THESE ROUGH DREAMS—Cheryl Pierson
When Southern socialite Gabrielle Mason discovers she’s pregnant, she takes her future into her own hands. She has her family name to consider, and a husband is what she needs. She answers an ad for a mail-order bride in Indian Territory. But the man who proposes isn’t the man she ends up marrying.
Johnny Rainbolt is not a family man by any stretch of the imagination…but Fate is about to give him no choice. His late sister’s three children will be arriving on the next stage, and he has no idea what to do with them. When cultured Gabby Mason is left waiting for her prospective groom at the stage station, Johnny sees a way to solve everyone’s problems.
Some dreams get off to a rough start. A mail-order marriage is only the beginning. When one of the children is stolen, Johnny and Gabby are forced to depend on one another in an unimaginable circumstance that could turn tragic… or show them what might become of THESE ROUGH DREAMS.
HER HURRY-UP HUSBAND—Tanya Hanson
Prim and proper socialite Elspeth Maroney flees from an indiscretion to the Wild West of Colorado as a mail order bride. She doesn’t plan to stay long, only a month. Rancher Hezekiah Steller needs a wife quick to get himself an heir, but what will the stagecoach deliver to his doorstep?
Their worlds collide deliciously until Ellie must confess her mistakes. Will Hez still want her tomorrow?
A PERMANENT WOMAN—Kaye Spencer
Widower Simon Driscoll lost his only son and daughter-in-law, with whom he was estranged, in a cholera epidemic. He receives a letter as next of kin granting him custody of his three grandchildren, whom he has never met. The children are in an orphanage, and he cannot take custody unless he shows up with a wife and the documentation to prove the marriage is legal. He has 90 days before he loses his grandchildren, and a month has already passed. Desperate men take desperate measures…
Reputation tarnished and professional career compromised, Tessa Morris wants to start a new life—somewhere, anywhere, as long as that place is far away from here. The problem is, where? Other than attending a university, she’s never lived anywhere else. As the community’s latest pariah, the life and career she’s built in her hometown is finished. At 42, her future seems grim at best. When she happens upon a recent edition of the Matrimony Courier, she finds herself intrigued by one of the advertisements for a wife. That she doesn’t meet any of the qualifications doesn’t bother her in the least, because desperate women take desperate measures…
THE BIG UNEASY—Kathleen Rice Adams
To escape the unthinkable with a man about whom she knows too much, New Orleans belle Josephine LaPierre agrees to marry a Texan about whom she knows nothing.
Falling in love with his brother was not part of her plan.
LASSOING
A
MAIL-ORDER BRIDE
Cheryl Pierson
Tanya Hanson
Kaye Spencer
Kathleen Rice Adams
NEW PRAIRIE ROSE PUBLICATIONS
SUMMER RELEASES
LASSOING A BRIDE
LASSOING A GROOM
COWBOY CRAVINGS
Lassoing A Mail-Order Bride
Copyright © 2014 by Prairie Rose Publications
Cover Design Livia Reasoner
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All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
“These Rough Dreams” Copyright © 2014 by Cheryl Pierson
“Her Hurry-Up Husband” Copyright © 2014 by Tanya Hanson
“A Permanent Woman” Copyright © 2014 by Kaye Spencer
“The Big Uneasy” Copyright © 2014 by Kathleen Rice Adams
Table of Contents
THESE ROUGH DREAMS by Cheryl Pierson
HER HURRY-UP HUSBAND by Tanya Hanson
A PERMANENT WOMAN by Kaye Spencer
THE BIG UNEASY Kathleen Rice Adams
THESE ROUGH DREAMS
Cheryl Pierson
A pregnant mail order bride. A groom with three orphaned children. Some dreams get a rough start.
Gabrielle Mason stepped out of the Butterfield coach onto the dusty boardwalk of the one-horse town of Hell. Or at least, that’s what it should have been called. It was certainly that hot, and deserted. The driver and shotgun rider began to unload her luggage as she glanced around for the man who was to meet her.
