His Secret Bride (The Brides of Paradise Ranch (Spicy Version) Book 8)

by Merry Farmer

  “What?”

  She shook herself. “Nothing. Thank you. Your concern is touching.” Again, she sounded like she was disagreeing with him instead of agreeing. “Just let me know when that thing gets to the proper authorities.” She nodded to the divorce decree on the table, then headed for the door.

  “Are you sure you won’t reconsider?” George followed her.

  She stopped in the doorway, turning to him. “I’ve got a house full of girls that are throwing a party for Samantha Philips right now. She’s off on tonight’s train, starting a new life that will take her far, far away from the ghost of her abusive daddy, far from the pain of being whored out at age fourteen, far from the years of abuse and neglect at the hands of scoundrels who never thought of her as human. Even if Samantha was the only girl I was able to give a new life to, I’d still sell everything I had to do it. But lucky for them, your God has given me the tools to help even more girls the way I’ve been able to help her.” She shifted her weight to her other leg. “Are you asking me to reconsider that mission?”

  George blew out a breath and rubbed a hand over his face. “No. I just wish there was a better way for you to do it than marrying Bonneville.”

  Heart twisting in her chest, Bonnie said, “So do I, my friend, so do I.”

  Chapter 8

  Staying up all night pacing was probably not the best idea, but there was no way Rupert would have been able to sleep, knowing that the next train to Haskell would come through in the morning. He’d been all energy when he rushed aboard and plopped in his seat as soon as the train arrived. By the time it lurched to a stop in Haskell, however, his lack of sleep, worn-out nervous energy, and general uncertainty about what he was doing had taken its toll.

  “Whoa, careful there!” The smiling, stocky stationmaster reached out and caught Rupert as he stumbled on the last step down to the platform. The stationmaster had a sweet, harmless look about him, but the strength in his arms was obvious in the way he helped Rupert get his balance.

  “I’m all right,” Rupert insisted, switching his suitcase to his other hand. He hesitated, wincing slightly. “Is Bonnie’s Place still up at the other end of Main Street?”

  The stationmaster’s brow flew up and a bashful, knowing grin spread across his round face. “Why, yes, it is,” he answered with deliberate politeness. “But if you spend some time there, you’d better treat those girls nicely.”

  “Um…”

  “Bonnie will have your hide if you’re cruel to them.”

  “I wasn’t—”

  “Just last month, she threw a man out into the street—without his clothes—for pulling Della’s hair when she didn’t want it pulled.” The stationmaster laughed. “The fellow had to search through town for someone willing to give him a stitch of clothing, hands cupping his—you know—as he scurried around. Folks around here are as protective of Bonnie’s girls as she is, so it was a good half hour before anyone gave him something to wear, and that turned out to be a frilly pink dress!”

  The stationmaster’s laugh was so free and happy that Rupert found himself chuckling along, though his insides quivered. If Bonnie would do that to a complete stranger, what would she do to him?

  “I’ll be careful,” he assured the stationmaster. He gripped his suitcase tighter, then headed off the platform and up Main Street.

  Haskell had changed considerably since the brief visit Rupert had made four years ago. It was twice the size it had been with even more buildings under construction further from the center of town, though still nothing on the far side of the train tracks. The part of his brain that handled business perked up, wondering if there was room for King Cole Construction in the town’s boom. He shook that thought away as fast as it came. As much as Haskell was thriving, that wasn’t why he was there. Although it was interesting to see new shops, a recent-looking newspaper office, and two entire new streets full of houses.

  His footsteps slowed as he approached Bonnie’s Place. It was one thing that hadn’t changed. The otherwise modest house was still painted a lurid shade of pink. A pair of girls in clothes that managed to display their wares while also keeping them bundled up against the autumn chill sat chatting and laughing on the porch railing.

  “Well, hello there, handsome!” one of them—a redhead—cooed as she noticed him. “You looking for someone to warm you up on this chilly afternoon?”

  “We’ve got hot cider inside,” the other—a blonde with a sweet voice—added, leaning forward enough so that Rupert could see her apples.

