Brides of Grasshopper Creek Page 19

  "I do, too."

  The tears streamed down my cheeks now, but I made no move to brush them away. Emmet reached forward and hung the heart carefully on one of the branches of the tree, our tree. He ducked his head down to rest a gentle kiss to my lips and I felt everything that had been shattered within me become whole again.

  THE END

  A Mail Order Bride For Edward

  Wyoming Frontier Brides

  Charity Phillips

  A Mail Order Bride For Edward

  The sheriff of Davinia, Edward Higgins, has a sterling reputation. He’s kind, thoughtful, brave, and hardworking—exactly the sort of man there’s a shortage of in this world. Unfortunately, there’s been no shortage of dangerous criminals in his long and varied past, so settling down to start a family has been out of the question—until now.

  In the winter of his twentieth year as sheriff, he’s finally passing the badge on to someone else and marrying Eliza, a woman who has been waiting patiently to wed Edward for three years. Though they’ve never met in person, Eliza and Edward are a perfect match, and it doesn’t take long for them to feel in sync.

  But before they embark on their honeymoon, the newlyweds are interrupted by a repeat offender from Edward’s past: a vindictive ex-lawman determined to make him pay for the life of luxury he caused him to lose.

  Will Edward and Eliza’s love be able to break free and flourish—or will it wither, trapped by the steely bars of his past?

  Chapter 1

  “That was some ceremony, Edward.”

  Edward looked up from his pumpkin pie to find Earl Greene smiling down at him, with a mug of beer in one hand and the other wrapped around a sturdy black cane. He felt his gentle smile widen into a grin, and it felt as alien to his lips as it looked on the slightly older man’s face.

  “Thank you kindly,” he said, and shook Earl’s hand after the man set his mug down. “It was a little longer than I thought it would be; I’m sure you’re anxious to get back to your place and prepare those fish.” That morning, Earl had secured a net full of glistening fish from a nearby lake, and it would be the last fresh catch they got before the lake finished freezing over.

  Instead of taking the bait, Earl shook his head and grinned pleasantly. “I got Richard working on it, don’t you worry. They’ll be ready for sale in no time.”

  Damn, Edward swore internally. Earl never could take a hint. “You’re not afraid of him messing it up? I’d trust him with most things, sure, but remember when he nearly took his thumb off filleting that flank? And he’s got a wife to think of now.”

  That seemed to do the trick. It took a second, but worry settled into the creases of Earl’s face, and he blinked a few times as the worry deepened and became panic. “‘Scuse me,” he muttered a moment later, and pushed past Edward and out of the room, mumbling about his nephew taking years off of his life just by being in the world.

  He felt guilty, but if Earl didn’t leave, the rest of the lollygaggers wouldn’t, either. The party to celebrate his retirement had begun nearly three hours ago, and it was only supposed to be a one-hour affair—after all, his retirement ceremony itself had lasted an hour and a half. He hadn’t expected everyone to want to stay so long and congratulate him. Missy McDonald came up to him in tears to apologize to him for calling him a “stale old timer” when she was sixteen, and assured him that she had changed in the ten years since. Her husband had to pull her away from him to allow him to escape, and even then, he’d only been mobbed by another group of teary-eyed residents.

  Now he started to back away toward the exit, wondering how soon it would be before someone missed him. Joseph, the butcher, was deep in conversation with a few young men holding glasses of water that they had already forgotten they poured, and a few more people were walking toward him with curious expressions on their faces. As he got closer to the door, he decided to turn and take his chances at a full sprint—and nearly slammed into a sable horse so tall its rider blocked out the sun, casting Edward’s falling body into shadow.

  After he picked himself up out of the dust and smoothed away the smudges on the side of his trousers, Edward peered up to see who was pulling the massive beast. The figure looked like a shadow made solid for a moment, then his eyes adjusted, and he realized it was Vincent, the stagecoach driver who pulled one of his two carriages through town and beyond. He frowned, ready to shout at whoever had been so inconsiderate; but the anger faded from his face as soon as he saw it was Edward.

