The Independent Bride: Mail Order Bride (Boulder Brides Book 2)

  The Independent Bride

  Boulder Brides Book 2

  Natalie Dean

  Eveline Hart

  Kenzo Publishing

  © Copyright 2017 by Kenzo Publishing - All rights reserved.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document by either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited, and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

  Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  About Author - Natalie Dean

  Other books by Natalie Dean

  Sneak Peek: A Soldier’s Love

  Sneak Peek: Lottie

  Chapter 1

  Even with pins and the sleeves still unattached, the dress on the mannequin was beautiful. Lizbeth Collier had an extraordinary knack for following Hannah’s designs perfectly, bringing to solid substance the sketches that had been fashioned first in Hannah’s mind.

  “When Mrs. Naylor wears this, she’ll be the talk of the town,” Lizbeth said. “Everyone will want one of your dresses.”

  Hannah smiled at the younger girl indulgently. “Do you think so?”

  “Well, of course. She’s the wife of the city president. She sets the example for the others. You’ll be dealing with all of high society in no time, Miss Barclay. Did you ask her about a loan?”

  “It’s not as easy as that, Lizbeth. Just because she’s a councilman’s wife, doesn’t mean she’s authorized to make loans.”

  “But if she speaks for you.”

  “She will not. As far as she is concerned, I am still just a poverty-stricken soul who has no hopes of improving her life beyond marrying into money. Once I’ve gathered enough funds together, I’m buying a piece of land. Then I can talk business with the Naylor’s.”

  “We could put the money together faster if I went to work in the dance hall. I’m turning eighteen in three months, so I’ll be of legal age.”

  “Oh no. Oh no, don’t do that to me,” said Hannah, shaking her finger at her. “The Haldeman’s would never forgive me if I encouraged you to do that. The Marston’s would never forgive me either. You are the best seamstress in these parts. You’ll be able to run your own business even if I fail.”

  “You won’t fail.”

  “Don’t walk in the gutter, Lizbeth, just because I do. Some things that get soiled never wash clean.”

  “You’re worried about what Greta would say, aren’t you? You never cared a fig for what Mr. Marston or the Haldeman’s might say. But Greta’s your friend.”

  “And she’s your friend, too. You shouldn’t forget that.”

  “I don’t.” Lizbeth was pinning the back of the bodice to the bustle. This was the most difficult part and required her complete attention. The emerald green velvet shimmered in the afternoon light, as she gathered and smoothed the folds draping around toward the back. “But she won’t think less of me for the choices I make, Miss Barclay. Just as she thinks no less of you.”

  Hannah retreated to the doorway, then turned to watch the girl for a minute. “Don’t do it, Lizbeth. I’m asking you. You’re a nice young woman and deserve a nice young man. When you take to the dance halls, you meet all kinds of disgusting characters; gamblers, thieves, drunkards, and even murderers.”

  “You think I don’t know?”

  Hannah shook her head. She had forgotten for a moment Lizbeth’s history. The girl had been smuggled into Boulder to live at her flat after her father tried to forcibly sell her into marriage. Lizbeth knew everything there was to know about miners, gamblers, and thieves.

  “Because you do know. You don’t want to return to it,” she said softly

  The first year Lizbeth lived in fear in her new home, never knowing if her father would come to take her away, but after the 2nd year Hannah had convinced her she was safe and could stay as long as she wanted to. Lizbeth didn’t remember her mom and Hannah had become the closest to a mom she could imagine having. By helping Hannah in her small business, Lizbeth became familiar with most of the people in town and that in itself made her feel safe. She knew they would watch over her if she ever had to escape again and that was a comforting feeling. Lizbeth thought about her sisters who were left behind. She ached in her heart for them and made a point to pray every day that God would keep them safe.

  Hannah went to her bedroom, which also served as her dressing room, and began preparing for the evening’s performance, sitting first in front of the large mirror and combing back her hair so she could apply make-up. Lately, she’d felt burdened with responsibilities. She was thirty-one, nearly fourteen years older than Lizbeth, and sometimes, she felt like the mother or a much older sister.

  She had never felt that way about Greta, even though her young friend was only a few years older than Lizbeth. It was almost as though Greta had never been a child or had determined the straight line she would walk so long ago, she never hesitated or doubted her direction. Hannah frowned, messing up the pencil lines on her eyebrows so that she was forced to smooth it out and redo them. Not everyone can be like you, Greta, she told herself. Not everyone is able or even wants to follow in your footsteps. I love you dearly, but I don’t wish to live the same way as you. I don’t like self-sacrifice. I don’t like humble dwellings. Forgive me if you think I’m wrong, but I want a far more colorful life than your kind have to offer.

  With her silent admission, she realized Lizbeth probably felt the same way. They were both grateful for the friendship, but they weren’t obligated to meet anybody’s expectations but their own. As reluctant as she was to let go, Lizbeth would decide her own future.

  When she looked in the mirror again, Lizbeth was watching her. “Did you want to try applying make-up?” Hannah asked.

