And Then Came Spring (8 page)

Chapter One

Honey Springs, Texas

Summer 1870

A
born
killer. Melvina Eldora Smith killed three people before the age of one—her mother at birth, her father of a broken heart, and her poor, poor uncle Mutt outside a bar with a runaway buggy . . .

Ellie Smith fought off the chanting taunts of her past. Taunts that had followed her from “the ill-fated day of her birth”
—
as Aunt Millicent was fond of saying.

Three deaths before the age of one!

Aunt Millicent had assured Ellie and everyone else she came in contact with for the last nineteen years that all three deaths were most unquestionably Ellie's doing.

Oh, how Ellie wished she'd known them all. The loss of her mother and father especially left a gnawing hole in her heart. But according to Aunt Millicent it was nothing compared to the one in her heart, especially with the hardship of raising Ellie dropped straightaway into her lap. Over and over Ellie had heard this from as far back as she could remember.

The taunts of children on the playground and the whispers of adults carried the same message. “Murderin' Melvina.” The hurtful nickname had clung to her all these nineteen years. Her penance for crimes committed . . .

But not any longer.

Today she'd left Murderin' Melvina behind, shortened Eldora to Ellie. Her new beginning as Ellie Smith was under way. Today her very own fairy tale began . . . She still could not believe it was possible.

Her chest felt like it would surely burst with anticipation as she stood on the weathered plank sidewalk beside the stagecoach she'd just ridden three hundred rough, dusty miles into Honey Springs. Even the oppressive summer heat couldn't stifle her exhilaration as she surveyed the bustling little Texas town that was now her home. She loved the assortment of clapboard buildings, some made of logs and some of bricks that were a backdrop for the busy people moving in all directions. The mercantile was across the street and the hotel was too. The livery sat at the end of the street. She took the rest in, but instead of focusing on the buildings, she studied the people. Fingers of excitement curled inside of her, tickling her so that she thought she might laugh with the thrill of it all.

Where
is
he?

At nineteen, Ellie was leaving her regrettable past—and Aunt Millicent—behind, daring to forge a new life. From the moment she'd stepped onto that stage she'd been in control of her destiny—well, she and God, but surely He had orchestrated this opportunity and was in on the plan.

Yes, God was finally smiling on Ellie. Good things were about to happe—

“Look out below!”

The shout from above had Ellie looking up just in time to see her heavy valise sail from atop the stage straight at her! Ellie jumped out of the way, barely in the nick of time, and the valise whizzed past her and thudded to the boardwalk in a plume of dust. Ellie's hat slid forward and she righted it with one hand as she clutched her Bible to her racing heart.

“Oops, sorry 'bout that, little lady,” the grizzled driver shouted.

“That's quite all right, Mr. Muldoon,” Ellie assured him. He and his shotgun had gotten her through some rough country without mishap and for that she was thankful. Sneezing when a loose feather from her hat tickled her nose, she swiped it out of the way and continued to scan the men milling about.

Where was he?

Two months ago Ellie had only dreamed of a different life. One with a husband and children to call her own—her unattainable happily-ever-after. But dreams were all she'd had. No man in Fort Worth with half a mind wanted to be stuck with a wife known as Murderin' Melvina. Then Aunt Millicent had slapped a copy of the
Hitching
Post
Mail-Order Bride Catalogue
in front of her and given Ellie an hour to pick a husband or she would pick one for her.

Looking down in shock at that catalogue, Ellie had no idea that the book would change her life. Hesitantly, she'd opened it to a random page and, as if beckoning her gaze to fall upon it, there was Mathew McConnell's ad. The short, sweet words spoke to her heart.

Lonely, widowed rancher looking for love and a godly mother for his sweet, two-year-old baby girl who needs gentle arms to hold her.

Ellie had connected instantly—not even knowing what Mathew McConnell looked like. She'd looked her future in the face and decided right then and there to change the course of her life.

The very daring of the idea had energized her like nothing else ever had, like being freed from shackles!

And the most ironic thing of all: it had been Aunt Millicent's desire to be rid of her that had turned Ellie's life in this exciting new direction.

It just went to show a person that God, in His timing, could take a bad situation and turn it for good . . . just as the Good Book promised.

Mathew McConnell was the hope of her life.

The answer to her prayers. Her very own knight in shining armor.

Mathew offered her a way out of the life she'd been doomed to live and for that she would forever be grateful.

And baby Sophie . . . oh, the sweet angel, just like Ellie, had lost her mother at birth. Ellie had so much love just bursting to be showered on Sophie. The sweet, innocent child would never, ever carry the burden of her mother's death as Ellie had for her own.

Searching the passing people, Ellie's eyes jerked to a halt as they latched onto the dark, penetrating eyes of a tall, lean cowboy with a very unbecoming scowl on his ruggedly handsome face. “Goodness,” she gasped, her fingers tightening on her Bible.

Dressed in dark britches, a gray, long-sleeved shirt tucked in at his narrow hips, a holster hung low on his right thigh. His thumb was looped beneath the leather belt just in front of the pearl handle of the holstered gun. Tall, lean, and dangerous.

And he was watching her.

Ellie wondered if he knew that he looked like he'd just eaten a very sour pickle. And how sad because it didn't become him in the least.

And why, she wanted to know, was he looking at
her
with that pickle-faced expression?

