Mail Order Bride: The Counterfeit: Mail Order Bride, #1

By Kathy L Wheeler

He needs a wife, she needs a way out.

Can she spin a tale to save her own tail?

 

After a disastrous first marriage, Will Jeffers hasn't the stomach for another emotionally entailed union. All he needs is a wife to cook, nurse his mother, and look after the homestead. But good women are few and far between in Colorado mining country. A mail order bride is the perfect solution. Amelia Johannasen is running for her life.

 

Her brassy mother has decided it's time her daughter joined the family business, shattering Amy's dreams of marrying for love. Imagine her surprise when she is mistaken for Will Jeffers mail order bride. She has a talent for spinning tall tales but no notion of how to cook, nurse, or keep a house. Can she reach the heart of a man once burned so badly, he's sworn off love?

 

Look for Book 2:

Mail Order Bride: The Breakaway

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chisel Imprint
• Release date: Jun 11, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386243601

Kathy L Wheeler

Kathy L Wheeler loves the NBA, the NFL, musical theater, travel, reading, writing and karaoke. Umm, friends, networking... she'll let you know she's forgotten anything. :)

Book preview

One

Hell. The curse fell from William Henry Jeffers mouth like a horse flying over the cliffs in the wilds of New Mexico. Certainly not like the weather in the mountainous terrain of the eastern slopes of Colorado. Here in mining country, snow was but a hairsbreadth away from the horizon.

If there was anything Will disliked more than the ill-treatment of those less fortunate—man or beast—or the odor of medicine, being hungry, or running late, it was being lied to. He’d learned early that maintaining strict control was the only way to deal with life. Which included being at the train depot in Colorado Springs at its allotted arrival time of 6:16.

He stood at his mother’s bedside, holding his breath as he spooned out her smelly tonic. His stomach lurched, ramping up his irritation. If he didn't get on the road soon, he’d miss sending the telegraph he’d prepared for the Sweetwater Register in Wyoming. The recent massacre against the Chinese immigrant coal miners in Rock Springs weighed on his mind. Damned senseless, if you asked him. Didn’t people realize in killing others they only hurt themselves? Doubtful.

He grimaced. Apparently, the world would always covet those with hate, and those that mistreated others. But sitting back and doing nothing was worse and it went against everything this great country stood for.

Unlike the bastard he worked for, Will couldn’t just ignore the heinous events going on around him, and while it wasn’t much, he was in the unenviable position of offering jobs to those less fortunate. Which was exactly why Will was determined to get that telegraph sent the minute he arrived in Colorado Springs. He needed to get going.

He rose from his mother’s bedside and peered closely at her. Studied her. She didn’t look bad. Better, Ma?

Well, I could use some ale, if you don’t mind. The sweetness of her voice masked a prominent stubborn streak, one he strongly possessed himself.

His body bristled with irritation, which irritated him further. Sure, Ma. I’ll be right back. He set the bottle on her bedside table a little harder than necessary and stalked to the door. Maybelle will sit with you while I’m gone. 

She scowled. You’re determined to stir up a hornet’s nest, aren’t you? Why in tarnation you want another wife is beyond me.

That was none of her business as far as he was concerned. Hence the second reason for his quick jaunt into Colorado Springs; to pick up his mail ordered bride. If she looked as comely as her photograph, some other man would likely snatch her up before Will could meet her train. Even if some other wife-hunting settler didn’t grab her first, there was always the risk that she would fall prey to an undignified employment offer from Miss Bethany and her Gold Rush Saloon, housed practically on the train depot’s doorstep.

His mother plowed on. Wasn’t the last one bad enough? Yep. Stubborn.

Will gritted his teeth. That’s enough, Ma. Ma had hated Eleanor about as much as Will hated being lied to. Not that Ma might not have reason. After all, he hadn’t been around his mother and Eleanor at the same time for as long as he could remember.

She was mean to me. Her petulance grated over his skin like a blanket of burrs.

That’s not true and you know it, he ground out, hanging onto his temper by a thread. The problem was that Will couldn’t tell a farce from the truth regarding anything that came out of his mother’s mouth. She’d definitely had an aversion to his first wife. From Will’s observation, Eleanor had mostly ignored Ma since the day he’d brought her home. He’d adored his first wife in the beginning, blinded by her shortcomings.

At the time.

