by Natalie Dean
“…and I fell in love with you, Victoria,” he said. “By the time I read your second letter, I knew you were the woman for me.”
Victoria blinked again before looking down at his hand entwined with hers.
“Then…you don’t blame me for what happened?” she asked. “With the barn and…and…John?”
“Why would I blame you for that?” Jimmy asked sounding genuinely confused.
“If…if I hadn’t told you how I felt about John,” she said. “Maybe he wouldn’t have felt threatened. Maybe he wouldn’t have burned down the barn. Maybe…”
“Victoria,” he said cutting her off. His hands moved firmly to her shoulder. “That was not your fault. Burning down that barn was the act of a very unstable man. Who can say what a man like that will do? Or what will set him off.”
His hands relaxed on her shoulders, and one hand moved to cup her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed as she felt his warm hand against her skin.
“I would never blame you for what someone else chose to do,” he said. “And…if you’ll let me, I want the chance to prove just how useful you are to me.”
Her eyes opened, and she looked at him. Part of her expected to see something false there. She expected her little gift to detect a lie in his face. But she saw none.
Instead, she saw only the goodness she had felt from him from the start. When she looked into his eyes, she saw nothing but a truth she had never seen from anyone else in her life, except her beloved father.
“All right,” she said, a smile spreading across her face. “I’ll stay.”
His eyes widened, and a large smile spread across his own features.
“Victoria, are you sure?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “I love you, Jimmy Fairchild. I want to stay with you.”
He looked into her eyes in wonder for one more moment, as though he had never seen anything quite so beautiful. A moment later, he leaned forward and met her lips with his.
As she wrapped her arms around him, giving into his passionate kiss, she knew she would never have to wonder about her place in the world again.
She belonged here. In the arms of the man she loved. In this wonderful town of Laramie, Wyoming.
THE END
The Scandalous Bride Heads West
By Grace Weston
Book Description
THE SCANDALOUS BRIDE HEADS WEST
Brides of Laramie Book 5
A Western Romance Short Story
Fiona, a young woman who lost her mother several years ago, is tired of living with her outlaw father and dealing with his no-good friends. Eager for a better life, she places an ad to become a mail-order bride.
Sam has a successful newspaper he runs in Laramie, but still, his life is missing something. When the sheriff suggests he take a look at some of those mail-order bride ads, he decides to go for it. That's when he saw her name - Fiona Greyson. She intrigued him from the start, with those mysterious eyes.
When she finally arrives, Sam is more intrigued than ever. Especially when he sees how close of an eye the sheriff is keeping on her. When Sam confronts the sheriff about it, he's just as secretive as Fiona is.
What is it about his bride-to-be that has the sheriff on edge? What kind of secrets is Fiona hiding?
Chapter 1
Sam Jenkins heaved a sigh as he set the last type on the next morning’s newspaper print. Another front-page story about a cattle auction.
He could feel the boredom seeping from the pages as he read his own work. If the story about which farmer bought which head of cattle bored him, he imagined it would put the residents of Laramie, Wyoming to sleep.
Though, to be fair, the ranchers might be interested.
Besides that, in a town the size of Laramie, there was little else to dominate the headlines.
The business district consisted of less than a dozen buildings. One of which was his own. Most of the citizens lived on farms and ranches on the outskirts.
Life was quiet.
And, while Sam realized that was, most likely, for the best, the solitude certainly did not help with his newspaper business.
Sam took the paper from the set and laid the mock up out to dry. Now that that was done, he should go upstairs to his small apartment above the shop.
There was no doubt that he could use a good night sleep. He could not remember the last time he’d had one. Despite the quiet, slow pace of this sleepy little town, he could never seem to sleep in his lone bedroom.
At first, he blamed the newspaper. There was simply too much occupying his mind to sleep.
Laramie had never had a newspaper of its own before. And, truth be told, he still was not entirely certain that it would succeed.
But, even after it became clear that the ranchers enjoyed having their own paper and were more than willing to purchase it, Sam’s sleep problems continued.
Now, he blamed the quiet.
By the time he went upstairs to his small bed, the streets of Laramie were entirely silent. Even noise from the Saloon had disappeared by the time he climbed the stairs to bed.
And, alone in the small room, there was nothing to soothe him to sleep but the call of owls and wolves in the distant mountains.
So, instead of climbing the stairs, he sat down at the printing press and began setting the paper to make the copies he would need for the morning.
This was, technically, a job for the boy he had hired to deliver the morning papers. But, lately, Sam had taken to doing the work himself. He found the consistent click of the press more comforting than the howl of wolves outside his window.
Despite the comforting noise, Sam jumped when he heard a knock at the door.
This was unusual but not entirely out of the ordinary. Occasionally, a drunken ranch hand would stagger from the saloon to Sam’s office mistaking it for the hotel.
Preparing himself to have to point yet another drunkard across the street, Sam heaved a sigh and pulled himself from his chair.
