- -
- 100%
- +
Stand-In Wife
Russ Halloway’s mail-order bride never boarded the bride train! In her place is recently widowed Anna Darby Linford, sister of the last woman to jilt Russ. He’s surprised to see Anna again—and stunned when he discovers she’s pregnant. Marrying Anna seems the right thing to do...especially since love continues to evade him.
Anna hopes Russ will help her find employment—becoming a wife again never even crossed her mind. Yet as she struggles to start over in the small town, Anna forges a genuine connection with Russ. When secrets from her past threaten Russ’s future in politics, can they protect their family in the making?
SHERRI SHACKELFORD is an award-winning author of inspirational books featuring ordinary people discovering extraordinary love. A reformed pessimist, Sherri has a passion for storytelling. Her books are fast-paced and heartfelt with a generous dose of humor. She loves to hear from readers at sherri@sherrishackelford.com. Visit her website at sherrishackelford.com.
Also By Sherri Shackelford
Love Inspired Historical
Return to Cowboy Creek
His Substitute Mail-Order Bride
Montana Courtships
Mail-Order Christmas Baby
Prairie Courtships
The Engagement Bargain
The Rancher’s Christmas Proposal
A Family for the Holidays
A Temporary Family
Cowboy Creek
Special Delivery Baby
Cowboy Creek Christmas
“Mistletoe Bride”
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk
His Substitute Mail-Order Bride
Sherri Shackelford
www.millsandboon.co.uk
ISBN: 978-1-474-08439-0
HIS SUBSTITUTE MAIL-ORDER BRIDE
© 2018 Harlequin Books S.A.
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
www.millsandboon.co.uk
Version: 2020-03-02
Before you start reading, why not sign up?
Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!
SIGN ME UP!
Or simply visit
signup.millsandboon.co.uk
Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.
“Someone is bound to notice if we’re seen together.” Anna glanced at Russ.
“You’re far more likely to attract attention than I am.”
“Me?” She backed away, bumping into the table and toppling a bag of seeds to the floor. “No one knows me here.”
“Yet.” He knelt and reached for the bag. “There’s still time to become notorious.”
With trembling fingers, she swept the seeds. “I just want a little peace and quiet.”
He pressed his hand over her chilled fingers. “I was only trying to lighten the mood. Neither of us is likely to incite comment.”
“If you say so.”
Russ resumed sifting seeds, his thoughts troubled. The memory of the carefree girl she’d been all those years ago lingered. Surely there was something he could do to bring back that mischievous twinkle in her eyes once more? Perhaps if he knew more about her life, more about her time in Philadelphia, he’d have a better chance at avoiding potential hazards in their friendship. Five years was a long time, and a lot had obviously changed for Anna.
Not all of it for the better.
* * *
Return to Cowboy Creek: A bride train delivers the promise of new love and family to a Kansas boomtown
The Rancher Inherits a Family—Cheryl St.John, April 2018
His Substitute Mail-Order Bride—Sherri Shackelford, May 2018
Romancing the Runaway Bride—Karen Kirst, June 2018
The fathers shall not be put to death for the children, neither shall the children be put to death for the fathers: every man shall be put to death for his own sin.
—Deuteronomy 24:16
Dear Reader,
I was fascinated to learn that a vault on the Norwegian island of Spitsbergen contains almost a million packets of seeds, each variety an important food crop. The Global Seed Vault is an international initiative that provides protection for these valuable commodities against the challenges of natural and man-made disasters.
When Anna was collecting seeds in 1869, there were at least 285 varieties of cucumbers for her to plant. If she were gardening now, she’d have limited varieties from which to choose. While savings seeds from year to year was common, Anna was ahead of her time in post-Civil War America in cataloging the heirloom seeds for future generations. Seeking historical varieties of seeds has become a hobby for many people in recent years.
While gathering and growing different varieties of seeds is a fun and important way to remember our history, cultivating these seeds can also protect against blights. The Great Famine in Ireland was caused, in part, by heavy reliance on only one or two high-yielding types of potatoes. Cultivating genetic variety is often used as a protection against losing an entire crop to a disease.
The next time you’re at the grocery store, think about all the different varieties of fruits of vegetables!
I hope you enjoyed Anna and Russ’s story. Don’t forget to read book one of the series by Cheryl St. John, The Rancher Inherits a Family, and book three by Karen Kirst, Romancing the Runaway Bride.
