by Kit Morgan
His Mail-Order
Valentine
by
Kit Morgan
ANGEL CREEK PRESS
His Mail-Order Valentine (Holiday Mail-Order Brides, Book Ten)
by Kit Morgan
© 2015 Kit Morgan
Other titles by Kit Morgan:
His Prairie Princess (Prairie Brides, Book One)
Her Prairie Knight (Prairie Brides, Book Two)
His Prairie Duchess (Prairie Brides, Book Three)
Her Prairie Viking (Prairie Brides, Book Four)
His Prairie Sweetheart (Prairie Brides, Book Five)
Her Prairie Outlaw (Prairie Brides, Book Six)
Christmas in Clear Creek (Prairie Brides, Book Seven)
August (Prairie Grooms, Book One)
Ryder (Prairie Grooms, Book Two)
Seth (Prairie Grooms, Book Three)
Chase (Prairie Grooms, Book Four)
Levi (Prairie Grooms, Book Five)
Bran (Prairie Grooms, Book Six)
Amon (Prairie Grooms, Book Seven – coming 2015)
The Prairie Groom (with Geralyn Beauchamp – coming 2015)
The Escape: A Mail-Order Bride Romance (Dalton Brides, Prologue – with Kirsten Osbourne, Cassie Hayes)
The Rancher’s Mail-Order Bride (Dalton Brides, Book One – with Kirsten Osbourne)
The Cowboy’s Mail-Order Bride (Dalton Brides, Book Two)
The Drifter’s Mail-Order Bride (Dalton Brides, Book Three – with Cassie Hayes)
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without permission in writing from the publisher.
All characters are fictional. Any resemblances to actual people are purely coincidental.
Cover design by Angel Creek Press, The Killion Group and Hotdamndesigns.com
License Notes
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Table of Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Epilogue
About the Author
Other Books by Kit Morgan
One
Independence, Oregon, January 1872
Julian Smythe stood at the bottom of the church steps as Garrett Vander and his new bride Ammy exited the building. They’d been married only two weeks, and Garrett’s expression, normally exuberant, was downright ecstatic these days. Julian didn’t want to envy him, or their mutual friend Morgan for that matter. But now that his two best friends were married, he rather did.
But really, what did they have that Julian didn’t, other than a wife? What did a wife matter? How could having a woman at his side improve his quality of life? He had a strong roof over his head (yes, his parents’ roof, but so what?), food on the table, a good return for his labor, and he slept well at night … most nights, anyway. Why add a woman to the mix? Wouldn’t that just make things more complicated?
Yet as he observed his two friends and their wives in church that morning, he couldn’t help but note how happy they were. It left him wondering if perhaps – just perhaps – he should start thinking about taking his turn at matrimony.
But there were no young ladies in Independence worth their salt. The only one close to his age was Bernice Caulder, and any man with sense wasn’t going to touch her. She was immature, whiny, and she slouched. She would make a horrible wife, and every single man in town (granted, that wasn’t many) knew it. So what to do? Where was he going to find a bride?
He didn’t want to go through what Morgan and Garrett had and get himself a mail-order bride. It would take months, unless … well, neither of them had actually ordered a bride. Morgan’s mother had ordered his behind his back, and Garrett’s … well, no one knew as yet who’d gotten him one. It was the town mystery, everyone speculating as to who the mad matchmaker might be.
But at this point Garrett didn’t care – he and Ammy were exceedingly happy, and often joked about it. His guess was that Betsy, his parents’ maid-of-all-trades, had something to do with it, though she vehemently denied it. And now even Betsy looked to have found romance of late. Ammy’s father Cecil was spending a lot of time at the Vanders’ home – even more than he did at Professor Hamilton’s book shop, where he lived and worked these days.
Julian sighed as Garrett approached. “What’s everyone doing? Are we still on for Sunday supper?” he asked Garrett.
“Of course! Ammy’s cooking!” He put his arm around his wife as she blushed. “Let’s all volunteer!”
She frowned. “Volunteer? For what?”
Garrett grinned. “To eat it and see if we survive.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’ll regret that, Garrett Vander.”
“Probably, but I’ll make you forget you’re mad at me by tomorrow morning.”
Ammy blushed crimson.
Julian coughed and turned away. “Where’s Morgan?”
“He slipped out early on account of the morning stage. Said he was expecting a few things for the mercantile. He’ll be over with Daisy in time for supper. Shall we go?”
Julian nodded, then let Garrett lead the way. They were eating at the Vanders’, which was becoming the usual Sunday routine. He wasn’t arguing – Betsy was an excellent cook. She was teaching Ammy how to cook as well, which meant some trial and error and the occasional stomachache. A small price to pay for time with friends.
He sighed again as he trailed along behind the couple. Seemed the only time he got to spend time with Garrett and Morgan nowadays was after church. They were all usually busy with work every day but Sunday, and now Garrett and Morgan spent evenings with their new brides. The three men didn’t have the camaraderie they had before, and he missed it.
