Lonesome Bride Read online

  Amber Quill Press, LLC

  www.amberquill.com

  Copyright ©2003 by Megan Hart

  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

  LONESOME BRIDE

  by

  MEGAN HART

  ISBN 1-59279-196-4

  Amber Quill Press, LLC

  www.amberquill.com

  Also By Megan Hart

  After Class

  All You Can Eat

  The Clear Cold Light Of Morning

  Convicted

  Dream Upon Waking

  Driven

  From Distant Shores

  Friendly Fire

  Love Match

  Love Me Two Times

  Monster In The Closet

  Nothing In Common

  Opening The Door

  Passion Model

  Playing The Game

  Pot Of Gold

  Right To Remain

  Riverboat Bride

  Sand Castle

  Trial By Fire

  With Steps Like Knives

  DEDICATION

  Thanks to Sue Gourley, who kept me motivated, and to my darling daughter Unagh who took long naps. As ever and always, to my wonderful husband David Frank, without whom none of this would be possible.

  CHAPTER 1

  June 25, 1876

  Lonesome, Montana

  It's hotter than melting molasses and just as sticky. Caitleen O'Neal shifted on her feet, hoping for a breeze and finding only more heat. She'd tried sitting, but the Lonesome, Montana train station had only uncomfortable wooden benches that threatened to scald her even through her heavy skirts. The air shimmered like water. Too bad she couldn't scoop it up in a glass and soothe her parched throat. She looked longingly across the wide, dusty street at the saloon, but dared not venture forth in search of something to drink. Even here in Lonesome, she doubted women were welcome in a bar.

  Caitleen sighed. The name of the town suited her perfectly, because despite the shouting, bustling crowd surrounding her, Caitleen had never felt more alone in her life. She was a long way from East Frankton, Pennsylvania. Still, it was too late now to regret her decision, no matter how hastily she had made it.

  Her housekeeper, Gerda, hadn't wanted her to come to Montana at all.

  "You stay here, where you belong,” Gerda had entreated, wringing her hands while Caitleen packed her only trunk. “If it's marrying you want, why not find a husband here, Caite?"

  Caite thought of how mothers and their daughters turned away when she entered the mercantile. How young men who might be interested in courting her stayed away, frightened by her father's reputation for losing money as fast as he got it. She had no chance at marriage in East Frankton—at least not with any man she'd truly consider.

  "Your Da set it all up already,” Gerda continued. “You can stay here and—"

  "Marry Drake Hammond?” Caite's lip curled at the very thought. “That preening, strutting dandy? No, thank you. I'll take my chances in Montana."

  She'd met the man once. His hair was greased and shining, and hung down in a little tail tied with a ribbon that matched his bright suit. He was fairly tall, pale and strongly featured. Finely drawn brows hovered over his sharp, dark, darting eyes. His nose was long and narrow, his chin soft. Muttonchop sideburns curved over hollow cheeks.

  Rounding out the picture was a fleshy mouth topped by a pencil-thin mustache. He was not an unattractive man, but something in his eyes and the set of his jaw marked him as one who spent much of his time pursuing the earthier pleasures.

  "But, your Da..."

  "My father has no say in what I do any longer,” came Caite's terse reply. “I am not chattel to be won at a poker game, no matter how much my father owes at the table!"

  Caitleen still bristled at the memory. Desmond O'Neal had never been an attentive father, preferring his gambling to conversation with his only child. Caite knew it was because she reminded him too much of her mother who'd died when Caite was four. Knowing didn't take away the sting of every casual dismissal.

  Her father had stepped off the boat in America with only his wits and charm to carry him. Despite his weakness for cards and the bottle, he'd managed to turn a string of tobacco shops into a small fortune. He was even able to woo East Frankton's most sought-after debutante, young Rose Halloran.

  Rose's death had turned Desmond from a Blarney-tongued charmer to a churlish, maudlin man no longer able to resist the lure of liquor and gambling. Drake Hammond had been there to fulfill Desmond's every desire for “a couple of hands, and a wee drop to pass the time.” Now most of Serenity had been sold to line the dandy's pockets. All that was left, it seemed, was the hand of Desmond's daughter.

  Still, she'd at least thought he loved her, even if he couldn't stand the sight of her. It wasn't until he'd flat out told her he'd lost her hand in a poker game that she realized he thought of her as nothing more than another piece of collateral.

  Her father had casually told her of the upcoming nuptials over dinner, leaving Caite with no response. He'd lost the poker game, and she was what Drake wanted. She was to pack her bags and prepare to get married.

  She'd packed her bags, all right, but not to become Drake Hammond's bride.

  Instead, Caite had visited Pastor Jonas at the Baptist church and agreed to become part of his Baptist bride program. That she wasn't a Baptist hadn't seemed to bother the kindly pastor, who assured her that the man she was going to marry would provide for her very well. Jed Peters, a widower with one son, was a landowner, an upstanding member of his church, and well thought of in the community. Caite had signed the papers without another thought.

  So here she was in her blue serge traveling dress, waiting for a man she had never met to collect her. Although she trembled inside, she was determined to appear calm. She did not want her new husband—husband!—to think her just a common, sniveling female.

  "You must be Caitleen."

  Caitleen whirled suddenly to face the voice from behind her and nearly lost her balance in the process. Strong arms reached out to steady her, and she found herself looking up, up into the face of the most handsome man she had ever seen. Forgetting her manners, she drank in the sight of him: strong, firm jaw, golden, sun-kissed skin, a tiny scar on one cheek that served only to enhance the perfection of the rest of his features. Black-as-a-starless-night hair swept back from his high brow and fell in careless waves to his broad shoulders.

  And his eyes! Caitleen found herself unable to look away from eyes greener than fresh spring grass, eyes touched with just a hint of gold, eyes that very nearly matched her own.

  "Do I pass inspection?"

  She'd been staring. Caitleen swiftly backed out of the stranger's embrace and looked away. She smoothed her dress to hide the trembling of her fingers. Her cheeks burned, but she managed to keep her voice steady.

  "You startled me, sir,” she declared, daring another look at him. Heavens, the man was gorgeous. Recalling the way he had just held her against him, her face flushed again. Then she realized he had called her by name. “How did you know my name?"

  "I'm Jed Peters,” the man said, not smiling. “I'm here to take you to Heatherfield."

  "Jed Peters?” Caitleen repeated, slightly dazed. This handsome man was going to be her husband. “Goodness, I'm so glad you are here. I was certain you had not received the telegram, and I would have to stay in the hotel until—"

  "You brought all this?” Jed interrupted