The Rails to Love Romance Collection

by Brandmeyer, Diana Lesire; Cabot, Amanda; Carter, Lisa

  “Wyatt—”

  “Shh.” He traced her cheekbone. “I’ve fallen in love with you and want to marry you, spend the rest of my life with you. I want to take you to Yellowstone for our honeymoon. They’ve opened a hotel there. I think you’d like to see water fountains that shoot from the earth. So, would you be my wife?”

  Her heart beat so hard she felt it would break through her chest. He loved her. Despite what almost happened with Griff and that she could shoot better than he could. He wanted to take her on adventures, not leave her at home. She considered what Aunt Cora had said about being a missionary wherever she lived.

  “Mary?”

  “I want to marry you, Wyatt. I have dreams of helping those in need. Would you be willing to let me do that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I want to be a missionary, but I don’t have to travel. Though I’d like to, even though this trip was a bit more exciting than I expected. I want to raise money to help missionary families.”

  “I’ll join you. We’ll go to India, if you like.”

  He would, too. Warmth spread though her. “Yes, Wyatt, I’ll marry you, if my father approves.” She lowered her chin and canted her body until her forehead rested against his chest.

  He didn’t move.

  She stayed there, feeling the rise and fall of his breath. “He won’t, though, because you’re a reporter.”

  She felt a gentle kiss on the top of her head. Had anyone seen? It didn’t matter, because the star show was nothing like the fireworks bursting inside her.

  “What if Father says you can’t marry me?”

  “Don’t worry. He will approve, as will mine.”

  “How do you know?” Mary twisted her fingers together.

  “Because my full name is William Wyatt Crossen. My father owns a large shipping company, and I’m his heir.”

  She stepped back. “I don’t understand. You lied to me? And what will our last name be? What am I to call you?”

  He scratched his head. “My father insisted I shorten our surname when I became a reporter to distance himself. I’ve always liked Wyatt better.”

  “You’ll have to figure this out before you speak to my father.”

  A satisfied smile lit Wyatt’s face. “So, you will marry me.” He drew her close and kissed her.

  Mary’s knees knocked, weak as a newborn kitten’s. She might have even purred.

  At the Pueblo station, weary-looking musicians played as the passengers disembarked from the train. There were signs and street vendors everywhere even though the train arrived late.

  “Aunt Cora, this is amazing. What it must be like to be greeted like this at the end of every great adventure.” Mary twisted from side to side to take in as much of the festivities as possible.

  “If you have a family to return to, it is like this without the vendors and massive crowds. But it’s even more special to be greeted by someone who loves you. Winnie, you’re staying with us at the hotel. Mr. Cross is making sure your luggage is sent to our rooms.”

  “I don’t know how to thank you and Mary for taking me in.” Winnie stood taller and her smile appeared softer, not forced as it had been on the first part of their trip.

  Mary hooked arms with Winnie. “Think of yourself as my sister.”

  “No, I think she’ll be the cousin you didn’t have.” Aunt Cora beamed. “I didn’t have a chance to have a child. I’m taking Winnie for my own. My brother has his child, and now I have mine.”

  Winnie turned to Mary. “Is that okay with you?”

  “Yes, of course! Sister, cousin—at this point in our lives, either would be perfect. But you must promise to look after my father, too, after I marry Wyatt. If I marry him.”

  “But you must! He’s such a gentleman, and he loves you. Everyone can see that.”

  “First, he has to decide who he is, and Father has to give his blessing.” And that she wasn’t so sure about. He didn’t care for people who lied or for newspaper men.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mary paced the floor of her upstairs bedroom back home in St. Louis. She missed the excitement of traveling with Aunt Cora. Now Winnie went with her. It didn’t feel right that she was left behind. Even Wyatt had disappeared after he spoke to her father about marriage. Some things he had to do, he’d said. What would she do if he never returned?

  She pulled the curtain aside and saw a carriage pull up. Wyatt stepped out. Her heart thudded. He came. She ran for the stairs, then stopped at the top. She couldn’t very well greet him like her father’s pet dog. She backed against the wall and waited an eternity for her father to call for her.

