Mail Order Prairie Bride: (A Western Historical Romance) (Dodge City Brides Book 1) (29 page)

As she stood at the base of George’s staircase, she began to wonder if this swift death to her marriage had been inevitable from the beginning. They hadn’t known a single thing about each other when they spoke their vows at the courthouse, not fifteen minutes after they’d first met. Surely that had been madness.

Of course, Sarah knew why
she
had been so desperate to become someone’s wife that day, to change her name and disappear into the vast Kansas prairie—but what had driven Briggs to act so imprudently? Clearly he hadn’t been in his right mind either, after the loss of his family, and then the heartbreak of his broken engagement to a woman he might very well still love. Now reality had set in, and he had come to realize that marriage to a stranger wasn’t what he’d
thought
he wanted after all.

And as desperate and frightened as Sarah had been on her wedding day, she couldn’t deny that she had been wrong to deceive Briggs, and perhaps this was her comeuppance.

Fighting her grief over how it had all played out, Sarah spun on her heel, walked into the kitchen, and hastily scrolled her name.

* * *

The sun was just coming up when Briggs drove into his yard feeling sleepy, sore, and hungover. He’d driven all night in a post-drunken stupor, brooding over Sarah’s lies and deceptions. At the same time, he’d fought the urge to turn back around, rip up those annulment papers, and bring her home with him. Though now, he had to wonder what there was to come home to. Dead crops? A tiny structure made of sod? A bitter cold winter on the way, which he would spend alone, missing her?

He pulled the wagon to a halt, set the brake and hopped down. The chill of the night had not left his bones with the advancing dawn. Autumn would soon be here. With the sky growing brighter, he could see his breath.

The barn door swung open just then, and Frank Whitiker appeared.

“Briggs! You’re back!” the boy shouted. “I was looking after Maddie for you. She’s milked and the pigs are fed.”

Briggs walked toward the boy and messed his hair. “Thanks, Frank. I knew I could count on you.”

The boy’s face beamed with pride. Briggs smiled, but noticed how much effort it took to do so.

“I should be getting home,” Frank said. “I still have my own chores to do before breakfast.” He bolted across the yard, but stopped suddenly and turned back. “Wait until I tell Ma and Pa you’re back! They’ll want to come over again for more dancing.”

Briggs frowned. He wasn’t looking forward to explaining any of this to Howard and Martha. “Mrs. Brigman isn’t with me, Frank. She stayed in town.”

Frank scratched his head. “Oh.”

“You can tell your folks not to worry, though.”

The boy hesitated, then slowly turned and took off across the barren field.

An hour later, Briggs sat down at the table and stared at the dirt wall while the wind roared eerily across the endless ocean of prairie. Why did he not feel more relieved? He’d just cut loose a deceptive wife—gotten out of it legally—yet the only thing he could think about was how desperately he wished she was here.

* * *

After purchasing a train ticket to Caldwell—it was as good a place as any to start over—Sarah went out to walk for a while. She wasn’t feeling very well and thought some fresh, cool air and sunshine might help. She stepped up onto the Front Street boardwalk, her heels clicking in a steady rhythm as she walked by Mueller’s Boot Shop. The smell of fresh bread emerged from the bakery next store and an unexpected wave of nausea moved through her.

Not again, she thought, holding her gloved hand up to her mouth. Her eyes searched frantically for a place to go, but where? She gagged, then turned and ran into the fenced-in alley beside the boot shop. With one hand on the tall fence, she bent forward and retched.

A moment later, she was wiping tears from her eyes and sniffling. What else would she have to endure today? Making her way back onto the boardwalk, she tried to ignore the curious stares. She waited for the sick feeling to go away, but it lingered. When she imagined getting on the train and rocking and swaying for the entire journey, she nearly retched again.

“Are you all right?” an older woman asked her. “You don’t look well at all.”

“I’m fine.”

The woman stared sympathetically. “Why don’t you let me take you to the doctor? I couldn’t live with myself if I left you here.”

