Ricochet Romance, page 1
part #4 of Mail Order Misdelivery Series
Ricochet Romance
Book 4 ~ Mail Order Misdelivery Series
Part 1: Reece Wellington
Part 2: Rexton Wellington
Barbara Goss
Copyright: All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All scripture is quoted from the King James Version of the Holy Bible.
This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this book is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage system without express written permission from the author.
Copyright © 2018 Barbara Goss
All Rights Reserved
Kindle Edition
Cover design by: Samantha Fury
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
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Part Two: Rexton
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
Part 1: Reece Wellington
Chapter 1
The carriage carrying the elated bride and the proud groom pulled away from the church, leaving Margaret Goodwin with a forlorn sigh. She had twelve siblings and the last had just ridden off to a life of wedded bliss. All but the oldest, who had moved to California, relocated in various places around the state. Two years after the mine explosion had killed her father, her mother remarried and moved to Pittsburgh.
She climbed into her buggy and turned it toward the old homestead in the area of Uniontown known as Georges Township. The family home had been sold in order for her to split the proceeds with her siblings, and she’d found an apartment over the barbershop. She needed just one last look at her childhood home before saying goodbye and handing the keys over to the bank. Barton Road, the street she'd grown up on, ended at a place called Barton Works, a coal mining company, the very one her father had worked for.
Margaret pulled up in front of the house and stared at it. She wanted to embed the image in her mind, for she knew she’d never see the place again. She’d decided to move on and had already written to several men from The Matrimonial News to find an eligible bachelor out west. Between the Civil War and the mining accidents, men were scarce. There were few options for single women and she refused to live on the charity of her siblings. Marriage was her only option.
She had just started receiving replies from her responses to the ads, but so far none had been interesting enough to make her want to hop on a train and relocate.
She climbed down from the buggy and walked up the familiar front steps, well-worn from the hundreds of feet that had trodden on them through the years. They’d always called the sitting room the front room, however, the kitchen in the rear of the house was never called the back room. She smiled at the thought.
Her family had always used the front entrance since the stairway was there. She and her siblings had usually flown up the stairs as soon as they'd come home from school or playing outdoors.
The house had been emptied of all the furnishings and her footsteps echoed along the worn floorboards. She picked up the house keys from the hook on the kitchen wall and slowly walked back to the front door, closed and locked the old, worn portal, and sighed.
Maggie left her rented buggy at the livery and proceeded to the bank to give the house keys to Mr. Vanderbilt.
After leaving the bank, she stopped at the post office and was excited to see several letters there for her. She stuck them into her pocket and ran across the street, up the stairs, and into her tiny flat, found a comfortable chair, and opened the first letter. She read the few sprawled lines and pushed it aside. The next one was from a farmer who sounded like he needed a maid more than a wife.
The last letter impressed her.
Dear Miss Goodwin,
Your letter stood out from all the others I received. Your handwriting alone caught my attention, but your words and sentiments struck a chord with me. You’re unique. I’m fairly sure you and I would suit. I love the humor at the end of your letter—why, of course I am clean-shaven. I suppose, then, that you dislike hairy faces? You might not want to marry my father, then. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him without facial hair, but he wears it well.
Should you decide to come to my ranch in Hays, Kansas, I will gladly pay your fare if you consent to allow me the honor of courting you with the objective of marriage.
Respectfully,
R.J. Wellington
Hays, Kansas
She put the letter aside.
Margaret Wellington.
She tried the name in her head. It sounded prestigious. She liked it. Being the wife of a ranch owner sounded better than being married to a coal miner, constantly in fear of a cave in or explosion. That was about all the single men in Uniontown did for a living, work in the mines. She discarded all the letters and fondled R.J.’s envelope. She wondered what his real name was. Robert? Richard? And why did he just use his initials?
She wanted to write R.J. back to ask him for more time, since she wanted to get to know him better but considering her bank account; she knew she couldn’t stay in the flat much longer. She had enough money for two, maybe three months at the most. She'd been using her small share of equity money from selling the house—after splitting it with her siblings—to pay her way.
Her brother in Connellsville had invited her to stay with him, his wife, and their five children, which she'd gratefully declined. Quite a few of her siblings had invited her to live with them, as well as her mother, but she wanted to find her own place in life, rather than depending on the hospitality of others.
She'd accept R.J.’s invitation, deciding that if he planned to court her, she’d get to know him better that way. Some of the mail order brides were married right off the train and that scared her. Who knew what you’d get that way? With the mail so slow, her only prayer was that she’d get the ticket to Kansas before she had to move from her flat.
