New Prints In Old Calico: Calico Brides, #1

By Ellie Lynn

Amanda Bradshaw, a librarian from modern day New York City, is suddenly transported to Calico, a small 1880s era western town. Without warning, she becomes the new schoolmarm in Calico instead of a librarian. Bewildered by this sudden change in scene, she is befriended by the sheriff, Austen Riley, and a sympathetic saloon owner named Lil. Riley is a man with dark secrets and an axe to grind with rancher Matt Mallory, who turns Amanda's life inside out. Matt is handsome, determined to win her as his wife, but his shady reputation leaves a lot to be desired. Still, Amanda is attracted to him as they flirt and tease, argue and banter their way towards love.

As Matt, Amy, and Matt's young daughter, Molly, struggle to become a family, Marshall Riley plans to destroy Matt and claim Amy for his own. But how can Amy prove Matt's innocence to the one man who wants him dead?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Deslisle Publications
• Release date: Apr 24, 2018
• ISBN: 9781775349136

Ellie Lynn

They always say 'write what you know', so Ellie Lynn started out writing romantic comedy. She's since discovered a love of historical western romances as she channels Gunsmoke and Bonanza, but still writes the occasional contemporary. These days she calls rural Saskatchewan home with her husband, two incredibly spoiled dogs and Horatio the salamander.

Book preview

One

Amanda hit the snooze bar for the third time and slowly opened her eyes. Served her right for staying up so late watching that old Western, but she couldn’t have slept without knowing if the rancher ended up with his ladylove.

She rubbed her eyes and focused on the clock. Oh my God—she had only fifteen minutes to make her train or she’d be late for work. Again!

In record time, Amanda was hurrying down the street, still twisting her long blonde hair into the French knot she preferred. She fastened it with a clip, resolving to tidy it up once she’d reached the library.

While her head was still bowed, she ran into the horse. She fell backward, temporarily knocking the wind out of her while the animal whinnied softly in protest.

Are you all right, miss? A strong arm helped her to her feet, and as the air re-entered her lungs, she looked up into the worried face of the police officer whose mount she had just rammed.

Amanda colored hotly, more embarrassed than injured. I’m fine, she spat. But maybe you should watch where you’re going next time.

His eyes flickered with amusement. Sorry, Angel, but I wasn’t the one countin’ the cracks in the sidewalk.

"I was not counting the cracks in the sidewalk! She turned away without waiting for a reply. Now excuse me, I’m in a hurry."

The New York Public Library could be classified as a librarian’s heaven, or so Amanda thought. She loved the miles and miles of books, and the neat, orderly way they were placed on the shelves. She prided herself on knowing the whereabouts of every book on her floor, without the aid of a computer.

Her favorite feature, though, was the third floor reading room, and it was here she spent her breaks, absorbed in her favorite stories of romance in the Old West.

Those were the days, Linda, she sighed dreamily, clutching her latest novel to her chest. When men were strong and ruggedly handsome and protected their women with every breath in their bodies. Amanda closed her eyes and leaned across the ‘returns’ counter.

You’re hopeless, Amanda Bradshaw. You need to get out of this library and find yourself a real man! The older librarian stopped checking books and looked over the rim of her glasses. Maybe then you’ll realize those books are just fiction. Real love isn’t a fairy tale, it’s plain old hard work.

But isn’t it nice to dream, Linda? Just once I’d like to find a man like that.

Hmph! And did you expect to find someone like that at the museum last weekend?

Amanda stopped stacking books and suspiciously eyed the librarian. How did you know I was at the museum?

Playing the odds. You spend almost every weekend there.

"I just love the new interactive display, and they’ve got this great new curator who’s obtained some really authentic stuff. Almost makes you feel like someone is going to step out of the shadows and bam! Blow you away." She cocked her hand into the shape of a revolver and blew the imaginary smoke off her index finger.

Loudly stamping another book, Linda shook her head. Honestly, Amanda. For a librarian, you certainly have a way with words.

Why thank you. She curtsied and rounded the corner of the desk, stopping as her shin struck a hard object at her feet. Ow! That’s twice today. Where did that come from?

Anything that upset the order of her library made Linda frown. Her eyes narrowed. I don’t know. That box wasn’t there when I came in this morning, and I don’t remember any deliveries coming in. Strange.

Well, might as well see if what’s in here was worth the pain. Grimacing, Amanda rubbed her shin and knelt to carefully slit the tape with a small blade. She pushed back the cardboard flaps and rocked back on her heels. Hey, this stuff doesn’t even belong on our floor. It’s all American Revolution stuff. Wait a minute... what have we here?

She withdrew a brown leather-bound book from the box and ran her fingers over the gold embossed lettering. "The Rustler of Calico County. Looks pretty old, doesn’t it?"

