A Mail-Order Heart (Miners to Millionaires Book 1)

by Janelle Daniels

His eyes met hers then, and air clogged her lungs as he quietly assessed her.

  Could he see the flush bruising her body? The blood rushing through her veins a little more quickly? The air heaving from her lungs? Heavens, she hoped not.

  "Do you know how to saddle a horse?"

  She nodded a little too hard. "Yes. We'll manage just fine."

  He handed over a shotgun, and her hand wrapped around the cold metal. “I want you to have this. You shouldn’t need it, but I don’t feel right leaving you without it. Do you know how to use it?”

  She wasn’t the best shot, but she could manage if needed. Perhaps one of the others had more experience. In either case, she was grateful for it. “Well enough. Thank you.”

  After a final look, he placed his hat back on his head. "All right, then. I'll also leave the wagon in case you need it."

  "That's very kind."

  After he left, Clara's shoulders sagged. She shouldn't let him affect her that way. It would only cause problems.

  The blonde looked at her with a frown. "Why did you have him leave?"

  Clara cleared her throat. "I, um, thought we needed to have some time alone to figure things out. A lot has changed, and I fear that with nine women, it'll be difficult to come to an agreement."

  The girl slowly smiled. "You're probably right. I'm Olivia by the way."

  "Clara." She smiled at the girl before heaving a sigh. "Come on. Let's round up the others and figure things out."

  She hoped it wouldn't be as hard as she imagined.

  Chapter 4

  It was a nightmare.

  Growing up in a house with twelve kids trained Clara how to handle volatile situations. What she wasn’t prepared for was nine women, all with strong personalities, who had no ties of familial love moderating their responses.

  From the moment she entered the parlor, the arguing began.

  Clara walked to the center of the room. "Listen, everyone. Listen, please!" When the room quieted down, she tossed them a thankful, weary smile. "Look, I know we're all upset. But shouting at each other won't help the situation. We're in this together, and the sooner we start working with one another, the better off we'll be. We'll all get what we want. We have options, but before we discuss them, I'd like us all to introduce ourselves."

  A few nodded their agreement, however reluctantly.

  "Good." She sat down in a curvy chair, one no man would ever enjoy sitting in, and waited for everyone to take her cue and arrange themselves comfortably—or at least as comfortably as the stiff, formal furniture would allow. Why anyone wanted such unaccommodating chairs—with pale silk fabric no less—was beyond her. Keeping such material clean in a family environment was an effort worthy of Sisyphus. "I'll begin since I suggested it. I'm Clara Stewart. I'm from New York City and grew up in a large family. I answered Ivan's advertisement because there wasn't enough food for everyone. It was this or factory work, and I chose this path."

  When she finished, she nodded encouragingly at Belle. No one seemed willing to jump in, and Clara was determined for the women to get to know one another. They would all be in each other's lives for the foreseeable future, after all.

  The girl's lips quirked. "I guess that means I'm next."

  The woman with the reddest hair Clara had ever seen snickered.

  "I'm Isabelle Sweeney, but I go by Belle. I'm from St. Louis and recently orphaned." Her voice cracked a little at the end, and she coughed before continuing. "My parents were killed a few months ago, and I had no where else to go."

  "No other family?" Olivia asked softly, her delicate hands folded primly on her lap.

  "No."

  A few of the girls murmured their condolences.

  The other blonde stepped forward. "I'm Willow Packer. I'm from Boston. I ran away from an arranged marriage to a man twice my age. My parents thought it was for the best, but I didn't. I refuse to let others choose my path. So I answered Ivan and decided my own fate."

  The first impression Clara got was that Willow was hard. Determined. Those qualities would serve the whole group well. A woman like that would never allow another to walk over her. "Why don't you go next, Olivia?" Clara suggested.

  "All right. I'm Olivia Hardy." She tucked a loose dirty-blond curl behind her ear. "I'm from Georgia. I can't say anything terrible happened to me or that I needed to come. I didn't."

  The woman so fond of screeching raised a brow. "Then why on earth are you here?"

