Sagebrush Bride Read online

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  This is a work of fiction. Any references to events or people, historical or otherwise are used fictitiously. Names, characters, places and incidences are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Cover design by Ravven

  Published by Oliver-Heber Books, LLC

  Copyright © Tanya Anne Crosby

  PRAISE FOR SAGEBRUSH BRIDE

  “Ms. Crosby mixes just the right amount of humor in this tempting story. Fantastic and tantalizing! - Rendezvous

  “Written with a magical blend of humor and insight… Never has a tale so captured my imagination and heart. Whatever you do, don’t leave this one on the shelf!” - Affaire de Coeur

  “Crosby’s characters keep readers engaged…” –Publisher’s Weekly

  “Tanya Anne Crosby pens a tale that touches your soul and lives forever in your heart.” –Sherrilyn Kenyon #1 NYT Bestselling Author

  “Tanya Anne Crosby sets out to show us a good time and accomplishes that with humor, a fast paced story and just the right amount of romance.” –The Oakland Press

  “Romance filled with charm, passion and intrigue…” – Affaire de Coeur

  “A first class author.” –RT Book Reviews

  “Ms. Crosby mixes just the right amount of humor … Fantastic and Tantalizing!” –Rendezvous

  DEDICATION

  For Steven.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE 7

  CHAPTER TWO 22

  CHAPTER THREE 39

  CHAPTER FOUR 39

  CHAPTER FIVE 39

  CHAPTER SIX 39

  CHAPTER SEVEN 39

  CHAPTER EIGHT 39

  CHAPTER NINE 39

  CHAPTER TEN 39

  CHAPTER ELEVEN 39

  CHAPTER TWELVE 39

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN 39

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN 39

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN 39

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN 39

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 39

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 39

  CHAPTER NINETEEN 39

  CHAPTER TWENTY 39

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE 39

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO 39

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE 39

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR 39

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE 39

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX 39

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN 39

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT 39

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE 39

  CHAPTER THIRTY 39

  EPILOGUE 39

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR 39

  CHAPTER ONE

  August 1865 Dakota Territory

  “I need a man.”

  The quietly spoken words had nearly the same effect as though they had been shouted at the top of the woman’s lungs, drawing every ear and eye within spitting distance. At least seven brows lifted in silent question, four hat brims rose in consideration, three card hands laid flat, and a disbelieving jaw dropped in stunned surprise.

  The storm of voices abated completely, and the cessation of sound was punctuated by the noisy thumping of mugs as one by one they came down upon the wooden tables.

  In the ensuing silence even the flickering gas lanterns seemed to roar in Elizabeth Bowcock’s tender ears.

  The glass Josephine McKenzie had been wiping clean plummeted to the floor, shattering. “Are ya crazy?” she asked. Reaching over the counter, she slapped a hand over Elizabeth’s mouth to halt her impetuous words. “What do you mean coming in here spoutin’ off that hogwash?” Her eyes narrowed in censure.

  With an exasperated sigh, Elizabeth smacked her friend’s hand away from her face. “Where else would I expect to find one?” She fought back the despairing urge to crawl over the bar and spend her tears upon Jo’s shoulder. Only the knowledge that everyone’s eyes were suddenly fixed upon them kept her rooted to the spot.

  As though trying to calm herself, she removed her worn spectacles and blew at a nonexistent speck of dust. Replacing them haphazardly on the bridge of her softly freckled nose, she straightened her shoulders and tried to bolster her pride.

  She’d never been anything more than Doc Angus’ spinster daughter. When her father had just up and died last fall, it had seemed only natural she take over his practice. Doc Liz, the men called her. And no, she didn’t attract men’s attention, with her ugly specs, her baggy clothes, and her thick, dark blond braid of hair hanging like a donkey’s tail behind her, but for the briefest moment, with those spectacles gone, she had felt… well, passin’ pretty.

  Maybe it was simply the effect of those four little words: I need a man. But she did suddenly attract unusual attention—especially since there was such a shortage of women in Sioux Falls these days, both marriageable and unmarriageable alike.

