The Outlaw's Mail Order Bride

by Linda Broday

  They made a tough team to beat.

  “We’re going to make it, Clay.”

  “Yes, ma’am, we are.” He nibbled her neck. “Do you know what caught my attention the first moment I saw you?”

  “What?”

  “I was struck by the strength carved on your face. You, with your wild, fiery hair flying around you like some avenging angel. I knew right then you were perfect.”

  “Oh, you did?”

  “Absolutely. We’re those wild horses that can never be tamed. This land needs people like us who won’t tuck tail and run at the first sign of trouble.”

  Tally curled a finger in his hair and dropped feathery kisses along the seam of his mouth. “Do you know what I saw?”

  “A broken-down outlaw who’d outlived his time, most likely.”

  “Not even close.” Her touch slid across the hard wall of his chest and down his lean, scarred frame. The caresses made his breath hitch. “I saw on your face the toughest man I knew. And I noticed the yearning in your sensitive brown eyes for someone to share your dream with. You were afraid to hope that you’d found one.”

  “You see too much, lady,” he growled and pulled a rope that sent a bucket of water cascading down on them. Then he reached for the soap again and lathered her good, his hands sliding down her curves.

  The sensations dancing along her body made Tally’s breath ragged. Hot, aching desire curled inside, demanding attention.

  She kissed her way down his throat, nibbled across his collarbone, caressed the muscles rippling in his deeply tanned chest. She kissed each scar that proclaimed he’d fought and won many battles.

  Soon, this teasing would end and she’d feel him pulsing inside her. She was ready.

  The nearby windmill played her favorite tune in harmony with the night creatures. Her body hummed under Clay’s fingers like the strings of Dallas Hawk’s fiddle.

  Unable to bear another minute, she stole the soap and went to work on every inch of his rock-hard body. After rinsing him, she maneuvered herself into place, taking him deep into her core, where pleasure burst and spread through her. Clay’s groan told her he too was riding waves of delicious, fiery heat.

  He assisted with the thrusts, nipping at her bare shoulder before dropping his head lower to take a breast into his mouth. She rose on towering waves and, amid low cries, plunged down the other side to blessed pleasure so intense she could barely breathe.

  His mouth found hers at the exact moment she was swept into a sea of froth and plumes of glorious, sparkling light.

  At the peak of her release, she raised her arms, fumbled for the ropes on two more buckets of water, and gave them a jerk. The cool deluge broke over them like a waterfall, washing away every bit of pain and bad memory. Only love remained.

  “Tally Colby, it’s a good thing you don’t know what you do to me,” he mumbled against her wet mouth, their breath mingling, hot and steamy.

  “Why is that?” Her voice was teasing and light.

  “There’d be no living with you. I wouldn’t get one lick of rest.”

  “That sounds downright pitiful. Are you registering a complaint, my dear?”

  Clay’s white teeth showed in his wide grin. “Hell no.”

  “Then hush, my darling. I have something to tell you.” She placed two fingers over his mouth. “You’re going to be father again.”

  He stilled, studying her through squinted eyes. “For real?”

  “I’m happy to say so. Dr. Mary confirmed what I’d suspected. We’re going to have a baby.” She laughed, raising her arms high to the heavens. Every nerve ending pulsed. It was great to be alive and to have this wonderful life with the man she loved.

  Clay let out a war whoop and crushed her to him. “Imagine that. You’re my life, my world, my whole reason for being, my warrior angel. We’re going to have one heck of a life, you and me.” He lifted a lock of wet hair from her eyes and pressed a reverent kiss to each eyelid. “Is this Monday?”

  “Last time I looked.”

  “Great, I love Mondays. It’s my favorite day of the week.”

