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

by Kristin Holt

  He plopped the top back onto the crate and headed for the doorway to better see. The first two passengers had turned their backs to him, the plump matron blocking his view of the younger lady.

  Billy handed down four obviously fully-loaded trunks from the top of the coach to David and Levi. The men must’ve seen the stage roll up and come out of their shops to help. The new arrivals attracted quite a bit of attention.

  Two more passengers stepped off the stage, an uncommonly tall man and a woman—evidently his wife-with one carpet bag between them. The woman’s hat nearly obscured his view, but he glimpsed a tidy twist in a muted shade of red.

  By the prominence of silver in the well-dressed man’s sandy hair, Sam imagined they had to be parents of one of the young ladies, probably come for a wedding—Lily Vincot had red hair…as did Evelyn.

  The man placed his hat on his head just so and a hand at his wife’s back as they headed straight for the Quarters. Curiosity got the better of him. That fellow, tall as he was, made Sam think of Evelyn.

  Could they be her parents? Unease prickled. He ought to follow them to the Quarters and make sure his bride was O.K.

  He stepped outside to do just that, his attention snagged by several miners had gathered ‘round the stage, gawking at the ladies, particularly the young one, with ebony black hair, porcelain white skin—

  Recognition zinged through him, striking as hot and sudden as a branding iron.

  Octavia Sheline.

  Here, in Prosperity.

  No matter how many times he’d imagined this moment, he couldn’t believe his eyes. The fat matron turned toward the mercantile, one gloved hand raised to shade her eyes as she peered in his direction. Her stern face puckered in disappointment.

  The woman must be a chaperone. One of Octavia’s many oft-repeated phrases whispered through his memory: Appearances matter ever so much.

  Sam felt his gaze dragged, kicking and screaming, back to Octavia’s face.

  Memory hadn’t done her justice. Having not seen her in the three years since he’d left home to seek his fortune, one would expect he’d forgotten some of the finer details of her profile or the inky silk of her curls.

  His first love was even more beautiful than he’d recalled.

  Sam found his mouth dry and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

  Here came Billy, carrying one of the smaller trunks, Miss Octavia and her chaperone trailing along in his wake. David and Levi brought up the rear with more baggage.

  Four trunks and a couple additional satchels. Probably all Octavia’s. Sure looked like she planned to stick around.

  Oh, no. Nuh-uh.

  Now? She’d turned him down.

  Twice.

  And now he was engaged to someone else.

  What would Evelyn think of Octavia’s unannounced arrival?

  His heart squeezed as Octavia met his gaze. She stepped onto the boardwalk that stretched only the width of his storefront. Despite the arduous and rough ride up the canyon from Leadville, Octavia’s appearance was flawless, perfect. Untouchable.

  His insides chilled, as if he’d drunk from an icy spring.

  Octavia’s smile telegraphed the enticement she believed she still had, the command over Sam she still wielded.

  “Sam, dearest, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She chuckled in that ladylike, smoothly cultured way of hers. “Don’t just stand there. Shake off the surprise and come kiss me.” She offered one perfectly alabaster cheek.

  As Evelyn collected Caroline’s hair pins, she heard someone enter the front door of the Quarters. Just minutes earlier, Caroline had sent Evelyn back to their room for hair pins to hold her wedding veil in place.

  Had she forgotten something else?

  The double wedding ceremony was set to begin shortly, within the quarter hour. Everyone in residence at the Quarters was already in the meadow perhaps a quarter mile from here, awaiting the appointed hour.

  Evelyn anticipated the joyful occasion extra, for the privilege of looking on as Sam performed the ceremonies as Justice of the Peace. Wedding fever had struck her hard, and she couldn’t wait for her own wedding day.

  As she hurried down the stairs, she expected to pass another young woman on her way up. When she encountered no one, she wondered if she might have needed something from the kitchen. But what, she couldn’t imagine. The iced cookies and punch were already set up on a shaded table.

