The Rogue's Bride: Dry Bayou Brides, #4

By Lynn Winchester

Guilty of a terrible crime and dogged by a sense of obligation he can't shake, Gaston Mosier hopes to find a little peace by getting himself hitched. Maybe his new wife can help him feel human again.

Aimee Prentice is seeking a life far away from the trouble she left behind, and becoming a mail-order bride is the only way out of a bad situation. So, when she arrives in Dry Bayou to marry the mysterious man from the ad, she's surprised to find a man more handsome than she ever imagined. And more troubled.

Gaston only wanted to marry a quiet, simple woman, someone who could keep him company and bear his children. He didn't expect to find outspoken, startlingly beautiful Aimee waiting for him at the stagecoach station.

What's Gaston to do with a bride who riles him as no one ever has? What's Aimee to do about a groom who is more cold shoulder than warm welcome?
​
One seeks redemption, the other seeks protection, so what happens when trouble finds them both?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charizomai Press
• Release date: Nov 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223869658

Lynn Winchester

Lynn Winchester is the pseudonym of a hardworking California-born conservative, now living in the wilds of Northeast Pennsylvania. Lynn has been writing fiction since the 5th grade, and enjoys creating worlds, characters, and stories for her readers. When Lynn isn't writing she is running a successful editing business, reading whatever she can get her hands on, raising her four children, making sure her husband is happy, and binge watching shows on Netflix.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Eldridge Kentworth School for Boys

Boston, Massachusetts

1864

SHH, EDDY, YOU’RE GONNA GET US CAUGHT, Gaston Mosier whispered loudly to his friend and fellow hooligan, Edward Eddy Johnston. Sliding closer to the edge of the wall meeting up with the main corridor of their large, prestigious, fun-killing boarding school, Gaston nearly soiled his breeches when a hand clapped him on the shoulder.

Whoa, you sure are jumpy, Gaston, Gaston’s other troublemaker-at-arms, Freddy Richfield, smiled at him toothily, his grin as wide as his belly.

Gawt, Freddy, I nearly passed to the Gates of Heaven. Stop stumbling around and help me make sure the coast is clear.

Freddy’s grin disappeared, replaced by a serious, wary expression. Freddy nodded and poked his head out from their hiding place in the alcove beside Headmaster Bob The Slob Mulligan’s office.

They were there to do something most daring… Steal the gold and mahogany name plate right off the headmaster’s desk.

In the forty years the dull, highfaluting school stood, with its high, red brick walls, its huge black doors, and its brass lights and knobs, no one had ever dared steal anything from the headmaster.

They might have tried—heck, who wouldn’t?—but no one had succeeded. Gaston planned to succeed, and then gloat about it afterward.

Freddy glanced at Gaston from over his shoulder. No one is coming…but…maybe we should go back. Freddy’s bottom lip trembled, and Gaston knew his friend was the weak link in the chain. But who else could he rely on? He only had Eddy and Freddy. He was as good at making friends as he was at studying. It didn’t help that he was a scholarship kid. The only kid in school who didn’t have mommy and daddy paying his way. No, he had a snobby, cold grandmother to thank for this room, board, and basically useless education.

It wasn’t like he could use all the fancy foreign talk Professor Loughney was teaching when he became a mercantile owner, just like his pa. He didn’t see why his parents sent him to Kentworth in the first place. He’d gone because he wanted to make his parents proud. He wanted them, finally, to show him that they loved him. But once he’d arrived at the big school, thousands of miles from anything familiar, he’d wondered why he’d bothered caring what his parents thought. After five months of no letters or visits, he’d given up on them. Just as they’d given up on him.

Since then, he’d been trying his darndest to get sent home.

That was why he was standing in the corridor, in front of Headmaster Mulligan’s office.If he stole the gold nameplate, The Slob would have to send him home.

Then, Gaston could starting living his own life again.

He could show his ma and pa that he wasn’t meant to be a fancy gentleman. Gaston just wanted to be a store owner, like them. He knew he could make them proud, make them love him, if he just had the chance to show them he was worth it.

Sure, they’d be angry about him getting kicked loose of the prestigious and hallowed school, but once they saw he could help them at Mosier Mercantile, they’d forgive him.

They would. He hoped.

Also, he wanted to see his sisters, Dora and Tilly, again. He hated to admit it, but he actually missed those two silly prisses.

Come on, Freddy. Stop being a baby. No one is coming, you said so, so who’s gonna catch us? With that, Gaston scurried from the alcove and stopped at the large door, the headmaster’s name painted on the beveled window. Gaston peered through the slightly frosted glass.

The office was empty.

Eddy stumbled into Gaston, his thin body trembling in fear. Maybe Freddy is right. Maybe we should go back to the dorm. We shouldn’t be here. We’ll get in a lot of trouble—

"That’s the point, Edward. I need to get out of this dumb school. If you don’t want to help me, fine. Leave. But if you’re gonna help, stay quiet, keep an eye out," Gaston hissed, suddenly annoyed.

Eddy groaned and Gaston turned to look at him. Eddy’s usually pale face was even more pale. His freckles stood out over his cheeks and nose like splashes of brown paint. His blue eyes were wide behind the thick spectacles he wore. Gaston knew Eddy was scared—shoot—Gaston was scared. But Gaston was more scared of staying at the school and losing himself, who he was, to proper manners, Latin, and dull society folks. He refused to be anything other than Gaston Mosier, mercantile man. Just like his pa. He didn’t care that his grandma paid more than twelve-hundred dollars a year for him to eat steak and potatoes, sleep in a warm bed, and wear stiff, scratchy coats and trousers.

