The Cowboy's Orphan Bride

by Lauri Robinson

  “She’s lost a lot of blood, but will be fine. The bullet’s lodged in her collarbone,” the doctor said within minutes.

  “What do you have to do to get it out?” Garth asked, rubbing a hand along Bridgette’s shin. He couldn’t stop touching her. Had to feel the life in her.

  “Surgery,” the doctor replied. “You’ll need to step out.”

  “I’ll—”

  “No,” the doctor said. “You can wait in the front room. My wife will come get you as soon as we are done.”

  It was the worry in the wife’s eyes, a woman who moments ago had been standing with Bridgette on the stockyard platform, that Garth conceded to. With a nod, he left the room with Bridgette’s blood on his hands and retribution for her injury on his mind.

  He was crossing a second room, heading toward the front door when two men jumped in front of him, blocking his way. Ready to toss them both aside, his steps faltered when two women stepped in front of the men.

  The sheriff nudged his wife aside at the same time Nathan moved his wife out of the way. In no mood to be stopped, Garth started forward again.

  “He’s in jail, Garth,” Sheriff Myers said. “He’s in jail and not going anywhere. Deputy Long is standing guard.”

  Iron bars weren’t going to stop him.

  “Bridgette needs you here, Garth,” Virginia Solstead said. “Not behind bars yourself.”

  Garth had to suck in air as her words dowsed his branding-iron-hot nerves. Virginia had been in the other room up until the doctor told him to leave. Letting the air out of his chest, he asked, “Who was it?”

  “Luke Wiley, Jud Wiley’s youngest boy,” Myers answered. “I figured he’d show up sooner or later, with his pa and brothers in jail, but I didn’t expect this. He’s only thirteen.”

  A bit more of the fire inside Garth died down at discovering the boy’s age. Thirteen. A kid. Not much older than Bat. Who, Garth noticed for the first time, was on the other side of the room, standing next to JoJo. Both of them had red eyes.

  Despondent rather than angry, he asked, “Why Bridgette? Why’d he shoot Bridgette?”

  “Wiley’s wife ran off with a cowboy who had come to town with a cattle drive a couple of years ago, leaving Wiley and their five boys to fend for themselves,” Myers said. “That was their farm you captured Wiley and the others at. The oldest son left not long after their mother, but the rest of the boys have been following Wiley’s footsteps, hating every drive, every cowboy, more than the last.”

  “Then he should have shot me,” Garth said.

  “No,” Myers said. “He wanted to take away the thing you loved the most. Just as that cowboy had done to him.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Bridgette had never been sick or hurt, not severely. The pounding in her temples, the ache in her arm and chest and the churning in her stomach said that had changed. She didn’t want to open her eyes. Going back to sleep, where she hadn’t felt so awful, was a much more agreeable choice, and she was almost there, drifting back into numbness when she heard it again.

  It wasn’t her name as much as the person who said it that made her open her eyes. The brightness of the light hurt, but she kept her eyes open long enough to see Garth before closing them again.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Terrible.” The fog inside her head lifted inch by inch, allowing her to recall the events up until she was walking with the other women away from the stockyard. She opened one eye, just to measure the pain and her ability to look around. Nothing was familiar, other than Garth. Pinpointing her gaze on him until the pain was too much and she had to close her eye, she asked, “Where are we?”

  “Dr. Austin’s.”

  “Why?”

  Garth’s hand squeezed hers. “You were hurt.”

  Additional memories came, along with a shiver of fear that increased her heart rate. Garth had shouted for her and then... “I couldn’t breathe.” She couldn’t recall why. “What happened?”

  “Shhh.” Garth kissed her forehead. “Don’t worry about it. You’re fine. I’m here. Go back to sleep.”

  The way he nuzzled her forehead and ran a hand over her head was comforting and calming. Pain still throbbed in her head and her shoulder. “How bad was I hurt?”

  “You’re going to be fine, honey. Just go back to sleep.” His kisses trailed down the side of her face and then he snuggled his head against hers.

  Comforted by his nearness, she gave in to the heavy cloak of sleep that slowly settled around her again.

  When Bridgette awoke the next time the room was dark, but Garth was still there, holding her hand. Knowing that once again eased the pain now centered on her shoulder. She tried to remember what had happened, but all that she could recall was Garth shouting her name and then running toward her. Her heart started racing again. He should have been selling his cattle. She tried harder to remember, but her mind wouldn’t work.

  The next thing she knew, it was light again, and Dr. Austin was standing over her. So was Garth, and she asked him the first thing that came to her mind. “Did you sell your cattle?”

  His smile was cajoling and that made her heart beat fast again.

  “Is that why you’re still here and not—” Her train of thought shifted instantly at the sight of his shirt. Fear shot through her. “Why is there blood on your shirt?”

