The Mail-Order Brides Collection

by Megan Besing

  A single tear escaped his eye and trickled down his cheek. She reached up and wiped it away.

  “I do. I most certainly do.”

  “Then by the power vested in me by the church of God, I pronounce you husband and wife.”

  Josiah didn’t wait for the pastor’s go-ahead. He swept her into an embrace and kissed her until she lost her breath.

  Oh, what a happy story they would write together.

  Liz Tolsma is a popular speaker and an editor and the owner of the Write Direction Editing. An almost-native Wisconsinite, she resides in a quiet corner of the state with her husband and their two daughters. Her son proudly serves as a US Marine. They adopted all of their children internationally, and one has special needs. When she gets a few spare minutes, she enjoys reading, relaxing on the front porch, walking, working in her large perennial garden, and camping with her family.

  The Brigand and the Bride

  by Jennifer Uhlarik

  Chapter 1

  Meribah, Arizona Territory

  November 1876

  Heart pounding, Jolie Hilliard glanced back, scanned the street behind, then hurried through the afternoon crowds of Meribah. Tucking her groom’s letter with instructions for their nuptials under her arm, she shifted her nearly full satchel to her other hand. She must hurry, or their carefully laid plans would be for naught.

  Seeing the SEAMSTRESS shingle outside a Meribah storefront, she took another glance around. No sign of her brother, Brand, though she couldn’t be lulled into complacency. He and his men were too wily to be fooled for long. A chill gripped her as she darted inside the shop.

  “May I help you?” a woman called from the back of the room.

  At the counter, Jolie dropped her satchel. “My name’s Jolie Hilliard. I’m to pick up a suit for Mr.—”

  “Oooh.” The woman squealed, a broad smile lighting her face as she laid aside her sewing and approached. “You’re the blushing bride.”

  Jolie’s cheeks heated. “Yes, ma’am. How’d you know? I didn’t give you his name.”

  “You’re just as he described. That, and…in my business, ain’t too often someone sends another to pick up their clothes.”

  Jolie nodded. It was odd, but the tight time frame between her groom’s expected arrival and the preacher’s impending departure meant this was the only way they could pull off the quick ceremony.

  “Your man is such a charmer,” the woman blathered.

  Jolie glanced toward the windows, scanning for familiar faces.

  “He’ll make a fine husband. And so handsome, to boot.”

  She nodded. “Not to be rude, but…I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

  “Oh, of course. Forgive me. I love weddings.” She left and returned momentarily with a paper-wrapped parcel. She snipped the string and peeled back the crinkly paper to reveal a costly looking suit coat. The woman pushed it nearer. “This’ll be striking on him, won’t it?”

  Jolie nodded, mute. She’d trust the woman’s assessment. Her groom’s letters described him as slightly taller than average with blond hair and blue eyes. Until they met, she couldn’t judge. She touched the fabric. “You do fine work. What do I owe?”

  “He paid in advance.” She retied the package and handed it over. “Best wishes on your marriage, young lady.”

  Young lady. Hardly. At twenty-six, she was a spinster but only for another hour. Jolie tucked the package under her arm with the letter, retrieved her satchel, and faced the door. “Thank you.”

  Once more, she scanned the street and, certain Brand and his men weren’t around, stepped outside. She paused at a nearby bench to tuck the suit inside her bag and adjust the Colt Peacemaker she’d hidden inside for easy access.

  Jolie hurried, scanning faces and shadows on every side.

  Lord, help me reach the church and get married without my good-for-nothing brother finding me. I beg You.

  No sooner had the prayer formed than someone hooked her elbow and spun her around. A screech clogged her throat as she fumbled for the pistol. Before she reached it, a kindly gray-headed gentleman waved a paper at her.

  “Beg pardon, but you dropped this.” He shrugged. “Called after you, but you didn’t hear.”

  Heart hammering, she relaxed. “Thank you, sir.”

  Grinning, the gentleman handed it over and moved along. She eyed the nearby faces then glanced at the letter.

  After exchanging a few notes, sweet Jolie, I’m confident I’d like to marry you. I understand our union would be in name only, but you strike me as intelligent and hardworking, and I’m successful in my chosen profession. It would be a smart match.

