A Temporary Family

  Make-Believe Marriage

  When Tilly Hargreaves and her three nieces are stranded at his small stagecoach station in an abandoned town and threatened by outlaws, Nolan West must protect them. And the only way he can do that is by pretending he’s married to Tilly. But can the former soldier, whose only wish is for solitude, stop himself from growing attached to his temporary family?

  Tilly knows the charade is necessary to keep her and the girls safe, but now her heart is in danger. The longer she pretends the stoic station agent is her husband, the more genuine their union feels. Nolan believes he’s better off alone, but Tilly’s certain that if he’d only open his heart to his make-believe family, he’d want to claim them as his for real.

  As far as the outlaws knew, Tilly and Nolan were husband and wife.

  She’d been too stunned by the outlaws’ unexpected attack to refute his words, but Nolan had latched on to the falsehood. He’d saved their lives, and her virtue, in the process. Though she wasn’t adept at dealing with fugitives, she admired Nolan’s ploy. He’d cleverly bargained his assistance for her safety and the safety of the girls.

  Nolan led her to the meticulously ordered kitchen. He lit the stove and adjusted the flame. “The outlaws will expect the woman to prepare the food,” he said. “Follow my lead and try to pretend you know where everything is located.”

  She and Nolan were treading through a minefield with this charade. Who knew what pitfalls they were bound to stumble over in the next few days? Her nieces had no idea of the danger, and she was determined to keep it that way.

  Nolan was the best hope for the girls. He was the only one who could truly protect them. He was the one the outlaws needed for their plan to succeed.

  If she wanted to live her life as a brave woman with purpose, then she’d better start acting like one.

  Sherri Shackelford is an award-winning author of inspirational books featuring ordinary people discovering extraordinary love. A reformed pessimist, Sherri has a passion for storytelling. Her books are fast-paced and heartfelt with a generous dose of humor. She loves to hear from readers at sherri@sherrishackelford.com. Visit her website at sherrishackelford.com.

  Books by Sherri Shackelford

  Love Inspired Historical

  Prairie Courtships

  The Engagement Bargain

  The Rancher’s Christmas Proposal

  A Family for the Holidays

  A Temporary Family

  Cowboy Creek

  Special Delivery Baby

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  Sherri

  Shackelford

  A Temporary Family

  For thou, Lord, art good, and ready to forgive;

  and plenteous in mercy unto all them

  that call upon thee.

  —Psalms 86:5

  To Roy E. Shackelford, my greatest fan

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  Excerpt from Her Motherhood Wish by Keli Gwyn

  Chapter One

  Stagecoach relay station

  Pyrite, Nebraska, 1869

  Nolan West couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched.

  He flipped open the cover of his timepiece and checked the hour. Twenty minutes before the next stagecoach arrived.

  For the past year, he’d been manning the Pioneer Stagecoach relay station out of the abandoned town of Pyrite. Three years before his arrival, an overly optimistic prospector had discovered gold in the nearby Niobrara River. A town had sprung up practically overnight. Within a year, the claim had dried up, and the town was abandoned. Only the relay station remained occupied.

  Prairie grass nudged through the slats in the derelict boardwalk, and a wet spring had fed the wild brush reclaiming the spaces between the empty buildings. A cacophony of crickets, frogs and birds called from the shelter of the lush buttress.

  Nolan’s sense of unease lingered, raising the fine hairs on the nape of his neck. He searched the shadows, catching only the rustle of the cottonwood leaves. He was alone. Yet the sensation lingered.

  A bugle call sounded, startling him from his reverie, and Nolan replied in kind. He replaced his instrument on the peg just inside the livery door, ensuring the bell tube was directly vertical and the mouthpiece rigidly horizontal.

  He slapped the reins against the rumps of the hitched horses. There was no time to waste. Because he worked the station alone, when he finished here, he’d have to hightail it back to the kitchen and serve the passengers dinner.

  The rumble of hoofbeats sounded, and the distinctive orange Concord, with its gold trim, rumbled down Main Street. Harnesses jingled, echoing off the block-long stretch of deserted and dilapidated buildings. The driver swayed in time beside an outrider who cradled a shotgun in his arms. Reflections of the passing stagecoach appeared in the few windows that hadn’t yet been broken or boarded over.

  As the driver slowed the Concord parallel to where Nolan’s hitched team waited before the town livery, the wheels kicked up dust. His horses surged forward.

  The outrider stowed his gun and leaped from his seat. Bill Golden was a perpetually rumpled, stocky man in his midforties with a grizzled face and a mop of graying hair beneath his tattered hat. Considering he was usually drunk by this point in the journey, he appeared remarkably steady on his feet.

  Bill lifted his hand in greeting. “Top of the day to you, West.”

  “You’re early.”

  “We’re traveling light.”

  The stocky outrider pulled down the collapsible stairs and swung open the door.

