Free Darby: Bride of Oregon (American Mail-Order Bride 33) by Bella Bowen

enough...to fall asleep.
    ~ ~ ~
    Later that night, Rand woke to the sound of
conversation.
    “I’m sorry to have brought you here under false
pretenses. But I’m sure you can understand why we must not allow the Phantom to
know how terribly he wounded my husband.”
    “Then I take it, madam, you are not suffering from
wedding nerves?”
    The woman laughed lightly. “No, doctor. Not
anymore.”
    “That’s fine, then. Just fine. May I say I’m
pleased Mr. Beauregard found a lady of quality to take to wife. He’s a fine
man. Good for Portland. Good for Oregon.”
    “ Lord Beauregard,” the woman said.
    No. Not a woman. His woman. His wife…
But who was Lord Beauregard?
    A cool, slender hand descended on his forehead
again. It did that a lot, he thought.
    Then he didn’t think much at all after that.
    ~ ~ ~
    He woke to pain. His leg was on fire and the
flames reached up through him to stretch up his neck. Someone shouted. Someone
shushed. Someone poured whiskey down his throat. But he didn’t like whisky!
    Then the hand was back. Soothing. Shushing. Never
afraid. And if the hand could be brave, he decided he could be brave too.
    ~ ~ ~
    More pain. More pain. There was more pain. Couldn’t
anyone hear him?
    Then there was singing. Singing. Less pain, then
only singing.
    ~ ~ ~
    He woke in the darkness. The red glow of the fire
spread out around the wall and spilled onto the cheek of the woman he’d
married. How long ago? A day? A week?
    His bride. His. But not his wife.
    If he died of a leg wound, he would never really
know her.
    She stirred and leaned toward him before her eyes
were even open. She was surprised to find him looking at her.
    “Rand?” She spoke to him as if at a distance. “It’s
all right,” she said with a smile. “You’re going to be all right.”
    He was?
    He frowned. “Someone was here. Singing.” He looked
at his bride. “Bring her back, would you?”
    She looked worried. Maybe she thought he was out of
his mind. But he could have sworn there had been singing.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
     
    Jacobs came to the room before the sun was up. “How
is he?”
    Darby was glad to have good news. Finally. “His
fever broke. His leg looks much better. It’s a good thing we opened it up
again. All that running around was too much, I think. Now he needs to stay put
for as long as we can hold him down.”
    The driver grinned. “My turn.” He offered a hand
and pulled her to her feet. “You sleep. I’ll sit on him.”
    She indulged in one lingering look, pretended to
fuss, then dragged herself away.
    “It wasn’t as if she had feelings for the man.
They hadn’t known each other long enough for that. But she did feel something—like
when she’d saved a calf one summer when its mother had died. She spent so much
time feeding it and worrying about it, she called it her pet even after it was
full grown. Rand Beauregard was just that. An animal she’d had a hand in
saving. He wasn’t quite out of the woods yet, but his chances had improved a
hundred fold since the night before. So she felt...responsible was all.
    Before she could crawl into bed, however, she had
to call the staff together and have a nice talk about the Phantom. She had to
explain why the monster of Portland, Oregon had to recuperate in their very
house, and why they had to keep that fact to themselves.
    And if they couldn’t?
    Well, she would just have to persuade them…
    ~ ~ ~
    A woman was singing. Somewhere in the mist rolling
across the river… She had to be in a boat. And she was moving closer.
    Rand opened his eyes and the singing from his
dreams grew sick and dissonant. But it wasn’t a dream, and it wasn’t a woman
signing. It was Hardy Jacobs snoring two feet from him. The man had fallen half
off his chair and his head was pressed against the edge of the table. How he
could sleep in that position was a miracle.
    Rand put up with it for another minute, however,
so he could swallow the disappointment that his wife hadn’t