Christmas Mail-Order Brides: Four-in-One Collection, page 9
She glanced at her patient then looked around. She was in the middle of nowhere. Not a building in sight, only trees, shrubs devoid of their leaves, and dried, yellow grass. The only sound she heard was the wind swishing through the tall trees. They had no food or blankets, only some lukewarm water.
Her gaze lifted heavenward. “What do I do, Lord? Help us.”
Clay fought the cobwebs and shadows, clawing his way toward the light. Toward the voice. He blinked, and a bright blue blur took shape. The sky?
His head ached, and his shoulder felt as if someone was holding a branding iron to it. He reached toward it, only to have his hand grabbed.
“Don’t. You’ve been shot.”
Aw, there was that voice again. The one that had led him back from the darkness. His blurry vision cleared, and he remembered the young woman from the stage. “How bad is it?”
She nibbled one side of her lip, causing his stomach to do strange things. Her big brown eyes looked worried, and he turned his head to see his shoulder. He tried to move his arm, and fingers of fire clutched him in their blazing grasp. He ground his teeth together.
“I’ve … uh … tried to tend your wound, but it would be easier if you could sit up.”
He nodded and pushed up with his good arm, clamping down his jaw to keep from crying out. She made haste, applying a fresh wad of cloth to his wound and then wrapping the bandage around his chest and over his shoulder. Her warm breath teased his neck, and this close, he could see gold specks in her brown eyes. She helped him back into his shirt, but when she went to button it, he swatted her hand away. “I can do it.”
She sat back, looking hurt. Moving away, she reached for the canteen, allowing him time to fumble with his buttons until he got them fastened. “Would you care for some water?”
He stared at her, wondering who she was and where she came from. She hadn’t told him earlier, before the attack. “What’s your name?”
“Jolie Addams.” Her lips turned up in a faint smile, and she held out the canteen.
Jolie—an unusual name, but it fit her. He took a long swig from the canteen and handed it back. She set it down beside a gun lying in the dirt—his gun. “Let me see that.”
Surprise sparked in her gaze, but she picked up the weapon with her thumb and forefinger as if it were something vile. They just might need that gun before the night was over. He took it from her and flipped open the cylinder, noting the refilled cylinder.
Gazing around, he took in their surroundings. Three of the horses grazed nearby, but the stage looked sound. They could spend the night in there and have some means of protection. “What happened to the driver?”
“He went for help,” she called over her shoulder as she walked toward the coach, her long brown hair swaying behind her. Since she’d had it up before, he assumed she must have lost her hairpins in the accident. He watched her open the boot and rummage around in it, finally pulling out a worn satchel. She found a brush and a small tin box and then walked behind the stage.
“Don’t wander far. There are dangerous creatures around these parts.”
She didn’t respond, but he watched underneath the coach and saw her stop.
He scooted over and laid his head against a tree. A stabbing pain shot through the upper part of his body every time he moved. A man needed to be healthy to work a ranch. How was he going to prove himself to his father now?
Chapter 3
Jolie patted her hair, feeling a bit more in control now that it was properly pinned up again. She helped Mr. Jackson to the coach and propped him against the side while she climbed in and set the canteen on the seat. She turned to assist him, but he frowned and ignored her outstretched hand. She stepped back but didn’t sit, in case he needed her more than he thought. The man had lost a fair amount of blood, and from accidents the orphans occasionally had, she knew that made people unsteady.
He grabbed hold of the doorframe and hauled himself up. Grimacing, he held his left arm tight against his body and dropped into the seat. Sweat beaded his temple, and his breath sounded ragged.
“I … uh … should probably check your bandage.”
He nodded and undid the top three buttons of his shirt.
Jolie peeked at the bandage and blew out a sigh. There was some blood on it, but the patch wasn’t saturated.
“You’d better close the shades to preserve what warmth there is in here. At this high elevation, December nights can be quite cold.”
