Bella: Brides of the Oregon Trail, #3

By Cynthia Woolf

Bella Devereaux dreamed of being a restaurateur, not a thief. But life had other plans. Forced to compromise her principles to survive, Bella always
gives half of her ill-gotten gains to the French émigrés in New Orleans and saves the other half to fulfill her lifelong goal of opening her own French café. A priceless cache of jewels was supposed to be her last job, but the police are on to her, and so is another criminal—Jack Pasquin. He's more than a thief, he's a murderer, and he's willing to do whatever it takes to force Bella's hand—including kill her. Taking the jewels and fleeing to Oregon City as a mail-order bride seems to be her only hope.

 

Marshal Robert McCauley never forgave himself for being on the job when his first wife passed away. Guilt has kept him from falling in love again, but a mail-order bride seems to be the perfect answer. When Bella arrives, not only is she beautiful and intelligent, but her mysterious ways intrigue him more than he cares to admit. Neither of them wants to admit they have fallen in love, but when Bella's past catches up to them, Robert will have to choose—once more—between the woman he loves and the duty he serves.

 

Can Bella save the husband she'd fallen in love with? Or will she become a widow before she becomes a real wife?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Firehouse Publishing
• Release date: Oct 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9781950152063

Cynthia Woolf

Cynthia Woolf is the award winning and best-selling author of twelve historical western romance books and two short stories with more books on the way. She was born in Denver, Colorado and raised in the mountains west of Golden. She spent her early years running wild around the mountain side with her friends. Their closest neighbor was about one quarter of a mile away, so her little brother was her playmate and her best friend. That fierce friendship lasted until his death in 2006. Cynthia was and is an avid reader. Her mother was a librarian and brought new books home each week. This is where young Cynthia first got the storytelling bug. She wrote her first story at the age of ten. A romance about a little boy she liked at the time. Cynthia loves writing and reading romance. Her first western romance Tame A Wild Heart, was inspired by the story her mother told her of meeting Cynthia’s father on a ranch in Creede, Colorado. Although Tame A Wild Heart takes place in Creede that is the only similarity between the stories. Her father was a cowboy not a bounty hunter and her mother was a nursemaid (called a nanny now) not the ranch owner.   Cynthia credits her wonderfully supportive husband Jim and the great friends she's made at CRW for saving her sanity and allowing her to explore her creativity.   TITLES AVAILABLE   NELLIE – The Brides of San Francisco 1 ANNIE – The Brides of San Francisco 2 CORA – The Brides of San Francisco 3 JAKE (Book 1, Destiny in Deadwood series) LIAM (Book 2, Destiny in Deadwood series) ZACH (Book 3, Destiny in Deadwood series)     CAPITAL BRIDE (Book 1, Matchmaker & Co. series) HEIRESS BRIDE (Book 2, Matchmaker & Co. series) FIERY BRIDE (Book 3, Matchmaker & Co. series) TAME A WILD HEART (Book 1, Tame series) TAME A WILD WIND (Book 2, Tame series) TAME A WILD BRIDE (Book 3, Tame series) TAME A SUMMER HEART (short story, Tame series)     WEBSITE – www.cynthiawoolf.com   NEWSLETTER - http://bit.ly/1qBWhFQ    

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

December 31, 1852, outside New Orleans, Louisiana

Bella Devereaux crept along the shingled rooftops, anchoring her rope and entering through an upper window. In a flash she was back outside, climbing the rope and moving on to the next Anglais home. Three per night. Most of her ill-gotten gains of cash and jewels went to the French émigrés. Her people were treated horribly by the English. But she did keep some of the loot for herself otherwise she’d never be able to achieve her dream of a French restaurant in San Francisco.

She placed the cash and the jewels in the black bag tied to her waist. Then closing the heavy, metal safe door with the greatest care, she headed for the window. Silently crossing the thickly carpeted floor, so different from the bare one she lived in.

Someone yelled Stop! Thief!

She gasped and ran to the window, jumping out and grabbing the rope before she fell. With her black gloves protecting her hands, she slid down the two-stories to the ground and ran into the swamp surrounding the small Anglais enclave outside of New Orleans. Robbing the houses in the enclave proved easy to do in one night.

A bullet whizzed past her head so close she felt the heat of its invisible trail. Another followed.

Bella ran faster, running through the cypress and tupelo trees. Jumping over stumps visible in the light from the half-moon. Without the mild chill of the night slowing her down she reached the water and the boat that waited for her there. The mossy, moldering scent of the bayou reached her nostrils as she slowed and took deep breaths.