  “Mo, please come down.”

  She wasted no time bouncing down the stairs, light as air. “Yes, Father?”

  He tweaked her ear. “I know you were up there waiting. Wyatt is here to speak with you.” He kissed her cheek. “You have my blessing, if he suits you.”

  Mary entered the parlor where Wyatt waited. “You came back.”

  “I said I would. I need to tell you something.”

  “Continue.”

  “I’ve spoken to my father about continuing to write. With my mother’s influence, he decided I can write under my own name, if I write for missionary magazines.”

  Mary’s heart quickened. God was going to answer her prayer.

  He knelt and grasped her hands. “I love you. Would you be my wife and accompany me on my travels to gather stories for the magazines until such a time as we have a family?”

  “Yes, and I will travel wherever you go.”

  Mary Owen and William Crossen’s wedding was the event of the season and the talk of the town. Her father spared no expense, but Mary let him only after he promised to do the same for Winnie when she married.

  Mary wore a white satin gown from New York instead of Paris, because she refused to wait for a dress to be made and shipped. Organ notes signaled it was time to stroll down the aisle with her father.

  “Mo, I pray for a love as strong and wonderful as what your mother and I had.”

  “Thank you, Father.” Mary wiped a tear away. “I love William, but I will miss you.”

  “I know.” He took her arm and led her to William.

  Soon it was her turn to pledge her vow. “I, Mary, take thee, Wyatt-William—”

  “My little outlaw, call me Wyatt or William. I will love you forever and always.”

  “And I you.”

  The train rumbled against the tracks. Steam billowed white against the blue sky. Aunt Cora and Winnie accompanied Mary and Wyatt to see them off.

  “I’ll find George and get our luggage settled while you say your good-byes.” Wyatt tipped his hat and left.

  “Mary, take care and think before you do something adventurous.” Aunt Cora hugged her tightly.

  “I promise. Winnie, take care of Aunt Cora and Father.” She hugged Winnie. “He mentioned having a dinner for you to meet a possible husband. Don’t be afraid. He was right. Marriage is wonderful. Aunt Cora, he said the same about finding you a match.”

  “Hmpf.” Cora shook her head. “Winnie, let’s host a dinner for my brother.”

  Wyatt returned. “George has taken care of our belongings. Mrs. Crossen, are you ready to take our first adventure as a married couple?”

  “I am. Bye, Aunt Cora and Winnie.” The warmth of his hand on hers touched her heart. God had provided.

  “Yellowstone, here we come. Bears, waterfalls, and geysers are the perfect way to start our life together.” He squeezed her hand. “I love you, Outlaw.”

  “And I love you.”

  Christian author Diana Lesire Brandmeyer writes historical and contemporary romances about women choosing to challenge their fears to become the strong women God intends. Author of A Mind of Her Own, A Bride’s Dilemma in Friendship, Tennessee, and We’re Not Blended We’re Pureed: a Survivor’s Guide to Blended Families. Sign up for her newsletter and get free stuff at www.dianabrandmeyer.com.

  The Depot Bride


  by Amanda Cabot

  Chapter One

  Early March, 1886

  Cheyenne, Wyoming Territory

  She was late. Eugenia Bell frowned as the church bell rang eight times. Breakfast would be ready. Papa and Aunt Louisa would be seated at the table, waiting while she… Just one more. Eugenia’s frown turned into a smile as she focused the camera. Last night’s frost had coated the lilac bushes, encasing the slender branches in ice, turning the ordinary brown stems into something gloriously beautiful. Just one more.

  “Eugenia! Are you out there?” Though Aunt Louisa would never shout, her voice carried clearly through the still morning air, a hint of annoyance coloring her normally sweet tone.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Eugenia rose and headed inside, knowing she could delay no longer. “I’ll be ready in a minute.” Quickly she doffed her coat, washed her hands, and followed her aunt into the breakfast room.

  Though Papa had already seated himself, he rose to hold out Aunt Louisa’s chair and waited until Norton, the butler who’d been with them since the house was built, placed plates of food in front of them before he bowed his head.

