by Tanya Hanson
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Marrying Minda
by Tanya Hanson
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Romance
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The Wild Rose Press
www.thewildrosepress.com
Copyright ©2008 by Tanya Hanson
NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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CONTENTS
Kudos and Reviews for Author Tanya Hanson
Marrying
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
About the author...
Thank you for purchasing
Other Cactus Rose titles to enjoy:
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Norman Dale was simply not the charming father he'd presented in his letters. What other surprises did he have in store for her? Did he imagine her so besotted she wouldn't mind?
No matter. She'd signed that register pure and simple. He'd made her his wife, and she'd willingly taken him as her husband. For better or worse.
“Sit yourself down. I'll go get Silly and the rest of the kids,” he said through slitted lips. He raised his brows at the blonde woman and she nodded, leaving them in private.
“The rest of what kids?” Minda's skin prickled. Deciding to obey him for the first and only time, she sat down.
“Our kids. Yours and mine.”
“Our kids? What in the world do you mean, Norman Dale? You wrote that you've got one daughter. Fourteen years old.” Minda's voice rose and despite the heat, her shoulders tensed with a sudden chill as if a clump of snow had just fallen from the treetops. “What kids? What on earth are you saying, Norman Dale? Your letters didn't say one single words about kids.”
He glared down at her. “You must've misread my brother.” The last two words slid from his tongue in slow deliberation.
His brother? She sat helpless, hopeless, paralyzed against the back of the hard little chair. For a moment, she had no air to speak.
“Your brother? Your brother? What do you mean?”
He leaned close to her, like he had during their kiss, but at her ear he growled, low, “You promised to wed a Haynes today. Well, I'm the only one left. Your Norman Dale, my brother—” His fingers, calloused and hot, held her chin still so he could glare into her eyes, “—is dead.”
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Kudos and Reviews for Author Tanya Hanson
MARRYING MINDA placed first with perfect scores in the “Ignite The Flame” contest, historical division, sponsored by Central Ohio Fiction Writers, 2007.
MARRYING MINDA placed first in the Merritt “Magic Moment” Contest, historical division, sponsored by San Antonio Romance Authors 2008.
And for MIDNIGHT BRIDE:
“If you like the writings of Diana Palmer, then you will definitely want to pick up MIDNIGHT BRIDE.”
~Joyfully Reviewed
“Ms. Hanson has a distinctive voice and a wonderful turn of phrase ... making this a book to curl up with.”
~Love Western Romance, Four Spurs
“...a book you won't be able to put down.”
~Romance Junkies, Blue Ribbon Rating 4.5
“Tanya Hanson creates a great plot with a well-developed cast that keeps the pages turning.”
~Coffee Time Romance, a Four Cup Outstanding Read
[Back to Table of Contents]
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Marrying
Minda
by
Tanya Hanson
[Back to Table of Contents]
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This is a work of fiction. 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, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Marrying Minda
COPYRIGHT ©
2008 by Tanya Hanson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Nicola Martinez
The Wild Rose Press
PO Box 706
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Cactus Rose Edition, 2009
Print ISBN 1-60154-469-3
Published in the United States of America
[Back to Table of Contents]
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Dedication
With love to my sister and brother-in-law,
Roberta and Tim Pelton.
I couldn't have made it without you.
[Back to Table of Contents]
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Chapter One
Paradise, Nebraska, July 1878
Where is Norman Dale?
Minda's heart thumped. The noon stage had run late, so he had plenty of time to get here. Unless he had backed out.
She swallowed hard. Nowhere on the empty street did she see a bridegroom bearing a bouquet of her favorite white roses. The gulp turned into a sob. They had signed a legal contract fair and square, and the dry official document hadn't stopped them from falling a little bit in love with each other. His letters had been full of compliments and promises and excitement, too, about meeting face-to-face.
And today was the day.
Even in the stuffy interior of the stagecoach, Minda shivered with a chill of unease. After tossing her valises on the boardinghouse steps, the driver lifted her down. Minda shrugged out of the long linen duster she'd worn as protection against the grime of travel, for underneath she wore her wedding gown. Norman Dale's last letter had sweetly insisted they wed the minute she arrived.
Trying to impart a radiant smile, she paid no heed to the reactions of her fellow travelers. The woman wearing an old-style coal-scuttle bonnet of green gingham had chatted pleasantly for the last five miles, but upon seeing Minda's silk and lace, her mouth turned wide and silent as a full moon. And a grubby codger leered while showing off his two brown teeth.
She ignored them just as she'd paid no heed to her younger sisters’ claims that a spinster didn't need a lovely white wedding gown. Well, Minda Becker might be a spinster and a mail-order bride on top of it. But she was a bride, and she was going to do it right.
