Rose: Bride of Colorado (American Mail-Order Bride 38)

by Margery Scott

  Rose

  Margery Scott

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  Copyright © 2015 by Margery Scott

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  * * *

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  Chapter 1

  Colorado, 1891

  Charlie Halstead leaned against the sideboard in the Bar-H ranch’s kitchen, his ankles crossed and his arms folded across his chest. His father, Robert, paced the length of the room, slamming his hand on the thick oak table on each pass.

  Finally, he stopped in front of Charlie and glared at him. “I’ve had enough of your shenanigans. It’s time for you to grow up and start acting like an adult instead of a … a hooligan.”

  Charlie met his gaze, even though one eye was already swelling shut and his cut lip stung like a hundred bees were feasting on it.

  He didn’t bother responding. He’d been on the receiving end of this lecture more than once over the years, and he’d found it was best to keep quiet and let his father rant until his frustration was spent.

  Robert raised his hand and shook a finger at Charlie. “If that man had been hurt bad, you’d be behind bars right now.”

  This time, though, Charlie couldn’t contain himself any longer. “He was a cheat. Any other man would have put a bullet through him.”

  “If you hadn’t been gambling, you wouldn’t have been in that situation in the first place.”

  “I was just letting off a little steam—”

  As if he hadn’t heard a word Charlie had said, Robert resumed his pacing. He stopped at the other end of the table, where Charlie’s mother was sitting, her hands twisting a lace handkerchief between her fingers. “Your mother and I both agree, it’s time you got married and settled down.”

  “What?” Charlie spun around to face his father, then realized he’d made a huge mistake. Pain ricocheted through his head and dizziness clouded his vision.

  “You and Eugenie will get married this spring and you’ll spend your time here on the ranch like a decent family man instead of going into town every night.”

  Charlie’s stomach twisted. He’d been well aware his whole life that both his and Eugenie Apsley’s parents had practically arranged a wedding between the two. But that was not going to happen.

  As soon as his vision cleared, he straightened and took a step toward his father. “No. ”

  “Eugenie expects to marry you—”

  “Because you and her father have convinced her it’s the right thing to do.”

  “She loves you.”

  Charlie spoke slowly so his father couldn’t misunderstand. “No. She doesn’t. She wants to be a Halstead. That’s all. And I’m not going to marry Eugenie. Not now. Not ever.”

  He couldn’t imagine waking up to Eugenie every morning for the rest of his life. Time and time again over the years, he'd witnessed the sense of entitlement she'd managed to hide from his family – as if the world only existed to make her life easier. He’d seen the way she treated people when they were of no further use to her.

  His parents thought she loved him. He knew better. He was pretty sure the only reason she wanted to marry him was because she loved the idea of being a Halstead. If he did marry her, it wouldn’t take long before the novelty wore off, and he wasn’t about to get himself into a lifelong sentence of being treated like a hired hand.

  “This isn’t the Middle Ages,” Charlie snapped. “You can’t force me to marry somebody just because you and Mr. Apsley want to join forces.”

  His father’s eyes narrowed, his face hardening. “I can if you expect to inherit this ranch.”

  Had he heard right? Or was his brain still addled from Dooley Smith’s right hook to the jaw? “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Either you get married and settle down, or I’ll take you out of my will and Edward will inherit the Bar-H.”

  Charlie couldn’t wrap his mind around the possibility that he’d lose the ranch, especially to his good-for-nothing cousin. Edward was one of the laziest men Charlie had ever met, and the man didn’t know one end of a branding iron from the other. The Bar-H – the ranch where Charlie was born and had worked with his father on for as long as he could remember – would be ruined within a year.

  Charlie loved this land, loved every blade of grass, every tree, every stone. He’d woken up every morning of his life to a view of the snow-tipped Rocky Mountains, the fresh clean air, the sound of hawks screeching overhead.

  He’d always expected he’d spend his last days here as well.

  Now, his father was threatening to take all that away because he didn’t want to be saddled with Eugenie Apsley.

  “Ma? You going along with this?” He set his gaze on his mother. Surely she’d take his side. She always defended him, protected him, no matter what kind of scrape he got himself into.

  This time, she said nothing.

  He met his father’s steely glare. “You’d really cut me out?”

  Robert turned away, jammed his hands in his pockets and stared out the window to the pastures and grazing land in the distance. Bar-H land.

  Charlie noticed his mother dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief, but still, she didn’t speak.

  Finally, Robert turned back. “We’re not completely heartless,” he said. “We want you to have a good marriage, the kind of marriage your mother and I have had all these years. You and Eugenie are well suited to each other. You both come from good stock, you both grew up knowing the ranching business, and your children will be well-bred.”

  “What about the fact that I don’t love her?”

