Mistaken Bride

by Renee Ryan

  The sound of a hammer banging on the roof interrupted her musings. Bridget lifted her head toward the sound and smiled. Cameron must have decided to work on the house today.

  Despite the sense of unease she felt, Bridget wanted today to be a happy one full of blessings. With that in mind, she finished tying the laces on her boots and lifted up a prayer. Oh, Lord, may today bring only joy.

  Shrugging off the last of her somber mood, she hurried down to the kitchen. Nora was already busy rolling dough.

  “I’m here to help,” Bridget said, spreading her arms wide. “What do you want me to do first?”

  “The pies.” Nora handed over the rolling pin.

  Bridget got straight to work.

  Several hours later with most of the preparations complete and the pies baking, she took Grace outside so Nora could have a break. Setting the baby on a blanket under a large shade tree, Bridget knelt down beside her.

  She positioned herself so she had an unobstructed view of the lane. It wasn’t long before she was rewarded with the sight of Will’s open-top carriage coming around the bend. He looked as relaxed as she’d ever seen him, holding the reins in a loose-fingered grip. Two giggling children and one large dog rode alongside him.

  Her family. And yet, not.

  Swallowing back a pang of yearning, Bridget lifted her hand and waved. Will returned the gesture, a smile sliding into place. Her heart gave a little skip and she quickly broke eye contact. Would she ever get tired of looking into that handsome face?

  Would she ever stop hoping the man was hers?

  Sighing, she tickled the baby’s belly. Grace responded with a merry kick of her legs. Laughing, Bridget bent at the waist and kissed the flawless cheek. “You’re a good girl, aren’t you?”

  One day, she silently prayed. Oh, Lord, one day may You bless me with a child of my own.

  * * *

  As Will watched Bridget leaning over the baby something in him released, unwound. For weeks he’d been fighting the inevitable. Now he accepted the truth. He loved Bridget Murphy. He didn’t know when she’d taken up residence in his heart. Long before he’d kissed her, that much he knew for certain.

  The beautiful Irish lass with the sweet smile and unruly hair was everything he wanted in a wife. Ever since Fanny’s tragic death he’d been afraid to love again.

  But then Bridget had shown up and changed everything. Will had to tell her how he felt about her. How she’d changed him, and taught him to open his heart. He had to tell her today. But not now. When they were alone. When there wouldn’t be anything to distract either of them.

  As if to solidify his point, Digger leaped out of the carriage before Will pulled the horse to a complete stop.

  “Digger, no.” Caleb attempted to follow the animal, leap and all, but Will grabbed the boy by his shirt.

  “Wait until we’ve stopped.”

  Practically bouncing in place, Caleb obeyed. The second Will swung open the door the boy jumped to the ground and ran after the dog. The ridiculous animal had stopped midstride and was now chasing his tail, literally. Caleb joined in the game.

  Olivia departed the carriage in a more regal manner. But just like her brother, the moment her feet hit the ground she launched herself forward, this time in Bridget’s direction. Sinking to her knees near the baby, she began an onslaught of questions. Bridget responded with her characteristic patience.

  “Hey, Will,” Cam called down from the rooftop and then rubbed the sweat out of his eyes with his sleeve. “You gonna cool your heels all day or get up here and help with the man work?”

  Will turned to Bridget and lifted an eyebrow.

  Reading his silent query correctly, she laughed and waved him off. “Go on. I have things under control here.”

  “Be right there,” he shouted up to Cam.

  Three steps later a stately carriage pulled by two perfectly matched white horses rolled to a smooth stop. Digger and Caleb froze in the midst of their game. The dog moved in front of the boy as if to shield him from an unknown threat. The animal didn’t growl, but he dropped to his haunches, appearing ready for a sudden attack.

  In that moment Digger became Digger Black in Will’s mind, a permanent member of their family. Just in case the animal decided to pounce on Bridget’s friends, he crossed over to stand next to dog and boy.

