his jaw forecasting far more nefarious intentions than more mean words.

  Would anyone hear her if she screamed?

  If by a stroke of luck someone did hear her, how would they find her in the forest?

  Pickle Pike clamped a vice-like hand around her upper arm. She’d bruise, that was for certain.

  If she lived long enough.

  Immediately after Sam concluded the second wedding ceremony uniting Caroline Grayson and Tom Hagenmeister, he headed for the Quarters.

  He pushed through the front gate and ran for the front door. “Evelyn!”

  The door opened just as he grasped the latch. Oh, thank God. She was here and willing to see him—

  But it wasn’t Evelyn standing in the doorway. Rather, the uncommonly tall, broad man with sand-colored hair, shot through with silver. The fellow who’d arrived on today’s stage with a woman, probably his wife, and headed directly for the Quarters.

  Her father.

  Just seeing the man’s features up close, the familial relationship was too strong to be denied. Evelyn could have been the feminine, diminutive version of her dad. No surprise that Evelyn was so tall…not when her father stood significantly over six feet.

  So this was Mr. Brandt, the man who’d tossed Evelyn out of the house because of pregnancy. Immediate hostility reared within Sam. Anyone who treated Evelyn with that much disrespect was no friend of his.

  Silent, the older man stood as stout and stern as a grandfather clock, blocking the entrance. He brushed a palm down the vest of his well-tailored suit and allowed his gaze to wander from Sam’s hat to boots in a way that made his opinion abundantly clear. His face puckered with censure.

  The sense of judgment, of falling short of some measurement he’d never had a hope of meeting, brought back far too many memories of his years in Atlanta. He’d craved acceptance almost more than he’d wanted to make good.

  Just standing under Mr. Brandt’s scrutiny made Sam feel diminished.

  That, and Mr. Brandt had at least six inches on him, doubled by the fact Sam stood on the walk and her father above the step. Never in his life had Sam wanted to be more, not even when he’d been eighteen and lost his heart to the likes of Octavia Sheline.

  Sam squared his shoulders. “I’m here to see your daughter.”

  Something flitted across the older man’s features—condescension, surely, but was that a bit of pity? “She does not wish to see you.”

  “How do you know what she wants?” The man hadn’t asked her what she wanted in regards to her babe. Doubtful he knew who Sam was.

  “You are not wanted here.” He moved to shut the door.

  Sam planted a palm against the door panel. “No one tells me that but Evelyn. It’s her decision.”

  “Then, by all means,” he said, sounding most accommodating. “Do call to her.”

  Sam narrowed his eyes, wishing this old man were easier to read. He couldn’t detect any deception, just blatant distaste. He didn’t wait. “Evelyn!”

  The Quarters weren’t that large. At this close range, even through closed doors and windows, she’d certainly hear him. “I need to see you,” he yelled, “please, come to the door.”

  Mr. Brandt waited a beat. He raised one sandy brow as if to say I told you so.

  “I’m here to apologize.” Sam drew a breath, his voice loud enough for anyone nearby to hear. Evelyn no doubt heard him. “I didn’t mean it. I was wrong.”

  He paused, listening for any tell-tale noises from above stairs.

  Nothing.

  He pictured Evelyn standing behind her closed bedroom door, listening and taking care to remain motionless and silent.

  “You must leave,” Mr. Brandt stated with finality. “Now. My daughter has made her wishes known.”

  “I won’t. Not until she sees me.” Doubt seeped in. He’d been so sure she’d at least hear him out. He knew her to be more compassionate than this. He’d been so certain she’d accept his apology, even through her hurt.

  Was it possible Evelyn was not here?

  That would certainly explain her silence…but it didn’t make sense.

  Why would her father lie and say she was safely upstairs if he didn’t know where his daughter was? “These mountains aren’t the safest place for a woman to wander alone. Mine shafts, wildcats—”

  “You’re grasping at straws, young man.” Brandt sniffed. “My daughter does not want to see you. You are unwanted here. Go.”

  No doubt about that. Every old insecurity, every time he’d begged a bite to eat or a dry place to sleep, the orphaned boy he’d been had hated asking for help so few had been willing to give. How many times had people told him to go away? To take his dirty, unwanted, beggar self elsewhere?

