Their Accidental Bride (Bridgewater Brides)

the fire was too big. All I could do was stand and watch helplessly as my blacksmith shop, the business I had worked tirelessly in for years, making it the best smithy around, was consumed by flames. I heard my father’s voice in my head. He’d said the same words to me so many times I knew them by heart. Don’t go getting above your station, boy. You’ll never be anything more than me. A poor copper miner, living in a rough shack. That’s all you’ll ever be. I’d been bound and determined to prove my father wrong. I wasn’t going to be a copper miner, spending my days below ground, never seeing the sun. Having just enough money to get by and sometimes not even that. Drowning my sorrows in moonshine every night. I wanted better than that. And I had it. Well I did have it once, I corrected myself. But I probably didn’t have it anymore. My livelihood was burning to the ground in front of my very eyes. We’d fought valiantly to save it; all the Bridgewater men had. We’d been fighting for what seemed like hours. And it wasn’t enough.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, there was the long, low rumble of thunder and the heavens opened, spewing down hail in a violent storm.

All around me, men cheered. They whistled, yelled and clapped. We were saved! Someone took my arm from behind and danced me around in a merry jig, a crazy celebration of a sudden spring hailstorm.

The hail was painful as it pelted us, little blocks of ice hitting our skin in a stinging kiss but I didn’t care. The hail was our savior! I watched, mesmerized, as the hail slowly extinguished the flames, leaving behind the smoldering ruins of what had once been my dream.

The hail storm was over as suddenly as it had begun and we stood around, triumphant. My smithy was mostly gone, but Bridgewater was safe. No lives had been lost. Tomorrow, when the ashes were cool, I would sift through the rubble and salvage what I could. My anvil, my forge, my tools. I would start again. I would have to – I had a wife now.

I looked around for Roscoe as the men slowly dispersed, back home to their own families now that the danger was over. When I was ready, they would help me rebuild but for now, they had done all they could do. Now I wanted to get back to Elise.

I found him at the edge of his corn field. The hail had been my fortune, but it was Roscoe’s tragedy. His crop was ruined. The corn was battered and bent, the harvest would be ruined.

He shook his head sadly as I approached. “All that work, gone. Elise will hate me now, just like my mother did my father. I won’t be good enough for her, not now that I have nothing to offer her.”

Anger flooded me. Elise was nothing like his parents! “Why don’t you let Elise be the judge of that?” I snapped at him, clenching my fists by my sides. I wanted to hit him, I was so mad. “None of this was your fault. Elise will know that.”

“Will she?”

“Yes.” I wanted to shake some sense into him, but I was afraid. I’d never seen Roscoe this despondent before, and I’d known him most of my life. What was wrong? Was he truly scared she would reject him?

“I’ll have to find her,” he mumbled, his voice low. “Tell her I’ve failed.”

“You haven’t failed!” I argued, but he didn’t respond. Just turned and walked away.

We hadn’t gone more than a few steps when Emma came running up, her face red from exertion, her features distorted in panic. Something was wrong. I broke into a run. Beside me, Roscoe did the same.

“Someone took Elise!” Emma yelled, as soon as she was close enough to be heard.

“What?” I asked in disbelief.

“Someone took Elise,” Emma repeated, panting for breath. “A man.”

“When?” Roscoe asked.

Emma looked down at the ground. “A long time ago,” she admitted. “When you first got here. The children saw it but didn’t think to say anything and I was too busy to notice she wasn’t there…. I’m sorry!”

“Which way did he take her?”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

I didn’t have time for her apologies. I pushed past her roughly, sprinting for my horse. We had to find her! The ruins of my blacksmith shop… Roscoe’s battered crop… none of it mattered any more. Our beautiful bride was gone!

Who had taken her? Why? Where was she? The questions flew around in my brain, tormenting me and I didn’t have the answers.

“There!” Roscoe yelled and I looked at where he pointed. There on the ground, not far from us, were obvious signs of a struggle. Is this where he had grabbed her? He better not have hurt her! A fury stronger than I’d ever felt before, raced through me, searing me with a hatred so intense it scared me. I clenched my fists as tension filled my body. Once I got my hands on the man who had taken our beautiful bride, his life wasn’t going to be worth living.

“You get the horses,” Roscoe ordered, taking charge as always. He’d always been good in a crisis: level-headed, calm, collected. Able to think clearly. He pointed to the ground where the hoof prints of two horses were clearly visible. “I’ll get the guns. We’ll follow the tracks. Come on!”

I ran for the horses.

By the time Roscoe returned with the rifle, ammunition and a pistol each, I had caught the horses, strapped on their bridles, and was starting on the saddles.

I strapped on the gun belt Roscoe threw me. He’d filled it with bullets already. He slid the rifle into the scabbard on his saddle then went to the well to fill the canteens. We didn’t have time to gather any food, but as long as we had water we would be okay. We didn’t have time to waste; we’d