The Blushing Bride Read online

  “Stubborn? Me?”

  Jason stepped inside and pushed the door shut. “You’re the most hardheaded woman I’ve ever met. And pushy, too.”

  “Pushy!”

  “Yeah, pushy. You keep sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong and isn’t wanted.”

  Amanda drew herself up to her greatest height, though it was woefully short of his. “Somebody on this mountain wrote that letter to me, Mr. Kruger. Somebody wants brides up here. You’d better face that fact.”

  He pointed his finger at her. “I can tell you this, Miss Pierce, when I find out who wrote that letter, I’m going to fire that man so fast, he won’t know what hit him.”

  “Oh! You pigheaded man!” Amanda jerked her chin. “Don’t worry. I’m leaving for good. I won’t be back, and you’ll never hear from me again. You’ll have your precious mountain all to yourself. I hope it keeps you warm at night…!

  Dear Reader,

  The perfect complement to a hot summer day is a cool drink, some time off your feet and a good romance novel. And we have four terrific stories this month for you to choose from!

  We are delighted with the return of Judith Stacy, who is known for her satisfying, often humorous, Americana romances. She has outdone herself with The Blushing Bride, a darling tale set in the mountains of California. When Amanda Pierce, who runs a matrimonial service, receives a letter from the owner of a logging company looking for a mail-order bride, she travels to his mountain determined to match not one but several of her brides with the lonely loggers. What she doesn’t count on is being “felled” herself—by the handsome boss!

  In Jake’s Angel, by newcomer Nicole Foster, an embittered—and wounded—Texas Ranger on the trail of a notorious outlaw winds up in a small New Mexican town and is healed, emotionally and physically, by a beautiful widow. Jillian Hart brings us a wonderful Medieval, Malcolm’s Honor, in which a ruthless knight discovers a lasting passion for the feisty noblewoman he is forced to marry.

  And don’t miss Lady of Lyonsbridge, the emotional sequel to Lord of Lyonsbridge by Ana Seymour. In the latest novel, a marriage-shy heiress falls for an honorable knight who comes to her estate on his way to pay a kidnapped king’s ransom.

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

  Sincerely,

  Tracy Farrell

  Senior Editor

  JUDITH STACY

  The Blushing Bride

  Available from Harlequin Historicals and JUDITH STACY

  Outlaw Love #360

  The Marriage Mishap #382

  The Heart of a Hero #444

  The Dreammaker #486

  Written in the Heart #500

  The Blushing Bride #521

  Contents

  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

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter One

  California, 1886

  Was it too late to run?

  Amanda Pierce eyed the freight wagon and its driver across the street from her hotel, and considered turning tail and heading back to San Francisco. Back to clean sheets. Back to gentlemen of good breeding. Back home.

  She drew in a deep breath and glimpsed her reflection in the cracked mirror in the corner of the hotel lobby. Blue gown, matching hat set in dark curls, kid shoes. She looked completely out of place in this wide-open, raucous little town of Beaumont at the base of the Sierra Nevada Mountains.

  Back in San Francisco this had seemed like a good idea, but now…

  Amanda watched her reflection in the mirror and forced herself to square her shoulders and stand a little straighter. True, she wasn’t well-traveled. She wasn’t wise to the ways of the world. But she was twenty-four years old, with enough good sense to accomplish this difficult trip and keep herself safe in the process. Didn’t that count for something? Of course it did.

  Fortified now, Amanda ventured onto the boardwalk, careful to avoid the miners and loggers who passed, men in soiled work clothes with unkempt beards. She eyed the freight wagon from the Kruger Brothers’ Lumber and Milling Company across the street. It was the reason she’d come to Beaumont and spent two days in the hotel, watching for its arrival.

  Now it was here. Amanda pushed her chin a little higher, drawing up her courage. She could do this. She had to.

  That thought carried Amanda across the dirt street, darting between teams of horses and mules, and big rumbling wagons.

