Mail Order Bride Irene: Brides of Montana, #1

By Kate Whitsby

In Book 1 of The Brides of Montana series, Irene Gleeson leaves behind a heart-breaking past for a new life on the Montana Frontier. After her late husband's untimely death, his family drives Irene from her home in coastal Rhode Island with accusations that she caused his death. Their malicious hostility leaves Irene no choice but to throw herself on the mercy of the mail-order matrimony system. Irene knows nothing about the place she's going or the man she will marry. She only knows the name of the homestead at the end of the railroad line: Fiddler's Green.

What she finds shakes her to her core. Three generations of McGuire men live and work together on the remote ranch in the farthest reaches of Montana. They've been alone so long, they are at each other's throats with non-stop arguing over every detail of their lives. When Irene finds herself betrothed to the aging grandfather, Jack McGuire, she grieves for her dreams of a happy home with children. Jack, on the other hand, hasn't given up hope so easily. Through his plan to bring mail-order brides to the ranch for himself, his son, and his grandson, he hopes to stem the tide of animosity tearing their family apart. Can Irene and her fellow mail-order brides unite this family in a common purpose?

On top of everything else, the autumn season comes bearing down on them. The family must work together to round up their cattle herds and drive them to the stock yards before the winter weather strikes. Can they set aside their differences long enough to accomplish this one last desperate act? Or will bitterness and hurt tear them apart and lead them all to disaster?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gold Crown Publishing
• Release date: Apr 24, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386345565

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KATE WHITSBY

Mail Order Bride Irene

Brides Of Montana: Book 1

Dedication

To YOU, The reader.

Thank you for your support.

Thank you for your emails.

Thank you for your reviews.

Thank you for reading and joining me on this road.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Connect With Kate

Copyright

Chapter 1

Irene Gleeson? The man stuck out his hand. I’m Jack McGuire.

Irene stared at the wrinkled, graying man in front of her. In the back of her mind, she realized she was being rude by gawking at him this way, but she couldn’t overcome her shock at what she saw.

Maybe someone somewhere made a mistake. Maybe this McGuire family was one of those in which every father names his son after himself. Maybe this particular Jack McGuire was the patriarch of a long line of Jack McGuires, junior and senior, all with the same name. Maybe the Jack McGuire she planned to marry was his much-younger son or grandson.

Surely this deteriorating geriatric couldn’t be contracting to marry her, Irene Gleeson, age thirty. Could he? He wouldn’t dare! Of course she wasn’t exactly in her prime, either, but she wasn’t on her way to the graveyard like he was.

One thing Irene prided herself on was fortitude. No matter what life threw at her, she could handle it. She always did, and she did it now. She forced herself to shut her mouth and set her face in the firm, stiff mask of determination she always used at times like this.

She pressed her lips together and narrowed her eyes. Then she took a step forward and extended her hand to Jack McGuire. I apologize for my rudeness. I imagine I’m more tired from the journey than I realized. Jack shook her hand. He must be grateful to get that formality, at least, out of the way.

Irene noticed him evaluating her on the sly. What did he see? She knew very well what other people saw in her. She might be petite with plain, sandy blond hair, but she had a sturdy build. Not only that, she could take on any hardship with her tough, no-nonsense attitude.

Some people thought she went too far with her tough, brittle exterior. Some people accused her of unkindness, and some children claimed she frightened them. None of that concerned her. She had too much to cope with in her own life to worry about what other people—or their children—thought of her.

But this Jack McGuire was different. If she was going to marry him, she couldn’t exactly tell him to take his opinions and take a hike off the end of the pier. Then again, when you married someone by mail-order, you couldn’t exactly complain about what you got. He couldn’t complain about her any more than she could complain about him.

In fact, he sighed with relief when their hands parted. Are you ready to go?

Irene cast one last glance back over her shoulder. The train station behind her was so small as to be almost nonexistent. A single tiny building about the size of an average garden shed or outhouse stood next to the railroad tracks running away into the distance in both directions. A weathered wooden sign on the side of it read, Whitefish. That was all there was to it.

Irene turned back to Jack. I’m ready. Jack swung his arm toward a wagon with a bay horse hitched to the front of it. Irene hesitated. I have my trunk.

Oh. Jack dropped his arm. Sorry. He marched over to the shed where Irene’s trunk sat on the bare ground.

He took hold of one of the handles in the end of the trunk. In one effortless swing, he hoisted it onto his shoulder. He carried it over to the wagon and tossed it lightly into the wagon box.  Ready? he asked.