  Could becoming a mail-order bride ever be considered smart? Not when she’d dreamed she’d marry for love. But with Brand’s gang dominating her life, she had no other choice.

  Jolie reread the directions to the church then scurried toward it, happy to see the whitewashed steeple come into view as she rounded the corner. One last time, she scanned the street then nearly ran to the double-doored entrance.

  As she entered, a stout little woman pushed herself out of a ladder-backed chair. “Jolie Hilliard?”

  “Mrs. Carter?”

  The woman grinned. “Come. The rooms you requested are this way.”

  She followed. “Please take me to the groom’s room first. I’ve brought him some things.”

  The woman stopped halfway down the hall. “This is his.”

  Jolie entered the room and placed the requested towel, razor, shears, and grooming items next to a basin of water then unwrapped the suit. She draped it over the chair to prevent wrinkles.

  “And my room?” As per their agreement, she deposited her satchel near the door so her groom could store the toiletries and his clothes in it.

  Mrs. Carter led her back to the first doorway and motioned her inside.

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll be about, should you need anything.”

  “I appreciate your kindness.”

  “The reverend and I are happy to oblige where young love is concerned.” She waddled from the room.

  Eyes closed, Jolie squared her shoulders. There was no love. Within the hour, she would wed a stranger and hopefully leave the Hilliard name behind. Forever.

  Lord, please let this man be as kind and gentlemanly as his letters portray. And please…please don’t let Brand find me—us. Ever.

  Del Adler ducked into the church, pulse galloping. He must hurry. The vestibule empty, he darted down a hallway and peeked into room after room. All empty but for some chairs or a desk. Halfway down, he hesitated. On the desk lay a basin, towel, comb, straight razor, strop, and shears, and draped over the chair, a suit. Just waiting—for him. His heart beat even faster.

  He cast his silent thanks heavenward then entered. Locking the door, he removed his tattered hat and slicked his hair with water then combed it. He cut his shaggy blond locks into a neat style. Not the easiest thing, but he’d clean up as best he could—and quickly. Task accomplished, he combed his hair again then lathered his scraggly beard and shaved his whiskers. Hurrying, he wiped his face and changed clothes. The small mirror revealed a much different-looking man than when he’d entered.

  “Just what I prayed for, Lord. Thank You.”

  He wrapped the clumps of hair he’d cut in the towel then rolled his clothes around it. Near the door, a satchel caught his attention. He unfastened the top but before cramming his clothes and hat inside, he spied the butt of a pistol peeking at him. He grasped the gun. A Colt Peacemaker. Del checked the loads, grinned, and stashed it and his things inside.

  Again, Lord, thank You. You’re taking better care of me than I deserve.

  Bulging satchel in hand, he opened the door and scanned the hall. Empty. Tiptoeing, he headed toward the vestibule. At the intersection of the hall and foyer, he squinted through the window. He gulped as several familiar figures approached.

  “Oh, goodness, you startled me!” a feminine voice blurted from behind him.
<
br />   Spooked himself, he spun.

  “It’s a good thing you made it.” A stout woman pulled him toward what had to be the sanctuary. “We’ve just enough time.”

  “Time?” He stalled, though she wouldn’t be deterred.

  “As my letter stated, our schedule is very tight. The reverend and I must take today’s stagecoach, which leaves town in fifteen minutes. We were about to cancel. Miss Hilliard is close to tears.”

  For a short woman, she was mighty strong, dragging him down the aisle toward a lanky, gray-headed fella and a fetching auburn-haired beauty in a shimmering blue ensemble. Quite a good-looker, that one.

  The redhead cupped a hand over her mouth, looking for all the world like she might cry but quickly composed herself and met his gaze with striking blue eyes. “Thank God you made it. Are you ready?”

  Dread skittered down his spine. Ready…for what? Surely not what it looked like. His belly knotted.

  The round woman snatched his bag and shoved him into position beside the beauty.

  The redhead smiled. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Frank. I’m Jolie. Hilliard.” She shrugged. “I guess you knew that.”

  Astonished, he stared. “I…I…” He glanced at the tall drink of water facing them. Clammy sweat covered Del’s skin. Good Lord above, what had he gotten into?

