ALIEN ROMANCE: Ursa (Paranormal Science Fiction BBW Alpha Male Romance) (50 page)

Epilogue

Christmas Eve, 1843

Luke crashed through the front door with a curse. Grabbing his throbbing toe, he spun madly, throwing a hand out to catch himself on the whitewashed wall a second before he toppled dizzily to the floor. He stood there for a long moment, hunched over at the waist, blinking rapidly as everything doubled, and then tripled. He swore Calder was slipping more into his whisky than just alcohol. Luke was sure he’d only had a few glasses, but then those pretty girls had come in and he might have had a few more shots. And when he’d lost that poker hand to one-eyed Bill he may have tried to drown his sorrows in another drink or two.

He closed one eye, and squinting blearily through the other could just make out the path from the front room, down the hall, up the stairs, and to his bedroom. Oh, damn it all. Stairs. He had forgotten about them. Cautiously, he glanced around, the whole dimly lit room swimming in waves around him. Maybe he would just sit down in that old armchair of his until he could see straight again. Nodding to himself, proud of his ingenuity, he took several unsteady steps into the great room.

Not that it was so great, he thought morosely to himself. His father had tightened the purse strings more and more each passing year, so now most of his furniture was becoming threadbare and worn. Always going on about responsibility, and work ethic, and making something out of himself. He already had, he thought with a snort. He was the son of the richest man in the west. What could be better than that?

He stumbled further into the room when a sudden noise had him spinning too quickly, almost landing him straight on his nose.

“What?...”

“Oh, sit down, Luke, before you hurt yourself.” The crotchety old voice sounded out of the darkness, and again, he found himself squinting until his dark eyes landed on the disapproving gaze of his father. He had been sitting there for who knows how long, waiting for Luke to return from Calder’s saloon. And he looked none too pleased about it, either.

Luke trundled over to the other empty chair and sat down gratefully before looking up balefully at his father. The renowned Augustus James Wilder. The richest man in the west, and owner of the Corral Ranch, and Luke’s own life, he thought bitterly.

“What are you doing here, father? It’s Christmas Eve, shouldn’t you be off working?”

“Now, stop that. You’re a twenty eight year old man, not some whining boy, and I’ve decided it’s high time for you to start acting like it.” His Texas drawl did nothing to soften the words. “You’re right, tomorrow is Christmas. And I got you something. Something that will hopefully turn your life around.”

“Oh, right. And what is that, father?” Luke couldn’t have kept the sarcasm out of his voice if he’d wanted to. Silently, his father leaned forward, offering him a small piece of paper. Luke looked closer at it and realized it wasn’t paper at all, but a sepia toned photograph of a young woman. A gorgeous young woman, staring at him with piercing eyes that seemed to dare him. But that still didn’t answer his question. He looked up in drunken confusion.

“What is this supposed to mean?” Luke’s words were starting to slur together even more, making him almost unintelligible, but his father understood. Slowly, Augustus rose, looking every inch the proud southern gentlemen staring down at a rogue, good-for-nothing cowboy.

“It’s a choice,” His father all but spit the words out, “It’s either her...” he paused, nodding toward the photograph clutched in looks numb fingers, “Or you’re cut off.”

“Cut...off?” Luke felt the words in his mouth, but couldn’t comprehend them.

“Yes, son, cut off. No house, no money, no job. Not that you’ve worked a day in your life anyways.” His father took a deep breath before continuing, “and no inheritance. You’ll get nothing.”

Luke stare at him dumbfounded before a startled laugh was shocked out of him, “What do you want me to do, father? Kidnap the poor girl?”

“No, you fool. Marry her!”

“Marry her?” Luke spluttered, unable to get anymore words out, his mouth hanging open dumbly as his alcohol soaked mind tried to understand what his father was saying.

“Yes, Luke. Marry the girl, or you’re on your own.”

“How...how can you do this to me?”

Augustus didn’t answer, just shook his head silently, waiting.

“Well, do I even get to meet her first?” Cynicism was thick in Luke’s voice. Augustus held out a sheet of vellum, folded in the center. Luke slowly took it, opening it with trembling fingers, and laughed again when he read the words, but there was no humor in the sound.

“Ah, I’m already married, huh? Is that it?”

“It was done by proxy, just like any mail order bride. She has already signed, all that is required is your signature and it is legal and binding.”

