Table of Contents
Dedication
Ride for a Bride in Wyoming
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
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CHAPTER ONE
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Copyright © Charlene Radon
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
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Dedication
This book is dedicated to Kristin Holt, Frank Kelso,
and the Wasatch Mountain Fiction Writers
Ride for a Bride in Wyoming
Marriage is the last thing on Annora Lee Bostwick’s mind when she moves to Wyoming to start a new branch of the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. Her focus centers solely on saving animals…until blackmail, deceit, and a handsome face force her to reconsider.
Buffalo Birch Struthers has no desire to marry, but must if he wants to keep his father’s ranch, and time is running out. His only option is an event scheduled for the upcoming yearly ranch competition called the Ride for a Bride Race.
Can two strangers who find themselves in an unwanted but unavoidable situation set anger and obstinacy aside long enough to fall in love?
CHAPTER ONE
October 1897, Cheyenne, Wyoming
Birch Struthers chewed a bite of beefsteak, enjoying the rich, juicy flavor while he gazed out the restaurant window.
Despite the early hour, the town hummed with activity. Men and women strolled the walkways. Horses at the hitching rails flicked tails at pesky flies and added grit to the scents floating on the breeze. Dogs and children darted between wagons, horseback riders, and buggies.
Birch witnessed the same scene every day, all day, although from his law office across the street.
Often of late, he asked himself why he didn't go home to Sheridan.
The answer came easy enough—his father, Archibald Struthers.
Not that anyone called him Archibald unless they had a yen for a broken nose. Shank Struthers—his preferred moniker—detested his given name. Hell, he detested everything.
A ranch hand with manure on his boots rode up to the hitching rail at Birch's office across the way. That the manure existed was a given, seeing as how Chance Brownell owned those boots. Birch and Chance grew up together in Sheridan. A better friend couldn't be had.
For the man to show up here in Cheyenne meant one thing.
Trouble.
Birch swallowed his bite of beef, rose, tossed money on the table, and headed for the door. By the time he reached his office, Chance stood rattling the door knob and cursing.
Birch didn't bother with the usual greeting. The food in his belly didn’t sit right. Worry did that to a man. "What are you doing here, Chance?"
The man turned. "Shit, Birch. I was just thinking I was going to have to hit the saloons to hunt you down."
"You have news for me, or you wouldn't be here. What is it?"
Chance lowered his head and doffed his hat while chewing on his mustache. "Let's go inside, shall we, old friend? This ain't gonna be pleasant for either of us."
Birch unlocked the door. Inside, he leaned against his desk. Too antsy to sit. Judging from Chance's rumpled appearance, the man rode through the night to reach Cheyenne. "All right, give it to me. Is it my father?"
Turning his hat round and round in his scarred and tough-as-rawhide hands, Chance nodded. "He's gone, Birch. I know there was little love lost between the two of you, but I'm right sorry to bring news like this. He died late yesterday afternoon."
Birch shook his head. "Impossible. That old man will still be going strong when I'm pushing up daisies. Hell, he's too ornery to die this young."
"Regardless, he's gone, Birch."
Now, he sat. The chair at his desk squeaked under his weight. He rubbed his brow. "How did it happen?"
Chance lowered his big body onto a chair across from him and set his hat on his knee. "Al and Stubby Joe were breaking a bronc. A mustang stallion. Shank got impatient with the way they went about it. He decided to take care of the matter himself. The horse threw him against a corral post. Broke his neck. He died on impact."
Birch swallowed, surprised by the emotions stirring inside him. Regret, for the most part. "When's the funeral?"
"Tomorrow. Charley Hawks sent me to fetch you. Said you needed to hear him read the will."
"Why didn’t he send a telegram?" Birch asked.
"Wanted to bring the news myself."
Birch nodded. He'd have done the same were circumstances reversed. He had no reason not to go. Business had slowed lately. The only case on his desk now was a dispute over the ownership of a chestnut horse. He would turn the matter over to one of the other lawyers in town. "You heading straight back?"
"Yep. Come morning. You joining me?"
"Yes. I'll go pack my bag. You riding back or taking the train with me? We should be able to catch the 10:15."
Chance nodded. "That'll do."
Both men stood. Chance settled his hat on his head. The two shook hands.
"While you pack, I'll buy the tickets before making my horse ready to load while you pack. See you at the depot," Chance said as he left.
Thoughts chased around Birch's head while he locked up the office. What had his father done with the ranch? When Birch left three years ago, Shank swore he’d leave everything he owned to his closest friend and neighbor, John-B Angstrom. The B separated him from the many other Johns in town. Shank knew nothing would burn Birch more than to know Shank handed his heritage to a man Birch hated.
Would Charley Hawks ask him to come home just to tell him he'd inherited nothing? Somehow, Birch didn't believe that. But he reckoned he needed to make sure.
Birch Struthers was going home.
