Sarah Sunshine: A Montana Romance Novella

by Merry Farmer

  “Do you really think that?” she asked, afraid of the answer.

  Before Roy could answer, the shuffling sound of footsteps turned their heads. Mrs. Reynolds and Mr. Sutcliffe rounded the corner. Mrs. Reynolds let out a breath of relief and raised a shaking hand to her forehead.

  “There they are,” she breathed as though she’d run all the way from Chicago to find them.

  “I told you they’d be fine,” Mr. Sutcliffe said.

  “You did not,” Delilah snapped, but there was a dancing light in her eyes now. “Honey, why don’t you come back to the celebration. Everyone’s looking for you.”

  Sarah’s heart sank into her stomach. “I couldn’t, Mrs. Reynolds.” She squared her shoulders only to have the heaviness of shame round them again. “I couldn’t bear to face folks.”

  “Forget them,” Mr. Sutcliffe said. “I shoulda forgot them years ago.” He reached her and laid a hand on her shoulder, rubbing her arm.

  “Besides,” Mrs. Reynolds said, all her old, sly bravado back in the twitch of her grin, “not one person in this town was fool enough to believe a word Viola Jones said this time. They know the source too well.”

  Sarah blinked, looking from Mrs. Reynolds to Mr. Sutcliffe to Roy. “Really?”

  “Truly,” Roy answered.

  “This boy here made a mighty fine speech in your defense,” Mrs. Reynolds said, her grin growing into a proud smile. “He put Viola back in her place and reminded all the good citizens of Cold Springs of just how sweet you are.”

  “He did?” The spark of hope that had been fighting so hard not to go out burst into a flame of love.

  “He’s a fine young man, Sarah,” Mr. Sutcliffe said. Mr. Sutcliffe actually said that. “You’re a lucky woman.” He snuck a sidelong look at Mrs. Reynolds then crossed his arms and looked away.

  If Sarah didn’t know any better, she’d’ve said he’d gone all emotional.

  “Folks like you, Sunshine,” Roy told her. “They like you because you like them. You’re good to them, kind and helpful. A lot of sins can be forgiven, especially the ones that are more circumstance than sin, when someone’s got as big a heart as yours.”

  “Oh!” She pressed her palms to her hot cheeks. She was still crying, but now the tears were entirely different.

  “So I got two things to ask you,” Roy went on.

  “Two?”

  He nodded. “The first is if you’ll come back to the opening with me and stand by my side.”

  “Well, I.” She swallowed. “Are you sure you want me to?”

  “Absolutely sure.” He nodded and went on. “The second question is this.” He dropped to one knee right where he was. Sarah gasped as he reached into his pocket and took out a ring. “Sarah Withers, will you marry me?”

  All the air rushed out of her lungs, leaving her light-headed. Joy swirled through her, but with it trepidation.

  “Are you sure?” she whispered.

  “As sure as I’ve ever been.” Roy nodded. He held the ring up. “I bought this last month, before your contract was up, before the hotel plans were finished, before everything.”

  “You … you did?” Sarah pressed a hand to her heart to keep it from beating out of her chest. She caught Mrs. Reynolds wiping a tear from her eye. Even Mr. Sutcliffe looked like he might open up and cry if he wasn’t careful.

  “I’ve known I wanted you to be my wife for ages now, Sarah, just like I’ve known I wanted to make a better future for myself. But I always knew that you would be a part of that future. So what do you say? Will you marry me?”

  He looked up at her with such affection in his handsome eyes, such genuine love radiating from him. No one had ever loved her like that. And she’d never loved anyone so much either.

  “Yes,” she said, bursting into a smile with her answer. “Yes, I will marry you.”

  Roy let out the breath he’d been holding with a smile so big she thought it might crack his face. With shaking hands he took her left hand and slid the ring onto her finger. It was heavy, with a diamond. A real diamond!

  He didn’t give her time to think about it. He rose to his feet, sweeping her into his arms as he went. He held her close and dipped down to kiss her with all the passion of their years of love unfettered. She kissed him back with abandon, giving herself to him completely because she could. She was free, from contracts and stigmas and all the worries that had plagued her so for too long.

