by Amanda Boone
Chris stared down at her, his eyes filled with a dazed satisfaction. “Now all I need, Rebecca Rose, is some hot chocolate.”
“Oh, Christopher.” With a sob she hugged him close. “I love you.”
Chapter Five
The ice storm rolled in over the cottage a few hours later, hammering against the tin roof and waking Chris from a dead sleep. He glanced down at the woman sprawled across him and pulled the quilt up over her bare shoulders. Rebecca murmured something wordless and rubbed her cheek against his chest.
The feel of her naked body on top of his made his cock twitch, but Chris knew after the wildness of their first time she’d likely be sore. Gently he eased her off him onto her side before he slipped out of bed to pull on his trousers.
After adding a few more logs to the fire, Chris checked the windows and then sat down to watch the flames crackling merrily in the hearth. Rebecca’s bag sat open beside the bricks, and as he moved it away a book fell out.
Chris picked it up and saw it was her Bible, and couldn’t help peeking inside. He found the folded yearbook page tucked in Psalms, and opened it to see his senior picture enclosed by a hand-drawn pink heart. Under his photo were the words “My secret love” and “I’m yours 4-ever” in Rebecca’s neat handwriting.
His eyes stung as he saw the deep crease lines, and how the page had torn at the edges and had been taped back together. How many times had she unfolded the page to look at his picture? A thousand, at least.
Chris carefully replaced the page in the Bible and put it back in her bag. He knew from helping some friends with their wedding that there was no waiting period for couples in Montana. As soon as they got the license, they could be married immediately.
“Hey.” Wrapped in his grandmother’s old blue bathrobe, Rebecca sat down beside him. “Everything okay?”
“It is now.” Chris pulled her onto his lap and tucked her against his shoulder. “What do you think about getting married?”
She frowned up at him. “You mean, to each other?” When he nodded her lips curved. “Well, I think I’m supposed to say we just got together, and we should take our time, and think this through and so on. But all I can really think is, hell, yes, and how soon?”
“When the storm is over, we can go get you the rubella blood test they require for the license. That takes a day. Then we go to county clerk’s office, pick up the license, and have the JoP do the honors.” He caressed her cheek. “I’m thinking Christmas Eve.”
Her eyes shimmered. “Are you sure you want to marry me? Because you don’t have to.” She grimaced. “I’m on the pill for my monthlies, so I won’t get pregnant.”
“Well, then stop taking them, because I want you pregnant.” He spread his hand over her belly. “I want you in my arms, my bed, my home, my family and my life -- forever. Will you be my wife, Rebecca Rose?”
She cradled his face between her slim hands, and kissed him. “Yes, Christopher.”
#
The storm lasted through the morning, and it was another day before Chris decided it was safe enough to ride over to the tractor barn and get one of the snowmobiles they kept there.
“Casper can’t carry us both with all this ice, so I’ll run you back to the ranch house on the snowmobile, and come back for him this afternoon,” he told Becca as he bundled her up for the short ride to the tractor barn.
Becca wrinkled her nose. “You’re going to leave me alone with your six brothers?”
“Jessa, Ethan’s fiancée, will be there, too. She’s a horse vet, and a real sweetheart.” He tugged her hood up over her head and tucked the edges of her gloves inside her sleeves. “Don’t be afraid. We’re in this together now, remember?”
Becca nodded, and then glanced at the window, where some red and blue lights were flashing against the frosty panes. Her throat tightened as she heard a familiar, high-pitched woman’s voice call her name.
“That’s Holly.” She looked around frantically. “I have to hide somewhere.”
“Not anymore.” Chris put his arm around her. “Come on. I’m not going to let anyone take you from me now.”
It took all her courage to walk outside, and stand calmly as her stepmother marched up to the cottage flanked by two uniformed cops and Ethan and Liam Boone.
“You see?” Holly jabbed her finger at them. “I was right about her hiding inside that man Hastings’s truck.” She gave Chris a snooty look before she smiled at Becca. “I’m so glad you’re safe, dearest. We’ve all been so terribly worried about you.”
Becca ignored her stepmother and spoke to the first policeman. “My stepmother murdered my father, and she threatened to do the same to me and make it look like suicide.”
Holly made a mournful sound. “She must having another one of her episodes.” To Becca she said, “I didn’t kill anyone, darling. Your father’s death was an accident. All I want to do is get you the help you need.” She latched onto Becca’s arm. “Now come along.”
Chris plucked Holly’s hand off Becca’s sleeve. “She’s not going anywhere with you.” He looked at his brothers. “Rebecca and I are getting married on Christmas Eve. You’re invited.”
Ethan gave Becca a long look before he nodded. “Great day for a winter wedding.”
Holly’s eyes glittered with malice. I’m sorry, Mr. Boone, but you can’t marry my stepdaughter. She’s a very sick girl who needs professional help.”
“You switched the tags on the stalls in the horse barn,” Becca said. “That made my father think Whiplash was Snowball. Since they look almost identical, he wouldn’t have known the difference until he was inside the stall. That was when you jammed the door latch from the outside.” Becca opened her bag and removed a baggie with the twisted latch, which she offered to the police officer. “This was the original bolt. She replaced it so no one would know how she tampered with it.”
