Oh, dear Father, have I made the worst mistake of my life?
Two grimy men in miner’s clothes ran from the direction of the shanty town toward the station. Was her expectant groom one of them? How was this better than Merville?
The driver climbed down from the driver’s seat and directed the women standing on the boardwalk toward the men shuffling up to meet their mail-order bride.
A man rushed forward and claimed Henrietta.
Jake Underwood, the owner of Underwood Mercantile and one of the marriage brokers, touched her shoulder. “Miss Geoffrey, where do you want your trunks?”
“Until Frank Calloway steps forward, please leave both my trunks here by my feet.”
“Glad to, Miss Geoffrey. Matthew will be sighting Frank soon, and then ole Frank’ll be singling you out ‘fore you know it, ma’am.” Jake heaved her trunks out of the wagon bed and thunked them at her feet.
“Thank you, Jake.”
He nodded, and then turned to dig out luggage from the big wagon for one of the other women who’d traveled all the way from Maine to become brides of men they hadn’t met.
Would any of them find happiness in this town in the middle of nowhere?
A drop of rain landed on her nose. She glanced up at the darkening sky. Were they in for a storm?
Boots clicked on the wooden boardwalk. She turned. A tall man, several inches over six feet, strode toward her. His dark hair blew in the wind. A Stetson hung from his hand. He looked young, not yet thirty. His heavy coat couldn’t conceal his excellent build. Black Levis covered muscular legs. Her heart beat fast. He fit the description he’d sent. That had to be Frank Calloway.
She must read his first expression. Discern his first reaction. She ran toward him.
****
Frank slapped his Stetson on. She was blonde all right. Almost white blonde. But small. And slender. Could she take care of Baby Frank? At six months, the boy was an armload.
She ran toward him, her blue cape streaming behind her. Whoa. That didn’t happen to him. Sure, women liked him, but this?
Was she cold? Was she afraid? Automatically he held out his arms.
She ran right up to him. Close enough her ivory skin’s smooth texture glowed in the gloom. But at the last second she stepped away, reached up and tipped his hat back on his forehead.
He dropped his arms and gazed down into her face. And gulped for air. Her big blue eyes bore into him with an intensity he’d never experienced. Like she could see into his soul. Blonde hair whipped around a face so beautiful, he couldn’t catch his breath. Delicate and finely-molded, with lips that begged to be kissed. He grabbed his wrists behind his back to keep from reaching out and drawing her into his arms. He yearned to kiss those lovely lips.
But she looked too delicate for the job he needed her to fill.
His second glance took in her clothes. Rich. Too rich for his blood. She’d probably never done a day’s work in her life. What would he do with a wife like her? Oh yeah, his body knew what he’d like to do, but the old brain interfered. He needed a work horse, but she looked a thoroughbred. Life in Angel Vale would kill her. He’d have to dig up enough money to send her back.
****
Amanda laughed. A tinkling sound that wafted through the muted greetings and conversation behind them. She knew exactly what he thought. Her appearance astounded the tall cowboy. He would definitely take her as his wife. No worries on that score. Yet he didn’t think she would survive the task. She tossed her head. Strong, ambitious, and capable, she could manage the baby, Frank, and still have ample time to become the premier baker in this rough frontier town. He would see.
She laughed again. He would take her as his wife even if he thought she’d lie abed all day and order him around. Frank Calloway was smitten. Thank you, Father, for my gift. She’d have no trouble at all with this man. He was dough in her hands.
But would she accept him? She liked his build. His generous mouth tilted up at the corners as if he were a likeable person. No frown lines marred his brow. Faint laugh wrinkles fanned out from the corners of his eyes. His tanned skin showed an outdoor man. Quite good looking and well set up, his appealing brown eyes drank her in as if she were a well in a desert. What was not to like about him?
“Ma’am, would you be Miss Amanda Geoffrey?”
She jerked back from him so fast she almost tripped over her long cape. Her hand went to her mouth, and she gasped. “Oh, no!”
