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

by Julianne MacLean

  Briggs met her gaze, and she wished she knew what he was thinking. Was it relief she saw in his eyes? Or uncertainty? What had he been thinking about during his walk in the rain? That if it turned out he was not truly bound to her by law, it might be easiest to simply part ways and forget all of this ever happened?

  “I took some notes,” George continued, “and it seems a bigamous marriage is considered void, whether or not either party moves to end it with an annulment or a divorce. So you were right in your assumption that it was invalid, Sarah, when you agreed to marry Briggs.”

  Sarah nodded, relieved to hear this. “You said there was more?” she mentioned, working hard to keep her voice steady.

  “Yes.” George reached for a document he had laid on the counter. He put on his spectacles, and read some of it over to himself. Those few silent seconds felt more like an eternity.

  Finally, he set down the page. “In 1862, an Antibigamy Act was set forth. It’s a federal statute making bigamy a criminal activity.”

  “Will Garrison go to jail?”

  “Yes, once he’s reported to the proper authorities, but so could you, Sarah.”

  Heart suddenly racing, she felt Briggs’s eyes on her. “But I didn’t know,” was all she could say.

  “That being the case, you would be innocent, of course, but if Garrison says otherwise….Do you believe he would try to incriminate you?”

  “Yes. He told me if I ever revealed any of this, he would say I knew what I was doing because I wanted his money.”

  “But you left him without taking anything from him, isn’t that right?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then he’d have a difficult time proving you wanted his money.”

  “So you think I have nothing to worry about?” Sarah asked, afraid to even hope.

  “I would certainly do everything in my power to help you.”

  Through all this, Briggs said not a single word. His silence troubled Sarah more than anything.

  “But this is good news,” Sarah said to George. “Why are you looking so…so concerned?”

  “Because there is still one other point.”

  Sarah steadied herself.

  “It has to do with your marriage to Briggs.”

  Briggs leaned back and folded his arms. “I thought you said our marriage was valid.”

  “I did, but there are some complications.”

  “Because we didn’t know each other?” Sarah asked. “People do that all the time.”

  “Yes, they do, but in this case, it was more than not knowing each other. There’s the issue of fraud.”

  “Fraud,” Sarah repeated.

  “Yes. On the day you arrived by train, Briggs let me read your letter. Don’t be angry, he was just trying to convince me he was doing the right thing. I distinctly recall that you wrote you had never been married before.”

  “But I hadn’t been. Not legally.”

  “I understand that, Sarah, but a court might see it differently if Briggs were to bring it forward.”

  Sarah shot a glance at Briggs. He was sitting calmly, listening to it all. “What do you mean, bring it forward?”

  “I mean that Briggs has grounds to seek an annulment. If he wants to.” He looked down at Briggs, questioning him with his eyes. “He may not, of course, in which case everything would remain as it is.”

  Staring across the table at her husband, Sarah swallowed nervously. Perhaps the worst of it was she couldn’t begin to guess what he was thinking, despite the fact they had shared so much over the past few weeks, and he had just made love to her that very day.

  “Why is everyone staring at me?” Briggs asked, flipping his hair back off his shoulder. “I suppose you both want me to say I don’t want to end this marriage.”

  George stepped back and set the paper down on the table by the stove. “I think we’d both like to know what you—”

  “I don’t know. If you’re looking for answers, I can’t give them to you.” He grabbed his coat and strode out of the room. Sarah sat frozen in her seat, staring helplessly at George.

  The front door opened and slammed against the inside wall. George hurried to the foyer. “Where are you going?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Heartsick with dread, Sarah listened to her husband’s boots pound down the veranda steps. He has not forgiven me. He doesn’t want to love me.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Rain-soaked and exhausted, Briggs pushed through the swinging doors at the Long Branch Saloon. He stopped just inside, inhaled the thick scent of cigar smoke, and removed his waterlogged hat. The place was uncommonly busy for this time of day. Must be the rain, he thought as he strode toward the bar and dug into his pocket for a few coins.

