Sarah frowned. “How in the world did you hear about that?”
“Everybody knows. Aside from that, the reverend’s daughter was here this morning, hiring out a horse. Seems like Briggs is finally going to get her back.”
Sarah staggered back a step. “The reverend’s daughter… Do you mean Isabelle?” Her stomach careened. “When did she go?”
“This morning. I reckon she’s there by now.”
Shock held Sarah immobile. That witch!
“You still want that buggy?” the man asked.
For a moment she just stood there, the world turning red before her eyes. What if Isabelle cried her heart out on Briggs’s shoulder and begged him to take her back. What would he do?
And what about the baby? Briggs already thought Sarah was a liar and could not be trusted. Wouldn’t he think she was now using her condition to get what she wanted? Hadn’t he always been quick to think the worst of her? And what if he thought it was Garrison’s? And what if it actually was?
Sarah looked up at the wood rafters, trying to decide what to do. A meadowlark flew back and forth, trapped high in the peaked ceiling. When it swooped down and found its way out the wide barn door, Sarah exhaled sharply and met the man’s waiting gaze. “I want that buggy. If you please.”
She would then ask George to drive her.
A few minutes later, Sarah was pacing back and forth in front of the livery, waiting for the man to bring the buggy around. Her courage cracked slightly when she pictured herself pulling into the homestead. What if Isabelle was inside the dugout, preparing a meal? What if Briggs was there too, sliding his hands around her waist and pulling her into his arms? Burying his lips in her neck?
If Sarah walked in on that scene, she might lose her mind.
Biting her thumbnail, she decided to see what was taking the man so long. She walked around the side of the building and collided hard with someone.
Taken aback, she looked up. “No. Not now.”
Garrison grabbed hold of her broken arm. Sarah shrieked, the pain so intense, she sank to her knees. “It has to be now, love. Otherwise, we’re going to miss our train.” He dragged her toward the station.
“No! Someone help me!”
Garrison whirled around and withdrew a pistol from the inside pocket of his black coat. He pressed his cold palm over her mouth, and dragged her along with the gun pressing into her temple. “One more peep and I’ll shoot you right here. I’d rather you be dead than in the arms of that brute you call a husband.”
* * *
“Hello, Briggs,” Isabelle greeted, her long strides fluid and graceful. Stopping a mere foot away, she smiled warmly. “I heard about everything. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t imagine you out here all alone.”
“You heard what, exactly?” he asked with a frown.
“George filed annulment papers at the courthouse this morning. I’m afraid Dodge has a way of spreading news about people’s personal affairs. We both can attest to that.”
He buried his hands in his coat pockets. “You came all the way out here by yourself? That wasn’t a wise thing to do, Isabelle—”
“Oh, hush. It was early in the day and I remembered enough not to lose my way.”
He recalled the last time she’d been here, and how she had looked over everything with such shock and disdain….
“Still, it’s not exactly—”
“Not exactly what?” she challenged, in that melodic tone she liked to use whenever she wanted to get her way. Funny, how he used to dissolve into a thousand besotted pieces over that voice, and everything else about her.
She raised an eyebrow. “Appropriate? These days, I hardly think my reputation is worth protecting. I’ve been married and deserted, and now I’m going to be a mother.” She lowered her gaze. “A mother without a husband.”
Briggs blinked a few times. “I didn’t know that.”
“No one does. Not even my father.” She wandered toward her horse and stroked his muzzle. Briggs felt an odd sense of pity—something he hadn’t imagined he’d ever feel for Isabelle. She’d always gotten everything she’d ever wanted. Even at his expense.
“I’m sorry about your circumstances,” he said, taking a step forward, then stopping himself.
“I know you are.” She faced him with a genuine look of regret, and for the first time, Isabelle seemed like a real person to him, not just a flawless beauty. He could see that she was a bit broken inside and humbled by the harsh realities of the world. “But I didn’t come all the way out here to talk about me,” she continued, pasting on a more familiar, dazzling smile. “You’re the one who needs a sympathetic shoulder today. I don’t suppose you’ve eaten.”