  A tall, imperious-looking woman exited the carriage first. Dressed in a fashionable emerald silk dress, with a perfectly coordinated hat on her auburn head, she looked completely out of place in the country. Nose in the air, seemingly oblivious to the heat, she took a slow, methodical turn, surveying the area with what Will thought was a highly critical eye.

  “Needs considerable work,” she declared.

  “Mrs. Fitzwilliam.” Bridget rose to her feet in a quick, fluid movement. “I’m so pleased you could make it.”

  The older woman hesitated then smiled. The gesture softened her otherwise hard features. “Well, Bridget Murphy, you are looking very well. Very well, indeed. But this house…” She waved her hand in the general direction of the front stoop. “It’s ghastly.”

  “It’s coming along,” Bridget said defensively, her shoulders flinching. “We’ll have it in shape before winter.”

  The older woman sniffed indelicately. “I should hope so.” Nose back in the air, she shuffled over to the blanket, caught sight of the baby and smiled broader than before. “My, my. That child has grown.”

  “Several pounds, at least.” Bridget picked up Grace, introduced Olivia, and then the three proceeded to fuss over the baby.

  Will started over, more intent on protecting Bridget from further censure than meeting the widow, when a movement from the carriage caught his eye.

  He turned and watched as three boys jumped to the ground in rapid succession and headed toward Bridget. The first two were considerably smaller than the third, but they all had the same eager smiles, red hair and pleasant, honest faces. These had to be the McCorkle brothers Bridget had told him about.

  Deciding he liked the look of the boys, Digger rose to his feet and barked a happy greeting. The younger two immediately changed directions.

  “A dog,” one of them declared, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to greet the animal.

  “A big dog,” the other one announced, moving at a more lumbering pace.

  Chest out, chin high, Caleb beamed at the approaching boys. “His name is Digger. And I’m Caleb. Want to play with us?”

  That was all the encouragement the McCorkle brothers needed. They introduced themselves as Sean and Emmett. Will wasn’t sure which was which. Before he could sort it out the three boys were wrestling on the ground with the dog.

  Laughing at their antics the older brother crossed to Will. “I’m Gavin. Gavin McCorkle.”

  Will shook the outstretched hand. “William Black.”

  Recognition lit in Gavin’s eyes. “You’re Miss Bridget’s employer.”

  “That would be me.”

  “Pleased to meet you, sir.” He started to say more but then his gaze landed on Cam’s horse. “Sheriff Long is here?”

  “Up there, working on the roof.” Will angled his head to where Cam was engrossed in fixing shingles. “I was just headed up there myself.”

  “I’ll come along.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Before heading out, Will approached Bridget and introduced himself to Mrs. Fitzwilliam.

  Eyes narrowed, the widow looked him up and down and back again. Knowing this woman meant a lot to Bridget, Will remained unmoving under the rude appraisal.

  She continued to take his measure, as if she were determined to find him wanting. Holding steady, he shot a quick glance at Bridget. A wordless message passed between them, one that was filled w
ith apology on her side and amusement on his. His mouth curved into a slow, easy smile and Bridget blushed.

  Catching their silent interaction, Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s gaze widened. She looked from Will to Bridget and back again. After a tense moment she gave one firm nod. “You’ll do, Mr. Black. Yes, you’ll do quite well.” With a toss of her head she dismissed him. “You may go now.”

  His amusement increased. Apparently he’d passed the test. He gave the widow a slight bow, touched his daughter’s head with the tips of his fingers and then strode off.

  With a stab of surprise Will realized he was whistling. Prior to Bridget’s arrival in his home, he’d never whistled before in his life.

  * * *

  With so many people in attendance, and the day milder than usual, Nora made the decision to serve lunch outside on the lawn. The men had quickly set up a table to accommodate the adults, while the children sat happily on the ground.

  Bridget found herself seated directly next to Will. Instead of feeling scandalized she experienced a warm, happy glow of contentment.

