The Rancher’s Arranged Bride (Preview)

Chapter One

“You’re getting glossier and glossier by the second.” Patty stroked the side of her favorite mare, Charmer, for the hundredth time that evening, but she was hardly tired. Even though dinner had been eaten hours earlier, and she was supposed to be in bed soon, Patty’s nighttime ritual of brushing the horses in her family’s livery and talking to Charmer got longer each evening. 

“Sometimes, I think I can tell you more than I can tell my own family. Father’s getting grumpier by the day. He’s always grumbling about how he’s losing money. Something about how he invested in steam shipping just when the railroads came along to ruin everything,” Patty explained to Charmer, who snorted slightly in response.

“I agree! Why does he need to invest in anything when we have this livery? I wish I could take over the business. I could happily spend all day taking care of you. And everyone else!” she announced to the rest of the stables as if the other horses were liable to get jealous. 

“And then there’s Mother, who is panicking because she worries she won’t be able to marry me off if we have no money. But I don’t want to go and get married off. I haven’t met a single man in my whole life who I thought might be nice to wake up beside. They’re so gruff and can barely carry a conversation without mentioning something about this members club or that business venture,” Patty complained. 

Charmer pushed her nose against Patty before neighing. “You’re right. I should get to bed and stop complaining when I have so much to be grateful for. Boston is the best city in the whole world. The best city in the world surely must be home to a man of broader interests. A handsome one, if I’m lucky.”

Patty thought it might be nice to start a family of her own. She was about to turn twenty-three, and half of her friends were already married off. She could hardly stay with her parents forever. Maybe she’d be less anxious about the idea of stepping out on her own if she’d ever been given the chance to see the world. As it stood, her life revolved around home, the livery stables, and church on Sundays. 

Charmer licked Patty’s ear, making her laugh as she wiped away the wetness. After bidding all the horses a very good night, she slipped out of the door with her lantern and started to make her way down the path toward the house.

Only, she didn’t get more than a few steps away from the stables before something lurched in the dark, just outside her pool of light. 

“Who’s there?” Patty asked, her voice sounding firmer and braver than she felt. Most likely, it was just one of the stableboys, or whoever was supposed to be on watch in the carriage house, taking a walk around the property. 

No one answered, and before Patty could ask again, a dark figure stumbled toward her. It was a man, almost twice her size. His smell reached her, though his face was too shadowed to be seen clearly. Whatever he looked like, he reeked of stale ale, and Patty was sure he was not supposed to be there.

“Sir, if you don’t work here, you need to—”

“Give me a horse! Let me in and give me a horse,” the strange man demanded, his voice low and gruff as if his throat was stuffed with rusted nails.

“I’m afraid that’s just not possible. If you need to rent a horse, you can see Albert at the carriage house, though generally, we don’t carry out any business at this hour. If you come back in the morning, I’m sure he can help you,” Patty replied. Though she was terrified, she’d always been taught to be polite, even to strangers likely trying to rob her. She could catch more flies with honey than vinegar, said her father. Or, in this case, perhaps he’d be less likely to shoot her if she remained civil.

Unfortunately, this man was far too drunk and angry to be swayed by a cordial turn of phrase. As Patty once more urged him to be on his way, hoping that help was just around the corner, the man groped around his pockets before pulling out a knife and pointing it at her.

The blade shone in the night, reflecting the light of Patty’s lantern. She sucked a deep breath in, quickly weighing her options before opting to scream. 

“Help me!” she shouted, repeating the phrase and backing up to protect the stable door until the man lunged at her. Patty swung her lantern at him, the glass smashing against his side before the light went out.

She’d been hoping the lantern might set fire to the man, distracting him long enough for her to fetch help, but instead, they were simply plunged into darkness. Before she knew what was happening, the man slammed her head against the wooden door. 

One of his hands held the knife to her throat while the other crushed both her wrists together, leaving her immobilized. Honestly, she was impressed that the man could move so quickly despite his drunkenness. 

