Happily Ever Afters Guaranteed (18 page)

Before the wedding, I told Andrew everything.
My life in Oklahoma. My background as a blacksmith and veterinary
student. Jared and Hannah. It took some convincing to make him
believe I was not the original Matilda Briggs, but with help from
Minerva and Ruth, he came around.

And he still married me.

Who knew that true happiness wasn't limited
to a certain century?

Or that scandals could be overcome, if you
knew the right people.

Most of all, who knew that forgiveness could
lead to the sweetest love of all?

The End

SNEAK
PEAK – MARRYING MISS MARSHAL

The report of a rifle echoed through the
red-walled canyon, ringing in Marshal Danna Carpenter's chest. A
second report sounded close after the first.

She reined in her mount and pushed back her
Stetson, instantly alert and scanning the area for trouble.

The shots could've been someone hunting
game—although there wasn't much of it to be found in these
washed-out ravines southwest of town—or it could've been someone
discharging their weapon for a more nefarious purpose. As town
marshal, she had to be prepared for both possibilities.

Danna's horse shifted beneath her, its
movements telling her it sensed something wrong as well. But what?
Then she saw him, in the last rays of sunlight slipping over the
canyon's edge. A man staggering along the canyon floor, booted feet
dragging in the sandy soil. He carried some kind of luggage over
his shoulder. From this distance, she couldn't see a rifle….

Too far away to determine his identity, Danna
guessed she didn't know him. His clothes were too fine for these
parts—dark pants, vest, jacket, and a bright white shirt. Most
folks around here wore woolen trousers or denims, and plain cotton
shirts.

What was he doing so far from town? And on
foot? Any halfway intelligent person knew you didn't traipse around
the unforgiving Wyoming landscape without a horse, or a mule at the
very least.

Before she could decide whether to waste the
last of the sunlight to check on the stranger, or to head out of
the canyon toward home, her horse's ears flicked back and his
shoulder quivered beneath her gloved hand. The ground trembled.

From around a natural bend in the canyon, a
cloud of dust rose like steam from a kettle and sent fear
skittering down Danna's spine.

And the terrible sound she was hearing began
to make sense: hundreds of pounding hooves, getting closer every
second.

Stampede.

She couldn't leave an injured man to be
trampled to death. Danna kicked King's flank and gave a shouted
"hiyah!" The horse rocketed toward the figure still too far
away.

Peripherally aware of the canyon walls racing
by, Danna watched the greenhorn pause and looked up toward the sky.
What was he doing?

A few hundred yards behind him, cattle began
to round a bend in the canyon. The beasts bellowed, and that
must've jarred the tenderfoot from his stupor, for he turned and
faced the approaching wall of horns and hooves.

He froze, the item he carried sliding to the
ground.

Words rose in Danna's throat but she had no
breath to call out, not when all her concentration centered on
reaching him in time. He wouldn't be able to hear anyway.

As the cattle closed in, the man's sense of
self-preservation seemed to kick in, for he turned to flee, caught
sight of Danna, and began to run in her direction.

Danna fisted her mount's mane with both
hands, leaning forward until her torso rested against his
foam-flecked neck as she pushed the animal even faster.

The man looked up and, for a moment, time
seemed to suspend itself.

His eyes—a bright, clear blue—met Danna's,
and she saw his fear and surprise.

A solid wall of cattle closed in behind the
man. Too close.

Clinging to the saddle horn with her right
hand, gripping with her knees, she caught hold of the tenderfoot
under one arm, and used her horse's forward momentum to sweep him
up behind her.

"Hold on!" she cried.

The man's arm slung tight around her waist,
Danna pulled the horse into a tight turn and fought to keep the
stallion from unseating them both. She knew the fear of death in
that moment, her twenty-four years playing out before her eyes, so
many mistakes made…mistakes she desperately wanted a chance to
rectify.

They weren't going to make it.

A squeeze of Danna's legs sent the horse into
a smooth canter, but it was too late. Several cattle overtook them,
one bumping the horse's flank. The animal stumbled, but somehow
managed to keep its feet.