“That’s doesn’t prove anything,” Holly snapped.
“I know.” Becca took out the tape recorder she’d hidden under the covers during her last confrontation with her stepmother, and turned on the playback. “But this will.”
The hectic color drained from Holly’s face as she listened to herself confessing to the murder and threatening Becca. “You little bitch. You set me up.”
Becca switched off the tape. “Yes, I did.” She offered the policeman the recorder. “I’m also willing to testify as a witness against her,” she told him, and lifted her shirt to show him her bruised side. “For assault as well as murder.”
As Holly screamed in fury and lunged at Becca, Chris stepped between them and picked her up by the collar, marching her over to patrol car and tossing her into the back.
“Sorry,” he said to the officers. “I didn’t want to kill her, and I was pretty close.”
“You get that way around snakes,” one of the cops told him, and eyed the squad car where Holly was screeching and pounding on the window. “Thanks for handling that one.”
“You two want to head back to the house with us?” Ethan asked.
“Oh, yeah.” Chris smiled at Becca as he held out his hand. “We’ve got a wedding to plan.”
THE END
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***Coming next is Saved by the Cowboy***
Elise and the Lumberjack
A Mail-Order Bride Western
Book 1
(Can be read as a standalone book)
By: D.D. Boone
Elise and the Lumberjack
Chapter 1
This was the longest wait Elise Anderson had ever had at the Bishop Hill, Illinois, post office. She was expecting a letter from her best friend, Bridget, who lived in New York City. They’d been separated for about three years now, but they’d kept in contact every other week to tell each other about their lives.
The letter Elise expected today was in regard to Bridget’s wedding plans. Elise’s employers, for whom she translated English into Swedish and taught how to speak and read English, had given her permission to attend the wedding. All she needed to know was when she had to leave.
At last, Elise saw the mail courier coming from the southwest, as he did twice a week when he picked up the mail at the Chicago, Rock Island and Pacific Railroad depot in Galesburg, Illinois. For the former Swedish commune established in 1841, no train station was closer than Galesburg.
Elise pondered how she’d gotten to Bishop Hill. Her parents had immigrated from Småland, Sweden, after their 1848 marriage. Rather than traverse the country to Minnesota, they’d chosen to stay in New York City with their infant daughter, Elise. By the time she was eighteen, they were both deceased, and she needed a job. With her bilingual abilities, she went to Castle Garden, into where many Swedes immigrated. The immigration department didn’t pay a lot there, but they had hired her.
About a year later, she’d met Bridget O’Riley. They’d become friends almost instantly during the O’Riley family’s immigration processing, and Mrs. O’Riley had invited her to live with them once they were settled so she could save some money. And she did save, for another two years.
Then she aided the Bengtson family with translating when they arrived from Sweden. They were headed to the commune founded by religious leader Eric Janson, and Mr. Bengtson asked her to join them as their personal translator and teacher. Elise accepted the job immediately when he told her how much he was willing to pay her. She had always wanted an adventure, and moving to Illinois would be just that.
Unfortunately, that meant she and Bridget had to say good-bye, and both promised to write regularly.
“Would you come out of that daydream and join the rest of us, Elise?” a young man asked from beside her.
She startled and gazed up at the tall, blond Swede. Her face heated in embarrassment as she said, “I’m sorry, Lars.”
Lars Olson’s baby-blue eyes gleamed with merriment, and he grinned down at her. “You always are. Would you like the mail for the Bengtsons?”
“Is there anything for me?”
“I’m afraid not. Have you and Bridget had a falling out?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” Elise replied as she accepted the mail from him. “She’s probably just busy with wedding preparations.”
“Have you heard that I’m leaving for California next week?”
“No, I haven’t. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I just decided a few days ago. I’m tired of farming and making mail runs. I’m going out there to be a lumberjack.”
“A lumberjack,” she repeated in surprise. “Do you have any idea what kind of work that entails? I understand it’s very strenuous.”
“It is,” he said with a wide grin, “but I’ve been preparing for it. I cut trees here every chance I get—never without reason, though. Trees take a long time to grow back.”
Her heart sank to know that he would be leaving soon. So far, he’d been her only suitor, and she was going to miss him, especially that smile. “If this is what you want to do, I wish you well.”
“May I write to you?”
“You’d better write to me,” she said cheerfully. “I would feel terribly neglected if you didn’t.”
He winked at her. “I’d better get the rest of the mail into the post office so others can collect theirs. You have a good day. I’ll be by the house to see you tonight. Is that all right?”
“Absolutely.”
As Lars went into the post office, Elise strolled toward the general store. Mrs. Bengtson needed some thread for darning, and Elise had promised to pick it up on the way home. After purchasing the thread, she headed back to the house, her mind deep in thought.
Lars Olson was a nice guy, but she had no real interest in him. No other men wanted to court her, though, so she kept seeing him only to have someone to escort her to parties and dances and such.