Looks a little like those dime books produced in the last century, but they didn’t come in a hard cover like this. Linda turned the book over in her hands, and then flipped through the pages until a set of photos caught her eye. Hey, get a load of this guy! Caption says ‘Matt Mallory terrorized the little town of Calico for five years before he was hanged for cattle rustling’. He certainly has that sinister look about him, doesn’t he?

Amanda took the book from Linda and peered hard at the photo. No, not really sinister, just different. That straggly mustache certainly doesn’t do much for his looks either, but the eyes, they’re kinda... spooky. She stared for a couple more minutes, then slammed the book shut and pushed it to the far side of the counter.

Well, work’s not getting done this way. I’ll re-shelve these books, if you want to keep checking those in. Amanda indicated the large pile of books stacked to the side of the returns counter.

Linda peered over the rim of her glasses. "Sure. Y’ know, whoever said New Yorkers don’t read anymore has never been here on a Monday morning."

It’s nice to know there are other people out there without a life, too. Amanda sighed and pushed the rickety, heavily laden cart away from the desk to begin the tiring task of replacing the returned items to their rightful place. It was always a lengthy procedure, for she couldn’t pass an untidy shelf without stopping to straighten and reorganize before continuing on.

She couldn’t understand how people could just throw their books back on the shelf in any old order, regardless of the number stamped on the white tag of each spine. Amanda cocked her head to one side as she paused to straighten yet another mess left by an ungrateful borrower.

Was she the only one who saw the beauty in row after row of perfectly aligned books? Was she the only one who truly thought the Dewey Decimal System was an unappreciated art form?

It took the rest of the morning to file all the texts in their respective places, and when lunch finally came, Amanda darted from the library with the brown leather volume tucked securely under her arm.

She sat at her usual table at Sal’s Deli, and over a pastrami on rye and a steaming cup of tea, she began to read the tale of the terrorized town of Calico and its unfortunate citizens. Time and time again, her attention was drawn to the set of old photographs in the middle of the novel, and especially of the one of the sinister Matt Mallory.

His lips were set in a grim line, but of course, she wouldn’t be smiling either if she were the one waiting to be hanged. His brown wavy hair was parted in the middle and fell to his shoulders. A shave wouldn’t hurt his appearance either.

Amanda was just about to close the book when a small movement on the page caught her eye. No, it couldn’t be, but she could have sworn the man in the picture winked at her.

That’s ridiculous! She slammed the two covers together, paid her bill and quickly returned to work to finish out the day.

GOT PLANS TONIGHT? Linda locked her office door and turned down the lights while Amanda called for the elevator.

Yup, me and this book are going to get acquainted. What I’ve read already seems pretty interesting. Makes me wonder how much is fiction and how much of it really happened. Then later I’ve got to do some minor repairs to the dress I’m wearing tomorrow. Oh, I didn’t tell you but the museum asked me to help out at one of the displays while a bunch of kids get the grand tour. They’ve even given me a gorgeous green gown to wear.

Hmm. Must be nice to only work part time, coming and going as you please, with no loyalty to the woman who hired you. The older woman smiled and tucked a stray strand of gray hair behind her ear while she craned her neck to watch for the bus.

"Don’t look at me like that, it’s not my fault the city won’t increase my hours. I’d love to work more. The museum is paying me to do this, and I could really use the extra money, so don’t give me a hard time. Anyway, I’d better go or I’ll miss my train. See you Wednesday." She gave a final wave over her shoulder before disappearing down the stairs with the other rush hour commuters.

As the news anchor described yet another assault on an unidentified woman, Amanda warmed her dinner in the microwave and thanked God for the self-defense course she had been taking. At least she had learned a few ways to keep herself out of tomorrow’s news. That was the plan when she’d signed up for the class.

Settling herself in the corner of her overstuffed floral sofa, she lay her dinner across her lap and listened half-heartedly to the news. It was all so dreadful—too much crime, too many gang problems. She smiled at the neatly folded green package in the opposite corner of the sofa. Things were much simpler back then.

A sharp rap at the door interrupted her musings.

Just a minute, Mrs. McAllister, Amanda said as she recognized the portly gray haired matron through the peephole. She worked the four dead bolts and chain lock quickly and swung the door wide.

Good evening, dear. The mailman left this package for you, and I promised him I’d be sure you got it tonight. In her hands she held a small package, wrapped in plain brown paper. And I wanted to be sure to tell you my grandson will be over for dinner on Sunday night. We’d love it if you would join us, dear.

Mrs. McAllister, shame on you. You know I’m not interested in getting involved with anyone right now. She smiled broadly. Mrs. McAllister was always trying to set her up with someone.

But my grandson is such a nice young man, and I know the two of you would hit it off if you gave him a chance.

An image of a pocket protector and coke bottle glasses flashed through Amanda’s mind. He’s very nice, but right now... I don’t think so. You need to find me someone just like Mr. McAllister, now he was a real find.

Don’t I know it, dear. But let’s not tell him. It’ll go straight to his head. Mrs. McAllister turned toward her apartment, then glanced back at Amanda. If you change your mind about Sunday...

