Mail Order Bride: JUMBO Mail Order Bride 20 Book Box Set

by Hope Sinclair

  He pushed away from the armoire as the dull ache in his head and side slipped away. He needed to get back to his ranch. To see if the cowhands were tending to their duties. They had a tendency to slack off, when he wasn’t around to supervise them. He walked out his door, and met his mother in the hall as she closed Linda’s door.

  “She has fallen asleep,” she said, wringing her apron in her hands.

  Blake nodded and turned to walk down the stairs, but his mother gripped his arm. He turned back to her.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “She got upset when I told her about Sarah’s death. I guess it caused the pains.”

  His mother took a step closer to him. She only came up to his chin, but she still held an air of authority, when she wanted to impart some command to him. Did mother’s always have this kind of an effect on their sons?

  “You need to be a better husband.”

  A groan escaped him, and he rushed down the stairs, wanting to get away. But his mother just chased after him.

  “You must Blake. She needs her heart healed. You both do.”

  He stopped in the foyer, turning back to her. He knew she was right. It didn’t matter, that he hadn’t been apart of his mother’s deception, once he had agreed to wed her, he made a promise to her and God. Love, Honor and Cherish. But those commands were so hard to follow. Especially since today proved just how vulnerable women were. He knew that a sweet and beautiful lady like Linda would be too easy to become attached to. And then what would he do is something happen? What if she was taken from him like Sarah had been? Just the thought was too painful to ponder. He should have taken more medicine. Because the throb in his side attacked him fiercely reminding him that he had no control over life and death. Only a madman with a gun did.

  “Blake.” His mother, ran her fingers down his cheek. “I know you’re scared. And I know you’re hurting. But please just try. Just a little. Not every wife will die. You must realize that. Please for her.”

  He closed his eyes. Tears gathered in them. Tears he wanted to hide away. He was man. And men didn’t cry.

  “Will you? I promise I’ll leave you alone if you do.”

  He opened his eyes, and focused on the softness of his mother’s eyes. No cunning rested in them. Just a mother’s love that would do anything to ensure the happiness of her child. A wayward child who so often didn’t want to listen. How could he continue to cause her pain by not listening to her advice? He just couldn’t. “I will ma, tonight. Once she has a moment to rest.”

  A smile flickered across her face. She pecked him on the cheek. “I promise you. You won’t regret it.”

  SEVEN

  As a light grey light floated over the room, Linda slipped from her bed leaving the warmth of the faded quilt behind. For some reason, she cherished its comfort more than the silk sheets Max had given her. She pushed her matted hair from her face, and knelt on the hardwood floor. She pulled out her satchel from under the bed and opened it. Lifting up her Bible, she set it on her lap.

  How she hoped her search wouldn’t provide more unsettling news. She didn’t know if she could take anymore, but a nagging fear was hounding her. A fear she wanted to put to rest. She opened the Bible, the leathery scent of the good book filling her. The old pages crinkled with her touch as she flipped to the back.

  A few letters from Max were tucked away there. Letters she hadn’t read. She lifted one, and slit her finger under the envelop fold. If she remembered correctly, it was the first of the four she had received from the jailhouse.

  Tension filled her as she pulled out the yellow paper, and unfolded it. She glanced at the familiar script, a script that reminded her of all the love letters he had courted her with.

  But she suspected she would find no endearing words of love. In fact, she didn’t quite know what these letters would reveal.

  She unfolded the note, her gaze catching on one phrase. I am the worst of all sinners She scrunched her eyes closed, tears rushing forth. The words echoed in her mind.

  Why did he write that? Did he realize his guilt? She opened her eyes and continued reading the letter, taking in how he begged for her forgiveness. That he really did love her. She clamped her teeth on her bottom lip. How could he justify his action by his need to provide for her? His actions had done the opposite.

