Cassie: Brides of the Rockies, #1

Preface

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Nathanial Carroll has been a thorn in Cassie Bjorn’s side ever since they were children. He has tormented her by dipping her blonde hair in ink, pouring honey into her school bag, and teasing her relentlessly. Now, grown up and more handsome than a man ought to be, Nathanial is determined to make Cassie his wife, although she loathes him with a passion. The task before him is formidable, and Nate will have to make amends for past behavior and court Cassie properly.

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Cassie knows Nathanial as a womanizer and drunkard with appalling manners. Any well-bred young lady would give this man a wide berth, as she has done for years. But Cassie’s mother and Nate’s mother are the best of friends, and they see fit to broker an engagement. To compound matters, an accidental kiss during a shootout sends the town’s gossips into a furor, and Cassie finds her reputation in tatters. There’s only one man to blame for this predicament—Nathanial Carroll.

About the Author

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Email:

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Brides of the Rockies Series

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Cassie

Faith

Daisy

Gillian

Chapter One

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Georgetown, Colorado 1881

I wasn’t speaking to my parents. I had good reason not to, of course, and they knew why, and yet, they persisted in their quest to marry me off to one of the most despicable characters Clear Creek County had ever known: Nathanial Carroll. A rake and a scoundrel, his reputation as a drunkard and a gambler preceded him, and, although his father was our esteemed sheriff, the son had been a grave disappointment. Our mothers were the best of friends, which is why they strove to join the families, but nothing on earth could induce me to marry him.

I’m waiting, Cassie, called mother from the floor below. We’re ready to go.

I pouted in my room, refusing to say a word. My sister, Ava, glanced at me. Stop it, Cassie. This is ridiculous. We’ll be late for church. She tied the yellow sash of the bonnet beneath her chin. We’ve kept them waiting long enough.

I’ll walk. You go on. I glanced at my gloved hands, which I clasped in my lap. Some fresh air will do me good.

There’s a foot of snow outside.

Though it was late spring, we had weathered a storm the night before, but a little snow wouldn’t trouble me in the least. I’ll be fine. If anything, the wagon’s in peril. You might find yourself on foot. Then pa will have to dig out the wheels.

Cassie! bellowed pa. Come down at once. His voice was heavily accented, his first language having been Swedish.

I glanced at my sister, who waited by the door, wearing a narrowed skirt, which gathered in the back. A jacket hid her slim figure, being a size too large. I had worn it last year.

Tell them I’ll walk.

It’s dreadfully tedious acting as your interpreter. Haven’t you punished them long enough?

I lifted my chin. I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.

Oh, you know perfectly well. You think your silence will get them to reconsider marrying you off to Nathanial, but it’s a fruitless exercise. The ink is all but dry on the marriage license.

My scowl was pronounced. Go away.

She glared at me. Fine. Walk. Ruin that dress for all I care.

I watched her leave, staring at the door after she had slammed it shut. Tears filled my eyes, my misery failing to remain hidden. I could not stop them anyhow, even if I wanted to. I dabbed at my cheeks with a dainty, white handkerchief.

The door swung open suddenly, revealing my mother, who stood tall and imposing in a darkly colored dress and black coat. We’re leaving now. Her accent wasn’t as pronounced as pa’s, and it sounded prettier.

I’ll walk. I regretted those words, as I had sworn not to speak to her ever again for the rest of my life. Gosh, darn it!

Well, that’s an improvement. The first words in a week. There’s hope left after all. Very well. You may walk, but do hurry. Please don’t be late.

I loved my mother, admiring her kindness and beauty ever since I could remember. She had doted on us and spoiled us, but there were things she would not tolerate; laziness and disobedience were not allowed. Although we had a maid, my sister and I performed a variety of chores every day, and, when those had been completed, we were required to spend our time in a constructive manner, typically engaging in reading, music or art.

I won’t be late. I’ll leave at once.

Will you be joining us for coffee at Mrs. Carroll’s house?

Only if Nathanial’s not there.

He’s away on ... business.

Ha! He was more than likely drunk, having collapsed somewhere on Brownell Street. Yes, of course, I said dryly.

For pity’s sake! called pa. Come down, women! We’ll be late.

I have to go. My mother gave me a stern, yet contemplative, look. Now that we’re speaking again, I do wish to have a moment in private with you. Perhaps, later we can talk.

