Bartered Bride Romance Collection (31 page)

His words broke their tension. They still stood in a close knot. Matty threaded her fingers with Corrine’s to give her a bit of much-needed reassurance. “You’ve already been so kind. Could I trouble you to please introduce us to Mr. Collingswood?”

“I’m Jim Collingswood.” He gave her a surprised look.

“Imagine that! Well, Mr. Collingswood.” Matty tried to give him a composed look, even though she really felt like her insides were skipping rope. “We’re the Craig sisters. I’m Matilda. This is my twin, Corrine, that’s Bess, and Bertie is at the end. I have the papers for you in my valise.”

“What papers?”

“To finalize the arrangements.”

His brows knit. “What arrangements, Miss Craig?”

“Why, we’re the brides you sent for.”

“Just how many brides do you think you get?” Jim’s brother, Luke, asked as he nudged alongside him.

Completely thunderstruck, Jim stared at the women. “Brides? I didn’t send for brides.”

The gal who’d quite literally fallen at his feet pinched her lips together in a firm line. The one next to her, who had no more color than a mashed potato, huddled close. The last two exchanged horrified looks as the train started to puff off into the distance.

“We’re just what you asked for on the bridal order. Sturdy, dependable, plain—”

It was too outrageous to believe. Jim shook his head. “Ladies, something has gone terribly wrong. I ordered plain, ordinary bridles for my horses—not brides!”

“I see,” Matilda Craig said. She pivoted a bit, and Jim instinctively reached out to keep her from falling again. The way her shoulders started to shake made his heart lurch.

“No need to cr—” He jerked away as he realized she wasn’t in need of consolation. Of all things, the woman started to laugh.

“We should have known Ellis would mess this up,” she said, her voice bobbing up and down with mirth. Jim stared at her intently, hoping she wasn’t sliding into hysteria.

“What do we do now?” the youngest one huffed.

“Told you this wouldn’t work out,” Bess said. “Matty, this isn’t funny in the least.”

“Oh, no!” The gal who was a very pale copy of Matty lost that pretty lilt from a minute ago. “What is to become of us?” She continued to clutch Matilda’s hand and leaned into her, nearly causing both of them to lose balance.

Jim reached out to brace Matty before the two of them toppled over. In the middle of this whole confusing mess, he wondered how in the world Ellis Stack ever described Matilda as plain. Sunrise gold hair was plaited on top of her head like a crown. It framed wide, expressive blue eyes that would always let a man know precisely how she felt. The feel of soft fabric beneath his hand and the mind-boggling scent of flowery perfume made him all too aware he hadn’t been around anyone half this appealing in ages.

But he wasn’t about to marry her—or any of her sisters. What was he supposed to do with four females?

The youngest one scrunched up her freckled nose and repeated, “What do we do?”

“We’ll just have to make do.” Matilda pulled away from his touch, disengaged from her sister, grabbed two hatboxes, and handed them to the pale one.

Jim swiped them right back. “Your sister isn’t up to this.”

In a bizarre tug-of-war, Matilda grabbed hold of them. “Sir, I understand this was all an honest mistake, but you’re not making it any better. Right about now, it would be best if you’d go mind your own business and leave us alone.” One of the lids popped off, and gobs of thin-as-air, lacy stuff fluttered in the air.

Corrine sat down on one of the trunks and burst into tears.

As he helped Matilda cram the wedding veil back into the hatbox, she hissed under her breath, “Now look what you did!”

“Whatever it was, lady, I’m sorrier than you’ll ever know.”

Chapter 2

W
e’d best come up with a plan.” Bess gave the town a disparaging look. “Ellis already did that,” Bertie grumbled as she flopped down on a trunk, “and look where it landed us.”

“In the middle of nowhere, with no one to help us,” Corrie whimpered.

Matty glanced at the odd collection of men and took their measure in a quick sweep. This lot rated more ragged than any group she’d ever seen. Most desperately needed to be reacquainted with scissors, a razor, and a tub. More than a few weren’t refined sufficiently to keep from scratching like a hound with fleas. Even with all that counted against them, to the man, they’d all removed their hats and grinned. About half of them even boasted a full set of teeth. The minute one took a single step, the entire group trampled forward and formed a complete circle around them.

“Well.” Matty injected a sunny tone to her voice and folded her hands in front of herself. “It’s good to see so many strong, kind-looking men. My sisters and I seem to need to transfer our goods to the boardinghouse or hotel. Could I trouble a few of you—?”

“Back off.” Jim Collingswood’s low snarl made the men freeze. “Miss Craig, Lickwind doesn’t have a boardinghouse or hotel.”

Bertie banged her heels against the trunk and propped her fist on her hips in a most unladylike way. “Isn’t this a fine kettle of fish? Not that I cotton much to the notion of getting hitched, but being stranded without a place to lay our heads or a decent meal—”

“Hush,” Bess clipped as she lifted her chin. “We’ll simply have to take the next train home.”

All of the men bellowed in denial.

Matty opened her reticule and pulled out the last seventeen dollars she owned. “Here. Bertie, give us your money.”

“I spent it.”

