Laurie Kingery - Mail Order Cowboy

Millicent turned to face Nicholas. “Before we say anything more, I feel compelled to point out that I’m merely the one who composed the advertisement. I assure you, it’s quite all right if you find you prefer another of them.”

So Miss Matthews had a sense of fair play and generosity. Nick liked that about her. But somehow he knew her suggestion was something he didn’t even want to consider. It was incomprehensible how he could sense that already, but there it was.

“I know you will find this difficult to believe, since we’ve only just met, and we really don’t know each other at all,” he said. “I can well understand that it appears I’m making a snap judgment, and perhaps I am, but I would like the opportunity to get to know you better. I—I find you very attractive indeed, Miss Matthews, and that’s the simple truth….”

makes her home in central Ohio, where she is a “Texan-in-exile.” Formerly writing as Laurie Grant for Harlequin Historical and other publishers, she is the author of eighteen previous books and the 1994 winner of a Readers’ Choice Award in the short historical category. She has also been nominated for Best First Medieval and Career Achievement in Western Historical Romance by RT Book Reviews. When not writing her historicals, she loves to travel, read, participate on Facebook and Shoutlife and write her blog on www.lauriekingery.com.

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What doth the Lord require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?

—Micah 6:8

To my wonderful editor, Melissa Endlich,

who always makes me strive to be the best writer I can be, and always, to my husband, Tom

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion

Simpson Creek, Texas, July 1865

“The problem, as I see it,” Millicent Matthews announced in her forthright way, looking around the edges of the quilt at the members of the Ladies Aid Society, “is that we unmarried ladies are likely to remain so, given the absolute lack of single men who’ve come home to Simpson Creek from the war. The few men who did return were already married, and while I’m very happy for their wives, of course—” she added quickly as one of the town’s matrons looked up “—the rest of us will have to leave or remain single unless Decisive Action is Taken.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Milly,” said her sister Sarah, staring down at the Wedding Ring pattern as if it held the answer to their dilemma. “Perhaps not all of our men are able to travel yet from wherever they were when the war ended. They might be recovering from wounds, or the effects of confinement in northern prisons…”

Milly felt a rush of compassion for Sarah, whom she knew was still holding out hope that her beau would yet return, despite the fact he had been reported missing in action late last year. Since then, they’d heard nothing more. “Sarah, it’s July,” she pointed out gently but firmly. “The war was over in April. We’ve seen the casualty lists. All the other Simpson Creek men have been accounted for, one way or the other. The ones who survived have managed to make it to Texas. If Jesse was still recovering elsewhere, surely he would have sent word by now.” She let the statement hang in the air.

Sarah’s gaze fell to her lap and her lip quivered. “I…I know you’re right, Milly. I just keep hoping…”

Across from them, Mrs. Detwiler pursed her lips.

Milly laid a hand comfortingly on her sister’s shoulder. She was sure the color of Sarah’s dove-gray dress was a concession to her uncertainty as to whether she was mourning or waiting.

Milly was just about to say “Jesse would want you to move on” when Mrs. Detwiler cleared her throat.

“We need to accept the lot in life that the Lord sees fit to give us,” the woman said heavily, clutching the mourning brooch on her bodice. “I lost my own dear George ten years ago, God rest his soul, and I have learned to resign myself to my widowhood, even—dare I say it—treasure my single state.” Her expression indicated Sarah would do well to be so wise.

“Mrs. Detwiler, I admire the way you’ve adapted to your loss,” Milly began tactfully, not wanting to offend the widow of the town’s previous preacher. “But you had many happy years with Mr. Detwiler, and raised several children.”

“Seven, to be exact.” Mrs. Detwiler sniffed, and raised her eyes heavenward.

“Seven,” Milly echoed. “But Sarah and I and several others here—” she saw furtive nods around the quilt frame “—are young, and have never been married. We’d like to become wives and raise children, too. And there are others who were widowed by the war and left with children to raise and land to work or businesses to manage. They need to find good husbands again.”

“In my opinion, you would do better to devote yourselves to prayer and good works, Miss Matthews, and let the good Lord send you a husband if He wishes you to have one.”

Milly could feel Sarah tensing beside her. Sarah never liked confrontations. But Milly had seen the spark of interest and approval in the eyes of half a dozen young ladies plying their needles on the quilt, and their silent support emboldened her.

“I agree that prayer and good works are important to every Christian, of course, and I have been praying about the matter. Sometimes I think the Lord helps those who help themselves.”

At this point Mrs. Detwiler cleared her throat again. Loudly. “I hardly think this is the time or place to discuss such a frivolous topic.” From her pocket, she pulled out a gold watch, a legacy of her dear departed George. “I must return home soon, and we have not yet discussed the raffle to be held for the Benefit of the Deserving Poor of San Saba County. If we don’t stop chattering and keep stitching, ladies, this quilt will not be ready to be raffled off at the event.”

Milly tucked an errant lock of dark hair that had escaped the neat knot at the nape of her neck and bit back a sigh of frustration. As president of the Ladies Aid Society, Mrs. Detwiler had an obligation to keep the meetings on track, but she suspected the widow was all too happy to have an excuse to stifle the discussion.

“You’re right, Mrs. Detwiler, of course. I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn,” she said in the meekest tone she could manage. “Perhaps it would be best to discuss this subject at another time, with only those concerned present. So why don’t the unmarried ladies who are interested meet back here again tomorrow, say at four o’clock? We’ll serve lemonade and cookies.”