  About the Author

  Linda Broday resides in the Texas Panhandle on land the early cowboys and Comanche once roamed. Their voices often float in the stillness and tell stories of the days when the land was raw and unsettled. She grew up loving museums, libraries, and old trading posts and credits those and TV Westerns for fueling a love of the Old West. There’s something about Stetsons, boots, and tall, rugged cowboys that fan a burning flame. A New York Times and USA Today bestselling author, Linda has won many awards, including the prestigious National Readers’ Choice. Visit her at lindabroday.com.

  Also by Linda Broday

  Bachelors of Battle Creek

  Texas Mail Order Bride

  Twice a Texas Bride

  Forever His Texas Bride

  Men of Legend

  To Love a Texas Ranger

  The Heart of a Texas Cowboy

  To Marry a Texas Outlaw

  Texas Heroes

  Knight on the Texas Plains

  The Cowboy Who Came Calling

  To Catch a Texas Star

  Outlaw Mail Order Brides

  The Outlaw’s Mail Order Bride

  Texas Redemption

  Christmas in a Cowboy’s Arms anthology

  Can’t get enough cowboys?

  Keep reading for a sneak peek at Amy Sandas’s

  Boston, Massachusetts

  August 2, 1881

  “Miss Brighton? Miss Brighton, did you hear me?”

  Alexandra blinked away her shock to meet the concerned gaze of her unexpected suitor. “I…yes,” she said finally, though her voice felt off—not quite her own. “That is, I believe so.”

  Mr. Shaw’s worried expression smoothed into a handsome smile. “I have just declared that I would like to make you my bride, Miss Brighton.”

  His words were no less a surprise the second time around. Peter Shaw was the quintessential Eastern gentleman of distinction. Though only twenty-six, he was already gaining momentum in political circles. He was charming, attractive, full of confidence, and met every one of Aunt Judith’s criteria for an advantageous match.

  And for some inexplicable reason, he had just asked her, Alexandra Brighton, to be his bride.

  She couldn’t have heard him right.

  Alexandra gave a tiny shake of her head to free up some words. “I am sorry, Mr. Shaw. I am a bit stunned. I had not expected such an offer.” Nor had she expected the creeping sense of anxiety that came with it, making her throat tight and her palms clammy. Had he been falling in love with her all this time, and she had never even noticed?

  Despite her awkwardness, he was all grace and charm. “See, that is what I like about you, Miss Brighton—your innate modesty and lack of pretense. You are unlike other young ladies in town. Their perspectives are so narrow, so limited. Most of them have never experienced anything beyond our tight little social niche, let alone life outside of Boston.”

  His eyes were a soft brown in the light that extended from the ballroom just visible beyond the balcony doors. “I admire your story, Miss Brighton. It is my opinion that your…unusual childhood afforded you a more valuable view of life.” He took a slow breath as he clasped his hands behind his back and lowered his chin, as if confessing some great secret. “I have ambitions, Miss Brighton, plans for my future—for the future of Boston and this great state of Massachusetts. In order to secure that future, it is imperative that I appeal to a broad audience.” He smiled again, his eyes crinkling gently. “You can help me do that.”

  Alexandra released her breath in a slow decompression of tension.

  Now it made sense. Mr. Shaw hadn’t inexplicably fallen in love. He was proposing a business arrangement.

  She should have known.

 
; Shaw was a member of the elite Boston social group known as the Brahmins, and marriages amongst his exclusive set were not made out of such an inconstant, imprudent thing as affection. The acknowledgment cleared away some of her confusion, but had no effect on her growing sense of dread.

  “You leave me in a state of suspense for your response, Miss Brighton,” he teased. Despite his words, he was as self-assured as ever.

  Alexandra smiled, but the act felt tight and forced. She would accept. Of course she would accept. Not a single person of Alexandra’s acquaintance would understand if she refused. An offer from a gentleman such as Peter Shaw was everything her aunt had been grooming her for.

  He was waiting.

  “I would be honored,” she finally replied. But as the words left her mouth, she felt a moment of panic and wished she could call them back.

  What was wrong with her?

