The Convenient Bride Collection: 9 Romances Grow from Marriage Partnerships Formed Out of Necessity

by Erica Vetsch, Amanda Barratt, Andrea Boeshaar, Mona Hodgson, Melissa Jagears, Maureen Lang, Gabrielle Meyer, Jennifer Uhlarik, Renee Yancy

  She snuggled deeper under the quilt and thought over the lovely afternoon yesterday. She’d enjoyed it when Jesse folded her hand into his and when he held her in his arms, safe and secure from a world of hurts. And with his blue eyes twinkling and his smile shining through his reddish-blond beard, she forgot all about the cares that so easily beset her.

  Then last night, as dusk fell upon the homestead—their homestead—she’d wanted him to kiss her. But something undefined, something indescribable, had held her back from letting him know her true feelings, and Jesse respectfully slept in the barn.

  Sarge bounded from the bed, barking at who-knew-what outside the window, nearly scaring the liver out of her.

  That dog belonged in the barn. Her husband belonged with her.

  At last Leah rolled out of bed. After she dressed and pinned up her hair, she accompanied Jesse outside to watch him feed and groom Patriot. Maybe one day she would learn to ride, even have her own horse. For now, Jesse seemed pleased that she was interested in his chores, and that would have to do for today.

  And Jesse made good on his promise to take her to the mercantile.

  Inside the store, she leafed through the pages while Jesse and Will walked out back to the lumberyard. So many tubs to choose from. And Jesse didn’t give her a price limit.

  In the quiet of the early morning, a loud bell clanged, deep and resounding. It couldn’t be a church or school bell—there wasn’t a church or school in town. Within moments, Jesse and Will raced back into the store.

  “Let’s go,” Jesse said, visibly shifting to his sheriff role.

  “I can’t imagine what happened. Folks clang the bell only when there’s an urgent public announcement or an emergency,” Emma explained to Leah as they left the store.

  Outside on the boardwalk, the townspeople gathered around a short, narrow platform near the livery. Luther Welton stepped up. “Listen up, folks.”

  Jesse groaned as the din of the curious crowd dwindled to near silence.

  “As you all know, the election for town sheriff is tomorrow morning.”

  Mutterings and nods from the townsfolk.

  “But what you might not know is why I’m the best man for the job.”

  Leah sighed, already bored with the announcement. Selecting a bathtub seemed ever so much more exciting than listening to this nonsense. But Jesse made no move to return to his errands, so Leah stood patiently at his side as Mr. Welton listed off his inflated qualifications.

  Nellie came to stand alongside Leah, bouncing baby Henry in her arms, and shortly thereafter Zeb joined them.

  “So now that you know about me, let’s talk about Sheriff Waite. You might think you know all there is about the man, but what you don’t know is that he’s a yellow-belly when it comes to crime. Why, he married a common criminal.”

  With his words, reality tightened its fist around Leah’s hope. Eyes wide, she raised her gaze to the heavens and then dropped it to the dusty road—looking anywhere but back at that platform or her husband beside her. No, God, please! She’d made a mistake, and she wanted to be the one to tell Jesse, not have him hear it this way! In public. The last thing she ever wanted was to hurt him.

  “Luther, this election’s between you and me,” Jesse called, his arms folded over his suede vest. “Leave my wife out of it.”

  “It’s true, Jesse.” Her lips trembled as she quietly confessed. She stared up at him, her knees weak. “I was arrested for demonstrating and spent a night in jail. I was going to tell you …”

  “I know all about it.” He flicked a glance her way. He was angry, she could tell, but not at her. “I’ve known for some time.”

  “You have?” She blinked and managed a shaky smile. “And you still wanted to marry me?”

  A soft light entered his eyes. “Course I did. You’re a fine woman. You did nothing wrong back in Newport.”

  Jesse’s arm encircled her waist. She sagged against him.

  “Good people of One Way, I did some digging.” Welton lifted his hands, looking for all the world like some diabolical preacher. “I found out through an acquaintance of mine in Newport that the new Mrs. Waite is a reg’lar malefactor. She rioted in the streets for a women’s rights movement, turning wives against their husbands, daughters against their fathers.”

