Home for Christmas (12 page)

“Like I said, he’s a
menace.
It’s no small miracle one of their papas hasn’t held my boy at gunpoint and made him a bridegroom.”

John Proctor, handsome as the devil, dared laugh. He forked up a big bite of ham and potatoes and gestured toward Luke’s wayward son with it. “That might be the only way you ever see him married. Just pick out your daughter-in-law and make your plans with her daddy. Miss Orme looks willing to marry Garth.”

The idea made Luke smile. He could imagine Garth’s reaction to finding himself suddenly married. Luke pictured Josephine Orme beside Garth in a wedding portrait, and decided he liked the image. “I never thought I’d hear something that devious fall out of a preacher’s mouth.”

“Shotgun weddings have happened before and they’ll happen again--but not to my boy. You’ll notice he’s minding his manners, helping his mother serve the wedding cake. Nobody’s daddy’s going to force my son into marriage.”

“I haven’t got the same scruples as you. I’m fed up with Garth’s nonsense. I was married and had a son by the time I was his age. I’m ready to inform Garth he’ll find a wife--
now--
or I’ll choose one for him.”

Phillip chuckled and tossed back a gulp of champagne. “John, you ought to listen to what Luke’s saying. How old’s your boy?” He glanced toward the wedding cake. “Twenty-six? He’s safe all right, too safe with his momma when he should be dancing with Lillian. I doubt he’s any more interested in getting married than Garth is.”

John waved away the comment. “He and Lillian have an understanding. They’ll get married when they’re ready.”

“When’s that going to be?” Phillip asked. “Turn of the century?”

“Your other sons aren’t making a lick of effort, even Holmes.” John raised his voice. “How old’s he? Twenty-nine? Look at them, too busy talking business with other fellows to even notice there’s a party going on or that their brother’s a married man. Have they asked a single girl to dance?”

Phillip raised his champagne glass in salute. “Ah, but what matters here is Silas,
my son,
said his vows today. I’m a father-in-law. I suspect I’ll have a grandson within the year. That’s more than either of you can claim.”

Luke pushed his plate away. Heartburn churned in his throat. His gaze fell on one young woman after another. “So you say Lillian’s taken. Fine. Help me choose my daughter-in-law.”

“Ruth Ann’s a nice girl.” John spoke around a mouthful. He forked more ham and potatoes. “A little plain, but she’d make a good wife.”

“No, I don’t think so. Garth likes his women pretty. You know what Garth would do to me if I forced him into marriage with Ruth Ann?”

Phillip pointed toward a cluster of girls seated a few tables away. “There’s most of the young ladies. Pick one Garth’ll have. Those Waters twins are beauties.”

Scanning their faces, Luke’s heartburn worsened. If his son wanted any one of these girls, he would’ve married long ago. He’d known these young ladies all his life, and apparently none of them appealed, not in a monogamous sort of way.

Garth called on each of them, danced with one and all, took one girl to the church picnic and another out for supper. No one ever saw him with the same girl twice in a row. Luke’s boy had the fine art of bachelorhood down to a science.

Luke drained his champagne flute, feeling the bubbly startling to work its magic. He refilled the glass to the rim. “Why doesn’t someone new move to town? Someone with three or four daughters of marriageable age. We’ll get our sons interested in them and let Nature take her course.”

“You’re serious.” John’s dimpled smile disappeared.

“Dead serious. I’ll see my boy wed before I die, even if doing so kills me.”

“Just how soon are you planning on dying?” Phillip asked.

“I’ll outlive you all.” Luke glared at Garth across the crowded hall. “Unfortunately, my son’s just as stubborn as I am. If I gave him the next forty years, he wouldn’t get married on his own.”

John clapped a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “I’ve got your solution, then. The nuns at Holy Trinity in Chicago wrote me about a young woman in need of employment away from the city. I could send for her.”

Phillip chuckled. “There you go. Get the young girl on out here, and let’s see if Garth falls in love with her.”

“Nope. Not good enough.” Luke eyed his only son, carrying a tray loaded with punch cups toward a gaggle of young ladies.

The newlyweds waltzed past the table, catching Luke’s attention. The bride and groom looked so damned happy with their matrimonial state that Luke’s impatience flared.

