Adventure For A Bride: A clean historical mail order bride romance (Montana Passion Book 3)

by Amelia Rose

  “It’s cold…” Wyatt began, looking around as though he couldn’t figure out why he was outdoors in this weather, and practically wearing only his long underwear.

  Pryor leaned forward and grabbed Wyatt beneath his arms, hoisting him to his feet. He threw an arm around the man’s shoulders and led him inside, looking imploringly at his wife and begging her to forget what she’d just seen. Moira nodded, and went to retrieve the pails.

  Chapter Three

  “But I don’t understand how that will help,” Wyatt said in a weak voice. He still kept the blanket around his shoulders and the third mug of coffee firmly between his hands, leaning forward to let the steam warm his unshaven face.

  “Wyatt, you’re a good friend, so it pains me to point out your errors,” Pryor said kindly before gesturing around the shabby cabin. “But this… this isn’t doing you any good. You have a family to think of first and foremost, and a farm that’s only half yours. Half of it still belongs to the government, but you’re going to run it into the ground if you don’t take care of it.”

  “I know. I just can’t seem to think of anything important these days. It’s almost as if… it’s as if nothing matters anymore,” he said, staring down into the black liquid in his cup. Moira turned away and tended to the dishes to give the grieving man as much privacy as the cramped space allowed. She looked over to the wide, tall bed where the children were gathered, playing finger games with string, watching them laugh quietly each time the baby reached for their hands. Their quiet demeanors, even while playing, spoke volumes about the sorrow that had hung over this house since their mother had passed. She wanted nothing more than to grab them in her arms and kiss them until their hurts faded away, but no amount of tenderness from a stranger would ever ease what they had endured.

  “Mr. Flynn, I know I’ve stated as much already, but we’ll happily take the children for a while,” Moira said, raising a hand to stop him when he tried to protest. “Not for too long, of course, but just until you feel more able to care for them. You’ve been through an ordeal, and we know ‘tis hard to endure it. Mrs. O’Conner would also be glad of some children about her place, now that she’s expecting her first child.”

  “No! Absolutely not, Anna Mae would never have wanted to me to split the children up. They’re a family, they’re… my only family.” He let his head drop to his chest as another round of tears pooled in his eyes. He was long past feeling ashamed of his grief, having tried, and failed, for so long to be brave.

  “You’re right, of course you are. Then Mrs. O’Conner and I will share the duties. She’ll take all three for a time, then I’ll take all three. ‘Tis only fitting that they be together, and we won’t have it any other way,” she promised.

  Wyatt seemed to process her offer, at least willing to think it over. The thought of sending his children away, his wife’s children, only served to let him know that his heart hadn’t been completely destroyed by losing Anna Mae, the only proof being a whole new sort of pain where he’d thought there was nothing left to hurt.

  Moira exchanged a knowing look with Pryor, and nodded her head slightly in Wyatt’s direction. She knew what her husband had really come to propose, having discussed it with him at great length. She stepped away from the table to give them some more semblance of privacy and busied herself with the children, setting some water to boil in the great kettle so she could ready them for what may be their first bath since the last time their own mother had washed them.

  “Wyatt…” Pryor began, hesitating as he worked to find just the right words. “Have you thought about writing off for a wife?”

  The broken man didn’t move. He watched Pryor’s face, unsure of what to feel. Was it insult? Was it admonishment? He couldn’t feel anything other than confusion.

  “What? How? Do you… do you expect me to find some stranger to take my Anna Mae’s place?” he finally whispered, looking over his shoulder to make sure his children hadn’t heard. “You really think I would do that to my children?”

  “No, not to your children… for your children,” Pryor answered, growing stern. “I asked you once today, and I didn’t think I’d have to remind you again, but what kind of father are you being right now? It’s a wonder there’s food in their bellies and warmth in their bones, and there wouldn’t have been either of those if I hadn’t dragged my pregnant wife and young son out into the cold and dark this morning! They were in a wagon huddling together for warmth before you’d even lit a fire this morning!”

