The Marriage Barter. Christine Johnson

there any other way?”

      Rebecca slowly shook her head.

      Charlotte held her breath, waiting for the woman to ask her to bring Sasha to the schoolhouse, where the unclaimed orphans were staying.

      At last, Rebecca lifted her gaze and squared her shoulders. “The rules don’t say when I must take Sasha back. I don’t see why it wouldn’t be all right for Sasha to stay with you until Monday, until everything’s settled with the judge and...and...well, maybe you’ll find someone.”

      She gave Charlotte a hopeful smile, but Charlotte felt only the rush of relief. She could keep Sasha for three more days. And then... The pain came back, even worse.

      “That was all I wanted to say.” Rebecca edged away. “I should see to the children.” She hurried off, leaving Charlotte in despair.

      “What am I going to do?” She clutched her arms around her midsection.

      Amelia gently laid a hand on Charlotte’s clenched arms. She’d been so quiet that Charlotte had forgotten she was there. The petite woman lifted liquid eyes. The depth of sorrow and pain in her expression stunned Charlotte. Amelia wasn’t the prettiest woman in town, nor the most talkative. She tended to keep to herself and skitter off nervously whenever her husband drew near. Who could blame her? She’d married the most obnoxious drunken fool in town. But she was a good woman, who had been very kind to the orphans since their arrival in town. Charlotte, who had barely known her before that, was starting to consider her a friend.

      “There are worse things than being alone.” Amelia’s voice was so soft that Charlotte had to listen carefully to hear her.

      Such as marrying the wrong man.

      “I know. But Sasha...” Charlotte’s throat clotted again. “She’s my little girl.”

      Amelia’s tears threatened to overflow. “I hope you can keep her.” She sniffled and pulled out a worn handkerchief. “It’s not fair that we have to marry to...to...” She never managed to finish her sentence, but Charlotte knew what she meant. To have a family.

      It wasn’t fair, but she still had to do it. Somehow. Whoever she could get to agree to marry her, she prayed he wouldn’t turn out to be a drunkard or a wife beater.

      * * *

      Wyatt held his temper in check until he’d left the town hall. Bring his case before the judge? Madam Mayor had some nerve. No doubt she and that Mr. Brooks had concocted this plan overnight. From what Wyatt had learned, the banker wasn’t even from Evans Grove. He also didn’t doubt that the pretty mayor was the source of Brooks’s interest in the matter. He’d seen the way the man looked at her the first time he’d talked to Mayor Evans. Protective. Defending her against all attacks.

      The way Wyatt had protected Charlotte Miller by letting her keep Sasha. He’d had to force himself not to look in her direction or risk losing his focus.

      What good had that focus done? Thanks to Madam Mayor and her conniving banker friend, he had to convince a judge on Monday that he was right or lose every penny of his fee. How could he sway a judge? He wasn’t a lawyer nor could he afford to hire one.

      Wyatt stormed toward the livery. Whenever he had to think things through, he saddled up Dusty and headed for open country. The endless sky and untamed land helped clear his head, and after this little fiasco, he sure needed to do some clearing.

      Sweet stars, he’d already made an enormous concession by letting Sasha and three other orphans stay. Baxter would never have agreed to that. The man told him the town wanted all eight. Bring them all, the man had said. What was so special about these eight orphans that two towns were fighting over them?

      He rubbed his clean-shaven jaw. He’d thought the town would give him more respect if he shaved. Clearly not. They were set on keeping those kids. Greenville was equally determined to get them. Wyatt shook his head. Who knew how long those kids had gone unwanted. Now everyone wanted them. Life was sure full of mysteries, but he suspected the answer to this one could be rooted out with a little effort.

      The woman sweeping the porch of the general store shouted out a greeting, jolting him from his thoughts. He mumbled a response and tugged the brim of his hat lower before continuing on to the livery. By the end of the day, he would become the town enemy, and no one would speak to him, not even pretty Charlotte Miller.

      His gut knotted a little at the thought of disappointing her. Like the rest of the town, she wanted all the orphans to stay. The best he could do was let her keep her daughter. Sasha’s wide blue eyes danced into his head. He could still feel her trusting arms around his neck. Her trust had felt good, really good.

      He found the stable boy dozing on a pile of straw in an empty stall, pitchfork cast aside. Wyatt smiled. No doubt the lad had been up since dawn mucking out the stable. Wyatt’s father had worked him just as hard. A farmer’s work is never done, his pa had told him more times than Wyatt could remember. But Wyatt didn’t love the Illinois farm the way his father had. For as long as he could remember, he’d dreamed of adventure. When the war started, he’d enlisted and never went back. Now it was too late; too late to make amends, too late to explain, too late to tell his father that he’d made the wrong choice. If only they’d reconciled before Pa died.

      Life was littered with regrets. Wyatt let the stable boy sleep. He could saddle his own horse.

      Dusty snorted when Wyatt drew near, as if to say he didn’t think much of being stuck in a stable. Like Wyatt, his horse spent most days out in the open. They’d traveled across the country together and slept under the stars at night. Dusty had been his only friend. He was also just as stubborn and ornery.

      Wyatt flung the saddle blanket on Dusty’s back, and the horse’s ears pricked in anticipation.

      “That’s right, boy. We’re heading out onto the prairie.” He patted Dusty’s flank. “A little air’ll do us both good.”

      “Leavin’ town?”

      Wyatt whirled around to see Sheriff Mason Wright standing outside the stall. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

      The sheriff didn’t betray an ounce of emotion. “We all got a job to do.” His hard blue eyes pierced through Wyatt, as if trying to read his motives, but Wyatt was good at masking his intentions.

      He turned back to saddling Dusty. “You’re right about that. It’s a job.”

      “Must pay right fine to work for someone like Baxter.”

      Wyatt narrowed his eyes. His gut had warned him not to trust Baxter, and now the sheriff had seconded it. He wasn’t about to tip his hand, though. “Well enough.” He hefted his saddle off the rail.

      “Then you are going before the judge.”

      “I was hired to bring the orphans to Greenville. Your mayor can drag her heels all she wants, but in the end, they’re going where they belong.”

      The sheriff didn’t argue that they should stay in Evans Grove like pretty near everyone else here. Instead, he stroked his mouth, deep in thought. “I see you’re a man of conviction. Probably no use trying to change your mind.”

      “That’s right.” Wyatt set the saddle on Dusty’s back. “I trust you’ll uphold the judge’s decision.”

      “That’s my job.” But he didn’t sound pleased. A slight tick at the corner of Wright’s mouth betrayed more than passing interest in the outcome of that decision.

      Wyatt had no idea what that interest might be, nor did he want to know. A tracker did not get personally involved in others’ lives. “Glad to hear it.”

      He hoped their conversation was over, but the sheriff showed no sign of leaving. “Thought you might give up.”

      “I never give up.”

      “That’s what I heard.”

      Ordinarily, that would be a compliment,