Abused Mail Order Bride and Her Doctor (#8, Brides of Montana Western Romance) (A Historical Romance Book): Brides of Montana Western Romance, #8

By Leah Laurens

Sometimes when love goes wrong, the only thing you can do is run...

Caroline Norris is running for her life.

With four-year-old twins in tow, Caroline flees from her abusive husband during the night.

Dr. Gilbert Shannon is the only man Caroline can trust, though she's not sure she can trust herself around him.

Her children love him, and she's beginning to think she does, too.

One year ago, they shared a single kiss.

Now she's afraid she missed her chance.

But when Dr. Shannon comes to her aid, she knows things between them are only beginning.

Floyd would rather see Caroline dead than with another man, and he's prepared to prove it.

When he finally tracks her down, it's more than just her own life at stake.

He wants his children back, and Dr. Shannon is standing in his way.

Floyd won't hurt his children.

But… his wife and her lover are another matter.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leah Laurens
• Release date: Feb 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393577058

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

*   *   *

Elmwood,

Missouri, 1883

Caroline waited until Floyd was asleep and snoring before going to the closet to retrieve her bag. She had packed lightly, filling the suitcase mostly with her children's clothing. She could do without much easier than either of her twins. Dewey and Hannah were going on five, not yet old enough to understand what she was planning. Once they were safely out of the house, she would attempt to explain things to them. No, she would say when they asked—and they would most certainly ask—we are not going back. That place isn't our home anymore. If it ever was to begin with.

She paused and took another look around the unsturdy yet tidy house she had called home for the past eight years. The candlelight made shadows on the walls, turning the cracks and crevices into both monsters and lovers.

She realized with some surprise that she would miss this place. Not everything that had happened here had been bad. Tears pricked her eyes as memories of the birth of her children flooded back to her. It had been a difficult birth. Floyd had not left her side the entire time, even when the midwife had insisted that he must go.

Caroline's lips turned up, and she had to stifle a laugh. She had been so certain that Floyd would punch the midwife right in her nose when she'd told him that, but he didn't. He simply looked at her and said, I'll go when you go. The midwife had pressed her lips together and carried on with her duties. It was the only time Caroline could remember him restraining his temper.

Her expression soured. Her last thought wasn't entirely true. Floyd restrained his temper every day for the children. Oh, he yelled and cursed and shook his fists at them, but he had never actually hurt them. He only terrified them.

Caroline received the brunt of his fists, and for that, she was glad. If he had ever laid one hand on Dewey or Hannah, she would have left long ago. Floyd must have known that on some level and used it to check his temper around them.

Caroline absently touched a scar on the back of her neck, a gift from Floyd when he'd sent her flying backward into a table one day when she'd dared to serve him leftovers for supper. She had not made that mistake again. Despite their limited budget, Floyd's meals were always prepared fresh each evening. She and the children ate any leftovers from the previous night.

A second scar on her left arm from when Floyd had pushed her into the hot stove several months ago began its phantom burn. It had been that incident which had finally set her in motion. She'd realized that if she stayed here, Floyd would end up killing her. That thought alone was not the thing that had finally done the trick, though. It had been her follow-up thought—when she was dead, the children would be alone with him.

Floyd might not hit them now, but what would happen when she was gone?

Goodbye, she whispered to the house. Her mixed emotions left her stomach coiling. The room Dewey and Hannah still shared was small and cold, like the rest of their house. She peered out the window before waking them. The snowfall was light, but it wouldn't stay that way.

She went first to Hannah, shaking her gently awake.

Hannah opened her eyes and peered up at her mother.

Mama?

Caroline forced a smile.

It's all right. You need to dress. Put on your boots and warmest clothes.

Where we go? Hannah asked, rubbing her eyes.

To Auntie Naomi's. You remember her, don't you?

Hannah nodded. And the doctor.

A sudden image of Dr. Shannon flashed inside Caroline's head and got her blood sizzling. The larger part of her mind refused to acknowledge the tiny thrill that ran through her when she thought of him, but her body could not help responding to his memory.