  “Excuse me, sir?” she called to the driver as she reached the safety of the boardwalk.

  His back was to her as he oversaw the loading of supplies into the Kruger wagon. A bear of a man, he wore stained buckskins and a slouch hat yanked down over his unruly gray hair.

  Amanda ventured closer. “Sir? Excuse me?”

  He half turned, squinting hard at her. “You talking to me, lady?”

  Up close his face was like cracked leather, dried and hardened by the elements—at least, the portion of his face Amanda could see above his tangled beard.

  “Are you Mr. Harper?” she asked. “Mr. Samuel Harper?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Who wants to know?”

  She gripped her handbag tighter. “I’m Miss Amanda Pierce, from San Francisco.”

  “Yeah, that’s me, all right,” he said, and hitched up his trousers. “’Cept ain’t nobody called me Samuel since last time I was at Sunday services, and I don’t rightly recall just how long ago that was. I go by Shady.”

  Amanda hoped he’d been given that nickname because of an affection for leafy trees and not as a testament to his character.

  “Mr. Harper, I’m seeking—”

  “Call me Shady.”

  Amanda managed a small smile. “Yes, certainly…Shady. As I was saying, I need transportation to the Kruger Brothers’ Lumber and Milling Company, and was told you could provide that.”

  Shady reared back and eyed her up and down. “You want to go up to the camp?”

  “Yes,” Amanda said.

  “Up on the mountain?”

  “Well, yes,” she said.

  “And you want me to take you up there?”

  “I was informed there was no other reliable transportation.” Amanda pulled a dog-eared envelope from her handbag. “Mr. Kruger assured me of your honesty, and instructed me to wait at the hotel until you arrived in town, then ride up to the lumber camp with you.”

  “Yeah, I make a run up and down the mountain every couple of days.” Shady stroked his long, ragged beard. “It was Jason Kruger that sent for you?”

  “Yes,” Amanda said. “He’s expecting me.”

  “You?”

  She drew in a little breath. “Yes, Mr. Harper, I—”

  “Shady.”

  “Shady.” Amanda cleared her throat and pressed the envelope closer toward him. “It’s all right here in his instructions.”

  “And you’re sure it was Jason Kruger that sent for you?” he asked. “’Cause, now, there’s two of them, you know. There’s Jason and there’s Ethan. They’re brothers.”

  Amanda pressed her lips together and waved toward the Kruge
r Brothers’ Lumber and Milling Company sign painted on the freight wagon in big red letters.

  “Yes, I’m aware they’re brothers.”

  “Now, Jason, he’s the oldest one, but not by much, as I hear tell,” Shady said. “He’s the one what runs things up on the mountain, you know.”

  “I do know that Mr.—Shady,” Amanda said. “I have business with Mr. Kruger. He wrote and asked me to come here.”

  “Business, huh?” Shady shrugged and turned back to the wagon. “Well, okay by me, I reckon. I’ll be pulling out of here pretty quick so as to get back to the camp before dark.”

  “I’ll get my bag from the hotel,” Amanda said.

  Shady turned to her once more. “If’n you’re real sure you want to meet up with Jason Kruger, that is.”

  Amanda’s stomach twisted into a knot as the old man squinted at her, and again she was tempted—very tempted—to head for home.

  “I’m sure,” Amanda said.

  She’d come too far to turn back now.

  “What’s wrong now?”

  Jason Kruger pulled his boots from the corner of his desk and rocked forward in his chair. He’d just finished his supper and didn’t like the intrusion of one of his men into his office at the end of the day.

  The Spartan room wasn’t much to look at with its rough-hewn walls, a couple of desks and cupboards, and a potbellied stove in the corner, but Jason liked the solitude after a hard day’s work. He wanted to look over his new journals, not deal with this man again.

  “What is it, Duncan?” Jason asked. “Spit it out.”

  The thin, wiry man lingering at the door pulled off his hat and twisted it in his hands.

