Second Chance Brides (2 page)

Leah nodded. “Don’t know as I’ve seen one so big before. Why, it must measure three feet across.”

“Aye, and ’tis so colorful.” Lavender and yellow flowers dotted a green ivy vine that encircled the cake. Large letters saying,
Congratulations to Luke and Rachel
, along with the date, filled the center of the cake, which she hoped would serve the whole crowd. A haphazard collection of plates in various colors and designs were stacked on one end, as well as a collection of mismatched forks. It looked as if every family in town had donated their plates and forks to be used for the wedding.

A trio of ladies Shannon recognized from the church stood behind the table, awaiting the guests. All three cast apologetic glances at her and Leah. Shannon doubted a soul in attendance didn’t know her odd circumstances. She glanced down at the ground and felt a warm heat on her cheeks. She despised being the center of attention and hoped that with the marshal now married, chatter about the boardinghouse brides—as she and Leah had been dubbed—would die down.

“You ladies need any help?” Leah offered.

Sylvia Taylor, the pastor’s wife, smiled. “We just might at that. There’s quite a crowd here today, and we need to hurry before the storm lets loose.”

“Yes, that’s true. I suppose everyone wanted to see for themselves that the marshal was truly marrying Rachel Hamilton and not one of you two,” Margie Mann said.

Mrs. Taylor’s brow dipped, while Agatha Linus’s brow dashed upward.

“Now, Margie, I don’t think that’s a proper topic of conversation today. These young ladies are well aware of the importance of this event.” Sylvia, always the peacemaker, Shannon had learned, tried to calm the turbulent waters Mrs. Mann had stirred up.

“Well”—Leah looked around the crowd—“I don’t think we’ll have much trouble finding another man to marry.”

“It’s true that there are many unmarried men in these parts,” Mrs. Taylor said, “but don’t jump into anything. Marriage is a lifetime commitment, and you want to be sure you marry the man God has set aside for you. You’re both still young and have plenty of time to find a good man to marry.”

Shannon pursed her lips. Plenty of time, aye, but an empty purse and no way to survive had driven many a woman into the arms of a less-than-acceptable man. That was why she had agreed to marry the marshal before meeting him. A man who enforced the law must be honorable and upright. Only she found out later that it wasn’t Luke Davis who’d penned the letters asking her to come to Lookout to marry him but rather one of the Corbett brothers pretending to be Luke. Her gaze sought them out and found them plowing their way through the crowd, making a path so the bride and groom could get to the cake table.

The Corbett men were quite handsome, similar but different. They both had those sky blue eyes that made a woman’s heart stumble just looking into them. Blond hair topped each brother’s head, but Mark’s was curly while Garrett’s was straight. Mark’s face was more finely etched than Garrett’s squarer jaw. But they were pranksters, full of blarney, the both of them. Jokers who’d turned her life upside down. She clutched her hands together at the memory of that humiliating bride contest. Four women competing for one man’s hand. Who’d ever heard of such shenanigans?

Mrs. Mann cleared her throat, pulling Shannon’s gaze back. “I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s probably best that you not help serve.” She glanced at the bride and groom, halfway to the table, with Rachel’s daughter holding on to the groom’s right arm and grinning wide. “It might be distressing to the Davis family, what with all that’s happened.”

Leah scowled but nodded and turned away. Shannon realized what the woman meant. What bride wanted the women who’d competed for her husband’s affection to help with her wedding? She slunk away and found a vacant spot under a tall oak tree, whose branches swung back and forth in the stiff breeze. Holding her skirts down, she searched for Leah and found her talking to a stranger.

A man cleared his throat beside Shannon, pulling her gaze away from Leah. A heavy beard covered the short man’s smallish face, and dark beady eyes glimmered at her. “I was wonderin’.” He scratched his chin and looked away for a moment. Shannon couldn’t remember seeing him before. He captured her gaze again. “I ain’t got a lot, but I do have a small farm west of town and a soddy. Since you ain’t marryin’ up with the marshal, I was hopin’ we could get hitched.”

