by Alix West
Mail Order Desire
Old West Alpha and Sass
Alix West
Author’s Note: All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to other real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Please note that this is a work of adult fiction and contains graphic descriptions of sexual activity. It is intended for mature readers aged 18 and over.
Copyright © 2018 by Alix West
All rights reserved.
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When you finish reading Mail Order Desire, turn the page and read a bonus story from my contemporary alter ego, Sasha Gold, Kept by the Beast. Click here to jump to that story, or click here to view the book on Amazon.
Chapter One
Cora
The office of the bridal broker offered only two types of chair, too soft or too hard. Nothing in between. Cora Singleton discovered this on her first visit when she selected the soft variety and very nearly plunged into the abyss. The other chairs, with their straight, wicker backs, forced her into perfect posture, which wasn’t unpleasant, but also wasn’t very comfortable. No matter. Her visit would be brief.
She sat in the chair directly in front of Miss Petit’s desk.
“I’m afraid I must bring up an indelicate subject, my dear.” Miss Petit folded her hands. “This sort of thing comes along every so often and puts me in a regrettable position.”
Cora schooled her features to keep from showing any sort of panic. If the man who’d offered for her insisted she be examined by a doctor, she’d have to abandon her plan to escape Boston. While she could fool some people, a physician might be a different story.
“Mr. Tarrant wants some assurance…” the woman’s words drifted off.
“Assurance?” Cora coaxed her lips into a gentle smile. “Assurance of what precisely?”
Miss Petit flushed. The color started at the base of her neck and crept along the lined skin to her jaw and slowly spread over her face. She pursed her lips with displeasure.
Cora remained silent.
“Dear Cora.” The woman smiled. “You’re one of the loveliest girls I’ve ever had the pleasure to work with. You seem so much more,” she paused and considered her words. “Refined. Genteel. It’s quite astonishing that you endeavor to undertake such a journey. Usually the girls who come through my doors possess fewer options.”
Cora held back an unladylike snort of disbelief. Not likely.
“And I’m certain a girl of your breeding wouldn’t be one to compromise her morals.”
Cora stiffened.
The woman closed her eyes and with a shudder let out a deep breath. Her shoulders sank. She opened her eyes again and gave Cora a resigned smile. “I might as well simply come out with it. Mr. Tarrant wants to be certain that you’ve retained your innocence.”
Cora let out a breathless laugh. “My innocence?”
“Yes, I’m afraid that’s it. He wrote me separately and asked that you swear you’re coming to Texas without the stain of sin.”
Without the stain of sin? That was certainly an easy answer. She was innocent. None of the men in her circle gave her anything more than a wan smile, before hurrying away. Boston’s upper crust ignored her, at best. She was an outcast, even in her own family. Especially in her own family. She was indeed innocent. That was an easy answer.
“I can swear to that. Certainly.”
Miss Petit smiled with relief. “Of course. I could have guessed. I hope Mr. Tarrant understands how lucky he is to get a beauty like you, even if he is a man of tremendous means. It’s not often I get an inquiry from a man who owns 25,000 acres. He’ll thank his lucky stars when he sees you. I’d give anything for that red hair. It’s the perfect shade of, what do they call it?”
“Titian.”
Miss Petit beamed. “That’s it! That soft, golden red simply takes my breath away. Every time.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Regarding that detestable subject, Mr. Tarrant wanted me to have you swear on the Bible, but we won’t bother.”
“I don’t mind in the least. I’ll swear to anything, as long as he doesn’t ask me about my fondness for sweets.”
“Sweets? I don’t believe a word. Not with your willowy figure. We’ll lay the entire matter to rest. What an uncouth thing to ask of a young lady. He’s going to fall head over heels when he sees you. Tell me, do you have the temper to go with the red hair?”
“Temper? Me?”