Rude. What else could it be? Gabrielle Mason fumed. After days of torturous travel to get to the gateway of the most lawless territory in the country, her husband-to-be was nowhere in sight.
She searched the deserted streets of Brush Creek, Indian Territory, for anyone who might possibly be Ferrin Maynard, the man she was soon to marry—but still, no one approached her.
Her bags sat piled together on the boardwalk near the entrance to the small station that not only sold passage for the stagecoach, but also contained a telegraph office.
“Who’d you say you were waitin’ on?” the telegrapher called from where he sat, near the back of the small building.
Gabrielle turned to look at him. “I didn’t say.”
One could never be too careful—oh, what was she thinking? She’d come all the way from North Carolina to marry a man she didn’t know… because she had no choice. Careful had flown out the window three months earlier. She was in the direst circumstance—a predicament no good girl ever found herself in. Only, she had.
Gabrielle Eugenie Mason was with child. She was going to have a baby in six months, and she had no other choice but to marry—or be the complete ruination of the Mason name.
Her family, of course, wasted no time in packing her off. She’d shamed them terribly, they’d said. She’d ruined herself and them, too, they’d said. Make your own way, they’d said.
So, she’d answered the advertisement of Mr. Maynard’s. He’d been in need of a good woman.
Gabrielle still considered herself “good”—though her family may not.
He’d wanted children.
Well, she was living proof that she could bear children for him, wasn’t she?
A hard worker.
That one gave her pause. She didn’t mind hard work. At least, she didn’t think she did. But having been raised in a privileged home with servants and never doing more than completing a fetching piece of embroidery work, or learning to speak Latin and write a fine hand, hardly qualified as hard work.
“Ma’am, why don’t you come set a spell out of the heat?” the telegrapher called to her. “It’s a bit cooler inside here.”
Gabrielle nodded. “Yes, I’m sure it is.” She started inside the doorway. “Will my belongings be secure, do you think?”
He nodded. “Yes. Have no worries.”
With one last glance behind her, she entered the station and sat in one of the straight-backed chairs next to the wall.
“If you’d care to tell me who’s supposed to meet you, I’ll send someone to fetch ’em,” he offered.
She hesitated a moment, then said, “Mr. Ferrin Maynard. Do you know him?”
The telegrapher took off his spectacles and rubbed his eyes. “Maynard?”
“Yes.”
He put his spectacles back on. “I’m sorry to tell you this, miss, but Mr. Maynard was buried yesterday. He passed away on Monday. Died of a heart attack over at the cathouse while he was screw—” He broke off. “Um…while he was in a compromisin’ position, so to speak.�
�� His face reddened, and he looked down.
Gabrielle’s mouth rounded into an ‘O’. For a moment, she couldn’t speak. Of all the things she might have imagined on this journey, Ferrin Maynard’s death had not been one of them. Her fiancé’s death in a compromisin’ position at a house of ill repute had been something she would never have contemplated —not after the letters she’d received from him.
Before she could speak, a tall, powerfully muscled figure filled the doorway, blocking out the light for an instant before he entered.
“Oh, hey, Johnny.”
“Marty,” the big man acknowledged as he came on into the station.
Gabrielle looked up as the newcomer spoke. Midnight dark eyes caught hers and held for a moment, and a quick smile of greeting flashed. She couldn’t help but smile back, even in her state of shock.
“They didn’t come today. Maybe tomorrow.”
“I didn’t see ’em get off the stage,” the stranger replied. “Figure I’ll be back tomorrow.” He turned to go.
“Oh—uh, Johnny, this lady, she’s—well—she was expectin’ to be met here by Ferrin. But seein’ as how he’s dead an’ all—”
“Yeah. I reckon he won’t be meetin’ her today.” Johnny turned to look at Gabrielle again. “He a relative of yours?”
