Enough Love For A Cowboy

By Doreen Milstead

The Burnt Out Shop Owner & The Cowboy - After her shop burns down a woman decides to make a clean break and leave Boston for a new life and husband in Nevada. They are indifferent, if not awkward towards each other and she feels that her life may never be the same, until something happens that triggers the slow process that leads to true and enduring love.

The Canadian Woman & The Scarred Cowboy - A woman leaves England with her family and a cholera outbreak devastates the family, making her an orphan. She’s put into indentured servitude in Canada and then employed by the same family for a few years. Trying to break free from the life of a scullery maid, she corresponds with, and then travels to meet her fiancé in Nevada. They hit it off and fall love, something the cowboy never thought he’d find because a childhood coyote attack left his face scarred.

Claimed By The Cowboy - A woman from the slums seeks a way out of that life and answers a mail order bride ad from a cowboy in Colorado, and little did the cowboy know what he was getting in the feisty, independent, caring, and loving woman who arrived on the train.

Emma & The Restoration of a Soldier - A woman with one hand goes west to a mail ordered husband that her father has arranged for her before he died. On the train she meets up with a group of Civil War injured soldiers and one special young man who becomes a friend. However, when she meets her husband for the first time he runs out as he looks at her beautifully carved hand replacement and she believes that she may never see him again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susan Hart
• Release date: Dec 24, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370018550

Book preview

Enough Love For A Cowboy

By

Doreen Milstead

Copyright 2017 Susan Hart

The Burnt Out Shop Owner & The Cowboy

The Canadian Woman & The Scarred Cowboy

Claimed By The Cowboy

Emma & The Restoration of a Soldier

The Burnt Out Shop Owner & The Cowboy

Synopsis: The Burnt Out Shop Owner & The Cowboy - After her shop burns down a woman decides to make a clean break and leave Boston for a new life and husband in Nevada. They are indifferent, if not awkward towards each other and she feels that her life may never be the same, until something happens that triggers the slow process that leads to true and enduring love.

Synopsis: Boston, Massachusetts

1870

Avrill Kane kicked the counter in the front of her shop, making her toes ache. It didn’t serve to soothe her at all. It only added more fury. She knew that anger was a horrible thing to feel, but there it was, regardless.

She had sewn three suits for Mr. Clemens and he said that her workmanship was inadequate at best. He now refused to take the suits, saying he wouldn’t wear or pay for shoddy work. She knew her work was immaculate. If a single stitch was wrong, she pulled it out and did it again. Her mother had taught her to sew when she was young and the teaching had been extensive.

Avrill thought back to her parents, both lost in the war five years ago. She’d been fifteen, just a child really. Her father had fought for the south, though their cause wasn’t his own. Her mother had paid the price, following after him. Cannons can do a lot of damage.

She had been left alone. She’d been taken from her home in Georgia, finding her way to Boston. She’d been taking care of herself for years. She’d worked hard for her little shop. She hadn’t worked until her needle created calluses at the tips of her fingers to give away suits.

Avrill looked at the perfectly made suits hanging in the back of her shop, deciding that she would sell them to someone else. They wouldn’t fetch such a wonderful price, but it was better than nothing.

She walked home to her room in Babs’s Boarding house. It was a large old house that Babs had inherited from her father. She accepted single women on the condition that they each carry a small pistol at all times. Avrill kept hers in a hidden pocket on her skirt.

Avrill, love, I’ve got something that you could be interested in.

She smiled at Babs, whose gray hair stuck out every which way.

What could I possibly be interested in?

Well, dear, I’ve found the perfect advertisement for you.

Avrill sighed. Babs’s life’s work was marrying off the girls in her boarding house. Her favorite way was to find an advertisement for a bride and send the girls away.

Babs pulled a wrinkled paper from her pocket. It was a short note, really.

Dear women of Boston,

I live in Boys Town Nebraska, on a farm with two farm hands. I’m looking for a God fearing woman who can cook, sew and doesn’t mind living away from other folks.

If interested please write.

Holden West

Babs, I highly doubt he wants a seamstress without a penny to her name.

Babs waved her words away.

Avrill, I have a feeling that tomorrow, you’ll want to accept that offer.

