She Was Being Sent To Marry Her Dead Sister’s Husband, A Cowboy Said “That’s Not Right”

…

The woman offered Naomi a sympathetic smile.

“First time to the Black Hills, dear?” she asked.

“Yes,” Naomi replied softly.

“I’m going to lead.

” “Oh, family there?” Naomi hesitated.

I’m to be married.

The woman beamed.

How wonderful, a bride.

Your intended must be eager to see you.

Naomi forced a smile, but said nothing more, turning her attention to the landscape outside the window.

The black hills rose majestically in the distance.

Their dark pine covered slopes a stark contrast to the prairie they had been crossing.

Under different circumstances, she might have found the scenery breathtaking.

The stage coach lurched forward, beginning the final stretch of her journey to a new life she hadn’t chosen and didn’t want.

The coach had been traveling for about 2 hours when the first gunshot rang out.

Naomi was jolted from a light doze as the vehicle came to an abrupt halt.

The horses winnie in distress.

What’s happening? The young, newlywed woman cried, clutching her husband’s arm.

“Everyone stay calm,” the driver called down.

“Looks like we got trouble.

” Naomi’s heart hammered in her chest as she heard male voices outside, demanding the driver throw down the strong box.

Road agents bandits who prayed on stage coaches were a known danger in these parts.

Ladies and gentlemen,” a gruff voice called, “we’ll be relieving you of your valuables today.

Step out nice and easy, and nobody gets hurt.

” One by one, the passengers exited the coach.

Naomi’s legs trembled as she descended the steps to find three masked men on horseback, pistols drawn.

One of them, clearly the leader, approached her.

“Well, now what do we have here?” He drawled, eyes roaming over her figure in a way that made her skin crawl.

“Ain’t you a pretty little thing?” Naomi stepped back, but he grabbed her wrist, yanking her toward him.

“You’ll hand over that necklace you’re wearing, sweetheart, and anything else of value.

” “Please,” she whispered, tears forming in her eyes.

“The necklace was my mother’s.

” The bandits grip tightened painfully.

Don’t much care whose it was, darling.

It’s mine now.

I believe the lady said, “No.

” The new voice came from behind them, deep and commanding.

Naomi turned to see a man on horseback emerging from the trees.

He wore a widebrimmed hat pulled low over his eyes, and his face was partially obscured by a red bandana, but she could see that his eyes were a startling blue, sharp, and focused on the bandit still gripping her wrist.

“This ain’t your business, mister.

” The bandit snarled.

“Ride on if you value your life.

” The newcomer didn’t move.

Three men robbing innocent travelers and manhandling a woman.

I’m making it my business.

In one fluid motion, he drew his pistol.

Let her go now.

For a tense moment, no one moved.

Then, slowly, the bandit released Naomi’s wrist, pushing her away as he raised his gun toward the stranger.

What happened next occurred so quickly that Naomi could barely process it.

The stranger fired once, striking the bandit’s hand.

The man howled in pain, his weapon falling to the ground.

Before his companions could react, the stranger had fired two more shots in rapid succession, disarming them both with remarkable precision.

“I suggest you boys ride out of here,” the stranger said calmly, “before I decide to aim somewhere more vital than your hands.

” The bandits, clutching their bleeding hands, scrambled onto their horses and fled, leaving their leader standing alone, cradling his injured hand.

“You, too,” the stranger said, gesturing with his pistol.

“And don’t let me catch you troubling stage coaches again.

” The lead bandit spat on the ground, but wisely retreated, mounting his horse awkwardly and galloping after his companions.

Only when they had disappeared from sight did the stranger dismount and approach Naomi.

Up close, she could see that he was tall and broadshouldered with a strong jawline visible beneath the bandana.

He lowered it now, revealing a handsome face weathered by sun and wind with several days worth of stubble darkening his cheeks.

“Are you all right, madam?” he asked, his voice gentler now.

Naomi nodded, still trembling slightly.

Yes, thank you for your intervention, sir.

Will Asher, he introduced himself with a slight tip of his hat.

Just happened to be riding this way when I heard the commotion.

Naomi Adams, she replied.

I’m very grateful, Mr. Asher.

The stage coach driver approached them, looking both relieved and impressed.

That was some fine shooting, mister.

You a lawman? Will shook his head.

Just a cowboy passing through.

Used to ride with the Texas Rangers some years back.

Well, you saved us a world of trouble, the driver said.

Those road agents have been plaguing this route for weeks.

Naomi watched as we’ll help the other passengers recover their scattered belongings.

There was something compelling about him, a quiet confidence, and an inherent decency that seemed rare in this harsh frontier.

When he returned to her side, she found herself strangely reluctant for this brief encounter to end.

“Where are you headed, Miss Adams?” he asked, handing her the small that had been thrown from the coach.

“Lead,” she answered, accepting the bag with a grateful nod.

I’m to be married.

Something flickered in Will’s blue eyes surprise perhaps or something else she couldn’t identify.

That’s where I’m bound as well.

Got business with a friend there.

Before they could continue their conversation, the driver called for everyone to reboard.

The journey must continue.

Bandits or No.

Would you mind if I rode alongside the coach the rest of the way? will ask the driver just to ensure there’s no more trouble.

The driver readily agreed and Naomi felt an inexplicable sense of relief knowing that Will Asher would be accompanying them to lead.

