Benjamin's Bride (Hero Hearts; Lawmen's Brides Book 2)
Benjamin’s Bride
Lawmen’s Brides Book Two
Natalie Dean
Eveline Hart
Hero Hearts
Kenzo Publishing
© Copyright 2017 by Kenzo Publishing - All rights reserved.
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document by either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited, and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.
Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.
Dedication
I’d like to dedicate this book to YOU! The readers of my books. Without your interest in reading these heartwarming stories of love on the frontier, I wouldn’t have made it this far. So thank you so much for taking the time to read any and hopefully all of my books.
And I can’t leave out my wonderful mother, son, sister, and Auntie. I love you all, and thank you for helping me make this happen.
Most of all, I thank God for blessing me on this endeavor.
* * *
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Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
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Sneak Peek: A Soldier’s Love, Brides & Twins Book One
Beginnings
Chapter 1
About Author - Natalie Dean
Prologue
October 1844, Oklahoma
“Papa?”
“Shhh, pet,” her father whispered. “I wanted to stop and see you before I take off again. I’ll be gone a very long time this time around.”
Mary-Lee Jameson sat up in her bed. Her room was dark. She had been asleep until she was awakened by the sound of someone entering her bedroom. Nanny was asleep in her own room at the end of the hall, and Nanny slept soundly. Clearly, she had not heard Papa enter the house. But why was Papa here now, and in such a secretive manner?
“You are always gone for a long time,” his daughter complained.
“I’m a Texas Ranger, pet, and we go where we’re needed, all over the state. Texas is a big place.”
“Why can’t Nanny and I move to Texas so that we can be with you? Why do we have to live in Oklahoma when you live in Texas?”
“Texas is a wild place, pet, and I couldn’t do my job if I were worried about you.”
Her father sat down on the edge of her bed. He appeared to have been running; when he hugged her, she could feel the sweat on his face. His breathing was still ragged from exertion.
“I wish you weren’t a Texas Ranger,” she said stubbornly. “Then we could all live together.”
“Someday, perhaps,” her father said. “In the meantime, I have something for you to keep.”
She heard the rustle of paper as her father removed something from the inside pocket of his long coat. “You must not let anyone get these. Hide them well, and if anyone asks about them, pretend that you don’t have any idea what they are talking about.”
“But I don’t have any idea,” she protested, as he put papers in her hand.
“You will. But in the meantime, tell no one.”
“Who would I tell? Nanny?”
“No, tell no one. Before long, someone will come to take you to Abilene; that’s where the Jamesons are from before your mama and I moved here. My brother Augustus will take you in and raise you.”
“Raise me! But where will you be?”
“I’ll be in Texas, pet, as long as I’m alive, but . . . I can’t explain everything now. Do you remember what I’ve told you?”
“To hide these papers and let no one see them or know that I have them.”
“That’s right. When your Uncle Augustus comes, you will go with him. He’ll send you to school, and you’ll get an education so that you can be a schoolteacher like you said you want to be.”
“But Papa, I want to be with you.”
Her father’s hand, calloused from his long hours in the saddle, holding the reins of his horse, brushed her cheek. “Sometimes, pet, we can’t have what we want, because we have a duty. My duty is to be a Texas Ranger. Your duty is to hide those papers and go with your uncle. Your uncle—” Her father hesitated, as if he did not know how to say what he was thinking. “Tell no one about the papers. Your uncle will ask for them, but you must not let your expression reveal anything. Can you do that, Mary-Lee?”
“I think so. But I don’t understand why I need to.”
“You will, in time. The papers belong to you now. You must keep them; this is the secret that only you and I share. Are you old enough to keep the secret?”
“I’m twelve years old, Papa!” she said indignantly. “I’m not a baby.”
“I know,” her father replied with a smile in his voice. “I know. And you’re a brave, bright girl, and I’m counting on you. You won’t let me down.”
Her father kissed her and hugged her, holding her in a fierce embrace as if he could not bear to let her go. Then he was gone, as quickly and as silently as he had appeared.
Mary-Lee said nothing of his arrival, and the next morning, it was obvious that Nanny knew nothing of what had transpired during the night. Mary-Lee hid the papers as her father had instructed. She no longer played with dolls, but every year, her uncle sent her a porcelain doll for her birthday. She hid the papers inside the wooden box, which held one of the dolls, then put the box back into the chest with her other toys. Anyone who was looking for papers would search her desk, where she kept her journal, her schoolbooks, the letters from her father, and the locket, which bore a painting of her late mother. Mary-Lee did not remember her mother, but her father told her that she looked just like her, and this made Mary-Lee feel as if, even though her mother was gone, there was a connection between them that could not be severed.
