Page 3 of Their Wanted Bride (Bridgewater Brides 1)

I dropped the pieces at her feet and left the house, ignoring her shrill screeches. The situation was quickly becoming untenable. I’d been stuck inside with her for days with idiotic lessons on being a lady, and I was tired of it.

I’d never liked Celeste, and the feeling was entirely mutual. We’d been able to hold a tenuous peace while Daddy had been alive, but she wanted to remarry. No woman wanted a pretty stepdaughter around when courting a fellow. I understood that, and judging by the leers from some of the men coming to call, I’d be wise to make myself scarce.

The house I’d grown up in would be mine and my husband’s when I married, but I didn’t care. The place had ceased being a home the minute Daddy brought Celeste to live with us when I was barely ten. I wondered if I should just pick someone and have it done. Being married to a man I didn’t actively dislike had to be better than living with Celeste and her string of suitors.

When I reached the stable behind the house, I kicked off the painful slippers Celeste had insisted on and shoved my feet into riding boots, breathing out a relieved sigh when I wiggled my toes in the worn leather.

Smiling, I listened to the quiet whicker of the only thing on Daddy’s land I truly cared about. Fishing a lump of sugar from the bowl in the tack room, I went to visit my best friend in the world.

“Hey, Prince.” I stroked my stallion’s velvety soft muzzle as he searched my hand for the treat. “Celeste is being her usual horrible self. I’m sorry I haven’t been to visit.”

He nodded his dished face as if he understood, rubbing his head against my shoulder in commiseration as he chewed the sugar. The palomino stallion had been a gift from Daddy for my sixteenth birthday, bought at an auction from a man who didn’t know the gem he possessed. I knew a fine blooded Arabian when I saw one, as had Daddy. Prince was lean, leggy, fast as lightning, and smart, but he wasn’t a Kentucky bred Thoroughbred.

Prince’s true value was only now being recognized here in Kentucky. His foals were highly regarded as excellent saddle horses with uncommon good sense. I leaned against him, sniffing back a tear as I remembered Daddy making me promise to marry the first man Prince liked.

Maybe a ride would clear my head. I led him from his stall and tacked him up, grimacing at the sidesaddle. I hated it, but didn’t want to return to the house for breeches.

The crisp early spring breeze caressed my face, and I smiled. It was nearly impossible to hold on to a bad temper on such a gorgeous morning. I held no illusions the situation with my stepmother would improve, but at least she might have enough sense to keep her damned canes away from me. I rode past the general store and nudged Prince around, deciding to stop at the hotel and get something for a picnic lunch.

I kicked my foot free of the stirrup and screeched when someone plucked me from the saddle and set me down. Spinning around, my crop in my hand, I scowled at Nathan Bergman, the owner of Lockerbury’s only saloon.

He was handsome enough, and not too old—like some of the others Celeste had presented. Nathan might have made a good husband if he wasn’t so… Well, dishonest and a little seedy, truth be told. It wasn’t so bad he kept a certain type of lady in his upstairs rooms and cheated at cards, but he watered his bourbon. To a born and bred Kentucky girl, that was a mortal sin.

“Can I help you, Mr. Bergman?” I asked, only just managing to keep the tartness from my words.

Nathan tipped his hat, somehow making the polite gesture appear lewd. “Well, I expect you can, Miss Maddy. See, your mama—”

“Stepmother,” I corrected. “And my name is Madelaine.”

His face tightened, but he kept a toothy smile firmly in place. “Be that as it may, your mama and I have mutual interests.”

“And what might those be?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, but asked the question. By the determined look on his face, he was itching to tell me anyway.

“You, pretty lady.” He took off his hat and bowed his head. “I’m in fair desperate need of a wife, and your mama has her heart set on seeing you happily married.”

“Not interested.” I loosened Prince’s girth and looped his reins over the hitching post. Nathan Bergman was decidedly not a man who could give me a secret smile. The thought of his touch was repulsive. “I’d think you and she would suit better than you and I would.”

Reaching out a hand, Nathan stroked my cheek, brushing a strand of copper hair away from my face. “I’m not interested in Celeste,” he murmured. “She doesn’t hold a candle to you, sweetheart.”

I backed out of reach, carefully putting Prince between us. “Thank you, Mr. Bergman, but as I said, I’m not interested.”

Nathan smiled, baring his teeth. “I think I can make you interested,” he replied. “There’s another part I haven’t told you.”

Prince rumbled out a low nicker, crowding against me as he shifted his hindquarters toward Nathan. “I can’t imagine what would make me change my mind.”

“Celeste is one step ahead of you, my lovely fiancé.” Nathan’s smile never wavered as he stepped around Prince. “She knows how attached you are to this nag, so she sold him to me. You can either be a good girl and come along with him, or I’ll sell him off to a glue maker.”

I blinked and barked out a laugh. “Why on earth would you consider such a thing? Aside from that, Prince isn’t hers to sell. He’s mine.”

I had no intention of telling Nathan Prince’s true worth. He’d likely force me to the altar at gunpoint. Of course, that was what he was attempting, but it wouldn’t work.

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, little one. Everyone knows how much you dote on the beast. What better way to convince you to do as you’re told?” Lifting his hand, he tugged my hair, pulling hard enough to hurt, then smirked when I jerked out of reach. “Your daddy’s will says everything belongs to her until you get married, God rest his soul.” Backing away, he raised both hands and added, “Go look for yourself if you don’t believe me, but I’ll be by in a few days to collect my horse and my new wife.”

Staring at him in horror, I clutched at Prince’s bridle. “You’re lying,” I whispered. He had to be lying. Not even Celeste would be so cruel. Yet even as I thought the words, I knew they were wrong. Celeste would definitely be that underhanded. She didn’t care who got hurt in her search for a new husband.

“Go look, wife,” Nathan advised. “I suggest you start packing, but don’t bother with frills or laces.” He looked her up and down, then smirked. “I’ll buy those myself.”

My stomach roiled and I tightened Prince’s girth before climbing into the saddle. Tears burned, clogging my nose as I trotted away. I might tramp about like a farm hand, but Maddy O’Connor didn’t run. Not where anyone could see me, at least.

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