Mail Order Prairie Bride: (A Western Historical Romance) (Dodge City Brides Book 1)

by Julianne MacLean

  Sitting up, Briggs dropped his feet to the floor, squeezed the edge of the mattress and found himself wishing he could have simply taken Sarah without any expectations, without feeling so hopeful about the sort of marriage they might have.

  He should have known better than to let down his guard.

  Chapter Four

  Rolling onto her side, Sarah tried to focus on Briggs through the darkness. He sat on the edge of the bed, his broad back to her, his hair disheveled. Her mind slashed through a brambly thicket of unanswered questions. Was this the beginning of the end? Did he realize now that she had kept secrets from him, that she was not trustworthy, and would he change his mind about having her as his wife? Would he annul the marriage first thing in the morning and send her back to Boston? Her heart began to race again. It burned inside her chest.

  She pulled the quilt up to cover her nakedness. “Is everything all right?”

  “It’s fine,” he coolly replied.

  He rose to his feet, his nude body stunningly beautiful as he crossed the room to get dressed. All Sarah could do was stare in awe at the strong arms, the firm muscled back, and the sinewy thighs as he picked up his trousers and pulled them on.

  She leaned up on one elbow. “Briggs, I….”

  “You don’t have to say anything. It doesn’t matter. Just get some sleep. You’ve had a long day.” He pulled his shirt on over his head. “I’m going for a walk.”

  Sarah lay back down, wondering why his response felt a dozen times worse than what she had feared earlier—that he might shout at her in anger, or become violent. Instead, he appeared hurt and disappointed in her.

  Heaven help her. She hadn’t imagined it would be like this. But in all honesty, she hadn’t give much thought to how Arthur “Briggs” Brigman would actually feel about her. All he had been to her—until the moment she stepped off the train—was an impersonal, printed advertisement in a newspaper, which had allowed her to conjure up some sort of fantasy life where she would be safe and protected. And she’d been so desperate to escape her current life—to start fresh somewhere new.

  Briggs moved like a shadow across the room, and she understood that he needed to be alone. With any luck, his disappointment would wane after a few hours. Surely when he considered it more thoroughly, he would remember that their courtship consisted of two short letters to arrange everything, nothing more. If he’d wanted a virgin for a wife, he could have specified that in some discreet way, but he didn’t. The only thing he’d specified was that his potential bride be a hard worker, which Sarah fully intended to be.

  Hoping with quiet desperation that Briggs would view the situation from that perspective, she watched him shrug into his buckskin coat. She noticed with some relief that he was leaving his claw necklace on the chest of drawers. At least he planned to return.

  Without looking back, he walked out of the room and closed the door behind him.

  * * *

  The next morning, Sarah opened her eyes to bright sunlight streaming in through the white lace curtain, painting dappled shadows on the pink-and-white patterned quilt. The exhaustion from endless days on the train seemed determined to linger in her weary bones and muscles. She stretched her arms over her head and pointed her toes, trying to recall what it felt like to be free of fear, then realized with a jolt of alarm that her husband’s side of the bed was empty.

  Sarah sat up, her eyes darting to the chest of drawers. The claw necklace was gone. Tossing the covers aside, she got out of bed and crossed to her valise. She flipped it open and pulled out what was on top—the purple gown she’d worn yesterday. She had to find Briggs and make things right, because the last thing she wanted to do was find herself on a train back to Boston.

  Just then, she heard a key slip into the metal lock in the door.

  Good Lord. What if Briggs had abandoned her and the hotel manager had come to throw her out? She wasn’t dressed yet! And she had no money. This was all too familiar.

  There was no time to pull the dress over her head. She could only hug it fast to her body, hiding all but her bare shoulders.

  A knock sounded, and the door opened. Suddenly finding herself staring at the brown fringed coat and tousled golden hair that belonged to her husband, Sarah exhaled a breath.

