Wyoming Mail-Order Bride, page 1
“I want to get a job,” she blurted out. She looked up at Craig. She knew he needed help, but it wouldn’t be coming from her. “I’m sorry.”
“Ah,” he said, his voice mild. “Very sensible of you to find a way out of this.”
“I’m not trying to avoid anything,” Vivian protested. “I do think Mrs. Hunt shouldn’t be given the children. I will tell the judge that if you want me to.”
“I’m sure we will be fine,” Craig answered, his voice sounding brittle.
He was lying and Vivian knew it. He was trying to spare her the knowledge of how bad things could be.
Then he turned his blue eyes on her, and they were so intense she had to look away.
“You don’t want to be my mail-order bride?” he asked.
Vivian shook her head. “Oh, no. It’s not just you. I only agreed to be a bride so I could get Becky out of my brother’s house. I meant to go through with it, but on the train here I decided I couldn’t...”
Janet Tronstad was raised on a small ranch in the middle of Montana. Even though she has spent much of her life in cities, she still calls Montana home and has set most of her forty books there. Her books have been printed in various countries and their sales have put her on the New York Times, USA TODAY and Publishers Weekly bestseller lists. Janet currently lives in central California.
Books by Janet Tronstad
Love Inspired Historical
Calico Christmas at Dry Creek
Mistletoe Courtship
“Christmas Bells for Dry Creek”
Mail-Order Christmas Brides
“Christmas Stars for Dry Creek”
Mail-Order Holiday Brides
“Snowflakes for Dry Creek”
Mail-Order Mistletoe Brides
“Mistletoe Kiss in Dry Creek”
Montana Mail-Order Bride
Wyoming Mail-Order Bride
Visit the Author Profile page
at LoveInspired.com for more titles.
Wyoming Mail-Order Bride
JANET TRONSTAD
Whoso findeth a wife findeth a good thing,
and obtaineth favour of the Lord.
—Proverbs 18:22
This book is dedicated, with thanks, to all of the Harlequin editors who have had a hand in bringing Wyoming Mail-Order Bride through the production process: first, the acquisition editor(s), the story editor, the content editor, the line editor, the copy editor and the proofreader(s). And a special thanks to the marketing department for the cover and the title. Of course, the sales team has a very important part in the success of the book, too. It truly does take a village!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
Excerpt from The Husband Dilemma by Jessica Nelson
Chapter One
Wyoming Territory—the summer of 1869
On a moonlit night in July, “Big Craig” Martin rode his weary horse over a rise in the prairie and paused, glancing down at the dark buildings nestled below. He was covered in dusty sweat and smelled worse than the bawling cattle he’d just herded across the old Crow Creek, but even with all of that, he felt better than he had in years.
The hard labor of summer left him exhausted, but it also wore down his grief until he finally saw the truth. He had loved his late wife, Delores, and had done all he could to please her. But it had never been enough. Never would have been, either. She’d died two years ago and he’d just started to breathe free again.
Craig reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a lemon drop. He’d started carrying them as a treat for his children, but they soothed the dryness in his throat, and tonight, he allowed himself the comfort of one as he glanced up, watching a cloud move past the moon, causing the orb to give off more light.
Gazing down again, he told himself he did not need a wife. This homestead and his children were sufficient for any man. Then his eyes caught a shape moving farther out in the prairie.
Suddenly, his lips parted. He sat up straighter in his saddle.
“What’s going on down there?” he muttered, completely alert now.
He leaned forward, staring until he was sure of what he saw. A man was riding away from Craig’s homestead on a white stallion that looked mighty familiar. He knew who it was, and icy fear sliced through him. Why had the sheriff made a late-night visit to his place?
Craig urged his horse into a steady gallop, only vaguely aware of a flickering yellow brightness below. His chore lantern, which often sat on the ground beside his front door, had been lit and turned low. It gave off just enough light to signal that his younger brother, Finn, was sitting there waiting for him.
Something important had happened, and Craig wanted to know what it was. Craig skirted the sod house to get to the barn. Once inside, he rushed to dismount from his horse, strip off the saddle and lightly rub the animal down with an old wool shirt he kept for that purpose. Then he hustled over to where Finn sat.
“The children?” he asked before he got close. He kept his voice low. His two little ones would be sleeping in the loft inside, and he didn’t want to wake them.
“They’re fine,” Finn said as he looked up.
“Then what did Sheriff Brady want?” Craig asked as he pulled up a three-legged stool like the one his brother was using. “We’re a far ride from Cheyenne.”
Sitting down, Craig could see Finn’s face had a strange stillness to it.
His brother held up a piece of paper. “The sheriff thought you should see this as soon as possible. I can’t believe it. It’s about Delores’s mother.”
“What? She didn’t die, did she?” Craig asked as he took the paper. He hadn’t known that his late wife had any living relatives until he received a letter this past March from her widowed mother. Craig had been still grieving and had written back, telling the woman all he knew—about Delores’s fall from the horse that killed her, the beautiful daughter they’d had and even the fact that Delores had given birth to her first child, Robbie, while waiting in Cheyenne for the boy’s father to come. The man had never arrived. Finally, she’d married Craig instead.