  “I love you, Roy LaCroix,” she told him as she took a breath. “I’ll always love you, no matter what folks say.”

  “If folks say anything, they’ll have me to answer to,” Roy replied, “forever.”

  She kissed him again, so happy she could sing.

  “Now come on,” he said, loosening his hold on her enough to slip an arm around her waist and start back towards Main Street. “We got a hotel opening to attend.”

  Sarah giggled, too happy to stop herself, and walked with him. Mrs. Reynolds and Mr. Sutcliffe fell into step behind them.

  “Delilah, I was wondering,” Mr. Sutcliffe began, his voice shaking with emotion. “Maybe these young folks have got the right idea. Isn’t it about time-”

  “No,” Mrs. Reynolds said, but there was humor in her voice.

  “But don’t you think-”

  “You’ve asked me to marry you seventeen times now to make up for your bull-headedness, Paul. The answer’s the same this time as it’s always been. We’re better off as we are.”

  To Sarah’s surprise, Mr. Sutcliffe chuckled. “For now.”

  Mrs. Reynolds rolled her eyes, but Sarah laughed. She squeezed Roy tighter as they walked. Mrs. Reynolds could be who she was, but she was better off right there, in Roy’s arms. At last, her life could begin.

  About the Author

  Merry Farmer lives in suburban Philadelphia with her two cats, Butterfly and Torpedo. She has been writing since she was ten years old and realized one day that she didn’t have to wait for the teacher to assign a creative writing project to write something. It was the best day of her life. She then went on to earn not one but two degrees in History so that she would always having something to write about. Today she walks along the cutting edge of Indie Publishing, writing Historical Romance and Women's Sci-Fi. She is also passionate about blogging, knitting, and cricket and is working towards becoming an internationally certified cricket scorer.

  You can email her at merryfarmer20@yahoo.com or follow her on Twitter @merryfarmer20.

  Merry also has a blog, http://merryfarmer.net,

  and a Facebook page, www.facebook.com/merryfarmerauthor,

  and you can sign up for her quarterly newsletter here: http://a.pgtb.me/0fbqG9

  Keep clicking for a peek at Our Little Secrets!

  There’s more Montana Romance!

  Come see where it all began…

  Our Little Secrets

  Montana, 1895

  Chapter One

  Charlotte was out of her seat before the train came to a full stop. She’d had it with the beast. Thirty-two days of nearly constant travel was more than enough for a woman on her own to withstand. Especially in present company.

  “Ooo!” one of the painted, preening girls packed in the train car squealed. She knelt on her seat to look out the window as the tiny town of Cold Springs, Montana rolled into sight. “Look at all the men!”

  With a roll of her eyes Charlotte grabbed her carpetbag and started for the door. She pushed past the seats full of trollops who leaned out the train’s windows waving handkerchiefs and their bosoms at passersby in the frontier town, eager to get away from them and on with her life.

  “Where do you think you’re going, dear?” Miss Helen, their ring-leader, hopped up to follow her. “The train hasn’t even stopped yet.”

  Charlotte ignored the woman. She’d fallen in with Miss Helen’s lot in Denver, figuring there would be safety in numbers. It had seemed like a good idea at the time; a good idea she had paid for in the last week as Miss Helen tried to recruit her as
a husband-hunter.

  Charlotte reached for the door at the end of the car and threw it open as the brakes squealed. The train lurched to a stop. The jolt sent her and Miss Helen both stumbling out toward the guard-rail at the back of the train. Charlotte held her hat on with one hand and fumbled her carpetbag with the other.

  “Easy there.” Miss Helen’s rouged lips parted in a smile. “You don’t want them to think you’re too desperate.”

  “I’m fine, thanks.” Charlotte did her best to be polite. The woman had no idea what desperate was.

  Miss Helen nodded to her carpetbag. “Want me to hold that while you-”

  “No thanks.”