Breathing hard, Patty tried not to panic. The searing pain coursing through her head left her woozy and unable to tell the difference between the stars and the white dots that had invaded her vision. She tried to squeak out another threat or cry for help, but the man only pushed the knife deeper into her neck, drawing a thin line of blood.

“Let me into the stables and get me a horse, or I’ll—”

A gunshot rang through the air, interrupting the drunken thief, and Patty’s mind went blank. 

***

“She could have been killed! She almost died! How could someone like that get onto our property? Do we need to hire guards now? I thought Boston was a safer place than that! I ought to write to the mayor and tell him something needs to be done because … I almost lost my daughter last night!” Mrs. Cumbersmith whined, her voice trailing off into tears.

Patty’s mother often fell victim to fits of nerves as anxiety got the better of her. Patty, meanwhile, felt completely numb to what had just happened to her. She blinked mindlessly as she sat on the chaise in the parlor, looking out of the window and wondering how time had flown so quickly that the sun was now rising.

The wee hours of the morning after the attack she’d endured had passed by in a blur. She vaguely remembered two of her father’s men taking down the drunken man in a confusion of yelling and more gunshots. Then, somehow, she’d gotten all the way back to the house, where the doctor appeared seemingly out of nowhere, ready to examine her wounds.

“I’m fine. I’m not even hurt,” Patty said quietly. It was only a slight exaggeration. The thief’s knife had cut into her neck, leaving a scar that would take some time to heal, but she could barely feel it aching anymore. There were bruises on her wrists, and her head throbbed from where she’d been slammed into the door, for which the doctor had given her some medicine. It made her tired and left her eyelids heavy. 

“Patience, you were at death’s door, for heaven’s sake. Edward, do you have nothing to say on the matter?” Mother railed, pacing back and forth across the silk carpet she was always so scared of ruining. 

Father, on the other hand, was sitting dead still in the corner of the room, resting his chin in his hands. He had barely said a word all night.

“I’m just as shocked as you are. I promise. I’m just … coming to terms with the fact that our daughter isn’t safe even in her own home.” 

Patty distantly thought that everyone was overreacting. She was fine, and of course, they had to worry about thieves now and then. In fact, it was miraculous no one had ever tried before. Of course, they had a fence around the front of the property, but considering the acreage of the livery stables, it would be impossible to protect without full-time guards. 

“We need to have men stationed at every corner of this place during the night from now on,” Mother insisted. 

Father shook his head. “There isn’t the money. We just don’t have it. I’m trying to figure out a scenario where we don’t have to sell the business and house in six months, Margaret. There’s simply no way we can hire that kind of security.”

“Well, you’re going to have to find it somewhere! Otherwise, our precious daughter will be risking her life every time she ventures outside!” 

Again, Patty disagreed, but she stayed silent. As a child, she’d sometimes rebelled against her parents’ desire to have her under constant supervision. She required a chaperone to go anywhere, even if she was with friends. After a few arguments with her mother, she’d simply accepted that freedom would not be a luxury she would get to enjoy. 

“You’re right,” Father agreed. 

“Well, what are you going to do about it, then?” Mother interrogated, her arms crossed. Patty wasn’t sure if they even remembered she was still in the room. 

Father swallowed before sitting back and pulling something out of his breast pocket. 

“I got a letter from my brother last week. I didn’t mention it earlier because … well, I wasn’t sure what to make of it.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Mother snapped.

“He’s found someone who wants to marry Patty. One of his associates runs a horse ranch, and he has a son set to inherit the place. He’s of marriageable age and approved of the picture we sent. By all accounts, their ranch is very successful and profitable.”

Patty’s ears perked up. Father had sent a photograph of her to someone? Someone who now wanted to marry her? When was anyone going to ask what she thought, and did she get to look at a picture, too?

