Courting Trouble: A Four Weddings and A Kiss Novella

Courting Trouble

A Four Weddings and a Kiss Novella

Margaret Brownley

© 2014 by Margaret Brownley

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Christian Publishing, Inc.

Thomas Nelson books may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail SpecialMarkets@ThomasNelson.com.

Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.

ISBN 978-1-4016-8856-1 (eBook)

ISBN 978-0-5291-0199-0 (eSingle)

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Four Weddings and a Kiss : a Western bride collection / Margaret Brownley, Robin Lee Hatcher, Mary Connealy, Debra Clopton.

pages cm

ISBN 978-1-4016-8854-7 (softcover)

1. Weddings—Fiction. 2. Love stories, American. 3. Christian fiction, American. I. Connealy, Mary. Spitfire sweetheart II. Hatcher, Robin Lee. Love letter to the editor. III. Clopton, Debra. A Cowboy for Katie. IV. Brownley, Margaret. Courting trouble.

PS648.L6F755 2014

813'.08508—dc23 2013049755

I dedicate my story to Robin, Mary, and Debra. Working with these three terrific ladies was a joy, a privilege, and an honor.

Contents

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

Reading Group Guide

Acknowledgments

An Excerpt from Spitfire Sweetheart

An Excerpt from Gunpowder Tea

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

Lone Pine, Colorado, 1882

BROCK DANIELS SCOWLED AT THE LEGAL BRIEF HE’D BEEN studying for more than an hour. Obstreperous conduct? It took thirty-two pages to list a complaint that added up to little more than one shop owner calling another a name generally reserved for crooked politicians and stubborn mules.

Hardly a week went by that a similar freewheeling lawsuit didn’t cross his desk. No wonder Lone Pine was on litigation overload. They sure didn’t do things here in Colorado like they did back in Philadelphia.

Tossing down the brief, he reached for his dip pen. No sooner had he dunked the nib in the inkwell and started to write than a slight sound made him lift his gaze. A boy of eleven or twelve stood in front of his desk, staring at him with big, rounded eyes.

It wasn’t the first time someone had sneaked up on him while he was working at his desk. The two-room office had been his for six months, and he still hadn’t gotten around to attaching a bell to the front door.

Brock stuck the pen in its holder and reached into his vest pocket for his watch. The gold case opened with a flip of his thumb. It was nearly ten p.m. Too late for someone so young to be roaming the streets. He snapped the watch shut.

May I help you?

Instead of answering, the lad placed four coins on the desk with such care that the money had to have been hard earned. The coins added up to fifty-six cents.

I want to hire you, the boy said.

There wasn’t enough money there to hire a mule, but the boy’s youth demanded special consideration.

Brock slid his watch back into his pocket. What’s your name, son?

Jesse Morris.

Brock was pretty sure he’d not seen the boy before. Certainly he’d never seen a more sorrowful pair of trousers. Innocent of anything resembling the original fabric, they were patched so thoroughly that they resembled shingles on a roof. The child’s shirt didn’t fare much better. The thin cotton was more suited to hot summer days than cool spring nights.

What kind of trouble you in?

No trouble, Jesse said. It’s my ma.

Brock’s eyebrows shot up. Your ma’s in trouble?

Jessed nodded. She’s in jail.

Far as Brock knew, the only woman in jail was the one they called the Black Widow. From what little he’d heard, it sounded like an open-and-shut murder case. What he hadn’t known was that she had a son. More’s the pity.

The boy twisted his porkpie hat in his hands. Reddish brown hair reached his shoulders and curled around his neck and ears. The sheriff said she killed her husband and that ain’t true.

Husband, not father. Brock pinched his forehead. It was late and he was tired.

I’m sure the judge has appointed your mother’s legal counsel.

The boy nodded. Her lawyer’s name is Mr. Spencer.

David Spencer was one of three lawyers in town. Far as Brock knew, the man had no formal education in law. But neither did the others, which explained why the Lone Pine legal system was such a mess and, in some cases, a joke. The closest any of them had been to passing the bar, which consisted of a simple oral exam, was to walk past a saloon.

If your mother has a lawyer, why do you want to hire me?

Jesse set his hat on the corner of the desk and pulled a piece of paper from his trouser pocket. With as much care as he’d afforded the coins, he unfolded it and straightened out the creases.

Mr. Spencer loses most of his cases, he said. He placed the paper on the desk and pointed to the names carefully printed beneath a hand-drawn gallows. Those are the men he let hang last year.

Half a dozen names were on the list, including a gang of horse thieves. The boy had done his research. I admit that doesn’t look good but—

Reverend Fields said you’re the best lawyer in town. Said you were almost as good at law as Moses.

Did he now? Moses? If only the reverend knew . . .

I handle mostly contracts and land disputes, he explained. Not only was business law more lucrative than criminal law, it was less risky; no one was likely to die if he messed up. I don’t handle criminal cases.

Ma’s innocent, so this ain’t no criminal case.

Jesse—

Please.

When Brock showed no sign of relenting, the boy’s eyes filled with tears. He apparently thought that if he tugged on enough reins, one would eventually give. He wasn’t that far off in his thinking.

I don’t know that there’s anything I can do, Brock said. He could well imagine the town’s reaction if he stuck his nose in the high-profile case. Not many liked his big-city ways, but then he didn’t much like what passed for justice in this town.

You could talk to Ma. Jesse swiped a tear from his cheek. Then you’ll know she didn’t do the awful things people say she did. Please, Mister.

Brock grimaced. Law school had not taught him how to turn down a pleading youth. Giving up the fight, he said, All right. I’ll talk to your mother.

A corner of the boy’s mouth curved upward, and Brock had the feeling the boy didn’t laugh much. Probably didn’t smile much either.

Where you staying, son?

With Reverend Fields.

The pastor and his wife are good people. They would do right by the boy. Do you like it there?

He nodded. But I’m not sure Reverend Fields likes me.

What makes you say that?

He asked me if I was Methodist or Presbyterian.

Brock arched an eyebrow. And?

I told him the truth. I’m a Democrat.

Brock grinned. What he would have given to see the preacher’s face upon learning he was housing a member of the party he so bitterly opposed.

I have a feeling the reverend likes you just fine.

So when are you gonna talk to Ma?

First thing tomorrow. He leaned forward. I said I’ll talk to her. That’s all I’ll do. His voice was gruff. He didn’t want to discourage the boy, but neither did he want to give him false hope. Now, take your money. I don’t charge for consultations.

Jesse scooped up the coins and jammed them into his pocket. Thank you, Mister. With that he grabbed his hat and dashed from the office into the waiting room. The outer door slammed shut with a bang.

Brock groaned. Now look what he’d done. Promised to