When the three men discovered one of the brides had missed the train, they assumed the woman was Russ’s intended, and decided to escort her personally. Upon hearing the gunshots, they’d immediately realized the overturned railcars were the ideal place for an ambush. Russ had volunteered to distract the outlaws while Daniel and Will took cover near the creek and surrounded the men.
“I knew what I was agreeing to,” Russ said.
“Go back to town,” Will ordered. “Perhaps there’s been some news about your bride.”
“Miss Lowe isn’t coming.” Russ balked at leaving Anna this soon after her ordeal. She was a stranger in town, to everyone but him. She wasn’t feeling well, and she needed a friend. “Susannah met someone else. She sent a letter forward with Mrs. Linford.”
Shock flickered over Will’s face before he quickly masked the emotion. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t the news I was expecting.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“I talked you into sending for a bride,” Will said, his voice heavy. “I bear some of the responsibility.”
There it was: the compassion, the sympathy. It should have made Russ feel better. It didn’t. “What’s done is done.”
Will scratched his temple. “How does Mrs. Linford fit into all this? I thought perhaps they’d mistaken the name of the bride who missed the train. Linford and Lowe are close enough.”
“That’s the thing. There’s more.”
“More?” Will guffawed. “Save something for dinner, will you? A missing bride and a shoot-out before lunch is plenty.”
“I know Anna Linford,” Russ said.
A familiar pang squeezed his chest. He’d been jilted twice. Once by Susannah, and once by Anna’s sister, Charlotte.
And Anna had delivered both letters.
Reluctant to abandon the peaceful scene for the chaos on the road, Anna lingered by the stream as long as she could before struggling to her feet. The sparkling water gurgled over polished rocks, and a butterfly skipped along the fluttering prairie grasses. Crickets chirped, and birds called from the shrub trees. A spring-scented breeze caught a strand of her hair, and she tucked the lock behind one ear. With the sheltering limbs providing much-needed shade from the sun, she might have been picnicking. Only her torn and bloodied dress belied the peaceful scene.
She climbed a few steps before another wave of nausea overcame her. Pausing, she took a few deep, fortifying breaths.
Though she hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, voices sounded near her.
“How fortunate that you know Mrs. Linford,” said the man Russ had introduced as Mayor Canfield. “I’ll leave her in your care. She’ll want to be near someone who’s familiar after what’s happened.”
Blinking rapidly, Anna pressed a hand against her roiling stomach. As the messenger, she’d been prepared for Russ’s annoyance—even his recriminations. His kindness had thrown her off balance. Her eyes burned, and she pressed the heels of her hands against the telling weakness until she saw stars. She wasn’t usually given to bouts of tears, but lately she couldn’t seem to control her emotions.
“What about the outlaws?” she heard Russ ask.
“Dead. Both of ’em. Daniel and the driver are on their way back to town to fetch the undertaker.” Mayor Canfield made a sound of frustration. “How is it that Sheriff Getman is never around when he’s needed?”
“He’s new. Give him a chance.”
“He’s wearing on my nerves,” the mayor grumbled. “No need to rush Mrs. Linford. I’ll clean up the worst of the mess.”
“Appreciate that,” Russ replied. “Start with the outlaws. The lady’s stomach isn’t strong at the moment.”
A flush of heat swept over her face. What an awful time for a relapse of her influenza. She’d been feeling much stronger earlier in the week, and the timing of Susannah’s ticket had been too fortuitous to ignore.
“Understood,” the mayor said. “You might want to clean up yourself. You don’t look so good.”
“You wanted a distraction, and I gave you one.”
Anna touched her cheek. Russ had put himself in danger for her. No, that wasn’t exactly the truth. He’d been looking for Susannah. He hadn’t known that someone else would be delivering a letter in his intended’s place.
Anna wasn’t special. He’d have done the same thing for anyone else.
The mayor grumbled. “I don’t want to lose my replacement.”
Replacement? What did he mean by that? Not that Russ’s future was any of her concern.
How odd that circumstances had conspired to bring them together once more after all this time. The other brides on the train had been so optimistic, so eager to meet the men of Cowboy Creek—their prospective bridegrooms—that Anna had kept her opinions to herself. Following the war, men were scarce back east, and the choices limited. Unlike Susannah, none of the other prospective brides had corresponded with the bachelors of Cowboy Creek beyond arranging their travels.
Anna had been out of place amongst their cheerful ranks. Not only because she was traveling under false pretenses, but because she couldn’t share their enthusiasm for marriage. Her brief time as someone’s wife had left her soured on the institution. She didn’t begrudge them their optimism; she only worried their dreams might not match reality.
The mayor muttered something she couldn’t quite discern before saying, “That wallop saved the day. Gave Daniel and me time to get in place.”
Anna pivoted toward the creek. Russ’s suggestion of a little refreshing water splashed on her face was the perfect excuse for a delay. If she appeared now, they’d know she’d been listening, albeit unintentionally.
She located a large, flat rock and knelt on the hard surface. After tugging off her gloves, she dipped her hands in the cool water.
Footsteps sounded, and she glanced up. Canteen in hand, Russ made his way down the embankment once more. Her stomach dipped, and she whipped around. Everything had seemed so simple back in Philadelphia. Given the unexpected turn of events, her justifications for taking Susannah’s ticket were rapidly evaporating. She’d painted Russ a villain, but he wasn’t living down to her expectations.
“Here.” Russ extended the canteen. “Water will help.”
Though her life might have turned out drastically different had Russ married her sister, she couldn’t use the past as an excuse to defend her current questionable behavior.
Anna offered a weak smile. “Thank you.”
He dipped his handkerchief in the clear water and knelt beside her. “You’ve got some, um, dirt on your face.”
Her hands trembling, she accepted the cloth and wiped her cheek.
“Your arm.” His eyes widened. “You’ve been cut. You’re bleeding.”
“It’s nothing.”
He took her hand and gently turned her arm until her palm was facing up. The scratch was several inches long, though not deep, and the bleeding had slowed. With everything else happening, the sting barely rose above the rest of her aches and pains.
“We’d best wrap this,” he said.
Confused by his actions, Anna remained passive as he carefully wound the handkerchief around the gash. Why was he being kind?
Her carefully practiced speech hinged