Maybe he should go to Oregon City or Portland for a week or two and see if he could find someone that would suit him. But would a couple of weeks be enough? Or would he have to spend a lot longer to search for a wife?
“Did you hear that Bernard’s coming back to town?” Garrett asked, pulling him out of his thoughts.
“Bernard? When?”
“Who’s Bernard?” Ammy inquired.
“The blacksmith’s son,” Garrett said. “He went up to Portland for a year to work at his uncle’s farm. Now he’s back to follow in his father’s footsteps.”
“Old Man Rudshaw is done shoeing horses,” Julian added. “He and Mrs. Rudshaw have talked about moving to San Francisco where all of her relatives are.”
“That’s a big move,” Ammy commented.
“Indeed,” Garrett agreed. “I don’t understand why anyone would want to leave Independence, especially when their only son is coming back to town.”
“Maybe having him up in Portland was like a trial run,” Julian suggested, “and now they know they can be apart from him.”
“Perhaps,” Garrett said as they reached the front gate. “I’ve always liked Bernard.
I hope that if his folks leave, he stays on.”
“Why wouldn’t he?” Julian asked. “His parents are giving him their business. It’s not like he’d have to start from scratch.”
“True. But then, we’ve been blessed that way too. At least you have,” Garrett told him with a grin.
Julian rolled his eyes. It was true that he was taking over his parents’ business. It was also true he’d never go out of business – undertakers were a necessity in any town. “I take it work is going well for you?” he asked to change the subject.
“Yes. I’ll be taking over Mr. Clarkson’s law office in the spring.”
“I’m happy for you, Garrett. Really, I am,” Julian said as he glanced at Ammy. “You have everything a man could want.”
“Except for some privacy,” Garrett muttered under his breath as they stepped through the gate and went up the walk. They followed a path that led to the back of the house, and entered the kitchen through a side door. “Hello, Betsy!”
Betsy squealed as she bent over the stove to take bread out of the oven. “Mr. Garrett! Don’t scare a body like that!”
Garrett laughed. “But you’re the sunshine of my day!” Julian and Ammy laughed. Garrett was merciless when it came to teasing Betsy.
“You won’t think so if I burn this bread. Missus Ammy, are you ready to make your first lunch for this scoundrel?”
Ammy smiled. “Yes,” she glanced at Garrett and Julian. “But I don’t think sandwiches are a very challenging thing to make my first time out.”
“No, but you gotta crawl before you can walk,” Betsy said with a smile. She took the bread out of the oven and set it on the worktable. “Now you men go on out to the dining room while I help this fine lady make your lunch.”
Garrett laughed. “All right. We’ll leave her in your capable hands.” He slapped Julian on the back and together they went into the dining room.
* * *
Ellie Sampson took a deep breath and wiped her hands on the skirt of her dress for the thousandth time. It was cold, and a biting wind blew outside, but she was flushed from nerves. She still couldn’t believe what she was doing - why did she think she could become a mail-order bride? This had to be the stupidest thing she’d ever done in her life!
But desperate times called for desperate measures, and finding a suitable husband was all she could think of when faced with destitution – not to mention starvation. Besides, she did have her pride – she wasn’t about to beg in the streets, or marry another drunk. She’d had enough of the last one. Earl had been handsome and amiable … when he was sober. But when he got some whisky in him, he was a different man – or rather, a different beast.
His friends weren’t much better, and they’d been knocking on her door for the last two months trying to get their hands on her. If they weren’t all just like Earl (drunk, beastly, etc.), she might have considered one or two of them as prospects. But they were, and she wasn’t about to get saddled with another bad marriage. It had become quite apparent, however, that if she didn’t get herself out of Oregon City and fast, she’d wind up with one of them eventually, simply to survive. No decent man would touch her, since she was “used goods.” Not to mention …
“Independence!” the driver called out.
Ellie cringed, then swallowed hard and took a deep breath to still her racing heart. She was more on edge than she’d thought. She looked out the window one last time before the stage came to a stop, then closed her eyes in resignation. This was it. No turning back now.
The stage door opened, and the driver held out his hand to her. She took it, and stepped off the stage into what she hoped would be a brand-new life.
Once she alighted, she pulled her shawl tightly about herself and looked around. There was no sign of a man waiting for her. People were going about their business and didn’t pay her much mind. A few older gentlemen tipped their hats to her, but none of them approached. As far as she knew her intended was a young man, close to her age – at least that’s what his letter said – and had dark hair and blue eyes. But she saw no one that fit his description.
She glanced around again as the driver got her satchel down. “Here ya go, miss,” he said as he shoved it at her.
