Della (Cowboys and Debutantes Book 2)

by Vivi Holt

  Della

  Cowboys & Debutantes

  Vivi Holt

  Black Lab Press

  Copyright © 2017 by Vivi Holt

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  About Della

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Captivated (Cutter’s Creek, Book 18)

  Historical Note & Author’s Remarks

  Download a FREE book by Vivi Holt

  Also by Vivi Holt

  About Della

  Introducing Cowboys and Debutantes! Enjoy these clean and wholesome, sweet historical western romances. These riches to rags shorts prove that love can be found in the most unexpected places, and that money does not always make the man. But as our debutantes know, it sure helps!

  Della Stout can hardly believe it when her father tells her he's lost it all - the money, the house, the servants, their entire fortune. But things only get worse when they inform her she's to be sent west, as a Mail Order Bride. When she meets her husband to be, she's less than impressed - by him and the dusty little town he lives in.

  Clement White has spent his whole life working toward this moment. After opening a bank in Montana Territory, he feels as though his dreams have come true. All but one - he realizes there's no one to share in the fruits of his labor. A Mail Order Bride seems like just the thing to complete his life, that is, until she arrives. Suddenly he's saddled with a woman who doesn't know a stovetop from a wash tub, and to make matters worse she wants nothing to do with him.

  What happens next? Find out in this fun, romantic caper set in the old west.

  Praise for Vivi Holt

  The writing was superb staying true to all of Vivi Holt’s writings. Vivi Holt never disappoints in her writing and the amazing books that she has published. She has a gift for writing intriguing and entertaining stories.

  Amazon reviewer

  My first time reading Vivi Holt, I believe she will be one of my favorite authors.

  Amazon reviewer

  Wonderful! Vivi Holt pulls at your heart strings and then some

  Kit Morgan, Bestselling author

  Chapter 1

  April 1888

  Della Eustice Stout knew two things in life. The first was that a girl could become a spinster in less time than it took a hansom cab to get from Grand Central Station to the Brooklyn Bridge. And the second was that if Uncle Ulysses was so upset he had to send her home before he could talk about it with Aunt Fanny, then something was terribly, terribly wrong.

  She grabbed hold of her straw hat, the large feather on it tickling the side of her neck as she ran. The other hand clutched at her stays. She knew she shouldn’t have coaxed Anna to pull them quite so tight - now she could barely breathe. She stopped her headlong flight and leaned against a lamp post, bending at the waist to take deep breaths and hopefully calm the dizziness that threatened to send her into that too-familiar blackness. She knew she fainted too often - Mother always told her so - but if a girl was going to land the most eligible bachelor in New York City, she had to have the smallest waist. And she was determined to do just that.

  Her head cleared and she straightened her back, then walked quickly but sedately toward home. Thank goodness she lived only a few city blocks away from Cousin Effie’s house. The darkness of evening was quickly falling, and she watched a man coming toward her along the street, lighting lamps as he went.

  She was dying to know what all the fuss was about. She loved to hear of others’ tribulations, so long as it didn’t impact her. And in this case she wasn’t sure - that was why she had to get home. She hoped it wouldn’t be anything so bad for her poor uncle. Maybe he’d just had a bad day at the office he shared with her father. Yet if that were the case, why was he in such a state? The two brothers had always been close and shared everything, even once courting the same woman, now her mother. She knew Mother had been very beautiful in her youth, and still was - people often remarked on it. It made Della feel plain by comparison

  She pushed open the heavy front door of her house and peered into the parlor. There was no one around, so she followed the hallway to the kitchen. The cook, Mrs. Pippin, looked up at her with a smile. “Good evenin’ to ya, Miss Della. Are ya lookin’ for someone in particular?”

  She nodded. “Yes, Mother. Is she around?”

  The cook frowned. “I believe she is, though I hain’t seen her for a while. Why don’t you try her rooms upstairs?”

  Della waved her thanks and hurried off. She passed by the library and found her father there, sitting alone. The smoke from his cigar circled his head in the darkness. She paused. She’d never seen him this way before. He was usually so jovial, so cheery, that she wasn’t sure what to do.

  But Mother would know. She left him there and skipped up the stairs two at a time, almost losing her footing on the slick timber. Sally must have waxed the floors. She regained her balance, smoothed her skirts and bustled into her mother’s rooms through the slightly ajar door. She too sat in semi-darkness, at her dressing table, brushing her hair slowly and regarding her reflection in the looking glass.

  “Mother?” whispered Della, gingerly tiptoeing forward.

  Her mother laid the hairbrush on the table and turned in her seat to face her daughter. “Oh, Della, we’re ruined.”

  “What?” Della’s brow furrowed. What in Heaven’s name did she mean, “ruined”?

  Her mother put her face in her hands and began to sob. Della rushed to her side and searched a drawer for a clean handkerchief. She handed it to her mother and knelt beside her, waiting.

  Della’s mother sat up and pressed the handkerchief to her reddened eyes. “Thank you, my dear.”