Luke looked up at his father’s words, so cold, so distant.

“Why?” He asked again.
What choice do you have?
His drunken brain railed at him. What would he do with no house, no money, no where to go. Without even looking, he grabbed the pen held out by his father, scrawled his signature, and thrust the paper back feeling like he had just signed his life away.

 
 
 
A few moments later, the whisky finally caught up with Luke, and as Augustus Wilder stared down at his drink-ridden, unconscious son, he prayed that he was doing the right thing. Without another word, he turned and left.

Chapter 1

Christmas Day, 1843

 
The stage coach hit another rut in the road, sending Eleanor bouncing off of the seat only to land again with a painful thud. Surreptitiously, she rubbed her aching backside. Even with all the layers of petticoats and the fabric of the green dress itself, every jolt rattled through her, and the further west they travelled the worse it seemed to get.

 
 
 
She hoped desperately that her own life would not follow a similar pattern.
Not that I have a choice,
she reminded herself sternly. It was a lesson she had learned long ago. Life is never fair, it’s best to just accept what’s in front of you and make the most of what you can’t change. Much less heartache that way.

 
 
 
A sigh flew out of her lips before she could stop it. Although sometimes, it did seem to her that life had just heaped an extra helping of unfair onto her. She pushed her pixie like chin high up into the air, throwing back her shoulders. She had survived worse, Eleanor reminded herself. She would no doubt have no trouble at all with her new husband.

 
 
 
With every ounce of will she had, which was considerable, she shoved down the trembling sense of fear and uncertainty that kept trying to invade, reminding herself over and over that she was strong, that she would survive. She really had lived through just about the worse that a person could.

 
 
 
Despite herself, the memories swirled. Jack Fontaine. Dear Jack, sweet Jack. Hah! Drunk, mean Jack was more like it. Sure, he had been nice to her at first, wooing her with sweet words. Until they got married, that is. And then, it was if he had become a different man. A monster. A monster that couldn’t stay away from the booze or the women.

 
 
 
One night, she had overheard him laughing to his good for nothing friends that he had only married her because he thought she’d had money. Well, the joke was on him. She’d been almost as poor then as she was now, whatever meager scraps she’d been able to save had gone straight down Jack's throat.

 
 
 
Which was why she hadn’t been surprised when she had received the message telling her that Jack had broken into some fancy new factory and got himself killed. Eleanor remembered that night so vividly, it was like it had happened just yesterday instead of almost two months ago.

 
 
 
She had received the message to go to the Wilder factory immediately, that it was urgent. The messenger, one of Wilder’s employees had driven her there on an old wagon that smelled of animal, but she had barely noticed. Her heart had pounded slow and painful in her chest, warning her that something bad was coming.

 
 
 
She had looked at the letter, trying to feel some remorse for the loss of her husband, but underneath the fear, all she could feel was relief, and she had hated herself for that. But the honest truth was that the last three years of her life had been a nightmare, day after day of terror and pain, solely because of her husband, and it was if a giant weight had been lifted off. Silently, she had said a prayer for him, trying desperately to mean it.

 
 
 
They trundled up to the largest building that Eleanor had ever seen. It had three stories! She marveled at the sight for only a moment before the messenger directed her inside, through a short hallway, to a large, richly appointed office. Everyone knew that Augustus Wilder was loaded, but with the evidence in front of her, it was impossible to deny. It was also impossible not to compare it to her own desperate situation.

 
 
 
She realized then that she was a woman, alone and penniless.

 
 
 
“Ah, Mrs. Fontaine,” The raspy voice interrupted her thoughts, and she looked up at him, meeting his serious dark gaze with her own green head on, chin up,
 
trying not to let any of her emotions show. He held her stare for a long moment before a hint of a smile cracked his stoic expression and he took a seat behind a massive wooden desk. He gestured for her to do the same.

 
 
 
“So, Mrs. Fontaine, I suppose you know why you’re here?”

 
 
 
She nodded briefly, still not saying anything. She had learned it was best to keep her mouth shut until she knew what to say.

 
 
 
“Right, well, I guess condolences are in order,” He paused, one eyebrow raised as she just nodded one more time. All business, he continued on, “let me be frank, my dear. If I understand correctly, and I usually do, you are in dire straights. Your husband spent all of your already meager funds at the saloon or a brothel, leaving you with nothing but a mountain of debts and no financial support in the world.”

