by Vivi Holt
Alice grinned. “Yours too. I’ve been wanting to meet you – I heard you were beautiful, and boy, you sure are. How do you get your hair to sit that way? Mine’s always frizzy like this, rain or shine – I can’t seem to do a thing with it.”
Holly smiled. “I think your hair is lovely, but I’m sure we could fix it the same way. I’d be happy to help you sometime if you like.”
Alice beamed. “Oh yes, please – that would be marvelous! I’ve just moved here and I don’t know a soul, not really. My husband Handley bought a mercantile store here …”
“Oh, of course – I met Handley the other day when we came to town. He sold us the most darling boots and some really beautiful fabric I’m sewing our winter clothes from.”
Alice looped one arm through Holly’s and led her toward the door. “I just know we’ll be good friends. I have a sense about these things.”
Holly nodded with a grin. “I think so too.”
“And these are your children?” asked Alice. All five were running circles around Kurt and the wagon, whooping and hollering.
Holly cringed. “Uh, yes, that’s them.”
“They’re delightful! Handley and I have been trying for children for years, but God hasn’t chosen to bless us that way, or not yet. Though we’re so blessed in other ways that I just can’t begin to count them.” She squeezed Holly’s arm, happily watching the children play. “So we’ve come to terms with it. I’ve learned life can be awfully miserable if you count the blessings you don’t have, rather than the ones you do. Wouldn’t you agree?” Her hazel eyes glimmered behind her glasses.
Holly patted her hand and tipped her head to one side. “Yes, indeed. You’re very wise, though I don’t know how you got to be so at such a young age.”
Alice smiled wide and laughed. “Oh, you flatterer. You know, all of you should come to the house for lunch today. I made a roast yesterday for the Sabbath meal, and it’s big enough for all of us.”
Holly pursed her lips. “Oh, I don’t know. We have to visit Kurt’s brother and the new baby …”
“You can do both – I insist. I have to get to know you better, since you live out of town and I don’t know when I’ll next get the chance to visit with you. I haven’t been to the ranch, but Handley tells me all about his customers and where they’re from and what they’re like, so I feel like I know them all myself sometimes …”
As Alice kept talking, Holly led her toward Kurt to ask if they could dine at the Browns’. When he said they could, she let herself take a moment to look around the space in front of the church. Her children played with some of the other kids from town. Handley joined Alice, who told him to expect guests, an open smile on her face.
Holly felt the warmth of her husband’s presence – his solid dependability, his strength of character, his goodness and his love for her. And peace like a river flooded her soul.
THE END
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OF PEAKS AND PRAIRIES
Read on for an excerpt from the first book in the Paradise Valley series, Of Peaks and Prairies. Or, buy now.
REVIEW
If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review where you bought it. Reviews help other readers discover my books, which in turn enables me to write another. Thank you! - Vivi Holt
READING ORDER
Orphan Brides Go West
Mail Order Bride: Christy
Mail Order Bride: Ramona
Mail Order Bride: Katie
Mail Order Bride: Holly
Excerpt from Of Peaks and Prairies
Chapter One
Genevieve Waters-Ewing walked from the church with her hand resting lightly on Quincey Ewing’s raised arm. He’d shaved for the first time in months, and she glanced with distaste at a scratch on his cheek where the blade had nicked his weathered skin. Her whole body trembled and she fought hard to push down the sobs that threatened to escape her aching throat at any moment. He turned to face her with a grin, his ten-gallon hat perched unevenly on his square head.
The minister who’d married them was so old and frail and his hearing so bad, each time she shook her head and shouted “no” during their vows, he simply nodded with a toothless grin and continued on with the ceremony. When she tried to run, Quincey held her close and pinched her arm. In the end she stood her ground, confident that the law would never uphold such a marriage – until, that is, her new husband forged her signature on the marriage certificate. Now she wasn’t so sure.
She glared at him as her stepfather came up alongside her. “Congratulations, Genny – yer a married woman now! Isn’t that what ya always wanted?” He chuckled, and she caught him winking behind her back at his childhood friend – the man who’d just been pronounced her husband.