Phillip’s expression turned smug. “That’s my boy. See how much he loves my new daughter-in-law?”

Luke swallowed his irritation. “I haven’t got time to wait on love. I’m ready to try the shotgun wedding approach. I want something ironclad and certain to succeed. I want Garth married, and the sooner the better.”

“I propose we get Garth and this orphan girl married before she ever leaves Chicago.” John spread butter on his roll and took a bite, savoring as he chewed. His liquor was starting to show; his eyes seemed a bit unfocused and his speech slower.

Luke drained his champagne, ignoring the fire burning in his stomach. “I’ll never get Garth to Chicago to meet this girl.”

“He doesn’t need to leave town. I suggest a proxy marriage.”

“How am I supposed to get Garth, with a deadly allergy to marriage, to consider such a thing? I have a better chance of getting him to marry plain-faced Ruth Ann. At least he’s seen her before.”

“I never said he had to know about it. Luke, you just sign his John Hancock on the document.” The pastor finished his roll, wiped his hands on his napkin and set about finishing his potatoes without so much as an explanation.

“You’re drunk,” Luke accused John.

“Maybe a little.” He tapped a forefinger against his noggin. “But it makes perfect sense.”

“Is that
legal?
” Luke turned to Phillip. “Can we
do
that?”

“I’ve read old law cases where illiterate folks had someone else sign for them, usually when they didn’t want to admit they couldn’t write their own name.”

“Ha. Garth can write. He can
read.
” Luke’s speech began to slur, but he could still think straight. “He’d take one look at his signature forged on a wedding document and file for annulment immediately.”

Phillip palmed his whiskers, thinking things through. “Oh no, he won’t. Because your daughter-in-law’s going to be the legal holder of Garth’s trust fund and the properties from his mother’s estate. We’ll draw up a clause in this proxy marriage contract stating if the union is dissolved, the bride retains ownership of the properties.”

“Do you know how much we’re talking about here?” Luke shook his head.

Phillip’s grin looked decidedly evil. “Of course I do, and so does Garth. We’ll add a clause that prevents the marriage from being nullified until one full year has passed. The reason, of course, is Garth wants his bride to give their marriage a fighting chance.”

Luke laughed at the absurdity. “Who’s going to believe this farce? We’re all three going to get ourselves locked up for forgery, illegal involvement in a marriage scam, and my son’s going to murder me.”

Phillip straightened his vest and folded his arms. We’ll have three upstanding witnesses.” He tapped his chest. “A well-reputed attorney will draw up the contract and witness the groom’s signature for good measure.” He gestured toward John. “Our pastor will be glad to witness this union. And so will the groom’s father, our own mayor. I don’t suppose anyone will dare contest the contract.”

“What do you know about this woman?” Luke asked John.

“Enough to know you’re going to love her.”

“Can we trust her?” It seemed a mighty big risk to give her everything Garth’s mother had loved.

“Without a doubt.” John’s wicked grin inspired confidence. “She was raised by nuns. I doubt the girl knows how to lie.”

Phillip leaned closer to whisper. “If we don’t like her,” he murmured, his words slurring slightly, “we’ll get ourselves out of it real easy.”

“How?” Luke’s ears buzzed as the good champagne echoed in his veins. “Looks dangerous to me.”

“You doubt me?” Phillip straightened. “We’ve got ourselves an easy way out, should the need arise. All we’ll have to do is tell the truth.” He laughed as if dazzled by his own brilliance.

Luke grinned, tried the whole idea on for size, and decided it fit perfectly. “All right, gentlemen, we’re going to turn my twenty-seven-year-old, menace-to-society son into a husband. But promise me one thing.”

He leaned closer to his friends, enjoying the conspiracy. “I want a daughter-in-law and grandchildren. And I
will
have them. When I’m found murdered in my own bed, you must enforce Garth’s sentence.”

John’s wicked smile infected the other men. “What’s the sentence, Mayor?”

Luke lifted his champagne flute, waiting for the others to join his toast. “Marriage and fatherhood. Lifelong marriage and fatherhood.”

AN EXCERPT FROM
THE COWBOY STEALS A BRIDE
, by Kristin Holt

California, Summer 1895

Intended daughters-in-law looked one hell of a lot different when kissing the wrong man.