Shannon sucked in a gasp. Was the man full of blarney? Why, he had to be twice her age. His worn overalls had ragged patches covering every inch of his pants’ legs. He scratched under his arm and rubbed his beard again. She hated hurting people’s feelings, but she could not marry this man, no matter how much she longed for a home. “Um…thank you for your generous offer, sir, but I don’t plan to stay in Lookout. I’ll be leaving by the end of the week.”

His mouth twisted to one side. “I didn’t figger you’d wanna marry up with me, but I had to ask. Guess I’ll try that blond, though she’s a might uppity for my taste.”

With a mixture of relief for herself and pity for Leah, Shannon watched him approach her friend. Leah’s eyes went wide, and then she shook her head. The poor farmer shuffled away and disappeared into the crowd.

As the last of the people wandered toward the refreshment table, a mixture of glances were tossed her way. She felt odd being at the marshal’s wedding, and yet she’d wanted to support Rachel, who’d been so kind to allow the brides to stay at her boardinghouse. How difficult that must have been for Rachel when she was still in love with Luke.

Pushing her way through the people, Shannon drifted to the edge of the churchyard. She’d done what she felt was needed, and all she wanted to do now was to get away from the gawking townsfolk. She walked toward the street, feeling relieved to have made her getaway.

Mark shoveled cake into his mouth and watched Shannon O’Neil wander through the crowd, looking lost and alone. His gut tightened. With her auburn hair and pine green eyes, she reminded him too much of another pretty woman—of a time he’d just as soon forget. But he couldn’t forget Annabelle any more than he could ignore his brother.

He tore his gaze away and handed his dirty plate and fork to the preacher’s wife, knowing it would be quickly washed, dried, and returned to the cake table for someone else to use.

“Some wedding, huh? And pert near the best cake I’ve ever eaten,” Garrett said. “Think maybe I’ll get Polly to bake one up for your birthday.”

Mark shot a glance sideways at his brother. “Just so you don’t go orderin’ me a bride like you did Luke.”

Garrett grinned wide. “You ordered one, too, if I remember correctly.”

Mark’s lips twisted up on one side, and he ignored Garrett’s comment. “It’s good to see Luke and Rachel finally wed.”

“I wondered if he’d ever get around to marrying. You suppose our ordering those brides had anything to do with it?”

Mark shrugged, wishing he’d never allowed himself to get caught up in his brother’s scheme to marry off their cousin. If he hadn’t, he never would have written to Miss O’Neil on his cousin’s behalf, and she wouldn’t be stranded in Lookout right now, stirring up rotten memories. “I reckon the Lord wanted Luke and Rachel together. Our messing with things just made them worse. Kind of like when Sarah in the Bible gave Abraham her maidservant.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Garrett rubbed his chin with his forefinger and thumb. “We’ve got two more pretty women of marrying age in Lookout than we had before. That can’t be a bad thing.”

Mark shook his head. From the tone of his voice, Garrett was scheming again, and this time Mark wanted nothing to do with it. They’d be out plenty of money before Miss O’Neil and Miss Bennett found a way to support themselves or got husbands, since the marshal had ordered him and Garrett to pay the ladies’ room and board. Never again would he let his brother sway him into one of his schemes. Pranks were meant to be fun, but people kept getting upset at them.

The fiddler tuned up again. Men separated from their groups, seeking out their wives. Mark’s gaze sought out Miss O’Neil again, and he found her standing at the edge of the crowd. She put him in mind of a frightened bird that desperately wanted to join the flock but was afraid of being pecked by the bigger birds. She looked as if she might flit away without a soul noticing.

But he noticed—and the fact irritated him.

“You gonna ask her to dance?”

“What?” Mark frowned at his brother. Had Garrett seen him watching the Irish girl and misinterpreted his stare?

Downing the last of his punch, Garrett seemed to be studying Miss O’Neil himself. “She’s a fetching thing and free to marry now. Reckon we’ll have to find her and that blond a husband soon, or we could be paying their room and board for a long while.”