She shook her head in her shock, trying to formulate an intelligent thought.
“Got a place you can stay while you’re here?”
Gabrielle shook her head again. “No—I had thought—well, we were…we were to be married.”
The telegrapher let go a low whistle. “He really did it.”
Johnny ignored him. He put his hand out to Gabrielle. “Johnny Rainbolt, ma’am.”
Gabrielle stood, taking his hand. “I’m Gabrielle Mason.”
“Miss Mason.” He nodded. “I’m sorry for your …loss.”
“Thank you. I—didn’t really know Mr. Maynard—”
“You’re a mail-order bride?”
Gabrielle drew herself up stiffly. “Sir! I’m Gabrielle Eugenie Mason, of the Hyatt Mason family out of North Carolina…recently.” She gave a toss of her head. “Yes, I answered an advertisement that Mr. Maynard posted. But—”
Johnny shook his head and gave a quick laugh. “Sorry. I understand, and didn’t mean to insult you. Everyone has a…dream…of changing things. Some of those dreams can be pretty rough in the making. I just—uh…you hungry?”
The questions surprised her. She hadn’t truly thought about food. They’d eaten a hastily prepared breakfast that morning that was particularly unappetizing. Just then, her stomach growled.
She stepped back quickly, as if to mask the noise, but Johnny laughed again. “Guess that’s my answer. Let’s go eat.”
“Mr. Rainbolt—really—I can’t.”
He pushed his hat back. “Why not? You’re hungry—so’m I. There’s a restaurant across the street—we can keep an eye on your goods out there at the front ’til you decide where you want ’em.”
Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. “The truth is—I have no money.”
“I do, though. And I’m buyin’.”
Gabrielle gave him a long look. For whatever reason, she thought she could trust him. In the next instant, she remembered what had happened the last time she’d trusted a man. Her hand moved instinctively to her belly. Even Ferrin Maynard couldn’t be trusted, it seemed—dying with his pecker in a fancy girl at the whorehouse.
She lowered her gaze in case her terrible thoughts were written in her eyes; in case Mr. Johnny Rainbolt could tell what was inside her head just by looking.
“All right, Mr. Rainbolt. Thank you for your kind generosity.”
****
She tried to hide her ravenous hunger, but it was all she could do not to shovel the food into her mouth in a most unladylike display. Oh, how disappointed Mama would be, to see how her daughter’s manners and good upbringing deserted her as soon as a plate of beefsteak and fried potatoes appeared at the table! That would upset her nearly as much as it had when she’d learned that her daughter was in the family way—with no husband.
“What do you supposed you’ll do, now that Mr. Maynard’s ah—reneged—on his marriage offer?”
Gabby looked up quickly to meet Mr. Rainbolt’s eyes. Dark eyes that held mystery, laughter, and more than a little pain from some of his own rough dreams that had not turned out so well, she imagined. It was the laughter that stood out. He was laughing at her. Or at Mr. Maynard—she wasn’t sure which.
“Mr. Rainbolt—”
“Please, call me Johnny.”
“Very well, Johnny. Mr. Maynard did not ‘renege’; he—he passed away,” she said primly. “Admittedly, under questionable circumstances.”
Johnny cut another bit of meat. “Luckily for you, I might add.”
“Why do you say such a thing?” She almost laid her fork down, but was too hungry to part with it.
“He was a bounder, Gabrielle. Marriage wouldn’t have changed that.”
“Everyone calls me Gabby,” she said automatically. Everyone except her parents, and she couldn’t bear to think of them right now. She should have said something in defense of her dead fiancé, she thought, but something in Johnny’s quiet tone had stopped her. How could she defend a man she didn’t know? A man who had placed such a humiliating ad, for a wife—he might as well have advertised for a brood mare.
And from the way Johnny had said it, there was no doubt that Ferrin Maynard was a bounder.
