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  “That feller wasn’t bluffing, Bucky!” his partner shouted. “They’re hiding in the creek bed.”

  “Don’t shoot.” Bucky dropped the knife and reached for his gun. “Or I’ll kill her!”

  Another shot sounded, and Bucky jerked. The gun dropped from his slack grip. His knees twitched, but he stayed on his feet. Tearing open his duster coat, he revealed a red stain blooming over his chambray shirt.

  The wounded man gaped at something behind her. “I’ve been hit.”

  Anna followed the outlaw’s gaze, and her jaw dropped. Russ stalked toward them, a smoking pistol dangling from his fingertips. Blood obscured half his face, and a growing scarlet stain darkened his shirt collar.

  Unable to reconcile the sudden change of events, she stared in stunned silence. Russ had been unconscious a moment before, and now he was swooping toward them like an avenging savior.

  A shot whizzed past her ear. Stifling a shriek, Anna pressed her hands against her mouth. Without slowing his stride, Russ shoved the stunned outlaw, dropping the wounded man instantly. Shock rendered her immobile, and she remained rooted to the spot.

  The remaining outlaw took one look at the gun in Russ’s hand and stumbled toward the ditch, then disappeared behind the derailed cattle cars.

  “C’mon, Anna.” Russ grasped her around the waist. “Stay down.”

  The urgent note in his voice cut through her torpor, and she willed her legs to move.

  Russ urged her toward the wagon. He crouched behind the spoked wheel, shielding her with his body, his gun at the ready. With the back of his hand, he swiped at the blood streaming down his face.

  “I’ve got two men hiding near the creek,” he said. “Stay out of the crossfire.”

  A thunderous volley echoed over them. Russ fired several shots at the overturned cattle cars. Her ears rang, and the pungent scent of gunpowder filled the air. The frightened mule lunged, jerking the wagon. Anna dove forward and grasped the trailing reins. Bracing her heels in the dirt, she leaned back, tugging with all her might. As the mule brayed and bucked, the leather dug painfully into her palms.

  Russ reached to help, and she shook him off. “I’ve got this. You keep shooting.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s over.”

  The chaotic scene went eerily quiet. The mule stilled. Anna dropped the reins, collapsing against the buckboard. For a long moment, the ominous silence was broken only by the steady tick-tick-tick of the watch in Russ’s pocket and the harsh sound of her labored breathing.

  He turned and cupped her cheek. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m f-fine. What about the driver?”

  “He’s safe, don’t worry.”

  For the past five years, hatred for this man had been her constant companion. He’d broken her sister’s heart, he’d torn apart their family, and he’d set in motion a chain of events that had ended in disaster. Yet his striking hazel eyes held nothing but concern.

  Where was the villain she’d clung to all these years?

  An earsplitting whistle sounded, startling her.

  Russ heaved a sigh. “You’re safe, Miss Darby.”

  “It’s Mrs. Linford now,” she corrected automatically.

  “Is your husband traveling separately?”

  “I’m widowed.”

  That one innocuous word did little to encompass her current situation. Her late husband had been murdered in broad daylight by an unknown assailant. Shot dead on the walkway outside his office building. The police had assumed the brazen killing was a crime of passion. Rather than having too few suspects, they had too many. Her late husband’s philandering was well known around the city. The extensive list of scorned women had produced plenty of enticing leads, but no conclusive evidence.

  Following an unflattering story on the front page of the morning post, she’d been outright shunned by the people she’d once considered close friends. The newspaper had gone into great detail about her husband’s numerous infidelities. Though she’d been cleared of any wrongdoing by the lead detective, vicious rumors had forced her from town.

  Everyone who mattered was convinced she’d murdered her husband.

  * * *

  His head throbbing, Russ stood. “We obviously have a lot to catch up on, but now isn’t the time. Can you stand?”

  “Yes. I’m fine. Just a bit shaken.” Anna pulled an embroidered handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at his forehead. “But you’re bleeding.”