  In the entryway, she paused, sensed more than heard subtle movement in the parlor. She cleared the doorway and her ears started ringing as she fought to make sense of what she saw.

  Father, here. Standing at the empty fireplace. Mother sat with perfect posture at his side.

  Her stomach curdled and she feared she’d lose her lunch. Her heart seemed to skitter to a halt. She couldn’t breathe.

  How had they found her?

  It was too soon—just another day or two and she would’ve been safely wedded. Yes, she’d made a grave mistake with Daniel Tracy and deserved the natural consequences…but she’d also managed to find a workable solution that would please everyone, if her parents would simply allow it.

  Her letter, explaining everything, asking forgiveness, would go out on today’s stage. Not only had her parents certainly not received it, she’d forgotten the carefully worded phrases she’d debated over at length. They’d want an explanation, and she feared she’d not find the right words.

  Without so much as a “good afternoon,” Father straightened to his impressive height, his jaw set in a hard line. His gray eyes turned flinty, never one to show a daughter the simplest of compassion or understanding. “Your willful disobedience has reached a new low.”

  His glare instilled fear in some, allegiance in others, but to Evelyn, it compounded her sense of helplessness. She dried her damp palms against her new brown twill skirt…fabric Sam had given her. The little reminder gave her strength.

  She could do this. Never once had she spoken disrespectfully to her father. She should, with respect, advise him of her decision. But no matter how much she wanted to defy him now, the words would not come.

  “You will obey me.” His order, low and threatening, scared her. “You will finish your journey to San Francisco if I must accompany you myself.”

  Evelyn wanted to insist she was plenty old enough to make her own decisions, that she wanted to stay here, in this rustic mining town…she couldn’t leave—she would not leave Sam.

  Father’s gaze swept over her, dismissing her appearance in a single moment. Of course he’d noticed her improper dress, corset-free, her pregnancy evident. Until the maternity corset arrived in the mail, she had no choice but to go without.

  How she despised his implied threats and the subtext of her failure to meet his illustrious expectations. Did his reputation matter so very much, here, in the Rocky Mountains where not a soul knew of his business empire and social standing?

  And why wouldn’t her mother say something? Anything? Couldn’t she defend her own daughter, just once?

  Father didn’t expect an answer; he never did.

  “I held the stage,” he stated as a matter-of-fact. “You will gather your belongings and we will board within the quarter-hour.”

  Oh, no, she would not.

  Evelyn might not be able to argue verbally—but she still had feet and a will of her own. She swallowed the bile rising in her throat and fought to suppress angry tears. She abruptly exited through the Quarters’ front door.

  She stumbled once, rushing as she passed through the gate at the picket fence. She needed Sam, his strength, his support. She needed him to stand with her as a united front against her parents.

  Had he left yet for the wedding? Would he still be at the mercantile?

  “Evelyn!” Father bellowed from the front stoop. “Come back here at once!”

  She swiped at an angry tear that slipped down her cheek. She would not cry, not even in fury at her parent who loved her so little that twenty years of strict obedienc
e hadn’t earned his affection.

  Now that she’d embraced the possibility of a happy, love-filled life with Sam and the promise of keeping her baby, how could she give it all up?

  When Father followed, Mama carried along in his wake, no doubt, he’d see Sam at her side, and the two of them hand in hand. Father couldn’t help but acknowledge that she’d found a viable, excellent solution—an alternative giving her baby up for adoption—

  She needed Sam, and she needed him now.

  Taking an educated guess, she ran for the mercantile.

  If Father didn’t follow, she’d bring Sam to her parents.

  She’d stand with her husband-to-be when she disobeyed her parents’ demand to board that stage.

  Sam stood, as though he’d grown roots, on the boardwalk as Octavia and her chaperone—a Mrs. Cairn—swept past him and into the mercantile.

  Though he didn’t want Octavia any more, he couldn’t help but savor the moment.

  The young lady had turned him down twice. Yet here she was and based on the four trunks carried across his threshold, she intended to stay.

  How much had he wanted this very thing?