“No, Mrs. Hunt is not dead,” Finn said with a bitter note to his voice. “I’m afraid it’s worse than that, Big.”
Craig wondered what could be worse than death as he lifted the lantern so he could read the words of the official-looking paper aloud.
“‘Attorney-at-Law James A. Timmens filed case in Wyoming Territory court July 9, 1869. Request on behalf of Mrs. Margaret Hunt (New York City) to take full custody of two children born to deceased daughter, Delores Hunt. Her marriage to Craig Martin (born twenty-eight years ago in County Clare, Ireland) not legal. Plaintiff claims Craig Martin wrongfully acting as guardian to children Katherine (Katy) Hunt (born September 10, 1865, in Wyoming Territory) and Robert (Robbie) James Hunt (born May 30, 1864, in Wyoming Territory). Mrs. Hunt claims insufficient care of children by Mr. Martin due to lack of mother in home. Mrs. Hunt offers wealthy estate, private schools, nanny, tutor, French cuisine.’”
Craig finished reading and looked over at his brother. “Can she do this?” he asked incredulously. “Take my children away? A woman I’ve never met? And she wants to feed them French food? Katy won’t even eat chicken unless it’s a tough old rooster. The others are her pets. And Robbie’s so serious—he doesn’t need a tutor unless the man can teach him how to enjoy being a child.”
Finn nodded, looking miserable. “The sheriff says there’s an 1839 law, the Custody of Infants Act, that gives mothers more rights. It’s English law, but their grandmother might be able to argue it here. It gives the mother preferred rights for children up to seven years old. You need to stop Mrs. Hunt, Big. That’s why the sheriff came to suggest that you send for a mail-order bride. And do it soon. He says the judge will see a mother as important in his decision. Very important.”
Craig cut off his brother’s words with a glance. “You know I loved Delores, but we were miserable together. I don’t want another wife. And what does Mrs. Hunt mean that Delores and I weren’t legally wed? We had the preacher say the words over us. Man and wife. He’ll tell them so if anyone asks.”
Reverend Thompson would remember because he had initially balked when they’d asked him to marry them, suggesting they wait and get to know each other better.
“Not all women are like Delores,” Finn said. “The sheriff told me about a man west of here—a homesteader like us—who’s getting a mail-order bride from an agency in Boston. Says he fell in love with her when he saw her photograph.”
Craig snorted in disgust. Some men had no sense at all, he told himself.
But then his mind flashed back six years to an elegant lady he’d seen in New York City. She’d had a porcelain-white face. Long blond hair. Violet-blue eyes. He’d been employed as a longshoreman on the docks when he saw her that evening—July 13, 1863, the night the draft riots began. Craig had been searching for Finn when he saw that her house had been set on fire by rioters. She was running out of it when a fiery beam started to fall from the top of the structure. Crai
So, yes, he could see how a man could get his mind fixed on a beautiful face in a photograph and think he was in love with a woman he didn’t know.
Finn cleared his throat and brought Craig back to the present.
“I think the sheriff is right,” Finn said. “If you get married, it might be enough to make the judge dismiss the request from Delores’s mother right away. It doesn’t need to be a mail-order bride if you know someone else.”
“I don’t,” Craig said and then suddenly realized that he did know a woman who would marry him. “Well, except for Mrs. Drummond. I’ve been talking to her after church. Or, rather, she’s been talking to me. About marriage. I never quite know what to say. But she’s a godly woman. She knows what life is like here on the prairie. And she’s past the age of expecting any romance. Told me so herself. She said we’d have separate bedrooms. She’d look good to a judge, too.”
Craig looked over and saw that Finn seemed uncomfortable. “What’s wrong now?”
“It’s just that Mrs. Drummond is nothing like our mam.” Finn’s brogue was faint, but noticeable enough for Craig to know his brother was remembering their long-ago childhood in Ireland. “I’m not sure Robbie and Katy would like her for a mother. She seems more like an army sergeant. Besides—”
Both men heard a rustle and a gasp. They turned, and there in the doorway stood three-year-old Katy, her curly copper hair in disarray and her white nightgown pulled tight as she clutched a squirming gray cat in her arms. Craig kept expecting that wild tom to scratch her, but he never had in the three months he’d been with them.
Five-year-old Robbie stood behind his sister protectively. The children both had wide eyes as they looked at Craig. Katy also had a trembling lip.
“W-we don’t l-like Mrs. Drummon’,” Robbie said, his stammer always worse when he was agitated. “E-even Kitty don’t like her. H-he hisses at her.”
Craig wasn’t going to be swayed by the cat’s sour opinion of anyone. The old tom glared at him, too.
“Mrs. Drummon’ don’t like us, either,” Katy added in her soft voice.
Now, Katy was someone he listened to. Craig felt his plans crumble, and he opened his arms. His children ran over and snuggled close to him.
“How can anyone not like you?” Craig asked them tenderly as he rubbed their backs. The feline got squeezed in the hug and jumped down to eye Craig indignantly before stalking off.
