Mail Order Prairie Bride: (A Western Historical Romance) (Dodge City Brides Book 1) (3 page)

Well, he’d be damned if he’d let his brother beat him to it. Briggs hurried toward her and stopped just behind that shapely, wiggling backside. He watched her for a second. One tiny foot was on the ground, the other leg was bent at an impossible angle with the other foot still on the floor of the wagon. “Lean back,” he instructed.

He wrapped his hands around her narrow waist and lifted her dainty frame to the ground. Holding her so close, he noticed the clean scent of her hair and the faint hint of rosewater on her skin. He had to fight the inclination to enjoy it.

“Thank you, Mr. Brigman.” Sarah’s face flushed pink as she smoothed her skirt.

It was one of those things that charmed him—a woman smoothing her skirt. But almost as quickly as the feeling came, he squashed it like a bug under his boot. “Well, don’t expect assistance every time. You’re going to have to get used to things being difficult.”

Her jaw dropped in surprise and he wished he’d kept his thoughts to himself. But at some point, his mail-order wife was going to have to learn to put away any tendencies toward vanity if she was going to survive out on the plains with prairie fires, wind storms, and grasshoppers. He had no intention of letting her spend precious hours of every day in front of the mirror, fussing over herself like Isabelle had done.

They started up the stairs together and headed toward the front door. All the while, Briggs could feel a slow, heated panic moving over him.

After all his preaching to George about the problems with a pretty wife, what in the world was he about to do?

* * *

Feeling dizzy, Sarah gaped at the large brick building. Halfway up the steps, she grabbed hold of the handrail. She could not go through with this. The man beside her was not at all the kind of man she’d imagined she’d be wedding. Why couldn’t it have been someone like George?

Panic stormed at her from all angles as they entered the building and climbed the creaky stairs to the second floor. They reached the office at the end of the hall and Briggs ushered Sarah through. As she approached the distinguished judge seated behind a large mahogany desk, she realized she was another step closer to going through with this.

Sarah heard footsteps behind her and felt Briggs’s looming presence like a net about to be tossed over her head. He was standing too close, trapping her in this stuffy office. She couldn’t breathe! She had to call this off. It wasn’t too late until the papers were signed.

Turning on the braided carpet to face him, she sucked in a quick breath. He stood before her like a huge, stone wall, thick and solid. She swallowed, staring at his animal claw necklace, realizing he was taller than she had thought. The top of his white linen shirt had fallen open. She could see his bare neck, glistening with perspiration, and it made her mouth go dry. He flipped his golden hair back, revealing tiny beaded designs on the shoulders of his faded buckskin coat.

“You all right?” he asked. “You look like you need a glass of water or something.”

Nodding, she dropped her gaze to the floor. She wished she were anywhere but here.

“George, get her something, will you?” Briggs led her to a green upholstered sofa where he rested his hands on her shoulders and firmly sat her down. He knelt before her, then picked up a few papers from the desk and fanned her with a gentle breeze. She looked up to meet his gaze.

Goodness.
There was something very intense about the way he was looking at her. It caused a strange, heated fluttering in her belly, and she wondered if there might be some hope for them, as a married couple. Perhaps there was some kindness in this man, after all, although she wasn’t sure
that’s
what was causing the fluttering sensation. He
was
rather handsome and charismatic upon closer scrutiny. Quite astoundingly so. His lips were full, his face chiseled to a fine, masculine perfection, and those green eyes, watching her with concern, were absolutely mesmerizing.

Struggling to gather her wits, Sarah wet her lips and took a deep breath. She tried to think logically.

Surely this was the right thing to do. Women traveled west all the time to marry men they’d never met. Briggs had said in his advertisement that he wanted someone who would enjoy a simple life on the prairie, and that’s exactly what she wanted, wasn’t it? To live somewhere remote. Far away. To live an honest life with purpose.

She just hadn’t imagined, in all her girlish fantasies, that she would be marrying someone so muscular, intimidating and rugged. So much like this rough, untamed land. There was something dangerous about him. It made her heartbeat quicken, her cheeks flush with heat.

George hurried into the room with a glass of water and handed it to her. She sipped self-consciously, feeling the eyes of each man watching her.

“Perhaps some air would do you good,” the judge suggested, opening the window. A fast prairie gale dashed inside and swept some papers off the desk. The white sheets floated and rocked in mid-air before Sarah’s eyes. She felt dizzy, like she was rolling right along with them, falling and swirling into a dark, unfamiliar canyon.

“Darn wind never stops.” The judge pressed his palms to the desktop to hold down what was left.

Still kneeling in front of her, Briggs waited for her to finish the water, then took her empty glass and set it on the desk. She stared blankly at his strong facial features—the square jaw, the dimpled chin, the long lashes like an awning over his green eyes. The longer she looked at him, the more handsome he seemed to be.

She suddenly found herself wondering with a strange inner excitement what his kiss would taste like. Would it be different this time? Would his touch be gentle? Or would he be rough?

He touched her forehead with the back of his hand, and Sarah instinctively jerked back. Briggs hesitated, his eyes narrowing with a dozen questions.

Surprised at her impulsive reaction, she tried to relax and allow him to touch her. He seemed to be waiting for her readiness, and again he laid his hand on her forehead.

“You’re a little warm.”

“It’s just the heat,” she explained.

The judge laughed, his voice deep and booming. “Happens all the time,” he joked. “But usually it’s the groom. Some days they drop like flies, face down onto the rug.”

George joined in the judge’s laughter, but Briggs kept his attention focused on Sarah. “You all right, now?” he whispered privately to her, and the sound of his voice brushed over her like velvet. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

Suddenly, beneath her clothes, her flesh erupted in a strangely pleasant sensation of goosebumps. She felt protected and cared for—something she hadn’t felt in a very long time, not since her parents died.

