Mail Order Bride and Her Judge (#3, Brides of Montana Western Romance) (A Historical Romance Book): Brides of Montana Western Romance, #3

By Leah Laurens

It's hard to love a man with a vendetta.

Harriet Ackerman is leaving home for the first time since her husband's death…

Her family can't support her any longer. Not with a baby to feed.

She needs a man who will care for her and her child.

Becoming a mail order bride seemed like the easiest solution.

She never thought she'd get a judge with a vendetta.

Her sister is married to an outlaw. Harriet's husband wants to see him hanged.

Judge Theodore Foster is a man obsessed.

His obsession has led him to alienate everyone around him, including his children.

Until he can avenge his wife's death, Harriet will be nothing more than a mail order bride.

But will vengeance ever be enough?

Harriet must find a way to help the judge heal and save her new family.

But Judge Foster doesn't want to be healed.

He wants revenge.

Will Harriet ever hear the words she longs to hear... I love you.

Or is she forever condemned to live in the shadow of a dead woman?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leah Laurens
• Release date: Feb 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393503439

Leah Laurens

Leah Laurens is a multi-voiced writer who always been a lover of historical romance novels since young, especially that of Western Romance. A romance set in the American West, Leah’s novels involve characters that are strong in character, each with a strong personality and with different pursuits in life. The Hero has his own adventures in life that he wants to pursue, the Heroine learning to survive and conquer the harsh challenges sometimes. Despite the many differences, there is somehow a destiny the hero and heroine must fulfil by meeting each other and to fall in love.  Through Leah’s writings, she hopes to inspire many who are waiting, questioning about love in a sometimes cynical world. That there will always be that silver linings in the clouds which one sees in their life. Some of Leah’s inspirations came from authors like Linda Lael Miller, Harper Sloan.

Book preview

prologue

*   *   *

Valley Glen,

Indiana, 1881

Dear Diary,

Fate has laughed at me far too long. She started with the death of my parents, and then my poor Joseph just last year. She has a cruel sense of humor. I hope to prove her wrong on all she the torments she has given me. Starting with the letter I received this morning.

Harriet Ackerman tore open her letter with shaky hands, the rest of the mail forgotten. She could not believe she had received a response so fast. All the previous letters that had come for her had taken weeks, if not months. She thought this must be a good sign.

The paper fell from the envelope and landed on the floor. Issie began to cry, as if the letter's fall had somehow awakened her. Harriet picked up the letter and set it on the table, then gathered her nine-month-old daughter into her arms.

Ssh, she whispered. If you sleep now, then perhaps later I shall tell you a story.

Issie quieted at once, though Harriet knew she could not possibly have understood. Not at such a young age. It was almost certainly the sound of her voice Issie was responding to. Harriet did not care what it was, so long as her daughter went back to sleep. It was taking all her strength to tend to Issie before looking at that letter.

Issie's eyes closed, and Harriet set her back into the crib that was already growing too small for her. She might have to ask Henry to build a larger one. She frowned. Henry already had enough to do as it was. If her husband were still alive, her twin brother would not have had to work so hard. Perhaps she could ask Tom, instead. She knew that he had only just begun to walk again but she could help him with the woodworking. A project might be good for her eldest brother. He had done so little since the farming accident that had given him his limp. She would discuss the matter with Henry later and see what his thoughts were.

Harriet turned back to the table. She pulled her long, dark gold locks behind her head and took a seat. She unfolded the paper and read.

Dear Miss Ackerman...

Harriet felt a twinge of guilt for not using her married name. Her husband's name had been a fine one—Joseph Bacon—but she had read in a periodical somewhere that newspapers and book publishers preferred to deal with unmarried women. Many of the men in charge felt that married women should not be spending their time on such frivolities as writing. She prayed that Joseph would understand. Besides, she had a secondary reason for wanting to use her maiden name... but that was only if things went as she hoped.

We regret to inform you that your fictional piece on closet monsters, while mildly amusing, is not suited for our readers. We suggest you write things more suited to your gender in the future, such as house cleaning and cooking. Our female readers have no use for fiction.

