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

by Julianne MacLean

  Closing her eyes, she began. “I was involved with another man before Briggs and I were married, and the involvement progressed to the point of…” Hearing Briggs clear his throat, she stopped, unable to go on.

  Sarah tried to find the right words, but gave up, deciding there was no respectable way to put it. “I married him.”

  She heard George whistle in shock. “You’re divorced?”

  “No, George. That’s the problem. I’m not divorced.”

  She faced the two brothers squarely. George merely stared, his mouth agape. Briggs stood in angry silence.

  “Sarah, I don’t understand,” George said.

  “I didn’t get the divorce because I never believed the marriage was legal in the first place. I still don’t, but I’m not certain. If only I’d had the courage to seek legal advice right away, but I was afraid I’d be arrested.”

  George stopped pacing and shot her a horrified look. “Arrested! Why?”

  “Because he already had a wife.”

  George sank into the rocking chair by the fireplace and rested his forehead in his hand. “Good God. This is unbelievable. You mean he never divorced his first wife before marrying you?”

  “No.”

  “And he wasn’t a widower?”

  “No.”

  “You’re telling me you married a bigamist?”

  “Yes.”

  George glanced at his brother. “You knew nothing of this?”

  “Not until today,” Briggs said, his voice flat.

  “At first I didn’t tell him,” Sarah added, “because I was ashamed and afraid he would turn me away. You have to understand, George—that I had no notion what I was getting into when I met Garrison. He was charming in the beginning, then he became very cruel. I had to escape the marriage.” Sarah was desperate to salvage whatever was left of George’s good opinion of her. “I had no idea he was already married, and now he’s followed me to Dodge and he wants me back. I’m afraid of what he might do if I don’t obey him. He told me he’d never let me go, and now he knows that I’m married to Briggs.”

  George sat forward. “He’s here? You spoke to him? Did anyone see you? There’s definitely going to be a scandal.”

  Briggs finally spoke up. “George, you’re missing the point. Are any of her marriages legal?”

  His detached tone made Sarah shudder inwardly.

  George scratched his head. “I’m not sure.”

  “What do you mean, you’re not sure?” Briggs shouted. “Law is your profession.”

  “I’d need to see the written documents,” George explained, “including those that go along with Garrison’s first marriage. And I must be straightforward with you, I’ve never dealt with a bigamy case before. I’ll have to look it up.”

  “How long will that take?”

  He thought about it for a moment. “It’s difficult to say. I may have to consult with a colleague.”

  “Wonderful,” Briggs whispered, heading for the door.

  “Where are you going?” Sarah asked, feeling her courage rush out of her.

  “For a walk.”

  “Can I come with you? We could talk more about this.”

  “There’s nothing more to talk about, and I need to be alone.” He walked out and slammed the door behind him.

  * * *

  Briggs sloshed through the mud in town, barely conscious of how deep he was sinking. The rain had stopped, but the dark gray sky prevailed.

  Looking up at a passing cowboy atop an impressive black horse, Briggs realized with some despair that he’d walked all the way from George’s house and couldn’t remember anything he’d seen along the way. His head was pounding with tension, his muscles stiff. It pained him to remember the nights he’d spent with Sarah when she had been hiding a part of herself and keeping secrets. Why hadn’t she trusted him enough to tell him? Had he been that much of an ogre in the beginning?

  He supposed, with some regret, that he had.

  Just then, someone called his name.

  Oh, God. That voice. That sing-song voice….

  “Briggs? Is that you?”

  He stopped on the boardwalk. Slowly turning, he did his best to appear indifferent and at ease. “Hello, Isabelle.”

  She smiled and moved toward him. He took in her overall appearance, which had not changed since the day she broke off their engagement—except for the fact that she wore an expensive-looking dress he did not recognize. It was bright yellow with a high ruffle collar, sleeves with large frilled cuffs, and a long, trained overskirt caught up at the sides in an overabundance of pleated draperies.

  As for her face, it was as flawless and as shockingly beautiful as he remembered. But then he noticed the lacey parasol, which made no sense on a rainy day like this—and the long suede gloves, jeweled purse and fan.

  She was, and always had been, completely unsuited to his sod house on the prairie.

  Hesitantly, he strode toward her.

  “It’s wonderful to see you,” Briggs,” she said.

  “You, as well.”

  “I heard you were married last month. I had no idea it would make you even more handsome than you already were.”

  He glanced around, wondering how many of the town gossips were feeding on this. “Her name is Sarah,” he mentioned.

  “I know,” Isabelle replied. “George told me. Congratulations.”

  “Thank you.”

  The dazzling twinkle in her eyes dissolved suddenly. “I suppose he told you about my…” She paused, then glanced around self-consciously. “My situation.”

  Briggs nodded. “I was sorry to hear about that.”

  “And I was sorry that…” She stopped herself, and his desire to hear her out was disturbing, to say the least, because he had no desire to explore the ‘what-might-have-beens.’ He swallowed the urge to prompt her on, but she did so anyway. “I was sorry that I left Dodge without saying goodbye to you.”

  Briggs stared over her head at nothing in particular. “No worries. It’s all in the past now.”

