The Bartered Bride: The Brides

By Lena Goldfinch

Colorado 1880

Jem Wheeler wants to make a fresh start in Colorado after the loss of his wife. Then he happens upon a young mute woman being sold to the highest bidder. He wasn't looking for a mail-order bride. He wasn't looking to rescue anyone either. But desperate circumstances can drive a good man to do things he hadn't planned on...

When Jem steps into Annie's life, she's not expecting anyone to save her. Mute from birth, she's just using all her wits to survive. All she's ever really wanted is a family of her own. For someone to see her. To look at her long enough to hear the things she can't say.

Excerpt

Jem took the apple core from his daughter and passed her one of the remaining crackers with a piece of cheese on it. Mae munched that down and looked to him for another.

He gave it to her, then spread his empty hands.

She frowned. "More?"

"No more." Jem showed her his empty hands again, making a bigger gesture of it, as if the little girl was accusing him of hiding some.

If Annie weren't so intent on eating her share of cheese and crackers she might have smiled at the sight, one of the most dangerous men she'd ever seen sitting side by side with that tiny little girl. They made quite a mismatched pair.

Mae looked at Annie, at the last cracker in her hand and the last bit of cheese.

Annie gulped down the mouthful she was chewing. She looked at the last of her meal and back at Mae. To her shame, she didn't want to give up her last cracker. She could barely remember her last meal.

"That's Annie's food," Jem admonished the little girl. "You've had yours."

Mae bit her lip. She glanced down at her lap, then at Annie again.

I can share, Annie attempted to tell Mae with her eyes alone. She snapped her cracker in half--unable to bear parting with the whole thing--and passed it to the little girl. Mae took it and popped the whole thing in her mouth, making Annie smile.

"Mae!" her father said.

She looked at him wide-eyed, her mouth full of cracker. "Whaf dafdda?" she said, spraying cracker crumbs onto his trousers.

He closed his eyes briefly and brushed them off. "You didn't have to give her any," he said to Annie, "but thanks."

Annie grunted, her way of saying she didn't mind. She looked down quickly and finished her last bit of food. The crackers had been crispy and the cheese silky and smooth. They'd tasted like heaven.

"You must be thirsty," he said. "Do you mind sharing?"

She shook her head and automatically lifted two fingers.

"Two's no?" he asked.

She nodded, pleased, and lifted one finger. She'd grown up sending signals through the floor of the Ruskins' house, one stomp for yes, two for no. It came natural as rain now.

"And one's yes," he said, catching on quick.

Annie drank deep when he passed her the flask of water, amazed he'd let her drink from it. She tried her best to pour it down her throat without touching her lips to the flask, so he wouldn't regret giving it to someone so dirty. She wished she could tell him thanks, but after Mae had her fill and he took his own swallow, he was back under his hat, likely going over the events of the day.

How he'd stuck himself with her.

How he probably regretted stepping off the train at the last stop.

She couldn't say she blamed him.

She hadn't much wanted to marry a stranger herself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Indigo Road Publishing
• Release date: Dec 8, 2015
• ISBN: 9781519922304

Lena Goldfinch

LENA GOLDFINCH writes heartwarming romance and romantic fantasy for adults and teens. She's a sucker for a good old-fashioned romance, whether it's a novel, novella, or short story, young adult or adult, fantasy or realistic, contemporary or historical. Elements of romance, fantasy, and mystery have a way of creeping into her writing, whether she's writing historicals or something light and contemporary. Her works include: * THE UNEXPECTED BRIDE (Sweet Historical Romance) -- Coming October 6, 2014, Now Available for Pre-Order! * THE LANGUAGE OF SOULS * AIRE * SONGSTONE * HAUNTING JOY * TAKE A PICTURE: A Novella * CHAIN REACTION: A Short Story (Prequel to HAUNTING JOY) Future works: HAUNTING MELODY (HAUNTING JOY : Part 2) "Danger, magic, romance, and royal intrigue, AIRE is a must read!" --NYT Bestselling Author JESSICA ANDERSEN "Looking for something fresh and new to read? Try Lena Goldfinch's AIRE." --SERENA CHASE, USA Today HEA "SONGSTONE sings with characters who come to life, a story full of magic, heart and adventure, and a world that lets you smell the sea air and feel the tropical sun on your back." --LISA GAIL GREEN, author of The Binding Stone "SONGSTONE...an original fantasy world inhabited by superstitious tribal nations and intriguingly developed characters." --SERENA CHASE, USA Today HEA "THE LANGUAGE OF SOULS...the perfect tiny romantic escape." --Tales of Whimsy Twitter: @lena_goldfinch FB: https://www.facebook.com/lenagoldfinch Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/lenagoldfinch Website: http://www.LenaGoldfinch.com

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Middle of Nowhere, August 1880

Jem Wheeler was pretty sure they were in Colorado.