As the stage coach rumbled forward once more, Naomi found herself stealing glances at the cowboy riding beside them, wondering what twist of fate had brought him to her rescue and what awaited her in Leed, South Dakota.

Lead came into view late in the afternoon, nestled in a valley surrounded by pinecovered hills.

Even from a distance, Naomi could see that it was a bustling mining town with smoke rising from numerous buildings and the unmistakable structures of gold mining operations dotting the landscape.

There she is, the driver announced.

Lead, South Dakota, one of the richest gold mining towns in the Black Hills.

Naomi’s stomach tightened with anxiety.

Somewhere in that town was James Blackwell, the man she was being forced to marry.

A man who had been her sister’s husband until Elener’s untimely death.

The thought made her feel ill.

As they rolled down the main street, Naomi was struck by the contrast between the grand buildings constructed by mining wealth and the rough makeshift establishments that served the miners.

Saloons, boarding houses, and stores lined the muddy street along with a few more respectable looking establishments.

The stage coach came to a stop outside the Dakota Hotel, a threestory building that appeared to be one of the nicer establishments in town.

“Will Asher dismounted and approached the coach as the driver opened the door.

” “Miss Adams,” the driver said, “I believe someone’s waiting for you.

” Naomi’s heart skipped a beat as she looked past the driver to see a well-dressed older man standing near the hotel entrance.

This must be James Blackwell, her future husband.

Will offered his hand to help her down from the coach.

When their fingers touched, she felt an unexpected jolt like a current of electricity passing between them.

Their eyes met briefly, and she saw something like regret in his gaze.

Thank you again for your assistance, Mr. Asher, she said formally, conscious of the watching eyes of her soon-to-be husband.

My pleasure, Miss Adams, he replied with a slight bow.

I wish you happiness in your future.

Before she could respond, the older man approached, his expression stern.

Miss Adams, I’m Horus Jenkins, Mr. Blackwell’s attorney.

He sent me to collect you and bring you to the house.

Not even a personal greeting from her fianceé.

Naomi tried to hide her disappointment and apprehension.

“Yes, Mr. Jenkins.

I’ve arrived as arranged.

Your trunks will be delivered to Mr. Blackwell’s residence,” Jenkins said, gesturing for a porter to handle her luggage.

“The carriage is waiting.

” Naomi turned to say goodbye to Will, but he had already moved away, leading his horse toward the livery stable down the street.

With a small sigh, she followed Jenkins to a waiting carriage, feeling as though she were walking to her doom.

The Blackwell residence was situated on the outskirts of Leed, a grand twostory home that spoke of substantial wealth.

As the carriage approached, Naomi could see that it was one of the finest houses in the area, with manicured grounds and a view overlooking the town.

“Mr. Blackwell has spared no expense in preparing for your arrival,” Jenkins informed her as they drove through the gates.

“The wedding is planned for Saturday, 3 days from now.

” “So soon?” Naomi couldn’t hide her alarm.

“But I’ve only just arrived.

I haven’t even met Mr. Blackwell yet.

Jenkins looked at her with thinly veiled impatience.

Mr. Blackwell is a busy man, Miss Adams.

The arrangements were made with your father’s approval.

The pastor has been notified.

Invitations sent to local business associates.

Naomi fell silent, her hands clutched tightly in her lap.

This was happening too quickly.

She had hoped for at least some time to adjust to get to know the man she was expected to marry.

The carriage came to a stop in front of the house and a maid emerged to greet them.

“Miss Adams, welcome.

I’m Martha.

I’ll be looking after you during your stay.

” “Thank you, Martha.

” Naomi replied, grateful for the woman’s kind smile.

“Mr. Blackwell is in his study,” Jenkins announced.

He wishes to see you immediately.

Martha shot Naomi a sympathetic glance as she led the way into the house.

The interior was as impressive as the exterior with fine furniture and artwork that must have been shipped at great expense from the east.

They stopped outside a heavy wooden door.

Jenkins knocked sharply.

Enter, came a deep voice from within.

Jenkins opened the door and gestured for Naomi to go in.

Miss Adams has arrived, sir.

Naomi stepped into the study, her heart pounding.

A man stood with his back to her, looking out a large window that overlooked the town below.

He was tall and broadshouldered with dark hair graying at the temples.

“Miss Adams,” he said without turning, “you’ve had a long journey.

I trust it was uneventful.

” Naomi thought of the stage coach robbery and Will Asher’s timely intervention, but decided against mentioning it.

It was adequate.

Mr. Blackwell.

He turned then, and Naomi got her first look at her future husband.

James Blackwell was older than she had expected, at least 45, with a hard, lined face that suggested he rarely smiled.

His eyes were cold and assessing as they swept over her.

You look like her, he said after a moment.

Your sister, though younger, of course.

Naomi wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Blackwell.

Elena wrote that she was content here.

Content, he repeated as if tasting the word.

Yes, I suppose she was.

She performed her duties admirably until her illness.

Naomi flinched at his clinical description of what should have been a loving marriage.

This did not bode well for her own future.

“We will be married on Saturday,” Blackwell continued, moving to sit behind his desk.

“Jenkins has arranged everything.

You’ll find suitable clothing in your room.

Elenor’s things have been removed, of course.

” “Mr. Blackwell,” Naomi began hesitantly.

Perhaps we could take some time to become acquainted before.

