Christine Johnson - The Marriage Barter

Mission: Children

Rounding up a gaggle of orphans isn’t Wyatt Reed’s specialty. Still, the bounty hunter is being paid handsomely to bring these children from Evans Grove to the next town. And then he sets eyes on one pigtailed, pint-sized complication, and the beautiful widow who needs his help.

Charlotte Miller’s marriage lacked love, but at least it gave her the right to adopt little Sasha. Now without a husband, she can’t be a mother. Wyatt agrees to be her groom-for-hire—only until Sasha is hers. But the man who couldn’t wait to leave town is finding unexpected reasons to stay…and glimpsing a future surpassing any fortune he’s known.

“I won’t lose my daughter.

I’ll do anything to keep her.”

Wyatt flinched and looked away. “I’m sorry. I tried my best.”

“I know.” Charlotte boldly grasped his arm, forcing his gaze back to her. “Thank you.” The time had come. “Will you help me again?”

Confusion clouded his expression. “How?”

She opened her bag and pulled out the wallet. “Charles left me some money. Whatever Mr. Baxter paid you, I’ll pay double.”

He pulled back. “It’s not that simple.”

“Of course it is.”

“No, it’s not. The Orphan Salvation Society has an agreement with Greenville. If the judge rules that the children must go to Greenville, then I have no choice but to take them.”

Charlotte shook her head. He didn’t understand. “I’m not talking about all the children. I’m talking about Sasha.”

Instead of walking away or shouting at her, he spoke firmly. “There’s nothing I can do to help you keep Sasha.”

“Yes, there is.”

He stared at her. “No, there’s not.”

“You can marry me.”

CHRISTINE JOHNSON

A small-town girl, Christine Johnson has lived in every corner of Michigan’s Lower Peninsula. She loves to travel and learn about the places she visits. That puts museums high on her list of “must see” places and helps satisfy her lifetime fascination with history.

A double finalist for RWA’s Golden Heart award, she enjoys creating stories that bring history to life while exploring the characters’ spiritual journey—and putting them in peril! Though Michigan is still her home base, she and her ship captain husband also spend time exploring the Florida Keys and other fascinating locations.

Christine loves to hear from readers. Contact her through her website at www.christineelizabethjohnson.com.

The Marriage Barter

Christine Johnson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Special thanks and acknowledgment

to Christine Johnson for her contribution

to the Orphan Train miniseries.

And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.

—Romans 8:28

For those who’ve lost earthly parents,

may Our Heavenly Father hold you close.

My deepest gratitude to fellow authors, Allie Pleiter and Linda Ford, whose gracious guidance and assistance helped me through many a rough patch. You taught me so much!

Also, thanks go to Elizabeth Mazer,

whose insights opened my eyes to new possibilities. It’s been a pleasure working with you.

Above all, the glory goes to God,

without whom there would be no story.

For out of weakness, He brings strength.

Contents

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

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

Evans Grove, Nebraska

Late April, 1875

Get in, do the job and get out.

It sounded simple, but Wyatt Reed knew that “simple” jobs seldom turned out that way.

All he had to do was escort a bunch of orphans to Greenville. That’s what the town’s wealthiest citizen, Felix Baxter, had told him. Apparently, the kids had gotten off in Evans Grove when robbers held up their train. They were supposed to continue on to Greenville the next day. Two weeks had passed, and still no sign of the children.

Baxter had sent telegrams and only got excuses. The town was fed up with waiting, and wanted the children now. That’s where Wyatt came in.

The thing he couldn’t understand was why. From what he could tell, the orphans had been rounded up out of Eastern cities and sent west by one of those do-gooder charities, the Orphan Salvation Society. Families were found for the children along the way, and Greenville was the final stop. They’d only get the worst of the lot, the children that hadn’t been taken in anywhere else. Logic said this would be a rough bunch of kids, yet Baxter, claiming to speak for the town, had pounded his fist on his desk when demanding they come to Greenville as promised. The town wanted those children badly—too badly.

It made no sense, but Wyatt wasn’t hired to ask questions. He was a tracker. He found what needed finding, and he wasn’t about to turn down the kind of money Baxter had spread out in front of him.

Get in, do the job and get out.

With luck, he’d finish before the catch in this supposedly simple job reared its head. If not, he’d hightail it out of Evans Grove on his trusted mount, Dusty.

Wyatt dismounted in front of the hotel, his bum knee stiff after the twelve-mile ride from Greenville, and surveyed his surroundings. Baxter said he’d find the orphans here. The town was quiet, cozy, the kind of place where everyone knew everyone. No place for him.

He could spot a few signs of last month’s dam break that he’d read about in the newspapers. Water stains marked the wood siding of the hotel at porch height. The lower floor must have escaped flooding. The front door stood open and a couple of gnarled old men sat on the bench outside spitting into a cracked chamber pot that served as a spittoon. Otherwise, the place looked deserted.

“Hotel open?” he asked. Locating eight missing orphans would take more than a couple hours. Any hitch, and he’d need a room.

The men on the porch eyed him warily before the one with a mangled ear managed to grunt in the affirmative.

“Thank you.” Wyatt tipped a finger to his well-worn Stetson. “Got a town hall?”

The cabbage-eared man pointed north, across the street and toward a grove of hackberry trees. Beyond them stood a single-story building large enough to house a meeting room. Must be the place, but would the mayor be there at four-thirty in the afternoon? In towns this small, the mayor usually worked his business by day and officiated in the evening.

He absently patted his ill-tempered Arabian. The horse nipped at his hand as if to tell Wyatt that he should settle them both for the night, but he wanted to see what he was up against. When a boy came bounding out of the hotel, eager to set Wyatt and Dusty up with quarters, Wyatt let him lead the horse to the livery but told the lad he’d register for a room later. For now, he had business to attend to.