Bartered Bride Romance Collection (30 page)

“You’ll never be ordinary,” he chuckled. “But I’ve already found considerable happiness in you. Ecclesiastes 9:9 says, ‘Live joyfully with the wife whom thou lovest.’ I think we’ve both been concentrating more on the future and our destination instead of enjoying each day as the Lord gives it to us.”

“So we need to take pleasure wherever we are … even if it’s a gritty, dry stretch.”

“With the love God gives us, it’s an oasis.”

Rawhide rode up. “Keep a-goin’, folks. We’ll hit Ash Hollow tomorrow. Fresh water and trees.”

Bethany stopped and wrapped her other arm around Josh and hugged him tight. “Our oasis!”

Ash Hollow was the first steep grade they took. Men tied logs to the backs of the wagons to slow their descent. They camped for two days among the first trees they’d seen in over one hundred miles and relished the first fresh water they’d had in weeks.

Josh sat by his wife and smiled. She’d curled her foot up beneath her, and she hummed as she stirred something in a big bowl. “What do you have there?”

She held it up. “Have a taste.”

He swiped his finger through the batter and licked the sweetness off. “Mmm. Apple something.”

“Apple spice cake.”

“Looks like enough batter to float a boat.”

Bethany smiled. “Apple is your favorite, so I wanted enough for you, then I thought to make one for Granny Willodene as a thanks for her wisdom. Penny’s going to sugar glaze all of them if she can have one to share while the girls discuss their books.”

“Do we have that many pie pans?”

“No.” She giggled. “So I’m baking one for the Cole brothers since they’re lending me two pans.”

After a two-day rest in Ash Hollow, the train continued. A few men managed to bag some antelope. The women followed the recipe for roast saddle of venison in Bethany’s cookbook. Penny made mashed potatoes with Edward’s dried flakes, Bert made biscuits by the score, and nearly everyone else contributed dishes for a big feast. In the midst of all of the activity, Granny Willodene wandered toward a chair and swiped something from Lavinia’s hands. “What is this?”

“None of your business!”

Granny turned the book over and read aloud,
“Malaeska.”

“I wondered to whom my book was passed,” Bethany said.

“Well, I’m gonna hang on to this until Lavinia and her mama finish washin’ the supper dishes,” Granny announced. “Everyone else has worked for the meal. I’m sure they want to do their fair share.”

Bethany thought the day had been surprising enough, but as the Millberg women washed the dishes, Buck and Bert Cole shuffled up. “Doc. Mrs. Rogers. Would you be willing to loan that dime novel to us?”

Josh raised his brow at Bethany, read her expression, and managed to sound completely unfazed. “Just as soon as Lavinia is done with it.”

“Hope she reads faster than she does dishes,” Bert grumbled.

“We have a long time on the trail. I promise you’ll get to read it,” Bethany said as she slipped her hand into Josh’s.

Two days later during lunch, Lavinia returned the book, and Bethany passed it on to Buck as the wagon train started its afternoon travel. About an hour later, a huge mound of rock with a breathtaking spire came into view.

“Chimney Rock!” someone shouted.

“One-third of the way there,” Papa declared.

“Well, what do you think?” Josh asked.

Bethany studied it. “It’s certainly a magnificent thing. I can see why they call it Chimney Rock. It’s aptly named.”

“Are you longing for a chimney of your own?” Papa asked.

Bethany shook her head and smiled. “My hearth is an open fire. I’m content to walk toward the sunset and sleep beneath a canopy of stars, because God gave my heart a home in a green wedding wagon with the man I love.”

FROM HALTER TO ALTAR

by Cathy Marie Hake

Prologue

Littleton, Rhode Island—1868

B
arney, anything interesting come in?”

“Ah-yuh. I posted them yonder.” The young man jabbed his thumb at the wall.

Ellis Stack scratched his side and sauntered over to the collection of scraps of paper stuck on various nails lining the far wall. Squinting, he moved his thin lips as he sounded out each word. The middle post caught his attention.

L. S. STOCKS

BRIDLE ORDER: STURDY, DEPENDABLE, ABLE TO HANDLE THE STRESS OF HEAVY LABOR. PLAIN ONES ONLY. WILLING TO PAY FAIR PRICE. MANY NEEDED. CONTACT: JAMES COLLINGSWOOD, LICKWIND, DAKOTA TERRITORY

His pale face lit up with glee. “Send a reply straight off!” Ellis scrawled some words on a paper, crossed out as many as he could to save money, then shoved it at the telegraph operator. “ ’Bout time things went my way. Let me know as soon as you get a response.”