There’s no need for that.

He cut her off.

Our arrangement is a practical one, Miss Adams.

I require a wife to manage my household and care for my children.

You require security and a husband of means.

Sentiment is unnecessary.

Naomi felt as though she’d been slapped.

Even knowing this was an arranged marriage, she had hoped for at least the pretense of affection.

Speaking of the children, Blackwell continued, “You’ll meet them at dinner.

Thomas is seven, Catherine 5.

They’ve been informed of your arrival and their expected behavior.

” “I look forward to meeting them,” Naomi said softly, thinking of the poor children who had lost both their mother and then their stepmother in such a short time.

Martha will show you to your room,” Blackwell said dismissively, already turning his attention to papers on his desk.

“Dinner is at 7.

Don’t be late.

” Naomi left the study feeling numb.

This was to be her life, married to a cold, distant man who viewed her as nothing more than a convenient replacement for her sister, a caretaker for his children, and a manager of his household.

As Martha led her upstairs to what would be her room until the wedding, Naomi fought back tears.

The weight of her situation pressed down on her, making it difficult to breathe.

“Here we are, Miss” Martha said, opening a door to reveal a spacious bedroom decorated in feminine pastels.

“I’ve drawn a bath for you.

You must be exhausted from your journey.

” “Thank you, Martha.

” Naomi managed, entering the room that would be her prison.

“The children are good little ones,” Martha said quietly, closing the door behind them.

“They miss their mother, something fierce.

” Melina was kind to them, but she wasn’t here long enough to truly bond with them.

Naomi nodded, grateful for the information.

“What happened to their mother? their real mother, I mean, died in childbirth with little Catherine, Martha said, her voice low.

Mr. Blackwell waited 5 years before taking another wife.

Melina was only here for 8 months before the fever took her.

Naomi sat heavily on the edge of the bed.

And now I’m to be the third Mr.s.

Blackwell.

Martha gave her a pitying look as she laid out fresh towels for the bath.

If you don’t mind my saying so, miss.

You seem very young for such a burden.

I’m 22, Naomi replied.

Old enough to know when I have no choice in my own fate.

Martha nodded sympathetically.

I’ll leave you to rest before dinner.

Ring the bell if you need anything.

Alone in the room, Naomi finally allowed her tears to fall.

She thought of Will Asher, the cowboy who had saved her from the bandits, of the brief connection she had felt with him.

In another life, perhaps she might have had the freedom to pursue such a connection, to marry for love rather than obligation, but that was not to be her fate.

In 3 days time, she would become Mr.s.

James Blackwell, the third wife of a man who had already buried two women and who viewed marriage as a business transaction.

As she soaked in the bath Martha had prepared, Naomi made a decision.

She would fulfill her obligation to her family, marry James Blackwell, and be the best mother she could be to his children.

But she would never ever give him her heart.

Dinner that evening was a strained affair.

Naomi sat at one end of the long dining table opposite James Blackwell with the children seated on either side.

Thomas was a serious dark-haired boy who regarded her with suspicious eyes while Catherine was fair like her father with blond curls and a shy demeanor.

“Children,” Blackwell said as the first course was served.

“Miss Adams will become your new mother on Saturday.

You will afford her the same respect you would show me.

Thomas frowned.

She’s not our mother or even Antelina.

Thomas Blackwell warned, his tone sharp.

Mind your manners.

It’s all right.

Naomi interjected gently.

Thomas is right.

I’m not your mother, and I won’t pretend to be, but I hope we can be friends and perhaps in time family.

Thomas looked surprised at her response, but said nothing more.

Catherine, however, studied Naomi with increased interest.

Do you know any stories? The little girl asked hopefully.

Catherine, we don’t speak at the table unless spoken to, Blackwell reprimanded.

Naomi saw the girl’s face fall and her heart went out to her.

I know many stories, she said, ignoring Blackwell’s frown.

Perhaps I could read to you before bed sometime.

Catherine’s face brightened momentarily before she caught her father’s disapproving gaze and looked down at her plate.

The rest of the meal proceeded in uncomfortable silence, with Blackwell occasionally questioning Naomi about her education and household management skills.

It was clear he was assessing her suitability for the role she was to fill rather than attempting to know her as a person.

After dinner, Blackwell excused himself to return to his study, leaving Naomi with the children in the formal parlor.

As soon as their father was gone, Catherine moved closer to Naomi.

Ander used to raid to us, she said quietly.

But only when father wasn’t home did she? Naomi replied, smiling at the little girl.

What kinds of stories did she read? Adventure stories, Thomas answered unexpectedly.

About knights and dragons and far-off places.

Those are my favorite kind, too, Naomi said, feeling a new connection to her sister.

Elena had tried to bring some joy into these children’s lives, despite their father’s stern nature.

For the next hour, Naomi sat with the children, telling them stories from memory and learning a little about their lives.

By the time Martha came to take them up to bed, she had made some progress with both of them, especially Catherine, who gave her a quick impulsive hug before leaving.

Left alone in the parlor, Naomi felt the weight of her situation once again.

The house was beautiful, but cold, much like its master.

She wondered if a leaner had felt the same way when she arrived as a bride.

Deciding she needed some fresh air, Naomi stepped out onto the veranda that wrapped around the house.

The night was clear with thousands of stars visible above the black hills.

In the distance, she could see the lights of lead twinkling in the valley.

