Love Is Patient Romance Collection

by Vetsch, Erica; McDonough, Vickie; Barton, Janet Lee

  The cowboy jammed his fists on his waist and widened his stance. “That’s ridiculous. Granddad would never send away for a bride. What kind of hoax are you trying to pull, Cummings?”

  “No hoax. Gareth Kittrick, Harrison Garvey, Zeb, and Joe Barrett all worked it out together. One bride apiece. All sisters.”

  His narrowed eyes angled toward Gwendolyn then back to the preacher. “We’ve been bitten by this particular bug before, remember? And we all lived to regret it, though some not as long as others.”

  “It’s true as I’m standing here. Lightning don’t strike twice. This one won’t be like Edith. Let’s get to the marrying.”

  “Maybe you didn’t hear me, Reverend. There’s no marrying, because there’s no groom. Zeb’s dead, remember? You can just take this”—he jerked his thumb toward Gwendolyn—“this woman back where she came from.”

  “Then you marry her. I’m due in Dellsville, and you ain’t my last stop before then. Won’t take but a few minutes to say the words, and I can be on my way.”

  The scowl on the young man’s face could’ve started a fire. “Whatever scheme you and Granddad and this money-grubbing female have cooked up, count me out. I’d rather be shot like a rabid coyote than marry a mail-order bride, especially a gold digger who would come all this way to marry a man three times her age.”

  Gwendolyn blinked, her ire rising to replace her bewilderment. It appeared knights in shining armor were singularly lacking on the Wyoming plains. She marched over to him and poked him in his well-muscled chest. “Sir, I’ll admit to being flummoxed at this turn of events, but at least I haven’t resorted to wild accusations or name-calling. For your information, I wouldn’t have you if you were hung from top to toe with diamonds.”

  Matt Parker couldn’t have been more stunned if she’d walked up and slugged him. For such a dainty-looking female, she had some grit, standing up to him that way. He stepped back and resisted rubbing the spot where she’d jabbed him. “Fine then. We’re agreed. Nobody’s getting married here. You can put those things back in the wagon, Cummings. The lady isn’t staying.”

  Reverend Cummings got an even more mulish set to his jaw. “She surely is. I told Zeb I would pick her up, deliver her here, and see to the ceremony. He promised her a wedding, and a wedding is just what we’re going to have.”

  “But how? Thankfully, a dead man can’t get married, no matter what promises he made or what plans this finagler dreamed up.” Matt ignored the indignant gasp from the girl.

  “Zeb might be dead, but you ain’t. You can hold up your granddad’s end of the bargain. And don’t give me that look. You’ll keep his word, because there’s no other help for it. I can’t take her on with me, so get that notion out of your head.”

  Stepping between them, the girl glared from Matt to the reverend. “I’m not staying.” She pushed her bonnet back, revealing hair the color of ripe wheat that curled around her face and looked as if it wanted to romp free of the pins holding it high on the back of her head. When she turned the full force of her gaze on him, he couldn’t help but notice the deep purple-blue of her eyes, like the east sky just after sunset. “But I’ll have you know, I came all the way from Massachusetts in good faith.” She waved a piece of paper under his nose. “I have a telegram inviting me to come and asking me to hurry. I’m not in the habit of trapping men into marriages they don’t want, nor am I after anyone’s money. It’s shameful of you to cast aspersions on my character when you don’t even know me.” She turned to the preacher. “Please return my things to the wagon.”

  Matt’s men had stepped closer, eyebrows raised, smirking and elbowing one another. Having them witness this little set-to wouldn’t do much for his authority around the place. “Don’t you boys have something else you should be doing?”

  “Nothing more interesting than this.” Jackson tugged off his gloves and stuck them into his belt. “If you don’t want her, boss, I’ll have her. She’s a looker. I wouldn’t mind coming home to a pretty filly like her every night.”

  Matt scowled. “Watch your mouth, Jackson.”

  “Matt?”

  The soft voice pulled his head around.

  Betsy. He’d forgotten clean about her. “Be right there.” Leaping to the porch, he held the screen door open. “Can you manage, or you want some help?”

  “I’ve got it, I think.” She wheeled herself through the opening, clunking down over the threshold. “Whoa, a bit bumpy.”

