by Natalie Dean
The midwife excused herself to warm some water, and I was glad to be alone with Liam and our child. I looked down at the blue-eyed baby and smiled, watching as she smacked her lips together and blinked her big eyes.
“What should we name her?” Liam murmured, stroking a wisp of hair out of my face.
“I think we should name her Hope.”
“Hope?”
“It’s fitting, don’t you think?” I asked with a tired smile. “She’s our hope for the future. Our little gift from God.”
“I think that’s perfect.”
He leaned over me and offered me a tender kiss. At that moment, I knew that everything was going to be alright.
Epilogue
Life was perfect. Little Hope was five years old now and growing like a weed. She had big, bright blue eyes that could have lit up a room and soft golden curls. She was the light of our lives and completed us. I never knew that having a family could be so fulfilling. When I married Reynold, I assumed that I would have children and watch them get yanked from my arms so that the governess could raise them. I never imagined that I would have the opportunity to be a proper mother.
The wind blew through the trees outside, making the branches sing and I watched as Hope leaned against the wood, her little button nose squished against the glass. Her eyes were wide, darting back and forth as she searched the darkness outside.
“Angel, what are you looking for?” I asked, tucking my dress under my knees as I stirred the stew that was bubbling over the fire.
“I’m looking for Daddy!”
I rose from the hearth and collected a thick blanket and draped it around Hope’s shoulders. I leaned down and kissed the top of her head, closing my eyes to remember that sweet, powdery smell that clung to her after birth. I missed that smell.
“He will be home soon. Come away from the window. You’re going to catch your death.”
She sighed but stood, her long, linen nightgown unfolding and brushing the floor. It was a bit too big for her, but she’d grow into it. She followed me to the fireplace, sitting beside the pine tree that nearly touched our ceiling. She’d helped her father drag it from the forest a few days before and was still quite proud of it.
Just as we’d settled in, I heard the tell-tale sound of rocks shifting under boots.The door creaked open, and Liam walked inside the cabin, removing his hat and scarf, setting them aside. Hope was on her feet within moments and ran over to him, throwing her arms around him and holding him tight.
“Daddy!”
Liam held a red box under one arm but used his free one to lift Hope in the air, swinging her around and kissing her cheek. “Hello there, my little love!”
“Where were you, Daddy?” she asked, looking up at him as he set her on the ground.
“I had to go into town, so I could get you and Mama an early Christmas present.”
Hope’s eyes lit up, and I chuckled as Liam walked over and kissed me on the cheek. “A present?”
“Yes. I thought our tree was looking a little bear.” He offered me the silk wrapped box, and I stared at it for a moment before finally opening it.
When I saw what was inside I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth. “Liam!”
Inside the box were several beautiful ornaments with gold details and colorful paintings. They were just like the one we’d hung on the Christmas tree the night we fled the city. “Oh my goodness.”
“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” he asked, lifting one from the box so that Hope could see it.
He placed it in her hand gently and smiled. “Be very careful, Hope.”
“Daddy! They’re beautiful!” she sang.
I felt tears come to my eyes and I smiled at him, stepping closer to press my lips to his, holding the kiss for a long moment. “They’re perfect, Liam.”
“Merry Christmas, darlin’.”
Hope tugged on my skirt and pointed to the tree. “Let’s put them on the tree, Mama!”
I followed her and together, the three of us decorated the tree, laughing and singing carols. The world was perfect, and everything was in its place. I never thought I’d have a life like this, but I was thankful for every moment I had with my family. I couldn’t ask for anything more.
THE END
COLORADO COWBOY
Colorado Cowboy
A Western Romance Short Story
Book Description
A big beautiful bride.
A handsome cowboy.
A cute little girl.
A little white lie…
A little lie never hurt anything, right? That’s what Bridget thought when she filled out her mail order bride application and said she could cook, clean and care for children. She wouldn’t actually need to do any of that anyway. After all, only wealthy men in New York placed ads for mail order brides, right? Wrong.
When she learns that she’s going to a small town in Colorado, she begins to question her decision. This was supposed to be her ticket out of poverty and debt. She’d left her family’s farm long ago, and she didn’t want to go back to one. She appreciated the finer things in life and wanted a husband that would be more than willing to give her those things.
When she arrives, she quickly learns this isn’t the case. Jack is a handsome man, and he does well for himself, but this isn’t the life she wanted. When she learns he has a child, her world is turned upside down. She isn’t ready to be a mother, but she doesn’t really have a choice.
Will Bridget find love in a place she never expected it? Is she really cut out to be a mother?
© Copyright 2017 by Kenzo Publishing - All rights reserved.
