Annie: A Bride For The Farmhand - A Clean Historical Western Romance (Stewart House Brides Book 3)

by Charity Phillips

Isabella’s jaw dropped. She couldn’t believe his words, and tried to rationalize the new information with what she already knew. “You are his brother?”

  “Stepbrother. But I still have rights in these parts. My mother was married to his father, but I kept her name. Wasn’t changing it to High and Mighty Wright.”

  Isabella couldn’t understand his bitterness, but she didn’t know the situation between them. “You should love your brother, like the Bible says. If not, you cannot love God.”

  Cranston barked at the horses to pick up the pace and turned to Isabella with a sneer. “Little Miss Christian came all the way from Boston to redeem a sinner.”

  The beauty of the day faded and Isabella sucked in a deep breath. Cranston was, as Lilly had said, a brute, and she had no intention of spending one more minute in his company. “Take me back to the house immediately, Mr. Cranston, and may I say, I will not stand to live with a man such as yourself.”

  He blinked in surprise at her words but kept the pace of the horses steady. “What are you going on about? You are going to be my wife.”

  Isabella recoiled at the sound of his sneering words. Her lips thinned and her eyes narrowed. No, I will not endure harsh treatment anymore.

  The years of pain and sorrow catalyzed in one abrupt moment, and her nostrils flared. She gazed at the horizon, and drew courage and strength from the immovable mountains.

  The emotion filled her with determination and propelled her next words: “Mr. Cranston, either you stop this buggy and take me back, or I will take it back myself and leave you here.”

  When he spied her rigid shoulders and wintry gaze, he stopped the horses with a stern command. “Whoa, steady now. What has got your bonnet in a twist?”

  Isabella smiled. “I finally have the will to stand up to men like you. I will say nothing more except this: Find a way to live peacefully with your brother and share with him. I am going back to the ranch, and will be offering myself as a bride to Daniel.”

  Cranston shook his head. He raised his hand, curled his fist, and thundered, “You are going to offer yourself to him? You little tease.”

  Isabella kept her voice firm and refused to cower. “I am not afraid of men like you anymore, so do your worst. It’s nothing I haven’t suffered before. But from this day forward, I will never suffer like that again.”

  When he spied her lack of fear, he lowered his hand and unclenched his fist. He turned the buggy around and stewed in silence for the rest of the drive.

  Isabella released an inaudible cheer and relaxed. She wondered what Daniel would say when she asked him to marry her. For some reason, the idea tickled her funny bone, and she chuckled. Daniel, I can’t wait to see you.

  ****

  After sharing the outcome of her drive with Lilly, Isabella tip-toed into the library and sat down. Daniel raised his head and blinked at her windblown hair and flushed cheeks.

  “Are you all right, Isabella? Did Cranston upset you in any way?”

  She shook her head and raised her hands in a cheerful wave. “Not at all.” Careful to keep her newfound feelings under control, Isabella closed her eyes. “I feel so free, Daniel. I can’t even explain how good it feels.”

  He leaned forward with a smile. “Yes, I can see that. You seem carefree and ready to take on the world.”

  Isabella’s eyes snapped open, and she flashed him a sweet smile. “Not the whole world, Daniel. Just you… if you will have me.”

  Her boldness caught him off guard for a moment. “What do you plan to do with me?” His question seemed genuine, and she fingered the edge of her lip.

  “I have this crazy idea in my head that I would like to marry you. I am sure it is not done this way in these parts, but I have been living in darkness for so long that I just can’t hold back. I want to shout, dance, play—I want to live, Daniel.”

  When he said nothing, years of insecurity surfaced and Isabella whispered, “Does that sound terrible?”

  Daniel strolled over to her side and helped her to her feet. His smile fueled her own as he said, “No, you have the right to enjoy your life, and I hope for a better future for your unborn child. Isabella, dear, since you are willing to marry me…” he paused for a moment, and then got down on bended knee, taking her hands in his. “Will you allow me the honor of raising your child as my own?”