The thought of giving over his heart again ate through his skin like acid. This time around, he was going for convenience. He needed help and, plucking a bride from an ad he’d stumbled across in the Colorado Springs Gazette served his purposes just fine. One that met his criteria of nurse, cook, and housekeeper. It was as if God was handing Will his own miracle.

You’re courtin’ trouble, Will Henry. You mark my words.

"Like it or not, Ma, the preacher is waitin’ on me—us. One more thing to accustom himself to. I’ll be back tomorrow."

If this new girl’s anything like the last one—

Will’s glare stopped her diatribe. A minute later he stepped through the arch but turned back to her. If Hobson should stop by, you tell him I’m picking up my bride.

Her face paled. Odd, but after a second her bottom lip poked out like a child bent on disobedience. The sight set Will a little at ease. This he could handle. Are you sure you need ale? You look a little peaked.

No response.

Dammit. Conversation was useless. He pulled out his timepiece and let out another expletive under his breath. A stop at the blacksmiths would be tight, but doable if he left now. Shaking his head more to ease his stress, Will cut out of the house through the kitchen, snagging a mug on his way without breaking stride. He dipped the mug in a barrel of fresh ale on the porch just passed the door, and downed half of it in one smooth guzzle. It occurred to him he was nervous as a filly donning her first saddle.

Will? Maybelle’s voice drifted out the opened door, startling him.

He dipped the mug again, this one for his mother. Out here, Maybelle.

Yer ma doing all right?

Yeah. He stepped back inside and handed off the filled glass to Maybelle, tipping his head in the direction of Ma’s room. She’s none too happy with my errand. She’s resorting to ale.

Maybelle patted him on the shoulder. Don’t you worry none, Will. Yer ma will come around once there’s the pitter-patter of little feet running about.

A shudder snaked up his spine. Not only did he have doubts regarding that tidbit, he’d be lucky if the unsuspecting girl didn’t take one look at him and high-tail it straight back to Philly. Any woman with an ounce of sense should. Hell, if he wasn’t so desperate for help with the homestead, he’d spare her his sorry self. You were honest with her, he reminded himself—mostly. I’ve got to go, Maybelle. Can’t keep the reverend waiting all blasted night. Appreciate your staying.

You best make haste, son. Don’t believe I’ve ever seen ya runnin’ this late before.

Will snatched his hat off a hook near the door and was gone.

A picture containing clipart Description automatically generated

Amelia Johannasen liked her nice American name. Even her nickname of Amy was sweet. She was sweet. Well, she was sweet a goodly amount of the time, but lately Mama had taken to calling her Simone after one of those French harlots new to town. Simone! That name made her feel a good deal less than sweet.

Amy hated it.

"Simone. You’re not dressed yet! Hurry. The train’ll be along any minute. She clapped her hands together as if she were trying to get the attention of an adored, yet disobedient pet. There won’t be another opportunity like this for your debut. Why, I heard even Merciless will be in town." Mama flitted to the closet and threw back the door, tossing costumes out like a dog kicking up dirt. 

Amy rubbed her hands over her upper arms to stem the goosebumps. Merciless. That miner? Why do they call him that?

Because anyone who crosses him at that mine he runs, is cut quicker than the fall of a French guillotine, she said, voice muffled. He never comes to town, which leaves me wondering, why now?

You ever seen him?

Once. From a distance. He was big. Large hands, large feet. Didn’t smile much. He’d be a good one to cut your teeth on, but I heard he shuns whor— She cleared her throat. He isn’t known for frequenting the Gold Rush much. Ever, that I recall.

Amy shuddered. No thanks, she muttered.

Ah. Here we are. Mama reappeared clutching a bright purple taffeta gown. She tossed it on the bed, grabbed Amy by the shoulders and spun her about. Seconds later, the serviceable brown wool she wore pooled at her feet. Mama spun her around again and stood back, eyeing Amy’s less-than-endowed bosom.

Heat flamed through Amy and she folded her arms over her chest. Mama! Stop.

With a frustrated huff, Mama grunted. "This will never do. Numbers and a flat chest. This is what my daughter has come to? Mama dashed back into the wardrobe, reappearing with a champagne-colored, soft satin corset. Black lace with tiny red bows trimmed it up nice and pretty. Mama held it up and gazed at it longingly, for a moment before attacking Amy with her no-nonsense tone. Did you finish the account books today, darling? There won’t be time later." Mama was ever so practical.