Freedom was so close yet so far away.

Couldn’t sleep.

The voice startled her.

Naomi turned to find James Blackwell standing in the doorway, a glass of amber liquid in his hand.

I wanted some air, she explained.

He nodded, stepping out to join her at the railing.

Elena used to do the same.

She said the house felt confining at times.

It was the first personal thing he had shared about her sister.

Were you happy? You and a leaner.

Blackwell took a sip of his drink before answering.

Happiness is a luxury few can afford in this world, Miss Adams.

We had an arrangement that suited our needs.

She provided companionship and care for my children.

I provided financial security and social standing.

That doesn’t sound like much of a marriage, Naomi observed, then immediately regretted her boldness.

To her surprise, Blackwell didn’t seem offended.

Perhaps not by some standards, but it was practical.

My first marriage was different.

There was passion there with Catherine’s mother.

When she died, he trailed off, staring into his glass.

Well, let’s just say I learned that passion brings pain.

I prefer arrangements with clearer boundaries.

Now Naomi felt a flicker of pity for the man.

Behind his cold exterior was someone who had loved and lost, who had built walls to protect himself from further pain.

I understand that this isn’t what you wanted, Blackwell continued, surprising her again.

But I can offer you a comfortable life, security, and a position of respect in lead society.

In return, I expect loyalty, discretion, and care for my children.

Is that something you can provide, Miss Adams? Put so plainly, it seemed a fair exchange.

Yet something inside Naomi rebelled at the transactional nature of what should be a sacred bond.

I can, she said finally, but I would ask for one thing in return beyond material comfort.

Blackwell raised an eyebrow.

And what would that be? Respect, Naomi said firmly.

I may be entering this marriage at my father’s arrangement, but I am not a servant or an object.

I will fulfill my duties as your wife and as a mother to your children, but I expect to be treated as a partner, not a possession.

For a long moment, Blackwell studied her, his expression unreadable.

Then, surprisingly, he nodded.

Your sister was forthright as well.

It seems to run in the family.

Very well, Miss Adams.

Respect is not an unreasonable request.

He finished his drink and set the glass on the railing.

Get some rest.

Jenkins will take you into town tomorrow to finalize the arrangements for Saturday.

With that, he left her alone on the veranda.

Naomi remained there for some time, watching the distant lights of Leed and wondering what her life would become after Saturday.

It wasn’t the future she had dreamed of, but perhaps it would not be as bleak as she had feared.

Little did she know that fate had other plans, and that her chance encounter with Will Asher was only the beginning of a story that would challenge everything she thought she knew about duty, honor, and love.

The next morning, Naomi found herself in Jenkins carriage heading into lead.

Blackwell had business at the mines and had instructed his attorney to escort Naomi to the dress maker for final fittings of her wedding gown and to the church to meet with the pastor.

Lead looked different in the morning light, less intimidating but no less chaotic.

Miners were everywhere, some heading to their shifts, others just finishing the night’s work.

The main street bustled with activity as shops opened and wagons delivered goods.

Leaded is a prosperous town, thanks largely to Mr. Blackwell’s mining interests,” Jenkins informed her as they drove.

“As his wife, you’ll enjoy a position of considerable influence here.

” Naomi nodded absently, her attention caught by a familiar figure across the street.

Will Asher was emerging from the general store carrying supplies to his horse.

Her heart gave an unexpected leap at the sight of him.

As if sensing her gaze, Will looked up, his eyes meeting hers through the carriage window.

He tipped his hat in acknowledgement, a small smile touching his lips.

“You know that cowboy?” Jenkins asked, following her gaze with a frown.

He assisted us when the stage coach was robbed yesterday,” Naomi explained, reluctant to share the full story with Blackwell’s attorney.

“Jenkins raised his eyebrows.

” “You didn’t mention being robbed.

” “It seemed unnecessary to worry Mr. Blackwell with it as I arrived safely,” Naomi replied.

“The man intervened and drove the bandits away.

” H.

Jenkins didn’t look convinced.

Well, we have appointments to keep.

The dress maker is expecting us.

The next few hours were a blur of fittings and arrangements.

The wedding dress, already mostly completed using measurements sent by Naomi’s mother, needed only minor adjustments.

It was beautiful, if a bit ostentatious for Naomi’s taste, with layers of lace and seed pearls adorning the bodice.

Mr. Blackwell specified the finest materials, the dress maker explained as she pinned the hem.

He wants his bride to outshine every woman in lead.

Or perhaps Naomi thought cynically, he wants to display his wealth through his new wife, like another possession to be shown off.

After the fitting, Jenkins escorted her to the church, a modest white building with a small steeple.

Inside, they met with Pastor Roberts, a kindly older man who seemed genuinely concerned for Naomi’s well-being.

“Marriage is a sacred commitment, Miss Adams,” he said as they discussed the ceremony.

“Especially in circumstances such as these.

Are you certain this is what you want?” Jenkins cleared his throat warningly, but Naomi appreciated the pastor’s concern.

I’m honoring my family’s wishes, she said carefully.

And I hope to provide a good home for Mr. Blackwell’s children.

The pastor nodded, though his eyes reflected understanding of what she wasn’t saying.

Very well.

We’ll proceed with the ceremony on Saturday at 2:00.

As they left the church, Jenkins consulted his pocket watch.