  “I hope you don’t feel any bitterness toward me, Briggs. I don’t think I could bear it if you did. Not after what we once were to each other.”

  He nodded his head and spoke gently. “Like I said, it’s in the past.”

  Isabelle straightened her shoulders, fiddled with her jeweled purse, and strove to speak with a cheerful, animated tone. “Of course, you’re right. So much has happened since then. I am so happy you were able to get on with your life.”

  But then her voice quavered.

  Lord help him. What would he do if she started weeping right there in the street? She’d always been emotional. There was a time when it charmed him, because he rather fancied it when she rested her cheek on his shoulder, and it meant he had an excuse to put his arm around her. But today, there was enough turmoil on his plate.

  “What’s she like?” Isabelle asked. “George told me she was the exact opposite of me. Dark hair, dark eyes, rather short.”

  Briggs swallowed over a rise of annoyance, because Sarah was so much more than that. “She’s very lovely,” he replied, wishing she was there at his side, so that Isabelle could see that she was not the only beautiful woman in Dodge. Not anymore.

  “You must be happy,” Isabelle added. “Is she everything you always wanted?”

  He stood for a moment, pondering that question, realizing Sarah was not what he’d always wanted. Until recently, Isabelle had worn that crown. “She’s what I want now,” he answered, truthfully.

  Isabelle’s smile faded. “I see,” she stammered. “Well. I do hope we can be friends.”

  “Of course.”

  Her eyes darted to something in the street. Briggs turned to see George approaching in his buggy with Sarah beside him.

  “Is that her?” Isabelle asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Then I should go. I wouldn’t want her to catch us together.”

  He turned to tell her to stay and be introduced, but she w
as already walking away. He stared after her, watching that familiar gait. Feeling no regrets. None whatsoever.

  He turned again, back to George and Sarah. The buggy pulled up alongside the boardwalk. “What are you two doing here?” he asked.

  Neither one answered. George merely stared at him, his lips pressed into a thin line. Briggs looked back to see Isabelle disappear around a corner, and realized uneasily that Sarah was watching her, too.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  George jumped down from the buggy. “Sarah needed some fresh air so we thought we’d go for a drive and look for you.” He frowned with disapproval, then spoke to Sarah. “I’ll head over to the office now. Briggs will drive you home.”

  Slowly, not knowing what to expect, Briggs walked toward her and climbed into the driver’s seat. Without a word, he flicked the reins and turned them around. He kept waiting for Sarah to ask him questions or act hurt, accuse him of something, but she didn’t say a word.

  A few minutes later, they pulled up in front of George’s house. Briggs set the brake and hopped down. Sarah didn’t wait for him to come around and help her. She began to climb out by herself, wincing at the pain in her arm.

  “Wait,” he said, hurrying around the horses. “I can help you.”

  He wrapped his hands around her tiny waist and gently lowered her to the ground. She looked up into his eyes, and there, at last, he saw the question.

  “It was a chance meeting,” he explained, his hands still gripping her waist. “I didn’t plan it.”

  She stared at him for a long moment, then said, “Okay. I believe you.” Then she turned and walked toward the house.

  “Sarah, wait.”

  She climbed the steps. “What? I said I believe you.” She let the door snap shut behind her. Briggs whipped it open, following.

  “Just listen, please? I bumped into her. It couldn’t have been helped.”

  Sarah went into the kitchen, poured water into the tea kettle and set it on the stove.

  “I wanted to introduce you, but she walked away before I got the chance.”

  Shaking her head, Sarah set a china cup on the small pine table, then went looking for the sugar bowl. “I told you. It’s fine.”

  “It’s not fine.” Briggs couldn’t take it anymore. He reached out, touched her good arm, and forced her to face him. “Sarah, despite everything that’s happened, I don’t want Isabelle. You need to know that. Anything I might have felt for her is long dead.”

  She merely stared up at him and nodded.

  He pulled her closer, felt her soft body against him, and suddenly wondered why he was the one trying to explain himself when she was the one who had married two men in the same month.

  But none of this made sense, he realized, fearing the loss of her now more than ever, and resenting all these complications that were driving wedge after wedge between them.

  Farmer, Arthur Brigman, seeks gentle and peaceful wife for simple life on Kansas prairie.

  If only it could have been simple.

  But it wasn’t. This was the lot they’d been given, but at least he knew one thing: he wanted no one but Sarah, and if he had anything to say about it, no other man would ever touch her again. Just the thought of it—of that maggot, Garrison McPhee, wanting her—filled him with jealousy and a scorching need to hold onto her, to keep her safe. To possess her completely and not feel this fear that she would be snatched away at any moment.

  He gazed down at her, and took her face in both his hands. “I’m sorry for all this. I wanted it to be easier.”

  “So did I,” she replied with sorrow and regret.

  Briggs lowered his mouth to hers and felt her lips part with longing. The heat and warmth he felt against her mouth was like a balm to his senses. It sent tremors of wanting through his body.

  Her good hand slid inside his coat, up the length of his chest and slipped it off, over his shoulders. Suddenly he was overcome with desire and he had to have her, to feel her body writhe with pleasure beneath him, to know she belonged to him and no other.