His eyes widened in surprise when he opened the door.
“Sheriff!” Sam said, his eyes widening in shock. “What are you doing here?”
Instead of a young, whiskey laden ranch hand, Sam was met with the weathered, bulky and decidedly sober face of the town sheriff.
“Saw your lamp light on,” the older man said. “Thought I’d come by to see how the morning paper was getting along.”
“Well, come in,” Sam said opening the door wider to allow the large sheriff to make his way into the shop. “Though, truth be told, there’s not much to tell. The cattle auction made the front page, of course. But, other than that, the town’s been quiet.”
“Good for me,” the sheriff said with a chuckle. “Though, I don’t suppose that’s good news for the paper business.”
Sam gave a small shrug as he pulled out a chair for the sheriff.
“I get by.”
“Long as the ranchers around here want to get one up on the competition,” Sheriff Branson said. “I’m sure you do.”
The sheriff sat down in his seat with a small plunk. He was a big man who gave the impression of having once been formidable. Now, however, his hair was gray and his pot belly told the story of a lawman gone just slightly to seed.
“Although,” Sheriff Branson continued. “It must get lonely. Running the business all by yourself.”
“I’ve thought about getting a partner,” Sam said absently picking up the latest paper mock up and handing it to the sheriff to read. “But, I’ve worked for and with other people before. We always end up clashing. Best to do things my own way.”
“Truth be told,” the sheriff continued. “A business partner wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
Sam fought against the urge to roll his eyes at the older man. The lecture that was about to come was something he had heard quite a bit of lately.
“It sounds like you’ve been talking to Mrs. Matthews,” Sam said. “She seems to think I am in need of a wife.”
Mrs. Matthews, the owner of the hotel across the street, was a kind and motherly old woman. And, while Sam had always appreciated her concern, he certainly did not appreciate her speaking to the sheriff about his private business.
“She would know,” the sheriff said. “You’ve been taking nearly all your meals at the hotel as of late.”
“It’s easier than cooking something up here,” Sam said, attempting a casual shrug of his shoulders. Even as the words left his mouth, he knew no one would believe them. When he turned to the sheriff, the skeptical look on the other man’s face confirmed this fact.
“And, I notice your light’s been burning later and later in the shop,” Sheriff Branson said nodding to the candle in Sam’s office window. “Though, I know the cattle auctions are not exactly time sensitive stories.”
Sam’s face grew warm, and he was aware that his cheeks had colored at the pronouncement. It was as though the sheriff had caught him in some horrible scandal.
Sam turned his back on Branson and stared down at his hands. Trying in vain to hide his guilty expression
“I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately.”
Sam heard rather than saw the sheriff heave a sigh.
“All I’m saying is, your sleep troubles might stop if you took a wife.”
“And how do you know that?” Sam asked.
“I know that it’s difficult to make it anywhere on your own,” Branson said. “And a place like this is even worse without someone to help.”
Now, it was Sam’s turn to sigh. As he did, he ran one hand over his face as he sank down into his own chair just across from the sheriff.
“Even if I did have any intention of taking a wife,” Sam said. “How would I find a girl able and willing to marry all the way out here. Last I checked, every woman for fifty miles is spoken for.”
Here the Sheriff Branson chuckled.
“Come on, Sam,” he said. “A smart man like you must know all about the trend now.”
Branson shifted his weight and reached into the back pocket of his trousers. Once he had, he pulled out a red booklet.
He slid the small book across the table to Sam until it was near enough for Sam to make out the gold writing emblazoned on the front. ‘The Hand and Heart.'
Sam looked from the booklet in front of him up Sheriff Branson across the table.
“You would have me write away for a bride?” he asked skeptically.
“Why not?” the sheriff asked. “Plenty of men in town have done it before. And, from what I can tell, it’s yielded good results.”
Sam looked up at the older man and ran a hand over his face.
“Most men in town have land,” Sam said sullenly. “That’s what women are looking for when they move out here.”
“Not all,” Branson countered. “I’m sure if you looked through that booklet, you would find a young lady with no interest in land at all.”
At this, Sam’s curiosity peaked.
“You mean women advertise in those booklets?” he asked. He’d heard of men placing pictures and descriptions in these publications, but, he’d never heard of women doing the same.
Branson chuckled again.
“Certainly!” he said jovially. “The men certainly outnumber the ladies. But, there are quite a few young women in that booklet seeking correspondence with a gentleman out west. Specifically, with an eye towards marriage, of course.”
“I take it you’ve looked through it yourself, then,” Sam said with a smirk as he reached across the table and picked up the booklet. Sheriff Branson shrugged with a slightly embarrassed grin.
“I might have glanced through it,” he said. “But, most young ladies aren’t in the market for an elderly widower, even if he is a sheriff. But, you, Sam…you’re young with a business of your own. I’m sure you’d make quite a catch for the right young lady.”
