Montana Sky_An Unlikely Marriage

by Linda Carroll-Bradd

  Text copyright ©2016 by the Author.

  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Debra Holland. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Montana Sky remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Debra Holland, or their affiliates or licensors.

  For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds

  An Unlikely Marriage

  By Linda Carroll-Bradd

  Welcome to Montana Sky Series Kindle World, where authors write books set in my 1880s “world” of Sweetwater Springs and Morgan’s Crossing, Montana. Aside from providing the backdrop of setting and townsfolk, I haven't contributed to the stories in any way. The authors bring their own unique vision and imagination to the KW books, sometimes tying them into their own series.

  An Unlikely Marriage is written by Linda Carroll-Bradd. I first met Linda in June 2012 when she rejoined the Orange County Romance Writers of America chapter after moving back to California. Within a couple of months, she copy edited one of my stories, and soon Linda became my regular copy editor and a friend. She’s always there for me, even if we are working late into the night on a deadline. We are in the same plot group, and I often see her stories build from the barest outline to fleshed-out book. Linda also contributed a story to Sweetwater Springs Christmas: A Montana Sky Short Story Anthology. Her novella in that anthology, Wishes on a Star, features Richelle Quaid (younger sister to this story’s hero) all grown up with a romance of her own.

  I hope you enjoy reading An Unlikely Marriage.

  Debra Holland

  Table of Contents

  Welcome

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  About the Author

  Other Historical Titles

  C

  HAPTER ONE

  October 1886, Montana Territory

  Just where has my outspokenness led me?

  Standing at the base of the church steps in Sweetwater Springs, Montana Territory, Nola York clasped her hands together but couldn’t stop their shaking. She glanced at the tall white-framed building outlined against a clear blue sky, and her stomach clenched. Did all houses of worship look this stern and imposing? Like the double doors might open and swallow anyone within a few feet of its cavernous maw.

  This occasion marked the first time she’d willingly set foot inside a church since her parents’ funerals a decade earlier. A horrible time in her life that had forced responsibility onto the narrow shoulders of a fourteen-year-old girl. Today’s visit involved another event destined to change the direction of her life…possibly forever.

  Behind her, a horse-drawn wagon rumbled past, the harness creaking and the chains clanking. A dog barked, scampering in noisy pursuit of the horses. Voices of townspeople greeting one another on this Saturday afternoon added normalcy to the background.

  Unfortunately today, and what was to come, was anything but normal. Nola pressed a hand to the rust-colored crepe de chine drop-waisted dress with a ruffled bodice—the only dress she owned fit for such an occasion. If wildflowers still bloomed this far north in October, she’d have something solid to occupy her twitching fingers. She shot a sideways glance at her intended groom, and the question of “why?” clanged in her head like the toll of a bell. What made her think a marriage of convenience was a good idea?

  The tall, charming cowboy on her left caught her gaze and winked.

  She looked into the laughing blue eyes that always made her want to smile. Her pulse kicked up a beat. His broad-brimmed hat shaded his face and revealed only a touch of his hair. The sun’s rays, reflected from the white building, picked out a reddish tone among the brown.

  Boots shifting on the step to her right was a reminder her younger sister by two years, Cinnia, was also present with Nic Andrews, the man she’d agreed to marry. Such rash choices the four of them had made.

  A hinge squeaked.

  Biting back a gasp, she jumped and turned toward the noise.

  The church doors opened, and a bearded man with a head of brown hair fighting a losing battle with encroaching white streaks looked amidst the group. His plain black frockcoat did nothing to accent his clear blue eyes and polite smile. “Welcome, folks. Come inside.”

  “Howdy again, sir.” Torin Quaid pressed a broad hand to her lower back and escorted her up the wooden steps .

  Fighting the impulse to stiffen, she drew in a deep breath and tried to match Torin’s long stride. I have to get used to being touched.

  Cinnia and Nic followed, sharing murmured whispers until the group crossed the church threshold.

  “Now, I feel I must appeal again to you folks about waiting until tomorrow, right after church services.” He crossed his hands over the edges of the worn Bible he held. “I’m sure a few of the townspeople would enjoy seeing handsome young people like yourselves take the matrimonial step. My wife, Mary, loves weddings, and she’ll be sorry her stay with an ill neighbor caused her to miss this event.”

  For a fleeting moment, Nola wanted Torin to agree, to delay this impetuous temporary marriage for a little while longer. Three days ago, the idea—her very own suggestion—had sounded full of adventure and fun. After injuring his left wrist while wrangling a horse, Torin needed help driving his mustangs north about one hundred and fifty miles to his family’s ranch. The vaudeville troupe she and her sister had performed with for the past five years had been torn apart by the manager’s desertion. H.P. Thomas’s disappearance left the troupe with the responsibility of fulfilling their obligation to the citizens of the small mining town. Nola prided herself with the knowledge she’d held the group together long enough to complete their contract. Yesterday morning, the rest of the troupe headed south for Denver, hoping to find jobs in a theater for the winter.

