Cowboy’s Rules
Brides of Juniper Junction, Book Three
Celeste Jones
Copyright © 2020 Cowboy’s Rules by Celeste Jones
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed without prior written permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Published in the United States of America
Editing by Helen Shade
Cover by Sweet ‘N Spicy Designs
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
About this book
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
Epilogue
Other books in the Brides of Juniper Junction series
About Celeste Jones
About this book
Married to a stranger moments after they meet.
Things aren't always as they seem and never is that more true than when a mysterious mail order bride arrives in Juniper Junction.
From the moment she steps off the train in Juniper Junction, nothing goes right for Elizabeth. When she's injured before she even meets her groom, her hopes for a memorable wedding day, and night, are crushed.
But, that's the least of Lizzie's troubles. As she grows to love her handsome and dominant cowboy husband, she can't help but wonder what other bad luck may befall her...especially if Matt finds out what she's done.
Secrets, spankings, sex and smokin' hot men in the old west.
Chapter 1
The home of Pennhurst Wentworth Pendleton
St. Louis, MO
1885
"Sit up straight, Elizabeth. What is the point of buying you expensive clothes if you do not present yourself in the most attractive manner?" Pennhurst Wentworth Pendleton glared at his only child as he usually did, with a contempt filled gaze. Originally his reaction to her had mostly been indifference or disappointment that she was not the much hoped for male heir that every man apparently wanted more than even a dozen daughters.
But, as Elizabeth had matured and become more independent of thought, her father's preferred attitude toward her became disdain. Usually backed up with pursed lips and a look on his face as though he constantly smelled something unpleasant. Perhaps it was himself.
Elizabeth supposed she ought not to feel too badly about it. Pennhurst Wentworth Pendleton—Penn to his cronies. He had no friends—looked upon the entire world with a sneering scorn. It was not as though she had been singled out for his particular brand of toxic sputum, he lavished upon all with little regard for class, gender or age. He was an equal opportunity scorner.
Unfortunately for Elizabeth, as the only other non-servant member of the household, she simply had the dire misfortune of extended exposure combined with nowhere else to turn.
She was—despite a long line of revered ancestors, education of the first order and creamy flawless hands which were the envy of every woman she encountered—miserable. Worse than that, she felt hopeless.
It was not as though she could pack her things and live elsewhere. It simply wasn't done. Besides, her father's reach extended far and wide in St. Louis and beyond. Far beyond. Plus, she had no money of her own. Ironic, considering that the dress she wore cost more than the salaries of all their hired help for a month, but not a cent did she have of her very own.
Her father made sure of that.
She was worth a fortune, but could not buy a crust of bread.
She was trapped in a gilded cage.
Sometimes, when the melancholy was too much, she'd sit in her room and gaze out the window at the people walking by on the street. Inevitably they would stop and stare up at the expanse of the Pendleton family home, their mouths agape at the sheer size and ostentatiousness of it. In their eyes, she saw envy.
If they could see hers, they'd realize she envied them. Their freedom to walk about as they pleased in the fresh air, to laugh and chat with friends, to smile and enjoy themselves without someone demanding to be told their thoughts and what they were up to, since no one could simply be happy without being up to something. And it was never something good that he assumed she was up to.
It was in the face of all that, which Elizabeth found herself waiting in the massive drawing room of her home, perched upon an armless chair, the better to show off her shape without obstruction, as her father continued to lecture.
"You will be on your best behavior tonight. None of your blather about books or history, do you understand me? You will smile and be charming. That's what I paid those hags at that school to teach you, isn't it? So make sure I get my money's worth."
"Yes," she replied. When her father was in these moods, which was often, the best thing to do was go along and say as little as possible. Her tongue had a permanent groove in it from being bitten as she held back all the things she wished to say to the man who had sired her.
"Neville Pettit has been raising the prices on the barrels we need to transport our product. But I have a way to prevent that from continuing." An evil smile turned up the corners of his mouth and Elizabeth's stomach roiled with anxiety.
"Family would never treat each other that way, now would they?" The expression on her father's face was positively maniacal.
"Family?" She didn't want to hear the answer but she couldn't keep herself from asking.
"Why yes." He practically vibrated with glee at his cleverness. "Congratulations, Elizabeth. You're now engaged to Mr. Neville Pettit. He'll be along soon to finalize arrangements over dinner."
"What?" Elizabeth leapt to her feet, all thoughts of posture and presentation gone. "Engaged? Have you gone mad?"