The woman tipped her head back and Cora watched her throat tighten with laughter. Did Miss Petit really want to know the extent of her temper? No one accused her of having a temper aside from her brothers. Last month, James suggested she live in a home. An asylum, really. He’d managed to evade the Waterford bowl she’d hurled at his bald pate, but not the teacup that followed.
“You don’t need to breathe another word, Cora. I should have your train tickets ready in the next few days. They’re first class, of course. I never permit my girls to travel all the way to Texas with the common riffraff.”
“I look forward to the trip. I haven’t set foot on a train since my parents passed away.”
Miss Petit shook her head. “How did they die?”
“Rheumatic fever.”
“Tragic.”
Cora’s eyes stung. She blinked back the tears. A moment ago, she’d been calmly imagining her trip to Texas, but the mention of her parents made her hopes and dreams seem foolish. She’d leave Boston and the last memories of her parents. For what? For a world she couldn’t begin to imagine.
As the youngest child and the only girl, her parents had doted on her. Her father joked that he’d chase all of Cora’s suitors away, so he could grow old with his wife and lovely daughter beside him. He enjoyed nothing more than spending the evening with his “two girls” at the symphony or theater.
Cora didn’t tell Miss Petit how her older brothers intended to sell Singleton Manor, so they could support their wives in the manner they demanded. It was a matter of time before she’d be forced to leave her home and depend upon the charity of friends.
“I miss them every day,” Cora said. “I live alone, and have for the last year. It’s just me in the house day after day. I’m lost without them.”
“Of course, you miss your parents, dear girl.” Miss Petit gave her a sympathetic smile. “But now you’re embarking on a new life. Just a few days away. I must say I’m always a little envious of my girls when they set off.”
“I am excited. And nervous. And a hundred other things.”
Miss Petit sighed. Her smile faded, and her frail shoulders drooped with exhaustion. She winced as she pushed away from the desk.
Cora moved quickly, circling to the back of the desk. Twice, she’d seen Miss Petit nearly fall. Watching the woman struggle against her obvious pain never failed to upset Cora. Marigold Petit was the embodiment of kindness. Over the last few months she’d become precious to Cora.
Miss Petit refused assistance, and while Cora wouldn’t help her, she’d position the wheelchair in the right spot and wait in a manner that she hoped appeared unobtrusive. She didn’t want to humiliate the woman. Cora knew the pain of being treated like an invalid, but she didn’t want Miss Petit to hurt herself either.
“Damned polio. If I weren’t confined to a wheelchair, I’d be on that train with you, dear.”
Cora smiled, a rush of warmth blooming inside her. “And if you were on the train with me, I wouldn’t have so many butterflies.”
Miss Petit positioned herself next to the wheelchair and shifted to the seat, her teeth clenched, and eyes squeezed shut. Cora stood stock still, ready to
assist, but without hovering. Slowly, Miss Petit inched her way onto the chair. When she was situated, she lowered the armrest and gave Cora a tired smile.
“Daria, my assistant, will have the train tickets,” she said. “But I do hope you’ll find me, to say good-bye.”
Cora clasped her hands and considered the woman’s words. Good-bye. Of course, she would find Miss Petit to say good-bye. As she looked down at the old woman’s face and studied the faded blue of her eyes, it occurred to her that Miss Petit might be the only person in Boston that she would miss.
There were her friends, of course, but most of her friends had drifted away. Some had married. Some wrote letters or stopped by for the rare visit, but, mostly they were embarrassed by her. And her brothers were no different.
One day she’d been a glittering debutante and the next she’d been the source of her family’s shame. Not long after her illness, her parents took to their beds, both consumed with raging fevers. Her brothers often remarked that at least her parents had the good manners to die from their illness.
“I will come to say good-bye to you, Miss Petit. I wouldn’t dream of leaving without seeing you one last time.”
Miss Petit grasped her hand. “I’d hoped as much, Cora.”