  “Well, boss, I’m sorry to be a bother to you, but….” Duncan shifted from one foot to the other. “Well, my Gladys is having problems with that Polly Minton, and well, this time I—”

  Jason cursed and came to his feet. “I told you not to bring your wife here in the first place.”

  “Well, yeah, I know, but—”

  “No women in camp. That’s my rule. I told you.”

  “Yes, sir, and I appreciate you making an exception ’cause she’s my wife, and all, but—”

  “Trouble.” Jason cursed again. “Women are nothing but trouble. They don’t belong here. I’ve got no use for women in a logging camp.”

  Duncan twisted his hat tighter in his hands. “Yes, boss, I know that, and I’m beholden to you, but—”

  “I told you when you brought her here that you were responsible for her,” Jason said. “I want no part of it. You got problems, you handle them.”

  “Yes, sir, I know you said that, but, well…” Duncan ventured closer to the desk. “My Gladys and Polly Minton are fighting something fierce. I tried to settle it, I swear I did, but Polly’s took it into her head that Gladys stole from her and they’ve been going at it all day now. You got to help me, Mr. Kruger, you got to.”

  Jason fumed silently, staring at the little man. Duncan was a good worker, nimble and surefooted in his job herding the great logs down the river to the millpond. He’d been loyal too. Turnover in the logging camps was high, but Duncan had stuck around. The only trouble he’d ever caused was bringing his wife here with him.

  And now she’d been accused of stealing. Jason wouldn’t tolerate theft in the camp. He needed order and discipline among his crew to bring down the giant redwoods and Douglas firs, get them out of the rugged mountains, run them through the sawmill and send them off to market.

  He couldn’t let a theft go unpunished. Female or not, he needed to put a stop to this.

  Jason blew out his breath, tapping off some of his anger.

  “All right, Duncan, I’ll take care of it,” he said.

  “I’m beholden to you, boss, I am.” Duncan eased out the door. “I’ll go get my Gladys. That Miz Minton is here, too. I’ll fetch them both. They’re right outside.”

  “Women.” Jason pulled on the back of his neck and dropped into his chair again. Bad enough dealing with the problems his crew created. Fights, mostly. A shooting every once in a while. Disagreements between his men could be settled quickly. But women…

  Jason mumbled another curse.

  The office door opened and Polly Minton and Gladys Duncan walked inside. Jason knew them both. He knew everybody in his logging camp and in the tiny town that had sprung up on its outskirts.

  They were both big women. Jason was over six feet tall and Gladys could just about look him square in the eye. Polly ran the laundry and had scrubbed up some mighty impressive arm muscles.

  Duncan eased between the women, still twisting his hat.

  “Now, Mr. Kruger here, he’s agreed to hear you both out,” Duncan said, “and he’s going to settle this thing once and for all.”

  Gladys and Polly glared at each other, then turned to Jason.

  “All right,” Jason said. “Tell me what happened. You go first, Mrs. Minton.”

  Polly Minton squared her shoulders, enjoying her moment.

  “I was just doing the neighborly thing, the Christian thing,” Polly said. “I invited Gladys over to my house a few days ago and we sat a spell before I had to get supper going. Then today I dropped by her place—just to be neighborly—and sitting right there on her windowsill, pretty as you please, there it was.”

  Jason frowned. “What?”

  “She stole it!” Polly said.

  “I did no such thing!” Gladys shouted.

  “Stole what?” Jason asked.

  “Look here. See for yourself. I brought it along for evidence.” Polly pulled back the cloth cover on the small hamper she’d carried into the office with her. She lifted out a half-eaten apple pie.

  “I sneaked me a bite of this pie when Gladys wasn’t looking,” Polly said. “It’s my recipe. No two ways about it, Gladys Duncan stole me apple pie recipe!”

  “I did no such thing!” Gladys declared.

