Unforeseen Match

Regina Jennings

Description

Hoping to earn an honest wage on his way to the land rush, Clayton ends up on Grace's doorstep, lured by a classified ad. He may have signed on for more than he expected though--and he may have found the one woman who can keep him from moving on.

Informations

• Publié par: Baker Publishing Group
• Date de parution: 06 mai 2014
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781441263391
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

© 2014 by Regina Jennings
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 2014
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.
ISBN 978-1-44126-339-1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Excerpt from Sixty Acres and a Bride, L ADIES OF C ALDWELL C OUNTY #1
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
About the Author
Books by Regina Jennings
Back Ads
Chapter 1
D RY G ULCH , T EXAS L ATE S UMMER 1893
Grace O’Malley heaved her last box of belongings onto the table and peered inside, forgetting it did her little good. With her failing vision she could see the curves of the book spines, but the gold lettering was lost to her.
A shadow passed through her light. Her friend Emilie stepped near. “Your books? Where do you want us to put them?”
Grace trailed her fingers over the leather covers. “I no longer have any use for them, do I? Give them to your children. In a few years they may enjoy reading them.”
“Oh, I hate for you to—” Emilie snuffled, then spoke with determined brightness. “Thank you. They’ll cherish them.”
Grace turned to where she thought the three other women stood. “What is left to do before this place is suitable? Should I scrub the basin?”
“I’ve already done that,” Hannah answered, hesitation corking her voice.
“Then I’ll make the bed.” Grace inched forward, hands outstretched. Her shoe bounced against the chair leg. She grasped the back, reoriented herself, and set forth again to the lone bedroom.
“Honestly, Grace. Why don’t you scoot on out?” The broom whisks paused for Mrs. Stevenson’s scolding. “You’ll only be in the way.”
Grace’s neck tensed. A year ago she could’ve been considered the most capable woman in Dry Gulch. Now she was less help than a child. Well, she had to rectify that situation.
She clasped the metal footboard of the bed and swept her hand over the cool feather tick until she found the stack of folded linens. She fingered the pile. A sheet on top. No, two cotton sheets, then a well-worn quilt. Leaving a sheet on the bed, she moved the pile of blankets to set them on the dressing table, but when she released them, they dropped to the floor.
“My dust pile!” Mrs. Stevenson erupted in coughing. “And those blankets were just laundered.”
Grace rubbed her own itchy nose. “You moved the dressing table. How was I supposed to know?”
“Well, I had to sweep beneath it.”
Quick steps neared. A muffled pounding and more dust. “Don’t worry. We’ll air them out and they’ll be as good as new.” Hannah spoke in the same patient tones she used for the students at the school where she and Grace taught together— had taught together before the darkness stole Grace’s profession. “Let me help you make the bed.”
“Or even better,” Emilie said, “I’ll help and Grace can rest.”
“Rest?” Grace crossed her arms. “I’m not tired. I’m not sick. I canna sit in a rocker for the next fifty years, waiting for me life to end.”
Silence. She cast about, trying to catch a glimpse of a face but couldn’t land on anything recognizable. Were they watching her? More likely they were exchanging significant glances, shaking their heads, and communicating pity right in front of her because she couldn’t see it.
“If that’s how it’s to be.” She felt her way past the bed and grasped the rocking chair. Benny, her new puppy, yipped as she stomped past. “I’m going outside.” She shoved the rocker before her, enjoying the bustle as the ladies jumped out of her way. Wrestling it past them, she picked up speed until it crashed into the doorframe. The gasps behind her only encouraged her recklessness. She might not be able to see, but she could still make decisions for herself. Even blind, she was a force to be reckoned with.
Finally the chair cleared the threshold, and the punishing heat of late August assaulted her. From the angle of the sun, she assumed the house faced south. Were there any trees on the plot? Doubtful, knowing the ruggedness of the canyon lands. She spun the rocker to face away from the house and sat, prepared to bake in the dry shade of the porch. Prepared to pretend she liked it.
And the pretending had only begun.
Grace hadn’t needed the school board to tell her she couldn’t teach anymore. She’d known before they had. And since Dry Gulch hadn’t grown as predicted, they could do without two teachers. Grace wouldn’t be replaced. Merely removed.
