Free Badland Bride by Lauri Robinson

toward the house, wished things were different. “I've asked her Ma, but she doesn't want to get married."
    "We'll what's wantin’ got to do with anything?"
    "Wh—” Before Skeeter could complete his response, a loud ringing filled his ears and pain exploded across the back of his head. The world became colorful, swirling out of control, and then everything went black.
    Lila sat in a straight-back, wooden chair, dressed in a gorgeous gown of lilac, embellished with lace, eyelet and ruffles. In some ways it reminded her of the dress she wore to her senior prom. But she couldn't enjoy this ensemble. Twenty-five feet of thick, hemp rope tied her to the chair.
    Stephanie Quinter had been kind about the whole thing, even to the point of giving her a soft, embroidered pillow to sit on, but nonetheless, bound and gagged, Lila sat at Ma Quinter's kitchen table.
    Skeeter, in somewhat the same predicament as she—only worse, gave a low, pain-filled groan. Her heart jolted. She wanted to reach out to run a comforting hand over his shoulder, but the bindings made it impossible. She swallowed a lump of shame, and justified, at least the back of his head had quit bleeding. The white bandage his mother had wrapped around the top of his head, and tied with a bow above his eyebrows, covered the gash the iron frying pan had caused. Until tonight, Lila had always thought stories about women hitting men with a skillet were old wives tales. A new bout of regret slapped her. He probably needed stitches.
    Her heart began to thud harder as he moaned again, indicating he was coming to. His head rolled her way, his eyelids lifted. “I'm so sorry,” Lila mumbled through the cloth covering her mouth. Knowing full well he couldn't understand she tried to apologize with her eyes. It was all her fault, and she'd gladly take the blame. She's the one who should have been thumped, not him.
    He blinked and squinted, his gaze moving from the ropes around her shoulders to the gag over her mouth. His eyes bugged, then shot daggers toward his mother as his chair started to bounce around. One of the boys had tied the chair to a table leg, and his fierce actions made the table slide. It hit her chest, causing her to give a small yelp of surprise.
    Skeeter's gaze landed on her, and he calmed instantly. Eyes full of sorrow, the cloth stretched over his mouth fluttered as he mumbled.
    She nodded, accepting his apology. His eyes flashed around the room, and landing on his mother, he began to mumble again. The rag over his mouth billowed in and out with frenzy.
    "Settle down, Skeeter! You're gonna make your head start bleedin’ again,” Stephanie Quinter carried a cup of coffee to the table and sat down. “The boys have gone to get Reverend Kirkpatrick as well as Kid and Jessie. I thought they might like to be at the wedding.” She registered her reasoning with a stiff nod.
    Lila started coughing, gagging on the extra saliva the wet rag produced in her mouth. Swallowing, she peered at Skeeter, who'd started yelling, the gag in his mouth greatly muffled the noise. However, his movements sent the table askew again.
    Through cough-induced, stinging tears, Lila watched Stephanie grab her coffee cup seconds before it tumbled. “Skeeter!” the woman shouted, “You're making the table hit Lila."
    Skeeter stopped thrashing and once again looked at her with apologetic eyes. The way his shoulders drooped made the tears in Lila's eyes burn with empathy. He'd told her his family was a little rough, but this was beyond belief.
    Stephanie Quinter had been a beacon of kindness when they'd arrived, satisfying their hunger with a meal of stew and biscuits while the three brothers filled the high-back, brass bathtub in one of the bedrooms with steaming water. The woman had insisted Lila put on the pale purple dress, and even supplied her with an array of lacy, somewhat confusing, undergarments. She had on more layers than she wore in the dead of winter, and would never have