  Then, out of nowhere, Cinnia refused to continue performing and decided to open a dress shop in Morgan’s Crossing. And she wanted Nola to commit to staying in one place for six whole months. Their wagon mate and acrobat friend, Dorrie Sullivan, went along with Cinnia’s decision and had her eye on new possibilities. Sure, Nola could stitch on a button, repair a hem, and patch a rip when the situation required. But she’d much rather be active, working with the dogs to develop their repertoire of tricks, or taking this opportunity to learn more about horse training. Even though that chance meant a wedding must take place.

  Holding her breath, she glanced between the chestnut-haired man within reach and the tall blond leather worker at Cinnia’s side. Although she hadn’t known either man long, she noted the determination in their expressions. The two men exchanged looks, and Nic gave a small nod.

  Torin’s shoulders lifted and dropped. “Like I said, Reverend Norton, I, er, my wife and I will need to be on our drive north after daybreak.” He ran a finger inside the collar of his gray cotton shirt and gave a hard swallow. “With no hotel in town, we’ll pack ourselves into a showman’s wagon my Nola and her sister call home. Because of that, I’m sure you understand our need to be married this afternoon.”

  Nodding, the reverend cleared his throat. “I presume each couple will be the witness for the other. Do you request a separate ceremony, or a combined one?” His blue-eyed gaze scanned the group.

  “Individuals ones, reverend.” Nic gestured for them to walk forward from the church’s foyer. “Torin and Nola can go first.”

  “O
h, I almost forgot.” Cinnia dug into her reticule and pulled out a silver ring. “You’re the older sister, so you should be the one to have Mother’s ring.” She hugged Nola, and then stepped back and slipped her hand in the crook of Nic’s elbow.

  Sweet Cinnia—always the sentimental one, who’d bemoaned more than once the lack of heirloom items from their parents. Nola’s eyes burned, and she mouthed a thank you before following the reverend down the aisle to the front of the church. Plain wooden pews stretched from either side of the aisle where she walked, aware of the matching cadence of Torin’s and her footsteps. Was their rhythm a good sign? That they should be going through with this ceremony both had agreed would only last until the horses were delivered to his family’s Four Clovers Ranch in Meadowlark?

  The footsteps behind them stopped, shuffled a bit, and then quieted.

  Reverend Norton stood before a cloth-covered table holding a simple silver crucifix and thumbed open his leather-bound Bible. Behind him, a piano hugged one wall. Several latticed windows on both sides of the building allowed in the afternoon’s diffuse sunshine.

  This was her last chance to back out. Her stomach roiled almost as roughly as it had before her very first stage performance. Nola glanced at Torin, who held her gaze before again giving her another broad wink. This man sought, and usually found, the fun in any situation, which was a point in his favor. She tossed a glance over her shoulder and spotted Cinnia and Nic seated close together in the second pew, probably hand-in-hand. Four people who’d known each other for less than a week were taking this most serious step.

  Nola squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, resolute the decision she’d made was the only logical one. With this temporary marriage, she’d earn the means to take her one step closer to her fervent wish of landing a spot in the production known as Buffalo Bill’s Wild West.

  The reverend smiled at the couple and asked for their names.

  “Torin Arnt Quaid.” He patted her hand that grasped the crook of his elbow.

  She cleared her suddenly dry throat. “Nola Mavelle York.”

  Reverend Norton turned his blue-eyed gaze on Torin for several seconds. “Torin, will you receive Nola Mavelle York as your wife and bind yourself to her in the covenant of marriage? Will you promise to love and honor her in true devotion, to rejoice with her in times of gladness, and to grieve with her, as long as you both shall live?”

  He gave a quick head bob. “That I surely will.”

  Nola listened as the reverend repeated the marriage questions, cringing at the “as long as you both shall live” phrase. Staring straight ahead, she agreed in a dry whisper, “I do so promise.” At least until I get the train ticket Torin promised me as payment for the drive.

  In a blur, Torin slipped a ring on her extended hand, and the reverend pronounced them married. She barely closed her eyes in time to receive a brusque kiss to seal their vows. A kiss that made her light-headed enough to grab a handful of her groom’s shirt. He eased back and she waited another second or two before opening her eyes. Well, she hadn’t planned on that. Then the pair turned and moved down the aisle as a grinning Nic and a blushing Cinnia approached the altar.

  Nola slid into the pew and, before she could arrange her skirts, Torin pressed close on her right side. The wedding ring felt strange, almost heavy, on her finger. She held up her left hand and looked at the thin gold band. Gold? Only then did she realize, in her nervousness, she hadn’t offered him her mother’s ring still clasped in her right hand. Torin bought her a ring? That was more planning than she would have given him credit for. Sudden heat built behind her eyes. What was this reaction? She didn’t get weepy.

  From behind the couple standing before the minister, she watched their ceremony unfold. Repetition of the marriage vows deepened her guilt over her own false statement. Watching Nic turn to face Cinnia and hearing his confident tone when he said, “I vow to fulfill all the stated promises and accept you, Cinnia, for my wife,” put a lump in her throat. Seeing Cinnia’s fast blinks and hearing her tremulous answer of, “I accept you, Nic, as my husband and make those promises with an open heart,” revealed her sister’s honest and unscripted feelings. Nola would watch for more signs this evening, but she would bet Nic and Cinnia were truly in love.

