Never Kiss an Exile: Exile Love Biker MC Series Book 1

by Kara Summers

  “I sure hope so. Otherwise Heaven might be a little lackluster compared to this,” he said with a teasing smile.

  He was joking, but I couldn’t have agreed more. This moment was utter perfection. I never wanted to leave this place. I wanted to live out the rest of my days in Billings, Montana with my little family. I’d always wanted adventure, but my path led me here to this meadow and I couldn’t have been happier.

  I was home.

  The End

  Return to the TOC for Bonus Content

  Mail Order Bride: Mary’s Faith

  Chapter One

  Life was perfect. At least for a while. There wasn’t much to do in the small town of Grace, North Carolina, but that was okay. I’d always been a small town girl, though I had gone into Charlotte with my father on a few occasions. I remember riding in the wagon, clinging to his arm as I watched the hustle and bustle of the city with wide eyes, hardly able to contain my excitement about the whole thing. It made my heart pound, but it also made me miss home. It made me miss the quiet of the farm.

  Those trips to the city were nice. They broadened my world view, but they also served to cement it in my mind that I belonged here, in the country and among the fields and animals. It was where I was born and it’s where I wanted to live out my days and raise a family. I could only hope that was the case. I loved my life on the farm and I loved my family.

  Grace was the type of town where everyone knew their neighbors and waved when they saw them on the street. People gossiped, but never with cruel intentions. We built homes together, raised barns, and went to church every Sunday. It was a town where people didn’t leave because they were happy there.

  Few families left and even fewer moved in. The industrial revolution was in full swing and many people moved to the big cities in order to work in factories. It was a time of change where women could get jobs and work alongside men. Many of the women in town, especially the older ones, seemed appalled by this idea. They didn’t want their daughters sweating and working until their fingers bled.

  I always stayed quiet about it, but I didn’t think the idea of women working was that bad. I liked working on the farm, though I did enjoy the more traditional feminine work as well. I liked needle point and sewing, but I liked building things as well. My mom always told me I was a rare bird because of my diverse interests. She never said it with disappointment, though. Unlike many of the other mothers, mine didn’t want me to rely on a man to care for me. She wanted me to get married and raise a family like any other mother, but she also wanted me to be able to take care of myself just in case I was left alone.

  Times were changing quickly and men were running off with mistresses, leaving their wives behind to suffer with the children. They would go away to the cities and work and only come back a few days out of the month. My mother didn’t want me to end up like the dead-eyed women who wandered through town, tearfully begging for their husbands to return home and help the care for the children.

  I didn’t want to end up like that either so I took the opportunity I was given. I learned to milk cows, slaughter pigs, and build a basic barn. I learned everything I could from anyone who would teach me. The older women in town would chastise my mother, saying no man would want to marry a woman with callouses on her hands. My mother ignored them and encouraged me to do what I wanted. I have always been grateful to her for that.

  As I got older and began attending school a few times a week, I met a young boy named Richard. He was a handsome, gangly boy with a soft face and kind eyes. He would eventually grow into his height and not look gangly at all. He was strong with a broad chest and even broader shoulders. He was built like an ox, but the kind smile he wore took the edge off of his imposing appearance.

  Richard and I became good friends. We laughed and played together in the summer, ignoring the way people shook their heads back and forth at us. We were breaking many of the unspoken rules by being friends. Girls were expected to befriend girls and boys were meant to roughhouse with other boys, but we didn’t care. We loved spending time together and those days we spent together in our youth only made us closer.

  As we approached marrying age I caught Richard looking at me strangely. He would stare at me, head cocked to the side as he took me in, his eyes full of a strange wonder. When our eyes met he would turn away, cheeks pink. It was adorable, but I didn’t put two and two together for a long time. We continued going on adventures, though our adventures took an exciting turn.

  One day, while we were exploring the woods Richard took my hand and pulled me close, stroking my hair. He stared into my eyes and smiled, not hesitating to claim my lips. At first I didn’t know what was happening. He held me close and stared into my eyes and as we stood there, our bodies pressed flush and our eyes shining with adoration, and I realized that I loved him.

  That was the first day of the rest of my life. We came back into town, our fingers tangled and thousand watt smiles on our faces. I told my parents about it and they were thrilled that I’d found such a good partner. Richard was strong and he came from a good family.

  Soon after that first kiss we were married. It was a simple ceremony but it was the best day of my life. I was lost in his eyes, grinning brightly as I silently thanked God for this wonderful man. I knew my life would be complete as long as he was in it and I wasn’t wrong. I became Mary Marshall that day, and that was just the beginning. We went on to have a happy life and happy home. We had our first child soon after the wedding and everything seemed perfect.

  Until everything changed.

  Chapter Two

  There were murmured rumors of war. Everyone in town had been talking about the possibility of it for months. President Lincoln wanted to free the slaves and the Southern states were raising a fuss. Grace was in the South, of course, but none of the farms in our small town were large enough to warrant slaves. We were far removed from the slave trade, but that didn’t stop us from getting sucked into the war.