  The station porter stepped forward to offer the passengers a hand down from the train and Charlotte took it. Once her feet were on solid ground she scurried to get out of the way of the storm of females that were ready to pour from the car.

  “Well hello Cold Springs!” Miss Helen trilled over the heads of the curious onlookers, flashing into action. “My name is Miss Helen and have I got a treat for you! Gentlemen, gather round!”

  Miss Helen in her maroon and pink petticoats floated down the train’s steps, as audacious as any queen. Her painted face and startling red curls only just covered her true age. When she reached the platform she turned to gesture to the parade of ladies that followed her.

  Charlotte took cover in the shadow of the station-house with a wince. A crowd was already gathering. She had more important things to do than watch the spectacle yet again.

  “Gentlemen of Cold Springs, let me introduce you to the finest and most cultured ladies this side of the Mississippi.” Miss Helen spoke above the din of the station in a voice that must have been trained on the stage. “Fair young maidens come all the way from St. Louis to the frontier with the expressed purpose of making a few of you the happiest men alive.”

  One by one the silly girls stepped down into the morning sunlight as if they too were on stage, stifling fake yawns and batting their eyelashes at the growing assembly.

  “What, are they whores ‘r sumthin’?” The blunt question was followed by a chorus of rough laughter.

  Charlotte could hardly blame whoever called out for their mistake.

  “No, no, no!” Miss Helen pressed a hand to her ample chest and feigned shock. “Gentlemen, these women have come to you with a far nobler purpose in mind. They have come as humble frontier brides searching for husbands with whom to begin a new life!”

  The unexpected answer raised a murmur of consideration from the folks on the platform, much of it humorous doubt. A few fellows seemed intrigued by the possibility. Most of the townswomen turned up their noses whilst secretly assessing the charms of their competitors.

  “Let me make some introductions,” Miss Helen continued her pitch. “This fine lady is Sally.”

  Charlotte didn’t have the time or the patience to watch the circus. She had a past to put behind her and her own new life to begin. Cold Springs looked like just the place to do it. She ignored the ongoing spectacle and scanned the platform. When she saw what she needed she acted.

  “Excuse me.” She gripped her bag, keeping her back straight, and walked away from Miss Helen’s show towards a middle-aged man with spectacles in shirtsleeves standing near the cargo car. “Could you help me?”

  The man glanced up from his clipboard and surveyed her through round glasses. The faintest hint of surprise touched his otherwise bland expression. His gaze slid to the scene behind her as Miss Helen introduced her lovely ladies then back to her. He stood straighter. “I could try to help you.”

  Charlotte smiled. Finally someone with some sense. “I have another bag in the baggage car. A rather large bag too. Could you fetch it for me?”

  The man glanced right and left as though she were talking to someone else. The barest glimmer of a grin flickered across his tight lips and into his round eyes.

  “Certainly,” he answered after a pause. He set his clipboard down on one of the piles of crates that was being unloaded beside him. “What does your bag look like?”

  “Well it’s large. Rather old too. Mostly brown. It should have a tag on it that says ‘Charlotte Baldwin’.” She’d been meaning to use a false name since the incident in St. Louis but was never able to think of one when pressed.

  The spectacled man nodded and started for the baggage car between the cargo and passenger cars.

  “I see you making eyes at the delightful Minnie.” Miss Helen went on peddling her wares. The petite blonde beside her batted her eyelashes at a burly cowboy with a huge moustache. “You won’t find a sweeter soul this side of the Mississippi. And she’s an excellent cook. In and out of the kitchen.”

  The blonde hooted with feigned embarrassment.

  Charlotte rolled her eyes and glanced beyond the scene on the train platform. Western towns all looked the same to her: thrown-together buildings with tall fronts, dirt streets filled with horses, rough men, and a few harried women. Plains and mountains stretched out in all directions, betraying the miniscule scale of civilization in the wild. Every town the train had stopped in so far in Montana fit the same description.