  All he could think about was that Bonnie was somewhere inside that house. Maybe she was the one who’d made the cider. Maybe she was sitting by the fire, sipping it and worrying about what she could do for money since he’d wrecked her plans. Maybe she was contemplating joining her girls out there on the porch, her own top cut low enough to show off what he’d worshipped so passionately less than two days ago.

  He cleared his throat and pushed on. “Let me just check into the hotel first.”

  “You come back now, you hear?” the redhead called after him.

  Rupert’s cheeks flared hot. Did running away to The Cattleman Hotel make him a fool and a coward or a wise man avoiding temptation? He didn’t have the energy to answer the question. All he could focus on for the moment was checking into the hotel, getting a key from the young man on duty behind the desk, and tossing his suitcase into the cozy room with a view of the garden in back of the hotel. He took a few minutes to breathe and steady himself, contemplated getting a half hour or so of sleep, then gave up on that idea. He needed to confront Bonnie, demand she come back to him, and he needed to do it now.

  But as his steps took him out onto Main Street again, his stomach began to wobble. Bonnie’s Place was on one corner of the main intersection in town, directly across the street from The Cattleman Hotel—whether by accident or design—and the ten or so long strides it would have taken to get there were in no way enough to settle Rupert’s nerves or give him the courage to do what he so badly wanted to do. He paused in the street.

  “You ready to come play?” the blonde girl with the childlike voice called out to him with a giggle.

  “Uh…”

  “I think he needs some encouragement,” the redhead said. She exchanged a glance with her blonde friend, glanced around to see if the coast was clear, then the two of them took hold of their tops and pulled them down far enough to show everything. They giggled as though showing their breasts were a joke they shared.

  The effect on Rupert was probably the opposite of what they expected. He pivoted and marched straight across the street from Bonnie’s Place and into The Silver Dollar Saloon, eyes wide in alarm. It was ridiculous to be chased away from his mission by two pairs of perfectly formed breasts, but distractions like that were definitely not going to help him stay focused. Beyond that, he couldn’t shake the raw guilt of knowing that his own, dear Bonnie had been forced to behave exactly like those girls all those years ago.

  “Whiskey,” he croaked as he leaned against the bar, hoarser than he wanted to be.

  “Coming right up,” the bartender answered with a nod.

  Rupert breathed a sigh of relief and turned to study the rest of the saloon. A dark-skinned beauty that had to be one of Bonnie’s girls leaned against the other end of the bar, practically falling in the lap of a man in a traveling suit. A table full of men who appeared to be friends—one of them a black man in an expensive suit, another wearing a sheriff’s star, with a distinct scar across his face—sat nearby. Another woman who must work for Bonnie sat at the front of the room, playing expertly on the piano, while yet another immodestly dressed woman with dark hair and olive skin served drinks to a bunch of card players in the corner. It was like every other saloon Rupert had ever been in, except it had the air of being tame under a freewheeling surface instead of pulsing with danger under a calm façade.

  “George can play shortstop,” one of the men at the closer table said, snagging Rupert’s attentio
n. Could he mean George Pickering?

  “No, no.” The black man shook his head. “George has been asked to umpire the game. We’re going to have to convince Gideon Faraday to play short-stop. He’s got the best arm of any of us.”

  “I take objection to that,” the sheriff protested, smiling.

  “What, Trey, you think you can throw faster?” one of the others, whose hands were stained from leatherwork, ribbed the sheriff.

  “I wasn’t talking about me,” Trey laughed. “I was talking about Albert here.” He gestured with his thumb to the man on his right.

  That man, Albert, a blacksmith, judging by the way he was dressed and the size of his arms, roared with laughter. “That’s why I play first base. So Bonneville’s thugs will think twice about trying anything funny.”

  Bonneville. Rupert’s senses were immediately on alert.

  “Here you go.” The bartender returned with a small glass of whiskey. “That’ll be thirty-five cents.”

  Rupert reached for the change purse in his trouser pocket. “Who’s this Bonneville?” he asked as he paid the bartender.

  The bartender’s brow went up. “Rex Bonneville? If you haven’t heard of him, you must not be from around here.”