At her silence, Johnny gave her a steady look from across the table. “You could do so much better. Why—” he broke off. “None of my affair, but, you need help and—I’d like to do what I can. This must be a hell of a shock for you.”
“Yes.” She nodded. “More than a shock. I—must confess, I have no idea what I’ll do now.” She took another bite, realizing that she needed to eat as much as possible. Who knew when her next meal might be—now that Mr. Maynard had passed?
“I’m gonna take that as a cry for help.” Johnny’s eyes twinkled, and in spite of her dire circumstances, Gabby had to smile.
“I don’t wish to trouble you. You’ve got your own worries, I’m sure.”
“I do. And they’ll be here tomorrow on the stage.” He cut the last of his meat and took a bite.
“They?”
“My sister’s kids.” His voice was low. “She passed away last month, and her husband contacted me. Told me about her death, her funeral, his new marriage, and wanted me to take their kids.”
Gabby sat forward, putting her hand across his without thinking. “Johnny, I’m so sorry! What kind of man would do such a thing? Those poor children.”
He nodded. “I agreed, of course. Though…I don’t know the first thing about kids.” He smiled. “I’m gonna have to be a fast learner.”
Gabby’s heart warmed at his words, and his willingness to change everything in his life for his sister’s children. “How old are they?”
“Young.” His brow furrowed. “Stairsteps. James is the eldest, at six. Monty is five, and Rema is four. Their father was gracious enough to send a nursemaid to accompany them on their journey.”
Suddenly, Gabby found herself hoping the woman would leave the children and hop on the next stage leaving town. In the next breath, she couldn’t believe she could be so selfish. The nursemaid was most likely a kind, loving soul who had agreed to travel with the children in their best interests. How could she ever hope to take her place? And what if Johnny—Mr. Rainbolt—would rather have an experienced nursemaid for his charges than someone who had only occasionally had a passing acquaintance with other people’s youngsters? She probably should have told him she had little to no experience with children, either…at least, not yet.
Hope slid to the pit of her stomach. “I’d love to help you get them settled in, Johnny. I love children.” She thought of how soon the time would come when she’d have one of her own. “But surely, the nursemaid will stay. How could she not?”
“Easily. She’s not from here. From…all indications, I believe she’ll be happy to go back to Colorado, where my sister and her husband had moved and were living at the time of her death. It seems Miss Tarndale has already been offered a position there with my ex-brother-in-law and his new—uh—wife.”
Gabby couldn’t help noticing the bitterness in his tone—and who could blame him?
“What will you do?” Her words were breathless—and hopeful. She had completely forgotten about the remains of her meal at this turn of the conversation.
He leaned back, giving her an assessing look. “I think we can both solve our problems with a vow and a ring, Gabby. What do you say? Will you marry me?”
****
Gabby hadn’t expected that kind of bluntness. Johnny could tell by the way she straightened, her spine automatically stiffening, her eyes widening for a moment. Why had he put it to her like that? Like he was doing both of them a big favor?
“You want me to marry you?”
She sounded as dumbstruck as she looked.
“I—hardly know how to answer…” Her gaze went past him to the window. Was she trying to figure out how to make an escape? Oh, no. She was too much the lady for that.
“Gabby, I—I’m sorry. I should’ve asked you in a better way.” He raked his fingers through his dark hair. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
At that, she smiled—a beautiful, wide smile that melted his heart on the spot.
“I appreciate honesty, Mr. Rainbolt—Johnny. I admit, today has been one surprise after another—what with discovering Mr. Maynard had passed on…and the…manner in which it took place.” She brought her gaze to bear on him, scrutinizing him, as if to determine how her words affected him.
He met it, head-on, with no hesitancy. She intrigued him, and everything about her drew him to her—the faint scent of honeysuckle, the beautiful rich silkiness of her auburn hair, the delicate slant of her facial structure. Her voice, though cultured, was warm with emotion.
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