Jolie nodded and slid over to the window. Before she closed the final shade, securing them in the dark, she stared at the deep blue of twilight where the sun had already set behind a tall peak. Her hand trembled as she lowered the last shade.
What would Hiram Peavey say when he learned she’d spent the night in the wilderness alone with a man? Jolie sat on the seat across from Mr. Jackson, her whole body shivering. Her stomach grumbled, complaining of the lack of food. If only she’d thought to save a bit of her lunch for later.
“I know we’re strangers, but you should sit over here. As cold as it will get, we’ll need each other’s body warmth. Did you find anything we could use for a blanket?”
Jolie touched her flaming cheeks. She shook her head then realized he couldn’t see her. “No.” She’d already helped him back into his jacket. “I have another dress we could use.”
She heard what sounded like a snort on the other side of the stage.
“Get it, and come over here.”
She slid across the wide seat and found her satchel in the corner where she’d put it earlier. Fishing around, she located her dress. That was the easy part. How could she sit so close to a stranger—and in the dark? Would he be a gentleman?
“You don’t have to worry about me bothering you. Moving causes pain, and besides, I’m a Christian.”
She’d heard stories of so-called Christian men who’d done horrible things but also knew of others who seemed kind, like the pastor where she’d attended church with the orphans. Jolie shivered on the cold leather seat. Though the temperature had seemed mild for winter when the sun was shining, she could already tell it was getting colder.
“C’mon, don’t be shy.” She thought she heard him pat the seat.
Taking a deep breath, she crossed the coach and sat down near the window. Cold air seeped in the sides of the shades, and she shivered.
Mr. Jackson chuckled. Jolie felt his hand grasp her arm and jumped. He grunted and tugged her toward him.
Her heart fluttered like the wings of a caged bird, and she fought the urge to flee. But the darkness and unknown outside of the coach equaled the fear of that inside. Please help me, Lord.
Once he’d tugged her up close, Mr. Jackson wrapped his good arm around Jolie’s shoulders.
She sat stiff and trembled.
“I was serious. Don’t be afraid of me, Miss Addams. I promise to be a gentleman.”
As the heat of the man’s body warmed her side, she began to see the sense of his suggestion and relaxed. The man smelled of leather and dust, and yet there was something appealing about it. Jolie held her dress against her chest and sat up straight, not wanting to relax her head back against his arm. Thinking was difficult with him so close. She spread the dress she’d planned to be married in over their legs and pulled her coat together tighter. If only she had buttons to fasten it shut, but she’d long ago used them to mend coats belonging to younger orphans.
“Why are you traveling alone?” he asked.
“I’m … uh … going to Cedar Springs—to get married.”
“Ah, a mail-order bride, I presume.”
She nodded then answered. “Yes, I am.”
“Weren’t there any intelligent men back where you lived?”
Confused by his comment, Jolie blinked in the dark, wishing they could open the shades and allow the full moon to shine in. “I’m sure there were, but I didn’t know any men at all. I was raised in an orphanage.”
Clay winced. No wonder she was desperate enough to do something so drastic. In an odd way, he could sympathize with her. Hadn’t he been an orphan of sorts the past three years, estranged from his father?
He relaxed his right arm against her stiff shoulders. No wonder she was so skittish. She’d probably never been close to a man before, and now she was in one’s arms. Maybe if he talked, she’d relax. “My father owns a ranch just south of Cedar Springs. I’ve been gone three years and am returning home.”
She was silent for a few moments; then he heard her take a deep breath. “Why were you gone so long? Do you live somewhere else?”
Clay clenched his jaw. Why hadn’t he considered where that trail would lead? “Let’s just say we had a falling-out, and I left.”
“My father left me at the orphanage in Council Bluffs, Iowa, when I was five, after my mother died.”
His arm tightened around her at the forlorn sound of her voice. What kind of a father would abandon his child?
“I’m sorry.”
He felt her shrug. “It was a long time ago.”
