The Gunslinger's Vow (Runaway Brides) Read online

  ALSO BY AMY SANDAS

  Fallen Ladies

  Luck Is No Lady

  The Untouchable Earl

  Lord of Lies

  Christmas in a Cowboy’s Arms anthology

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  Copyright © 2018 by Amy Sandas

  Cover and internal design © 2018 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover art by Gregg Gulbronson

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks, Inc., is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

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  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Forty-Two

  Forty-Three

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  For Taylor, a girl who has always known her own heart and is not afraid to follow it. You constantly surprise me. I am so proud to be your mom.

  One

  Boston, Massachusetts

  August 2, 1881

  “Miss Brighton? Miss Brighton, did you hear me?”

  Alexandra blinked away her shock to meet the concerned gaze of her unexpected suitor. “I…yes,” she said finally, though her voice felt off—not quite her own. “That is, I believe so.”

  Mr. Shaw’s worried expression smoothed into a handsome smile. “I have just declared that I would like to make you my bride, Miss Brighton.”

  His words were no less a surprise the second time around. Peter Shaw was the quintessential Eastern gentleman of distinction. Though only twenty-six, he was already gaining momentum in political circles. He was charming, attractive, full of confidence, and met every one of Aunt Judith’s criteria for an advantageous match.

  And for some inexplicable reason, he had just asked her, Alexandra Brighton, to be his bride.

  She couldn’t have heard him right.

  Alexandra gave a tiny shake of her head to free up some words. “I am sorry, Mr. Shaw. I am a bit stunned. I had not expected such an offer.” Nor had she expected the creeping sense of anxiety that came with it, making her throat tight and her palms clammy. Had he been falling in love with her all this time, and she had never even noticed?

  Despite her awkwardness, he was all grace and charm. “See, that is what I like about you, Miss Brighton—your innate modesty and lack of pretense. You are unlike other young ladies in town. Their perspectives are so narrow, so limited. Most of them have never experienced anything beyond our tight little social niche, let alone life outside of Boston.”

  His eyes were a soft brown in the light that extended from the ballroom just visible beyond the balcony doors. “I admire your story, Miss Brighton. It is my opinion that your…unusual childhood afforded you a more valuable view of life.” He took a slow breath as he clasped his hands behind his back and lowered his chin, as if confessing some great secret. “I have ambitions, Miss Brighton, plans for my future—for the future of Boston and this great state of Massachusetts. In order to secure that future, it is imperative that I appeal to a broad audience.” He smiled again, his eyes crinkling gently. “You can help me do that.”

  Alexandra released her breath in a slow decompression of tension.

  Now it made sense. Mr. Shaw hadn’t inexplicably fallen in love. He was proposing a business arrangement.

  She should have known.

  Shaw was a member of the elite Boston social group known as the Brahmins, and marriages amongst his exclusive set were not made out of such an inconstant, imprudent thing as affection. The acknowledgment cleared away some of her confusion, but had no effect on her growing sense of dread.

  “You leave me in a state of suspense for your response, Miss Brighton,” he teased. Despite his words, he was as self-assured as ever.

  Alexandra smiled, but the act felt tight and forced. She would accept. Of course she would accept. Not a single person of Alexandra’s acquaintance would understand if she refused. An offer from a gentleman such as Peter Shaw was everything her aunt had been grooming her for.

  He was waiting.

  “I would be honored,” she finally replied. But as the words left her mouth, she felt a moment of panic and wished she could call them back.

  What was wrong with her?

  Now that he had her agreement, Peter gave no sign of joy beyond a shallow nod. He did not appear the slightest bit aware of her growing discomfort. She had no idea she had gotten so good at maintaining a social face, as her aunt called it.

  “I have already spoken privately with your aunt and obtained her blessing,” he said, “but I will come by tomorrow to finalize the details. I have no doubt this marriage will be a tremendous success.”

  Then he stepped forward and very deliberately propped his fingertips beneath her chin, tilting her face upward as he bent down to press a quick kiss to her lips. It was Alexandra’s very first kiss, and was over just as soon as it began. The impact of it faded away almost faster than she could acknowledge its occurrence.

  Peter offered his arm and flashed another one of his charming almost-smiles. “We had better return to the ball before people start to talk.” He led her, unresisting, back through the crowd to where Aunt Judith stood with her group of friends.

  Alexandra’s st
omach churned the entire way. The ballroom felt too cloying, too hot. She was assailed by a fierce desire to return to the fresh air on the balcony. Alone.

