Millie Marries a Marshal

by Linda K. Hubalek

  Millie Marries a Marshal

  A Historical Western Romance

  Brides with Grit Series: Book 2

  Copyright © 2014 by Linda K. Hubalek

  Published by Butterfield Books Inc. at Smashwords

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to source and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting this hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Except for the history of Ellsworth, Kansas that has been mentioned in the book, the names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  DESCRIPTION

  A clean, sweet historical romance set in 1873.

  Mail-order bride Millie Donovan was looking forward to meeting Sam Larson, a Kansas homesteader, who she is sure, from reading his heartfelt letters, will provide her with the love and safety she wants and needs. Millie arrives on the train, not realizing that her husband-to-be was killed in an accident, until Clear Creek’s town marshal informs her of the situation.

  Town Marshal Adam Wilerson never plans to marry due to his dangerous job. After reading letters found at his friend’s home following his untimely death which were sent from his friend’s mail-order bride, he can’t help thinking of the woman, and believes he may be in love with her himself. But instead of sending Millie on the train back to her former home, he finds himself welcoming her—and her two-year-old charge—into his house, and into his heart.

  When danger threatens, Millie faces it head–on to protect the people she loves, including the town marshal.

  Can Adam keep the peace in town—and his house—or will the man following Millie cause an uproar that will endanger them both, and ruin their chance of a life together?

  To sign up for Linda Hubalek’s mailing list and receive notice of new titles as they are available, click here.

  Dedication

  To women who have married lawmen, past and present—Thank you for your badge of courage.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  About the Brides with Grit Series

  Other Book Series by the Linda K. Hubalek

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  May 1872, Ellsworth, Kansas

  Town marshal Adam Wilerson had been standing on the train platform for ten minutes and still didn’t see a single lady who might be the woman he hoped to find. Adam’s hazel eyes scanned up and down the boardwalk of the Main Street again, but didn’t see any women he didn’t know. Clear Creek was small enough that a stranger always stood out. Because of his job, he made it a habit to know everyone—and their business—in town.

  Adam shifted through the four cardboard photographs of young women again. It was hard to compare a black and white photo with a real person, but he was accustomed to comparing wanted posters and criminal faces. None of these photos came close to featuring the few women who had arrived from any train this week.

  He shifted the photos to one hand after another look down the boardwalk. Adam dug his watch out of his vest pocket, flicked the lid open to look at the time again. Finding it was only five minutes since the last time he checked; he closed and stuffed the watch back in his pocket.

  Adam’s mother was having a special early supper for his brother Jacob and fiancée Rania Hamner at the family ranch tonight, and Adam should have already been there. He pulled his wide-brimmed hat off his head to run his fingers through his light brown hair. It felt awfully short after visiting the barber today, but his ma insisted he get it cut before this Sunday’s wedding. Out of habit, he smoothed his trim mustache with his right thumb and forefinger.

  He’d met the train every day this week looking for a Miss Millie Donovan from Chicago, Illinois, but she had yet to arrive. He’d thought sure that she would be on today’s train since it was Friday.

  Adam wished he had some clue of who he was looking for, but could only guess because he really didn’t have any idea what his former neighbor’s fiancée looked like. After rancher Sam Larson died, the new occupants’ daughter, Rania Hamner, when cleaning the house, found letters from a Miss Donovan who, obviously from the letters, was Sam’s intended mail-order bride. Sam hadn’t shared so much as a hint with Adam or his brother, Jacob, that he was writing to someone, let alone that he had proposed. Supposedly she was on the train this week and Adam had been meeting it every day, but no luck yet meeting the elusive woman. Her last letter said “you’ll recognize me by my photograph” but there was no photo with the letters. Rania had earlier found four photographs when cleaning out a desk drawer but they weren’t marked with any names, so Adam didn’t know for certain whether this Millie Donovan was one of the four women pictured.

  Adam sighed and looked around again. When Miss Donovan finally arrived he would have the unfortunate duty to deliver the sad news of Sam’s death and help her arrange to return on the train to her former home. Because she and Sam hadn’t married, this woman had no claim on his ranch or his belongings.

  It was warm enough this May afternoon that Adam wished he could dispense with his own jacket and roll up his shirt sleeves, except it wouldn’t look proper to greet the young lady he was supposed to meet.

  His eyes kept returning to a crying little boy and his momma who stood a dozen feet away on the porch of the depot. She was having a time with the tired tyke who looked to be close to two years old by his walking, but he was so skinny it was hard to tell his age for certain. Adam didn’t know them, but they had been waiting by the depot as long as he had. He saw them get off the train when it unloaded and appeared to be waiting for someone, too. Two worn carpetbags lay nearby with a little boy’s coat lying on top of them. She hadn’t claimed a trunk or any more bags from the railroad agent when he unloaded the train; must be visiting someone for just a day or two.

