Renegade Wife - By Charlene Sands Page 0,1

chest “—Mr. Whitley. I plan to marry him.”

The man’s face contorted and his eyebrows shot straight up.

Molly didn’t want to think about his reaction. She had a brother to find, with or without Kane Jackson’s assistance. And for the moment anyway, it appeared that she was on her own.

She turned toward town and began walking, the butterflies in her belly doing a lively Irish jig.

Kane Jackson reigned in his mare and glanced around the train depot. The place looked deserted, as if no business had been conducted today. If only that were true. But damn it, Kane knew without a doubt that the train had come in early this afternoon, most likely right on schedule. As he’d ridden off the ranch, he’d seen the Southern Pacific head north on its way toward Fort Worth, laying tracks past the Bar J, leaving behind a thick puff of steam.

As well as one young unmarried female.

His mail-order bride.

Kane swore up and down, just thinking about the trick his grandfather had just pulled. This morning, Bennett Jackson announced that Kane’s “bride” would be arriving in Bountiful. Without qualm or warning, the ailing man had just laid that bit of news on Kane as if he’d been speaking about the weather.

His grandfather had sent for a bride from the East without his knowledge. He’d penned a letter in Kane’s name and offered her marriage. His grandfather had probably been planning this since the moment Kane stepped foot back onto Jackson land, six months ago. It was clear now in the face of Bennett Jackson’s secret maneuver that Kane hadn’t yet earned his grandfather’s trust. The elder Jackson wanted to see him settled, married with a wagonload of children running about, before he died. “A woman will steady you,” he’d said. According to his grandfather this Molly McGuire would make a fine wife and provide an heir for the Bar J Ranch. Beyond just about anything else, Bennett Jackson wanted his legacy to live on.

Hell, Kane wanted a wife like he wanted a Texas-size hole in his boot. He’d had a wife once. And her death had cost him his soul, the ache of her loss gouging out his heart. He’d been left hollow inside, vowing never to marry again.

Nothing was going to change that.

But Bennett Jackson knew a thing or two about sugarcoated blackmail. And he also knew when to play his ace card, leaving Kane no choice but to come into town to retrieve his “betrothed.”

“Whitley,” Kane called out, peering inside the darkened depot office. He pounded on the glass window. “Whitley, you in there?”

Elmer Whitley appeared through the doorway, a startled expression on his face. “I was just closing up.” He stepped out and locked the depot door behind him. When he turned, Kane pushed the tintype of the mail-order bride under Whitley’s nose.

“Have you seen this woman?”

Whitley straightened abruptly, glanced at the image then frowned with disapproval at Kane. “Yes, I’ve seen her. Miss Molly McGuire was here all right. Came all the way from St. Louis. She waited the afternoon…for you. She wouldn’t accept a thing I offered, except a glass of water.”

“Damn it!”

“I know. She weren’t at all happy about being left here by herself, a pretty young woman like that.”

Kane scowled at Whitley. He was half hoping the woman had changed her mind. He was half hoping she hadn’t boarded the train in St. Louis in the first place. But she was here in Bountiful, at his grandfather’s bidding. If Bennett Jackson were in better health and not recovering from a bout of pneumonia, Kane would have had his grandfather welcome the young woman to town. He would have let his grandfather explain his deceit and put Miss Molly McGuire right back on that train. But the older man was in no shape to travel and Kane wouldn’t put another woman in jeopardy by leaving her stranded in an unfamiliar town. He’d done that once before and that woman, his wife, had met with an untimely death.

Kane had no choice but to find her.

“Did she say where she was going?”

Whitley shook his head. “Nope.”

“But she took off toward town, right?”

Whitley shrugged.

“Well, did she or didn’t she?”

Again, Whitley shrugged.

Kane took a step toward the man. He had a notion to grab Whitley by the scruff of his neck and shake the answers out of him. Six months ago, he would have done it with no regard or regret, but Kane saw the futility in that now. He knew he had