by Megan Besing
William burst into the kitchen. The back door slammed into the wall. A broom fell to the floor, booming almost as loud as the gunshots. “Eleanor and her daughter are both safe. Disheveled, but safe. Apparently, Eleanor throws a mean elbow to the nose.”
Vernon swiped off his cap. “Good. Then those vermin can have whatever they stole. No point in riding against their guns. I say, let the Lord provide justice.”
William wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Hanson’s daughter’s still missing.”
Through the stained-glass windows, blue and purple rays shone upon the altar. Sophie’s prayers ran dry hours ago, but the sunset remained diligent. The church door opened and banged shut. Sophie rose from her kneeling position. A redheaded girl had her back against the door.
Thank You, Lord.
Hanson’s daughter, Ruby, was safe.
Ruby erupted into tears and slid to the floor.
Or maybe not?
With shaky hands, Ruby tugged at something on her skirt. No, something was missing from her skirt. A tear had been sliced down the middle exposing Ruby’s knees. Wisps of hair stuck to her wet cheeks. The girl’s braids looked as if she’d wallowed in the straw, and her nostrils flared like a frightened stallion.
“Are you hurt?” Sophie pushed through a wave of dizziness and moved her numb legs forward. Wrong question. There were more than physical scars that wounded a person. Like Sophie’s own memories. “We’ve been praying for you. Your father—”
Ruby pulled in her knees and wrapped her skirt around them, covering her exposed skin. “I won’t be his treasure anymore.”
“Whose treasure?” Sophie knelt, leaving space between them. “Ruby. Your father’s going to be thrilled you’re safe. He organized the search party to find you.”
Tears pooled along her lashes, and she thumped her head back against the door. “He used to call me his little Ruby, his favorite treasure. Now I can’t be anyone’s treasure. Ever.” A sob coursed through her like a hiccup. “Papa told me to stay away from him, but I…He said he wanted to go on a walk.”
“Him who?”
She lowered her chin onto her knees. “He started winking at me when he came into town the past few weeks. Said he was figuring on buying property here. Papa caught him once and told me to stay away. But I—I…” she covered her lips. “He kissed my hand…and…those riders thundered in with their guns in the air, and he…” A whimper escaped. “I thought he was trying to save me.” She gulped in air as if it were a cup of water, and coughs interrupted her tears. “He shoved me behind the blacksmith’s fence yard.” Her eyes stared beyond Sophie with a glazed quality. “He drew a knife. It wasn’t to protect me.”
Sophie reached to comfort but stopped, remembering a touch of any kind may harm more than help.
Lord, guide me. How do I help Ruby without getting sucked back into those evil memories?
Ruby’s lips quivered. “Papa found me after the church bell sounded the second time.” She rocked side to side. “Said no daughter of his would be a loose woman. He said I had always been too much like Ma.”
Like her mother?
“W–what am I supposed to do now?”
“God always provides hope.” Everything inside Sophie warned her to remain quiet, but Amos had been right. She needed to share the burdens trapped inside her. They didn’t define her. “You’ve heard the rumors about me, but it’s not all truth. A man attacked me, too. But God…washes everything away. You’ll be clean. Everyone has a fresh start in Him.”
“You.” Her eyes narrowed like on the day she’d asked if Sophie could play the piano. “Your baby isn’t…” She licked her lips. Her voice softened. “Thought you were a saloon girl? Papa said you were a…a…sort of like my mother. Except she never dressed in red; she just ran away with Papa’s youngest cousin.” She wiped her cheek with her palm. “That’s why he hated Pastor Amos so much. He reminded him of Leon, ’cause he’s so young. Papa’s still so angry at what Ma did to him. To us. Even after all these years.”
Now wasn’t the time to sift through Hanson’s resentment toward her and Amos, but things were starting to become clearer. “God loves us despite our past. Despite how people perceive us. He loved me when I thought I was unlovable. And He loves you, too.” Sophie ran her fingers along her stomach. Her baby was a gift no matter how he or she came to be. “Amos and I are leaving in the morning. You can come with us. Amos will explain what God’s love is all about.”
