A Mail-Order Christmas Bride Read online

  He was staring at her. After a second, he seemed to realize what she had just said and took the hat from her. He said, “Lady, I never saw anybody go after that bunch like that—”

  “Wes, what’s going on here?”

  The deep, resonant voice made Abby look over her shoulder at the tall, broad-shouldered man who had just stepped out of the store. He had a frown on his rugged face as he came toward them. He wore a sheepskin jacket and had a brown hat thumbed back on his sandy hair.

  “Pa, this lady helped me,” the boy said. “Alvy Simpkins and his pals were gangin’ up on me again. I was fixin’ to fight ‘em—”

  “I’ve told you, Wes, no fighting,” the man interrupted him. He came to a stop a few feet from Abby. The gaze he directed toward her was steady and scrutinizing, without being overly bold. “I’m obliged to you for helping my son, ma’am. Some of the kids here in town...” He shook his head. “Well, their folks didn’t raise ‘em up right, that’s all I can say.”

  Abby said, “I was glad I could help.” Then, even though she was confident she already knew the answer, she went on in a questioning tone, “Mister...”

  The man hastily took his hat off, as if he’d just remembered his manners, and nodded politely to her as he said, “Killian, ma’am. Shawn Killian. This is my boy, Wes.”

  “Mr. Killian!” A dazzling smile lit up Abby’s face. “Just the man I was looking for.”

  “Ma’am?” Shawn Killian said with a puzzled frown.

  “Don’t you know me, Mr. Killian? I’m Abigail Demarest, the mail-order bride you sent for!”

  Chapter 2

  Being pretty didn’t keep a woman from being loco, and Shawn Killian was looking at living proof of that. Abigail Demarest sure fit the pretty part. She had a small but well-shaped figure in a stylish, if dust-covered, traveling outfit, and glossy, dark curls framed an appealingly heart-shaped face highlighted by brilliant blue eyes.

  But if she thought he had sent for a mail-order bride, she must have escaped from an asylum somewhere.

  Instead of saying that, he overcame his surprise at her words and slowly shook his head.

  “I think you must be mistaken, ma’am,” he told her. “I never sent for any—uh, anybody like that.”

  It was her turn to frown and look confused. She said, “I don’t understand. This is Briar Hill, Texas, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And you’re Shawn Killian, you said so yourself.”

  “Yes, ma’am, but I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

  She reached into the small bag she held and brought out a folded piece of paper. She unfolded it and held it out to him. Without thinking, Shawn took it from her, and when he did, his fingers brushed hers.

  This was the first time a woman had touched him in more than a year. Even though she was wearing gloves and his hand was roughened from work, something about the contact made him feel a little hollow in the pit of his stomach for some reason. The reaction lasted only a split-second, but Shawn wouldn’t have minded if it had been longer.

  Then he forced his attention onto the paper he held in his hand. It was a letter addressed to Miss Abigail Demarest from some outfit called the Heavenly Hearts Matrimonial Agency in Philadelphia, stating that Mr. Shawn Killian of Briar Hill, Texas, had arranged for her passage to that settlement in hopes that she would accept an offer of marriage from him.

  Shawn’s eyes widened when he saw his name on the document. He said, “This is crazy! I never heard of this Heavenly Hearts place, and I never made any such offer.”

  When he looked up at Abigail Demarest, he saw that her bottom lip was quivering. Like most men, he couldn’t deal with a woman crying, so he went on hastily, “Hold on, hold on, we’ll figure this out. Obviously, there’s been some sort of mix-up.”

  “I just don’t...don’t understand,” she said with a catch in her voice. She pointed to the paper. “You can see for yourself. I came all this way...Are you saying that you’re not interested in...in marriage?” She put a hand to her mouth as something occurred to her and made her eyes widen. “Or, are you already married?”

  “No.” The word came out a little sharper than Shawn intended. He grimaced slightly and went on in a more civil tone, “No, I’m not married.”

  “My ma died,” Wes said.