  “Where’s the fire?” he asked, stroking his horse’s neck. “Need a lift?”

  Edward shook his head sheepishly, throwing another glance toward the barn’s doorway in case someone came through. “No, just getting too crowded in there, and it’s time I tended to some things at home.” He touched his hat and nodded at Vincent, who pulled his horse around to face him as he tried to walk a wide circle around the mare.

  “Things to tend to at home, eh?” Vincent asked, and his grin showed how very many teeth were missing from his mouth. “Better go on, then. Lots to do.” His tone was knowing, and Edward laughed despite himself. Everyone in town was so wrapped up in his business, even though he’d fought hard to retain a little privacy over the years. That’s the price I pay for keeping this town safe the best I can, he thought tiredly. Then another thought occurred to him as he stepped over the daisies at the edge of the road and started toward his home: I’ll never have to pay that price again.

  In just a few short hours, Eliza Crawford would be pulling up to his handsome farmhouse after three years of exchanging letters, making plans, and then moving those plans back several times after he failed to find a suitable replacement. Those three years seemed longer; that was partially because he’d fallen in love with her after only a month of writing—unbelievable though it seemed, and she’d reciprocated not long after. Edward was still in shock that Eliza had been interested in anyone like him at all, truth be told; at first, he thought her letters were an elaborate prank, or an odd trap being sprung by someone who wanted to hurt him in a way he couldn’t reverse. But she showed him newspaper clippings displaying her full name in articles about her prize-winning horses; a photo of her father with one hand on her shoulder, smiling grimly next to a portly woman called “Nana Hester,” and souvenirs of her travels overseas, including a few francs that looked rather travel-worn. Edward had never been further east than New York, nor had he ever gone more than a few miles offshore in California. He was in awe of how casually Eliza described her journeys, and her modesty in retelling stories was full of irresistible charm. She never bragged, and she never brought up names or places for the sake of mentioning them, but Edward thought this was because she constantly saw the beauty in everything else.

  Edward whistled to himself as he strode toward the end of his lane. Six tall, bushy trees formed a partial barrier between the face of the rust-red brick house and the street in front of it, meaning no one could see into the windows—or, indeed, most of the house—until you crossed the tree line. His grandfather had planted the quaking aspen as a child under his ailing mother’s instruction; she told him they would absorb her spirt after she died so she could shield him from harm, as long as he let their branches spread and their leaves bloom unchecked. Since his father—and his father’s father—had both been in law enforcement, the extra protection seemed like a useful thing to have to young Edward, and he accepted the legend as it was told to him at face value, never considering the truth until late in his teens. Even then, he knew he would never cut them down; they did add more privacy to the property, and the people of Davinia were so terribly fond of their Sheriff that nearly every day he caught someone standing outside, trying their best to see into the windows on the second floor.

  As he opened his door, he heard the familiar thump of his ten-year-old cat, Abby, as she landed beside him. She favored sleeping on the mantle above the fireplace, and today was no different. A glance told him that the fire had been stoked recently, and a few more steps into
the living room allowed his nose to finally catch the scent of baking bread and some sweet berries. He froze, then smiled as the tension drained from his body. He’d forgotten that a few of the townspeople had insisted on helping him prepare for Eliza’s arrival, and by the sound of it, they were still here. God bless them, they really do appreciate me, he thought fondly; if only everyone I’ve come across learned to do the same. He had scars on his body as proof that he had more than a few real enemies in this world, but with any luck, he wouldn’t be making anymore.

  Old Bonnie Jacobs came out of the kitchen just as he hung his wool coat up on one of the hooks by the door. She was a full foot shorter than him, but her energy and presence made her seem much bigger than her five feet and one hundred pounds. She smiled and clapped her hands when she saw him, showing him her impressive porcelain dentures as she shuffled across the room. When she got to him, she pressed her round face to his stomach and wrapped him in a bone-crushing hug; he pulled away laughing, but slightly sore.