“No.” Amos’ voice shot to her. When had he snuck in through the back? She smiled. Didn’t matter. He was safe.
Thank You, Lord.
“Sophie’s done a far better job of living out the scriptures as of late than I have. She’ll do a fine job explaining it all to you, Ruby.”
Amos bent and kissed Sophie’s forehead. Never would she tire of his gentle, reassuring touch. Without saying the words, she knew what that slow blink and side smile meant. Who would have ever thought a girl raised in a saloon would one day have the chance to love a preacher? Only a big God—One who redeemed and forgave—could take her earlier life and turn it into something beautiful.
A knock rattled the front door. Vernon poked his head inside. “Nobody is going anywhere. If you can forgive us, we want you to stay Pastor Amos. Please.”
“Sophie, too!” Another higher voice called.
Ruby scooted over as a handful of church members shouldered inside.
“You were right.” Vernon tucked his chin. “We’ve been fixated on the wrong things. Yes, we need to help the needy and the orphaned, but we have forgotten our first love—the Lord. Please say you’ll stay?”
Amos searched Sophie’s eyes as his hand found hers. “We’ll pray about it.”
“What about Ruby? Hanson has—”
“She’ll stay with us.” Margaret took off her apron and draped it over Ruby. With Ruby in her curled position, there was no way to tell her dress had been sliced. How much had everyone heard? “It makes perfect sense. We miss having younger ones in the house. Of course, we’ll keep praying Hanson comes around, but like Sophie said, God sees your heart, dear girl.”
“And you…” Margaret wrapped Sophie into a hug. “Why didn’t you tell us what happened? Oh, my dear, dear, sweet child, I’m so sorry. Please say you’ll forgive us for our judgmental ways.”
Chapter 9
The new faces inside Hilltop’s sanctuary had grown in number over the past few months. Almost making up for the empty seat on the fifth row, left-hand side. Almost.
During the closing hymn, two women slipped in. The thinner woman, wearing a frayed dress, turned to leave, but the tall one in silk, took her by the arm and plopped them into the last pew.
Amos didn’t have to beckon Sophie, she was already nearing his side. He extended his hand, welcoming the women. “Mornin’. I’m Pastor Amos. Good of you to join us.”
The one in silk placed her hand over her chest, failing to mask the amount of exposed skin. A bruise covered the cheek of the one in the frayed dress. No smile. She stared at Amos’ hand. “Is this Hilltop Chapel?”
“Sophie’s Hilltop?” The one in silk bit the edge of her painted lips. Her gaze darted around before landing on Sophie’s swollen stomach. Her fingers twisted around the tip of a curl hanging around her shoulders.
“This church is the Lord’s. But yes, I am Sophie. Can my husband and I help you in any way?”
“Irene?” a woman asked behind them.
The woman in silk stilled her fingers. She peered around Sophie. “Emeline?”
Emeline had showed up a few weeks ago, following the rumors of a church who’d helped girls like her. She flung her arms around Irene. “I’m so glad you’re here. You said you’d never come.”
“In your letter, you said…you felt clean. I want that…. If I can?”
Emeline sniffled and looked to Sophie. “Can she stay?”
Irene reached for the woman beside her. “Cora, too. I found her at the last train station. Both h
er cheeks were black and blue.”
“How about we talk things out over some food?” Sophie rested her hand under her stomach, supporting her soon-to-be child—their child. How Amos hoped he or she had Sophie’s big brown eyes.
“I heard the word food.” Margaret and her bouncing hat feather squeezed into the pew right next to Emeline. “It’s my turn to provide meals this week.”
“I’ve got the Bible devotions.” Linda waved a hanky from the front of the sanctuary. Beulah hobbled over. “And it’s my week to house these fine ladies. Welcome. Welcome.”
Amos left the women to argue over the details of their newest ministry. No woman was unworthy of what they’d all been given—a chance at a relationship with Christ. Word about Sophie and what she’d endured hadn’t taken long to spread. Women with an array of backgrounds had been arriving ever since, hungry for God’s grace. Love. His forgiveness.
