Obstacles: A Pair of Historical Romances

By Beth Overton

Mail Order Bride: Accident Prone & Headed For Her Tall Cowboy - An overweight and accident-prone woman from Boston decides to make her way to Oklahoma, and to a tall cowboy with a checkered past. She doesn’t know that, and when she finds out, has almost decided to return to Boston when a few odd incidents drive any thought of returning home right out of her mind.

Mail Order Bride: Challenged to Love By A Difficult Man - A woman decides to take a chance on another mail order husband, and one who had rejected many women before her. It’s very difficult at first and she fears rejection at every turn but after a few weeks, she has a chance to prove herself by showing him just what she can accomplish.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Beth Overton
• Release date: May 4, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310664878

Beth Overton

Beth Overton lives in Northern California with her husband and three cats. Besides writing romances, she loves to read everything she can get her hands on, as well as cooking up gourmet delights for her entire family.

Book preview

Obstacles: A Pair of Historical Romances

By

Beth Overton

Copyright 2016 Quietly Blessed & Loved Press

Mail Order Bride: Accident Prone & Headed For Her Tall Cowboy

Mail Order Bride: Challenged to Love By A Difficult Man

Mail Order Bride: Accident Prone & Headed For Her Tall Cowboy

Synopsis: Mail Order Bride: Accident Prone & Headed For Her Tall Cowboy - An overweight and accident-prone woman from Boston decides to make her way to Oklahoma, and to a tall cowboy with a checkered past. She doesn’t know that, and when she finds out, has almost decided to return to Boston when a few odd incidents drive any thought of returning home right out of her mind.

Mattie Voss sat at her mother’s kitchen table, head in one hand, cheeks crimson with embarrassment. Her other hand was splayed palm down on the polished wood. The thumb on this hand was red and had begun to swell considerably. Ten minutes earlier, Mattie had closed the lid of a cedar trunk after removing a blanket from it, but had forgotten to remove her thumb as well.

The lid of the chest was of solid, lacquered cedar, engraved with delicate roses and had come down quite hard on Mattie’s poor thumb. It was itself now the exact shade of red those roses would have been had they not been mere representations of those thorny plants.

Her cheeks burned and would have matched this color if the paleness of her face didn’t stop it from only reaching a bright pink. It was not for the injury that they burned, but because the injury had been witnessed by Mr. Bergeron, who had called on her that late morning to take her on a picnic in the Boston Common.

This was an engagement her mother had planned for her, but Mattie did think Mr. Bergeron was handsome, even if he was almost fifteen years her senior. She had turned twenty-three the previous spring and it seemed she was the last of her friends left unmarried. Her friend Mary Layton had two children, even, a beautiful girl of two years and a pudgy infant son who was already the apple of his father’s eye. The thought of Mary Layton’s family threatened to push more blood into Mattie cheeks and she felt faint.

Perhaps I should…well, I mean, perhaps I should fetch a doctor, Mr. Bergeron said. He had gotten much nearer to the kitchen door, Mattie saw as she looked up from her palm.

No, she said, her voice a little too high. At this time of day Dr. Hanley would be out on his rounds, leaving only his young assistant, Perry Hyatt, at the office. Perry too had come calling upon Mattie, at Mrs. Voss’s bequest, and that engagement had met a similar end.

Only that time, it had been Perry with an embarrassing injury to both body and pride. Mattie could barely stand to meet the doctor’s assistant on the street. There was no way she could face him at home with a wounded thumb and another awkward suitor standing nearby.

Mother has nursed me back from every other injury I’ve caused myself, Mattie said, smiling what she hoped looked like a real smile. With her uninjured hand she indicated a thin, faded scar on her chin. I received this lovely mark after falling off a chair when I was ten. One of the legs broke…and I had been rocking it a little too enthusiastically.

She tried another smile and though she couldn’t see it, she knew it was failing.

Mr. Bergeron coughed into his hand. Where is your mother now? he asked.