"Not at all. Am I not your father? And is it not my duty to see that you are properly provided for? I should think you'd be grateful. It is not as though any other men come calling for you."
"Because you won't allow it!" Her throat burned and she fought against the tears threatening at her eyes. Tears only made it worse. Her tears were like fresh blood to a vulture and he swooped in closer and closer. She blinked rapidly and stood her ground. "Every time a gentleman has shown even the slightest interest in me, you send your hoodlums to threaten them and they never come back. Do you have any idea how humiliating it is when they actually cross the street to avoid me?"
"Well, that is a testament to their cowardice and has nothing to do with me."
"So, if they had continued to come around, you'd have relented?"
"Of course not, but I'd have had a bit of respect for them. No, your hand in marriage is mine to give away and I shall only give it to the highest bidder."
"Don’t
you mean sell, rather than give? As though I was a cow at auction."
Her father's gaze raked over her. "You are much more like a thoroughbred and that is the price you will command."
At that moment the butler entered the room. "Mr. Neville Pettit is here, sir."
With one final, warning glare in her direction, her father left the room to greet their guest and personally escort him to meet her. The highest compliment that Pennhurst Wentworth Pendleton ever bestowed.
Elizabeth glanced toward the stairs and imagined hiking up her skirts and running to lock herself in her room.
But a mere oak door was no match for the likes of Penn Pendleton, particularly when his authority has been challenged.
For the sake of the door and her own safety, she smoothed her skirt, resumed her regal posture and prayed for the evening to go quickly.
* * *
An interminable amount of time later, Lizzie finally returned to her room and locked the door behind her. Not that she feared any ramifications from the evening. She had behaved perfectly and her father had been quite pleased. Or as pleased as he ever was.
Mr. Neville Pettit was even worse than she'd imagined. Though she'd been surprised to realize he was not nearly so old as she'd expected. Her father's business associates tended toward gray hair (if any at all), portly and past their prime. Mr. Pettit, or Nevie as he asked her to call him, was probably no more than a decade older than her eighteen years, possibly even less than that, but his manner certainly portrayed a much older man.
He had taken her hand in his and even gone to the trouble of getting down on one knee to propose. His fingers had been cold and his words well-rehearsed. Possibly memorized from a book of poems, for as the evening progressed it became clear that Nevie—she shuddered whenever she considered spending her life with a man named Nevie—had no creativity, no interest in anything other than business. Well, actually, not even business. His sole focus was money and his business was the means to accumulating it.
And marrying her would secure a sizable trust left to her by her mother. Though Lizzie assumed it had been with the best of intentions, her mother had stipulated that the money in the trust not be given to Elizabeth until she married.
Which would then, of course, make the money the property of her husband.
Sliding a large chair in front of the bolted door, Lizzie finally felt safe to unlock the drawer of her desk and pull out the sheaf of letters which were her most valued possession.
With a deep breath, she started from the beginning and began to read.
Dear Elizabeth,
Thank you for responding to my advertisement for a bride. I know it is a bit unconventional, but it is my heart's desire to have a wife and family and though there are women here in Juniper Junction, it seems that none suit my fancy.
However, your letter drew my attention and I have been thinking about you ever since.
I hope you do not think I am a silly romantic. But, I do hope for a marriage that is harmonious and filled with affection. And in time, love. So perhaps I am a silly romantic.
She could have set the letters aside and recited them from memory, but the feel of the paper in her hands and the sight of his masculine handwriting served to calm her nerves. There was something about this man, Mr. Matthew Foreman of Windy River Ranch, that drew her to him as well. Perhaps they were both a couple of silly romantics.
Continuing to read, by the time she got to the very last letter her anxiety from the evening vanished.
And so, my dear Elizabeth, it is with great humility that I ask you to be my wife. I cannot offer a grand home, but I am an honest and hardworking man who will treat you with respect and never give you cause to doubt me. If you'll have me, I vow to use every breath in my body to give you a good and decent life.
She stared at the letter, her heart swelling with emotion.
Matt Foreman only knew her as Elizabeth Corwin. She'd left off the name Pendleton. Not that the name would mean anything to someone in Wyoming, but ridding herself of the tie to her father had been an act of defiance.
She'd told Matt she was a maid at a fancy house owned by the Pendleton family. It was a lie, of course. But, the reason she'd even looked at the matrimonial ads had been because she was tired of being sought out for her money or family name. Not that she'd been sought out that much since her father had made it clear she was his to bestow upon a man of his choosing, but even those who had shown an interest in her sometimes gave her the impression that they might not have been quite so charming to her if she wasn't the sole beneficiary of the Corwin family trust.
