by Cassie Hayes
When it came time for Bart to leave Oregon City at the tender age of seventeen, his family didn’t think twice about letting him take Roamer. The horse wouldn’t allow anyone else to ride him anyway, so there was no point in keeping them apart.
As Bart finished up Roamer’s morning rub-down, he noticed an inch-long split in one of the horse’s hooves. “Dang,” he whispered. Roamer whinnied back at him, wondering what his person was upset about.
The split was still small, and didn’t go very deep, but it would still take a few months for it to grow out. Roamer could be ridden for short rides, but nothing like he was used to. Bart would have to tend to it to immediately to make sure the crack didn’t expand. That would be painful for Roamer and could cause an infection.
Saddling up, Bart patted his old pal’s neck. “We’ll take it slow and then I’ll get you all fixed up. By the time that hoof has grown out, maybe the ranch will be stable enough that we can get back out on the trail again. How does that sound, boy?”
Roamer grunted and set off for home.
~ * ~ * ~
“Aw, fiddlesticks,” Bart cried when they were about halfway back to the ranch. He’d promised Walt to meet him and Nate at the train station today at three o’clock to meet some cattle buyer or another. Bart hardly paid attention to the business part of their concern, preferring to focus on the physical part of the job.
“Go on your safari, Bart,” Walt had said, “but promise on Roamer’s life that you’ll be at the station. Promise.”
“Yeah, yeah, big brother,” he vaguely remembered saying. “I won’t let you down.”
If he’d remembered his promise before setting off for home, he would have been early, but as it was, they’d gone a fair clip out of their way. Judging by where the sun was in the sky, he was going to be late. Of course, his brothers would expect that, but they would also expect he’d show up eventually. He just hoped the cattle buyer fellow didn’t get too riled up.
~ * ~ * ~
Bart smiled as he rode Roamer at a slow amble through the bustling town of Weatherford. It was three hours north of the ranch and was the closest train stop.
Though the Dalton brothers spent most of their time in Wiggieville, which was just an hour from them, they’d had occasion to visit Weatherford quite a bit, mainly to pick up bulk supplies they couldn’t get in much smaller Wiggieville.
As he passed the Weatherford Church, he tipped his hat at the preacher out front cutting sunflowers from a small garden. From the big basketful he had, it looked like he was collecting them for some event.
“Afternoon, Reverend.”
The preacher looked surprised for a moment, confused even, before replying, “Mr. Dalton.”
Bart was taken aback for a moment. How did the man know who he was? He’d never been to this church. Walt had dragged him and Nate to the Wiggieville Church several times, but never in Weatherford.
Walt! He’d been here for some time before his brothers arrived. No doubt people in town knew him. Rather than correct the preacher, he just nodded and kept Roamer moving, not wanting to further irritate his undoubtedly irritated brothers.
“Aren’t you supposed to be at the station, Mr. Dalton?” How did he know their business? Well, it was a small town and word spread fast. Walt probably stopped in to say hello or something.
“On my way there now, Reverend.”
“See you soon,” the reverend called after him cheerfully. Bart waved a hand noncommittally behind him. He had no intention of making a three-hour-long trip to go to church. His little safari had cost him three days of work already, which he’d have to catch up on before he went socializing again.
As he drew closer to the train depot, Bart recognized his brothers’ wagons. “Shoot!” he murmured. Walt specifically asked him to bring his, too, because they were expecting some freight or another on the train, along with the cattle buyer. He’d plumb forgot. Even if he hadn’t, going all the way back to the ranch and getting it rigged would have made him really late instead of just thirty minutes or so. He could only hope that whatever Walt ordered would fit in the two wagons.
The town’s small depot was a muted yellow with brown trim, and didn’t have much room inside for resting. Consequently several people were sitting outside in the shade of the building — three ladies and four men, one of whom was pacing furiously on the platform looking each direction down Main. Even from a distance, he could tell it was Walton. He’d always been pretty tightly wound.