****
Wind blew the slender beauty’s cape, twining blue velvet around his legs. Frank wanted to bend over her hand and kiss her fingers. He wanted to place his Stetson on her head to keep the wind from tousling her silky hair. He wanted to take her in his arms, sweep her off her feet, carry her to the unfinished cabin, and create a warm haven for her. He wanted to love, honor, and protect her for the rest of his life.
He wanted her.
But she gazed at him with a horrified expression, sea blue eyes wide, and mouth puckered into an O. A moment ago, she’d seemed to like what she saw. What changed so lightning fast? What had he done wrong?
She turned away to glance back at the man driving the empty wagon down the dirt street.
Would she run?
Instead she gazed up into his face. “You…you have a southern drawl. Are you not a Wyoming native?”
He tipped his Stetson. “No, ma’am. I’m originally from Peach Tree Crossing, near Atlanta, Georgia. After the War of Northern Aggression I rode on out here to the west to make my fortune. I’ve been in Angel Vale about six months. I’m sheriff here.”
“Near Atlanta?” Her face paled, and she gripped her big bag as if she’d lassoed a wild horse.
He reached out to reassure her.
She cringed away, a frown marring her rounded forehead.
“Um, would you like to get out of this wind? The lodging house is just down the street.”
His Adam’s apple rose in his throat and tried to choke him. He gulped. She didn’t like him. She wanted to return to Maine. How could he stop her? “Are these two trunks yours? I’ll bring them along.”
“Yes, yes those are my trunks.”
Her voice breathed music, like the rushing creek in springtime bubbling over smooth rocks. He detected a faint southern accent. He’d bet the poker pot she also hailed from Atlanta. He grinned. They had that in common. He hefted a trunk up on either shoulder, smothered a grunt, and nodded toward the lodging house. “You best get out of this wind.”
Instead she gazed back over her shoulder at the receding wagon, the big wheels cranking around in faster circles as the Morgan horses sensed home and hay. Her luscious lips tightened and her whole body leaned toward Jake Underwood’s empty wagon.
Balancing the heavy trunks on his shoulders, he used his elbow to nudge her down the town’s wooden sidewalk. Maybe he could carve out time to help care for Baby Frank if the job proved too hard for her. He’d finish the cabin in record time, get her and the baby settled inside his snug new home, and spend all his free time with her. She did have that Atlanta drawl that couldn’t be disguised. She might have ridden in from a Maine seacoast town, but she was a southern belle, and he’d never wanted anything more in his life than to make her his wife.
Thank you, Lord, for this woman. God brought her, and he wouldn’t let her get away. Not now. Not ever. Not if he had to hogtie her to keep her from leaving.
****
Father God, how could you do this to me?
Amanda pulled the velvet hood of her cape around her face. The man hails from near Atlanta. Atlanta! She planted her feet on the boardwalk. “I must get back on that wagon and leave.”
His elbow nudged her back. He barely kept her heavy trunks from toppling to the boardwalk. “Not tonight, ma’am. The horses have to rest, so nobody’s going back to Cheyenne tonight.”
She peered at the disappearing wagon, then back at him, her beautiful eyes wide. “Oh, no, I’ve made a terrible mistake.”
“No mistake. This is
Angel Vale, and I’m Frank Calloway. Welcome. We’ll get you settled and warm and fed inside the lodging house.” He nodded toward an old mill whose paddle wheel rested in a dry bed. “Jake and his team aren’t going anywhere except to the stable. Jake’s got his own Angel to look after.” He gazed up at the sky. A single rain drop landed on his mouth. His masculine hand brushed his lips. “So best to settle in and get acquainted. You’ll find that Angel Vale is a fine, little town. Growing every day.”
“If that’s what you want.” Wind whistled through the pines behind Underwood Mercantile. A compelling, insistent alarm.
The elbow in her back nudged her forward. Shivering, she gazed at the receding wagon, and then into his face. She didn’t need her gift to recognize that this big man wanted her as his wife, and he wasn’t about to let her go. His set jaw, determined brown eyes, and square shoulders lugging both her trunks shouted loud and clear that he meant to keep her here in this isolated town. She rushed forward to keep that elbow from pushing her. Was he so easily taken in by her appearance? She could be a shrew for all he knew. Or lazy. Or a spendthrift. Or could have any number of awful traits.
