The Feisty Bride's Unexpected Match: A Western Historical Romance Book

by Lydia Olson

  Sarah had ceased her teaching position after her father’s passing, not only because of the grief she experienced, but because of the damage the school also sustained during the storm. It was hard for Sarah not to think of the children, of how they were going to further their education. She said an occasional prayer, hoping that their parents were seeing fit to do that. But that wasn’t the foremost thought in Sarah’s mind—her grief was, her longing to see her father and any sort of comfort that would assist in getting through her pain. The money her father willed to her left her in decent financial standing—but it didn’t ease her emotional pain in the slightest.

  Sitting in the kitchen of Mr. and Mrs. Blythe’s home, up before dawn as she usually was, she awaited Mrs. Blythe’s usual morning cup of tea. The home was just several miles away from where she had lived with her father. Mr. Kelly had survived the ordeal, though he had left the area with his wife after the destruction their home had sustained. So much of the town had been destroyed by the storm, with several people—including her father—having perished along with dozens of properties. Irreparable damage had been done, and the mayor himself had said that the entirety of Beaufort was so compromised by the storm that there was a strong chance the whole town would go under before the end of the year.

  Sarah blew softly over the cup of steaming tea that had been laid out for her just moments before as Mrs. Blythe, a gray-haired woman who always seemed cheerful, rested her palm between Sarah’s shoulder blades.

  “Good morning, my dear,” Mrs. Blythe bid her. “How did you sleep?”

  Sarah forced a thin smile. She looked a little more pale since the whole ordeal, having lost weight from not eating well. “Well enough, Mrs. Blythe,” she said, though her words were not entirely true, because she suffered from nightmares almost nightly since her father’s demise. “Well enough. Where is Mr. Blythe?”

  “Oh, he’ll be out fetching supplies for a good part of the day. I love the dear man, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t appreciate a break from those jokes he repeatedly tells,” she laughed, and it was hard for Sarah not to smile at the clear love the two shared for one another, even after thirty-two years of marriage.

  Mrs. Blythe moved to the tea kettle on on the stove inside the kitchen of the quaint home that sat far away from the shoreline in the heart of Beaufort. Sarah said nothing as she sipped at her tea, trying her best, as she did every day, to not dwell on the sound of her father’s shouts as their house began to collapse.

  Be it desperation to fill the void she had felt after his passing, or simply wishing to have someone—anyone—by her side, she was toying with the idea of responding to the mail order bride inquiry that had been placed by a deputy all the way in Clarendon, Texas, an idea that Mrs. Blythe herself had come up with just a month prior.

  “So,” Mrs. Blythe said, “you received another letter from that fine young man yesterday, yes?”

  Sarah squinted in the light and looked up. “Were you looking at my mail again, Mrs. Blythe?” she said playfully.

  “Oh, no! Of course not, my dear. I simply saw his name on the envelope when the mail was delivered yesterday evening.” She smiled. “Michael Crane,” she said, as if speaking the name elicited a sweet taste on her tongue. “That is quite a strong name, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I would, Mrs. Blythe. He seems like a smart man, strong, gainfully employed.”

  “My dear,” the older woman said, walking over to Sarah and resting a hand on her shoulder, “you have stayed with us for quite some time now, and of course, you are welcome to stay as long as you’d like—but wouldn’t it be prudent to try to find a suitor, a man who can offer you all of the things that my husband and I cannot?”

  Sarah said nothing. It’s true, she thought. It would be nice to have a companion, someone with whom I can share love and affection.

  “Tell me,” Mrs. Blythe said, “how many letters have the two of you exchanged by now?”

  “Four,” Sarah replied.

  “And you seem to have enjoyed the correspondence, have you not?”

  “I have, very much, Mrs. Blythe. I just … need some time to think over his proposition. I am still uncertain about the entire mail order process.”

  “So many men and women have been happily married because of it! I know it’s an intimidating notion to marry someone you never met, but I have a feeling it will benefit you greatly.” Mrs. Blythe placed her finger under Sarah’s chin and gently tilted her head up so Sarah’s eyes would meet her own. “Just think it over, my sweet dear. There is plenty of time.”

  Sarah felt herself forcing a smile, though she was grateful to have been in Mrs. Blythe’s company for the past several months. After her father had passed, after their house had been obliterated along with her life, the Blythes were there to answer the call without a second’s hesitation. She cared for the couple immensely—but she still felt a longing that she was having a terrible time remedying.

  “I think I’ll go for a walk, Mrs. Blythe,” Sarah said.

  “That sounds lovely. Where do you think you will go?”

  Sarah knew where she was going to walk—but she just couldn’t bring herself to say it to Mrs. Blythe.

  “Just for a brief stroll,” Sarah said. “I won’t be long.”

  “Okay. Be safe, Sarah dear,” Mrs. Blythe bid her. “I’ll see you later on.”

  Sarah moved to her room in the back of the home, fetching a small cloth bag she kept in her nightstand along with the four letters she had received from Michael Crane. She clutched them tightly as she left the home, walking toward the heart of town with no particular destination in mind.

