by E. E. Burke
It sounds like your romantic Irishman didn’t end up being as romantic as I promised he would be. My German immigrant isn’t exactly what you would call romantic either. I got off the train humming, “A Kiss in the Morning Early.” I guess I envisioned a man coming up to me, singing a song like my Da always sang to my Ma. Instead he said, “Are you Sarah?” When I said I was, he took my bags and just walked off, leaving me on the platform! It was a rude awakening, I promise you!
Now, though, he’s definitely become dear to me. I love him with everything inside me. He is a good man, and more importantly, a good Christian. The fact that he and his half-brother have made Roberta and I sisters really and truly is more than I ever expected! I could not be happier with my gruff German husband if he was the romantic gentleman I once envisioned.
I will be praying for your sweet stepdaughter, and I’m happy that she’ll have you to guide her. With you and God on her side, she’s sure to be speaking soon. I can’t wait to receive more news, and please, tell us about the wedding. A Christmas Eve wedding sounds so romantic. My own wedding was on All Hallows Eve, so you can see why I would be jealous!
Love and prayers,
Sarah
Epilogue
July 1, 1891, Fort Scott, Kansas
“You bought the last one.” David handed the customer her receipt.
“I’m eager to try it out,” replied Mrs. Robinson. The elder matron cast a furtive glance over her shoulder at her unhappy daughter, who held onto the handlebars of a bicycle. “Nancy doesn’t want me to have one. But I say, I’ll only be this young once.”
Victoria smiled at Mrs. Robinson’s cheeky wink. The woman had to be sixty if she was a day. Everyone should be as spry and sassy at that age.
“Let me help you load it,” David offered. He circled the counter and walked the bicycle to the door.
Business had improved since they’d been able to expand to the next building and add larger items to their inventory, as well as reduce the clutter. David had also turned up the lights.
“Do be careful,” Victoria called after the older woman. She would be remiss if she didn’t issue the warning.
Mrs. Robinson gave a wave of her hand, as she and Nancy followed David outside. “I’ve been careful all my life. It’s time I had a little fun. You take care of yourself, now, and that baby. We’re eager to meet the little tyke.”
Victoria stood from the stool where she’d sat to take a short rest. She stretched the tight muscles in her back, and felt a movement low in her belly, a kick, which brought on a delighted smile. Her hand curled protectively around her swelling middle. Their baby had become very active. The doctor said that was a good sign.
Fannie looked up from a stool at the end of the counter, where she sat working on her handwriting. She’d been able to start school, and in fact, was far ahead of her classmates in her reading, writing and ciphering skills. She grinned, revealing a space where her front teeth had been a few months earlier. “Is my brother jumping rope again?”
“Feels like it.” Victoria put her hand on Fannie’s shoulder and gently warned her. “We can’t be sure he’s a boy.”
She nodded with grave authority. “Uh huh. We can. You’ve been dropping things a lot, and if you get clumsy, it’s a boy. That’s what my teacher says.”
“What if I’m just prone to clumsiness because I’m getting bigger?”
Fannie pointed with her pencil. “Maybe you got two boys in there.”
“Good heavens.” Victoria placed her hands on her rounded belly. She wasn’t sure whether to be thrilled by the idea, or terrified.
Fannie pushed her paper aside and jumped down. “I’m done now. Can I go find Pumpkin?”
“He’s probably in your father’s office.”
David had allowed Fannie to keep one kitten, as well as the mother. He claimed he wasn’t fond of cats and only put up with them because the two were “good mousers.” The lazy orange tabby loved to slip inside his office and curl up in his chair. He’d placed a cushion on the seat. For his own comfort, he said. But Victoria suspected he’d provided it for the cat.
That was another thing she loved about him, his soft heart.
The bell jangled as David return. He flipped the sign around to Closed and locked up. “It’s been a good day. We’ve sold all our bicycles—and didn’t have to charge a nickel.”
She smiled at his reminder of her insistence they price more items at a nickel to better compete with the Five-Cent Store. “We took in a good number of nickels, as well.”
“Thanks to you.” He gave her a kiss, and then he put his hand on her protruding stomach, smiling when he was rewarded with a sharp kick. “They say boys are more active in the womb.”
“Have you and Fannie been comparing notes?” Victoria’s smile faded. Her father made no secret of his disappointment in a female child. David wasn’t like that. He might prefer a boy, however. “What if it’s a girl?”
“Then Fannie will have a feisty little sister.” He wrapped his arm around Victoria and pulled her into a tight hug. “Boy or girl, all I care about is that our baby is healthy.”
She leaned her head against his shoulder. “I love you.”
“And I love you, mo chroí.” The Gaelic phrase rolled off his tongue. He’d told her the meaning of the Irish endearments he used, which expressed his feelings so beautifully. Hearing him speak them warmed her heart.
Speaking of warm hearts… “My friend Roberta wrote to me again. She’s expecting, too.”
“Two?” David held up two fingers.
“Oh my, no. She has two stepsons, one baby on the way. At least, I don’t recall that she said anything about twins.”
David splayed his hand over her stomach.
She felt a flutter and then a kick. “There’s only one in there. I’m sure of it.”
