Contents
Western Love
Copyright
Opt in
Chapter One: Run-ins
Chapter Two: Heading Home
Chapter Three: Changes
Epilogue
Bonus Notice
Cowboy Saves a Widow
Unwilling Father
Widowed and Pregnant
Finding my Cowboy
Hannah’s Story
The Christmas Orphan
My True Love
Looking For Love
A Widow’s Heart
Butler Love
Love Never Fails
Cowboy For Christmas
The Christmas Bride
Winning Her Heart
Lover’s Escape
A Widow’s Love
Secret Baby
The Cowboy’s Bride
The Wondering Bride
Alone and Pregnant
About the Author
Western Love
Mail Order Bride
CHRISTIAN MICHAEL
Copyright 2016 by Purely Publishing - All rights reserved.
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.
Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.
For complete access to every Christian Michael release click here.
To receive free clean romances every week from Purely Publishing click here.
Also, please Like our Facebook page!
Chapter One: Run-ins
California, 1885
Constance Lowell allowed her father to help her from the carriage, lifting her skirts to keep them from the mud that lay along the roadways.
“Be careful pumpkin,” Mr. Robert Lowell said as he held his daughter’s arm to save her from slipping. “If you ruin that dress your mother will have my hide for certain.”
“I’ll be careful, papa.”
“Good,” he smiled. “So Rupert, tell us more about this clothing company.”
“Yes, sir,” Rupert Merchant said with a solemn nod of his head. “The Bethel Clothing Company was founded on a street corner during the Great California Gold Rush. With no more to work with than rags, the owner’s wife would sew them into worthwhile breeches for men to purchase at half the cost of buy them brand new. As time went on, she garnered enough sales to purchase new material. Still, she kept her prices low and business poured in. By the time the gold rush lost interest, Mr. and Mrs. Smitz had built up enough revenue to purchase this here building and the acreage that surrounds it. It’s in the process of being passed down to their son Jameson, but as he’s away in college, there’s no telling when the transition will actually happen.”
“Can we take a more detailed tour of the facility?” Constance asked, her green eyes clearly interested in how a clothing company ran from the inside.
“Absolutely, Miss Lowell.”
She followed her father inside and gasped at the intense heat inside the building. Almost immediately it became harder to breathe and she started to sweat. She brought out her fan and began fanning herself as she scanned the workers. For the most part they looked worn thin, their bodies adapted to the life of hard labor. But when her eyes fell on a child who couldn’t have been more than seven, pushing around a car to collect garments in, Constance felt an unspeakable rage rush through her. She marched up to the foreman, taking leave of her father and demanded. “Does Mr. Smitz condone letting children labor in a sweat shop like this?”
“Excuse me, Miss?”
“I asked if Mr. Smitz supports the idea of letting children work in a sweat shop, doing no doubt, work meant for an adult?”
“Mr. Smitz wants efficiency and there’s no better way to get it, than the way I’m doing it.”
“I demand to speak with him.”
“Constance,” Robert Lowell said, a grin on his face. “Leave the man alone. He’s got a business to run.”
“Absolutely not, father. I beg your pardon, but I cannot stand by and watch a child suffer under the constraints that are barely tolerated by full grown men and women. He’s seven, maybe. How is it fair to ask that of him?”
Constance knew she was making a scene, but rarely did she care about such things. Stopping the boy with a gentle hand on his shoulder, she kneeled down in front of him, smudging her new dress with dirt. “What’s your name?”
“Billy, ma’am,” the little boy said. His frail body made tears swell in Constance’s eyes and she worked hard to swallow them back.
“Won’t you come with me now, Billy?”
“But I have to work, ma’am. If I don’t work, Mr. Strickland won’t pay me and that’s all the money my mama has.” The boy’s plight nearly broken Constance in two as she took the boy’s hand.
“Mr. Strickland, from here on out Billy will go to school and will never set foot in this factory again.”
“Whatever lady,” The foreman replied. “Just so you know, though, when his mother is better she’ll be out of a job.”
“Constance Marie,” Robert said, catching up to his headstrong daughter. “You can’t just yank a boy out of his job. What does he do tomorrow when his mother has no money because you took his job away?”
“He’s going to school just as I said father.”
“And how will his mother survive, let alone provide for him?”
“I’m going to hire her while we’re here. Then, I’m going to talk to Mr. Smitz about the operation he’s running here and the deplorable conditions of his workers, let alone the atrocity I witnessed today.”
“Oh, I blame your mother for you streak of stubbornness. And thank you very much by the way, she’ll tear me a new hide for the stain on your new dress.”
“It couldn’t be avoided and I’ll pay to have it professionally laundered out of my allowance.”
“What are you going to hire Billy’s mother to do exactly?”