  Lizbeth looked at the various small pots on the dressing table and touched some of the oily mixtures experimentally with her fingers. “It looks like fun. You’ll have to show me sometime, or I might end up looking like a clown. What I forgot to say was, have you heard the news? Greta’s brother showed up the day after her wedding. He was all set to carry her off to Oregon because he thought Mr. Marston had retracted his promise to marry her.”

  “Is he leaving with the wagon train? Some of the head wagons have already started up the pass.”

  “Nope. Greta convinced him to stay for awhile. He’s got the itch, if you know what I mean.”

  “Lizbeth! Such language! You really should go back to the parish.”

  “Maybe I will. Greta’s brother might be handsome. They say good looks run in a family and Greta is pretty.”

  “You are really beginning to worry me. Now then, how do I look? I have to be onstage in twenty minutes.”

  “Like the star performer! You’ll be breaking hearts tonight.”

  Hannah gave her a kiss on the forehead before leaving. One thing about Lizbeth, she was good for boosting self-confidence. When she had first agreed to take the young girl in, she hadn’t imagined what it would be like to be the guardian of a girl coming into her womanhood. That Lizbeth idolized her only made her feel more conscious of her own growing maturity and how her actions could influence her young charge. She didn’t want Lizbeth to go down the same path. She had options, respectable options, better than Hannah had ever had, at lea
st since the war.

  The war had destroyed everything for Hannah. She no longer cared what it had been about; slavery or taxes or things more complicated, like family loyalty or independence. What she knew was that before the Civil War, she had lived well. Their family holdings included a factory for milling cotton. Her family was a major part of Richmond society, with carriages, fine clothing, and a beautiful estate.

  First, the mill was taken over to provide clothing needs, bandages, sheets and tents for the military, then hunger growled in their stomachs when food prices rose and bread lines formed. It was humiliating to stand in breadlines, to wear ragged clothing and go for days without bathing, but all must be sacrificed for the war. All was sacrificed. Two brothers, a husband, their home, and then even the cotton mill was bombed.

  Richmond died by the end of the war, in a heap of smoldering ashes, and Richmond’s dreams died in the rubble along with everything and everyone else. The women of Richmond had given up long before the last great battle. They had given up on trying to patch together their men, or trying to make homes and raise children. When the newspapers began running advertisements for mail order brides in the Colorado mining camps, she had been one among dozens of others who answered. She, along with two other companions, had taken the stagecoach, first to Atchison, Kansas, and then to Boulder. In Atchison, they picked up Greta, who had answered a petition for marriage by a school teacher at a mining camp close to Boulder.

  Her companions had all married within a few months of arriving in the fledgling town. She had not. She believed she had made that decision even before they had crossed the prairie, with the wreckage of man, both builder and destroyer still fresh in her mind, and the thirsting grass, still stubborn and alive, waving at her as though to say, “You can do anything you set your mind to.”

  Men had taken away her position in life. Men would give it back. When Hannah was on stage, she didn’t focus on the audience. She kept her eyes fixed on the far wall, pretending nobody was there while she flounced her skirts and kicked out, showing a flurry of petticoats. It was just a game, nothing more.

  Circling among the customers afterward was a different story. She didn’t like the lascivious looks. She didn’t like the crude comments, but mingling meant extra tips, both in terms of money and in terms of who was striking it lucky and who wasn’t. Hannah knew everybody in town and their potential value. Until she became high society, it was the only way she could rub shoulders with it.

  She was sipping hot tea, deciding the evening was a waste of time when she heard a voice behind her. “May I buy you a drink?”

  Before turning her head, she said, “Alcohol is a poor device for acquiring a lady’s attention.” She looked up, and her heart stopped a moment. The man staring at her was tall, with well-built shoulders and long, elegantly clad legs in polished black wool pants. The pants matched a vest and open jacket with brass buttons trimming both the cuffs and pockets. His collar had a crimped bib touched with lace, along with gathered lace at the cuffs of his sleeves. On a smaller man, it would have looked effeminate. On him, it only accentuated the appearance of power.

  He was young in the same general way Hannah liked to consider herself young; in his early thirties, with a lifetime ahead of him but a lifetime already spent. His hair was a deep black, his eyes a bright shade of blue. His long jawline had recently been shaven and still showed the soft swelling from the razor. “But it works,” he said. “Name’s Jeremy Parks. And yours?”

  “That’s it? You give me a name and invite me to a drink, and now you believe you’re entitled to know me?”

  He cocked his head slightly as though listening to a new language. “You’re not one of the common folk, are you? You’re a woman of breeding. Allow me to try again. Should I begin with, ‘Good evening, ma’am. I enjoyed your part in the show,’ or is that indelicate?”

  “Indelicate? Somewhat, if you perceive me and the person on the stage to be one and the same. It was a performance, an act, not a career.”