  Admitting that he knew of Bonneville, even if he didn’t know much, wasn’t going to get him what he needed, so he said, “I’m new in town.”

  The bartender nodded. “Rex Bonneville. One of the two biggest ranchers around here. Well, three if you break Paradise Ranch up into Howard Haskell’s portion and Virginia Piedmont’s bit.”

  “I see.” Rupert sipped at his drink. “He’s important, then?”

  The bartender laughed. “He sure thinks so. Mostly he just drives everyone around here to distraction with his snobbery and bullying.”

  Rupert nearly choked. “He’s a bully?”

  “Worst of the worst.”

  The man Bonnie wanted to divorce him for was a bully? What was she thinking? How desperate did she have to be to—

  He couldn’t finish his question, not even in his mind. He knew exactly how desperate she’d have to be. She’d been that desperate once before and done what so many others wouldn’t to survive.

  He had to think about something else. “What’s all this about baseball, then?”

  The bartender laughed. “Hey guys,” he called across to the table. “Want to explain to this new fellow in town here why you’re talking about baseball?”

  Every man at the table started to talk at once, all of them loud and humorous.

  “The finals of Haskell’s baseball league are on Sunday,” Albert the blacksmith said, louder than the others.

  “It’s the Westside Wolves versus the Bonneville Bears,” Sheriff Trey added.

  “We’re all Wolves,” the man with leathery hands whose name Rupert hadn’t heard yet said.

  “And we’re going to wipe the floor with them,” The black man said, a somewhat more ominous tone in his voice.

  “Ready to stick it to your father-in-law where it hurts, Solomon?” Albert chuckled, giving the black man a friendly punch on the arm.

  With a dignified yet deadly grin, Solomon answered, “A true gentleman earns his honor and revenge on the field of competition.”

  It was a simple sentence, but Rupert felt as though he understood an entire story from it. Solomon must have married a Bonneville daughter, and judging by his skin and the look in his eyes, that hadn’t gone over well with Papa Bonneville. Maybe there had even been some violence involved. That only served to make Rupert hate the man more…and to stoke the fires of his determination to win Bonnie back and away from that monster.

  “Well, I hope you all win and win big.” Rupert toasted the men with his half-empty whiskey glass.

  Sheriff Trey stood and extended his hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Sheriff Trey Knighton.”

  “And I’m Solomon Templesmith, owner of the First Bank of Haskell.” Solomon stood to shake his hand as well, drawing him closer to the table.

  Everyone in the saloon was suddenly interested in Rupert and eyed him curiously, from the card-players in the corner to the blonde playing the piano.

  “I’m Albert Winslow, town blacksmith.” Albert reached across the table as Solomon and Trey invited Rupert to sit with them. “Everybody calls me Al.”

  “Al.” Rupert nodded as he shook the man’s hand.

  “And I’m Sean Ridgeway, saddle-maker.”

  Rupert smiled. That explained the stained, leathery hands.

  “And you are?” Trey asked.

  “Rupert Cole.” And then, possibly because he was exhausted from a sleepless night, possibly because his nerves were raw, or possibly because of the talk about Rex Bonneville, he added, “Bonnie’s husband.”

  The saloon went silent. The blonde played a sour note, then swiveled on the piano stool to gape at him. The card-players stopped their conversation. The dark-skinned beauty and her male friend at the bar froze mid-laughter. Sam the bartender’s jaw dropped as he paused halfway through cleaning a glass.

  The olive-skinned woman who had been serving drinks—and flirting with the card-players—abruptly put down her tray, two glasses clinking and falling over, and dashed out of the saloon.

  “Bonnie’s…husband?” Trey stuttered.

  “Bonnie Horner?” Sean asked.

  Maybe it hadn’t been such a grand idea to blurt it out up front, but there was nothing Rupert could do about it now. He sat back in his chair, crossed his arms, and said, “Yep.”

  The others continued to gawk at him. Solomon was the first to recover. He shook his head and said, “I had no idea Bonnie was married.”