  If you ever run into trouble, remember all the gold is at Old Man’s mine. She dropped the letter, and stumbled back from it. Old Man’s Mine. Did he mean the abandoned Miller mine? The mine where he had first kissed her. The mine that was rumored to contain the town drunk’s bones. Why would he tell her that? Did he really believe she wanted blood money?

  A knock sounded at her door. She flinched. It was probably just Mrs. Pickett or Cora checking on her. She shoved the letter back into her satchel and slid it under the mattress. She returned to the bed, pulling the plaid quilt up to her chin.

  “Yes,” she called out.

  The door opened with a squeak, and Blake stepped in, with his hair wet and swept back, his beard trimmed. A flutter filled her. He was a handsome man. One couldn’t deny that. She could not help by smile.

  He had brought her dinner. A whiff of broth and pepper floated to her. A smile crossed his face as he walked to her and set the small platter on her nightstand. The wooden bowl filled with creamy broth and dumplings made her stomach rumbled. Next to was a plate with a few slices of bread, and butter.

  “Ma, figured you might be hungry,” Blake said, pulling a rocking chair closer to the bed and sitting down. The wood creaked as his weight filled it. He was a much bigger man than Max had been. She barely came to his chin.

  “Thank you,” she said as he lay the tray across her lap and handed her a spoon.

  “I’m sure ladies don’t usually eat in bed. But the doctor wanted you to rest.”

  She wouldn’t tell him that she had spent many breakfasts in bed. Or that it was quite common among the upper classes. He would think her slothful. No, that life was behind her. Now she must learn to be a rancher’s wife. She nodded and scooped a spoonful of the rich broth into her mouth. Rich flavors of chicken and celery danced across her mouth, bringing back memories of her mother’s cooking. Max’s family cook never could figure out the rich western tastes she had grown up loving.

  “How are you feeling?” Blake asked.

  She stilled, the spoon halfway to her mouth. Thoughts of Max’s letter floated across her mind. If you ever run into trouble, remember all the gold is at Old Man’s mine. A dark foreboding slipped around her. Was trouble just waiting to disrupt her new life?

  Blake’s large hand enclosed around hers, completely covering it. A strange sensation seeped through her. Though calluses covered his palm, scratching her skin, his touch felt more gentle than Max’s ever had.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  She took a deep breath and glanced at his face, before the heat burning in her cheeks made her look away. Why did this man she barely knew have such an effect on her? She was no schoolgirl, meeting with an admirer. No, she had already been a wife. She knew the ways of men and women. But the mere closeness of Blake made her want to bat her eyelashes.

  Linda lowered her spoon to her bowl. “I guess I just fear to face more tragedy.”

  “You have been through a lot?”

  Yes, she had. Though Blake did not know the full extent of the trials she had endured.

  “Perhaps, I shall tell you a tale,” he said.

  “A tale.” A giggle escaped her.

  Mischief filled his dark eyes. “Yes, ma’am, all cowboys are full of tales. Tales to keep us distracted on cold nights.”

  “What tale will you tell me, Mr. Cowboy?”

  A slow smile spread across his face. “It’s a tale of a cottontail rabbit who was bitten by a coyote.”

  “Oh.”

  “She got away, running back to her hole. But there was one problem?”

  “And what was that?”

  “She feared leaving her hole. Sh
e knew no coyote could get her in it.”

  Linda slowly shook her head. A poor animal trapped by her fear. “She never left. How did she eat?”

  Blake’s rough thumb caressed her hand. “She didn’t. And her food supply quickly ran out.”

  “Did...?”

  He held up a hand, stopping her. “One day, a young brave cottontail came by. He was looking for the bushy grey female cottontail. He had seen her often dancing among the dry bushes, running free across the dry dirt. He wondered what happened to her. So when he found her buried in her hole, he promised to watch over her.”

  “He loved her.”

  A lightness filled Blake’s eyes. “Yes, he did. But it took much work on his part to cajole her out of her hole. But soon he was able to reach her.”

  She squeezed the plaid quilt. Dark images crossed her mind. What if the coyote caught her again? Would a mere rabbit be able to protect her? “What happened?”

