Renegade Bride Read Online Free PDF

the red A.J. Oliver Stage. His large hands circled her waist, steadying her for a moment until she'd caught her balance on the canvas cover.
    "You're welcome," came his sarcastic reply.
    "Th-thank you," she managed stiffly, but he was already slogging back through the mud puddle for his horse and she wasn't sure if he'd even heard her. Mariah took a shaky breath and pressed a hand to still her thudding heart.
    The stuffy interior was crammed with men along the three benched seats. Eight pairs of curious eyes turned toward her as she ducked into the opening. She had the urge to deny knowing the man who had just carried her to the threshold as if he owned her. But she kept quiet, deciding denial could only compound her embarrassment.
    Two tufted leather benches lined the front and back walls of the wagon. The third straddled the middle with only leather straps to hold onto for support. The only position open was one of these. She smiled uncomfortably at the men and started for the seat.
    "Allow me, miss." A slender, rather sickly-looking man in his late twenties jumped up, offering his position by the window. "You'll be more comfortable here, where you can lean back." He swept a gallant arm in that direction and maneuvered over the canvas express bags on the floor at their feet.
    "Why, thank you, Mr.—"
    "Lindsey," he said, tipping his bowler. "Albert Lindsey." With his index finger, he pushed at his glasses, shoving them back into place on his narrow nose. "My pleasure, ma'am."
    "Thank you, Mr. Lindsey. That's very generous of you." At least there were a few gentlemen in this godforsaken wilderness, she mused, wedging herself into the fifteen inches of space between the window and the large fellow taking up the center seat. With chagrin, she realized that Devereaux had been right. Needlework would have been difficult if not impossible in such a cramped space.
    The man beside her shifted, glancing down at her with a gray-toothed grin. "How do, ma'am." He tipped off his short-billed cap to reveal a nearly bald head.
    It was then that his rank odor assaulted her. It must have been weeks since the man had been on friendly terms with a tub of water. His unwashed body stank to high heaven, and it occurred to her that Mr. Lindsey might not have been so gallant after all to have offered her this seat.
    As genteelly as possible, she withdrew a lily-of-the-valley-scented lace hanky from inside her sleeve and pressed it against her nose. At least she'd have the breeze once the coach got moving.
    With that thought came the sound of the driver's loud "H-yaw!" The vehicle lurched violently, whipping her head backward against the stiff, tufted leather wall so hard her teeth clacked together.
    The men in the middle fought for balance, too, clinging to the leather straps suspended from the ceiling.
    "He rather means it when he says he has schedules to keep, doesn't he?" Albert Lindsey commented dryly, hanging on to his tether for dear life. The others laughed with good humor, breaking the tension that had kept them all strangers.
    "Are you going far, miss?" Lindsey queried, looking directly at her.
    "Virginia City," she replied, dropping her hanky long enough to be polite.
    "You don't say. That's my destination as well."
    Several others concurred. The young man on the opposite side of the coach, David Conner, and his redheaded cousin, Jeb, were going only as far as Bannack to try their luck at mining. Another man, a well-dressed dandy named Powell, said he was headed for Salt Lake City.
    As the town disappeared behind them, the coach's wheels rattled over the rutted road. The heavily-slung leather thorough-braces kept the discomfort to a minimum as the vehicle assumed the rocking rhythm of a ship.
    "I daresay, mining gold isn't your goal, is it, Miss—?"
    "Parsons," she supplied, foregoing the formality of introduction. "No, Mr. Lindsey. I'm going to meet my fiancé, Seth Travers. He runs a thriving mercantile in Virginia City. Perhaps you've