  She walked for an hour before she came to a fork in the road, breathing rapidly with a nervous tremble in her hands, knowing the road that jinked to the left led to the remains of the home she once shared with her father.

  Don’t do it, Sarah thought. It will only bring you more pain.

  But even though she protested, even though Sarah knew that laying her eyes on what was left of the home she shared with her father would bring her pain—she began to walk the path anyway.

  The entire trek through Beaufort was a solemn one. Sarah saw the remains of several homes, and even though it had been some time since the storm had blown through, much, if not all of the town, was still tattered and scarred by the storm.

  So many were affected. So many families, including my own. Why did God do this to us?

  Why?

  Sarah arrived on the road leading toward the remnants of her old home, her heart racing and her breath coming faster as she stood there and scanned the area. Tears welled up in her eyes as she approached the pile of remains that was her childhood home, and by the time she saw the front door, the same one she had tried so desperately to reach as her father lay trapped inside, she started to weep and brought a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle the tears.

  Looking at the wreckage made Sarah feel a litany of emotions: grief, anger, despair, uncertainty. She had, in many ways, felt like that in the past few months, but she realized as she looked at the pile of wood and debris that she had been feeling this the entire time, and had merely dismissed it, trying her best not to dwell on it.

  She reached into her pocket, producing the letters from the deputy she was corresponding with, along with the necklace that once belonged to her mother—a silver locket with a picture of her father on one side and one of herself as an infant on the other. Sarah draped the locket around her neck, pressing two fingers against it delicately and breathing slowly as she used her free hand to dab the tears from her eyes.

  “I can’t stay here anymore,” she murmured as she closed her eyes and shook her head. “I cannot stay in this town…”

  But the options felt so limited. Yes, she appreciated corresponding with the deputy. He was a fine-looking man. He seemed kind. He appeared happy, and intelligent, and a good suitor to marry—but Sarah just wasn’t convinced. It would be a simple choice, agreeing to marry him. All she had to do was
make the trek to Arkansas, according to the plan the deputy outlined, take the train to Clarendon, Texas, and her life would be squared away for good. She would want for nothing; she would never have to return to Beaufort or the pain, tragedy, and the sorrowful memories that had plagued her for so long. She could start over, begin a new life, and never look back again.

  Just go, Sarah thought. You may not have feelings for this man—but maybe you will someday. You’ve never been in love before, so why should you deny yourself the chance at possibly having it with this man?

  Still, she wasn’t certain. Something about the whole situation just didn’t feel right. But looking at the destruction all around her, taking in all the damage, chaos, turmoil, and gut-wrenching feelings it caused her to experience, in all of an instant Sarah clutched the letter tightly in her hand, held her head high, and decided that she would leave Beaufort for good and never, ever look back.

  Chapter Two

  Batesville, Arkansas

  The crack of the gunshot whizzed over Deputy Shaw’s head and forced him to fall to his belly. “Good heavens!” he cried. “This boy isn’t coming out!”

  Shaw looked behind him to the other deputy, Gaines, huddled behind a grouping of boulders situated just fifty yards from the front of the shack where Ronny Dawson, the man who was attempting to evade an arrest warrant, had been holed up for the past forty-five minutes with no intention of surrendering. They had attempted to take him into custody back at the saloon in Batesville, but good old Ronny had seen them coming and shot his way out before fleeing to the woods, where he decided to take refuge in a shack that once served as overnight lodging for local hunters.

  “Gaines,” Shaw said, gesturing for him to join him, “get back here! He’s gonna shoot your head clean off!”

  Almost as if it were on cue, another shot cracked through the air and drilled a hole into the ground alongside Gaines. “Lord almighty!” Gaines cried, crawling back on his belly and dirtying up his clothing as he took cover next to Shaw.

  “Of all the days,” Shaw said, clutching his revolver with a slick grip, “for the sheriff to go out of town! Why today?” He looked to the shack. “That boy isn’t coming out. No sir, no way.”

  Gaines peeked over the rock at the shack, a dilapidated structure no bigger than a pair of outhouses situated directly in the center of the woods. The high noon sun cut through the wooded area, casting light across the top of the shack as the sounds of the previous gunshot echoed and then dissipated.

  “I told ya!” Ronny Dawson’s called out from inside the shack. “I’m not having a noose tied around my neck.”

  “I don’t blame him,” Shaw said. “He’s definitely going to hang for that bank robbery job.”

  Two more shots pinged off the boulder that Shaw and Gaines were taking cover behind, causing them to duck lower to practically lie prone on the ground.

  “Will you quiet your mouth, Shaw?” Gaines said. “He can hear you!” He glanced around, dabbing the sweat on his brow.

  “You boys best get on out of here,” Ronny called out. “I’m a better shot than you’ll ever be. Don’t be stupid. I know the sheriff isn’t around, and you two don’t stand a chance!”

  Shaw sighed. “Maybe he’s right. Maybe we should get going.”

  Gaines furrowed his brow, his eyes wide as he glared at Shaw. “Are you nuts? Can you imagine the kind of hell the sheriff will give us if he found out we let Dawson go?”

