She Arrived as a Mail-Order Bride—Before She Could Leave, a Cowboy Said, “She’s Mine.”
Chapter 2
Eleanor had barely finished lighting the oil lamp when she heard horses.
Three riders.
Maybe four.
They stopped beyond the fence.
A man’s voice carried through the darkness.
“Samuel Hart!”
Eleanor froze.
She remembered Samuel’s warning.
Lock the door.
She did.
The footsteps approached.
A fist struck the door.
“Open up!”
Eleanor said nothing.
Another knock.
“We know you’re in there.”
She stepped backward.
Then came a different voice.
A woman’s voice.
“Mrs. Hart?”
Eleanor frowned.
She had not yet become Mrs. Hart.
The woman laughed softly.
“Or should I say Miss Whitmore?”
Eleanor moved closer to the window.
Three men stood outside.
One woman sat mounted behind them.
The moonlight caught the silver clasp at her throat.
Eleanor did not recognize her.
“Who are you?”
“Abigail Carter.”
The name meant nothing.
“Samuel’s neighbor?”
“No.”
The woman smiled.
“I’m the woman who warned him not to marry you.”
Eleanor’s stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“Because Samuel Hart has enemies.”
Abigail looked toward the dark road.
“And women who marry him tend to become part of his troubles.”
Before Eleanor could answer, a horse thundered toward the house.
Samuel.
He came through the gate at full speed.
The men outside immediately moved.
One reached for his pistol.
Samuel dismounted before his horse had fully stopped.
“Get off my land.”
The man laughed.
“You’ve got a lot of courage for a man who owes Henry Carter three hundred pounds.”
Eleanor’s eyes widened.
Samuel said nothing.
The man’s smile grew.
“Didn’t tell your bride?”
Samuel stepped between the stranger and the house.
“Leave.”
“That isn’t how debts work.”
Abigail watched silently from horseback.
Then she spoke.
“Come away, Thomas.”
The man hesitated.
“Not yet.”
Samuel’s hand moved toward his pistol.
The stranger noticed.
“You shoot me, Hart, and Carter will take this place before the week is out.”
Samuel stared at him.
“Tell Carter he can try.”
The men finally withdrew.
Abigail lingered.
She looked toward the house.
Then at Samuel.
“You should have told her.”
Samuel’s expression hardened.
“Go home, Abigail.”
She turned her horse.
“She’ll find out.”
Then she disappeared into the darkness.
Samuel entered the house.
Eleanor stood beside the table.
“Who is Henry Carter?”
Samuel removed his hat.
“A landowner.”
“Do you owe him three hundred pounds?”
“Yes.”
“Is this house his?”
“No.”
“Can he take it?”
Samuel hesitated.
“Not if I pay him.”
“When?”
“Before winter.”
Eleanor stared at him.
“And if you cannot?”
Silence.
That silence told her more than any answer.
She slowly sat down.
“You invited me here knowing this.”
“I invited you because I wanted you here.”
“You knew I might lose everything.”
“I would never let that happen.”
“You cannot promise that.”
Samuel looked at her.
“No.”
His voice softened.
“But I can promise I’ll fight before I let anyone take what belongs to you.”
Something in his words unsettled her.
Not because they frightened her.
Because she believed him.
Samuel walked toward the door.
Then Eleanor noticed the blood again.
“You are hurt.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Sit.”
He stopped.
“Miss Whitmore—”
“Sit.”
For several seconds they stared at one another.
Then, surprisingly, Samuel obeyed.
Eleanor fetched clean cloth and water.
As she worked, she noticed the wound was deeper than he had admitted.
“You call this nothing?”
“I’ve had worse.”
“That is not an answer.”
“No.”
A faint smile touched his mouth.
“You are right.”
Eleanor wrapped the wound.
Samuel watched her hands.
“You don’t have to stay.”
She looked up.
“What?”
“If you want to leave tomorrow, I’ll pay for the stagecoach.”
Her fingers stopped.
“You would send me away?”
“I’d rather have you safe somewhere else than trapped here because of me.”
Eleanor studied the tired man sitting before her.
She had crossed half the country for a husband she had never met.
Now, on her first night, that husband was offering her a way out.
She should have accepted.
Instead she said quietly,
“I have nowhere else to go.”
Samuel’s face changed.
“Then you stay.”
Eleanor swallowed.
“Because you need a wife?”
“No.”
He stood.
“Because you deserve somewhere to call home.”