Hiking her chin, Ellie met the cowboy's insolent stare. How dare he! Of all the rude—He took a step in her direction! Ellie gasped and despite the road separating them, she took a step back on the platform. When he stomped from the plank sidewalk and strode toward her across that rutted road, Ellie's heart dropped straight to her toes. What was he doing?

Sidestepping horses and buggies, he crossed the busy street, taking purposeful strides toward her. Tightening her grip on the Bible she clutched to her chest, she denied the dreaded thought sliding over her—surely to goodness this man was
not
Mathew McConnell!

Why
else
would
a
perfect
stranger
be
approaching
me?

Her head was full of imaginations of the way she believed her betrothed would look. And while, at the moment, she couldn't disregard this man's dark good looks, the scowl that hadn't left his expression left much,
much
to be desired. Ellie was looking for a lonely widower looking for love . . . He should be looking happily at her.

This rugged cowboy looked like he was aching for a fight, or at the least had a belly full of green plums. Ellie glanced about her, maybe her eyes were deceived and his gaze was locked onto someone standing behind her.

“Miss Smith?”

Ellie's stomach curdled, her palms grew damp. “Yes.”
Dear
Lord, please don't let this be so
.

“Miss
Melvina
Eldora
Smith?”

The name alone caused Ellie to cringe. Aunt Millicent always said a formal letter required a formal name, and Ellie had written the letter to the
Hitching
Post
in the most formal way, wanting to make the best impression of her life—and with her aunt looking over her shoulder! Clearly a misconception on her part, since this dour, pickled-faced man obviously had no interest in making any kind of good impression on the likes of her.

Pulling her shoulders back, Ellie pushed her alarmed reaction down. “Mr. McConnell?”
Please, oh please let it not be so
 . . . The quick nod of his dark head shot any glimmer of hope straight onto the dusty boards upon which she stood. Surely there was something amiss here. Some terrible, dreadful mistake.

•••

The dread that had been coiling in the pit of Mathew McConnell's gut from the moment the wide-eyed beauty stepped from the stagecoach tightened as she slowly nodded her feather-topped head.

“I'm afraid there's been a mistake,” he nearly growled, eyeing the Bible in her hands before looking straight at her.

Eyes that were mingled shades of light and dark blues, like the colors of the bluebonnets that grew all over Texas, met his, just as a perfectly sculpted eyebrow snapped up. “Ex
cuse
me?” she said, none too happily.

Mathew should have tipped his hat to the lady, even if he was too angry to think of the manners his mother—may she rest in peace—had taught him. This was not the Melvina Eldora he'd pictured arriving to marry him—the woman who'd come to be a mother to Sophie.

“I specifically requested a
practical
woman.” Snatching his Stetson from his head, he slapped it against his thigh. What kind of mail-order bride catalogue was this
Hitching
Post
anyway? There could have been no mistaking his ad:
Widowed
rancher
looking
for
practical
woman
to
keep
house
and
be
a
mother
to
his
baby
girl. Bible believers need not apply
. And yet, here stood this, this
woman . . .
decked out in her feathers, ruffles, and lace from the top of her head to the tips of her dainty boots.

“Practical,” she ground out. Her pert nose twitched just the slightest and her bluebonnet eyes flared with indignation. “You're saying I'm not
practical
?” Her voice rose on the last word as she glared at him and batted a feather out of her face.

“That's right.” He'd started this so he might as well finish it. “And I
specifically
said Bible thumpers need not apply.” His eyes fell to the Bible gripped in her white-knuckled hands.

“Bible thumber—I mean
thumper
?” Her eyes narrowed. “How
dare
you?”

“Well, don't get all riled up,” he drawled. “You
are
holding that Bible like it's your last best friend in all the world.”

Her mouth formed a perfect pink O and a tiny gasp escaped. “Yes. Well,” she stammered. “Mister McConnell, I'm not certain what's going on here, but you are not the only one who's disturbed at the moment. You might be angry that a so-called Bible thumper has gotten off that stage. However, I can assure you that the sour face greeting me after my long and arduous stagecoach ride is quite a disappointment to me. A
very
large disappointment indeed.” She huffed, pulled her shoulders back, and stood rigidly in place, staring up at him with the gumption of twenty frontier women.

Looking into those blazing eyes, Mathew was startled by the depth of emotion he saw dancing there—beautiful, unwavering eyes that held a mixture of ire—and
hurt
? A pang of regret hit Mathew and he found himself lost in that gaze and the emotions swirling just beneath the surface . . .

And he totally and completely lost his train of thought.

The story continues in
An Ever After Summer
by Debra Clopton

Other Novels by Margaret Brownley

The Brides of Last Chance Ranch Series

Gun
powder
Tea

Waiting
for
Morning

Dawn
Comes
Early

 

A Rocky Creek Romance

A
Vision
of
Lucy

A
Suitor
for
Jenny

A
Lady
Like
Sarah

 

Log
Cabin
Christmas
Collection

About the Author

New
York
Times
best-selling author
Margaret Brownley
has penned more than twenty-five historical and contemporary novels. Her books have won numerous awards, including Reader's Choice. She has published the Rocky Creek series, and
A
Lady
Like
Sarah
was a Romance Writers of America RITA finalist. Happily married to her real-life hero, Margaret and her husband have three grown children and live in Southern California.

 

http://www.margaretbrownley.com/