Mail Order Jennifer Read online

“That old man?”

  “He’s a disgustingly rich old man.”

  “Please, Roseanne. What about our plans?” He stared into her beautiful face. Dark eyes, ebony hair and plump, kissable lips. He had been stepping out with this beauty for nearly four months and he was fast running out of time and patience.

  She had been putting him off, always haggling over setting a date for their wedding and now he knew why. She was waiting for a better offer. He had to have a wife, or he stood to lose the ranch he had virtually run singlehandedly for the past five years. He’d been told he had twelve months in which to find a wife or the ranch went to a distant relative who didn’t even live in the West. Why would a sane man put such a condition in his Will?

  Roseanne had been eager for him to carry out the terms of the Will in the beginning of their courtship. Greedy, conniving woman, she had been prepared to marry him until someone richer came along.

  He’d had a lucky escape keeping himself out of her clutches. Common sense told him this, but he couldn’t lose the ranch. Now he only had a few weeks left in which to find a replacement bride. Then he must stay married to her for twelve months.

  “You know how much the ranch means to me. I’m begging you. Marry me, then after twelve months we can get an annulment and you can marry Norman.”

  “No.” She stamped her foot. “Some other woman will grab him.”

  “I’ll sue you for false pretenses.”

  “Go on.” She stood with hands on her hips and stared him down. “Try it and I’ll fight you, well, Norman’s money will fight you and by the time everything is settled, your distant relative will have himself a ranch. You’re a good-looking man, you’ll find someone else.”

  “Where? How? I’ve only got a few weeks left.”

  “Well, find yourself a desperate mail-order bride.”

  He was tempted to grab this selfish woman by the scruff of the neck and shake her until her teeth rattled. He wouldn’t of course, having never believed in hurting women. Swinging on his heel he left the lobby, wondering why smoke wasn’t pouring out of his ears because he was so mad.

  A mail-order bride? What a damn fool notion. He tossed up between going to the nearest saloon and getting drunk or riding home. Well, it wouldn’t be his home for much longer.

  Cursing under his breath, he strode toward the livery to collect his horse. He took a short cut down a side street. The quicker he left here the better before he did something he’d be sorry for later.

  Maybe he could contest the Will. Why hadn’t he thought of this earlier? He wouldn’t have time now, although the Will was airtight according to his Uncle’s attorney. At least he could have tried to have it overturned. How could Uncle Bob make such a stupid stipulation? Find a wife in twelve months and stay with her for twelve months.

  Discretion Matrimonial Agency. The sign jumped out at him. He stopped. No, he couldn’t humiliate and demean himself by going to such a place. “Do you want to lose your ranch?” whispered a little voice inside his head.

  Hesitating, he licked suddenly dry lips. His pulse beat at breakneck speed, his heart pounded. Gritting his teeth, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. A young woman with glasses perched on the tip of her nose glanced up.

  He cleared his throat.

  “Can I help you, cowboy?”

  “I need a wife.”

  “Oh? What kind of wife?”

  Surely this young thing didn’t run a matrimonial agency. She looked about sixteen. What would she know about affairs of the heart?

  “Any kind, but quick.”

  “Well…”

  “My name is Clay Moore. I own a ranch a few miles out of Laramie.”

  “We’ll have to check your references.”

  “The sheriff here in Laramie will vouch for me.”

  “We usually need a reference from a member of the clergy.”

  “Well, I’m not a regular church goer. What about the Bank Manager?”

  He watched her writing everything down.

  “How old are you?”

  “I’m thirty-three.”

  “Mm, six feet tall. Green eyes and dark brown hair?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Have you ever been married?”

  “No.” He almost snapped the word out. He would have been more than happy to marry Roseanne. She certainly appealed to him, whether it was love or not he didn’t know. Never would now. Marriage to her meant he would get the ranch. Having her share his bed would have been a bonus. Treacherous women. No wonder he had steered clear of them for years.

  “Children?”

  “What!”

