by Lily Reynard
Claiming Their Nanny
Montana Ménage Book 1
By Lily Reynard
Published by Philtata Press LLC
Text copyright 2019 by Lily Reynard All rights reserved
Cover art by Aria Tan
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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
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Historical Notes and References
Books by Lily Reynard
Dedication
With thanks to my fellow author Liv Brywood for providing the inspiration for this story, and for sharing her photos and impressions of historic Montana locations and landscapes.
And for Keri in beautiful Salmon, Idaho, for hosting me during my research trip to Idaho and Montana and who drove me over the Lemhi Pass for a fascinating day trip to the mining ghost town of Bannack, MT, which serves as the model for Twin Forks.
Chapter 1
Montana Territory
June, 1885
"Next stop, Twin Forks!" shouted the conductor.
This cannot possibly be the place, thought Abigail Rose as the train screeched and jolted to a halt in front of a small, crude-looking log shack that could only charitably be called a "railway station."
But no.
Through the dust-coated train window, she spied a crudely lettered plank nailed to the side of the shack announcing that she had indeed arrived in Twin Forks.
She had departed Philadelphia five long days ago, with a brief stop in Chicago to change trains. Her new employer had promised to reimburse her for the cost of a first-class train ticket to Twin Forks, but after assessing her meager savings, she had decided to purchase a third-class ticket instead.
Initially excited about the prospect of traveling to the frontier, Abby's enthusiasm had quickly waned as the rigors of the long journey took their toll. After the first night in the uncomfortable bench seats, she bitterly regretted not being able to afford the supplementary Pullman sleeping berth.
At least the train only took three days to get here from Chicago, she told herself, trying vainly to shake out the wrinkles in her skirts as she rose from the high-backed bench seat. Not three months, like a wagon train in the old days!
She reached up for her pair of large suitcases, precariously balanced in the luggage rack above her head.
"Miss Rose, please allow me," said Samuel Baker, one of her fellow third-class passengers, leaping from his nearby seat.
He quickly pulled her heavy luggage, which contained all of her worldly goods, from the overhead rack and placed it gently at Abby's feet.
"Thank you."
Abby had become well-acquainted with her fellow passengers during the days she had spent on the train. Her initial worries about traveling as a young, unaccompanied woman had quickly been put to rest by the near-universal chivalry of the male passengers in her rail carriage. Plus, there were a number of other young women on the train as well, most of them traveling to reunite with families or, like her, taking a great leap into the unknown as mail-order brides or schoolteachers.
Mr. Baker's nineteen-year-old daughter Becky sprang up to give Abby a hug. "Promise me that you'll write me when you have the chance!"
Abby hugged her back. "Of course I will. And in return, promise me that you'll come to visit me at the ranch, right?"
Becky nodded enthusiastically as she stepped back. She and her widower father were traveling another two stops, so they wouldn't be terribly far away from Abby's new home at the Pronghorn Springs Ranch.
Abby turned to Mr. Baker and extended her gloved hand. "Good luck with your homestead and the mining," she said as he took it.
Amid a chorus of farewells, she picked up her suitcases and lugged them down the aisle towards the exit at the back of the rail carriage.
Another of her fellow passengers, a burly German immigrant named Mueller, helped her with her luggage as she gathered up her skirts and descended the steep steps to the uneven planks of the station platform.
"Good luck to you, Miss Rose," he rumbled as he re-entered the carriage.
"Thank you! And good luck to you and Mrs. Mueller as well," she said, waving.
Feeling strangely lonely upon parting from her companions of the past few days, she peered around the crowded station, hoping to spot her employers.
She instantly realized that she was the only woman in a sea of rough-looking men. And that she was attracting a number of curious stares as a crowd of men streamed by, heading for the baggage wagons at the rear of the train. There, accompanied by shouts and curses, they began unloading a great variety of boxes, stuffed burlap sacks, and bundles of picks and shovels.
We'll be mighty easy to spot, Mr. James Brody had written her in his last letter. My brother Dan and I are identical twins.
From their correspondence, she envisioned two older men, both fatherly, with graying hair and perhaps a bit of a paunch. And probably with untrimmed beards and long, shaggy hair, if the men all around her were any indication.
After a few minutes of standing awkwardly on the station platform, feeling like she was getting in everyone's way, she heard the train's loud whistle, followed by a shouted "All Aboard!"
