The Outlaw's Second Chance

by Angie Dicken

  “You bought my freedom, Mrs. Stanton.” She could hear his grin as he spoke. “And the chance to work and build your mama’s ranch.”

  “That’s hardly a gift. But I sure do appreciate your work while I sew. So really, that’s a gift from you, Cort.” She threaded her fingers through his hand on her waist. If he only knew all that he’d given her. When the perfect moment came, she’d share even more with him.

  “I’ll build ten ranches for the chance to see you wear a dress like you did on our wedding day.” He softly chuckled.

  She leaned her head back on his shoulder and sighed. “That is a lovely dress. Just like my mother’s. Wish she’d have seen it.”

  “I am sure she was smiling down that day.”

  Aubrey had replayed the most amazing fall afternoon in her mind at least a dozen times over this past winter. While Cort had built benches for their prairie wedding, Aubrey had sewn her dress diligently. She had plenty of help getting ready, too. Cassandra had agreed to stay for the wedding and moved into Aubrey’s home with Trevor. The widow had only one condition in gracing the prairie with her presence for the long term—that she could pamper Aubrey just like every bride-to-be deserved. Cassandra busied about the place, preparing for the guests with elegant bows fashioned from dried prairie grasses, and practiced beautiful combinations of braids and curls with Aubrey’s hair each night as she sewed. Cass had quickly become the best wedding attendant, and the only sister she’d ever known.

  On her wedding day, Aubrey had approached the small affair without any blood relatives present, but her heart was full just the same. Only the Jessups, the Hickses, Cassandra and Trevor witnessed their union. Everyone had sat comfortably at sunset, and she and Cort exchanged their vows where they had staked their claim on the land. Aubrey had found the land she’d always hoped for, but she was overwhelmed by the new family she’d discovered, too.

  “Okay, Boss, you can stand right here.” He took her hand now and twirled her around, kissing her nose before facing her away. His strong arms snaked around her from behind. “Mrs. Stanton, your neck is covered in goose bumps. You sure you’re not excited about this present?”

  She playfully elbowed him. “Maybe a little.” Those wild butterflies that he’d riled up so often now began to stir along with a faint nagging that tugged more often these days.

  “Well, you’re standing right in front of it.”

  “Am I?”

  He nudged her forward and whispered, “Go ahead.”

  She pulled down the handkerchief from her eyes.

  The spring sunshine stole her sight for a moment. She rubbed her eyes. They stood facing the street. Townsmen and horses with carts passed by.

  “Where’s the surprise?” Perhaps he’d bought her a horse? Maybe one to break in the new corral he’d finished last week. The ranch was slow-going, but Cort was a strong worker and had even hired a hand of his own. She looked up and down the street, wondering which hitched steed might be hers.

  “Over there, Aubrey.”

  She followed his pointing finger. The wooden walk on the other side of the busy street was new, as were the many buildings that seemed to spring up at the last frost of winter. There was a blacksmith now and a new hotel. A mercantile and a—

  “Tailor’s? Did Mr. Caldwell change locations?” Directly across from them was a large window with an empty wire mannequin displayed.

  “Look up, wife.”

  She raised her hand above her eyes and squinted upward. A sign hung above the door said Dresses by Aubrey Stanton.

  He heart flipped and she gasped. “What in the world?” She faced her husband and took him by the shoulders. “Cort, what did you do?”

  “I am making your dreams come true. All of them.” His green eyes sparkled with so much love and excitement she threw her arms around his neck. He spun her around just like he’d done after their first kiss as husband and wife.

  “Come on—let’s go inside.” He grabbed her hand and they rushed across the street. “There’s more.”

  “More?” She swallowed hard, trying to ignore the dizziness from spinning and the topsy-turvy roll of her stomach.

  They entered a small space lined with empty shelves. A fresh wood scent filled her nostrils. Their footsteps echoed as she circled the room with Cort close behind. She began to envision the swatches of fabrics and spools of threads.

  “Cort Stanton, this is too much.” She reached a trembling hand for his, unable to focus on any one thing.

  He took it and squeezed. “It’s just enough. I think there’s plenty of room to grow a business. Don’t you?”

  “Plenty.” She reached up and gave him a soft kiss. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you. I finally don’t have to hide my name anymore. Did you see it on the storefront?”

  She smiled wide. “I did. But that’s my name, too. I’ll never hide it.” She winked and continued to explore the space.

  Her fingers shakily brushed a gorgeous Singer machine in the corner. On the desk next to it was an envelope with her name on it. The handwriting wasn’t Cort’s, but it was familiar.

  She opened it and read:

  Dear sis,

  I’m sorry I didn’t stick around for the wedding. I know you and Cort both forgave me for the mess I caused. Just took some time to shake off all the ill feelings, and also, to forgive myself. Pa’s same as ever, but he’s slowing down a bit. I seem to catch him with your letter nearly every day. He’s even started going to church when he’s sober.