“Well, at least it’ll get ya out from under my feet,” he continued. “I can’t be payin’ for yer upkeep forever. Your Ma done died on me, leavin’ me with a rug-rat I never wanted. Now it’s time for ya to find yer own place in life. Can’t say as I’ll miss ya much, ‘part from the cookin’ ‘n sech of course, but I’ll find a missus to do that soon enough with ya out of the house. ‘Course, yer not goin’ far – just across the way. I’m sure ya could find it in yer heart to help me out a time or two, after all I’ve done fer ya.”
They’d stepped out into the bright Texas morning, and Genevieve squinted against the sunlight that streamed down through a faint fuzz of thin clouds above. She cast her gaze around – they were on the outskirts of Fort Worth, Texas, and she could see the plains stretched out before them. The town pushed toward the openness, threatening to civilize its bluffs, rises and hollows. Chaparral tufts littered the landscape, sheltering hare and various rodents and giving the plains an unkempt look.
Genevieve smoothed the skirts of her burgundy-plaid dress. It was the nicest dress she owned, but even so it was well worn and pulled tightly across her chest and hips where she’d grown in recent years. A long line of small buttons ran up the front of the bodice. The sleeves no longer reached her wrists even when she tugged at them, and the stays pinched her tiny waist. She sighed. “If Ma knew what you had planned for me, Fred, she’d roll over in her grave.” She caught a sob and pushed it back down with a grimace.
He laughed again, this time with a slap on his thigh. When the sound faded, he leveled his face close to hers. She could smell stale tobacco and tequila as his bloodshot eyes trained on hers and held her gaze. “Ya watch yer manners there, Missy. Ya got a husband now, and he may not put up with yer sass the way I done.”
She felt a squeeze on her arm and turned to face her new husband with a gasp. “What was that for?”
“Ya speak to my friend here with some respect. He’s yer elder and I won’t have none of yer lip, ya hear? Yer my wife now and you’ll heed what I say, got it?” Quincey took off his hat to wipe the sweat from his brow. “Dagnabit, it’s hot today. What say we grab us a drink to celebrate this fine occasion?” he asked Fred, who nodded that he heartily concurred with the plan.
Genevieve rubbed her arm where his thin fingers had pinched, and furrowed her brow. She’d never imagined that her life could have taken a turn for the worse after everything that had already happened to her. When her father died in a mining accident, Ma married the next man who asked her, out of fear that they’d end up in the poorhouse or dead from hunger or cold in the street. Unfortunately, that man had been Fred Bilton, and a more cold-hearted man would have been hard to find. Or so she thought, until she met his friend and their neighbor, Quincey Ewing.
The two men eyed Genevieve with a frown. “What?” she asked, her hands on her hips.
“Just wonderin’ what on Earth to do with ya while yer Uncle Fred and me head on down to the saloon for a bit.” Quincey placed his hat back on his head and grabbed her wrist, dragging her along behind him.
“Stop it, you’re hurting me,” she cried, stum
bling after him.
“Keep up, then, and it’ll hurt less.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“Ya can sit outside the saloon where I can keep my eye on ya. I got a feelin’ yer in a feisty mood.” He stopped and pulled her close to his chest, both hands wrapped tightly around her tiny wrists. “And just so ya know – I don’t take kindly to feisty. Ya give me trouble, I give ya trouble, you got me?” He narrowed his eyes at the sight of her pale face, and the wiry gray hairs that curled up from the tops of his eyebrows lifted and fell as he regarded her. “What’s wrong with ya, girl? Did ya hear what I said?”
Genevieve nodded, and he released one of her wrists, pulling her behind him down the busy street once again. Tears threatened, but she held them in. She didn’t want him to see her cry, to know that he’d been able to hurt her. She couldn’t give him the satisfaction. Fred plodded along behind the two of them, huffing and puffing in his attempt to keep up with Quincey’s clipped pace.
