MAIL ORDER MOUNTIES

Bride for Easton

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CHAPTER 1

 

It was the prettiest bedroom Molly Hennessy had ever laid eyes on. Instead of stark white walls and drab beige curtains, this room welcomed her like as if she were its long-lost princess. 

 

Pale pink flowers popped off the cream wallpaper like miniature bouquets picked just for her, and the matching pink draperies begged to be stroked. Before she even knew she’d reached out to do just that, Molly gasped and jerked back her hand as if the fabric was as hot as molten lava. 

 

“This isn’t your room,” she whispered to herself as she set her small leather suitcase on the bed. It sank into the soft down comforter, tempting Molly to hop up on the full-size bed and revel in the luxury. Before she could decide whether allowing herself the pleasure would be a sin, a knock sounded on her half-closed door.

 

Spinning around, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment at almost being caught, she smiled at the two young women who poked their heads into her room. Not your room!

 

“You must be Molly,” said the taller of the two. “I’m Claire Anderson…soon to be Claire Clark.”

 

“And I’m Beth,” said the other.

 

“Nice to meet you,” Molly said, reaching out to give them both firm handshakes. They appeared bemused, but Molly barely noticed. She was more curious about what had brought these two pretty ladies to Miss Hazel’s. “Isn’t there one more of us?”

 

“Yes, that would be Sinead. She’s around somewhere. Did you know she’s a doctor? A real life, trained doctor!”

 

Molly did not, in fact, know that, but her surprise quickly turned to excitement. They would have so much to talk about. “Really? I can’t wait to meet her.”

 

“Miss Hazel asked us to find you. Our first lesson will start in ten minutes.”

 

“Oh, then I’d better go fetch my shawl. I set it out by the fire downstairs to dry. Thank goodness I got here before it started raining in earnest.” 

 

“If you see Sinead down there, will you remind her about our lesson?” Claire called as Molly hurried down the hallway.

 

“Sure!” 

 

Molly would have loved to stay and chat with her new friends, but she couldn’t risk losing her shawl. She would lay it out on her big bed before the lessons started and it would be dry by the time she made it back to her room. 

 

As she entered the main sitting room, where she’d left the shawl draped across the back of a chair near the fireplace, Molly stopped short. Whatever happy or hopeful feelings that had been trying to take root in her heart withered at the scene before her. 

 

A woman she didn’t know, but guessed was Sinead, stood in front of a big mirror with Molly’s shawl draped around her shoulders, admiring her own reflection. Even in her surprise, Molly had to admit it was a reflection that deserved to be admired. The woman was much taller than Molly, and she had fine features and silky bronze skin that was complimented by the shawl’s rich gold and red hues. But almost before the thought flitted through her mind, a blinding red rage clouded her vision. 

 

“That’s mine!” she shouted, doing her best to shoot flaming arrows of anger from her eyes.

 

The woman spun around, her eyes wide and her full lips forming a perfect O. “I-I’m so s-sorry,” she stammered, pulling the shawl from her shoulders and holding it out in front of her as if it might be contaminated with cholera germs or something. “I wasn’t going to take it, I just wanted to see what it would look like. I’m so, so sorry.”

 

Within the span of a single blink, Molly’s rage drained away, leaving her slightly embarrassed. 

 

“It’s okay,” she said, crossing the room to take the scarf. Even though she’d already forgiven the woman, Molly still clutched the fabric against her thumping chest. If she’d lost it… “I grew up in a big family, so I’m overly protective of my things. I’m Molly, by the way.”

 

“My name’s Sinead,” the other woman said with a tentative smile, taking Molly’s proffered hand. 

 

Any tension that might have lingered between them blew away in a puff. “I really need to work on my temper,” Molly admitted, her cheeks heating up. “Everyone tells me it’s going to get me in trouble one day.”

 

Sinead’s laugh reminded Molly of a crackling fire on a cold day. “I don’t blame you. It’s stunning. Did you knit it?”

 

Molly’s left eyelid twitched, and she dropped her gaze as she caressed the soft material. “No, my mother did. She gave it to me the day I left for the convent.”

 

Tense silence stretched between them for a moment, before Sinead broke it by changing the subject. “So Miss Hazel tells me you’re a midwife.”

 

Dragging herself out of her maudlin mood, Molly smiled. “Yes. And you’re a doctor, I hear.”

 

“That’s right,” Sinead said, lifting her head slightly, almost as if too many people had questioned her on her occupation. “But I don’t have that much experience with birthing babies. It’s a relief to know you’ll be there, just in case.”