  Clara frowned at the dark-haired girl, but she only shirked a cerulean silk-encased shoulder.

  That one’s trouble. It didn't take a genius to figure that out.

  Olivia raised a hand to her neck as she gently cleared her throat. "I wish I had a good reason for being here. But the truth is, I felt sorry for him. He seemed so lonely. And I guess I was too. It's what prompted me to write him. And as he told me of his life here, I thought I might be able to bring him some comfort."

  The shrewish woman picked a perfectly manicured nail. "A lot of good it did you."

  "Thank you for that," Clara chastised. "Since you're already talking, why don't you go next?" Not that Clara actually wanted to know anything about her. She might have the facade of a goddess, all curves with sinfully dark hair and icy-blue eyes, but after all the screaming and sarcastic comments, she'd been a headache to deal with.

  The woman smiled bitingly. "I'm Violet Morgan as some of you already know. I'm from New York. Fifth-Avenue,” she stressed. “I came for Ivan's money."

  The room went dead silent.

  While Ivan's wealth no doubt played into each of the girls' decisions to marry him, Clara knew there were other reasons each and every one of them were here. "His money? If you're from Fifth-Avenue, why not stay and marry someone equally endowed?"

  "It's complicated." Violet glared. "And Irrelevant."

  Clara was a patient woman, and she liked to think she was kind. But there was something about Violet that got under her skin. Clara hoped that whatever had driven Violet from New York would eventually soften her. If not, Violet was bound to have a difficult life.

  "Since we're all getting along so great—" the red-head looked between Clara and Violet "—why don't I go next?"

  One of the girls who hadn't gone yet snorted as she leaned against the mantle. "Go on. Hopefully it will diffuse the war brewing."

  Freckles scrunched on the red-head's nose as she grinned. "I'm Aria McKinnon. I'm from Philadelphia. And Irish—" she waved a hand over her flaming locks "—if that wasn't obvious. There wasn't anyone in my area willing to court me outside of the Irish community. I didn’t find anyone suitable. Ivan told me he liked spirited red-heads, and being that he was the only one that had ever said that besides my father, I came to marry him."

  Clara chuckled with Aria. Out of everyone, Aria had the best attitude. Hearing her speak was like a breath of fresh air after spending a hot summer's day mucking out stalls. She'd kept a cheerful temperament through the whole ordeal, and Clara was grateful for that. "I'm glad you're here."

  The light brunette leaning against the fireplace stepped forward. "I'm Rosalie Davis. I'm from a small farming town in Ohio. I wanted adventure. A new life. I've heard about the Montana Territory and the miners here. It all seemed so exciting, and I wanted to be a part of it. It was either marry a miner or stake a claim myself," she teased.

  Belle chuckled. "Well, it looks like you have a claim of your own now. We all do."

  "True." Rosalie exhaled a satisfied breath.

  The petite woman on the end of the sofa appeared more elven than human with her large dark eyes and black hair. The creamy white of her skin looked as if it hardly ever saw sunlight. "And you?" Clara asked.

  "Juliette Cameron from Charleston. I came to Ivan because I had to get out of my town, and I needed a fresh start."

  The room quieted again, and Clara felt sorry for her.

  Juliette squirmed uncomfortably on the cushion and looked at her feet. "My brother is a bank robber on the run." Olivia gasped
at the news, but Juliette continued on as if telling it all quickly would somehow be easier. "I was accused of helping him rob the bank next to a library where I often volunteered, but a jury found me innocent of all charges. I am innocent. However, the people in town never looked at me the same."

  Clara wasn't sure she could either. Not that she condemned Juliette for her brother's actions. But seeing her, a quiet slip of a woman, Clara would’ve never guessed she'd been accused of grand larceny. "I'm sorry. I hope you find your fresh start."

  The final woman slumped on the couch, her smooth auburn hair obscuring her face, and she flinched when all attention turned to her. "Sadie. Sadie Johnston," she said, barely speaking above a whisper. "I'm a widow from Maryland. I had no where else to go after my husband died, so I answered Ivan's advertisement."

