Summer - Mail Order Brides

Summer Bennett has spent years at her aunt’s etiquette school, and now she’s finally ready to begin her new life as a mail-order bride. When she answers an ad for a bride in her hometown, the thought of returning to her roots and reuniting with her family fills her with excitement. But that excitement is short-lived when her stagecoach is ambushed and a dashing deputy comes to her rescue—the very man who used to torment her as a child, Jesse Slade. 

To make matters worse, Jesse isn’t just back in her life—he’s engaged to her sister. Determined to stop the wedding and plan her own special day, Summer faces a challenge she hadn’t anticipated: dealing with Jesse's lingering desirous looks and tempting touches. With her heart pulling in two directions, Summer wonders if tying Jesse to the outhouse would be easier than resisting the feelings he stirs within her.

Colorado, 1890

She should have taken the train.

Another bone-jarring jolt slammed Summer Bennett against the older gentleman sitting next to her. After two days of traveling in September’s heat, her good humor had disappeared. The apology she felt obliged to issue refused to roll off her tongue, but when she looked at the man, she managed a smile.

Drawn and weary expressions on the other passengers’ faces testified that they were also anxious for the journey to end. The rickety old coach took its toll on all, not just in shortened tempers and dust-covered faces but also in sheer physical discomfort.

She should have taken the train. Instead, she’d listened to her aunt and had gone on the stagecoach. But getting back to her family—and the man she would marry as a mail-order-bride—was cheaper taking this mode of transportation.

Seeking a more comfortable position, Summer rearranged her brown skirt and adjusted her sore backside on the seat. She withdrew a miniature timepiece from the pocket of her traveling coat and flipped open the gold case. She released a ragged sigh. Within one hour, she would be in Aspen, her hometown.

“Summer, dear,” said the silver-haired woman across from her. “What were you thinking when you offered to help the driver repair the wheel after it broke down?” Her withered hand fluttered against her chest. “Why, it’s unheard of for a lady of your standing to do such a laborious, menial task.”

Summer sat straighter in her seat, smiling at her chaperone. A dear friend of her aunt’s and a widow from Springfield, Mrs. Whitaker had agreed to accompany her to Aspen while on her way to Grand Junction. Mrs. Whitaker should have known better than to bring up what happened with the broken wheel. The woman should have remembered it was in Summer’s nature to help…no matter the task.

“Well, considering I used to repair wheels on the buggies rented from my pa’s livery stable, I saw no harm in offering to assist. Like the rest of you, I wanted to get to Aspen as soon as possible.”

The other passengers in the coach nodded and passed her weary grins.

Mrs. Whitaker shook her head. “I would hate to think you wasted those five years at your aunt’s etiquette school. She would most certainly swoon if she knew you soiled your pretty dress on purpose.”

Summer forced a laugh and tried to smooth out the many wrinkles in her skirt caused by the long journey and close quarters. “Yes, Aunt Lydia would certainly faint dead away. Although my aunt taught me etiquette, she knew she couldn’t drive the tomboy out of me completely.”

Mrs. Whitaker opened her mouth to reply, but before she could say another word, pops from gunfire echoed in the distance. The others gasped and cried out, but Summer peeked out the window just as another gunshot broke the stillness. Pings from bullet shells ricocheted off the stagecoach near her head. Her heart plummeted, and she quickly pulled inside.

Panic filled her, and she fisted her hands in her lap. We were being attacked!

The two older women screamed, crouching low, as did the elderly man seated beside her. She didn’t dare risk sticking her head out again, but she couldn’t bear not knowing what was happening. Three more shots rang out, closer this time. A blood-chilling death cry came from the driver as he fell from his high seat past the carriage window and hit the ground with a thud. A panicked breath caught in her throat. The stagecoach jerked unsteadily, rocking passengers to one side when a rear wheel rose off the ground.

“We ran over him,” one of her elderly companions screamed.

Summer prayed for strength, then, with shaky hands, pulled herself up and grabbed the door. She glanced out just as six men on horseback rode toward them. They were some distance back but gaining quickly as if Satan were on their heels. Red bandanas over the lower half of their faces hid their identity.

The second driver remained on top of the coach. With his partner already down, the driver would need help controlling the team if he was to fight off bandits at the same time. Her chest tightened, and she said a silent prayer. Lord help us!

“Everyone get down and stay down,” Summer instructed.

Without a second thought, she climbed out the window, clinging to the door. The vehicle swayed, and she slipped. A small cry escaped from her throat.

“Summer? What are you doing?” wailed Mrs. Whitaker.

“Someone has to do something.” Summer eased from her sitting position, then lost her hold on the door. With her heart pounding against her ribs, she slashed her hands through the air and tried to find something to grab onto. Another rifle fired, and the bullet passed close to her head. The ground blurred beneath her, and she screamed. Many hands from inside the coach grasped her feet, ankles, and skirt.

“Summer, you won’t fall, we won’t let you,” Mrs. Whitaker shouted.

Summer braced her hands on the side of the coach and used all her strength to pull herself up to sit on the window’s ledge. Snapping her head around, she looked over her shoulder. The bandits were closer. One hoisted a rifle to his shoulder and aimed. Summer gasped and ducked. The bullet hit another mark, and the lifeless guard fell from the driver’s seat.

The horses raced out of control. A deep ache throbbed in her head. Someone must get hold of the reins and keep the coach from upsetting. If the bandits didn’t kill them, an overturned coach could easily do the deed.

She glanced at the elderly passengers and clenched her jaw. It was left to her to stop the runaway coach. Oh, why didn’t she take the train?