What stung was their practical solution to her upkeep. Unlike Hannah Taylor, Grace didn’t have any family in town, and boarding her in the homes of her students inconvenienced the parents, especially with the additional burden of her blindness. They needed a place to stash her—like a dilapidated homestead somewhere out of the way, but close enough they could administer charity. Naturally they expected her to sell it, take the money, and move somewhere more convenient, if only she knew where. The young schoolteacher with her whole life ahead had been set aside, but she wouldn’t go quietly.
“I think you’ll want to keep this book.” Emilie laid a heavy block on her lap.
Her Bible. Grace wiped the dust from it. She hadn’t picked it up since the encroaching darkness had obscured its words, and although she would never again be able to read it, she had to admit the weight of it in her hands comforted her.
She had her faith, her intelligence, and her health. Surely her life still counted for something.
Grace rocked furiously, her mind searching for any small pocket of hope that had been left to her. “Did you say there’s a barn?”
Emilie’s skirt swished as she turned. “Yes, and a ramshackle mess it is. I don’t know how Clara Danvers kept any cattle in it.”
“If I set out straight from here will I find it?”
“Don’t you dare! You could wander away and never be found.”
Grace stopped rocking. “Sooner or later I have to take care of myself.”
“Then what excuse would I have to visit my friend?”
From inside the cabin Mrs. Stevenson called out, “While I’m thinking of it, don’t fire up your stove. This cabin could go up like a tin of paraffin and you might not be able to find your way out.”
Grace jutted her jaw forward. “I’m not to cook. I’m not to leave the cabin. Next thing I know you’ll be telling me to stay in me chair unless I have someone aholding me hand.”
Another silence. Grace fidgeted, full of energy and no place to expend it. “Don’t fash yourself over me. I won’t be on your charity long. I’m mulling over a plan.”
“A plan?” Emilie’s voice held a smile as big as the canyon. “Do share.”
Grace expelled the breath she’d held. “Well, it’s a mite personal, but since you asked, I’d like a husband, and I’d like to find one while I still have enough sight left to see his face.”
A shadow moved between her and the light, too tall to be Mrs. Stevenson. “Your sight could return at any time, Grace. God could work a miracle. Don’t despair.”
“I’m not despairing, Hannah. I’m planning ahead. While I’m grateful that the school board bequeathed me this homestead, I don’t relish the idea of living alone here for the rest of my life. A husband would be useful.”
“Possibly, but no guarantee.” Emilie’s wry smile flashed but a moment before Grace lost sight of it again. With a house filled to the brim with children and a doting husband, Emilie couldn’t complain over much.
“Don’t you have a brother?” Hannah came nearer. “He’d want to know about your ailment.”
Grace searched until a portion of Hannah’s concerned face appeared in the fuzzy circle. “Before I’d apply to my brother for help, I’d take a husband on the luck o’ the draw.”
“I don’t know that anyone is raffling off men.” Emilie straightened Grace’s collar.
Grace slapped her hand away. “Not a contest. I was thinking about an advertisement. I’ve heard that men do such things. They have land, but want a bride. Why couldn’t I do the same? I already have the homestead.”
“This homestead brought luck to Clara Danvers. No reason it couldn’t happen again,” Hannah murmured.
“And with the Cherokee Strip land run next month, there’ll be a plethora of land-hungry men passing through,” Emilie added. “Dry Gulch will be crammed with potential husbands who lost out in the race.”
“What will they think of her condition?” Mrs. Stevenson asked. “And how could she marry a perfect stranger?”
The three figures had converged before her, their forms creating a dark block. “If the stranger is perfect, he won’t be too disappointed that my eyesight is failing. I still have much to offer.”
But no one spoke up to affirm her statement. Grace’s grip on her Bible tightened.
Emilie recovered first. “If you place an advertisement, be sure to mention your charming Irish lilt.”
“And your stunning beauty,” Hannah said.
“And the homestead. After all, that’s what those men are really after,” Mrs. Stevenson said.
Grace turned her face to the east. The golden light blurred what lay beyond, but she’d chosen to believe her land overlooked a beautiful canyon, with multicolored layers as far as healthy eyes could see. “If the farm is what they’re after, then it’d better be in tip-top shape.” But if her guardians were correct, it wasn’t, and she could never repair it on her own. She needed help.

In all the world there was no sorrier sight than a cowboy carrying his saddle. Clayton Weber surged forward, sheer determination