Sarah was about to decline the lady’s offer, but thought better of it because she felt so weak and dizzy. Perhaps she did need some help. She would put the visit on Briggs’s account. He owed her that, at least.

“Thank you,” she said, her body shaky as she tried to walk. The kind woman held Sarah’s good arm and led her slowly down the street.

* * *

“Pregnant!” Sarah shouted, staring wide-eyed at Dr. Green. “Are you certain?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Sarah collapsed onto a velveteen upholstered chair by the door. The doctor knelt in front of her, his brown eyes full of compassion. “Is there a problem, Mrs. Brigman?”

A problem? Only if one considered it a problem to be pregnant and not know who the father was.

She stood up and touched her fingers to her lips. Did the baby belong to Briggs? If so, she could not possibly dispute what she felt—a joy so intense, it could not be matched by anything else in this world.

Something inside her told her that it was his, but how could she be sure?

She whirled around and pulled the door open, her skirts spiraling outward.

“Mrs. Brigman! Where are you going?”

“I’m going to tell my husband!”

* * *

From where he sat in the barn milking Maddie, Briggs was agonizingly aware of the late afternoon silence. The wind had died down, the grass had gone still. If not for the rhythmic streaming of Maddie’s milk into the wooden bucket, he would have questioned whether or not his ears still worked.

He hunched forward beside the cow and remembered all the days during the past month when he’d looked forward to returning to the little sod dugout after a long day’s work. It’s true what they say, he thought, squeezing the last drop of milk from Maddie’s udder—you don’t appreciate what you have until it’s gone.

He gripped the bucket’s rope handle and rose to his feet, wondering if what he missed was simply the smell of hot cornbread and pork roast. Any woman could prepare a meal and create a cozy feeling in a sod house. All it took was a few flowers, a tablecloth, a curtain hung on the window.

But would another woman make this empty feeling go away?

Suddenly he wanted to saddle one of the horses and gallop straight back to town, get down on his knees and beg Sarah to forgive him for being such an ass, such a coward. When had he ever just let himself love her without fretting about it? When had he ever given her what she’d given him?

He stopped suddenly. And why in God’s name had he believed that no-good scoundrel, McPhee, over Sarah? Briggs could barely remember what he had said now, on account of the whiskey.

He turned to carry the bucket outside, but stopped when he heard something. Hoof beats?

Anticipation rippled through him. Had Sarah come back to give him another chance?

Heart flooding with hope, he bent forward to set the bucket on the ground. The hoof beats came to a halt just outside and someone hopped down.

Briggs moved to the door. His mood began to rise. He was beginning to shake with joy, the urge to laugh! The orange sun came into view as he stepped outside into the light, ready to break into a run, to take his wife into his arms and apologize for everything.

He stopped dead in his tracks, however.

Approaching him, with her long flowered skirt sweeping to and fro, was Isabelle.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Clutching her skirt in a tight fist and holding onto her hat, Sarah burst out of the doctor’s office and ran up the street toward the livery. She would hire a buggy and drive out to the farm. Then she would tell Briggs she was expecting a child. A child!

As she ran, each long stride sent a jolt of pain up her arm, enough to make her feel faint. She raced into Ham Bell’s Livery, but skidded to a halt, realizing she’d never be able to steer a buggy with a broken arm. Maybe she could ask George to drive her. She just couldn’t give up. This news had to change things.

She was about to turn around and leave when a man in blue overalls approached her. “Hey there, what can I do for you?”

“I came in for a horse and a buggy, but—”

“We got that. How long do you want it for?”

Sarah struggled to catch her breath. “I need to drive out to the Brigman farm, but I’m probably going to need someone else to take me.” She held up her arm in the splint.

Ignoring her broken arm, he stared at her, his face lighting up like the Fourth of July. “Are you the one that left him for the fancy-dressed gentleman from Boston?”

Sarah frowned. “How in the world did you hear about that?”