  Wyatt opened his mouth to argue, but gave up. He nodded. “I know, and I’m beholden to you for it.”

  “No, Wyatt. You’re not beholden to me, not after all you’ve been through. But what you are is a man with responsibilities. I’m sore for you and what you’ve suffered, but you have to go on. You’re going to lose your farm if you don’t plant in a few weeks. Have you even gone to New Hope to place your order for seed with Jorgenson?” Wyatt shook his head. “I thought not. And what’s to come of your children if you lose this farm to the government? If you can’t meet your grain obligation and get your fence finished? But even if you get to work, what are they to do while you’re out in your fields, whenever you do decide to work your land? Do you think they’re gonna sit here quiet as church mice while you’re working your land eighteen hours a day?”

  Pryor waited for that to sink in. The life of a homesteader brought untold freedom and the promise of land free and clear, but only if the obligation could be met within the set time frame. In his current state, Wyatt stood to lose everything he’d built with Anna Mae, everything he’d made her leave her home for.

  “Look, it’s a long process to even send off the letters. You don’t have to decide anything now. You sign up, you start a correspondence, and then you see where it goes. By the time the right woman has agreed to come out West, you’ll have had plenty of time to grieve. It’s not like she’s gonna show up on the next train.”

  “I don’t know,” Wyatt finally answered. “I’m not in the right frame of mind to go thinking about finding a new wife, and a stranger at that.”

  “That’s true, you’re not. But this is the way of things in the new territory. Look at Moira and I, look at Nathaniel Russell and his wife. Sure, it’s a risk, but it’s no bigger risk than packing up all your belongings and heading for the territory in the first place! But Wyatt… you have to do something. Planting season is coming up and you have to have something in mind for your children once the weather turns. You need a wife who can look after them, cook for them, care for them… and care for you, too. You can’t work your farm with no food in your belly, either, and finding a wife to look after all that you’ve worked for just makes sense.”

  “But… I loved Anna Mae. I can’t ever feel that way about anybody else, ever. Especially not a stranger. I won’t… I won’t let myself feel that way ever again. I can’t go through this again, I won’t survive it next time,” he explained, his voice shaking as his lower lip trembled.

  “It’s not about going off half-cocked and looking for love, you just need a wife,” Pryor explained in a perfunctory tone. He purposely avoided his wife’s gaze, knowing she wore an angry look that he could feel burning through him. He’d answer for that comment later, but for now, he had to convince Wyatt. “Think of it as a partnership in your property, nothing more. You could even build her a room of her own if you wished. The marriage would just be for propriety, and to keep things legal if something happened to you. Remember, if you get hurt working your land, what happens to your children? Where do they even go if the worst happens to you? Having a wife would mean you didn’t have to worry yourself about that kind of thing.”

  Wyatt finally shrugged his shoulders and said half-heartedly, “I suppose it’d be nice to know my little ones were looked after. That’d be a big load off my mind. Anna Mae might hate me for the rest of time, but I don’t know what else to do. Tell me how to do it.”

  The following week, true to his word, Wyatt rode into town wi
th Pryor. The trip was under the guise of stocking supplies and ordering grain for the planting, but they both knew why they were really there. There was no need to speak it aloud.

  Anna Mae, forgive me for what I’m about to do, Wyatt prayed fervently as he dropped the letter on Jorgenson’s countertop without looking at it, then turned to go.

  Chapter Four

  Spring came to New Hope and the surrounding mountain valley blissfully early, or at least earlier than was usual for that part of Montana. Where the locals had become used to whole months of howling storms, surprise snowfalls, and days that were mild on Monday and below freezing on Tuesday, it was as if even Mother Nature knew that Wyatt Flynn had put up with all that he could. The passing weeks hadn’t dulled the pain, but had only found him able to push it out of his consciousness for a few stolen moments each day, usually while he worked. But once back in the quiet foreignness of his cabin, the place where his children used to laugh but had taken to lurking silently in the corners with a grief that weighed more than they did, there was nothing to take his thoughts away from his emptiness. Even the promise of a new woman in the house didn’t lift his spirits.