He’d fallen asleep on the train with little Mae laid out beside him on the seat, her head drooping sideways against his thigh, her thumb stuck squarely in her mouth. One chubby stockinged foot dangled off the edge of the seat, twitching to the beat of whatever tune she had playing in her head. She’d kicked off her shoes again, which didn’t surprise him. Like every other two-year-old he’d ever known, she’d go around barefooted all the time if she had the choice. He bent to pick up her shoes, glad the train had stopped. He’d been sitting too long.

He took another quick look out the window at the town, if you could call it that. It was more like a stop-on-the-way kind of place, with no more than a handful of plain one-story buildings—white paint, pitched roofs—and a single dirt road going off into the distance. At least they had a road. Didn’t look like they had a hotel, but maybe they’d have a restaurant or canteen where he could buy some lunch. Otherwise, it was just dirt, grass, a spattering of white-barked aspens, and the Rockies way off in the distance, not even enough to call a view. What a sad place.

Who on earth would want to live here?

Although, it was probably quiet. And quiet sort of suited him lately.

Still, not his destination. They had bigger things awaiting them. A new life.

He struggled to feel enthusiastic. All that seemed to drive him right now was a single purpose: get back to Colorado Springs. Settle in at the ranch. Make something of it, make a life. It would have been different if Lorelei were still with them. But she wasn’t. There was no way to get used to something like that.

Jem hefted Mae up in his arms, clasping her shoes behind her back.

Hungry, Daddy? she mumbled, still half-asleep, he guessed.

I suppose, he answered, as he filed out after a few other passengers in their car. Not many of the passengers on board—if any—would be staying in this little nowhere town. He suspected everyone just wanted to stretch a bit like he did before the next leg of the trip.

"I’m hungry," Mae said, lifting her head off his shoulder and looking around, her eyes brightening as the last of sleep fell away from her.

I’ve got to check on the horses, then we’ll get food. He stepped off the train and looked around again. They’d stopped at a depot, no more than a long white shack of a building with a boardwalk-style porch and a few benches outside, but it was something at least. Shade against the sun. A decent enough place for a person to sit and wait for the train. The only thing he smelled though was dust kicked up from the dirt road and some sort of pollen on the air that made his nose tingle. No enticing aroma of grilled meat or baking bread, which wasn’t very encouraging. If they have any, he added.

"I’m hungry," she insisted, jutting out her bottom lip, the same look she always gave him when she was fixing to cry.

I said I’d look.

She squinched up her face real tight.

Don’t you dare cry, he warned her.

She pouted and crossed her arms over her chest. She gave him quite a glare, but he guessed he should be glad she wasn’t bawling. As soon as he turned toward the stock car, she was squirming to be put down.

Hold up, he said. Got to get your shoes on first.

Daddeeee, she protested, making herself as lifeless as a rag doll, the better to slip out of his grasp and down his side.

Oh no you don’t. He held tight, plopped her down firmly on one of the wood-slat benches, and stuffed her feet into her shoes without untying them. If he took the time to untie and tie them again, she’d start crying for sure, and tired as he was he didn’t have the strength of mind for that.

No sooner had he slipped the shoes over her heels than she scrambled down and hopped off the porch. In seconds she was kicking at the dirt, no doubt wishing she was barefooted. Before she decided to run off, he bent to take her hand securely in his—not for the first time marveling at how small her hand was in his much larger one—and tugged her along after him. She was so little, so much shorter than him. It didn’t seem right that a man like him should be taking care of such a delicate little thing on his own, but there it was.

First, the horses, he said. She fell like a rag doll again, dangling from his hand. Oh no you don’t. You want lunch? He felt her go completely still in his grasp, listening. "Well, then show me you want lunch."

She immediately straightened.

He marched her over to where a team of hands were watering the horses. The train hissed and settled into place—not unlike a live thing. As if it realized this was its chance to take a break too, just like the rest of them.