  Russ touched the spot. Their fingers brushed, and she quickly pulled away.

  He raked a hand through his hair. She was as skittish as a newborn foal, and his appearance probably wasn’t calming her nerves any. He retrieved his plain handkerchief and wiped away the rest of the blood as best he could, his fingers brushing the growing lump.

  Satisfied he was somewhat respectable once more, he held out his hand, and Anna clasped his fingers. She leaned heavily on his aid with a mumbled apology. Once she’d steadied herself, he placed a firm hand on the small of her back.

  She eyed him warily, and something shifted in his chest. Perhaps it was their previous acquaintance, or perhaps it was her slight frame, but he felt unaccountably protective toward her.

  When he’d last seen Anna, she’d been a round-faced cherub on the edge of womanhood. There’d been a sparkle of mischief in her green eyes and a ready smile hovering on her impish lips. The woman before him was a shadow of that memory. Anna was thin, painfully so. Her cheeks were sunken, and the bones of her wrist pronounced.

  Despite her gaunt frame, there was a beauty and elegance about her that hadn’t been there before. She’d lost her bonnet in the melee, and her hair was a shimmering waterfall of golden brown. Her emerald traveling suit highlighted the lustrous strands and brought out the green patina of her eyes. She was delicate and composed, though he sensed a sadness that hadn’t been there before.

  Hoofbeats sounded in the distance, and Russ turned toward the sound. The approaching rider sat tall in the saddle, an air of authority about him, as though he was accustomed to giving orders.

  Anna started.

  “Don’t worry, he’s with me,” Russ said, halting her retreat. “That’s Will Canfield, the current mayor of Cowboy Creek. Tell me, Mrs. Linford, did you happen to board the train in Philadelphia?”

  Her gaze skittered away. “I did.”

  “Then perhaps you met Susannah Lowe.” He was a cad interrogating Anna following her ordeal, but he’d been filled with worry since the arrival of the bride train. No one seemed to know anything about his intended. “Susannah should have boarded the train in Philadelphia, as well. I spoke with the other brides, but no one recognized the name. I know you’ve had a shock, but I was hoping you could help. Did you see her at the train station?”

  Without meeting his eyes, Anna fished an envelope from her pocket and extended her hand. His name was scrawled over the front in Susannah’s now-familiar handwriting.

  “She isn’t coming,” Anna said.

  “Is she all right?” Shock and confusion burned through him. “Did something happen?”

  “She’s met someone.”

  Russ staggered back a step. He and Susannah had only corresponded, but they’d both agreed they’d suit. Nothing in her letters had given him any indication that she’d had second thoughts about becoming his mail-order bride.

  “I don’t think she meant to fall in love,” Anna continued, her hands clasped. “She was quite remorseful about misleading you.”

  “Misleading me?” he repeated.

  Everything fell into place. Susannah’s letters had been long and rambling, and he’d taken to skimming the contents. They’d come to an agreement, after all, and they’d said all they needed to say to each other until they met in person. He’d made excuses instead of reading between the lines.

  Anna gazed at him with pi
ty in her emerald eyes. “You’re not angry, are you?”

  “Odd, isn’t it?” The past came rushing back, and a strange sense of inevitability overcame him. “We’ve already played this scene before, haven’t we?”

  “I’m so sorry.” A greenish pallor swept over Anna’s face, and she pressed her fingers against her lips. “I don’t feel well.”

  Russ immediately recognized the urgent nature of the problem. He stuffed the envelope into his pocket and scooped her into his arms.

  She gasped and wrapped her arms around his neck. “What are you doing?”

  “I’ll take you to the stream.” His questions about Susannah could wait given Anna’s current condition. “You’ll feel better after splashing some cool water on your face.”

  Her cheeks flamed, and she pressed her face against his shoulder. She was slight and delicate in his arms, and his pulse quickened. Recalling the outlaw’s gun pressed against her temple, his gut clenched. He maneuvered down the embankment in three long strides and gently set her on the soft grass near the stream.

