A Highwayman's Mail Order Bride

by Blythe Carver

  Not that she didn’t want to. She simply couldn’t speak over the pressure in her chest, over the heart which had suddenly jumped into her throat.

  She knew too well what he meant about not knowing a dream was meant for her. Because until that very day, the most she’d ever hoped for was to marry a kind man who would believe her child was his own. She did expect to love her husband or even for him to love her. She could only hope he would be gentler than the men she’d known throughout her life.

  It was the best she’d dared hope for.

  Until that very moment, in the drawing room, with her hands in Jed’s.

  “Did… did you ask me something?” she breathed.

  “Not exactly, but I will now.” He cleared his throat. “Melissa, will you be my wife?”

  “Oh, yes.” She withdrew her hands so she might throw her arms around his neck, all but crushing him to her. The only thing she could seem to do was laugh with joy—there had to be a way to vent it, after all, or else she might burst.

  He laughed with her, both of them sounding surprised and thrilled and a little overwhelmed.

  “You mean it?” he asked on pulling away. A shadow of doubt crossed his face. “You aren’t just saying yes because you need a husband?”

  “Jed.” She took his face in her hands, suddenly very grave. “I’ve been wishing for days that I wasn’t promised to another man, that the two of us might be together. I didn’t think you wanted me.”

  “I was sure you could never want me, being who I am.”

  “Who you were,” she corrected. “And that isn’t really who you were. It was what you did, that’s all.” One of her hands dropped to his chest. “This is who you are. And I love who you are.”

  He took her hand, kissed it. “Bless you. I don’t know what I did to earn a woman like you, but I’ll be damned if I don’t do everything in my power to keep you.”

  “Even…” She touched her belly, which would soon grow larger. A reminder of a child that wasn’t his.

  He placed his hand over hers. “This baby is yours and mine. It’ll have my name, and I’ll love it like my own. I promise you that.”

  He caught her lips with his own before she dissolved into tears, kissing her in spite of the dampness on her cheeks. This time, she could kiss him with the fullness of her heart, without hesitation or the sense of something illicit sparking between them.

  While illicitness had its place, this was far nicer. Knowing his would be the only lips she would ever kiss again, that he would be the only man to make her heart take off at a wild speed, to make her pulse race and blood rush in her ears loud enough to drown out all other sounds.

  That she could take the rest of her life to memorize the taste of him, the smell of leather on his clothing, on his skin. Part of him.

  That it would be his warm, knowing hands on her body, pressing into her flesh with growing need.

  That it would be his heart against hers, beating at the same frantic pace. That strong, good, noble heart she’d loved for longer than she realized at the time.

  The heart that she would do everything in her power to keep safe, until the end of her days.

  Epilogue

  Mark raised his glass of ruby red wine. “While this is not the toast I’d planned to make this evening, I’m glad to make it nonetheless. I look forward to a new chapter in the history of Furnish Ranch with Jed as my foreman, and Melissa to keep us all in line.”

  He dropped a friendly wink her way, earning a grin from her.

  “I don’t know if there are enough hours in the day to keep all your men in line, but I’ll do my best until somebody else comes along.” And she hoped someone would, as Mark was still in need of a wife. The sense that she’d ruined his chances hung about the edges of her happiness, tainting it a little, but he’d already assured her of his peace with the situation.

  This was supposed to be the welcome supper, the one preceding their wedding the following day. Instead, Mark held it in honor of the wedding of Jed and Melissa, and at the long table sat many of the men with whom Jed would work.

  He was in his element, that much was clear, and her heart swelled with pride and gladness for him. This was where he was meant to be, the subject he was most passionate about. Talking about bloodlines and feeding and even such unseemly topics as the mating of steer and cow, topics even Melissa had never heard discussed at the table.

  They could have been discussing just about anything and she wouldn’t have minded, just for the pleasure of watching Jed light up as he did.

  He would be her husband, and they would live in the little house she’d admired upon reaching the ranch that morning. Was it really only that very morning that they’d arrived? Then, she’d been promised to Mark while married to John. Guilty, miserable, wishing it could all be different.

  Now, she would not have traded places with any other woman for all the world.

  And she would learn about ranching, because she wanted him to be able to come to her at the end of a long day and know she would understand. She wanted to be everything to him, to shower him with all the love she’d never been able to express. A whole lifetime’s worth of it, bottled up inside her.

  When the baby came—their baby—she would love it just the same way, for she knew the pain of an unloved child. Hers would never know that feeling.

  It would have two parents who loved it very much, who would perhaps spoil it a little and perhaps coax more than a few tears when it came time for discipline, but she’d do everything in her power to make sure they knew how loved they were through it all.

  Could it be she’d ever dreaded having this baby?

  Because now, she could hardly wait until they were properly introduced.

  It was a beautiful morning, clear and sparkling. Or perhaps that was simply how she saw things, it being such a special day and all.

  She did not own a proper wedding dress and had refused up and down when Mark offered to purchase one for her. “You’ve done more than enough, Mark Furnish, and I refuse to allow you to spend one more cent on me!”

