Three under the Mistletoe: A Christmas Menage Romance (Christmas Billionaire Menage Series Book 1)

by Tia Siren

  “Enough of this,” Joshua said firmly.

  Walter’s brow furrowed as he peered at Cora.

  “It must have been quite the opportunity for a poor, orphan hosiery girl,”

  “Stop this at once!” Joshua’s fist pounded at the table, and gasps of surprise rippled throughout the room.

  Cora’s eyes began swelling, and her chest tightened up, as if she were unable to breath.

  I didn’t want any of this, Cora thought.

  She looked up at Joshua who was shouting at Walter to get out, to leave her alone, to leave his family alone.

  Cora didn’t want to cause so much trouble.

  “The board of trustees will hear about this,” Walter said on his way out. “Say goodbye to your precious orchard, Joshua. A mill is what’s going to bring business. A mill to get rid of all that darned wasted-space and pointless cherry trees of yours. Your father was a sap, and so was your grandfather. But I--”

  Joshua walked toward Walter, and a few other guests stepped in front to hold Joshua back as Walter slunk out.

  His heart was pounding. His mother, confused, kept demanding questions from him, and all he could think to do was protect Cora. It was over. All of it. He lost everything.

  Joshua turned around toward his table, only to stop in his tracks. He looked amongst the room, which was now in chaos of people muttering, not knowing what to make of the scene.

  “Cora?” he called. She was gone.

  The Lil’ Miss was making her way back east, and stopping once again for Cora. This time, though, she seemed less a fantastical vision of adventure and freedom, and more like the old hunk of metal that she was.

  “Just one ticket,” Cora received the stub through the window at the station.

  Mr. Stanfield’s brow furrowed upon seeing the face at the booth, his gray eyes glinting underneath his spectacles.

  “Miss Cora…”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Stanfield,” Cora’s eyes glistened, but she held back tears. “It didn’t work out…”

  Mr. Stanfield sighed.

  “I’m awfully sad to hear that, Miss Cora. I thought for sure that you were the one.”

  “The one?” Cora perked up curiously.

  “Oh, yes’m,” Mr. Stanfield said. “I’ve known Joshua Dansby for a long time, since he was a wiry young boy. Knew his grandfather very well, God rest his soul.”

  He sighed and came out from the door of the station house to meet face to face with Cora.

  “Joshua was always driven. Probably the sense of responsibility he took when his father passed, and he was left to tend to everything. But you know, as good lookin’ as he was, there was never a gal that could love him.”

  Cora laughed amidst the emotions swelling.

  “He’s really difficult.”

  Mr. Stanfield let out a chuckle.

  “He is. But I think it’s more than that. Part of it is, I think, he never knew how to love himself. He always had a higher expectation for himself that he never placed on anyone else...and it drove him to loneliness.”

  He sighed and looked at his feet.

  “I saw how he looked at you that first day, when he realized you were the one he was supposed to meet…”

  “With disappointment?” Cora pursed her lips.

  “With hope.”

  “I just made things more complicated,” she looked away.

  The train’s engine began to whir.

  Mr. Stanfield tipped his hat.

  “It’s time.”

  Cora nodded, and gestured to the side of the platform.

  “Make sure that Kan gets back to Joshua. And--and tell him--” She pursed her lips. “Tell him I said goodbye.”

  Mr. Stanfield nodded and turned toward the train, shouting “All aboard the Lil’ Miss, leaving the station in five minutes!”

  Cora let out a deep breath as she turned around, once again facing the great, steam locomotive. The black body glinted in the sun, though an Autumn chill rippled through. Sounds of people boarding and clicking their feet, pulling their luggage across the wooden boardwalk rang in her ears.

  “Isn’t this where I began?” Cora said to herself.

  “But it doesn’t have to end like this.”

  Cora turned at the voice. “Joshua!”

  He breathed heavily, and removed his hat, his dark hair tousled, some strands lifting in the breeze. His blue eyes were deep and hallowed, and Cora’s chest swelled with emotion.

  She didn’t need this. Not at her getaway.

  “You’ve lost everything,” she said. “Walter Howell’s exposed our secret, your family knows I’m a penniless orphan girl, and you have absolutely nothing left.”

  Joshua brought his hand to Cora’s cheek, and she closed her eyes, her heart feeling as if it needed to burst, feeling the warmth of him near her.

  “I still have one thing left…” he brought his forehead to rest on hers.

  “Please, don’t…” Cora muttered through tears. “You’re making it more difficult than it has to be.”

  “I’ve had plenty of practice with a difficult woman,” he laughed.

  Joshua brought his hand to the chin of the brown-eyed woman in front of him, leaning her face to look at his. He nearly missed her. He was out of breathe. He was out of words. And yet, in this moment, all he could think about was how much he wanted her.

  “You are impossible, stubborn, obnoxious, and in fact one of the most annoying women I have ever met,” Joshua laughed. “But,” he wiped his thumb across her cheek, swiping away a tear. “You’re imaginative, and resourceful, you’re smarter than you think you are, and braver than anyone I know. And my goodness,” he cupped her face with both of his strong hands. “You are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.”

