Mail Order Brides - Mail Order Secrets (A Western Romance Book)

By Leah Laurens

Two inspirational stories of women who risked everything for love and traveled thousands of miles to the western frontier.

Part 1: Second Chance Bride

It's not every day you get a second chance at love. Hattie Griffith lost her first love. Then she lost her second. Now her life is changed forever.

With two small children to raise and no one to help, Hattie is on the verge of losing her farm.

She has no choice but to respond to an ad. Mail Order Bride: Wanted.

Will she get her second chance for love again?

Part 2: The Bride's Secret

Some secrets are too hard to keep. Eliza Underwood had her heart broken. The man she loved left her alone with a child. But she can't even afford to care for her infant.

Forced to make a tough decision, Eliza gives her child up. But now the people who have her say she's sick. Eliza needs money. Fast.

After discovering her first husband died, Eliza becomes a mail order bride…

2 parts of heartwarming mail order brides tales of love, romance, and triumph over adversity in one book.

Love on the western frontier was a rare treasure. Follow these inspirational women who risked everything to travel to the untamed West in the hopes of finding love and starting a new family.

If you're a fan of clean western romance, you will love this book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leah Laurens
• Release date: Feb 21, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393224129

Leah Laurens

Leah Laurens is a multi-voiced writer who always been a lover of historical romance novels since young, especially that of Western Romance. A romance set in the American West, Leah’s novels involve characters that are strong in character, each with a strong personality and with different pursuits in life. The Hero has his own adventures in life that he wants to pursue, the Heroine learning to survive and conquer the harsh challenges sometimes. Despite the many differences, there is somehow a destiny the hero and heroine must fulfil by meeting each other and to fall in love.  Through Leah’s writings, she hopes to inspire many who are waiting, questioning about love in a sometimes cynical world. That there will always be that silver linings in the clouds which one sees in their life. Some of Leah’s inspirations came from authors like Linda Lael Miller, Harper Sloan.

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mail order bride 

mail order secrets

a western romance book

––––––––

leah  laurens

Copyright

Copyright © 2020 by

Leah Laurens

All Rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Cover Concept by melody simmons

https://bookcoverscre8tive.com

Cover Style by Sanja Gombar

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Table of Contents

Copyright

Find Out More

Dedication

Prologue

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

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Epilogue

Preview of Next Book

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Publisher Notes

second chance bride

prologue

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Chesterfield, Idaho 1882

Hattie Griffith heard her son cry out. His four-year-old voice rang high over the treetops and all around the vast dry land surrounding their home. Her head automatically snapped in his direction, her mother's instincts kicking in before she was even aware of what she was doing. She jumped out of the rocking chair where she'd been sitting and knitting on the porch of their farmhouse and ran toward him, leaving Nellie to watch them from her blanket beside the chair.

Leroy had never left her sight, not for even a moment. She had simply looked down to deal with a particularly stubborn stitch and the next thing she knew he was crying. She did not slow until she reached him, even though she was not used to running.

Her lungs pumped air but had a tough time of it. She was only twenty-four, but some days she felt like an old woman. Farm life sometimes did that to you. Especially when the farm wasn't working the way it should. Bare fields and dried-out land had a way of taking their toll on a person, even though it was her husband who did most of the labor. With two small children to watch after, Hattie could not help him in the fields like she'd been able to when they were first married, though watching two children was a labor all its own.

Leroy, she said, panting, kneeling on the ground beside her son. What happened? Show me where it hurts.

He pointed to his knee. A scrape. That was all. Nothing more. She looked at his little red face and saw that his tears were already subsiding. Hattie relaxed.

Hurts, he said, still pointing.

Hattie blew on it, cooling the sting, and Leroy giggled. His cheeks were still wet but the pain he'd had to endure was already forgotten. His scrape had now turned into a sort of amusement for him.

Blow 'gain, he cried delightedly.

Hattie blew on his knee a second time and he squealed, rising to his feet and clapping his hands together.

Let me wash that first, she said, but he was already off.