  “I see.” He drew back one step, then stepped forward again and bowed. “Ma’am, may I introduce myself. My name is Jeremy Parks. I’m a cattle rancher from Tennessee who has set his stakes about twenty miles west of here. It’s mighty lonely country, so when I come down every month or so to buy supplies and take care of cattle business, I also like to spend a little time relaxing. I didn’t mean to offend you. I was just being friendly.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Jeremy Parks,” she answered, extending her hand. “My name is Hannah Barkley. I’m from Richmond, which I’m sure explains plenty.”

  “I’m sorry. You came here on your own? Were you answering an advertisement?”

  “I was, but when I got here, I decided there wasn’t any need to rush into marriage. Think of all the foolishness and grief a man brings to a woman’s door. I am going into business. Not this business, but another. I am a dress designer, and I have a seamstress. We’re becoming quite successful, really. Dancing at night is just a sideline to help me start my business.”

  “I’m glad you got sidelined. Not for the misfortune that caused you to be sidelined, but it’s fortunate for me that you’re here. Would you like a glass of wine?”

  Hannah hesitated. “One glass, perhaps. At times, sipping tea can be quite boring.”

  Most of the wine was home-made from the local berries; usually raspberry or thimbleberry. This wine came in a bottle with a cork that popped dramatically. That brief second of triumphant sound was like an echo of a distant time when the wine flowed freely, jeweled fingers sparkled, and laughter spilled in abundance. She took a long sip, enjoying its warmth as it flowed down.

  “I was wondering,” he said. “I was thinking of playing a couple of hands of poker tonight, and I was wondering if you would be my lady luck.”

  Despite the deliciousness of the wine, she felt an unpleasant rumble in her belly. “I wouldn’t play at the tables here. They are all sharpsters. They play a gentleman’s game at the Palace. I would advise you to go there.”

  “Will you accompany me?”

  “No.”

  “Then I will stay here.”

  “I will not accompany you to the gambling tables here, either. It’s not my custom to support gambling.”

  “I will lose my lady luck if you leave me.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you will find her quite easily if you look, but the one who sits down at the gambling table with you won’t be me. It was a very pleasant evening talking with you, Jeremy Parks. Perhaps we’ll meet each other again.”

  “We shall! I’m staying at the Palace. I’ll look for you every day and won’t leave until I see you again. Say that you will come by for breakfast.”

  “I rise early.”

  “Is eight a.m. too late in the day? I am not an early riser when on holiday.”

  “Eight will be fine as long as you are not suffering a malady from over-indulgence.”

  She left feeling an odd turmoil. He was exactly the kind of man she had dreamed about, but she had not said one word she had dreamed of saying. She had been aloof. She had been critical. She hadn’t flirted or said anything witty. She had nearly chased him away. What’s wrong with you, she scolded herself. He’s a wealthy man, a rancher, and he was trying so hard to please you. But she knew what it was. It had been those days on the stagecoach, listening to her two friends from Richmond giggle and talk crassly about what they were going to do in Boulder. Then there was Greta. Certainly, that child had seen her own horrors in bleeding Kansas, but she had refused to compromise her faith. Greta’s inner strength had been infectious. I can’t be bought, resolved Hannah. I won’t be bought.

  Chapter 2

  He woke with a large, slobbering tongue licking his face. “Greta, stop kissing me!” he shouted loud enough for his sister to hear, then added, “Oh, it’s you, the weird curly-haired mutt that thinks it’s a cow dog.”

  He waited for her answer to float upstairs to the loft. “The same joke day after day isn’t really funny, Le
ster. Why don’t you try closing the door now and then so Handel can’t come in?”

  He wrestled with the puppy a few minutes, allowing it to flop all over him and rub along the blankets. “I wouldn’t have any fun that way!” He grinned at the wintry sunlight squinting weakly into the window. When he left Oregon, the temperatures were mild. In fact, the Oregon climate had made him forget how vigorous mid-western temperatures could be. The high altitudes of the Rockies had sent him a brisk reminder. It was colder in the Rocky Mountains than it was in Oregon. Its winters were colder even than the ones he remembered in Kansas, but with a difference. Kansas winters rolled like an unstoppable tidal wave, sweeping over the plains evenly, every nook and cranny in its tight grip. The Rockies had wind-stoppers, shelters, and coves. Amazing little places gently burrowing into lush green valleys and graceful slopes. Cool summers and heavy snowfalls in the winter were common, yet in these protected areas, there was a certain mildness to the overall climate.

  When the sun shone, it had a shy, flirting touch. It made him think about growing things laying secretly under the soil, encased in seeds or in nests or burrows. It also made him remember that just a short time ago, he had been fighting winter’s viciousness to make it over the pass, and now he was here, at his sister’s house. His sister who he had not seen in eleven long years. Funny how time puts a stop on things that are far away. He knew Greta’s age. She was eight years younger than he was, yet he had still expected to see a nine-year-old girl.

  He had arrived at the settlement on Christmas Day, the day after her wedding. He had felt, first of all, relieved that he would not have to fight for his sister’s honor, and second of all, happy that his new brother-in-law was a respected member of the community. It took about thirty minutes of intense conversation to decide he liked and approved of the new family member who had been so reluctant to marry Greta when he first met her.