  “A pie recipe?” Jason got to his feet and turned to Duncan. “You’ve got me involved in this over some damn pie recipe?”

  Polly gasped. “That recipe has been in my family for generations. It’s a treasure.”

  “Some treasure!” Gladys tossed her head.

  Jason pointed at Duncan. “I ought to fire you right now.”

  He twisted his hat. “But Mr. Kruger—”

  “She stole it while my back was turned,” Polly said. “Stole it because she’s jealous of my cooking.”

  Gladys planted her hands on her ample hips. “You’re the jealous one. Jealous because everybody loves my roast chicken.” Gladys turned to Jason. “She’s been after my secret ingredients ever since I came here.”

  Polly gasped. “That’s a lie!”

  “It is not! You’re the jealous one!”

  Jason waved his arms. “All right, now, hold it down.”

  “It’s my recipe! I tasted my special ingredients the minute it touched my lips! And Gladys stole it from me! Taste it for yourself, Mr. Kruger. You’ll see.” Polly shoved the pie toward him.

  “Mr. Kruger doesn’t want to taste your ol’ pie!” Gladys reached for the pie, bumped the plate and jarred it from Polly’s hand. It landed with a thud on Jason’s desk. Apples splattered across his papers, over his shirt and down his trousers.

  There was a collective gasp, then a tense silence filled the office. Jason looked down at the gooey pie clinging to his clothing.

  “Where’s my gun?” he asked softly.

  Polly whimpered. Gladys groaned.

  Duncan pushed his way between the two women. “Now, Mr. Kruger, think about what you’re saying. You can’t really shoot these women.”

  “I’m not going to shoot them.” Jason lifted his head slowly. “I’m going to shoot you!”

  Gladys burst into tears.

  “Now, Mr. Kruger, you don’t want to go and do that.” Duncan wrung his hat fitfully.

  “Get these women out of here!” Jason pointed toward the door. “I don’t want to see another woman in my camp!”


  “But Mr. Kruger—”

  “No more women! Ever!”

  The office door opened and Shady Harper ambled inside.

  “What do you want, Shady?” Jason snarled.

  Shady took in the office with squinted eyes. “I brung you back something from town, boss.”

  His face brightened. “My package?”

  “Naw. Weren’t no mail today.”

  Jason’s frown returned. “Leave it outside, Shady.”

  “Don’t think I’d better do that.” Shady wiggled his fingers toward the door. “Come on in here.”

  A delicate fragrance drifted into the office seconds before a woman stepped inside, bringing a hush to the room and freezing Jason in place.

  She blinked up at him with big blue eyes. “Mr. Kruger? I’m Miss Amanda Pierce from San Francisco.”

  He scowled at her. “Yeah?”

  “I’m here at your request,” she said.

  “My request?”

  “Yes, Mr. Kruger. Your request for a wife.”

  Chapter Two

  “A wife!” Jason shouted.

  Amanda glanced around the room at the faces staring at her. “Really, Mr. Kruger, there’s no need to raise your voice.”

  “A wife?”

  She was tired from her long journey and a headache threatened from the bone-rattling trip up the mountain. This Mr. Kruger was testing the limits of her good manners.

  “Yes, Mr. Kruger, a—”

  “What about my pie recipe?” Polly demanded.

  “And what about her accusing me of stealing?” Gladys asked.

  Duncan wrung his hat. “Mr. Kruger, you got to settle this once and for all.”

  “Now look, all of you,” Jason said, “I don’t—”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Kruger.” Amanda leaned closer and lowered her voice. “You’ve spilled a little pie on your shirt.”

  The words just hung there for a moment between the two of them.

  “Thank you,” he finally said, grinding out the words between clenched teeth as if he hadn’t the least bit of appreciation for her helpful comment.

  He turned to the other women. “Now look, I don’t give a damn about whose pie recipe is whose, or who puts what into their roast chicken, or who stole what recipe. None of it amounts to a hill of ants and I don’t want to hear another word about it.”