The Anonymous Bride (12 page)

Hurrying down the stairs to the servants’ quarters, she shoved her hand in her pocket and clutched the letter in her fist. Her decision had been made. In her room, she quickly changed out of her black servant’s dress and hung it and her apron on the hook on the wall alongside its mate. She threw her few belongings into a worn satchel and donned one of her two dresses, saving the nicer one for when she’d arrive in Texas to meet her future husband, Luke Davis.

Shannon all but held her breath until she was out of the mansion, and she hurried down the lane lest someone see her and try to stop her. She had needed this job—until the day the letter arrived with enough money for her to take the train to Sherman, Texas, where she could then catch a stage to Lookout.

Her steps quickened as she reached the lane that would take her into town. “Please, Lord, let this be the right choice.”

But what other choice did she have? She was alone in America with no hope of ever seeing Ireland again. She could only pray she wasn’t jumping off the ship and into the ocean.

Southwest Missouri June 1886

Carly shoved the last bite of scrambled eggs into her mouth, buttered another biscuit, and slathered peach jam on it. Normally, she had trouble eating before a robbery, but the restaurant’s food was so much better than she made that she couldn’t pass it up. “I wish I could fix biscuits this flaky. These are so good.”

Her brother grunted an agreement and sipped his coffee, staring out the window at the small town of Decker. “Finish up. The stage is due in a half hour.”

“I’m nearly done.” She leaned forward, the high neck of her dress clutching at her throat. She tugged at the collar, fearing it would cut off her breathing. “This dress is about to kill me. I’d much rather wear pants.”

Tyson looked her direction, blue eyes narrowed. “For what we have planned, you need that dress, so get used to it.”

Thankful that no one else was in the dining room since it was well past the normal breakfast hour, Carly sighed and fanned the bodice of her dress to allow in some air. She hoped the stage robbery went well so they could lie low for a while. She was sick of stealing and constantly moving from one hideout to another, but after her brother had gambled away their share of the money from the bank robbery, he’d started planning another heist. Why couldn’t she have been born into a decent family?

Ty stood. “Let’s go.”

Carly shoved the last bite into her mouth then downed the rest of her coffee. Standing, she gave the spacious hotel dining room a final glance. Each table was covered with a white tablecloth. Fancy chandeliers lit the room at night, but now sunlight reflected on the pieces of cut glass, making dancing rainbows on the walls. She’d miss feeling like a lady and being surrounded by such finery.

Tyson took her arm. “Don’t forget your handbag.”

“I don’t like carrying it. That gun makes it heavy,” she whispered. She’d taken to wearing a holstered gun partly to protect herself from the two newest gang members, but she couldn’t very well do that or the stage operators might get suspicious. Now that they were heading toward their destination, her legs began to wobble. What if there were several men on the coach? Could she hold them at bay with her gun until her brother and the gang could take over?

She lifted her heavy bag, carrying it in the crook of her arm instead of letting it dangle. What if she had to shoot another passenger?

Licking her dry lips, she allowed Ty to tug her along. When he’d proposed the plan of putting her on the stage to help with the robbery, she’d fussed and fumed, but to no avail. How could he expect her to shoot an unarmed person looking her in the eye? She doubted she could. Maybe it wouldn’t come to that.

“Hurry up. We need you on that stage.” Tyson yanked her arm, and she jogged to keep up.

“I’m trying to hurry, but these confounded skirts keep tripping me.”

Tyson slowed his steps as they rounded the corner and saw the stage still sitting there. “You’ll keep your story straight? Watch what you say to folks?”

Carly rolled her eyes. “I ain’t stupid. I’ll just sit down and tell them all I’m an outlaw—a member of the infamous Payton gang—and if they give me any lip about it, I’ll shoot them.”

A brief smiled tugged at Tyson’s mouth before he sobered. “Maybe it’s best if you don’t talk at all.”

He didn’t trust her to keep up her end of the deal. She knew the stakes—that Ty had learned a large payroll was on this stage and that there weren’t going to be any additional guards so that nobody would suspect anything.