  Stop, she thought, even as she fought to remember how to breathe. Aunt Judith will never forgive you if you make a scene.

  It was becoming increasingly difficult to care about that—to care about any of the fine Eastern manners she had so carefully been taught.

  Mr. Shaw offered a few complimentary words to the matrons gathered with Aunt Judith before he bade his farewell to Alexandra with another comment about calling the next day. Then he walked away. Alexandra barely caught sight of the triumphant gleam in her aunt’s eyes before she was set upon by her two best friends.

  Courtney Adams was a flurry of pink silk and lace, vivid red curls, and sparkling green eyes set within pert features that also boasted elegantly arched brows and impishly curved lips. She was beautiful, but it was her bright personality that most people were drawn to. Courtney stepped in close to Alexandra to murmur dramatically, “You and Mr. Shaw were out of sight for quite a while. I wonder what the two of you were up to.”

  “Hush, Courtney.” This was from Alexandra’s cousin Evelyn, or Evie, as she and Courtney called her.

  At twenty-one, Evie was a year older than both Alexandra and Courtney, but in many ways, she was far more naive. Protected and guided by Aunt Judith her entire life, she had had few opportunities to experience anything beyond the small world she had been born into. Evie’s older brother, Warren, had betrayed the family’s dreams of becoming a prominent Boston social figure by becoming a doctor instead. With Warren off saving lives across the country, Aunt Judith was left to pin all her hopes for climbing Boston’s social ladder on her daughter…and Alexandra.

  “Shall we all go for some refreshment?” Evie suggested. Her motivation was clearly to distance them from her mother so they could talk more freely.

  After making their excuses to Aunt Judith, the three young ladies strolled across the ballroom at a sedate pace, despite the energy bristling among them. Alexandra found she could breathe more easily now that she was away from both Mr. Shaw and her aunt, but that cloying dread was still there, hovering about her shoulders in a heavy cloak.

  Once settled in a corner of a connecting sitting room, lemonades in hand, Courtney urged in tones of whispered excitement, “So? What did the renowned Mr. Shaw have to say?”

  Alexandra hesitated over her response. The conversation on the balcony still did not feel quite real. “He proposed marriage,” she answered quietly.

  “I knew it!”

  Alexandra looked to Courtney in surprise. “You did? How could you? He gave no indication whatsoever that he had such an inclination. We have spoken less than half a dozen times.”

  “Yes, but that is still twice as much as he deigned to speak with any other girl,” Evie noted reasonably. “He was obviously showing an interest in you.”

  “I wish someone had told me. Maybe I wouldn’t have made a fool of myself by being so surprised.”

  Evie’s eyes grew wide. “I thought you knew.”

  “You said yes, of course,” Courtney said. “Tell me you said yes.”

  “I did.”

  Her friend clapped her hands and gave a bright smile. “Excellent. Now we are both engaged. We just need to find someone for Evie, and we can all become brides together.”

  Courtney’s excitement only accented the churning discordance that had taken up residence inside Alexandra. She should be thrilled by the prospect of becoming Mrs. Peter Shaw. Ecstatic, even.

  Instead, she felt…dishonest.

  And on the verge of serious panic.

  “Alexandra,” Evie said softly, leaning forward to place her slim hand on Alexandra’s wrist. “What is the matter?”

  Meeting her cousin’s compassionate gaze, Alexandra sighed. “I do not know. Something just feels…wrong.”

  “How do you mean?” Courtney asked, a flicker of concern crossing her features.

  “I do not know,” Alexandra repeated. “I am not sure I made the right choice in accepting. What if I am not the person Mr. Shaw believes me to be? He barely knows me.”

  “You will get to know each other better during the engagement and after, once you are married,” Courtney assured.

  Alexandra looked between her two closest friends. One red-haired and vivacious, the other slender and elegant with pale-blonde hair and soulful eyes. They knew her as no one else on the earth knew her, and loved her anyway. She could be nothing but fully honest with them.

  “The truth is,” Alexandra admitted, “I barely know myself anymore. Evie, you remember what I was like when I first arrived from Montana.”

  “Yes, and you have come such a very long way since then.”

  “That is my point,” Alexandra said. “I barely recognize that girl in comparison to who I am now. But it was me. She might still be me somewhere deep down.”

  Her friends exchanged a quick glance, but did not interrupt.