  Now that he had her agreement, Peter gave no sign of joy beyond a shallow nod. He did not appear the slightest bit aware of her growing discomfort. She had no idea she had gotten so good at maintaining a social face, as her aunt called it.

  “I have already spoken privately with your aunt and obtained her blessing,” he said, “but I will come by tomorrow to finalize the details. I have no doubt this marriage will be a tremendous success.”

  Then he stepped forward and very deliberately propped his fingertips beneath her chin, tilting her face upward as he bent down to press a quick kiss to her lips. It was Alexandra’s very first kiss, and was over just as soon as it began. The impact of it faded away almost faster than she could acknowledge its occurrence.

  Peter offered his arm and flashed another one of his charming almost-smiles. “We had better return to the ball before people start to talk.” He led her, unresisting, back through the crowd to where Aunt Judith stood with her group of friends.

  Alexandra’s stomach churned the entire way. The ballroom felt too cloying, too hot. She was assailed by a fierce desire to return to the fresh air on the balcony. Alone.

  Stop, she thought, even as she fought to remember how to breathe. Aunt Judith will never forgive you if you make a scene.

  It was becoming increasingly difficult to care about that—to care about any of the fine Eastern manners she had so carefully been taught.

  Mr. Shaw offered a few complimentary words to the matrons gathered with Aunt Judith before he bade his farewell to Alexandra with another comment about calling the next day. Then he walked away. Alexandra barely caught sight of the triumphant gleam in her aunt’s eyes before she was set upon by her two best friends.

  Courtney Adams was a flurry of pink silk and lace, vivid red curls, and sparkling green eyes set within pert features that also boasted elegantly arched brows and impishly curved lips. She was beautiful, but it was her bright personality that most people were drawn to. Courtney stepped in close to Alexandra to murmur dramatically, “You and Mr. Shaw were out of sight for quite a while. I wonder what the two of you were up to.”

  “Hush, Courtney.” This was from Alexandra’s cousin Evelyn, or Evie, as she and Courtney called her.

  At twenty-one, Evie was a year older than both Alexandra and Courtney, but in many ways, she was far more naive. Protected and guided by Aunt Judith her entire life, she had had few opportunities to experience anything beyond the small world she had been born into. Evie’s older brother, Warren, had betrayed the family’s dreams of becoming a prominent Boston social figure by becoming a doctor instead. With Warren off saving lives across the country, Aunt Judith was left to pin all her hopes for climbing Boston’s social ladder on her daughter…and Alexandra.

  “Shall we all go for some refreshment?” Evie suggested. Her motivation was clearly to distance them from her mother so they could talk more freely.

  After making their excuses to Aunt Judith, the three young ladies strolled across the ballroom at a sedate pace, despite the energy bristling among them. Alexandra found she could breathe more easily now that she was away from both Mr. Shaw and her aunt, but that cloying dread was still there, hovering about her shoulders in a heavy cloak.

  Once settled in a corner of a connecting sitting room, lemonades in hand, Courtney urged in tones of whispered excitement, “So? What did the renowned Mr. Shaw have to say?”

  Alexandra hesitated over her response. The conversation on the balcony still did not feel quite real. “He proposed marriage,” she answered quietly.

  “I knew it!”

  Alexandra looked to Courtney in surprise. “You did? How could you? He gave no indication whatsoever that he had such an inclination. We have spoken less than half a dozen times.”

  “Yes, but that is still twice as much as he deigned to speak with any other girl,” Evie noted reasonably. “He was obviously showing an interest in you.”

  “I wish someone had told me. Maybe I wouldn’t have made a fool of myself by being so surprised.”

  Evie’s eyes grew wide. “I thought you knew.”

  “You said yes, of course,” Courtney said. “Tell me you said yes.”

  “I did.”

  Her friend clapped her hands and gave a bright smile. “Excellent. Now we are both engaged. We just need to find someone for Evie, and we can all become brides together.”