The woman squeezed her hand and let it drop. “I always insist on taking at least a dozen meetings with the girls I send to the West. It’s important that I know them and can assure my clients that I choose a woman of quality and high moral fiber. It’s always bittersweet to see them leave, but in your case, I actually feel a little heartsick.”
Cora didn’t know what to say. She shifted her weight and tried to respond with something appropriate.
Miss Petit went on. “But you’ll write, of course. I can’t wait to hear about your new life and Mr. Tarrant. I’m sure, over time, you’ll grow to love him, and God-willing, have children. A big and happy family.”
Cora swallowed. “God-willing.” And if he doesn’t send me right back.
Miss Petit pushed herself away from the desk, and with slow, painful movements, wheeled herself to the window. Cora moved beside her and stood in front of the woman, trying to appear natural and relaxed.
The sun warmed the spot near the window, despite the cold late-winter day. The night before, snow had fallen and lay deep outside, but the sun had come out, offering a dazzling view of Miss Petit’s garden.
“I’ll take my leave then,” Cora said. “Shall I tell Daria you’re ready for your afternoon tea?”
Miss Petit nodded. “That sounds lovely, dear.”
Cora noted how the woman’s shoulders drooped. She looked exhausted. Miss Petit had run the bridal brokerage for years. She was a fixture in Boston. Cora wondered how much longer she would carry on her work. Cora had been lucky to have Marigold Petit help her find an arrangement in Texas. Despite a thousand misgivings about her plan, she dared feel a small flutter of excitement.
“Thank you, Miss Petit,” she said softly. The woman gave a nod, dismissing her. Cora left, shutting the door behind herself. She wrapped her cloak around her shoulders, said a few words to the assistant, ordering Miss Petit’s afternoon tea, and left for the empty halls of her home.
Chapter Two
Nick
The relentless rain drenched his coat, weighing down the rough fabric and driving the chill deeper until he could feel it in his bones. He wished now that he’d worn his slicker. All afternoon, he’d been riding and searching. He still hadn’t found the mother and calf. He urged his horse across the flooded arroyo. When he crested the top of the steep embankment, he stopped and scanned the landscape in the fading light.
He muttered a curse. If he didn’t find the cow, she’d spend the night alone. Away from the herd, she and the calf would be vulnerable to predators. He pushed on through the driving rain, wishing he weren’t going home to an empty house and cold bed.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. A few months back, he exchanged letters with a mail-order bride. Even though he wrote the letters at the urging of his sisters-in-law, he’d begun to look forward to marriage. It was plain to see how happy his brothers were since they’d married. But the arrangement hadn’t worked out. The day Louisa was to arrive, a letter arrived instead. She wrote that she’d changed her mind. She’d married another and was expecting a baby.
It surprised and insulted him. The letters she’d written had been so sweet, promising to do her best to be a good and dutiful wife. And all the while, she had a beau, a man she was having relations with.
He growled at the memory and spat. That wasn’t the first time a woman had lied to him. But it would be the last, that was for damned sure. Neighbors and friends might push their sisters and daughters at him, but there wasn’t anyone he wanted. None of them were the one. For some time now, he’d grown more and more certain that woman, that one woman, didn’t exist.
If she did exist somewhere, she’d probably be a blonde, he decided as he plodded through rain. The thought brought a momentary smile to his lips. She’d have a gentle spirit and biddable nature. A woman who would allow him to spoil her and in return would yearn to please him. A woman who loved the life of a ranch wife, but had the refinement of a lady. No, he didn’t suppose he’d find her anytime soon. He had the best tracking skills in Colter Canyon, but a man couldn’t go after what didn’t exist.
As a boy, he’d entertained foolish notions about love. He could still remember the day he’d told his older brothers about how there was one, single woman out there. She was destined for him and he was destined for her. He’d been about seven or eight but felt the truth of his words in the depth of his hopeful and naïve heart.
“Just one,” he’d told Seth and Will, holding up his index finger.
