Bride School: Mary (The Brides of Diamond Springs Ranch 4) by Bella Bowen Page A

his balance as he plowed through the
dangerous street. There was no doubt his boots were filling with icy water with
every step, but he made no sound.
    Curiosity got the best of her and she looked up
into the concentrating glower of John Hermann. Though he frowned against the
biting snow, he afforded her a wink and a fleeting smile before tramped
purposefully but carefully across the road and up onto the boardwalk.
    There, he set her on her feet, then leaned his
face close. “I shouldn’t have left you. Forgive me.”
    She smiled and shook her head. Large snowflakes
attacked her chin and the corner of her mouth, but she didn’t want to look away
from him.
    “I'm sorry we didn't get a chance for a polite
goodbye, Miss Campbell.” He had to holler to be heard above the wind. “Don't
let them marry you off until you're ready.” He tipped his hat then looked into
her eyes for the length of one heartbeat, then another, and then he was gone.
    Mary stood stock still for a moment and watched
him pick his way across the boards and back to the assembly hall where the
musicians were ready to brave their way out.
    “Come on, Alexandra. ” Milly tugged
unforgivingly on her arm.
    A long minute later, the two of them burst through
the doors of Mrs. Kennedy's Hotel with Mr. Harris on their heels. Mrs. Kennedy
stood in the entryway and barked orders in four different directions.
    She nodded to Mary and Millie. “You two, into the
parlor to get warm. And you,” she pointed at Mr. Harris, “you'll be bunking
with Mr. Charleston in number four. Collect your things quickly, sir. And thank
you for your sacrifice.”
    The doors opened again. Mary turned to see if John
had come for that polite good-bye, but it wasn’t John. It was Fontaine.
    Their eyes met dispassionately for a second before
the gunslinger’s regard turned to a glare. The game was up. The charade was
over.
    Mary wouldn’t have been surprised if the ceiling
began to crumbling above their heads, but the only sign of danger was when one
of Fontaine’s femininely sized cowboy boots moved to the side, widening her
stance. Mary’s attention went to the other woman’s hip where she knew a gun was
hiding beneath her heavy deerskin coat. But Fontaine’s hand never moved toward
it. And if Mary thought Mrs. Carnegie’s enforcer was angry at being misled, it
was nothing compared to the disappointment on her friend’s face when she
realized Mary half-expected to be shot for the slight.
    “Of course you wouldn’t –” Mary took a quick step
toward her. “I wasn’t afraid…”
    The gunslinger stomped toward Mrs. Kennedy and
ignored Mary outright.
    “I’ve got a room for you, Fontaine,” the
proprietress said.
    “I don’t want no room. I’ll be sleepin’ on the
stairs.”
    Mrs. Kennedy shook her head. “On the stairs? Don’t
be ridiculous. They’re not children. And they’ve only met the brides tonight—”
    “It’s the women I can’t trust,” Fontaine
muttered, then headed for the stairs. Mary was sure Fontaine was referring to
her alone. Of course, she couldn’t blame her either. She knew just how anxious
the woman was while Mrs. Carnegie was out of town. And here Mary’d gone and
thrown a hitch in things.
    Oh, she wasn’t regretting the fact that she’d
taken Alexandra’s place. After all, she might never have seen Rebel—John—again
had she not been brave for the Scotswoman’s sake. And after wondering for seven
years if a boy had died for kissing her, it was a blessed relief to learn that
he had not. But even more blessed was looking into those eyes again—eyes that
were as heart-wrenching and wish-inspiring as they’d ever been—and hear from
his own splendid lips how he, too, remembered their summer together with
fondness.
    But she did regret hurting Fontaine, one of her
firm friends at Diamond Springs Ranch. When students and brides became friendly
with Mary, for one reason or another, it was understood that in a matter of
months, or