  A little girl, no more than three years old, appeared in the opening. A passenger inside the traveling carriage held the child suspended with her legs dangling. Bill grasped the child around the waist and set her on the ground. Two more girls appeared—chestnut-haired, brown-eyed, identical replicas of each other, probably around five or six years of age respectively.

  Nolan tilted his head. This route served Virginia City, Montana, and catered almost exclusively to prospectors seeking their fortune.

  Bill extended his hand, and a woman grasped his fingers. Her bonnet concealed her face and hair, and Nolan allowed himself only one brief, admiring glimpse of her figure, which was encased in a lively green calico dress. Though he’d come to appreciate his solitude, he couldn’t help but notice her. The last woman he’d seen had been the sixty-year-old wife of the traveling doctor.

  “Thank you, Mr. Golden,” she said, her voice at once crisp and soothing. “How are you feeling?”

  Bill doffed his hat. “I feel all right, I guess, ma’am. I mean, Miss Hargreav
es. Thank you for asking.”

  She fixed her gaze on the outrider as though she was peering into his very heart. The intensity of the moment raised Nolan’s guard, but there was nowhere to hide while he held the horses. Shifting on his feet, he glanced away and back again.

  “I know the change hasn’t been easy.” Her attention didn’t flicker toward her new surroundings. She kept her interest directed solely on the outrider. “But you’re doing well. I’m proud of you. Whenever you find yourself straying from the path, remember what we talked about.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” A flush spread across the outrider’s face. “I will, ma’am. I surely do appreciate your kind words and all. I’ll try and do my best.”

  She patted his arm. “That’s all any of us can do.”

  Her words were gentle and sincere, and a pulse throbbed in Nolan’s throat. He made a mental note to avoid the woman at all costs. Since returning from the war, he kept to himself. He didn’t want anyone looking at him the way she was studying Bill. He didn’t want anyone peering close enough to see the troubling battles he fought each day.

  “I’d best see to the horses, Miss Hargreaves.” The mottled blush on Bill’s face deepened. “This here is the dinner stop. You can stretch your legs and enjoy some solid ground. If you need anything, let me know.”

  “You’re too kind,” she said. “Solid ground sounds marvelous. When I agreed to assist my sister, this was not at all what I imagined.”

  While Nolan pondered the odd change in the normally taciturn outrider, the second-oldest girl clutched her stomach and pitched forward.

  “I don’t feel so good, Aunt Tilly.” The girl groaned.

  “Are you certain, Caroline?” Miss Hargreaves was by the child’s side in an instant. “Do you not feel good a little or a lot?”

  “I’m certain,” the girl replied with a gulp. “I don’t feel good a lot.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  The woman glanced around and Nolan caught his first glimpse of her face. His curiosity deepened. She was younger than he’d expected. On first impression, her looks hovered somewhere between plain and pretty. On second glance he placed her nearer to pretty. She had eyes the color of a Virginia bluebell, a complexion bronzed by the sun and a pert nose. Though none of those features was particularly remarkable on its own, taken together they were uniquely pleasing.

  She caught his interested gaze. “What should I do?”

  Nolan placed a hand against his chest. “Are you asking me?”

  Miss Hargreaves nodded.

  Passengers rarely paid him any mind. Nolan frowned. He preferred it that way.

  “Well, uh,” he stuttered. “There’s a privy out back.”

  “Excellent suggestion, thank you.” She draped an arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Mr. Golden, will you kindly look after Victoria and Elizabeth for a few minutes?”

  “Absolutely,” Bill said. “Take as much time as you need.”

  Nolan’s frown deepened. The outrider rarely showed even the barest consideration to any of the passengers. Bill also loathed delays of any kind; he was scrupulous about the schedule.

  Once she’d rounded the corner and disappeared, the driver leaped from his seat and set about unhitching the horses. With Bill’s help, the three men had the horses switched out in record time. Throughout the well-honed operation, the two remaining girls assembled daisy chains with dandelions they’d plucked from the overgrowth between the unused buildings.

  Nolan backtracked to the relay station and set the table for supper. When the passengers failed to appear, he returned to the corral and propped one foot on the lowest slat.

  Bill sidled nearer. “Maybe you oughta go out back and see what’s taking Miss Hargreaves so long.”

  “She’s your passenger.” Nolan hoisted an eyebrow. “What’s gotten in to you today, anyway?”

  “She has a way of talking to a fellow.” The outrider slid his hand beneath his coat, as though reaching for the flask he usually kept in his breast pocket, then stilled. “I told her things I ain’t never told anybody. I even quit drinking.”

  “You were sober when you told her those things?” Nolan’s curiosity swelled. “Why would you do that?”

  “She asked.”

  “You’ve killed six highwaymen in the past ten years. You’ve fought Indians. You once outran a prairie wildfire. And you’re telling me you’re intimidated by that slip of a woman?”

  “It’s not like that.” Bill swallowed, and his Adam’s apple worked. “She never asked me to quit. Instead, she asked me why I drank as much as I did.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said I didn’t know. Then she started asking me about my family, and about my experiences. The next thing I know, I was blabbering my whole life story.”