With that realization, her heart began to slow its rapid pace, and she sensed that beneath the hard, uncouth exterior, this man may very well be decent, like her father. And he might make an excellent husband—for he was the perfect embodiment of exactly what she had been looking for.

Protection
.

It was all she needed to lift her up off the sofa. “I’m fine,” she heard herself saying. “Let’s go ahead.”

* * *

Standing in front of Judge Fraser, gazing into the liquid depths of Sarah’s coffee-colored eyes, Briggs was surprised by his sudden lack of cold feet. She’d seemed so innocent just now, sitting on the sofa looking up at him, desperate for him in a way he couldn’t quite understand. Isabelle had never looked at him like that. No woman
ever
had. He felt an inexplicable urge to take Sarah into his arms right then and there, and tell her everything was going to be all right. He would make sure of it.

Briggs glanced at the judge and recalled his earlier vow to avoid the kind of attraction he had felt for Isabelle. After the lesson he’d learned, he hadn’t thought himself capable of instant heated desire ever again.

So why was his body betraying him with such a powerful surge of anticipation?

The judge turned a page and startled Briggs out of his thoughts, reminding him to listen to these important, life-long words.

“Repeat after me,” Judge Fraser said, his gaze directed at Briggs. “I, Arthur John Brigman, take you, Sarah Jane MacFarland….”

Feeling as if he were floating, Briggs repeated the words, ending with “to love and to cherish, until death us do part.”

Great God, what was he saying?

Until death do us part!

To love and to cherish!

He tried to remember Sarah’s letter from a few weeks ago. It had convinced him she was the right woman. She’d mentioned her parents’ recent passing, her loneliness, and he’d thought even before meeting her that she possessed a purity that Isabelle had not. Looking at her now, he sensed an undeniable virtue and a sense of loyalty to family—which was a quality he admired and something he would treasure deeply, for he too had always been steadfastly loyal to those he cared about.

Wasn’t it possible that another beautiful woman could be everything he had wanted Isabelle to be? Wasn’t it possible he could trust Sarah?

He listened to her shaky voice repeating the same words he had spoken. He sensed her anxiety—which was only natural under circumstances such as these—but there was no turning back now.

As he slipped the ring onto Sarah’s slim finger, he promised himself he would build her a real farmhouse just as soon as he brought in the harvest. With any luck, they’d move in before the first snow. He would finally sell that necklace he had bought for Isabelle. His hopes and dreams belonged with Sarah now.

Oh, how quickly a pretty face could alter a man’s convictions….

The judge said his final words and Briggs gazed down at Sarah’s expression in wonder. Her eyes were wide and unfathomable, her cheeks flushed like two sweet, ripe strawberries.

They were man and wife now.

His heart pounded hard enough to knock him over.

Briggs felt George nudge him in the back, then he looked at the judge and realized everyone was waiting for the kiss. Briggs let his gaze fall back to Sarah’s frightened face. How was he to do this? They were complete strangers to each other.

Taking a deep breath, praying for a lifetime of courage, he leaned forward and pressed his lips lightly to hers, all the while resisting the desire to let his tongue wander inside.

He would have enjoyed lingering there a while—with her soft, luscious body melting into his—but when arousal grew too fast, he pulled back.

Such things should be enjoyed in private, he knew, and thankfully that moment was near.

Thank you, George, for booking us a room at the Dodge House. I didn’t think I’d want that, but damn, I do.

Simply the idea of his wedding night was enough to make Briggs weak with anticipation for what lay ahead.

Chapter Three

Sarah glanced across the small round dinner table at her new husband and could barely swallow. One part of her wanted only to move on to the wedding night and get it over with as soon as possible. Another part of her wanted to put it off forever. Surely when Briggs came to her in the dark, he would know he was not the first. Garrison had told her men knew these things….

She had to be strong, she told herself. She had to get through this. Perhaps her previous experience would not make a difference to Briggs. After all, there was no love between them. He merely wanted a helper on his farm.

Silverware clinked against china plates all around them. Conversation hummed and laughter bellowed from the back corner of the restaurant. Sarah shifted in her chair, then cautiously looked across at Briggs again to see if he’d noticed how little she’d eaten. To her dismay, he was staring at her over the fragrant, colorful vase of petunias.

Their eyes locked and held. For that brief second, she wondered what in heaven’s name he was thinking. Then without warning, self-consciousness intervened. She dropped her gaze, picked up her fork and scooped up some mashed potatoes swabbed in dark gravy. Chewing furiously, she knew her face had gone red as a ripe tomato. Briggs probably wasn’t surprised. Her behavior was what a husband would expect from a nervous, naïve bride on her wedding night.

The problem was, Sarah was not naïve. She knew fully what to expect in the marriage bed. And it wasn’t something she was looking forward to.

After dinner, she dawdled over her coffee while they discussed nothing more interesting than the weather and Sarah’s long journey. Soon the conversation slowed. Her coffee was cold and Sarah knew the time had come. She breathed deeply, trying to calm the nervous knots in her belly.

Briggs slid his chair back across the floor. “Are you finished?”

Sarah forced a smile and nodded.

“Shall we go upstairs, then?” he asked, offering his hand.

She placed her hand into his and allowed him to help her out of her chair. They walked arm in arm, upstairs to room 21, where her new husband inserted a large metal key into the lock and pushed the squeaky door open. Standing in the hall, unable to take even a small step forward, Sarah peered inside the tiny hotel room.

One flickering kerosene lamp produced a smoky light. A tall rosewood dresser stood against the far wall, holding a blue and white chamber set. But the most notable piece of furniture, taking up the most space in the room, was the cast-iron bed. She felt a rush of fear.