Speaking of forgiveness…
A familiar jangle of spurs quieted those around him. Even Judith stopped her playing of “Safe in the Arms of Jesus.” Hanson’s silhouette blocked some of the morning’s light. Was the entire room holding their breath, or only him? Amos really wanted Judith to keep playing. The hymn’s lyrics running through his mind would be helpful right about now.
Hanson shifted his weight, glancing between Amos, Sophie, and other points around the sanctuary, probably searching for Ruby. But he wouldn’t find her here. Unfortunately, running from problems seemed to be one of their inherited family traits.
Hanson lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry.”
William clapped once before rubbing his palms together. “All right, everyone. Let’s help get Miss Irene and Miss Cora settled.” He gestured at the back door, and everyone except Amos and Sophie obeyed. Slowly. But obeyed, nonetheless.
Hanson removed his Stetson. He ran his fingertips along its brim. “I don’t know how, but somehow I landed up north.” He cleared his throat. “A wise preacher by the name of Theodore Tettleton helped me let go of the bitterness that was buried.” Hanson tapped his chest. “I’ve said and done some mighty awful things. I’m sorry. If you could…” He wiped at his nose. “Your Pastor T is a real fine man of God, Sophie. He seemed to believe that you could…maybe…What I mean to ask is…”
Sophie marched, or rather waddled, forward and extended her hand. “Good day, sir. My name’s Sophie Lowry. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr….?”
Amos drew alongside, placing his hand on her lower back. Hanson’s gaze met his. A wobbly smile lifted his lips, and he took Sophie’s offering. “Name’s Hanson.” He combed back his hair that looked a mite grayer than when he’d left. “She’s gonna make you a fine preacher’s wife.”
Amos wrapped his arm around Sophie’s waist, and she snuggled into his side. “She already has.” Hanson may have prodded Amos into ordering himself a mail-order bride, but it was God who chose him the perfect one.
Megan Besing adores reading, writing, and reviewing stories with happily-ever-afters. Her own writing has received many awards, including being a multi-category finalist in ACFW’s Genesis and a winner of MCRW’s Melody of Love contest. She lives in Indiana with her husband and their children where she dreams of the beach and drinks way too many vanilla Cokes. Connect with Megan at www.meganbesing.com.
The Outlaw’s Inconvenient Bride
by Noelle Marchand
Chapter 1
Hidden Springs, Wyoming
September 1881
Wyatt Coulter had done some things he wasn’t proud of to fit in with the Hidden Springs gang, but tricking an unsuspecting woman into captivity and ruination was where he drew the line. The last thing he wanted was to let an innocent bystander get caught in the crossfire, and there would be plenty of it if the gang ever found out his true identity. Luke Bellamy—undercover detective.
His task for the last year had been to provide reconnaissance on the Renegade Gang and their many associates to Pinkerton’s National Detective Agency. Once Pinkerton was satisfied with the information Luke collected, they’d move to the final stage of their plan in which every member of the gang would be captured and pay for their various crimes. Until then, Luke lived and breathed only as Wyatt Coulter—an outlaw rumored to have murdered a man back in Texas before fleeing to Wyoming, where he’d racked up an impressive record of petty crimes and gained skill as a cattle rustler. Wyatt Coulter grinned and lifted a shot glass in the air. “To the groom!”
The whole saloon echoed, “To the groom!”
Wyatt’s slender, auburn-haired fellow gang member, Wild Dog Jack, slid from the bar stool and slumped into a bow. He straightened with a snap that sent him careening sideways into a saloon girl. Millie dodged out of the way to let him fall flat on his back then glared down at the fresh-faced outlaw with a look of pure fury. Laughing, Jack grabbed her by the arm and pulled her down beside him for a kiss.
Petey Stanwyck weaved through the tables with a whiskey glass lifted. “To the minister!”
“To the minister!” Wyatt echoed along with everyone else.
Petey winked and turned his white collar around so it mimicked a clergyman’s. With his dark suit, slicked back hair, and sainted expression, Petey would have looked every bit the minister if he hadn’t stopped in his tracks to guzzle a beer. Jack finally let Millie loose and yelled, “I need a drink!”