No. That wasn’t him. He didn’t care how scared Eddy or Freddy was. He was leaving Kentworth, and stealing the headmaster’s nameplate was his ticket home.

How’re we suppose to get in? Freddy’s voice came from Gaston’s right shoulder. Gaston knew that if he turned around right then, he’d see two boys, pressed against him like two terrified cats hugging a tree branch.

Step back and I’ll show you, he pushed back, dislodging the two boys, and pulled a thin piece of metal from his pocket. Earlier that day, during another boring lesson in economics, he’d swiped the gold-colored clip from Mr. Carrigan’s ink pen, and bent it into the perfect shape for lock picking.

It was something he’d learned from one of the older boys in Dry Bayou. Home. He wondered how Jean-Luc La Fontaine was getting on. Gaston shook himself and knelt to get a better angle on the lock. He’d think about home later, once he was done committing a crime, and on his way back to Texas on the next train.

It was easy, picking the lock. Gaston doubted the uppity bores at Kentworth ever thought they needed better locks on their doors. They should’ve known better.

The lock clicked and Freddy or Eddy, Gaston wasn’t sure which, gasped. Smiling, Gaston stood and turned to his friends. See? As easy as falling asleep in chapel, Gaston didn’t bother keeping his voice down. From this point on, no matter what happened, he was certain The Slob would send him home.

He was home free. But first…

Gaston pushed open the door and walked into the shadowed office. There was a set of filing cabinets, fancy paintings of old people in wigs on the walls, and in the center of it all was the desk. The nameplate sat at the front of the large desk, and the gold lettering glinted in the dim light coming in through the windows.

Moving further into the room, Gaston didn’t bother checking if Freddy and Eddy were still behind him. If they ran away, he didn’t care. He was only steps away from his target. And no one had caught them yet. It was almost too easy!

Gaston let out a whoop and snatched the nameplate from the desk, clutching it in his hand and peering down at it with a sense of power.

I’ve done it. I’ve done what no one else has done!

He was invincible.

Turning, Gaston watched Freddy and Eddy, two dark figures in the room, stumble into one another. Maybe sneaking out at night with the La Fontaine boys all those years had trained his eyes to see better.

How can you see? It’s like ink in here, Eddy mumbled, nearly banging into a potted fern beside a filing cabinet.

I can see just fine, Freddy replied, I have the eyes of a bat.

Eddy snorted. Bats are blind, you nitwit.

Gaston laughed at his friends, then held out his prize. I’ve got it. I’ve beat The Slob, Gaston’s voice sounded hallow within the closed space, but he brushed off the empty feeling. It wasn’t the time for that. He’d won, and he was going to celebrate.

Fine. You got it. Now, let’s go. Freddy and Eddy, his friends, were set to abandon him at his best moment.

Anger pulsed through him. Now wait a minute. We’re here. We broke into the headmaster’s office. We’ve done something that’ll make us Kentworth legends.

Freddy stopped and pivoted on his heel, turning toward Gaston’s voice. "You broke into the office, Gaston, not us. You will be a legend, and we will get lashings from Mulligan and our parents," Freddy hissed the last word, as if he finally realized the trouble he was in.

Guilt nipped at Gaston, but he pushed it aside.

Don’t be a ninny now, Freddy. It’s done. The least we can do is poke around a little. See what else The Slob has in here. Think of all the things we can take. That sense of dread returned, but Gaston was determined to do what he wanted. The consequences bedamned.

Don’t do it… Ignoring the whimpering voice in his head, Gaston moved around the desk and tried the drawers. They were locked. He grinned, pulled the hook pick from his pocket, and bent to his new task; discovering what was hiding inside.

In only a few moments, the drawer was open and Gaston was staring down at something that made his heart stop.

His stillness must’ve alarmed Freddy and Eddy because they came up behind him. They both gasped.

Oh, no. We definitely have to get out of here. I don’t want to get caught with that. Mulligan might kill us with it! Eddy’s shrill jabbering pierced the darkness.

I’m with Eddy. Let’s get out of here, Gaston. This isn’t part of the plan. I don’t want to be here. Freddy stepped back and walked to the door. Eddy tripped toward the filing cabinets, feeling his way toward Freddy.

Gaston grunted, the thrill of the forbidden surging through his blood. He reached into the drawer and picked up the hand gun. It was heavy and cold.

Why did The Slob have a gun in his desk? Did he really kill and eat little boys like the stories said?

Nah, he thought, then flipped the gun over in his hand.

Put it back, Gaston. I think I hear someone coming, Eddy’s voice trembled.

No. I want to keep it. Gaston carried the gun to the window to get a better look at it. It sure is pretty. He pulled back the hammer and shuddered at the sound it made, the click-clack seemed to echo through the whole building.

What would Jean-Luc think of him if he came home with a gun? What would Dora and Tilly think? What would his parents think?

Suddenly chilled, he turned to put the gun back. Eddy and Freddy were right. It was time to leave. He’d gotten what he came for.

His foot caught on something and he stumbled, dropping the gun.

The loud bang sent him to the floor, hands over his ears, his heart in his throat.

Long moments later, he lifted his head, ready to make a run for the door and his dorm beyond that.

A shriek cut Gaston in two. He stood and saw Eddy standing beside the open door, staring down at something just within the glow of the hallway lamplight. Gaston rounded the desk and stopped short.

Freddy was slumped on his side. He wasn’t moving. And it didn’t take good eyesight to see the dark pool spreading out from beneath him.

Terror engulfing him, Gaston reached out to Eddy, needing to touch something solid, something safe.

Eddy—

Eddy recoiled, a look of horror on his face. You killed him. You killed Freddy. Eddy stepped back, raising