A Bride for James Read online

  A Bride for James

  Proxy Brides, Book 15

  P. Creeden

  Contents

  A Bride for James

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  A Bride for Henry

  Promise of Home

  Brokken Rising

  Brokken Pursuit

  A Bride for James © 2019 P. Creeden

  Cover by Virginia McKevitt

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Sign up for my newsletter to receive information about

  new releases, contests and giveaways.

  http://subscribepage.com/pcreedenbooks

  A Bride for James

  A boxer who’s tired of fighting. A persecuted woman with an unwanted suitor. A marriage neither of them want, but both desperately need.

  James Fisher is Champion of the Kansas City Pugilist Society, but it's a title he doesn't wear proudly. When the man he won the last match with dies overnight from his injuries, James doesn't want to see good people hurt for sport. The only problem is that his contract with the Pugilist Society remains in effect until death or marriage.

  But who wants to marry a bruised and broken boxer?

  When Abigail Lee's house is foreclosed on, she's left desolate but not alone. Her best friend, a former slave, is willing to allow her to live with them. But the people in town don't like her living situation, and an unwanted suitor comes knocking on the door, making threats. Abby doesn't want anyone to be hurt on her account but feels stuck between the frying pan and the fire until Cecilia comes up with a plan.

  This is a short, clean and wholesome, American western historical romance. The 15th in The Proxy Bride Series. Each book is a stand-alone HEA romance and can be read in no particular order.

  Chapter One

  August 1866, Suffolk Virginia

  Abby

  “Abigail Lee, what is wrong with you? Can’t you see I’m making you the best offer you’re going to get?” Jud Howard took hold of Abby’s arm and leaned toward her with a sinister smile, stinking of something foul and liquor. “With your pa and your brother both not coming home after the War, you’re alone in this world. And I’m offering you a home and a good marriage.”

  The sun sat low on the horizon in the west, casting long shadows across the dirt road in Suffolk. Cicadas sang their song in the trees nearby. A warm summer breeze licked the sweat from Abby’s forehead. She narrowed her eyes at Jud, putting as much fire into them as possible, hoping that not only him, but the whole town might know her displeasure. “Even if I spend the rest of my life living alone and on the street, I would never marry you, Jud Howard.” And with that, she snatched her arm out of his hand and slapped him once across the cheek, his grimy beard leaving her bare hand with an oily feel.

  Bile rose up, and she withdrew her handkerchief and wiped the palm of her hand.

  Jud Howard blinked at the woman. He took a step toward her, lifting his arm, but his younger brother stepped forward and grabbed him. The younger Howard brother shook his head. “Forgive Jud. He’s been a bit deep in the whisky.”

  Jud yanked his arm from his brother and then spat toward Abby’s feet. “Ain’t nobody gonna want a woman like you anyway. Ugly both inside and out. And nobody in Suffolk gonna want a wife whose brother and pa both sympathized with the Union. If I find you living on the street, I’ll be sure to kick dirt your way.”

  “Lovely Christian attitude, Mr. Howard. Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

  Hands gripped Abby’s arm, and she began to rip her arm free and round on the person who’d touched her when she realized it was her best friend, Cecilia. Cecilia lifted a brow and shook her head once; her dark eyes held all the warning Abby needed to realize that she was making a mistake. Cecilia had always had that power over her. Abby let out a slow breath and nodded toward her friend. She glared back at Jud Howard, who was already being dragged back toward the tavern she’d had the misfortune of needing to pass on a Friday afternoon.

  She let Cecilia lead her back toward home, though it was hard to see west when the sun sat so low. Her hands fell into their habit of twisting on her handkerchief. “The nerve of that man, Cecilia. As if I would marry into the Howard family. As if I would marry a miscreant like him. I’d sooner starve.”

  “Be careful what you wish for. You can’t keep going like this, Miss Abby.”

  Abby stopped in her tracks and turned toward her friend. “You are not a slave, Cecilia. The war is over. You don’t need to call me Miss. Just Abby. You’ve done more than earn the right to.”

  Cecilia’s eyebrow lifted again. “Right. You know that, and I know that, but most of this town don’t care much about the fact the war’s over. They might not own me or my brothers and sisters anymore, but they have no intention of treating us as equals. If some of them folks hear me calling you by only your given name, I’ll get an earful.”

  “Let them give you one then,” Abby said with a sigh. “It’s the only way anyone in this town is going to learn. You and your folks deserve respect. The more often they see y’all acting from your new position, the more they will grow accustomed to it.”

  “Easier said than done, Miss Abby.”

  A frown tugged at Abby’s lip. “You sure are a stubborn one, Cecilia.”

  Her friend huffed a laugh. “That’s the pot talking to the kettle.”