He ran back and forth, resuming the game he'd created for himself. He touched the shady oak tree with one hand then ran to the porch and touched it, then ran back and touched the oak again, as if not more than a minute ago he'd been hollering and crying like the world was about to end.

A tiny voice cried out from the porch. Hee! Nellie stumbled slowly down the porch steps, trying to grab onto the rail which she could not even reach the top of it. Hattie stood and watched her, wanting to stop her, to protect her, but knowing that all two-year-olds had to learn the hard way. If she fell, Hattie would be there to clean her up. It was only two steps, and they were small ones at that.

But Nellie didn't fall. "Hee! she cried once she reached the bottom. Her tiny, stubby legs bounced up and down. Leroy paused, looking at her as if she were some foreign plant he'd never before seen, then grabbed her hand and ran with her.

Nellie almost fell several times. She was still too young to keep up with her older brother, but each time Leroy slowed his pace and helped to right her before she hit the ground. She wobbled, she stumbled, she hesitated a few times, but she finally reached the oak tree. She touched it, then turned and headed back toward the porch.

Hattie resumed her place in her rocking chair, supper already on her mind. She would have to go in soon and begin its preparation. Leroy could probably help her peel potatoes. Nellie would want to help, but Hattie didn't trust her with anything sharp. Not yet. She still had a habit of wanting to put things in her mouth that didn't belong there, and Hattie was afraid a sharp object would be no exception.

Nellie could help clean the potatoes, she decided. There was only so much damage she could do with a brush. Even if it went into her mouth, the bristles would not hurt her. Clean, peel, cook. Nellie, Leroy, Hattie.

There was an odd satisfaction Hattie got from placing things into their proper order. Virgil said that's why she was so good at managing their household. Even with the little money they had, they'd never gone hungry. Virgil had something to do with that too, she thought. He did his best to keep them well-fed, making sure his family always got first pick of their crops when they were ready and trading with their neighbors for the things they still needed.

Everyone in Chesterfield, Idaho liked Virgil. She got the feeling they liked her a little less, maybe. Hattie had a way of speaking at times that not all people appreciated. She wasn't mindless, but her parents had raised her to speak up when something needed saying, not to keep quiet like so many other women of her day.

If Virgil did something foolish, she told him so. Usually, he'd grin and say, You caught me, and they'd have a good laugh over it. He was one of only a few people that liked her as she was and did not find her honesty crass, but refreshing.

She looked down at her knitting again, uncertain why she kept getting stuck in this one spot. She pulled out the knot that had somehow formed and tried again. She was not a great knitter, but she was generally sufficient at it. This afghan she'd been working on was taking longer than expected, though.

She licked her lips and focused on the task at hand. That was the only way to get through something difficult. It was not until Jed's voice roused her eyes from their place and her heart from the peaceful beat it had been keeping in her chest that her mind went elsewhere.

Hattie! Jed cried. He was running toward her from the field, waving his hands in the air.

Hattie! he cried again, and she threw her knitting aside. It fell to the porch floor but she did not bother to pick it up. Nellie and Leroy were looking at him now too.

What is it? Hattie cried, running toward the farmhand who'd been with them almost since they bought it this land. What's wrong?

Jed was out of breath. He reached her and his eyes darted automatically toward the children. He talked quickly but quietly. It's Virgil. There's been an accident.

His eyes told her everything she needed to know. She looked quickly at her children, who were standing together holding each other, as if they knew. Nellie's blue eyes were round and wide, her blonde hair waving in the light wind that had blown up around them. She looked so much like Hattie sometimes that it was frightening.

Leroy's blue eyes were also wide, but his face had a more complex look, as if there was a flash of the man he would become hidden in his child's eyes. Worry and a desire to be brave all shone there. His hair was a bronze-brown like his father's, but his eyes were all Hattie's.

I'll stay with them, Jed said, sensing her thoughts. Hattie nodded and began to run. Center-right, Jed called out behind her and she veered her feet in the direction he indicated.

It was not difficult to find Virgil. They had three farmhands including Jed, and the other two began waving her on as she came into view, like she was some ship just come into harbor and they were giving her directions. No, more to the right, now forward, now more to the left. It was a ludicrous thought, and Hattie prayed that she was not losing her mind to her worries.