  “How was it?” she asked brightly, her Greek accent much stronger in her excitement. “I’m sorry I left so early, I forgot the cheesecake preparation until the very last minute.” She beamed up at him, then tugged on the collar of his light blue shirt, frowning thoughtfully. “Is this what you’re wearing?”

  Edward stepped back, disarmed. “Should I wear something else?” A note of anxiety crept into his voice, and he looked down at his slim frame, wondering if he should put on a suit.

  “Perhaps you should wear a suit,” Bonnie mused, looking him up and down critically and stroking her chin, which was covered with more than a few long, white hairs. “This is a fancy girl, isn’t? Big traveler, rich and spoiled?”

  Edward laughed heartily. “Blunt as always, Miss Bonnie.”

  The old woman shrugged, but had the grace to blush and smile coyly. “I mean no offense, of course. But aren’t you worried she might think you’re not…” she hesitated, then seemed to think better of her phrasing. “Will this be welcoming enough for her? I would hate for her to feel slighted.”

  Edward caught the scent of a marinating roast, and something buttery, like mashed potatoes. He put a hand on Bonnie’s small shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. “You did a great job, Bonnie, and I think this is going to be more than enough for her. She is rich, and she likes her comfort, but I promise you she’s not spoiled. I think you’ll like her.”

  It was Bonnie’s turn to laugh hard. “Don’t go jumping to any conclusions!”

  “Get on outta here, then,” Edward said as she reached for her coat and hat. “And thank you again, dear.” He paused at the doorway, meeting her eyes earnestly to communicate his gratitude. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Bonnie countered gravely. “You saved me when those dirty cowboys were trying to destroy my land. You might not have dinner because of me, but I wouldn’t have a home if it weren’t for you.”

  Perhaps he imagined it, but he thought he saw Bonnie’s eyes water as she turned away from him, but he was too polite to say anything. His eyes felt a little misty, too, but his train of thought was derailed when he saw the feast Bonnie laid out. A tender pork roast, mounds of creamy mashed potatoes, two pies, a cheesecake, stewed greens, and a huge pot of hot toddies simmering on the stove. Bonnie knew his taste, all right; she even remembered that Eliza’s favorite pie was blueberry. She’s going to love this, he thought.

  It was strange to have no anxiety about the situation; he supposed that having such a long courtship had cemented his decision, leaving only pure excitement behind. He didn’t feel self-conscious at all about her status or wealth, or like he was marrying above his station. He had these fears at first, but once their bond deepened, it seemed pointless to worry about them. The only reason to worry had been his long line of enemies, but each and every one of them was finally behind bars. It had taken a whole year to track down the last crook—a bank robber who shot someone during his last botched heist. Like many of the men he’d put a bounty on, Edward had previously dealt with some of Trigger Mike’s friends—shot some of them, even killed one. Also like some of those men, Trigger Mike had taken the bounty personally, and tried his best to have him killed in return. No man had succeeded yet, so Edward wanted to quit while he was ahead—and while he had the chance to marry the woman of his dreams.

  He hurried to his bedroom to wash at his basin; Bonnie had tidied up and replaced his water just before he arrived, and his heart swelled at the sight. He scrubbed up and shaved the stubble from his square jaw, thankful that he was confident enough in his appearance to be able to relax before Eliza got here. She looked a lot like a drawing of a princess; long limbs, a cupid’s bow mouth, elegant ringlets of blonde hair cascading around her shoulders and framing her sharp chin and lovely, dark eyes. His heart skipped a beat just thinking about the photos she’d sent over the years, and she was somehow becoming more beautiful with age. You romantic fool, she’d written once when he’d told her just that. I should be so lucky.