  “Mother, what’s happened?”

  “A scoundrel, a good for nothing low-life rotten rascal of a man, has swindled your father and uncle out of everything they own. They’re in debt too, and as if that wasn’t enough he’s been spreading the vilest lies about them all over town.” She blew her nose loudly into the handkerchief and stood up to pace across the room.

  Della stood as well, her hands pressed against her forehead, eyes wide with disbelief. “How can that be? Father has a good reputation - people know him. They know he wouldn’t do anything wrong.”

  Her mother paused to blow her nose again, then continued pacing, waving her arms around wildly and crying as she did. “It’s no use. This man, I don’t even know his name, has fixed it so no one will listen to your father’s side of the story! He’s destroyed us!”

  Della’s heart fell, and she felt panic rise from her stomach. How could this be? Who would do such a thing? She knew she wouldn’t get anything more of use from Mother, so she decided to run back downstairs to see Father. But as she dashed down the long hallway, she heard crying coming from the room her sisters shared. She stopped, pushed their door open and saw them sitting huddled together on a bed, their arms around each other’s shoulders and crying. She wondered where her younger brothers were — likely hiding somewhere, or perhaps still playing in the back yard.

  She sighed and stepped into the room. “It’s going to be all right,” she whispered. She sat beside them on the b
ed and laid a hand on Pearl’s shoulder as her youngest sister hiccuped.

  Hattie sat straight, sniffled and looked at her through tears. “How do you know?”

  “Because Father will work something out. I know he will.” She forced a smile, hoping to set her sisters at ease.

  It worked - their tears slowed. They sniffled a few more times, then sat still, their faces morose. “What do we do now?” asked Pearl.

  “Well, first things first — let’s go down and have some supper. Nothing seems quite so bad on a full stomach.” Della’s voice was brisk and cheery, but her hands trembled as she spoke.

  They all stood and walked arm-in-arm down to the dining room, where the aroma of fresh baked rolls and hearty chicken soup wafted out from the kitchen to greet them. Della’s stomach growled, and as she sat she noted the fine bone china, silverware and the crystal chandelier that hung over the long table. She frowned. How long would their house look this way? She had no way of knowing, since she still didn’t know how much damage the swindler had done. But she did know that her chances of finding a good match with one of New York’s most eligible bachelors would dwindle. She’d call on Robert Wilkins first thing in the morning and see about renewing his interest in her.

  That decision made, Della felt the fog of despair lift a little. She’d go see Robert, and after their engagement everything would be just fine … for her, at least.

  Chapter 2

  Della still couldn’t believe the hide of Robert Wilkins, Esq. How dare he refuse even to see her when she called on him?

  But that was days ago, and now something worse had happened - her mother, against all her pleadings and tears, had sent her and her sisters off to the frontier as mail-order brides! She was to marry some strange man who lived in Montana Territory. She hadn’t even known where Montana Territory was - she’d had to look it up in Father’s atlas.

  How could this be happening? She was supposed to be a debutante enjoying the third year after her coming out. Yes, she’d taken her time choosing a husband, but that was her prerogative, wasn’t it? Well, she certainly regretted it now. If she’d been engaged, this whole sordid affair might not have touched her. But now that she no longer had an inheritance of any kind and her family’s reputation lay in ruins, none of her old beaus would have her.

  She stared bleakly out the window of the steam train as it chugged west along the straight rail lines, every moment taking her further from New York and civilization and closer to the Hades that awaited her. She took a long deep breath, watching a line of rainwater trickle down the windowpane, obscuring her view of the precipitous mountain range she’d spotted to the north a few minutes earlier. It had been a welcome sight after days of endless plains of waving yellow grasses, only broken by the occasional copse of trees.

  It had rained nonstop the past several hours and she welcomed it. The sun shouldn’t shine when her heart was broken. She didn’t know when, or if, she’d ever see her family again - she’d clung to her sisters’ necks and they to hers, crying and begging not to be parted. She hadn’t even had the chance to say goodbye to Effie or any of her other cousins - Effie had left to meet her new husband in Oregon a few days earlier. Della hoped desperately they’d meet again, but she knew it wasn’t likely.

  And today she’d meet the man she was to spend the rest of her life with, in the new booming mining town of Livingston. She shuddered at the thought.

  The train began to slow, and she grabbed the arm of the seat to steady herself. A loud whistle blasted out over the valley, and she turned to take a look. A small town hurried toward them, spirals of smoke curling skyward from chimneys. It still looked new, with raw timber constructions dotted around and stores and houses being built by the dozen. The rain was falling even harder now and she couldn’t see much beyond a few of the closest structures.

  They pulled into the small, neat station, and the engine stopped with a groan. She picked up her bonnet from the seat beside her and quickly pinned it onto her head. Then, with her reticule in one hand and her parasol in the other, she stood to her feet and hurried to the door. It opened and a porter grinned at her. “Welcome to Livingston, Miss. Mind yer step.” She nodded and gave him her hand to help her down.