Bart brought Roamer to a stop near the platform, doing his best to ignore the glare Walt was burning into his back as he tied the horse to a post and dusted himself off. What was he so fired up about? After twenty-seven years, he should know by now that Bart was late as often as he wasn’t. Maybe more so. Couldn’t the two of them entertain a solitary cattle buyer on their own for a few minutes?
Climbing the slightly warped steps to the platform, he couldn’t help noticing the extreme beauty of two of the three ladies seated on a long bench. One was yellow-haired with a dress that matched, the other was a brown-haired girl whose innocence could take a man’s breath away. The third woman, who sat a little ways from the others, was pleasant enough to look at but the sour expression on her face made him feel sorry for whatever man put it there.
She was a tiny little thing with the fairest skin he could ever remember laying eyes on. There was a fetching smattering of freckles across the bridge of her pert nose, and her brown hair — no, wait, it was more chestnut than brown — complemented her coloring nicely. But when she flashed her brilliant green eyes at him, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.
Why on earth was she glaring at him?
Walt rushed up and grabbed him by the arm, turning him away from the fearsome little spitfire. “Where have you been?” Walt hissed under his breath. “We’ve been waiting for half an hour!”
“So? Why didn’t you just take the man to the saloon and wait for me there?”
Bart looked over at the two other men on the platform, but they were engrossed in their own conversation and heading down the stairs. Nate was standing a few paces away, staring off into the distance. Every few seconds, his eyes would cut over to the pretty brunette and then over to his brothers and back to the distance again. He looked in shock.
“What’s going on, Walt? Where’s the cattle man? And what the heck is wrong with Nate? He looks like he just got hit in the face with a frying pan.”
Walt flushed and dropped his gaze. Clearing his throat, he said, “Well, he did, after a fashion.”
Bart was keenly aware that the fiery redhead was watching his every move. He was flattered but also a bit puzzled. There were two other identical versions of him standing right there — why was she watching him?
Walt pulled him toward the bench full of ladies and stopped in front of the spitfire. “Miss Bonnie Blue, this is my brother Bart Dalton.”
Miss Blue pursed her lips and stood, squaring her shoulders before thrusting her delicate right hand at him. His massive paw practically swallowed it as he shook it as gently as he could manage. He was afraid of breaking her, despite the fiery daggers she was shooting at him with those dazzling green eyes.
“Bart,” his brother continued, “meet your bride.”
Chapter 3
“You’re late.” It was the only thing Bonnie could think to say to ‘her’ groom. But he was only hers by default. And that was assuming he didn’t turn around and walk away.
It probably shouldn’t have surprised her that the eldest Dalton — Walton, of all names — had been as deceitful to his brothers as she and Libby had been to their sister. But she was surprised.
The moment she and her sisters stepped off the train, she spotted two men who looked identical. The odds of there being a set of twins and a set of triplets meeting that particular train seemed low, so she assumed the third brother was simply out of sight.
Raising a tentative hand to the men, Bonnie started across the platform with Libby and a clu
eless Gwen, who was prattling on about the stagecoach ride they were supposed to be taking into Wiggieville to see Anna. The men met them halfway.
“Are you ladies the Blue sisters?” asked one of the men.
“Who are you?” Gwen said, as rude as ever.
“I’m Walton Dalton, and I pick you,” replied the man. Then he did the most amazing thing. He pulled Gwen into a kiss — right there on the platform in front of God and everyone!
Gwen took care of him, though, by stomping on his foot, but he didn’t seem deterred. In fact, he seemed more determined than ever, going so far as to say the preacher was standing by. And poor Gwen had no idea what was going on.
“Mr. Dalton,” Bonnie said, addressing Walton and trying to keep the panic from her voice, “I’m Bonnie. I’m the oldest sister.” He seemed completely nonplussed by this news so she elaborated further. “I believe I’m the one you’re supposed to marry.”