Craig shook his head at the cat. It had been dropped off at their homestead by a trapper who was moving back east and didn’t think the animal would adapt to civilization. Craig would have politely refused the offer, but Katy had already gathered the hissing ball of fur up in her arms and declared he was her “Kitty.” No one could persuade her that “Kitty” wasn’t a fit name for a beat-up old tomcat with torn ears and a mangled right paw.
But for the moment, Craig was content, holding the children to him. And then he started to wonder. He’d been surprised at how attached Katy was to that animal. Maybe Delores’s mother was right about the children needing a female in their lives, too. He and Finn did their best, but was it enough?
Robbie hadn’t been the same since Delores died. She’d tried to take the boy with her when she ran away, but as Robbie confessed to Craig later, he couldn’t leave one-year-old Katy alone in the house, especially because she was crying. Katy shed tears frequently enough back then, although never without reason, and she must have sensed something awful was happening that day. No one could console her like Robbie could. Later, the boy claimed his mother’s accident would not have happened if he had gone with her like she’d wanted.
“I w-would have s-stopped the horse,” Robbie had added defiantly. It was the first time the boy had stammered.
Craig had repeatedly warned Delores about the half-broke wild horse he was working with in the corral. He’d forbidden her to even go close to the stallion. Why she had decided—on a day that he was away branding—to leave their home was a mystery. He had never refused to take her to Cheyenne, not even when he was busy. But she had climbed on that brute bareback and galloped away. Robbie told him that much. It had been almost dark when Craig found Delores’s body, lifeless and crumpled beside a boulder that she had apparently hit when she fell off that horse.
Craig had tried over the years to ease the boy’s mind, but Robbie’s stuttering didn’t stop. And Craig noticed that Katy hadn’t cried since that day, not even when she’d fallen and scraped her knee.
“According to the sheriff, that rancher and his bride-to-be are getting along fine,” Finn said a little more cheerfully. “The man’s going to send for her to come by railroad to Cheyenne this fall. Your new wife could come the same way, Big.”
Craig hated to, but he had to consider the prospect.
“I wouldn’t even know what to say to a woman like that,” he finally said. “Or what questions to ask.”
“We could ask the bride if she knows how to make those little Christmas cakes,” Katy whispered. “The ones with molasses in them and sugar on top.”
“And m-maybe ask if she l-likes dogs,” Robbie added. “Mrs. D-Drummon’ doesn’t even l-like puppies. I heard h-her say so.”
“That’s true,” Katy said. “She says she doesn’t like anything that brings dirt into the house.”
“I always g-get d-dirty,” Robbie lamented. “Is she g-going to put me out in the barn l-like she said she would with the puppies?”
“The barn roof leaks,” Katy said in concern. “And the wolves might get in.”
“Nobody is going to put either of you out in the barn,” Craig said, knowing he could not marry Mrs. Drummond if the children felt that way. “Besides, we’re going to fix the roof and the wolves are far away.” At least, most of the time they are, Craig added silently to himself.
Craig liked having his children close, and for a time, everyone was quiet. And then the night was disturbed by the distant howl of a wolf.
“He’s just calling his pack,” Craig said quietly, hoping to reassure Katy, who had looked up anxiously. He could hear Kitty snarling, too, his back starting to arch and his lips curling back, ready to attack whoever or whatever was making his little friend worried.
“Is a pack like a wolf family?” Katy whispered as she reached down and casually stroked Kitty, who had already crawled back beside her. “Do they have a father?”
“I suppose it’s a family,” Craig said, noticing how tame the cat had become as it turned around and licked Katy’s little fingers. “And they do have a male leader. Even a mother in a way.”
“Are we s-still a family if w-we don’t have a m-mother?” Robbie asked then.
“I love you,” Craig said fiercely. “Your uncle Finn loves you.” He looked down at the cat. “Even Kitty likes you.”
The boy frowned at the cat dubiously, and Craig was glad for the distraction. He left the main question unanswered. Mainly because he wasn’t sure himself. There had been something about having a woman in the house that made everything feel better even though Delores never seemed to care about any of them except Robbie.
They sat there together as Craig noticed the moon start to slide down in the sky. He figured the subject of him marrying was closed for now. Hopefully, the attorney would have some other suggestions.
“Maybe the bride could be a princess with yellow hair,” Katy said wistfully. “The pretty hair.”
“I’m sure some princesses have red hair, too,” Craig said as he kissed the top of his daughter’s head. Delores had never liked Katy’s hair, saying it made her look common. But Craig thought it was beautiful. His mam had had red hair.
Katy shook her head vehemently. “No, Daddy, her hair has to be yellow. That’s what Mama used to say. All the princesses have yellow hair.”
Craig doubted Katy could remember her mother saying anything at the age she’d been. But Delores had been given a book of fairy tales as a child and had read from it to both children. Maybe Robbie remembered something and had mentioned it to Katy. It would be like Delores to pick a color of hair that Katy did not have. But that was long ago. He needed to think about today.