 

Molly honestly hadn’t thought about using her skills in her new home. “Isn’t it just some small health resort for the wealthy? How many babies could possibly be born there?”

 

Sinead gave her a wink. “People are people, Molly, no matter where they are or how much money they have.”

 

Molly blushed at the unspoken insinuation. She’d spent her life specifically not thinking about how babies were made, instead focusing on bringing them into the world. 

 

“I hope you’re right, Sinead. Oh, I’m supposed to tell you our first lesson starts in a few minutes.” 

 

“Good! Maybe we could go in early and you could show me around the kitchen. I’m afraid my schooling interfered with learning domestic duties.”

 

“Um…” Molly hesitated, unsure about leaving her beloved shawl behind, but decided to stop being silly. “Sure,” she finally said, draping it across the chair again. At least it would be fully dry and toasty warm later.

 

As Molly gave Sinead a tour of the kitchen — it was pretty much the same as any other kitchen — she felt a bond growing between them. Sinead probably came from a wealthy family, or at least a family better off than Molly’s, and she was far more educated, yet she didn’t put on airs. She was quick to smile, and long before Miss Hazel came bustling into the kitchen, they’d locked arms and were giggling like sisters.

 

“I see my two doctors have met already,” the older woman said, grinning at them each in turn.

 

Molly laughed. “I’m not a doctor, Miss Hazel. Just a midwife.”

 

Miss Hazel snorted her opinion on that. “Nonsense! Don’t forget, I’ve given birth, my dear. I know precisely what goes on, and let me tell you, I would rather have had my midwife over scraggy old Dr. Westheyemer. No offense, Sinead.”

 

“None taken,” Sinead said. “I agree wholeheartedly.”

 

Molly’s cheeks flamed from the compliments. Yes, she’d worked hard during her training, and she honestly loved it — but her motivations for becoming a midwife had been less than selfless. She hardly deserved their praise. Besides, flattery felt unnatural to her.

 

Perhaps sensing Molly’s discomfort, Miss Hazel deftly changed the subject. “Are you both ready to learn how to properly care for your future husbands? I have so much in store for you, you’ll probably wish you were back in medical school!”

 

Molly bit her tongue to stop herself from pointing out midwives didn’t go to medical school. She didn’t want to get the praise train rolling again.

 

“I have so much to learn,” Sinead said with a sigh. 

 

Molly snaked her arm around her new friend’s waist. “But I’m going to help you along the way. I grew up the oldest of fifteen children, so I know a thing or two about keeping a home.”

 

“I just hope Matthew is patient with me.”

 

Molly’s eyes narrowed in warning. “If he isn’t, he’ll have to answer to me!”

 

Miss Hazel cackled in delight. “Oh, Easton is going to have his hands full with you, my dear. If you ask me, you’re exactly what a man like him needs.”

 

Molly wasn’t sure how to take that. Her future husband’s sole letter to her had been short and to the point, with no real romance in it at all. That hadn’t particularly bothered her, but it had left her wondering what he was like. It didn’t really matter, but she’d prayed for a man who might eventually love her.

 

“That reminds me,” Miss Hazel said, pulling something from the bodice of her dress. “This came for you a few minutes ago.”

 

Miss Hazel held out an envelope, and all Molly could do was stare at it. Her heart sped up to double-time, and she found it difficult to breathe. 

 

“Molly?” Sinead’s voice echoed as if down a long hallway as Molly willed her hand to move.

 

“T-thank you,” she finally managed, taking the envelope and turning it over. As soon as she saw the familiar, loopy script, her heart sank. “Excuse me.”

 

She hurried out of the kitchen and tore open the letter in the privacy of the hallway. 

 

Dearest Molly,

 

How strange it is to call you that! After so many years, I am afraid you will always be Mary Theresa in my heart, but I am profoundly happy you have found your true path in life. 

 

The sisters have asked me to relate their well-wishes in your upcoming adventures. We all miss your energy, as well as your lovely soprano. Sister Agnes has yet to find a replacement for you in the choir.

 

You may be feeling anxious, or even frightened about what may lay ahead, but I would counsel you to have faith in the Lord. He has a plan for you; and as you have discovered, we mere mortals are powerless to work against that plan. Remember Joshua 1:9 to comfort you during the uncertain times ahead.

 

Have not I commanded thee? Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed, for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.

 

I am sorry to report that your mother has yet to reply to my request for an audience, but there again, have faith! She is a good woman who loves you deeply. I know she will not forsake you in the end.

 

Be well, Mary Theresa, and please write to us about all your adventures in Alberta. With your enthusiastic spirit and caring nature, I know your husband will forgive your occasional fits of pique, though I would advise you to continue your work on that particular trait.