It was burning. Her beloved shop was burning. Flames leapt from the front windows, their heat biting her face. She recalled Babs’s words and almost laughed. She watched the hand tub squirt water onto the flames, her heart breaking.

Miss, you need to leave. We have this in hand, but if something changes, you could get hurt.

Avrill nodded slowly.

Her fabrics. Her needles and threads. Her money. All of it was gone. She had maybe five dollars in total, but that wouldn’t last long. She had rent to pay and materials to purchase. She thought of the advertisement that Babs had shown her and ran back to the boarding house.

Boys Town, Nebraska

Holden West dug furrows in his field, following behind his mules. The letter was a weight in his pocket, something he had begun to dwell heavily on. He couldn’t believe someone had actually answered.

At first, he’d thanked God that any woman would bother to give him a second thought. Unfortunately, he’d begun to wonder what he’d do when she arrived. He’d had little contact with anyone but his farm hands. He knew he was a hard man, but that was how he had to be. What would he do with a wife?

As the sweat began to pour down his back, Holden forced thoughts of Avrill from his mind. He’d worry about that when the time came.

Boston, Massachusetts

Avrill dug through the ashes of her shop. The outside was brick so it still stood, but the inside looked like the memory of someone you’ve lost, still there, yet darker, broken.

She found some coins with black smudges on them. It hardly mattered. They were pennies and added up to seven cents. She found some metal buttons that she’d stored in a little wooden box and put them in her pocket, where they clinked against her pistol.

Tears snuck from her eyes into the dusting of ashes on her face. Avrill knew that things weren’t people. Her shop was just a place and her materials were inanimate objects. She’d lost people, her mother and father, so she knew what it was like to have someone missing. This wasn’t like that. This was a feeling like the shedding of skin. It’s lost and of little consequence, but it takes time to learn to be without it.

She moved to leave, walking towards the door, but her foot caught on something. She tripped, landing in the ashes of her labors. It got in her nose, her mouth. She felt it drift into her ears. She was covered in her losses.

She sat there in the gray, wondering if it would make her light brown hair black. Wondering if Holden was really a good man. Wondering if God would tell her what happened to the shop when she reached Heaven.

Finally, she rose from the ashes, unsure of herself. What was she, if not a seamstress? What did she have, if not her shop? She took consolation in the fact that God was still there. That she was His, regardless of if she had her shop.

Here is where we find humanity, in the old woman who gives you a cookie when you enter her kitchen and pats you on the head. In her lack of words because she knows they would be empty. These are things that make us human.

Avrill took a bite of the chewy cookie, the cinnamon and sugar crumbling onto her blouse. She swiped them away with her free hand, and then stuffed the rest of the cookie in her mouth. Cookies mean comfort for anyone hurting. That was a fact learned long ago in her mother’s kitchen.

Babs, what do you think Holden is like?

Babs sighed, dragging an old wooden chair across the floor and sitting beside Avrill.

Well, he’s probably very... well... manly. He likely has no idea what to do with a woman around, but you can tell by the way he writes that he’s honest. A man with something to hide will use large words, the better to hide behind.

Avrill nodded, taking another cookie and eating half of it in one bite. She listened to the gummy sound of chewing, thinking about her future. Things would be very different soon enough.

She took stock of her few possessions, deciding what should and should not accompany her. The first thing to go into the scarred chest was her Bible. The next was a little carved box of her personal sewing supplies. It had been her mother’s and held the same needle that she’d used.

Avrill neatly folded her Sunday dress, a simple garment of burgundy fabric with gold embroidery on the collar. She folded two skirts, navy and brown, and three white blouses.

She sighed, noting that the chest, even with the numerous layers necessary for a woman, was scarcely half full. She wished that she could arrive in Nebraska in a swirl of soft skirts and rich fabrics, but that wasn’t her life. Her life was gingham, not silk.

She sighed again, glad she wasn’t silk. Silk required special handling to look its best. No, she was better than that. She could be strong when she must be, and that was often.

What if Holden was more than she could handle? He might be cruel. What if he was the sort of man who struck his wife? Something told her this wasn’t so, but she worried anyhow. She tried to tell herself not to worry about the future. The problem was, she was never good at listening to her own advice.