  She waved him away. “Please go.”

  He hesitated, his hand hovering near her shoulder.

  “Please,” she whispered.

  She was visibly embarrassed, though she needn’t be. He’d seen far worse. “Call if you need assistance. I’ll be near.”

  He moved a distance away, lingering on the edge of the steep embankment. This was not at all how he’d expected to spend his day. He thought he’d be introducing Susannah to his mother and brother soon. Instead, he’d be explaining her absence. Having gone through this once before when he was jilted by Anna’s sister, Charlotte, he dreaded the coming days. The compassion of friends and family only seemed to worsen the humiliation.

  Russ stifled a groan. He’d missed the signs both times. Was there something fundamentally wrong with his character? An inherent insensitivity to the feelings of others?

  He discreetly checked on Anna, then looked away before she caught him. Susannah’s betrayal wasn’t her responsibility any more than Charlotte’s had been, yet her presence exacerbated his shame and frustration.

  Given his past acquaintance with Anna’s family, however, he couldn’t avoid her during her time of need.

  He raised his voice over the gurgling stream. “Can I get you anything, Mrs. Linford?”

  “Perhaps a drink of water,” she replied, her voice strained.

  He glanced toward the creek bed, and his chest grew heavy. Why was she traveling alone with Susannah’s letter? Did she need more than a drink of water? And what had become of the carefree girl he recalled from all those years ago?

  He didn’t know Anna’s plans, but he doubted Cowboy Creek was her ultimate destination. Her family was well-to-do, and though the town was rapidly adding all the amenities of an Eastern city, they were still a long way from the civilized Philadelphia society teas she and her sister had attended.

  Given her current difficulties, there’d be time enough to sort out the details later. She’d been attacked by outlaws—rendering his own problem pale in comparison. She deserved his sympathy—not the irritation of his self-pity.

  “Back in a moment,” he said. “I’ll signal my return, Mrs. Linford.”

  With a last look over his shoulder, he reluctantly strode toward his friend.

  Will Canfield was a lanky man with an engaging charm and a wry wit. Since Russ’s arrival in Cowboy Creek, Will had been an ally and a mentor. He’d guided Russ through the rough and corrupt world of land grabbing and false deeds. The mayor had even encouraged him to send for a bride.

  Will reined his horse near the wagon and surveyed the damage. “The driver, Mr. Ward, is bruised, but he’ll be all right. No bones were broken. What about the woman?”

  “Her name is Mrs. Linford,” Russ interjected quickly—lest Will think they’d discovered Susannah. “She’s a widow. She needed a moment to collect herself.”

  “What about you? That was quite a hit you took.”

  “It’s nothing.” Russ lied, his head pounding. “Looks worse than it is.”

  “Shouldn’t have happened. We took too long getting in place.”

  When the three men discovered one of the brides had missed the train, they assumed the woman was Russ’s intended, and decided to escort her personally. Upon hearing the gunshots, they’d immediately realized the overturned railcars were the ideal place for an ambush. Russ had volunteered to distract the outlaws while Daniel and Will took cover near the creek and surrounded the men.

  “I knew what I was agreeing to,” Russ said.

  “Go back to town,” Will ordered. “Perhaps there’s been some news about your bride.”

  “Miss Lowe isn’t coming.” Russ balked at leaving Anna this soon after her ordeal. She was a stranger in town, to everyone but him. She wasn’t feeling well, and she needed a friend. “Susannah met someone else. She sent a letter forward with Mrs. Linford.”

  Shock flickered over Will’s face before he quickly masked the emotion. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t the news I was expecting.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “I talked you into sending for a bride,” Will said, his voice heavy. “I bear some of the responsibility.”

  There it was: the compassion, the sympathy. It should have made Russ feel better. It didn’t. “What’s done is done.”

  Will scratched his temple. “How does Mrs. Linford fit into all this? I thought perhaps they’d mistaken the name of the bride who missed the train. Linford and Lowe are close enough.”

