Heartbreak Creek by Kaki Warner Read Free Book Online

her sister staring fixedly past her shoulder. “Is it him?”
    “He,” Pru corrected absently. “And yes, I think so.”
    When Edwina started to turn, Pru grabbed her arm. “Don’t look. You’ll appear too anxious.”
    She was anxious. She was tired, anxious, and terrified. “Well?” she prodded impatiently. “What does he look like? Is he presentable? Clean, at least? I never trust those tintypes.”
    “He’s . . . ah . . . presentable. And bigger.”
    Edwina resisted the urge to burst into nervous giggles. “I should hope so. That tintype is smaller than my watch.”
    This was insane. The whole idea was insane. What was she thinking to marry a complete stranger, some backwoods mountainman rancher type?
    What if he’s wearing animal skins?
    “What is he doing?” she asked, trying to keep the quaver from her voice. “Has he seen us? Is he coming this way? Is my bonnet straight?”
    “Stop fussing,” Pru hissed. “He’s talking to someone. No, wait. Now he’s walking toward us. Compose yourself.”
    Edwina told herself not to look, but found her head turning anyway. A quick glance, then she faced forward again, a sense of relief coursing through her. A well-dressed man, wearing a smart bowler hat and finely tailored suit. She’d only had a glimpse, but he had seemed presentable. Older than she’d expected, perhaps. And rounder, and a bit hairier with that flaring mustache, but presentable, nonetheless. A benign man. Easily managed. She let out a deep exhale. Thank you, Lord . “He’ll do,” she whispered to Pru with a happy grin. “He won’t be any trouble at all.”
    Her sister reared back to gape at her. “You’re jesting.”
    “No, truly, Pru.” She patted her sister’s gloved hand in reassurance. “I have a good feeling about this. As soon as I convince him to shave off that silly mustache he’ll be quite the thing.”
    “Mustache?” Pru started to laugh. “Oh, dear.”
    Edwina’s smile faded. “Oh, dear, what?” She tensed as footfalls approached from behind.
    A deep voice said, “Morning, ma’am,” and the man in the tailored suit and bowler hat stepped around them and on down the boardwalk.
    Edwina’s shoulders slumped. “Drat. Where the dickens is he?”
    Then she saw Pru’s head tilt up, then higher still, and suddenly she felt an ominous presence behind her. It was all she could do to turn slowly, and then all she could do not to shriek out loud.
    He was huge, bristly-jawed, scowling, and not presentable at all. He didn’t even do them the courtesy of removing his dusty Stetson when addressing her, and— merciful heavens —was that a gun in his belt?
    “Edwina Ladoux Brodie?” he asked in a deep voice every bit as welcoming as his stern features.
    “Gwaugh,” Edwina garbled, caught between “Good God” and “What?”
    The man’s dark gaze flicked between the sisters, paused briefly on Pru’s scarred wrist, then settled on Edwina. “Is one of you Ed—”
    “Yes!” Edwina managed, having finally found her voice. “I’m her—she—Edwina Ladoux, that is. Brodie.” She lifted a shaky hand toward Pru. “And this is my—”
    “Traveling companion,” Pru cut in, with a nod of her head. “Prudence Lincoln.”
    The man frowned at Pru for a moment, then swung his attention back to Edwina. It was oppressive, the way he looked at her. Intrusive and rude.
    Realizing she had twisted the strings of her reticule so tightly around her wrist that her fingers had gone numb, Edwina didn’t offer her hand but simply stood there, her heart drumming so hard she thought she might faint.
    Surely this great hulking lump wasn’t her husband. He looked nothing like the tintype. Well, perhaps a bit. But only because both men had dark hair and eyes, and neither seemed capable of smiling.
    The man in the tintype was certainly more properly dressed in a banded drover shirt and a dark coat.
    This man wore a battered sheepskin jacket over an unbleached work shirt and worn