Puppy! Daddy! Mae tugged against Jem’s hold.

Hold up, Mae. This’ll just take a moment.

Puppy.

He looked over and saw a cluster of men and one woman standing in front of what looked to be a church tent across from the depot, a ways back from the road. There was a spattering of grass there and a single aspen with white bark and yellow-green leaves. Not much of a place. Which made it all the more curious as to why there were people gathered there. It wasn’t a Sunday, so it couldn’t have been a church meeting. He shrugged. Not his business.

Although he did notice there was indeed a puppy there, a little black roly-poly pup, lolling around on the ground at the young woman’s feet. She wasn’t much to look at—the woman, that is—a petite thing in a dingy brown dress, with a loose brown braid pulled forward over one shoulder. She was pretty much dingy-colored everywhere, as if she hadn’t had access to a bath in a while. But she had a quietness about her that didn’t instill any real concerns. In truth, he didn’t spare her much more than a glance. He needed to get to the horses. Perhaps Mae would be safe to play for a bit in front of a church...

Still, it didn’t sit right to let her go by herself. She was so little.

I’ll just be a minute, he promised her.

She tugged against his hold the entire time he was checking on the horses. Once he was satisfied they were doing fine and not suffering too much from the journey, he felt a sudden emptiness about his person. Something missing. His hand was empty. Mae was gone.

Mae! he looked around desperately for her dark bouncy curls, her white pinafore and dress. When had she slipped away? How had he not noticed? The other passengers milling around—not many, but enough to seem like a crowd—looked at him, their eyes cautious, with maybe a trace of alarm: men in rugged Western wear, ladies in plain homespun dresses, nothing fancy. They were common, hard-working people, all tired from their journey—worn out by life, maybe.

Have you seen my daughter? he asked them. She’s about knee high. Dark hair. Curly. White dress? He looked into each face, repeating his question and description. Nothing. Not a single flicker of recognition. He searched behind ladies’ skirts, behind the wheels of the train...heaven forbid. Still no sign of her.

Then he remembered.

He spun toward the church tent and there she was, sprawled out in a patch of dirt with that black puppy, giggling as she scratched its tummy. The young woman knelt beside them, fingering her braid in one hand and trailing one finger through the dirt with the other. Didn’t the woman know she was getting filthy sitting there in the dirt like that? Maybe she’s a bit simple, he thought. Not everyone was blessed with great intellect. Kindness was a rarer gift, and much more important when it came to children. He knew that perhaps more than anyone. And she looked kind to him, watching over Mae with a slight smile on her face.

Mae. She was safe.

All the pent-up tension flooded out of Jem in a rush.

She was right there. She was safe.

Mae! he yelled, angry now, marching toward her with quick strides that ate up the distance. He gathered steam as he drew closer. As soon as he got there, he scooped Mae up and pressed his face to hers, nose-to-nose. Don’t you ever run off like that again. He knew better than to yell at her up close, so he used his very quiet, this-is-very-serious voice. Urgent. Maybe a tad desperate.

Her face crumpled. Daddy.

The young woman was staring at them, concerned. She gathered the puppy in her arms, but almost immediately had to set it down because it started to squirm and twist, not unlike his two-year-old daughter did when she wanted to get down.

Jem settled Mae on his shoulder, safe and sound, as far off the ground as he could get her. Feeling the gazes of the passengers behind him and the men outside the tent, he felt his face heat. He could be excused for yelling across the street, he told himself. Any father or mother would understand.

The young woman smiled hesitantly at him, or maybe more at Mae. He couldn’t tell which.

Thanks for looking after her, he told her.

She made a small sound, and then looked mortified, as if she’d just said a swear word.

He looked at her curiously, not sure what to make of her.

The men standing near the tent had already gone back to their conversation. Jem was about to move off in search of lunch when he heard one of the men say, That’s right. A mail-order bride.

He set Mae on her feet, and she was immediately back on her knees in the dirt, playing with that puppy. It licked her face and she giggled.

Jem kept one eye on Mae, one eye on the men. What were they talking about—a mail-order bride? Surely not this girl?

"Picked up one of those Marriage Papers—you know the one? this one younger man was saying. He wore a black preacher’s suit with a white shirt and a neatly tied, black ribbon bow tie. He couldn’t have been much more than twenty-two or -three. There was something about him too, an air of agitation that kept Jem glued to the spot. Well, he continued, her father placed the ad. After some time we worked a deal, and he sold her off to me."

