A Bride For All Seasons (Mail-order Bride Collection) - Softcover

Coffey, Billy

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1401688535 ISBN 13: 9781401688530

Publisher: Thomas Nelson Publishers, 2013

Synopsis

It all started with an ad in a mail-order bride catalogue . . .

This charming bouquet of novellas introduces you to four Hitching Post Mail-Order Bride Catalogue prospects in the year 1870, all eager for second chances . . . and hungry for happiness. Year in, year out, they’ll learn that love often comes in unexpected packages.

“And then Came Spring” by Margaret Brownley

Mary-Jo has traveled halfway across the country to meet her match, arriving just in time for his funeral. Returning home seems like her only option until her would-be brother-in-law proposes a more daring idea.

“An Ever After Summer” by Debra Clopton

Ellie had no idea she’s not what Matthew ordered. And what’s wrong with being a “Bible thumper” anyway? She’s determined to show him she’s tougher than she looks—and just the girl he needs.

“Autumn’s Angel” by Robin Lee Hatcher

Luvena would be perfect for Clay if she didn’t come with kids. But kids are a deal breaker, especially in a rough-and-trouble mining town. ­ e trouble is, there’s no money to send them back . . .�

“Winter Wedding Bells” by Mary Connealy

David’s convinced he’s not long for the world. He needs someone to mother his boys when he’s gone—nothing more. Can plucky Irish Megan convince him to work at living instead of dying?

About this title

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 (C) finalist. Happily married to her real life hero, Margaret and her husband have three grown children and live in Southern California.

Award winning novelist Debra Clopton is the popular Mule Hollow series--the town readers wish was real. She has written 23 books since 2004 and writes books that give God the glory and helps you meet life with a smile. Her books are thought provoking, fun entertainment. Debra's awards include: Inspirational Readers Choice Award, Book Sellers Best, RT Book of the year and others. Her nominations include the prestigious Golden Heart, The Carol, The Holt among others.

Mary Connealy writes fun and lively "romantic comedy with cowboys" for the inspirational market. She is the author of the successful Lassoed in Texas, Montana Marriages, and Sophie's Daughters series, and her novel Calico Canyon was nominated for a Christy Award. She lives on a ranch in eastern Nebraska with her husband, Ivan, and has four grown daughters. Visit her at maryconnealy.com or her blog mconnealy.blogspot.com. 

Best-selling novelist Robin Lee Hatcher is known for her heartwarming and emotionally charged stories of faith, courage, and love. The winner of the Christy Award for Excellence in Christian Fiction, the RITA Award for Best Inspirational Romance, the RT Career Achievement Award, and the RWA Lifetime Achievement Award, Robin is the author of over 65 novels. 

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

A BRIDE FOR ALL SEASONS

A MAIL-ORDER BRIDE COLLECTION

By Margaret Brownley, Debra Clopton, Mary Connealy, Robin Lee Hatcher

Thomas Nelson

Copyright © 2013 Margaret Brownley, Debra Clopton, RobinSong, Inc., and Mary Connealy
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4016-8853-0

Contents

And Then Came Spring by Margaret Brownley.................................
1
An Ever After Summer by Debra Clopton.....................................
99
Autumn's Angel by Robin Lee Hatcher.......................................
197
Winter Wedding Bells by Mary Connealy.....................................
289

Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

Colton, Kansas1870

Sure as God made little green apples, Mr. DanielGarrett would rue this day. Mary-Jo Parker would make it herbusiness to see that he did. For two solid hours he'd kept herwaiting at the train station. He didn't even have the courtesyto leave a message or arrange for someone to pick her up.

"Well, Mr. Garrett, I've got news for you. You'd betterhave a good explanation for keeping me waiting or the weddingis off!" Now she was talking to herself, but that was theleast of her problems. She was cold and tired and hungryand ...

She hated admitting it, but she was also scared. What ifshe'd traveled all the way from Georgia for nothing? Her auntthought her crazy to marry a man she'd never met, but hiskind letters convinced Mary-Jo that she was doing the rightthing. Don't let me be wrong about that, God.