Somehow she’d escape from him and leave this forlorn place. But the cold penetrated her cape, her parched throat screamed for water, and her stomach rumbled for food.
She had no choice. She’d acquiesce. For now.
CHAPTER FOUR
The heavy trunks roosted like squatter’s shanties on his shoulders, almost more than he could handle. Silently he puffed for breath. He’d never let her know how carrying her trunks winded him. With all this luggage she had planned to stay. Had planned. He grunted. But now she didn’t like him. Well, he paid for her, and she would have to adjust.
She didn’t know him at all. How could she tell if she liked him or not? Everyone else thought him a likeable guy. Never had any trouble with women wanting to get to know him before. Why didn’t she like him?
He panted as they reached the door of the lodging house. Just outside of town, the building had been a flour mill, but the miners had diverted the mill stream to their gold mining stakes, and the big wooden mill wheel no longer turned. He lowered the chests onto the boardwalk and opened the lodging house door for her. He’d do everything in his power to win Amanda. But by next week when the stagecoach rattled through town, if she still didn’t like him, he would let her go. He followed her inside the lodging house. Maybe he’d give her two weeks before he released her. He shook his head. What was the hurry? He’d win her by Christmas. If she still didn’t like him by then, he’d tear up her Letter of Agreement and free her.
He grunted. Not likely. He’d keep her here and let her take as long as she needed. But in the end, she would marry him.
He shook his head. Why kid himself? If she still didn’t like him, he’d never force her to marry him.
He deposited her trunks inside the door, whipped off his Stetson, and ran his fingers through his hair. “Which room is yours?”
“I don’t know. Matthew or Jake will assign one.”
Outside, the wind howled and the day darkened. Too early in the year for Angel Vale to get snowed in, but if a foot of snow fell, he’d welcome the stuff. Sometimes snow delayed the stage. “If we hurry we can make it to the Angel Vale Eatery in time to get a good table. By the time we finish and return here, we’ll know which room is yours.”
“Thanks, I am hungry.”
He ushered her out the lodging house door and back onto the boardwalk. Nestling his hand into the small of her back, he soon had her inside the restaurant.
He helped her out of her cape and seated her at the best table.
After a quick look, he forbade his eyes to travel her trim figure. No excess flesh puddled beneath the brown dress. Just the exact right amount of woman. He hung his coat on the back of his chair and settled across the wooden table from her. Probably he could work in milking Daisy himself if he rose a half hour earlier than his usual five a.m. No use foisting that task on her.
She pulled off her long, elbow-length leather gloves.
Hands too delicate to dump diapers into hot water picked up the woven napkin beside her plate. If he stayed up late each evening he could take that diaper-cleaning chore off her list. He didn’t need more than five hours sleep anyway.
He sailed his Stetson across the room to land on one of the hooks along the wall where several other battered Stetsons hung.
She looked startled, then pinched her lips and gazed around the room.
Several other couples bustled in and sat, smiling at one another and at the other couples filling the empty tables. Frank ordered the evening special.
“I need to wash my hands. Do you mind?” Her beautiful lips trembled.
She didn’t like him. A lump lodged inside his throat. He longed to tuck her chin in his hand, tilt her head up, kiss the tremble off those beguiling lips, and beg her to have faith in him. Instead, he cleared his throat. “I need to wash mine, too. The ladies outhouse is beyond that door around the building next to the exterior stairs. I installed a basin of fresh water on the stand outside myself.” He accompanied her to the rough plank door. Wind whipped them as he placed his hand in the small of her back and navigated her to the outhouse, door engraved with a crescent moon to let in light.
“I’ll only be a minute.” She smiled and shut the woman’s outhouse door behind her.
He rushed around the building to the men’s outhouse, leaned over the pitcher on the outside stand, splashed cold water into the basin, and dunked his head. The soap was still big enough to use, and he scrubbed his hands and face. Then he peered into the cracked mirror tacked onto the side of the outhouse. Puzzled brown eyes in a rugged wind-blown face gazed back at him.