“We could accommodate two. There’s an empty drawer in the bureau.”
“Very funny. No more talk of twins. It’s making me nervous.” She reached into the wide pocket of her apron and withdrew a letter she’d received earlier in the day. “My father’s reply.”
She’s written shortly after her wedding to let him know she was well and happily married. However, she hadn’t expected her father to write back. His response had, in some ways, surprised her.
“What does he say?” David asked.
“You want to read his letter?”
“Give me the high points.”
“I’m not sure there are high points. He says he’s known all along where to find me. I assume he hired a private detective. He said chose not to contact me, to honor my wishes.”
“Sounds like he’s acknowledging your right to make your own choices.”
She twisted her lips in a wry smile. “Maybe if it came from your father that’s what it would mean, but from mine, it means he’s scolding me for not honoring his wishes.”
“What else does he say? Did you tell him about our marriage?”
“Yes…” This was where it got sticky. “He calls you an Irish peasant and a Catholic pagan all in the same paragraph.”
David rubbed his hand down her arm. “He’s warming up to me.”
She laughed. “Do tell me how you managed that interpretation.”
“He’s acknowledging my existence. If he rejected our marriage, he wouldn’t bother to comment because he wouldn’t care. He’s annoyed you married below your station. That’s understandable. What else does he say?”
“He enclosed something.” She drew the tissue-wrapped gift from her pocket and showed David the delicate filigreed gold ring, which she’d recognized immediately. “It belonged to my mother. He said I’m just like her.”
“What was your mother like?”
“Loving and kind. But she was very willful, too. She never forgave my father for telling her I should’ve been a boy.”
“That was a stupid thing to say. I’m sure somewhere along the way, he regretted it. But it’s clear to me he loved your mother, and he’s tr
ying to say he loves you, and don’t tell me I’m interpreting that wrong.”
“No, oddly enough, I think you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right. I’m always right.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Always?”
He turned her in his arms and dropped a tender kiss on her forehead. “Almost always. Except for when you’re right.”
Victoria gazed lovingly into his eyes. “I was right when I selected you from among the prospective grooms who were advertising.”
“Selected me? You didn’t know me until we met.”
That’s where he was wrong, and where he’d always been wrong. “Oh yes I did. I knew you through your sister’s eyes, and she knew you better than you knew yourself. I’m glad she introduced us.”
David heaved a sigh of mock resignation. “Oh, all right, I admit it, she did me a favor. But don’t ever tell her I said so…and let’s not encourage her to do anymore matchmaking.”
The End
Maggie O’Brien discovers she has an unexpected suitor—in a red suit. Santa’s Mail-Order Bride is the delightful sequel to Victoria, Bride of Kansas. Order it from Amazon.
Victoria, Bride of Kansas is 34th in the unprecedented 50-book American Mail-Order Brides series. If you enjoyed reading her story, there are 49 more books in the series! Find out about the rest of the American Mail-Order Brides here.
Want to know what happens to Victoria’s friends? Read their stories:
Gabrielle, Bride of Vermont by Emily Claire
Roberta, Bride of Wisconsin by Kirsten Osbourne
Sarah, Bride of Minnesota by Katie Crabapple
Poppy, Bride of Alaska by Cassie Hayes
You met an older, wiser Mr. O’Connor in Victoria’s story. Meet the younger, dangerous outlaw in his own story, Her Bodyguard. Available from Amazon.
Read an excerpt
Her Bodyguard
by E.E. Burke
Chapter 1
March 1, 1870
Former Cherokee Neutral Lands,
Southeast Kansas
Hell must be like this. Not lit with blazing fires, but cold and gray, barren as the dead prairie. Even the wind howled like a deranged demon, flinging bits of ice into Buck’s face.
He drew the blanket and oilskin tighter, although nothing warmed the persistent chill in his bones that’d gotten worse as he’d ridden north through Indian Territory. He was a walking dead man here in Kansas, so it seemed somehow fitting he’d entered the abode of the damned.
He patted Goliath’s neck, glad for the company of his horse. He had few acquaintances, even fewer friends, and none who would risk their necks for another man’s cause. Buck wouldn’t have risked getting his neck stretched had the plea not come from his only remaining kinsman. Although at this point, freezing to death seemed more likely than being lynched.
The saddle creaked as he straightened. All around, he could see nothing but mounds of switch grass and stunted trees. No houses or barns, not even smoke from a chimney. He swore, his breath sending out a white cloud. The wind snatched it away. His plan had been to reach Girard before dark, buy a hot meal and a warm bed before meeting with his cousin to get details on the job he’d come to do. But he couldn’t risk going on. He had to find shelter.
The fading daylight and worsening sleet made it difficult to see, but was that something just ahead? Buck touched his heels to his stallion’s sides, moving closer to the mass taking shape. A buggy, slumped to one side. In front of it stood a single horse with its head down and a woman huddled in a cloak, removing the traces. What the hell was she doing out here all by herself?
Buck sat back in the saddle, uneasy. He’d made it a habit to avoid damsels in distress after being betrayed by one. However, he couldn’t very well leave a woman out here on a lonely road in the middle of an ice storm. With a muttered curse, he kicked Goliath into a fast trot.