In the hot dust of the departing stage, she drooped in disillusion at the hard-luck little town. Norman Dale's letters had glorified Paradise. Truth to tell, her new hometown was one brick building and a dozen false-front wooden structures with miles of cornfields and prairie grass billowing around the edges. Her bridegroom's own farm and fine wooden house must lie quite a ways outside of town.
She caught sight of a trim white church down the street and the slew of horses and wagons
hitched to rough-hewn posts along its side. Relief as sweet as her silk dress flooded her. Of course. Norman Dale must be busy greeting wedding guests who waited on a bride delayed by a stage running late. Of course, he'd be along in a minute to fetch her. They'd already agreed to march up the aisle together. A widower had no reason to wait at the altar for a mail-order bride who had no one to give her away.
Past the church, tables piled with platters and baskets sat in the shade of big cottonwoods along the riverbank. Her wedding dinner. Goodness, she was about to become Mrs. Norman Dale Haynes. With a quiver of delight, she shook dust and wrinkles from her skirts and walked up the boardinghouse steps to seek a mirror and a bowl of cool water for freshening.
But a closed sign hung on the lopsided door. Minda smiled at her reflection in the grimy window anyway. Likely the innkeeper was a wedding guest already at church. After digging through a valise, she brought out the veil she'd fashioned from odds and ends at the millinery back home. Just touching the beautiful headpiece set a new flock of butterflies aflutter inside her belly. The froth of netting cascaded from a wreath of roses she'd crafted from scraps of ivory velvet.
As she arranged the veil, she heard her name. However, the angle of reflection didn't let her see the speaker.
“Miz Becker? You are Minda Becker, right?”
She turned to see a man approaching, tall and lean in his Sunday best, awkwardly carrying her bridal bouquet.
Mr. Norman Dale Haynes. She couldn't stop the outtake of breath. He was much younger and far more handsome than the daguerreotype he had sent her. Hair dark as midnight brushed each side of his neck, and tall as he was, her head wouldn't reach his shoulder. Her face warmed. It wouldn't take long at all to give him her whole heart.
Or her body.
Her heart hammered beneath her whalebone corset. Heat that had nothing to do with the weather poured over her like new milk. Merciful heavens, he must have wed young the first time around to have the teenage daughter he needed her to raise.
This man didn't appear to have any flaws at all. She tingled from top to toe, recalling how her three married sisters, with many blushes, had explained the delights of the marriage bed. She wanted the same for herself.
Her eye for style had designed quality hats in Gleesburg, so the poor fit of his dark coat stumped her. She'd expected better attire from a well-off farmer on his wedding day. More important, his grim countenance and the black moustache over his unsmiling lip started the blood in her veins to run cold. But a second later she warmed a little. Likely he had some jitters himself. His masculine handsomeness made her proud. She'd chosen well.
Although she was almost twenty-five, she quivered like a flighty schoolgirl. Gathering up her dignity, she walked toward him, eager for a welcoming embrace. In truth, his letters had indicated he'd fallen for her as well.
“Yes, yes, of course, I'm Minda Becker.” She smiled big and bright to keep her words from shaking. “Is there another bride arriving this afternoon?”
“Nope. Just you. Let's get you married up.” He still didn't smile or offer a hand or an introduction. Or even remove his hat. Heart sinking, she shut her lids tight to hold back tears.
Had she come a thousand miles to get her heart broken?
A wisp of the veil fluttered across her face in the hot wind and she grabbed the edge to have something to do. Had that interminable trek from Pennsylvania been a powerful mistake?
Folks in Gleesburg had considered her a spinster after she gave up her girlhood to raise her three little sisters when Mama died. But at least her hometown had cobbled streets and brick houses, decent businesses including the hat shop where she'd made her living. Neighbors close by, too. Every homestead she'd seen around here seemed miles away from the next one.
She still had time to change her mind. But no, she'd signed that contract. She'd given her word. More than anything, she wanted a husband and a home of her own. As she forced herself to return her bridegroom's unyielding gaze, her skin prickled a little at his dark eyes that didn't blink.
“I regret the late start to our wedding, Norman Dale. My train arrived in Columbus on time, but I truly had no control over the stagecoach getting me to Paradise.” She tried to laugh lightly. No thinking person could hold her responsible.
Her face burned. Unless he thought she'd delayed the stage's departure by taking time to change into her wedding dress. His correspondence had complimented her plenty on her common sense. She couldn't bear him thinking her frivolous and vain.
“A late stage isn't your fault. But hurry up now. Folks are waiting.”
Minda's spirits plummeted once again at his abrupt tone. Was this the man she'd spend the rest of her life with? Worry and doubt turned her cold in spite of July. But as he handed her the flowers, he took her hand.