  “How do I know all this is not just a false facade? How can I commit to a future as someone’s wife when I do not even know who I truly am?”

  “What will you do?” Evie asked in a low whisper.

  Alexandra took a bracing inhale. “I must tell Mr. Shaw that I need more time before committing to my answer.”

  “It will shock him to his toes,” Courtney declared.

  “It might be too late to withdraw your response.” Evie directed her pointed gaze across the room.

  Peter Shaw stood nearby, looking dapper and fine in a group with some of the most prominent gentlemen of Boston society. His smile was modest as he accepted toasts and congratulatory handshakes. The way the gentlemen kept sliding surreptitious glances toward Alexandra suggested that he had already announced their engagement.

  Panic expanded through her, tightening her chest.

  She was trapped.

  But a small, defiant part of her whispered: Or maybe not.

  They were not married yet. Some engagements lasted months or even years. She had time.

  A fierce little flame of rebellion sparked in the midst of her panic. The more she focused on that flame, the greater it grew, spreading out like a slow-burning wildfire. She had become the perfect Boston lady, but after five years of learning to curb her impulses, Alexandra pushed all that careful training aside and embraced the reckless urging inside her. “I am going back to Montana.”

  Her words slipped free before she completely thought them through, but the moment they were uttered, she knew the rightness of them.

  She was suddenly flooded with memories of her childhood: how the Rockies rose majestically beyond the plains, how wildflowers spread across the ground in spring, and how the land made one feel unbelievably small and infinitely powerful at the same time.

  The compulsion to see it all again—to go home—was overwhelming. And perfect.

  Evie and Courtney stared at her, wide-eyed and in shock.

  Her cousin recovered first. “Mother will never allow it.” Her voice was low and almost sad.

  “Your new fiancé will never allow it,” Courtney added with conviction.

  Alexandra leaned toward her friends and lowered her voice. “That is why they cannot know.”

  “But how will you manage it?” Courtney asked, awed excitement creeping into her words.

  “I have money tucked away. Father gave it to me before I left home. I never had cause to use it. Now I do.”

  “But why?” Evie asked. “Why go back now?”

  Alexandra had to think of her reply. It mostly felt like an instinctive certainty. Before she could consider going forward, she had to go back.

  “I must discover unequivocally who I am. My life has been split into two very different halves: my childhood in Montana and the five years I have been here in Boston. I need to know how much of
my past is still a part of me…or if it is time to put it to rest for good.” She lowered her gaze as another realization hit deep in her heart. “I need to see my father again.”

  Her friends were silent for a moment. Then Courtney said, “How can we help?”

  Ideas and plans tripped over themselves in Alexandra’s mind as she considered everything she had to do to make good on her escape.

  “I will leave tonight. All I need is time to get away. I must rely mostly on you, Evie. You will have to tell your mother I was not feeling well—the excitement and all—and I decided to head home early. Then tomorrow, when she asks after me, you can say I developed an illness—I don’t care what, just something to keep me abed. She won’t come to check on me. We know how she detests being around anyone who is sick.”

  Evie’s delicate features were tense with concern. Alexandra knew it went against her cousin’s nature to be deceptive in any way, especially toward her mother, but she nodded in agreement and Alexandra felt a rush of gratitude for her dear cousin’s loyalty.

  Looking to Courtney, she said, “Will you lend me your carriage? I must return to the house to gather some belongings, then I will need a ride to the train station.”

  “Of course,” Courtney agreed readily. “I will go with you to help you pack.”

  “No, you mustn’t. If things go bad, you can deny that you knew anything of my plans. At least Evie’s perfidy will be kept within the family. Can I trust your driver to keep my activities secret?”

  “Absolutely. Edward is as discreet and steadfast as they come.”

  “Once it is discovered where I have gone and it is too late to stop me, Aunt Judith and Mr. Shaw will have no choice but to await my return. Surely, they will eventually come to understand my desire to visit the land of my childhood one last time.”

  The other women’s expressions seemed dubious, but Alexandra ignored their uncertainty. Her confidence was more than enough to sustain her. It all made such perfect sense. Surely she wouldn’t be able to breathe so easily if this were wrong.

  She should have realized long ago that she would never truly be happy until she knew where she belonged.

  With a swift round of hugs, Alexandra bade heartfelt goodbyes to her best friends. Then she rose and made her way toward a discreet exit while Courtney and Evie loitered with their lemonade to give her as much time as possible before going to inform Aunt Judith of her departure.