They drew to a halt in front of a rusted sign that swung from a thin paling nailed in front of a two-way door. The sign read Tandy’s, and Fred licked his lips. “Well, you finally got yer way there, Quincey – I gave you my girl to marry. I figure this means the drinks are on you today, right?”
Quincey nodded and scowled. With one last glance at Genevieve, he pointed to a nearby bench and watched as she made her way over to sit. “Ya‘n’I will be doin’ our own celebratin’ later tonight,” he said with a glint in his dark eyes.
Genevieve shivered and felt the bile rise in her throat at the thought of what lay in store for her later that evening. Quincey snickered and pushed open the saloon doors, and the two men hurried inside, anxious to begin drinking.
As soon as they disappeared, Genevieve’s heart raced until it felt as though it would burst from her chest. She pulled and tugged at her corset, but it was no use. Standing quickly to her feet, she drew in deep gasps of air as circles and pricks of light danced and swayed before her eyes.
“Are you all right there, Miss?” asked a cowboy as he gently cupped her arm. His eyes were kindly above a bushy beard.
“Yes, I’m fine, thank you,” she replied, steadying herself in his grasp.
“Why don’t you sit right here? There you go.” He helped her back onto the bench, and she closed her eyes, concentrating on slowing her breathing. The next time she opened them, it was to see the cowboy dip his brown Stetson at her with a smile and meander off down the street.
Before she knew what she was doing, she was back on her feet and following him. She did it quietly so he wouldn’t notice, and she wasn’t even sure why she felt the need to follow him, but it was as though she were following an instinct she couldn’t fight. I can’t stay there. I can’t go through with it. Quincey is horrible and mean and old and I despise him. I can’t be married to him. Just thinking about going home with him to that ramshackle old place he calls a house makes my stomach churn.
The cowboy sauntered down the street. He stepped from the covered sidewalk onto the dusty road with a hop and ducked between wagons and buggies to cross it. The road they were following was the main thoroughfare for the dusty Texas town, edged on both sides by tall false storefronts. Covered boardwalks joined them to keep boots and slippers up out of the dust and manure that coated the potholed road with a layer of grime.
I can’t do it. I can’t do it. Genevieve’s mind was blank apart from a single thought that repeated itself over and over in time with the slap of her feet on the road. I can’t do it. I can’t do it.
She knew, if she dared think about it, that Quincey would come after her. As soon as he saw she’d left her place outside Tandy’s, he’d come looking and he wouldn’t stop until he found where she was. Then she’d pay. She’d seen the way he’d collected a toll from his workers, the animals on his farm and the sporting women who crept from his bed in the early hours of the morning. She’d seen it all from her home on the opposite side of the lane from his shanty. She knew how he treated anyone who had the misfortune to be included in his life, and she knew what she’d have to bear when he caught up with her.
The knowledge made her insides quake with fear, but it didn’t cause her to stop. She kept going, creeping along behind the cowboy, shivering inside, and all the while the thought flew around and around in her head. I can’t do it. I can’t do it. I can’t do it.
They soon passed by the dusty, little church where Genevieve had recently become Mrs. Ewing. She saw Quincey’s wagon parked out front where they’d left it earlier, and peered over the lip of the wagon bed. A dingy carpet bag sat in the back of the wagon. She reached inside and deftly pulled it from the wagon. It fell in the dirt at her feet with a thump, raising a cloud of dust to swirl about her skirts. With a frown, she bent and opened the latch, lifting the lid gingerly to look inside.
She gasped. It was full of her clothes and personal items!
Fred must have packed it when she wasn’t looking earlier that morning. He’d asked her to feed the shoats after breakfast, and when she’d carried their food scraps out to the yard he must have packed her things and slipped them into Quincey’s wagon. She snapped the carpet bag closed again, and hefted it over her shoulder. The cowboy had almost disappeared from view, she’d have to hurry. She picked up her skirts and scampered down the street after him, the bag clenched firmly under her arm.