Nine Months Later, July 1898, New York City
Annora Lee Bostwick barreled into the house and kicked the door shut while wrestling with the three squirming, squealing piglets in her arms. "Mother?"
"In here."
The voice came from the sitting room. Annora didn't try to remove her coat, hat, or gloves. She swept into the room, quivering with excitement. A piglet wriggled free and darted under the sofa. "Mother, guess what? The ASPCA has awarded me my own territory to estab
lish a new branch. Isn't it marvelous?"
Eleanore Bostwick kept her gaze on her needlework frame while her delicate hands plied her needle in and out of the canvas. "Is that the new club you joined, dear? Do call Helga to take care of those pigs."
The maid ran into the room. She tried to corner the escaped piglet, but it evaded her grasp to hide behind Eleanore's long skirts.
With a sigh, Eleanore rose, lifted her skirts, and stepped onto a footstool to evade the piglet.
"No, it's not a club. I told you about it months ago when I joined. It's the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals." She tried to grab the loose piglet, only to lose another one in the process. "Oh, and Mother, guess where my new territory will be? Sheridan, Wyoming!"
"Isn't that where your second cousin, Lissette, and her new husband live?" Still standing on the footstool, Eleanore continued to ply her needle.
Helga rushed chasing a baby pig.
Annora rolled her eyes. Didn't her mother ever listen to her? "Yes, that's why I chose Sheridan. I'll be leaving in two weeks."
"Do sit down, dear. I make errors in my stitching when you distract me."
"I don't have time to sit. I have to pack." She rushed out through the open double doorway while shoving the third piglet into the frantic maid's arms. "I do apologize, Helga. Put the pigs in the pen in the back yard."
"The pen is full, Miss. Three dogs, a goat, and a rabbit are there already."
"Pack?" Eleanore's voice called after her. "Do not tell me you're planning to move to this Wyoming place, Annora Lee."
"Oh, dear. Have Thomas build another pen," Annora told the maid. "I promise to find homes for them before I leave."
Ignoring her mother's words, she raced to her room upstairs. She opened a small trunk at the foot of her four-poster bed before throwing garments from her dresser inside. Within five minutes, her mother, with her father in tow, marched in, both in high color.
"Annora, what is this your mother tells me about you moving to some godforsaken village in the middle of the wilderness?" her father demanded, his muttonchop whiskers trembling with the movement of his prominent chin.
On her knees in front of the trunk, Annora folded and arranged clothes inside. "It's not a godforsaken village, Father. It has a population of fifteen hundred. It sits on the east side of the Big Horn Mountains in Wyoming. Before you say I can't live in a strange place all by myself, Cousin Lissette lives there. Her husband is the foreman for one of the largest ranchers in the area. I'll be in good company."
A cat jumped up on the bed and nudged Annora's arm with its head, begging for attention. She petted its sleek fur before she returned to packing.
Eleanore snatched a skirt from her daughter's hands. "Stop that. You are not going anywhere."
"Listen to your mother," her father said. "You're only twenty-four-years-old. Wyoming is a long distance away in an isolated territory. I’ve no doubt any Indians remain."
Annora grabbed her skirt from her mother and replaced it in the trunk. Time to put the strategy she'd planned out into action. "At my age, Father, a woman is on the shelf. Wyoming may have three times as many men as women, but I've no need for a husband. And the Indians live on reservations."
"Even so—"
Surging to her feet, she forestalled her father from finishing. "I'm going, and that's that! It's my calling, don't you understand that? The mistreated animals of Sheridan need me."
Mother and father looked at each other. His shoulders slumped, but Annora detected the new light in her mama's eyes.
Eleanora restrained her husband with a hand on his sleeve and shook her head. "It's no use, Osgood. You know how she is about animals. She brought three pigs home today, and they tore the house to shreds before Helga caught them all."
Annora had won.
July 1898, Sheridan, Wyoming
She had made it. Despite the smoke and soot from the locomotive blowing in through open windows to soil her clothes. Despite the constant clackety-clack of iron wheels on steel tracks. Despite the noise, the hard, wooden seat, and the poor food, Annora Lee Bostwick had arrived safe and sound in Sheridan, Wyoming.
Her parents would expect a wire. Eleanore Bostwick loved nothing more than to fret over her daughter. Her father took matters as they came with calm and efficiency. But he, too, would be eager to learn Annora reached her destination in one piece.
Cradling the kitten she had stopped the train conductor from throwing off the moving train, she turned in a circle to take in the view.
"Mountains!" she whispered to the kitten. "Oh, look at them."
Massive peaks, such as she'd never seen before growing up in New York. Streaked with white, the mountains rose in the distance beneath a forever sky, beautiful and majestic.
She grinned while she stepped from the train onto the depot's wooden platform. People bustled around her, jostling, cursing, banging their luggage into her. Mesmerized by the mountains, she didn't move. Lower down, lush green surrounded the town. Wooden, false-fronted buildings with boardwalks, and muddy streets made up the town.