  Clara's heart pinched for the woman. Being a lone woman in the world was hard. "When did he pass?"

  Sadie rubbed her stomach nervously. "A few weeks ago."

  It was obviously distressing for her to talk about it, and Clara had no intention of making Sadie any more uncomfortable than she already was.

  What must it be like to love someone so deeply it hurt to even speak of them? Clara sighed, wondering if she'd ever know.

  "Well, all right," Clara said. "Now that we've introduced ourselves and know a little more about each other, I think it's time we made a plan for our future. At least the immediate one. The first issue we should tackle is money. What are we going to do about it?"

  "That shouldn't be a problem, the town said they'd provide for us," Violet answered matter-of-factly.

  Rosalie leaned against the mantle again. "That won't last. We can't expect them to take care of us forever."

  Violet's fists went to her hips. "I don't see why not. They want us here after all. It seems they're desperate for women, and I bet they'll be willing to pay."

  This could quickly get out of hand. "While both of you have valid points, the sheriff did mention that the town was only willing to help us temporarily. Besides, we have a way of supporting ourselves. The mine. Ivan was able to get enough money from it to build this house. He was also able to send for each of us, and I don't know about all of you, but he was generous with his money in sending for me." The women all nodded. "It seems like we need to mine."

  Willow held up her satin skirts. "You don't really expect us to do the labor, do you? I mean, I'm not afraid to work if it needs to happen, but there has to be another way."

  "Why don't we hire someone?" Belle pipped in.

  Juliette looked to Clara with calm, intelligent eyes. "She's right. This is a town full of miners, after all."

  Aria shrugged as she lounged unladylike in her chair. "Makes sense to me. I don't know the first thing about mining."

  "I don't think any of us do," Olivia added softly.

  Rosalie paced the rug in front of the fire. "But how much would that cost us? We have no idea how long it would take for the mine to produce anything. I have a little of what Ivan gave to me, but not much. We wouldn't be able to pay someone… unless someone here has money they're not telling the rest of us about." She eyed Violet suspiciously.

  Violet's lips twisted into a smile, but she remained silent.

  Willow interrupted the silent battle. "We need help. It makes the most sense to hire someone from town who knows what they're doing. Perhaps we could offer them a percentage of what they find instead of paying a wage. It's riskier for them, but they'd be motivated to find gold."

  Rosalie nodded at Willow. "I like that idea. It's the best option by far."

  "Would anyone else like to offer a suggestion?" Clara asked.

  The room was silent as a few shook their heads.

  "All right then. I'll go to town tomorrow and find someone if there aren't any objections." When no one argued, she continued, "With that handled, we need to figure out sleeping arrangements. I was speaking with the sheriff and didn't get a look around. Does anyone know how many bedrooms there are?"

  "Five," Sadie said. "But only eight beds."

  Violet shook her head. "I will not sleep on the floor."

  Willow sneered at the selfish statement. "Would it kill you to not be so self-centered for five minutes? No one said you had to. There's nine of us here. We can draw straws, and the person with the short straw has to sleep on the floor for the night. I'm sure we can arrange for a bed to be delivered tomorrow."

  "That's fair," Aria agreed.

  Belle shrugged. "One night won't kill us. The nights during our travels here couldn't have been any more comfortable than that."

  Sadie quietly left the room and returned a moment later with straws from a broom she must have found during her tour of the house. She offered them to Clara. "Why don't you handle the drawing?"

  Clara's hands closed over the prickly items. She was weary from traveling, but she had spent more nights on the floor than she could count. With eleven siblings, beds were a luxury. Besides, the final bed would be there tomorrow, and they'd all be comfortable then. From everyone's appearances, they were as weary as she, and several of them looked like they'd led very comfortable lives up until that moment.

  She wasn't responsible for Ivan's deception, but she was here now, and she had promised to help the women get settled. She intended to help them all she could.

  Clara placed the straws down on the seat beside her. "We don't need to draw. I'll take the floor tonight."

  "That's not right," Sadie objected, and it was the first burst of light Clara had seen in the woman’s eyes. "We should draw."