He gestured toward the barn. “I was just finishing up some chores—”
“Well, I have just the thing for a hungry man.” She dug into her saddle bag. “I brought enough sandwiches for an army, plus a bag of my own home baked sweets. I remember how much you loved my molasses cookies.”
He stood in the yard, staring. As much as he would like to believe that his former betrothed was just being kind, he knew she wanted something. Something he wasn’t, and would never be, able to give her.
He wondered uneasily how he was going to handle this. He gestured toward the house, and together they went inside.
Briggs set the bucket down in the dark dugout, and accidentally kicked a chair as he moved toward the window to open the curtains. When he turned, Isabelle was still standing on the bottom step, looking around the one-room house.
After a general perusal, she moved all the way in and set her saddlebag on the table. “I see a definite improvement since the last time I was here. Sarah certainly branded the place.” She walked to the window. “What lovely curtains.” She rubbed the fabric together between her thumb and forefinger and noticed the dried flowers in the vase. “I’ll have to replace these first thing.”
Briggs’s stomach lurched.
“Yes, a new bouquet tomorrow,” Isabelle chirped.
Tomorrow. He hadn’t thought of that. Of course, she was going to have to stay somewhere over night. She couldn’t very well ride back to town, alone in the dark. Maybe Howard and Martha would be kind enough to provide a bed for her.
Isabelle clasped her hands behind her back and wandered around the room, looking at everything. “Shall we dig into those sandwiches?” he asked, wanting to put an end to the awkward evaluation.
“Of course! Pardon me for snooping around. You must be famished.”
She laid the sandwiches in a decorative circle on a tin plate, and set it on the table. Briggs sat down and began to eat, thankful for a reason not to talk.
Afterwards, Isabelle cleared away the empty plate and wiped the crumbs off the table, then began to make coffee. Within moments, its rich aroma filled the house, and Isabelle poured them each a cup. “So, I heard Sarah’s old beau came to take her back.”
Old beau. Obviously, the more degenerate parts of the story had somehow been concealed.
“They must have loved each other very much. I’m sorry, Briggs. You must know I can’t bear to think of how we parted. Yet here we are, sitting together as friends. You’re not angry with me?”
Why, he wondered, did the conversation always come back to her? “Of course not.” Yet the truth of it was, he hadn’t given it much thought. It wasn’t so much a forgiveness. It was a gradual fading of anger, or more accurately, a growing indifference.
Isabelle sipped the last of her coffee. “You know, Briggs, it doesn’t have to be so painful for you. I could come back. We could finally have what we both wanted before things went so wrong. Since we’ve been apart,”—she wiped a single tear from the corner of her eye—“I’ve missed you.” Her voice broke on the last word.
Briggs dutifully reached across the table and patted her hand.
“You were always so kind to me, Briggs. So caring. I was a fool to leave you. Zack was so unpredictable and so vulgar sometimes. He always wanted to be the center of every
one’s attention. But you were always calm and settled. I realize now that to be settled is exactly what I want.” She raised her lids to reveal blue eyes now drowning in tears. “You’re what I want.”
Briggs sat staring at her, his pulse pounding inside his head. Here she was. Isabelle. Returned to him. Every night for two full months after she’d left him, he’d lain awake wondering where she was, how she was, and hoping beyond hope that she was missing him, just a little, and would change her mind.
He leaned back, watching her slowly rise from her chair. Reaching into her bag, she withdrew a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes, then walked to the window. Briggs pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. Even in the heat of this situation, as he faced the fulfilment of an old fantasy, he was thinking of Sarah.
“You’ll be all right,” he told her, approaching. “You’re strong, Isabelle. You’ll manage.”
“But must I manage alone?” Her hand glided along his jaw and slid under his hair to cup his neck.