  When Papa had given thanks for the meal, he took a sip of coffee and turned to Eugenia. “What was it this time?”

  “Lilac bushes.” Eugenia couldn’t help smiling as she thought of the scene that had greeted her this morning. “Oh, Papa, they were the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. The way the sunshine was sparkling on the ice made it more brilliant than a crystal goblet. I’ve never seen anything so wonderful.”

  Though Aunt Louisa gave a small sniff to indicate her annoyance, the corners of Papa’s mouth curved up in what appeared to be amusement. “It seems to me you said the same thing last week, only that time it was the sun setting behind the seamstress’s shop.”

  Eugenia continued spreading marmalade on a piece of toast. “Madame Charlotte is not simply a seamstress, Papa. She designs the finest gowns in the city.”

  “And I have the bills to prove it.” Papa directed his attention to Aunt Louisa, who had already eaten one of the two soft-boiled eggs that, along with a single piece of toast, constituted her normal breakfast. Marmalade, Aunt Louisa had once declared, was not good for the digestion. Neither Eugenia nor Papa agreed.

  Papa slathered an extra-thick coating of marmalade on his toast as he smiled at Aunt Louisa. “The next time you and Eugenia are there, you should determine whether Madame Charlotte is able to make a suitable wedding dress.”

  “Wedding?” The bite of bacon that had tasted so delicious a moment ago threatened to lodge in Eugenia’s throat. She knew Papa wanted her to marry—he’d told her countless times that her mother had been his wife for more than four years by the time she was Eugenia’s age—but this was the first time he’d spoken as if her wedding were imminent.

  Papa nodded. “Chauncey and I spoke after last night’s meeting. I gave him permission to court you.”

  “Chauncey Keaton?” The words came out as little more than a squeak.

  Papa nodded again. “He’s the only Chauncey I know. He’s a fine man and one I’ll be proud to call my son-in-law.” Papa continued stirring sugar into his coffee as if this were an ordinary conversation. “Chauncey will make sure you’re well cared for.”

  Eugenia did not doubt that, but she wanted more. She wanted love. Though Mama had been gone for more than ten years now, Eugenia could not forget their conversations. “Love is the most wonderful thing in the world,” Mama had said as she’d told Eugenia about the day she’d met Papa and how she’d known he was the man she wanted to marry from the first time she set eyes on him. “He made my heart beat faster,” she had said, “and when he touched my hand, I thought I would swoon.”

  Though Chauncey had never set Eugenia’s heart to pounding and she had never come close to swooning over his presence, she could not argue with Papa. Chauncey was a fine man. Like Papa, he’d made his fortune in cattle. Men respected him for his business knowledge. Women considered Eugenia fortunate to have caught his interest. But that wasn’t enough.

  “I’m not ready to marry,” she said firmly.

  Papa looked up from his scrambled eggs and nodded. “I know that. That’s why I told Chauncey the courtship will last at least six months. I want you to have the chance to see that he’s the right man for you. You know I want you to be happy.”

  “Yes.” Although Papa was rarely home, when he was, he was kind to Eugenia, asking about her days, bringing her small gifts, even noticing when she wore a new dress.

  “I bought you that camera, didn’t I?” When Eugenia nodded, he continued. “I’ll admit that I didn’t like the idea at first, but you proved me wrong. You’re a fine photographer.”

  Though Eugenia wished Papa hadn’t chosen the same adjective he’d used to describe Chauncey to also describe her skill with a camera, she was pleased by his praise. “Thank you, Papa. I enjoy taking pictures.”

  “I know that. Your photographs were what gave me the idea for a new project.” He took a bite of the eggs, chewing them carefully before he spoke. “Everyone in Cheyenne is excited that we’re getting a new depot.”

  “Finally.” Aunt Louisa wrinkled her nose. “The old one is a disgrace. Why, the men won’t even wait there. They use the hotel lobby instead.”