“Oh! That’s very good news. He knows that … that your company is somewhat … unpredictable at the moment?” Mother asked, politely referencing the fact that their family finances were in tatters.

“They aren’t asking for a large dowry. Apparently, there aren’t enough women out there, so they’re desperate for wives to be sent over from the east.”

“… Out where?” Patty finally asked, her voice weak. 

Both her mother and father whipped around to look at her, surprised that she was still there. 

“Oh, my dear! You ought to be in bed recovering. There’s nothing to worry your pretty little head about just now. You’re safe, and those bruises are going to fade faster than you—”

“Where? Where is this man you want me to marry?” Patty asked again, interrupting her mother. 

Giving up, Mother looked back to Father, awaiting the answer. 

“Texas,” he announced. 

Patty felt dizzy all over again, and her mother let out a wail. “Texas? That’s so terribly far away! How long would it even take to get there?”

“Well, two weeks by train. The very same trains that have ruined us,” Father replied, upset by the irony of it all. 

“I suppose she’d be safer out there,” Mother mused. “And if the ranch is successful, they probably can afford to have guards, unlike other families.”

“I don’t like the thought of her being so far away any more than you do, Margaret, but considering our finances—and what happened last night—I think that taking this opportunity might be the best thing for her,” Father said. 

“A rancher. My, my. That’s quite a title for a husband. And, of course, Patty loves horses. Is he handsome?” Mother asked. 

Clearing her throat, Patty tried to say something about how she wasn’t sure the frontier of Texas would be safer than Boston, but she was starting to feel that this potential marriage wasn’t really about her safety after all. She wouldn’t put it past her father to devise a business arrangement that he could profit from, even if he felt minorly guilty for selling her hand like that. 

“Here. They sent a photograph back. He looks … fine,” Father reported, handing over what Patty could only assume was the picture.

“Oh! He’s very handsome. Patience will be so pleased.”
“C-can I see?” Patty asked. Again, her parents looked back at her, once more surprised she was still in the room. 

“Darling! Didn’t I tell you to go to bed?” 

“Show me the photograph. If you’re going to send me to Texas, you have to show me who I’m marrying!” she insisted, finding her voice again. 

“Now, keep in mind that his family is quite rich. You’d be cared for much better there than we ever could here. And he really is very good-looking!” She scurried over to Patty, sitting beside her and putting the photograph in her hands. “Just look at those eyes! The perfect definition of tall, dark, and handsome.”

Her mother wasn’t exaggerating, though there was no way to tell his height from the photograph alone. The man had sharp eyes and a mischievous grin, slightly hidden by a mustache. His hair was thick and curly, playfully dipping over his temples. He might have been the perfect representation of her dream husband had she had one to begin with. 

“What’s his name?” she asked. 

“Michael Pederson. The Pederson Ranch services a wide area in Texas, as my brother tells me,” Father replied.

Patty stopped listening as he talked about the business opportunities that could arise from the marriage, given that both of their families were in the business of horses. She didn’t care one way or the other how much money her father stood to make from the match. 

“Well, it’s settled then! My little Patience is going to get married! And to such a handsome man,” Mother repeated, her voice starting to grate on Patty. She wanted to argue about how she didn’t want to go so far away and that they could surely find someone to marry her right there in Boston, but the exhaustion was beginning to overwhelm her. 

The next thing she knew, she was in bed, having fitful dreams of wild horses running through desert dunes. Wild men held knives to her throat as her mother’s voice reminded her how handsome Matthew, Michael, or Mark was, and strangers counted gold at endlessly long tables. 

It hardly mattered what she had to say about it. If her parents had made up their minds to send her to Texas to marry a perfect stranger, then that’s what was going to happen. At least on a horse ranch, she could find friends with the horses. The animals had always been her closest companions through thick and thin. 

Chapter Two

Tag had barely sat down to loosen his tie before he heard the front door open. He hung his head, desperately wanting to have a moment of peace and quiet after such a long day. 

