ROMANCE: MAIL ORDER BRIDE: The Other Man’s Baby (A Clean Christian Historical Western) (New Adult Inspirational Pregnancy Romance) (18 page)

Eli looked at her, and smiled. Armeda smiled back.  He would be a good brother.  He was part of this ranch, this legacy of land that went from generation to generation.  She had credited Willovene for making her son a man, but perhaps this little boy had also been part of the transformation.

She was looking forward to seeing what this new baby, when it was born, would do.

**THE END**

Chapter 1

Henrietta Washington jumped down out of the saddle and handed the reins to Darrell, her favorite stable hand.
What a glorious ride!
  She lifted her straw hat and wiped the sweat from her forehead.  “Did you see that jump, Darrell?” She patted the stallion’s shiny black flank and beamed. “Isn’t Jackson magnificent?”

“You both be magnificent, Miss Henri.” Darrell ducked his head. “Took my breath away, it did. I ain’t never seen a horse perform like that before.”

“My Papa knew how to pick fine horses, didn’t he?” Henri’s happiness faded. Her father had been gone these nine months, but the pain in her heart throbbed as if it had happened just yesterday.

“Yes, ma’am, that he did.”Darrell glanced over his shoulder at the main house.  “You best be hurrying on home, Miss. I hear tell Mr. Thomas arrived at dinnertime and your stepmama be on the warpath looking for you.”

“Oh no!”  Henri grabbed fistfuls of her brown riding skirt and took off at a sprint. Papa had claimed she was born with fairy wings stitched to her sturdy ankle bones. As she flew across the sweet smelling May grass, she believed she could feel them, too, every silky imaginary feather of them.

When she reached the willow trees that lined the drive, she slowed to a walk.  Should she enter through the kitchen and find out from Cook the exact temperature of Louisa’s mood?  But what if Thomas was still waiting?  Her happiness returned and she ran the rest of the way, taking the limestone front steps two at a time before shoving through the wide front doors. She hurried around the corner into the parlor, then stopped short.

Alone, her stepmother sat at the marble tea table, the remains of lunch still in front of her.

“Oh no, I’m too late.” Henri said mournfully as she collapsed on a pink velvet sofa. Lord, would she ever get used to this room since Louisa redecorated it? Pink fabric and roses everywhere.

“Henrietta Washington, get yourself upstairs and cleaned. You reek of horse sweat and stable!”

Cringing, Henri jumped to her feet. Would she ever remember her manners?  “Yes ma’am. I’m sorry, Louisa.” She’d never been permitted to call her stepmother by any maternal name. But she supposed it was only proper since just the eight years separated them.

“Get on now. When you’re presentable, we need to speak on an important matter.”

Henri left the room and raced up the front stairs.  Had Thomas asked to marry her?  He wasn’t the most handsome man she’d ever met, and he didn’t give her goose bumps like the kitchen girls giggled about, but he was kind and respectful to her. And he was her seventh suitor in as many months; Louisa’s patience was running thin. She wanted Henri married and out of the house, so she could concentrate on her own daughters.

Henri smiled. Her half sisters were her favorite people in the entire world.  Lizzy was just nine and Hannah going on seven.  Oh, how she loved those girls!  Already, they were her opposites: dainty and graceful to her tall and awkward, clever and polite to her mediocre talents and unwieldy enthusiasm.  But despite their differences, they loved each other fiercely, even with Louisa discouraging their affections.

Chapter 2

When she re-entered the parlor, Henri couldn’t rein in her curiosity. “Did he ask for my hand?  Oh tell me, please, Louisa, I can’t wait to hear.”

“No, Henrietta, of course he didn’t ask for your hand.” Louisa’s voice was scathing.

What? Tears gathered and Henri blinked them away. Another suitor gone. She dropped onto the same sofa she had vacated earlier.  Was there no man in the world for her?

“Did you honestly expect he would? You act like a boy, riding all over the countryside on that ridiculous horse. Mucking out stalls with the stable hands. Your father did us all a supreme disservice by treating you like a son.” Louisa paced the floor in front of the picture window, fanning herself with a folded newspaper.  “Of course you grew up to be more man than woman.”