We have time for lunch before returning to the house.

Mr. Blackwell suggested the hotel dining room.

The Dakota hotel dining room was elegant by frontier standards with white tablecloths and actual glass windows overlooking the main street.

As Jenkins secured them a table, Naomi glanced around the room, unexpectedly finding Will Asher seated alone at a corner table, a cup of coffee before him and a newspaper in his hands.

He looked up as if sensing her presence, and their eyes met once again.

This time he rose from his table and approached.

“Miss Adams,” he greeted her with a slight bow.

“Good to see you recovered from yesterday’s excitement.

” “Mr. Asher,” she replied, conscious of Jenkins, watching them suspiciously.

“Thank you again for your assistance.

” “Not at all,” Will said.

He glanced at Jenkins, then back at Naomi.

I hope your finding lead to your liking.

It’s different from Boston, she said diplomatically.

Will smiled, his blue eyes warming.

That it would be.

The West isn’t for everyone, but it has its charms once you get to know it.

Jenkins stepped forward, inserting himself between them.

Miss Adams, our table is ready.

Will took the interruption in stride.

Of course, don’t let me keep you from your meal.

He tipped his hat to Naomi.

Good day, Miss Adams.

As he turned to leave, Naomi felt an irrational urge to call him back to continue their conversation, to learn more about this man who had saved her, and who now occupied her thoughts more than was proper for a soontobe married woman.

[clears throat] “Who was that?” Jenkins demanded as they were seated at their table.

I told you he helped during the stage coach robbery, Naomi replied, keeping her voice even.

He seems awfully familiar with you for someone you’ve just met, Jenkins observed disapprovingly.

He saved my life, Mr. Jenkins.

That tends to create a certain bond.

Jenkins harumped, but let the matter drop as their food arrived.

Throughout the meal, however, Naomi found her attention repeatedly drawn to Will’s table.

He remained focused on his newspaper, occasionally sipping his coffee, but once or twice she caught him glancing in her direction.

There was something about him a quiet strength, an inherent decency that stood in stark contrast to James Blackwell’s cold efficiency.

Well, Asher was the kind of man a woman might choose for herself if she were free to choose, but Naomi wasn’t free.

In two days, she would be Mr.s.

James Blackwell, bound by duty and her father’s arrangement.

These fleeting moments of connection with a kind eyeyed cowboy, were nothing more than a bittersweet reminder of what might have been under different circumstances.

After lunch, as they prepared to leave the hotel, we’ll approach them again, this time with a more serious expression.

“Miss Adams, Mr. Jenkins,” he said, nodding to each of them.

“I couldn’t help overhearing some talk in town.

Is it true you’re to marry James Blackwell on Saturday?” Jenkins bristled.

“That is a private matter, sir.

I mean, no disrespect,” Will continued, his eyes fixed on Naomi.

But I feel I should mention there’s been talk about Blackwell about his wives.

Mr. Asher, this is highly inappropriate.

Jenkins snapped.

Naomi’s heart quickened.

What kind of talk? Will hesitated clearly weighing his words carefully.

His first wife’s death was sudden.

And your sister’s illness came on very quickly from what I understand.

Are you implying something, sir? Jenkins demanded his face reening.

I’m saying that two young healthy women dying in that house raises questions.

Will replied firmly.

Questions that deserve answers before another young woman enters that household.

Naomi felt cold dread spreading through her.

What are you suggesting, Mr. Asher? I’m suggesting that you might want to reconsider this arrangement, Miss Adams, Will said gently.

That’s all.

This is outrageous slander, Jenkins sputtered.

Mr. Blackwell is one of the most respected men in Leed.

His wives died of natural causes documented by the town doctor.

A doctor who depends on Blackwell’s minds for most of his patients.

Will countered.

I’m not accusing anyone of anything, Mr. Jenkins.

I’m simply suggesting that Miss Adams deserves to know what she’s walking into.

Naomi’s mind was racing.

Could there be truth to what Will was implying? Or was this simply frontier gossip, the kind that followed wealthy, powerful men? I appreciate your concern, Mr. Asher, she said carefully.

But I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.

Will studied her face, then nodded slowly.

Of course, I’ve overstepped.

Please forgive me.

He reached into his pocket and handed her a small card.

If you should need assistance of any kind, I’m staying at the Crawford boarding house through the end of the week.

Before Jenkins could object further, will tipped his hat and left the hotel, leaving Naomi with more questions than answers and a business card bearing only his name and the address of the boarding house.

“Preposterous accusations,” Jenkins muttered as he escorted her back to the carriage.

That man is clearly trying to cause trouble.

Perhaps he’s working for one of Mr. Blackwell’s competitors.

Perhaps, Naomi replied absently, though she doubted it.

Will Asher didn’t strike her as the type to spread rumors for payment.

His concern had seemed genuine.

As they drove back to the Blackwell residence, Naomi found herself contemplating Will’s warnings.

Two young wives, both dead within a short time.

It could be coincidence, of course.

Frontier life was hard, disease common.

But what if it wasn’t coincidence? What if there was something sinister behind those deaths? The thought sent a chill through her that had nothing to do with the afternoon breeze.

By the time they reached the house, Naomi had made a decision.

She wouldn’t accuse Blackwell of anything.

She had no proof, after all.

But she would keep her eyes open and her wits about her, and she would find a way to learn more about her sister’s final days in this house.