It was a day he’d been dreading ever since his mother had gotten sick a month earlier. The doctor was optimistic for a day or two, hoping she could break through the bout of consumption. However, as the weeks went on and she started coughing up blood, Tag knew he needed to prepare for the worst. 

She’d died with her hand in his and a gentle smile on her face, implying that she’d found some kind of peace. The following days had passed in a blur as neighbors and townsfolk from Wheeler brought food and offered all kinds of help. He’d just gotten back from burying her once and for all, marking the end of all the bureaucracy that went along with death and the beginning of a different kind of grief altogether.

He would never see her again. There was a strange loneliness in the realization that there wasn’t a single soul with his blood that remained on God’s great earth. His father had passed shortly after his birth, he’d never had any siblings, and now his mother was gone, too. 

Yet, Tag was far from alone. 

“Tag? You there? We could use some help over here,” a voice called out from the front of the house. 

“Coming,” Tag shouted back, steeling himself for the worst. The voice belonged to Patrick, Sheriff of Wheeler, Texas, and Tag’s closest friend in the whole world. Under normal circumstances, he looked forward to seeing Patrick, but knowing who was with him did nothing to improve his mood. 

Sure enough, Tag’s stepfather, the infamous Jack Van Heron, stood with one arm over Patrick, unable to keep his balance. 

“Did he behave himself?” Tag asked, taking in the scene. 

“Picked him up after starting a fight at the Silver Cactus. Thought he’d sleep it off all right overnight, but … well, here we are,” Patrick replied with a pained shrug under Jack’s weight.

“I’ll h–have you know that you, I mean I, was very civilized when I c–could have …” Jack’s sentence ended there, having said very little that made sense. 

“Come here, Jack. Looks like you have a bit more sleeping to do,” Tag said with a sigh. Together, he and Patrick helped the old rancher into his bed and slipped off his crusty boots. 

“Tell Clara I miss her. Her and her cornbread. I’d like some of th–that cornbread … n–now …” 

Patrick looked at Jack with wide eyes, but Tag wasn’t surprised to hear that his stepfather had forgotten that his wife had died. That was why he’d turned to the drink in the first place. To forget. 

“Coffee?” Tag asked Patrick, gesturing to the bedroom door. The sheriff nodded, and they left Jack to dry himself out. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come to the burial, but I’m more sorry that he couldn’t make it,” Patrick said, referring to Jack. “He’s really fallen apart since … your mother. Hasn’t he?” 

Tag nodded, adding some logs to the stove and putting the kettle on. 

“You can say that again. He’s always been a drinker, but ever since my mother got sick … well, it’s been worse than ever. Morning, noon, and night, it just hurts too much for him to get through a day sober. I’ve been doing my best with the ranch, and thankfully, everyone’s helping to pick up the slack, but … I never thought I’d see him crumble like this.” 

“It’s only natural to let yourself fall apart a little, under the circumstances, but it’s not right to leave all the work to you. Yes, his wife died, but she was your mother, too,” Patrick said. Tag didn’t need him to reiterate why Jack’s recent behavior was unfair. 

There was no sense in complaining about it, however. The more Tag thought about his situation, the closer he got to crying, and if he let himself fall apart, then who would keep the ranch running? 

When the kettle started to whistle, the sound of it summoned the other lost soul wandering about the Van Heron Ranch. 

“Are you making coffee? Here, let me. Oh! Hello Patrick. I didn’t hear you come in.” 

“Good morning to you, Barbara. You’re looking well today,” the sheriff replied, remembering to take his hat off. 

Tag shot him a look, but it was no use. Patrick couldn’t help himself from making eyes at just about any young lady who showed him the time of day, even if the woman in question was a recent widow. 

Barbara smiled politely, taking the kettle off the stove. She was a slight thing, and she’d gotten even slighter after losing her husband in a tragic farming accident three months earlier. After his death, she’d written to her Uncle Jack, hoping to come and live with him, his wife, and Tag. 