Her face burning, Henri protested. “I only muck the stalls when the hands are taken ill.   But why didn’t he ask for me? We were getting along so well.”

“It’s no matter now. I never expected him to.”

Swallowing down the hurt Louisa’s words produced, Henri asked, “Do you have another suitor chosen?

Louisa stood in front of the sofa. “As a matter of fact I do. Here.” She held out the newspaper. “Read the largest ad at the bottom of the last page.”

An ad?  Henri hesitated before accepting the paper. Her heart beat frantically in her chest. Something wasn’t right about this. Her stepmother stepped forward and tapped sharply on the paper. “Oh for God’s sake. That one.”

Henri read the ad twice: Mail order bride.  Beautiful, dainty, polite, and talented. Well-educated twenty-two year old southern belle seeks strong western rancher, age 22-60. Please send responses to---

“But that’s our address! You can’t mean me, Louisa? I’m nothing like that description. Southern belle? Dainty?”

“You have one month to make yourself fit that description,” Louisa said flatly. “That’s when you’re scheduled to arrive in El Paso, Texas and become the wife of Nicholas Van Buren.”

“Nicholas Van Buren,” Henri whispered. “How old is he?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“You didn’t care!” She jumped up from the sofa. “Why? Why must I leave so soon? Why are you doing this to me?  This is my home.” She began to cry, reaching for Louisa’s hands.

Louisa folded her arms across her chest. “John Hammond has asked me to marry him, and I’ve said yes.” She lifted her chin.

“John Hammond! But he hated Papa. How can you?”

“How can I not?  I’m far too young to get lost in this drafty old house.  John Hammond throws balls and barbeques, travels to Europe each summer.” She narrowed her eyes. “But he doesn’t need a reminder of Henry Washington hanging on my apron strings.”

When had she ever done that? “What of Lizzy and Hannah?”

“They’re old enough for boarding school. Besides which, in a few more years they won’t remember Henry. John Hammond will be the only father they’ll know. ”

Trembling began in Henri’s shoulders and worked their way down to her fisted hands.   “I hate you!” She screamed. “I hate---“

Louisa slapped her across the face. Henri’s neck snapped back from the force. Tears ran from her eyes as she covered her cheek with her hand.

“I have despised you from the first instant I saw you standing on the steps next to your father.  Now we’re even. Get out of my sight.”

Henri fled to the kitchen and Cook’s waiting arms. “There, there, child. I heard it all. You cry it out, but when it’s time, you walk away from this house with every bit of strength and pride your Papa gave you.”

Henri didn’t feel strong in the least. Any bit of pride she’d had, she left in the parlor with Louisa. Somehow before April was through, she had to transform herself into a dainty, talented southern belle for Nicholas Van Buren to love. Otherwise, he would likely send her right back to Virginia on the first available train.  And then what would she do?

Chapter 3

Nicholas Van Buren scooped the last bite of fried potatoes into his mouth.  The hot peppers his housekeeper Maria added to them made the breakfast staple taste like a feast.  She sure knew how to cook; he’d give her that. Almost made up for her bossy interfering ways.

“She’s arriving by train in four weeks.”

What?  Shaking his head to clear it, Nick glanced at his mother who was sitting across from him at his dining table. “Who is, Ma?”

His mother tossed the letter she had been reading down on the table. “Nicholas Van Buren! Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said to you lately?   Your mail order bride, of course.”

Nick choked on the hot coffee he’d just gulped. “Bride? No wonder I wasn’t listening.  Absolutely not. I told you I was having no parts of that loco idea the first time you brought it up.  I will never marry again.” He waved toward the letter. “You best send a telegram to Miss Whoever you’ve chosen and politely decline.”

“How can you be so selfish? This isn’t all about you. It’s about Rosa, too. She’s a year old now and needs a mama.  What suitable girl will you find around here?  Your bride is coming all the way from back east, Virginia, a real southern belle. She’s cultured and polite—all the things Mary would have wanted for her child.” She leaned back in her chair, smiling as if she’d bought him a prize horse.