  He’d wrestled more than once with simply turning the woman away once she arrived. The train that carried her to New Hope could carry her right on past it, for all that it mattered to him. But that wouldn’t be the honorable thing to do, and he was nothing if not a decent man, no matter how badly he played the cards life had dealt him.

  Their correspondence had been brief, almost businesslike. He knew her name, and her age. He knew she was a woman who worked hard, and who had signed on with the agency to find a husband purposely to get out of the city. Boston, she’d called it, and the very name sounded constricting in Wyatt’s mind. Not open and free, like the name Montana.

  Wyatt knew he hadn’t been very clear about his intentions, or at least he’d hoped he’d been clear enough without having to divulge too much. He was looking for someone to run his household, not someone to read poetry to. This woman had seemed eager enough, but it was that same sense of urgency in her letters that made him skeptical of this whole arrangement.

  But here on the platform waiting for the train to arrive, Wyatt had no hope of running. Pryor was there to help him, as were Kieran and Gretchen O’Conner. It was only fitting that there be another woman there to greet this newcomer, and the O’Conners had already agreed to bring the woman into their home until such time as she and Wyatt were married.

  “I know Moira is sorry she’s missing this,” Pryor said, breaking the tense silence as he spoke up. “Matthew came early, too, and threw her into a tizzy as she wondered how she’d ever manage to throw the Russells’ wedding with a new baby on her hip. But she’ll be out to meet this lady as soon as she’s up and about.”

  Wyatt nodded mutely. He couldn’t see the cause for celebration that had brought everyone out. Surely the O’Conners needed to meet her because she’d be staying up at their place in town, but Pryor needn’t have bothered himself. For that matter, Wyatt wasn’t sure why he had to be there either. It wasn’t like they were going to go off courting that afternoon. If she was able-bodied, obedient, and kept a pleasant tone in her voice, that was all that he required of her.

  “You look like you’re a’waitin’ for the executioner, man,” Kieran said, punching Wyatt playfully in the shoulder. The quieter man winced and grabbed the spot, smarting from the burly man’s gesture. “Chin up! ‘Tis only a wife you be takin’, not the gallows.”

  Gretchen put out a hand and touched her husband’s arm, smiling sympathetically at Wyatt. Kieran was the first lawman the region had ever had, and he was suited for his job due to his brute strength and sense of honesty. Sensitivity, even to a widower’s plight, wasn’t part of his job.

  Wyatt broke out in a visible sweat at the first sound of the train’s whistle far off in the distance. He’d hoped the others hadn’t heard it, implausibly giving him a chance to escape, but their ears pricked at the sound, just as his had done. By the time the locomotive rounded the bend and actually came into view, he felt a throbbing in his chest that told him there was no turning back now. He began to feel lightheaded, and suddenly, the ground rose up to meet his face. He felt a painful stinging sensation as his nose connected with the wooden boards of the platform, then mercifully was swallowed by the darkness.

  Wyatt didn’t know how much time had passed since he’d fallen, but when he was able to open his eyes without squinting against the harsh sunlight overhead, the first thing he saw was the faces of his friends circled above him, concern clear on his faces.

  “Wyatt? Are you still with us?” Kieran asked, grinning in spite of the grave situation now that the poor man’s eyes were open.

  “I am… what happened?” he mumbled, trying to turn his head but feeling the smarts from where he’d hit his face when he landed, jarring his neck fiercely.

  “You fainted, I’m afraid,” Pryor said, leaning over him. “You probably just got too worked up, you know, too many nerves jangling all at once on account of waiting like you were.” Wyatt only moaned in agreement. Embarrassment flooded through him as he finally remembered where he was, why he’d come, and that the new girl was surely standing somewhere nearby, watching him faint like a school girl.

  “Where… where is she?” he finally asked, looking up at Pryor and Kieran. When he didn’t see Gretchen right away, he assumed she’d taken the young woman away somewhere, for which he was truly grateful.

