The Anonymous Bride (26 page)

Her mother’s heavy sigh warmed the side of her face and fluttered her hair. “There’s nothing I can do about the situation. Luke agreed to marry one of them.”

Jack sat up, fighting back tears. “But you have to do something. I want him to be my pa.”

Rachel pulled her down into her arms, and Jack reveled in her ma’s softness and sweet scent. “Oh baby, I’m sorry. Why didn’t you tell me how you felt?”

“It didn’t matter until all those dumb brides showed up. I figured we could take our time, and eventually he’d fall in love with us.”

Rachel tightened her grip. “I’m sure he loves you, honey. How could he not?”

Jack wrapped her arm around her ma’s trim waist. “But I want him to love you, too.”

Her ma smoothed Jack’s hair from her face. “Oh sweetie, you can’t force someone to love you. It has to come natural.”

“But I heard that Luke used to love you—before you married my pa. Can’t you make him love you again?”

***

Rachel winced as her daughter’s words pierced her heart. If only Jacqueline knew how badly she wanted Luke to love her. But she’d done all she knew how to get him to forgive her. She had to leave it in the Lord’s hands now.

Tears burned her eyes and ran down her temples into her ears. If only there was something she
could
do.

Jacqueline tugged away from her and sat up. “I have an idea.”

Rachel wiped her eyes, hoping her daughter couldn’t see her tears. “What’s that?”

Jacqueline clutched her hand. “Why don’t you enter the bride contest?”

She opened her mouth, ready to give a dozen reasons why she couldn’t, but her voice refused to respond.

“Really, Ma. Why don’tcha?”

“Well, because it’s a contest just between the brides.”

“But don’t you care for Luke?”

Rachel nodded, unable to deny the truth. Somewhere over the past few weeks, her love for him had rekindled and flamed to life like a rampant prairie fire. “Yes, I do, but—”

“No buts. You
have
to enter that contest.”

“I can’t. It wouldn’t be fair to the brides.”

Jacqueline shook her arm, her voice sounding frantic. “If you love him, you have to. Otherwise, we’re going to lose him.”

Rachel considered the wisdom of her daughter’s words. It was true. If she passively did nothing, Luke would choose one of the brides and marry, leaving her to endure the rest of her life alone and filled with regrets. Still, if by chance he did pick her, all the brides would be left unmarried. How could she do that to them? “I don’t think it’s fair for me to enter. Luke already knows me, and that might sway his choice.”

“Well, enter anan ... anon—what’s that called?”

“Anonymously?”

“Yeah! That.”

Rachel sat up, her heart taking off like a caged bird finally set free. Could she do it? Enter the contest anonymously? At some point she’d have to admit the pie was hers, but maybe, just maybe in the meantime, Luke would realize how much she still loved him. Excitement drove away her sadness. Maybe she still had a chance. Grinning, she pulled her daughter into a warm hug. “I think that’s a brilliant idea, sweetie. But it will be a secret, and we can’t tell a soul.”

“My lips are locked shut.” In the moonlight, Jack twisted her hand in front of her mouth as if turning a key in a lock. She bounced on the bed, grabbing Rachel’s shoulders. “Oh Ma, this will be such fun. The whole town will be wondering who the pie is from.”

Rachel laid back down, smiling to herself. Why hadn’t she thought of the idea? Maybe because she was too busy mourning her loss of Luke.
Oh, please, Lord, let this work. Help me to win back Luke’s heart.

She turned onto her side, thinking of all the pies she’d served Luke since he returned. To make things fair, she needed to bake a different pie—something he wouldn’t recognize as hers. Jacqueline fidgeted for a while; then her breathing deepened as sleep claimed her. But Rachel’s mind raced. She had to find a special pie to woo the man she loved.

CHAPTER 22

“Marshal, they’re ready for you to come and judge the pie contest.” Mayor Burke stood inside the jail door, all but bouncing. He grinned. “And there’s a big surprise for you.”

Luke stood, dreading the task ahead. If he chose a winner, the losers would be disappointed, but then contests were always like that. They just didn’t normally have your whole future riding on them.