I love connecting with readers and would enjoy hearing your thoughts on this story. If you’re interested in learning more about this book or others I’ve written in the Prairie Courtships series, visit my website at SherriShackelford.com or reach me at sherrishackelford@gmail.com, on Facebook at Facebook/SherriShackelfordAuthor, on Twitter @smshackelford, or with regular old snail mail: PO Box 116, Elkhorn, NE 68022.
Thanks for reading!
Sherri Shackelford
To my editor on this project, Elizabeth Mazer, for working with authors all day long, and still loving her job! To the other authors in this series, Cheryl St.John and Karen Kirst, I’m humbled to be among you.
Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
About the Author
Booklist
Title Page
Copyright
Introduction
Bible Verse
Dear Reader
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Extract
About the Publisher
Chapter One
On the road to Cowboy Creek, May 1869
“Something don’t feel right,” the wagon driver declared, casting an uneasy glance over one shoulder. “I travel this road every Tuesday and Friday delivering eggs to the restaurants in Cowboy Creek. But something don’t feel right today.”
“How can you tell?” Anna Linford anchored her bonnet with one gloved hand and squinted against the sun. A narrow creek snaked beside the road with scrub brush lining the steep banks. “We haven’t seen another soul for miles.”
Everything in Kansas was exaggerated and larger than life. The sky was painfully blue, the clouds a preposterous shade of white and the horizon seemingly endless. Even the fluttering prairie grasses were an overblown hue of emerald.
“That’s why I’m worried,” said the driver, Mr. Ward. “There should be more folks traveling this time of day.”
Mr. Ward’s skeletal hands trembled on the reins. Anna’s reluctant companion was somewhere past seventy and as gnarled and bent as the old oak tree outside the window of her childhood home. Layers of wrinkles corrugated his face, rendering his expressions indecipherable. Though he’d politely refrained from smoking in her presence, the sooty odor lingered on his coat, and her stomach churned.
As they rounded the corner, the railroad tracks and what looked to be the site of a previous accident came into view. Anna sucked in a breath. Two railcars lay overturned in the ditch, their metal axels twisted. Fresh weeds growing through the blackened prairie grasses and long, muddy gashes in the hillside indicated the accident had occurred sometime in the past month. The loamy scent of freshly turned earth competed with the stench of machine oil and scorched wood.
A sudden breeze whipped her bonnet ribbons over her shoulder. “What happened here?”
“Some fool engineer took the curve too fast a month or so past.” The driver grunted. “Those last two cars have to be separated afore they can drag ’em out of the ditch. Good thing you didn’t arrive with the last bride train, or you’d have been in the ditch too. Timing is everything in life. Take this morning. Bad timing.” He chuckled at his joke. “Too bad the train left without you.”
After founding Cowboy Creek, the council realized the area needed families to flourish and grow. Since women were scarce, they sent back east for brides. Some of the women corresponded with local men before traveling west on a bride train. Others accepted a ticket paid for by the town, rather than a prospective groom, and hoped for the best. Anna’s unique circumstances had left her somewhere in the middle—there’d been a correspondence, and she was hoping for the best.
Missing the train in Morgan’s Creek had been another stumbling block in a long list of disasters for Anna. Thankfully the distance between towns wasn’t far, and the driver from the poultry farm had taken pity on her. She’d learned through the older man’s reluctant conversation that Cowboy Creek had grown too quickly for the local suppliers to keep up with demand, encouraging cottage industries in the neighboring communities.
A crack of gunfire sounded, and a bullet struck the ground before the wagon. A plume of dust and a spray of dirt pellets exploded into the air. Anna’s heart jerked in her chest. The mule brayed and reared. The cart lurched, and she clutched the seat.
His gun drawn, a man in a long, shapeless duster coat with a hat set back on his head appeared from behind one of the overturned railcars. A second man wearing a similar coat followed close behind. One wore a blue bandanna tied over the lower half of his face, the other wore red.
A chill shivered down Anna’s spine.
Beside her, the driver guffawed. “Get along, you two. I’m hauling eggs. We got nothing of value.”
“We’ll just see about that,” the man in the red bandanna said gruffly.
He gestured with his tarnished pistol and approached the wagon. Judging by the way he spoke, Anna marked him as the leader of the pair. He braced his scuffed boot on the wagon wheel, and the bench seat dipped. With careless brutality, he tossed the elderly driver from his seat. The older man yelped.
“Don’t hurt him!” Anna gasped. “He’s no threat to you.”
“You ought to worry about yourself,” the outlaw declared ominously. “Tie him up!”