 

Grace and blessings on your path,
Reverend Mother Perpetua Louise
Convent of the Sisters of Redemption

 

Molly scrubbed the tears from her cheeks, tucked the letter in the pocket of her drab woolen skirt, and swallowed hard. Mother Superior’s belief in Molly warmed her heart, but not enough to burn away the cold left by her own mother’s rejection. That kind of pain would never fade.

 

* * *

 

Easton Cooper stepped through the door of the Cougar Springs Mountie station fifteen minutes before he was scheduled for duty, as usual. Nathaniel Clark and Samuel Murray were collecting their things as they prepared to leave for the day. 

 

“Afternoon, sir,” Nathaniel said, shooting a glance at the clock to confirm the time.

 

“Anything to report?” Easton asked, waiting patiently by the door for Samuel to vacate their shared desk.

 

Samuel shook his head. “All quiet, sir. The only thing that caught my eye on my noon patrol was ol’ Ezekiel heading into Sam’s. And I don’t think he was stopping for lunch.”

 

Easton frowned. “Starting early today.”

 

“The old fool’s going to drink himself into an early grave if he isn’t careful,” Nathaniel said with a sad shake of his head. 

 

They’d been saying the same thing about Ezekiel Chambers ever since he stumbled into Cougar Springs four years earlier, and the man didn’t look a day older than when he arrived. He claimed to have struck it rich in the gold rush, but always avoided saying which one. Judging by his leathery skin, scraggy mop of grey hair, and cloudy eyes, it was certainly possible he meant the San Francisco rush, but Easton wasn’t the type of man who liked to guess about such trivial things. If it didn’t matter to his job, it didn’t matter to him.

 

“I’ll start my rounds as soon as Matthew gets here,” Easton said, hanging his hat on his hook so the strap was centered and the front crease pointed perfectly straight up and down.

 

“That would be now, boss.” Matthew strolled through the door and flopped into the chair Nathaniel had just barely vacated. “But don’t you want to move that inkwell back where it belongs?”

 

Easton narrowed his eyes at the grinning Mountie. Everyone knew Easton liked things just so, but he rarely imposed his quirks on the men who served under him. Instead of asking Samuel to not move anything on their shared desk, Easton simply came in early every day to arrange things to his liking. What was the harm in that? 

 

Of course, once Matthew mentioned the inkwell, Easton’s eyes could barely stop from seeking it out. As he stared down the younger man, he could see from the corner of his eye that the inkwell sat precariously close to the edge of the desk, all the way on the left side, instead of the right, where it belonged. His skin itched at the thought of someone knocking it over and making a mess, but he wasn’t about to show any weakness in front of his men. 

 

Only once Samuel and Nathaniel had finally left for the day did he sit and quietly arrange his space, saving the inkwell for last. Just as he set it down and started reading the forecast that had come in overnight, a young man burst into the office.

 

“Fight at Sam’s!” His eyes were wild and excited. “Fight at the saloon!” With that, he spun on his heel and tore off back toward Sam’s, no doubt to watch the fracas. 

 

“What now?” Matthew groaned as he shoved his hat down around his ears. 

 

“Probably just Ezekiel mouthing off,” Easton said, followed by a deep sigh as he stood to fetch his hat. 

 

Instead of cramming it on his head, he fitted it so it sat level on his head, as he’d been trained to do. No sloppy technique for him, even if it took a few moments longer. 

 

“C’mon, boss, there’s trouble brewing down at the O.K. Corral!”

 

Easton chuckled. “Let’s hope it’s not of the same variety.”

 

Matthew seemed antsy to run down to Sam’s, but Easton never ran if it could be helped. Running evoked a sense of panic, something a Mountie should never show, even if he felt it. Communities looked to Mounties for guidance, so it was of paramount importance for them to remain calm at all times and exude nothing but confidence. A brisk stride evoked that sense of strong urgency, and was nearly as fast as a sprint, while maintaining the dignity of the uniform.

 

Easton had to put his shoulder into Sam’s heavy wooden door to get it open, then he was hit with a hot wall of stink. Cigar smoke mixed with the vapor from whatever alcohol Sam had on special today, then it all coagulated with the ripe odor of more than a decade’s worth of men reveling inside. Sometimes the stench was so strong, he barely had the stomach to stay any longer than it took to wolf down his daily supper.

 

A quick scan of the room told him Ezekiel was the only threat, if the old sot could be called that. Stepping into the close room, Easton watched the man as he staggered toward a middle-aged fellow who sat at a nearby table, enjoying one of Sam’s famous steak dinners.