On his way to her, he passed the buggy’s rear wheel, lying on its side in the brush like a wounded animal. Odd, he’d never seen a wheel fly off like that. Generally, the metal rim popped or a spoke snapped. Had the axle nut been loose when she started out? She was damn lucky the buggy hadn’t rolled on top of her. He had seen that and it wasn’t pretty.
His stallion whinnied, excited by the scent of the woman’s horse. The mare threw its head and answered.
The lady hadn’t noticed him because she was so focused on unhitching the fidgety bay. But now she whirled around. Her hood, drawn low over her face, shadowed her expression but it was clear by her startled response she hadn’t expected anyone to come up on her. Rather than calling out for help, as he anticipated, she dashed toward the buggy’s compartment.
The mare shied away from the sudden movement, then reared up, squealing. The buggy started to rock.
“Look out,” Buck hollered.
The woman didn’t move away from the danger. Instead, she dove into the compartment.
“Goddamn it!” The curse was lost in the wind. He came out of the saddle, dropped the reins on the ground. In a few long strides he’d reached her. “Get out of there.”
What the hell was she doing? Trying to crawl beneath the buggy’s seat?
The contraption tipped dangerously to one side. Buck snaked an arm around her middle and hauled her out of the death trap.
She twisted around, yowling like an enraged cat. “Get your hands off me.”
Her horse squealed and tried to run. The lame buggy hopped.
“Stop screechin’. You’re scaring the hors—” Something blistered Buck’s cheekbone. “Ouch! What the devil?”
“Let me go!” She went for his face again with her claws.
“Stop that.” He swatted her hands away, but managed to keep hold of her while he backed away from the buggy. “I’m just tryin’ to—”
Her sharp teeth sank through the leather glove into his finger.
“Blazes!” He yanked his hand away and then grabbed a flailing arm, pinning her against him. Splaying his fingers over the side of her head, he smashed her cheek against his chest to prevent her from biting him again.
Furious screams became muffled growls. Her booted feet, dangling above the ground, lashed out to kick him. Thank God her skirts got in the way or she would’ve hammered his shins.
“Stop fighting, you loony woman.” He sucked in a breath and checked his temper. Large as he was, and with her no bigger than a minute, he could easily break her.
As he adjusted his hold on her, the hood of her cloak fell back. His fingers slid through a silken mass of hair. In an instant, he became aware of the woman he held—her soft breasts and flaring hips, a delicate fragrance like wildflowers. Something hot and primitive coursed through him. His body responded before his brain could catch up.
She must’ve sensed his reaction because she started swinging her legs again.
He held her tighter. “Will you listen? I’m tryin’ to help.”
“Not…helping.” She gasped the words. “You’re…choking me.”
Buck eased his hold. His physical reaction couldn’t be helped, but he could sure as hell control his strength and keep from hurting her. “All right. I’m setting you down.” He hesitated a moment before releasing her. “Don’t fly at me with those nails.”
She raised her eyes. The black centers swallowed the golden irises like an eclipse of the sun.
His gut clenched. He’d seen that look in the eyes of men he’d faced down, but not women he aided. He hadn’t meant to frighten her. He frowned, more comfortable with being annoyed. “That horse about pulled the buggy over on top of you. That’s why I grabbed you.”
Her dark brows winged up. “You…you were helping me?”
“That was the plan.”
She seemed further confused when he snatched his blanket off the ground where it had fallen during their tussle and flung it around her. Then he set off to retrieve her horse. That buggy wasn’t going anywhere.
He approached the nervous mare with soft, shushing sounds and laid his h
ands on its quivering withers. The frightened creature stilled and let him remove the traces.
Sleet peppered the brim of his hat, although the worst of the storm seemed to have passed. He took a look around the bleak surroundings. They were still were in danger of freezing if he didn’t find shelter soon.
After unhitching the harness, he brought the horse around. Thankfully, the woman hadn’t run off. She’d inched over to the buggy compartment and was rummaging around again, maybe looking for something.
“Unless you’ve got an axle nut in there, we can’t fix this buggy. Can you ride?
She whirled around with a tiny pistol clutched in her hands. “I’m not g-going anywhere with you.”
Buck’s pulse kicked up a notch. Her hands shook so hard he worried she might actually fire the damn thing before he could talk some sense into her. “You plan on staying here?”
Her chin came up. “I plan on taking my horse.”
He bit back a curse. Did she think he was stealing the nag? Why was he even bothering to help her? He might as well head off down that road, leave her to her own devices. No one could blame him. Only…he’d never abandon a woman. Not even one that was stark raving mad.
“Blast it, I don’t have time for this foolishness,” he muttered.
He offered her the reins, but when she reached out to take them, he locked his fingers around her wrist and nabbed the gun. Then he hauled the reluctant damsel to where he’d left Goliath.
The stallion had remained, as trained, right where they’d stopped. He didn’t dare put the woman on her horse. Frightened as she was, she’d probably race off and end up breaking her neck. He looped her mare’s reins around his saddle horn.
“Wait!” she burst out. “I have m-money. I can p-pay you more.”
