Second Chance Bride. Jane Myers Perrine

      “We’ll come back and bury the woman out here. No room in the wagon,” said the driver.

      With that, the wagon took off. During the ride to town, the poor guard moaned with every bump in the rough road. Annie had tried to calm him, but her experience with men had been of an entirely different nature. She used to sing to her father before his drinking got bad, so she tried singing to the guard, softly, songs she had learned as a child from her beautiful but fragile mother. The guard quieted.

      After leaving the injured man at the doctor’s farm, the driver had brought Annie into town and abandoned her in the middle of the street. At her feet sat the small valise that contained everything Annie now owned. She’d stood clutching her purse and looking around for at least an hour, attempting to decide what to do.

      While she waited, the sun dropped behind the horizon and the breeze grew cool. Had Matilda been mistaken when she said someone would meet her in Trail’s End? Annie looked up and down the street, but it was still deserted. No sign of anyone.

      When a light went on above the saloon, Annie glanced up where she saw shadows moving behind the windows. She knew who they belonged to and knew that the women in those rooms were looking down at her, wondering who she was. Annie straightened her back and lifted her chin.

      “I am Matilda Susan Cunningham,” she said.

      She considered sitting in one of the chairs on the porch of the hotel but feared they were reserved for guests. If no one showed up, would her money buy her a bed for the night? Probably. However, with no idea of what her future held, she couldn’t afford to spend even one penny.

      But someone was coming for her. Matilda had said that.

      Annie picked up her right foot to ease the pinching caused by the oxfords she’d taken from Matilda’s body. She’d hated doing it, but she figured a generous woman like Matilda would have wanted her to. At least, she hoped so. The wind blew down the street again, colder after sunset.

      When it was dark, a few men rode into Trail’s End, tied their horses and entered the saloon. Without hesitation, Annie turned away from them and picked up her valise. She hurried as fast as her aching legs would take her toward the hotel and the comforting light that spilled out from the open door.

      She decided she didn’t care if someone from the hotel tried to run her off. She was staying. She dropped the valise and lowered herself onto a chair. Perhaps she would have to spend the night here. She shivered again.

      “Miss Cunningham?”

      She’d fallen asleep, she realized. With a shake of her head, Annie attempted to wake up. Who was this Miss Cunningham? She quickly realized that she was Miss Cunningham and she jumped to her feet, every joint in her body complaining.

      “Yes, sir,” she said, ignoring the pain.

      In the light streaming through the open door of the hotel, she could see the man. Handsome but serious, tall and strong, clean shaven with thick black hair and a square chin. Concern showed in his blue eyes. Solemnly, he studied her face for a moment, which made her want to turn away, to escape his perusal. Then she remembered who she was and stood up, tall and proud.

      “I’m sorry you have had such a wait,” he said in a deep, commanding voice. “The stage was supposed to bring you to my ranch. I didn’t hear about the accident until I arrived in town to look for you. I hope you haven’t been too uncomfortable.”

      He reached for her, and she started to leap away out of habit until she realized that he was reacting to the blood on her sleeve.

      “You’ve been hurt, Miss Cunningham.”

      “A few bruises and scrapes. This,” she said, looking at her arm, “and a cut on my head.” She leaned against the chair to steady herself.

      He surveyed her, his eyes moving from what she thought must be a bruise on her cheek and to the blood on her sleeve and skirt. “Let’s get you back to the ranch.”

      She started again when he leaned forward, but he’d only picked up her valise. Of course.

      “Is this all your luggage?”

      “Yes, sir.” She looked at his back as he strode away toward a trim little surrey, then hurried after him. He carried nearly everything she had, and she didn’t even know who he was or the location of the ranch where he was taking her.

      “And you are?” She lifted her head and spoke in the tone that she thought Matilda would use in this situation, strong and certain, despite the hunger, exhaustion, fear and pain competing for her attention.

      “I’m sorry.” He turned back toward her. “I’m John Matthew Sullivan, a member of the school board and president of the bank. Certainly you know that from my letters.”

      He smiled at her, an expression that showed both confusion and concern, a smile that so changed his stern visage that it might have warmed her except that she knew how easily men’s smiles could come and go. Instead she said, “Oh, yes. Your letters.” She put her hand on her forehead. “It has been a difficult day.”

      “It must have been.” He placed the valise on the floor of the vehicle. “Do you feel well enough to start school tomorrow?”

      She stopped, one foot inside the surrey, the other on the ground. She couldn’t move as she struggled to make sense of his words. “Start school tomorrow?” she repeated.

      She didn’t want to go to school. What kind of school would there be in such a tiny place? What would they expect her to study and why?

      “I know it’s soon, but the students are so glad you’re here. Because it was so difficult to find a qualified teacher, they’ve been out since the term ended last April. They’re eager to get started again.”

      Teacher? I’m a teacher?

      Oh, dear. Annie bit her lip. Matilda had been a teacher.

      “Are you all right, Miss Cunningham?” he said, studying her closely.

      She placed her hand on her aching head. No, she was not all right, but she was not going to tell Mr. Sullivan that and destroy her chance to sleep in a bed tonight.

      “It’s obvious you’re exhausted. We’ll postpone class until Wednesday so you may rest.”

      “That would be nice.”

      He handed her into the surrey, touching her arm for a moment to steady her. Then, as she settled herself in the carriage, he smiled at her, a flash of warmth lighting his eyes. Annie quickly looked away. She did not like it when men smiled at her that way. It made her want to run.

      “You may have noticed that Trail’s End is not a large town, but the people are friendly.” He got in on the other side of the surrey and snapped the reins over the horses. “This area is beautiful in the spring.”

      The carriage was splendid, new and shiny with leather seats. The matched bays trotted in time with each other. Obviously Mr. Sullivan was a wealthy man.

      “Where are we going?” Here she sat, in a vehicle with a man she’d never met, heading off to who-knew-where. Curious and frightened, she wished she could have read those letters Matilda had carried in her purse. “Is the ranch far?”

      He looked at her again with a puzzled glance. “As I told you in my letter, you’ll live in a room that adjoins the schoolhouse. It’s located just a few minutes from my home and about as far from town.”

      The bays frisked along the road. After only a few minutes, he slowed and turned between stone pillars. “This is my ranch, the J bar M.” He pointed at a sign over the drive.

      J bar M. Annie carefully studied the sign. “The J bar M,” she said.

      In silence, they rode down a smooth dirt drive and turned onto a rougher trace. They traveled only a minute or two before Mr. Sullivan halted the surrey.

      “Here we are.” He jumped from the vehicle.