  Before the people of Grace even had a chance to realize what was going on they were drawn into a war they didn’t even understand. The once peaceful community was thrown into an uproar and we didn’t know why.

  We were being told we were fighting for our rights and independence. We were being told the government was trying to uproot our way of life. Many of the people in town fell for it. They believed what the soldiers said, but I didn’t. I didn’t believe for a second that our livelihood was being threatened and I didn’t want to be any part of it.

  Many of the women in town glared at me as I walked past, whispering about me under their breath. I could hear them talking about how I was ‘unpatriotic’. I just ignored it; I didn’t care what they thought. I had my family and that’s all I needed. I had no way of knowing that soon, even that would be ripped out from under me.

  By the time the one year anniversary of the war came around, the Southern armies were desperate for men. They instituted a draft and called all able-bodied men to serve. My husband was only twenty-two at the time and fit the description of an able-bodied man. Soon enough he rode away in a wagon full of men to fight in a war we didn’t even believe in.

  Richard promised me he would come home. He kissed our son and he promised us he would be back, but we both knew he didn’t control his fate. We had to leave it in God’s hands now. I’d always been a woman of faith, but the idea that there was nothing I could do to protect my husband other than pray was horrifying.

  I watched him go, disappearing down the single dirt road that led out of Grace. I stood in my doorway, holding my son and watching until the wagon was out of sight. My heart ached for Richard and somehow I knew I was never going to see him again. This war was a bloody one; the postman brought news of death and destruction every time he came to town. We’d started to dread his visits.

  The war took most of the town’s men away, leaving only the children, elderly, and feeble. Wives were widowed and mothers were forced to bury their children and somehow the leaders managed
to convince us this war was worth it. I resented them for their lies and became a shut-in. I managed alright without Richard and thanks to all the things I’d learned as a young girl, I managed to keep the farm up and running after he left.

  Many of the other women didn’t fare as well. With their husbands gone there was no one to till the land or slaughter the animals. The few men who were left behind were too weak to do much, even though they tried. With no other options, many of the women moved into the large cities to take jobs in the factories they’d railed against only a few years prior. Slowly but surely everyone in town left and then there were only a few of us hanging on to our way of life.

  The war was coming to a close and it was clear the South was losing. The people in Grace who’d put their faith in the Confederacy felt a sense of hopelessness. Many of them had lost their children and their husbands and now they had nothing to show for it.

  A few wounded soldiers made it back to Grace only to find that their families had left to try and make it in the cities. They arrived broken and left broken, searching for the wives, children, and mothers. My heart broke every time I saw one of them hobbling along the road.

  My farm was one of the few that were still up and running so I invited the soldiers in for a hot meal, caring for their wounds as best I could. I asked each man if they’d seen my husband or heard from him and their answer was always the same. They were apologetic but clueless. No one was sure as to where my love had ended up. A few of the soldiers told me he deserted to fight for the North and I could only pray that they were wrong.

  My husband had always had a very strong sense of right and wrong and while it made sense to me that he’d fight for the north, I didn’t want him to be killed. If he was caught he’d be hung without trial. Justice was harsh and unfair in this world.

  One day I was helping a soldier to the husk of what used to be his house when the postman came galloping through town, the bag at his side bouncing. A few letters fell out and I gasped, telling the soldier to sit and wait for me. I ran after the postman, picking up as many of the letters as I could. I finally caught up to him, breathing heavily.

  He glanced back at me and the sadness in his eyes told me everything I needed to know. My bottom lip trembled as he hopped off his horse and went to the board where the lists of the dead were nailed. Every few weeks he would bring a new list and tack it to the side of the church. It had started out as a small board but now the entire side of the church was covered in the names of the dead men who’d fought in this stupid, useless war.

  As the postman got back on his horse and rode off, I approached the new list, my eyes wet with tears. I read down the list of names, stopping when my eyes landed on the one I’d prayed wasn’t there. I clasped a hand to my mouth and wailed, gripping the death notice as I fell to my knees, clinging to the piece of paper and sobbing desperately, reading his name over and over again.

  ‘Richard Marshall. TRAITOR.’

  Chapter Three

  The day I lost my husband was the day my world was turned upside down. I was suddenly alone with no one to turn to. My parents had both died of consumption a year before this terrible, awful war. I felt abandoned and even church didn’t bring me solace. I stopped going out completely and I stopped praying. What was there to pray for? It had been made evident to me that prayer didn’t matter. No one was listening.

  I stayed curled up in my house, rocking my baby’s bassinet and doing my best to comfort the child. Poor Gabriel had hardly stopped crying since his daddy died. He was just over a year old and he’d never know is father.

  Richard had managed to avoid the draft until the very end of the war. If only he’d managed to hide or escape, maybe things would be different, but it hurt too much to speculate about that. I didn’t want to think about what it might be like if my husband hadn’t died because I knew no matter what, he was gone and he wasn’t going to come back. I had to settle with that.