Serious kissing. The kind that involved passion and promises and reeked of betrayal.

Phillip Macquarie gaped. Wedding champagne went down the wrong way. His old heart seized in mid-rhythm. The scene was so unbelievable, so gut-wrenching, he couldn’t look away.

Before his very eyes, Daphne Browning--the fickle-hearted wench--displayed an appalling lack of moral character. For all to see.

She was supposed to marry his son, Holmes.
Everybody
knew that.

But that didn’t stop the crowd from applauding and shouting congratulations. Maybe they were too plowed on wedding champagne to realize Miss Browning had just announced her impending marriage to someone other than her intended.

Phillip plunked down his goblet and shoved back his chair. He had to put a stop to this. Now.

Simultaneously, John and Luke grabbed Phillip’s shoulders, pushing him back into his seat.

Phillip shrugged off their hands. “She is Holmes’s last chance.”

“I’m real new at this daughter-in-law thing.” Luke topped off his champagne flute. “But one look at that Browning girl, and it’s obvious she’s more trouble than she’s worth.”

“Hey now,” John said, always the peacemaker. “She looks happy. Maybe this is for the best.”

“She was supposed to be happy with my son.” Fury frothed within Phillip.

Luke shrugged. “Looks like she changed her mind.”

“Do you suggest I allow her to ruin Holmes’s life?” Phillip demanded. “For the likes of that thick-through-the-middle, uneducated baker?”

Luke had the gall to grin. “Good riddance.”

Holmes would be brokenhearted. Flummoxed. Destroyed.

To his utter horror, Phillip realized this was worse than he’d first thought. Miss Daphne Browning had been Holmes’s predominant reason for returning to Liberty. Without her for his bride, chances were too great Holmes wouldn’t return at all.

He split a glance betwixt his lifelong friends. The three of them had discussed this precise topic, once or twice.

Until now, Phillip had felt secure. Confident. Delighted.

He narrowed his eyes at the contemptible, fallacious, unfaithful tart. Luke had spoken true. Good riddance.

The shock finally wearing off, Phillip informed the others, “I won’t allow that woman to drive my son away from the bosom of his family.”

“She isn’t the only girl in town,” said Luke.

“Who else is there?” Phillip demanded, wildly casting his gaze around the filled-to-capacity Orme Hotel ballroom. Most of the young ladies Holmes once kept company with were now married. The pathetic few who remained were a poor match for Holmes.

Phillip watched as the pudgy baker escorted contemptible Daphne onto the dance floor. They waltzed midst the other wedding guests. How dare she look so happy?

As his best ideas so often did, the solution came in an instant. Such impulses had always paid off. “I’m going to draft an advertisement. There must be a decent girls out there who are willing to be mail-order brides.”

John’s expression turned panicky. He glanced toward Judge Morley, seated two tables away. “You aren’t planning another paper marriage, I hope, because--”

“No.” He wasn’t reckless enough to risk something like that again. At least not yet. He’d give the dust time to settle.

Concern lined John’s brow. “You’d best think this through.” Phillip sat a little straighter. “I welcome the challenge. I love Holmes. His happiness is worth any amount of effort.”

Luke nodded in agreement.

A moment passed while John considered what had been said. “You can count on me for support.”

Pleased, Phillip leaned back, already planning the advertisement he’d circulate in the newspapers.

“I can’t resist offering a friendly wager,” John added to his pledge. “Twenty dollars says my Andrew marries Lillian before Holmes weds his mail-order bride.”

Phillip raised a brow and tried not to laugh outright. Andrew had been courting Lillian for a decade. Andrew and Lillian would still have an “understanding” when Holmes returned from Harvard in nine months’ time. “Make it forty. This wager will help finance Holmes’s wedding trip.”

“Forty?” Mischief twinkled in John’s eyes. “That sure of yourself?”

Confident, Phillip offered his hand. “I always win.”

They shook to seal the wager.

Luke chuckled with delight. “Last one to prod his son to the altar is a rotten egg.”

Spring, 1896

As the train pulled into Liberty station, it was all Julia Tyndall could do to remain seated. She peered through the dirty windows at the people gathered on the platform. Anticipation vibrated through her.