Mail Order Prairie Bride: (A Western Historical Romance) (Dodge City Brides Book 1) (2 page)

“A wedding gift? Isn’t it enough that I paid her fare all the way from Boston?”

George shook his head in that slow way of his. “A woman likes something she can hold onto. A gift that’ll mean something in twenty years when she digs it out of the closet. Why don’t you give her the necklace?”

“Are you out of your mind?” Briggs exclaimed. “What would I do about the engraving on the back? Draw a line through ‘Isabelle’ and write in the other one’s name?”

“Sarah.”

“I know her name.”

“It would be nice if you could use it when you meet her.”

“I will. I will.”

“And I don’t want to hear you complaining if she’s not the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen. You like the pretty ones and that’s why you fell so hard for Isabelle when she wasn’t—”

Briggs shot his brother a glare. “I hope my wife’s got hips as big as a barn and arms stronger than Big Joe MacKaskill’s. She’ll need ’em if she’s going to haul water from the creek ’till I get a well dug.”

“And when do you plan on doing that?”

Briggs clicked his tongue at the horses. “When I get around to it.” George didn’t respond, and Briggs could feel his disapproval like a pesky fly. Being a city person and a lawyer, George could never understand how much work went into farming. Or how rewarding it could be.

“I just hope you’re nice to her today.”

“I will be,” Briggs replied defensively. “And I don’t want to hear any more about it.” The wagon lurched and swayed over a bump in the road. “Yah!” he called to the cumbersome horses, flicking the reins and realizing that, come sundown, he’d be a married man.

His chest tightened at the thought of meeting this strange woman. He hoped this time, he knew what he was getting into.

* * *

“Next stop, Dodge City!” the conductor called out, whisking his fingers over the back of each seat as he staggered down the aisle.

Knots twisted inside Sarah’s slender body. She sat forward to see, for the first time, the place that would become her home. It was real now, no longer a fantasy. She checked to ensure her dark hair was neat and tidy, all her buttons were fastened, then pinched her cheeks to summon some color.

“You look lovely,” the woman beside her said. “I’m sure he’ll fall in love with you the moment he sees you.”

Sarah forced a smile. “How did you know?”

“I saw you reading that ad, and it’s not hard to tell how nervous you are. But don’t worry. You’re a beautiful young woman. He’ll be pleased, to be sure.”

Sarah watched the dust-covered, wooden buildings pass by the window as the train chugged into Dodge City. Sagging boardwalks sighed with fatigue under the persistent eddy of cowboys and town folk. The wide main street, muddy from a recent rainfall, lay battered with deep hoof-prints and wagon tracks.

The steam train screeched to a tuckered-out halt at the station. Outside the window, a crowd was gathered on the platform, mostly men puffing pockets of cigar smoke out from under their hats. Sarah took one last quick look, swallowed her apprehension, then reached for her valise.

Inching into the aisle, Sarah carried her bag toward the door. When she reached the steps, she squinted into the bright sunlight, then quickly raised a hand to shade her eyes. She searched the unfamiliar faces looking up at her. Where was the man who had promised to meet her? The man who would soon be her husband?

She took an uneasy step down. Just then, a gust of wind blew into her face and sucked her hat off her head, sending it somersaulting across the muddy station yard. “Oh dear!” she cried, as she clumsily reached up to hold her knotted hair in place.

At that moment, she spotted him. He was pursuing her hat. Her spirits suddenly surged with delight. It was him. It
had
to be. He wore spectacles, a gray suit and a fedora, just as she had pictured him. He looked very much like her father.

The man picked up her hat and wiped it meticulously with a crisp white handkerchief. When he seemed satisfied it was clean, he turned and walked directly toward her. “Sarah MacFarland?” he asked, reaching her and taking her heavy valise.

“Yes, I’m Sarah.” She placed her hat back on her head and poked the pin into place.

“Please, come this way.” He led her past a small group of men. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m George Brigman.”

Sarah peered at him, confused. Then her stomach dropped. “George? I thought you were…uh. Is Arthur your middle name?”