  “I’ll fix that for you as soon as I can.” Why hadn’t he thought to ease that threshold when he built the ramp the other day? He added that task to his already gargantuan to-do list. At least the chore would keep him close to the house. With Granddad gone and Betsy confined to this contraption, he couldn’t stray far from home these days.

  “I know, Matt. Don’t worry so much. We’re all adapting as fast as we can.” Her sweet smile ripped through his gut. How could she be so calm, so brave and accepting? How could a barely fifteen-year-old girl be so mature? He wanted to yell, scream, kick something, demand God tell him why. Why would He afflict such a gentle creature as Betsy with a disease that robbed her slowly of even the ability to walk? Why had He taken Granddad so suddenly, just when Matt needed him the most?

  “Matt?”

  He shook his head, clearing his thoughts, and let go of the door. It slapped, bounced, and settled.

  She maneuvered her chair awkwardly toward the ramp. “Oh, hello, Reverend Cummings. How are you? Is your lumbago better?” Just like her to ask after someone else’s ailment instead of dwelling on her own. Cummings grunted and kept rootling around in the wagon.

  Matt guided her chair down the ramp and along the path to the gate. “Betsy, are you sure you should be outside? You aren’t supposed to tax yourself, remember?”

  “Don’t fuss. I’ll be fine.” She extended her hand to the two women. “Hello, I’m Betsy, Matt’s sister.”

  Matt held his breath. Folks could be so cruel, assuming just because someone was in a wheelchair, she must be an idiot who should be in an asylum. If this woman who claimed to be Granddad’s bride so much as sneered, he’d pack her into Cummings’s wagon like a bag of feed and send her on her way before she could say “rags to riches.”

  When she smiled with real friendliness at his sister, his breath snagged in his chest. In one thing at least, Jackson was right. She was a looker. But then again, Edith had been, too.

  “How do you do? It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Gwendolyn Gerhard.” She took Betsy’s hand. “I’m so sorry about your grandfather.”

  “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” Betsy let her head rest against the wheelchair’s high back. “I’m only sorry Granddad can’t be here. I know he would’ve loved meeting you. He was really anticipating your arrival.”

  Matt rounded the chair. “What do you mean, you’ve been looking forward to meeting her? You knew she was coming?”

  Betsy swallowed and nodded. “Granddad told me he was sending for someone.” She toyed with the end of her braid, the coppery-red hair gleaming in the sunshine. “He said not to mention it to you just yet, that he would do it when the time was right. I guess he didn’t get around to it before …” She let her words trail away.

  Matt ground his back teeth. So this was real and not a hoax. Cantankerous, foolish old man. “Just what was his game? Didn’t he learn anything from Edith? Why would the old man want to get married again?”

  A peal of laughter caused every head to turn Betsy’s way. “You didn’t think Granddad brought her out here to marry him?” Again she laughed, such a rare sound these days, he wanted to bottle it. “He brought her out here for you. Said you weren’t getting around to the job quickly enough, that Edith had soured you on women, and he didn’t like the way you were headed.” She grasped Matt’s hand. “You aren’t going to send her away, are you?” Her eyes pleaded with him. “I’ve been holding on, just waiting for her to arrive.”

  He’d been hard pressed to ever deny Betsy any
thing, and now with her trapped in that chair for the rest of her life, he found it even more difficult. But marriage was asking a bit much of a man.

  Cummings thumped one of the girl’s bags onto the porch. “Now see here, Parker. I’m in a hurry. I can’t take the girl with me. I’ve got to take her sister out to Barrett’s range, and you know he can’t board her there. And Dellsville is no place for a decent woman. I’m supposed to be preaching a funeral service the minute I can get there, and daylight’s wasting. Let’s get to the marrying.”

  “I am not marrying her.”

  Every head turned their way, and Matt realized he’d all but shouted the words. Diamond-hard light glared in Cummings’s eyes, and Matt had a feeling fire and brimstone might pour out of his mouth at any second. Not too many men cared to defy Cummings, who—it was whispered—had been a companion of John Brown’s and contributed personally to giving Bleeding Kansas its nickname.