Sold her?

Surely he hadn’t just said that.

I’ve got a business to run, you know? Preaching’s a business just like any other, he continued, sort of puffing himself up, not unlike a rooster. His white Adam’s apple bobbed in his neck. Jem took an instant disliking to the young man. Despite his pretty-boy face, there was something greasy about him, and the things he was saying only confirmed Jem’s opinion.

I knew up front she wasn’t all she should be—told me himself that she born in a bawdy house. The preacher’s intimation was clear enough to Jem and probably to every man standing there. Not all she should be. He may as well have said the young woman had loose morals.

But, he continued, I thought we could make it work. It’s a hard life going town to town—itinerant preaching, you know. Don’t meet many ladies willing to do that.

So why ain’t you keeping her? one of the men standing around him asked. His gaze was interested but cautious. He had the air of a man suspicious of getting a bad deal.

All Jem’s senses went on alert. Something was off here, very off.

Not your business.

Don’t get involved.

Just walk away. Just grab Mae and head back to the train.

But he couldn’t seem to move. His attention was riveted on the men. He fixed a bland expression on his face, not too interested, definitely not allowing any of his alarm to show.

The young preacher recognized his presence among them with an inclination of his head, evidently his way of welcoming Jem into their circle.

I hit a spell of bad times, he answered the man. Someone’s run off with all my money, and I need some cash fast, so I can get back to Oregon. Got family there. Heard there’s a town there that wants a proper preacher. Not town-to-town like this. He gestured with disgust to the church tent behind him. His jaw firmed. I just want to go back home, but I can’t. So all’s I’m asking is a fair trade, you could say. I just have one stipulation.

What’s that?

I’ve got my principles, the young man pronounce—all full of fluff and air, Jem thought. It wouldn’t be right to send the girl off without making sure she’s going to be cared for proper.

What do you mean? another man asked.

I mean marriage. Married right proper. And I’ll perform the ceremony here and now. All legal-like, I swear. I just need the money.

One of the men took a hard look at the dingy young woman and shook his head. He walked off without a word.

There aren’t many good women in these parts, the preacher called after him. The man looked back once, swiped his hand in a dismissive motion, and kept going.

Jem noticed the young woman was listening to them with a watchful air. She was too carefully not drawing attention to herself, pretending all of her attention was on Mae and the puppy, but he could tell she’d tucked her hair behind one ear and had her head cocked in their direction.

The remaining men—four of them now, not including Jem—stared at the young preacher with a lot less shock than Jem would have liked to see from a group of law-abiding, moral men.

I’m not a bad man, the young preacher said, flattening one hand over his heart. I would have married her proper myself until this bad spell.

Jem’s belly soured listening to the man. What kind of preacher—what kind of man—sold off a young woman? And why hadn’t he married her yet? They were obviously traveling together. Probably had been for some time. They just had that air about them. She knew this man, maybe not in the biblical sense, but she knew him enough not to like him. That much Jem could tell from the way her lip curled in a clearly disgusted way at his last words. She went back to tracing one finger through the dirt again.

He again had the impression that maybe she was simple, but there was also something about her expression when she looked at Mae that struck him as sweet. She didn’t deserve to be handled like a horse for sale. No one did.

That lit a fire in him. He could feel the burn of righteous anger rising in his chest. His friend Becky had traveled all the way from Massachusetts to Seattle to be a mail-order bride. That’s how she and his boss, Isaac Jessup, had met. Isaac’s pop, Sam, had evidently meddled and done some matchmaking, but it had all worked out in the end. Jem couldn’t help wondering what it would have been like if Becky—who’d become more of a sister than friend over the years—had arrived in Seattle only to be sold off to another man.

Jem looked at the young woman before him again and couldn’t imagine what she must be feeling. Indignation. Fury. Desperation. Helplessness, maybe?

Or maybe he was imagining problems that didn’t exist because of his own unique experiences... Maybe she just wanted to get away from this preacher fellow. That was a possibility.

She’ll be fine.

One of these men would likely take the young preacher up on his offer. There weren’t many young women in these parts—he was right about that. Any of these men might be in the market for a wife, and they might appreciate not having to go to the trouble of putting an ad in the paper, waiting for letters to be exchanged, the expense of train fare, possibly weeks of travel. All that time. With one swift transaction here and now, they could be done with the whole thing—married up proper and legal—and on their way. They could be back on the train in minutes.