  “What can I get you?” the bartender asked, wiping his hands on a damp cloth.

  “Whiskey.” Briggs didn’t take a drink often, but he reckoned, if there was ever a suitable time, this was it.

  The bartender poured him a glass, then turned to set the bottle back on the shelf.

  “Leave it,” Briggs said, knowing he wasn’t going to be ready to return to George’s house for a while yet. He had a lot of thinking to do and he wasn’t about to do it in the same house with Sarah. She’d cloud his judgement with the way she made him feel—constantly aroused and possessive and desperate to hold onto her.

  He should have known something like this would happen when she’d first told him about Garrison, and about her parents being dead for four years instead of four months. The lies had started then, but he’d felt obligated to stick to their agreement, and he had to be honest with himself. He’d been attracted to her from the first moment, and he’d wanted her in his bed.

  Raising the shot glass to his lips, he took the first drink, and tasted the bitter liquid for a moment before he swallowed. He carried the bottle to a table and sat down.

  After everything that had happened with Isabelle, he should have been more careful about bringing another woman into his life so soon. And he certainly shouldn’t have let himself fall so hard for Sarah, so quickly, without knowing her better. He probably should annul the marriage. Put all this behind him and move on. It was quite simple, really.

  Except that it wasn’t.

  He tipped up the glass, downed the rest of the sour-tasting drink, then poured another. He watched as the amber liquid gushed into the glass. What the hell was he supposed to do?

  His head was telling him to cut her loose. The law was clear. He was justified.

  But the idea of leaving Sarah behind and returning to the farm without her was unthinkable. Just the thought of it made his whole body ache with dread. Never see her again? Never touch her? Smell her? Could he go on knowing that he’d never be able to bury himself in her sweet, warm body ever again?

  Laughter erupted in the back corner of the saloon. Briggs jumped, then tossed back another mouthful of whiskey, welcoming its numbing effect. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his stinging eyes. What were the chances this would all work itself out? What were the chances he’d be able to trust her? Ever?

  If he was smart, he’d never trust any woman again. Or at least he’d never trust the idea that he could be happy and loved without God, in the very next minute, pulling the rug out from under him.

  Briggs heard footsteps approach and felt someone’s unbidden presence behind him. He swiveled in his chair.

  “We meet again,” Garrison said, touching the brim of his black top hat and sporting a nasty-looking black eye.

  “Not by choice.” Briggs had to force himself to stay seated when all he really wanted to do was toss Garrison outside, straight through those swinging doors, face first into the mud.

  After a short pause, Garrison pulled out a chair. “Mind if I sit?”

  “Yeah, I do mind.”

  “Oh, come now. You’re being a bit hard on me, don’t you think? Sarah’s the one you should be angry with.”

  Something jolted inside Briggs. He downed another
mouthful of whiskey and gritted his teeth, biting back a surge of violence that was rising up from within.

  Garrison sat down across from him, despite Briggs’s earlier objection. “Bartender, I’ll have what he’s having.”

  The bartender brought a second glass. “You want a bottle too?”

  “No, just a glass. I’m not in need of it like this gentleman is.”

  The bartender poured, then turned his back on them and returned to work. Briggs felt Garrison’s gaze upon him and tried to ignore it. The last thing he needed was to get into a saloon brawl and spend the night in jail.

  “Ah. The drowning of the sorrows,” Garrison sighed.

  “It’s none of your business, McPhee.”

  “I’m only trying to make conversation. We got off on the wrong foot, it seems.”

  “There is no right foot where you and I are concerned.”

  “I don’t blame you for being angry. I would be, too. But like I said—it’s not me you should be angry with. I’m only trying to help.” Taking a slow, dignified sip from his glass, Garrison crossed one leg over the other. “I’m here to talk to you, aren’t I? You look like you need some helpful advice.”