  “Wagon’s ready.” He stepped all the way into the room and shut the door behind him before looking up from under the brim of his white Stetson. His cool gaze flicked from her eyes down to her feet, then back up to her eyes again. “Hurry and dress yourself. We need to get on the road. And don’t worry about breakfast. I had them pack us something to eat on the way.”

  With that, he was out the door again, leaving Sarah frozen in her place, heart pounding like a hammer while she prayed that this meant he was willing to forget about their first night as man and wife, and simply start over.

  * * *

  Briggs stood by the wagon, one hand on his hip, the other holding onto his hat, tapping it against his thigh. He watched and listened with annoyance to a pack of dogs across the street, barking and howling at each other. He wished they would quiet down for just one minute so he could think about how he was going to move past this awkward beginning with his mail-order wife, who had proven herself to be not quite what he had thought.

  Ten irritating minutes passed before he spotted Sarah walking out the front door of the hotel, shading her eyes with her white gloved hand while she perused the street, searching for him. For a moment he just stood there, letting her search, until she finally spotted him and seemed to sigh with relief. He noticed she wore the same dress she’d worn yesterday—the lacey purple thing with the oversized bustle, which could serve no sensible purpose when she plopped herself down on the stool to milk Maddie.

  Gathering his resolve, he approached Sarah and took her bag. He carried it to the wagon, then helped her up onto the seat.

  “I came right down, thinking you were in a hurry to go,” she said, adjusting her skirts all around her. Briggs looked into those pretty brown eyes and reminded himself not to get lost in them again.

  “I appreciate that,” he said. “Now let’s get on the road.”

  * * *

  Out on the windy prairie, Briggs pulled the wagon to a slow halt. The harness jangled lightly as the horses paused and shook the flies off their backs.

  Sarah’s insides reeled. Why was he stopping? Was this sick feeling in her stomach about to become justified?

  Briggs removed his hat, raked his fingers through his hair, and donned the hat again. Squinting toward the west, he leaned back in his seat. “I know it ain’t exactly proper to talk about this sort of thing, but I don’t rightly enjoy brooding about things either—especially if they’re just misunderstandings, and right now I can’t seem to get something out of my mind.”

  “What is it?”

  He looked directly at her. “I want to know why you looked so nervous last night when…You had me thinking you’d never…” He paused, feeling like he’d been made a fool of. “Not that it matters. Your past is your business, not mine, but why were you acting so nervous if you’d done it before? Were you trying to trick me?”

  The calm, matter-of-fact tone of his voice did little to ease Sarah’s nerves. “No, I wasn’t trying to trick you. I truly was nervous because I was afraid of what you might think of me when you found out you weren’t…” She paused. “The first. I was afraid you’d be angry, or disappointed, which obviously, you are.”

  He glanced up at the sky. “I’m not disappointed. It’s not like we were marrying for love. I just don’t like being misled.”

  “I didn’t mislead you,” she replied, feeling her dander rise for the first time. “What was I supposed to say? It’s not exactly a proper thing to talk about. And you didn’t ask.”

  He sat in silence a moment, as if contemplating that. “Let’s just forget about it. You’re here, we’re married, and now we’re going home.”

  He made a move to flick the reins, but Sarah’s hand came up to catch hi
m, to rest on his soft buckskin sleeve. He lowered the reins and looked at her.

  “I’m sorry you’re upset,” she said.

  “I’m not upset,” he insisted. “Just tell me one thing.” He slapped the reins lightly and set them in motion again. “How many were there, before me?”

  The implications of the question stung and offended her, and she suspected that was his intention. “That’s hardly a polite question.” She paused, hoping he would back down and maybe apologize, but he remained silent, waiting for her answer. “Only one,” she finally said.

  He drove the wagon in silence, then he looked into her eyes again. “Did you love him? Do you still love him?”

  His words came as a surprise. Sarah wanted to smooth things out between them, to set them back on track, but what was the correct answer? To tell her husband that she loved another man didn’t seem right, but to say that she didn’t, and never had….