They came to the Fort Worth Stockyards. A large sign to announce that fact hung directly above her head with big block letters all in red. Behind the sign, paling fences marked off small squares of dirt and enclosed hundreds of cattle. They bawled and clashed their long horns against the railings, jousting with each other in the small enclosures. Browns, whites, tans and creams – their coats were dull with dust, and they shivered against the onslaught of flies that hovered thick above them, darting in to land on a hide before being swatted away by a heavy tail or chased off by a moist nose.
The cowboy paused by the stockyards, raising one foot to rest on a low railing as he surveyed the cattle. He pulled a toothpick from his mouth and flicked a piece of food into the grass. Genevieve stood in silence, waiting. She didn’t have a plan; she was just following the man with kind eyes.
He set off again, past the yards, the rowels of his spurs spinning and tinging with each step he took. Beyond the yards he came to a clearing. Past the clearing Genevieve could see the dry plains spread as far as the eye could see to the distant horizon under the enormous Texan sky that pulled itself taut and hazy above the dusty landscape.
On the edge of those plains, in the clearing, an enormous herd of longhorns milled around. Around them on horseback sat a few covered wagons and a group of cowboys watching the cattle closely. The cowboy climbed onto the back of a bay horse that stood saddled and tied to the back of one of the wagons. He tipped his hat at another man who walked between the wagons toward Genevieve, then drew the reins and trotted off.
Genevieve squinted as the dust borne on a warm wind came in gusts off the plain and hit her full in the face. What should she do now? The cowboy had disappeared around the outside of the herd and she could follow no further. The man walking toward her was closer now and she could see his brow furrowed in concentration. He had a handsome, darkly tanned face with chiseled features. Several chestnut curls escaped the tight fit of his black Stetson, and when he glanced her way she caught her breath. His eyes were pale blue and sparkled under the brim of his low-drawn hat.
Without thinking, Genevieve ducked behind the closest covered wagon. Her heart raced and she held her breath. The canvas that covered the wagon was joined to the timber frame directly in front of her eyes, and she noticed as she hid there that it had popped open on one side. She pulled it away from the wagon frame and poked her head up through the gap. The schooner was chock-full of food stuffs and kitchenware: cured meats, wheels of cheese, flour, eggs, pickled and canned fruits and vegetables, as well as containers of things she couldn’t make out. All were stacked up in the midst of frying pans, pots, ute
nsils and spices.
Her eyes widened in surprise and delight. She had never in her life seen so many good things to eat, and in fact it had been a number of years since she’d had a hearty meal. Since Ma died, Fred had always insisted she cook for him, never leaving her enough to eat herself. She felt her mouth moisten at the sight of all that delectable food and her stomach growled, twisting tightly as she considered how it might taste. She climbed up on a step that jutted out at the base of the wagon bed, then pushed herself over the edge and inside, pulling the carpet bag behind her.
She landed with a grunt on a wheel of cheese. She’d never seen so much cheese! If only she had a knife. There must be one around here somewhere. No, what was she thinking? That would be stealing, and there was no way she could get away with slicing into a full wheel of cheese without anyone finding out about it.
If she was going to steal – which she wasn’t – it would make a lot more sense to take one of those delicious-looking red apples in the barrel beside the cheese. No one would ever notice that an apple was missing from a barrel that size. But of course that was still stealing, and hungry as she was, she knew Ma would never approve of such behavior, God rest her soul.
Her stomach growled again and she licked her lips. It was just a tiny little apple. Surely there wasn’t a person on this Earth who would object to her taking one teeny apple.
She reached out and plucked one from the top of the barrel. It felt cool to the touch, and as she pushed it into her mouth and bit down hard into its crisp flesh, the juice ran down her chin and dripped onto her skirts. She leaned back against the hard, rounded side of the barrel and put her feet up on top of the cheese as she munched.
Just then, the wagon jolted and moved forward. She stopped chewing and sat upright, listening intently. She could hear the bellowing of the cattle and the whistles and calls of the cowboys – they were moving out. She wondered where they were headed. Never mind – wherever it was she hoped it was as far from Fort Worth and Quincey Ewing as she could get. She lay back down and took another bite.