  Ears perked.

  Jo’s dark eyes blazed. The red plume in her auburn hair shook determinedly. “Not in my place you won’t—leastways not the kind I reckon you’re hoping for!’’

  With a glaring sidewise glance at their unwelcome audience, Jo came around the bar and seized hold of Elizabeth’s arm. “Look what you’ve gone and done!” She fired another anxious look over her shoulder. “Good Lord, no—don’t! Come on, we’ll talk in the back. Quick,” she urged. “Looks like you’ve hatched yourself a mess o’ trouble this time, sugar.”

  With the sound of a chair being raked behind them, Elizabeth realized her blunder.

  Too late.

  “Now, now, Miss Josephine, where ya thinkin’ ta take the gal?” Dick Brady asked, keeping pace behind them.

  Elizabeth could almost smell his liquor-charged breath as he slipped a hand over her shoulder and jerked her to a halt.

  “Dadburn it, I said ta wait a minute,” he blustered.

  Squaring her shoulders, Elizabeth swung about to confront the bristle-faced man.

  “I believe, if’n I heard the gal right, Miss Josephine,” Brady continued, “she said she was needin’ herself a man. I don’t rightly think you ken help her out with that, now ken ya?” He scratched his heavily whiskered jaw, his face contorting with the brutish pleasure that skin scraping gave him. “Best you leave that business to me,” he crowed. “What ya got ta say ’bout that, Miss Lizzy?” He gazed at her lewdly. “You want me to help ya out, sweet Miss Lizzy?”

  Sweet Miss Lizzy?

  Elizabeth’s stomach recoiled at his revolting proposition. And since when had she become sweet Miss Lizzy?

  “Doc Liz!” she snapped. “You oughta be ashamed of yourself, Mr. Brady—and no! I surely don’t need your help!”

  Turning from him, she shuddered with disgust and started away, refusing to allow him to intimidate her.

  By most accounts, the man was a shiftless ranch hand, unable to find permanent work with decent folks. Mostly he just gambled with drifters, cheating for his money—and he didn’t do that very well, from the rumors Elizabeth had heard. How he’d managed to hang around Sioux Falls so long, she really didn’t know, burning bridges as freely as he did.

  Taking her cue from Elizabeth, Jo turned, too, her eyes lifting skyward in supplication. She hoped it would end there, prayed it would. Trouble was, she knew better.

  Brady moved in front of them, blocking their path. He leaned his elbows back much too casually upon the bar, all the while eyeing Elizabeth obscenely.

  Darting a look across the room, Jo found their one chance at deliverance fast asleep, hat on face and all, and she muttered an
unintelligible curse. How dare Cutter sleep so placidly just now? For a moment, in her irritation, she considered screaming for help, but then decided against it. How many times had she spouted off to Cutter that she could manage things well enough on her own? Besides, if she could keep from mopping up blood tonight, that was the way to go. There was no telling how her brother would react if she roused him from his nap, particularly to the sound of her screaming.

  Brady scratched his forehead. The scraping sent another shudder down Elizabeth’s spine. “Well now… I think ya do, Miss Lizzy. You ask for a man and here I am,” he said with a meaningful grin. He reached out and seized Elizabeth’s dowdy spectacles from her face before she’d realized what he intended, looking the shiny lenses over, this way and that, finally raising a matted brow at her.

  “Well, lookee here,” he said finally. “Don’t think I done spected there was a real lady behind these things.” He looked up at her meaningfully. “Shame on you, Miss Lizzy. You gonna bother to tell us what else you’re hiding from us poor fellas?” With a dirty little self-satisfied chortle, he glanced toward the table where he’d been playing cards with his friends. He winked, his face contorting hideously with the drunken effort. “Whattaya think, boys? Think Doc Liz’s been keepin’ stuff from us?”

  A round of laughter answered his question as one man rose, swaying, from the table and headed their way.

  The other rose, too, unceremoniously dumping a petite, dark-haired woman onto the dusty floor at his feet. “Wait right here,” he demanded, then stumbled forward after his comrades, unwilling to miss any of the evening’s promising entertainment.