Now, they were three grieving people, just doing their best to get through the day without collapsing to the ground. Some of them were more successful than others, evidently. Jack was a mess, but Barbara knew how to throw herself into work, and Tag was happy to have her there. 

Still, sometimes he caught her staring out the window as if in a trance, humming some long-forgotten tune and swaying slightly from side to side. He got the feeling she’d be there for hours if he didn’t say anything. 

“It was a lovely burial service, don’t you think? I’ve been to more than I care to remember, and it was one of the nicest,” Barbara said. 

“As nice as it could be,” Tag replied, unsure about what made one burial superior to another. He’d found himself wanting to be far, far away, in a different time and place altogether. The pastor had read some Bible passages meant to comfort, but Tag didn’t remember a single word that had been said.

“How are things in town these days? What’s the gossip?” Barbara asked Patrick. Tag was grateful for how she was driving the conversation, knowing that socialization could be painful. 

When the coffee was steeped, however, she poured a cup for each of them, and instead of sitting down, she took her place by the window, staring out at the grasslands that stretched out almost endlessly into the distance, stopped only by the occasional plateau and mesa. Tag had always liked the Texan landscape, though he knew Barbara missed the mountains of Colorado she’d always called home.

“Well, I’ll tell you, the gossip is that the Waverly Gang will be coming through this way. One or two of them have been spotted around town, so we can only assume others will be joining them,” Patrick replied, rubbing his forehead worriedly. 

“Maybe they’re just passing through,” Tag said, thinking wishfully. “What would they want around here, anyway? There are no wealthy businessmen to steal gold from or traveling ladies with diamonds and rubies.” 

“Cattle and horses. That’s what they might want to steal. Potentially your cattle or the Pedersons’ horses. They’re known for taking anything they can as long as they can sell it cheaper to someone else, and they don’t care who gets hurt in the process.” 

Tag sighed. Hadn’t he already suffered enough recently? As if the daily running of the ranch wasn’t hard enough, now he had to worry about cattle rustlers and outlaws coming after his herd. If he didn’t get the lot of them to the railhead by fall, there would be no ranch by the spring. 

“Don’t worry, though. My deputies and I are gathering help and putting together a posse. We’ll be prepared for anything when the time comes,” Patrick promised. 

“Consider my whip and my pistol yours,” Tag said, holding back a sigh of exhaustion. He made a mental note to pray that night that God would send the Waverly Gang in some other direction or put something in their way to delay them. He needed a break from the challenges of life.

“I hate to bother you, but you know as well as I do that …” Patrick let his sentence trail off as he noticed Barbara humming by the window. 

“It happens sometimes,” Tag whispered. “Best to let her be.” 

“Right … you know, I should get going, come to think of it. I have to go talk to a man about a pig that keeps getting loose and… oh! Would you do me a favor and take this over to the Pedersons? I was going to do it before bringing Jack back, but I didn’t trust him not to wander off and get lost in the woods.”

Patrick pulled a crumpled letter out of his pocket to give Tag, who took it reluctantly. He didn’t mind seeing his neighbors, but he was already behind on his lengthy list of tasks to take care of that day. Guilt over his stepfather’s drunken behavior was the only thing that stopped him from complaining. 

“What is it?” Tag asked, gesturing toward the letter.

“I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you, but since we’re here … it’s a letter from the Sheriff of Vega. Says they haven’t seen anyone named Michael Pederson coming through in the last week.”

“Oh … why would they be looking for him in Vega?”

“Well, he’s been missing for a week. I think they’re embarrassed, which is why they haven’t asked more people for help. You can tell them we’re still doing all we can to track him down but considering he’s a grown man now … there’s only so much we can do.” 