  Thought I’d send you a wedding gift. I’ve been working for the doctor in town and have started saving. This machine is supposed to be every seamstress’s dream, according to Maureen.

  Love you, sis. Keep in touch.

  Ben.

  Aubrey’s eyes flooded with tears. “This is from my brother?” She nearly hugged the sewing machine, thinking of all the redemption it represented. The stolen horse, the broken dreams of her mother, fetching the sheriff from Texas and all the old ways of Pa seemed to fade into old memories, replaced by this beautiful gift. “Can’t believe he sent this.”

  “Yes, it’s the perfect addition, don’t you think?”

  “It is.” Her stomach flipped and she thought it was the perfect time to give Cort his own surprise. “Speaking of additions.”

  He lifted his hat and scratched his head. “I was going to tell you that we’ve started the plot for that barn at the back—”

  “Not that.” She rushed up to him and gathered up his hands. “Cort, I think this is a perfect little dress shop to make little dresses, too, don’t you think?” She placed his palms on her belly.

  “Little dresses?” His mouth fell. “What, are you—”

  “Yes,” she warbled through tears. “We’re going to have a baby, Cort.”

  Those emerald pools filled up, and she caught his first tear on the tip of her finger.

  “I never dreamed in a million acres that I’d be a pa,” he whispered.

  “There’s no other man that I’d trust with that task,” Aubrey said. “And no other name I’d want for my child than Stanton.”

  “I thought this day would be all about you, but you’ve gone and made me the happiest man alive, Aubrey.” He wrapped her in his arms and she breathed in the familiar scent of leather with peppermint.

  “No happier than I am,” she said, perfectly content in his embrace. She sighed and held on awhile, because there was no place she’d rather be than in the arms of her cowboy.

  * * * * *

  If you enjoyed

  THE OUTLAW’S SECOND CHANCE,

  look for

  THE MARSHAL’S MISSION by Anna Zogg

  or

  FAMILY OF CONVENIENCE by Victoria W. Austin.

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  Dear Reader,

  Thank you so much for taking this journey with Cort and Aubrey. The Oklahoma Land Run is one of those special events in American history that has fascinated me since my teen years. I was thrilled to dream up a land-run story where romance grew as quickly as the land was settled.

  During my research, I discovered that outlaws and women were noted among the more than 100,000 settlers who arrived to stake their claim in 1893. This venture was not for the faint of heart. The race took place during a nationwide depression, and the Oklahoma territory had yet to recover from a severe drought. I was amazed at how quickly towns were built after the run, and how resourceful those settlers had to be when they claimed a quarter section. Some soddies even became generational homes for families. Imagine living in a home that was built by the hands of your family members, from the very land found in such adversity on that hot day in September. To endure such hardships, I would say you’d have to have Aubrey’s determination and Cort’s work ethic. Wouldn’t you?

  Please visit my website, angiedicken.com, for updates on upcoming novels. I would also love to connect with you on social media.

  God bless,

  Angie Dicken

  Keep reading for an excerpt from MAIL-ORDER MARRIAGE PROMISE by Regina Scott.

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  Mail-Order Marriage Promise

  by Regina Scott

  Chapter One

  Seattle, Washington Territory

  April 1874

  Dottie Tyrrell sat in the Pastry Emporium wondering what her groom looked like.

  Not that she found looks all that indicative of character. Certainly Frank had been handsome, and he’d turned out to be a despicable rat. But it did seem odd to have traveled all the way from Cincinnati to Washington Territory and not have any picture in her mind of the man she had come to marry.

  She settled her blue-and-purple-striped skirts around her on the wooden chair, then pushed a blond curl back from her face. Oh, but she was fussing, and why not? It wasn’t every day you expected to see your husband come walking through the door.

  His sister had tried to describe the fellow to Dottie in her letters, but Beth Wallin’s reference points had meant little.

  “John isn’t as tall as Drew and Simon, our oldest brothers,” the young lady had written, “but he has a bit more muscle than Simon or James. His hair used to be red, but it’s darkened over the years to look more like madrone tree bark, and his eyes are a darker green than Ma’s were.”

  So Dottie had no idea of his height or weight. She’d never seen a madrone tree, but she could only assume John’s hair was some shade of brown. Not particularly helpful!

  She took a sip of the tea she had ordered earlier. The liquid trembled in the bone china cup. She was about to marry a stranger. Why, with everything she’d written to his sister, John Wallin knew more about Dottie than she knew about him!