Tyson stopped behind the stage and handed Carly her ticket. “You have a good trip, sis, and tell Aunt Sylvie that I hope to visit soon.”

She offered him a sweet smile for the sake of anyone watching. “Oh, I will. Time will fly past, and you’ll be seein’ me again before you know it.”

Tyson scowled at her. Another man and woman stood in front of the stage office window. She was pretty with her black hair swept up in a net thing and her blue eyes glimmering. Carly guessed her to be in her late teens.

“Are you sure about this, Ellie? You know you’ll always have a home with me.” A short man about the same height as the woman stared at her with somber brown eyes. By the similarity in their features and coloring, Carly assumed they must be brother and sister.

“I’m sure, John. I’ve corresponded several times with my intended, and he seems a perfectly nice man.”

John shook his head. “It just doesn’t seem right for you to go off to Texas to marry a stranger. There are men here in Decker who’d be delighted to marry you.”

The woman named Ellie patted the man’s chest. “Don’t worry, John. You have a new wife, and she doesn’t need to share her kitchen with me. I’ll be fine.”

A stocky man dressed in denim pants and shirt and wearing a vest stomped down the steps to the street. He carried a Winchester rifle in one hand. His thick mustache twitched. “Load up, folks. We ain’t got all day.”

John helped Ellie into the coach and then moved back, looking worried. Tyson handed Carly up, and she stepped on the edge of her skirt, falling to her knees on the floor of the coach.

“You all right, sis?” Ty asked, sounding disgusted.

Carly bit back a curse and managed to wrangle the skirt out from under her shoes. Stupid dress. She hadn’t worn one since shortly after Ma died and had forgotten how awkward they could be. Whoever invented them sure didn’t give a hoot about how a woman was supposed to get around and do everyday stuff while managing the strangling fabric. She flopped onto the seat and rearranged the despised garment.

Ellie’s eyes were wide, watching her. “Are you all right?”

“Fine.” Carly crossed her arms over her chest and looked to see if Tyson was still there. At least she’d managed not to curse out loud.

Her brother lifted his brows and shook his head. “Safe trip, sis.” Carly merely nodded. What point was there in pretending when she’d just see him again in an hour or so? Too bad she wasn’t really going somewhere. She let her mind wander, trying to decide where she’d go if she could travel anywhere she wanted.

In a matter of minutes, the stage pulled out of Decker with no other passengers. She had never ridden in a stagecoach before and had been excited about the prospect, but as they bumped and shimmied down the road, she wondered how she’d manage until Ty and the gang intercepted the coach, several miles out of town. She watched the landscape speed by, thankful at least she wouldn’t get bugs in her teeth like she sometimes did while riding.

“Sure is bumpy, isn’t it?”

Carly glanced at the woman across the seat. “Yeah, sure is.”

“My name is Ellie Blackstone.”

Carly felt the blood drain from her face. They’d never discussed what to do if someone asked her name. “Uh ... Carly ... Payton.”

The woman smiled, pulled some knitting out of her satchel, and started clicking her long needles together. All the while, Carly wondered if she should have given a false name. And how could that woman knit on such a bouncy stage? If Carly tried that, she was certain she’d end up stabbing herself. She set her handbag on the seat beside her, one hand on it so it wouldn’t slide off and not be handy when she needed it. She hoped she wouldn’t have to shoot Ellie.

“I’m a mail-order bride on my way to Texas.”

Carly blinked and stared at the young woman. “You mean you’re going to marry a man you ain’t never met?”

Ellie giggled. “That’s right, although I have received three letters from him. He’s a marshal in Lookout, Texas. I’ve never been to Texas before. Have you?”

Carly shook her head. “No, but I’d sure as shootin’ like to go some day.”

“I’m excited about the trip, although my brother is worried about me. I just couldn’t stand living under the same roof as him and his new wife.” Ellie stopped knitting and lowered her hands to her lap. “Don’t get me wrong. Charlene was nice enough, but I could tell she didn’t like sharing the house with another woman, even if I did grow up there.”

