by Natalie Dean
The parson gave the bridegroom a piercing glance. “Now, in a few minutes, that lovely young lady is going to come into this room,” he said. “She’s going to trust you to do right by her. She gave up her home for you. She left her family for you. Do you feel you’re going to be able to live up to that?”
“I do,” Zachary Taylor said promptly, “but somehow I figured that, when it came to saying ‘I do,’ that she’d be here to say it too.”
The parson laughed. There was no way to resist young Kennesaw’s charm. The parson was alone in Mrs. Kennesaw’s sitting room with the bridegroom, Zachary Taylor, and his best man, his brother, Will Henry. “I don’t often see you in church, Zachary Taylor,” he said. “I expect that to change. You’ll be having a family, I expect. And those children will need to see their father in church.”
“Bonnie already told me that,” Zachary Taylor said cheerfully. “She’s set in her ways so I reckon you’ll be seeing me. Maybe not every Sunday,” he warned. “But you’ll be seeing me.”
The parson was content. He nodded to Elsie, who was standing at the entrance to the room, so that she could alert Bonnie that it was time.
The sitting room soon filled up with the guests crowding the space. Everyone wanted to be able to see, but Mrs. Kennesaw was seated in the front of the room and she was the first one to spot Bonnie when she entered wearing the dress that Eldora Wright had worn the day she became Daniel Kennesaw’s bride.
No blushing bride, Bonnie Yankovich was smiling broadly as she entered the room to stand at Zachary Taylor’s side. Molly O’hara, who was the wife of James Turner from the Turner Ranch, had agreed to stand up for Bonnie as her maid of honor and she was on the other side of Bonnie as the wedding couple faced the parson.
“’Whither thou goest, I will go,’” said the parson with a smile. “Today we see a young woman who has come far indeed, and we see a young man who knows that he has been blessed by the love of a righteous woman.”
Zachary Taylor stole a look at his Bonnie, who was gazing at the parson as if she were intent on his words and had no thought for anything else. But the smile just beginning to show at the corner of her mouth revealed that she was aware of the glance from the man who, in just minutes, would be her husband.
The parson continued to speak of the love that the couple had for one another. He warned that time would test that love. He assured them that, if they were faithful to the promises they were making today, God would reward them for their fidelity to each other and to Him.
“And the Lord God said, ‘It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him an help meet for him.’”
For Will Henry, those words struck a warning note inside the heart that he had kept in hiding since Mary Ellen’s death. He thought never to marry, never to lose his love for her. But as the parson continued, Will Henry realized that loving Mary Ellen did not mean that he had to follow her into her grave. Here was Z, who never seemed to have a serious notion in his head, looking as sober as Sunday morning as he promised to love and honor Bonnie until death parted them.
Until death do us part. Will Henry had been to plenty of weddings, but he’d never paid attention to that sentence before. It was time, he realized. Time to live again, to find a wife and settle with her on the ranch so that they could fill the rooms with children as Grandmother hoped that Zachary Taylor and Bonnie would do. As Z had frankly told Will Henry that he intended to do.
She was so pretty, standing there next to Z, meaning every word she said while hiding a few secret promises in that winning smile. She’d taught Z a lesson that night, one he’d never forget, a lesson he’d enjoyed learning.
Zachary Taylor, at the nod from the parson, started to smile. Then he lowered his head to kiss her, not even trying to pretend that it was the first time their lips had met, or that the presence of an audience was going to rush him. When Zachary Taylor finally released Bonnie, even the parson was grinning.
Bonnie had mentioned having a lot of sisters. Will Henry wondered if any of them would be interested in following their sister’s path to Texas as a mail-order bride.
THE END
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About Author – Natalie Dean
Natalie Dean has always loved reading historical fiction and writing. She pursued creative writing courses in college, but due to trying life circumstances, couldn’t pursue a writing career as she wanted in her early days. Now that her children are all grown, she is finally able to pursue writing like she has always dreamed of doing. She has several cats and one very spoiled Pomeranian at home. In addition to writing, she also has a beekeeping business that keeps her busy.
BONUS BOOKS SECTION: Descriptions Included
Bonus Books by other authors
MAIL ORDER BRIDE COLLECTION
MY COWBOY HERO
Copyright 2017 by Kenzo Publishing - All rights reserved.
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Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.
My Cowboy Hero
A Western Romance Novella
Book Description
“If you’re still breathing, then you can still fight.” That’s what he said to me. The words were like fire. They burned through me and lit me up.
Mariana hated the thought of being married off to someone she didn’t know. Since he was well off, she thought she might be okay with it, but nothing prepared her for this. And now…she’s pregnant.
Then there's Liam. He's beautiful and rugged at the same time. She feels so comfortable around him. And even better than his good looks and easy conversation is the fact that he makes her feel safe and loved. She never knew what love was until she met him.