  “That’s the thing. There’s more.”

  “More?” Will guffawed. “Save something for dinner, will you? A missing bride and a shoot-out before lunch is plenty.”

  “I know Anna Linford,” Russ said.

  A familiar pang squeezed his chest. He’d been jilted twice. Once by Susannah, and once by Anna’s sister, Charlotte.

  And Anna had delivered both letters.

  Chapter Two

  Reluctant to abandon the peaceful scene for the chaos on the road, Anna lingered by the stream as long as she could before struggling to her feet. The sparkling water gurgled over polished rocks, and a butterfly skipped along the fluttering prairie grasses. Crickets chirped, and birds called from the shrub trees. A spring-scented breeze caught a strand of her hair, and she tucked the lock behind one ear. With the sheltering limbs providing much-needed shade from the sun, she might have been picnicking. Only her torn and bloodied dress belied the peaceful scene.

  She climbed a few steps before another wave of nausea overcame her. Pausing, she took a few deep, fortifying breaths.

  Though she hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, voices sounded near her.

  “How fortunate that you know Mrs. Linford,” said the man Russ had introduced as Mayor Canfield. “I’ll leave her in your care. She’ll want to be near someone who’s familiar after what’s happened.”

  Blinking rapidly, Anna pressed a hand against her roiling stomach. As the messenger, she’d been prepared for Russ’s annoyance—even his recriminations. His kindness had thrown her off balance. Her eyes burned, and she pressed the heels of her hands against the telling weakness until she saw stars. She wasn’t usually given to bouts of tears, but lately she couldn’t seem to control her emotions.

  “What about the outlaws?” she heard Russ ask.

  “Dead. Both of ’em. Daniel and the driver are on their way back to town to fetch the undertaker.” Mayor Canfield made a sound of frustration. “How is it that Sheriff Getman is never around when he’s needed?”

  “He’s new. Give him a chance.”

  “He’s wearing on my nerves,” the mayor grumbled. “No need to rush Mrs. Linford. I’ll clean up the worst of the mess.”

  “Appreciate that,” Russ replied. “Start with the outlaws. The lady’s stomach isn’t strong at the moment.”


  A flush of heat swept over her face. What an awful time for a relapse of her influenza. She’d been feeling much stronger earlier in the week, and the timing of Susannah’s ticket had been too fortuitous to ignore.

  “Understood,” the mayor said. “You might want to clean up yourself. You don’t look so good.”

  “You wanted a distraction, and I gave you one.”

  Anna touched her cheek. Russ had put himself in danger for her. No, that wasn’t exactly the truth. He’d been looking for Susannah. He hadn’t known that someone else would be delivering a letter in his intended’s place.

  Anna wasn’t special. He’d have done the same thing for anyone else.

  The mayor grumbled. “I don’t want to lose my replacement.”

  Replacement? What did he mean by that? Not that Russ’s future was any of her concern.

  How odd that circumstances had conspired to bring them together once more after all this time. The other brides on the train had been so optimistic, so eager to meet the men of Cowboy Creek—their prospective bridegrooms—that Anna had kept her opinions to herself. Following the war, men were scarce back east, and the choices limited. Unlike Susannah, none of the other prospective brides had corresponded with the bachelors of Cowboy Creek beyond arranging their travels.

  Anna had been out of place amongst their cheerful ranks. Not only because she was traveling under false pretenses, but because she couldn’t share their enthusiasm for marriage. Her brief time as someone’s wife had left her soured on the institution. She didn’t begrudge them their optimism; she only worried their dreams might not match reality.

  The mayor muttered something she couldn’t quite discern before saying, “That wallop saved the day. Gave Daniel and me time to get in place.”

  Anna pivoted toward the creek. Russ’s suggestion of a little refreshing water splashed on her face was the perfect excuse for a delay. If she appeared now, they’d know she’d been listening, albeit unintentionally.

  She located a large, flat rock and knelt on the hard surface. After tugging off her gloves, she dipped her hands in the cool water.