  The kid was now wobbling circles around the mother, screaming like his shadow chased him. It was just the right pitch to make your eardrums bleed. With the tot’s carrot–orange hair, there was no way the child could disappear in a crowd even if he was quiet. Adam chuckled when he thought how the boy was going to be teased when he became school-aged because of his bright hair. But that was his lot in life and he’d soon learn to stand up for his heritage of hair.

  “Tate, Tate. Please stop and listen to me.” The woman’s distinct Irish lilt rose in frustration, drifting over to Adam. So far all he’d seen of the woman was the top of her little black hat, because she’d been looking down at the child the whole time. Her strawberry red hair, not quite as bright as the little boy’s, but very curly, was tightly pinned up on the back of her head. It was a big knot of hair so he bet it was very long and wavy when she let it down at night.

  Adam turned his back to the two, and nonchalantly stepped backward a couple of steps to hear this conversation better.

  “Dada was…” The train whistle blew announcing its pending departure so Adam didn’t hear what else
the boy cried as he shrunk against his mother.

  The woman crouched down and held the boy to her side. “No, Tate. Please listen to me. Mr. Larson will be a good man. He’s not like…”

  The train whistle blew again as she was continuing her conversation with the boy, cutting off Adam’s hearing the conversation again.

  Adam whirled around when he heard the lady mention Mr. Larson. He had read the stack of letters that Sam had received from the woman, and there was no mention that she was a widow, let alone had a son.

  Adam took off his hat and held it on his chest before taking two steps forward and asking, “Miss Millie Donovan?”

  The woman’s green eyes turned up to meet his hazel ones to acknowledge his presence. She stood up straight and pasted a smile on her face, probably thinking she was meeting her intended. “Mr. Larson?”

  “NO, NO!” The little boy screamed at the top of his lungs while rushing forward to pummel Adam’s knees with his tiny fists.

  ***

  Millie froze when Tate attacked the legs of the tall man. He bent his wide shoulders down to clamp his hands on the unruly child and attempt to peel him off his legs. He had dropped his wide-brimmed hat in Tate’s mini attack, and Millie got a good look at his neatly trimmed light brown hair. The man wasn’t at all like Millie had pictured Sam to be, but it gave her heart a flutter to find out he was so tall and handsome.

  Now Tate—with tears trickling down his cheeks and his thumb in his pouty mouth—was being settled on the man’s hip and he turned his attention to her again. “Miss Donovan?”

  “Yes,” Millie breathed, relieved to finally meet her husband.

  “Miss Donovan, I’m sorry to…”

  “Star!” Tate screamed, interrupting the man as he punched the marshal badge on the front of the man’s shirt.

  Millie stared at the object then up at the man’s face. His face twitched as he gave her a look that said he wasn’t amused by the boy’s second attack on his person.

  He thrust the tot at arm’s length, but Millie stared at the badge instead of taking Tate. Oh Lord, have we run into more trouble than we ran away from? Sam never mentioned in his letters that he was the town marshal besides a rancher.

  “Miss Donovan?” Millie realized the lawman wanted her to take Tate, so she took the boy and hugged him to her shaking chest. “Ma’am, could we walk over to my office so we can talk?”

  “My bags…”

  “Your bags will be fine here with the depot agent for a minute. Please come with me.”

  Millie followed behind the determined man as he strolled down the dusty boardwalk in front of them. He reached the marshal’s office several seconds before she did because of his clipped pace, and already had the door open and waiting for her to walk in.

  “Please have a seat, and hold on to your boy so he doesn’t get into anything he shouldn’t.”

  That remark made Millie’s spine stiffen and her red-haired courage flare. Sam mentioned he loved children, so Millie couldn’t believe his callous demeanor towards Tate. She gripped Tate around his waist and firmly set his little bottom on her lap as she sank into the wooden chair in front of the marshal’s desk. The lawman continued to stand behind the desk until she had Tate under control—for a few seconds.

  “Miss Donovan, I’m Marshal Adam Wilerson, and I regret to tell you that Sam Larson is dead.”

  When the marshal’s blunt words sunk in, Millie felt Tate’s body slide out of her arms as the room blacked out of her sight.

  ***

  Now what? Adam kneeled beside the woman on the floor as the crying boy ran circles around his desk. This is not how his usual day went. Adam would prefer the swinging fists of any drunken cowboy over this distressed mother and her uncontrollable child.

  Just as Adam dipped his handkerchief in the water pail that sat on the nearby table, she slowly came to. Although, by now, Adam would have preferred to wipe the wet cloth across his own face, he handed it to Miss Donovan. She patted her face, then grabbed the boy to scrub his tear-streaked face, asked the little boy to “blow” his nose—and then handed the snot-filled cloth back to him.

  Adam stayed silent as the woman gathered her composure—and the wayward child—back in the seat in front of his desk. At least now the tot was subdued with his thumb stuck in his mouth, and baby drool running down his chin, again.