Ellie nodded her thanks as three women came out of the mercantile and stared at her. She noted the “closed” sign displayed in the store window, and hoped her intended came to fetch her quickly. It was already four o’clock and would be getting dark soon. She spied a bench across the street and picked up her satchel, figuring she could wait for him over there.
The women in front of the mercantile continued to stare after her as she turned and made her way to the bench. Once there, they stepped off the boardwalk and made a beeline for her. “Oh dear,” she muttered under her breath. She didn’t like speaking with strangers, and worried that these three were the town busybodies. Oregon City was full of them, and it was much larger than Independence. Maybe if she were lucky, this was all there was here ...
“Excuse me,” began a petite, well-dressed woman with a squeaky voice. “But we were just wondering if you would like to wait in the mercantile where it’s warm?”
Ellie peered past her at the building across the street. The idea held merit – she was freezing. “But isn’t it closed?”
“Only for everyone else,” said another. “I own it, so you’re welcome to sit inside if you want. At least until your relations come to pick you up.”
Ellie sighed. She knew she’d end up having to explain her business somewhere along the line. “I’m … not waiting for a relative.”
The women looked at one another. The third wasn’t dressed as finely as the other two, and had a knowing look on her face. She gave them a single nod and furrowed her brow. “You wouldn’t happen to be waiting for a man to fetch you, would you?”
Ellie cocked her head to one side. How on earth did she know? But then this was a small town, and it was probably public knowledge that Julian Smythe, her intended, was expecting a mail-order bride. “Yes …”
“Mm-hmm – I thought so! See, Mrs. Vander, I told you it wasn’t me!”
“Good Heavens, Betsy! It’s not?” the petite woman gasped.
“Never was! But do you listen to me? No-o-o-o-o …”
The mercantile owner gasped. “Then who …?” She gave her attention back to Ellie. “Who are you here for?”
Ellie glanced between the three. What were they babbling about? “Er … you mean who am I waiting for?”
“Yes, yes,” said the petite woman. “Who are you here to marry?”
“Marry?” Ellie asked. So the news was all over town.
“Yes, ain’t you a mail-order bride?” the one called Betsy asked.
Ellie gulped. “Yes,” she said with a slow nod.
“Well, don’t just sit there!” admonished the mercantile owner. “Who’s your intended?”
“Er, ah … Julian Smythe?”
“Julian!” they all said at once. Then Squeaky Voice – Mrs. Vander – added, “ah, yes … I believe he has been detained.”
“Mm-hmm. That ain’t all he’s gonna be,” Betsy said. She turned to Mrs. Vander. “Well, what do we do now?”
“I don’t know. Martha?” she asked the mercantile owner.
“Do you think Maude knows?”
“Of course not!” the petite woman snapped. “If she did, she’d have told us!”
Ellie shivered. She wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or the bizarre conversation between them. “I’m sure he’ll be along shortly.”
Mrs. Vander and Martha each reached down and grabbed one of her arms. “Quick! We have to hide her!” Mrs. Vander cried.
“Yes, but where? Morgan’s inside the mercantile!” Martha said.
Just then a fourth woman appeared, walking rapidly down the boardwalk. Ellie began to panic – was this entire town a madhouse? She just wanted to get away from them! “Um … if you don’t mind …,” she began as they pulled her up from the bench.
&
nbsp; “Good afternoon,” the newcomer greeted her before she stopped short. “Mercy, Martha, what’s going on here? Who is this?”
“Oh Mahulda, thank Heaven you’re here!” Mrs. Vander – Mercy – said. “It’s happened again!”
Mahulda opened and closed her mouth like a guppy a few times before any sound came out. “What? Again?!”
“Yes, and this time for Julian!” Martha added.
“Does he know?” Mahulda asked, her eyebrows raised with interest.
“Of course not. We don’t think Maude even knows!” Mercy said.
One of Mahulda’s hands flew to her chest as she gasped. “Who would do such a thing?!” She turned to Betsy, her eyes narrowed.
Betsy held both hands up and waved them at her. “Like I done told Mrs. Vander, it wasn’t me!”
“Well, someone has to be responsible!” Mahulda huffed. “The nerve!”
“Never mind about that,” Mercy said. “What are we going to do with her?”
“Do with me?” Ellie asked, her voice weak. What were they talking about?
“Shush, dear, while we figure this out,” Mercy said.
“I beg your pardon?” Ellie said, aghast.
“Trust us, we know what we’re doing,” Martha said.
“Mm-hmm,” Betsy added, who didn’t sound convinced.
“Well you can’t just let the poor child sit here in the cold,” Mahulda declared. “Why don’t you take her home with one of you?”
“Oh, we can’t do that!” Mercy cried. “Then Garrett and Morgan would find out.”
“So?”
The other three women looked at each other.
Ellie tried to pull away again but they held her fast. “Er, I’d really like to go now …”
“Do be quiet, dear,” Mercy said. “We need to decide what to do with you.”
“Do with me?” she asked again, more agitated this time.