  “You ma’am.” He tapped her nose. “Have no patience.”

  She giggled, looking away. Yes, she never did.

  Blake took her chin, turning her back to face him. “Nothing happened. The young cottontail, watched over her as she played on the dry dirt or danced around the bushes. And if a predator neared, he always warned her.”

  “And they remained happy.”

  “Only because she learned to trust him.”

  Linda pulled her bottom lip into her mouth. Only because she learned to trust him. Though she was sure this no more than a fable, Blake had used it to try and reach her. She was the female cottontail wasn’t she?

  She looked back at the soup, spooning the chunks of chicken around the bowl. It probably had cooled since the oils had begin to solidify. “I’ll try Blake.”

  His thumb ran across her cheek, and her gaze turned back to him. “We both need to try. I admit, I have been aloof. But....” His words died off, as he looked towards the window. A few rays of the dying sun seeped through the open window, giving the room a slight glow. A glow as if the savior of the world himself approved of their union.

  He swallowed hard, his adam’s apple bobbled.

  She lay her hand on his, pulling so her cheek rested against it. He looked back at her, and something swelled in his eyes. Something she was not quite sure what. Love mixed with fear perhaps. Fear that he might come to love another woman and lose her again.

  “We must learn to help each other,” she said.

  “Yes, we must. And you, ma’am.” He raised his brows. “Best be getting to your soup, before it’s ruined. Ma will have my head if I keep you from nourishment.”

  She chuckled, raising the spoon once more, as that flutter intensified in her more. Something was happening between her and this rancher, who had become her husband. Something she didn’t quite understand, but yet wanted to praise God for nonetheless.

  EIGHT

  Blake raised the blanket up to Linda’s chin as slight puffs of breath slipped from her full lips. The candle light flickering from a breeze from the open window, revealed a ringlet laying against her creamy cheek. Though he knew he shouldn’t, he reached to it, and caressed the silk tendril between his fingers. It was as soft as he thought it might be.

  Sarah’s hair had been a rich brown with traces of red that the sun brought out. She had been a strong woman, who would ride the plains with him or wade in the creek. Her laugh always made his heart flutter even when they were just little children. She had always been the girl he wanted, since he first realized that it was all right for boys to want girls. But now he found his heart trailing after someone else, and despite all his statements, he wasn’t fighting this yearning very hard. No, he yearned for her, like a cowboy yearned for his mother’s cooking after driving the cattle to the market.

  Driving the cattle to the market. That time approached soon.

  Something tugged at him. Something that made him want to stay home and let his ranchhands fend for themselves. But he couldn’t do that. He must assure he got a good profit from the cattle.

  He blew out the candle and walked out of her room, digging his hands into his pockets. Linda and he had spent hours talking, sharing funny moments from their childhood, or what treats they liked. He chuckled, remembering how they both thought sweet bread was manna from heaven.

  She had even let him talk of Sarah, reliving tender moments of his marriage to her, and never once had jealousy filled her eyes. No, he had to admit, his ma had found him a good woman.

  He walked into his room, and glanced at the armoire. A dryness covered his throat as a bead of sweat slipped down his face. The pull for a sip was strong, but somehow he felt he had the strength to fight it tonight. Was it because of the hope Linda had ignited in him?

  He walked to his bed and sat, pulling off his black boots and dropping them on the worn rug. Small flecks of red dirt fell off. His ma would have his head tomorrow. He chuckled, but perhaps she wouldn’t. He could have worn he often heard her light footsteps stopping outside Linda’s door. Checking up on him. She must be pleased with him now. He put on his nightshirt and crawled into bed, letting his body sink into the firm hay mattress. He pulled the heavy quilt over his body, and as it covered him, he realized the weight that had been surrounding him since his wife’s death was lighter. And the deep darkness that usually attacked him whenever he thought of Sarah, didn’t fill his mind now. A sigh escaped his lips as he closed his eyes. His ma was right. He did need Linda, and tomorrow he might just have to admit it. Dear Lord, help him endure her gloating.