As he turned to leave, he heard Barney’s twitchy index finger hitting the telegraph key. Every single dot and dash sounded like cash falling into his pocket.

COLLINGSWOOD,

REGARDING ORDER: FOUR READY TO SHIP. SUITED TO SPECIFICATIONS, WILL SERVE WELL. ONE FIFTY, PLUS SHIPPING, COD.

E. STACK

The next morning, Barney tracked Ellis down at the mercantile and handed him a folded slip. Ellis quickly opened the note.

MR. STACK,

AGREE TO PRICE. SEND WHAT YOU HAVE. AS MORE ARE FINISHED, SHIP AS WELL.

JAMES COLLINGSWOOD

Ellis smiled. The four headaches he’d been suffering were about to end.

Chapter 1

M
atilda Craig stepped down from the Union Pacific train and sighed in relief. She’d had enough of the dust and smoke to last her a lifetime. Ellis hadn’t told them they were coming to the western edge of the Dakota Territory. She’d listened to the man behind her call the place they were stopping by an Indian name … Wyoming. The name paired with the train’s endless chug—
Why am I roaming? Why am I roaming?

Small pebbles rolled beneath her black high-top boots, and she tried valiantly to keep her balance, but her effort was in vain. Both legs slid forward, and she made a very unladylike
oomph!
as she landed in a sea of ruffled cotton petticoats. The horsehair bustle she’d hoped would make her appealing to her intended padded Matty’s landing, but nothing would salvage her bruised pride.

“Here, miss.” A mountain of a man plucked her from the ground and set her on her feet as if she weighed no more than a pail of milk. Concern lined his craggy, tan face as glinting hazel eyes scanned her. “Are you all right?”

“Nothing damaged but my pride,” she confessed. “Thank you.”

His large hand continued to cup her shoulder in a proprietary, protective manner. “The town hasn’t put in a boardwalk yet. After the rocking of the train, you’ll be a mite unsteady.”

“I noticed.” Matilda couldn’t resist smiling at him. He’d been an utter gentleman—even if he wore fringed buckskin like a rough saddle tramp, and a thin veil of trail dust covered unruly waves of dark brown hair. She probably looked no better after five days on a train.

“Matty!”

Matilda turned at the sound of her twin’s voice. Mountain Man kept hold of her, and she wasn’t sure whether to shake him off or cling for dear life. The knucklehead who put this gravel at the train stop obviously never wore heels. The last thing Matty wanted to do was decorate the ground again. In the past two minutes, a full dozen men appeared and gaped at her. Bouncing on her bustle again simply wouldn’t do.

“Is this it? Are we really here?”

Matty tilted her face up to the buckskinned behemoth. “This is Lickwind, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He shifted one hand to brace her elbow and reached out to help Corrine descend the slippery metal steps. “Careful.”

“Thank you ever so much,” Corrine murmured in her Sunday singing voice. Though always sweet and painfully shy, she had a way of adding a lilt when she sang or found herself near a handsome man.

Matilda felt an unaccountable spurt of irritation. She’d found him first. Not that it meant anything. She wasn’t going to get to choose her man, and neither would any of her sisters. Besides, Corrie hadn’t done it on purpose; and she, more than any of them, needed folks to treat her gently.

With an air of expectation, Matty glanced at the rapidly growing collection of men who formed an arc around them. James Collingswood should step forward any minute now. He’d settle them in a boardinghouse until they courted a bit with their intended grooms … but if she could choose, Matty wouldn’t mind a man like this one.

By the time pretty, dark-haired Bess descended, the men hurriedly started to preen. Hasty hands smoothed rowdy beards, hats came off, shirts were crammed into britches, and shoulders suddenly squared. By contrast, the mountain man calmly reached up to take four hatboxes, three valises, and a burlap bag and lugged two large steamer trunks from the disgruntled purser. Bess’s beloved wooden hope chest came last, and her rescuer handled it with special care.

He set everything by Matty and her sisters then shot the cowboys and horsemen an amused look. A smile split his tanned face, and he murmured under his breath, “Ladies, I ought to apologize for them. It’s been years since Lickwind boasted such a fine display of femininity. You must all feel like the only apple pie at a church picnic!”