Reece Jonathan Wellington sat at his pigeonhole desk, bent over sales receipts, comparing them with his expenses. Finally, he’d made a profit.
A knock sounded on his front door, and he threw his pen down and groaned. When he threw the door open, it was to greet his brother. He could see by the worry lines on Rex’s face that he had a problem.
“What is it, Rex? Is Father all right?”
“Father’s fine. It’s me who’s in trouble,” he said as he walked in and sank down onto the settee. “I need your help.”
“What now?” Reece rubbed his whiskers. He only shaved on Sundays for church. The rest of the week, he didn’t care how he looked.
Rexton Jordan Wellington rubbed his face with both hands. “This isn’t going to be easy.”
“If you didn’t intend on telling me, then why are you here?” Reece was losing patience with his brother.
“I got a woman in trouble, so I need to leave town,” Rex blurted.
Reece, who’d been standing, plopped down in the armchair. “Be serious, will you? I have work to do. Why are you really here?”
“I’m serious. I’ve been sinning a bit with Luella, the new girl at the Gold Nugget,” Rex said. “She’s a gorgeous woman and I just…lost control, I guess.”
Reece shook his head. “So, marry the gorgeous woman. I fail to see the problem.”
“Stop being so grouchy, Reece. The problem is, Luella just told me about her condition last night and yesterday I sent a train ticket to my mail order bride.”
“Why would you do that if you were sweet on Luella?” Reece failed to keep the anger and impatience from his voice.
“Luella—how do I explain her?” Rex wrung his hands. “She isn’t marriage material. I wanted a pure, sweet, and innocent bride. I can’t marry her.”
“Seems to me you gave up that choice when you sinned with her. Get over it and marry the woman. The child is still yours. For once in your life, do the right thing.”
“I’m leaving town, but what will happen to Miss Margaret Goodwin when she arrives?” Rex asked.
“You’ll buy her a ticket back to…wherever she’s from.”
“I won’t be here.”
Reece stood. “I want no part of this.”
“That’s it?” Rex asked.
“What do you want me to do?” Reece bellowed. “You’re the one who can’t keep your libido in check.”
“Must you yell so?” Rex asked. “Take the mail order bride for me. Don’t tell her what I’ve done. Just tell her I was called out of town or you could pretend to be me.”
“She doesn’t know your name?”
“I signed my letters R.J.” Rex stood and walked to the door. “You know I prefer being called R.J. I hate the name Rexton.”
Reece held the door open for him. “Hell's bells! You need to take responsibility for your actions, marry the woman, and give your child a name.”
“I won’t marry her. I’m leaving town in the morning. I’ll return after this blows over.”
“Blows over?” Reece shouted, shook his head, and growled, “I don’t believe this.”
“Luella's a loose woman. How can I even be sure the kid's mine?” Rex asked.
Reece rolled his eyes. “Had you not sinned with her you wouldn’t be in this jam.”
Rex didn’t go through the door. He looked to be contemplating. “Why can’t you help me by at least courting Margaret? You’re single.”
“Listen, brother,” Reece said, “I had the romance of my life and it left me with a bitter taste in my mouth. Never again.”
“Just because one woman did you wrong, it doesn’t mean another will.” Rex finally walked through the door. “Get over it,” he yelled over his shoulder.
Reece slammed the door behind his brother. Rex was ten minutes younger. All their lives, it had been Reece who'd always bailed Rex out of trouble. Well, not this time. He just wasn’t going to do it anymore. Rex had made his bed and now he could lie in it.
How could he possibly “get over it,” as his brother had suggested? He’d carry the scars of that romance with him for the rest of his life. Killing another man wasn't something you could ever forget, even if it was in a fair fight.
Chapter 2
Margaret stepped off the train at the Hays station and looked around for R.J. While she had no idea what he looked like, she thought she’d recognize a young man searching the crowd for his prospective bride.
There were no young men scanning the crowd. She walked into the building, hoping to spot someone who looked like they might be R.J., but no one did.
She sat down on a bench, deciding to wait. The town looked small and everyone knew the train had just arrived, so word was bound to get to R. J. and he’d come for her.
She sat for over an hour before deciding to do something—anything. She stood, walked outside, and headed for the post office, as they’d most likely know everyone in the area.
Margaret stepped into the building and as soon as her eyes grew accustomed to the darker interior, she walked up to the man behind the counter.
“Can I help you, miss?”
“Can you direct me to R. J. Wellington?”
“Sure!” He smiled warmly. “Which one?”
Margaret was taken aback somewhat. Then she remembered R.J. had mentioned his father. “The son.”
“Ah!” the clerk said, “Well, as of now, there’s only one of those. He lives three miles from town, so you’ll need a buggy. You can rent one at the livery around the corner. They can give you directions, as well.”