Liam thinks Mariana’s a bit stubborn and sassy, but that’s part of what he likes about her. He feels that the life she lives doesn’t have to be her fate. He plans to make her see that she doesn’t have to take it.
Will Mariana get to be with the man of her dreams? Or is she doomed to this life she’s living?
TABLE OF CONTENTS
MY COWBOY HERO
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
“You certainly have a beautiful daughter, Arnold.”
From a very young age, that’s what people always said about me. The comments echoed in my head like a mantra. I was beautiful, and my brother was strong and handsome. Those words and those expectations set the stage for the rest of my life.
I came from a wealthy family who expected me to conduct myself like a lady. I was to sit quietly, my ankles crossed, and my body strapped into a corset I could barely breathe in. When men cast lustful glances in my direction, I was expected to smile sweetly and accept it because one day, one of those men might be my husband.
My father was one of the first men to settle California, and he built an empire on the gold he fished out of rivers and dug out of the ground. He spent his younger years working himself into the ground, and it all paid off. We had a vast fortune and neither I, nor my brother, ever knew anything other than luxury.
Many men made their fortunes out west. It was a thriving societ
y that easily rivaled the East in terms of culture and extravagance, and I was right in the center of it all. I spent my youth going to dances and being paraded in front of men with round bellies, lecherous desires, and heavy pockets. I was a commodity before I even understood what my lot in life was going to be.
My long, golden hair and emerald eyes made men turn their heads. My ivory skin was closely protected by my mother who rarely let me go outside and never without a hat. She wanted to keep my skin as smooth and white as porcelain. My delicate figure was guarded just as closely. I ate very little and when I did, I took nibbling bites that never seemed to satisfy my hunger. My fingers were delicate and only good for pouring tea and stitching. Everything about me was delicate and borderline frail. My mother, who always held her head high, waist sucked in with a corset, always told me that if I wanted to be a true lady I needed to have a slight figure and robust morals.
There was one other thing women were expected to be; stupid. No one ever said it directly, but I’d heard my mother say “books will be the downfall of women,” more than once. Even though my mother didn’t care for me to read, I did it anyway. I wanted to learn about the world. I wanted to learn more than cross stitching and the proper way to serve tea. I didn’t want to be a proper woman.
I spent my entire life trying to avoid the trope of getting married and having as many children as possible, but I was never brave or confident enough to leave my comfortable life behind. I would watch women married to farmers and ranchers and be jealous of them, knowing I would never have their freedom. The only way I could fight my fate was to be as disinterested in marriage as possible, but that wouldn’t be enough.
It was the day of my eighteenth birthday, and I shifted on the padded seat of the carriage, clutching a single suitcase that I’d filled with books. I was on my way to meet the man I had been married off too. I had not even known of the arrangement until my father sat me down at his desk and instructed me to sign the paper in front of me. It was a marriage license, and I knew I couldn’t refuse.
That’s what brought me here, to this dreary mansion. The driver offered his hand and helped me out of the carriage, leading me to the heavy oak and brass doors. I lifted the knocker and let it fall, wincing at the metallic sound that was so loud it scared the birds out of the nearby trees.
A tall, gangly man in a butler’s uniform opened the door and swept his hand towards a grand staircase. I watched as a grey-haired man in a velvet lounging robe waddled down the stairs. He was almost as round as he was tall and I couldn’t help the way my heart dropped into my stomach. This man, Reynold Harvey, made his way to me slowly, panting and out of breath by the time he reached me. It was clear he’d spent his time wallowing in decadence. The overwhelming smell of his cologne burned my nose and made my eyes tear up. I coughed and turned my head from him. That was the first mistake of many.
“How dare you!” he roared.
I flinched and looked up, gasping as his fat, sausage-like fingers tangled in my hair. He yanked me down until I hit the cold, stone floor. I yelped as pain shot through my knees, but the staff just looked away. It was almost as if they were used to seeing this sort of thing.
“You will curtsey when you meet me!” he snarled.
His yellowed teeth were bared, and every word that left his lips was dripping with hatred. I hadn’t been here but two minutes, and I was already considered a failure as a wife.
“I-I’m sorry!”
He yanked my hair again, and I screamed as hot, searing pain radiated through my entire skull. His eyes were fixed on me, his cheeks red from the effort it took to make it down the stairs.
“You will call me ‘lord, ’ and you will present yourself as a proper lady! Now try again!”
He released my hair, and I rose on shaking legs, afraid that if I even breathed wrong, he might hurt me again. My curtsey was shaky, but it seemed good enough for him.
“I-I’m sorry, my lord,” I whispered.
He snorted and shook his head. “Get her out of my sight,” Reynold said, waving his hand. “Take her to her room.”