No one was supposed to be home. She’d waited until the servants went to their quarters. She’d chosen this night because the English were having a New Year’s Eve ball at the British Club in New Orleans. All the wealthy English attended and it was expected that everyone from the area would attend the celebration.

She didn’t usually come out to the plantations. They were too far apart and too difficult to get to without being seen. But this little enclave was perfect—three mansions fairly close together and easy enough to steal from in one night.

Escaping to the bayou wasn’t the best of ideas, but there were only a few moorings for a boat the English were aware of. Luckily, she’d been born and raised in the swamp. She knew it like the back of her hand and knew exactly where she could leave the boat and get back to town before anyone could realize she was missing.

Her small apartment held only the essentials. She had only a few things to remind her of her parents. Maman’s locket with a few strands of Bella’s baby hair in it. Papa’s wallet where he kept a small portrait of him and Maman on their wedding day. The picture must have cost him a fortune to have done, but now it was priceless to Bella.

*****

May 1, 1853, Independence, Missouri

She knew this was her only hope. Bella listened as the judge performed the proxy marriage in the office of Miles Micklejohn, the attorney who arranged the union. Miles stood in for Robert McCauley of Oregon City, Oregon Territory. A friend of Miles’ who was a judge performed the ceremony and she signed the papers.

Now she was in line to sign more papers. She’d left New Orleans because she was becoming careless, losing her touch, and she had enough money to start her restaurant. Her dream. She vowed she’d never be hungry again.

Bella needed a place as far away from New Orleans as possible to lay low. Oregon City was that place. Signing the proxy marriage gave her a place to live and a plausible reason to travel along with a bunch of brides to the west coast of the country.

She kept her valise in her left hand as she used her right hand to sign the paperwork to join the westbound wagon train of mail-order brides. Everything that meant anything to her was in that bag, including a derringer for self-protection, and she never let the valise out of her sight. If she was awake, it was in her hand. At night she used the heavy, thick sided carpet bag as a pillow. It also contained the proxy marriage paper to a man named Robert McCauley in Oregon City, Oregon Territory.

Janine Smithers, an extremely tall woman with coal black hair, porcelain skin, deep emerald green eyes, was Bella’s partner in the wagon. Janine had needed someone to help with the cost and with the driving. Bella volunteered as that someone.

Their vehicle was a farm wagon with high sides, fitted with ribs over the top and a canvas cover tied to them. It was high off the ground, fairly lightweight and capable of carrying around 2500 pounds of freight.

Bella had one valise and one small trunk plus she’d paid Janine five hundred dollars for supplies and one half of the wagon. Their beginning position was near the rear of the wagon train, but that would change. Each day, a new wagon was put in the lead and the former lead wagon went to the rear. This procedure was the only fair way for everyone to make the dusty journey.

*****

The wagon train moved slowly, only about fifteen miles a day on a good day, ten miles if the road was too rough or the oxen were tired.

Bella did the cooking on the trail. She searched for edible roots along the way.

The Mormons, who traveled part of this same trail, left gardens of vegetables for those coming after them. Bella found these and took as many of the vegetables as she could carry. She also replanted what she could—the eyes on the potatoes, the top of the carrots—in the hope that they would grow and sustain the next wagon train.

Bella used the vegetables to make stews with the bacon they brought and with rabbits and venison that were shot on the way. Janine showed Bella how to shoot the rifle. Bella discovered she was a good shot and had many rabbits to show for it.

They pulled in to Fort Laramie about two months after they started.

A tribe of Cheyenne appeared the next day, taking most everyone on the wagon train by surprise. Chester Gunn, the wagon master, seemed to be unaffected by the Indians.

Hank Barringer, an extremely handsome man with coal black hair and the bluest eyes she’d ever seen, assured her and Janine that the Cheyenne were a peaceful people. The Indians came to the fort to trade with the soldiers and with the merchants there. They traded mostly beaver pelts and other animal hides. The pelts, especially, were in great demand back east where they were made into mostly hats and coats.

I’m headed into Fort Laramie, said Bella to Janine. I hope there’s something left after everyone has restocked their supplies.

Good luck.

Bella returned with some sweet potatoes, carrots, beets and a pound of walnuts.

Quite the haul, said Janine with a grin.

They were nearly cleaned out. I took the last of the potatoes and beets. But we’ll have good meals for a little while anyway.