She dug in her purse for her watch. Two hours and twenty-twominutes she'd been waiting! If her errant fiancé botheredshowing up at all, it better be on hands and knees.

She slipped the watch back into her drawstring bagand reread the dog-eared telegram. All correspondence wasscreened by the proprietor of the Hitching Post Mail-Order BrideCatalogue, so the telegram was signed by Mr. Hitchcock. Itclearly stated that her fiancé would meet her train. They wouldthen drive to the church to be married posthaste by a preacher.

She stuffed the telegram into her bag and marched backinto the telegraph and baggage office for perhaps the eleventhor twelfth time. Her high-button boots pounded the woodenplank floor like two angry woodpeckers. Nearly tripping overthe threshold, she froze.

The last time her foot had caught in a doorway, a tornadoblew the roof off her aunt's house. Mary-Jo gave the woodpanel wall three quiet knocks. Warding off bad luck was afull-time job, but no matter how hard she tried not to temptfate, misfortune seemed to follow her wherever she went.

Careful not to step on any cracks, she paced the length ofthe counter, waiting for the youthful operator to finish tappingthe gilded telegraph key.

After a while, he swung around on his stool and peeredat her from beneath the visor of his cap. He was probablyno more than eighteen or nineteen. "Like I told you before,ma'am, no one left a message for you."

"Yes, you made that perfectly clear." She hadn't mentionedher fiancé by name. She was humiliated enough without thewhole town knowing that she had been left not only at thetrain station but quite possibly at the altar as well.

"Could you please direct me to the nearest hotel?" Aftera hot bath and change of clothes, she was bound to feel morelike herself. Maybe then she could figure out what to do.

Relief crossed the youth's face, but whether it was becauseshe was about to leave or had finally asked a question he couldanswer, it was hard to tell.

"Just go straight up that street." He pointed in an easterlydirection. "The hotel's on the right, opposite the church."

"Thank you."

She stepped outside. Brr, it was cold. She pulled her shawltight and straightened her bustle, but the more she triedbrushing train cinders off her yellow skirt, the more theysmeared. Giving up, she reached beneath the narrow brimof her straw bonnet to fluff her curly bangs and then patteddown the sausage curls in back. Perhaps things would workout for the best. At least now she wouldn't have to meet herfuture husband looking like a ragbag.

Gathering the carpetbag that held her carefully sewntrousseau in one hand and her Singer Fiddle Base sewingmachine in the other, she started on her way.

In his letters, her betrothed had described the town asthriving and he hadn't exaggerated. Wagons raced back andforth along the dirt road leading through town. Dust flew inevery direction and her already dry throat prickled.

The buildings were mostly brick, though some were facedwith what looked like marble or limestone. Between taking inher surroundings and trying not to step on a crack, she failedto notice the young boy until he plowed into her.

"Oomph!" she cried. Her carpetbag flew out of her hand,but she managed to regain her balance and hold on to herprecious sewing machine. The boy, however, was facedownon the boardwalk.

"Oh dear." She dropped to her knees, setting the Singer byher side. "Are you hurt?"

He shook his head and climbed to his feet. He reached forhis slouch cap and plopped it haphazardly atop stringy brownhair that hadn't seen a comb for a month of Sundays. Faceflushed, he looked like he was trying his hardest not to giveway to tears. She guessed his age at seven, maybe eight.

"Are you sure you're not hurt?" she persisted. He regardedher solemnly, and she tried again. "What's your name?"

"They call me Fast Eddie."

"I do declare, you can talk. Fast Eddie, eh? I guess I knowhow you came by that name." She pulled off a glove and heldout her hand. The boy's eyes widened before taking it. "Youcan call me Miss Parker. I'm new in town and I'm mightypleased to meet you."

The boy frowned as if he didn't know what to make ofher. Still, she couldn't help but feel sorry for him. Never hadshe seen a sorrier-looking child. His trousers were at least twoinches too short and his shirt had more wrinkles than a rottenapple. Where were his parents? And why wasn't he in school?

She didn't have the heart to lecture him or even demandan apology for nearly knocking her off her feet. Instead, shelowered her voice so as not to alarm him any further.