“Guess you should have thought of that before dreaming up that confounded plan to find Luke a bride. You’ll remember that I warned you this could come back to bite you.”

Garrett grinned. “Yeah, and I also remember you writing to one pretty Irish gal, pretending to be the marshal. If you were so opposed to my idea, why did you join in?”

Mark kicked a rock that skittered across the dirt. “Guess I just got caught up in your excitement. I wanted to see Luke settled and happy, too. He’d been through so much.”

“Well, if you’re not going to ask a certain redhead to dance, I reckon I will.” Garrett set his punch glass on the church sign.

Mark grabbed for his brother’s arm as he strode off, but he clutched air instead. Why couldn’t Garrett let things be? He always had to meddle. But he had no way of knowing how Miss O’Neil set off all kinds of warning clangs in Mark’s mind. He was wrong to compare the two women, but Shannon reminded him so much of Annabelle.

He clamped down his jaw. He wouldn’t let another woman close like he had Annabelle. Not that Miss O’Neil was any threat. He just had to stay away from her. Not let his guard down around her. He’d fallen for a woman once, and it had been the worst mistake he’d ever made. If anyone found out, his reputation would be ruined.

The Irish girl shook her head at Garrett, and Mark smirked. So she was immune to his brother’s charms. Good for her. A stiff breeze nearly stole his hat away, but he grabbed hold and pressed it down tighter. His gaze lifted to the sky. Shivers of alarm skittered down his spine. He didn’t like the looks of those yellow-green clouds. Could be just a bad thunderstorm brewing, but they had an ominous look about them.

He searched for his brother and straightened when he found him waltzing with Miss O’Neil. His hand tightened into a ball. Why should he care? But knowing Garrett was just trying to raise his hackles—and doing a decent job of it—irritated Mark. He had half a mind to march over there and cut in, but that was probably exactly what his brother expected him to do.

The song ended. Garrett leaned toward Miss O’Neil and said something. She shook her head, then tilted it to the side. Mark read her lips. “Thank you.”

She drifted through the crowd, looked over her shoulder, and then headed across the churchyard. She was trying to run away; he knew that. Things must be terribly awkward for her here. He watched her stop and talk with Leah Bennett for a moment until Homer Jones asked Miss Bennett to dance. Shannon watched the two walk toward the group of waltzing townsfolk.

If not for him and his brother, neither woman would be stuck in Lookout. He felt bad about that, but when he and Garrett had offered to pay their passage back home or somewhere else, both had refused. Maybe they liked it here.

He gazed at the town, trying to see it from their viewpoint. Lookout was small as towns went. The layout resembled a capital E, with Bluebonnet Lane the spine and Apple, Main, and Oak Streets the arms. Most of the buildings were well kept, but a few of them were weathered and unpainted and had seen better days. Yeah, they had a small bank, a store, marshal’s office, livery, café, a church, and even a newspaper office, but that was about all. Why would a woman with no means of support want to stay here if she had family to return to?

Screams rose from the crowd, yanking Mark’s attention toward the ruckus behind him.

“Tornado!” Frantic voices lifted in a chaotic chorus, joining with frightened wails.

Men grabbed their women and children and raced to find shelter. Mark shoved away from the tree he’d been leaning on. He looked back at Miss O’Neil. She stood on Bluebonnet Lane, her wide eyes captivated. Mouth open. Didn’t she know the danger she was in?

Foolish woman. He quickened his steps. People scattered in all directions, yet she didn’t move. He might not want to dance with her, but he sure didn’t want her to come to any harm.

A flying tree branch snatched his hat off like a thief, almost knocking him in the head. He galloped faster, dodging men. Dodging women dragging their stunned children. “Run,” he yelled.

But she couldn’t hear him.

The menacing winds stirred up dust, flinging dishes and cups and forks like a naughty child throwing rocks at someone who’d angered him. Mark reached Miss O’Neil, but she stood immobile, her face as white as the wedding cake. He jerked on her hand, hoping she’d follow him.