Margaret thanked him and walked back outside. Standing in a shady spot on the wooden walkway she counted her money hoping she might have enough for a buggy. She walked around the corner to the livery.
“How can I help you?” a large, fierce-looking man with a long, red beard asked, rolling out from under a buggy that was missing two wheels.
“How much will it cost to rent a buggy for the day?”
“Fifty cents.”
Margaret pulled out her coins and handed the man the money. He turned and brought a small buggy out from the back of the livery. “You know how to drive one of these?”
She nodded. “Can you direct me to the home of R.J. Wellington?”
“Of course,” he said. “Just head down this road. When you come to the ‘Y’, take the right branch and just keep going. His place is on the right, the first house on that road.”
“But the man at the post office said it was three miles from town.”
“Oh, you want that one?”
Margaret took R.J.’s letter from her reticule. “Here’s the letter.”
The man looked at it. “That would be the son who lives with his father, and the house is just a half-mile down the road. Seldom does anyone visit the other son.”
“They don’t?” Margaret folded the letter and put it back in her reticule.
“I’m sure it’s the one just down that road.”
“Thank you, sir.” He helped her climb up onto the buggy.
“The buggy’s fifty cents a day, so I’ll need it back here tomorrow at this time,” the man said.
“All right.” Margaret flicked the whip lightly onto the horse’s back and started down the road.
Margaret climbed the steps of the large, two-story home, onto the porch, and knocked on the screen door. A pleasant looking, middle-aged woman came to the door and asked through the screen, “Can I help you?”
She clutched her valise tightly and replied, “I’m looking for R.J. Wellington.”
“I see,” the woman said, looking her over from head to toe. “And who might you be?”
“I’m his mail order bride from Pennsylvania.”
The woman’s mouth hung open and her eyes bugged out. She held onto the portal of the door to support herself and Margaret wondered why she would be so stunned.
“Robert sent for a mail order bride?” she finally asked.
“Certainly, but I only know him as R.J.”
The woman opened the door wide for Margaret to enter.
“I’m Margaret Goodwin, but my friends call me Maggie.”
“How do you do. I’m Ella, Robert’s housekeeper.” The woman gave her a nervous smile.
“I’m sorry if my arrival wasn’t announced. I really was invited.” Maggie dug into her reticule and pulled out the letter. “He wrote me and then sent me a train ticket.”
“Criminy!” Ella said, turning from her. “I’ll let him know you’re here.”
Maggie eyed her surroundings. The home wasn’t extravagant, but it was clean and well-furnished. She stood in the large kitchen, where steam floated up from a pot on the stove and a pie sat on the table. Most of the more well-to-do homes she’d been in entered into the front room or parlor. How strange it was to enter into the kitchen, instead. She wondered why, if R.J. were at home, he hadn’t met her at the station as he'd promised.
Ella returned and picked up her small valise. “I’ll escort you to Robert’s office. He’ll see you.”
He’ll see me? This was all too confusing for Maggie. What was going on? She no longer felt sure of herself. The situation made her feel like she was imposing on someone who’d invited her.
She was led down through a dining room and then down a hall to the sitting room that could never be called the front room, as it wasn’t in the front of the house. They walked through the sitting room and turned right to enter an office where an elderly man was sitting at a desk. He turned and studied her carefully. She took the time to study him, as well. He was probably in his late sixties, with white thinning hair, and a neatly trimmed, white moustache.
“So,” he leaned back in his chair, “you’re the mail order bride.” He nodded at Ella, who set the valise down and promptly disappeared.
“I…I…yes.” She seemed to have lost her ability to speak.
He threw back his head and laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m not your betrothed.”
Maggie couldn’t hide her relief. She exhaled loudly.
“But,” the man added, “I’m still in a bit of a difficult situation.”
Maggie raised her eyebrows.
“You see,” he continued, “Rex, your intended, left town about two months ago, and I have no idea where he is. He did tell me to expect you. It seems whatever took him out of town happened after he'd sent you the ticket.”
“Will he be back?”
“Sooner or later.” The man sighed. “By the way, I’m Robert Joseph Wellington. Your intended is Rex Jordan, but he hates his name, so he goes by R.J. most of the time. Then, to make things even more confusing, my other son is named Reece Jonathan, so we’re all R.J.s.” Robert frowned. “I have no idea where Rex went or when he’ll be back. He left in a hurry, you see.”
Maggie held her fingers to her temples. She felt a headache coming on. What was she to do? “I would return to Pennsylvania, but I don’t have enough money. I don’t know what to do now.”