With a deafening exhalation of steam, the carriages behind her jerked into motion and began rolling slowly away.
Abby fought the sudden urge to turn tail and dash madly after them.
With the train's departure, she was now fully committed to her foolish venture.
She stood on the rapidly clearing platform, clutching the handles of her suitcases, which weighed more heavily by the moment. She craned her neck, hoping to catch sight of two men who looked like they might be twin brothers and wealthy ranchers.
But she saw no one who even remotely fitted the description that Mr. Brody had provided her.
What if there isn't really a position? What if the advertisement was some kind of cruel practical joke? She was alone in a strange place, seven hundred miles from home and family, and she had spent nearly all of her scant funds to get here.
That dark thought was followed immediately by an even darker one.
Have I made the biggest mistake of my life? Even worse than believing that Arthur was sincere about wanting my hand in marriage?
Abby tried unsuccessfully to suppress the surge of bitter memories. After the disgrace that had followed Arthur’s repudiation, she had spotted a newspaper advertisement for a nanny willing to care for an orphaned baby in the Montana Territory.
Bleeding from the wounds to her heart and her reputation, she felt like this position was the perfect opportunity to make a fresh
start, far away from anyone who knew her. On impulse, she had posted a response to the advertisement, embellishing on her experience in caring for infants, and included a pair of references written by friends of the family who took pity on her situation.
To her astonishment, she had received a quick response by telegram from Mr. James Brody and his brother Daniel, offering her the position. A letter had followed a week later, containing a glowing description of their ranch and vivid descriptions of Montana's natural beauty.
Desperate to escape the poisonous atmosphere of disappointment and shame infesting her parents' house, she had accepted the offer on the spot, despite never having traveled further from home than to visit her cousins in New York City.
Now, standing on the platform of the train station, Abby struggled to tamp down her rising panic and wondered what she should do if Mr. Brody—either of them—didn't show up.
Should I try to travel to the Pronghorn Springs Ranch on my own? But how will I get there? This doesn't look like the kind of place that has hansom cabs.
She glanced down at the watch pinned to her bodice and realized that despite what felt like an eternity of waiting, fewer than fifteen minutes had elapsed since her arrival.
You're being silly, she chided herself. They're only a few minutes late.
But it was difficult not to despair when she was rumpled, filthy, and several steps past merely fatigued and into the territory of utterly exhausted.
"Miss, are you waiting for someone? May I offer you some refreshments in the meanwhile?" called a female voice that sounded both kind and concerned.
Startled out of her downward spiral into despair, Abby spotted a tall, chestnut-haired young woman standing behind a table set up in the shade of the station's wide eaves.
The lady smiled sweetly when Abigail looked in her direction and waved at her like a friend. She appeared to be close to Abby's age.
Her sense of imminent disaster dissipating, Abby made her way through the rapidly thinning crowd to the table. It was set with a large coffee pot set on a metal rack over a candle stub to keep its contents warm, a collection of tin mugs, and plates piled with slices of cake and sandwiches under domed mesh food covers. A large hand-painted sign warmly welcomed newcomers to Twin Forks and invited them to attend Sunday services at the town's church.
"Good morning! I'm Emmaline Kottinger. My husband is the town's minister. And I'm so pleased to meet you," the other woman said as Abby approached. "As you've probably noticed, Twin Forks has an overabundance of men and a scarcity of women."
"You can say that again, ma'am," called one of rougher-looking characters, whose bushy beard and tattered clothing made him look like an Old Testament prophet who had been wandering the wilderness for forty years.
He was bent nearly double under the weight of a lumpy, bulging burlap sack that looked like it was filled with potatoes. Or perhaps rocks.
Mrs. Kottinger dimpled, and the man ducked his head, looking self-conscious as he hurried away.
"Would you like some bread and butter with huckleberry jam? It's all homemade," she offered as she poured steaming coffee from a large enameled metal coffee pot into a gleaming tin mug.
She was tall, with gray eyes and shining chestnut hair tucked into a sensible bun. She wore a plain, high-collared cotton dress with full, gathered sleeves and a pin-tucked bodice, the fabric dyed a soft amber brown, and not a bustle in sight.
"Thank you, Mrs. Kottinger," Abby said, gratefully accepting the coffee and a sandwich spread with the promised butter and dark purple jam. "I'm Abigail Rose."
"I thought that you might be." Mrs. Kottinger's smile brightened even further. "Everyone's been wondering when you were arriving."