Fear stealing her breath, gasping, Danna
clung to the horse's neck as it sped forward, quickly outrunning
the cattle and their thundering hooves.

Thank God.

What had the fool man been thinking?

"Do you have a death wish?" the
woman—woman!—who'd saved Chas O'Grady's hide shouted over her
shoulder. He barely heard the words over the din of the cattle
still surging around them.

Her glossy black braid flopped over one
shoulder and thwapped him in the chin. "Didn't you hear the
stampede?"

Chas sucked in breath after breath of
wonderful, fresh air before he could force any words—like, "I
thought the racket was distant thunder"—out of his frozen jaw.
"You're a woman!"

His arms still around her, he felt her
stiffen infinitesimally. But the pounding adrenaline and building
anger in his system kept his words flowing. "Are you entirely out
of your head? You could have been killed riding straight into a
stampede!"

"Perhaps you'd rather I hadn't rescued you?
Because you would've been killed— trampled—if I hadn't scooped you
up out of there." He felt her inhale deeply, then she blasted him
again, "And I certainly didn't see any men around to do the job
properly."

The woman's fiery retort stymied him for the
moment, because it was true. There hadn't been anyone else in the
canyon, and he would never have been able to outrun the cattle.

The thought of what she'd risked—her
life—brought bitter memories to the surface. Chas blinked away the
images of another woman falling, her blood spilling. This woman,
whose name he didn't even know, wasn't dead. Even though she'd put
herself in danger for him.

Memories and self-loathing churned in his gut
until his rescuer turned her horse up the canyon wall, nearly
unseating him with the sudden movement. Chas clung to the woman's
waist, eliciting a huff from her.

Her faded denims and wide-brimmed hat had
caused him to assume she was a man from a distance, but with his
arms wrapped around the curve of her waist, there was no mistaking
his rescuer was pure female. He couldn't get a good look at her
features from behind her, but she must be nearly as tall as his
six-foot stature; the brim of her hat rested only inches in front
of his nose. Several dark strands of hair escaped from her braid
and curled along the nape of her long, slender neck. Her head was
in constant motion, darting left to right, and it gave Chas
fleeting glimpses of her cheekbones, the soft bow of her lips, the
dark sweep of her lashes. She was beautiful. And she guided the
horse as if she and the animal were one.

In any other circumstance, she would have
turned his head, trousers notwithstanding.

Instead, with his detective's nose for
curiosity already piqued, his mind swirled with questions. Why was
she riding alone in this rough part of the country? And dressed as
a man? Could she possibly work for one of the ranching outfits in
the area? What rancher or foreman would hire a woman to work on
their range?

"What are you doing out here alone, anyway?"
he demanded, trying to force back his darker emotions. "It's
dangerous."

"I could ask you the same," she returned
sharply. "You're obviously from a big city, and this isn't a
populated area. These arroyos are subject to occasional flooding.
You're on foot. What happened to your horse? Have you gone astray
from your destination?"

Her questions implied he couldn't take care
of himself, and they sparked his irritation.

"I'm not lost." That statement was a bit of
an untruth, but Chas wasn't about to admit that his sense of
direction had been compromised by the winding canyon. He'd been
operating as a private detective for several years. Being a little
out of place was not the worst situation he'd ever managed to
escape from. He would've found shelter eventually, if this female
cowpoke hadn't come along. Probably.

"And if you must know, I had a horse. I
bought her in Cheyenne, but…well, let's say the man who sold her to
me may have exaggerated her condition."

He thought he heard a small noise of
amusement from his unusual companion, but he couldn't be sure. His
curiosity got the better of him and he couldn't resist asking,
"Tell me, do all women in the Wyoming Territory dress the way you
do? Or are you attempting to pass yourself off as a young man?"

"No," came the sharp retort.

"No to which question?"

She didn't answer, but he felt her draw back
on the reins, and the horse slowed.

"Are we stopping?" he asked. "Why?" They
hadn't even attained the canyon's rim yet. He'd hoped to make it to
the small town of Calvin before evening set in.

"It's getting hard to see." The woman's voice
was soft and melodic, but her words were clipped and terse. "I
won't risk my horse or our lives by trying to climb this shale in
the dark."