  Isabella forgot to breathe, and launched herself into his arms. It felt so right to nestle against his beating heart and enjoy the warmth of his embrace. It seemed as though she’d known him forever. “What about Cranston? Do you think he will give up and leave me alone?”

  Daniel chuckled over her windblown waves and placed a tender kiss on the top of her head. “He has been after my mine—which he claims is his—for years. I am going to give him a share, and that should keep him happy. You need never fear him, Isabella. I know he is a bit uncouth, but in honor of my parents, I have to look out for him. That’s why he works here as the foreman. The men have orders not to argue with him and just deal with it. But I think this is a great time for some changes. What do you think?”

  Isabella smiled broadly—just then, something else popped into her mind. “I almost forgot. You said you would get someone to marry me by this Sunday? Who did you have in mind?”

  When he said nothing, she moved out of his embrace and searched his face. When she saw the warmth reflected there, she settled back in his arms.

  “I thought of myself, Isabella. I just hoped to give you time to accept the idea. That’s why we shook on it; shaking someone’s hand is a big deal in these parts.”

  Isabella couldn’t agree more. “Yes, Daniel. Do you think we will be happy? We haven’t known each other very long.”

  He put her concerns to rest, saying, “We have known each other long enough, my dear. Many men and women who’ve been joined by arranged marriages have not been as fortunate as you and I. I only hope you will find a home here with me at the Silver S.”

  Isabella sighed in a contented daze. A home. She banished thoughts of Armand, Mr. Crawford, and Cranston from her mind, and replaced them with Daniel’s kind face.

  She promised herself that no matter what the days ahead entailed, she would face them with forbearance and strength. “Yes, Daniel, of course I will! Now, let’s run and tell Lilly. I think she’s on the porch. She will be so happy to hear this good news.”

  As they strolled together, Isabella felt a feathered ripple in the region of her stomach and smiled. Yes, my child. I know you are happy, too.

  When Daniel opened the front door and let her through, Isabella’s gaze wandered to the dark gray clouds on the horizon, trimmed in streaks of silver lights.

  With courage and hope, she faced the future with the words of her favorite gospel beating through her heart: “If you have faith as small as a mustard seed... Nothing will be impossible for you.”

  THE END

  A Mail Order Bride For Jacob

  Jacob Everett is used to turbulence and shake-ups—the one fact he’s always held true is that everything will change. He remembers this when he has to give up his dream of being a deputy to become a farmhand; and he remembers it when he finds himself turning to personal advertisements to find a bride, instead of pursuing the kind of fairy-tale romance he’s secretly always dreamed of.

  Even though it may not turn out to be a perfect fit, Jacob is ready to brave uncertain seas to find true love.

  The wheat was whipping past the windows of the train so quickly that it was all one golden blur—a sea of yellow blades twisting and thrashing together as the huge steam-powered beast barreled past. Cindy blinked and shook her head, taking a deep breath of the cabin air to try to snap herself out of her funk. It was a bright spring day, they were due at their destination any moment, and her legs hadn’t cramped up at all during the trip; she should be thankful for the smooth journey. Luckily, the train had been fairly empty; come to think of it; she’d hardly seen anyone in the compartments as she was strolling up and down the halls, and the dining c
arts were never full. That meant no chance of losing her niece Abby in a wall of bodies, or apologizing to strangers for her crying spells. Cindy had only run into one person she knew during their trek from New York, and most of the passengers were mail order brides, like her; a few were widows coming from burying their spouses, judging by their garb and the handkerchiefs they always had clutched between their fingers. Cindy tried to give them space, not wanting to interrupt their mourning. She remembered being poked and prodded at after her sister died, and how much it infuriated her to be monitored or even spoken to while in the depths of her grief.

  Avoiding people wasn’t always possible, though; Cindy had to serve customers at the pie shop because her sister Rebecca had passed, and her brother-in-law Phillip had eagerly taken over the manager position, insisting it was too much work for a sixteen-year-old. She knew that it was just because he’d been jealous of how much work Rebecca trusted her with, but she hadn’t dared to bring it up.