When she arrived at the scene, panting, her heart about to burst out her chest, things were far worse than she'd envisioned. Her husband lay bleeding on the ground. She looked at him and saw a large gash across his chest and the overturned plow. A short distance away stood Bessie, their horse.

A snake spooked her, Bill said solemnly. The plow jumped. Virgil got caught under it.

She knelt beside him, tears rolling down her cheeks. She had no idea when she'd begun to cry and hated that Virgil's final image of her would be like this. She wiped frantically at the tears but to no effect. They just kept coming.

You'll be all right, she said, taking his hand and kissing it.

He smiled weakly at her. You've never lied to me, Hattie, he croaked. Don't start now.

She kissed his hand again, and then his lips. He wasn't crying. He didn't even look scared. She wondered if that was all an act for her benefit. How could he not be terrified?

Are you in pain? she asked, not sure she wanted to know.

No, he said.

She smiled. Now who's the liar?

He smiled back at her, a little stronger this time. You caught me.

She choked on the words she wanted to say, her voice refusing to co-operate. I-I... you can't go, she finally managed to get out but just barely.

Got no choice, he said, his words just above a whisper. He was speaking slower now, too. He licked his lips. It left a sickly sheen. I love you.

She squeezed his hand, wanting to squeeze harder, afraid of hurting him. I love you too, she whispered through her tears.

Do what you need to do to get by, he said, his eyes closing, his words soft. Be happy. Make the children happy.

She nodded. I will, I swear it.

And then he was gone. Hattie sat beside him for several minutes, then put on her brave face and went to tell her children their lives had just changed forever.

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chapter 1

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Blisspeak, Missouri 1883

Willard Stout looked at Herman Clark and tried not to show his frustration. The more the man looked at him, though, the more Willard wanted him out of his office.

I'm sorry, Mr. Clark, Willard said. There's nothing I can do.

Mr. Clark's eyes bugged out of his head. He wiped one calloused hand over his thinning hair and licked his lips. I'm a reasonable man, he said, trying to sound calm, but there was no mistaking the shake in his voice. What if... what if I took forty-five days instead of ninety?

Willard shook his head. I'm afraid it's too late for any of that.

Thirty? Mr. Clark countered.

I could not even give you ten. Willard sighed.

Mr. Saunders, at the factory, well, he assured me I'll be getting that raise within the week. He told me so himself.

And I'm happy for you, but the bank has already foreclosed on you. I'm doing nothing wrong in buying your property.

Mr. Clark rose from his chair. Nothing wrong? he shouted. "You're taking my home! I have a family! I have children! And you stand there and look me square in the eyes and tell me you're doing nothing wrong."

I'm not the one who foreclosed on you, sir, Willard said. It was not the first time he'd been through something like this. It would not be the last.

If you weren't buying up my property from under me, I could still live there. The bank manager told me so himself.

Mr. Lucas was being lenient. Once in foreclosure, the land no longer belongs to you. You can be evicted from it at any time. I'm afraid that time has come.

But... but I built that house myself, me and my daddy, when I was just a boy. His eyes were wide and weepy. Willard looked away.

You can have fifteen days, he said, feeling generous. Fifteen days, but no more. Gather your things together and find a new place to live.

There was a knock on his office door and for once he was grateful for the interruption.

Enter, he said and Miss Hill opened the door.

Excuse me, sir, said his housemaid, a young woman with mousy brown hair and a soft voice, but your mother is asking for you.

Willard sighed heavily. My mother is always asking for something, he said.

Something flashed across Miss Hill's eyes. Irritation? Judgment?

"She's asking for you, sir," she repeated.

Mr. Clark was still staring at him, his own eyes still weepy, but there was also a harshness under them. Willard suspected that Mr. Clark would not object to seeing him trapped beneath the wheels of an overturned carriage.

Please tell my mother I shall be right there, Willard said and began brushing the lint from his suit. To Mr. Clark, he said, You'll have to excuse me.

