More than a Pretty Face (A Harvey House Brides Novella)

Karen Witemeyer

Description

1902 Gainesville, TexasRosalind Kemp became a Harvey Girl five years ago to get away from Texas and the repercussions of a youthful indiscretion. When an unexpected assignment lands her in Gainesville, she hides behind fake spectacles and strict professionalism to discourage male attention. Yet not even a prudish disguise can dissuade local attorney Caleb Durrington from pursuing her. His gentle, persistent wooing tempts her to let down her guard, but when her secret is exposed, will Caleb turn away from her shame? Or will his love give her the courage to finally face her greatest folly?More Than a Pretty Face is a sweet novella from historical romance author, Karen Witemeyer.

Informations

• Publié par: Baker Publishing Group
• Date de parution: 31 mars 2020
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781493417100
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Cover
Books by Karen Witemeyer
A Tailor-Made Bride
Head in the Clouds
To Win Her Heart
Short-Straw Bride
Stealing the Preacher
Full Steam Ahead
A Worthy Pursuit
No Other Will Do
Heart on the Line
More Than Meets the Eye
More Than Words Can Say
H ANGER ’ S H ORSEMEN
At Love’s Command
N OVELLAS
A Cowboy Unmatched from A Match Made in Texas: A Novella Collection
Love on the Mend: A Full Steam Ahead Novella from With All My Heart Romance Collection
The Husband Maneuver: A Worthy Pursuit Novella from With This Ring? A Novella Collection of Proposals Gone Awry
Worth the Wait: A L ADIES OF H ARPER ’ S S TATION Novella
The Love Knot: A L ADIES OF H ARPER ’ S S TATION Novella from Hearts Entwined: A Historical Romance Novella Collection
Gift of the Heart from Christmas Heirloom Novella Collection
More Than a Pretty Face from Serving Up Love: A Four-in-One Harvey House Brides Collection
Title Page
Copyright Page
© 2019 by Karen Witemeyer
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Ebook edition created 2019
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data for Serving Up Love is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4934-1710-0
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by Koechel Peterson & Associates, Inc., Minneapolis, Minnesota/Jon Godfredson
Author is represented by Books & Such Literary Agency.
Dedication
To Bonnie and Sherryl
The details of this story would not have been possible without your help. The tour of Gainesville’s Santa Fe Depot and Harvey House that you arranged allowed me to step back in time and into my heroine’s shoes. Sherryl—you were a font of local historic knowledge, and the numerous photos and documents you provided made research a breeze. Bonnie—without you, this trip wouldn’t have happened. From our time at the museum, to the lunch we shared, to the wonderful driving tour of the area’s historic homes, I couldn’t have had a better day.
Thank you both.
Contents
Cover
Books by Karen Witemeyer
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Epigraph
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
Epilogue
Sneak Peek of At Love’s Command by Karen Witemeyer
About the Author
Back Ads
Epigraph
Stand fast therefore in the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free, and be not entangled again with the yoke of bondage.
—Galatians 5:1
Chapter One