  No, it wasn’t true—Leah would never have done that!

  “A vote for Jesse Waite tomorrow jeopardizes every household in this town!”

  “That’s a lie!” Her claim went unheard above the murmuring throng. She looked up at Jesse. In that moment, she knew what she had to do to help her husband win. “I’d like the chance to set the matter straight. Please, may I? Perhaps if people hear the truth from my mouth, they’ll believe it.”

  “No, Leah. You’ll only get hurt.”

  “No, I won’t. I can face the truth.” God had a purpose, even for her blemished past, and Leah sensed this was it. Now was the time. She thrust her shoulders back with a confidence she’d never experienced before. “Please, Jesse? It might help you win tomorrow.”

  “I don’t give a whit about this election. Not if it means you’ll be humiliated.”

  “But I won’t be. We have God on our side.”

  Jesse pursed his lips, obviously considering the idea. “You sure you want to open yourself to the public like a book?”

  “I’m sure. With God directing my paths and your support, I can do anything.”

  He inclined his head in silent acquiescence then led her through the crowd to the platform. Jesse jumped onto it and helped Leah up. “Folks, you heard what Luther had to say. Now my wife would like to speak.”

  She glanced around, silently praying the townsfolk would listen. “In part, Mr. Welton is correct. I was arrested for demonstrating for women’s rights … but only because men like him have oppressed women for thousands of years. But I, in no way, condone the idea of women usurping their husband’s authority in the home.” Leah looked at Jesse. “I’m not sorry that I stood up for women’s rights, but I regret that my actions brought shame to my family, my husband …”

  “There’s no shame in what you did, Leah.” Jesse stepped forward and draped his arm around her shoulders. “Folks, thirty-six women demonstrated that day in Newport. Authorities, like Luther’s friend, incarcerated them, keeping them away from their homes and families overnight and violating their constitutional right to legal counsel.”

  “Now, wait just a minute here—”

  “The charges against my wife and the others were dropped.” Jesse ignored Welton’s attempt to cut in. “The coordinator of the event had a permit for the assembly. But in order to make sure additional demonstrations didn’t occur, bureaucrats printed the ladies’ names in the local newspaper, thoroughly humiliating them.”

  Leah was amazed that Jesse not only knew about the incident but also its details.

  “As a result, Leah suffered unnecessary consequences. Her aunt and uncle convinced her to come out here, and …” He smiled that smile she’d learned to love on her first day in One Way. “Well, I wasn’t going to pass up the chance to make a fine lady my wife.”

  “Won’t help you win the election, Jess,” a man in the crowd hollered.

  Some agreed, including Welton.

  “Doesn’t matter. I already won the prize when I married Leah.”

  His words filled her heart in a dizzying way.

  “If Luther Welton becomes sheriff,” Jesse warned, “you can be sure he’ll make examples of whomever he pleases.”

  “We agree on that much, Sheriff. I won’t tolerate any disturbances, especially from women!”

  “Even if it violates their rights?”

  “Don’t put words in my mouth. Law-abiding folks have nothing to fear from me.”

  “Just as long as it’s your law they follow.” Amid more murmurings from the crowd, Jesse helped Leah off the platform. “We’ve said all we have to say. I hope you all search your hearts before tomorrow’s election and then vote as your conscie
nces dictate.”

  “I’m proud of you, boy.” Mrs. Rigley rapped Jesse’s arm as he passed her. “You, too, Mrs. Waite.”

  At least Leah had won over the older woman. Now, if only her admission helped her husband win tomorrow, all would be well in One Way.

  “How can you sit there so calmly?” Leah placed her hands at her waist as she regarded Jesse, sitting on the porch, his booted feet on the railing, and leisurely reading a newspaper. “The election results will be in any moment.”

  “Buzzing around here like a bee in a flower garden ain’t going to change the way men voted today.”

  “Are you saying that I buzz?”

  He peeked over his paper. “No, just saying—”

  “I’ve got a bee in my bonnet?”

  He laughed, perhaps with a good amount of relief, realizing she teased him. “Come sit down.” Leaning over, he patted the chair beside his.