For a while she didn’t say anything, but he could hear her breathing. He thought about how she looked. She wasn’t a beauty. Her hair was a medium brown, just like his saddle, but those eyes—they drew him in, made him want to protect her. Now he knew why her clothes were so shabby. They were most likely someone’s castoffs. Had she ever had a new dress? He fingered the one lying across his legs and noted the fabric was just as thin as the dress she wore. She’d freeze in the frigid Nevada winters in the thin fabric.
“Why did you leave home, if I might ask? I mean, I can’t imagine having a home and leaving it.”
The tremble in her voice made him pause. He’d had a home, a family, but had taken everything for granted. It took losing it all for him to realize that. He allowed himself to think of his older brother for the first time in a long while. He’d adored Clint, but unlike his brother, Clay couldn’t seem to do anything right. He was more bookworm than rancher. “I guess it all started when my brother died.”
Miss Addams gasped. “Oh, I’m sorry. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
For some reason, sitting here in the dark with her, he wanted to get it off his chest. He hadn’t told anyone what happened, and though he’d given the burden to God, it still ate at him sometimes. Why not tell a woman he’d never see again after they were rescued? “Clint died trying to break a rogue horse. He was always my pa’s favorite, because he was far better at ranching than me. I … uh … guess you could say I fell off the wagon after that.”
The accident had been his fault and had broken Clay’s heart. Somehow, he must not have saddled the mustang properly, and Clint broke his neck when the saddle came loose and he fell off. Clay laid his head back, remembering how he’d started drinking, gambling, and picking fights to drive away the pain—until his father finally told him to either stop his carousing or get out. Clay left.
“But you said you were a Christian.”
“I am. Now. I sowed a lot of wild oats before meeting a man who set me on the straight and narrow.”
“And now you’re going back home. I will pray things go well with you and your father.”
Her comment humbled him and also warmed his spirit, knowing she, too, must be a believer. “Are you warm enough?”
“Yes.”
“Good. So, tell me, who are you marrying in Cedar Springs? Maybe I know him.”
“He’s a store owner—Hiram Peavey.”
Clay’s grip tightened on the woman as he remembered the cowardly, sniveling man. He couldn’t believe the man had lasted through another three years of Nevada winters. He was always whining and complaining, so much so, that folks dreaded having to buy supplies. But his was the only general store in town.
“Is something wrong? Do you know Mr. Peavey?”
He knew him all right, but what could he tell her? That the man would probably make her run the store and labor from sunrise to sunset while he tipped his cup at the saloon? That Hiram was a stiff-necked hypocrite who wouldn’t want a woman who’d spent the night alone with another man, even if it was all perfectly innocent? Why, Lord? Why did You have to bring this sweet woman all the way here just to marry that scoundrel?
Chapter 4
Jolie’s shoulder bumped the stage driver’s arm as the wagon jostled down the mountain road. Eyes closed, she lifted her face to the morning sun, finally feeling the warmth creep back into her body after the long night. Mr. Jackson had been the gentleman he’d promised, though his soft snores, occasional moans, and nearness had kept her from drifting into a deep sleep.
He groaned as the wagon dipped down and back out of an especially large rut in the road.
She twisted in the seat and stared down at his pale face. “How is he, Doctor?”
“I’m fine,” Mr. Jackson growled.
Dr. Gates touched his patient’s forehead and nodded. “He lost a fair amount of blood, but the bullet came out easy enough and there’s no fever, so far. That’s always a good sign.” He smiled. “You did a real nice job tending his wounds, ma’am. You most likely saved his life.”
Mr. Jackson grunted as if disagreeing.
“Thank you.” She faced forward again and studied the wide valley that opened up before her. Mountains touched the sky on every side of them, but with this being December, the grass was dead and yellowed, and no wildflowers colored the barren land. Up ahead, she could see the makings of a small town. Weathered buildings promised civilization and food. And her husband-to-be.
“That there’s Cedar Springs, ma’am. Ain’t much of a town, but those of us who live in these parts are thankful we have it.” Bill waved his hand toward the crop of buildings. “Used to be a big mining town, but much of the silver in this area has played out.”