  Tearing his coat from his body, he dropped it onto the floor, then scooped Sarah into his arms and carried her up the stairs, taking two at a time while she clutched at his neck, kissing his cheek and whispering his name. He kicked the bedroom door open with his boot. It slammed and bounced off the inside wall.

  He carried her to the bed and gently laid her down, careful not to hurt her injured arm. Her bodice—it had to come off. One button, two buttons…his fingers trembled uncontrollably with impatience.

  At last he was unfastening her corset in the front, removing it and sliding her chemise off her shoulders to uncover her beautiful breasts, bare and calling to him. She pulled his head down and he took what he could into his hungry mouth, more than willing to give her as much pleasure as he was capable of giving.

  At her urging, he stripped his own shirt from his body, kicked off his boots and pulled off his trousers.

  As he came down upon her, naked and reveling in the sensation of her bare flesh against his, she whispered, “I need you so much, Briggs….”

  With one swift thrust of his hips, he entered her. Heavy rain pelted the roof over their heads, roaring steadily as the rhythm of his penetration deepened.

  They moved together, Sarah digging the nails of her good hand into his back, while Briggs raised himself up on his arms to look down at her—her face so impossibly beautiful in the murky light of the afternoon rainstorm. He found himself making love to her harder and deeper than ever before, wanting to claim her as his own, to prove that she belonged to him. Soon she reached her peak and cried out as wind shook the window panes. Greedy for his own release, Briggs clenched his jaw as the orgasm came upon him. It trembled through his body and he felt the hot, throbbing rush of his seed pour into her.

  For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. All he wanted to do was remain there inside her, holding her tight against him, while time stood still all around them.

  But time would not stand still, he knew. Life didn’t work that way. There was so much left to resolve with Sarah, so many secrets and legalities he needed to understand. How long would that take? he wondered, breathing deeply and feeling Sarah also take a deep breath beneath him. His heart tugged in his chest and he hugged her closer, then wondered when he would ever feel certain of anything again.

  What if Sarah went to jail for what happened, even though Garrison had tricked her? Allegedly.

  With that old familiar urge to protect himself—something he thought he had conquered when he started to love Sarah—Briggs rolled off her and sat up. Damp air chilled his skin.

  “I have to go,” he heard himself saying. “I’m sorry. I need to go for a walk or something.”

  “Briggs, please don’t go…” Sarah sat up and pulled the blanket up to cover herself.

  He pulled on his trousers, then his shirt.

  “Where will you go?” she asked “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” He honestly had no idea. All he knew was that his stomach was in knots and there was a quiet, simmering anger coursing through his blood. “I just need to think.”

  He bent over her, gently brushed her hair away from her eyes with his thumb, kissed her on the forehead, then walked out of the room.

  * * *

  What just happened? Sarah wondered uneasily, realizing that she had felt a desperate need for Briggs to make love to her—and in the middle of the afternoon, no less. But after seeing him with Isabelle, she had felt possessive and jealous, and wanted to prove that he belonged to her, and that she was what he wanted. The desire to be held in his arms had been overpowering. She simply had to have him, body and soul, in that moment.

  So if that was her motivation, what was his? He’d made love to her more roughly than usual, with all the force of a prairie storm, and she’d seen the carnal need in his eyes. He, too, had wanted her in a way that was different from the other times in their candlelit sod house. Why? Had he closed his eyes and imagined he was wi
th Isabelle?

  No. He had assured her he didn’t want Isabelle. Sarah was just feeling insecure and irrational.

  Suddenly aware of the throbbing sensation in her arm—which she had been completely distracted from while Briggs made love to her—she rose from the bed and awkwardly dressed herself. Then she stood in front of the mirror and straightened her tousled hair.

  A short while later, Sarah jumped at the sound of the front door opening. Had Briggs returned already? Gathering her skirt in her fist, she moved out into the hall, only to look down from the top stair and see George hanging his overcoat on the hook behind the door. Briggs entered behind him.

  George peered up at her and removed his fogged spectacles. “Sarah, are you all right? Your cheeks are flushed.”

  Embarrassed, she touched each of them with her good hand. “I’m fine. I was just resting. It’s rather warm up here.” She started down the stairs. “Did you learn anything about the situation?”

  George folded his spectacles and slid them into his breast pocket. “Why don’t we all go into the kitchen?”

  All three of them went in, and Sarah sat at the table while Briggs poured a cup of coffee from the pot on the stove. Pockets of dread burst like spasms under the surface of her skin. All she could do was grit her teeth and prepare herself for the worst. “Please tell me, George. I can’t stand this any longer.”

  He stood just inside the door, looking down at her, his hands cupped in front of him like he was about to recite the Lord’s Prayer. “Well, you’re married. There’s no question there.”

  “To whom?” she whispered.

  George nodded at his brother. “To Briggs.”

  Sarah leaned back in the chair. “Oh, thank God.”

  “But there’s more.”

  “More?”

  “Yes. I think Briggs should sit down.”

  Briggs set his cup on the table and sat down across from her.

  “The good news is, your marriage, currently, is valid,” George told them.