  Something had changed this morning. Or rather something in Will had changed. He’d been overly attentive since arriving, whenever they were in the same room, at times visibly affectionate. A slide of his fingers over hers, a hand on her back, a secretive smile just for her, he was making his intentions clear. In front of her family and friends. Despite Nora’s occasional scowls, and Flynn’s silent warnings, Bridget couldn’t have been happier.

  The two youngest McCorkles and Caleb finished eating first. After seeking permission, the three boys set off toward the front of the house for a game of hide and seek. Olivia squirmed onto Bridget’s lap and promptly fell asleep in her arms.

  Bridget smiled at Will over the child’s head. With everyone else involved in their own conversations, she decided to ask him a question that had been weighing on her mind since his arrival. “Esther didn’t want to come with you today? She was more than welcome.”

  “She sent her regrets.” He leaned in closer. “When the children and I left she was preparing a special lunch for Ben. The deputy had been left all alone to fend for himself at the jailhouse.”

  Bridget shook her head in mock chagrin. “That poor man.”

  They shared a laugh.

  Will started to say more, but Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s booming voice cut him off. “Although this house isn’t up to my usual standards and the grounds need considerable work, that pretty, wild sort of garden around the side of the house caught my eye.”

  “That’s Colleen’s Garden,” James Coulter said, setting his fork down with deliberate slowness. “Laird planted it for the girls’ mother. Agnes and I plan to restore it to its original grandeur once my hip is better and she’s feeling stronger.”

  “A fine idea,” Mrs. Fitzwilliam said in an approving voice, then swung her gaze around the table as if looking for her next victim or rather the next person to engage in conversation. Her eyes narrowed on Will.

  Before the widow could open her mouth—no telling what she would say—Bridget spoke first. “Mrs. Fitzwilliam, how is the search for your stepgranddaughter progressing?”

  The older woman blinked, drew in a single, catchy breath then sighed heavily. “Not well, not well at all. Although there is evidence Mary set off for America with that no-good boyfriend of hers, the detective has been unable to determine precisely where the two settled.”

  “So she is not in the Boston slums as you feared?”

  “Apparently not.”

  Was that good news or bad? Bridget wondered. “Perhaps the girl is in a much better situation than you feared.” And wouldn’t that be a blessing?

  “Perhaps.” Mrs. Fitzwilliam took a slow sip of her tea, her gaze growing distant. “Or perhaps my stepgranddaughter is in a far worse predicament.”

  Nora touched the widow’s arm. “We’re keeping her in our prayers.”

  The older woman set her cup on the table, shook her head, then pinned Cameron with a glare. “You.” She jabbed her finger in his direction. “Am I to understand you are the sheriff of this town?”

  Cam leaned his forearms on the table. “That’s me.”

  “So you’re the one putting ideas into my boy’s head.” She indicated Gavin with a hitch of her chin. “Offering him a chance to be your apprentice when he’s already enrolled in school.”

  Nora gasped in surprise, effectively pulling his attention to her. “You actually did it? You offered Gavin a job?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Yeah, well, he wore me down.”

  Bridget sensed there was more to the story. Cameron Long was not the type to be worn down by anyone, especially not an eighteen-year-old boy. By the way the man smiled at Nora, with that lopsided grin of his, Bridget suspected pleasing her sister had been the real motivation behind the unusual hire.

  When Cam continued smiling at Nora, all but ignoring Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s loud huff, the widow swung her angry gaze in the other direction. “Explain yourself, young man.”

  Gavin cleared his throat. “I’ve told you, Mrs. F. I don’t want to go to school.” He threw his shoulders back. “I want to be a lawman.”

  “Well, I like that.” She sounded outraged, but Bridget saw the hurt in her eyes. “After all I’ve done for you and your brothers.”

  “You’ve been very generous.” Sincerity filled Gavin’s gaze. “But Emmett and Sean need the schooling, not me. Like I said, I’d rather—”

  A commotion on the other side of the house silenced him.