“She’s going to be my assistant as I’m going to make sure that the Bethel Clothing Company is strongly reprimanded for hiring children and working them to the bone as if they were full grown adults. Despicable practice,” she huffed, taking her seat when her father handed her up in the carriage.
***
Jameson Smitz sat in his office trying to finish the inventory he’d need to send in today if he wanted to continue to supply clothes for is branding line without interruption. Frustration kept the numbers from tallying and every time Jameson tried to make them, he just succeeded in making himself madder. Tossing his pencil on his desk, He stood up and stepped outside, taking a deep breath of fresh air.
“Thank you, Lord,” Jameson said, planting a smile on his face.
“It seems odd to see a man thank God when he can’t even abide by decent labor practices,” came a soft, feminine voice from behind him.
“Excuse me?” Jameson said, turning to see a beautiful, if young, woman standing with her hands on her hips.
“I said, you shouldn’t be thanking God when you can’t keep children from working themselves to the bone in your sweat shop.”
“And you are?” Jameson said, feeling a headache develop behind his eyes. Her blonde hair was done up in a way that drew his gaze to her angry face, and the fire that seemed to spit from her pretty green eyes. Jameson had the urge to grin at her, but given her current stance, he figured it’d probably get him a kick in the teeth rather than a polite smile in return.
“My name is Constance Lowell. My father Robert is here attending an advisory meeting at Stanford University an
d I’m visiting with him. We took a tour of your factory yesterday and I was beyond appalled by the presence of a seven years old boy name, Billy, who was pushing a garment cart around. His face was darkened by dirt and he looked slim enough to fit in the leg of one of the pairs of britches your factory makes. Are you so hard up for workers that you’d take on a boy who should be in school learning?”
“You’re saying that there was a little boy working in my factory yesterday?”
“Yes,” she huffed, making Jameson grin after all. She had some attitude going on that was for sure.
“It isn’t a common practice for Bethel Clothing Company to hire anyone under sixteen, ma’am,” Jameson said, his own eyes hard, focused, and serious. In fact, it is strictly against our hiring policy and I guarantee you that I will deal directly with the person who’s in charge of hiring for that particular job.”
“Thank you,” she said, not quite smiling. “I’m sorry if I came off rudely Mr. Smitz. I just couldn’t stand by and let it go. I should also tell you that I took that little boy home, saw that he cleaned up, and escorted him to school. I’ve also hired his mother for the remainder of the school year so that Billy can attend class as a boy his age should.”
“I agree,” Jameson said, admiring the young lady’s spunk. She wasn’t one to just let things slide because it wasn’t exactly her place to speak of them. She was a go-getter and would make someone a very active and interesting wife when she was old enough to marry. “I promise Miss Lowell that this matter will be handled immediately. And to go a step further, I will keep in touch with you about the matter if you’re agreeable to that?”
“I’d greatly appreciate that, Mr. Jameson.”
“Excellent,” he smiled. He extended his hand and shook hers lightly. “I suppose I’ll see you at the gala at Stanford on Saturday night?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” he said, adding a wink. “For now, I must ask you to excuse me. I have business to attend to, including a reprimand for my employees.”
“Yes, please. Ado, Mr. Jameson.”
Chapter Two: Heading Home
Constance didn’t know exactly how she should feel as the train pulled away from the station. She’d had a wonderful time in California. Visiting Stanford and seeing prominent places, meeting important people. She’d changed two lives while she was there. Little Billy Porter was able to stay in school until summer and his mother, Agnes, had risen to the opportunity she’d been offered. As a parting gift, Constance had asked her father for an advance on her allowance and sent a gift basket to the impoverished woman. Inside she’d tucked nearly five hundred dollars, enough for a year’s income. Hopefully it’d give her enough time to find a decent job. Constance had also written her an exemplary performance review, praising her work ethic and skills.
Her heart, however, was torn in two. She’d indeed seen Jameson Smitz at the Stanford gala that had been put on to raise money for the Leland Stanford, Jr. Museum. Jane Stanford was the main speaker of course, telling of the heartbreak of losing her only son.
“He was the light of my life,” she’d said, “Without him I am only existing.
“Opening this museum will be like bringing my son back to me and will give the public a glimpse of his brightness and the treasures from far off places.”
Still, if Constance was to choose a moment that changed her entire outlook on where her life was headed, it was confronting Jameson Smitz about little Billy Porter. Being an outspoken woman, she was used to seeing a plethora of people at speeches, women suffrage parades and the like. Even then she’d never seen a man as handsome as Jameson. His thick brown hair was as unruly as a child’s sticking out everywhere when the breeze blew so that he had to run a hand through it to keep it out of his eyes.
His face was young, despite the two-day beard he’d sported and his smile had been warm and welcoming. But if she were asked and forced to be honest, she’d have said it was the allure of his beautiful sky blue eyes that had truly pulled her in.