Y-yes. I m-mean no, she stammered out and squirmed under Mama’s suspicious-filled eyes.

You’ve never lied well, have you? No matter. Her eyes moved over the corset again, a nostalgic sigh escaping. It was my favorite. Ah, well. That was years ago. In one shake of her head she was back to her Miss-Bethany-no-nonsense persona. Strip, darling. There is no time to lose.

Tears stung the backs of Amy’s eyes. Please, Mama. Please don’t make me do this. I-I can’t go through with it. Before Amy could blink, Mama’s palm cracked soundly against her cheek, sending Amy stumbling back.

Mama, also of the harsh-saloon-madam she was renowned for, balanced Amy then planted her hands on her generous hips, expression fierce and determined. You can, and you will. Now strip. A second later, her touch gentled on Amy’s inflamed cheek. I don’t know another way to keep you with me—safe. I mean safe. Again, so practical. Her hands fell away. You’ll do as your told.

Emotions rippled through Amy.

Fear. Danger. Exposure. Fury. There was nowhere to hide. No one to turn to. Her face flamed at what Mama expected of her. She was right to feel this way, blast it. Would a better person than her turn the other cheek? Remember God’s commandment. Thou shalt honor thy mother and father. What father, she thought bitterly. 

A chasm of black began suffocating her, it was all she could do to choke back a scream. Mama was wrong to force her into this life. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. The words were a chant, and Amy clung to each one even while shaming her with guilt.

Amy cried in quiet rebellion. Ironically, the tears sliding down her face cooled the burn as they fell. With shaking fingers, Amy dispensed with her practical cotton chemise and pantaloons. 

Raise your arms. Amy dare not disobey, lifting as directed. Mama dropped the corset over her head and spun Amy about, yet again, then laced it tightly up the back. Turn around, let me see. She did so, reluctantly. Amy shifted from foot to foot under her mother’s skeptical gaze. Tears blurred her vision and before Amy could protest, Mama jerked the corset down, spilling Amy’s small breasts over the top. We should rouge your nipples— 

Amy’s hands flew up, covering herself. No!

Stop acting so prissy. There’s no sense in it. You have enough brains to realize money is everything. We’ve saved, but it’s not enough. Besides, it’s the only way to hide— She stopped abruptly. Never mind. She lifted Amy’s arms out straight, studying her like a bug under a magnifying glass. In the next instant, she pinched then twisted Amy’s nipples in a painful and horrifying tweak.

Amy’s cry bounded against the walls.

A shame, really, that your aptitude for numbers is your greatest asset rather than your breasts. She sighed. We shall just have to make do. Her mother snatched up the purple taffeta off the bed and tossed it to her. Put this on. You can wear my gold slippers.

I-I hate purple. And those slippers don’t fit, she said in a fit of defiance. Her performance was weak at best. Of course, they fit, but Amy was desperate to deflect Mama’s determination to launch Amy’s new career. She resorted to begging. We have enough money, Mama. We do.

Mama swiveled about fast enough to cause a case of whiplash. She caught Amy’s chin and yanked Amy’s face to hers. "There is never enough money. Ever. I’ve heard enough. I won’t tolerate another delay, Amelia. Now that Nellie’s kicked the bucket, there’s no getting around it. I’m short a girl and you’re old enough and filled out enough to pull in your share. Her fingers tightened. Do you realize how much gold a man will pay for a face this innocent? They won’t care how many came before. All you gotta do is lay there and moan. We stand to make a killin’. Her grip slackened and the muscles about her mouth softened. It was the first sign of sympathy Amy had caught. Don’t you understand? This is the only way I can keep you safe. Her jaw hardened again. Now get dressed before I decide to give Ennis Wisentangle first crack at you. And, don’t forget your stockings." Mama let go and slipped out the door, the latch’s click echoing an ominous sense of finality.

Scrubbing the tears from her face, Amy scowled, her stomach quivering with terror. My debut, she mimicked. The embittered words bounded off the rotted wood wainscoting as she stepped into the garish dress. It was indecently short in front, barely hanging past her privates. Anger drove her as she tried tugging on one stocking, but her fingers shook so badly she couldn’t get the silly thing clasped to its fancy garter.