Blackwell was waiting for them in the entrance hall when they arrived.

“How were the arrangements?” he asked, his tone business-like.

“Everything is proceeding as planned,” Jenkins assured him.

The dress fits perfectly, and Pastor Roberts has confirmed the ceremony for Saturday at 2.

Excellent.

Blackwell nodded, then turned to Naomi.

I trust your day in town was satisfactory.

Yes, thank you, she replied, studying his face for any sign of the monster Willil Asher had implied he might be.

She saw nothing but the same cool efficiency he had displayed since her arrival.

Good.

The children have been asking for you.

There in the garden with Martha.

It was a dismissal, but also the first indication that Thomas and Catherine had formed any attachment to her.

Naomi felt a small spark of warmth at the thought.

“I’ll go to them now,” she said, moving toward the back of the house.

As she walked away, she heard Blackwell say quietly to Jenkins, “Was there any trouble in town?” Nothing significant,” Jenkins replied.

Though that cowboy from the stage coach robbery approached Miss Adams again, seemed quite interested in her welfare.

Naomi didn’t hear Blackwell’s response as she turned the corner, but she didn’t miss the calculating tone in Jenkins voice.

The attorney was clearly suspicious of Will’s intentions.

In the garden, she found the children playing a game of tag with Martha supervising.

Catherine squealled with delight when she saw Naomi and ran to her, wrapping her small arms around Naomi’s waist.

“You came back,” the little girl exclaimed.

“Thomas said you might not.

” Naomi looked at the boy who stood watching them with guarded eyes.

“Of course I came back,” she said gently.

I promised I would, didn’t I?” Thomas approached slowly.

Andeliner promised to, but she didn’t come back from the doctor’s visit.

Martha made a small noise of distress.

“Master Thomas, we don’t speak of such things.

” “It’s all right, Martha,” Naomi said, kneeling to meet Thomas at eye level.

“Thomas, I’m very sorry about your Antelina.

It must have been very hard to lose her.

” The boy nodded, his expression serious beyond his years.

Father said she got sick suddenly, but she didn’t seem sick at breakfast.

She was laughing.

Martha intervened again.

Children, why don’t you show Miss Adams the fort you built by the old oak tree.

Catherine eagerly took Naomi’s hand, but Thomas hung back, his eyes fixed on Naomi’s face.

“Are you going to get sick, too?” he asked bluntly.

The question sent another chill through Naomi.

No, Thomas.

I’m very healthy.

That’s what Antelina said, he replied, turning to follow his sister toward the oak tree.

Naomi watched him go, a sense of foreboating settling over her.

Out of the mouths of babes indeed.

Thomas’s innocent observations only reinforced Will Asher’s warnings.

Something wasn’t right in the Blackwell household, and Naomi had less than two days to discover what it was before she became the third Mr.s.

Blackwell and potentially the third to die under mysterious circumstances.

That night, after the children were in bed, Naomi found herself unable to sleep.

Will’s warnings and Thomas’s innocent comments had awakened a deep unease that wouldn’t let her rest.

She needed to know more about her sister’s death, about what had really happened in this house.

Dawning a robe over her night gown, Naomi lit a small lamp and slipped out of her room.

The house was quiet, with only the occasional creek of settling wood breaking the silence.

She knew Blackwell’s study would be the most likely place to find any information about a leaner, but she was reluctant to risk entering it while he might still be awake.

Instead, she made her way to the library, a room she had briefly glimpsed during her tour of the house.

If a leaner had kept any personal papers or a diary, that might be a place to look.

The library was dark and silent, lined with bookshelves that reached to the ceiling.

Naomi raised her lamp, its light casting long shadows across the room.

She began systematically searching the shelves, looking for anything that might have belonged to her sister.

After nearly half an hour of fruitless searching, Naomi was about to give up when she noticed a small writing desk in the corner.

It was a delicate piece, distinctly feminine compared to the heavier masculine furniture that dominated the house.

Setting her lamp on the desk, Naomi carefully opened the top drawer.

Inside were several sheets of stationery, a pen, and an Inquel standard writing supplies.

But beneath them, she found what she was looking for.

A small leatherbound book with Alener’s initials embossed on the cover.

Her sister’s diary.

With trembling fingers, Naomi opened it, recognizing Alener’s neat handwriting immediately.

The entries began shortly after her arrival in Leed as Blackwell’s second wife and continued up until 3 days before her reported death.

Naomi began reading, her heart pounding.

The early entries described Elena’s adjustment to life in Leed, her efforts to connect with the children, her observations about Blackwell’s business dealings.

She wrote of loneliness and the challenges of frontier life, but nothing that suggested fear or suspicion.

Until Naomi reached the entries from Alener’s final week alive.

I found the letters today.

Alaner had written hidden in James’s study.

Letters from Catherine SRS sister accusing him of poisoning her.

I confronted him and the look in his eyes.

I’ve never been so frightened.

He denied everything, of course, but I know what I read.

I’ve been careful since then, checking my food, my tea, but I fear it may be too late.

I’ve been feeling unwell, strange symptoms that come and go.

If anything happens to me, someone must protect the children.

Naomi’s blood ran cold.

The next entry, dated the day before a leaner allegedly fell ill, was even more disturbing.

I’ve written to father explaining everything.

The letter will go out with tomorrow’s post.

I’ve also spoken with Dr.