He stopped and laughed and held out his hand. “You’ve got it wrong, I’m afraid. I’m George, Arthur’s brother. But I wouldn’t call him Arthur, if I were you.”

“Why not?” Sarah asked, shaking his proffered hand.

“Everyone calls him Briggs. No one’s called him Arthur since….” He paused. “Well, I wouldn’t try it.”

Sarah felt an uncomfortable jolt of apprehension as she let go of George’s hand.

“Please, the wagon is this way.” George led her around the back of the depot.

As they walked arm in arm, Sarah wondered why Arthur—or Briggs, rather—hadn’t come to meet her himself. Perhaps he was shy. That must be it, she told herself while fighting a dozen-and-one fears. That’s why he had advertised for a wife instead of courting one.

Well, shy was just fine with her. In fact, she preferred it that way. A nice, quiet, reserved husband. Yes, that would be delightful.

George nodded his head toward a wagon. “There he is.”

Sarah stopped to look, but all she saw was a beat-up box on wheels, hitched to two prehistoric-looking horses with hairy hooves. “Where?” she asked, shading her eyes.

Just then, a man stepped out from behind the team.

Sarah’s breath caught in her lungs. Her first impression was that he was clearly in need of a bath and a shave. Had he forgotten this was his wedding day? He wore a white cowboy hat, a brown buckskin coat with long, swinging fringe along the sleeves and a necklace fashioned from animal claws.
Animal claws
? He looked nothing like her father at all.

Fighting the nausea which had suddenly rooted itself in her stomach, she took another tentative step forward. Briggs bent forward to check a hoof on one of the horses.

“I don’t think he’s seen us yet,” George said, sounding apologetic.

In her opinion, Briggs was more concerned with his horse than her arrival. But the extra moment gave her time to rein in her emotions and reconsider this situation. It was wrong of her to judge him based on his appearance. She hadn’t met him yet. He could be a very polite fellow.

He dropped the horse’s hoof and looked up. Sarah’s gaze met his, and a shiver of trepidation skittered through her. He seemed disappointed, as if she were not at all what he had expected.

The sun moved behind a cloud, bathing Briggs in shade as he sauntered slowly toward her. Tall and muscular, he moved with surprising grace. “
You’re
Sarah MacFarland?” he said.

She swallowed nervously, then struggled to keep her voice from quivering. “Yes.”

George broke in. “Sarah, this is my brother, Briggs. And Briggs, this is Sarah.”

The large farmer swept his steely gaze down her body, then back up again to her oversized, purple hat. “Somehow I can’t imagine her hauling water,” he said to George. “She’s no bigger than a mouse.”

“I can haul water,” Sarah mentioned uncertainly, but no one seemed to be listening.

George shrugged at Briggs, and Sarah was sure his eyes said,
I told you so
.

“Throw her bag into the wagon and get in,” Briggs said to his brother.

While George climbed into the back, Sarah stood wondering why this man was so displeased with her. She’d tried to appear pleasant. For pity’s sake, she’d done everything she could to primp and make herself beautiful for him.

“Let’s go.” He climbed into the high wagon seat. “The courthouse closes at five.” When she hesitated, he frowned down at her. Heat stole into her cheeks and she suspected she’d turned a vivid scarlet. “Are you coming?”

Something inside her wanted to say no and make a mad dash for the hills, but the hills, she thought ridiculously, were quite a distance from here. She stood motionless, letting her eyes wander the flat, windy town.

The sun poked out from behind the cloud, and she had to shield her eyes again to look up at Briggs’s large silhouette. This man was less gentlemanly than she would have liked, to be sure, but she was in no position to be fussy. She would rather take her chances here than back in Boston with Garrison, who could be on her heels at this very moment. At least if she married Briggs, it would be legal and she would change her name.

If things
didn’t
work out, at least some time would pass and her trail would become a little less visible. Garrison wouldn’t be able to find her.