But fifteen days isn't enough time, the man said, sounding whiny now. His voice was beginning to grate on him.

It will have to be enough, Willard said. Good day to you, sir.

He left the room and paused on his way up the stairs to make sure that Mrs. Sawyer, his housekeeper, a sturdy woman in her early thirties, knew to show Mr. Clark out. Mrs. Sawyer was absolutely indispensable to him, running his household with a fine tooth comb, though she lacked the maternal skills needed to care for an ailing woman of advancing years. He did not begrudge her this. In fact, he rather admired her for it.

Most women would stand at his mother's bedside and weep, but Mrs. Sawyer had always been quite practical about the matter. His mother was sick and needed care, she did not need tears. What she did need, it was beginning to seem, was someone who could sit with her on a more regular basis. Her coughing fits had increased, and though she often seemed close to death, she had not yet succumbed.

If anyone had asked him, Willard would have said it might be better for her if she did succumb so that she would no longer be in any pain. He knew that was the practical thing and did not think anyone would think him heartless for saying it. The boy in him, however, could not stand the thought of his mother's passing and prayed daily for her recovery.

She had done a good job raising him after his father had died, working hard, often holding down two or three jobs just so that he could eat. It was his turn to give to her, and he did not hold it against her in the slightest, though he found it difficult to be around her. He did not want to see the woman whose strength had once empowered him now fallen.

He knocked softly at his mother's bedroom then entered. You asked for me? he said.

She nodded weakly. Would you give me some water? Her voice, as always, was like a desert. It was so raspy he could hear the dryness in it when she spoke.

She was always asking for water. There was a constant supply of it by her bedside, and even that wasn't enough. He gave her the glass, and she spilled half of it on her nightdress. She was always in her nightdress. She never wore anything else, never tried to leave the room, never tried to so much as walk. The fever which had taken hold of her almost a year ago now had never truly left. Dr. Shannon had told him many times that it was amazing she was even still alive.

Did you want something, Mother? he asked once she was done with her water.

She nodded. I'm cold.

He looked at the many blankets piled on her already and frowned. Her gray hair, once a dark brown that was nearly black, just like his own, was stuck to her face. He rubbed his chin, thinking, and felt scruff already beginning to grow in. He had just shaved this morning. Perhaps he had simply done a poor job of it.

Willard walked to the chest at the end of the room and got a blanket for her. He laid it over her, knowing that in a half hour she would be too warm and she'd call him to take it off, but he would not be here. His home office was a good place to conduct business, but he had to get out and survey the land as well. He could not just stay in his house all day and expect his work to get done.

There was a small bank that had fallen under hard times he had his eye on, and with good reason. Mr. Lucas was always giving extension to the likes of Mr. Clark. Willard was certain the only reason Mr. Lucas had allowed him to buy Mr. Clark's land was because he needed the money himself. He wondered briefly if Mr. Clark knew the bank that had foreclosed on him was itself was in trouble. He doubted it. Most people assumed banks and their owners were all rich. It was a common error.

Mr. Lucas did not own the building and land his bank occupied, he had mortgaged it, and he was behind in his payments. Willard thought it was the perfect location for a new dining establishment, one that catered to a wealthier clientele than the others in Blisspeak.

He knew there would most likely be objections at first, but in this case, those objections were almost certain to come from the bank's owner. After all, not many people cared about banks. They were generally thought of as the enemy. This should be an easy transaction for him, and one he was determined not to let pass him by.

Mother, I have to go. If you need anything, ring for Mrs. Sawyer or Miss Hill, all right?

His mother licked her lips and Willard groaned inwardly. Sometimes it took her several minutes to get out a single sentence. He had no time or patience for that right now.

Can you sit with me? she asked with surprising clarity. I don't want to be alone. The lines sculpted into her face made her look at least twenty years older than she was.

I'll have Miss Hill come in, he said and rose to leave. He saw a flash of disappointment on his mother's face but she did not stop him.

He found Miss Hill downstairs, dusting. How long shall I sit with her, sir? she asked. I was going to do the windows today.

He