Every day after that night, Mary-Lee expected to see her uncle. She had not seen him in years and did not remember him, but when a rough-hewn man with cold blue eyes and a scar that ran down the left side of his cheek appeared at the front door one summer day, she knew who he was even before the housekeeper, Mrs. Abbot, summoned her to the drawing room.
“This is your Uncle Augustus Jameson,” Mrs. Abbot explained. “He’s come to take you home to Abilene, where he lives, and where your father and mother came from.”
Mary-Lee stared at the stranger. “Hello, Uncle Augustus,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion.
“Well, now, little girl,” he said, bending down so that they could look at each other eye to eye, “since we’re going to be great friends, I reckon you can call me Uncle Gus. I suppose your pa told you all about me.”
“No,” she said. “He didn’t.”
“He didn’t? Well, he should have, being as we’re brothers. He proba
bly gave you some papers to hold onto until I came to fetch you.”
“No. He didn’t give me any papers.”
“No papers? But these are very important papers, and Mrs. Abbot here says that your father never gave her anything, so he must have given them to you.”
“Why would he give me important papers?” she asked. “I’m only a child.”
This irrefutable fact seemed to arouse hesitation in her uncle. Mrs. Abbot confirmed that Mr. Jameson had placed all the family documents of importance in her care, and she kept them in the desk in the study. She was adamant that Mr. Jameson would not have entrusted papers to his young daughter. “She is only a child, as she says,” Mrs. Abbot said. “It would have been very remiss of her father to expect her to take stewardship of any important papers. What sort of papers are you seeking? Perhaps they are in the custody of the town solicitor, who handles Mr. Jameson’s affairs.”
“No,” her uncle said shortly. “They aren’t that kind of papers.” He fixed Mary-Lee with a hard blue stare. “I reckon they’ll show up, one of these days.”
Despite her determination not to show weakness, Mary-Lee cried when she bid farewell to Nanny and Mrs. Abbot. She cried in the wagon as her home disappeared in the distance. By the time they reached the stagecoach, she felt as if she had no tears left. All she had was the last memory of her father and his instructions to let no one know about the papers in her keeping. It was his last request, and she would honor it.
Chapter 1
April 1852, Knox Mills, Texas
“I reckon they don’t figure that a U.S. marshal needs a pretty office if he’s going to do his job,” said Carson Harlow, as he followed Benjamin Graves into the darkened room. It was early morning, but daylight came early now that spring had settled in northern Texas. Daylight exposed the shabby condition of the marshal’s office, the weathered boards and chipping paint saying more than words could express that while the town needed law enforcement, the town leaders weren’t planning on spending any money to pretty up the building that housed the jail.
“Reckon they’re right,” Benjamin returned. “But I didn’t reckon we’d be the ones set to cleaning it. Why don’t we get one of those Saturday night sleepers to take it on?” he suggested, as he lit the lamp on the desk and opened the curtains to let in the light.
A groan of protest from the cell facing the window revealed that one of the Saturday night sleepers—as the rowdy town drunks who were locked up after getting disorderly in the saloon were known—had found the very early morning sunlight an insalubrious means of awakening.
Carson grinned. “I like that notion just fine, sir,” he said.
“You head on home now and get your rest. Looks like you had a busy night of it. Once I get my bearings for the way things go, I’ll spell you a couple of night shifts.”
“I’m the new one on the roster,” Carson replied genially. “I expect it. And I’ve only been here a mite longer than you, so I’m just getting used to the town, too. I might as well get to know the town drunks. “
“Was it a wild night?”
“Always so, on a Saturday, now that the cowboys are coming through on their drives. I hear there’s a herd coming through from Fort Worth, and the Mesquite boys ought to be on the move soon.”
Benjamin nodded. “I hear that Dan Kennesaw keeps a tight rein on his crew, but it’s always best to expect trouble. That’s what Black Hands Jack always says. Expect trouble and you won’t be caught with your gun in your holster instead of your hand.”
Thinking of Jack made Benjamin realize how much he missed his friend and his boss, Jack Walker, the U.S. marshal appointed to oversee the north Texas region. It was a bustling, sprawling area filled with rambunctious cowboys, ambitious ranchers, and immigrant farmers, all of whom had come West because there were so many people east of the Mississippi and so much land west of the river. Most of the men and women who came west were honest, God-fearing, hard-working folks, willing to bend their backs to the labor that awaited them in exchange for a new start in the state that had joined the United States just a few years before.