“It’s at least forty dollars apiece for the tickets.” Corrie’s voice shook as she stated the terrible fact.

Matty gave Bess a questioning look. Bess’s thin-lipped expression made her heart fall.

“This isn’t a normal train stop.” Jim Collingswood’s comment carried the flavor of a mortician’s announcement. “Probably won’t stop here for at least another week.”

At wit’s end and worried about the way Corrie blanched, Matty finally gave into temptation and turned around to invite Mr. Collingswood to keep his tidings to himself … but she forgot about the gravel on the ground. His lightning-fast reflexes saved her from another humiliating fall, but the result wasn’t any more desirable. He’d grabbed and yanked, so she landed face-first into his buckskin shirt.

“For a man who don’t wan’ a bride, he shore seems to be stakin’ a claim,” one of the men said.

As several others hooted, Matty tried to summon a scrap of dignity and her balance. The minute she looked up into Jim’s unblinking gaze, her tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth.

“Easy now,” he said in a strangely soothing tone.

“Whoa, there,” another male voice said from a yard or so away. “Hey, Jim?”

Matty recovered her bearings enough to twist her head to the side and see who’d spoken. A man whose profile strongly resembled Mr. Collingswood’s—good gracious; strong, handsome men were everywhere!—bent a bit. When he straightened, Matty realized he’d scooped up Corrie. Her twin drooped in his arms like a wilted daisy. He looked compassionate enough … until he curled his arms to hold her a bit closer. Then he looked as stricken as Matty felt.

“Hey, darlin’, I’m right here to catch you,” a straddle-legged man with a tobacco-stained moustache declared from behind Bess. “Always did favor the fillies with dark manes.”

Bess served him a withering glare that made him back up a step.

While a handful of men all argued over who ought to get Bess and Bertie, Matty shook free from her captor and gave in to the very unfeminine urge to exercise a trick the hired hand back home had shown her. She stuck two fingers in her mouth, let out an ear-piercing whistle, then smoothed her skirts to recover her dignity while all of the men gawked at her in utter amazement.

“This has gotten out of hand. Where is the nearest patch of shade for my sister?”

“The rough seas,” James Collingswood stated in a curt tone.

“There’s no need to be mean.” Matty glowered at him.

“It’s my ranch.” Jim Collingswood clamped hold of her elbow and started to drag her down the street as he ordered over his shoulder, “You men load the women’s gear into my wagon. Luke, do you need to take that one into Doc’s office?”

“Doc’s gone again. May as well haul her home and get her rested up.”

Jim stopped by a buckboard and cinched his hands around Matty’s waist then hefted her up onto the seat without so much as a word of explanation. He boosted Bertie into the back as Luke laid Corrie in the wagon bed. Bess had managed to stop off at a pump somewhere and dampen her hanky. As she draped it over Corrie’s forehead, Jim pawed through the possessions the townsmen hoisted aboard. The lacy parasol he pulled out looked ludicrous in his hands; and when he popped it open, Matty fought back the urge to giggle. None of this was funny in the least, but weariness and worry mingled to rob her of her manners. She started to laugh again.

As Jim turned to look at her, the rib from the parasol grazed through his hair and combed a furrow that stood at attention. His tawny eyes narrowed warily. “You’re not going hysterical, are you?”

“No. Oh, not at all,” Matty hastened to assure him. She smothered her levity and focused on Corrie out of concern for her as well as to keep from staring at his wild, parasol-framed hairstyle.

“Hold this over your sis,” he ordered Bertie.

If Corrie hadn’t been swooning so regularly in the past few months, Matty would have been far more alarmed. As it was, she fully expected her sister to rouse and feel mortified over all of the fuss, so she tried not to overreact. Clearly, what she needed to do was find someplace safe and cheap for them to stay until they could earn enough to catch a train back home.

Before she could pose any inquiries, Jim Collingswood swung up onto the seat beside her and put the buckboard in motion. “Sir, what are you doing?”

“I’m fixin’ to clean up my mess.” The angry glint in his eye made it clear just what—or who—that mess was.

“Kicked clean outta my own home,” Jim muttered as he pitched hay into a pile that would become his bed.

“Yeah, and we helped Pa build every last inch of that place,” Luke repeated once again from the adjoining stall.

Jim stared at the hay and forked over a few more hefty heaps then peevishly jabbed at a lump. “Propriety makes for an itchy bed. If Ma hadn’t drummed respectability into us all those years, we could be sleeping in the study.”

Luke let out a cross between a snort and a laugh. “Ma would skin your hide if she knew you’d sent for four brides.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? I didn’t send for brides; I sent for bridles.”

Luke chortled as he flicked his wrists and the wool blanket fluffed out on the bed of hay. “If it weren’t for that cute one feeling poorly, this would be a hoot and a half.”

“She’s feeling sickly? I thought only the one in the motherly way was under the weather.”

Luke leaned across the stall and gave him an entertained look. “I was talking about the motherly one. Who are you so worked up about?”

“Not who. What. I made a close study of the ledger whilst you carried her up to a bedroom. A buck fifty for a bridle and shipping was fine—a hundred fifty apiece for four women is—”