  Courtney’s excitement only accented the churning discordance that had taken up residence inside Alexandra. She should be thrilled by the prospect of becoming Mrs. Peter Shaw. Ecstatic, even.

  Instead, she felt…dishonest.

  And on the verge of serious panic.

  “Alexandra,” Evie said softly, leaning forward to place her slim hand on Alexandra’s wrist. “What is the matter?”

  Meeting her cousin’s compassionate gaze, Alexandra sighed. “I do not know. Something just feels…wrong.”

  “How do you mean?” Courtney asked, a flicker of concern crossing her features.

  “I do not know,” Alexandra repeated. “I am not sure I made the right choice in accepting. What if I am not the person Mr. Shaw believes me to be? He barely knows me.”

  “You will get to know each other better during the engagement and after, once you are married,” Courtney assured.

  Alexandra looked between her two closest friends. One red-haired and vivacious, the other slender and elegant with pale-blonde hair and soulful eyes. They knew her as no one else on the earth knew her, and loved her anyway. She could be nothing but fully honest with them.

  “The truth is,” Alexandra admitted, “I barely know myself anymore. Evie, you remember what I was like when I first arrived from Montana.”

  “Yes, and you have come such a very long way since then.”

  “That is my point,” Alexandra said. “I barely recognize that girl in comparison to who I am now. But it was me. She might still be me somewhere deep down.”

  Her friends exchanged a quick glance, but did not interrupt.

  “How do I know all this is not just a false facade? How can I commit to a future as someone’s wife when I do not even know who I truly am?”

  “What will you do?” Evie asked in a low whisper.

  Alexandra took a bracing inhale. “I must tell Mr. Shaw that I need more time before committing to my answer.”

  “It will shock him to his toes,” Courtney declared.

  “It might be too late to withdraw your response.” Evie directed her pointed gaze across the room.

  Peter Shaw stood nearby, looking dapper and fine in a group with some of the most prominent gentlemen of Boston society. His smile was modest as he accepted toasts and congratulatory handshakes. The way the gentlemen kept sliding surreptitious glances toward Alexandra suggested that he had already announced their engagement.

  Panic expanded through her, tightening her chest.

  She was trapped.

  But a small, defiant part of her whispered: Or maybe not.

  Th
ey were not married yet. Some engagements lasted months or even years. She had time.

  A fierce little flame of rebellion sparked in the midst of her panic. The more she focused on that flame, the greater it grew, spreading out like a slow-burning wildfire. She had become the perfect Boston lady, but after five years of learning to curb her impulses, Alexandra pushed all that careful training aside and embraced the reckless urging inside her. “I am going back to Montana.”

  Her words slipped free before she completely thought them through, but the moment they were uttered, she knew the rightness of them.

  She was suddenly flooded with memories of her childhood: how the Rockies rose majestically beyond the plains, how wildflowers spread across the ground in spring, and how the land made one feel unbelievably small and infinitely powerful at the same time.

  The compulsion to see it all again—to go home—was overwhelming. And perfect.

  Evie and Courtney stared at her, wide-eyed and in shock.

  Her cousin recovered first. “Mother will never allow it.” Her voice was low and almost sad.

  “Your new fiancé will never allow it,” Courtney added with conviction.

  Alexandra leaned toward her friends and lowered her voice. “That is why they cannot know.”

  “But how will you manage it?” Courtney asked, awed excitement creeping into her words.

  “I have money tucked away. Father gave it to me before I left home. I never had cause to use it. Now I do.”

  “But why?” Evie asked. “Why go back now?”

  Alexandra had to think of her reply. It mostly felt like an instinctive certainty. Before she could consider going forward, she had to go back.

  “I must discover unequivocally who I am. My life has been split into two very different halves: my childhood in Montana and the five years I have been here in Boston. I need to know how much of my past is still a part of me…or if it is time to put it to rest for good.” She lowered her gaze as another realization hit deep in her heart. “I need to see my father again.”

  Her friends were silent for a moment. Then Courtney said, “How can we help?”