Chas glanced at the purpling sky, realizing
how long the shadows had gotten along the canyon walls. He was no
outdoorsman, but even he could tell it would be full dark in
minutes.

"We can't just stop, can we?" Chas brought to
mind the hotel room he'd hoped to find tonight. With a bed. A
chance to wash away the trail grime he'd accumulated since leaving
Cheyenne.

"It looks like there's a level patch up
ahead." She nodded, though he couldn't see what she was talking
about. It all looked the same to him—an uphill climb. "We'll stop
until the moon comes up."

"Are you sure it wouldn't be better to keep
going?" Chas persisted, not ready to give up on the idea of that
bed.

She ignored him.

As the last of the sunlight faded into
pitch-black, the woman pulled up her horse on a somewhat flat piece
of land.

If they were going to spend the next few
hours trapped together in the dark, perhaps he should apologize to
his companion. Certainly, it wasn't her fault her actions had
touched on a sensitive memory he spent most of his time trying to
suppress.

Best get it out of the way quickly. "Miss,
I'm sorry—"

She interrupted him by pulling out of his
loose grasp and sliding off the horse's back.

A bit miffed at her dismissal, he
followed—and misjudged her closeness, thanks to the darkness. His
momentum nearly knocked both of them to the ground, but he steadied
her with hands on her forearms.

Her breath fanned his chin, her warmth
tangible as the night cooled around them. Chas's heart thundered in
his chest, much like those hooves that had been so close to taking
his life. This time for a different reason.

"Miss, I meant no offense by my earlier
words. I was…" He paused, looking for the right thing to say,
knowing he couldn't tell her about Julia's death. "I was simply
expressing my surprise to find my rescuer a woman."

She pulled away, but he still sensed her
nearness. Her movements in the dark—getting something from the
saddle?—seemed jerky and stiff. It was clear she'd rejected his
apology.

He went on. "I am grateful for your fancy
riding. I'd rather not meet my Maker today, and I've no doubt those
beasts would've stomped all over me if not for you."

"I would've done it for anyone."

Her voice sounded muffled, and he wished for
a candle or a beam of moonlight, so he might see her face.

"Stay here."

She disappeared into the darkness. Only the
muted sounds of boots scraping against stone told him she was still
nearby.

Stay here. He mimicked her curt words
silently. What did she think? He would wander off in the dark and
get lost? She'd already made it clear what she thought of his
abilities traversing this very canyon.

Agitation and impatience made him restless,
and he paced away from her horse.

And stepped right off the edge into
nothing.

Danna heard an indistinct shout, the scrabble
of falling rocks, and then silence.

"Hello?" she called, not bothering to
disguise her annoyance.

She kept after the small stand of bushes
she'd spotted as darkness fell. If she had to wait until the moon
came up, she wanted to be able to see the man she was stuck with.
She tried again. "Mister?"

He'd flustered her with his nearness after
he'd landed on top of her while attempting to dismount the horse.
She hadn't been so close to a man since her husband's death. And
even during their brief courtship and the early days of their
marriage, Fred Carpenter hadn't caused turmoil in her gut like the
warmth from this man's hands did. What was wrong with her? Fred had
only been gone a few months! And she didn't even know the
stranger's name.

Irritated with herself, she spoke once more.
"Tenderfoot?"

No answer.

Her extended boot met some resistance and she
knelt to gather the dry undergrowth from the bushes. Using the
flint and steel she'd retrieved from her saddlebags, she had a
small fire burning quickly. She turned toward her horse, that had
remained where she'd left it, but the man was nowhere to be seen.
She resisted the urge to groan.

18 Making sure the fire had enough fuel to
burn for a few minutes unattended, she returned to where she'd left
the tenderfoot just moments before. Past her placid mount, the
rocks on the edge of the slope had been disturbed. She frowned and
walked over, noting this area had a bit of a dropoff, instead of a
gentle slope. It was hard to see in the dark, away from the fire,
but by leaning out over the edge and squinting into the darkness,
Danna was able to catch sight of the tenderfoot several yards away.
He lay still, with one shoulder cocked in an awkward position.