  Nolan’s stomach dipped. He’d rather be sitting behind enemy lines again than prattling to a stranger about his life. After spending two years as a Confederate prisoner of war at Rock Island, he’d become intolerant toward people. While living in the prisoner camp, he’d acquired certain quirks that set him apart from regular folks. He’d become obsessively neat and austere about his possessions. Each evening he spent an hour checking the placement of each item and ensuring the buildings he occupied had been secured. If he didn’t, he had nightmares that sometimes turned violent.

  He’d survived the War for Southern Independence only to return home and discover his family farm had been confiscated. He’d gone adrift after that, moving from job to job and state to state. Over time his eccentricities had become increasingly difficult to disguise. He’d gradually accepted that the war had changed him in ways that ran too deep to fathom. In order to camouflage his dilemma, he’d settled in this remote, abandoned town. He fully expected that after a few years away from the company of other folks, he’d be healed. Having strangers underfoot exacerbated his troubles. The sooner this bunch ate dinner and moved on, the better.

  The woman finally appeared, her arm still resting protectively around the girl’s shoulders. Nolan heaved a sigh of relief. They’d be gone soon.

  Except Caroline looked worse than when she’d left. Her face was pale with an almost greenish tinge, her forehead was screwed up and both hands protectively covered her stomach.

  Bill cleared his throat and elbowed him in the side.

  Nolan flashed the outrider a questioning gaze.

  “Tell her about dinner,” Bill mumbled beneath his breath.

  “There’s dinner at the relay station,” Nolan declared. “Boiled beans, bacon and bread.”

  The woman’s nose wrinkled ever-so-slightly. “That sounds edifying. Let’s have some bread, shall we, Caroline? Bread is good for an upset stomach, isn’t it, Mr.—?” She raised her voice in question.

  “Mr. West.”

  He hesitated in revealing something as simple as his name. He needed some distance between them. He’d considered Bill as tough as hardtack, and she’d somehow wheedled her way into the man’s confidence.

  Bill hitched his pants. “Me and Digger ate at the last stop. We’re gonna catch some winks in the livery.”

  “You’re going to sleep?” Nolan couldn’t mask his incredulity. “Now?”

  “I think that’s a fine idea,” the woman said with a smile. “Rest is often the best medicine.”

  “But...” Nolan’s voice trailed off.

  “But what?” The outrider bared his teeth in defiance. “I never argue with a lady.”

  There wasn’t much Nolan could say to that, which left him alone with the woman and the three girls. With no other choice, he pivoted on his heel and trudged toward the sprawling relay station. The building had originally housed overnight guests, but since he’d taken over the post, there hadn’t been any need. Another reason he kept this job. Except for twice a week when the stagecoach came throu
gh town, he was alone.

  Ten minutes later they were all seated around the rectangular table. Despite his carful maneuvering, he’d gotten sandwiched between the woman and the youngest girl.

  He held out the bowl of beans. “Mrs. Hargreaves.”

  “Not Missus,” she amended. “It’s just Miss. I’m not married. These delightful pixies are my nieces.”

  Keeping her head bent, Caroline broke off a small crust of bread and nibbled on the edge.

  “After Aunt Tilly takes us to Omaha,” Victoria said, reaching for the blackberries, “she’s traveling to New York City.”

  Miss Hargreaves absently poured her niece a cup of water. “My father’s cousin serves on the board of The New York Widows and Orphans Society. Since the war, they’ve been positively overwhelmed. I can’t imagine a greater good than helping those displaced by the Southern rebellion, can you?”

  Nolan flinched at the reference. “I guess not.”

  The war went by different names depending on which side of the Mason-Dixon Line a fellow called home.

  Victoria nodded eagerly. “Aunt Tilly promised to post us a letter every week and tell us all about her experiences.”

  Caroline’s cheeks puffed out and she pressed two fingers over her mouth. Nolan’s breath hitched, and he frantically searched for the slop bucket. The girl appeared worse with each passing minute.

  “I should have plenty of fascinating things to write about,” Miss Hargreaves said. “There are so many different people to meet. According to my father’s cousin, the sidewalks are packed day and night in some places. You can’t walk down the street without brushing into someone.”

  “You don’t say.” Nolan’s gaze darted toward the sick child once more, but she appeared to be holding steady. “Aren’t there any interesting people where you live now?”

  “I’ve exhausted the supply in Omaha.”

  Following the war, he hadn’t been able to tolerate anyone touching him. Pushing through crowded streets sounded like a nightmare.

  “I’m dreadfully bored these days.” Miss Hargreaves ladled a generous heaping of beans over her bread. “During the war, I helped my father with his law practice after his law clerk was conscripted. Since the war, there’s been few opportunities for me. My sister, Eleanor, thinks I’ll quit within the week, and I’m determined to prove her wrong. She thinks I’m flighty and lack direction. Have you ever felt as though people only see the worst in you?”

 
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