  “Who? Oh, your lady friend?” Pryor asked, rubbing the back of his neck and stalling for time. “Well, the thing is… she didn’t exactly…”

  “Oh, quit stalling and just spit it out, MacAteer! She wasn’t on the train, man!” Kieran said, growing impatient and kicking at a rock. “The train didn’t even stop here, it just kept on moving to the next town!”

  Chapter Five

  “What? That can’t be right,” Wyatt said, sitting up. He tried to hide his disappointment because he knew that he didn’t even understand it himself. This should be a relief, shouldn’t it? He tried to find a wife, just as everyone expected, but it didn’t work out. Now he could go home to his cabin, to his children… and to his private heartache. “Her letter said she’d be arriving on this train, on this date.”

  “I’m sure there’s a good reason for it, never fear,” Pryor said, patting Wyatt’s shoulder reassuringly while giving Kieran a nasty look. “We’ll sort it out. Maybe she had a connecting train that was delayed somewhere along the line, and prevented her from catching this one in time. There’s no reason to worry just yet.”

  “No, she decided not to come! I know it!” Wyatt cried, sitting up. “And to think that I didn’t want her here, but now she’s…” He stopped himself from finishing his sentence. He wasn’t ready to admit that it hurt for her not to show up, especially after the way he’d had to be convinced to even write to her in the first place.

  The three men waited around anxiously, not quite certain what to do next, until Gretchen returned from Jorgenson’s mercantile with a cold cloth and a tin cup of water. Wyatt took them gratefully, but also took his time feeling better.

  “Well, I guess there’s nothing to be done but return to our homes,” Pryor said, feeling an awkward sting of embarrassment. “We’ll look for her again next time the train comes through. Given the warmer weather lately and the bustle of this town growing up around us, it shouldn’t be too long.”

  He helped his friend to his feet and kept an arm out behind him in case Wyatt started to fall again. Gretchen linked her arm through her husband’s, feeling sorry for the man who’d been through so much.

  Before any of them could take a step down from the platform, they were startled by the arrival of a shiny black stage coach, an uncommon site in New Hope. The coaches didn’t usually run this far from the Barnett outpost, as the risk from marauders was simply too great to travel without a regiment of guards. Most people who did go by coach still disembarked at the fort and found other means to tra
vel to their final destinations.

  The coach driver let the team of six horses slow to a natural walk, their heavy hooves kicking up small clouds of dust on the wide main road. The spring rains had only ended a week or so ago, and already the ground had dried enough that the dust rose with their footfalls, signifying what would become an overly warm summer.

  They looked to the coach to watch its passengers, shielding their eyes from the noontime sun. The driver held fast to the reins while an armed footman jumped down from his place at the back. He opened the door for any passengers who may be getting off, then skittered around to the back of the coach to retrieve a few trunks and some parcels of mail.

  Two men, a father and a son judging by the difference in their ages and their identical mops of flaming red hair, climbed down from the coach and stretched their legs. They waited patiently while the attendant untied their one trunk apiece from the top of the coach, then handed down their canvas rucksacks filled with supplies. They left, carrying their belongings, leaving the four watchers to stare in bewilderment.

  “Well, that’s a new sight in these parts,” Kieran said. “I think the only neighborly thing to do is to go introduce myself and see to it that they’re not up to any trouble.” He kissed his wife on the cheek then nodded to Pryor and Wyatt before following the two new arrivals. The three remaining friends turned back to find Pryor’s wagon, but stopped when another movement caught their eye.

  This time it was a woman who stepped down from the coach, a fetching lady dressed in a fine traveling coat and plumed hat. She wore kid gloves on her small hands despite the spring weather, and the slippers on her feet were so dainty that even Gretchen felt an urge to carry her over the coarse ground and set her safely on the wooden platform. When both feet had reached the ground, the woman smiled to herself and took in the small village, turning in a wide circle as she breathed deeply.