  “Papa, Papa,” Caleb shouted, running straight for the table of adults, Digger and the McCorkle brothers hard on his heels.

  The dog barked frantically, spinning in circles. Caleb was breathing hard. The other boys were babbling, something about a horse.

  Will jumped up and rushed to Caleb. “Calm down, son.” He took the boy’s shoulders and then turned his gaze to the older boys. “Tell me what’s happened.”

  The taller of the two gulped in several hard breaths. “We tried, Mr. Black. We really did. But we couldn’t stop him.”

  “Stop who?”

  “The boy. The one stealing the sheriff’s horse.”

  Chapter Twenty

  To everyone’s surprise Gavin McCorkle was the first to run down the horse and rider. He’d raced ahead of Will without breaking stride, passed Cam without much more effort, covering ground in a fleet-footed flash of speed. Will had never seen anyone move that fast.

  With shockingly quick reflexes, Gavin reached out and grabbed the horse’s reins. It was a gutsy move. No fear. No hesitation. He was going to make a good lawman one day.

  Taking charge of the situation, he ordered the thief off the horse.

  The boy refused to relinquish the reins. Will couldn’t see the kid’s face due to the shadows cast by his hat. From the look of his small stature and painfully thin shoulders he was probably fourteen, maybe fifteen, full of youthful defiance and bad attitude.

  Will squinted into the glaring sun. There was something odd about the way the kid fought to maintain his seat, hunched over and wobbling, his grip on the reins almost delicate.

  “Get down. Now,” Gavin ordered.

  “No.”

  An ill-thought-out tug of war ensued, where Gavin proved as stubborn as the boy. “Get off that horse. He’s not yours.”

  A string of high-pitched oaths followed, and Will found himself reassessing the thief’s age. Clearly, he was younger than fourteen. His voice hadn’t changed yet.

  Cam, knowing better than to get too close, watched the fray next to Will with tight-lipped intensity.

  Will knew that look. His friend was barely holding on to his anger.

  “How long you gonna let this go on?” he asked.

  “Not a second mor
e.” Cam stepped forward. “Gavin.” He lifted his voice above the fray. “Pull back, now, you’re spooking Fletch.”

  The warning came a second too late. The horse snorted, tossed his head back in panic, then reared, his front hooves punching the air with vicious intent.

  Screeching in fear, the thief flung himself forward and hung on to the horse’s neck for dear life. The sudden motion sent his hat to the ground.

  Long, curly hair cascaded down his—her—back.

  Gasping in shock, Gavin’s hand slipped from the reins and he lost his footing. He went down hard.

  As one, Cam and Will rushed forward and grabbed him. They tugged him away from the horse, moving as quickly as possible. There was a moment when time stood still. And then…

  The horse’s hooves slammed to the ground, landing inches from Gavin’s face.

  In a whirlwind of angry snorts, female screams and flying dust, horse and rider galloped away.

  Cam took off after them, yelling something over his shoulder about needing to borrow one of Will’s horses to pursue the girl.

  Will paid more attention to Gavin, who was still sprawled on the ground. He was checking for injury when Bridget and Mrs. Fitzwilliam careened around the house. The children and the Coulters tried to follow, but Nora held them all back. “Give them room,” she ordered, barring their way with an outstretched hand.

  “Gavin.” Bridget dropped to her knees. “Talk to me. Are you hurt?”

  Will helped the boy to a sitting position. He wobbled a few seconds then collapsed back to the ground, groaning.

  Bridget turned her concerned gaze onto Will. “What happened?”

  “Gavin took a tumble,” he said, but didn’t expand. Bridget was already shaking with concern. He would not add to her anxiety.

  Besides, the boy was fine. Or he would be, once he gained his bearings. Best not to tell her how close he’d come to disaster. Had Will and Cam been a shade too slow, had the horse swiveled a few inches to his left, Gavin would be dead.