"Perhaps you could help me." Helping adults always madechildren feel important. "I'm looking for Mr. Daniel Garrett.He's a lawyer. Do you know him?" Though he'd never mentionedit in his letters, surely he had an office somewhere,perhaps even nearby.

The boy regarded her with eyes blue as the bright Kansassky. Finally he nodded. "I ... know him."

"Praise the Lord." It was the first piece of good news she'dheard since arriving in town. Maybe her luck was about tochange.

"He's my pa."

Had Fast Eddie punched her in the stomach, she wouldn'thave been more shocked. Dumbfounded, she stared at himand felt sick.

"Did ... did you say ... he's your pa?" she managed at last.

Again the boy nodded.

Hand on her chest, she tried to catch her breath. Herfiancé never mentioned children. There had to be a logicalexplanation. Yes, yes, of course. There must be two DanielGarretts in town, odd as that seemed.

"Are you his cantaloupe bride?" Eddie asked.

Her breath caught. "Do ... do you mean catalogue bride?"

With a nod of the head, the boy effectively wiped out anyhope of there being two men with the same name.

Her body stiffened. Feeling suddenly light-headed, sheforced air into her lungs. If the boy was telling the truth, thatmeant Daniel Garrett had a serious memory problem. Notonly had he failed to meet her train, but he also had a son he'dforgotten to mention.

She stood and glanced up and down the street. This daywas turning out to be a nightmare. She should have knownbetter than to leave Georgia last week on a Friday. Everyoneknew that traveling on a Friday was bad luck.

"Where might I find your"—she narrowed her eyes andground out the last word—"pa?"

The boy's face clouded and she felt a surge of guilt. Shedidn't mean to take it out on him. None of this was the child'sfault. She swallowed hard and tried again. "Do you knowwhere I might find him?"

The boy pointed to the high-steepled brick church acrossthe street from the hotel. He then tore away as if being chased.

She started after him, waving. "Wait! Come back!"

Eddie darted in front of an oncoming horse and wagon."Watch out!" she gasped.

The irate wagon driver managed to stop in time, but hewasn't finished with the boy. He pumped his fist and railedagainst irresponsible youth in general and Eddie in particular.

Mary-Jo hated to see the child being yelled at, but a goodtongue-lashing would probably do him a world of good. Hecould have been killed. As for his father ... not only hadDaniel Garrett lied by way of omission, he also appeared to bea neglectful parent, and she had no tolerance for either.

She grabbed her sewing machine with one hand and hercarpetbag with the other. Teeth clenched and bosom heaving,she marched across the street. She was so incensed she forgotto watch for cracks.

"You better be in that church praying, Daniel Garrett,"she muttered. "Because when I get through with you, you'llwish you never heard of me!"

CHAPTER 2

Mary-Jo charged inside the church. The doorslammed shut behind her with a loud bang that made herjump. After setting her sewing machine and carpetbag in acorner of the narthex, she straightened her attire. Not a soundfiltered through the thick walls or the doors leading to thesanctuary.

Having no idea what to say or do upon coming face-to-facewith her errant fiancé, she plunged through the doubledoors. Expecting the church to be empty or near empty, shewas shocked to discover the pews filled to capacity—on aWednesday, no less. Every head turned in her direction, butno one said a word.

A man rose from several pews away and rushed up theaisle to greet her. It wasn't until he reached her side that shenoticed the sheriff 's badge on his vest.

"May I help you, ma'am?" he asked in a hushed voice.Towering over her five-foot-eight-inch height by a good sixinches, he had a rugged square face, a neatly trimmed mustache,and short brown hair. He regarded her with eyes so blue andintense that for a moment she forgot her reason for being there.

Gathering her wits about her, she spoke in a quiet buturgent voice. "I wish to speak with Mr. Garrett."

"I'm Sheriff Tom Garrett."

"Sher—" Now that she thought about it, Daniel did mentionsomething in one of his early letters about his brotherbeing a lawman.