  “You’re my problem, McPhee, not the solution.”

  “That’s not very neighborly of you.”

  “You ain’t my neighbor.” Briggs raised his shot glass and gestured toward Garrison’s black eye. “I’m surprised you’re willing to come within ten feet of me.”

  Garrison chuckled with too much confidence. “We’re in a public place, Mr. Brigman. If you lay a hand on me, there are plenty of gentlemen here to come to my aid.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

  Garrison took a drink, staring straight ahead. “No?”

  “No. I could talk to the sheriff. You’d be locked up before you even knew you’d left the room.”

  “Locked up? And how may I ask would the charges read?”

  “They’d read exactly as they should. They’d spell bigamy with a capital B.”

  Garrison nearly choked on his drink. “Is that what she told you? I must admit, that’s not one she’s used before.” Garrison swallowed another mouthful, then smiled and dropped his hand onto Briggs’s shoulder. “Bigamy. How original. But in this case, I’m not the bigamist, Brigman. She is. I suppose that makes you one, too.”

  Brigg’s felt his guts twisting like a corkscrew. “I’ll have you know my brother is a lawyer. He’s checked into things for me. My marriage to Sarah is valid. Yours isn’t.”

  Garrison scoffed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh. This is very serious.”

  “You bet it is. I think it’s about time you tell me what’s so funny.”

  Garrison reached for Briggs’s bottle of whiskey. “May I? Perhaps you should have another, too.” Briggs watched as Garrison filled both their glasses. “This is always difficult.”

  Briggs glared intensely at him.

  “I’ve had to do this before, you see. It’s not the first time Sarah has gone off for a new life and I’ve had to bring her home, and you’re not the first man she’s married.”

  Feeling tired all of a sudden, Briggs rested his forehead in his hand.

  “I see you’re surprised,” Garrison said.

  He looked up. “I’m only surprised you’re fool enough to make any of this up.”

  “I’m not making it up. She’s my wife and she has a problem.”

  Briggs downed the rest of his whiskey and slammed the glass onto the table. He wiped his sleeve across his mouth and stood up to leave. “Why don’t you go back to Boston and take your lunatic stories with you.” Briggs walked toward the door. The confident sound of Garrison’s voice stopped him.

  “I suppose she told you her parents were dead.”

  Briggs froze. He stared out over the swinging saloon doors at the curtain of rain cascading from the roof. Slowly, he turned around to face Garrison. The man had risen and moved to stand at the bar.

  “Did she say they’d died in a train accident? Or was it the Pox?”

  Every thought in Briggs’s head was humming with anger and disbelief. This couldn’t be. Why had he even stopped to listen? He knew he couldn’t trust Garrison.

  “Well?” Garrison asked. “Which was it? And was this when she was a child? Or was it recently?”

  Swallowing his unease, Briggs searched his brain for an answer. Before they were married, Sarah had written him and told him they’d died four months ago. She’d later told him four years. Which was it?

  Garrison poured more whiskey into both glasses. “Maybe you should have another drink.”

  Briggs didn’t want another drink. He didn’t want to look at Garrison another minute. But he did want answers. Most likely, Garrison was playing him for a fool. At least, that’s what he hoped.

  Slowly, cautiously, Briggs returned to the bar and wrapped his hand around the glass. “What else?”

  Garrison reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a cigar. “I’m assuming she told you they were dead, then.”

  “Aren’t they?”

  He cut off the tip of the cigar and lit it, shaking his head as he puffed a few times in succession. “They are alive and well in Chicago.”

  Briggs felt his chest constrict.

  “You must have had a feeling that something wasn’t quite right,” Garrison said. “Instinct? She would have come to you with some obvious experience in the bedroom. Didn’t that suggest anything to you?”

  Unwilling to confide in this man, Briggs stood in silence. But yes, his instincts had been to doubt her, but he’d told himself at the time it was his own problem—that he had come to the relationship a skeptic. Even George had tried to convince him of that.

