The Bride Lottery: A Sweet Historical Mail Order Bride Romance (Prosperity's Mail Order Brides Book 1)

by Kristin Holt

  “I’ll finish writing up your order, Mrs. Brandt.” Sam offered a smile that was only half happy businessman and the rest…well, the rest had proved decidedly interested male.

  The recognition thrilled her.

  “Knowing shipping rates from there to here,” he added, “I suspect they’ll charge a half-dollar at most.”

  Evelyn opened her handbag, intending to withdraw enough money to cover the garment and delivery fees. She regretted parting with so much of the meager stipend Father had provided for food along her journey…but if she never went on to California, why would it matter?

  The way things were developing with Sam Kochler, she had no intention of leaving Prosperity.

  “Thank you for your business, Mrs. Brandt.” Sam closed the address book, his smile as warm and genuine as any she’d ever seen him wear. He took her money, tucking it inside the address volume along with his letter, ensuring privacy. “I’ll see it’s mailed out promptly. With luck, you’ll be in receipt of your package in three to four weeks.”

  “My thanks.”

  “Before you go,” he said, the sparkle in his hazel eyes warming from business to personal interest, “a supper will be held tonight on the green for everyone. I’ll call for you at six.”

  Though it was simply him following through with his pretend courtship, her heart didn’t seem to understand the ‘pretend’ part.

  The foolish thing skipped a beat and she smiled like a schoolgirl. She certainly didn’t have to playact interest in Sam Kochler. “Very well. I’ll expect you at six.”

  As she nodded at Jack and headed for the doorway, Evelyn assessed the success of her mission. Soon, she’d be in receipt of the garment she desperately needed. Catherine was certainly correct about her health benefiting from the support. Most importantly, she’d ascertained—if Caroline’s knowledge were to be trusted—that Sam Kochler was indeed most interested.

  Evelyn couldn’t help but grin like a fool as she hurried back to the Quarters. She couldn’t wait to tell Caroline.

  Chapter Six

  Evelyn knew Sam’s offer of protection, under guise of courtship, was too good to be true.

  Oh, it wasn’t that Sam failed her. Far from it. He’d made sure everybody knew he was courting her. He’d accompanied her to a supper gathering on the green, had sat with her in the Quarters’ parlor again last night with plenty of other brides and hopeful suitors coming and going.

  It hadn’t been enough.

  The proof lay in the pudding…and as it stood, it seemed a handful of the thirty nine would-be husbands still believed her to be easy pickings.

  While working with several other young ladies in the side yard of the Quarters, washing their laundry and hanging it to dry, three—count them, three—men had approached and expressed interest.

  Latest evidence: Albert Journey, the barkeep.

  Albert removed his hat from his head, leaving a clearly defined ring around the jet-black hair that hung limp to his shoulders. “As you be needing a father for that babe, and I’m not that picky about a wife, I’m thinking you should marry me.”

  The world’s sorriest excuse for a proposal she’d ever heard.

  She plunked her wet cambric dress into the laundry basket, considered throwing the clothespins at Albert’s head, and said, “No, thank you, Mr. Journey.”

  On this side of the Brides Quarters, the clothesline had full sun at this time of day. Four other young ladies worked in the shade of the fir trees, scrubbing laundry against a wash board. They’d stopped working and stared, unabashed, in her direction.

  Standing in the footpath that served as a street, running cross-wise to humble Main Street, two more bachelors listened on with obvious interest. What, had they lined up to have a go at her once this fellow walked away? One of them laughed and called, “You giving up so easily, Al?”

  Evelyn narrowed her eyes at Albert Journey. She’d smelled liquor on his breath. No doubt enjoyed owning a saloon. But he didn’t seem drunk.

  The two bachelors were joined by yet another. She’d gathered quite an audience.

  What, did everyone in Prosperity think her desperate? She made a most unladylike growl of frustration.

  Albert twisted his hat in his hands. “I meant no offense, ma’am.”

  Of course he had. She lifted one brow, mimicking her mother’s imperious expression used mostly on impertinent household help and critics within her social circle. Until this moment, she’d vowed she’d never be like her mother, though it proved quite helpful.