Of course, she hoped it
would
work out, that she and Briggs could get to know each other and somehow manage some sort of life together. One day, she might even tell him the truth, after enough time had passed.

Raising her skirts, she scrambled awkwardly into the seat beside him.

“Yah!” he called out, flicking the reins. Without warning, the wagon jerked forward and Sarah’s head snapped back. She bounced and jiggled, using all her muscles to avoid toppling into Briggs’s lap as he turned the wagon around and headed across the wide street.

He spoke not one word the entire way, and Sarah wondered miserably if she’d just escaped one dreadful situation only to arrive smack dab in the middle of another.

Chapter Two

With his backside planted firmly on the crooked wagon seat, his fists clamped around the worn leather reins, Briggs refused to do anything but stare straight ahead. His head throbbed with a tension he’d not felt in months. How in tarnation had he gotten stuck with such a beautiful woman? He needed someone who could gather fuel, empty the stalls and milk the cow. Not to mention helping out with the harvest, and when it came time to slaughter the pig…well, that went without saying. Hadn’t she understood his ad? What was she going to do when she saw the sod dugout she’d have to live in?

Worse yet, she was exactly the type of woman Briggs had always found attractive. Her midnight-black hair was pulled into a loose bun on top of her head. She had big brown eyes a man could lose himself in, skin the color of fresh cream and lips the color of raspberries. And those lush, soft, feminine curves…

Aw, hell
. He didn’t want to notice those things because the minute she set eyes on his sod house, she’d no doubt demand to be sent straight back home. He’d be a fool to think otherwise.

When they turned up Railroad Avenue, the wagon struck a rock and leaped into the air. Beside him, Sarah bounced like a jumping bean and nearly landed in his lap. “Sorry,” she said, then quickly righted herself.

All of Briggs’s muscles went rigid. His body tightened with a maddening awareness and an arousal in his groin that he struggled to disregard, but it was no easy task. She seemed so delicate being tossed about, like a butterfly on a sudden unexpected gale.

George moved to the front of the wagon bed and sat directly behind them. “Are you tired from your journey, Miss MacFarland?”

“Just a little,” she answered, politely. Her leg—somewhere beneath all those layers of skirts—bumped Briggs’s, but she quickly drew it back to a proper distance, much to his relief.

“Well, you’ll be pleased to know your travels are over,” George said. “Until tomorrow, anyway. Then it’s a six-hour drive out to the claim.”

Briggs whipped around. “What do you mean, tomorrow? There’s a full moon tonight. We’re heading back this afternoon, just as soon as the judge gives us the certificate.”

George pulled out a white handkerchief and blew his nose. “Well, I took the liberty of booking you both into the Dodge House for tonight. It’s the best hotel in town, and I thought it would be a fine wedding gift, after Miss MacFarland’s long journey.”

Briggs made no effort to hide his irritation. This ceremony wasn’t supposed to be romantic. Briggs had planned to be up and fed and in the fields tomorrow by dawn. Now he’d have to spend the morning on the road, wasting even more precious daylight hours.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Brigman.” The appreciation in Sarah’s voice smacked Briggs like a brick. He turned to look at her, seeing for the first time what a wonderful smile she had. Her eyes were twinkling—at George—and her teeth were as straight and white as pure ivory. Was there nothing ugly about her?

“You’re welcome, Miss MacFarland,” George stammered like a schoolboy. “And you can call me George.”

Briggs shook his head at his brother’s syrupy tone.

“And what do you do, George?” Sarah asked.

“I’m a solicitor,” he replied. “I have my own office, right here in town.”

“How wonderful.”

The horses trotted to a stop outside the red brick courthouse. Briggs set the brake, wrapped the reins around it and hopped down. As he rounded the two-horse team, he watched Sarah clumsily wiggle down. She clutched at the splintery side of the wagon, her other hand holding her enormous hat to keep it from blowing off. Her little nose crinkled as she tried to gather her skirts at the same time.

Briggs shook his head at the spectacle—she just looked so plumb ridiculous!—until he noticed George clambering out of the wagon to assist her.