  “I sold plenty of cattle for top dollar,” Garth said, lifting her hand to his lips. “And I’m here because of you.”

  She shook her head slowly. “You’re supposed to be on your way back to Texas.”

  “The blood on his shirt is yours, young lady,” Dr. Austin said. “You were shot. Luckily, it lodged itself in your collarbone and didn’t do much damage. Besides being very sore for a few weeks while the break heals, you’re going to be fine.”

  Bridgette heard what the doctor said, but her mind was once again on Garth. She knew him so well, and his temper. “You didn’t shoot them back, did you?”

  “No,” he replied. “Who would keep you out of trouble if your husband was in jail?”

  “Let me take a peek at the wound, and then I’ll leave the two of you alone,” Dr. Austin said.

  That happened relatively quickly, and though the examination wasn’t pain-free, it wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been. Because Garth was there. A dozen questions danced about in her head concerning what had happened, but in truth, how he’d called himself her husband was what lingered in her mind.

  “I’ll be back with some soup in a little bit,” Dr. Austin said.

  Bridgette had never been uncomfortable around Garth, but the way he shifted from foot to foot teased her nerves. He hated fidgeting and never did it. “You don’t have to stay,” she said. “I’m sure you have things to do.”

  “I do, but I can do them later.”

  Her throat felt thick, but it was nothing compared to her injury. “The doctor said I’ll be fine, and I will be. I’m sure your cowboys are ready to head south. You, too.”

  He sat down on the edge of the bed. “Why do you want me to leave so badly?”

  She tried to muster up a smile. “Because that’s what Garth McCain does.”

  “Maybe Garth McCain has changed.”

  Tears stung her eyes as she shook her head. “Not the one I know.” He hadn’t. He’d always been a bit ornery and grumpy and stubborn, but also kind and caring, dependable and protective, smart and determined. And handsome. Love wasn’t blind as she’d thought; it was forgiving, and all encompassing. He’d taken a hold of her hand, and she squeezed his fingers. “I don’t want him to change, either. I came back to help you sell your cattle so that you’d know I’ll be fine without you. So you’ll never have to worry about me again. You can go back to Texas knowing I’m happy living in a big house with my family.”


  “Is that what you want? Me to go back to Texas and you back to Hosford with your family?”

  Her heart sank, yet she nodded. “Yes.”

  “Well, that’s too bad.”

  “No, it’s how it has to be.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that’s what you want. If being a cattleman wasn’t what you wanted, you wouldn’t be one. You’ve never done anything you didn’t want to do.”

  “You’re right, I haven’t, and that’s why I’m not going back to Texas. Because I don’t want to.”

  “You’re just saying that because I’m hurt and you feel responsible.” She wiped aside a tear burning her cheek. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I know it wasn’t my fault, and I know it wasn’t your fault. We were in it together, just like we always were, and that’s all that matters. That we were together.” He kissed the back of her hand. “And I’m not going back to Texas.”

  “But if you sold—”

  “I sold cattle, plenty of them, and I have the money you gave Ludwig.”

  “I wanted you to get top dollar.”

  “I did. I made enough money that I bought a house. It has everything except for a rainbow. We’ll have to wait until it rains for that.”

  Although he was serious, the shine in his dark eyes was bright. So bright she could see all the colors of a rainbow in them. Those were the rainbows she’d always been looking for. They had clarity and depth. The ones in the sky always looked faded, as if covered in dust. He was her rainbow, and her heart couldn’t take much more. “What are you talking about? What house?”

  “Your house. My house. Our house.” Garth watched her face. Along with a few other things, finesse wasn’t one of his best traits. “It’s a few miles west of Dodge and comes fully furnished.” Jud Wiley’s son had tried to take away the one thing that meant more to him than anything else, but by firing that gun, shooting Bridgette, the boy had made Garth take a good hard look at what his life would be like without her. Of what he’d be like. He’d be in worse shape than the entire Wiley family. That was a fact. And he wasn’t going to wait any longer to make all her dreams come true, or his. “Living here seems fitting considering you’ve made quite a name for yourself, and you have more friends than a bartender on Saturday night.”

  “Here? You bought a house here? You want to live here?”

  “Yes. Dodge has a good school for Bat to attend, and JoJo’s agreed to stay on as a cook for the ranch hands. Several of my cowboys have said they wouldn’t mind hanging their hat in the same place every night. It’ll also keep you close to your family.”

  She was shaking her head. “Bat. JoJo. My family?”

  “Yes, Dr. Rodgers, his wife and daughter, as well as Ellen arrived last night. You slept through his examination.”