“What did you think, Pumpkin?”
“Excuse me?” Constance said, blushing a little when she realized her father had been addressing her and she’d neglected to listen. “I’m sorry, father. What did you ask?”
“I mentioned to mother that Jameson Smitz seemed to be an honorable and trustworthy young man, certainly worthy of consideration as a board member.”
“You’re going to resign as a board member of the university?”
“Your mother and I would like to travel during our golden years. You yourself will be off to school and there’s no sense of us waiting around for you to graduate and settle into a career or motherhood.”
“Oh,” Constance said, wondering which she’d choose when the time came. “Well, I suppose that’s the practical solution then.”
The train pulled into New York two weeks later and all too soon, Constance was back into the routine of school, friends, socials, and celebrating the Women’s Suffrage movement. Two weeks later her first correspondence from Jameson arrived and her hands shook just trying to open the letter.
August 1885
Dear Miss Lowell,
I hope this letter finds you well and happy. I must say that your forthrightness is not something we encounter all that often here in California. I suppose as the ratio of men to women is still largely off balance that perhaps I just don’t get out enough.
It was an immense pleasure to see you at the gala. I don’t believe I told you so, but you looked radiant in your gown, truly a lady if I’ve ever seen one. Are you attending school this year? You must be near graduating for your speech and mannerisms were as polished as I’ve seen this side of the Mississippi.
You’ll be happy to know that I fired my hiring manager and hired my sister-in-law to take over. She dearly loves children and holds many of your same convictions. She too, raked me over the coals when news of Billy Parker’s plight made it to her ears. After telling her of our encounter she smiled. She says to tell you, “Well done.”
Here’s to a great semester for you and staying afloat for me!
With much affection,
Jameson Smitz
Constance didn’t quite know how to process what he’d written. There was so much going on in her head and heart. He’s signed the note with much affection, but did that mean he simply cared or that he cared for her in a way that was more than mere friendship. Biting her lip, she couldn’t help but wonder.
After dinner that night she curled up on her bed and grabbed a pen and the stationary she’d bought while in California. It showed a pretty lighthouse landscape on sand colored paper.
August 1885
Dear Jameson,
I am both well and happy, thank you. I must apologize again if I came off a bit strong. My parents raised me to be forthright and honest with my opinion, especially in matters of injustice. I do realize, however, that it can be a bit brusque.
Thank you for the compliment on my dress. I saved my allowance and made it myself! Whether or not I’m a lady is certainly yet to be seen. I, on the other hand, have no doubts that your business will only continue to flourish as you are an honorable leader.
I am back in school, full-time. Thankfully this is my last semester and then I’ll be off to college. I can scarcely believe I’m old enough for that experience. Did you enjoy Stanford during your time there?
With equal caring,
Constance Lynette Lowell
She tucked the letter into the envelope, addressed it, placed a stamp on it, and set it on her end table to mail the next morning.
By the time Constance got another reply from Jameson her last semester of remedial school was over and she was celebrating the Christmas and New Year holidays with her family.
“You received this in the mail today,” Rachel Lowell said, grinning when Constance took the letter. She excused herself to her room and tore the letter open.
December 1885
Dear Constance,
&
nbsp; Somedays I still can’t believe it’s been five months since I’ve seen you. There are times, little memories that I’d love to share with you, until I remember that there’s an entire country between us. I miss hearing your voice, even when you were railing at me.
How is school? Don’t worry if you’re scared that firs semester of college. I was terrified my first semester out. Then things settled down and I was able to truly enjoy my time at Stanford. I never thought about suggesting you apply here, although I’m not sure Mrs. Stanford is accepting female students just yet. Progress is much slower here than on the east coast.
I pray that you and your family celebrate a safe and happy Christmas and New Year. Welcome to 1886!
With growing affection,
Jameson Mackey Smitz
***
The new year started off with a bang of bad news. Jameson wrote in his only letter to Constance that his father had taken ill and passed away shortly thereafter. Adding the weight of caring for his aging mother he realized that he had little to offer a new college freshman besides working late into the evening and living a whole country from her family.
With a sigh of regret in his heart, Jameson toned down his letters and sent them sporadically, hoping to quell any growing affection Constance may have felt for him.
April 1886
Dear Constance,
I must admit that the start of this year has been the roughest and most emotional New Year to date for me. My father took ill and was unable to recover. We buried him last week. I’m afraid that I may have inadvertently led you to believe that there was a relationship of some permanency between us and for that I am truly and terribly sorry.
It is not that I do not care for you, but that at this present moment I have little to offer you that would satisfy a heart so young and full of life.
I hope that Yale turns out to be the education you dreamed of. For now, Miss Lowell I must bid you, Ado.
Your friend,
Jameson Smitz
[2015] Western Love Page 1