What about him made her shrink away? Other women liked his looks. Other women flocked to him. Why not her? His parents had taught him good manners. He owned a gold claim that paid and promised loads more nuggets. His sheriff’s badge gleamed on his left shirt pocket. He was tall and strong. Came from good stock. What more did she want? He tried out a smile. Good teeth. Straight and white. No yellow stains from chewing or smoking. She didn’t know he’d given up drinking. He didn’t cuss anymore. Somehow he’d escaped being wounded in the war. What didn’t she like? What scared her off like a frightened filly?
He turned and meandered back to the dining area. Her seat remained empty. He plopped down in the chair and drummed his fingers on the table. She still hadn’t returned when Brenda carried in trays of steaming dishes filled with their dinners.
“You got yourself one of those mail-order brides.” Brenda frowned and stomped her foot. “You could a saved yourself a passel of money. I’d take care of that kid of yours.” She lifted a homespun-clad shoulder and winked. “And I know how to take care of a brawny man like you.” Her lips turned down at the corners. “All you had to do was ask.”
“I’m sorry, Brenda. I didn’t figure you’d want to settle down to just one man. I mean, to a man who is a Christian.” Nope, Brenda was not the kind of woman he wanted raising his boy.
“You’re not much of a Christian, yet, Frank. I don’t think you changed that much. A man with a checkered past like yours.”
“Past is the right word, Brenda. What’s past is past. Since the Lord found me, I’ve become a new creation in Christ. It’s not too late for you to do the same.”
“Humph. You’d be the most perfect piece of manhood I’ve ever met if you’d forget the Christian stuff.” She leaned down to whisper in his ear. “You’re making enemies.”
“So, you’re better off staying away from me, aren’t you?”
Brenda pouted her pretty mouth and strutted back to the kitchen.
His leg jiggled and his foot tapped and he kept his gaze on the front window. Might be best to go look for Amanda. But the way she’d stayed close to her trunks, she wouldn’t leave town without them, and he’d left them in the lodging house. She could hire a wagon and get any of the men hanging around the lodging house gawking at the
new brides in town to carry them to the wagon and drive for her. But she’d have to pass the window to get back to the old mill.
If she didn’t show in five minutes, he would get up, stalk across the room, go outside, and jerk open that outhouse door. He had to eat and get back to the shanty to check on Chang Fu and Baby Frank. The Chinaman wasn’t dependable for long stretches of time, and he’d run directly from his claim to the boardwalk in front of Underwood Mercantile to meet the wagonload of Angels. He shrugged. Still, he wasn’t about to embarrass Amanda and get off to an even more rotten start.
He drummed his fingers on the table. What didn’t Amanda like about him?
He was about to spring from his chair and fetch her over his shoulder when she glided back into the building and over to the table, all smiles.
He stood. His heart hammered like a miner’s pickaxe on gold. Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe she did like him.
****
The smile Amanda painted on her face started to hurt.
Frank Calloway would never willingly let her go. His fleeting expressions betrayed him. Before he’d opened his mouth, she’d almost dreamed they had a future together.
But a Deceitful Southern Gentlemen resided inside the big cowboy with the six-shooters hanging at his sides.
Easily one of the best-looking men she’d ever met, or even seen for that matter, he eagerly waited for her to become his bride. But as a girl back in Atlanta, Aunt Bessie Mae drilled into her mind from the moment she could remember that she should never, under any circumstances, trust a fine-looking gentleman. Aunt Bessie Mae had never been wrong.
Pain slashed her heart. No, she would not think of Beau. The duty-bound handsome hunk lived hundreds of miles east, and she would never see him again. She’d come all these long exhausting, dirty miles to marry a Wyoming cowboy. She’d talk with Jake Underwood and Matthew Thomas tomorrow. Perhaps she could trade her intended groom for one more suitable. This town buzzed with more men than flies around her Southern Pecan pies doused with Bourbon Sauce.
Christmas Mail Order Angels: The complete 11 Volume Set Page 51