Anna fumed as Mr. Ward was dragged into the ditch and quickly bound and gagged. To her immense relief, the elderly driver put up little fight and appeared no worse for wear considering his rough treatment.
The lead outlaw leaned closer. He flipped back her bonnet with the barrel of his gun, and her pulse jerked.
“You’re one of them brides traveling to Cowboy Creek, ain’t ya?” he asked. “I heard all about you women at the last train depot.” He gestured toward his companion. “The men of Cowboy Creek are hauling in brides by the trainload. It’s no wonder the town is growing like stinkweed in a wet spring.”
Anna swallowed. “I’m traveling to Cowboy Creek, yes.”
She didn’t bother correcting the outlaw about being a prospective bride. No man wanted a woman who couldn’t bear children. Her late husband had made that fact abundantly clear.
“Must be really desperate to send for a skinny gal like you,” the outlaw said, his mocking laughter muffled through his bandanna.
The insult barely registered. The past two years had rendered her immune to even the most vicious slurs. “I suppose.”
“How come you ain’t on the train with the rest of ’em?”
Her cheeks burned. “I was indisposed when the train departed.”
Exhaustion and stress had exacerbated a recent bout of influenza, and she’d been forced to depart the train at the last minute to visit the washroom. The two brides she’d been traveling with had remained on board since the stop was only long enough to load a freight car with supplies. Though Anna had made the trip as quickly as possible, when she’d rushed outside once more, the caboose was receding into the distance.
“Indisposed, eh? Listen to her talk.” The outlaw glanced at his companion. “We got ourselves a real fancy piece.”
Not hardly. She couldn’t even afford a hotel room for the night. Her late husband’s mountain of debts had exhausted every penny of their meager savings and devoured the profits she’d made from selling the house and furnishings. She’d only managed to set aside a few dollars, which had to last indefinitely. Aside from that, she had nothing. No money. No close family. Even her train ticket was a gift from an acquaintance who’d planned on becoming a mail-order bride before falling in love back in Philadelphia.
The bride’s change of mind had been Anna’s unexpected salvation.
The sound of hoofbeats and a flash of movement in the distance drew her attention.
“Don’t move.” The outlaw pressed his gun barrel hard against her temple. “We got some unexpected company.”
Shimmering through the heat, a rider appeared. The air grew still, and an unnatural silence descended over the outlaws. The rider gradually came into focus, a lone man on a jet-black horse.
As he ambled toward them, a bead of sweat trickled down Anna’s spine.
The rider was lean and fit, wearing a dark suit and boots that gleamed in the sun. His hat brim cast a harsh shadow across his features. He held the reins clasped in one hand, the other loosely fisted on his thigh. The unrelenting black of the sleek horse and the man’s crisp suit was broken only by a glimpse of the stark white shirt beneath his vest.
Her breath hitched. “Russ Halloway?”
She’d expected to greet him, but not here. Not now. Not like this. He’d changed in the five years since she’d last seen him in Philadelphia. His face had been rounder and his shoulders narrower. The man seated on the horse before her had none of the softness of youth.
Russ was formidable, exuding an aura of raw power, both mental and physical. He wore his dark brown hair cropped off his collar, and a neatly trimmed goatee highlighted the sharp planes of his strong chin. Despite his careful grooming, there was something uncivilized about him. His features were too rugged for traditional labels. He wasn’t handsome so much as compelling.
Confusion flickered in his hazel eyes. “Anna?”
The outlaw gave her a shake. “You know this fellow?”
“She knows me,” Russ said, his voice as rough as gravel. “Let her go. I don’t want any trouble.”
The man in the blue bandanna sauntered around the wagon, his gun drawn.
The lead outlaw cackled. “There’s two of us, and one of you. I like my odds.”
“Suit yourself.”
Her captor grunted. “On your feet, boy, or I shoot the girl.”
Russ swung his leg over the side of the horse and casually leaped to the ground.
The lead outlaw kept his gun trained on Russ, while the second man hopped onto the wagon bed. He tossed crates aside, shattering eggs and spilling hay, then ripped open her carpetbag and dumped the contents over the side. Dozens of small burlap sacks tumbled loose. Several broke open, scattering seeds over the dirt.
The chaotic sight unleashed a sudden rage unlike anything she’d ever felt—not even during the miserable years of her marriage.
“Ain’t you got no jewelry or nothing?” The outlaw demanded.
“No.” Anna shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Maybe you’re hiding something.”
