Cooper's Wife

Praise for Jillian Hart’s previous work, Last Chance Bride “You have to marry her.” Letter to Reader Title Page About the Author Dedication Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Copyright

Praise for Jillian Hart’s previous work, Last Chance Bride

“The warm and gentle humanity of Last Chance Bride is a welcome dose of sunshine after a long winter.”

—Romantic times Magazine

“The main characters are special in so many ways due to their courage, their strength and their ways of fighting for what they beheve in.... In will touc you deeply.”

—Rendezvous

“You have to marry her.”

Cooper couldn’t imagine why his daughter had gotten all worked up over being without a stepmother. Her mother had been gone a long time, nearly half Katie’s life. They’d adjusted, moved on, tried to make a family with just the three of them.

“Why?”

“Because I wrote a letter and asked Mrs. Bauer to come here.”

Cooper deposited Katie on the floor and bolted from the chair. “Let me get this straight. You wrote a letter to a perfect stranger and asked her to come here?”

“To marry us.”

“How did you find Mrs. Bauer in the first place?”

“I bought a newspaper advertisement.”

“You placed a request for a mother in a newspaper?”

Katie’s eyes still brimmed with tears. “No. I pretended to be you....”

Dear Reader,

Welcome to Harlequin Historicals—stories that will capture your heart with unforgettable characters and the timeless fantasy of falling in love!

Jillian Hart, who made her publishing debut in our 1998 March Madness Promotion with her enormously popular Last Chance Bride, returns this month with another heartwarming Western, Cooper’s Wife. The local sheriff saves a widow and her little girl when their stagecoach is robbed and learns that the woman is a mail-order bride for him—thanks to his meddling daughter. He responsibly proposes a marriage of convenience, and unexpectedly finds a lasting love.

In The Dreammaker by Judith Stacy, also a Western, two people who are swindled by the same man go into business together to recoup their losses and realize their dreams—when love, the dream of a lifetime, is right in front of them! Award-winning author Gayle Wilson returns with Lady Sarah’s Son, an emotional Regency-style tale of sweethearts, torn apart by tragedy, who come together again in a marriage of convenience and can no longer deny their enduring love.... And don’t miss The Hidden Heart, a terrific medieval novel by Sharon Schulze. Here, a beautiful noblewoman must guard her heart from the only, man she has ever loved—the Earl of Wynfield, who has returned to her keep on a dangerous secret mission.

Enjoy! And come back again next month for four more choices of the best in historical romance.

Sincerely,

Tracy Farrell, Senior Editor

P.S. We’d love to hear what you think about Harlequin Historicals! Drop us a line at:

Harlequin Histoncals

300 E. 42nd Street, 6th Floor

New York, NY 10017

Cooper’s Wife

Jillian Hart

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JILLIAN HART grew up in rural Washington State, where she learned how to climb trees, build tree houses and ride ponies. A perfect childhood for a historical romance author. She left home and went to college and has lived in cities ever since. But the warm memories from her childhood still linger in her heart, memories she incorporates into her stories. When Jillian is not hard at work on her next novel, she enjoys reading, flower gardening, hiking with her husband and trying to train her wiggly cocker spaniel puppy to sit. And failing.

To Henry, my husband and best friend, who is all of my heart

Prologue

Montana 1864

“Candy, Mama?”

“In a minute, pumpkin.” The bank was busy and the line behind her long, but Anna Bauer smoothed the gold curls from her tiny daughter’s forehead.

“One hundred twenty-five dollars and thirty-seven cents.” The clerk counted out Anna’s life savings with crisp flicks of twenty-dollar bills.

So much money. Anna’s heart flickered as she counted to make sure of the amount. She would need nearly all of it to buy stage passages across the Ruby Range and up into the rugged Montana Rockies. What kind of man awaited her there? What kind of life?

“We’ll be sorry to see you go.” Kind and genuine, Tom Brickman had always treated her with respect, despite her illegitimate daughter. “I’ve heard you are to be married.”

“Yes, I am.” Anna’s stomach quivered with a mix of excitement and trepidation.

“Then I wish you and your daughter a safe journey and a happy future.” Tom pushed the last of the coins across the counter.