  That had been six years before, and she and Abby had ridden a train just like this one to go to upstate and bury Rebecca, albeit much more crowded and a little slower. Their little pie shop hadn’t done as well back then, so they could only afford to buy tickets for the cheapest cars. If she’d run into anyone she knew then, she wouldn’t have known it, because her anxiety and melancholy mood were wrapped around her so thick that she could hardly recognize her own face in the mirror some days. Having Abby along to grip her hand the whole way helped.

  It had been just the two of them then, because Phillip stayed behind to run the pie shop. He’d run the pie shop so well with Cindy’s help that they’d expanded and opened another pie shop in a neighboring city. Now, Phillip was hardly ever around, even to see Abby. He only stopped by to pick up money or flirt with their baker, and occasionally to drop off presents. Then he’d edged Cindy out of the shop, insisting it was time for her to marry and move on.

  “Rebecca wouldn’t have wanted you to stay a spinster,” he’d said to her one night. He had just dropped off a wooden rocking horse for Abby, forgetting that she’d outgrown most toys like this four or more years ago. “I think Abby would benefit from seeing you get out there, too. Let a girl see what she can accomplish, even if she wasn’t born with…skills.”

  Cindy suppressed the rage that swelled up whenever Phillip spoke to her condescendingly and focused on staying civil. “People aren’t born with skills, they develop them, Phillip. And I’m fine.”

  “I’m hiring a new baker,” Phillip continued, as though she hadn’t spoken. “She’s going to take some of your hours, and she’ll be taking over when you get married.”

  “I’m not—”

  “And I’ll be able to take care of Abby more,” Phillip said, “because I won’t be so worried about you.” He smiled broadly and watched her reaction.

  She’d fallen silent, then; Cindy had been begging Phillip to take a more active interest in Abby’s life for years. Abby felt her father wasn’t fond of her, and it was wearing away at her confidence. Cindy couldn’t bear to see it, and Phillip knew that about her. Cindy glared at the wiry little man, wondering what her sister had ever seen in him, or why Abby wanted his affection so badly. He could be charming, true, but Cindy had seen who he really was, so that charm would never work on her again. Phillip rarely wasted it on her, anyway.

  “Fine,” she said bluntly. “I’ll get married and give you control of this shop, like you obviously always wanted. So that you’ll finally show your daughter the love and attention she deserves.”

  “Like you always wanted,” Phillip said, and his smile made Cindy’s pale skin crawl.

  It turned out he had been lying, anyway; he really wanted to slowly push her out of the shop over the course of a year and a half so he could install a new manager and head off to Canada. He’d left a cursory note explaining that he was learning new baking techniques from a French pastry chef, but Cindy didn’t believe that he was doing anything other than what he’d always snuck off to do before: gamble, drink, and lie to women to get what he wanted from them.

  Cindy was furious, and she wondered if there was any way to go after him; but she was due to leave in a month, and it would likely take longer than that to catch up with the slimy creature. She told Abby that her father had to go take care of his own parents, inventing a sick mother for him and hoping the girl would believe her. Abby had sat on her bed, hugging her knees and staring at Cindy with her strawberry blonde hair and sky blue eyes calmly until she finished speaking.

  “Auntie Cindy, I already know Daddy went to Canada.”

  Cindy had gasped, clutching at the cameo around her neck nervously. “What? How could you know that?”

  “I heard him talking about it with the baker last night, before he left,” she said, nonplussed. “He thought I was at upstairs in bed, but I was down there in the next room eating the left-over jam tarts.”

  “Oh,” Cindy said, her heart still hammering in her chest. “I’m sorry, Abby. I never wanted this for you. And I never wanted to show you this side of your father.”

  “Auntie, I know Daddy’s not…perfect.” Abby said. “I know he does bad things. I just wanted to know that he still loved me, and that he did good things, too.” She dropped her eyes as they started to tear up.

  Cindy swept the girl into her arms, feeling her heart break in two as she cried. “You were the one good thing he ever made,” she whispered. “So there’s got to be something good in there.”