  The difference between Cold Springs and half a dozen others was Charlotte’s level of patience. She was through with traveling. Never mind that she had no friends and no job in Cold Springs to help start her new life. As long as she could put the past behind her things would work out. She’d decided the night before that wherever the train stopped next would be her new home, come what may.

  She drew in a deep breath. The Montana air was as fresh as the life she was eager to start.

  “Can I help you ma’am?”

  She turned to find a lanky man in a stationmaster’s uniform standing behind her. “Oh … I …,” she stammered, twisting to look for the man who she’d sent to get her bag. “You’re the stationmaster?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He touched his hat. “Lewis Jones.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Jones. I’ve just sent your assistant to fetch my bag.” She smiled.

  “My assistant?” Mr. Jones goggled back at her.

  “Yes.” She hesitated. “The man with glasses?”

  “Here you go.” The man in question reappeared on her other side. “Charlotte Baldwin,” he read the tag aloud then set her beat up old bag between them.

  “Thank you so much.” She reached for the clasp of her carpetbag to pay the man.

  The stationmaster’s laugh startled her. “Hey, Mr. West, she thought you were my assistant,” Lewis Jones told the man as if sharing a bad joke.

  “Oh dear.” She lowered her carpetbag. “You’re not…?”

  “No.” Mr. West’s eyes sparkled behind his glasses.

  Color splashed to Charlotte’s cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed-”

  “No offense taken.”

  “Mr. West owns the general store,” Mr. Jones explained. Then, as if to rub her mistake in, he continued with a snort, “He’s one of the richest men in town. And you thought he was a porter. Can you imagine?”

  Charlotte made herself laugh along with the man, in spite of her hot cheeks. “That’s what I get for taking a chance, I guess.”

  “Wait ‘til the boys hear about-”

  “Thank you, Lewis.” Mr. West cut him off with a strained smile. “Could you help Oliver unload the rest of the shipment?”

  “Yes, sir.” Mr. Jones snapped to do as he was told, leaving Charlotte alone to start her new life at the mercy of the man she’d just insulted.

  “Now what I need to know is where I and my young charges can stay while we’re in town getting to know you all.”

  Michael glanced from the dark-haired beauty who had thought he was a porter to the dreadful woman causing a spectacle further down the platform. At her direction the rest of the floozies formed a line and were smiling and flaunting their assets at Cold Springs’ finest. He ignored them. Seen one loose woman and you’d seen them all. He had a shipment to receive and a store to run.

&nbs
p; And an unexpected distraction.

  “I really am very sorry I mistook you for the porter,” Miss Baldwin apologized again. She was well spoken, he’d give her that. Her soft black hair was tied up in a simple style that framed pale skin, deep blue-green eyes, and rosy lips. Her perfect figure was concealed in a modest, elegant dress. She hadn’t bought a dress like that anywhere nearby and the brooch pinned at the collar was genuine ivory.

  “Not a problem.” He smiled. “I’m sure it was an easy mistake to make.”

  He picked up his clipboard, scanning over the packing list. His eyes only made it halfway down the page before flickering back to Miss Baldwin. She studied the platform and the town beyond it with a resolute expression.

  “You haven’t seen beauty until you’ve seen Katie,” the garish Miss Helen talked up another of the girls.

  Michael begged to differ. He studied Miss Baldwin. She had her carpetbag open now and was sorting through its contents. Her lips were pressed in a perfect pink line of determination. There was no reason at all that he should find her more interesting than his work.

  “You aren’t going to….” He nodded towards the others.

  “Oh no.” She glanced up and shut her carpetbag, arching an eyebrow. “I don’t need that kind of attention.”

  He closed his mouth and stood straighter. “That’s very … confident of you.”

  “There are days, Mr. West, when confidence is the only thing I’ve got going for me.”

  A lopsided grin tweaked the corners of Michael’s mouth. If this poised beauty expected to find a husband amongst the miners and cowboys of Cold Springs she was out of luck. Not one of them was up to the challenge.

  “Do you want me to bring the wagon around, Mr. West?” Oliver asked as he jumped down from the train’s cargo car.