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

by Kristin Holt

  He tossed back his head and laughed.

  Evelyn’s gorge rose in panic. He held all the power.

  “This way,” he ordered, jerking her along. “Came to visit me, here on my property, didn’t you? My cabin’s just through those trees, but you already know that, don’t you? Come on in, and I’ll get you a nice cold drink.”

  Evelyn dug in her boot heels and held her ground. “No,” she said, with enough force to catch Pike by surprise.

  “No?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Like your hoity-toity manners gonna help you now.”

  Before she thought it through or considered the ramifications, Evelyn drove her boot heel into Pike’s instep.

  He screeched. “Dang it, woman! What you do that for?”

  She wrenched her bruised arm free and ran downhill. Town had to be in that general direction. Once she made it clear of the trees, she’d be able to determine which way to go.

  Pike crashed through the pines after her, far less stealthy than his original approach. “Hey!”

  She whirled about, but this time, she had the wherewithal to face him fully, one finger jabbed in his face. She had the image of a stern schoolmarm in mind as she backed Pike up one step, then two. “You are a bully, Mr. Pike, a simple bully. I won’t stand for it, not today and never again.”

  “Miss Evelyn—”

  She didn’t give him an opportunity to finish whatever thought knocked around in his unshaven head. “You, Mr. Pike, have a great deal to learn about wooing a lady. No, I do not want whatever beverage you deign to offer me. No, I do not want to see your cabin nor spend one more second in your presence. No amount of bullying will ever improve my opinion of you.”

  “Your opinion of me?” He swatted away the finger she’d pointed at his nose.

  She pressed forward another step, backing Pike up the hill, bringing them eye-to-eye. Wherever she’d found the ability to stand up for herself, she wasn’t quite sure, but found she liked the confidence and surety it gave her.

  She liked it a lot.

  “I assure you,” she jabbed his chest, “my opinion of you reflects those of all the young ladies among your pool of bridal candidates. We—” jab, “don’t like you.”

  Pike’s brows drew together in what could only be disillusionment. “Well, why not?”

  The honest question caught Evelyn off guard. Finishing school may have well never happened because she lost her poise and fumbled for words to properly explain why the ladies found Pike distasteful.

  “You’re a difficult man to appreciate,” she offered. “You say things that make me—us—uncomfortable.”

  “Uncomfortable?” Hurt morphed his features into a wounded expression. “Hey! I got a snug cabin, more gold than half these fellas, and any one of you gals would be lucky to have me.” He spat a long stream of tobacco juice. “Lucky.”

  At least Pike had a healthy sense of his own attractiveness.

  “You really ain’t got nothin’ more than uncomfortable?”

  The man genuinely wanted an answer, and apparently, seriously sought a wife. He’d never win one, not the way he treated the ladies. It seemed only decent to answer his sincere question. “Oh, I have quite a lengthy list.”

  “Let’s hear it.” He spat another long arc of tobacco juice onto the forest floor.

  “You must keep your hands to yourself.”

  He shrugged.

  “That’s at the top of my list, Mr. Pike.” She held his gaze for a long moment. “Ladies—all of us, no matter how or where we were raised, do not appreciate your…overly familiar touch.”

  “Aw, I ain’t mean nothin’ by it.”

  “Do you want to hear my list or don’t you?”

  He rolled his eyes but held his tongue.

  “As much as we find your hands far too familiar, we dislike your suggestive comments.”

  “How else am I supposed to show a lady I’m interested?” His facial features fell slack. He truly didn’t understand the finer nuances of courting and had zero comprehension that his brand of interest was the reason he’d failed to claim a bride.

  “A dozen ways, but we digress. Back to the list: hygiene, general cleanliness, insincerity—”

  “Now you’re just bein’ mean.”

  She blinked. Who’d have thought this bully would find her honest assessment mean? “You asked me why, and I merely aim to answer your question.”

  Pickle Pike—and many of the other miners—needed the benefit of finishing school. Too bad no one was in the business of teaching refined manners to men on the frontier. Many men of Prosperity needed it. But she couldn’t think about that right now.