  She followed Mother’s fine example of remaining stoically silent, allowing the fool to dig himself in deeper.

  The hat spun faster and he fumbled it. He bent to pick it up, wouldn’t quite meet her gaze, his attention settling squarely on her chin. “It just seemed to me,” he gulped, “you’re looking for a match, and I, uh…” His Adam’s apple bobbed with a swallow. He blinked furiously, a flush coloring his throat and cheeks crimson.

  This fellow wasn’t all bad, nothing like Putrid Pike. But she hadn’t any genuine interest in him.

  But he seemed to think differently. “I, uh…” He continued, his expression contracting on itself with consternation. “…I just figured you’d accept my honorable suit.”

  Oh, no. He thought she wouldn’t hold out, wouldn’t wait for Sam. After all, she evidently had a baby on the way. The simple muslin work-a-day dress she wore stretched so tight across her growing belly, the fact she was in the family way was evident for all to see.

  She folded her arms. Apparently he hadn’t heard her the first time. “No, thank you.”

  “But—” His mouth gaped. Not an attractive expression.

  Now, if Sam were to ask, for real…

  She bent to pick up the cambric dress, shook the wrinkles out, and draped it over the line. She’d just secured it with a second clothespin when a hand settled on her waist.

  Evelyn choked. She’d refused Albert and still he dared put hands on her? She spun, her heart lodged in her throat, her lungs frozen in mid-gasp. The rejected suitor stood too close, almost nose-to-nose. Unfortunately, she had turned toward him, so now his arm looped about her thickening waist.

  Her heartbeat was the first to recover, pounding so loud in her ears, chugging like a runaway locomotive. He stood far too close, his breath— surprisingly fresh with recent brushing—fanned her cheek. She stood frozen, her mind caught in the trap of his sly attack.

  He put his other arm about her waist and clasped his hands at the small of her back. This motion brought her round belly flush against his body.

  It felt so wrong, so improper, so distasteful. She’d never felt this trapped.

  Albert Journey grinned. “See? That ain’t so bad.”

  She gasped, realized her stalled lungs had been screaming for air. The fresh intake shook her fully alert, and she shoved both hands against the man’s chest.

  He laughed. “Hey, sweet thing. Settle down. I got you.”

  She shoved harder. This was not acceptable. “Let me go.”

  His smile faltered. Gone was the humble suitor act. Something in his eyes hardened, the hopeful smile about his lips hardened into a thin line. A muscle in his jaw ticked.

  She knew a moment’s genuine fear. His hold about her middle was not only uncomfortable and unwanted, it felt downright unbreakable. The man was a good deal stronger than his skinny frame revealed.

  She said the first thing that came to mind. “I’m taken. Sam is courting me. He’ll soon ask me to marry him.”

  This netted her no quarter. “The way I see it, you is fair game. Sam don’t want a bride and he didn’t pay for you ladies to get here. He’s not in the running even if he wants to be. You’re holdin’ out for nothing, and can’t afford to be none too picky.”

  Behind her, the young ladies who’d paused in their laundry resumed whispering. Why didn’t they do something? At least approach and voice a united front of disapproval?

  If only Caroline had been at home, she would’
ve rushed to Evelyn’s aid, likely engaging her formidable beau, Thomas, in Evelyn’s defense.

  And what of the others, standing by on the foot path? Four men now. Looking on and doing nothing.

  She would have none of that. “Gentlemen,” she called, addressing the knot of men a mere twenty paces away. “I require assistance.”

  “I require assistance,” one of them mocked in falsetto. His companions laughed. Laughed!

  She made note of those faces—the same troublemakers she’d put firmly in her definitely not mental category at the first introduction social. Men she’d avoid and warn the other ladies about, at minimum. There might not be a constable in this backwater town, but that didn’t mean these low-brows could do as they wished.

  Evelyn struggled against Albert’s hold. She glared into shocking black eyes. How had she thought them his best feature, mere minutes ago?

  His grip tightened. “Feisty little thing, ain’t ya.” Something ominous and chilling registered in those dark eyes. An expression that belied every bit of humble, awkward suitor persona he’d masqueraded behind as he’d approached her and proposed in the most reprehensible manner possible. “I think I’m gonna like breaking you.”

