The Governess Bride: A Sweet Mail Order Bride Historical (4 page)

Something cold slid through his veins as things came together in meaning for him now. The way she would startle and stiffen so readily around him. The way she would so often flinch a little… And conceal it so quickly. They way those wide eyes of hers smiled and filled with light – yet still couldn't conceal a sadness. The guardedness she had about her. The way she was only ever completely at ease, completely comfortable, when she was with the little ones. And so it dawned on Gideon in a cold, sickening rush.
Clara.
Sweet Clara who according to her letters had never known love
had
known its opposite. She'd known cruelty.

Several long, quiet moments passed between them. And then Gideon spoke.

"Something happened to you, didn't it?" A long silence hung in the air.

"Tell me. Please. I want to know." Gideon's voice was low, urgent, insistent.

Clara forced herself to look at him. She was under his roof. He had the right to demand honesty from her. She had to tell him. She had to tell him because he had given her shelter, a home. And she had to tell him, because she had fallen in love with him. And though he couldn't love her back – that didn't make keeping a secret from him right.

She took as deep a breath as she was able, and turned her eyes to the floor. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.

"When I was a girl of fifteen my stepfather forced himself on me –"

Clara closed her eyes uselessly against the memory, fighting to hold on in her mind's eye to Gideon's kind, handsome face. His dark, searching, eyes. But instead she saw the face of her stepfather; remembered his liquor-soaked breath on her neck, his hands pawing at her. She buried her face in her hands, not daring to look at Gideon – fearing what she might see in his eyes. Disapproval? Disappointment?
Disgust?

"– it happened once. I ran away. Widow Purdy took me in as a housemaid. I was there until I came here. I do not wish to speak of it again. Please don't ask me to…"

And just like that, her secret was a secret no more. She had told Gideon the truth and now he knew.
He knew.
A deathly chill went through her heart. Clara immediately knew the feeling for what it was: the departure of hope.

She lifted her eyes to meet Gideon's penetrating stare, and saw a kind of darkness in his face that she'd never seen before.

"Is this person still breathing, Clara?" he asked quietly.

There was a searing, unbearable pain going through him. To think of anyone,
anyone
, laying a hand on her. Striking her, or beating her, or – worse. His eyes covered her face, so gentle, and, most painful to him of all – so full of sadness.

"Clara shook her head mutely. He was killed in a brawl a year later."

Gideon nodded. And then, to Clara's astonishment, he closed the distance between them and took her hands in his.

Dismay, distaste – disgust. She had expected these. Not this. Not gentleness.

"Clara–."

It was too much.
"No." she whispered, her eyes blurring to the point of blindness. "Please," she sobbed quietly, "don't be kind to me. Don't pity me. Don't say anything. I couldn't bear–"

Gideon fought an overpowering urge to pull her into his arms. He opened his mouth to speak. Felt his own face, his own heart, darken in sorrow. He could find no words to express what he felt at that moment.
How could he make good the violence of another man?
How could he assure her that he himself was no such man? Because that was what she feared, wasn't it? He understood that now. That was why she had sought to avoid a marriage in anything other than name. She was scared.

Clara for her part couldn't hold her grief any longer. She twisted away from Gideon, her sobs breaking free of their prison and tears spilling from her eyes as she did so. She darted to the door and was gone.

Gideon made a move to go after her. But he hesitated. What could he say to her? What could he do to make things different?
What did a man like him – a bachelor, a loner – have to offer her, anyway?

Gideon stared after her, a strange pain knifing through his insides. He'd known loss. Grief. All kinds of pain – the physical kind. But this was new to him. This was raw and open and worse than any pain he'd felt for himself. This was pain felt for her. For Clara.
For the woman he loved
.

* * *

Clara ran into the biting cold night. She ran until the house was far enough away that no-one could hear. And then, overcome with pain – old pain colliding with this fresh, agonizing pain – she sank to her knees, dropped her face into her hands, and wept.

"Clara…" His strong, steady voice cut through the darkness.
He'd come after her.

"Clara, I want to talk to you."

Clara struggled to her feet, wiping her tears away as she did so. "Don't say anything. And don't send me away. Please… You don't want a wife, remember? Mrs Abercromby said as much… and I – I don't want a husband. So we can do this, can't we? We can make this work?"

Gideon's eyes took in her sweet face and her whole, delicate, vulnerable being. His head had been trying to fight this so long. But his heart knew better. Already it had begun beating out a strong protest in his chest. His hands went to his hips. His brows came together. He fixed her with a long, hard look.

"And what if I do?" he said quietly.

Clara didn't understand. "W–what if you do
what
?"

"What if I do want a wife? What if I want you?"

The world fell away leaving only and Clara and Gideon in it. They stood silently, simply looking at each other. Clara choked back a sob.

"Oh Gideon," she struggled to say, her voice the faintest whisper now; her eyes clear and honest and brimming with tears.

"I cannot marry you."

Gideon dropped his head and closed his eyes. When he raised his head again, the sorrow in her face was unbearable to him.

"Clara. I am not that man.
I could never hurt you
. And if it takes a day, if it takes the rest of my life – I will prove that to you. And I will wait."