  “Evelyn!”

  “Must you make such a nuisance of yourself? I will send for the police to forcefully remove you.”

  “I’m the law around here—the closest this town has to a police force. You know I’m no threat to you, your wife, nor your daughter.”

  The man’s inscrutable expression softened just a tad. “If she wanted to see you, she would. Be a man and accept her decision.”

  Sam didn’t want his pity. Or his advice.

  “On your way out,” Brandt directed, “release the coach.”

  “I’m not your errand boy.” Sam held the older man’s gaze. “You want that message delivered, do it yourself. Sir.”

  A hint of a smile played over Brandt’s granite face. But it wasn’t amusement—more like contempt. Leaving the door open wide, he descended the step, and strode to the gate all long-limbed fluid grace.

  Sam noted Billy stood in the middle of the track, watching—and no doubt listening to—everything going on at the Quarters.

  With a wave, Allan Brandt dismissed the waiting conveyance. He must’ve already paid Billy handsomely, because Billy climbed aboard and rolled out without hesitation.

  Sam glanced at the open doorway, with nothing preventing him from bolting up the stairs and pounding on Evelyn’s door.

  Nothing, of course, but Evelyn’s rejection.

  He’d wracked his brain, wondering where, if not to her room, she would’ve gone and had come up empty. Everything he knew about her dictated she’d want privacy. Now that her roommate Caroline was a married woman, she’d have the space to herself.

  What good would knocking on her door do? She’d already refused to see him. Yeah, he might get to say everything he’d come here to say, but he couldn’t see Evelyn’s face, couldn’t read her expression to know if he’d gotten through to her.

  She already knew he’d come here to apologize.

  And she didn’t want to hear it.

  Never, not as a starving orphan, not as a young man desperate to improve his lot in life, not as a love-stricken suitor clambering for Miss Octavia’s attention, had he ever felt so dejected and helpless. His heart shuddered against his ribs.

  The fight seeped out of him. His fists relaxed as did the set of his shoulders.

  This is what heartbreak feels like.

  Brandt strode past, climbed the stair and entered the Quarters. He paused as if he might say something more but did not. He slowly closed the door.
The latch clicked in the stillness.

  In the distance, he heard muted laughter from the crowd that had gathered for the double wedding. No doubt enjoying cookies and sweet tea and wishing the newlyweds much happiness.

  Sam came back to himself, his scuffed boots in sharp focus against the grass.

  Nothing had changed.

  He still loved Evelyn with all his heart, and he couldn’t lose her. Not now. Not over something so meaningless as Octavia’s arrival. He did understand Evelyn’s anger, he really did. He knew how bad it all looked, how his careless word must’ve cut her to the quick.

  She just needed time to think.

  Maybe later, when she’d thought it all through, she’d be willing to see him.

  He had to believe she’d give him a chance—because the alternative was too awful to consider.

  Until she was ready to see him, he’d wait. He’d be right here, for he certainly wouldn’t stay in his apartment above the mercantile with Octavia and Mrs. Cairn.

  He had an old tent in the storage room at the rear of his shop. He’d pitch it in sight of both doors to the Quarters and he’d wait. When Evelyn opened her window, he’d hear. If she stepped outside the front or side door, he’d know.

  Eventually, she would be ready to see him, and he’d be right here when that happened.

  Weary in body and soul, he headed for the mercantile back door to locate his tent.

  Chapter Eleven

  Belying confidence she did not feel, Evelyn looked Pickle Pike in the eye—how had she never realized she had a good inch on him?—and mimicked the disdainful reproach her father had patented and wielded with such frequency and aplomb. “Release me at once.”

  Pike grinned. “All high ‘n mighty, ain’t ya, lady?” His grin turned feral, cruel, twisted with something not quite sane. “You need a man to learn you your place.”

  His breath stank of fish and chewing tobacco. The odor of unwashed body and clothing combined with the fishy tang of his breath. Her stomach churned.

  His fingers clamped tighter and he shook her, hard.

  “Unhand me.” She swallowed. Likely he would release her if she lost her lunch down the front of his plaid shirt.

 

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