  “Jed’s already made an arrangement with me over reimbursement for your tickets,” he’d argued.

  “You men and your arrangements,” she’d scoffed. “Women have pride too, you know, and I have just a bit too much of it to allow you to be that generous. You’ve already released me from our engagement, given Jed a job, offered to hold the wedding here with the same preacher who was supposed to perform ours, you saved me from John…”

  He’d held up a hand, the corners of his lips twitching. “Enough. I see your point.”

  She’d put her hands on her hips. “Are you sure? Because I wasn’t finished.”

  He’d been sure, and so she was about to be wed in the same worn-out calico dress in which she’d arrived at the ranch, carrying an armful of wildflowers. It was tight, to be sure, but the thought of wedding her love while wearing his clothing did not sit right.

  Not that it mattered very much. Her bouquet might as well have been the lushest of roses, her dress a gown of silk and lace, jewels at her ears and throat. She might have been wearing a diamond crown. It certainly felt as though she was when she walked across the drawing room on Mark’s arm, to where Jed and the preacher waited for her.

  She would have wagered good money that the ranch hands had not expected to attend this ceremony, but Jed had insisted they take a short break from work to act as witnesses. A group of men holding their hats in their work-gloved hands, all of them a bit bewildered, a bit embarrassed to witness something so personal, but respectful just the same.

  There he was. So handsome. He could have been wearing the most elegant suit, and he could not have looked better to her than he did then, smiling from ear to ear. How had she ever made herself believe she hated him? A lifetime might as well have passed since those first few rough days together.

  A lifetime had passed. She’d gone from a frightened girl convinced she could only ever enjoy the very barest of scraps life spa
red her to a woman certain of herself, her future, her love.

  The bespectacled preacher walked them through the vows—she had recited them once before, hadn’t she? But they had meant nothing. She hadn’t felt them. She’d only felt an empty stomach and relief that it would no longer be empty.

  What a child she had been. A poor, lonely child.

  Now, there was so much more she wished to promise Jed than a few words, and the warmth in his eyes told her he felt the same. Eyes she hoped would always radiate the love and hope she saw in them just then.

  She would love him until the day she died.

  And she would know joy and pride, hope and dreaming. There would be tough times and tears—every life had them—but the sweetness of laying her head to rest every night beside that of the man who loved her through it all would temper the sourness and give her the strength to wake up every morning intent on loving him and allowing him to love her.

  Looking at him as the preacher blessed their marriage, it was hard to believe there was a time when she thought happiness was out of her reach. That blessings were for other people, not for her. People who could afford the luxury of loving.

  “I declare that they are man and wife.”

  She was the sort of person who could afford to love. Who could be somebody’s happy, beloved wife.

  Starting right now, the moment her husband sealed their union with a kiss, and for the rest of her life.

  Keep reading for an excerpt from the next Westward Hearts story!

  Excerpt

  A Rancher’s Pretend Mail Order Bride

  Upper crust classy saloon girl crossed with shrew’s temper and sass. Just what a rancher ordered. Actually, no.

  Rancher Mark Furnish is in a bind. His ranch is losing money, the banks have turned him down, and his wealthy grandfather back east is refusing to fund the venture anymore unless Mark has a wife. The mail order bride that was supposed to be his has now become his foreman’s wife. Time’s tight and Mark doesn’t have a second to waste. As if that’s not bad enough, he doesn’t even want to be married to begin with.

  The mail order bride thing didn’t work out so well for this sexy cowboy rancher. Who says the second time will be a success?

  He steps into the saloon for a couple of shots of cure-all and instead discovers a saloon girl that’s more like a fiery temple virgin. She refuses all the men’s efforts at flirtation and offers to go upstairs for a tryst. This woman’s got upper crust class and a shrew’s temper.

  Maybe he shouldn’t have tried to help her. Maybe he wouldn’t have been kicked out of the saloon and she wouldn’t have been fired. Now she’s his responsibility.

  This new turn of events is giving his ideas. Why can’t he get the words fake wife out of his mind?

  Chapter 1

  Mark Furnish sat atop his favorite horse, a black colt he’d named Star on account of the white star between its eyes which stood out so clean and bright against the silky black coat.

  From this vantage point, the Furnish Ranch stretched out before him for thousands of acres in all directions. To the west was the Carson Range, to the east was the long, wide expanse of land which sat between his home and Carson City. A great deal of it was land belonging to the ranch. In fact, while he could not be absolutely certain, he would have bet most of what was visible to him on that clear morning was, indeed, his.

  In moments such as this, with the sun rising over the tops of the distant mountains and painting the sky in hues he was certain no artist could ever recreate on canvas, Mark’s heart swelled with pride he could not put to words.

  Golden sunlight revealed the land by inches, reminding him of everything his father had worked for. Everything that was his to hold onto and grow, to pass onto his son.

  If only he could hold onto it.

