Second Chance Brides (6 page)

Leah nodded. “People in Texas seem friendlier than where I’m from.”

Rachel moved over to a bowl that held dough and started rolling it out. “Texas is a rough land, even in this modern time. People here stick together and help their neighbors. It’s how we survive against the odds.”

“Well, I’ll just check on Shannon now.” Leah slipped back into the dim hallway. Rachel hadn’t said anything about her or Shannon moving out of the boardinghouse, but it must be uncomfortable for a newlywed to live with the two women who had been vying to marry her husband.

Glancing in the door to the dining room, she saw Jack race around the far side of the table and stop, grinning back at Luke, eyes gleaming. “I’ve got the last fork, and you can’t have it.” The girl’s singsong voice sounded playful and teasing. One would never know she’d taken cover from a nasty storm less than an hour before.

Luke growled and lunged for the child. She squealed and ran back into the kitchen. “Save me, Ma!”

Leah shook her head. Such playful nonsense would never have been tolerated in her parents’ home. With so many mouths to feed and her father a poor farmer, everyone was expected to work. Hard. There was little time for fun.

She stopped in the doorway to the parlor. Shannon lay on the sofa with one arm over her eyes. Her boot had been removed from her injured foot, which looked swollen even from across the room. How would she manage to get up stairs this evening when it was time to retire?

Leah tiptoed into the room, not wanting to wake her friend if she was sleeping. They’d been opponents, both competing for Luke Davis’s affection. She hadn’t treated Shannon very nicely in the past, mainly because she’d been so desperate to win the bride contest, but now they were in the same wagon.

A floorboard creaked, and Leah froze. Shannon lifted her arm and looked out from under it. She smiled, though pain creased the young woman’s forehead and dulled her normally bright eyes.

“Rachel asked me to check on you. Do you need anything?”

“That’s kind of you, but I’m fine.”

Leah glanced at Shannon’s ankle. It looked twice the size it should be. “Does your ankle hurt much?”

“Oh, ’tisn’t too terrible.”

Shannon attempted to sit up. She grimaced and stared at her ankle. “’Tis a fine kettle of fish I’m in.”

Leah rushed forward to help her. “I imagine in a couple of days your ankle will be almost back to normal.”

“Aye, you’re probably right, but I had decided to accept the Corbetts’ offer for a ticket out of town.”

Leah felt her own eyes widen at the woman’s unexpected declaration. She dropped in a side chair. “But where would you go? I thought you had no relatives in America.”

Shannon pressed her lips together until they turned white. “I don’t, but ’tis so awkward here now that Rachel has married. Don’t you think?”

Leah nodded. “Yes, but Luke and Rachel are good people, and she runs this boardinghouse. They will have others staying with them and sharing their table most of the time.”

“Aye, ’tis true. But not the women who competed to marry her husband.”

Leah wrung her hands together. Shannon was voicing the very same thoughts that she’d had ever since the day Luke announced that Rachel was the woman he loved. “What else can we do besides bide our time until we find someone else to marry or some kind of employment?”

Shannon shook her head. “You could return home to your family.”

Leah stiffened her back. “That’s not an alternative.”

The pretty, auburn-haired woman’s gaze flickered from Leah to across the room and back. “If I’m not stickin’ my nose where it doesn’t belong, might I ask why you can’t?”

“It doesn’t matter. I just can’t.” Leah stood. “If there’s nothing you need, I’ll go help Rachel.” She spun around and scurried from the room like a rat caught raiding the pantry. She should have just told Shannon the truth—that her father had for all intents and purposes sold her to a creepy old man. If she returned home, she’d be expected to marry Mr. Abernathy. She shuddered, just thinking of his leering gaze and the white hair that grew from his ears and nostrils. No, she’d rather marry an Apache than that old curmudgeon.

C
HAPTER
4

M
ark snapped the pencil in half and tossed it across the room. The pieces clinked against the window, drawing a curious glance from a passerby. He exhaled a frustrated sigh. “How am I supposed to tally the ledgers and do bookwork if I can’t write? Seems like the doc could have left more than just my fingertips free of this wretched cast.”

“Patience, patience.” Garrett propped his feet on his desk and sipped his coffee. “I’ve been saying it for a while: We need to hire some help.”

“I thought you wanted to hire someone to lend a hand with deliveries, not the bookkeeping.”

“Well…that changed when you busted your wrist. We could get someone to work in the office, and you can keep going with me on deliveries.”

Mark harrumphed. “Fat lot of help I’d be. I can’t lift freight until this heals.” He held up his hand with the cast on it.

“You can drive the wagon while I sleep.” Garrett grinned.

Mark tossed a paperweight at him. Garrett dodged it, flailing his arms like a young bird trying to fly, and fell out of his chair. Mark chuckled for the first time since the storm.

Garrett sat on the floor, his arms on his knees, and shook his head. “You’re sure in a foul mood, brother.”

“You would be, too, if you only had one hand to work with.” Mark knew he was being a cantankerous grump, but he could use a little sympathy. The problem was, Garrett wasn’t offering any. His brother had no idea how hard it was simply to do feats like getting dressed, shaving, or tending to his daily needs. Mark had just about decided to grow a beard. He’d nicked himself four times shaving today. Too bad Lookout didn’t have a barber.