  “You can learn to love one another, just as your mother and I did.”

  Charlie shook his head, trying to wrap his mind around the ultimatum he’d been delivered.

  “The church will be reserved for the last Saturday in May,” Robert announced. “By then, you’ll be twenty-eight years old. Well past marrying age. So if you aren’t married by midnight on that date, your name will be removed from my will. That’s my final word on the subject.” He crossed the kitchen and held out his hand to Charlie’s mother. “Come along, Ada. Charlie has a lot to think about.”

  With a sympathetic glance in Charlie’s direction, his mother rose and followed his father out of the room.

  Charlie dropped into a kitchen chair and stretched his feet out in front of him. Eugenie – or the ranch. What was he supposed to do?

  Sure, he was a little wild now and then, but he never shirked his responsibilities here on the ranch. And now, because of a little
saloon brawl – and it was a little brawl compared to some he’d been in – he could lose everything.

  But marry Eugenie? He let out a bitter laugh. No way in hell was that ever going to happen.

  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, gazing absently at the rough oak plank floor. The sun dipped in the sky outside, and shadows filled the room, but still he sat, searching for a solution.

  Either you get married and settle down, or I’ll take you out of my will and Edward will inherit the Bar-H. His father’s words rumbled around in his brain.

  Suddenly, the answer came to him. His father’s ultimatum: if he wasn’t married by midnight on the last Saturday in May, he’d lose his inheritance. Sure, his father had mentioned Eugenie later on, but at the beginning of his tirade, all he’d said was that he had to get married and settle down. It was a technicality, but one he would latch onto as a possible reprieve.

  But either way, there would be no wedding between him and Eugenie Apsley.

  He wasn’t proud of the fact that he’d get married just to keep his inheritance, but people had married for worse reasons.

  All he had to do was find someone else to marry. He didn’t have to love the woman. She only had to be tolerable. And if she was comely enough to keep him happy in bed, that would be a bonus.

  He went upstairs and crawled into bed, his mind shuffling through the faces of every single woman he’d spent any time with. Disappointment washed over him. He’d had a good time with them, but he couldn’t imagine spending a lifetime with any one of them.

  Six weeks. Where was he going to find a woman to court and marry in six weeks?

  Unless …

  A thought popped into his mind. His best friend, George Millhouse, had sent away for a mail-order bride the year before when he’d been widowed and had a newborn to care for. The woman who’d arrived was plain and quiet, but they’d ended up falling in love and were now happily married with another baby on the way.

  Maybe he should do the same – advertise for a wife. At least by marrying a stranger, he’d know she wasn’t marrying him for his family’s money.

  His father and Mr. Apsley wouldn’t be too happy, and he was pretty sure Eugenie would be furious, but once he was legally married, there wouldn’t be anything any of them could do about it. And since his father had only suggested he marry Eugenie and not demanded it, he’d be fulfilling the ultimatum that had been set down.

  The idea rattled around in his brain for the rest of the night and all the next morning. Finally, once his chores were done for the day, he rode into town, eager to get George’s advice.

  “Are you sure you want to do that?” George asked once Charlie explained the situation. “You never know, you could end up with a bride who’s worse than Eugenie.”

  Charlie grinned. “It’s a gamble, I admit. But you know I’ve never been one to take the safe bet. I’d rather take a chance than stick with what I know will be torture. And it worked for you.”

  “That’s true,” George said. “I’ve never been happier.”

  “Then it’s settled.”

  Two hours later, Charlie stood on the boardwalk in front of the Rocky Mountain Matrimonial Agency. With an advertisement that George had helped him write scribbled on a piece of paper in his hand, he took a deep breath, opened the door and stepped inside.

  * * *

  Rose Winchester huddled deeper beneath the heavy black coat and wrapped the thick woolen scarf tighter around her neck. Sleet battered her face. Frigid wind whipped around her, scattering the trash lining the cobblestone street.

  March was definitely not leaving like a lamb in Massachusetts this year.

  She bent her head and hurried toward her apartment, her shopping bag smacking against her leg with every step. Not only was she anxious to reach warmth, she was eager to read the letter she’d received from her friend, Gillian. The apartment seemed larger now that both Gillian and Willow were gone. She missed them terribly, but at least Emma, her cousin, was still there so Rose wasn’t completely alone.

  If only the factory hadn’t burned down …

  After the fire, both Willow and Gillian had answered advertisements for mail-order brides. Willow now lived in Pennsylvania, and Gillian had married a lighthouse keeper in Maine.

  Rose had scoffed at the idea of becoming a mail-order bride at first, but as winter wore on and her savings dwindled, she knew she couldn’t survive much longer.