A door opened; she felt the breeze sweep through the bank. A murmur rose through those standing in line behind her. Anna folded the six twenty-dollar bills in half, then in half again. She saw Tom’s smile fade and fear shadow his eyes.

Bootsteps knelled in the silence. “Hands up where I can see them. Now.”

So dangerous and lethal, that voice. Prickles skidded down her spine. Anna tucked the folded twenties into the top of her glove. Her sleeve fell forward to hide the money from sight.

“Mama.” Mandy’s whisper came quietly, and the girl held tight to Anna’s skirts.

“Just stay with me, pumpkin.” Anna tucked her little girl behind her. Those footsteps knelled closer, ringing in the tensed silence. She could see one of the robbers. He held two gleaming revolvers, one in each unflinching hand. A hat was pulled low over his forehead and a handkerchief masked most of his face from view.

Anna swallowed, fighting fear. Sometimes innocent people waiting in line were killed in bank robberies. She heard Tom’s quick intakes of breath, saw the tensed line of his jaw. He was afraid, too. The second outlaw stepped out of sight, gun on the bank owner. The vault was in the next room and the two men disappeared.

“I’ll just take that from you.” Deep, that voice. Somehow familiar. He dropped a canvas sack on the counter. “Put your money in there, little lady.”

“Yes, sir.” She didn’t want to anger him. She thought of her daughter with her little fists wrapped in her skirts. Anna’s fingers felt wooden and clumsy, but she took a deep breath and forced herself to drop the remaining $5.37 into the empty canvas bag.

“That’s right.” The robber’s guns gleamed in the lamplight as he waved them at Tom. “Fill the sack, boy. Do it and I’ll let you live.”

Anna took a tiny step back. She felt Mandy’s tight hold on her skirts, felt the child pressing hard against the backs of her knees. She needed to get her daughter as far away from that gun as she could.

“Not so fast.” Almost laughing, that voice.

She studied the broad brim of the sweat-stained hat, the dust marks on the bandanna, the fine cloth of the robber’s shirt and trousers. Blue eyes met hers.

For one brief moment she thought she was looking into the eyes of a man she’d almost married. It hadn’t worked out between them. Could never work out. He wasn’t fond of children, and she wanted a large family. She wanted to give Mandy brothers and sisters to play with.

“I want the reticule, too.”

Oh, her nicest one. Anna’s heart sank. She unwound the string handle from her left wrist. Nothing of value was inside, just a small comb, a few hairpins and Mandy’s favorite hair ribbon. Not much to lose, considering.

Tom reached into his drawer and piled crisp bills on the counter. Anna dropped her reticule into the robber’s sack. Mandy stumbled, clutching Anna’s skirts. She laid a hand to steady the child. She did not like that this armed outlaw was only a few inches away from her daughter.

He watched her, watched all of them. She heard the tick of the clock on the wall, the rattle of old Mr. Fletcher’s watch chain as he stood in line, the squeak of the outlaw’s left boot when he shifted his weight.

“Hurry up,” he threatened Tom, waving his guns. He moved and again his boot squeaked.

Anna felt a prickle along the back of her neck, felt the cold knowledge low in her stomach. She cast her gaze downward and saw the shiny leather boots, brown and highly polished, scuffed along the left toe where he’d caught it on her sister’s loose porch step.

The man behind the mask, the man with the guns and the familiar blue eyes and voice was none other than Dalton Jennings. Her breath caught. She had to be wrong. Dalton was the shenff, a leader of the town.

A clatter of metal against the counter broke through her thoughts. The robber—no, Dalton Jennings—snatched up the half-full sack. He held it out, walking down the aisle, accepting watches, wallets and reticules, scaring one old widow woman out of her ruby wedding ring.

Anna had never felt so afraid. It was Dalton. She recognized his walk, a slight limp in his left leg from a once badly injured knee.

“Count to one hundred before anyone steps outside.” The second robber joined him, two huge money bags in hand. Together they pushed out the door. “I have an armed man hidden across the street to make sure you all know how to count.”

Anna tried to think what to do. Then the robber’s gaze latched on to hers. Her heart fell. Sweat broke out beneath the brim of her bonnet. Recognition thudded in the air, heavy like thunder. Dalton Jennings’ eyes narrowed, his gaze sharp on hers. A sensation passed between them.