“Everybody knows. Aside from that, the reverend’s daughter was here this morning, hiring out a horse. Seems like Briggs is finally going to get her back.”

Sarah staggered back a step. “The reverend’s daughter… Do you mean Isabelle?” Her stomach careened. “When did she go?”

“This morning. I reckon she’s there by now.”

Shock held Sarah immobile.
That witch
!

“You still want that buggy?” the man asked.

For a moment she just stood there, the world turning red before her eyes. What if Isabelle cried her heart out on Briggs’s shoulder and begged him to take her back. What would he do?

And what about the baby? Briggs already thought Sarah was a liar and could not be trusted. Wouldn’t he think she was now using her condition to get what she wanted? Hadn’t he always been quick to think the worst of her? And what if he thought it was Garrison’s? And what if it actually was?

Sarah looked up at the wood rafters, trying to decide what to do. A meadowlark flew back and forth, trapped high in the peaked ceiling. When it swooped down and found its way out the wide barn door, Sarah exhaled sharply and met the man’s waiting gaze. “I want that buggy. If you please.”

She would then ask George to drive her.

A few minutes later, Sarah was pacing back and forth in front of the livery, waiting for the man to bring the buggy around. Her courage cracked slightly when she pictured herself pulling into the homestead. What if Isabelle was inside the dugout, preparing a meal? What if Briggs was there too, sliding his hands around her waist and pulling her into his arms? Burying his lips in her neck?

If Sarah walked in on that scene, she might lose her mind.

Biting her thumbnail, she decided to see what was taking the man so long. She walked around the side of the building and collided hard with someone.

Taken aback, she looked up. “No. Not now.”

Garrison grabbed hold of her broken arm. Sarah shrieked, the pain so intense, she sank to her knees. “It has to be now, love. Otherwise, we’re going to miss our train.” He dragged her toward the station.

“No! Someone help me!”

Garrison whirled around and withdrew a pistol from the inside pocket of his black coat. He pressed his cold palm over her mouth, and dragged her along with the gun pressing into her temple. “One more peep and I’ll shoot you right here. I’d rather you be dead than in the arms of that brute you call a husband.”

* * *

“Hello, Briggs,” Isabelle greeted, her long strides fluid and graceful. Stopping a mere foot away, she smiled warmly. “I heard about everything. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t imagine you out here all alone.”

“You heard what, exactly?” he asked with a frown.

“George filed annulment papers at the courthouse this morning. I’m afraid Dodge has a way of spreading news about people’s personal affairs. We both can attest to that.”

He buried his hands in his coat pockets. “You came all the way out here by yourself? That wasn’t a wise thing to do, Isabelle—”

“Oh, hush. It was early in the day and I remembered enough not to lose my way.”

He recalled the last time she’d been here, and how she had looked over everything with such shock and disdain….

“Still, it’s not exactly—”

“Not exactly what?” she challenged, in that melodic tone she liked to use whenever she wanted to get her way. Funny, how he used to dissolve into a thousand besotted pieces over that voice, and everything else about her.

She raised an eyebrow. “Appropriate? These days, I hardly think my reputation is worth protecting. I’ve been married and deserted, and now I’m going to be a mother.” She lowered her gaze. “A mother without a husband.”

Briggs blinked a few times. “I didn’t know that.”

“No one does. Not even my father.” She wandered toward her horse and stroked his muzzle. Briggs felt an odd sense of pity—something he hadn’t imagined he’d ever feel for Isabelle. She’d always gotten everything she’d ever wanted. Even at his expense.

“I’m sorry about your circumstances,” he said, taking a step forward, then stopping himself.

“I know you are.” She faced him with a genuine look of regret, and for the first time, Isabelle seemed like a real person to him, not just a flawless beauty. He could see that she was a bit broken inside and humbled by the harsh realities of the world. “But I didn’t come all the way out here to talk about me,” she continued, pasting on a more familiar, dazzling smile. “You’re the one who needs a sympathetic shoulder today. I don’t suppose you’ve eaten.”