  “Do you want children?”

  “No.” That’s one thing he didn’t want, not after what had happened to little Laura. He would never forgive himself for causing the three-year old’s death. His brother and sister-in-law never forgave him, and he couldn’t blame them.

  “Look.” He barely held his impatience at bay. “I need a wife for twelve months. I don’t care how old she is, what she looks like, as long as she’s respectable, single and with no children.”

  “Mr. Moore, you sound desperate.”

  “I am. I’ve got less than three months to find a wife or I lose my ranch.”

  “Oh.” Understanding seemed to finally dawn on her.

  “You’re not in the market for a temporary husband by any chance?”

  She giggled. “No, I’m on holiday from a finishing school in Boston. My aunt owns this agency.”

  “Shouldn’t I be speaking with her then?”

  “No. I’m looking after things here until she gets back from Denver.”

  “All right. Can you find me a woman?”

  “I sure can. Auntie is thinking of opening up another office in Denver.”

  He didn’t care where she operated from as long as she could get him a wife and be quick about it.

  ~*~

  Jennifer couldn’t sleep, the worry about what would become of them once Abby and Murray left, combined with the loss of Samuel, weighed heavily on her. Maybe if she had a drink of milk it would help.

  Sam whimpered and she stroked his back until he settled down, then she slid out of bed and padded out to the kitchen and lit the lamp. The paper Abby had brought back from the mercantile still lay open on the matrimonial agency advertisement. A pencil and paper sat next to it. Abby knew she came out here if she couldn’t sleep, which was most nights. Her friend sure was sneaky.

  She had to do something, otherwise she and the baby would be homeless. She had been living off the generosity of her friends. Maybe she could ask Mr. Julian for money. Samuel’s life must be worth something. He had been a good husband and she had loved him, even though it was a comfortable, rather than passion filled marriage.

  “Do it Jennifer Bennett. As long as you find a decent man you couldn’t be worse off than you are now.” What could she say?

  Dear Discretion Agency,

  My name is Jennifer Bennett. I am twenty-two years old and I have a son who is ten months old. My husband recently passed away and I need a respectable, God-fearing man to marry me. I have lived and worked on a ranch. I am a good cook and housekeeper.

  I am five feet two inches in height with blue eyes and light brown hair. My husband always said I was beautiful, but he was biased. I am certainly not ugly.

  I can provide character references from my local church and other upstanding members of the town where I live.

  My need is urgent, as I am staying with friends for the time being. I need somewhere decent to bring up my son. I would be prepared to live in town, but I would prefer a ranch.

  Yours faithfully,

  Jennifer Bennett

  C/- Raeburn Mercantile.

  She thought it safer to address it there in case Murray and Abby had left before a reply came.

  ~*~

  Three weeks later the mercantile owner had a letter for her.

  My Dear Mrs. Ben
nett,

  I have read your letter and your needs appear to match mine. I live on a ranch a couple of hours out of Laramie. I am aged thirty-three and have never been married. Now that I have built up my ranch, I would like to share it with a woman. I have no objections to your child. I like children and would one day like to have some of my own.

  The agency has checked my references and have found them beyond reproach. I am a regular worshipper at my local church. Perhaps you could write to me again and tell me more about yourself.

  Yours faithfully,

  Mr. Ralph…

  She couldn’t decipher the surname as the ink appeared to have been smudged. The first couple of letters were indecipherable. Maybe an ‘O’ or was it a ‘D’? Dalymoore perhaps?

  There was a note enclosed from the agency saying they had checked the applicant’s references and found them to be acceptable.

  She showed the letter to Abby. “What do you think?”

  “He sounds nice. A pity about half his name being unreadable, but it doesn’t matter. Write back to the agency they’ll know who he is?”

  Over the next month they exchanged another letter, and Jennifer was warming to the idea of becoming this man’s wife. He sounded gracious and gentlemanly and very interested in the baby. If she accepted his proposal of marriage, he promised to pick them up at the stage depot in Laramie.