He followed the mayor outside, where a crowd filled the street and boardwalks. His cousins had rigged up a table in front of the freight office, and Rachel and the ladies had decorated it with a white tablecloth, ribbons, bows, and other frippery. Atop it sat not three pies, but four.

“How in the world could something like this happen?” Luke’s gaze swerved toward the mayor, who stood to the left of the table.

The man grinned and shrugged. “Nobody seems to know. One minute it wasn’t there, and the next it was.”

Luke lifted his hat, ran his hand through his hair, and slapped the hat back down. Picking a wife by sampling three pies was enough of a chore, but now there were four—the last, a golden colored one that looked like a custard pie, with a sign beside it reading ANONYMOUS ENTRY. The fragrant scent of the pies made Luke’s mouth water. But warning bells clanged in his head. That pie could be from any unmarried woman for miles around.

“Hey, Marshal, how’s it feel to have all them gals wantin’ to marry up w’ya? Maybe some of us bachelors could have the leftovers.” Dan Howard laughed, and the crowd filling Main Street joined in.

“Yeah, Marshal, share the wealth,” someone cried.

Luke shook his head at their good-natured teasing but focused a glare on Garrett. None of this would have happened if not for him. “Are you sure no new brides have come to town?”

“Not as far as I know,” Garrett answered.

Standing beside his brother and the mayor on the left side of the table, Mark also shook his head and shrugged one shoulder.

Luke scanned the crowd for Rachel. She could confirm if another bride had arrived in town, but he didn’t find her. He could hardly blame her for not attending the contest, considering their past and how she’d begged him for forgiveness. He studied the ruffled edge of the tablecloth covering the pie table and sighed. He couldn’t give her something he didn’t have. So why did he feel guilty about the whole situation?

“This is outrageous.” Miss Bennett, standing to the right of the table with the other brides, stomped her foot and hoisted her chin in the air. “That last pie ought’a be tossed out.”

With her hands planted on her hips, Miss Blackstone stepped forward. “Yeah, I thought this contest was just between us three.”

Miss O’Neil fiddled with her sleeve, her eyes looking as wide as dinner plates.

Luke pinned his stare on the brides. “Has someone new moved into the boardinghouse? Another bride, I mean.”

All three gals shook their heads in unison—blond, brunette, and redhead. They would certainly know if another husband-seeker had come to town.

He studied the table holding the contest entries. Each one had a label made from a folded paper, and they read Bride #1, Bride #2, Bride #3, and Anonymous Entry, but the last sign was in a different handwriting than the others. The four pies sat, begging to be cut, although one of them looked a bit charred, and two had notches out of them that looked as if a varmint had feasted on them. The pie from the anonymous bride was by far the best looking. His stomach gurgled, reminding him that he’d been so nervous this morning he’d skipped breakfast.

His gaze wandered back to the fourth pie. What if it tasted the best? If he chose that one as the winner, he might well end up marrying Bertha Boyd. A shiver snaked down his spine, and he scanned the crowd to see if she was there. Sure enough, the wagon-sized woman sat on a sagging bench on the boardwalk across the street, fanning herself with one of those cardboard advertisements on a stick that a mortuary office from a neighboring town had handed out. The crowd in the street in front of the freight office, watching and waiting to help judge the event, had tripled in size from what it had been earlier.

Max crept up beside Luke and licked his hand then trotted back into the jailhouse. The dog hated crowds, probably because most of the “kindly” townsfolk had chased him away from their trash heaps at one time or another. Luke wished he could hide out like his dog, but he straightened his shoulders and turned back to the mayor. “What do you make of this additional entry?”

The mayor sucked in his overly large belly and grinned. “I haven’t a clue, but it will make a great headline: ANONYMOUS BRIDE COMPETES FOR MARSHAL’S HAND IN MARRIAGE.” He chuckled and shook his head then scanned the crowd. “Where’s that newspaper woman? Someone get Jenny up here,” he yelled, “and tell her to bring her photographic equipment.”