  But perhaps it had not been because of what happened with Isabelle. Maybe his instincts had been correct all along….

  He gulped down another mouthful of whiskey and felt it sear its way down to his knotted stomach. He looked at Garrison. “If it’s as you say, why do you keep taking her back?”

  Garrison puffed on his cigar. “You should know the answer to that. You’ve been with her a month. She’s an incredible woman.”

  Briggs stared down at his glass and worked hard not to reveal anything.

  Garrison continued. “There’s something about her, don’t you think? Something that makes you want to protect her, even when you know she can take care of herself, better than anyone, in fact. I suppose I’m no different from you. I want her still, after everything she’s done. The thought of letting her go, well, I can’t easily live with that. Isn’t that how you feel, too? Aren’t you trying to justify all this, to figure out a way to fix it and put it behind you?”

  Briggs didn’t answer Garrison, but the question flapped wildly in his brain. Sarah had deceived him from the beginning, saying that she’d never been married. Then, to trick him on their wedding night as she had….

  Briggs prepared himself for the question he was about to ask. “Do you have children?”

  “No. Sarah doesn’t want any, and she knows how to prevent it.”

  By now, Briggs’s head was spinning…his limbs felt shaky. And it had nothing to do with the whiskey.

  He tipped his glass back to empty it. Laying his money on the bar, he turned away.

  “Where are you going?” Garrison asked.

  “Home.”

  Garrison’s hand snaked out and clasped Briggs’s arm. “What are you going to do? I won’t stand by and let you beat her. Just let her go. That’s all you have to do. Bring her back to me and I’ll take her home where she’ll be safe. You can forget any of this ever happened.”

  Briggs hesitated, glaring down at this man before him.

  “You’ll give me your word? You won’t mark her?” Garrison implored.

  Mark her? Briggs’s gut wrenched with disgust. “That ain’t how I handle things.”

  Walking out of the saloon, disillusioned, Briggs wondered how he would handle this, when all he wanted to do at the moment wa
s put Sarah on the first train back east, and never lay eyes on her again.

  * * *

  Walking back to George’s house, Briggs had to focus hard on not staggering around the cow patties and falling face first into the mud. In fact, in his pathetic, intoxicated condition, he wasn’t sure he could distinguish between the two.

  He flipped his wet hair out of his eyes so he could see better in front of him. The rain had finally stopped but the road remained a sticky pool. With each step, he sank down at least four inches, the dark muck pulling at his boots.

  And oh, God, his head…pounding like a drum. He should have known better than to accept that last drink. He should have known better than to take the first one. He’d never had much use for liquor. It dulled a man’s senses.

  By the time he reached George’s house, it was sufficiently dark. He stopped on the veranda to scrape the mud off the soles of his boots, and paused there, gazing blurry-eyed at the lighted windows. He didn’t want to go inside. He didn’t want to do what he had to do, but the time for indecision was over. He just didn’t want to get Sarah into trouble with the law….

  Nearly losing his balance, he reached out to grasp the door handle, and kicked himself again for drinking all that whiskey.

  He entered the dimly-lit house.

  No one came to greet him.

  The silence pulsated around his garbled senses.

  Standing unsteadily in the foyer, he heard a chair slide out from the kitchen table. George appeared. “You’re back,” he said softly.

  “Yes. Where’s Sarah?”

  “She’s resting. I’ll get her.” He made a move to go upstairs.

  “No. Don’t.”

  George stopped on the bottom step. “I promised her I’d wake her if…when you returned.”

  “I don’t want you to.”

  Suddenly, the room began to spin and Briggs stepped sideways. George grabbed his arm and drew his brows together. “Are you drunk?”

  “No. Yes. I had a few drinks, but I’m fine.”

  Wearing a disapproving frown, George went into the parlor and lit a second lamp. “It’s not like you to take a drink, Briggs.”

  “I know, and believe me, I’m already regretting it.”