Then, to his surprise and dismay, she rose up on her toes to kiss him.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Briggs looked down at Isabelle, her eyes closed, her lips parting in their approach. Her mouth touched his, and what should have been heaven, felt like hell.
Hands on her shoulders, he gently pushed her back down and shook his head. “I’m sorry, but no.”
Her arched brows came together in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“I can’t be with you, Isabelle.”
“Why not?” Her head cocked to the side. “I’d stay this time, I give you my word. Zack can jump off a cliff for all I care—”
“It’s not about Zack,” he said.
She stepped away.
“I did want you, Isabelle. Once. But I married someone else. I fell in love with someone with else.”
“You may have gotten married, but everyone knows you’d placed an ad, so it couldn’t have been love. You just married her to get over me.” The sparkle in her eyes died, as if she suddenly realized she’d said the wrong thing.
Oh, God, Briggs hated this. “Maybe at the time I did it to get over you,” he explained, hoping to let her down gently, “but I care for Sarah now.”
“But you annulled the marriage,” she argued. “Why did you do that if you loved her? I thought you did it because I was free again.”
He shook his head and began to back away from her. “I’m sorry you thought that, Isabelle, but I made a terrible mistake. I never should have signed those papers.”
Something shifted in the stove. All at once, Briggs knew what he wanted and what he believed—that Sarah was innocent and Garrison McPhee was a no-good blackguard.
God help him, how could he have believed what Garrison said? What was wrong with him? Had it been the whiskey, or was he just a stupid coward when it came to loving someone? Maybe a part of him had wanted Sarah to be taken away from him now, before he fell any deeper into his love for her.
Isabelle began to gather her things. “Zack will come back for me, you know. He won’t be able to live without me. And I only came out here because I felt sorry for you.”
“I know,” he replied, wanting to soften the sting of his rejection. “It’s getting late, though. I’d better drive you back to town.”
“I should hope so,” she haughtily replied as she scooped up her saddlebag and stormed out.
* * *
Briggs dropped Isabelle off at her father’s house later that night. It had been a long drive through the darkness, and they had both felt the chill of autumn on their cheeks and hands. Isabelle seemed beyond thankful to be returned to civilization.
Briggs then returned her hired horse to the livery, all the while feeling rushed, as if he were running from a fire someone had lit behind him. He had to find Sarah and apologize. A silent prayer rose up inside him—that she would forgive him, that she might give him another chance.
He pulled up in front of George’s house, set the brake on the wagon, and glanced up at the bedroom window. A fluttering of butterflies erupted in his stomach. He couldn’t wait to see Sarah, to hear her voice, smell the sweet rosewater perfume he’d come to associate with only her.
Dear Lord, let her be there, and let her hear me out.
He hopped down and raced up the porch steps. He was about to reach for the copper door handle, when the door opened wide. George stood there, his face flushed red with anger.
“What’s wrong?” Briggs asked.
George didn’t answer. Instead, he took a step forward, hauled back his fist, and punched Briggs in the nose.
Pain spread through his cheeks like wildfire. “What was that for?”
George turned away and strode back into the kitchen. Briggs followed, realizing with shock that his brother had never hit him in all their lives. He’d never had reason to, Briggs supposed.
“You gonna tell me what the problem is?”
George sat down, his face suddenly pale.
“Don’t worry,” Briggs said. “I’m not going to return the gesture. I’d rather you tell me what this is about.”
George flung a piece of paper toward him. “It’s about this.”
With one hand cupped over his nose, Briggs used the other to pick up the paper.
“It’s a telegram from a colleague in Massachusetts,” George said. “I wanted to be certain that I’d done the best thing for you with that annulment. So this morning, I wired him and asked him to look into your little legal problem.”
Briggs read the telegram. “When did you get this?”
“About an hour ago. It seems Sarah was telling the truth all along.”
“I already know that George.”