 

“You think you’re better’n me!” Ezekiel slurred, his eyelids drooping heavily. “Huh? You do, dontchya?”

 

The poor man appeared startled, then shifted his gaze away from Ezekiel, no doubt hoping he’d be left in peace if he ignored the drunk. No such luck. Ezekiel slammed his hands on the man’s table, making the plate — and the man — jump several inches.

 

“Enough of that, now,” Easton said quietly, but with authority. He’d found it to be far more effective than shouting.

 

Every living thing in the saloon froze, including Sam’s pet monkey, ChiChi. Every eye turned to the commander of the Mounties, who had a reputation for not tolerating nonsense. Ezekiel managed to pull himself upright and hung his head in shame. Without a word, he sulked over to Easton and mumbled something that sounded like an apology.

 

“Matthew, please escort Mr. Chambers back to the office so he can sleep it off,” Easton said, taking off his hat. “I’m going to grab a bite before I start my rounds.”

 

“Surprise, surprise,” Matthew teased as he collected Ezekiel and headed back to the office.

 

The moment the door closed against the brisk wind blowing, the familiar sounds of Sam’s Saloon resumed. Glasses clinked on the hardwood bar, men chatted and more than occasionally laughed, and ChiChi squeaked and chittered as she swung from the top of the bar mirror to a light fixture to an ornately carved cornice. She finally settled on the broad head of a stuffed grizzly bear hanging from the wall.

 

Easton had barely settled in at his regular table when someone approached. 

 

“What a way to start your shift, eh Commander?” 

 

Sam Bonney, the owner of the only saloon in Cougar Springs, settled across from him and smiled. Every day, Easton wondered what had led Sam to own a bar, and every day he was grateful for that decision. He’d never met a more contentious, down-to-earth, and caring saloon owner. 

 

“Is that a new dress, Sam?” he asked. “Color suits you.”

 

Sam made a show of blushing like a much younger woman, and smoothed her hands down the sides of her green silk dress. “This old thing? Actually, one of the maids at the hotel made it for me. I think she has a promising future as a seamstress, don’t you?”

 

Easton didn’t know about such things, but he agreed just the same. 

 

“Would you like to try today’s special, Commander? A fragrant beef Burgundy with roasted winter vegetables.”

 

“No thanks, Sam. Just my usual.” 

 

Sam chuckled and went to fetch his order. He couldn’t understand why she always tried to serve him some of her cook’s fancy food, when all he ever wanted was steak and potatoes. But she never failed to ask, which was the sign of a smart entrepreneur, as far as he was concerned.

 

Before he could even wonder where his lunch was, Sam set a loaded plate in front of him. As was his habit, he breathed in the scent of the rare steak and steaming baked potato, topped with a hunk of butter the size of a walnut. He smirked at the pile of Brussels sprouts nestled next to the steak. She knew he wouldn’t eat them, but she never failed to put something green on his plate. 

 

As he tucked in, Sam leaned forward. “So I hear I’m going to be losing your business very soon.”

 

Easton frowned as he chewed, wondering what she was going on about. “Huh?”

 

It was Sam’s turn to frown. “Well, your new wife will no doubt want to show off her cooking skills to her groom, don’t you think?”

 

Honestly, he’d never thought about it one way or the other. In fact, he’d spent the last few weeks doing his level best to not think about his bride at all. Every time he found his mind wandering toward what she might be like, he stopped himself and thought of something else. What he really wanted was a woman who could keep herself occupied — not hard to do in Cougar Springs — and leave him alone.

 

“Hmm…” he mused, then stuffed another hunk of meat in his mouth so he wouldn’t have to speak.

 

“Besides,” she added, leaning back as she watched him closely, “most brides aren’t keen on their new husbands preferring to spend time in a saloon instead of with them.”

 

Understanding dawned on him. He froze mid-chew and met Sam’s dancing eyes. She burst out laughing, clapping her hands in delight at his discomfort.

 

“Oh honey, everything is going to be different as soon as she arrives,” she said as she stood to get back to her duties. “Where you eat your meals is the least of your worries.”

 

Panic flared in Easton’s chest. It wasn’t a sensation he was used to, and to hide his distress he started rearranging everything on the table. His mind raced as he slid the salt and pepper shakers to the midpoint between the edge of his plate and the edge of the table. He wondered exactly what he’d gotten himself into as he used his knife to push the food into segregated piles. He fretted over how the whole crazy scheme would work out as he folded his napkin over and over until Sam laid her hand on his, stilling him.

 

“Easton, honey,” she said quietly, so no one else could hear. “Sometimes change is a good thing.”

 

Easton watched her walk away and didn’t believe a word she said.