“I’m here, Mayor.” Jenny Evans peeked her head between two beefy men. “Let me through, you big belugas.”

Both men turned sideways, looking as if they were trying to figure out if she’d called them an offensive name, and Jenny shot through the opening carrying her big camera. Jack followed right on her tail with her arms filled with photographic plates. Jenny was one gutsy lady to entrust Rachel’s daughter with something so fragile.

“You brides line up behind the pie you made.” Jenny set down the long legs of the tripod and arranged them the way she wanted, then set the boxy camera on top. Jack handed her a film plate, and Jenny inserted it. “All right, ladies, look up here. Hold your expressions steady.”

Luke was amazed the three mail-order brides did as ordered without complaint, although Miss Blackstone hung back a bit, as if she didn’t like being photographed. He now knew who made which pie. Not that it mattered, because he didn’t favor one gal over the other, except he maybe liked Miss O’Neil the least because she was so skittish. She was a lovely thing with that mass of copper hair and intriguing accent, but she didn’t have what it took to live in Texas.

That would have left two brides to pick from if not for the anonymous entry. He searched his mind, trying to figure out who might have made it. There weren’t many marriageable women in Lookout, which was why his cousins had concocted this whole scheme. But someone from another town might have read of the event and entered, or someone from a family he hadn’t yet met.

“Thank you, ladies. You can move now.” Jenny waved her hand, setting the brides in motion.

“Now, Marshal,” Miss Evans said, “if you’d be so kind, I’d like a picture of you in front of that mystery entry.”

Luke shook his head. He’d never had his photograph taken before and wasn’t going to start today.

“Go on, Luke. Don’t be shy.” Garrett’s cocky grin made Luke want to knock it off his face. “You gonna let those brides show you up?”

The crowd joined in cheering for Luke to get his photo taken. He sighed and took his place behind the table. Holding a hooded glare on his face, he hoped he made everyone squirm. This whole shebang was getting out of hand. Whatever made him agree to marry was beyond him. Even a lawsuit sounded half good at this point.

Jenny took the photograph, and the mayor quickly stepped in front of the table, facing the crowd. Jack slipped in beside him and tugged on Luke’s pants. He leaned down. “I like that surprise pie best, don’t you?”

He studied her expression for a minute but decided she knew nothing about the owner of that particular entry. Either that, or she sure could keep a straight face.

“I probably should reserve judgment until I taste them.” He grinned and tweaked Jack’s button nose.

Mayor Burke lifted his hands, and the crowd quieted. “All right, let’s get this show on the road, and maybe we’ll have a wedding tonight.”

A cheer rang out from the crowd at the same time a lump the size of a turkey egg formed in Luke’s throat. Nobody had said anything about an immediate wedding. Weren’t there other parts to this contest yet to be held? He ran his hand over his jaw. If only he hadn’t given his word to marry.

“First, we’ll let the marshal taste the pies. I’ll go next, and then the Corbetts. After that, it will cost you five cents for one spoonful of each pie until they are all gone. There’s a jelly jar in front of each pie plate. When you pay your money to my wife over there,” he motioned his hand to the right, “you’ll get a dried bean. Taste the confections, then drop your bean into the jar you feel is the winner. All funds received will be donated to the church, so if you feel inclined to give more than required, I’m sure the reverend would be appreciative. And of course, Luke doesn’t have to marry the gal who gets the most votes. He has the final say as to which pie he thinks is the best. If he’s ready to pick a bride, I reckon we could have a weddin’ tonight.”

The mayor glanced at Luke, as if expecting him to object, but Luke clamped his mouth shut. He just wanted to get this over with.

“All right,” the mayor said. “Let’s get started.”

People pushed forward, as if each wanted a chance to sample the pies before they were all gone. The noise of the crowd grew louder. Many of the folks who lived around Lookout were farmers or ranchers who worked hard and lived a lonely existence. These social gatherings were few and far between, but Luke knew that each person would be encouraged just because they came to town to enjoy the fun and were able to forget their own troubles and visit with their neighbors for a short while.