  He’d barely finished the threat when those hard lips took hers.

  “Get your hands—” Sam’s temper hung by a thread— “off my woman.”

  Albert flinched but failed to release Evelyn. His posture tightened, stiffened, and foreshadowed his willingness to fight this one out.

  Sam’s fists clenched.

  He was far more concerned about Evelyn. Her eyes had rounded, her gaze locked on his face. Abject fury at Albert’s liberties warred with distaste and helplessness. He didn’t much like glimpsing that kind of emotion. He liked it far better when she smiled. At him.

  Sam had seen the polite interaction from the boardwalk in front of the mercantile. As Albert had touched Evelyn and her whole posture changed, he’d dropped his broom and found himself leaving the store unattended, the door standing wide open, his legs carrying him as fast as he could run, straight to her side.

  That stolen kiss had solidified his concern into white-hot fury.

  Evelyn squirmed in Albert’s grasp, fighting to free herself. She’d braced her arms against his shoulders, pushing as far away from her captor as humanly possible. She’d managed to twist the pair of them so Albert didn’t have to look over his shoulder to glance at Sam.

  “Your woman?” Albert challenged. “Huh.”

  “Mine.” Sam growled in warning.

  “Ain’t heard no announcement. So this fine afternoon I proposed.”

  Evelyn made a derisive sound, half shriek, half wordless denial. “I refused you, Mr. Journey.”

  “Now, sweet thing, we talked about this. You don’t got a whole lot of options here, bein’ as you is breed—”

  Sam’s fist connected with Albert’s jaw, shocking the smirk off his face. The blow forced his locked hands loose and his head snapped back.

  Evelyn stumbled, nearly pulled over as Albert went down. Sam was ready. He caught her, steadied her on her feet, and nudged her ever so gently behind him.

  Albert was already up and on his feet. He swiped blood from his mouth. His right shoulder bunched, announcing the punch he threw. Sam blocked, sidestepped, and swept Evelyn with him. She’d already backed up several steps. He heard her breathing heavily.

  From the corner of his eye, Sam noted the cluster of four good-for-nothings had grown to more than a half-dozen. More than enough of an audience for what he had to say. But he directed his attention on Albert.

  “Like I already announced, I am courting Mrs. Brandt, so stay away. She’s taken.”

  Protectiveness surged through his veins. This was precisely what he’d feared would happen. The contempt and disrespect he’d glimpsed in Albert’s expression turned his stomach. He would not tolerate their disrespect, and he knew she wouldn’t either.

  A couple other yahoos wandered over, flanked Albert, showing quiet support. One of them spat tobacco juice into the grass.

  He didn’t know if he could take three at the same time, but with fury riding high in his veins, he had a pretty good chance.

  Jedediah squinted and tipped his hat brim a bit higher on his head. “Way I see it, Kochler, you ain’t got a claim on any calico. Didn’t help pay the brides’ way out here ‘cause you didn’t want in on the lottery.”

  Sam leveled his gaze at Jed. “Changed my mind.”

  “Seems like you owe your share of gold, then.” Jedediah seemed to speak for the others. Some nodded, others murmured their agreement.

  “Given Mrs. Brandt did not contract through the Agency,” Sam suddenly realized he’d said too much—did any of these fellas know she wasn’t officially one of the brides?—“none of us paid her way. Not you and not me.”

  Whether the miners had paid for fourteen or fifteen brides’ passage west didn’t matter to Sam. Neither did the money he hadn’t spent, but gladly would, to take the heat off Evelyn Brandt. Nothing mattered as much as protecting her did.

  “Listen up,” Sam shouted, ensuring everyone gathered in the vicinity heard, including the women in and near the Quarters listening in. “I’m throwing in the same money as everybody else did, and that ledger is open to anyone wanting to see it.” He held Albert’s gaze for a second, then Jed’s. “I’m in this lottery for marriage,” he emphasized, “and my attentions are with Mrs. Evelyn Brandt.”