Wyatt handed Jack the untouched shot glass he was holding then helped Millie stand. Noticing the tears in the girl’s kohl-lined eyes, he ushered her to the bar and mumbled under the loud toasting, “You all right, Millie?”
“I’m fine.” The young blond blinked a few times until her blue eyes cleared.
Wyatt shook his head. “Why didn’t you take Jack up on his offer to live in the valley with us?”
Her chin lifted haughtily. “And be snowed into that canyon from November to March with no one for company other than a bunch of ne’er-do-wells? I don’t think so. There’s a reason the only person who would agree to that is some fool-headed mail-order bride who doesn’t know any better. I just can’t figure out why Jack has to be the one who marries her. He’s the youngest of the lot. Shouldn’t he be able to live free a while longer?”
Jack sidled up beside her, clinging to her waist like it was the only thing keeping him standing. It probably was. “I get the bride because it was my bright idea to begin with. Ain’t that right, Wyatt?”
Millie snarled. “Oh, I’m sure it was, you lily-livered polecat.”
The train whistle blew announcing the bride’s arrival, but the hollow sound barely pierced through tinny piano and riotous laughter filling the saloon. Jack was too busy trying to sweet-talk Millie to notice. Waiting until Jack was distracted by another drink, Wyatt leaned closer to Millie. “The train is here. Why don’t you take Jack upstairs and sober him up a little while I take care of the bride?”
She stilled, searched his gaze with something akin to hope. A smile touched her red-painted lips. She winked. “Don’t you worry, Wyatt Coulter. I’ll sober him up plenty.”
A quick nod from him sealed their alliance. It didn’t take much convincing for Millie to get Jack up the stairs with a bottle of whiskey in hand. Wyatt waited until the door closed behind them before slipping out of the Silver Spurs Saloon to the main street of Hidden Springs. Only then did he let even a hint of relief flow through him. Everything had gone according to plan. Now, all he had to do was send the bride-to-be on her way and get back to his assignment with no distractions, complications, or innocent women to worry about. How hard could that be?
Mariah Snow had promised her dying mother that she would marry a good man. Three years had passed before she had found a way to escape the life she’d been living and keep that promise, but today it was finally going to happen. Jackson Wilde was a respectable foreman on a ranch in Wyoming with a letter of introduction and recommendation from the local minister, Peter Stanwyck.
Jackson had even sent her a tintype of him dressed in his Sunday best. He was a dashing young man with c
lassic, boyish features who’d dared to smile despite the photographer’s insistence that he at least pretend to be serious. His letters had been witty, sweet, and heartrending as he’d told her how his father had died when he was only a young boy, leaving him to fend for himself in the harsh world. Only a year younger than her at nineteen, he’d climbed to the revered position of ranch foreman through skill and determination.
She couldn’t say she’d fallen in love with her husband-to-be quite yet, but she was well on her way. That was far more than she’d hoped for when she’d first desperately combed through the classifieds of every newspaper she could get her hands on in search of some way of escape. Thankfully, her stepbrothers’ interest in Wyoming cattle prices had paid off for her. They’d never expect her to run so far away from home.
Nor were they likely to try to venture this far outside their realm of influence. She was safe. She was ready to start over. And, as much as she loved her stepbrothers, she’d be more than happy to never see their faces again if it meant she was finally free of their ever-watchful, overprotective eyes.
Catching sight of her reflection in the train’s window, she smoothed down her hair and repositioned her jaunty hat as the train pulled into the station. Traveling light was imperative for a quick getaway so one satchel held all the possessions she had left in the world. She clutched it tightly as she stepped from the train onto the station’s platform as one of only three passengers to disembark.
A gaily painted sign took up most of the train station’s wall proclaiming, WELCOME TO HIDDEN SPRINGS!
Well, at least it tried to. Some audacious prankster had blocked out most of the letters in the word “Springs” so the sign actually read, “Welcome to Hidden Sins!”
Hardly appropriate for a town boasting not one, but three churches. She frowned. Someone really ought to fix that.
“Beggin’ your pardon, miss.” The distinguished-looking conductor tipped his hat to her with concern in his brown eyes. “Will someone be coming here to meet you?”
