Okay, this is a western-style Bleach fic so it is an AU and the characters will probably be OOC. I'm not so sure if you all will like it or not, but I thought I'd give it a try. Read and review, but no cursing in the reviews, please. Thanks!

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. If I did, Momo would be joining forces with Aizen.

It was a beautiful day out, but the young woman sitting in the wagon didn't notice. Birds were chirping, and flowers bloomed on the hillsides. Normally, she would be trying to see everything at once and guessing what kind of flowers they were, but not right now. She was too nervous, too sore. How she wished she could jump off this wagon and walk. With each step the horse took, the wagon jostled and shook her small body. The sun beat down mercilessly, and although her bonnet did protect her face, the rest of her suffered. Her head ached, but she knew that was because she had her hair pinned up. Her auburn hair fell midway down her back when loose. Back home in Virginia, she had been allowed to wear it down, at least privately in her house, and only when they didn't have company.

The girl closed her gray eyes. That seemed like a distant memory now. So much had happened in the past six months since the death of her last living relative. "Sora." She cried silently. "Why did you have to leave me all alone?" She felt hot tears sting her eyes, but she refused to give in. She had cried enough. She had to move on.

Why was why she was here in this wagon, bouncing along. She clutched a piece of paper to her chest. Since receiving this letter, she had read it near fifty times and knew by heart the words printed neatly on the single sheet.

Dear Miss Orihime Inoue,

It was a pleasure to read your reply to my ad. Upon careful thought and consideration, I have chosen you out of twenty applicants. I offer you my sincerest condolences for the loss of your brother. You will find a train ticket for your journey enclosed, along with some extra money in case you need to buy any necessities. The needed information for a marriage by proxy is also included. I am waiting anxiously for your arrival. I plan to spend the rest of my life loving you.

With all my love,

Ichigo Kurosaki

Orihime felt a blush creep across her face. This Ichigo Kurosaki sounded like a nice man, and she certainly hoped he was. How horrible it would be for her to travel over one thousand miles only to enter a nightmare. She traced his name, wondering what he looked like. There had been no photograph, but then again, she had not sent one of herself. Questions bombarded her thoughts as apprehension mounted. Was she doing the right thing? Who in her right mind would agree to marry a man she had never met before? What if he was not who he said he was? But what other choice did she have? She was alone in Virginia, with no relatives to care for her. She chewed on her lower lip, now regretting her decision. But it was too late now.

Her companion's voice drifted over to her. "There's Karakura right up ahead. I hope you'll like it here, Miss Inoue."

"Thank you." Turning her head slightly, she observed the driver. He had red hair and black eyes. His brown hat was pulled low, shading his face from the heat. He had barely spoken a word during the three hours they had been traveling together. When Orihime had stepped off the train Wichita, Kansas, she had asked around to see if anyone was heading to Karakura. He had come forward and said he was. At first, she had thought that perhaps he was Ichigo, but then he had introduced himself as Renji Abarai. Five minutes later, she had found herself sitting on the wagon seat, her one trunk in the back, heading to her new home. Mr. Abarai had not asked any questions, but had simply asked if that was all her luggage. She had sighed inwardly, knowing that she had left most of her belongings in Virginia. She had not been sure of what was appropriate to bring. She had brought four dresses and pictures of her brother. She had also packed some books she enjoyed reading. Other than that, she had nothing.

She noticed the wagon had begun to pick up speed, and instinctively held onto the side.

"Whoa, easy there, Girl." Renji clucked his tongue at the white horse, pulling at the reins slightly. She snorted and tossed her head, showing her disapproval, but slowed down nonetheless. He grinned. "She knows that home is nearby and can't wait to get back and eat."

"She's beautiful." Orihime spoke. "What's her name?"

"Sugar." Renji laughed. "It's an appropriate name, too. Her favorite food is sugar cubes. If it were up to me, she'd be spoiled, but her master wouldn't approve of it."

The woman thought she detected a note of bitterness in his tone and frowned slightly, wondering if the man of which Renji spoke was a cruel man. She decided against asking. It wouldn't be proper for a woman to ask a question like that, especially to a man.

What if his master is Ichigo Kurosaki?

She stifled a gasp, her eyes widening in horror. Surely, that could not be. But Ichigo had not been there at the train station, or at least she didn't think he had been. She hadn't stayed long enough to see, but the station had quickly emptied as other people located their companions. So her choices had either been stay in Wichita until someone came for her, or travel to Karakura with Mr. Abarai. She sighed helplessly. Perhaps Ichigo had an appointment he could not break and had asked Mr. Abarai to pick her up, and he would meet her later. That soothed her mind, although a small inkling of doubt still sprang up in the back of her mind, taunting her. There was nothing she could do about it now, though. So she folded her hands in her lap and watched as the town sprang into view. She couldn't help but bounce lightly as a thrill of excitement coursed through her. She immediately regretted her action, though, as her bottom began to protest. Oh, she couldn't wait to get down and stretch her legs.