  Jackson left his place among the drovers and sidled toward the girls. Though a good cowhand, he had a well-earned reputation as a skirt chaser, and the sight of him ogling the sisters tightened Matt’s muscles. He stepped between his hired hand and the women.

  Cummings crossed his arms. “I can’t take her on with me.”

  Aware of the stares and anticipation hanging in the air, he found himself looking at the woman. Gwendolyn. What kind of an outlandish name was that? She clenched her fists and chewed her lower lip. She looked so vulnerable, standing in this circle of men like a filly being auctioned off.

  “Reverend Cummings?” Betsy eased her chair forward. “When will you be coming back through this way?”

  He scowled, his bushy eyebrows thrusting outward. “Six weeks, give or take. I have some business to transact over in Medicine Bow, and then I’ll have to make my regular circuit. Why?”

  “I thought, maybe, Gwendolyn could stay here until you come back. There’s a spare bed in my room, and we could all get to know one another. Then, if it didn’t work out for her to marry Matt, you could pick her up on your way back through here.” Betsy lifted her face toward Matt, her eyes filled with appeal. “Please, Matt, can’t she stay, at least for a little while? She would be company for me.”

  He found himself giving in, all the while deriding himself for being a fool.

  Chapter 2

  That’s settled. I’ll see you in six weeks or so to sort this whole thing out.” Pointing to Emmeline, Reverend Cummings motioned toward the wagon seat. “We’re squandering daylight, so no dillydallying.”

  Emmeline ignored the cleric grouch and gripped Gwendolyn’s hands, drawing her away from the crowd. “Gwendolyn, what are you going to do? What happens in six weeks when the reverend returns? Where will you go?”

  “I don’t know.” Her eyes stung, her windpipe constricted, and she clutched her elder sister’s hands as if they were her only lifeline in a tossing sea. While she hadn’t expected hearts and flowers, she certainly hadn’t expected to be treated like a leper in the place that was supposed to be her new home. The Parkers acted as if she were goods received on approval. We’ll try her out for a few weeks, and if we don’t like her—and I expect we won’t—you can take her back where she came from.

  “Hurry up!” The reverend slammed the tailgate shut.

  Emmeline hugged her tight. “You’re the smartest one of us all. You’ll think of something.” Her whisper did little to bolster Gwendolyn’s confidence, and within moments, she found herself watching her sister disappear with the preacher. Emmeline waved and looked back until dust and distance obscured her.

  Blinking and swallowing against the lump in her throat, Gwendolyn reminded herself that she had vowed to embrace the adventure. The reminder didn’t work, and a tear slipped over her lower lashes. She swiped at it, aware of the stares. Nobody seemed to know what to say or where to look now that a stranger had been tossed into their midst like a rock in a pond.

  At last, Betsy broke the silence. “Matt, why don’t you bring the luggage in, and we’ll show Gwendolyn the house?”

  Her words broke him free of whatever had him trapped … probably shock, if her own reaction was anything to judge by. “Good idea. You men, get back to work. Those chores aren’t going to do themselves.” He hoisted her trunk. Her valise sat beside the gate, but when she picked it up, Betsy reached for it.

  “I’ll help. Set it on my lap.” She reached for the bag, laughing. “Really, I can do it.” Plumping the carpetbag, which wasn’t all that heavy, onto her knees, she grabbed the wheels on the chair.

  Gwendolyn relaxed a bit at this show of friendliness and took hold of the handle across the back of the chair. “I tell you what, you carry, and I’ll push.”

  Aware of Matt’s scrutiny, she maneuvered the chair carefully up the ramp and into the house. She stopped just inside the door, stunned.

  The front room was crammed with furniture, settees, chairs, tables, lamps. Rugs lay over the top of one another, and bric-a-brac crowded shelves and tables. Heavy drapes blocked out the sunshine, and from what she could tell in the low light, dust cloaked every surface.

  A narrow aisle led between the furnishings, and Matt stalked ahead, through a doorway in the far wall, refusing to offer any explanation as to the condition of the parlor. “This way.”

  Maneuvering the chair after him, Gwendolyn arrived at what she sensed was the hub of this home. Stark in comparison to the ornate parlor, the kitchen contained plain furnishings and an immense black stove. Dirty dishes sat on the table and counter. And a bare, glass-paned window let in light.