  Before she could dwell on that amazing fact, Nola felt Torin’s grip on her elbow, urging her from the pew. She dashed a hand at her damp cheek before standing.

  Nic remained near the altar, and he passed several folded bills to Reverend Norton. “Thank you, sir, for accommodating our last-minute plans and for the good works done by your church.”

  With a wave, the reverend beckoned the group to the piano and pointed to where each was to sign a registry and then on small certificates as witness. After blowing on the ink, he handed one paper to Torin and the other to Nic. The men exchanged handshakes with the minister.

  Cinnia came up on her other side and, like they so often did, the sisters walked arm-in-arm down the aisle.

  “I can’t believe it. We’re both married.”

  Cinnia’s gushing tone didn’t match Nola’s more practical view of their new situations. Cinnia was headed back to Morgan’s Crossing to run a dressmaker’s shop next door to Nic’s saddlery. The couple’s plans involved starting a regular married life.

  On the other hand, Nola’s help in driving the mustangs north earned a train ticket to the destination of her choice. Torin’s exact words when they first discussed the agreement. Nola knew just where she was headed—New York City. Mr. Thomas had shown them all a newspaper article about the successful summer run of Buffalo Bill’s Wild West at Erastina Amusement Grounds on Staten Island. An unprecedented winter season was planned at Madison Square Garden. Knowing he’d added sharpshooter Annie Oakley and equestrienne Emma Lake Hickok to the lineup of “America’s National Entertainment” the previous year allowed Nola to dream she had a chance of joining the cast. She’d saved that article and re-read it at odd moments, often thinking of the type of act that would earn her a spot in that famous traveling production.

  Torin strode past so he could push open the doors, allowing in the last golden light of the day. “After you, ladies.” Grinning, he gave a deep bow, cradling the sling supporting his left arm.

  Moments later, Nic joined them outside the church. “Shall we go find a camping spot while we still have enough light?”

  With a sweeping wave, Torin gestured toward the prairie. “I don’t care where we go, as long as it’s—”

  “North.” The other three chimed in.

  Glancing around the group, Torin chuckled. “Said that a time or two, have I?”

  Hours later, at a spot not too far off the road between Sweetwater Springs and Morgan’s Crossing, the embers of the campfire glowed red. The dying fire emitted barely enough heat to reach where Nola sat on a blanket. Across the stone circle Cinnia and Nic rested on another blanket, snuggled close.

  Nola and Cinnia had worked together, like so many times before, preparing a decent-enough meal over an open fire, using only a pot and a skillet. Neither mentioned how this occasion was the last time they would share this chore. Now Nola wished she’d paid more attention to how Cinnia kept the biscuits from burning or what wild herbs she collected to flavor their meals. The three women—the York sisters and their friend, Dorrie Sullivan—had shared chores while living in the assigned vaudeville wagon. Truth be told, Cinnia had done the bulk of the cooking, with Nola and Dorrie serving as helpers. In considering that fact, Nola wondered if she should have informed Torin when this arrangement was first discussed.

  Hard to ignore—and not be a bit envious of—were Cinnia’s wide grin and happy humming. Nola pulled her knitted scarf higher along her neck to ward off the chill of the autumn air.

  Torin sat only inches away, but he hadn’t spoken since thanking her for the meal. His right arm was wrapped around drawn-up knees with his injured left hand resting on top.

  Legs stretched full length, Nic braced his hands behind h
im and tilted back his head to look at the night sky. “I always feel so small when I look at the heavens.”

  “Does anyone know the names of what constellations we’re looking at?” Nola held out a hand to block the firelight as she gazed upward.

  “I know some, but—” Torin pushed to a stand and held out his hand. “Dawn comes early. We need to get to bed. Come, my wife.”

  The sound of the word “wife” made Nola jerk. How long before she got used to that term? Willing to accept the help, she grasped his hand and felt herself lifted with apparent ease to her feet. “I’ll take care of…my…oh, I’ll be right over there and meet you in the wagon.” Dealing with such activities while traveling with the troupe had never been an issue. So why was she getting all tongue-tied now? She pointed toward the clump of bushes the women had used earlier then glanced at her sister and raised an eyebrow.

  Cinnia pushed herself away from Nic’s side and stood. “I’m coming, too.”

  “I’ll get the dogs.” After making kissy noises, Nola grabbed the leads from their hooks just inside the wagon door and clipped them onto Gigi’s and Queenie’s collars. “Come on, girls. Last walk of the night.”

  The dogs yipped and pranced down the metal steps to the prairie grass then lowered their heads to sniff out the best spot.

  Ten minutes later, all four adults stood in the show wagon’s middle aisle, and no one could move more than a few inches. Thankfully, the dogs were bedded down in their crates built under the cushioned settee that Cinnia claimed as her bed for the night.

  Nola and Cinnia requested two minutes behind the sleeping area curtain to put on nightgowns. They wiggled and flopped like fish on a riverbank to slide off their petticoats, drawers, corsets, and chemises before slipping warm flannel gowns over their heads. Taking turns, they removed the pins from each other’s hair then plaited the lengths into single thick braids.