  Enough to leave Georgia determined to make his way in the world. He’d wanted Octavia so desperately it had taken the miracle of Evelyn’s arrival to snap him out of his desperate one-track mind.

  He watched the bustle on Octavia’s ever-so-fashionable green silk gown sway in an appealing way as she stepped further into the mercantile, apparently taking in the place.

  Apparently, all he had to do was change his mind about Evelyn and Miss Octavia Sheline could be his. A week ago, he wouldn’t have paused. He’d fallen desperately in love as a young man with the untouchable, unattainable belle and, until recently, hadn’t ever fancied himself in love with another soul.

  But he had met Evelyn. He felt far more for her than he’d ever anticipated, ever believed he could ever feel for anyone. That serendipity allowed him to see beyond Octavia’s flawless beauty…and notice her disdain for his humble establishment.

  Through Octavia’s eyes, he knew, this frontier store was too small, too simple-minded, too rural. It couldn’t compare with the millinery shops she frequented in Atlanta. He hadn’t a market, until very recently, for items a woman might want to purchase. The fabric he’d given to Evelyn was the best of his newly arrived shipment.

  Octavia’s expression soured with disappointment.

  As he watched her skim the visible evidence of all he’d accomplished since he’d set out support a wife, he realized with shocking clarity that he didn’t want her.

  He nearly laughed at the shocking truth.

  He didn’t want Octavia Sheline.

  In contrast to Evelyn’s warm beauty, he didn’t find her china-doll perfection that appealing. And certainly not her highly polished sense of entitlement.

  She paced the confines of his spectacularly small mercantile, indicated with a tip of her chin where the men who’d carried in her trunks should place them, and without a word of thanks or a coin for their trouble, she turned her back on Sam’s friends.

  Why hadn’t he acknowledged this side of her personality before? He knew with sudden clarity she hadn’t changed. Not one wit. But he had.

  Sam dug in his pocket for the coins he carried out of habit. He tipped each of the guys she’d coerced into handling her trunks—though he figured they’d agreed out of curiosity more than any desire to assist a lady. They wanted to know why she was here, who she was to Sam, and what this meant for his engagement to Evelyn.

  The traveling companion, Mrs. Cairn took a seat near the cold stove, where young Miss McKee had waited just days earlier. The older woman gave a puff of air and snapping open her fan. Apparently she’d exerted herself walking the twenty five feet from stage to chair.

  Now that he had his feet underneath him, so to speak, he noted Billy checking the lead horse’s hooves. Good—he was still here. No need for Octavia to stay so much as a single night.

  Sam smiled at the four men he’d just paid for carrying Octavia’s trunks. “Carry Miss Sheline’s trunks back to the stage.”

  Octavia whirled, graceful and light on her feet. “You do mean upstairs, to your residence.”

  “No,” Sam stated, with slow deliberation. “I mean to the stage.”

  She sniffed and halted the four curious men with a little hand. “I’m staying. I am Mr. Kochler’s affianced.”

  Old Thad, in the back of the line, whistled. Sam could hear the gossipers now.

  “Matter of fact,” Sam stated, “you’re not. See, after you rejected me, I met a woman I’m deeply in love with. I’ve asked her to be my wife and she accepted. We’re to be married tomorrow.” No sense muddying the waters by explaining they were waiting on a preacher and it might be a week until the ceremony. Instinctively he knew that detail would cause trouble.

  Octavia stomped one high fashion boot. “You love me. You’ve always loved me.” Her expression softened, and he could see the manipulation in her efforts. How often had she played him like this?

  Her bottom lip trembled. “You are engaged. To me.”

  Oh, she was good. How many hours had it taken her to perfect that expression of an injured innocent in the looking glass?

  “I really must insist,” Mrs. Cairn stated from her chair, with a bit too much volume, “that you honor your proposals of marriage to Miss Sheline. After all, your offers were made in good faith, were they not? And prior to any other misguided,” she motioned loosely with her fan, as if searching for the best word to employ, “replacement, substitute arrangement.”