  She wrote back and told him she did indeed accept his offer, and would he let her know the most convenient time for him to pick her up. Knowing how busy it could get on a ranch she wanted to give him some flexibility.

  “I think he sounds suitable for you. You’ll have to stop overnight at Dearmont, but that is good, accommodation is included in the price of your ticket. It will be easier with Sam. You don’t want him too tired and grizzly when you meet this man for the first time.”

  “I haven’t got much money so I was thinking I might go over and see the Julians. You know they never even gave me the wages they owed Samuel.”

  “Low down skunks. I’ll come with you to make sure they don’t bully you. What a hypocrite that woman is. Singing in the choir with a holier-than-though expression on her face, knowing what they did to you,” Abby raged. “After what Samuel did for them, you’d think they would be bending over backward to help you.”

  “Thanks, Abby. I could do with the support. Thanks for everything you and Murray have done for us. I’ll never be able to repay you.”

  “Just lead a happy and fulfilling life, that will be all the payment I need.”

  They hugged each other. In another two weeks Amy and Murray would be setting off on their journey to Canada.

  Abby hitched up the buckboard while Jennifer prepared for the trip out to the Julian ranch. It was soul destroying for them to have thought so little of Samuel and his sacrifice, that they couldn’t even be bothered to check on his widow and baby’s welfare.

  She was glad Abby’s buckboard had a canvas roof on it. She didn’t want Sam’s sensitive skin to get burned. Being fair herself she tried to shade her face as much as possible and always looked after it by rubbing a mixture of honey and lavender cream on her skin morning and night. It was the one luxury she allowed herself.

  Abby drove and Jennifer sat next to her with Sam sitting on her knee. He gurgled happily, his little belly was full, and he liked being outside in the fresh air.

  “I’ll be sorry to leave all of this,” Jennifer said.

  “Yes, me too. I really wish you could come to Canada with us. We’ll have to try and keep in contact.”

  “I’d like that, but until you and Murray get settled somewhere, I won’t even know where to write.”

  “True, but I can write to you care of the Laramie mercantile as soon as I get an address.”

  “That would be good.”

  Trees lined the road leading to the Julian ranch. A soft breeze whispered through the leaves and Jennifer’s heart ached for what might have been. She knew Samuel wouldn’t condemn her for trying to make a new life for her and their baby. Life out west was hard for a lone woman, even worse for a widow with a baby.

  Chapter Four

  Abby pulled the buckboard up outside the imposing double-storied ranch house and tied the horse to the hitching rail. Not that it would wander off, too lazy for that. It had only two speeds walking and slow walking. Abby carried Sam to leave Jennifer’s hands free.

  “Now you be firm. They owe you money and you want it.”

  With trembling hands Jennifer knocked at the front door. This was one confrontation she wasn’t looking forward to, but for Sam’s sake she had to do it.

  The housekeeper opened the door. “What are you doing here, Jennifer?”

  “I’ve come to see Mrs. Julian, or Mr. Julian if he’s home.”

  “I was sorry to hear about Samuel. I wanted to go to the funeral, but Mrs. Julian kept me too busy.”

  “It’s all right, I understand.” In a way she did. The housekeeper would be in fear of losing her job if she defied her boss. She couldn’t believe how she had ever thought Mrs. Julian to be a good person. She had never liked her ruthless husband, few people did, although many feared him.

  They followed the housekeeper into a small sitting room kept for unimportant visitors like them. They waited for a couple of minutes before Mrs. Julian swept in.

  “Oh, Jennifer, what are you doing here?”

  “She’s come to collect the money you owe her,” Abby said.

  “We don’t owe her anything.”

  “Yes, you do. Samuel’s last month of wages.”

  “It’s too late,” the woman snapped. “You should have asked for it sooner.”

  “Asked for it?” Abby yelled, causing Sam to start. “She shouldn’t have had to ask for it.”

