The Unlikely Wife. Debra Ullrick

has to be a nightmare.

       Standing in front of Michael Bowen at Paradise Haven’s train station was the woman who claimed to be his wife. His eyes traveled up and down the length of her. Instead of a dress, she wore a red scarf draped around her neck, a black cowboy hat with a stampede string, black cowboy boots and brown loose-fitting trousers. In her hands she held a Long Tom black powder rifle.

       A rifle? The woman was holding a rifle. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t pull his gaze away from the weapon that was nearly as long as she was tall.

       Michael bore down on his teeth until he thought his jaw would snap. Even with her heart-shaped face, stunning smile and beautiful brown eyes, the person standing before him looked more like a female outlaw on a wanted poster than the genteel lady he had been corresponding with for the past five months. The woman he had fallen deeply and passionately in love with. The woman he had legally married sight unseen.

       This woman was nothing like what he’d expected. Nothing. There had to be some mistake. There just had to be.

       Suddenly, she lunged toward him and threw her arms around his neck. He stiffened and struggled to draw in even the smallest amount of air because she squeezed him so tightly. Dear God, have mercy on me.

       “Oh, Michael! It’s so nice to finally meet ya.” Selina Farleigh Bowen pulled back and stared into her new husband’s face. She knew Michael would be handsome—no one who wrote letters that sweet could not be. But even if he were uglier than a Kentucky toad, she’d still love him.

       She took a second to study his face. Jaw, nice and square. Nose, straight. Eyes, breathtaking and smiling, the color of a sapphire necklace her ma once had when days were better. Lips, bow shaped. The man was so handsome. And he was all hers. “I just can’t believe I’m finally here.”

       Michael stared down at her with wide eyes.

       Her husband wasn’t smiling, and he looked like he’d just swallowed a giant cricket. Her joy evaporated.

       She took a step back and dipped her head sideways, wondering if she’d done something wrong or if he was disappointed in her looks. Maybe she shouldn’t have grabbed him and hugged him like she had. After all, that was a mighty bold thing to do, but she couldn’t help herself. She’d waited five long months for this day.

       Still, maybe her boldness had upset him. She reckoned she’d better apologize. “I’m sorry, Michael. I oughta not tossed my arms about you like that. Forgive me iffen that was outta line.”

       He continued to stare, saying nothing.

       “Bear got your tongue or somethin’?”

       “You—you can’t be Selina.”

       Whoa. She wasn’t expecting that. “What do ya mean I can’t be Selina? Of course I’m Selina.”

       He tugged his gray cowboy hat off his head and ran the back of his hand over his sweaty forehead, then settled the hat back into place. “You can’t be. The Selina who wrote me was…” His eyelids lowered to the wood planks under his feet, but Selina still caught sight of the hurt in his eyes.

       Quicksand plopped into her belly. “Michael.” She waited until he looked at her. His expression was blank. “You said the Selina who wrote you was… Was what, Michael?”

       “She was…”

       She was what?

       The longer he stood there not saying anything the more skittish her insides got. “Tell me, Michael. She was… I mean, I was what?”

       “Well, will you look at her? That’s repulsive.” Disgust oozed from a woman’s voice as she passed by them.

       Selina swung her attention to two young women standing about five yards away with their fancy dresses and matching hats with long feathers sticking out of them.

       “Are you sure it’s a she? Looks more like a man to me.”

       Selina caught sight of their faces.

       They looked her up and down with a snarl on their faces. Jumpin’ crickets. Did those women have their corsets in a twist or what?

       “I can’t believe she would be seen in public like that.”

       Selina had dealt with their type all her life. People who thought they were better than her just because they had money and could afford fancy clothes.

       Selina narrowed her eyes, pursed her lips and gave them her meanest stare while patting her rifle.

       Their eyes widened. They linked arms and scurried off like a herd of scared mice stuck in a shack filled with cats. Worked every time.

       Selina turned back to Michael.

       His eyes followed the women until they disappeared around the train depot building. She wondered what was going through his mind. “Michael, would you mind iffen we found someplace over yonder so we can talk? I need you to tell me what was in them letters.”

       “What do you mean you need me to tell you what was in the letters? You wrote them.” A frown pulled at his face. “What’s going on here, Selina?” His voice was harsh and loud enough that people stopped what they were doing to stare at them.

       “Whoa.” She held up her hand to ward off the roughness of his words. “Just back up your horses, cowboy, and I’ll explain everything. But not here. Come on.” She tugged on his shirt sleeve. He balked like a stubborn mule, and she had to practically drag him all the way to the edge of the trees out of the earshot of others.

       She sat down on a log and hoped Michael would do the same, but he just stood there, towering over her.

       “Won’t you please sit a spell? I’ll have a crick in my neck iffen I have to keep lookin’ up at you like this.”

       He lowered his backside onto the log but as far to the other end as possible.

       He removed his hat and worked the brim of it into a curl.

       Such a waste of a mighty fine hat.

       Why, Pa would skin her and her brothers alive if one of them ever treated a hat like that. But she wasn’t here to talk about that. “Michael, I don’t know what the problem is, but I want you to know that I told Aimee to tell you that I had no book learnin’ and that I couldn’t read nor write because I had to help my pa raise the youngins after my ma took sick and died.”

       “What do you mean you can’t read or write?” His shocked face made her want to find a rock to crawl under. She dropped her head in shame. “And who’s Aimee?” he asked.

       “You don’t know?”

       “No. Why should I?”

       “Aimee’s my friend who wrote them letters for me.”

       “I’m confused.”

       “I can see that. I’m a mite confused myself because Aimee was supposed to tell you that she was writin’ for me. Must have slipped her mind.” At least Selina hoped that was why Aimee hadn’t told him.

       “Well, she didn’t.”

       “What did she tell you then?”

       “The letters said that your father was dying and that was why you answered my advertisement. When I mentioned that I didn’t want someone to marry me because they needed a place, you…Aimee…suggested we correspond a time in order to get to know each other. Then after a couple of months if neither one of us cared for the other, we would find someone else. But the more I wrote, the more I fell in love with…”

       “Finish what you were fixin’ to say, Michael. You fell in love with who? Me or Aimee?”

       “I—I don’t know. The woman in the letters?” He placed his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “Only now I don’t know who that person is.”

       “Me, neither.” She hated