Hannah closed her eyes again. Caroline pulled the covers back and dragged one of Hannah's feet over the side of the bed. Hannah sat up and pouted but began to move. Caroline turned to Dewey. He was already awake and watching them with keen blue eyes. Both Dewey and Hannah had their father's eyes.

What, Mama? Dewey asked.

We have to go to Auntie Naomi's today.

Go now? Dewey said, looking bewildered. His small hands rubbed at his eyes just as Hannah's had done, and he looked toward the window. The night sky was black. There were no visible stars and only the snow gave any indication of life outside of their wooden one-story home.

Yes, we're going now, Caroline repeated, forcing herself to bite back the words that wanted to follow—before he wakes up.

She shot a glance to Hannah, who had put a dress on over her night clothes. It looked odd, but Caroline said nothing about it. If they were lucky, no one except the driver would see them right now anyway. He was not taking them all the way to Blisspeak, only to the next town's station to wait for the train, which would depart in a few hours. She didn't dare wait at the station in Elmwood; it was far too close to home. Floyd could be there in a heartbeat.

It had taken Caroline months to save enough to pay for the driver as well as their train tickets. She'd had to nick little bits of money from Floyd when he was passed out—a penny here, a nickel there. He got so drunk every night that he didn't remember how much he should have had when he woke up. If it was less than he expected, he assumed he'd spent it on alcohol. His faulty memory was the only blessing that came with his drunkenness, but it was an important one.

She had almost opted to take the stagecoach the whole way instead of the train, which would have been slightly less expensive, but in the end, she had feared it would take too long to get there by coach. She had made the trip by coach before and things had been all right, but this was different. She needed to put as much distance as she could between herself and Floyd as quickly as possible.

Once sober and awake, he might come after them. The chances of him doing so went down the farther away they got. Aside from being an abusive drunk, Floyd was also lazy. He would not walk to the barber for a haircut, even though the distance was but half a mile. The only thing that ever got him off the sofa was drink. Luckily for him, Elmwood was full of saloons, the closest being less than a quarter mile from their home.

Come along, Caroline said, urging the children to hurry.

Clothes, Dewey said, pointing to an empty drawer. He looked confused.

I packed those already. Here, she said and opened the drawer above it, pulling out the single pair of trousers she had left for him as well as his warmest shirt. Put these on.

His bottom lip trembled. Papa?

Papa's staying here, she said.

Are we coming back? he asked, and she felt Hannah's eyes on her as well now.

Caroline hesitated. No, she finally said. We're not coming back.

He bit his lip, and the trembling stopped. He nodded, and in the candlelight, Caroline saw a fleeting glimpse of the man he would become. She turned to look at Hannah, her blond locks frizzy from laying on the pillow. She had the same saffron hair as Naomi, a color so bright and pure their hair looked beautiful even when disheveled. Caroline's own hair was a shade darker and not so brilliant with its shine. Hannah was looking at her with wide eyes, and Caroline suddenly realized something important—her children understood perfectly well the reasons for their sudden departure.

She had been willfully ignorant these last few years, pretending her children didn't know what was going on between her and Floyd. They may have been small, but they had eyes. They had ears. Even behind closed doors, they would have heard her whimpers as Floyd's fists beat her into submission. Tears quickly reappeared in her eyes, and she wiped them away.

All this time, Caroline had convinced herself she stayed with Floyd for their sake, because he had never hurt them, and they loved him. In truth, she had stayed with Floyd because she was too frightened to run. She had tried that once and returned to him after only a few weeks when he'd promised to change. Of course, the change had not lasted.

Caroline didn't like the idea of being alone. She had no skills outside of mothering and some light sewing, which she'd used to her advantage, keeping her family afloat with odd sewing jobs for the women in their neighborhood. Floyd did not work, but he was a decent gambler. Between his gambling and her sewing, they had managed not to starve. But sewing at odd jobs was not something she could turn into a full-time income, was it? She shook her head sadly, knowing she hadn't the skill for something so ambitious.

