Mail Order Prairie Bride: (A Western Historical Romance) (Dodge City Brides Book 1) by Julianne MacLean Page A
Authors: Julianne MacLean
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up the steps and remembering Sarah out on the prairie, in the middle of nowhere, suggesting a divorce. A divorce! First sign of trouble and just like Isabelle, she wanted out. Well, he’d already bedded Sarah. ‘Out’ wouldn’t come so easily this time.
Briggs stopped just outside the door. How would Sarah stand up to the challenges that faced her? He rubbed the back of his neck, stiff after the long drive from town. Would she see his home as a damp, dark hole in the ground and want to leave? How would he stop her if she demanded that he take her back to Dodge to get out of this marriage?
That was just what he didn’t need—another scandal setting more tongues flapping in the wind. The whole town would probably think he was cursed.
He was beginning to think that himself.
Sweeping that notion away, he decided it was time to show Sarah the house. For every moment he stood stalling, he was wasting daylight hours that should be spent preparing for the harvester.
He walked to the creek and strolled down the bank, then spotted her and froze. She stood with her back to him, fastening the back button on her pale blue floral skirt. Her shiny wet hair flowed down her back in a torrent of midnight waves, the tips of the dripping curls grazing her tiny waist. He stood in bewildered awe of this woman he had brought to this remote, uncivilized place. She simply did not fit . She stood out like a red rose in a field of snow.
Just then, Sarah turned around. When her gaze lifted, her eyes narrowed. She folded her arms in front of her. “You have the most inconvenient habit of sneaking up on me when I’m half dressed, Mr. Brigman.”
Briggs shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “I just came down to remind you that there’s work to be done. And you’re more than half-dressed, Mrs. Brigman. You look fully dressed to me.”
Sarah unfolded her arms. “What kind of work?”
“Chores. All day, every day. You didn’t expect to bathe and primp and brush that hair for hours on end while I do everything around here, did you?”
“Why would you assume I’d want to do that?”
Briggs paused a moment, realizing he was being unreasonable, but knowing it was too late to take it back. All he could do was stand there and stumble over a dozen possible retorts.
Sarah raised her chin. “I did read your advertisement. I know what hard work is about, even though for some reason you think I don’t.”
Feeling a little guilty for being so hard on her—which probably had a lot to do with their rather disastrous wedding night—Briggs closed the distance between them. “When you’re done cleaning your dress, I’ll show you the house.”
“Thank you.”
Briggs cringed when he imagined what she would think when she saw it, then he chastised himself for caring, for being ashamed of his home. He’d been more than proud the past few months. In fact, he’d never felt so proud as the day he finished the roof.
Briggs started up the bank, but stopped. “By the way.” He turned to point at her clothes. “Those are more practical out here.”
She glanced down at her simple calico bodice and skirt.
“If I were you, I’d pack up that purple thing with the big bustle and save it for Sundays.”
Sarah gathered her hair in her hands and wrung it out like a wet towel. “Fine. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some laundry to do.”
Feeling as if he’d just been dismissed, Briggs resisted the petty urge to have the last word. When he saw Sarah pick up her dress and scrub hard enough to wear a hole in it, he knew she didn’t want to hear anything he had to say anyway.
Chapter Six
Gathering her skirt in one hand, her heavy wet gown draped over the other arm, Sarah climbed the steep bank toward the yard. Finally she would see her new home. The place she would whip into shape. She had every intention of proving herself, and as soon as she got to work, Mr. Briggs Brigman would see that he had nothing more to complain about.
And
Briggs stopped just outside the door. How would Sarah stand up to the challenges that faced her? He rubbed the back of his neck, stiff after the long drive from town. Would she see his home as a damp, dark hole in the ground and want to leave? How would he stop her if she demanded that he take her back to Dodge to get out of this marriage?
That was just what he didn’t need—another scandal setting more tongues flapping in the wind. The whole town would probably think he was cursed.
He was beginning to think that himself.
Sweeping that notion away, he decided it was time to show Sarah the house. For every moment he stood stalling, he was wasting daylight hours that should be spent preparing for the harvester.
He walked to the creek and strolled down the bank, then spotted her and froze. She stood with her back to him, fastening the back button on her pale blue floral skirt. Her shiny wet hair flowed down her back in a torrent of midnight waves, the tips of the dripping curls grazing her tiny waist. He stood in bewildered awe of this woman he had brought to this remote, uncivilized place. She simply did not fit . She stood out like a red rose in a field of snow.
Just then, Sarah turned around. When her gaze lifted, her eyes narrowed. She folded her arms in front of her. “You have the most inconvenient habit of sneaking up on me when I’m half dressed, Mr. Brigman.”
Briggs shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “I just came down to remind you that there’s work to be done. And you’re more than half-dressed, Mrs. Brigman. You look fully dressed to me.”
Sarah unfolded her arms. “What kind of work?”
“Chores. All day, every day. You didn’t expect to bathe and primp and brush that hair for hours on end while I do everything around here, did you?”
“Why would you assume I’d want to do that?”
Briggs paused a moment, realizing he was being unreasonable, but knowing it was too late to take it back. All he could do was stand there and stumble over a dozen possible retorts.
Sarah raised her chin. “I did read your advertisement. I know what hard work is about, even though for some reason you think I don’t.”
Feeling a little guilty for being so hard on her—which probably had a lot to do with their rather disastrous wedding night—Briggs closed the distance between them. “When you’re done cleaning your dress, I’ll show you the house.”
“Thank you.”
Briggs cringed when he imagined what she would think when she saw it, then he chastised himself for caring, for being ashamed of his home. He’d been more than proud the past few months. In fact, he’d never felt so proud as the day he finished the roof.
Briggs started up the bank, but stopped. “By the way.” He turned to point at her clothes. “Those are more practical out here.”
She glanced down at her simple calico bodice and skirt.
“If I were you, I’d pack up that purple thing with the big bustle and save it for Sundays.”
Sarah gathered her hair in her hands and wrung it out like a wet towel. “Fine. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some laundry to do.”
Feeling as if he’d just been dismissed, Briggs resisted the petty urge to have the last word. When he saw Sarah pick up her dress and scrub hard enough to wear a hole in it, he knew she didn’t want to hear anything he had to say anyway.
Chapter Six
Gathering her skirt in one hand, her heavy wet gown draped over the other arm, Sarah climbed the steep bank toward the yard. Finally she would see her new home. The place she would whip into shape. She had every intention of proving herself, and as soon as she got to work, Mr. Briggs Brigman would see that he had nothing more to complain about.
And
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