“How’dja learn about the marshal?”

Ellie smiled. “I placed an advertisement in a magazine, and a month later, I got a letter from a solicitor saying the marshal in Lookout, Texas, was interested in learning more about me. I wrote him, and he wrote back several times and then asked for my hand. I agreed, and then he sent me the traveling money.”

Never having heard such a story, Carly sat back in the seat. “What if ... what if he’s old—and fat?”

Ellie giggled, brown eyes sparkling. “Luke is only twenty-nine, and oh so tall.”

“That’s gotta be a lot older than you are.”

She shrugged and renewed her knitting. “Seven years. But lots of men are that much older than their wives.”

Carly leaned back, staring out the window. She couldn’t afford to take a liking to Ellie when she might have to shoot her in a half hour. She tapped her hand against the hardness of the gun in her handbag. How long would her brother wait to attack the stage? They should be far enough from town so that any shots fired wouldn’t be heard back in Decker, but not too close to the next town. She jiggled her foot.

What would it be like to marry a stranger? A marshal, no less. Carly shuddered. But then she sat up straighter. A marshal would know when payroll shipments would be going out on the stage. If she could get close to such a man, she could learn about them herself and might be able to score a big enough heist that she could quit being an outlaw and live a respectable life. Course, a marshal might have heard of the Payton gang, but he would have no way of connecting her to it.

But there was the issue of Ellie. “Did you send the marshal a photograph of yourself?”

Ellie shook her head and looked out the window, nibbling on her lower lip. “No, I was afraid he might not like what he saw.” She patted her dark hair. “Men often prefer blonds.”

So ... the marshal didn’t know what Ellie looked like. Thoughts spun through Carly’s mind faster than the wheels of the stage turned. If only she could take the woman’s place, but there was no chance of that. Tyson would appear soon with his gang, and she’d have to leave with him whether she wanted to or not. She thought of how Emmett leered at her across the campfire most nights. He’d tried to kiss her once, and even now a shiver ran down her spine. So far, her brother had kept the man away from her, but what if something happened to Tyson?

A shot rang out behind them, and Carly jumped, along with Ellie, even though she’d been expecting her brother.

“Robbers! No, this can’t be happening.” Ellie clutched her knitting to her chest. “I’m not even out of Missouri yet.”

Above them, shots fired back toward the outlaws. A bullet hit the window frame, sending flying splinters of wood toward them. One hit Carly in the face, and she jerked her head to the side. Didn’t the gang care that she was inside the stage?

She reached for her handbag as it slid along the seat. The coach hit a dip in the road, dropped down, and then back out. Carly reached for the edge of the window to keep from being flung to the ground.
If this thing doesn’t stop soon, I’ll be black and blue—if I even survive.

The stage lurched side-to-side as the horses thundered down the dirt road in their effort to flee the outlaws. The coach groaned, and harnesses jangled. Dust coated Carly’s lips. Ellie clung to the window frame with one hand and pressed her other hand against the seat, her eyes wide and her knitting forgotten.

Carly reached for her handbag again, but it slid onto the ground. She leaned forward, just as Fred, a new member of the gang, pulled even with Ellie’s window. His gaze sought out Carly’s, and then he fired toward the other passenger. Ellie slumped sideways just as Fred was blasted out of his saddle by either the stage driver or the shotgun rider. Carly jerked to the left and ducked, as if the shot had been meant for her. Why had he shot Ellie when she wasn’t even armed?

Carly dropped to the floor and fumbled with her handbag, knowing how angry her brother would be if she didn’t draw her gun. The coach lurched again, and Ellie fell on top of her. Carly’s heart jolted clear up into her throat. With her bag in her hand, she attempted to rise, but Ellie’s weight and the constant jostling held her down. She fought the panic blurring her vision and making her heart stampede. Was Ellie dead? Or just unconscious?

Behind the stage, she heard more gunfire.