  “Uh oh.” One of the guys mumbled, stepping aside to let someone through.

  Sam jerked his head around to see Evelyn standing just inside the shop’s doorway, her attention fixed not on him but on Octavia. His gut clenched at the worry and shock etched into her features. Her trepidation became his—the emotion transferring as easily as could be.

  How much had she overheard?

  “Ma’am,” another fellow said.

  Willard smoothed his beard, apparently in an attempt to improve his looks and said to Evelyn as she skirted the last of the fellows that had blocked her entrance to the store, “Mrs. Brandt, given you’re available again, just want you to know I’m willin’ to take you on.”

  “She’s not available.” Sam glared at Willard and reached for Evelyn.

  By the tears filling her beautiful blue eyes, by the expression of frustration on her lovely face, evidently, she’d heard more than enough.

  How much, he couldn’t say. Had she heard him declare his love for her, not Octavia, and that he’d already given her his heart?

  “Come here,” he told her, “I’ll introduce you.” He noted, with pride, that she wore a skirt fashioned of the brown twill he’d given her, and a blouse of the lavender and green calico. She looked beautiful.

  He took her by the elbows and would’ve pulled her into his arms—a sign of affection even deluded Octavia and her near-sighted chaperone couldn’t misunderstand—but Evelyn pulled away, rejecting his touch.

  Her expression said it all—self-doubt and distrust—of him.

  Ouch.

  “I had no idea these two got it in their heads to come to Colorado,” Sam told her, gesturing with a shoulder to Octavia and Mrs. Cairn. “I didn’t invite them. They’re headed back. Today.”

  Octavia laughed, her Belle of the Ball chuckle that usually had all heads turning in her direction. All four miners zeroed in on preening Octavia. Her musical notes drew Sam’s attention against his will.

  “Oh, Sam,” Octavia purred, emphasizing his Christian name, the familiarity that no longer existed between them. “Don’t be silly. Of course you invited me here. You invited me to come with you before you even came here. Your letters spoke of little else. Why, you built your personal rooms to my specifications.”

  Sam clenched his jaw. How could he deny the truth?

  The stark contrast between what he felt for Octavia—bette
r put, what he didn’t feel—and the ever-growing protectiveness, concern, affection growing ever stronger for Miss Evelyn couldn’t have been more shocking.

  “We’re over, Octavia.” He pulled Evelyn into his arms, though she didn’t want to be there.

  “Oh, my.” Octavia’s dark eyes focused on Evelyn’s rounded belly, as if she hadn’t heard the finality of his statement. “Oh, dear.” She clucked her tongue in a way that grated on his nerves, chafed, though it never used to.

  “Octavia—” He cut her off.

  She pouted, that lower lip quivering again. “That,” she said with such disdain, and a little coquettish flip of her wrist in the general direction of Evelyn’s expanding midsection, “isn’t…is it? There’s simply no polite way to say this.”

  “Then don’t.” Sam put himself between Evelyn and Octavia, though it would do little to protect Evelyn from Octavia’s cutting words.

  Octavia’s rounded eyes seemed to fill with tears—crocodile tears, no doubt. “Is it yours?”

  “No.” But as the singular, careless response slipped off his tongue, he realized how it sounded to Evelyn.

  Uh-oh.

  Chapter Nine

  Evelyn seemed to have an out of body experience.

  She saw herself standing amid the unbelievable scene unfolding, as if on stage. The dark haired, petite beauty—who could only be Octavia, the woman Sam had asked at least twice to marry him—playing Sam with everything she had.

  The older companion, a family member, probably, was seated in the chair, a grin of triumph on her fleshy face.

  Sam’s back, turned toward her.

  He’d turned his back on her. Literally and metaphorically.

  Four men stood between her and the door, blocking her escape, watching with rapt attention. These four were big talkers. This scene would be all around town—every last occupant would know all about her humiliation long before she made it back onto the stage Father had paid the driver to hold for them.