"Mr. Daniel Garrett." She glanced at the nearby facesturned toward her and wished she'd changed at the hotelbefore barging in. Everyone else was dressed in black, and shestuck out like a sore thumb in her yellow outfit. She shiftedher gaze back to the sheriff.

His brow creased. "Who might you be?"

"I'm Mary-Jo Parker." When the sheriff made no response,she added, "I'm Daniel's fiancée." Or was.

Sharp and assessing eyes studied her from beneath theshadow of his wide-brimmed hat, and her cheeks flared.Was that surprise on his dark, muted face or something else?Disapproval, perhaps?

"Tell him I'll wait outside."

"I'm afraid that telling him anything at this point wouldbe ... impossible."

"And why is that, Sheriff?"

He stepped aside and inclined his head toward the distantaltar.

A previously unnoticed pine coffin rested on a stand surroundedby wreaths of flowers.

She sucked in her breath. "That can't be—" She swayedand the sheriff grabbed her by the arm.

"Perhaps you should sit down, ma'am. Can I get you somewater?"

Shaking her head, she regained her balance. "I-I'm allright. Thank you."

He released her. "Did you say you were Dan's ... fiancée?"

She nodded mutely and stumbled down the aisle towardthe altar. Nothing seemed real. She had to see for herself.

"Ma'am," the sheriff called to her, but she kept going,ignoring the curious eyes that followed her down the aisle.

Daniel was dead? Not again, dear God. This can't be happeningagain. Please let this be a dream. Let me wake up and ...

She stopped in front of the coffin and stared in horror atthe stranger she'd promised to marry. Daniel had the samesandy hair color as his brother and son. Two silver coins coveredhis eyes so she had no way of knowing if they were thesame intense blue.

Suddenly the reality of her situation struck her—she wasin the middle of who knew where, and her whole future, all herplans, had evaporated with the death of this man. The wallsof the church started closing in, and it was hard to breathe.Whirling about, she picked up her skirts and raced up the aisletoward the door. The sheriff tried to stop her, but she ran pasthim and kept going. She grabbed her sewing machine and carpetbagand bounded from the church.

Moving as quickly as the weight of the Singer allowed, shedidn't know she'd walked under a ladder until the man on topyelled, "Hey, watch it!"

Oh no! Now she'd done it! More bad luck. Hadn't she hadenough already? "Sorry," she mumbled.

Blinded by tears, she ducked into an alley. Setting her sewingmachine and carpetbag down, she slumped to the groundand bawled.

* * *

County sheriff Tom Garrett chased after the distressedwoman in yellow. The bright sun nearly blinded him as hedashed out of the church and ran down the steps to the boardwalk.He looked both ways but the lady had vanished.

He wished now he'd been better informed as to hisbrother's plans, but the two were never close. Dan had movedback to town less than a year ago following the death of hiswife, but even then they hadn't spent much time together.

He and his brother argued the last time they spoke, andTom regretted that more than words could say. He was againstDan's crazy plan to send for a mail-order bride from the start.Not only did the idea strike him as distasteful, he consideredit beneath a man's dignity to order a bride sight unseen likepurchasing one's under-riggings.

And what was wrong with a woman who couldn't finda husband without the help of a marriage broker? Either shewas lacking in looks or personality, maybe both.

Not that anything was wrong with this lady's looks. Withher honey-blond hair, delicate features, and big blue eyes, shelooked quite fetching. That could only mean one thing: shelacked something personality-wise.

Perhaps integrity. Old man Whitcomb's mail-order briderobbed him blind before taking off, never to be heard fromagain. A lawyer like Dan should have been more cautious, butonce he got something into his fool head, there was no changinghis mind.

The church door opened and Mrs. Hoffmann steppedoutside, her huge black hat shaped like a ship. She owned theboardinghouse where Tom lived.

"Do you know if Barnes found the boy?" he asked. Eddiehad taken one look at his father's coffin and taken off. Hisdeputy sheriff chased after him. Garrett grimaced at thememory; the boy was like a wild mustang.

"Nein." Mrs. Hoffmann shook her head. "Not that I knowof." She spoke in a thick German accent. "Who vas that woman?"She said something else in her native tongue, but Garrett didn'tbother asking for a translation. "Imagine. Coming to a funeraldressed like a harlot!"