The butler nodded and took my arm, leading me up the grand staircase. He moved quickly, patting my arm in a weak attempt to comfort me. I wasn’t sure there was anything anyone could do to comfort me right now.
Chapter Two
The first week in the mansion was absolute hell. No matter where I was, or what I was doing, I was on my toes, ready to skitter away at even the slightest sound. I was terrified of what my husband was going to do to me and I was terrified of angering him. The only comfort I had was the fact that I had my own room. I could hole up in it and lock the door, praying that he wouldn’t try to come in.
I was young and inexperienced in the ways of marriage. My mother had sat me down shortly before I was sent away and explained to me that my husband would want to lay with me. That was all she told me. She said that he would take my clothes off and I needed to let him do whatever it was that men did to their wives. I couldn’t argue, and I couldn’t refuse him. He was my husband, and it was my duty to keep him happy.
The conversation made little sense to me at the time, but as evening drew closer, I was starting to feel a chill run up my spine. I couldn’t explain why, but I was afraid of what was to come. Something in my gut told me that it wasn’t going to be pleasant.
I brushed my long golden hair and glanced out the window. I’d opened it earlier that evening to let in the cool, fall air. There was a crisp smell that reminded me of home, and the cool breeze was more than welcome. Fall was around the corner, but that didn’t matter much in California. The days would remain warm and the evenings would be chilly at best.
My hands were shaking, and it was making it difficult to braid my hair. I eventually gave up and set the brush and ribbons down on the vanity. My things barely fit on it, but I was too nervous to ask for something better. Did I have a right to ask? Would it even do any good? I imagined it wouldn’t.
The scent of roses filled the air as I spritzed on a bit of perfume and ran my hands down the pink, silk robe my husband had delivered to my bedroom door that morning. The maid who’d handed it over instructed me to wear it before going to Reynold’s room. I didn’t understand, but I didn’t ask questions either.
The clock on the wall beside me chimed nine times and with every chime, the lump in my throat got bigger. I pushed away from my vanity and picked the edge of the robe up off the floor as I left my room and wandered down the hall. The wooden floors creaked under my feet no matter how softly I treaded. I wasn’t sure why I was being so careful. He knew I was coming and was most likely waiting for me.
I came to his door and lifted a shaky hand before I pushed it open. Reynold was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in his white starch button down that was just a bit too tight around his belly. His bow tie was still firmly tied around his fat neck and his pants settled at his waist. I took him in for a moment, and he grunted.
“Well, are you just going to stand there or are you going to come in?”
As the door slammed shut behind me, I jumped, swallowing before moving forward. I closed the space between us quickly, and he looked me up and down.
“You smell nice,” he commented, his eyes fixed on my chest.
His gaze was filled with perverted intent, and it made me feel dirty. I tried not to focus on it, but it was hard to ignore the way it made my skin crawl. The silence was thick and uncomfortable, but I didn’t know what to say or do. This was a whole new world to me, and I didn’t know what my role was.
“Are you just going to stand there?” he growled. “Undress me!”
The barked orders made me jump, and I started to undo his necktie and then the buttons on his shirt. The white button down slid off his wide shoulders and fell onto the bed. His skin was pale and shined with sweat. The strong smell of cologne wafted into my nose, and I had to fight a cough. I didn’t want to make the mistake of accidently insulting him again.
His skin was pale and cla
mmy looking, and just sitting there he looked exhausted and sick. I stared for a moment, my shaking hands reaching for his pants. I managed to undo them, and he stood to step out of the black slacks, leaving him in only his undergarments. I’d never seen a man so undressed and to think that my first intimate moments with a man would be spent with Reynold made tears burn behind my eyes. This wasn’t what I wanted, but somehow I’d found myself here.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he snapped, grabbing my arm so hard I yelped.
He yanked me close, and I could feel his fingers digging into the soft flesh as tears came to my eyes. If his aim was to hurt me, then he was doing a fine job. He shook me hard and grabbed my other shoulder, his thumb sliding under the thin straps of my slip.
He tore the robe off and the slip fell from my thin frame, pooling on the floor in a useless pile. I tried to cover myself, but soon he had me by the arm again and tossed me to the bed. My bare skin brushed the imported cotton sheets, and if the encounter hadn’t been so violent I might have actually enjoyed the feeling of the soft fabric against my skin, but it was hard to focus on anything other than the crushing weight over my body. It was hard to think of anything but the pain that burned from the inside out. I was thankful for the sheets, but only because it allowed me to hide my face and hide the tears that rolled down my cheeks.
That night set up my expectations for the rest of my life. I was expected to be the dutiful wife to this pig. I was expected to show him nothing but love and adoration when he did nothing but hurt and abuse me.