  He brought her into an embrace, enveloping himself around her small frame, breathing in the sweet smell of her hair, feeling her heartbeat against his.

  “I don’t care about the land, or the inheritance. I don’t care what people think, Cora.” He squeezed her tight. “I want you. I want you and all of you--even the annoying, impossible parts. I love you, Cora Sutton. I love you.”

  Cora’s heart swelled with emotion. She felt weak, as if she could just fall to the ground right then and there, but around her, Joshua Dansby held on. And he held on tight, his strong arms wrapped around her, as if she could forever be safe. And it wasn’t a fairytale. It was her life.

  “I love you, too” she spoke into his broad chest. “But,” she pushed away and looked up at him, his blue eyes glistening. “I’m not Cora Sutton,” she said. “I’m Cora Dansby.”

  He smiled, and leading her chin close to his, their lips met, and in a moment, both were suspended in time, as if nothing moved around them. When it ended, for a brief moment, his heart danced at the way the loose strands of her hair flitted in the breeze. He brushed his hand against her cheek once more, and smiled.

  “Mrs. Cora Dansby,” he said. “Be my wife.”

  And she was.

  ****

  THE END

  A Bride’s Heart – A Clean Western Romance

  Chapter One

  Margaret didn’t know how to feel as she watched the landscape pass quickly by. The train’s window had a small handprint on the inside near to her. She wanted to clean it off but had nothing to use. Her mother had pressed it upon her that she needed to be a clean and tidy young lady and that no husband would ever respect her as a woman if she was a slob. She hadn’t spent a day in her life looking unkempt. Her mother would never have allowed it.

  Margaret pulled her feet up under the bench and locked them at the ankles. Her hands were folded neatly over her satchel, which she held in her lap. She was gripping the handle as if the bag wanted to jump off her lap and run away on invisible legs. When she realized she had such a tight grip, she relaxed her hands and splayed her fingers a few times to stretch them.

  While doing so, she met eyes with a young man across the way from her. He nodded at her, tipping his h
at. She nodded back and lowered her eyes. She didn’t know him and she was on her way to meet her new husband. It would look very bad for her to be seen speaking with a young man she didn’t even know.

  She brought her eyes back up and looked through the window again. She would have sworn it was just raining out there. Now it looked like they were passing through a dry desert. Seconds later, the scene was completely blocked as they went through a tunnel that had been dug right through the middle of a mountain.

  Margaret felt a bit of apprehension but shook it off. Her family was centered on people with strong back bones. Her father had begun teaching her at the age of seven to be one of the best horse breeders and trainers there was in all of England…or at least their little Meadowbrook Village area. When he had immigrated with his family to America, he had brought his business and his love for horses with him. These were traits he never had to try hard to instill in his only daughter.

  Margaret had never wanted for anything and had always known if there was anyone she could count on in life, it would be her father. She was proud and had a high level of self-esteem. Her strong countenance and narrow stare had been known to shut the dirty mouth of the sailor and quiet the screaming child, one the same as the other. She also had a strong faith in God and often called upon Him to help her through the trials and tribulations of life.

  This would have made it rather odd that she would be responding to an ad in the paper for a bride to come to the West and join a stranger in matrimony. And it was true that she had initially been against it. But the more her father talked about it, the more she had become convinced it was the right thing to do. She was advancing in age and she needed to make sure she had a family to carry on the family business. Her two brothers would not be able to take over when their father passed on. One had died in the war and the other was not interested in horses in the least. The only use Margaret had for him was that he was swiftly able to convince their father just to let a woman take over – or at least marry her off to someone who would do it.

  Margaret would have preferred to take over the business on her own. But there was little to no women running any businesses anywhere in America, and if they were running the business, they had a man’s name (usually their husband’s) out in front for everyone to see.

  Margaret would be 29 in a few months and her advancing age had been one of the valid points her father had mentioned in order to get her to do this. She needed a family more than she wanted one - but she did want one. She let him know that she had been thinking of a family of her own for some time.

  Finally, she had given in and boarded the train after communicating with a man in Nevada named Mark Brooks, who was living in a tiny established property called Las Vegas. There were only a few hundred people there, maybe a bit more. Margaret’s village in England had room for about 1000 before it began to break into sections.

  The ad had requested a woman of average height and weight with a strong back and a love for horses. She definitely met those qualifications. The groom, Mark, said he was looking for a bride who would share his interests.

  If Mark’s interest was in horses, Margaret was definitely answering the ad.

  Through their letters, Margaret had explained that her father had brought her from England when she was young. Mark had told her that he had once already had a family – a wife and two children, one of each – but that they had been killed in a raid by hostile Indians. It had been nearly ten years and he was tired of being alone. The women he knew, within his circle of friends, were few and far between and so far, none had shared his love for horses.

  Margaret was also interested to read that he attended church regularly. Most people did, she noticed, but few mentioned it in passing, as part of an introduction to themselves. Mark had not only made mention of it but told her politely that she would be required as his wife to attend with him.