“I don’t care who’s oldest,” he said, gazing down at Gwen. “I’m marrying this one.”
He might just as well have punched Bonnie in the stomach. She’d come all this way expecting to marry the eldest brother and who had he gone for? Gwen, of course. She shouldn’t have been surprised, really, but it still stung.
“I believe your letter said there would be three of you,” she managed to squeak out.
“That’s my brother Nate,” Walton said, nodding at his brother before flicking his eyes around the platform. “Bart should be here by now but I’m sure he’ll be along.”
Bonnie didn’t really care about the inconsiderate brother Bart, who couldn’t be bothered to keep an appointment. She had higher expectations from her future husband.
She turned to look at Nate but he couldn’t seem to rip his gaze away from Libby, who was blushing furiously and peeking up at him from behind her dark lashes. This wouldn’t do at all. She refused to be the consolation prize for the one who didn’t show up on time.
“Libby’s the youngest!” she fairly shouted, drawing surprised looks from everyone. Surely he would do the right thing and choose Bonnie over her baby sister. But of course Nate had been just as surprised as Gwen at the situation he’d found himself in, and he simply looked confused.
To his credit, he adapted much more quickly than Gwen did, as soon as Walton explained, but Bonnie once again found herself ignored and rejected in favor of her prettier sisters. Bitterness settled over her heart at the realization her life would be no different outside of Beckham.
The next twenty or so minutes went by in a blur of explanations and recriminations. Bonnie hardly heard any of it, she was so hurt and humiliated. She’d traveled for what seemed like an eternity in hopes that life in Texas would be different, that she’d have a chance to find love. Of course, she would never admit that to anyone but it was her heart’s secret desire.
And now…now she was leftovers. The discarded garbage the other two brothers didn’t want. She was table scraps! It was all she could do to choke back the tears as they waited for the tardy youngest brother.
She knew he’d be handsome because his brothers were. It was impossible to tell them apart by sight yet but it was easy to figure out just by checking to see which of her sisters one or the other was ogling.
Regardless, his looks hardly mattered because, no matter how she turned it over in her mind, he was going to be disappointed that he was stuck with her. He didn’t know it yet, but he’d drawn the short straw.
What had she been thinking, bringing her sisters along? She’d registered with Elizabeth’s mail order bride agency to leave Beckham — including her family — behind. With nothing to compare her to, her future husband might have been pleased with her. She was extremely skilled at homemaking and, when not standing next to her beautiful sisters, she wasn’t altogether homely.
She’d ruined her entire life by putting the welfare of her sisters ahead of her own, just as she’d always done. Never once growing up had they shown her the same courtesy, so why did she feel so responsible for them? They certainly didn’t refuse the advances of Walt and Nate, even though Bonnie made it very clear she expected to be the first chosen.
For five full minutes, she sat on that bench and hated her sisters. She wished and prayed for a runaway train to jump the tracks and barrel across the platform, taking them all with it. She would be the lone survivor, and the only person to turn up at the group funeral. Of course, she would be draped in black but, behind her dark veil, she would be smiling. Maybe even laughing.
Then Libby reached over and squeezed her hand. The poor child was trembling. Bonnie’s frozen heart melted, and she gave her youngest sister an encouraging smile. She couldn’t begrudge either sister happiness, nor would she wish misery on them. And marrying those lecherous old deacons would have been a life sentence of misery.
Well, if she couldn’t have love, she would at least do everything in her power to make sure her sisters were happy and cared for. If these two men, who were so entranced by their beauty, didn’t do right by them, they’d have Bonnie to answer to.
As for her, she had no choice but to accept the errant Dalton as her husband. What little money they had left after the train journey wouldn’t be enough for her to buy a meal, much less a ticket back home. The question was, would he accept her?
It looked like she was about to find out. Walton was striding across the platform to meet with a third man who looked just like him. Well, not just like him, she realized. There were subtle differences between them.