G AINESVILLE , T EXAS 1902
“I’m not going to marry her, Mother.”
Caleb Durrington bit the inside of his cheek to keep the rest of the words piling up on his tongue from escaping. She meant well. He knew that. But his mother’s constant harping irritated him worse than a stone in his shoe.
Estella Durrington frowned at her son in a way that managed to convey both disappointment and determination in the same expression. She was formidable. An essential trait for putting up with an ornery cuss like his father for thirty years. Caleb should have known she wouldn’t let a little thing like his personal wishes keep her from arranging his happiness.
“Roberta Fletcher is a lovely young woman,” his mother insisted, eyeing him over her teacup as they sat in the fancy parlor she’d recently had redesigned in shades of peacock blue and cream. Caleb hadn’t even known the color peacock blue existed. And cream should be whipped and served on pie, as far as he was concerned.
Dad never would have sat in a chair covered in flowers and squiggly paisley shapes, crotchety cowboy that he’d been even after making his fortune during the cattle boom. But then, he’d never have lived in a house in town either. No, Mother’s purchase of this Queen Anne-style abode had been the fulfillment of a desire long held in check by a no-frills man who’d insisted on utility over ornamentation. That, and an escape from all the memories of the man she’d loved. They might not have seen eye-to-eye on much, but they had agreed on what mattered most—loving each other and loving the son they’d brought into the world.
“Are you listening to me, Caleb?” The needling question jabbed through his wandering thoughts.
“Yes, Mother.”
She raised a doubt-filled brow but advanced with her campaign anyway. “Roberta comes from a good family and possesses a sweet disposition. She’s lovely to look at and, from what I hear, is adored by the children she teaches in Sunday school. She’d make a wonderful mother.”
Caleb shot her a warning glance. Pushing prospective brides at him was one thing, but manufacturing children for him to sire was going too far.
A fact she must have realized, for she gave up a couple inches of ground and reconfigured her troops, setting her teacup in its saucer and shifting her legs to the other side of her chair before returning to the offensive. “For heaven’s sake, Caleb. You and Bobbie grew up together. You’re friends.” She wagged a finger at him before he could even think about opening his mouth. “Don’t deny it.”
He held up his palms. “I’m not.”
That soothed a few of the ruffles in her feathers. “Good. So we agree. She’s perfect for you.”
Caleb refrained from sighing. Barely. He also refrained from growling, which was the bigger accomplishment, since he felt like a cougar backed onto a narrow rock ledge. “We agree that she is the perfect friend for me,” he conceded, praying his mother would accept that as sufficient.
Her cup and saucer jerked all the way down to the tabletop. “You need more than a friend. You need a wife.” Her eyes measured him, making him feel like a kid being asked if he’d washed behind his ears. “You’re twenty-eight, Caleb. Your father and I had already been married for a full year by the time he was that age. What are you waiting for?”
The right woman.
“School is behind you, your law practice is on solid footing. Nothing stands in the way of matrimony except your stubbornness. Roberta Fletcher would make a lovely bride and a supportive helpmeet. There is no one better suited to you.”
He could think of someone . . . but his mother’s shrill tone cut off that thought as if she’d seen it materializing inside his head.
“What could you possibly find unacceptable about Roberta?”
“Nothing!” He lurched to his feet. “Nothing’s wrong with Bobbie. She’s everything you said. But she’s like a little sister to me. There’s no spark between us.”
“Successful marriages need more than sparks, Caleb.” Mother slowly rose to her feet, her gaze never leaving his face. “Passion won’t get you through the hard times. You need mutual respect, commitment, and love. There is no better basis for love than a strong friendship. Your father might have goaded my temper more than any man alive, but he was also my dearest, most trusted friend. Don’t discount friendship because it seems less exciting than the flash of infatuation.”
Caleb stilled his pacing. She wasn’t wrong. He’d seen the relationship his parents shared. A lasting bond had held them together, one based on something much deeper than physical attraction. But he also knew where they had started. It had been one of his father’s favorite stories.
“You’re right, Mother. Love and friendship do go hand in hand. But friendship by itself is not enough. Dad always said lightning struck him when he saw you at that church social back in ’71. And even with your uppity ways, he knew no other woman would do.”
A blush rose to his mother’s cheeks. “I was never uppity .”
“Not where it counted.” Caleb grinned. “After all, a truly uppity woman never would have married a land-poor cowhand with nothing to offer but dreams of a brighter future and a heart that beat for her alone.”
A wistful look softened his mother’s face.
“Did you know that he credited his ranching success to you?”
“Me?” Her chin jerked up. “Heavens, what did I do? That man earned every penny he made by the sweat of his brow. I’ve never met a man who worked harder.”
Caleb set a gentle hand on his mother’s shoulder. “He told me once that it was your belief he could better himself that gave him the courage to face hardship head-on. He told me to find a woman who challenged me in the same way.” His arm fell back to his side. “Bobbie’s a sweetheart, but there’s no lightning when she looks my way, and no challenge stirs within me when we talk.” Unlike another lady of his more recent acquaintance. “It’s not enough. I want what you had with Dad. And I’ll find it in my own time and in my own way.”
His mother blinked at him once before the softness in her features hardened with purpose once again. “If your father trusted me to shape his future, Caleb, you should too.”
Not wanting to argue with her anymore—there was no point, since neither of them was going to change their mind—he sketched a small bow. “Thanks for the tea, Mother. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“But you barely took more than a sip. And you didn’t even touch the cookies I set out. They’re your favorite. Oatmeal.”
A twinge of guilt plucked his heart, but he ignored it. He’d visited just as he’d promised. And while he did love a well-baked oatmeal cookie, he was in the mood for something sweeter. Something served by a woman who’d presented him with a constant challenge since the day he’d met her at the Harvey House lunchroom two months ago.
“I’m going to stop by the depot and grab a piece of pie.” Av