Sincerely,

Mr. Callie, Pendant Periodicals.

Harriet crumpled the paper up and threw it into the fire blazing in their sitting room.

Ha! she cried, folding her arms across her chest. She began to pace the room. Ha! she cried a second time, still louder. Issie stirred but did not wake.

Harriet picked up her diary and began to scribble fiercely in it. She always found writing out her thoughts a source of comfort.

Tom came into the room and looked at her. Again, with the diary? he asked, shaking his head. Harriet shut it and set it aside. He was walking much better. His right leg still wobbled with each step but the cane Henry had crafted for him acted well as a third leg, preventing him from falling over at every turn.

Harriet knew the scar from the plow's blade would never fade but she thought that it was not so very important as Tom's being able to walk again. It had taken months for him to even get out of bed. Henry had had to work the fields alone. Had it not been for the bride token of her eldest sister, Sarah, from marrying that rich banker, they would have lost their home months ago, along with the farm.

Tom was squinting at her. She could not help but fidget. Her feet would not stay still. What's wrong with you? he snapped. His temper had not changed much despite his ability to walk.

Nothing, she said, trying not to pout.

Henry walked in second later, wiping his hands on a rag. Her twin took one look at her and knew immediately. Another rejection, is it? He poured himself a cup of water from the pitcher on the table and sat down.

It is not my fault that the periodicals and publishers do not know talent when they read it.

I don't know why you bother, Tom said. You will never sell a story.

Henry shot him a look. Harriet is an excellent writer. They only reject her because she is a woman.

Tom laughed. How many of those publishers and periodicals have you submitted to, Henry? Have any of them offered to pay you for your writing? And you are a man.

If I had more time to write, I know that I would get something, Henry said but Tom shook his head.

No, talent may run in this family but I fear luck is another matter altogether. None of us have ever had luck, and none of us ever shall.

That is a very pessimistic attitude you've taken, brother, Harriet said, refraining as best she could from scolding him. Tom had not been happy since hurting his leg. She knew that he blamed himself for both their sisters, Sarah and Carrie, becoming mail order brides. Both the eldest and youngest sisters were gone, only Harriet, as the middle child, remained. And soon he would lose her, too.

It is a realistic attitude which I take, Tom said. You might try it sometime.

Harriet frowned as Henry shifted in his seat, splattering bits of dried dirt everywhere.

Oh, Henry, I do wish that you would wash before sitting. You know how that dirt stains everything. I've just finished cleaning.

Henry chuckled. What is the point in washing when I shall just dirty myself again in a matter of minutes?

You exaggerate, Harriet said. Lunch shall take at least a half hour. You shall not dirty yourself again for at least that long.

Tom looked from one to the other of them and cleared his throat. I thought that perhaps I might help in the field today after lunch.

Harriet and Henry exchanged a look.

That's not necessary, Henry said automatically. I can manage.

I know, Tom replied, looking at the floor, but I would like to. I haven't been of use to anyone around here for several months now.

That's not true, Harriet cried. How many times have you watched Issie for me while I've prepared supper?

Tom shook his head. It's not the same, Harriet. You know that. It is March. We must finish preparing the fields for the new planting in April. If we are not successful, we will not get any money. We will all starve come winter, Issie included.

Harriet's heart fluttered at his words. The thought of her daughter starving was more than she could bear. Henry glared at Tom. She knew he was angry with him for speaking so forcefully.

No one spoke for a full minute. Harriet had nothing to offer Tom that might make him feel any better. Walking again was not enough for him; he needed to be doing something with his hands. Something he could feel accomplished about. It was important for a man to have these things.

Issie needs a new crib, Harriet ventured, dropping Tom's question about returning to the field. Even though Henry was five years younger than Tom, he would never allow it.

Henry's head snapped around. What is wrong with the crib I built for her? he demanded.

Nothing, it is only that she's outgrown it.

Henry pouted in his chair. Tom pouted from his spot by the door. Harriet pouted from her spot on the couch. None of them could be entirely happy in this house while the burden of money still hung over their heads. They had just managed to pay off their debts with Sarah's bride token money but they had not had a penny of it leftover.