  The two of them had always been peas in a pod. Abby’s mama had taught most of their servants to read and write, even if it was illegal, and at the beginning of the war effort, her father had been the first to free his slaves. Cecilia was more of a friend to her than a servant.

  The twosome made their way up the magnolia-lined path back to Abby’s farm. But the setting sun reflected on something shiny up ahead. Abby squinted at it, trying to figure out what could possibly be sitting in her front yard that would shine the sun’s rays back at her and down the path. But as she drew closer, her stomach flipped. “Is that my vanity?”

  Unbidden, her feet began to jog toward her house. It wasn’t just her vanity that sat in the front yard, but several pieces of her furniture, and the culprit was pulling out a wool stuffed mattress as she ran up. Thieves?

  “Wait! What are you doing? Stop this instant or I’ll call the sheriff.”

  The man on the front porch stopped what he was doing, pulling off his hat and wiping the sweat from his brow. “The sheriff is inside, drinking tea. This here is his house now.”

  Abby’s eyes went wide. “What are you talking about? This is my house!”

  The man on the porch nodded toward Cecilia, a wordless conversation seeming to pass be
tween the two of them. Abby shot a gaze toward her friend. Cecilia’s brow furrowed as her frown deepened. “What’s going on, Cousin Derrick?”

  With a sheepish glance toward Abby, Derrick said, “The house has been foreclosed on and sold at auction. The sheriff was high bidder. Everything in the house is now his. He said that I could take this stuff and do with it what I wanted, ’cause it’s too girly for him.”

  Abby’s jaw dropped as her stomach flipped. “Foreclosed? But I had until the end of the month to make a payment.”

  “It’s the first of August, Miss Abby.” Derrick nodded and swiped the sweat from his temple. “If you have any questions, you’ll need to take it up with the bank.”

  The first? How did the month go by so fast? So many thoughts went through Abby’s head, but none of them made any sense. Dizziness overcame her. Finally, when her eyes met Cecilia’s, they found a place of stillness. “What am I going to do?”

  Cecilia came over and wrapped her arm around her shoulders. “We’ll get through this. We’ll figure something out. Don’t get too upset. You’ll stay with me and Momma June until we get this sorted.”

  The warmth of Cecilia’s embrace should have been too much considering the heat of the day, but right now, Abby felt a chill all the way down to her bones. She needed the feeling of her best friend’s touch and the promise her words held. She looked longingly at her furniture. “What about my things?”

  Cecilia gave her arm a squeeze. “God will take care of them. They are Derrick’s now. Derrick, will you send over Miss Abby’s clothing at least?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Derrick’s voice called out, but Abby couldn’t spare him a glance.

  Mosquitoes buzzed around her face, but she didn’t feel she had enough energy to even swat them away. The sun had dipped below the horizon so that only the last bit of gray light cast over what used to be her yard. Cecilia guided her back down the magnolia-lined path. Abby knew that she shouldn’t have been surprised that this had happened. Even though she tried to push the possibility out of her mind, she’d been in town that day, selling what trinkets she could part with, in order to get more money to potentially save the house. It had been a foolishly weak endeavor. She still had her purse with the money she’d collected from the pawning of her things over the past two weeks. She should have parted with more things, because now everything was gone. If only she’d started pawning earlier, then she could have made the payment. But if she were honest with herself, all she had been doing was delaying the inevitable. If she had been honest with herself, this was the only outcome for her.

  But sometimes it was easier to believe the lie that everything was going to turn out all right.

  By they time they’d reached Momma June’s house, night had completely fallen. Momma June welcomed them with open arms, and after Cecilia had told her what had happened, assured Abby that she could stay with them if she needed. Guilt settled around Abby like a blanket. She couldn’t rely on the kindness of strangers for long. All her bravado crumbled to pieces around her. Maybe she needed to take Jud Howard up on his proposal of marriage.

  She dry-heaved. The very thought of letting that man touch her and make her his own was not something she could stomach. What was she going to do?

  Chapter Two

  Kansas City Missouri

  James

  Sweat dripped from James Fisher’s face, even though the fight had not yet begun. He didn’t think he could do this. Black spots crowded his vision, and a ringing began in his ears. He could barely hear the crowd around him as they yelled and hollered—some cheering him on, while others cursed him and hoped he’d lose. The ring master stood in the middle of the hardwood floor of the saloon, while the crowd made a ring around them. He introduced the man who James was supposed to fight. “May I present to you... Rowdy Roddy Driskill!”

  The crowd cheered.

  Fredrick slapped James’s cheeks lightly, bringing James back to the present. “Keep it together or you’re going to get yourself killed,” Fredrick growled in a low tone that only James could hear.

  “You’re right.” James shook the cobwebs from his head. He needed to keep the past in the past and not hold back. If he did, it would only land him on the ground.