  “I don’t know about you, Gaines, but I got a wife and a kid. I’m not looking to die today.”

  A powerful belly laugh was emitted from Dawson inside the shack. “Listen to your partner, boy!” he said, chuckling. “You don’t want to die today. In fact, you—”

  Gaines and Shaw waited for Dawson to finish his sentence, but it never came.

  “What’s he doing in there?” Shaw asked.

  Gaines shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe we should—”

  “Hey!” Dawson shouted. “What in the heck is—?”

  The wet sounds of flesh and bone striking against more flesh and bone became audible. From Gaines’ and Shaw’s position they could clearly deduce that it was the noise of one man striking another, hard and repeatedly. The sounds continued for another ten seconds before cutting out in all of an instant, and Gaines and Shaw waited in anticipation as they slowly peeked over the top of the rock they were hiding behind to get a better look.

  Shaw stared at the front of the shack, waiting. Nothing happened for several moments as he licked his lips and secured his grip on his revolver.

  “What’s happened?” Gaines asked. “What’s going on?”

  Shaw shook his head, with nothing but the sound of a bird chirping not far off filling the void. “I don’t know,” he said, waiting as he slowly leveled his gun at the entrance of the shack.

  Two seconds passed. Four. And then the front door to the shack flew open and slammed against the front of the wooden shack.

  Gaines and Shaw stood erect with trembling hands clutching the weapons they were holding onto and aiming at the front of the shack.

  Shaw looked at Gaines with a “say something” look in his eye.

  Gaines cleared his throat. “Alright, now,” he said, “come on out, Dawson! Hands above your head!”

  The two deputies waited for what felt like an eternity as footsteps approached from the inside of the shack. Both men moved closer, pressed shoulder to shoulder as they prepared to take their man into custody. They saw a figure in the doorway, the two of them just a few feet away from the front door as the face of Ronny Dawson came into view, with blood trickling down his lip and a swollen left eye to top it off.

  Shaw cocked his head to the side. “What in tarnation?”

  Ronny Dawson unexpectedly lurched forward, shoved onto the ground face first, which caused a sickly gasp to evacuate his mouth as the wind was knocked out of him.

  The deputies looked up, as another man followed behind Dawson. He was tall, muscular, his curly brown hair falling just past his ears. A pair of emerald green eyes cut through a dark, handsome complexion, and with a cheerful smile on his face he stepped out onto the porch, saluted the deputies with two fingers, and said, “Howdy, fellas.” He nudged Ronny with his foot. “Is this man giving you some trouble?”

  Shaw and Gaines lowered their weapons and sighed with relief as they laid eyes on local rancher, David William Bryant.

  ***

  Ronny Dawson, tossed over the back of the horse that Shaw and Gaines brought with them, was hogtied, grunting and cursing as he struggled in vain to break free.

  “You best knock that off,” Gaines said, “or I’ll just drag you with us.”

  Shaw, removing his Stetson, slapped his palm into David Bryant’s hand. David, at six-foot-two towered a few inches over Shaw. “Thank the Lord you were here,” Shaw said with a sigh. “The two of us might have ended up in caskets by sundown if you hadn’t shown up.”

  David shrugged. “Think nothing of it.” He gestured over his shoulder. “My Pa’s ranch is only a half-mile from here. I could hear the commotion when I went out to fetch some water from the well.”

  “Well, I’m glad you did. And I just avoided a potential ear boxing from the sheriff if I let old Ronny here slip away.”

  Ronny, on his stomach and tethered to the horse that Gaines was towing, spit on the ground. “I’ll see you again, Bryant!” he grumbled. “You best believe that!”

  With a quick, backhanded swipe, Gaines whacked Ronny alongside the head. “Shut your yappin,’ boy,” Gaines said, “or I’ll knock the wind clean out of you like David did.”

  David held up his hands. “Again, don’t worry about it. That poor sap was just a short distance away from my home, and I wouldn’t have been too happy about him looking to find refuge there, should he have gotten away.”

  Gaines slapped David on the arm. “Thank you again, David,” he said before moving to his horse. “You take care of yourself now, you hear?”

  David waved
goodbye as Shaw and Gaines began their ride, towing Ronny on the horse behind them and causing a smirk to slide over David’s mouth.

  “Well,” David said, “that’s one way to start off the afternoon.”

  And with that, he rubbed his palms together, sighed, and started the short walk back to his father’s ranch where his father was sure to ask him what all the commotion was about going on in the woods.

  ***

  David always relished the brief reprieves he had in the morning when he took a leisurely stroll through the woods adjacent to his father’s ranch. David had always been working his entire life, occupied from one minute to the next with very little time to take a break. But he never complained. In fact, David relished the fact that he was such a hard worker. His father had imparted that work ethic in him from an early age, back when they lived in Galveston just ten years prior, operating a ranch that had been destroyed in a tornado which nearly took the lives of David’s entire family. Only the ranch and the livestock had perished, and David’s father, always the optimist, had said, “This is a blessing from God, son. Our lives were spared, and that is all that matters.”