You can’t get involved.

The details of this particular situation might not sit right with him, Jem told himself firmly, but who was he to judge? Men put out ads for mail-order brides all the time. Sam Jessup, Isaac’s pop, was just one example of many. Marriage was a good and decent thing. Jem knew that. He’d known personally what it was like for marriage to be better than good. He couldn’t begrudge a man for wanting a wife.

Unless one of these men meant to buy her and make her a saloon girl.

Jem frowned.

I’ll take her, one man spoke up. All heads turned toward him, Jem’s included.

Jem looked the man over. He was a bit on the older side, maybe even old enough to be the girl’s father, which felt somewhat awkward to Jem. The long brown duster the man wore looked custom fitted, and appeared to be made of quality leather. Expensive. His trousers, hat, and boots had the same appearance of quality. Maybe he was a prosperous rancher. Someone with a big spread by the looks of him. The man began counting out some money, enough to make the other men cough and back away. They walked off, the low rumble of their voices trailing after them. It was the kind of sound men made when they were laughing as they talked. Like it was all a big joke. Soon it was just a circle of three: the preacher, the rancher with the money, and Jem, just standing there. The young woman was staring up at them openly now, one of her hands braced against the ground.

You’ve got to marry her up proper, the preacher said, his attention fixed on the money. He may as well have been swimming in a pool of money, his eyes had gotten so big.

What’d you say was wrong with her? the rancher asked, halting mid-count, his eyes on the preacher. He cast a glance at the young woman.

Can’t talk. Not right, anyways. And can’t write neither.

Other than that?

Healthy. Young. Strong. Hard worker. She can cook. Clean. Mend. The preacher waggled his head as he listed off her attributes, as if he were selling bottles of remedy. It was a spiel, all right. Oily man. It was no way for a preacher to behave. No way at all. In fact, Jem would’ve liked to strangle the young man right then, but he held himself back. Violence had a way of taking over a man if unchecked—and he hated seeing it in himself. If he needed to protect someone he loved, he wouldn’t hesitate to fight. That was only natural. But to give free rein to violent urges? He couldn’t do that. Besides that, he couldn’t seem to move away.

And you said she’s ‘not all she’s supposed to be’? the rancher asked.

He made it sound like a bonus.

Jem’s hands balled into fists.

I wouldn’t know myself, not firsthand, but I’d say so, the preacher said. Not really her fault, he hurried to add. Guess her mama was—that way. A prostitute, you know. But she ended up being fostered later on—a good family in Tennessee took her on.

And that was the father? Jem heard himself asking. "The one who sold her to you?"

They both looked at him as if he’d sprouted a pair of devil’s horns. Or flashed a marshal’s badge at them.

That’s right. He was a good man, I assure you. A preacher like me.

Like you, Jem repeated tersely.

That’s right, the young preacher looked at Jem closely as if trying to measure him—perhaps feeling a tad judged, Jem suspected, because he could feel disapproval welling up and rolling off his body in hot waves. It had to be showing on his face. He tried to cool his temper, folding his arms purposefully over his chest.

Seeing no badge, the two men relaxed and ignored him.

I’ve got all the proper papers, the preacher said to the prospective groom. He glanced at the money in the man’s hands and quickly bent to rifle through a satchel next to the tent opening. The tent was one of those big square white affairs, with flaps that pinned back to make a dark triangle of a door. A revival-gathering tent.

He must not have had much luck in a little town like this, Jem thought. Whether his money had truly been stolen or not, he could well believe the young man was short on funds, if not completely broke. Likely the latter.

Hearing a small strangled sound, Jem glanced at the young woman. She was standing now. She must have made the noise he’d heard. He quickly checked on Mae and saw her still playing contentedly with the puppy, blissfully unaware of what the grownups were talking about. The young woman wasn’t. All the color had washed out of her dirt-streaked face, and she was staring fixedly at the affluent rancher.

Her buyer.

She caught Jem’s eye then. All the while, he’d been so studiously not looking her in the eye, not getting involved. He knew himself well enough to know that was what he was doing. It had become something of a habit since Lorelei died, this way of holding people at a safe distance. So her catching his eye happened purely by accident.

She sent him a silent plea. What she expected him to do now, he didn’t know. He tugged down the brim of his hat.