Miller privately, though I’m not sure he believes me.

James watches me constantly now.

I’ve pretended to drink the tea he brings, but I pour it into the potted plants when he’s not looking.

I must find a way to leave with the children before the entry ended abruptly, as if a leaner had been interrupted while writing.

There were no more entries after that.

Naomi closed the diary, her hands shaking.

Will had been right.

James Blackwell had poisoned both his wives, and Alina had discovered the truth before becoming his second victim.

And now Naomi was to be his third bride and potentially his third victim.

She needed to get out of this house to take the children and flee before it was too late.

But how? Blackwell was powerful in lead with connections throughout the town.

Jenkins was clearly loyal to him.

Who would believe her accusations based on a diary and frontier gossip? Well, Asher would believe her.

He had tried to warn her after all, but how could she contact him without arousing suspicion? As Naomi was contemplating her next move, the library door creaked open.

She froze, clutching the diary to her chest as Martha peered into the room.

Miss Adams, the maid whispered, looking relieved to find her.

Thank goodness.

I saw the light under your door and got worried when you didn’t answer my knock.

Martha, Naomi whispered back, making a split-second decision to trust the woman.

I need your help.

Martha entered the library fully, closing the door behind her.

What is it, miss? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.

I found Elena’s diary, Naomi said, holding up the small book.

She discovered that Blackwell poisoned his first wife, and then he poisoned her when she found out.

Martha’s face pald.

“Sweet Jesus,” she breathed, crossing herself.

“I had my suspicions, especially after Miss Alina fell ill so suddenly, but I never had proof.

” “You believed it, too?” Naomi asked, hope flaring that she might have an ally in the house.

There were signs, Martha admitted.

Miss Alolina was fine one day, deathly ill the next.

And Mr. Blackwell, he insisted on preparing her tea himself during her illness.

Wouldn’t let me or anyone else near her except the doctor who’s deep in Mr. Blackwell’s pocket.

She shook her head.

But what can we do? No one would take our word over his.

We need to get this diary to someone who can help, Naomi said, thinking rapidly.

There’s a man in town will ash her.

He tried to warn me about Blackwell today.

He’s staying at the Crawford boarding house.

Martha looked uncertain.

If Mr. Blackwell discovers we’ve been in contact with him.

We’ll be next, Naomi finished grimly.

I know, [snorts] but we can’t stay here, Martha.

Not me, not you, and certainly not those children.

After a moment’s hesitation, Martha nodded resolutely.

There’s a delivery boy who comes from town with fresh bread every morning.

My nephew, actually, I could send a note with him without arousing suspicion.

Perfect, Naomi said, relief washing over her.

Can you get a message to him tonight? He’ll be asleep, but I know where he lives, Martha said.

I can slip out the back way and be there and back within an hour.

Naomi quickly wrote a note on a sheet of the stationery from the desk.

Mr. Asher, you were right about B.

Have found proof in E’s diary.

Please help.

Well try to delay wedding.

Na, she folded it and handed it to Martha.

Be careful, she urged.

And thank you.

Martha tucked the note into her pocket.

Those children deserve better than to be raised by that monster,” she said firmly.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.

” After Martha left, Naomi carefully replaced the diary where she had found it, covering it with the stationery as it had been before.

She couldn’t risk Blackwell discovering that she knew his secret.

Returning to her room, Naomi found sleep impossible.

Her mind raced with plans and contingencies.

She would have to find a way to delay the wedding to buy time for Will to act on her message.

But how morning came with no word from Martha about whether her note had been delivered successfully.

Naomi dressed carefully, trying to appear calm and composed despite the turmoil within.

At breakfast, Blackwell seemed preoccupied, barely acknowledging her presence as he read through some papers between bites of food.

The children, however, were more animated than she had seen them, particularly Catherine, who chattered excitedly about the wedding.

“Will I get to hold flowers?” the little girl asked, her eyes bright.

“Of course, dear,” Naomi replied, forcing a smile.

“You’ll be our flower girl.

” “And Thomas will carry the rings,” Blackwell added without looking up from his papers.

Thomas frowned.

“Do I have to?” Yes, his father said sharply.

It’s an important responsibility.

The boy subsided, picking at his food sullenly.

Naomi’s heart achd for him.

He was too perceptive for his own good in this house of secrets.

After breakfast, Blackwell announced his plans for the day.

“Jenkins will be by shortly to take you for your final dress fitting,” he told Naomi.

I have business at the mines until this evening.

[snorts] The rehearsal dinner is at 7:00.

Don’t be late.

It was the opportunity Naomi had been hoping for a chance to go into town without Blackwell’s watchful presence.

Of course, she agreed readily.

Perhaps afterward I could visit some of the shops.

I’d like to find a small gift for Catherine and Thomas for the wedding.

Blackwell considered this, then nodded.

Jenkins will escort you.

Don’t wander off.

“Thank you,” Naomi said, lowering her eyes demurely to hide the spark of determination within them.

As promised, Jenkins arrived shortly after breakfast.

The attorney seemed even more pompous than usual, clearly pleased with his role in the upcoming nuptials.

“Everything is in readiness for tomorrow, Miss Adams,” he informed her as they drove toward town.

The church has been decorated, the wedding dinner arranged at the hotel, and the announcements placed in both the lead and deadwood newspapers.