*****

After crossing the Great Desert, the Rocky Mountains, the Blue Mountains, the Cascade Mountains and rivers too numerous to mention, the wagon train finally arrived in Oregon City on the first of October. After two-thousand-one-hundred seventy miles, most of which she’d walked, and one-hundred fifty-three days after leaving Independence, Missouri, the journey was finally over.

Bella stood on the edge of the wagon train facing town. She was so nervous she almost turned around and went back to her wagon. But her mother, bless her soul, hadn’t raised a coward. She squared her shoulders, picked up one end of her trunk, and went searching for Robert McCauley…her husband.

When she reached the town she looked to her left and right. Seeing mostly houses to the right, she went left. Across the street she saw the Oregon City Mercantile, a butcher shop, the Wagon’s Ho saloon, a bakery and the doctor’s office. With the exception of the doctor’s office, all the businesses appeared to be busy this afternoon. Considering the city was so very small, at least compared to New Orleans, she doubted there was more than one of any of the shops or a doctor.

New Orleans had at least 100,000 people when she left. As tiny as Oregon City was she’d be surprised if there were one-thousand inhabitants.

On the left side of the street she stood next to the bank. As she walked along, she passed the barber shop, a bath house and another saloon. The last building, on this side of the street, was the marshal’s office. One hundred feet beyond, and facing the rest of the town was a three-story hotel, painted pale yellow with white trim.

The marshal’s office was small. Made of logs with black trim around the single window next to the door, the building was the sturdiest looking in town.

She knocked once on the door and then, taking a deep, calming breath, entered the building.

*****

September 22, 1853, Oregon City, Oregon Territory

Marshal Robert McCauley, wearing his badge and holster, was marshal of Oregon City. But now he was just a man sitting in the kitchen of his friends, Max and Lydia Caldwell, absentmindedly petting Sampson, their pet wolf.

I can’t take the diamonds back to Chicago for you after all. You’ll have to send John, he said to Max. John Grant is Max’s best friend and a good, honest man. The diamonds will be safe with him."

Max shrugged. I’m telegraphing my office. The diamonds actually belong to Lydia. They were Lydia’s fiancé Walter’s before he passed and should stay here. But that’s not why you’re here this morning, is it?

Robert took a deep breath and let it out. How easily his friend saw through him. I never should have done a proxy marriage with Lydia standing for Bella Devereaux from New Orleans. There are all these women in town, but they came for the men already here and in Portland. Besides, I never met anyone who I wanted to marry.

He ran his hand behind his neck. This agreement was easier, with no courtship required, but I shouldn’t have done it. She should be here in the next couple of weeks. I’m letting her go when she gets here but I’ll help her find someone else if she desires it.

I won’t ever love another woman. Catherine broke me of that emotion when she admitted she was only after my money and it was my best friend, Tyler Murphy, that she loved. If I never fall in love I won’t ever be put in the position to be hurt like that again.

Max rolled his brandy brown eyes and shook his head. His dark hair, a little on the long side, swung with the movement. You’re crazy. This is the perfect solution for you.

Robert sighed. Max is probably right.

Lydia, holding a gray tiger striped kitten with its leg splinted, narrowed her baby blue gaze at her husband. He’s not. He’s a good man and is making the decision that is honorable, if indeed he doesn’t want to be married.

Robert smiled at her as Sampson nudged his hand to continue petting him. Thanks, Lydia. I appreciate the vote of confidence.

She doesn’t know what a good man she’s missing out on, said Lydia, her hair the color of corn silk was starting to escape her bun.

I hope you’re right. I don’t know what I’ll do if she wants to stay married.

*****

October 1, 1853, Oregon City, Oregon Territory

There was a slight chill in the air as Robert stood at the edge of town and watched the wagon train form a circle just east of town. His proxy bride was on this wagon train. They had arranged to meet at his office when she arrived. He didn’t want to rush her before she was ready to meet him, especially since he was about to break things off and have the marriage annulled.

Turning he headed back to his office to wait for Bella Devereaux. Would she be like every other woman he’d known when she found out about the money he might inherit? More interested in the money than in him?

I thought you were meeting your bride, said Otis Taylor, Deputy Marshal. Otis was medium height, with gray hair and a belly that hung over his belt. He wore suspenders to keep up his pants. His gun belt hung on the wall next to Roberts.

I decided to wait here for her to find me. I gave her directions.

They didn’t have to wait too long. About an hour later a woman knocked and then entered the marshal’s office.

Turning toward the door, he widened his eyes and all the breath left his lungs. In that instant he knew, without a doubt, he wouldn’t give her up after all. She was stunning, one