And Matt Foreman, so far as she could tell, gave not one jot about her trust fund. In fact, he had pledged repeatedly to provide for her. It would be his honor, he had said, to put in a hard day's work to take care of the needs of his wife and family.
Before she lost her nerve, she got out a pen and paper and wrote a short reply, accepting his offer of marriage.
There was so much more she wished to say, to pour her heart out to the sincere and thoughtful man half a continent away, but she feared she'd lose her nerve if she didn't post the letter immediately.
Sealing it up, she unbarricaded the door to her room, grabbed a cloak and stole out into the darkened streets of St. Louis. The moon was bright and it reminded her of a passage from one of Matt's letters.
I know Juniper Junction isn't fancy. And we don't have all the modern conveniences of St. Louis, but at night, the moon and stars are so bright it's as though you could reach out and touch them.
With trembling hands she lowered the door to the mailbox and dropped her life-changing letter in.
* * *
“Good news, Elizabeth,” her father crowed at breakfast a few days later. “Neville and I have made our final arrangements. All that is left is for the marriage to take place. I’ve set the date for the first of next month.”
Elizabeth choked on her coffee while her father stared on, irritated at her lack of answer. Finally, one of the servants gave her a couple of whacks on the back while apologizing profusely and cleared her airway.
It did not, however, eliminate the horror coursing through her body. “The first? Of next month?” she managed to choke out. “Why that’s less than three weeks away. I need time for a dress and trousseau and invitations. How can a wedding be planned in such a short time?”
She had no interest in any of those things, at least so far as Neville “Nevie” Pettit was concerned. However, she desperately needed to stall. She had not yet received a ticket from Matthew and without that, she had no idea how she would be able to escape to her new life in Juniper Junction.
She’d hoped for at least a month. She should have known better.
“No one cares about that sort of thing, or at least I don’t. You’ve got plenty of pretty dresses to wear and I shall see to the invitations. It is not as though you have any friends to invite. Or at least no friends that matter.”
He stood, indicating that the matter was completed, and headed for the door. Just before he exited he turned to her and speared her with a steely gaze. “See that you are prepared to become Mrs. Neville Pettit on the first of the month, Elizabeth.”
A chill fell over the room and Elizabeth stared at her plate of food. She had no appetite, though that was the least of her problems.
Without a train ticket, how would she get to Juniper Junction? Oh, the bitter irony. She lived in riches but had none of her own. And once she was married, the trust fund from her mother would go to the deplorable Nevie Pettit.
Her stomach churned.
Elizabeth cared very little for money. She’d seen the way it made people, particularly her father, behave. Of course, it provided a comfortable life. She was never hungry or cold or without proper attire for the weather, but her soul felt impoverished indeed.
And then she thought of Matt’s letters and her heart warmed a bit. He had promised to provide for her and she would trust him to do that. In the meantime, she needed to devi
se a plan.
The front door closed, indicating her father was out of the house for the day. Fortifying herself with the last of her coffee, she returned to her room and set to work.
Inspecting her wardrobe, she tried to decide which dresses and shoes were best suited to life in the wild west. After reviewing every item, she determined that essentially none of her clothes were appropriate for anything more than a life of leisure. She was sort of disgusted with herself over that.
She vowed to start a new life in Juniper Junction. A life with purpose and friends and most of all, a husband named Matt who cared about a simple maid named Elizabeth.
A tap on her door made her jump and she opened it a crack, not wishing for anyone to see the state of her bedroom. It was Minnie, her lady’s maid, and closest thing to a friend that Elizabeth had. She held a silver salver with an envelope upon it.
“Beg your pardon, Miss Elizabeth,” the maid said. “But I thought you’d want to have this letter right away.”
A glance at the parcel on the tray set Elizabeth’s heart racing. She’d recognize that handwriting anywhere. She stifled a squeal of happiness and grabbed the letter, smiling her gratitude to Minnie. “Thank you!”
Minnie glanced from side to side and then put her foot in the doorway to prevent her mistress from closing it just yet. “There’s a rumor going about that you’re to marry Mr. Pettit soon.” Minnie paused and chewed on her lip. “I don’t want to stick my nose where it don’t belong, but…” she glanced at the envelope and then back up to meet Elizabeth’s gaze “if there’s anything you might need… you just need to ask.”
Cowboy’s Rules: Brides of Juniper Junction, Book Three Page 1