Horse hooves echoed outside, and Caroline saw the driver she'd hired coming up their street.

Are you dressed yet? she asked Dewey and Hannah, looking out the window again. She turned and realized they must have finished dressing minutes ago. They were standing together at their bedroom door, staring at her. Hannah had her stuffed bear, and Dewey had his tiger. She had made both animals for them from old clothing and feathers.

Silently, Caroline opened the bedroom door and stepped out with her children. The floor creaked, and the sound of it made her jump. It was far too quiet in the house. Something tickled at the back of her neck, making her hair stand on end. She urged the tickle away and continued toward the front door, setting her candle on a small table. It would burn itself out during the night.

Mama? Hannah whispered, tugging at her sleeve.

Ssh, Caroline said. Hannah's voice had been like thunder in the silence. Caroline paused, suddenly realizing why things were so quiet. Floyd had stopped snoring.

Mama? Hannah said again and tugged more insistently. Caroline looked down and saw Hannah pointing toward the bedroom she'd shared with her husband since she was eighteen years old. His shadowy figure filled the frame.

Floyd, Caroline squeaked, hating that she sounded like a mouse when addressing him. She quickly pushed the children behind her as the driver and his horses came to a stop outside their house.

Where do you think you're going? Floyd barked, his voice sluggish but filled with rage. I asked you a question. He was still drunk. His words slurred unevenly together.

N-Nowhere, Caroline said and took a step back. The children stepped back with her.

Floyd moved forward.

It's snowing out there. He was holding a candle. The light played on his face, making him look like some dark devil rather than her husband.

I was just... we were... She racked her brain nervously, wondering how Floyd could possibly be awake after consuming so much alcohol. She had made sure he drank twice his usual amount with his supper... and after his supper... and before his supper...

She'd planned it out so carefully, stocking up the cupboard with his favorite drink and telling him she'd meant it as a surprise thank you gift for doing so well at cards a few nights before. He'd brought home five dollars from the saloon, a gambling treasure. He'd not questioned her on the gift; she'd known he wouldn't. He was too happy to have the alcohol to ask where she'd gotten the money for it all. She had kept his cup full all evening until he'd finally stumbled to bed and passed out.

The man's blood must have been pure whiskey. Maybe he'd been born that way. It would explain how he was awake now. He took another staggering step forward. There was a light knock on the door, and Caroline cringed. She had told the driver not to knock.

Who's there? Floyd roared and she heard the driver hesitate before answering through the door.

Mr. Weathers, sir. The driver.

Floyd flew forward. His right fist reached out and landed squarely on Caroline's jaw. She staggered backward as Hannah shrieked.

Don't hurt Mama! Dewey yelled, his child's voice almost as forceful as his father's.

Floyd grabbed hold of Caroline's collar and yanked her up off the floor. He slapped her face open-handed and she tasted blood.

Where you drivin' to? Floyd screamed. She smelled the whiskey rolling off him in waves and almost choked on it. Hot wax dripped off his candle and fell on her sleeve.

Away from you, she said and knew he'd make her regret her words. He yanked her arm hard, and she felt something in her shoulder pop. She bit back a yelp, knowing it would only frighten the children that much more.

You don't go anywhere without my say so, Floyd snapped at her as he threw her into their bedroom and slammed the door shut. She heard her children's wails from the other room, and then the soft sound of the driver's voice. Dewey or Hannah must have let him in. She couldn't make out what he was saying, but she thought she heard him say run.

Floyd, please, Caroline said. I'm sorry.

He hit her again, and the world began to spin. The room was dark except for Floyd's candle. He must have set it down somewhere because he was using both fists on her now. She felt her stomach lurch, and Floyd jumped back before she spilled her supper all over him.

You're disgusting, he said, even though she could not count the number of times he'd vomited in bed from being so drunk.