  After all, she had bigger problems. Starting with that pretty scrap of lace who’d decided Sam Kochler belonged to her.

  Evelyn’s posture must’ve sagged and her expression revealed a bit too much doubt, because Pike’s sails regained their wind. “Just so you know, Miss Evelyn, I ain’t interested in you.”

  She let him have the last word.

  He stomped toward his cabin and let her be, so she headed downhill as fast as her legs could carry her. Perspiration made her chemise cling to her skin. She stumbled once but caught herself before losing her footing.

  She might be riding high on feelings of empowerment and triumph over Pickle Pike, but the emotional turmoil over her parents’ untimely arrival and Sam’s failure to claim her and her child still left her reeling.

  He knew how much this baby meant to her.

  The night he’d proposed, he’d told her he wanted this baby. He’d claimed the babe would be his, that he’d be the best father her little one could ever ask for. He’d promised they’d be a family.

  But that was before Miss Octavia swept in with her lace and ruffles, everything Sam had wanted for years. It seemed he’d decided, again, Octavia Sheline was the bride for him.

  Evelyn couldn’t blame him. After all, he’d settled for her, and that rash decision had come about only because of his gallant desire to protect her. How could whatever newfound affection he’d developed for her survive in the shade cast by years of love for Octavia? It couldn’t.

  She’d lost him.

  Pain lanced through her, so sharp and sudden, she stumbled and fell to her knees. Without Sam, the abrupt departure of three would-be brides, Janalee, Mayme, and Mathilda, made a great deal more sense. What did Evelyn have to stay in Prosperity for, now that the promise of happily-ever-after had been ripped away?

  As expected, Evelyn’s parents waited in the parlor. Their low voices carried in melodic tones from that direction. Otherwise, the Quarters seemed remarkably still. The double wedding had drawn virtually everyone, and the celebration to follow would keep them busy for some time.

  Evelyn had been able to sneak back inside without anyone noticing. She hadn’t seen a soul in town.

  She regretted missing Caroline’s wedding. She missed her dear friend already. What she wouldn’t give for a chance to share her burdens with this trusted confidante and seek her advice.

  But Caroline was a married woman now, enjoying her wedding celebration, and would be off with her new husband, Tom, to their home on his claim before nightfall. Today was not the day to monopolize her friend’s time and attention.

  Evelyn avoided her parents and slipped up the stairs to her bedroom, apparently unseen. But moments after she’d closed the door of her sanctuary, someone knocked.

  Evelyn knew that knock.

  Mother.

  She closed her eyes against a rising tide of rebellion. The old Evelyn, an obedient daughter, would’ve opened the door immediately and allowed her mother entrance.

  The Evelyn who’d survived the introduction of her would-be-husband’s true love and stood up to a bully alone on a mountainside wanted to refuse to answer the door. After all, Father must have dismissed the stage, because it hadn’t been there when she’d walked back through. Her parents would stay, at least ‘til the stage arrived again tomorrow.

 
Evelyn craved privacy. Her curtains were drawn tight over the window and she simply wanted to be alone.

  The gentle, entreating knock came once more.

  If it were a lecture Mother intended, the sooner it began, the sooner it would end. That suited Evelyn just fine—she’d never been expected to respond during one of Mother’s disquisitions. Just the opposite, in fact, she’d been expected to remain mute and nod in acquiescence.

  When the lecture concluded, she could direct her parents to the empty bedroom down the hall, and return to her solitude.

  Evelyn sighed and opened the door.

  The moment the latch clicked shut behind her, the indomitable Rose Gephard Brandt took Evelyn by both shoulders and looked her in the eye. All Evelyn could see in her mother’s crystalline blue-green eyes was compassion, love, and understanding.

  Every scrap of Evelyn’s rebellion evaporated like morning fog.

  “The moment we heard you’d not arrived in San Francisco,” mother said, so low Father wouldn’t overhear, “I knew you’d taken control of your life.” Mother’s sad smile communicated so very much. “I’m proud of you for making a stand.”