They’d been loading hay into the loft, a hot, dusty, thankless job. His brothers had both nodded solemnly. Muttering the part about ‘just one’ they’d raised their middle finger to each other and burst into laughter.
Twenty years later, he hardly ever revisited the idea. It was easier to put foolish hopes aside and worry about immediate concerns, like finding a mother cow and calf, and getting out of the pouring rain.
His horse pricked his ears and Nick urged the animal into a trot. Nick might pride himself on his tracking skill, but in truth, many of his achievements were due to his gelding, Halston. The strawberry roan had been a hair’s breadth from being destroyed when Nick talked a rancher into selling him years ago. Halston was getting on in years and Nick hardly ever rode him unless he needed to find one of his animals.
He trotted into a clearing. The mother and her calf stood in the mud. She lifted her head and bawled in misery. Her calf was too wet and cold to do much more than stare. Nick circled the pair and coaxed them into a slow walk back to the barn. If he needed to, he could lasso the cow, but she was more than ready to follow him home.
Nick patted the gelding’s neck. “Atta way, Halston. That calf wouldn’t have made it through the night without you.”
An hour later, they arrived at the barn. The cow followed him inside with her calf trailing behind. After he untacked Halston and rubbed him down with a rag, he gave the cow an extra ration of grain. He dried the calf but wouldn’t bother with the momma cow. Cows with new calves could be extra ornery and she might kick if he tried to be too helpful.
He returned to his home and lit a fire in the fireplace. After he washed and changed into dry clothes, he made himself a pot of coffee. He took a mug and sat in his study to go over the numbers from the latest cattle auction. A knock on the door drew his attention away from his work. He found a young man on his porch, soaked to the bone, water streaming off his cowboy hat.
Nick opened the door.
The boy took off his hat. “Mr. Travis, I’m Henry Tarrant. My father sent me to make a payment.”
Had he heard the boy right? The mud was deep enough to swallow a horse and rider, with more rain on the way from the looks of things. The boy’s lips had a bluish color.
“Your daddy sent
you in this weather? Why would he send you today?”
“I was supposed to do it this morning, but one of my brothers was sick. I needed to help get his fever down. My father’s gone. He left me in charge until he gets back, and he told me the payment was already late.”
The money had been late last week already, and Nick had meant to pay his neighbor a visit. Despite that, he didn’t care to see the scrawny boy shivering in the rain, just to pay his father’s debt.
“Come inside a spell, Henry. You’d best warm yourself by the fire.”
The boy shook his head. “I’m expected back. My pa’s expected back soon and he’ll have my hide if I’m not home.”
Nick opened the door wider. “I won’t keep you. Step inside. Take off your boots and sit by the fire for a moment or two. Warm up a bit.”
The boy ducked his head, but did as he was told. He stepped inside, pulled off his boots and followed Nick into the study. The fire crackled in the hearth and the boy moved to it with his hands outstretched.
Nick went to the kitchen and returned with a mug of coffee. “I sweetened it with extra sugar and a good shot of fresh cream.”
The boy took the mug and held it between his palms. “I set the money on the table yonder. My daddy said he could only pay half.”
That sounded just like David Tarrant. “When’s he going to pay me the other half?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
Nick felt a flare of irritation. Tarrant owed him fifty dollars for a bull, a transaction from several months ago. There was always some excuse or another why he couldn’t pay. He need to buy provisions, or the bank insisted on calling in a loan, or his youngest needed to see the doc in town, or beef prices were down. On and on.
The real reason Tarrant never had two nickels to rub together wasn’t because of bank loans or doctor bills or even because he had kids to feed. The reason was because he spent every night drinking and whoring at the Magnolia. There’d been a time when he owned two hundred acres, but over the years he’d sold a piece here and a piece there. Now he probably had no more than fifty acres left. He told Nick he was lonesome ever since he’d lost his second wife in childbirth. He claimed he’d be a better man once his mail-order bride came along.