  As the enormity of the situation finally registered, Elizabeth’s heart thudded frantically. How very stupid she’d been. She could see that now. But she passed these same self-loving clods on the street every day. Never once had they given her a second glance. She’d honestly never considered this a possibility.

  Actually, she’d expected to pay dearly for the services she required—had even considered blackmail, in fact. But though she was a physician, she was only a woman, and while no one hesitated to seek her out for medical aid, neither did they seem to value her overmuch either. Threatening to leave the town without a doctor would have done little good for her cause.

  With a sigh, Jo inched closer to Brady, darting another irritated look toward the figure sprawled comfortably in the corner. She forced a smile, and slid a hand down Dick Brady’s arm to lessen the sting of her coming rebuke. “Now, Dickie boy,” she said, looking reproachfully at his men. “Boys… iffen it’s a woman you’re after, there’s plenty of ’em here other’n Doc Liz. Why,” she continued on a sweet high note, winking at him coyly, “Doc Liz here wouldn’t know your heads from your hairy heinies!”

  Riotous laughter exploded.

  Dick Brady’s smile turned lascivious, but his gaze remained pasted to Elizabeth.

  Her cheeks warming with a mixture of chagrin and outrage, Elizabeth shot Jo a warning glare, but said nothing. She and Jo were very unlikely friends—a physician’s prudish daughter and a saloon madame—but friends they were. Jo would never intentionally malign her, she knew.

  Still, Elizabeth couldn’t quite contain her indignation. Never had she been spoken to so rudely! Though there was no way they could know of her grief, Dick Brady’s crudeness was inexcusable. She was the town’s only physician—no respectable man of medicine would even come near the place. She deserved to be treated with a modicum of respect.

  “But they’s costly,” the tallest man whined. “And if Miss Lizzy here’s offerin’ for free… ” He shrugged. “Well, then…” The statement was left hanging in the air as each man mulled it over.

  In the darkest corner of the Oasis, a Stetson lifted. Eyes as black as midnight peered out to scrutinize the woman in question. With a lazy effort, Cutter McKenzie removed his boots from the small bare-wood table and quietly set down the front two legs of his rickety chair.

  He’d heard every word, of course, and his curiosity had finally gotten the better of him. The woman, “Miss Lizzy,” had said very little in her own defense. On the other hand, it seemed his sister was near to panicking on the gal’s behalf. Likely the poor woman was frightened out of her gourd, and Jo, naturally good-hearted, just couldn’t bear to let her be gobbled up.

  Squinting as his eyes adjusted, Cutter focused, and he saw her, her eyes blazing in the dim light, her expression wrathful, and more than his curiosity was piqued. Never had he seen eyes so brilliant. Without trepidation, she snatched her spectacles out of Dick Brady’s churlish hands.

  “Doc Liz,” the woman said, her face pale and pinched with anger, “is not offering anything at all!” She shot his sister a withering glance, then turned back to glare at Brady. “And I sure enough would know a man’s posterior from his head,” she assured them both, her eyes flashing. “Especially yours, Mr. Brady, since it was I who had to stitch that miserable knife wound of yours.” She gave him a tight little smile, advising him without words that she’d reached the end of her tether… that he might want to see himself off before she was forced to tip her hand.

  Brady started visibly, almost as though he’d been physically smacked, turning a deep, mottled shade of red.

  Miss Lizzy, on the other hand, Cutter thought with a touch of respect, looked right pleased with her little bit of extortion, and it roused a satisfied chuckle from him.

  “Two years past, wasn’t it?” Elizabeth persisted, further emboldened by Brady’s silence.

  “Damn, Brady, how in tarnation did you get stuck in the ass?” the tallest man asked, scratching his head.

  Brady swallowed convulsively. He looked to Elizabeth, and seeing the resolve there, quickly averted his gaze, slapping his friend’s shoulder. “Come on, boys, Doc Liz says she ain’t offerin’… and sure t’Betsy’s she ain’t offerin’. Let’s let her be.”