The moment of freedom from his fists gave her time to think. Her head was cloudy but just clear enough to realize the candle Floyd had been carrying was sitting on their dresser, hot wax dripping and pooling in the holder in which it sat. Without further contemplation, she grabbed it and flung the wax on him.

He cried out, his hands flying to his face. The candlelight went out, and Caroline rushed for the door. It opened onto soft shadows and an empty room. The candle she'd left there was still lit, but her children were gone.

Dewey! Hannah! she cried, thinking they must have hidden, then she remembered the driver.

The front door was ajar. Caroline flung it open and saw the driver loading her bag into the carriage, Dewey peeking over Hannah's shoulder from the back. The driver turned toward her and hurried forward.

Quickly, he said. Before your husband—

His words were cut off as Floyd let out a roar from inside. The driver grabbed hold of Caroline's hand and pulled her forward. Her arm throbbed but she didn't care. He helped her into the back of the carriage and took his seat up front just as Floyd came stumbling out of the house.

Get back here! he yelled.

Caroline took a deep breath. Never again! she shouted back at him, and the horses began their gallop.

*   *   *

chapter 1

*   *   *

Blisspeak,

Missouri, 1883

Gilbert Shannon rose with the sun. He normally enjoyed waking early; it gave him time to reflect upon the day ahead of him before his patients started calling.

This morning, he stretched and pulled the covers back over him. He had slept poorly the night before and had no wish to leave the comfort of his bed. He could not remember precisely what his dreams had been, but he was quite certain they had to do with Caroline.

She had left Blisspeak months before, and he hadn't heard from her since. He had hoped he might see her again when Naomi's baby was born, but she had failed to appear.

His head ached, and he rolled restlessly in bed, his discomfort from the night continuing despite the sunlight starting its slow creep into his room. He finally gave up and swung his legs over the mattress. He had an early patient today anyway. Lily Dyer had asked for an early appointment with him so that she might make it to work at the Saunders Factory in time.

Lily was a good girl, and he had not objected to the early appointment. She was recently married, and this was already the third time she had come to see him since taking her vows. He knew what it was about—she was hoping he would tell her she was with child.  He hated to see the look in her eyes each time his answer was no. He'd tried to tell her to be patient, but a woman eager for a child was never patient.

He tried to push his thoughts of Caroline away. He knew he had no claim on her. They had shared a somewhat intimate moment at her sister's wedding months before—a single kiss—but he knew perfectly well that she was a married woman. Even if her husband was a louse, he could not interfere even if he wanted to. Besides, the lack of any written word from her only confirmed what he'd already feared—she was not going to leave her husband.

Gilbert made his way to his kitchen after dressing. He warmed his stove and set out a frying pan. The eggs he had were fresh. One of his patients had given him about five dozen of them in lieu of payment. He had no idea what he would do with so many eggs, but it was nice to have them just the same.

Hot lard greased the pan, and Gilbert cracked one egg open. It fell to the pan with a sizzle. He cracked a second and a third, paused, and muttered, What the heck, then cracked a fourth. He didn't want them to spoil, after all. Perhaps later, when he was through for the day, he would bring some down to the sheriff's station. Sheriff Chambers was a good man and probably didn't get around to shopping like he ought to. In his experience, most men of the law were poor housekeepers. Lord only knew what the man had in his cupboards.

Gilbert stepped away from the stove to get his milk ready. The dairy farmer had dropped it off earlier this morning—another patient who chose to pay him in food rather than money. He had no objection, since he dearly loved his milk. He poured half a glass and drank it, then refilled it and set it on the table. The table was set for one.

He pressed his lips together and straightened his fork and knife. His table was small, far too small to fit more than himself anyway. His nose wrinkled as something distasteful filled the air. He heard the pop of oil and turned back to the stove with his mouth open.

Smoke was billowing up from the pan, black and acrid. He made unconscious movements with his mouth, frowning and licking his lips, only to be