  “This is none of your business.” Mrs. Julian gave her a haughty stare.

  “I’m making it my business.” Abby’s voice became even louder. “You owe her the money, and she wants it.”

  “Show them out.” Mrs. Julian threw the words at the housekeeper.

  “We aren’t going anywhere until you give Jennifer her money.”

  “Leave this house.”

  “No,” Jennifer found her voice. “I’m entitled to it.”

  “What on earth is going on in here? All this yelling.” Mr. Julian lumbered into the room.

  “They won’t leave,” his wife screeched.

  “We will if you give Jennifer the money she’s owed. In fact, you owe her more than Samuel’s wages. He saved your son’s life.”

  Sam started whimpering.

  “It was your brat of a son that caused Samuel’s death,” Abby yelled. “Are you trying to tell us you consider your son’s life is worth nothing?” Abby glared at them.

  Mr. Julian’s fat jowls wobbled.

  “You tell me why I shouldn’t stand up in church this Sunday and tell the whole congregation how you’ve treated the widow of the man who died saving your son’s life?”

  Mr. Julian’s fat lips thinned; the veins bulged in his neck. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Try me.”

  “We have influence in this town, and you’ll live to regret this, this outrage.”

  “Well, I’m leaving Raeburn in a couple of weeks for Canada, and Jennifer is going too, so we couldn’t care less what you say.”

  Jennifer was so shocked she didn’t know what to say, so she held the baby tightly and let Abby do the talking.

  “If you want us to go quietly. Give us the money.”

  “Why you….” Old man Julian huffed and puffed.

  “Oh, give them the money and be done with them,” his wife said, obviously not wanting to be embarrassed in front of the entire church congregation.

  Muttering a swear word he then growled. “All right.” Stomping off he returned a couple of minutes later and thrust twenty dollars into Jennifer’s hand.

  “It’s not enough,” Abby said.

  “It will have t
o do,” Jennifer said. “I can’t bear to stay in this place any longer, it’s making me feel ill. She stuffed the money into her reticule.

  “Well, vomit all over the floor if you like, no, the mat over there would be better,” Abby said.

  “I’m warning you,” Mr. Julian snarled. “I’ll get some of the men to physically remove you.”

  “We’re going. Come along Abby,” Jennifer said, fighting back tears. She didn’t want to give this contemptible couple the satisfaction of seeing her cower. Inwardly she was broken. Samuel’s life was worth next to nothing to them.

  With their heads held high, and clutching the baby, Jennifer marched out of the room with her friend a step or two behind.

  “Those miserable varmints,” Abby said as they left.

  Jennifer climbed on to the buckboard seat. “How can they sleep in their beds at night after being so mean and awful.”

  “They’ve got no conscience. And to think Mrs. Julian has the cheek to sing in the church choir, standing there with that pious expression on her ugly face.”

  “I know.” Jennifer shuddered. “She’s never once spoken to me even though she must have seen me there.”

  “She saw you. The woman would have to be blind not to. Everyone knows how horrible they are, but they’re wealthy and powerful and many people are scared to fall foul of them.”

  ~*~

  Clay strode into the mercantile. His heart was so laden down with despair he wondered why it didn’t drop into his boots. Two weeks left. He hadn’t received one letter from the agency. He couldn’t believe it. Surely, he wasn’t such a bad prospect in the husband stakes.

  Maybe he shouldn’t have been so honest. Dare he go to the local cat house and find some desperate soiled dove who would marry him for a price. He shuddered with distaste.

  There was nothing in the Will stating she had to live with him, only stay married for twelve months. A discrete marriage in name only to one of the soiled doves - he couldn’t believe he was contemplating such a thing. He would have to make it clear this was a marriage of convenience, in name only and it would be annulled after twelve months. To safeguard himself, he would have to get it put in writing.

  Dear Lord, please help me. He sent up a desperate silent prayer. I can’t lose the ranch. To become a cowboy and end up following the grub-line instead of having his own spread. He couldn’t do it.