I subscribe to the school of thought that all readers have their own personal crack addictions.
Mine?
Mail order bride stories where the bride finds herself getting more than she expected. Oh, like a groom who wasn’t expecting her, or a groom who has the nerve to die before her stagecoach/train arrive. What’s a poor girl to do? Well find herself a more fetching man, of course! Preferably one who is still breathing 😉
The long journey across the West ended in sorrow for one hopeful mail-order bride. Dani Baxter stepped off the train in Colorado, only to learn that her intended had died suddenly, leaving three young daughters behind. And suddenly she knew why God had sent her here-to make this family whole again.
But her late fiancé’s brother, Beau Morgan, a bounty hunter obsessed with vengeance, believed that was his duty. He proposed they marry-in name only- for the children’s sake. But as she came to know him, she realized she wanted more, much more. And she wondered if even this lost man could somehow find peace in a woman’s loving arms.
E-X-C-E-R-P-T
Home.
The word caught in his mind like barbed wire. He didn’t have a home and he didn’t want one. The giggles coming from the bed of the wagon gave him a headache. So did the sun setting over the blue cut of the mountains and the streak of pink in the sky. Dusk usually calmed him. It meant the end of a day, solitude and the peace of sleep. Today the fading sun pressed him to hurry. The cows needed milking. The girls needed their beds.
“Beau?”
Dani’s voice matched the dusk. He hadn’t invited her to use his given name, but it sounded natural.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Supper was nice. I didn’t know you were a lawman.”
He grunted. “Josh talks too much.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw Dani lace her fingers in her lap. “They respect you.”
Beau said nothing. The man they’d known in Denver had died with Lucy.
“I don’t mean to pry.” Her voice dipped low. “But you were good at your work. Do you miss it?”
“I never gave it up.”
“You mean Clay Johnson.”
“And others.” Beau shifted his weight. “Johnson rides in and out of my life. Sometimes I get close and he runs. Sometimes he comes after me, makes a threat and runs again. It can take months to pick up his trail.”
“What do you do in between?”
“I check Wanted posters.”
“How do you choose?” Dani asked.
Mostly Beau got a feeling. “I pick the man with the deadest eyes.”
He heard the soft rush of her breath. “You’re a bounty hunter.”
Beau frowned. “I don’t do it for the money. I do it for–”
“Lucy.”
He doubted his wife would approve. “I was going to say justice.”
Dani stared straight ahead. “The Blues respect you. I want you to know. I do, too.”
A woman’s praise shouldn’t have made Beau square his shoulders, but it did. Aside from earning a living, he found satisfaction in his work. He brought peace to widows and orphans. He helped people who couldn’t help themselves. Most of the time, he felt content with his cause, but tonight he missed the things he’d given up.
With dusk settling, he wished he’d never set eyes on Daniela Baxter and her pink dress, his nieces with their blond hair, even the kitten. Parted from its mother and brothers, the poor thing was meowing its heart out. Beau knew how it felt. If the girls weren’t careful, it would bite and scratch out of frustration.
Emma’s voice carried over the rattle of the wagon. “We have to decide on a name.”
“I like Fluffy,” said Esther.
Beau winced. No male deserved a handle like Fluffy. He felt offended on the cat’s behalf but didn’t say anything.
“He’s a boy,” Ellie said, sounding superior. “Let’s call him Prince.”
Beau clenched his teeth. Prince beat out Fluffy, but not by much. The kitten was destined to lose all dignity.
Dani turned to the girls. “How about Boots?”
It fit, but Beau didn’t like it.
“It’s kind of plain,” Emma said.
The females batted around names, each one as unmanly as the last. After a mile, Beau had heard enough. “Name him Fred.”
“Fred?” The females cried out in a horrified chorus.
“Or Hank or Sam,” he said. “Anything but Fluffy.”
He’d stunned the girls into silence. Beau reveled in the quiet until Esther spoke up. “Uncle Beau?”
Until now, no one had called him by that name. His belly flipped. “What is it?”
“What name do you like?” asked the child.
He thought for a minute. “I’d call him T.C. for Tom Cat.”
“I like it,” Emma said.
“Me, too,” Ellie added.
Dani hummed her approval. “T.C.’s an excellent name.”
Beau turned in her direction and saw a shine in her eyes, a longing that matched the pull in his gut. Children . . . laughter . . . hope. When she turned to the kitten and smiled, he saw it as an act of defiance. Dani Baxter would grab the rope of happiness, no matter how frayed, and hold on. His belly burned. If Harriet Lange took his offer, that rope would be yanked from her hands. Beau knew how that felt. Her flesh would tear and bleed. He wanted to tell her to let go now, to forget the kitten and the little girls, but he knew she wouldn’t do it.
She must have sensed his gaze, because she turned to him. When her lips tipped into a smile, a sad one but honest, Beau felt it like his own. He jerked his eyes back to the road. T.C. meowed hungrily. Dani stared straight ahead. “We’ll give him milk as soon as we get home.”
Fool that he was, Beau felt happy for the cat.