Sam felt his cheeks go warm again. He looked down at the booklet in his hands and cautiously opened it.
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to look through it,” Sam said. “Might even make an interesting editorial piece for the paper.”
“That’s the spirit,” Branson said. Sam looked up when he heard Branson’s chair scrape across the floor as the older man stood.
“Well, I suppose I’ll leave you to it,” Sheriff Branson said as he moved towards the door. “Let me know how it turns out, won’t you Sam?”
Sam gave Branson a tired and entirely skeptical smile as the sheriff put on his hat at the door.
“I will, Sheriff. Thank you.”
With a last nod to Sam, Sheriff Branson opened the door and disappeared into the deserted street outside.
Now that he was alone with nothing more than the clicking of his printing machine for company, Sam found himself thumbing through the small, red booklet.
As he looked at the pictures, mostly of young men standing in front of long farm fences, he felt a certain curiosity mixed with a hint of his trademark skepticism.
He knew several of his friends had gone this route to find a mate. And, he knew that, overall, the other men in Laramie had been pleased with the wives they’d found.
But, even when the young farmers and ranchers were singing the praises of ‘mail order bride’ catalogs, Sam had always scoffed at the idea. He’d always thought there was a touch of desperation in a man writing in a magazine to try and entice a woman. And, one year ago, he had promised himself that he would never become so desperate.
But, now, when he thought about his sparse and empty bed above his shop, when he listened to the silent street outside the door, (the silence that made his printing press clicking seem more ominous than comforting), he couldn’t help but think of how nice it might be to share this life he’d created here with another person. He realized, perhaps for the first time, why a young man might look through a booklet like ‘The Hand and Heart’ in search of a companion.
So, with a heavy sigh, he set his skepticism aside and began to flip the pages more earnestly. Hours seemed to have passed before he found a woman in the little magazine. And a longer time passed before he found one who interested him.
But, he was more surprised when he did find a woman who caught his attention. On the last page of the booklet, complete with a blurred photograph, sat a description of Miss Fiona Greyson.
Chapter 2
Her father could not know.
That was the only thought that rushed through Fiona Greyson’s mind as she glanced out the window, packing her things and praying that her father would not return. At least not until she was far away.
Beside the window, a letter, written in a neat and clear hand sat open and dog eared. Fiona had read the words so often that the paper, though less than one-week old, had developed a crinkled and weathered look.
As she hastily placed the last dress she owned into her bag, she locked the case tight, then turned her eyes to that small piece of paper. That small slip of parchment was the reason she was now leaving her father’s home. Likely forever.
Now that the packing was finished and there was nothing else to do but wait for the signal that would come when the wagon arrived to pick her up, the excitement she felt at the prospect of going west to find a home of her own mixed with panic.
Her father would not return for hours, she knew that. His work always kept him away for long periods of time. He would not learn of her deception until she had long since disappeared. Picking it up again, her hands still shaking with nerves, she read it through once more.
‘My dearest Fiona,’ it read. Fiona’s heart still thrilled at the words. It was the first time Sam Jenkins had written to her using her first name.
In his letters before this one, he’d always addressed her as ‘Miss Greyson.' The change had not been lost on her.
‘I can no longer hide my great esteem for you,’ the letter continued. ‘And, I now feel confident in telling you that I can think of no other woman with whom I could share my life. But, I realize that this decision is not mine alone to make.
So, if it is pleasing to you, Fiona, I would like nothing more than to make you my wife.’
It was pleasing to Fiona. She could not remember being pleased by anything more.
At last, after years of living in a ramshackle house with her drunken father. After putting up with the increasingly bold advances of his “associates”, a kind, well-mannered young man had offered to take her away from it all.
Of course, that had been her goal when she had placed her advertisement in the booklet. When she did, she hoped that some decent young man out west would write to her. She knew marriage was the only way out of this life.
Taking the now packed bag in her hands, she moved from her small back bedroom to the main room of the house.
Despite her efforts to clean the place, the wood was still rotten. The window frames hung off their hinges and the trash left by her father’s friends the night before made the house look more like a trash heap than a family dwelling.
Looking about the room, Fiona began a mental argument with herself.
Normally, when she entered the main room and found it in this state, she would sigh heavily and immediately begin clearing the debris. Today, however, she tried to tell herself that there was no point. She would not stay here long enough to be annoyed by the mess. And, she knew it would not bother her father one bit when he returned.
But, when she thought of her father, a small sense of guilt filled her.
She was the only family her father had left. And, despite his drunkenness, despite his choice of “profession”, he was still family.
She would not reconsider running away. She had decided upon that direction the moment she placed her advertisement in that booklet.
But, for some reason, it seemed cold-hearted, even cowardly, to leave her father’s home in shambles. Especially when she knew there would be no one to clean it when she was gone.
So, with large portions of her mind still protesting, she set her bag aside, put up her hair and grabbed the broom and dustpan from the corner of the room.