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document by 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.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
Chapter One
It was going to be another rowdy night at the Copper Cellar, Bridget had decided. The men from the docks on the Thames were always excitable--after a hard day’s work, they wanted mutton, beer and whiskey, a good song and a lady at their side. Tonight though, she knew they were extra excitable. The way they leered at her as she bustled about, serving up mugs of warm beer and plates of meat pies. Some of the men were even handsy, much to her chagrin.
“Ah! Watch your hands now, scoundrel,” she retorted with a turn of her head and a quirk of her full lips, batting a weathered hand away.
The man, who smelled of the docks--which was to say he smelled of fish--laughed.
“Sorry love, but inquiring minds want to know.”
“Inquiring minds can shove off,” she said with a wink and a sway of her large, supple hips before hurrying back to the bar.
Bridget Collins was popular at the Copper Cellar. Everyone said she had good English genes, and few who saw her could deny that she was quite beautiful. She had chestnut brown hair that held a curl cascading from the messy bun piled high on her head. Small, rounded ears framed her round rosy cheeks, and she had a small, slightly upturned nose, that was perfectly straight. She had pink, full lips, shaped like a rosebud. That pink color meant she rarely had to make herself up and that filled other women with envy. She even had big hazel eyes with thick lashes, sharp and bright. When she turned those eyes on a man, he knew she’d throw some sarcastic remark and laugh at his foolishness.
This was all icing on the cake. Her figure was the real seller. She was not a small woma
n. Bridget had full, wide hips that swayed with every step she took, like a pendulum in a clock. She had strong, thick, plush thighs that the folds of her dress barely disguised as she bustled about the tavern. Her waist narrowed, but only because of the corset she wore and at night, alone in her little room in her nightgown, her belly was full and soft and hung just a little. Finally was her bust, which was legendary amongst the regulars at the Copper Cellar. The collar of her dress always gave the men an eyeful of pale, ample breasts that heaved as she worked and swayed as she moved, just like her hips. It was no secret that they’d drop things just to see her bend over so they could get even more of an eye full.
There were skinny girls too who worked at the Copper Cellar, who caught the eyes of the younger men, but it was Bridget who the older, more experienced men sought. She reminded them of a mother, an aunt, a sister--they’d say. Or a girl they loved long ago when they’d left up north to pursue better days.
“Ah--why’d you leave her,” Bridget would ask with a smirk and false sympathy.
“I came to London Town to make a pound or two and got stuck here,” he’d say, with a remorseful laugh and a wink. “But I could have a shot with you, perhaps, Miss Collins?”
“If you’re eating here, you’ve got about as much money as I do and I’ve got nothing. You’ve got no shot with me, love,” she’d say, slamming a mug down on the table so it sloshed over the rim. Bridget would laugh then and so would the other men, teasing the man who thought he could win her heart.
Even if the attempts by the men had been more genuine, more heartfelt, and with something besides a night in the bed on their mind, Bridget still would have declined. She, like so many other men and women, had come to London seeking better fortune. The north had been awful--cold weather and dying farms. A woman could expect a poor farmer for a husband, many children who would starve and find themselves at the mercy of the same fate. There was little joy for a woman as bright and vivacious as herself.
So, she came. She packed a bag, found herself a little one room flat, and found a job at the Copper Cellar. When she got paid, she always sent money home to her parents and many siblings. After all, she was doing the family proud making her fortune in London.
Rent was high in London, food was costly, and the barmaid, though beautiful and well liked, was clumsy and she often broke mugs and bowls, so the cost for that had come right from her pay. At first, her landlord had been understanding, but after several months of coming up short on rent, the threats to be evicted were happening more and more. So, she started moving from flat to flat, avoiding her landlords as her debts grew. To say that Bridget was in financial straits would have been an understatement.
On more than one occasion, the beautiful woman had been investigated by debt collectors sent by previous jilted landlords. She'd pay what she could to keep them at bay just a little longer.
She tried not to think of this too much, and as another handsy dockworker swatted at her ample behind, she reached out and caught his wrist. “Not tonight, Mr. James,” she tutted before sauntering towards the bar.
At the bar, her employer, a Mr. Hess, smiled at her, looking Bridget over with a glint in his eye. “I've got your pay for the week when your shift ends.”
Mr. Hess was a tall man with a thick, bushy mustache that sometimes reminded Bridget of a large push broom. Despite having no experience and very little natural skill at serving, he’d hired her. And despite many broken cups and plates, he’d continued to employ her. After all, she brought it a lot of regulars with her good looks, bright smile and pointed wit. The customers weren’t the only ones to fall for her charms.
“Also, some gentlemen came by for you earlier.”
She didn’t need to ask who it was. She never needed to ask. The only men who stopped in for a visit at her flat were the debt collectors.
Chapter Two
Bridget needed money fast. No amount of tips from the men that night nor her pay would be enough to keep off the debt collectors. That night, she did her best to be charming, to earn an extra penny or shilling on the side. She showed off her bust, laughed at the terrible jokes and was generous with the beer. Still, she knew she was short.