 
 
 
Eleanor flinched at every cold fact. This time he waited for her reply. Finally, she did, meeting him eye to eye, acting twice as brave as she felt. “That is correct, sir. But I’ve made it through rough patches before, and I certainly will again. Thank you so much for your concern.” The last was said with a bit more sarcasm than she would have liked, but he was laying out her life like he was reading the weather in the Sunday paper. Casually, coldly, as if it was of no consequence except whether he would need an umbrella or not.

 
 
 
His gaze warmed slightly as he took in her thrown back shoulders and straight spine. He gave one decisive nod before saying to himself, “yes, she’ll do nicely.”

 
 
 
“Excuse me, sir?”

 
 
 
“Listen, Eleanor, if I may call you that,” he waited for her nod, “this is a bit more than a rough patch and we both know it.
 
I have a proposition for you…”

 
 
 
With a gasp of outrage, she jumped to her feet. “I don’t have to sit here and take this form the likes of you. A proposition! As if I’m some sort of–.”

 
“Please, Mrs. Fontaine. That’s not what I mean. Think of it more as a business deal.”

She slowed on her furious stomp to the door. She turned with one brow raised. “Well? Go on.”

 
 
 
“Right, well.” He cleared his throat roughly, “You need a home, and security, and enough money to pay off your debts and live a comfortable life. My son needs someone with your particular qualities. Strength, morals, and spirit.”

“I’m not a nanny, sir.”

 
 
 
“No, no, although that’s not a bad idea,” he grinned for the first time, and it transformed his severe face into something softer, kinder. She found herself taking a step back toward him, shaking her head in confusion.

 
 
 
“Then, what?”

 
 
 
“He needs a wife.”

 
 
 
“A wife?” Eleanor spluttered. “I’m sorry, sir, but I haven’t had much luck with that in the past, and I’m not keen to give my life over to another man anytime soon, let alone one I’ve never even met before!”
 
She turned again, ready to leave, but his next words stopped her.

 
 
 
“You’ll go to prison. You’ll be cast out, ruined. Homeless and begging on the street corner. Or worse.”

 
 
 
“Is that a threat, Mr. Wilder?”

 
 
 
“No, my dear, those are the facts.”

 
 
 
“But…” She trailed off, knowing he was right. Frustration and sadness and a sense of inevitability filled her. Without another word, he slid a large piece of paper toward her and she scanned it quickly. It was a marriage by proxy agreement.

 
 
 
“All you have to do is sign, and I will make sure you are safe, secure, and taken care of for the rest of your life. Everything you’ll need…”

 
 
 
Eleanor stopped listening as her thoughts whirled. Again, she read the amount of money stated as her entitlement if she signed, and her breath shook as she exhaled. Hers. Hers alone to spend how she liked, how she needed. She could live more than comfortably. She’d be rich. But that wasn’t what had made her pick up the pen and neatly sign her name in looping cursive. It was the words repeating over and over. Safe. Secure. Safe. Secure. Something she had never let herself dream of.

 
 
 
Another jolt sent her flying, and pulled her out of her reverie with painful force as she landed with a solid thud before realizing that the coach had pulled to a stop. All the way from Fairbanks to somewhere in the west of Texas. It had been a grueling month-long journey, and as the door was opened, she squinted and her eyes adjusted to the bright afternoon light.

 
 
 
With the help of the driver, she stepped out of the coach and onto a dusty, rickety platform that served as the way station for the small town. Eleanor looked around, frowning in dismay at the ramshackle buildings and dust filled streets. It wasn’t Fairbanks, that was for sure. She had expected it to be a bustling city being the home of Augustus Wilder’s main ranch and business, but it was far from that. Maybe she was in the wrong town.

 
 
 
Hurriedly, she turned to the driver. “Excuse me, sir. Are your sure this is the town of Sun Hill?” But she was asking the question to the air as the coach was already pulling away, rattling down the street. Eleanor looked down at the single piece of luggage she had, a small bag that had all her important memories.

 
 
 
Augustus had written her a letter with tickets for her voyage, and he had said his son, Luke, would be there waiting to meet her and take her to her new home. She glanced up and down the empty street, and with a sigh, sat down to wait.