  Painful memories stabbed into Shawn. He glanced at his son and said, “That’s enough, Wes. This is grown-up talk.”

  Wes opened his mouth to say something else, but Shawn’s stern look made him change his mind. He nodded and said, “Yes, Pa.”

  Shawn turned his attention back to the woman and said, “Now, Miss Demarest, we need to figure this out. How does this...matrimonial agency...work, anyway? I’d think that if a fella was going to send for a...mail-order bride...he’d at least exchange some letters with her first.”

  “That’s the usual procedure, but Heavenly Hearts also has a listing of prospective brides where they describe themselves and their interests, and if something about one of them interests a...a man, he can make contact with her or just send for her straight out.” She pointed at the paper again. “Like this arrangement.”

  “You’re talking about, like, a Sears Roebuck catalog of brides?”

  “I suppose you could think of it that way.”

  “I never heard of such a thing,” Shawn said, “and I sure didn’t look in one and send for a bride.”

  There went that lip quiver again. Miss Demarest asked, “Then how did Heavenly Hearts get your name and know you live here in Briar Hill?”

  “That’s a darned good question.” Shawn shook his head. “I have no earthly idea.”

  The stagecoach, with a fresh team hitched to it now, rumbled out of the settlement with the driver popping his whip and calling to the horses. A fresh cloud of dust swirled in the chilly wind.

  One of those gusts caught Shawn’s attention, and his natural politeness made him say, “Why don’t we get inside out of this cold, and then we can talk about this...mix-up...some more?” He nodded toward one of the buildings across the street. “We can go to the café over yonder.”

  Abigail swallowed and said, “My bags are in the stagecoach office—”

  “They’ll be fine there,” Shawn assured her. “Hamling will take good care of them.”

  “You know Mr. Hamling?”

  “Well, not really. But I know he’s one of the town’s leading citizens. I reckon you can trust him.”

  Actually, Shawn wasn’t that well-acquainted with anybody in Briar Hill. He hadn’t come here to make friends, so he hadn’t bothered talking to people unless he had to. In fact, he had probably said twice as much to Abigail Demarest during this brief conversation than he had to everybody else put together in the whole time he and Wes had been here. His voice was a little rusty from disuse.

  Something about her, though, made her easy to talk to. Shawn didn’t understand it, but it was definitely there.

  He turned to Wes and said, “Mr. Carter is getting our supplies together. You want to wait in the store here or come with Miss Demarest and me?”

  “I’ll wait in the store,” Wes said. “I want to look at the pocket knives.”

  The boy had asked for a pocket knife for Christmas, and Shawn already had one for him, tucked away in his own pocket for the time being. It wouldn’t do any harm for him to peer through the glass front of the case where the knives were displayed, though.

  “Just don’t get underfoot,” Shawn told him.

  “I won’t,” Wes promised.

  Shawn had confidence in his son’s word. Wes was a good boy...a better son than he deserved, Shawn thought sometimes.

  Wes went into the building while Shawn gestured for Miss Demarest to go ahead toward the café. He started to take her arm as they went down the steep steps from the loading dock, but then he suppressed the impulse. He didn’t want to do anything improper, and besides, she wasn’t having any trouble. She moved with an easy grace that said she was su
re of herself, despite her distraught reaction to the obvious mistake the matrimonial agency had made.

  They crossed the street to the Red Top Café, so called because of the red slate roof above its adobe walls. The smells of food and coffee were strong and appetizing as they stepped inside, into the welcome warmth.

  Shawn held a chair for Abigail at one of the tables with its blue-checked tablecloth. When they were both sitting down and he had taken off his hat and set it on the table, he asked, “Would you like something? A cup of coffee or maybe a piece of pie?”

  She smiled and said, “A cup of coffee would be fine. I’d better not have any pie, though. I have to watch my figure.”

  “I don’t figure you’ve got anything to worry about where that’s concerned,” he said honestly, without thinking, then felt his face warming as he realized he might have been too forward.