  She thought it was a bit strange that he should say such things but shrugged it off, wanting to know more about him as a person before making any judgments. Of course she would go; she would be happy too, as a matter of fact. It was also a practice she and her father shared. They had rarely missed a day, even after her mother and brother passed away and her second brother stopped attending.

  Her attention was drawn from her thoughts when the young man sitting in front of her pulled out a gold pocket watch with a fast moving train emblazoned and embossed on the front. He pressed the button and it flipped open, revealing the time. He looked up and saw that she was looking at the watch.

  He turned it so that she could see the face was trimmed with gold and had tiny gold hands inside it. There were even a few small diamonds encrusted inside at the very middle where the hands met.

  “This was my father’s,” He said, leaning forward to whisper loudly, as if what he was saying was top secret. Margaret instinctively leaned forward, as well, scanning the watch a little closer. “He gave it to me before I left New York. I’ve taken this watch almost all over the country now. All I have to do is reach the ocean on the West coast and I will have traveled every single mile with this watch telling me the time.”

  Margaret lifted her eyebrows, not sure how to respond to that. It seemed like a senseless trip if it was only to bring a watch from one side of the country to the other.

  He noticed the look on her face and smiled. Suddenly, he seemed more attractive to her and she smiled back.

  “I see you are wondering why I would do something so foolish as to travel all over the country just for a watch.”

  Margaret sat back without a word, still smiling.

  He chuckled. “Well, I’ll tell you why. I’m not just carrying this watch around the country. I’m making records of the time differences. You see, I developed this watch.”

  She began to listen to him more closely, interested in his watch and the recordings he was doing of time changes. He told her his watch was special because it went by the shadow of the sun, similar to a sun dial. He seemed pleased that she knew what a sun dial was. She thought everyone knew what a sun dial was.

  When he went to a different climate, he would record the hours his watch gave him until the sun dial said it was a different time. Then he would calculate the distance between where he had been and when the time change occurred.

  “What do you hope to gain from all of this?” Margaret asked in a curious voice, her head tilted.

  “I hope that someday we will be more accurately counting time and days when communicating with each other from across the country.”

  “How in the world do you think that is going to happen? Are you also developing faster horses?” Margaret gave him a smile to let him know she was teasing him. He smiled back.

  “No, but think about it…” He hesitated and she said,

  “Margaret.”

  “Yes, think about it, Margaret. It’s John, by the way. If you think about how fast this locomotive is going, that steam engine is taking us all the way across the country with the power of hundreds of horses.”

  “So you don’t need horses to take letters across the country? It still takes a very long time to travel.”

  John nodded. “I believe that someday we will develop and have the knowledge to create faster communications and travel.”

  “I really can’t imagine, John. I must be a grounded thinker. I’ve never been much of a day dreamer.”

  “Oh, it’s not a daydream, Margaret,” John responded in an excited tone. He scooted to the edge of the bench he was sitting on and pulled at his bow tie subconsciously. “I’ve been developing these time tables and records for a year, really more than a year. I’m not going to stop until I have a complete list of analysis. I want everyone to have one of my watches eventually. Then they will know what time it is all over the world!”

  Margaret had to laugh, the thought of the entire world being able to communicate with each other in a short time was amusing. John smiled at her, not at all disappointed by her frivolity. He was used to people laughing at his p
lan for everyone to know what time it was no matter where they traveled or resided.

  “I try not to think about the time,” Margaret said. “It never seems I have enough to do all the things I need to do in a day, much less the time to do what I want. And I never get to do what I want, as it is.”

  “And what is it you want to do?” John asked.

  “Sleep in every morning.”

  They both laughed.

  “Why are you traveling by yourself across the country?” John asked. Margaret braced herself for whatever reaction she was going to get.

  “To marry a stranger.” She responded bluntly.

  “Oh really?” John just nodded, looking at her. “I certainly do hope it turns out well for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Do you know anything about him?”

  “Not really, just that his name is Mark and he loves horses. My father taught me to rope, train and live with horses on a regular basis. Now I return the favor by marrying a man who also loves horses the way we do.”

  “It’s certainly good to start out on a new adventure in life.”

  “I agree.”

  “And being with someone compatible should make it even better.” His tone had changed somewhat and she suspected he had been hoping for a closer relationship upon their arrival at their destination. She wasn’t offended and felt a bit flattered that he had sprung into conversation with an obviously single woman on a train. His face was still friendly, though he looked a bit disappointed.

  “And do you have a wife?” She asked. If he was going to be forward, she would gladly return it.

  “I do not.” He shook his head. “Too much traveling. Never found a woman willing to do it.”

  “Well, I certainly hope you do someday, if that is what you wish. And what a grand opportunity you have to find a woman who loves to travel as you do. You are always on here, I gather, and that’s where she will be, too!”

  John shrugged, smiling. “I guess we will see what happens in the future, won’t we?”

  Chapter Two

  The dry dusty plain spread out in front of Margaret to one side, and the bustling action of the station was on the other. She looked out over the plain. It was in such contrast to the people milling about, talking, laughing and crying their goodbyes. She held on to her satchel and thought about how John had continued to talk to her about his travels for the rest of the ride. He was obviously itching to tell someone about them.