  “Yes,” she softly replied, lowering her gaze to her lap. “I believed I did.”

  In all her innocence, she’d truly believed she had loved Garrison. At least at first. Though now, she wasn’t certain what that word meant, because clearly she had not known who and what he truly was on the inside. She knew nothing of his heart.

  Briggs slapped the reins again to hurry the team along the bumpy road. “How long has it been since you’ve seen him?”

  She stared numbly at the horses’ long manes, their heads bobbing up and down. She’d done enough lying, so come what may, she decided to tell Briggs the truth.

  “It’s been three weeks.”

  “Three weeks!” He pulled the horses to a hard halt, wrapped the reins around the brake, and leaped out of the wagon. He strode off, across the grass, then stopped about twenty yards away, his back to her, his hands braced on his hips. He was shaking his head.

  Here we go. He’s going to take me back to Dodge and leave me in the street with nothing but my regrets and my traveling bag. Which, I suppose, is exactly what I deserve.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, Sarah tried to think practically. It wouldn’t be so bad. She could find work in a restaurant—she had experience—and start her own life somewhere else. Alone. This dream of being married, having children and a husband who would protect her, and living a simple life on the prairies didn’t seem to be working out too well for her.

  She opened her eyes. Briggs was now sitting down in the grass, his elbows resting on his knees.

  She climbed out of the wagon and hopped to the ground. The wind sailed through the rippling grasses, hissing like a snake, blowing loose tendrils of her hair into her face. If nothing else, she owed Briggs a choice, a way out of this marriage if he wanted it. She knew why she’d been so quick to agree to become a mail order bride—she’d needed to get away from Garrison and start a new life—but maybe Briggs regretted being so hasty.

  If so, she would ask him to take her back to Dodge, and she would agree to an annulment. How bad could that be? She’d been in worse situations. At least she was in the West now, far away from Boston.

  When she reached Briggs, she sat down beside him. Staring at the distant horizon where the rolling prairie met the sky, she steadied her voice. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you any of that.” Her heart felt like it was snapping in two. “But I’ve been on my own for four years now, and—”

  Briggs tossed the grass away. “You mean four months.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Four months. Since your folks died.”

  Sarah felt her eyebrows pull together with a frown. “No, that was four years ago.”

  Briggs shot her a glare. “You wrote in your letter that it was four months.”

  “No, I couldn’t have. Perhaps my writing was a little—”

  “Your writing was fine.”

  “Are you sure that—”

  “I’m positive.” His tone was so sharp, she knew he was telling the truth. As she remembered the haste in which she wrote and sent the letter, she began to wonder if she might have made a mistake. A horrible, horrible mistake. Oh, how could she have been so careless?

  Then again, maybe it wasn’t a mistake, she thought miserably. Maybe she’d known that marrying Briggs was wrong—that she wasn’t fit to be an honest man’s bride—and she had purposefully tried to create a new identity for herself. It certainly seemed that way now.

  “You’ve been living on your own in Boston for four years?” he asked. “Has everything been a lie?”

  Sarah shook her head and spoke firmly. “No.”

  Briggs plucked a long blade of grass and wrapped it around his forefinger. His silence was more unnerving than any reprimand. He was so calm, when most men would be shouting at her.

  All she could do was sit in the tangled growth and suffer, knowing what he must think of her now—that she was completely unreliable and untrustworthy.

  But who was she trying to fool? She was unreliable and untrustworthy, because Briggs didn’t know the first thing about her, and she had no intention of revealing the whole truth to him, or to anyone. Ever. It was too dangerous. If she told him why she had needed to escape Garrison, Briggs might report him to the authorities and she might be implicated in his crimes. Besides that, she knew what Garrison would do if he ever found out she’d told someone. He’d made that more than clear. She couldn’t put herself or Briggs in that kind of danger.