Irene watched him in awe. So he wasn’t on his way to the graveyard the way she thought he was. His wiry frame moved with fluid ease inside his clothes. That body could still do a hard day’s labor even as it declined in years.

Jack dusted off his hands and smiled at her. I guess I’m not exactly what you expected.

Irene lowered her eyes. I shouldn’t be surprised.

Jack nodded. You’re a lot younger than I expected, too. Didn’t those people out East tell you who you were going to marry?

Irene looked at the ground and shook her head. What a fool she was! I didn’t have a chance to ask.

His eyes flew open. What? Didn’t you even ask who you were going to marry?

She could only shake her head again.

Now it was his turn to compress his lips together and set his face in a stern scowl. Well, here we are and there we are. Why don’t you get up into the wagon seat and we’ll head into town?

Irene stumbled forward and somehow managed to climb into the wagon seat. Jack climbed in on the other side and took the reins. Then next thing Irene knew, the wagon started forward down a narrow path next to the railroad tracks.

Where are we going? she asked.

Into Whitefish, he told her. There’s a court clerk there who can marry us.

A lightning bolt of alarm burned through Irene’s heart. Marry us? Just like that? She’d shaken his hand once, and here she was on her way to marry him! Don’t they have a preacher or a judge in town?

Jack chuckled. You haven’t seen Whitefish. It’s not even really a town. It’s more of an outpost. They don’t have a church, so there’s no preacher. And there’s no courthouse, so there’s no judge. They’re lucky to have a clerk to keep the records. And he’s the postal clerk, too, so he’s doing double duty. That’s how it is out here on the Frontier.

How can a town so small stay alive? Irene asked. What keeps it going?

Jack jerked his thumb back over his shoulder toward the train station Irene just left. As you can see, Whitefish is the last stop on the line. There’s nothing out there but trees, mountains, rivers, lakes, and a whole lot a’ nothin’.

But the train kept going. After it dropped me off, it kept on in the same direction—that way. She pointed in the same direction behind them.

There’s a siding a little farther along, Jack told her. That’s where the train turns around and heads back the other way.

But there were other people on the train, Irene insisted. I assumed they were going to stations up north.

Jack shook his head. They’re probably headed south. They just didn’t want to sit there waiting for the train to come back. Maybe it’s more comfortable to ride than to sit on a wooden bench on a train platform.

Chapter 2

You must have left home in a hurry, Jack remarked. Where did you say your home was?

Rhode Island, Irene replied. And I did leave in a hurry. I had to.

Why? he asked.

My husband died, Irene told him.

What did he die of? Jack asked.

I don’t know, Irene replied. No one knows. He got sick and he died.

Still, Jack returned, that never stopped anyone from taking the time to ask a few questions about where they’re going and what they’re doing.

Like I told you, Irene replied, I didn’t have time to ask. My late husband’s brother and sister-in-law accused me of poisoning him. They reported me to the local sheriff, and he was going to charge me with murder. I had to get out of town as quickly as I could. I didn’t have any money, and I had no family I could go to. I had no choice but to go West.

Did your husband’s brother have some reason to believe you poisoned him? Jack asked.

No, Irene replied. He wanted the house. My husband inherited his parents’ house, and his brother wanted it. He came up with the plan to get me charged with some horrendous crime and thrown in jail. That was his way of preventing me from inheriting the house from my husband. He had to drive me out of town. He had to drive me as far away as he could. And he succeeded.

So you decided to get married, Jack concluded.

I didn’t decide any such thing, Irene shot back. "I told you. I had nowhere to live and no way to live. I walked into the local office of the mail-order matrimony service, and they gave me your name. They told me you lived on a homestead in Montana called Fiddler’s Green. And they told me I could find you if I took this train."

I see, Jack muttered.

I mentioned I was in a hurry and would leave right away, Irene continued. So the clerk offered to write to you for me and let you know I was coming. I went straight to the train station after that.

Just like that, Jack returned. And here you are.

Irene looked around her. Two solid walls of towering trees blocked out the view on both sides of the road. The ceiling of clear blue sky rose up above the trees. Only the distant tips of mountain peaks broke the line of sight beyond the trees. Yeah. Here I am.

The horse ambled along in front of the wagon with infinite patience. He could amble along there forever, looking neither right nor left. Jack glanced over at her. I know you probably had the idea of marrying a man your own age. I guess a woman your age still wants to have children. How old did you say you are?

I didn’t, Irene snapped. Don’t you know it’s not polite to ask a woman her age? Jack bristled, but before he could answer, Irene went on. "But since we’re going to be married, it wouldn’t do to keep any information from you. I’m thirty, and yes, I still want to have children. I