Orihime wasn't sure what she had been expecting Karakura to look like, but she had known that it would be different from Richmond. But to her surprise, Karakura was a thriving, albeit smaller, town. As they bumped along the main road, she saw a store, hotel, sheriff's office, saloon, and several houses. The wagon halted in front of a building with a sign that read General Store. Renji jumped down, then hurried over to her side to assist her.

"Thank you." She murmured. Her eyes darted nervously around. She had no idea where to find her new husband. She reread the letter, searching for a clue. There was no address on the envelope. She sighed. She had better ask someone since Mr. Abarai didn't seem to know that she was here to meet someone.

"Where do you want your trunk, Ma'am?"

She started. "Hm? Oh, yes, my trunk. Um, where is the Kurosaki house?"

Renji raised an eyebrow. "The Kurosaki house? It's towards the edge of town thataway." He pointed left.

"Oh, well, that's where I'm heading, then." She smiled.

"Are you a relative? I wasn't aware that the Kurosakis had family back East."

"Oh, no, I'm not a relative. I mean, yes, I am. But," She hurried to explain, seeing the confused look in his eyes, "I need to find I-"

"Renji, you're back."

Orihime turned and looked up. A man wearing black pants and a white shirt walked up. His hair was orange and he had the most amazing brown eyes she had ever seen. Looking down, she brushed dirt off her dark blue skirt. She winced involuntarily. Dust clung to every fiber of her clothing and refused to be shaken out. She was thankful that her hair was hidden beneath her bonnet and had therefore escaped the dust storm.

"Yeah, I'm back. I had to make the monthly run for supplies. I know that route so well I could drive it blindfolded." He chuckled.

"The time you do that, Renji, you'll drive off a cliff and I'll have to patch you up. I just got back from the Kuchiki ranch. I was hoping to talk to you about helping me with fixing up the barn roof. You don't have to give me an answer right now. I already asked Byakuya, and he said he could spare you for a few days."

"Sure. Just let me know when." Renji lugged a crate off the wagon and set it by the store door.

"This Saturday would be good." The stranger lifted a hand in response to Renji's nod. "Okay. See you then." As he turned to leave, his eyes landed on Orihime. "And who is this?"

Renji looked up. He had completely forgotten about the woman. "Oh, yeah. She came in on the train and needed a ride here. Said she's looking for the Kurosaki house. It's actually a good thing you came. I have to get these crates unloaded now, and I don't want her to have to wait. So you can escort her."

The man's brow furrowed. "The Kurosaki house, you say? I'm not sure who you are, or how you know my family, but I'm Ichigo Kurosaki." He watched as the woman's eyes widened, and her cheeks colored.

"I'm Orihime Inoue. Well, I used to be Orihime Inoue, but now I'm Orihime Kurosaki. It's nice to meet you." She smiled shyly, and her whole face lit up.

"Kurosaki?" He repeated. "I don't think I understand."

Her smile faltered, but she held it in place. "I'm slightly confused. You sent me the ticket so I could come here. You-"

"I did?" Ichigo interrupted and took a step back, eying the small woman before him. She barely came up to his chest, and her gray eyes took on a worried look.

"Oh, dear. Perhaps you've forgotten. Let me introduce myself again. I am Orihime Kurosaki, your wife." She stumbled over her words, but managed to get them out. Surely, he'd remember her now.

"I don't have a wife."

That statement chilled her to the bone. "Y-yes, you do. We were married by proxy one week ago." Grabbing her small bag, she rummaged around until she pulled out some papers. "See? Your name is here, and mine is here." She pointed, her hand trembling. Perhaps he had bumped his head and forgotten momentarily. His memory would return soon.

Right?

"There had to be some mistake." Ichigo grabbed the certificate, examining it carefully.

"No, there isn't. I answered your ad for a mail-order bride." Orihime wrung her hands together and bit her lower lip. She felt pressure on the back of her eyes, and knew that tears were on their way. "I must not cry. I must not cry."

"What ad? I don't know what you're trying to pull, Lady, but I didn't place an ad for a bride, and I most certainly did not marry you." He thrust the papers back into her hands. "I'm sure you can stay at the hotel until you can come up with transportation to go back to wherever you came from. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to be done." He turned on his heel and stalked off.

Renji had been silent during the whole exchange, and now glanced at the woman. Her face was pale. All the color had long since drained away. Her hands clutched the papers so tightly her knuckles turned white. Renji felt pity for her, but there was definitely a mistake. If Ichigo had placed an ad for a bride, the whole town would have heard about it. He wondered what kind of scandal the lady was involved in.