  “She is. She came out to Colorado after answering my advertisement for a mail-order bride ten years ago.” Ten years and several lifetimes ago.

  “Well, I’ll be.” Al rubbed a hand over his face. He blinked, then said, “Rex isn’t going to like this.”

  “Rex is going to hit the roof,” Sean agreed. His expression turned ominous.

  “Does he know?” Sam asked from the bar.

  Every single person in the bar hung on the answer.

  “No.” Rupert shrugged. “Not unless Bonnie told him, and I seriously doubt she did.”

  One of the card players whistled low and shook his head.

  The blonde at the piano stood up, crossing her arms over her ample chest, and approached the table. “How do we know you’re telling the truth?” she asked.

  Rupert started to answer, but before he could get a word out, the saloon door banged open and Bonnie ran inside, the olive-skinned woman, and blond, and the redhead from the porch right behind her. She searched for half a second before finding him. Her expression lit with alarm and fire and something so passionate that Rupert thought for a second he might just be able to sweep her up and carry her home to Everland.

  Until she demanded, “What are you doing here?”

  Behind her, the olive-skinned woman—who must have raced to fetch her—moved to back Bonnie up, as the blonde and the redhead flanked Bonnie’s sides.

  “So it is true!” the girl who had been playing the piano exclaimed.

  “Oh, gosh!” The blonde with the childlike voice who had exposed her bosom to him slapped a hand to her mouth and blushed pink. “That’s Rupert?”

  “Wait, you know me?” Rupert stood to face Bonnie and her girls.

  “Yes,” Bonnie answered, crossing her arms and pursing her lips. “That’s him.”

  “I showed him my titties,” the blonde confessed. “I’m so sorry, Bonnie. I didn’t know he was your husband. I never would have if I’d known.”

  “You should have seen the way he blushed,” the redhead who had joined in the tit-show laughed.

  “He did,” the blonde giggled. “Blushed and ran away, poor thing.”

  Bonnie’s pursed lips twitched. The shock and fury in her eyes glittered to something Rupert dared to call humor. Was she laughing at him? And why did that make him want to stand at attention the wa
y two perfectly nice pairs of breasts hadn’t?

  “What are you doing here?” Bonnie asked again, slower, emphasizing each word.

  Everyone in the saloon turned to Rupert for answers. Rupert clenched his fists at his sides, not out of any feelings of anger, but because if he didn’t physically hold himself together in some way he was likely to fall apart. He peeked past Bonnie’s shoulder at her girls, glanced sideways at the men whose acquaintance he’d just made. What did he have to lose by telling the truth? If he failed miserably, he could tuck his tail between his legs and run home to Everland. Nothing was holding him back from spilling out his guts with a dozen strangers looking on.

  “I want you back, Bonnie,” he said, facing her head-on. “I’ve wanted you back from the moment you left me all those years ago.”

  “Rupert,” she warned him, flushing deep red. Her expression seemed furious, but her eyes…her eyes held nothing but heartbreak.

  He took a step closer to her. “You have no idea the kind of hope you gave me when you showed up in Everland the other day. It was like the answer to a prayer that my heart has been praying all these years. And when I held you in my arms again…” He took a breath, holding his arms out to the side. “All I want to do is find a way to make things right between us again.”

  Silence followed.

  A moment after that, the blonde with the childlike voice sighed. “I like him, Bonnie.”

  “Es tan romántica,” the olive-skinned woman cooed.

  “What are you going to do?” the woman who had been playing the piano asked.

  Bonnie stood stock still. Rupert swallowed. He could feel himself breaking out in a sweat. He checked the men at the table, figuring they would be the closest thing he had to allies if it all went wrong. They looked as dumbfounded and out of their depths as he felt.

  At last, Bonnie’s expression resolved into determination. She stared right at Rupert and said, “Come with me.”

  Without waiting to be sure that Rupert would follow her, Bonnie turned and marched through Pearl, Della, and Domenica and out the saloon’s door to Main Street. She couldn’t decide if she was embarrassed or humiliated or…or overjoyed. For Rupert to show up out of the blue and make that kind of a speech in front of a room full of people who she considered friends?