  Soon enough the finances ran dry. There was no one left in town to buy my crops or quilts. Even with no money, I was managing. I could grow my own food and make my own clothes. As long as I had a roof over my head I’d be alright. Too bad that was about to be taken from me too.

  A few short months after I’d learned of my husband’s death, men from the state government came with a court order. I owed a fine of three thousand dollars for my husband’s desertion. Even though he was dead they were set on collecting the money he owed them for fighting for the North. They offered me cold stares when I told them I’d never be able to pay them. My entire farm, livestock and all, was barely worth three thousand dollars.

  They just offered me stiff smiles and tipped their hats my way. “Three months, little lady, or we’ll come for your house.”

  The words were cold and raw. They had no forgiveness or kindness to them. It was just another blow that tried to knock me down and they just about succeeded. I was running out of options. I asked the few people in town if I could stay with them, but I had no luck. So many people had lost so much and were barely managing to keep their own heads above water. They were apologetic, but could not offer me any help. Everyone just shook their head sadly and told me to pray.

  Their answers discouraged me, but I could not be angry at them. This was now a town full of people who had nothing left. Even if they wanted to help, they had nothing to offer and I understood. If someone came knocking on my door I knew I would not be able to help them. How could I fault my neighbors for being in that very same predicament?

  I sat in my living room, crying into my hands. Gabriel was asleep in the bassinet beside me, cooing softly in his sleep. I’d been up all night trying to soothe him and had only succeeded a few hours prior. I was running on empty at this point. I wasn’t sleeping enough and I wasn’t eating enough. I was hungry, sad, and winter was coming. I was about to find myself homeless and without protection from the winter, my son and I would surely die.

  It seemed my only option was going to be going into the city and finding work like the other women. Another sob wrenched its way from my chest and I curled up, choking on my tears as they fell and stained the newspaper clipping I’d wrapped some meat in. I opened my eyes slowly, glancing over the ad. It was an ad for a mail order bride. I’d seen these before but never paid too much attention to them.

  Some families refused to go to the cities and opted for traveling west instead. The Western lands were starting to become settled, though it was still dangerous. There were roaming bands of natives and wild cats so big they were known to carry off small women and children. Desperation sent most of the families and widows north.

  The West had mostly been settled by men looking for gold, adventure, or land of their own, and so there were few women out there. They men eventually became lonely and wanted companionship and a family. The only way to find wives was to send ads back east, begging women to come west. They often paid for the woman’s travel expenses and took care of them once they arrived.

  I stared down at the ad, realizing it might be my only hope. I took a chance and responded to it and was a bit surprised to have and envelope with $100 dollars in it arrive a few weeks later. The letter that came with the mail offered an address and instructions that the money was to be used for traveling fees. It was more than enough to cover the cost of a ticket and my meals.

  As I stood in the living area of my home, I stared down at the money, tears coming to my eyes, knowing it was going to be what saved us. This was our ticket out and it came just in time.

  I left the house for the bank to take, giving my livestock to the neighbors who’d helped me through Richard’s death. Soon I was on my way to Charleston, Gabriel strapped to my back. The ride into town took several days but soon enough I was at the train station with my small suitcase in hand. I bought my ticket and boarded the train, settling in and trying to ignore the air of sadness that seemed to encompass the box car.

  Soon the train pulled away from the station and I was on my way to my new life.

&
nbsp; Chapter Four

  The journey lasted for what felt like months. The money my soon-to-be-husband sent was only enough for me to afford the cheapest seats and meals. I was squished between two larger women who’d insisted on wearing fashionable dresses despite their many layers and the heat of the train. It was cold outside but the thick windows didn’t let any of the chill into the stuffy train car.

  We made a few stops along the way, one of them being Chicago. I considered getting out and exploring the city for the few hours we were there. It seemed like a good idea until I stepped off the train and saw a man shot right in front of the platform. The man who’d shot him stole his wallet and ran from the scene. No one even stopped him or tried to help the wounded man.

  The sight left me in shock and I turned around, running back into the train car and sitting back down in my seat, clutching Gabriel close. We were safe as long as we were in the train. I decided I wasn’t leaving for anything. This wasn’t Grace. I didn’t know my way around these large cities and I certainly didn’t know how to protect myself.

  The trip was hard on Gabriel too. He spent most of his time crying or nursing. The rumbling of the wheels made it hard for the poor thing to sleep and the tight quarters didn’t make things easier. I didn’t sleep well while we were on the train and neither did he. It broke my heart to see my poor baby so exhausted. I wanted to help him, but I didn’t know what to do.

  I wasn’t sure how much longer I could be on this train and stay sane. The sounds and smells were starting to get to me, but just as I was about to snap we came to my stop: Billings, Montana. It was a fairly large town for the west, though my future husband lived in a small town just outside of Billings called Whispering Hills.