  She didn’t seem upset, so he forged ahead and signaled to the counterman for a couple of cups of coffee. The aproned man poured them and brought them over to the table on a tray, along with a little pitcher of cream.

  Shawn took his black, but Abigail added a little cream and sugar to hers. After they had each taken a sip, he reached inside his sheepskin jacket and took out the letter she had given him earlier. He had tucked it away when they started across the street.

  “Now, we’ve got to figure out what to do about this,” he said as he smoothed out the paper.

  A sad smile appeared on Abigail’s lips.

  “There’s not much we can do,” she said. “Clearly, the agency made a terrible mistake. I have no idea where they got your name...Have you done business with anyone else in Philadelphia recently?”

  “Not lately,” Shawn replied, and once again his voice was curt. He didn’t mean to sound angry, but just the mention of Philadelphia stirred up too many bad memories inside him. Too many hurtful memories.

  “Well, it doesn’t matter how it happened,” Abigail said. “What’s important is that of course I’m not going to hold you to this agreement, since you didn’t make it in the first place.”

  “Well, that’s...understanding of you. I appreciate that, Miss Demarest.”

  “Why don’t you call me Abby?” she suggested as her smile brightened. “It may have been some sort of ridiculous misunderstanding that brought us together, but there’s no reason we can’t be friends, is there?”

  “No,” Shawn allowed slowly. “I suppose not. Anyway, I owe you for stepping in to help Wes the way you did. I don’t know why those boys insist on tormenting him when we come to town. They do, though. I shouldn’t have left him outside by himself.”

  “Some children are just bullies. They don’t have to have a reason.”

  “Yeah, I reckon so. Plus, while we didn’t just get here—we’ve been in these parts for nearly a year—I guess they still think of Wes as the new boy. Any excuse to raise he—I mean, get into mischief.”

  “Yes, I know,” Abby said. “Believe me, I’ve seen it, too. Anyone regarded as an outsider always gets picked on.”

  Shawn smiled and said, “You sound like it happened to you.”

  “Not more than once,” she replied tartly, and he believed her. Despite her small size, she could be fiery when she needed to, he sensed.

  They drank more of their coffee and sat in companionable silence for a moment. To Shawn’s surprise, he found himself enjoying that moment, too. Over the past months, there hadn’t been much to take pleasure in, so he was going to enjoy this feeling while it lasted.

  He finally broke the silence by saying, “I suppose you’ll have to go back to Philadelphia and straighten things out with the agency.”

  A troubled look appeared on her face.

  “That’s the problem,” she said. “I spent practically everything I had getting out here. I’m afraid I don’t have the money even for a stagecoach ticket back to San Antonio, let alone train fare to return home to Pennsylvania. Anyway, the stage has already left. When will it come back through?”

  “Not for four days.”

  “I certainly don’t have enough money for a hotel room until then.”

  Shawn leaned back in his chair and frowned as he said, “I’m not sure there’s a hotel in Briar Hill where you’d want to stay, anyway. Most folks who come through here just keep going.”

  “So you see, I...I don’t know what I’ll do. I’m rather...lost.” She stared down into her coffee for a couple of heartbeats, then lifted that compelling blue-eyed gaze to him and went on, “I know this is a terrible imposition to ask of you, but...do you think there’s any chance I could stay with you and your son for a little while?”

  Chapter 3

  Abby knew from the shocked look on Shawn Killian’s face that the rancher hadn’t been expecting that question. She wasn’t sure why he hadn’t been. What else could she do under the circumstances?

  It took him a moment to find his voice. When he did, he said, “Well, I don’t know. Seems to me that would be improper. Mighty improper.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. If Wes wasn’t there, it certainly would be. But I think your son would be an acceptable chaperone, don’t you?”

  “Folks might still talk.”

  “Then they’d be wrong to do so,” she said. “You can’t hold yourself accountable for what somebody, somewhere, might say. There are always going to be people who talk, whether they know what they’re talking about or not.”

  “I suppose that’s true,” Shawn said, but his voice was still full of reluctance.