The woman's tendency to be judgmental irked him attimes but he kept his annoyance at bay. With all her faults,she meant well and she was the only one willing to watchthe boy.

Still, recalling the shocked look on the young woman'sface, Garrett felt a need to protect her. He didn't approve ofher reasons for coming to Kansas, but none of what happenedto Dan was her fault.

"I don't think she expected to attend a funeral." Neither,for that matter, did he.

"Then she had no business barging into a church, of allplaces." The woman stabbed the ground with her cane andvanished back inside, the door slamming shut in her wake.

Garrett was about to follow her when he noticed his deputysheriff walking toward him, shaking his head. Barnes wasat least six inches shorter than Garrett and, at age forty-five,ten years older.

"Sorry, Tom. No sign of Eddie."

Garrett blew out his breath and, after scanning the streetone last time, followed his deputy back into the church. Rightnow his top priority was to bury his brother. He'd deal withthe boy—and the mail-order bride—later.

CHAPTER 3

The note beneath the door of Mary-Jo's hotelroom read:

We need to talk. Meet me in the hotel diningroom at seven a.m. for breakfast. Sincerely,Sheriff T. Garrett

The bold script made it seem more like a command thanan invitation. She swallowed her irritation. She couldn't imaginewhat the sheriff wanted to talk about, but he was Daniel'sbrother and she owed him a hearing, if nothing else.

A seamstress by trade, she normally had little time tofuss with her own clothes, though she had made a couple ofnew outfits to start wedded life. Today she chose the mostconservative of the three, a pretty blue skirt and matchingshirtwaist. Multiple rows of ruches circled the skirt and thedelicate puffed sleeves complemented the carefully drapedbustle in back.

Her aunt heartily disapproved of such frills, but Mary-Jocouldn't help herself. Sewing was a breeze with her recentlypurchased Singer. Once she got started on an outfit, shecouldn't seem to stop adding embellishments. Fancy dressesrequired fancy hairstyles and she took special pains to smootheach carefully rolled ringlet in place. A quick pinch of hercheeks and she was ready except for her shoes.

She put the right shoe on first so as to prevent a headacheor more bad luck. Then she braced herself with a quick prayer,for all the good it would do her. She had more faith in knockingon wood than she had in God.

She reached the hotel dining room before the appointedhour, but already the sheriff was seated at a table in frontof the window overlooking Main Street. He rose when sheapproached and she was reminded once again how tall hewas. He sure enough was pleasing to the eye and given theearly morning hour, that was saying something.

"Thank you for meeting with me," he said, as if he doubtedshe would. His gaze lingered on her a moment too long, bringinga blush to her face. Seeming to catch himself, he hastenedto pull out a chair for her. He then took his seat opposite.He'd removed his hat and a strand of sandy-brown hair fellacross his forehead from a side part. Without his hat he lookedyounger, but no less commanding. He also looked tired, as ifsleep had been as elusive for him as it had been for her.

"I apologize for yesterday," he said. "I had no idea youwere arriving in town. Had I known, I would have arrangedfor someone to meet your train."

"It's me who should do the apologizing. I had no call tobarge into church like I did." She should have known somethingwas seriously wrong when her fiancé didn't show up as promised,but as usual she had jumped to all the wrong conclusions.She pressed her hands in her lap. "I'm sorry for your loss."

A muscle tightened in his jaw. "I'm sorry you had to findout the way you did." And as if there could be any question asto what he meant, he added, "About Dan."

"His son, Eddie?" The boy had been so upset he almostgot himself run over. "Is he all right?"

(Continues...)

Excerpted from A BRIDE FOR ALL SEASONS by Margaret Brownley. Copyright © 2013 by Margaret Brownley, Debra Clopton, RobinSong, Inc., and Mary Connealy. Excerpted by permission of Thomas Nelson.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Edition details

• Publisher: Thomas Nelson Publishers
• Publication date: 2013
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 1401688535
• ISBN 13: 9781401688530
• Binding: Paperback
• Number of pages: 400