I’d be happy to talk, as long as the discussion isn’t about Mr. Nathaniel Carroll.

Her look darkened. We shall talk later. The door closed behind her.

I exhaled a long breath, realizing I had been holding it in. No wonder I suffered a moment of dizziness. It wasn’t the corset after all, or the fact that I had not eaten a thing yet this morning. Getting to my feet, I wandered over to the window, moving aside white lace curtains, my grandmother having given them to us long ago.

The wagon waited, the horses having been hitched earlier. Father helped mother to the seat, while Ava scooted in next to her. He joined them a moment later, taking up the lines. Calling to the animals, they ambled forward, the wheels turning in a foot of snow. Perhaps I should have gone with them, but I had sworn to remain angry, and, therefore, I felt obligated to keep the resentment alive.

Knowing I would be late, I rushed to place the bonnet over my head, peering at myself in the mirror above the dresser. Being fair of complexion and as blonde as bleached hay, I gazed at my bright blue eyes, noting the shadows beneath them. I had been crying myself to sleep every night, because I had slipped into a state of melancholy. Never in my life had I felt as hopeless as I did now, because deep in my heart I suspected all of my protestations might be for naught. My family seemed determined to marry me off to a terrible man, whom I hated, and there was nothing I could do to stop them. Or was there?

A spark of hope flared, but I could not dwell on that now, needing to leave at once. I had been engrossed in despair, which had eclipsed all other emotions and my good sense. Perhaps, there was something I could do to alter the path my mother had set for me. I had to think about that ... and I would at church, because Pastor Davis’s sermons were typically rambling and bland.

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It had been a mistake to walk, as my skirts were now soaked through and the leather on the boots stained all the way to the ankle, but the cold had cleared my head. While Pastor Davis spoke, I considered my options, grabbing onto one idea after another and discarding it. Standing to sing a hymn, I glanced around at familiar faces, people I had known my entire life, although many newcomers continued to arrive, the town thriving off the various silver mines in the area.

Over a sea of hats and bonnets, I sought out several men who might be acceptable in my plan to free myself of Nathanial Carroll’s clutches, although he wasn’t all that keen to marry me either. I had been to school with everyone here, including Pastor Davis’s son, Matthew, but he wasn’t my sort of fellow, being far too shy and socially awkward. I preferred an open and friendly type of man, and, glancing at Elijah Waller, who had arrived in town to mine, he might be agreeable. He had asked to escort me to a social two weeks ago, and I had wanted to accept, but mother had put a stop to it.

Then there was Merrill Tyler, who had been a schoolmate. He worked for the railways now and traveled often, but his personality seemed aligned with mine. I glanced at Luke Elliot, who sat with Sissy Lavine, but they had not become engaged as of yet. He had flirted with me a time or two, and I could find no fault in him. His father owned one of the banks in town, and he was considered quite a catch.

What are you doing? asked Ava.

Looking for prospective husbands, I whispered.

She rolled her eyes. Oh, bother.

An elbow jammed into my side. Ouch. I glanced at mother, who scowled.

Hush.

I kept my attention forward, gazing at Pastor Davis, who said, The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid? He continued on through Psalm 27:1, while we sat still, waiting for the sermon to end. Once it had, we filed out of the church, emerging into the blinding light of early noon, the snow reflecting the sun. People scattered and congregated, some wagons and carriages pulling out of the yard.

Let’s drive to the Carroll’s, said mother. I’d offer to walk, but it’s terribly wet out here. She lifted her skirt, exposing petticoats and boots. What a mess.

Thoroughfares remained hidden beneath the snow, although after several sets of wheels had passed through, it mixed with filth, the stench of horse manure having been churned up. I wrinkled my nose, gazing at Elijah Waller and forming a plan. I was about to boldly approach him, when a hand on my arm stopped me.

Get in, my dear, said mother. We’re expected.

I did not relish the prospect of being in the same house where Nathanial lived, although he was more than likely at the saloon or a pool hall at this time of day, having slept in a brothel the night before. My opinion of him was low, but, from what I had seen over the years, I felt entirely justified in this.

Sitting next to my sister, we barely had an inch of space to move, the wagon shuddering into motion, the horses wading through three feet of snowdrifts in places. Our town lay nestled