Tag shook his head. It wasn’t the first time the Pedersons had had trouble with their son. He was a smart, quick-witted, and handsome man, but he couldn’t do an honest day’s work to save his life. The Pederson Ranch was one of the most successful in all of Texas, but if Michael didn’t step up, then it could fail just as quickly as any other. It only took one bad season to ruin most ranches. 

“Right. I’ll take it over and pass on the news. Thank you for bringing Jack home. He’ll be thankful, too, once he dries out. I’ll come out with you,” Tag said, finishing the last of his coffee.

“Have a nice day, Miss Barbara,” Patrick said tentatively. Barbara reacted with a soft smile before getting right back to her staring and humming. 

With no time to be tired, Tag saddled his horse back up and got on the road to see the Pedersons. It was a beautiful day on the plains, but the bright sun only bothered Tag, somehow sneaking under the brim of his Stetson as he rode. He didn’t often wish for a stormy day, but he would have appreciated the weather matching his mood. 

Tag tempered his jealousy as he rode up to the Pederson Ranch. It was so huge no one even knew the exact acreage, and the house itself was a sprawling example of what Tag’s father had tried to emulate on his own ranch. Someday, Tag wanted his ranch to be just as big and beautiful, though recent setbacks had made him question that dream. 

“How are you doing?” Mrs. Pederson asked when they invited Tag in, the pity in her voice louder than the actual words.

“Oh, fine. As fine as can be expected. Listen, uh, not to be impolite, but I think I’d better get right down to business. I’ve come with a letter from the Sheriff of Vega. Patrick asked me to bring it over to you. I’m afraid it’s … not the news you were hoping for,” Tag admitted, handing over the letter to the kindly woman.

Her already slumped shoulders collapsed another five inches as she took the letter from Tag. Without even reading it, she passed it over to her husband. Despite his advancing age, Mr. Pederson towered over his wife, still very much the broad-shouldered, perfect picture of what the novels considered a rancher. The lines on his face seemed deeper than usual, however.

“So he’s not in Vega. We’ll just have to keep looking,” Mr. Pederson grumbled. 

“I suppose you’ve considered that your son … maybe doesn’t want to be found?” Tag suggested. He quickly regretted it when Mrs. Pederson collapsed into her husband’s arms in tears. 

“There, there. He’ll be back in no time, I’m sure of it. Where’s he going to go? He didn’t take any money with him. He won’t last long,” Mr. Pederson said in an attempt to comfort his wife.

“But what if he’s been kidnapped? He was supposed to be getting married. Why would he just run away when we arranged for such a lovely …” Her words disappeared into sobs, no longer intelligible. 

“He was supposed to get married?” Tag asked, curious despite himself. He knew he needed to get back to work, but the mystery of Michael’s disappearance piqued his interest and distracted him momentarily from his personal tragedy. 

“She’s already on her way from Boston. Her photograph is on the mantle there. Patience Cumbersmith. Her uncle is a business associate of mine. We thought that getting married might help Michael settle down, but …”

“Instead, it’s scared him away from us forever!” Mrs. Pederson wept, finishing her husband’s sentence. 

Tag stepped over to the fireplace where the photograph of Michael’s would-be fiancée was propped up. She certainly looked like a beautiful woman if a bit fragile. Likely in her early twenties, fine hair framed her delicate features, and her eyes managed to pierce through the photograph as if she were really in front of him. 

Though it was impossible to fall in love with a photograph, Tag thought it was the kind of likeness that would keep him in place and not send him running for the hills. Little did the girl from Boston know she was about to travel halfway across the country only to find that her fiancé had vanished into thin air. 

“He’ll be back. I’m sure of it,” Tag told the Pedersons. “Who wouldn’t want to marry someone like that?” Truthfully, he could only speak for himself. Michael had always been an unpredictable man, so there was no saying where he was, or when and if he would be back at all. 

The image of the woman in the photograph kept returning to his mind when Tag finally got back to work after leaving the Pedersons. After so much darkness in his life, maybe he needed to start thinking about his own future … and having someone to share it with. 

---

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