  As soon as she stood on the platform, she looked up and down the length of it. How would she recognize her future husband? She knew nothing at all about him, except his name - Clement White - and that he was a banker. At least he wasn’t a chimney sweep. She frowned at the thought and opened her parasol. The crowds that departed the train milled around the platform, so she pushed through them to stand beneath the station’s sturdy tin roof, where the porter had been nice enough to deposit her bags. She thought she’d wait to see who was left after the other travelers dispersed.

  Within ten minutes, there was only one man left at the station who didn’t wear a railway uniform. He looked like she imagined a cowboy would - long brown dungarees, a checked shirt and a wide-brimmed hat shielding his bearded face. He saw her, his eyes wide, and walked over, holding in his hand a bedraggled bunch of daisies. He touched his fingers to his hat, his face serious. “Della Stout?”

  She nodded. “Yes. I’m Della. And you are?”

  He held out his hand. “I’m Clement White. It’s a pleasure to meet ya, Miss Stout.”

  She shook his hand quickly, then pulled away. “These are my bags.”

  While he tried to figure how he could carry all her luggage at once, she looked him up and down beneath hooded eyes. He certainly was handsome, in a dull, country kind of way. He had nothing on the dashing Robert Wilkins - not that she cared one jot for Robert, after the way he’d treated her.

  She followed him dejectedly through the rain along the platform, then down the slippery steps to the muddy street beyond. When she didn’t see a cab waiting for them, she shook her head. Was she to slosh through all this mud like a common vagabond? Apparently he expected her to, and she had no choice but to follow him. He was already disappearing across the street, buried beneath a mound of carpetbags and luggage, and didn’t turn back to check on her progress. She’d soon lose sight of him if she didn’t keep up.

  She lifted her skirts high with the same hand that held her reticule and tiptoed through the muck behind him, biting her lip. The least he could have done was order a cab to take her home - now her second-best pair of boots would be ruined. She wondered for a moment when she’d next get a chance to buy a pair of boots. She’d always relied on Father to buy everything she needed - what if her new husband wasn’t as generous?

  Just thinking of Father and her family brought a lump to her throat, and she choked back the tears. It wouldn’t do to cry in front of Clement White … not that he’d be able to tell, since she could already feel the rain soaking through her parasol and running down the sides of her face. Oh, this really was the absolute worst! Her hat was likely ruined, her boots covered in mud, and she was being left to fend for herself through a veritable swamp, past wagons, buggies, and men who stopped to watch her as she passed by. The only women around were hovering by the entrances to saloons and dance halls and who knew what else, wearing little more than pantaloons and bustiers. What kind of place had her mother sent her to?

  She bit even harder on her lip to stifle the sob that rose in her throat.

  Clement White flung the luggage down on the bank floor and let out a huff of breath. How much dang luggage did one half-pint of a woman need? He panted hard, lifting one arm to stretch out his shoulder. But then, he supposed she’d packed up an entire life and moved it across the country. He should give her leave for that.

  He glanced over his shoulder as his bride-to-be stumbled in the large oak door and across the timber boards as if drunk. It brought a smirk to his face, but he hid it behind a cough. “Ya all right there?”

  She glared at him and dropped her now-useless parasol to the ground. “I most certainly am not.”

  His eyebrows arched and he lifted the luggage onto his back again. He still had to get it all
upstairs to his apartment above the bank. It was cozy and made it easy for him to open and close the bank whenever needed, not to mention to keep an eye on things.

  She was looking around the empty building in confusion. “Where are we?”

  “This is my bank. We’ll be living upstairs. Follow me.”

  “Where is everyone?”

  “I closed up for today.” He headed for a door in the back of the room, flung it open and shuffled through, careful not to get wedged in the doorway. With a few grunts and shoves he began struggling up the staircase beyond. When he reached the apartment, he once again relieved himself of the luggage and threw himself into a chair to catch his breath.

  Della soon appeared, peering over the top of the staircase, her eyes wide. “What in Heaven’s name is this? Is this our house?”

  He rolled his eyes behind his hand, then managed a smile for her. He could tell just what she thought about it. “Yep, this is where we’ll live. I hope it’ll be to yer liking.”

  She frowned as she reached the doorway at the top of the stairs and gazed around, her hands folded demurely in front of her fine black damask gown, white lace framing her neck and wrists. He watched her, noting the long brown loops of hair that no doubt shone in the sunlight when they weren’t soaked. Her dainty face had a golden glow, and large hazel eyes absorbed her surroundings before fixing on him. She seemed to be waiting for him to say something.

  He cleared his throat and stood quickly. “Well, bedroom’s in there if you’d like to get cleaned up. I’ll take yer bags in there directly. I can make us a cup of coffee if ya like, ‘fore we head on down to see the Reverend.” He lifted the first bag and carried it into the small bedroom they’d share. One look at the bed made him gulp. He knew they’d be married before nightfall, but now that she was here, the thought of sharing a bed with her made his breath catch in his throat, and his body break out in a cold sweat, all at the same time.