“Mr. Jackson mentioned there was a store. What else is there?”
Bill grinned. “Ol’ Hiram Peavey was fit to be tied that you didn’t arrive last night. He was all set to marry up with you right on the spot.”
Jolie shivered. Now that she was getting close to marrying, her anxiety level was climbing faster than Todd Bennett could shinny up the pine tree in the orphanage’s back yard. Would her husband be kind? Handsome? Would he think her plain? Boring? What if she couldn’t abide him? What if he thought she was a burden to him? She swallowed hard. “Could you tell me a little about Mr. Peavey and his store?”
Bill nodded. “Ain’t all that much of a store. Hiram sells tools, some canned food, coffee, of course. He’s a strange little man. Mostly keeps to himself, except spending several nights a week down at the saloon.”
Jolie’s heart dropped. He was a drinking man? Mrs. Mayberry had assured her that she’d checked out Mr. Peavey’s references and that he was an honorable, Christian man. Had he deceived the owner of the matrimonial society that she’d written to? But how could references be forged?
She nibbled the inside of her lower lip. What could she do if she found Mr. Peavey too repulsive and not the Christian man he purported himself to be? Had she come all this way for nothing?
The wagon rolled into town, and Jolie’s heart sank further. Only a dozen structures, mostly dull, weathered gray, formed Cedar Springs. How could she live out the rest of her days here? She’d mostly stayed close to the orphanage and hadn’t ventured around Council Bluffs since she never had money, but this town didn’t even have a church.
A man standing in front of the barber/dentist office let out a whoop, and people poured out of the buildings, all looking at them. She wanted to be anywhere else in the world but here, and yet she’d accepted Mr. Peavey’s money to travel to Cedar Springs, and by tonight she’d most likely be his bride. A shiver charged down her spine.
A medium-tall man with the frame of a broom handle pushed his way to the front of the crowd of dirty, bearded men. “Let me by. That there’s my mail-ordered bride.”
Jolie held her hand to her chest. Why, he had to be in his mid-thirties, and his pointed nose reminded her of a fox. What had she gotten herself into?
A picture of Mr. Richter formed in her mind, and she strengthened her resolve. She could do this. She had no other choice.
The driver helped her to the ground, and needing something to do, she hurried around to the back and retrieved her satchel.
Mr. Jackson was sitting up, still looking pale in his tanned face.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
He stared at her, his once-lively blue eyes now dulled with pain. “Like I’ve just busted a whole heard of mustangs.”
“Well, at least you’re home now and can rest.” With the doctor on one side and her on the other, they helped him to stand.
Mr. Peavey sauntered past the wagon and stared at her then at Mr. Jackson. “Just what’s going on here?”
“Hiram, you know Clay Jackson?” The doc looked at the two men.
Hiram nodded. “What’s he got to do with my bride?”
“She saved his life. That’s what.”
Hiram paced in front of them. “I don’t like that she was alone with him all night.”
“Nothing happened,” Jolie hurried to say. The whole crowd pressed in around them, and she didn’t see a single woman. Just long-haired, bearded men in dirty clothes. Every man wore a stained hat, and the pungent odor of moldy onions wafted her way.
Her knees trembled, and her fingers on Mr. Jackson’s arm shook. He lifted a hand and pressed it against hers as if reassuring her.
Hiram crossed his arms and shook his head. “Clay Jackson has a reputation as tall as a lodgepole pine. I ain’t marrying no woman what spent the night with the likes of him.” He spat on the ground. “I want a pure bride not a tainted one.”
Jolie gasped and held her hand over her mouth.
Mr. Jackson glared at the man, standing nearly a head taller than Mr. Peavey. “Nothing happened, Hiram. We sat close to stay warm, and she tended my wound. That’s all.”
Murmurs resounded through the crowd, and Jolie heard the words, “bare chest” and “slept together.” She backed up against the wagon, horrified that they believed the worst about her.