  The announcer continued. “And the champion, James ‘the Shark’ Fisher!”

  Cheering and hollers commenced—even louder than they had been for the challenger. James bit down hard on his back teeth. Why was he doing this? Champion of Kansas City’s Pugilist Society? What a folly.

  Then the bell rang, and James’s muscle memory took over. He leapt forward, toward his opponent. He dodged a jab, his heart racing in his chest. But it wasn’t just from the usual excitement. It was more. The black spots returned. He shook his head again. A jab-cross came his direction, and he leapt back to keep the punches from striking his face, but then a body blow hit him in the side. He winced against the pain.

  At least the pain made the black spots recede, and he could see again. But it was too late, an uppercut came out of nowhere and slammed into his jaw. His teeth clacked together, and the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. Stars danced in his vision. He stumbled but righted himself and shook his head another time. Again, the muscle memory took over, and he found himself throwing a punch. But when he realized what he was doing, he pulled back, slowing down his right hook enough that his opponent easily dodged it and then landed a hook of his own to James’s temple.

  This time, everything went black, and the ringing in his ears began again. Shouts barely made it past his senses. Then he felt a blow to the back of his head. Had his opponent really struck him in the back of his head? No. The object that had hit him was still there. It remained touching his head... and his shoulders. It was cool to the touch. The floor. He’d hit the floor. He still couldn’t see anything. He blinked and turned and tried to get up, but his body wasn’t listening to him. Stars danced in the darkness before his eyes, and slowly light was allowed through. The ringing in his ears abated. He blinked through it, but his vision was still foggy as he saw the ringmaster lift the arm of his opponent, declaring, “Meet your new champion!”

  James tripped over a man’s leg as Fredrick guided him from the saloon. He stumbled, but Fredrick’s hands grabbed hold of his shoulders, and he’d kept him from falling to the floor. But it didn’t matter. The man who’d stuck his leg out stood over them both and spat at James’s feet, leaving brown tobacco spittle on James’s shoe. Tipping back his hat, the man gave a smirk. “You lost me ten dollars today. How you going to pay that back?”

  Fredrick stood in front of James, pushing a finger toward the stranger’s face. Fredrick stood three inches taller than James’s six feet and was wider then him by three more. His dark skin made him even more imposing, like a giant shadow. He towered over the stranger. “No one told you to bet on him. Your loss is your loss. Leave the man be.”

  For a moment, the stranger just glared at Fredrick. Then he bent around Fredrick to look at James. “How did you ever get to be the champ when you’re busy hiding behind your boy’s skirt?”

  Heat rose to James’s face. He pushed on Fredrick’s arm as he came to his friend’s side. “He’s not my boy. Fredrick is his own man. The war is over and there are no slaves. You need to get that through your thick skull.”

  The man puffed up. “You gonna put it there? Why don’t we take this outside? Why don’t you prove to me that you ever deserved the title of champ?”

  Fredrick growled. He put his hands on the stranger’s shoulders and pushed him back down into the chair the man had vacated. The man’s eyes grew wide, and his face paled. Fredrick bent down so he was eye level with him. “Sit down and have a drink, sir. No need to make things violent. We don’t want any violence, now, do we?”

  Slowly, the man shook his head.

  James half-wondered if the man would lose control of his facilities. He fought the urge to laugh. Fredrick was a scary man. His formidable size and color weren’t the only things that made him a
force to be reckoned with. His canine teeth protruded and looked like fangs, and when he growled and glared, he looked about as fierce as any animal. Fredrick straightened and clapped his hands together.

  He rounded on the whole table. “Goodnight, gentleman. Have a lovely evening,” he said, and ushered James back out the door.

  The air hadn’t started turning colder yet, but with the sun down for the night, the heat of the day withdrew, leaving behind a comfortable temperature for walking. Overhead, stars scattered across the night sky. James took a deep breath and filled his lungs. Then he coughed; the air in Kansas City wasn’t as clean as he’d have liked. “I need to get out of this town and find someplace to live in the country. I can’t fight anymore.”

  Fredrick huffed. “Like I couldn’t tell. You’r heart’s not in it. If you keep it up, you’re liable to get hurt.”

  “There’s the former champion,” Mason Mercer’s voice ground out from behind them.

  Both turned about as Mercer dropped his cigarette on the ground and stepped on it. As head of the Kansas City Pugilist Society, Mercer looked like a former boxer himself—a bulldog of a man. He tipped the derby back on off his brow and stared hard at James. Fredrick stepped back and to the side. If this came to blows, his friend wouldn’t likely get involved this time. James’s hands fisted. “Hello, Mercer.”

  Mercer lifted a brow. “Hello? That’s what you have to say to me?”