  “Miss Donovan…or should I be calling you Widow Donovan?” He paused a second, because she wasn’t wearing all black like a widowed woman, but she just nodded her head and didn’t say which name he should use. “I’m sorry to inform you that Sam died in a riding accident. Your letters were among his things, but I didn’t have a way to contact you. Your last letter said you were stopping at your sister’s a while, but her name and address weren’t mentioned.”

  Adam continued because she didn’t say anything. “Because you and Sam weren’t married yet, I’m afraid there isn’t anything I can give you except advice. It would be best if you get back on the train and travel back to Illinois or to your sister’s family.”

  “No! Um…no…my sister…is…no longer there.”

  That information stunned Adam. She just lost her sister and then he had to give her this news? My word, no wonder she collapsed. Adam cleared his throat and spoke with compassion this time. “I’m sorry for your loss. Could your sister’s husband help you?” This time the woman didn’t meet his eyes when she shook her head no, but he noticed she tightened her hold on the boy. “Do you have somewhere else you could go?”

  She rubbed her forehead as if trying to erase the bad news she just received. Then she looked up, not into his eyes but at his badge. “I’ll have to think about this,” she replied in a weary voice.

  Adam extended his hand to the woman, waiting for her to rise out of the chair, trying to get her out of his office so he could head out to the ranch. He didn’t know what else to do for this poor woman and upset child. “I’ll collect your bags and walk you over to the hotel, Miss Donovan.”

  ***

  Millie was afraid she’d faint again before the marshal got out of sight. She was so relieved when she first saw him, or who she thought was Sam Larson. She thought her luck had turned around when she saw his strong stature and clear, kind eyes. She and Tate would be okay here—in the middle of nowhere—also known as Clear Creek, Kansas.

  She let out a slow breath, trying not to hyperventilate. The news of Sam’s demise was devastating to her plans, but having a lawman know where she was…made things worse.

  Marshal Wilerson was more than ready to deposit her bags inside the hotel’s door and removed himself just as quickly, not even waiting to catch the hotel clerk’s eye to indicate that Millie needed assistance. He mumbled something about a family dinner he was late for and excused himself.

  Millie had let him go, because she needed to get away from him, too. After looking out the hotel door to be sure he was out of sight, Millie scooted the bags out the door while wrangling Tate.

  “Ma’am, may I help you?” The clerk had been busy with a guest when they first arrived, and was now ready to assist Millie.

  “No, thank you,” Millie said as she slammed the door practically in his face.

  Now what? “Tate, you’re going to have to walk while I get these bags.” Millie grasped the bags and coat, looking up and down the Main Street of this little town. Sam had sent her money for the train ticket so she had the fare to get here. Unfortunately, she had no extra money along because she had stuffed it into her sister’s hand before picking up Tate and running to the train station.

  Millie took stock of Tate’s appearance, due to the smell that reeked from his pants. She didn’t have time to grab many of Tate’s things when they left in a hurry, so Tate only had a few diapers along. How was she going to wash and dry his little items? A bath would do wonders for both of their spirits too, but that was unlikely to happen anytime soon.

  She sighed, turning her face up to the sky to mutter, “Now what, Da?” She never though
t she’d be living on the streets again like she did in her old Conely’s Patch neighborhood after the Great Chicago fire two years ago, but that’s what it seemed would be her fate. Well, it was going to be “beg, borrow or steal” if she and Tate were going to eat and sleep tonight. She had lived through it before and would again, only then she didn’t have a toddler to worry about.

  Chapter 2

  “I told you Ma, there was nothing I could do. When Miss or maybe I should say when ‘Widow’ Donovan arrived—with this little orange-headed brat in tow—I told her about Sam, and then escorted her to the hotel. I did my duty, end of story.”

  This was not the reception he expected when arriving at his brother’s ranch this evening. The Wilersons, Hamners, and some friends were all here celebrating Jacob and Rania’s engagement. As a surprise for his Swedish immigrant bride, Jacob had painted the washhouse a dark “Falun Red” and planted flowers around the little building to remind Rania of her childhood home in Sweden. Picnic tables were set up outside by the backyard “Swedish scene” and everyone was seated, enjoying a bountiful food spread when he arrived.

  Adam was ready to sit down and fill his own plate, but that changed in an instant when he told his mother why he was late. His ma was at his side with her finger pointed up in the air at his nose in a second.

  Four women stared at him, like he was a dunce that should be standing with his nose in the corner of the old school house.

  “How could you be so rude and crude, Adam? I raised you better than that,” his mother, Cate, asked in exasperation. It had been a long time since she’d ask that question. Probably then she looked down at him, not up. It didn’t help that his sister, Sarah, and the blonde Hamner twins, Rania and Hilda—at least still seated—all had their arms crossed in unison disgust at him too. His brother Jacob sat smirking and probably thinking, you’re in deep manure now, Brother.