"Annora! Annora!"
A small, gloved hand waved above the sea of passengers and families clogging the depot. Annora waved in return.
When the crowd parted, she spotted Lissette Brownell. A feathered hat perched on blond hair, topping a petite face, hurried her direction—her cousin, daughter of a second cousin to Annora's mother.
"I'm so glad you're here. I've missed you so much." The young woman, close to her own age, leaned toward her, arms outheld, saw the kitten, and kissed her instead of the hug she had intended. A man with her claimed Annora's luggage. "How was your trip?” Lissette asked. “Oh, I love your dress. You look wonderful in that shade of blue."
"Thank you. This is Buttons." Annora indicated the kitten named for its button-like eyes. "Oh, she's beautiful. I adore cats." Lissette took the arm of the man next to her. "Annora, you remember my husband, Chance."
"Of course." On impulse, she kissed them both on their cheeks.
Chance chuckled. "It's good to see you again too," he said. Deciding he was a friend, Buttons climbed his arm to his shoulder. Annora reached for her, but he shook his head. "She's fine. Leave her."
"Thank you." To answer her cousin's questions, she said, "New York to Wyoming is a gruesome journey, but also wonderful. So much country. Amazing."
With their arms looked together, Lissette guided Annora from the platform. Chance followed, loaded down with luggage, along with a calico kitten on his shoulders. He seemed a pleasant man with kind brown eyes, a high brow, and a nice smile. She found him charming.
"I'm sure you're exhausted," Lissette rattled on. "Our wagon is over in front of the mercantile. We did some shopping while waiting for the train. But we'll take you straight home where you can have a hot bath and rest up."
"I would like that, but first, may I see the store you rented for me?"
"Of course." Lissette led her along a block of Grinnell Street to the corner of Gould Street. "Here it is. But we didn't rent it. Your mother bought it for you."
"Bought it?" Annora's gaze took in the two-story building. Five-foot wide windows faced both Grinnell and Gould. A vacant lot stood on the far side. Annora considered it perfect for a yard to keep animals in. She would arrange to purchase it.
“Yes. This is the private entrance to the apartment overhead.” Lissette indicated an unmarked door between the office and a haberdashery shop. Annora preferred a location on the main thoroughfare, but this one appeared suitable.
What she could see through the dirty glass panes gave sparse encouragement. A few broken chairs, piles of litter and dirt. So much for her hope of moving in right away.
But, thanks to her mother, she owned it. She wouldn't have to worry about meeting the rent each month. She must write to her mother today to thank her.
"It needs some work," Chance said, handing her the kitten. "But I can help with that." The depth of his voice surprised her, though she had no
idea why. A large muscular man, he wore a sack coat over a plain chambray shirt without collar or tie, plus denim trousers, boots, and a wide-brimmed hat.
"That would be grand. Do we have time to go inside?"
After a glance toward Main, he shook his head. "I'm afraid not. I need to help my boss load stock before we leave town."
"Very well. I assume I will be staying with you tonight?"
"And for as long as you like," Lissette assured her, linking arms and tugging her toward Main.
The kitten climbed onto Annora’s shoulder and then her hat. "Oh, my, isn't she adorable?"
Lissette laughed. She plucked Buttons from her nest of tulle and feathers. With the cat restored to Annora’s care, they returned to Main Street. Annora found the town quaint, though dirty, noting the trash piles here and there.
They crossed over to a wagon Chance indicated belonged to him and Lissette. The ground trembled beneath Annora’s thin-soled shoes while a rumbling sound grew closer. Startled people cast worried looks back and forth along the road, while others scurried to the boardwalks. Drivers did their best to move wagons to the side. Annora searched for the cause of the concern.
"What on earth?" Lissette muttered, as she too studied the broad expanse of roadway.
A herd of mounted horses galloped around a corner onto Main, a huge brown beast at their center. Mud flew from under their hooves, peppering everyone within reach. Ladies grabbed for hankies to cover their noses. Annora tightened her grip on the cat.
"It's the race," Chance muttered. "Thunderation. Must be later than I thought."
The riders drew near.
Annora clutched the frightened kitten close, staring at a huge, shaggy, brown animal at the front of the herd with a man on its back.
A buffalo bull, the first she'd seen. His long shaggy face looked forlorn, his tongue lolling out over a lower lip. Why would anyone force a wild animal to carry a man on its back like a horse? She reached a hand toward him, with rescue in mind. The buffalo's sad eyes met hers. He slowed, and she thought he meant to come to her—until the man jabbed him with vicious, spiked spurs. He yelled for the bull to speed up. Within seconds, they had passed by, but more horses and riders followed, almost concealed by a cloud of dust.
Ride for a Bride in Wyoming (Rocky Mountain Romances Book 4) Page 1