  She’d managed to find work as a sales clerk in a millinery shop over the Christmas season, but in January she was let go. Jobs for women were scarce, especially for women like her with no marketable skills. Every morning she grudgingly bought the daily newspaper, where she scoured the advertisements searching for work. Ads for cooks, housemaids and nannies filled the pages. Not one position she was qualified for.

  Since she’d fled her parents’ farm in Princeton the summer before, she’d learned to cook well enough that she hadn’t poisoned herself - if eggs and apple cobbler could be considered cooking - but her housekeeping skills were severely limited, and she knew absolutely nothing about children.

  Her savings would perhaps last another month, if she was extremely frugal. After that … she knew of only one other option for women … one she couldn’t bring herself to even consider.

  Which was why she’d gone out this morning and spent a few precious pennies to buy the latest edition of The Groom’s Gazette, the newspaper advertising for mail-order brides.

  Finally, she reached the front door of the apartment where she lived with Emma and went inside. The wind whistled through cracks in the frame, but she hurried up the stairs and along the corridor to her door. The odor of charred meat mixed with cigar smoke from the other apartments in the building permeated the air.

  Her fingers were numb with cold, and her cheeks tingled as she stepped into the apartment. Although it was still drafty and cold, it felt downright toasty compared to the temperature outside. The bleak sky cast a grayish light into the room, but they couldn’t afford to light a lamp until it was too dark to see at all.

  The woodstove in the corner of the room hissed and crackled as the last of the logs disintegrated inside.

  “A letter has come from Gillian,” she called out to Emma, closing the door behind her and removing her coat and scarf.

  Emma rose from the worn settee and crossed the room to the woodstove where she busied herself pouring two mugs of fresh coffee. “You look frozen,” she said, handing Rose a mug of the strong black brew. “Warm your insides while we read the letter.”

  Rose slipped into a chair at the table by the window. She set the newspaper down and picked the letter out of her reticule.

  As they read, they sipped their coffee, smiling at Gillian’s happiness. “I’m so glad it worked out for her,” Rose said when they were finished and she folded the letter. “It seems both Gillian and Willow have found good husbands.”

  “Yes,” Emma agreed, taking another sip of coffee. Her gaze shifted, landing on the folded newspaper beneath Rose’s elbow. “What’s that?”

  “It’s the latest edition of The Groom’s Gazette.”

  Emma’s eyes widened. “What? Why? You aren’t really considering—”

  “I am.” She didn’t look forward to marrying a stranger and moving away, but she couldn’t see any other choice. Survival was what mattered most right now, and well, it seemed Willow and Gillian had both found love. Perhaps she’d be lucky enough to find a husband who would love her, too.

  She got up and took her cup to the washbasin on the worktable near the corner of the room. “It’s the only solution. You know I can’t go home. The scandal …”

  Emma shook her head. “But this is so drastic.”

  “That may be, but I’ve made my decision. Now, come and help me find a husband.”

  For the next hour, Rose and Emma studied the advertisements, discarding most until Rose narrowed down her choices and she’d reached the last two.

  The first read:
>
  I am a 26-year-old prosperous businessman seeking a wife and a mother for my three daughters. Must be pious, willing to work hard and be a good mother. In return, I offer you a good life with no financial burdens. Must be between twenty and thirty years of age, preferably slim and attractive. Please reply to Mr. Bartholomew Squiggs, Bowie, Texas.

  While it seemed Rose wouldn’t have to worry about money, the man struck her as a bit arrogant, a quality she’d never been able to tolerate. Her heart went out to the three motherless children, and while she hoped to have a family one day, becoming an instant mother wasn’t something she was prepared for.

  Adjusting to marriage with a stranger would be difficult enough without dealing with the care of three children at the same time.

  She read the other advertisement for the fourth time, studying every word for hidden clues to the character of the man.

  Wanted: A woman who isn’t vain or materialistic, at least 20 years old but no more than 25, who can travel immediately, and has no encumbrances. Must be able to work hard to help me build a future on my ranch, and must also be willing to have more than a marriage of convenience. I am 27 years old, average in appearance and in good health. If interested, please write to Mr. Charles Halstead, c/o Rocky Mountain Matrimonial Agency, Cedar Valley, Colorado.

  Something about the way the advertisement was written, simple and to the point without any mention of money or property other than to mention a ranch, piqued her interest.

  She missed the horse farm where she grew up, and she heartily disliked city living. Obviously a ranch would have cattle … and horses … and wide open spaces.

  And he was in a hurry, which suited her perfectly.

  “This is the one,” she announced, her finger resting on the advertisement.

  Emma leaned close and read it, her brows lifting in surprise. “You don’t know how to run a home,” she said. “The only thing you can cook is eggs, and even then …” She grimaced.