  Not exactly what Mother had said that fateful day when her father had ordered her out of New York City and onto a westbound train, but she well knew her mother wouldn’t speak against him—at least not in his hearing.

  “What of your grand garden party? It won’t plan itself.” Bitterness still churned in Evelyn’s gut, remembering Mama’s priority. She’d not traveled west with her daughter in favor of the annual event.

  “Your father suggested you might benefit from time alone, an opportunity to think. He asked me to use the garden party as an excuse.” Mama’s features softened. “I didn’t want to send you away alone.”

  The simple explanation was enough. She understood Mother’s inability to speak against Allan Brandt. Evelyn couldn’t do it either.

  It seemed she might have an ally in her mother after all.

  “I want my baby. Is that so very difficult to understand?”

  “Not difficult at all.”

  Her mother’s gentle touch to Evelyn’s cheek reminded her of years gone by, when she found such comfort in her mother’s arms. She remembered Mama’s hugs, hankies to dry little girl tears, and vague, fleeting memories of tea parties in the nursery when she’d visited and joined in the fun.

  Until the forcible removal of Evelyn from her childhood home, she’d enjoyed a rather close relationship with her mother. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, Darling.”

  A moment passed wherein little was said, but the whole climate changed. Mother settled into the crudely made chair at a writing table in the corner and Evelyn perched on the edge of her narrow cot. This dormitory style room was nothing like the opulence of her father’s home, but then, the bachelors wanted their mail order brides to see this lodging as a temporary place of residence. Too much comfort would prove counterproductive.

  “I gather you joined yourself with many mail order brides. Are you ready for marriage?”

  She had been, until the stage rolled in. Evelyn’s composure buckled. How grateful she was her mother had come—and how easy it was to forget the weeks that had passed since they’d sent her away, and remember the close confidence she’d enjoyed with her mother.

  The whole story spilled out. How she’d found the most unlikely of protectors in the mercantile proprietor, Samuel Kochler, how he’d swept her off her feet and treated her with such wondrous affection. She related the details of his proposal—in front of every miner and mail order bride—and then made it sincere in private. She brought out her mostly completed sewing project, showed her mother the thoughtful gift of fabric because he’d noticed her need for clothing that fit properly, and related his harmonica serenade beneath her window.

  Mother clapped her hands with delight. “He sounds truly wonderful.”

  Evelyn twisted her hankie into a knot. “He was. Until a young woman he still loves got off the stage today.”

  Mother stilled. “The stage. Today, you say?”

  “You met her.” Obviously. One stage in, one stage out. Every day. What rotten luck brought her parents and the love of Sam’s life to Prosperity on the same day?

  “I believe you refer to Miss Octavia Sheline, of Atlanta,” Mother said, falling back on the social niceties of her drawing room.

  But Evelyn knew those carefully modulated tones and blank expression too well. “You’re not impressed.”

  “You might say that.” Mother’s lips thinned. “She proved a most disagreeable traveling companion.”

  “Oh?”

  Mother seemed to think that over for a moment, eventually deciding in favor of disclosing the details. “She had complete lack of regard for your father and me, chatted on the whole journey about how very ill she was, how she couldn’t wait to be free of the choking dust of the road and the heat of the enclosed carriage. She spoke at length of your young man—and frankly, not in the most respectful of terms.”

  Evelyn swallowed. “I don’t think he’s mine, not anymore.”

  Compassion softened Mother’s features and her words. “It’s possible he’ll surprise you. Have you spoken with him?”

  “Yes, he did surprise me. I went to him when I left you and Father here. I thought to return with him, show you I’d found a wonderful match, and introduce you to my husband-to-be.” Evelyn clasped both palms tightly over her mouth as the tide of emotion ran so high she just knew she’d embarrass herself with a gut-wrenching sob.

  I am stronger than this.

  “And she was already there.”

  Evelyn nodded.

  Mother came to her side at the bed. Sat next to her, and took Evelyn in her arms. As if she were a little girl again, she rocked her gently, smoothed her hair back from her face and murmured gentle reassurances.