Did he know that she recognized him? Fear tasted coppery in her mouth. Like a deer caught in a rifle’s sight, she waited.

Then Jennings strode away with his money. The door snapped closed. The bank owner and Tom rushed around making sure their patrons were safe. Mandy cried and Anna held her, debating what to do. No doubt the town sheriff would show up soon, dressed in his black trousers and black vest, sporting his tin badge, wearing those boots with the scuff mark on the left toe.

How could she face Dalton when he returned as the sheriff? Anna rocked Mandy, cradled the girl tight in her arms. Thank heavens she still had her money, tucked out of sight against her wrist.

The men robbing banks and stagecoaches in the Ruby Range area had killed before. People who could identify them, be they men, women or children. What would Dalton do to her when he returned?

She would go home and think of what to do.

Chapter One

“Bumpy, Mama.”

“I know, pumpkin.” Anna ached at the sight of exhaustion pinching Mandy’s button face, bruising the skin beneath her big blue eyes. “The stagecoach driver said we’ll be in Flint Creek before suppertime.”

The three-year-old sighed. Suppertime was so far away. Knowing just how she felt, Anna took the child on her lap and hugged her tight until she smiled.

Anna hadn’t dared to relax since their desperate flight from home. Was Dalton already on her trail?

But with each passing mile, Anna breathed easier. This was the third day of travel and no sign of trouble. Did she dare to hope that Jennings wasn’t following? Maybe, just maybe, she and Mandy were safe after all.

But despite her hopes, the worry tight in her stomach didn’t ease. Dalton wasn’t a man to forget.

“Too tight, Mama,” Mandy complained.

Anna loosened her hold on the child. What would happen to the little girl should Jennings find them?

The first sound of trouble came as a gunshot from outside the stage. The second was the scream of a horse. Was it Dalton? Fear pumped through her veins. The stage rocked fiercely to the right side, then limped to a stop.

What should she do? How could she protect Mandy? She glanced at the other travelers seated beside her and across the aisle. Would they help her? The banker who boarded the stage at Dillon mopped sweat from his brow with a monogrammed handkerchief. He didn’t look armed. But the ruffian seated beside him, who smelled of stale cigarette smoke and whiskey, hauled out a highly polished revolver.

“Don’t you worry, ma’am,” he said through gritted teeth. “I won’t let those no-good bandits do you harm.”

“Thank you, sir.” The gun looked deadly. Thank heavens he was on her side.

The stage door burst open. Anna choked, unable to scream. A masked man fired a gun. The passenger fired, then slumped over. Burly arms tossed the brave man and his gun on the dusty road.

They’d killed him. Shock washed through her. Anna couldn’t breathe. What was to become of them? She heard voices outside the stalled stage. They were laughing.

Laughing. How dare they? No one had the right to take joy in an innocent man’s death. Hot rage tore through her midsection. She’d seen just about enough of men’s violent ways.

“Get out,” a gruff voice ordered from the doorway.

Anna swung her reticule. It smacked the aimed revolver from the outlaw’s hand to the floor at her feet. “Stop this killing right now.”

Shock rounded his eyes. “Lady—”

“I said, enough.” She pushed at the scruffy brute’s chest. No one should be hurt because Dalton wanted her. “Where is he?”

A brutish laugh. “What kind of woman do we have here? I like a lady with some fight.”

Why was he laughing? Anna took one look at the cold glitter in the outlaw’s eyes, and her courage wavered.

Three other robbers stood on the road behind him, armed and mean-looking. They weren’t Jennings’ men. And now she’d made them angry. What would they do?

“This is the first thing I intend to take from you.” Cruel blue eyes laughed at her over the edge of a dirty red bandanna.

She gasped as the masked man tore the cloth bag from her wrist. A snap of pain bit her skin. Her money! This time it wasn’t tucked away in her sleeve. What was left of her life’s saving was dug out of the now ragged reticule.

A twisted gleam sparked in the villain’s eyes. “I’ll be back for more from you.”

He gave her a shove. Anna’s knees buckled and she lost her balance. Her shoulder slammed into the side of the coach. She hit the ground hard, tasting dust. Already the outlaw was reaching into the coach, sunlight glinting off the nose of his revolver. Mandy was in there, defenseless.