"You can head on over to the hotel. I'm sure they have an extra room. I'll bring your trunk over later. Unfortunately, I don't know when you'll be able to get a ride back to the train station."

"Yes, thank you." She whispered, her shoulders drooping. She looked so sad, so fragile, that he wanted to reassure her.

"The couple who own the hotel are nice folks. They'll make sure you're well taken care of." He stole a glance at her, and was shocked to see her slump to the ground. "Hey, Miss!" Bounding to her side, he knelt and brushed his hand against her forehead. No fever. He sighed. He gathered her in his arms, amazed at how light she was, and headed across the road to the hotel. Unloading would have to wait.

The windows shook as the door slammed. Ichigo steeled himself, waiting for a picture to fall from the wall.

"Ichigo, is that you?" A voice called from the kitchen.

"Yeah, it's me, Yuzu." He sighed.

"Just let me finish these dishes and I'll be right out!"

"Take your time." He crossed over to the fireplace, his boots thumping on the wood floor. He stared at a picture on the mantel. There was an older man with a full beard. A woman with a beautiful smile stood be his side. They each held a young girl in their arms, and a boy stood before them. Ichigo brushed his finger across the woman's face. "Mom."

A hand clamped on his shoulder. "I still remember when that was taken. Your mother looked so beautiful that day." Ishhin Kurosaki spoke.

"Yeah."" Ichigo swallowed, his voice thick with emotion.

"I'd love to reminisce, but I have some business to attend to. I'll talk to you later."

"See you. Oh, yeah, Dad. If you see a woman named Orihime, ignore her. She claims she's my wife." He forced a laugh. "She even had a fake marriage certificate."

"Is that so?"

Ichigo looked quizzically at the brown-haired man. "You okay?"

"So you met her already, did you?"

Ichigo blinked. "Met her? Already? You're making no sense."

Isshin let out a breath. "Son, I have something to tell you. You better sit down." He waited until his son was seated on a chair, then, after digging through a nearby desk, handed him an envelope and another piece of paper.

Ichigo took them and silently read them over. On the piece of paper were written these words:

My name is Ichigo Kurosaki. I am a twenty-two old year old doctor. I live in Karakura, Kansas. I am looking for a wife who is sweet, gentle, and strong. She must be no younger than eighteen, and no older than twenty-four. A single woman would be preferred, but a widow is also acceptable. I love children, and would not mind having a large family. I look forward to reading your replies.

His eyes narrowed and he wanted to yell, but he forced himself to read the letter next.

Mr. Kurosaki,

My name is Orihime Inoue. I would not be responding to your ad, but my brother just died. He was my only living relative left, our parents having died some years ago. I turned nineteen last year, and I believed that everything was going well. Then, almost six months ago, my brother died. I am alone now, and have nowhere else to turn. I love children as well, and a large family would be wonderful. I have not been married before, nor am I promised to anyone.

Sincerely,

Orihime Inoue

Ichigo dropped the papers, and leveled a glare at his father. "What were you thinking?" He asked, his calm tone belying the rage he hid inside.

"You were too busy with your duties to look for a wife, so I chose for you. Besides, I'm not getting any younger, and I want to see at least one of my grandchildren before I die."

The younger man let out a growl and lunged at his father. Ichigo grabbed his shirt, his eyes flashing. "Dad, why couldn't you just stay out of my private life? It's none of your concern if I marry or not!"

Isshin studied his son. "Well, like it or not, you are married to her. You can't just throw her out."

He let go of Isshin's shirt, and slumped against the wall. "I don't believe this."

Isshin turned, looked out the window. "She's special, Ichigo. I can sense it. You two are perfect for each other. I can't tell you what to do now. You're a grown man. You decide for yourself if you want to give marriage a try, or give her a divorce." With that, he walked out the door, leaving Ichigo alone to think.

Ichigo covered his face in his hands. This was a fine mess his father had gotten him into. Still, he couldn't help but remember the woman, and how vulnerable she had looked just standing there. He could clearly see her every feature. Even with dirt coating her blue skirt and shirt, she had been -dare he say it- beautiful. He sighed. Although his mother had died when he was nine, he still could hear her voice, telling him to be nice to girls. His mother had raised him as a gentleman, and he didn't intend to defile his mother's memory by ignoring his wife.

He groaned. Maybe he would be lucky enough to get run over before he could talk to -what was her name? He fumbled with her letter. Ah, Orihime.

"Ichigo, what brings you here?" Yuzu, his younger sister (well, one of them), hurried out, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Huh? Oh, sorry, Yuzu, but I can't visit. I-I have something I need to do." He rose, planted a kiss on her cheek, then walked out. Taking a deep breath to steel his nerves, he forced one foot in front of the other, moving himself in the direction of the hotel. "If I survive this, it will be a miracle."