  “All of that will change with the new building. It will be the finest depot on the UP line and the finest building in Cheyenne.” Papa’s eyes glowed with enthusiasm, reminding Eugenia that, as a major stockholder in the Union Pacific Railroad, he had a vested interest in it. “I want to ensure no one forgets this event, so I’ve decided we need a book to commemorate it. I want to document every step with your photographs.”

  For a second, Eugenia could not speak. Not even in her dreams had she imagined anything like this. “Oh, Papa, that would be wonderful!” She hadn’t thought he understood how important photography was to her, how much happiness it brought her, but it seemed he did.

  “I need a special writer to tell the story,” Papa said. “I’ve had my eye on a man from Denver. If everything works out the way I hope, he’ll be in Cheyenne next week.” Papainclined his head as he addressed Eugenia. “Since you two will be working together, I’ve offered him a room here. I will expect you to make him feel welcome.”

  “Of course.” As she pictured a man of her father’s age, Eugenia tried not to frown. No matter how boring the writer might be, working with him would be a small price to pay for the joy of seeing her photographs in a book. And maybe, just maybe, she would find a way to convince Papa that Chauncey was not the man for her.

  Mason Farling was bored. Straightening his shoulders, he tried not to yawn. When Mr. Hudson had hired him as a reporter for Denver’s premier newspaper, he’d thought he would be writing articles of substance, covering important news. Instead, he’d found himself assigned to nothing more than church socials and parades. Today was the worst. He’d been here for two hours listening to women debate the merit of a bake sale over a rummage sale. Mason feared the seasons would change before they made a decision. Either that or they’d insist he drink another glass of the sickeningly sweet punch that had made his teeth ache.

  Desperate, he spoke for the first time since the debate had begun. “Ladies, I know I’m here only to report your decision, but if I might make a suggestion, I wondered if you’d considered combining both ideas? It seems to me that people might become hungry as they shopped and would visit the baked goods tables. And those who came for a cake or pie might be enticed by the other items.” When no one spoke, perhaps because they were shocked to hear his voice, Mason added, “I think offering both food and general merchandise would increase attendance.”

  The response was immediate. Everyone began talking at once, and though it took what seemed like an interminable amount of time, the result was that they agreed with him and adjourned the meeting.

  Taking a deep breath as he emerged from the overly warm building, Mason shook his head as he wondered how much more of
this he could tolerate. The problem was the alternative was worse. No matter how much he hated feeling as if he were wasting his time with meetings like today’s, he did not want to return to the farm and listen to his stepmother crow that she’d been right and that Mason would never be a writer.

  As he approached the newspaper office, Mason said a silent prayer. Lord, You know what is in my heart. Guide me along Your path.

  “There’s a letter for you, Mr. Farling.”

  Mason stopped, startled by the mail clerk’s greeting. This was the first time he’d received a letter at the office. The few times his family wrote, they sent the mail to his boardinghouse. Curious, he opened the envelope as soon as he reached his desk. As he scanned the contents and the author’s signature, Mason’s astonishment grew. Is this Your answer, Lord?

  He read the letter again, making certain he had not missed anything. “I was impressed with your article about the ladies’ quilting society,” the author had written. “You turned an ordinary event into something that appealed to many readers.”

  Mason remembered that meeting and how he had struggled to present the ladies’ quilts for the homeless project in such a way that others in the community would contribute fabric and thread. Not once had he considered that anyone outside of Denverwould read the article, much less form an opinion about him based on it.

  “I have a new project,” the letter continued. “I want to produce a book to commemorate the construction of the UP depot here in Cheyenne. I have already engaged a photographer and hope you’ll consider being the writer to tell the story that accompanies those photos. It would involve living in Cheyenne for the next eighteen months. I am willing to offer you a salary of…”

  Mason swallowed loudly. He hadn’t imagined it. This man was offering him more than twice what he would earn in Denver during that time. “In addition, I will provide room and board at my home.” Mason had no doubt that the accommodations would be far more luxurious than his boardinghouse. Erastus Bell, the man who’d sent this incredible letter, was one of Cheyenne’s millionaire cattle barons. He was offering Mason an opportunity that came only once in a lifetime.