Texans, Benjamin had been warned, held tightly to their freedom and didn’t take kindly to being told what to do. They wanted lawmen who could keep order, but that didn’t mean that the town leaders would always be accommodating, even when the orders came from a U.S. marshal.
Jack was of a philosophical nature. They were sworn to uphold the law. However, the law of the land didn’t always sit well with folks. They might want rustlers and bank robbers caught and brought to justice, but when an upright citizen was caught misbehaving, folks were apt to expect the law to look the other way. Sometimes, Jack had admitted, he did look the other way. But not often, and only when there were bigger fish to fry.
“How many in the cell?” Benjamin asked. The main office was in the front of the building, the jail cell in the back. Upon his arrival, he had turned the desk so that it was between the front door and the cell, enabling him to keep an eye on who came in and who had been locked up. He hadn’t liked the thought of having his back to criminals. Jail cells had been broken out of before.
“Three. Oyster Gill, as usual,” Carson said, referring to the man who had come from the East with big plans for finding gold that had come to naught. Now he made his living doing odd jobs for the townsfolk; then he’d spend every penny he’d earned on liquor. He was harmless, a cheerful drunk, who regarded being locked up as preferable to sleeping on the street. “Lester Deale,” he said, lowering his voice. Lester was trouble, a boisterous, belligerent drunk, who had been known to get into fights that ended up with damage to property as well as, not infrequently, the bones of the men with whom he got into arguments. Deale would always be trouble. He had work as a hired hand with one of the local ranching outfits, but in the short time that Benjamin had been in Knox Mills, he sensed something was wrong about Deale. It wasn’t unusual for hired hands to come and go; Texas was a big state, and it was common for cowboys to seek what they thought would be greener pastures. But Deale, except for the fact that he got into fights regularly, showed no interest in leaving town. Something . . . Benjamin didn’t know what, but something was there that ought not to be. Deale needed watching.
“You said three.”
Carson lowered his voice even more. “One of the Townsends.”
Benjamin sighed. He hadn’t been in Knox Mills for two days before he’d learned that the Townsend clan was nothing but trouble. They were a Texas family that had been in the state when it was still under Mexican control. They’d been part of the fight for independence that had won Texas its place in the United States. They were a political powerhouse in all of Texas; there was a Townsend who was big in the government in Houston and another who was a congressman. The Townsends expected the law to turn a blind eye to what Abel Townsend, the family patriarch, described as harmless peccadilloes. But they weren’t harmless; there was a streak of mean in the Townsends that ran deeper than the water in the Rio Grande.
“He beat up a girl over at Pancho’s.”
Benjamin’s lips formed a thin line of disdain for a man who would strike a woman. “And of course, the girl doesn’t dare press charges against him.”
“I hauled him in anyways for throwing a punch at me. Pancho didn’t want me to, but I said I couldn’t let him get away with trying to assault a U.S. marshal. That new saloon is going up, and I think Pancho is fearful of the competition, so he doesn’t want to rile any of his regulars.”
“Was the girl hurt bad?”
“Bad enough; she won’t be looking pretty for a little while with that shiner he gave her.”
Benjamin wasn’t sure that any of the cowboys would notice a black eye on one of Pancho’s soiled doves, but Carson had done the right thing.
Carson went on. “The way this town is growing, we need to get a foothold before it’s nothing but wild. Folks who want to come here from the East aren’t looking to be desperadoes. They just want somewhere safe, where they c
an work the land and raise a family. If things get out of control, it’ll be like Sodom and Gomorrah in Stetson hats.”
“Jack was confident that you and I can handle it.”
“I reckon we can, but the way the towns are springing up all over the north Texas region, there’s more people than just a few of us can do for.”
“The government has been putting up that line of forts.”
Carson nodded. “I reckon that’ll help, but the soldiers aren’t going to ride out every time a bad ‘un flees Knox Mills to hide in Mesquite or Santa Lucia.”
And Jack, now that he and Piper were waiting for that baby to arrive, would have other things on his mind. Not that Jack Walker ever left duty behind, Benjamin realized, but when a man was lucky enough to find a good woman to marry, he wasn’t wedded to his job anymore. It was just logical. Jack and his wife had had some understandings to get to, but now they’d reached a point where the rough edges seemed to be smoothed out.
“I’ll bring it up to Jack,” Benjamin said. “He knows what we’re in for anyways. He had a taste of it back in Michigan, of all places.”
“I guess wild ways take root anywhere, but still, there’s something wilder in Texas.”
“’And Cain went out from the presence of the Lord, and dwelt in the land of Nod, on the east of Eden,’” Benjamin recited.