  And he was right, of course. She worried needlessly. God had everything under control, as always.

  “Sorry I wasn’t home much yesterday.”

  “That’s all right.” She’d fallen asleep before he got home, and Jesse had respectfully spent another night in the barn.

  “Lots of dangerous criminals to apprehend.”

  “Really?” Between chores and errands today, they hadn’t talked much about yesterday.

  “The culprit, the Bentleys’ cow, got loose and trampled Mrs. O’Connor’s cabbage patch. A felony, according to Mrs. O’Connor. I ended up fixing the fence, and the Bentleys insisted on feeding me supper.”

  “All in a day’s work, Sheriff?” Leah smiled.

  “Without a shot fired.”

  They shared a laugh.

  “Have I told you that I’m proud of you and what you did yesterday?”

  “Yes.” Only a dozen times.

  After breakfast this morning, they’d strolled to the bank, where the voting took place. Jesse cast his ballot and then it was off to the mercantile. Leah selected her bathtub, a claw-foot white enamel and cast-iron monstrosity that any Rhode Islander would covet. But, oddly, her new bathtub paled in comparison to her new husband. He consumed nearly all her waking thoughts.

  “When do you think the votes will be tabulated?” As the last syllable tumbled off her tongue, the town bell clanged.

  The election results were in.

  Reverend Bigelow held up his hands to silence the crowd gathering around the platform. “Everyone … your attention, please.”

  Leah gazed up at the minister, her husband at her side. Four days ago, she couldn’t have cared less about the election for sheriff, but now she was deeply concerned and yet quietly confident, too.

  “We’ve counted all the votes. The new sheriff of One Way is …”

  Leah wove her fingers between Jesse’s. He squeezed her hand affectionately.

  “… the incumbent, Jesse Waite.”

  A joyous weightlessness overcame Leah as cheers went up around her. Men tossed their hats in the air.

  “Come on up and speak, Sheriff.” The reverend waved him onto the platform.

  Jesse leaped onto the narrow wooden stage and offered his hand to Leah. Stepping up, she took her place beside him. The cheers continued, and Jesse inclined his head in silent gratitude.

  At last the hoopla died down.

  “I want to thank everyone who voted for me. As sheriff of One Way, I vow before you today to see that justice is served and the citizens of this town are protected. I also look forward to presenting plans to the town board for a church and school. As I’ve promised, I’ll do my part in negotiating with the railroad so it comes through town and benefits us all.” He gave a nod. “Again, thank you.”

  Amid the townsfolk’s applause, Jesse turned to Leah. With a delighted laugh, he took her in his arms and twirled her around.

  Had she ever been this happy?

  “I love you, Leah.” He whispered the words against her ear.

  She pulled back and gazed into his sky-blue eyes. “I love you, Sheriff Jesse Waite.” Amazingly, she meant each word.

  Onlookers cheered all the more.

  Then he kissed her, an exquisite, gentle kiss filled with hope and promise, as the town bell pealed the news across the land.

  Andrea Kuhn Boeshaar and her husband, Daniel, have three sons, one daughter-in-law, and five grandchildren. Andrea writes articles and devotionals but particularly enjoys writing fiction. Her stories incorporate godly romance with reality and hope with heartbreak. Find out more at: www.andreaboeshaar.com.

  “LIKE” Andrea on Facebook: www.facebook.com/andrea.boeshaar

  Follow her on Twitter: @AndreaBoeshaar

  Christina Linstrot Miller has always lived in the past. Her passion for history began with her grandmother’s stories of 1920s rural southern Indiana. Christina enjoys historical architecture, the coastal South, and early American antiques. A pastor’s wife and worship leader, she lives on her family farm with her husband of twenty-seven years and Sugar, their talking dog. Find out more about Christina at: www.christinalinstrotmiller.com.

  KEEPER OF MY HEART

  Mona Hodgson

  And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.

  JOHN 8:32

  Chapter 1

  May 1866

  Neelie pushed the gun belt into place at her hips. The raucous sound of a tinny piano slowed her steps on the boardwalk outside the Cottonmouth Saloon at Fort Kearney. She needed funds, and the opportunities for a woman were limited, to say the least. If she expected to make it to San Francisco for that job, she had some shooting to do.