“No!” Anna launched forward, stumbled, then found her feet. She grabbed at the outlaw, pulling at his shirt. “Leave her alone. She’s my child. She—”

A gunshot split the air. Then another. She felt a fiery pain. Blood fell across her sleeve. Was she shot?

“Come here, little girl,” the blue-eyed outlaw cooed. “I won’t hurt ya.”

“No!” Anna hit him hard with her shoulder, trying to knock him aside. “Don’t you touch her.”

The outlaw spun from the coach and raised his hand. She saw the blow coming. He struck her face hard enough to make her ears ring. The pain seemed distant. It was nothing compared to her fear for Mandy. She dropped to her knees. Dizziness spun through her head. Tears stung her eyes as she pulled herself to her feet. She would stop that villain. She would protect her child.

Then voices filled the air. She looked up, confused. She heard shouts of “It’s the law!” and “Jed, where’s my mare?” and “the gold, it’s getting away!” and then “Run!” Gunfire popped as she jumped to her feet. Already the outlaw had run from the stage, leaving Mandy untouched inside.

“Looks like the law’s here.” The banker climbed out, his voice low, sweat beading on his forehead. “She’s scared but all right. You’d better take cover, ma’am.”

“After I get my daughter.” She had to shout over the gunfire. “Don’t wait for us. Those rocks over there should shelter you.”

Horses thundered past. Guns fired so close, it hurt her ears. A stray bullet lodged into the side of the coach. She had to hurry. She reached through the doorway. “Come, grab my hand.”

She saw a peaked face, eyes wide with fright. Mandy crawled off the seat. “That’s right.” Anna leaned forward and caught the child’s hand.

Then the stage rocked hard. Small fingers clutched hers and held tight, then were wrenched from her grip. The stage shot forward. The frame slammed into her jaw and cheek, then her shoulder, knocking her to the ground.

“Mandy!” She held the child’s glove in her hand. Cold horror washed over her as the driverless stage rattled up the road. In a flash she saw the danger, all that could happen. She leaped to her feet, already running hard. “Mandy. Jump!”

Gunfire, bullets and mounted riders swirled around her. She kept running. She had to get to Mandy before something happened. Before the stage crashed or tumbled over the narrow edge of the trail and down the mountain.

Air wheezed out of her lungs. Pain slashed through her side. She was almost there. Almost gaining. Every step brought her closer to catching hold of the boot and climbing aboard. Every step brought her closer to saving her daughter. She reached out and just missed the heavy leather strap holding the luggage to the rear of the coach. She reached again.

One back wheel hit a boulder. The vehicle careened to one side and skidded sideways. She watched in horror as the front right wheel struck another boulder. The stage rolled over and landed on its top, hesitating at the edge of the road. It tottered, then tumbled forward.

“No!” Anna skidded down the embankment, flew down the edge of the mountain. Rocks cascaded beneath her feet. She slid, went down. Pain skidded up her leg when she crashed into a low scrubby pine.

Breathing hard, she broke free and kept running. All she could see was the stage, rolling end over end, falling apart each time it struck the ground. An axle broke with a crash. Two wheels flew through the air and hit the ground rolling. A door came off. The vehicle hit the earth so hard, the sound of the impact cracked like thunder across the face of the mountainside.

And Mandy was inside. Anna had to get to her. She tasted the grit of dust and dirt in her mouth, felt them in her eyes. Her feet gave out beneath her, and she skidded on loose rock and earth. Time stood still as she watched, her heartbeat frozen. The stage rolled over the edge of a cliff and out of sight.

No sound of impact, just the eerie silence of falling. No. It couldn’t be. She couldn’t lose her daughter, her whole heart. Anna fought for balance, but the earth beneath her feet gave way. Rocks and gravel and bits of stubby grass tumbled ahead of her. She saw the bright sheen of the sun flash in her eyes.

She scrambled, struggling for any purchase, any solid tree root or boulder that would stop her fall. She had to save Mandy. She would not let her daughter die.

“Sheriff, Corinthos is getting away.”

Cooper spun his palomino and headed toward the snowy ridge. His deputies could take care of the robbers, but he wanted Corinthos, the leader of the gang. He was sick of the killing and carnage in this part of the county. It was his job and his responsibility to end it.