  Abby sat beside her now in her favorite green dress, holding Cindy’s hand and chattering on about the birds she saw at the last stop. They looked so much alike that people assumed they were sisters, and Cindy was happy to let them believe it. Her free hand tugged on her golden braid, tied with a blue ribbon to match her eyes and her dress.

  Jacob, her betrothed, knew what she looked like, but she couldn’t help but feel nervous when she got dressed that morning; would trying to make her eyes pop seem like she was trying too hard? Cindy really was excited to meet him—he sounded like a refreshing change of pace from the usual dullards and deviants that tried for her hand in the past. He was funny and fair, with a soft streak wider than the Nile River and an enormous sweet tooth. He had poor vision and he couldn’t aim to save his life, but he had two green thumbs and the best produce in his little Wyoming county. Cindy had even written to him and asked if Abby could come along, insisting that they break off the engagement if he was uncomfortable with the idea without any hard feelings to worry about.

  Nonsense, he’d written; the more the merrier. I’ve sent another ticket with this envelope, and I look forward to meeting dear Abby when you both arrive. I think you underestimate my fondness for you, Miss Cindy.

  But that wasn’t quite true. After five months of writing each other each week, sometimes two or three times, Cindy knew that Jacob was quite fond of her, and she was nearly as fond of him. But she couldn’t allow herself to feel fully invested until she met the man, and maybe not even until she was married. There was a natural need for resistance in her, formed from years of having her hopes built up—and up—and up, only to be pushed back down the precarious mountain of lies she’d been unwittingly led to the top of. Cindy was tired of being blinded and bruised, but she was also tired of never being surprised. Jacob could be the man to surprise her. Even Abby seemed to think so; when Cindy scoffed at the idea of falling head over heels for a farmer, Abby said: it’s Wyoming, isn’t it? It’s full of farmers. Some of them have to be dreamy.

  “Auntie!” Abby shouted, leaping to her feet and pointing out the window. “I see it! I see it!”

  The station was home to the biggest group of buildings they’d seen in an hour. The depot was nondescript, a modest-sized shack for ticket selling and taking surrounded by a few other smaller buildings. People were already filtering to the front of the train, so Cindy grasped Abby’s hand and pulled her out into the hall, smiling as the girl bobbed and bounced excitedly behind her. The station was already swirling with travelers and pe
ople waiting to receive their loved ones from the train. Jacob said he’d be waiting with a red rose in hand—his idea, and a romantic one at that.

  As they disembarked, a porter set their luggage beside them and then hurried off to pluck more bags from the train. Abby lifted her trunk with her skinny arms, her head moving side to side in an effort to find the stocky dark-haired man she’d seen in the photographs he’d sent, standing and clutching his red rose. There were no people meeting his description in sight, however.

  “Let’s stand by the street,” Cindy suggested, lifting both of her trunks in each hand with some difficulty. She dropped one immediately and yelped, jumping back before it could land on her foot. The other clattered to the ground soon after, and she swore under her breath.

  “Need some help, Miss?” asked a hesitant voice behind her.

  Cindy turned to find a tall man with curly black hair and a dusty long-sleeved shirt holding out his two work-roughened hands. He was smiling somewhat stiffly at both of them and glancing nervously toward Abby, who was staring at him with her mouth hanging open in shock.

  Cindy flushed, embarrassed by her little niece’s peculiar behavior. “Yes, please,” she said. “We’re just going to stand by the curb. Thank you kindly.” Then, as the man lifted the trunks with ease, she turned to her little niece and hissed, “Abby, don’t stare!”

  “But he looks just like the cowboy from the posters!” Abby said, her blue eyes wide with excitement. “Diamond Desmond! Doesn’t he look just like him?”

  They’d seen the man’s posters all over New York when they used to take trips into the city, advertising for shows further west. It was true that the man bore a certain resemblance: a square jaw, boyish black curls, dark brown eyes that glimmered in the sun. But this was Johnson County, Wyoming, and that awkward man was no cowboy.

  “Yes, but I don’t think that’s him,” Cindy said insistently. “Now don’t stare so hard, little dove.”