  Very likely he’d be able to pick her out the moment he walked in the door. The bakery was cozy, with a wide counter at the back next to a glass cabinet, where all manner of delicacies lay waiting for a hungry buyer. Six small wooden tables, all occupied, were clustered to one side so patrons could stop and enjoy their treats. The scents of cinnamon and vanilla hung in the air. With few women in the bakery, and all of them attended by a husband or children, the mail-order bride Mr. Wallin’s sister had arranged for him would be glaringly apparent.

  Dottie drew in a breath as she set down the teacup. A part of her, the part that remembered a mother and father deeply in love and that had gloried in stories of courtly romance, urged her to jump up and flee. Marriage was a sacred institution, meant to unite those committed to making a life together in love.

  Funny how she still believed that even after Frank had made a mockery of their vows.

  She pushed away the memory and her troubled emotions. She had given her word and accepted Mr. Wallin’s money to travel to Seattle. She could sigh all she liked for what might have been, but she had to remember she had someone else depending on her now. For her son’s sake, she would marry a man of stability and property, even if that meant tucking her heart away in a trunk with her wedding veil.

  Another gentleman entered the restaurant, the fifth in the past quarter hour, and Dottie sat straighter, made herself smile in greeting. The telegram she’d received in San Francisco on her way to Seattle had said to meet John Wallin in this bakery, on this day, at this very hour. Was that her man?

  He seemed more heavy than muscular in his plaid suit; she was certain the floorboards squeaked in protest as he marched to the counter. The tweed cap hid his hair, but his bushy beard was reddish brown. The same young lady with dark brown hair who had served Dottie tea nodded in welcome, and he snapped out an order for cinnamon rolls before turning to survey the crowd with narrowed eyes, fingers clasped self-importantly around his paunch.

  Please, Lord, not him.

  Dottie dropped her gaze to her gloved hands. That was unkind. She had no reason to expect anything special in her husband. She’d come all this way hoping to find a compassionate man who could provide for and protect her and little Peter. Perhaps someone who enjoyed literature as much as she did, though she wasn’t even sure John Wallin could read or write, as his sister had corresponded for him.

  Beth had explained that her brother was a very busy man and the lot of finding him a bride had fallen to her. Her writing had been so friendly and open that Dottie had dared to hope John Wallin would be equally so. If Dottie had been less than entirely open, it was only because she had learned the hard way to be more cautious. She’d said nothing to Beth about Peter and had arranged for him to stay back at the hotel with a lady they’d met on the boat. Time enough to introduce him once she’d had a chance to meet with John Wallin.

  Now she made herself raise her head and return the gaze of the burly man at the counter. He lifted his brows, then grinned at her, and her stomach squirmed.

  “Mrs. Tyrrell?”

  Dottie blinked, then refocused on the young woman who had stepped up to her table. She had pale blond hair, fashionably done up like Dottie’s to fall behind her, and wide, dark blue eyes. Her gown of sky blue crepe trimmed in ecru lace was right out of Godey’s Lady’s Book.

  “Yes,” Dottie said. “I’m Mrs. Tyrrell. Do I know you?”

  The young lady’s smile broadened on her round face and brightened the rainy day. “You most certainly do. I’m Beth Wallin.”

  Before Do
ttie could offer a greeting, John’s younger sister pulled out the chair across from hers and took a seat. “I’m so glad to meet you in person at last! I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, but then so have you. You’re exactly as I pictured you. I just know John is going to love you.”

  The tea bubbled up inside Dottie, threatening to choke her. She didn’t believe John Wallin would love her. She certainly had no expectation of falling in love with him. She would be a good partner—working beside him on his farm, keeping his house. Beyond that, she was not willing to promise.

  “Are we expecting your brother soon?” she asked, almost afraid to look toward the fellow at the counter again.

  She nearly slid from her chair in relief when Beth glanced at the door instead. “Any moment. He had other business in town. He’s very conscientious. And kind. And thoughtful. But I told you all that already.”

  She had. Dottie hated to admit even to herself how she’d clung to the words in Beth’s effusive letters. “Kind” had been repeated many times. So had “sweet” and “good-natured.” Even the initial ad that had opened their correspondence had seemed thoughtful, hopeful. Small wonder she’d chosen that one to answer.

  She’d been in a bad way then, desperate enough to riffle through the local paper that reprinted ads for men seeking brides. The moment she’d sent off the letter in response to the ad from “a gentleman from Seattle,” she’d regretted it. How could she, who had been lied to so cruelly, trust another man to tell her the truth? How could she take such a chance?

  Because she needed to give Peter security, safety.

  Beth Wallin’s letters had calmed her spirit, made her feel welcomed, valued. But still doubts persisted. She had forced herself to take each step—giving up her one-room flat in Cincinnati, boarding the train to California, taking a ship north to Puget Sound. Now here she sat, waiting to meet the man who would be her new husband.