The outlaw swung his gelding around and fired.

Cooper shot back. A direct hit. Corinthos’ gloved left hand covered his shoulder, blood seeping between his fingers. Shock lined his dirt-smudged face as he slipped from the saddle.

Got him. Cooper felt grim satisfaction as he cocked the Colt, ready in case the outlaw drew on him again. He drove his mount closer to the fallen man. A woman’s cry of distress and then a crack of wood breaking spun him around. A woman?

Before he could contemplate that, he caught sight of the six runaway horses, still harnessed, dragging the dangerously tipping stage around the bend in the road. Cooper kicked his stallion into a gallop just as the harness broke apart. The coach tumbled over the edge.

The woman, blond hair flying, screaming as she ran, jumped feet first down the dangerous mountainside and out of sight. Crazy woman. Whatever she had in the stage wasn’t more valuable than her life. Flint Creek Mountain was a place of cliffs and sheer edges.

Gunfire drew his attention, remmded him of why he was here in the first place—to bring in Corinthos and put an end to his gang’s violence. But the sight of the desperate woman tugged at him. He was responsible for her life, too, responsible to help her if he could.

Resigned to fighting Corinthos another time, Cooper galloped after her. “Hey, lady.”

She didn’t answer. Gunfire popped behind him as he loped his mount along the road’s edge. His stomach fell at the sight of a woman tumbling down toward the edge of a cliff, a sheer drop of a hundred feet, maybe more. It was hard to tell from where he sat.

She was in trouble. There was no doubt about that. He reached for his rope, trying to judge how best to save her. Then he spotted a little pink bonnet crushed and torn, lying amid the splintered fragments from the stage. Was a child was in that stage? No wonder the woman was frantic.

Cooper drove his stallion off the road and down the mountainside. The great palomino struggled to stay afoot, crashing through the low brush and along unstable earth. Cooper stood in his stirrups, leaned back and loosened the noose with one hand. He couldn’t see the stagecoach, lost somewhere over the edge of the cliff. But he could see the woman sliding feet first to a stop. Thank God. He could catch her in time. He swung the rose, once, twice. But before he could throw, the ground broke apart beneath the woman and she fell straight down the cliff.

The earth could very well give out beneath him, too, but Cooper drove his mount harder. He tasted dust and the sharp scent of pine. He saw the danger ahead, heard the crash of the stage as it came to rest somewhere out of sight. Heard the woman’s voice shriek her child’s name with such agony, it tore at his heart.

Cooper drew his stallion to a halt. He could see the wrecked stage a good fifty feet below, hung up on an outcropping of pines, and the woman, holding tight to a root. The earth beneath them was sheer granite. So barren and hard not even weeds grew there. To fall would mean death.

“Hold on, lady.” He slung the lariat over his neck and knelt down. He caught her by the wrist, holding her tight. “Let’s get you safe.”

“But my daughter—”

He lifted the woman onto the cliff’s edge beside him. “Don’t worry. I’m going to go down and get her.”

“Her name is Mandy.” Blood streaked the woman’s torn dress, scrapes from her fall, no doubt. Panic rang in her voice. “She’s only three years old. She has to be hurt. I want to go down with you.”

He secured the rope to the closest tree, a sturdy pine. “This rope can’t hold both of our weights. I only have the one rope.”

“But she’s my little girl.”

Her blue gaze met his, and he saw her fear, felt the determination as strong as this mountain. He knew what love felt like, the all-encompassing affection for a child. He had to admire her for that.

Fine, he had a soft spot for caring mothers. “You just stay here, ma’am. I promise I’ll take real good care of your girl.”

“I think I can hear her crying. Surely that means she’s not hurt too badly, if she can cry.”

“I sure hope so.” He eased himself over the cliff, hand over hand. Sweat broke out on his forehead, on his back. He wasn’t afraid of outlaws and gun battles, but heights terrified him.

He stared hard at the craggy granite in front of him and didn’t look down. Hand over hand. Just a few more feet. He reached what was left of the stage, a smashed wooden cage missing more parts than he could count. He spotted a scrap of pink. He reached inside and brought up a small child, sputtering and bloody. She was the tiniest thing, all gold hair and pink ruffles.