  Pride soured, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

  That taste tinged the beauty of what stretched before him. He could no longer lose himself in reverie when he spied a flock of ducks taking wing after washing themselves in the river. No more did the sight of the faithful, frolicking collie dog who ran alongside the hands and their horses make him smile. That dog was just as hard a worker as any man on the place, himself included.

  What were they working for?

  That was the question which kept him awake nights. It had for months, since long before the arrival of the woman who would indirectly gain him a future foreman.

  And make a murderer out of him.

  It was not the killing of John Carter which weighed on Mark. He had not given the man much more than a moment’s thought after the conclusion of an inquest which had lasted all of an hour, if that. Once the judge had seen the damage John did to Melissa’s face and heard the sworn testimony of himself, the hands who were present at the time, and that of Jed Cunningham, the matter was closed.

  John Carter had been nothing more than a dog who’d needed putting down.

  That was not why Melissa’s arrival had been fortuitous, however.

  It was the fact that she had not been his to claim for a wife.

  She’d already been in love with Jed, and he with her. While Mark needed a wife, badly, he’d not been able to stand in the way of two people longing to be together.

  With a sigh, he pressed his heels to Star’s ribs, signaling him to move on. There was much to be done, and no time to be spent admiring a sunrise which had come and gone.

  The wind picked up as he rode through the grass, one eye keeping watch for the holes left by cursed prairie dogs. The devils. They’d lost one of the horses only a week earlier, its leg badly broken after one hoof slipped into a blasted hole. There’d been no saving the poor beast.

  Mark hated waste, especially the waste of a beautiful and rather expensive animal. It was one thing a ranch did not need.

  Especially a ranch losing money the way this one was. It reminded him at times of a sack of grain slit with a sharp knife.

  He was watching money flow from his ranch like grain from an open sack.

  The drought. The sickness that followed. The loss of so many precious heads of cattle, cattle he’d branded and fed and helped round up alongside the ranch hands. Cattle who represented piles of money. Each of them was a pile of money on four legs.

  Money he’d lost.

  And now, there was nothing to make up for it.

  His hands tightened around the reins.

  Mark considered himself an intelligent man. A good businessman, his father had always claimed him the better of them, and he’d been the one to turn a modest purchase of land and a few hundred head into the thriving enterprise he’d left upon his untimely death.

  When he was a boy, Mark never understood why his father was so often wound up. Anxious. Easily angered.

  His mother had often made up excuses in her gentle way. He was worried about his work. Tired from working so hard. Work, work, work. The ranch had come first from the day they’d arrived until the day the man died of a brain hemorrhage which Doc Perkins had attributed to overwork and tension.

  Mark had not needed his mother’s excuses by then. He’d been a grown man the day his father slumped over behind his desk and died on the spot.

  Besides, Mother had been gone for two years by the time that day arrived, her grave long since filled, the grass growing over her.

  Grandfather Calvin had not come out for her funeral and had certainly not come out for that of the son-in-law he’d hated since the day he’d announced having purchased the ranch. There had been no forgiveness, not even in the light of shared grief after Isabelle Reynolds Furnish’s death.

  If anything, her death was just one more thing to blame on her husband, Grandfather Calvin’s son-in-law.

  Mark’s bitter laughter faded in the wind, reaching no one’s ears but his and Star’s. To think, the man who’d reviled the purchase of the ranch was the only one who could save it.

  If the Good Lord had a sense of humor, the one upstairs was surely getting quite a bit of amusement out of M
ark Furnish and his ranch.

  He kept the failings of the ranch away from the hands. They didn’t need to know how dire the situation might become unless every option had been explored and come up short.

  The bank had come up short, that was for sure. Bile rose in Mark’s throat whenever he remembered smug Mr. Bernstein in his little office, looking over the ranch’s figures and announcing what a bad investment it had suddenly become.

  A bad investment? When Mark himself had invested in the town more times than he could remember? When his ranch and the money coming from it had built the very roof over their heads as they sat in that smoke-filled office?

  So much for investing in one’s home. The minute he’d gone to them for help, they’d turned him away. Even though he owned the ranch free and clear.

  “How’s it coming along here?” he asked, riding up alongside a group of men inspecting the fencing along the eastern border. “Don’t forget to look out for those damned holes.”

  “Found two today, filled ‘em in, but you know what good that’ll do.” One of the men spat a mouthful of tobacco juice on the ground. Mark would never begrudge the men their habits, Lord knew he had some of his own, but he did thank his lucky stars he’d never picked up the chewing of tobacco.

  Smoking was another story.

  “I’d love to blast the lot of ‘em off the face of the Earth,” Mark muttered, eyes sweeping the wide, flat land around them. “How’s the fence looking? No cutting or tampering?”

  “None that we’ve seen so far.”

  That was a relief. The last thing he needed with the state the ranch was in was for angry, resentful neighbors to slice through his fencing in order to water their livestock.

  “Thank you,” he said with a smile and a tip of his hat. He believed in always thanking the men, making sure they knew how he appreciated them.