Her chest seized, and she wrestled back a tide of guilt. The outlaw was searching for valuables. He didn’t know about the scandal. She was free. She was innocent. She was haunted by a crime she hadn’t committed.
Glancing away, she said, “I’m not hiding anything.”
Russ caught her eye and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. “Relax, Anna, everything is under control.”
“Shut up!” the outlaw ordered.
Anna hung her head. Nothing would ever be fine again. She’d lost everything: her family, her home, her reputation. These men were taking the only thing she had left.
The lead outlaw hopped from the wagon bed and shoved her. “What’s all this, anyway?”
“Seeds.” Two years of pent-up frustration pulsated through her veins. “Nothing but seeds.”
“You’re lying. You got jewelry hidden in one of them bags. I heard you talking to the porter in Morgan’s Creek. You said your bag was filled with precious cargo and that’s why you wasn’t letting it out of your sight. Precious cargo, ya said. I heard ya.”
“I’m telling the truth.” She scooped up the pods and extended her cupped hands. “Look.”
“Bucky,” the outlaw shouted. “Cut them open. Every one.”
“No!” Anna called, throwing her body before the bulk of her hard-earned collection. “These have been carefully collected and cataloged. They’re extremely valuable, just not in the way you think.”
“Cataloged!” The outlaw chortled. “Well, ain’t you something.”
The man in the blue bandanna reached for a burlap sack and sliced open the side. Seedpods spilled onto the ground, and something snapped inside her. She was done being a victim.
When the outlaw reached for another bag, she lunged at him. Caught off guard, he flailed in startled surprise. The blade tore through her sleeve, piercing the skin of her forearm. She winced and stumbled backward. The outlaw followed her retreat and caught her around the upper arm.
“That was real stupid, lady.”
Russ charged. “Let her go.”
The lead outlaw lurched between them, his gun extended. “Hold still or I’ll shoot you both!”
The man in the blue bandanna gave her a shake, and his sour breath puffed against her cheek. “What’s so valuable that you’re willing to throw yourself in front of a knife?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
Russ spread his hands in a placating gesture. “Everyone calm down.”
“Calm down?” The lead outlaw spat into the dust. “You must be the dumbest feller in the state walking into a holdup all by your lonesome.”
“It might look that way,” Russ declared, an ominous flicker in his exotic hazel eyes. “But I’m actually the decoy. While you’ve been flapping your lips, my men have been surrounding you. If you make one threatening move toward the lady, they’ll shoot, and they don’t miss.”
“You’re bluffing.”
The second outlaw struck Russ in the head with the butt of his gun.
Anna cried out as Russ crumpled to the dirt.
The leader clutched her arm and spun her around. “Leave him be.”
She craned her neck, searching for any sign of life. Russ lay sprawled in the middle of the road, his arms akimbo, his black hat crushed beneath his shoulder. Vivid red blood flowed from his forehead.
“Let me tend his wound,” she pleaded. “He’s bleeding.”
“Later.”
The outlaw shoved her away from the prone man. “If you don’t have anything of value, maybe we can ransom you.”
A gunshot echoed through the canyon, and the outlaw’s hat flew off. Shocked by the unexpected violence, Anna and the man stumbled apart.
Her captor yanked his blue bandana off his chin and spun around. “What the—”
“That feller wasn’t bluffing, Bucky!” his partner shouted. “They’re hiding in the creek bed.”
“Don’t shoot.” Bucky dropped the knife and reached for his gun. “Or I’ll kill her!”
Another shot sounded, and Bucky jerked. The gun dropped from his slack grip. His knees twitched, but he stayed on his feet. Tearing open his duster coat, he revealed a red stain blooming over his chambray shirt.
The wounded man gaped at something behind her. “I’ve been hit.”
Anna followed the outlaw’s gaze, and her jaw dropped. Russ stalked toward them, a smoking pistol dangling from his fingertips. Blood obscured half his face, and a growing scarlet stain darkened his shirt collar.
Unable to reconcile the sudden change of events, she stared in stunned silence. Russ had been unconscious a moment before, and now he was swooping toward them like an avenging savior.
A shot whizzed past her ear. Stifling a shriek, Anna pressed her hands against her mouth. Without slowing his stride, Russ shoved the stunned outlaw, dropping the wounded man instantly. Shock rendered her immobile, and she remained rooted to the spot.
The remaining outlaw took one look at the gun in Russ’s hand and stumbled toward the ditch, then disappeared behind the derailed cattle cars.
“C’mon, Anna.” Russ grasped her around the waist. “Stay down.”