  “I did?”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “How did—”

  “I wired them.” He cupped her face with both hands. Yesterday, while waiting through her surgery, his mind had traveled up and down many roads, and every single road had led to Bridgette. And he was more than fine with that. “I’m done walking away, Bridgette. I love you. I have loved you for years, and I want to make that promise we made to each other back at the orphanage real with a preacher and a ceremony.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “You do?”

  “I’ll never leave you again, Bridgette, ever, I swear.” He shrugged. “You can be a midwife here if you want. Or just a wife.”

  “A wife? Oh, Garth, I—I don’t know what to say.”

  “How about yes?”

  She laughed, and nodded, and said, “Yes.”

  “You’ll marry me?” he asked, just for clarity. This was Bridgette.

  “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

  “And live in a house west of town?”

  “Yes, and live in a house west of town.”

  He kissed her then, and she kissed him back, but then stopped and pushed at his chest with the hand not bandaged to keep her shoulder from moving.

  “Sorry,” he said, checking that he hadn’t squished the arm in the sling. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “You didn’t,” she said, yet a frown marred her face. Whispering, she added, “Everyone, the entire town, thinks we’re already married.”

  “Which is why I have to go do those things I mentioned earlier. Put on a clean shirt and let the others in the room.” He kissed her briefly. “Dr. Austin didn’t go to get you soup. Your father, Dr. Rodgers, has already fetched the preacher, as I asked him to.” Kissing her once more, he whispered, “You may be the first woman to get married in her nightgown.”

  Bridgette hadn’t known her heart could be so full, or that she could be so happy. Just as she’d always dreamed, Garth was giving her the world. Her world. And his.

  She cupped Garth’s cheek and kissed him thoroughly. He was the most amazing kisser. The most amazing man. Life with him would be an adventure every day, which was exactly what she wanted. Yet, she had to ask, “You’re sure about this? That you want to marry me?”

  “Would the Garth McCain you know marry you a second time if he wasn’t sure?”

  She laughed. “No, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t have married me the first time, either.”

  “You’re right. I wouldn’t have.” He kissed her. “This was my plan all along.”

  * * * * *

  If you enjoyed this story,

  make sure you check out these other

  great reads from Lauri Robinson

  UNWRAPPING THE RANCHER’S SECRET

  HER CHEYENNE WARRIOR

  SAVING MARINA

  A FORTUNE FOR THE OUTLAW’S

  DAUGHTER

  Keep reading for an excerpt from CLAIMING HIS DESERT PRINCESS by Marguerite Kaye.

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  Claiming His Desert Princess

  by Marguerite Kaye

  Chapter One

  Kingdom of Nessarah, Arabia—July 1815

  The moon was little more than a scimitar-shaped crescent in the night sky as Christopher moved stealthily towards the summit of the rocky outcrop which would provide him with the perfect vantage point. The heavens were strewn with hazy stars tonight, a scattering of dusty diamonds rather than the usual pincushion of bright-silver discs. Though he was pretty certain that the si
te he had come to reconnoitre was deserted, he had taken the precaution of leaving his hobbled camel at the nearest well, located over a mile away. The soft sand had given way to gravelly rubble underfoot. Patches of sparse scrub had forced their way through the hard-packed mud. Dusty and bereft of any greenery, their thick thorns snatched at his cloak as he crept forward, his soft-soled boots making no sound.

  The rock formation which was the focus of his interest rose out of the gentle swell of the ground like the battlements of an ancient keep. In this light it looked russet red in colour, the vertical striations glittering. A clearly identifiable track had been hacked through the scrub leading towards a cleft in the rock. Stooping to examine the ground, Christopher could make out the indentations created by heavy cart wheels rumbling across the terrain. He was definitely in the right place.

  His heart began to race with anticipation, but he mustn’t get ahead of himself. The whispered conversations he had overheard, the careful questioning of local contacts, his own research, might yet prove unfounded. The familiar tightening in his gut, the flicker of excitement which always accompanied such discoveries, was on this occasion leavened with a healthy dose of desperation. Never in his entire career had so much been riding on a mineral find.

  A single black cloud traversed the moon, casting a shadow over the rugged desert landscape laid out before him. For six months he had been scouring southern Arabia in search of the perfect confluence of natural resources without once finding this, the most elusive of them all. He had now exhausted his list of potential locations. Nessarah was pretty much his last throw of the dice.

  ‘But this time, I know I’m in the right place,’ Christopher muttered resolutely to himself. The answer had to be here. He had grown weary of this self-imposed quest, longing for it to be over. He could not contemplate failure.

  ‘And so I must succeed.’ His hand felt automatically for the pouch containing the amulet. He did not need to remove it to trace the shape cast from beaten gold, the smooth enamel interior, the setting of each individual precious stone, and the oddly-shaped gap which might hold the key to the origin of the piece. He carried it with him everywhere, a tangible reminder of all he had lost, not least his own identity.