How thorough, Naomi commented, wondering how she could possibly escape such well-laid plans.

At the dress maker’s shop, Naomi endured the final fitting of her wedding gown, a confection of silk and lace that felt increasingly like a shroud.

As the dress maker made the last adjustments, Naomi glanced out the window and saw a familiar figure across the street will Asher leaning against a post outside the general store, seemingly watching the shop.

Her heart leaped.

Martha’s note must have reached him.

“Mr. Jenkins,” she said, turning to the attorney who sat in a chair by the door, looking thoroughly bored with the proceedings.

Would you be so kind as to fetch me a glass of water? I’m feeling rather warm in all these layers.

Jenkins hesitated, clearly reluctant to leave her unattended, but the dress maker intervened.

Oh, do go, Mr. Jenkins.

The poor girl is flushed.

My assistant is out, or I’d go myself.

With obvious reluctance, Jenkins rose.

I’ll be right back, he said pointedly, giving Naomi a warning look before stepping outside.

The moment he was gone, Naomi turned to the dress maker.

I need to remove this gown immediately.

But we’re not finished with the adjustments, the woman protested.

Please, Naomi begged.

It’s a matter of life and death.

Something in her tone must have convinced the dress maker, who quickly helped her out of the elaborate dress and back into her day clothes.

“What’s happening?” the woman asked, her eyes wide.

“I can’t explain now,” Naomi said, gathering her things.

“But thank you.

” She slipped out the back door of the shop just as she heard Jenkins returning through the front.

Her heart pounding, Naomi hurried down the alley between buildings, emerging onto a side street.

what was waiting for her, his expression grave.

“Miss Adams,” he said, taking her arm to steady her.

“I got your note.

We don’t have much time before Jenkins raises the alarm.

” “The diary,” Naomi said breathlessly.

“Ellener discovered that Blackwell poisoned his first wife and then he poisoned her when she found out.

It’s all documented.

” Will’s jaw tightened.

We need to get that diary to the sheriff.

But first, we need to get you somewhere safe.

Jenkins will have the whole town looking for you within the hour.

The children, Naomi insisted.

We can’t leave them with him.

We won’t promised.

But one step at a time, come with me.

He led her through a maze of side streets and alleys, avoiding the main thoroughfares where they might be spotted.

Eventually, they reached a small non-escript building on the outskirts of town.

“Sheriff’s office,” Will explained as they approached.

“Sheriff Taylor is a good man.

” “Not in Blackwell’s pocket, as far as I can tell.

Inside, they found a lean, weathered man with a gray mustache sitting behind a desk, reviewing wanted posters.

He looked up as they entered, his sharp eyes taking in Naomi’s disheveled appearance and Will’s protective stance beside her.

“Will Asher?” he greeted cautiously.

“Trouble you could say that, Sheriff,” Will replied.

“This is Miss Naomi Adams.

She was to marry James Blackwell tomorrow.

” “Was the sheriff repeated raising an eyebrow, Blackwell murdered his first two wives,” Naomi stated bluntly.

including my sister Elena.

I found her diary detailing his crimes.

Sheriff Taylor leaned back in his chair, his expression skeptical but attentive.

That’s a serious accusation, Miss Adams.

Where is this diary now? Still at Blackwell’s house, Naomi admitted.

I couldn’t take it without raising suspicion.

So, you have no proof, the sheriff concluded.

Not yet, Will interjected.

But we can get it.

And there’s a witness, Martha, the housekeeper.

She suspected something was wrong with how suddenly a leaner fell ill.

Sheriff Taylor rubbed his mustache thoughtfully.

“Blackwell’s a powerful man in lead.

Half the town works for his minds.

I can’t move against him without solid evidence.

” “Then help us get it,” Naomi urged.

Please, Sheriff.

My sister was murdered, and Blackwell’s children are still in that house with him.

The sheriff studied her for a long moment, then nodded slowly.

“All right, but we do this by the book.

” “No vigilante justice,” Asher, he added, giving Will a pointed look.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Sheriff,” Will replied, though the set of his jaw suggested otherwise.

First things first, Sheriff Taylor said, rising from his desk.

Miss Adams needs a safe place to stay while we gather evidence.

Blackwell will have men searching every hotel and boarding house in town.

What about the Jensen place? Will suggested.

Just outside town, but close enough if we need to move quickly.

The sheriff nodded.

Good thinking.

Sarah Jensen’s a widow keeps to herself.

Blackwell’s men aren’t likely to look there.

He turned to Naomi.

Miss Adams, I’ll need a detailed statement from you about what you read in that diary and anything else you’ve observed in Blackwell’s house that seemed suspicious.

For the next hour, Naomi recounted everything she could remember from Alener’s diary, as well as her own observations during her brief stay in the Blackwell household.

Sheriff Taylor took detailed notes, occasionally asking clarifying questions.

That’s good, he said when she had finished.

Gives us something to work with.

Now, Asher, you take Miss Adams to the Jensen place while I send a deputy to discreetly make contact with this Martha.

If she corroborates Miss Adams’s story, we’ll move on getting that diary.

As they prepared to leave, the door to the sheriff’s office burst open, and Jenkins stormed in, his face flushed with anger.

“There you are,” he exclaimed upon seeing Naomi.

“Miss Adams, your behavior is inexcusable,” Mr. Blackwell is most displeased.

Continue reading….
Next »