Carrie, their youngest sister, had sent some money, claiming it to be her own bride token but Carrie had married an outlaw. No one was certain where the money had come from. It had not been as much as what Sarah had sent, and its unknown origins had troubled them all. The man she'd married was a known thief and wanted murderer. They had not felt right about using her money.

However, hunger had eventually taken hold, and day by day, Carrie's money had been chipped away at. Now, there was little remaining.

Harriet decided she would attempt to engage Tom in a game later, though she knew that would ultimately prove fruitless. At least he might find some enjoyment with Issie while she prepared supper. Her daughter was one of the few things he found pleasure in.

She finished cleaning the lunch plates and set to work preparing supper. When she was through, she found Tom sitting on the couch with Issie in his arms. They were both asleep.

Henry came into the room from the field, looking for some water. His face looked pale. He was overworked. She pulled him outside and asked, Tell me if what Tom said earlier is true?

Henry looked blankly at her. What do you mean?

Do not give me that, she scolded. She always knew when Henry was lying.

He sighed and shrugged.

We will not starve. All that is needed is for our crop to be planted and the season to go well.

You cannot work the fields alone.

I must. We have no money to hire anyone.

Harriet sighed. What could she say to that when she knew it to be true? Henry got his water and went back out.

Harriet sat at the table and began sorting through the rest of the mail she had failed to open. There was one letter that struck her almost immediately. How had she failed to notice it before? She ripped it open.

Dear Miss Ackerman,

I believe we would make a good match. Enclosed is the bride token money, as requested, along with a ticket for the train. I shall meet you at the station.

Sincerely,

Judge Theodore Foster

She had not been certain he would reply. She had only applied to his ad for a bride on a whim. She looked at the money that he had included, hardly able to believe it was all here. It was more than she had thought it would be. How could she say no? Even if their crop did not come in as hoped, this would be enough to see both Tom and Henry through two winters at least. Maybe by then they would have brides of their own who might help them with the field chores.

She pocketed some of the money for herself and set aside the majority into an envelope. She would give it to them the day she left so that they could not argue with her over it. Henry would not like it but it would be best this way. She was sure the judge was a fine person, and in time, she might learn to love him. If not, at least she would have the comfort of knowing her family was safe.

*   *   *

chapter 1

*   *   *

Judge Theodore Foster sat at the massive oak desk in his study, reading through the letter he'd received. His eyes bugged from his head.

Failed, he muttered to himself. "Failed again."

He groaned and crumpled the letter into a ball, throwing it against the wall. He picked up another sheet of paper and crumpled that, too. It was somewhat satisfying, he admitted to himself. He stood from his desk, looking around the room for something more substantial. He picked up his chair.

This ought to do it, he thought as he prepared to launch his chair against the wall. He hoped it would smash into a thousand pieces. One for each of the detectives he'd hired. One for every dime he'd spent on them. One for every time he had received a letter like the one today, telling him they had had no luck. Suggesting that he give up.

There was a light knock on his door. He held the chair over his head another moment, then finally set it back in its place.

Enter, he barked.

His agitation only grew when he saw Ruth delivering his lunch on a tray. He knew that she was trying to help but she continued to force food upon him as if that would solve all his issues. He did not want another muffin. He wanted Fred Connor.

Fred had been missing for five months now. Theodore had last seen him when his wife, Carrie, had helped him to escape from jail. He would make sure to try Carrie for that crime whenever he caught up to her. He would not go lenient on her just because she was a woman. That might be what other judges would do but he had no use for leniency. Examples. That was what he chose to set. He would make one of Carrie Ackerman.

Good afternoon, Theodore, Ruth said, setting the tray on his desk. I thought you should eat something before it gets much later.

I'm not hungry, he said. Give it to Minnie and Edward.

Ruth looked at him, startled. Minnie is but two. She does not eat mutton.

Theodore shrugged. Then have it yourself. I have no use for food just now.

Her eyes strayed to the wadded-up papers lying on the floor. She bent and picked one up, unfurling it. Her eyes scanned the latest news from his most recent detective.

I see, she said, setting the letter into the waste bin.