  “Uh-uh,” the friend refused. “I know I plainly heard her say she was needin’ herself a man, and I reckon I’m more’n qualified to give her what she’s needin’.” He leered at Elizabeth, speaking to Brady without turning in his direction. “What’s she got on ya, anyhow, to send ya scampering like a spooked squirrel? How’d ya happen to get a frogsticker in that mangy ol’ butt o’ yers?” Tension mounted as the man turned to pierce Brady with an accusing stare.

  Chuckling over Brady’s flustered expression, Cutter stood, stretching slowly. He was sure Doc Liz could handle herself; the little harridan didn’t even seem to need his sister’s help. Still, he was ready to step in if the need arose. In the meantime, he stood back, watching with an admiring grin on his face as she replaced those god-awful spectacles on her face.

  And damn, if he didn’t suddenly have a hankering for her eternal gratitude.

  She wasn’t a looker, not in the usual way, but she was pretty, despite her obvious efforts to prove otherwise. And he had to hand it to her, she had more spirit than Cutter had ever witnessed in a woman—aside from his sister. Jo had come by hers the hard way, though. A lifetime of dealing with prejudice did that to a body, it seemed. Some would say he wasn’t the most agreeable sort himself. With good cause. Their father had been an Irish trapper, their mother Cheyenne, and that made them nothing more than breeds, with no place to hang a hat. Didn’t fit in with the Cheyenne, didn’t fit in with the Anglos, either. But it didn’t matter. He preferred it that way. Life was safer when you played a lone hand.

  Still, Jo never complained. She understood, without having to be told, how lucky she was to have the Oasis, and she gave it her best, knowing that money and their father’s name had gotten her further than she could ever have expected to go in the white man’s world. Aside from that, folks had a healthy fear of the business end of Cutter’s Colt. Anyone who tangled with his sister, tangled with him. He’d made that very clear.

  Despite the fact that Cutter’s mood soured over the turn of his thoughts, his expression revealed none of it as he pushed the brim of his John B. up out of his eyes and made his way tow
ard the bunch. The discussion being carried on was such a heated one that no one even noticed him until he had slipped his arm cozily about Liz’s waist.

  She stiffened.

  He stifled a chuckle as he bent to conform her body to his. “Mmmm, mmm,” he murmured, embracing her as though she were his long-lost kissin’ cuz. “You’re looking better than ever, gal.”

  Elizabeth’s heart jolted violently at the deep, unfamiliar voice. Warm lips kissed her cheek in a familiar way, taking just a fraction too long to leave her flushed skin, lingering at her lobe. She swallowed convulsively.

  He whispered in her ear. “Gotta loosen up, Doc, if you want this to look good… Come on now,” he coaxed, forcing her weight against him.

  His husky voice set Elizabeth’s pulse to pounding, and her body into sudden paralysis. Powerless to fight him, she let him adjust her at will. Her legs felt wobbly, her body no more than mush in his hands.

  “That’s it, bright eyes; now turn real slow,” he whispered, his lips scalding against her face, “act like you’re damned glad to see me.”

  Elizabeth suppressed a helpless shudder as she worked up the courage to turn, fully intending to slap the britches off the fool who’d dared to be so intimate with her. But the man who faced her left her momentarily dazed, her throat too thick to speak.

  Good night, but he was tall! Her eyes refused to lower, but neither would they move up to his face. She forced them, and found dark hair flowing from beneath a dun-colored hat.

  He cocked a brow at her, amusement flickering in his black eyes. He winked and she felt her knees go instantly weak… yet she couldn’t tear her gaze away even as they buckled.

  He reached out to steady her, but Elizabeth continued to gape, helpless to do anything else. The longer she looked, the more she swore he didn’t have pupils, his eyes were so blessed dark… his face too tawny… his cheekbones too high. But it was those lips of his that unnerved her so: insolent, smug, kicked up only slightly at the corners, as though he couldn’t quite stifle his humor at her expense. His gaze roved, lazily assessing her, sliding down over her body slowly, seductively, then returning to her face to bore into her with silent expectation.