  Heavy footsteps and familiar voices sounded at the back of the room. Fear gripped him. “Sorry ’bout the delay. Nice to meet you, Jolie. I’m…Frank.” He clamped his eyes shut and faced the man. “Reverend? Don’t wanna hold you up.”

  The man nodded. “I’ll make this brief. Do you, Franklin Thomas Lovell, take Jolie Ann Hilliard to be your lawful wife?”

  Del dared not look back as the voices drew nearer. “I do.”

  “Do you, Jolie Ann Hilliard, take Franklin Thomas Lovell to be your lawful husband?”

  Miss Hilliard’s brows furrowed as the plump woman spoke a few sharp words to the intruders behind them.

  Del nudged her. “Well, my sweet? Do you?”

  She raked wide blue eyes toward him before facing the reverend. “I…do.”

  “By the power vested in me by the Territory of Arizona, I pronounce you husband and wife.” The preacher grinned. “You may kiss your bride.”

  Del faced her. One of the interlopers stood far too close for comfort. In a heartbeat, he swept the woman into his arms, angled his face toward the cross on the front wall, and pressed his mouth to hers in a deep, abiding, and passionate kiss.

  She stiffened, panting, but quickly relaxed and returned the affection.

  Mind spinning with the intensity, Del forced himself to focus—listening for hints the lawmen he’d escaped that morning might’ve moved on. Lord, forgive my deception. You know I’d never play such a foul trick under normal circumstances. Help me, and I promise I’ll make it right.

  “Deputy Kagan!” Marshal Connor Benson’s voice boomed. “That’s not Adler. Let’s go before we lose him for good.”

  The deputy clomped toward the door.

  When the footsteps died away, Del broke the kiss. Miss Hilliard stared, wide-eyed and breathless. Truth be told, his lungs labored to draw air, too. He grinned at her.

  Stunned, she turned to the preacher.

  “Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Lovell. Now if you’ll excuse us, my wife and I have a stage to catch. Please leave so we can lock up and git.”

  “Happy to oblige.” Del took his bride’s hand and led the thunderstruck gal from the sanctuary, pausing only to grab the satchel.

  Chapter 2

  Jolie’s mind raced. Frank’s letters had promised their marriage would be in name only, yet the kiss he’d just given her…had curled her toes. Her knees were still weak. What was he thinking? Was he expecting more than a business partnership?

  Lord, please don’t let this be a mistake.

  Her groom paused at the church doors. Jolie’s eyes strayed to the windows flanking the double doors and found the churchyard quiet. No sign of her brother’s gang.

  Frank plucked the hat hanging from a hook beside the door and, tugging it low over his eyes, peered outside. With a gentle hand at her back, he guided her down the path, through the gate, and around the corner, away from the hotel she’d seen on her way to the seamstress’s shop.

  Jolie’s thoughts churned. “That was odd, those men interrupting our wedding, wasn’t it?”

  He glanced her way, his hat brim shading his light-colored eyes. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Surely was.” He fell silent again.

  After half a block, Frank hooked her arm and turned down a small alley. His pace slowed as they reached the far end, and he peered out.

  Dread traced her spine. “What’s wrong?”

  Silence.

  Leading her from the alley to the town’s livery, he stopped at a stall containing a big strawberry roan with a white blaze. The animal nickered softly, nudging Frank’s chest.

  Frank rubbed the horse’s nose in return. “Missed you, too.”

  Jolie stared. He’d missed him? How, when they would’ve ridden into town within the last hour?

  “Wait here whilst I fetch my gear.” He disappeared.

  She stared. They’d agreed to spend their first night in the Meribah hotel—she in the bed, he on the floor—and head to his Phoenix-area home the following day. Why ride to the hotel just blocks away?

  He returned, dropped his saddle, and began bridling the roan.

  Jolie’s belly knotted. “I mean no disrespect, Frank, but aren’t we staying in town tonight?”

  He led the horse from the stall, tossed the blanket and saddle in place, and cinched it. “C’mon, we got a ride ahead.”

  Her jaw slackened. “Didn’t you hear me?”

  He led the horse toward the stable entrance.

  Confused, Jolie followed. “Frank….”

  Just outside the wide door, he slipped the satchel’s handle over the saddle horn, swung onto the horse’s back, and offered her a hand.