No, no need for a ceremony, really, if you don’t want. He overheard the young preacher saying to the rancher. She can’t talk anyway, so I don’t see the point of it. Just sign right here. Jem glanced over to see the rancher signing a paper. A marriage certificate, he guessed.

She’ll just have to sign too, the preacher said, turning to the young woman. She faced him with a forceful glare, and he seemed to diminish a little, as if she’d stolen his confidence.

Now, Annie, he said to her gently as if to a small child, all you need to do is make a mark here. Any kind of mark. He pointed to a line on the document. Right here. He held a pen out toward her.

She didn’t move.

Please, he said through gritted teeth. He was at her side in two strides, then briefly pressed his mouth to her ear and whispered something. Jem noticed how stiffly she held herself until he pulled away. She bowed her head for a moment, and when she looked back up her expression was beaten. What had he said—or threatened her with? Whatever it was, his words had taken all the fire out of her eyes. She took the pen and held it in an awkward grasp. The young preacher held the paper against his palm and crowded in close until she signed it. To Jem her mark looked like nothing more than a couple of rolling mountains, but he supposed it could have been an A and a couple of Ns.

That’s good, the preacher said, relief evident in the way his shoulders dropped slightly. Here you go. He blew on the ink to dry it and waved it in the air a bit before he folded it nice and neat and handed it to her buyer. A man who hadn’t even bothered to introduce himself to his bride. Like his name didn’t matter. Like she didn’t matter. He’d never once asked her name either.

Annie. That’s what the preacher had called her.

A simple name.

Jem felt sickened by the whole thing. He moved, fixing to retrieve Mae and already bracing himself for her to pitch a fit. She wouldn’t want to leave the puppy.

Don’t look at Annie, Jem told himself.

The young woman’s gaze on him was too penetrating though, and he found himself glancing at her. She sent him another pleading look.

What did she want from him? There was nothing he could do. She was married now, all legal and proper. Or whatever it was the preacher had called it.

She grunted, some tiny desperate sound that tore at him. It seemed to come from the core of her, a place of pure panic.

He wanted to reassure her, but there was nothing he could say.

The man was likely just a mite close-lipped, like a lot of men were, blind to the greater emotional needs of women, but generally not bad.

Jem had to stop just short of Mae, because Annie’s new husband rudely brushed by him—bringing a whiff of some faint burnt odor—and latched a chain around the puppy’s neck. It was his dog?

Time to go, he said, giving the leash a tug. He seemed to direct his command both to the dog and to Annie. Little Mae looked up at the man towering over her, her eyes wide and frightened. Jem made to step around the man to get to her, but Annie had already put a reassuring hand on Mae’s shoulder. The puppy flopped onto its side, obviously not wanting to leave its new playmate.

"I said, ‘Come.’" The man yanked the pup forward along the ground, lifting it onto its feet. The puppy straight-legged him, but the man was stronger, pulling it along protesting, its head thrashing against the chain.

A noose tightened around Jem’s neck, just as surely as if the man had slung that leash around him.

You didn’t treat an animal that way.

Don’t get involved. You don’t know anything about the man. He could’ve suffered a bad bite as a boy. Maybe he never grew up around animals.

Any number of reasons.

Come on, gal, the man snapped at Annie, seeing she hadn’t moved to join him.

She looked pleadingly at Jem, and this time he saw a flash of anger in her eyes. It didn’t seem like she was mad at him though, more like frustrated. Angry at how the puppy was being treated? He wasn’t sure.

Honestly, he was so angry himself he thought his control might snap, that he might actually hit the man. So he bowed his head, trying to gather himself. There at Annie’s feet he saw what she’d been drawing in the dirt, a picture. It was a sketch of Mae and the puppy. Simple lines, but a real picture. Impressive for having done it with just her finger and a bunch of dirt.

She wants me to protect the dog, he realized, not her. She’d been hovering over that dog the whole time, not just watching Mae. She saw something earlier—she must have. She didn’t like the way this man handled his animal.

The rancher yanked on the leash again, this time so hard the puppy fell sideways in the dirt. The man reeled it in closer, muttering.

Drop the leash. Jem held himself together with icy calm.

What did you say? The rancher halted and squinted at Jem, clearly not used to being challenged. He had money. That was evident from how readily he’d taken out his wad of bills and paid the preacher. He was used to people listening to him. Liked to throw his weight around. Liked playing boss. That kind of man.

A man like him didn’t deserve a dog.

A man like him didn’t deserve a wife.