The next day, before her shift, she found an abandoned paper on the cobblestone road. She scanned the headlines and the advertisements for some kind of part-time, day position she could take, something with an advance on the payment.
A position for a maid earned a scoff from her when they asked for experience. “Ha! Experience cleaning? Everyone’s got that just trying to keep their own places tidy.” Yet another position for a nanny made her perfect petal lips turn up in a sneer. “And anyone can take care of babes. Not the job for me though.”
It seemed, in fact, that nothing was her style. Everyone asked for experience she just didn’t have or for things she just wouldn’t do. She thought this search would be a bust, but then, at the bottom corner, she spotted an ad that caught her eye.
“Great West mail order brides,” she read aloud to herself. “See America. Huh, well, I always fancied myself a trip to America. See New York and Boston and all the great, big cities with their modern ways.” Bridget found herself grinning at the idea, then read further.
For any woman interested, they could come into the office, have their picture taken and fill out a brief form about themselves and their talents. Those women who applied would be given a sum up front, and then it would all be printed in a catalog and sent off to America, where men would mail back or telegraph, pay for her trip, where they’d meet and be wed. It was perfect. She’d get enough to pay off the collectors and keep her lodging. And if some American man in New York City happened to fancy her, he could send for her right away, and she’d escape any other debts in the land of the free!
Bridget tucked the classifieds under her arm and abandoned the rest of the newspaper on the street where she’d found it. She went back to her room, put on her nicest dress, pinned her hair up and made her way to the address listed. There, a quiet little man in a quiet little office took her pictures, while his big, loud wife took down details about Bridget’s life.
“Can you take care of children?” the busty older woman asked.
“Who can’t?” Bridget retorted with a laugh. And anyway, if a rich man bought her hand in marriage, she’d never have to. She could just see him now, some tall, blonde, broad-shouldered bloke from New York with an Ivy League education and a wealthy family. Maybe he’d even have one of those fancy new automobiles!
“Can you cook? Clean house?”
“Doesn’t everyone these days? Yes, I can,” Bridget said shifting as the man instructed her so he could capture her lovely profile.
“What about doing the home finances? Are you any good at bookkeeping?” the woman asked with a smile, checking off something on the paperwork.
“Oh, absolutely,” the brunette said with a gracious smile.
There was no harm selling herself as more than she was--after all, only rich men placed advertisements for mail order brides and rich men didn’t need food cooked or houses cleaned, or children cared for or books kept. They had staff to do that for them. She would have staff to do that for her! They paid her a small fee as soon as they’d taken a few photos and filled out her information, then told her they’d be in touch if ever she was the lucky girl. She was more than a little surprised to learn that they were paying her!
Bridget went to work that night and paid some of the money to the debt collectors--it was enough to keep them at bay--and they let her be that night. In fact, they stayed away for a week, and she was even able to pay her month’s lodgings with the way business was going at the Copper Cellar.
Her dreams of an American man were forgotten after a month. It had been a nice fantasy, but if she was honest with herself, she’d only done it to get the upfront sum. She wouldn’t have said no if one of those rich American men called for her, but she hadn’t been expecting much. She’d just needed some fast money.
One day at
her flat, however, when she was getting her mail, she found a posting from the strange little company requesting her attendance at once. Bridget’s heart began to beat fast. She hurried there right away and found that a man was interested in her.
“Oh! This is all very exciting dear,” the woman said. “He telegraphed over yesterday. He’s paying for your trip over the Atlantic, and for your train ride out to Boulder,” the fat, older woman practically sang as she paid Bridget in bank notes. “He’s also including a little extra money for you to have along the way. Use your money to get some nice dresses, perhaps? A travel chest?”
The pair were happily bustling about their little office while Bridget stood in shock. Her heart was beating fast. Of course, she could decline the offer, withdraw her ad--but the money would help her get a few nice things and she could send some off to her mom and pop up north. She signed the Great West Mail Order Brides acceptance receipt, and both of them clapped. But then, something clicked.
“Wait, where’s Boulder?”
“Oh, you know,” the little man said, tucking her photo into an envelope and sealing it with a copy of her receipt. It was addressed to somewhere in America. Boulder, Colorado.
“Boulder, Colorado. It’s out in the rugged west. Not quite as far as say, California, but west enough, and I hear the climate there is much less hot.”
“Lucky me…” Bridget said, though she felt her heart sink.
Chapter Three
Bridget was trying desperately to keep her chin up. She’d had a month to prepare to leave, and in that month, she paid the bill collectors just enough to keep her flat, but not a penny more. She sent some money back to her folks up north and used the rest to buy what the stocky woman told her to. By the time she was ready to travel overseas, she had two new dresses and a new hat. This wasn’t the rich New York man she’d hoped for, but he must have money, right?