  “This is nothing like we agreed.”

  “So you said. I have my reasons, and I’ll make ’em clear soon enough.”

  Hesitating, she finally took his hand and scrambled up behind him, her hands settling awkwardly at his waist.

  Frank clucked his tongue and headed toward the mountains a few miles west of town.

  Del’s head throbbed, partly from the too-tight hat he’d borrowed from the church—presumably the preacher’s—and partly from having to lie to Miss Hilliard. She’d be miffed once she learned his deception, but hopefully she’d grant him mercy.

  Lord, I wouldn’t’ve done this if there’d been another choice, but Marshal Benson was breathing down my neck.

  “Where are we going?” Miss Hilliard asked.

  He had to get her out of town before she caused a fuss. If she raised an unholy scene in Meribah, Benson might hear and recapture him. “You’ll see.”

  Outside of town, he moved the roan into a lope, and soon they reached the foothills.

  “Frank, I demand to know what’s happening. I’m concerned. This is all very strange.”

  Del slipped from the saddle once they’d ridden into the hills. “Get down, please….” He reached to help her, but for an instant, she eyed him. Eventually, she rested a hand on his shoulder and, his hands at her waist, he lifted her down.

  On the ground, she searched his face. “Is everything all right?”

  Holy Moses, but she was pretty. He loosed his hold and took a step back.

  “No, ma’am. Not exactly.”

  Concern creased her porcelain skin. “What’s wrong?”

  “Well, um…” Del threw a prayer heavenward. “I’m, uh…not…Frank.”

  As realization dawned, Miss Hilliard’s face blanched. Tears pooled against her lashes, though as quick as they came, they disappeared again, and her jaw clenched. She stormed toward him, palm smashing hard against his chest. “What do you mean, you’re not Frank? Who are you?”

  He backed up. “I’m real sorry.
I meant no harm.”

  “Who in blue blazes are you, mister?” She stormed at him, shook her slim, graceful finger at him. “Why would you impersonate my groom?”

  “It’s a misunderstandin’. I promise.”

  “You’d better explain, quick, or I’ll…I’ll…” She looked toward the horse.

  His heart seizing, Del strode toward the roan and swung onto its back.

  She glared. “You brigand. What do you want from me?”

  He chuckled. “Nothin’. Truly, ma’am. Iffen I had more time, I’d explain the misunderstandin’. Reckon you’d laugh iffen you knew the full story.” He’d laugh but for the fact that Marshal Benson was working so hard to recapture him. Once he’d cleared his name, though, this would be worth a month of laughs.

  “Find the time, mister. The real Frank Lovell will want to know why I married another man today.”

  “You didn’t. Frank Lovell didn’t take vows, and the vows I said weren’t under my proper name, so…beggin’ your pardon, but you’re still plain ol’ Jolie Hilliard.” He backed the roan away. “Now you walk on back to Meribah—ain’t but a couple miles—and have yourself a happy life. Please forget you ever met me.”

  He spun the roan and rode deeper into the mountains.

  “Wait! I need my…” Her words faded under the heavy hoofbeats.

  Lord, please let that pretty gal forget me, quick.

  As comely as she was, it’d be hard to forget her.

  Chapter 3

  Belly roiling, Jolie stared after the blond interloper. Not only had he impersonated her groom, he’d taken her clothes, Frank’s letters, his suit, and her Peacemaker. Lord, can this get any worse?

  She glanced at Meribah then back the way Frank—er, the imposter—had ridden. Her frustration boiling, Jolie shrieked. This was not how she’d envisioned her wedding day going.

  Of course, she’d never dreamed she’d marry a stranger either.

  Jolie glared at the town, shimmering like a mirage, then toward the foothills covered in cactus and desert plants. Return to Meribah, or seek out the meddling fool. Her jaw clenched tighter. Somewhere, the real Frank Lovell would be looking for her—at least she hoped he would—but she couldn’t face him until this sham marriage was resolved. Nor could she risk running into Brand’s gang without her Peacemaker. They’d mistreated her for too many years. Her marriage was her ticket to freedom, but just when she’d broken their hold, this handsome rogue had used her, too. She’d have none of it. He wouldn’t take advantage, nor would he undo her plans.