Nick closed his eyes, searching for patience. He couldn’t find any, so he opened them again.  “Cultured and polite got me nowhere with Mary. The instant she set foot on this ranch, she was ready to leave. If it wasn’t for expecting that baby so fast, she would have been long gone that first month. She wanted a city life, not this one.” He waved toward the miles of grassy fields outside the window. “I don’t want some eastern woman coming in here and changing things, turning that baby against us. Rosa needs to grow up tough to make it out here.”

“I want more than just a ranch life for my granddaughter.  I want education and culture, too. And you, you need to take an interest in her, hold and cuddle her.”

“You mean coddle her.  No, not doing.” 

“But son, this is for you, too.  You’re all alone.  I only get over here a few times a month to visit.  Don’t you ever get lonesome?”

Nicholas swallowed down the pain her words stirred. “I was more lonesome when Mary was alive and we lived in this house side by side, hating each other.” He stood. “You telegraph that woman. Tell her Nicholas Van Buren said no.” 

His mother didn’t answer as he walked out the front door. She was likely running straight to the kitchen to complain to Maria. One of them was bad enough, but together, they were burs in his backside.  Feeling the June heat immediately, he settled his hat over his head. Well he didn’t care. Let them talk—no uppity woman was moving in here and changing him. He whistled as he stomped to the barn.  Yes sir, this was a satisfying life and no southern belle was going to mess that up for him.

Chapter 4

Dressed like a real southern belle in pink ruffles and lace, Henrietta stood alone on the train platform in El Paso, Texas.  Half past noon and the sun was already hot in the sky. She wished she had worn a straw hat instead of the pink velvet one her stepmother had taught her to pin to the top of her upswept hair
. A proper southern belle does not wear straw.

No one had met the train. She wasn’t worried though. The truth was the entire trip had been one big or small adventure after another. An accident on the tracks, a broken down train car, a brush fire, a drunk she’d had to teach a lesson.  She rubbed her fist absently; it was still sore. This setback she figured was more of the same.

She’d endured four weeks of politeness lessons, walking and talking lessons, even laughing lessons so that her sense of humor bubbled gently from her lips instead of exploding and sometimes snorting from her.  But none of those skills would serve her now. She rolled up the sleeves of her jacket. No, this next adventure—finding a ranch in the middle of nowhere—would take the guts of Henri Washington, horsewoman turned adventurer. She laughed, ignoring the raised eyebrows of the ladies standing closest to her.

A few hours later, she arrived at the ranch astride a spirited pinto she had hired near the station. She sat comfortably, wearing a brand new riding skirt and straw hat she’d purchased from the Mercantile down the street from the station. At Louisa’s orders, she’d left all her old riding skirts and hats back home in a trunk.

She laughed when she saw the sprawling stone house.  Louisa would hate knowing that Nicholas Van Buren’s house was nicer than even John Hammond’s.  Judging by the numerous heads of cattle she’d passed after galloping through the gate, Nicholas Van Buren was not a poor rancher.  She could only hope he’d inherited the ranch and not been working it himself for seventy years.

Before she reached the front door to knock, it was pulled open by a tiny Mexican woman.  She, at least, was expecting Henri.

“Come, come.  You help now,” she said, grabbing Henri’s arm and pulling her through a wide foyer into the kitchen.

“You are the mail sent bride?”

Henri smiled.  ”Mail order bride. Yes. You
are
expecting me? No one met me at the station.”

A baby began to howl upstairs. Maria looked toward the stairs and placed her hands on her forehead. “Mi cabeza.”

“You need help with the baby?”

“Si, baby sick. All sick.”

“Nicholas Van Buren is sick too?”

“All sick. Mrs. Van Buren. Mr. Van Buren. Miss Rosa.”

The baby squalled louder. Henrietta pulled off her jacket and hat and tossed them on the huge kitchen table. “I need to wash up, then I’ll see to Rosa and Mr. Van Buren.”

Sick baby, sick house, and—Henri squinted at Maria’s flushed face and glassy eyes—a soon to be sick housekeeper.  She had traveled across the country to adopt a role quite different from her usual one, but instead found herself about to perform the same chores as she had in the past.