“Well, you don’t know this,” George added. “Garrison is wanted in three different states. Not just for bigamy. For polygamy, under a number of different names. Sarah was wife number four, poor thing, and she had no idea.”
Briggs sank into a chair.
“Sarah tried to do the right thing,” George said. “She tried to work things out with you, but you just assumed she was lying from the beginning, and I let you talk me into it.”
Feeling sick, Briggs dropped the paper onto the table. “You don’t have to tell me I was wrong. I know that. Where is she? I need to talk to her.”
George gave Briggs a glare that could stop a stampede. “I’m afraid you’re a little late.”
“I know you already filed the annulment papers,” Briggs said impatiently. “That doesn’t matter. I just want to see her. Talk to her. We’ll straighten the rest out later.”
George stood up. “If I wasn’t such a rational person, I’d think you wanted me to punch you again.”
“Why?” Briggs was speechless. George had never acted like this before.
“How the hell did you know I filed the papers? Did a little bird tell you?”
Briggs letting his hand come away from his throbbing nose. “I can explain that—”
“I’m sure you can. Everyone in town knew Isabelle was riding out to see you. She told the widow Harper that you two were finally going to be together, and no one tells the widow anything they don’t want spread all over town by noon.”
“What are you saying?” Briggs asked.
“I’m saying that I tried to find Sarah after I got the telegram. I was going to bring her out to you. But I found out she’d ordered a buggy to go see you herself, then changed her mind when she heard about Isabelle. She just disappeared. The stationmaster told me she got on the train bound for Caldwell. I’m sorry, Briggs. I did everything I could, but she left town tonight.”
Briggs couldn’t accept that. He simply couldn’t. “Was Garrison with her?”
“I don’t know. The stationmaster said a lot of men got on.”
Briggs made for the door. “I’m going after that train, George. Right after I report Garrison to the town marshal.”
* * *
Briggs and George hurried to the wagon. There wasn’t much time. Once they turned Garriso
n in, they would ride to Caldwell, but there was no guarantee they would get there before the train did.
They pulled up in front of the city clerk’s office and Briggs hopped down. “You wait here, George.”
“Are you joking? I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
They knocked once on the door before entering. Marshal Peavy sat behind his desk, his long legs stretched out on the top. “Evening, fellas. What can I do for you?”
“You know that man who came up from Boston?” Briggs said. “His name is Garrison McPhee. You might want to go find him and arrest him.”
The marshal lowered his legs to the floor and leaned forward. “You mean the fella who came to fetch your wife? I heard all about it, Briggs. You have my sympathies. She was a fetching little thing. You don’t have much luck in love, do you, son?”
“No sir, but forget about that,” Briggs said irritably. “George has a telegram from a solicitor in Massachusetts, and he says Garrison McPhee is wanted for polygamy in three states.”
“Polygamy, eh? Federal offense, if I’m not mistaken.”
George moved forward. “That’s right, marshal, and Briggs’s wife, Sarah, reported it to me.”
The marshal eyed Briggs carefully. “Didn’t I hear from old widow Harper that you got an annulment today?”
“Yes, sir, and you may have heard something along the lines of me taking Isabelle back, but that’s just as tall a tale as you’re likely to hear around these parts.”
Briggs and George exchanged a look. George nodded his head.
“My wife was one of Garrison’s wives, sir,” Briggs confess. “But she didn’t know he’d been married before. She was completely taken in.”
George added, “All the women were, as I understand it.”
Marshal Peavy shook his head. “Terrible thing. Your wife must be beside herself.” He rose and fastened his gun belt around his hips.
“Do you think you’ll need that?” Briggs asked.
The marshal donned his black Stetson. “You can never be too sure of anything around here. Do you know where McPhee might be tonight?
“Can’t be sure,” George answered, “but he’s been staying at the Great Western Hotel.”
Mail Order Prairie Bride: (A Western Historical Romance) (Dodge City Brides Book 1) Page 22