  “We just finished lunch.” Matt’s defensive tone flicked her, but he continued. “Betsy isn’t up to much housework, and I’ve been busy. I didn’t exactly know we were going to have company.” He trod heavily on the last word, emphasizing the temporariness of the situation. Her trunk landed with a thud on the floorboards. “You’ll bunk with Betsy through here.”

  Gwendolyn shot Betsy a quick glance and was rewarded by a warm smile. Someone at least was glad she was here. Sharing a room with Betsy would be like sharing with Emmeline back home.

  “You’re going to love it here.” Betsy gripped the valise handle. “When Granddad said he was sending for someone, I was so happy. I’ve always wanted a sister.”

  Matt stiffened. “Hold it right there, young lady. I am not getting married, so don’t get any ideas. This is a mess of Granddad’s making, and it’s going to take some time to sort out, but six weeks from now when the reverend returns, you and I will be on the porch waving good-bye to this whole problem, understand? Anyway, you heard her. She wouldn’t have me if I came dipped in diamonds.”

  Gwendolyn’s ire flared. “Would you stop referring to me as a mess and a problem? It’s not my fault your grandfather didn’t explain things to you, or that he isn’t here to do so now.” She crossed the room and planted herself squarely in front of him. “If I had my druthers, I’d have been out of here so fast you wouldn’t have seen me for dust.” She snapped her fingers under his nose.

  He blinked, taking a step back.

  Betsy giggled. “You sound a little like Granddad standing up to Matt that way. I’m so glad you’re here. Let’s get your things put away, and don’t mind him. He hates change of any kind, and things have been changing around here rather rapidly.”

  “I do not.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  He carried her trunk into the bedroom, and Betsy followed with the valise, both of them bickering in a way so familiar to Gwendolyn, a giant aching loneliness for her sisters swept over her. Though she chafed at her sisters’ strictures, she missed them and would’ve given anything at that moment to have them here to boss her around.

  “Are you coming?” Matt stuck his head through the doorway. She stopped woolgathering and entered the bedroom.

  A chest of drawers stood between two iron bedsteads, though only one bed was made up. A china ewer and bowl painted with lavender flowers sat atop the dresser. A thin, limp set of curtains hung at the window. A feed st
ore calendar adorned one wall, the only nonutilitarian object in the room. A chill went through Gwendolyn.

  Matt slid the trunk toward the foot of the unmade bed. “Betsy can tell you where to find clean sheets and such, and you can unpack some things, but don’t settle in too deep. As soon as I can make arrangements, I’ll get you on your way back to where you came from.” He took the valise from Betsy’s lap and set it on top of the trunk.

  Gwendolyn bit back the sharp reply that rose to her lips. He didn’t have to keep reminding her that he planned to throw her out like used dishwater. “Very well.”

  “I’ll help. It’s going to be so nice to have another girl to talk to.” Betsy noticed the ribbon holding her braid was coming loose, but when she tried to tie it, her fingers stumbled. Frowning, she tried again, but the shiny ribbon slipped from her grip. “Fiddlesticks, I’m all fumble-fingered today.”

  “Maybe she could leave the unpacking until later. You’re tired.” Matt stepped forward and tied the ribbon for her, his voice gruff. “You need to rest. You know the doctor said your symptoms get worse when you’re tired.”

  Betsy submitted, and relief passed over Matt’s face. He patted her shoulder awkwardly, and she smiled, covering his hand with her own for an instant. Gwendolyn tugged her bottom lip as she left them alone and returned to the kitchen.

  A man like Matt, capable of such tenderness toward his sister, would make someone a wonderful husband. He clearly cared about Betsy, was protective of her. Somewhere under that gruff, contrary, dragonish exterior, there might be a knight in shining armor with a chivalrous heart.

  But how did one go about exposing it?

  Matt lifted his sister from her chair and eased her down on top of the covers. “You take a good nap.” He brushed the red curls on her forehead. “I’ll be close by when you wake up.”

  Betsy grabbed his hand. “Matt, she’s nice, isn’t she? And pretty. Did you see the way she took my hand and looked right into my eyes? Like I was a real person.”