She's heard of me? They've been expecting me? Abby dared to hope that everything would turn out all right after all.
Mrs. Kottinger continued, "And please call me Emma. We're quite informal out here on the frontier."
"My family and friends call me Abby," Abby said, determined to fit in here. "And I hope you will too."
"I confess that I was excited when Daniel told me that he and his brother had hired you to care for little Christopher." The dimples returned, and Abby felt her anxiety ease a little.
The Brody brothers have been telling people that they had hired me? That was reassuring news, even if they had not yet appeared as promised.
With relief came a sudden, sharp pang of hunger, reminding Abby that she hadn't yet breakfasted.
She took a bite of the food and sighed in pleasure. The bread was freshly baked, the butter sweet and creamy, and the huckleberry jam tart and delicious.
"In his letter, Mr. Brody mentioned that he and his brother unexpectedly became their nephew's guardians," Abby ventured before taking a second bite of her bread and jam and washing it down with strong, hot coffee.
"Poor little mite." Emma sighed, her smile fading. "Orphaned before he was even weaned, and too young to remember his mama and papa, God rest their souls." Emma looked away. When she spoke again, her voice was very soft. "Clara Brody was a very dear friend of mine. I can't believe she's really gone."
"I understand that there was an epidemic this past spring," Abby ventured.
Emma nodded solemnly. "It was the cholera. Nearly two hundred souls perished in our little town. My husband sent away for medical journals and began a correspondence with several physicians in England, where they have long been investigating the link between contaminated wells and disease." She touched one of the booklets on the table with a gloved finger. "With his encouragement, I wrote a welcome pamphlet that not only invites newcomers to attend Sunday services at our church, but also urges them to dig their wells far away from any outhouses and to boil all water before drinking." Her smile returned, but it was tinged with melancholy. "So far, we have been fortunate, even with the present warm weather."
A deep male voice rang out behind Abby. "Good morning, Mrs. Kottinger! And you must be Miss Rose!"
"Good morning, Mr. Brody!" Emma replied, her smile brightening. "Abby and I were just getting acquainted."
Relief shot through Abby as she hastily put down her coffee and half-eaten breakfast.
"Yes, I'm Abigail Rose. Mr. James Brody, I presume?" Abby turned and automatically extended her gloved hand in the newcomer's direction.
"Call me Jim. My deepest apologies for running la—" The man abruptly stopped speaking and stared at her, frozen in the act of tipping his hat to her.
A pleasant shock robbed her of breath as their eyes met. Her new employer was anything but old and paunchy. In fact, he resembled a young Greek god with his clean-cut features and muscular physique.
And coming up behind him with rapid strides was his twin brother, every bit as strikingly handsome, distinguishable only by the difference in his clothing. That must be Daniel Brody.
She instantly felt flustered under the regard of two sets of dark brown eyes, and she let her hand drop.
Oh, no, she thought, heat suddenly flushing her cheeks. Not again! Why am I so weak?
Bitter experience had taught her that the instant, overwhelming attraction she felt to these men was the first marker on the road to ruin.
I cannot. I will not yield this time, she vowed silently.
"Miss Rose, I'm Daniel Brody, but you can call me Dan," said the second man, lifting his hat as he came to a halt next to Jim. "And we do apologize for being late. A bear spooked our horses, we spooked the bear, and then we had to do a bit of soothing before the horses were ready to walk on."
Bears? Abby stared at Daniel—no, Mr. Brody, must keep this professional—in dismay. So close to town?
She recalled the dime novels she had read about life on the frontier and wondered if she would be facing mountain lions and hostile Indians too.
"Just how old are you?" Jim demanded in a harsh tone. "You don't look anywhere close to thirty-two!"
"What my brother means to say, Miss Rose," Dan interjected smoothly as Abby stared at her new employer, taken aback,
"is that based on our correspondence, we were expecting a lady of, um, more mature years and experience."
"I'm, um, actually nineteen," Abby told them, trying to keep the nervous quaver out of her voice.
She had thought that with her hair pinned up and the rigors of travel she looked sufficiently mature to pass for a woman in her early thirties, but apparently not.
What if they change their minds about hiring me? What will I do?
The brothers looked at each other for a long moment. Dan's brows raised in a questioning expression, and Jim's mouth drew tight in dismay.
Abby's heart began pounding, the beat echoing in her ears like a kettledrum. Her corset suddenly felt much too tight.