  Tugging at the bead on the straps under her chin, Neelie loosened her sombrero. She drew a red kerchief from the pocket of her trousers and wiped the sweat from the back of her neck as she stared at the swinging doors. She hated this part. But if the last two years had taught her anything, it was that what or how she felt didn’t amount to a whit of difference. What she did, however, could make a difference.

  Pulling herself up to her tallest and fortifying herself with a melodramatic chuckle, Nellie pushed open the double-hinged doors and stepped into the smoky darkness. The pungent mix of smoke, sweat, and liquor always carried her back to the first time Archie had made her strut into a saloon. Blinking to adjust her vision, she swallowed the bitter memories. Worn boots with jangling spurs carried her across the wooden floor to the ornate bar. The bulbous-nosed man behind the dark wood monstrosity tipped an amber bottle over a glass while staring at her, his thick eyebrows nearly knit together.

  Silencing the piano with one sharp glance at the bald, stick-thin player, the man with too much nose for his pockmarked face tugged at the soiled apron tied above his ample belly. “I don’t serve no drinks to females, unless they work for me.” His nettling snort stiffened her spine.

  “Good thing for both of us I didn’t come here for a drink. Or a job.” Wishing she had her brother’s height, Neelie drew in a deep breath. “I’d be obliged if you’ve got six empty bottles you can spare.”

  The man scrubbed the whiskers on his double chin and, without uttering a word, turned toward a closed door at the end of the bar.

  Good. She had pegged the barkeep for the curious sort. But then, most men were when they saw a lady who didn’t look or act like one. She’d fallen far from that moniker—lady.

  Soon the barkeep ambled out the side door, dangling three empty bottles from each hand. He set the bottles on the bar, still clutching them by the neck. No doubt waiting for payment of some sort.

  She gave him a forced smile. “Thank you, kindly.”

  His face didn’t soften. Nor did he loosen his grip on the bottles.

  Neelie leaned forward, close enough to smell onions on his breath. “What do you say we work as partners, mister? You collect the bets, and we’ll split the winnings down the middle.”

  Nodding, the man released his grip. “Sure hope you know what you’re doin’.”

  Neelie gave him a sharp nod then pinched the bottle ne
cks in her hands and started for the door. She stopped halfway and did a slow turn, meeting the gazes of a dozen men. She set three of the bottles on the corner of a table then reached up and bumped the brim on her sombrero, pushing the hat to the back of her head.

  “I know what you’re all thinking,” she said. “You’re thinking, ‘What’s a little lady doin’ walkin’ into a saloon and carryin’ out empty bottles?’” Allowing for a theatrical pause, Neelie watched their heads bob. “Well, friends …” She raised one set of bottles as she picked up the others from the table. “Be prepared to be amazed.”

  With an invitational nod toward the door, Neelie resumed her stroll to the street. The sound of chairs scraping the wood flooring provided sweet music for her steps out the door and across the boardwalk.

  In the center of the street, she set the bottles about ten paces apart. A gaggle of men followed her, stumbling and muttering as she led them toward the edge of town, where she’d tethered her Spanish mustang in the shade of a cottonwood tree.

  She loosened the reins from the branch then pulled two lumps of sugar from her pocket and held it out to her horse. “Here we go, Whistle.”

  Setting her foot in the stirrup, Neelie swung up into the Mexican saddle and spurred her horse once. When Whistle broke into a gallop, Neelie flung herself into a standing position and pulled one of her cross-draw six-shooters in one swift movement. As the horse carried her past the first bottle, she shot and shattered it.

  The men scattered off the street and onto the boardwalks.

  When the last bottle exploded in a mist of broken glass, Neelie holstered the gun, dropped into the saddle, and pulled up on the reins. Whistle reared as he turned back toward the saloon.

  Neelie lifted her hat and spun it in the air. “Tell all your friends. And be here at six o’clock tonight for the real show. I’ll go up against the best shootin’ man the town’s got. Bring your money.”