Mattie stared at her thumb. It hurt, but only when her heart beat. Maybe if she could slow its pace, her thumb would hurt less. Where was her mother? She squinted, thinking aloud, She saw us on our way out, but we came back because I forgot the blanket, so she must have gone out visiting. Oh no. She’s with Mrs. Sylvester. Mattie groaned loudly.

Is your thumb getting worse?

Had Mr. Bergeron gotten closer to the kitchen door? Mattie wasn’t sure. She shook her head, sighed, and stood up. The floorboards creaked under her steps. She pulled a towel off a stool placed in the corner of the room, but startled herself when a pair of hooks and a ball of yarn clattered to the floor. The bottom edge of the towel unraveled before catching on a knot.

Oh no! Oh, mother is going to—oh, it doesn’t matter! Mattie said this last bit louder than she’d intended. She had been embarrassed before, but didn’t care anymore. She put her heel on the string connecting the unfinished towel to the ball of yarn, gave a pull until the connection snapped, then wound the material around her damaged thumb. She turned to Mr. Bergeron, her face set in a grim smile, and told him that she would be fine.

I’ll just find my mother at Mrs. Sylvester’s house, Mattie said, trying to sound sweet. She held her wounded hand up to her chest. We can go on that picnic some other time. But, she knew it was already too late, Mr. Bergeron’s face said as much. She started for the door, but her would-be suitor stopped her.

Your hat!

What about it? Mattie turned and saw her blue hat dangling limply from one of Mr. Bergeron’s fingers.

You’re not wearing it, he said.

Mattie used her free hand to hold her bandaged, smarting one to the top of her head. She smiled, turned once more, and left Mr. Bergeron standing alone in her mother’s kitchen.

Mattie carried herself as best she could down the busy streets of Boston. Carriages rattled past her, each one probably filled with a pair of lovers on their way to Boston Common for a picnic. She darted between pedestrians and horses, thankful she’d listened to her mother and opted for the day dress with a more slimming silhouette.

She had originally wanted to wear a flared skirt with burgundy pleats. Dear, the union has let go of its past turmoil, I think you can do the same with your outdated dresses, her mother had said. If she hadn’t listened, she might have been stuck between a passing carriage and a telegraph pole.

Mrs. Sylvester’s house wasn’t far away, but Mattie had broken into a sweat by the time she reached the tall, brick house. She climbed the steps and knocked. A servant answered, and though Mattie was taller than most women, the servant still towered over her. His beak of a nose and piercing eyes accused her of interrupting important business. He took a moment to speak, but finally said, in a low voice, Ms. Voss? You weren’t expected.

No. But mother’s here and I need to speak with her about, well, about something private, Mattie said. She knew what a mess she looked. Her face felt flushed, her skin prickled with sweat beneath the dense fabric of her dress, and her hair felt plastered to her forehead. She was surprised the servant recognized her.

He sighed a reply and stepped to one side to allow Mattie entrance into the big house. You have no hat, he said. It wasn’t a question. He was just stating facts.

It blew off in the wind, Mattie said. She caught the servant glancing outside at the still air, but he said nothing about the weather. Instead, he showed her into the tearoom, cleared his throat rather than announcing her, and removed himself from what was bound to be an awkward situation.

Her mother and Mrs. Sylvester both held porcelain cups, and froze upon seeing Mattie standing in the doorway, utterly disheveled. She felt their eyes descend from her uncovered head to her covered hand.

Carefully, Mattie’s mother set her cup down on its saucer, folded her hands in her lap, and said, What happened? She didn’t sound concerned, but rather exhausted. This was not the first time they had acted out this scene. Mattie’s mother, a widow of ten years, would have looked younger if the constant worry she felt for her only child did not bother her so constantly. The crow’s feet around her eyes had spread and deepened. She shared the same straw colored hair as her daughter, and today it was pulled up at the sides and knotted. A laced hat sat atop her head at an impossible angle.

Mattie gingerly unwrapped her thumb and held it up for inspection. Her mother inhaled sharply,