  Violet's gazed cut the girl down. "If she's willing to sleep on the floor, let her."

  Sadie's eyes immediately lowered, but she shook her head and looked up, glaring as if upset with both Violet and herself for cowering.

  "Everyone stay calm." An ache formed behind Clara's eyes, and she wanted this all decided so she could rest. "I don't mind sleeping on the floor. To be honest, I've slept on the floor a good portion of my life, and doing it for one more night won't hurt me. As we've already stated, a bed can probably be delivered tomorrow. This really isn't a big deal."

  Juliette's almost black eyes met hers. "If you're sure."

  "I am." Clara sucked in a deep breath and looked at each of the women's faces. So different, each of them. It was as if Ivan wanted a variety of women to choose from. She frowned. He probably had. "So, we'll need to figure out a rotation for meal preparation—"

  "Actually," Olivia interrupted, "there's a cook and a maid. Ivan paid them in advance for the month last week, and they're willing to continue on and earn the wages he gave them."

  Clara's mouth fell open. A cook and maid? What on earth was she going to do all day? If they weren't cooking, cleaning, or mining—they'd be courting. Of course. "Well, all right then. If there isn't anything else pressing, I suggest we end the meeting and talk more again tomorrow after I’ve gone to town. Agreed?"

  Most women nodded while others sounded their agreements vocally.

  "Good. With any luck, the mine will produce a tidy sum for us, giving us plenty of time to choose husbands for ourselves."

  "Here, here!"

  The joyous calls warmed her heart. She was doing something good by helping these women. Ivan had deceived them all, but they could make the best of a bad situation.

  They were housed, warm, and the future was open. The world looked bright, all right.

  Chapter 5

  Sawyer knew the minute he stepped out of his office at the jail the next morning, he was about to make a mistake, but that didn't deter him. If heading over to Ivan's place was a misstep, it was one he was determined to make.

  It was his duty to check on the women, he assured himself. They were alone. New. Someone should look in on them. His decision to visit them had absolutely nothing to do with seeing Clara again.

  Nothing.

  He'd have to be dead not to be attracted to her, but he refused to do anything about it. Taking one of the brides for himself would cause a riot.
He could just imagine hot-headed miners stabbing him with pick axes if they thought he'd swindled them out of a prize.

  And Clara Stewart was definitely a prize.

  The way her eyes had glowed with intelligence and compassion yesterday, taking charge of the situation regardless of the distress she must have felt, lured him. The gumption she possessed was sexy as hell.

  As he rode toward their property, his heart sped as quickly as Strike's pace beneath him. He shouldn't want to see her again, damn it. But he couldn't help it. She made him feel alive.

  He dismounted at Ivan's house, whistling with the birds in the early morning light. Dew coated every surface, but the droplets only seemed to enhance the air’s wildflower perfume instead of dampening it. He felt good. Life was good.

  Swaggering up the stone steps, he knocked briskly at the door. Ivan's maid wasn't old, exactly, but when it took a moment for the door to open, he hadn't been surprised.

  "Hello Sylvia, I'm here to see…" When a very scraggly Clara finished opening the door, her frown heavy enough to scare away the fiercest men in his jail, his jaw almost dropped. Her hair would make some lucky rat completely at home. "What happened? Are you all right?" Had something happened to her?

  He stepped into the house, not bothering with etiquette. He scouted their surroundings until he was sure she was safe and then gripped her chin so he could get a good look at her. "Did something happen last night? Did someone bother you? You're not hurt are you?"

  She swatted his hand. "I'm fine."

  She stepped away from him, but her surly tone didn't mask the dark smudges under her eyes. "What happened?"

  She scrubbed a hand over her face, summoning rosy splotches. "I guess I look worse than I thought." When he refused to take her bait, she sighed and lifted her hands. "Nine women. Eight beds."

  His brows lowered. "And you slept where exactly?" he asked, but the answer was obvious.

  "The settee. Although I would’ve been better off sleeping on the floor," she grumbled.

  Why that answer infuriated him was beyond him. "Why didn’t you send for a bed? I told you we'd get you anything you needed."