Garrett righted himself in his chair and sipped his coffee again. Mark strode over to the coffeepot, carrying his cup. He stood staring at the pot for a second before he realized he couldn’t lift it and hold the cup at the same time. He smacked his cup on Garrett’s desk, drawing a raised brow from his brother, and then poured his coffee. The fragrant aroma wafted up, calming him.

“I could have done that if you’d asked me to.”

Mark scowled. “I’m not totally helpless.”

Garrett grinned. “I noticed you managed to eat just fine with your left hand. Learning to write shouldn’t be all that hard.”

Mark ignored him and studied the map on the wall behind Garrett’s messy desk. A pin was stuck in each of the surrounding towns where they delivered the freight they picked up in Dallas once a week. They’d been two kids from a poor family—two kids who’d pulled plenty of pranks and practical jokes—but they had realized Garrett’s dream of starting a freight company and had built it into a successful business. In the beginning, the townsfolk had bets going on how quickly the Corbett Freight Company would fold up, but by the time he and Garrett had grown up and the business started taking off, the brothers had gained the respect of the town.

Respect was something Mark cherished. He’d had none growing up. Their father had drunk away what little money he made, and their mother took in laundry and cleaned the saloon just to get by. Mark liked having people look at him with respect in their eyes, but he knew he didn’t deserve it.

And he was soon going to have to face facts. He no longer wanted to be in the freight business. He had dreams of his own. Dreams that had been squelched but refused to go away. He just had to figure out how—and when—to tell his brother.

Shannon closed her book and stared out the parlor window. The morning sun shone bright, and few traces of the storm still remained other than the damage to the buildings and trees. Boards covered most of the window openings she could see, and piles of broken wood and debris still littered the lot where the mercantile had been. Sweat trickled down her chest and back. Though only midmorning, the temperature was sweltering enough to sear bacon on an anvil.

After two days, her ankle was better, but she still had to stay off her feet a while longer per the doctor’s orders. Walking was difficult, but she far preferred the pain to having Luke Davis carry her up and down the stairs, not that he wasn’t capable of doing so.

“Silly lass.” She heaved a sigh, reminding herself that he was no longer a free man. All her hopes and dreams had been placed on marrying him, but it wasn’t to be.

She flipped open her book, and the wrinkled page of a letter stared up at her. Shaking her head, she knew it was foolish to write such a missive, but doing so had helped her in a small way. She glanced around the room, even though no one was there other than her. The wooden furniture gleamed with the fresh waxing it had received yesterday, and dust had not yet had a chance to settle and dull the shine. Two matching settees sat on opposite walls with a quartet of side chairs sitting at angles to the settees, and several small tables helped fill the room. A piano, not used since she arrived, sat looking as lonely as she along the far wall.

Smoothing open the letter, she stared at the words. What kind of person wrote a letter to a dead woman?

Dear Mum
,

I miss you so much and wish you were here. I miss your smiles, your hugs, and kisses on my cheek
.

You won’t believe this, but I’m in Texas now. ’tis such a grand, wild state, Texas is. Cowboys fill the streets, sometimes hooting like banshees and firing guns, but the marshal quickly confiscates their weapons and gives them some cooling-down time in his jail
.

Shannon twisted her mouth up, disgusted with herself. The marshal, again. Shaking her head, she continued reading.

Lookout—’tis such an odd name for a town—is small compared to some of the Texas towns I traveled through on my way here from Louisiana. Things are so much drier than in our homeland. I miss the green of Ireland
.

There’s a high ridge across the river where outlaws and later soldiers used to watch for their enemies, so I’ve been told. That place is called Lookout Ridge and is where the town’s name comes from. There’s a river west of town that flows to the south. Then it makes a sharp turn at the ridge before traveling eastward. A pool formed there, and the townsfolk use it as a swimming hole when the water is deep enough. I have not been, though ’twould feel grand on a hot day like this one. Thankful for fall, I’ll be
.

I participated in a bride contest—have you ever heard of such a thing? Only in America. ’Twas quite an event. People for miles around came to town to see the competition and judging. Three women, me being one, traveled here to marry the same man, but one bride turned out to be an outlaw and is now in prison or jail somewhere. I’ve never been so close to
an outlaw, unless one counted Da as one—forgive me, Mum. But Carly didn’t seem like an outlaw. Lonely like me, she was, and I think she wanted to live a normal life. But ’twas not to be for her—nor for me
.

Shannon’s eyes stung, and she attempted to smooth out a place on the letter where several tears had dropped and crinkled the paper. Footsteps drew near, and she stuffed the missive into the book, slammed it closed, and held the novel against her chest.

Rachel stepped into the room and smiled. “How are you doin’? Anything you want?” Her gaze traveled around the room, as if searching for anything out of place.

Shannon shook her head. What she wanted was to live somewhere else, even though she loved her room upstairs. ’twas the nicest place she’d ever stayed, yet she wanted to be free of the awkwardness that existed now that Rachel had married Luke. But the town had nowhere else a decent woman could stay. If only she hadn’t injured her ankle, she would have been gone by now, on yesterday’s stage. But to be fair, Rachel had been only kind and had tried hard to make the best of the situation. To act as if nothing had happened.