  “But it’s all right,” Abby went on, sensing that she needed to take a different tack. “I shouldn’t have been so forward as to ask you a question like that. For goodness’ sake, I can’t just invite myself into your home!”

  “Where else are you gonna go, then?” he wanted to know. He leaned forward, a slight frown on his face, as he closed both hands around the coffee cup in front of him. Abby saw genuine concern in his eyes. Her plight had touched him.

  “I don’t know. Is there a telegraph office here? Perhaps I could wire the matrimonial agency, tell them they made a terrible mistake, and convince them to send me the money for the return journey.”

  Shawn shook his head and said, “No telegraph office. We’re pretty isolated around here. The stagecoach runs every few days and carries the mail, but that’s the only way to get a message out.”

  “Then I need to write a letter to the agency and have it ready to send out with the next coach.”

  “That’s a good idea,” he said, nodding his head slowly. “But there’s still the question of where you’re going to stay until then, and until you hear back from them.” He nodded again, more decisively this time. “There’s no getting around it. You’re coming back to the ranch with me and Wes, and if any of the old biddies in this town want to wag their tongues about it, then let ’em!”

  At that moment, the resolve and concern on his tanned face made him handsome, Abby decided, although normally his features were too rugged for her to think of him that way. If he actually had sent for her as a mail-order bride, the idea wouldn’t have been all that disagreeable, she realized.

  But of course, that wasn’t what had happened. She was going to Shawn Killian’s ranch, just as she had intended when she arrived in Briar Hill, but not as his wife, or even his prospective bride.

  “Mr. Carter over at the store ought to have those supplies loaded in my wagon by now,” he went on. “We’ll collect your bags from the stagecoach office, get Wes, and then head home.” He paused. “I, uh, mean out to the ranch.”

  Not home, Abby thought. Not for her. Just a place to stay.

  But that was all right. It certainly beat the alternative.

  They finished their coffee and left the Red Top. The wind was still cold and blustery, but as they crossed the street, Abby noticed that Shawn had positioned himself so that his tall, broad-shouldered form blocked part of it from her. That didn’t help much, but it did a little, and Abby was touched by the gesture.

 
As they approached the general store, the door of the saloon next to it opened and two men came out onto the porch. Both wore rough clothes and high-crowned hats and carried revolvers in holsters on their hips. They came down the steps and started toward a pair of horses tied at the hitch rail, and the slight unsteadiness in their gait told Abby that they had been drinking, not a surprise since they had just emerged from the saloon.

  One of the men paused and nudged his companion with an elbow. He nodded toward Abby and Shawn and said in a voice loud enough for Abby to hear, “Well, lookee there, Dobbsy. The great stone face has found hisself a woman.”

  From what Abby had seen of Shawn Killian, that mocking description didn’t fit him. He hadn’t been as cold and emotionless as stone with her. It agreed with what Mr. Hamling at the stagecoach office had said about Shawn earlier, though.

  “Just ignore those two,” Shawn told her as they continued walking. “They’ve been hitting the redeye.”

  The man who had spoken turned away from the horses and swaggered toward Abby and Shawn instead. A leering grin creased his lantern-jawed face. Long, unkempt blond hair fell to his shoulders under the stained hat he wore.

  “Hey, Killian, I didn’t figure any woman would be interested in spendin’ time with a piece o’ firewood like you less’n you paid her. This gal don’t really look like a soiled dove, but maybe she is.”

  Shawn wasn’t able to follow the advice he had given Abby and ignore the man. He snapped, “Watch your mouth, Banning.”

  “Hey, I didn’t mean no offense,” the man called Banning said as he raised both hands, palms out. Abby could tell it wasn’t a real apology. He was just being sarcastic. He went on, “Sure is a pretty lady. Don’t know what she’s doin’ with you when there are real men around here.”

  It was clear he was talking about himself. Abby felt a flash of anger and disregarded Shawn’s advice as well, saying, “Actually, I don’t see any other men besides Mr. Killian. I see horses—and some other animals.”