Theodore did not care for her tone. What do you see?

That you are wasting money on more detectives. That you are a man obsessed.

Theodore grunted. I want to see justice done. I should think that of anyone you would understand that. Elizabeth was your sister. Do you not wish to see her murderer hang?

Of course, I do, she said, her eyes widening. Fred Connor deserves to have his neck stretched.

Theodore nodded, happy that the woman was finally talking some sense. He found that she was often at odds with his way of thinking, and, of late, she had begun to wear on him.

He was glad that she looked so little like Elizabeth. If she'd had the same jet-black hair and tanned skin, he was not sure he'd have been able to keep her here; it would have been too difficult. But she had inherited her father's looks. Her hair was a mousy brown and thin at the ends. Her face did retain some of the golden color that came from her mother's Indian ancestry but very little in comparison to what Elizabeth's had been. Ruth also had blue eyes, quite different from the dark brown ones of Elizabeth and his children.

"But Minnie and Edward suffer while you search for their mother's killer. I do my best with them but they need a father. They need you."

Theodore felt his heart ping in his chest. He knew that he had asked a lot of his children. Minnie understood nothing. She had only been one when Elizabeth was taken from him. Edward, however, had been three. He often cried for his mother and had asked Theodore on more than one occasion what had happened to her. Theodore had explained as best he could but how do you explain to a child that his mother was shot because a man did not like the fact she was half-Indian?

The children were a quarter-Indian themselves. They did not look it very much, except for their dark hair and dark eyes. Their skin was light, so they were often mistaken for being white. Theodore had ceased correcting people on the matter since Elizabeth's death. He worried that someone might hurt them.

He had moved his small children from western Montana to Helena, assuming he would be better able to catch Fred from here. After all, this was where Fred's wife’s sister lived. Where Fred's own mother lived. He knew of the man's devotion to her and was certain he must be close by. Yet no one had found him.

I cannot stay here much longer, Ruth told him. I have been away from my own home far too long already.

Theodore softened. The children will miss you, he replied, quite earnestly. She had given up her life in New York to help him after Elizabeth's death. He knew that she planned to leave him soon. They had spoken of it, and he did not blame her. Part of him was glad that she was going. He would be forever grateful to her for her help but lately her temper tantrums had become something unbearable. If not for his ignorance on what to do with the children, he might have sent her back some time ago.

Theodore simply did not know how to be alone with the children. He hadn't the time to watch them, nor the inclination. Every day that he saw them, they reminded him of his dearly departed wife, and he felt as though he was losing her all over again. He had considered sending them away somewhere but that thought was almost as harsh as the memory of their mother. Elizabeth would not have wanted that. So, he kept them close at hand but avoided them as much as possible.

Ruth paused, licking her lips. Come with me, she said, so quickly that for a moment Theodore thought he'd misheard her.

I'm sorry?

Come back to New York with me. Bring Edward and Minnie. I shall love them as my own. She paused, took a step forward, and placed her hand on Theodore's shoulder, taking a long breath. The blush crept into her cheeks and Theodore began to feel uncomfortable.

It would not be improper, she said.

What wouldn't? he asked, hoping she would not say what he thought she was going to say.

Marriage, she whispered, her voice breathy.

Theodore cleared his throat, trying to figure out a way to extricate himself delicately from this situation.

Yes, he finally said. I've already thought of that.

You have? Ruth asked, her eyes lighting up. She leaned in toward him. He stepped quickly back.

I have employed a woman to be my bride. She should be arriving any day now.

Ruth looked startled. Employed? she shrieked. What do you mean by that?

I mean, I have contracted with a woman to care for the children. She shall be my bride in name only. I have no interest in anything except providing a permanent mother for Minnie and Edward.

He offered this last part, hoping it might soothe the hurt look on her face. He had no wish to cause

Reviews for Mail Order Bride and Her Judge (#3, Brides of Montana Western Romance) (A Historical Romance Book)

[Leena Aluru · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

2.5 ? rounded up.

This was such an immature story. Both the H&h fight like kids!! I pity their kids.

The writing is bland and boring.

Recommended : meh ?