  “What else did you tell me?” Briggs asked. “Oh, yes. That you went to church. And I suppose you’re about to tell me the church in your neighborhood burned down and you haven’t seen a Sunday worship in what, four years?”

  “No,” Sarah said. “I do go to church. I wouldn’t lie about that.”

  He continued to stare coldly at the distant, rolling hills. “But you’d lie about everything else.”

  Briggs tossed the grass away. “Do you still love this man that you parted from only three weeks ago?”

  Sarah shut her eyes and faced the wind. “No, I don’t love him. I hope I never see him again. And I give you my word—for whatever it’s worth: That is the honest truth.”

  She met his gaze directly, with conviction.

  “And what will you wish for three weeks from today?” Briggs asked. “That you could be on your way again? Will you leave me when you get bored, and leap into another man’s bed to drive the one you really love from your heart?”

  His words were like a slap across the face. She deserved it, she knew, but it didn’t make it any easier. Rising to her feet, she spoke unwaveringly. “I’m sorry for all this, Briggs. Truly I am. And I understand if you regret bringing me here. We can go back to town right now if you want, and get a divorce or an annulment. I won’t argue, and you won’t have to worry about me. I’ll make my own way.”

  She turned and started walking back to the wagon, angry with herself for getting into this mess in the first place. Not just with Briggs. All her problems had started when she’d met Garrison. She wished she had listened to her instincts then. Something about him had made her uncomfortable from the start, but his behavior had always been impeccable. Too impeccable. He’d said all the right things and looked the part of a gentleman. Handsome and wealthy, he had wooed her well and ruined her life in the process. Now Briggs thought the worst things about her, and he deserved a way out.

  She reached the wagon and climbed onto the seat, realizing wretchedly that Briggs had every right to judge her the way he had. She was a liar.

  But what did it even matter now? Their marriage was over. It was time to move on.

  * * *

  From the corner of her eye, Sarah saw Briggs approach the wagon, but she resisted the urge to acknowledge him. She sat with dignity, her backbone as straight as a steel skewer while he vaulted himself onto the seat, making the vehicle bounce, squeak and wiggle.

  He’s going to turn this old wooden box back toward town, and that will be the end of it.

  Sarah gripped the side of the wagon in preparation for its sudden lurch, but nothing happened. Briggs held the
reins in his large, sun-darkened hands, as if thinking.

  She had been brave and strong a moment ago. Where had those feelings gone? Now she was uncertain and more than a little intimidated. She could do nothing but wait for his decision.

  After another agonizing moment, he slapped the reins and the horses plodded forward. They flicked their ears back and forth while Sarah held onto the wagon seat, waiting for them to shift direction and turn back toward town, but they did not alter their course. The horses lumbered along the straight and narrow road, lightly jingling their harness.

  “We had an agreement,” Briggs said coolly. “Whatever you did in Boston is your business and I’d rather not know about it. But you assured me you’d be a good worker and that much I hope is true. The rest doesn’t concern me. Like I said, we had an agreement and I plan to stick to my end of it.”

  Surprised and hopeful, she snuck a glance at Briggs, but was disappointed to find all traces of tenderness gone from his face. The word “agreement” held less allure than her dream of a real marriage, but at least it was something, however miniscule, to cling to.

  Chapter Five

  It was late afternoon when they finally approached a homestead. Sarah saw a barn built of sod and roofed with hay, a noisy chicken coop, a vegetable garden, acres and acres of tall green corn to the west and golden wheat to the east, but no house. Perhaps it was over the next hill, she thought, then wondered why anyone would build a house so far from the animals.

  The muffled sounds of moos and snorts from inside the barn interrupted the constant roar of wind as they drew closer. Sarah inhaled the scent of fresh manure and animals, and strangely, she found the smells agreeable. She realized how accustomed she had become to the city smells of sewage and rotting garbage.

  She sat forward in her seat, feeling like her behind had been battered with a washing board. Stiff and sore, she wanted to ask if this was to be her new home, but hesitated when she glanced at the scowling face beside her.