Why didn’t other men want to court her? she wondered. Her hair was a dark blonde, not the light blonde of so many Swedes. Her eyes were a darker blue, too. She didn’t know why she didn’t have the same type of coloring as so many Scandinavians, but she didn’t. Apparently, men weren’t fond of that because her features, although not beautiful, were attractive. She did have a little bit of a big nose, but it wasn’t huge. So why didn’t men want to court her?
“Anudder daydream?” Mrs. Bengtson asked in a thick accent as Elise entered the back door without her normal greeting.
Elise felt the blush coming to her face. It never failed. Whenever someone pointed out that she was daydreaming again, she was embarrassed.
Dropping the letters on the kitchen table, Elise said, “Another daydream. I don’t think I’ll ever stop having them.”
“I don’t tink so, eider.” Mrs. Bengtson picked up the mail and glanced through it. “Stina is vaiting for you in de parlor. She has someting important to tell you.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Bengtson. I’ll go see what it is.”
Chapter 2
Elise entered the parlor and saw Stina Bengtson sitting on the velvet-covered sofa with her feet drawn up beside her, her attention in a book with a Swedish title. Studying her for a few moments, Elise waited while Stina read.
Stina was a beautiful, young woman of nineteen with light blonde hair done up in two braids wrapped around her head, in the traditional Swedish manner. Her eyebrows and even her eyelashes were also pale blonde, almost unnoticeable had her skin not been tanned by the summer sun.
A common name in Sweden, Stina was the equivalent of the Anglican name Christina, which many Swedish had changed to upon arriving in America. Stina, though, had wanted to keep her name as it was.
In a way, Elise was surprised to see Stina alone at the house and not visiting one of her three suitors. Elise sighed. Stina had three young men from whom to choose while she herself had one—one she really wasn’t interested in.
Wandering over to the Victorian sofa with three yellowish-orange cushions, Elise plopped down onto the only one Stina wasn’t using and leaned against the high back.
“Your mother said you wanted to talk to me,” Elise said to open the conversation.
Stina looked up from her book and closed it, marking the spot with her thumb. Her light eyes took on a troubled expression as she replied, “I have heard rumors around town—from Yohn mostly.”
Smiling, Elise corrected her surrogate sister. “That’s John. Juh, juh, juh. Not Yuh.”
With a shake of her head, Stina smiled back. “Juh-ohn. Any-wu-ay, he told me Lars Olson is leaving Bishop Hill.”
“Yes, I know,” Elise replied, chuckling at Stina’s exaggerated pronunciation of anyway. “I was there when Lars brought in the mail, and he told me.”
“You don’t sound upset or angry.”
“I’m not.”
“No? You and Lars have been courting since ve got to Bishop Hill.”
“Don’t misunderstand, Stina. I’ll definitely miss him because he’s such a good person, but I was never interested in him as a suitor. I consider him a friend and nothing more.”
This time Stina frowned. “Vy not? If you tink he’s a good person, you should vant him to court you.”
Now was not the time for a pronunciation lesson, Elise decided. Whenever Stina was nervous, anxious or in a hurry, she always reverted to the Swedish pronunciation, and Elise doubted that would ever change.
“In America,” Elise explained, “we don’t have to marry somebody just because they want to marry us. Well, at least, not in most of America. I’ve read that there are still places where arranged marriages happen.”
“Don’t you feel sorry for him? He’s been courting you for a long time. He must expect that you’ll marry him.”
The distressed tone in Stina’s voice surprised Elise. With three suitors, Stina shouldn’t be concerned about Lars’ emotions.
Rising, Elise absently wen
t to the window and looked out to the side yard garden, which was abloom with marigolds, tomatoes, corn, lettuce, and other vegetables. In a way, Stina was right to be concerned about Lars. He had been courting her in the hopes of marriage, and she had done everything that would indicate that she would agree someday. Why? Just because she was desperate for a suitor?
If she still had her mother, she would be able to ask for guidance. Unfortunately, she hadn’t had a mother since she was eleven. At that time, she wasn’t interested in boys. By the time she was fifteen, she had no father to ask, either. The people at the orphanage had no interest in guiding the orphans. The owners only wanted the money they got to take care of all the children, who actually took care of each other.
Now that she had turned twenty-two, she knew nothing and felt awkward asking anybody for help.
“Elise?” Stina asked from her seat on the couch.
“I know. I know,” Elise replied, turning to lean against the wall papered in large blue flowers with a white background. “I was in my own little world again.”
Now that Stina’s nervousness was gone, she reverted to proper pronunciation again. “Don’t you think he wants to marry you?”
“I suppose. Do you think I was teasing him by the way I acted during his courtship? If you do, I certainly didn’t mean to.”
“I know that,” Stina said sympathetically. “You don’t know how to be with men. You should ask Moder to help you.”
“I don’t know what your mother could possibly do to help me at my age.”
Stina turned on the sofa and shook her finger in Elise’s direction. “One is never too old to learn. She is learning English, and you can learn about men.”
