Mail Order Prairie Bride: (A Western Historical Romance) (Dodge City Brides Book 1) by Julianne MacLean

Struggling to mentally prepare herself to wash out of doors with the animals and insects, she staggered out of the pen alone. At least the dog had followed Briggs back into the barn and was no longer a threat.
    She treaded across the yard, and with no shortage of grunts and groans, lifted her valise out of the wagon. She lugged it in the direction she hoped would bring her to water.
    When she approached the top of a small hill, she saw the creek in the distance. It was at least a half a mile away. She certainly wasn’t about to lug her bag all the way there.
    Whispering an oath, she set it down and withdrew a clean skirt and bodice. She left the bag in the grass and hobbled wearily the rest of the way.
    After stumbling down the creek bank, she found the soap in a battered tin bowl. How was she going to do this? she wondered, turning to check if anyone could see her. Of course not. There wasn’t another soul for miles.
    She unlaced her boots and kicked them off, then removed her dress and underclothing, feeling one level beyond nakedness. She was outdoors, stepping into a creek with God-knows-what kind of creatures swimming around in it. She forced those thoughts from her muddled brain as she waded in, shivering at the sudden ice-cold shock upon her skin. Gooseflesh covered every part of her body that had a name, so she decided to bite the bullet and plunge in head first with a splash.
    Her body soon adjusted to the cool temperature, and she began to swim around in circles, feeling surprisingly refreshed, but nevertheless wondering how she was ever going to survive out here. No wonder Briggs had to advertise for a wife.
    But surely he wouldn’t expect her to crack the ice and bathe here in the winter. There must be some alternative plan.
    Treading water and looking in all directions, she realized she had not once imagined that it would be like this . She’d honestly believed there would be other farms nearby. She’d thought it would be a small community with charming country houses painted yellow, a church and a school within walking distance. Children playing games together. She’d fantasized about quilting bees and spelling bees and honey bees. There was none of that here or anywhere near here.
    Nevertheless—and she was sure some would be surprised by this—she felt lucky and blessed. Maybe there weren’t any quilting bees, but there was hope for a new beginning.
    Feeling encouraged, she stepped out of the water and reached for the soap, bringing it to a cool lather between her palms. She washed her hair, her face, and her body, then dove into the water and swam beneath the surface to rinse herself clean. When she emerged, she took one look at her dung-covered dress, and groaned.
    * * *
    Briggs carried the bucket of milk around the back of the barn and into the house. When he walked through the door and descended the five steps, he saw, perhaps for the first time, the primitive conditions he’d been living in for the past year. A fly buzzed around his ear, and he swatted it away with his free hand, then set the bucket on the table.
    What was Sarah going to say when she walked in here with her white gloves and her fancy hat? Briggs took one look at the narrow bed, felt his insides spin, then turned and walked toward the door.
    She’d have to accept it. That was all. She didn’t have much choice. He’d advertised for a farm wife, not some giddy, vain city girl who didn’t know a harness from a grasshopper plow. If she didn’t like his way of life, it was her own fault for answering his ad—under somewhat false pretenses—in the first place. Isabelle had been the same way, all desperate to get married no matter what, not thinking for a second about what she was getting herself into. When it finally hit her, off she went, first chance she got, with that no-good, smooth-talking, randy gambler who had promised her the fine life.
    And Briggs had let her go without a fight.
    Not this time, he thought, climbing back