Page 1 of The Rancher’s Bride

1

SABRINA

Ialways thought getting married would happen to me the way it does to most people. I’d meet a nice guy, we’d get to know each other, we’d fall in love, and eventually we’d decide we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together.

Instead, I’m somewhere in the middle of Texas on my way to marry a man I’ve never met.

I shift in my seat for what has to be the tenth time in the last fifteen minutes. The scenery outside hasn’t changed much. Another pasture. Another weathered red barn. Another herd of cattle that ignores the train rumbling past.

Somewhere out there is Damian Nash. In less than ten minutes, I’m going to meet him for the very first time.

I smooth my palms over my jeans, then let my hands rest in my lap. I knew this part would be difficult. Making the decision was one thing. Packing everything I owned into two suitcases and traveling halfway across the country was another. Now that I’m almost there, every mile seems to offer a new opportunity to question whether I mistook desperation for courage.

I don’t think I did. At least, I hope I didn’t.

The train begins to slow as the fields give way to scattered houses and a row of sun-faded storefronts. Around me, passengers gather their belongings and move into the aisle. I stand, pull my first suitcase down from the rack, and wait while an older woman ahead of me struggles to lift a heavy bag from beneath her seat.

“Here, let me get that side,” I say.

Together, we manage to pull it free. She thanks me twice, then insists she’s fine from there, so I retrieve my second suitcase and follow the line of passengers toward the exit.

A wave of heat hits me the moment I step onto the platform. The station is smaller than I expected, a long wooden building with a shaded porch and a faded sign bearing the town’s name. Beyond it, several trucks and cars wait in a dusty lot while families greet one another and passengers call out across the platform.

I move aside with my luggage and begin studying the men in the crowd. Damian Nash is thirty-five and owns a ranch. That’s all I know about him, which leaves plenty of room for imagination. I find myself looking for someone with salt of the earth vibes, maybe wearing a hat, although nearly half the men here seem to have those attributes.

A man in a denim shirt stands near the far end of the platform, and for a moment, I think he might be Damian. Then a young woman rushes toward him with a little girl in her arms, and he breaks into a smile as he reaches for them.

Okay. Not him.

The crowd thins quickly. The woman I helped on the train waves before leaving with two people who look like family, and I wave back, trying not to feel self-conscious as the platform empties around me.

The train whistles and pulls away, leaving a rush of noise and hot air behind it. I watch the last car disappear down the tracks before turning back toward the empty platform.

Ranches are busy places. Animals need tending. Fences break. Trucks refuse to start. There are plenty of reasonable explanations why Damian isn’t here yet, and I remind myself that I knew coming here would require flexibility from both of us.

After another ten minutes, I carry my bags inside. The ticket clerk is already pulling down the shutter over the counter, but a payphone hangs on the wall beside it. I dig through my bag for coins, then ask the operator to connect me to Damian Nash.

The line rings four times.

“What?”

The voice on the other end is low and rough and vibrates right through me. For one ridiculous moment, I forget why I’m calling. Then his impatient “Hel-lo?” snaps me back.

“Is this Damian Nash?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

“This is Sabrina.”

A pause follows. Too long of a pause. “Yeah?”

I glance toward the platform. “I’m at the station.”

“What?” There’s rustling on his end. “Oh, fuck. Right. Give me half an hour.”

The line goes dead before I can say anything in reply. I return the receiver to the cradle and stand there, trying not to take the abruptness personally. Damian doesn’t know me. I don’t know him. There are bound to be awkward moments in an arrangement like this.

Still, it doesn’t feel like a great start.