Walt was thicker and stouter, while Bart was lean. His jawline was a little more angular than either brother and he had a mop of unruly black hair that badly needed cutting. The stubble on his chin hinted that he hadn’t seen a razor in several days, and his clothes were in desperate need of washing. Even his poor old horse was filthy. She could only imagine what he smelled like — the man, not the horse.
As late as Bart was meeting them, Bonnie would have thought he’d have a little giddy-up in his get-along, but in fact he seemed quite unperturbed. Clearly the man was unreliable, inconsiderate and untrustworthy.
Wonderful.
Bonnie was just thinking that maybe marrying Deacon Smith would have been preferable to a layabout ne’er-do-well when Walt led his brother over to make introductions. Swallowing her pride — what was left of it, anyway — she stood and did her best to not glare at the man. Alienating him before he even found out they were to be married wouldn’t help matters.
It wasn’t lost on her that she could have a sharp tongue so she focused on taming it for the time being. She practiced in her head all the pretty things she should say, all compliments and flirting. After watching Gwen do it for so many years, some of it had to have rubbed off on the ugly sister.
But the moment Bart’s deeply tanned and calloused hand enveloped hers, the second his rich brown eyes met her own, all the words — every word she’d ever learned — flew right out of her head. A strange drumming roared in her ears, and she was surprised to discover it was her heart beating wildly. The palm he was holding so gently in his strong hand was suddenly wet with perspiration. Bonnie had never been left speechless in her life, and she didn’t understand her strange reaction to this man.
But the spell was broken when Walt introduced her as Bart’s bride. The look of sheer horror that flashed across his face was enough to bring her out of her stupor. Her brain was still trying to play catch-up but two words managed to rise to the surface. Two words that would show she was no one to be trifled with. Two words that would perfectly signify her disdain for him.
“You’re late.”
Chapter 4
Bart barely heard her admonishment because the word ‘bride’ was still echoing in his brain. Bride? What bride? He didn’t have a bride.
Flicking a questioning glance at Walt, who was grinning like the devil he was, Bart suddenly understood what was happening. Ever since his brothers answered his call for help, Walt had been nagging them to take wives. “They’ll take care of the homes
teads while we’re out working,” he’d say. “A wife is just as important to a rancher as a good cowboy. It’s the next step in building our empire, brothers.”
The half-stunned, half-smitten look on Nate’s face told Bart everything he needed to know. It didn’t take a banker to put two and two together — or in this case, three and three. Walt had gone behind his and Nate’s backs to send away for some eastern brides.
Well, he wasn’t having any of it. He’d told Walt and Nate on that very first day that he would only be staying long enough to help get the ranch running smoothly, a year at most. He wasn’t about to get saddled with a wife he didn’t want. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to her when he finally left.
With a start, Bart realized he was still holding the tiny spitfire’s delicate hand. It felt soft and warm in his own big paw, and for some reason he didn’t fully understand, he was loathe to release it. Before he even had a chance, she snatched it away and thrust her fists to her hips, nearly setting him on fire with her glare.
“I understand this comes as a surprise to you, Mr. Dalton,” she said, her voice filtering through the noise in his head. “It must be a bitter disappointment to you that you’re stuck with me, but I suppose that’s what happens when you’re late for appointments.”
Disappointed? What was she talking about? He wasn’t disappointed as much as he was stunned and angry at Walt. And what did she mean ‘stuck’ with her? Did she really think he was going to marry a total stranger?
Walt jolted him out of his stupor with a sharp slap to his back. “Ready to head to the church?”
The church? The church! That’s why the preacher had said those things. That’s why he was collecting flowers! Oh, lordy. This wasn’t going to be pretty.
“Um, Walt…”
“Um nothing,” interrupted his overbearing, bullheaded brother. “We can’t keep the good reverend waiting. Let’s go!”