  Finally, he turned to Evelyn and glimpsed the depth of her self-doubt. He smiled at her, feeling something a great deal like love take root. “She’s mine.”

  That evening, Sam escorted Evelyn to the scheduled dance.

  Rain had begun to fall that afternoon, so the festivities were moved from the town green inside the saloon, owned by Albert Journey himself.

  Not where Sam wanted to spend his evening, in a building owned by a man he couldn’t trust and fully did not like. But Evelyn wanted to go. No time like the present, she’d insisted, to show them I’m yours.

  Upon hearing those words—show them I’m yours—his stomach had turned three cartwheels…and just thinkin’ about it made it turn another one. She couldn’t have meant it. After all, she’d agreed to the protection his pretend courtship could offer while she made up her mind whether she wanted any of these oafs or if going home would be worse.

  He couldn’t help but hope she’d decide on him.

  As they stepped inside, the familiar odors of tobacco and liquor hit him full on. He propped the umbrella they’d shared in the corner.

  Evelyn met his eye and smiled. Just for him. Man, what a beauty. In the glow of lamplight, her skin looked like porcelain, flawless and exquisite.

  He took her damp wrap and hung it on one of the few remaining pegs inside the door. It looked like about half of the miners had strolled in and most of the brides were already present.

  In deference for the ladies’ dispositions, and because the agreement prior to sending away for the women had enforced a bit of temperance—too many of the yahoos couldn’t hold their liquor and maintain a civil tongue—the bar served refreshments of lemonade, no more than one beer to any given customer, and iced cookies Irving had thrown in.

  The music wouldn’t be anything fancy. Elmer usually played the piano at the saloon in the evenings. He’d agreed to keep the dancers in music, but he wanted in on the courtin’ too. So old Thad agreed to pull out his fiddle and play a polka or two to give the piano a rest.

  The men were hosting this particular night’s entertainment, so they wouldn’t hear of any of the young ladies taking a turn at the ivory keys—these men needed every single woman available to dance with.

  Albert had pushed all the chairs to line the walls. The men had stacked all but a few of the tables in the back hallway to free up room to dance. It made for such a tight squeeze through that back exit that everyone had to use the front way.

  But it gave them a dry place to dance with the ladies.

  Now that
four of the fifteen were engaged to be married, they were scratched off the possible list of dance partners. That left all of twelve young ladies for thirty six gents…two-thirds of them would be holding up the walls during every single dance.

  Sam figured he was one of the lucky ones. He had Evelyn on his arm, and the pleasure of her company all night long. He didn’t regret speaking his intentions for the whole company of ladies and townsfolk to hear. She was his, for however long she needed him.

  He’d try not to think of the inevitable—she’d break it off with him, once she found the man for her, or decided to go on to California, or contact her parents. But until then, a man could pretend she fully accepted his suit.

  The pretty gal wore a lacy confection of silk the blue of a summer sky. Its square-cut neckline and slim-fitting sleeves showed off creamy white skin from elbow to wrist. The bodice fitted a bit too snugly, especially over her middle. He’d noticed she’d left the bottom three buttons undone to provide enough room. But it hardly mattered—the skirt was eye-catching with a swag gathered into the bustle. Definitely the finest dressed lady in the place.

  He had a hard time taking his eyes off her shy smile.

  Already the crowd was thickening and the tangle of voices made this largest interior space in town feel a little cozy. There’d be barely room enough for fifteen ladies and their partners on the floor.

  “Lemonade?” he asked.

  “That sounds lovely.”

  He guided her to the bar, handed her a cup of punch. Her grin was all the thanks he needed.

  The fiddler started his first tune, a lively polka. Sam was content to stand back and keep an eye on things, allowing Evelyn a chance to finish her lemonade before suggesting they dance.

  Because of Octavia’s high expectations, Sam had learned to dance just as well as the properly schooled heirs of her social circle. He felt confident he could please Evelyn on that dance floor.

  Before she could finish her cool drink, Elmer Lamoureaux approached, took in Evelyn’s hand tucked in the crook of Sam’s elbow, promptly ignored Sam, and grabbed the lemonade cup from Evelyn’s fingers. “Dance with me.”