Clara dropped her eyes to the cold, hard ground under her feet.

"Come on inside. You'll freeze." Gideon offered her his arm and warily, tremblingly, Clara took it.

* * *

Spring was on its way, and Gideon was glad of it. Since that night out in the cold with Clara, he had done everything he could think of to give her time and space and reassurance. He only hoped it was working. As ever, she was devoted to the boys, and this afternoon they were down at the riverbank looking for Spring blooms. Gideon planned on heading that way to say hello. But when he got to their spot – they were nowhere to be seen. And then, from nowhere, he heard a scream. He twisted his head left and right. And then he saw them.

In the river.
They were in the river.
He ran, his blood a deafening roar in his ears.

"No!" He screamed their names above the roar of the river, the roar of his own blood. A slow, nightmarish scene unfolded before him: Clara – exhausted, drenched and bloodied – pushing the boys safely onto the riverbank even as a shorn off branch was sweeping forcefully down the river towards her. Even as she were bundling Abe to safety, it thwacked against her temple, stunning her into unconsciousness, allowing the river to claim her.
The boys were safe.
Gideon wasted no time. He dove into the water and with several powerful strokes and a headlong plunge under the surface, he found her. His arms circled her waist, and with more than enough strength for the two of them, he pulled her and himself onto the grassy river bank where his nephews were bawling noisily to see their beloved Clara so limp in their Uncle's arms.

"Clara
. Clara!
" Gideon's voice was strong and insistent, as turned her on her side to allow the river water to clear from her mouth. As it did so, she began to cough – and Gideon raised his eyes to the Lord in thanks.
She was all right.
"Clara," he said again, gently this time, gathering her into his arms. "Come on. Let's get you all home."

* * *

The evening drew in quickly enough, and Gideon himself settled the little ones in to their beds, relieved that they were none the worse for their ordeal. He heard their soft little snores before he even closed the door to their room.

The kitchen was cozy. "You warm enough?" Clara smiled and nodded. She was fresh from a steaming hot bath drawn by Gideon and now seated by the fire wrapped in a quilt. She couldn't be warmer. Or cozier.
Or safer,
she realized. It took half drowning in a freezing river – and being pulled out of it by Gideon – to help her understand that with him, she was safe.
With him, she was loved.

Gideon came towards her and took his place beside her, stoking the fire before falling quiet a moment. When he spoke, his voice was deep and level. "After what happened today, there's something I need to say to you… "Gideon dropped his head for a second and Clara saw his jaw tighten. Then he brought his eyes to hers.

"Not so long ago, I thought I had it all straight. It was going to be me, the ranch, the boys… you know?" He was studying her closely now, "and then you came along…
You.
" He smiled at that, and reached for her hand. "I think you must be an angel, Clara Hamilton. Sent by God. Because who else could have brought so much sunshine into the hearts of those boys? And who else but you could have brought so much light into my life? Made me see that you – your love – is the heart and soul of all this? Without you, without your light – your love – there's just an emptiness here as big as the sky." Gideon gently took hold of Clara's other hand. "So here's the truth, Clara," he said, his voice low and level and sure. "I love you.
You
. I don't want a Governess. And I don't want a wife-in-name-only. I want you. I want you for my wife – my true wife. I will love you. Honor you. Protect you. Be there for you, always. That's the truth, Clara. That's the only truth I've got." Clara saw that his eyes were full of feeling.
And yes, full of truth.

"Gideon–" she whispered, knowing that every tender hope – every prayer, every secret longing of her own had found its answer. He gathered her into his strong arms then, and she leaned gladly into his wide, strong chest – and felt his heart beating there.
Beating for her.
When she lifted her face to him, her eyes were full of tears. But Gideon saw that for the first time since he'd known her, all traces of sorrow were gone from them. All traces of fear. And that was all the answer he needed. With his heart fit to burst out of his chest, he brought his hand tenderly to her face, and turned her soft, sweet mouth to meet his own, finally to make her his. His Clara.
His angel.

The End

* * *

Excerpt from
A New Dawn in Montana
by Isla Teague

Sweet, Clean Contemporary Western Romance Novella

A New Dawn in Montana

by

Isla Teague

Coffee. Holly Winters needed coffee. It didn’t matter where in the world she woke up –  in her London flat, or in some hotel in Tokyo or Paris or New York –  the first thoughts of the day were always coffee shaped. And waking up this morning in Montana had proved no different. With her photography commissions taking her from one city to the next, one hotel to the next, getting a coffee fix was usually no more complicated than dialing room service. But not this morning.

"There has to be a coffee pot in here somewhere…" she murmured, closing the last of the cupboards and surveying the ranch kitchen again, her eyes going this time to the high shelf that was bracketed all the way around the room, and laden with copper pots and pans. Got to be worth a try, she guessed, since she’d looked everywhere else. Surely he’d been a coffee drinker? The man who’d fathered her –  the man whose kitchen she was now standing in. A rancher. A cowboy, for heaven’s sake… Surely he’d drunk coffee? But then her father’s coffee habit, or lack of one, was just another of the million things she didn’t know –  and would never know –  about him.