At his touch, she barely found enough air. Her bosoms shivered beneath the lace and silk of her gown, and the bones of her corset seemed strangely tight. Silent, he led her toward the church. Stepping away from some horse dung, she leaned hard against him. He pulled away.
Her heart sank. Maybe Norman Dale hadn't written those wonderful letters himself. Maybe he wasn't eager to meet her like he'd claimed. Maybe all he wanted was a new mother for his teenaged girl.
Or maybe he was dissatisfied with her looks. She bowed her head in a sudden petition. The daguerreotype she'd sent showed her flaws as well as her graces. Although her sisters had declared her lovely enough to steal any man's heart, Minda gulped disappointment along with the hot summer air.
Fully intending to honor her promises and her vows, she tightened her fingers in determination. She wanted a family all her own. There was nothing left for her back home where bachelors sought younger belles, and the sisters she'd raised were busy newlyweds. No matter what, she'd take on Norman Dale Haynes and his child and his household, make it all her own. And get him to love her like he'd hinted.
At the church steps, he at least found enough manners to hold her skirts and help her inside. A pump organ faltered over the wedding march.
Unwavering, Minda walked into her future. The wide-eyed interest of the wedding guests didn't surprise her much. After all, she'd traveled a long way to marry a man she'd never actually met. For a half-second, she recalled the amused and dubious eyes of the folks back home when she left. No, she'd never go back. Not ever. Resolute, she gripped Norman Dale's arm.
A few female voices cooed as her bridegroom tossed away his hat with his free hand, then straightened her veil that the wind had rustled. Pride burst inside her.
For a delicious moment, Minda enjoyed the view of his shoulder muscles moving underneath his tight black coat. Of course, she'd expected a hard working man of the land to be strong and hale, but this man looked like he could lift her with just one arm. And she wanted his touch, pure and simple. No, it wouldn't be hard at all to be his loving wife.
She walked beside her bridegroom on steady feet up an aisle that seemed a mile long. The organ faded as the reverend started the vows without delay.
“Miss Becker, do you take this man to be your lawful husband?”
She stared at the young reverend who didn't look at her. He hadn't used her full christened name, Melinda Susanna, and his knuckles whitened around his prayer book. She peeked at her husband, but he didn't catch her eye either. Perhaps this was the minister's first time officiating at a wedding and he'd forgotten her name.
Norman Dale's hand tightened around hers as if expecting her to say no.
“Yes, I do,” she said, eager for her new future.
“Do you, Mr. Haynes, take this woman for better worse?"Her bridegroom growled his response as he slid a ring on her finger. Minda trembled at the sound and the touch.
The ring fit perfectly.
“Now if there be anyone present who objects to this union, let him speak now, or ever after hold his peace.” Her bridegroom's hand tightened again during the silent moment. When no one said anything, Minda heard sighs of relief from a hundred throats.
“Then I now pronounce you man and wife.”
There. It was done. She was married. Her husband bent down and touched her lips with his own. Gentle but somehow insistent, his mouth closed around hers, and his warmth settled all the way to the ends of her toes. At the deliciousness of it, she reached up to hold him close.
Yes indeed. He tasted like peppermint with a hint of cherry. Tobacco maybe. Oh, it wouldn't take long at all to fall in love the whole rest of the way.
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Brix stepped back from his bride, hating himself for liking the kiss.
But damn, she was a pretty thing. Likely untouched, too. Those sweet but tight lips made him think no man had kissed her before. For a split instant, he leaned down to brush his face over the top of her head, drinking in one last whiff of her warm, rose scent. His poor brother had missed out on one hell of a wedding night.
So would he.
Something had stirred his heart deep inside during that kiss, and he didn't much like the feeling. Not at all. Hadn't felt it since the rancher's daughter in West Texas had stomped on his love so hard he still felt the pain.
Brixton Haynes knew how dark a woman's heart could be. This one was no different. Something she'd written in her damn letters had made his brother work himself to death for her. Why had she allowed Norman Dale to think the man he was, and what he had to give her, wasn't good enough?
Anger snarled his gut. Yes, indeed. Brix had duped her, but he'd had no choice. He'd promised Norman Dale. With his last breath, his brother had made Brixton swear to take his place, marry Minda, and make the kids his own. Keep everybody together, one family. Already folks hereabouts had started laying claim to the kids, one at a time. Like they were abandoned puppies needing homes.
The congregation started warbling a hymn, and his bride pulled away in a maidenly manner. He felt that tug on his heart again that spread down to the notch of his trousers. Damn indeed, she was the prettiest thing he'd seen in a month of Mondays.