  ***

  Blake tightened the strap of the saddle making Old Betsy paw at the hay on the floor of the barn. The old girl was a good horse. She never bucked or fought his direction. She just liked to be ornery. He whistled an old ditty, as he led the mare out of the stable. Heaviness filled the air.

  Though it was early morning, thick grey clouds roamed the sky and a wind blew across the lawn, picking up a few dry leaves and light branches. He best hurry before the storm came. He figured he had a few more hours. Blake walked the mare in circles a few times, before returning to the saddle strap.

  Light footsteps sounded behind him. A flutter filled him. Had Linda come to see him again? He quickly turned and his heart dropped.

  His mother walked to him, the wind lifting a few loose strands of her hair and blowing them across her cheeks. A wide smile crossed her face, and a knowing look filled her eyes. She had had that look the whole morning during their small breakfast of oats and bacon.

  He shook his head, and turned back to Old Betsy. Why was a man’s pride so strong? How he hated admitting she was right. But she had always been right hadn’t she with her meddlesome ways?

  She stopped at his side, and the scent of fresh dough floated to him. Her and Cora had been making biscuits before he left, while Linda sat off to the side with a lightness in her eyes; her hands caressing the swell of her stomach. He’d have to ask her tonight how soon until the baby was born. The thought of a little one running around the house brought a smile to his face.

  “Would you stop woolgathering about Linda for a moment and speak to your mother?”

  A loud laugh escaped him. Yes, he had been woolgathering about Linda. But shouldn’t that please her?

  “Yes, mother.”

  “Did you two have an enjoyable evening last night?” She clasped her hands together, almost bouncing like a schoolgirl. Could her smile get any brighter?

  He bent to her head and kissed it. “Thank you, ma.” He swung up on the horse. “I must get to the cattle.”

  She planted her hands on her hips, bending her head to the side. “Mothers always know best.”

  Apparently they did. He chuckled and kicked his horse, sending her off on a slow trot. A few extra hands would be coming today and he must meet with them before the brewing storm hit. These men had come all the way from Whitecloud seeking work. The largest cattle ranch in the town had been taken by the bank and now many experience hands were looking for work.

  A field of c
oneflower with light purple petals caught his attention as they waved back and forth like ocean waves. Would a handful of them bring more smiles to Linda’s face? For some reason, several different ways to give her joy kept circulating in his mind.

  NINE

  He pulled on Old Betsy reigns and the horse slowed to a stop. He flipped her reigns around the wood fence as the mare dipped her head to nibble on the thick green grass of the Kansa rolling hill. The land stretched out for miles in gentle waves with thick American Oak and twisty Eastern cottonwood trees adding the perfect touch. He spotted a few men standing with his regular crew near a fence.

  “What did you say this Mrs. Oakley looked right?” one of his men asked.

  “Her hair was like corn husks I tell ya. Never seen a girl look so pretty. But a demon she must be to marry an Oakley.”

  Who were these men speaking of? He walked up to the men and leaned on the fence. “Howdy,” he said.

  Jacob, an older man with thin blond hair and a sun weathered face, looked at him with furrowed brows. He pushed his lips in a thin line and then quickly looked away.

  What was the matter? Why would the story of this woman somehow rattled a season ranchhand like Jacob? This man had once shot a Bobcat with babies without flinching when it had threatened a lost calf.

  One of the new hands, with a long lanky gait walked up to him, holding out a hand. Blake shook his hand, feeling the firm grip.

  “You must be, Mr. Pickett.” the man said.

  “I am. And I hear you are already full of tales for the long drive.”

  The young man slapped the side of his pants. “Yeah, you must excuse me, just bringing news from home.”

  “Oh, what news?”

  A tension filled the man’s face. “I just wanted you to know. I might’ve worked for Max Oakley, but I never dealt with any of his foolishness.” The man tapped his chest. “I’ve stayed on the straight path, like ma taught me.”