  It felt so natural and yet so awkward, for Evelyn had grown a great deal from those childhood days. When standing, Mother barely reached Evelyn’s shoulder.

  They must’ve sat like that for a quarter hour when a quiet knock came on the door. Evelyn really didn’t want to see anyone just now. She must look a fright with reddened eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

  Bless her mother’s intuitive heart, she went to the door and with a hand on the latch, asked, “Who is there?”

  “Hannah—Mrs. Heinz.” She paused, evidently realizing it wasn’t Evelyn who’d answered the knock. “May I come in? I have some rather disturbing news Evelyn needs to hear.”

  Mother asked permission in that silent way of hers.

  Evelyn considered, briefly, turning Hannah away but nodded. Now was as good a time as any to get the word circulating that yes, she knew all about Miss Octavia’s arrival and yes, her engagement to Sam Kochler had come to an end. No doubt several of the other young ladies had encountered her father sitting in the parlor. They’d be curious. Word must’ve reached most of them about Octavia’s arrival anyhow.

  Hannah slipped in through the opened doorway and the latch clicked shut behind her. She rushed to Evelyn, knelt at her feet and took her hands in her own. The concern and worry on the kind woman’s face couldn’t be false…she genuinely cared about Evelyn’s feelings. She must’ve heard.

  “It’s all right,” Evelyn insisted. “I know.” She redirected. “Hannah, meet my mother, Mrs. Allan Brandt.” The moment the introduction left her lips she realized she’d just given away her greatest secret. They all knew her as Mrs. Evelyn Brandt, a widow. And now she’d just disclosed the sad fact that her Mr. Brandt was fictitious, and she was indeed a Miss Brandt.

  Hannah didn’t seem to notice. She bade Evelyn’s mother a quick hello, and returned her attention to Evelyn. “How is this all right with you? That Miss Sheline is staying in his private apartment.”

  Her heart plummeted. No, she hadn’t known that. But she shouldn’t be surprised. After all, he’d clearly made his choice.

  But Hannah wasn’t finished. “As Mr. Desilum
walked me back from our stroll around the lake this afternoon, we met that awful person, Mrs. Cairn—chaperone to Miss Octavia Sheline—” she affected quite a southern accent reminiscent of the elongated syllables in Sam’s voice. Yes, that’s precisely what Mrs. Cairn sounded like, Evelyn was sure of that.

  Evelyn tried to cut off her friend’s tale. She really didn’t want to hear this.

  But Hannah pressed forward, clueless to Evelyn’s distress. “And she’s claiming their wedding will be held right away. Can you imagine that? I don’t understand, Evelyn, he’s engaged to you.”

  Married. Evelyn’s heart thudded dully and her ears rang with the declaration. Even with Hannah’s determination to stand with Evelyn against the usurper, what the sweet girl didn’t understand is that Sam had a choice in this too.

  And if Sam wanted Octavia, there was nothing Evelyn could do to win him back. Anything she tried would only humiliate herself further. Oh, but she wanted to—she wanted to march right into that shop and demand Sam explain himself. Why should she suffer alone in this?

  He had proposed marriage to her. He had claimed to want more than just a protective measure.

  And he’d broken her heart.

  Shock seemed to steal her thoughts, make time skip forward in patches. One moment Hannah was at her feet and the next, Mother had ushered her out the door and turned the lock.

  “Wash your face. We will present ourselves at this man’s place of business—”

  “No.”

  It must’ve been the first time Evelyn had ever contradicted her mother, much less interrupted her, for Rose Gephard Brandt’s brows rose.

  “No, Ma’am. I won’t.”

  “Evelyn, be reasonable. Just because hearsay reports some such nonsense about an upcoming marriage doesn’t mean it’s the truth.”

  Mother clearly had no idea how things worked in this mining camp with roughly fifty-five souls in residence. How distorted could the truth get? She’d heard it almost directly from the horse’s mouth.

  “I heard your genuine happiness when you spoke of him. Your whole face lit up with the kind of love a woman cannot hide, not from her mother. You love him.”