But Amanda was already walking back toward her living room, cautiously examining the package. It was plain brown wrapper, no return address, no distinguishing marks. Curiouser and curiouser, she quoted from her favorite fairy tale.

A slow smile spread across her face as she opened the package and pushed the paper aside. Lying atop a celadon green silk handbag was a pair of ecru colored gloves and a dainty straw bonnet with a gray-green twisted ribbon around the border, obviously meant as completer pieces to the gown from the museum.

Aren’t you forgettin’ somethin’, Angel?

The voice startled her, and with eyes wide with dread at having walked away from her open door, she turned in the direction of the sound. Relief coursed through her at the sight of the police officer, who touched two fingers to the brim of his cap, then pulled the door securely behind him.

She stared at the closed door. Something about the officer was familiar. Where had she seen him before? Wait a second. He was the police officer on the street this morning. What the heck was he doing upstairs, in her apartment building? Something must have happened. She rushed back to bolt her door. Better safe than sorry.

THE OFFICER STOOD IN the hallway, pausing while he waited for the sound of the locks. One, two, three, four deadbolts, and... the chain. Now she was safe.

He took off his cap and ran a hand through his wavy brown hair. Didn’t she realize how dangerous it was to leave her door wide open like that? It was a good thing he’d dropped by to check on her—this was New York, and anything could happen.

Of course, it could be she was so pleased with his gift she momentarily forgot herself. She was standing, holding the box with such a beautiful smile on her face, and her eyes... Oh, her eyes were shining with such pleasure.

Goodnight, Angel, he whispered against the door. I’ll see you tomorrow.

THIS ISN’T RIGHT, Amanda mumbled, holding the two ends of the quilted corset together. She pulled tighter, but still couldn’t get the hooks around her waist to fasten.

She took it off and started again, this time hooking from the bottom. Suddenly, she fell back onto the bed with her breath coming in shallow gasps. Too tight, too tight!

She unhooked the undergarment one hook at a time, slowly allowing the blood to return to her internal organs and avoid the ‘corset rush’ that would make a woman faint. Light headed, she sat up and turned the piece over and loosened the backstays, then tried again. This time, more comfortable as the last hook was fastened at her bodice, she rose to examine her appearance in the mirror.

The tight corset pushed her smallish breasts upward, better than any underwire bra she had ever worn. She turned this way and that before the mirror, admiring the effect. She didn’t need implants, all she needed was a nineteenth century corset. And a man who could appreciate the efforts, of course.

It seemed like ages before Amanda was ready to leave her apartment, but finally the gown was in place over the corset and petticoat. She placed the straw bonnet on her head, tied it securely to the left of her chin, and stepped out into the hall at the same time as her older neighbor.

Heaven’s, dearie, where are you going in all that finery?

Heading to the museum, Mrs. McAllister. Do I look like a proper nineteenth century lady?

To be sure, you look just like some old photos of my dear departed mother. You aren’t planning to take the subway in that getup, are you, dearie? A worried frown crossed the wrinkled face.

Oh, goodness no. I’ll have Stevens hail me a cab.

That’s good, dear. No sense in attracting the wrong sort of attention. Now run along and have fun.

I will, Amanda called over her shoulder, promptly stumbling over the hem of her dress.

And for heaven’s sake, pick up your dress when you walk!

Amanda complied and moved with considerable more ease down the corridor.

THE SECOND FLOOR OF the museum was the Old West exhibit, strategically arranged to resemble a small mining town in the late eighteen hundreds. As the ‘new’ teacher of the one-room school display, Amanda’s job was to explain how things differed from today with the mixture of grades and lack of supplies and give demonstrations of the use of the individual slates the children would use. No iPads or laptops in this school, something some children found hard to understand.

During a lull at her display, she wandered across the ‘street’ to the General Store display, where the shopkeeper was explaining for the hundredth time that the candy was really just painted clay.

Honestly. Lauren rubbed a hand across her brow. I don’t get it. What is so interesting about an old store, anyway?

Are you kidding? Amanda turned incredulous eyes to her friend. This is an amazing display. It has everything, from hardware to foodstuffs to fabrics. You have a pharmacy back there. She pointed to the shelves behind the counter. Liquor, ammunition, and even the local post office. A general store was the ultimate one-stop shopping center back in the day.

"I guess it is pretty detailed. That new curator did a great job, didn’t he? Too bad he’s so weird."

Well, you know these history guys—always living in the past.

No, he’s really different. He’s always watching us. Except for today, that is. He hasn’t taken his eyes off you since you arrived this morning. Hey... stay away from that! Lauren hurried toward another invading group of children trying to sample the clay candy.

Amanda gulped and glanced up and down the street until she caught sight of the curator. He was dressed in period clothing, one booted foot propped on an empty watering trough and an arm resting casually over one knee. A cowboy hat pulled low over his face shielded his eyes, but