Although, a man like him—wealthy, in his mid-forties or early fifties, it looked like—probably already had a wife.

It was possible.

Which meant, possibly, he hadn’t just married Annie. Not legally, anyway.

Which meant, possibly, he had plans for her that had nothing to do with being married or faithful. Things that didn’t bear thinking about.

Jem couldn’t know for sure.

But it was enough to make him doubt.

I said, ‘Drop the leash.’

Listen, mister, the rancher said, his eyes going mean. I don’t want any trouble with you.

Why? Because I’m bigger and can fight back? It was a guess, but Jem had the satisfaction of seeing his words hit home.

The rancher took a step toward him, bristling.

The preacher hovered near his satchel with an anxious expression, as if he’d just swallowed a wasp.

Jem glanced at Mae, wishing he could protect her from sights like this. Wishing she was far away. Annie had scooped her up and was holding his daughter’s face pressed into her shoulder. Good.

I’m taking the dog, Jem told the rancher coolly. He pulled money out of his pocket before the man could say anything else. Jem handed him a bill that made his eyes widen, and, before he could say anything, slid the leash from his senseless fingers. Jem didn’t shy away from making himself look as big and as intimidating as possible, which might’ve helped. Then he turned to the preacher and asked, What did he give you? How much?

The preacher swallowed and named a number.

It was high, enough to make Jem raise his brows, but not enough to make him stop.

"I’m taking her too. I’ll give you twice what he paid, Jem told the preacher. Just give him the money back."

What? he stared at Jem blankly, his face going faintly green.

If you won’t, I will.

But—but they’re married. All proper and legal.

Oh really? Jem asked. "Seems like a married man can’t have two wives."

Who says I’m married? the rancher protested. He put on quite a show, but Jem wasn’t convinced. Didn’t matter anyway.

I say you are. Jem took the paper from the man’s hand and ripped it into pieces. The wind took them away, blowing them down the street like tiny white leaves

Hey! The rancher shoved Jem. He fisted his hands, ready to fight.

Jem held him off. Give him back his money, he practically barked at the preacher, losing his patience fast.

The preacher swallowed and stuck his hand out, the wad of bills outstretched. The man subsided all of a sudden, perhaps thinking it wasn’t worth his effort anymore—something that had perhaps only been an amusement to him. He took the bills from the preacher, his gaze hard on Jem the whole time.

That’s right. Good. Now get us a new paper, preacher, Jem said. It was the last thing he wanted to do, but what choice did he have? Let the preacher marry her off to the next man, possibly someone worse?

The preacher hurried to grab another paper from his bag, his hands visibly trembling as he made it out. Jem gave his particulars.

You need to sign.

Jem took the pen, held the paper against his palm and signed. It was all there: his name, as the preacher had hurriedly printed it, and his own signature. He looked at her name and just saw Annie.

What’s her last name? he asked the preacher. Doesn’t it need to be on here?

She doesn’t have one. Never did, I guess. That’s what her father said.

Don’t call him that again, Jem said, irritated. Just put his last name down here for hers, now.

He hurriedly wrote the name in: Ruskin.

Annie Ruskin.

As soon as the preacher added the name, Jem slipped the paper out of his hands and beckoned to Annie. She brought Mae closer, and Jem took his daughter from her. Mae squirmed immediately.

Hush, he told her. Wait just a minute.

Hungry.

I know. I’m hungry too. Except now he wasn’t. This whole business had driven his hunger away.

Can you make your mark here? he asked Annie, handing her the paper. Annie, he added, out of respect. I’m James. James Wheeler. But most folks call me Jem. And this here is Mae. She’s mine. I’m not married now, but I was. Widowed.

She looked at him, seemingly frozen in place.

If you want, Jem said quietly, looking at the preacher and the other man, her supposed husband, who was still hovering nearby. He was a big man. Used to getting his way. Unprincipled. Rough. Rude. And he was obviously furious.

She looked at the man and swallowed,

Reviews for The Bartered Bride

[TakidaJoseph · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

The greatest love story ever so soft beautiful and just right!! So many lessons. This writer is amazing

[Beth From Arkansas · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This was a very good book!!! Great characters. I read a lot of these kind of books “western stories/romance”, I think this is one my favorites so far.

[mum26 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I liked this story. Not a deep emotional story, but a pleasant read. The ending seemed a little 'weak', hurried maybe?
Nice read though.