TEXAS BRIDE

• Mass Market Paperback: 336 pages
• Publisher: Random House Publishing Group, April 2012
• Language: English
• ISBN-10: 0-345-52744-8
• ISBN-13: 978-0-345-52744-5

TEXAS BRIDE, Excerpt

Miranda was afraid to reach for the tickets. She seldom took anything for herself before offering it first to one of her siblings. Her life the past three years had been full of sacrifices. But none of her siblings were old enough to marry. She would have to do this herself.

It didn’t feel like a sacrifice. She’d be going on a grand adventure to a place she knew about only from stories in the Daily Herald. A place full of wild broncs and longhorned cattle. A place full of cowboys. . .and Indians. It all sounded so exotic. And exciting. She’d have a husband and maybe, one day soon, children of her own, two things she’d seen as very far in the future after she’d become a destitute orphan. And with a new life outside the Institute, there was at least a chance she could rescue her siblings.

Miranda didn’t let herself dwell on the possibility that her husband might turn out to be as cruel as Miss Birch. No one could be as cruel as Miss Birch.

Speak of the devil and she appeared.

“What is this!” a piercing voice demanded.

Miranda quickly slid the vellum and tickets back across the table to Josephine, who slipped them back into the pocket in her night shift. As the headmistress descended on them like a whirling dervish, Miranda whispered to her siblings, “I’ll take care of Miss Birch. Go!”

Her younger brothers and sisters grabbed their blankets and scampered for the door in the dark shadows at the opposite end of the dining room, leaving Miranda behind to face their nemesis.

Miss Birch was wearing a tufted robe over her nightgown and had her long black hair, of which she was so proud, pinned up under a nightcap. The headmistress was short and stout, with large eyes so dark brown they were almost black and cheeks that became florid when she was angry, as she was now.

“I presume that bunch who ran off was the passel of brats you brought with you to the orphanage,” Miss Birch said. “I’ve warned you before about leaving the dormitory after lights out, Miss Wentworth.”

Miranda lowered her eyes in submission, knowing that was the best way to conciliate the headmistress. “Yes, Miss Birch. I was saying good-bye to my brothers and sisters, since I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”

“You think the fact you’re leaving tomorrow means you can flaunt my rules tonight?”

“No, Miss Birch. I–”

A slender wooden rod whipped through the air and hit Miranda’s right shoulder without warning. Whop. She gasped at the pain and bit her lip to keep from crying out. She didn’t want her siblings to hear her and try coming to her rescue. There was no defying Miss Birch.

Miranda kept her hands at her sides, aware that if she tried to protect herself, Miss Birch would only hit harder.

“I’ll be glad–whop–to see–whop–you go!”

The pain was excruciating. Miranda felt tears of pain well in her eyes, but she didn’t make a sound, not even a whimper. She refused to give Miss Birch the satisfaction.

She could hear the heavyset woman breathing hard from the effort of whipping her. She raised her gaze, staring into the black eyes that stared hatefully back at her, and said with all the calm and dignity she could muster, “Are you done now? May I leave?”

She watched as Miss Birch resisted the urge to hit her again. Three cracks of the rod. That was Miss Birch’s limit, no matter how bad the infraction. Miranda knew her punishment was over, which was why there had been a taunt in her calm, dignified voice.

Then Miss Birch hit her again. WHOP. Hard enough to make Miranda moan with pain. Hard enough to make the tears in her eyes spill onto her cheeks.

“Now I’m done,” the headmistress said with malicious satisfaction. “Go back to the dormitory, Miss Wentworth, and stay there until it’s time for you to leave.”

Miranda had turned to go when Miss Birch said, “Too bad you won’t be here when those brats get their punishment.”

“You’ve already punished me!” Miranda protested. “There’s no need to punish anyone else.”

“They were here, weren’t they? Where they didn’t belong? Oh, they’ll be punished, all right. Each and every one of them!”

“The baby–”

“That brat is no baby! He’s four years old.”

“Only four years old!” Miranda retorted, fear for her youngest brother, whom she would no longer be able to protect, making her bold. “How can you be so mean?”

“Mean?” Miss Birch pressed her lips flat. “I enforce discipline, Miss Wentworth. Without discipline, where would we be? Those children must learn to obey the rules. They must learn there are consequences when they break them.”

“If you must punish someone, beat me instead.”

Miss Birch raised her eyebrows as she tapped the rod against her open palm. “Let me see. Three strokes times five offenses. How many is that, Miss Wentworth?”

“Fifteen,” Miranda replied past a throat tight with fear.

“I’m tempted, Miss Wentworth. Oh, how I am tempted.”

“Who would know?” Miranda said in a voice that was almost a whisper. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

Miss Birch laughed. “You’re a fool, Miss Wentworth. I could give you fifteen strokes of the rod tonight and punish the rest of them tomorrow after you’re gone.”

Miranda knew very well that Miss Birch would find reasons to punish her siblings, even if there weren’t any. But the tickets secured in Josie’s pocket gave her courage. “Do it,” she urged. “I trust you will be too tired after the effort to bother my siblings, at least for tomorrow.”

“Very well, Miss Wentworth. Turn around and bare your back.”

Miranda’s eyes went wide. “You can’t mean–”

“Bare your back,” Miss Birch demanded. “Or I’ll have every one of those brats back in here tonight to get three strokes of the rod.”

“Yes, Miss Birch.” Miranda turned and slid her shift off already aching shoulders, securing the folds of cloth against her small breasts.

She focused her terrified mind on the faceless man at the end of her coming journey. The man who would be her husband. The man who would be the salvation of her siblings. The man who would plant the seeds for a family of her own. The man she would somehow learn to love. The man who might someday learn to love her.

Miranda braced herself and waited for the cane to strike.