  With an hour to spare, Edward finally settled on slipping a heavy dressing coat over his clothes, just to smarten himself up. He knew the coach driver would see him, and he didn’t want to appear lazy or unenthusiastic to anyone else. What if she was late? He might have to reheat the food; he wondered how long it would keep under the heavy silver dishes in the dining room. He’d never used them before, partially because he’d lived alone for so long he never had cause to. His salary meant he could certainly afford to support a family of three or even four, but he’d been loath to let anyone close to him during his tenure. Edward had his share of flings—he wasn’t proud of it, but the badge was magnetic for some women. He’d even had a girlfriend for nearly six months, until they were shot at during a carriage ride through the leave-strewn streets. Surprisingly, he had been the one to call it off; Bella, who lived in the neighboring Duckett Falls, had been quite unperturbed by the close call. It was then that he decided that badge was not only magnetic, but magic as well—and black magic, at that, judging from the air of chaos that constantly surrounded Sheriff Higgins. That had been almost ten years before, but after the darkness proved it wasn’t slowing for any reason, he knew he had to be the one to turn away.

  It was August, and the heat was making his shirt stick to his back like flypaper hanging from a porch, and it made the material harder to lift away from his flesh. He’d spent six hours hunting a bandit through Johnson County, and he’d put hands on him twice; the second time, he’d come away with a long gash in his back for his trouble. The bandit was hurt, too; Edward broke his leg in two places with some well-timed kicks, but he got away before Edward could catch him, and left the Sheriff to die in a field miles from his home. He woke up in a hospital days later, and the doctor told him an infection had nearly killed him.

  “If you hadn’t been dragged in, you’d be dead,” the physician said sternly. “Sheriff Higgins, I know you don’t like putting people in harm’s way, but you need to think about getting some new blood on your team. You’re not going to be around forever.”

  “I can’t,” Edward started to say, but then he stopped. He saw the seriousness in the lines of the physician’s face. He felt the need to rebel against his orders swell up and then deflate just as quickly, leaving him feeling like a tired old balloon. He knew he was beat. I guess this is the end of an era, he thought morosely.

  After a month of recuperation, Edward got back on his feet, but he was more careful and a little slower than before—no less brave, of course, so he still had plenty of injuries to show for his work. But rather than using the doctor’s words as his only motivation, Edward remembered the feeling he got when he was all alone in his hospital room, and later in his hospital bed at home; after everyone filtered out to go their respective homes and places of work, he was left to listen to the sound of his heartbeat and wonder who would be around to witness his last breath. Unlike his father, he wouldn’t leave any progeny behind to continue
living in their rusty brick house, or even a widow to haunt its halls and keep someone from felling the trees in the front yard. If he died now, he would die alone—remembered by a town full of people that respected and loved him, but with nothing but a job to show for his then thirty-eight years of life.

  Thus, he spent five years winding down his career: some of that time was spent searching for a replacement, but much of it was purely in pursuit of the criminals that plagued him and made it impossible for him to keep a loved one in his life. After a year and a half, he advertised for a bride on the east coast, wanting someone who hadn’t grown up knowing the Higgins family; after six months, he started writing to Eliza exclusively, and the rest unfolded as easily as fate. She had been the one to ask when he was ready for marriage, and she’d been graciously waiting these three years. He insisted she avoid visiting him until his plans had wrapped up, not wanting another incident, or even a worse one.

  ‘I’m made of tougher stuff than that, you know,’ she’d written in a letter one day. ‘I’ll have you know I’m the best marksman in my family, and that includes my father, who was a general.’

  Now the day was finally here. They agreed they would be married right away, in a small ceremony attended only by a few close friends. He’d have time to show her the house, get her settled, and have a day of rest before they set off on their journey to France—her father’s gift to the modest Sheriff who managed to capture his daughter’s heart. It made Edward slightly uncomfortable to accept such a lavish gift, but Eliza’s father seemed so pleased to find out his daughter was ready for marriage that he refused to back down for an entire year. In truth, Edward knew it would do them some good; no matter how many pieces of pie or glasses of beer he had, he couldn’t quite believe he was really retiring.