The only person in the world who cared enough about Avrill’s comings and goings to see her off, was Babs. The older woman pressed a large paper sack of cookies into Avrill’s hands, then kissed the girl’s cheek.

Take care, now, love. Don’t get off the train in any shady towns. Avoid bars at all costs. Keep your pistol in that holster I gave you and don’t forget it.

Avril grinned.

You’d think I was going off to war the way you’re going on.

Babs smiled and held Avrill’s face in gentle hands.

Sometimes being alone can be just as dangerous as war.

Avrill nodded, understanding fully.

I’ll be careful, don’t worry.

She hugged the older woman.

I’ll miss you, Babs.

She felt tears try to leak out, but she held them in.

Write to me when you’re settled in, dear.

She nodded, and then boarded the train.

She moved to the back, where there were fewer people. She’d never been one for small talk and that was all one could do with a stranger.

Avrill waved out the window as the train began to chug from the station. When the world began to blur by, she sat back in her seat and closed her eyes. She could still feel the motion of the train, but it didn’t make her head spin when she couldn’t see the land rushing by. She’d taken trains to get to Boston years ago, but it had always made her sick, moving so quickly.

Oh, Lord. Please, guide my steps. Help me to be a good wife when I get to Boys Town. Help me to remember that You are always with me. Peace filled her heart as the words died away and she slept.

Avrill didn’t eat any of the meals offered to her. She felt queasy and just knew that if she ate anything, it would be coming back up. She stared at the ceiling of the car. Whenever the train stopped, she stayed in her seat and waited for the train to get moving again.

Boys Town, Nebraska in thirty minutes!

Avrill sighed in relief. She wanted nothing more than to be rid of the train. She pictured running off into the grass and collapsing against the sun warmed earth. She knew she wouldn’t do those things, but it was a wonderful idea she thought.

Unfortunately, as the town grew closer and she counted down the minutes, Avrill felt her anxiety about meeting Holden return. By the time the train stopped at a little platform, her palms were covered in sweat, and her eyes were wide.

The train screeched to a halt and the conductor opened the door. A cool breeze swept through the car. Nobody stood but her. She moved towards the door, caution written in her movements. She stepped off the train and onto the platform, looking for anyone waiting. There was no one there.

Avrill dragged her chest over to a rickety little bench. She sat and propped her feet on the chest. She hadn’t imagined anything romantic; she didn’t even know Holden, after all. She had, however, thought that he would have at least been there.

She glared up at the bright blue sky. It seemed to be mocking her with its beauty. The sun caused a sweat on her brow and she swiped it away with the back of one hand. Her head drooped, and she slowly fell asleep, there on the bench, waiting for a farmer.

Holden pulled to a stop, dust clouding behind his wagon. He was late, he knew, when there was no train. There was just a single lady, fast asleep on the bench. Her worn black boots were rested on her trunk and guilt swept over him. He should have been there sooner.

After a moment of tensed deliberation, he set the brake, hopped out of the wagon, and moved towards the lady. She was young, just as he’d expected her to be, perhaps twenty. She had light brown hair pinned into a bun that was falling apart and her light blue dress was wrinkled from travel. Something in her sleeping face said she was wary.

Holden sighed and crossed his arms, wondering what had made her come so far to marry a man she’d never met.

Wake up.

The voice broke through Avrill’s sleep, but she pushed it away, not wanting to rise just yet.

Avrill, get up.

The voice grabbed her shoulder and shook. She startled awake and her hand struck whoever had woken her. She heard a groan as her eyes opened.

A man stood, clutching his stomach. He looked like he was in the middle of thirty and forty. He had dark hair and blue eyes and his face looked hard.

I’m so sorry, sir, Avrill said, rushing to stand. I really didn’t mean to hurt you. You startled me and I usually don’t wake up to a stranger’s voice . . .

She stopped talking, realizing that she was likely making it worse.

I suppose it’s alright. I’m not dead, anyway. Glad to finally see you.

Avrill frowned, taking a step back when he held out a hand.

Who are you, she asked, wondering why he seemed to think she should know.

The man sighed and mumbled something to himself before withdrawing his hand.

I’m Holden West. Your fiancé.

His face still looked hard.

Avrill took in the slightly graying hair at his temples. Was he really old enough for gray