Kathryn: Mail-Order Brides of Sapphire Springs, #3

By Margery Scott

When Kathryn Higgins learns that her actions may be harming her father's health, she knows she needs to leave not just his house, but that she has to go far enough away that he can't persuade her to come home. Although she comes from a wealthy family, she has no money of her own and no way to support herself. Her only option is to become a mail-order bride.

Pete Fallon has always been happily unmarried—until now. All his friends are married and constantly point out that one day, he's going to be old and alone. He has thought about that lately, and he wouldn't mind marrying and having a family of his own. But he won't marry because he won't allow himself to love a woman who'll use that love against him. When his friend suggests he get a mail-order bride, he realizes this might be the solution to his problems, as long as his bride understands he will never love her.

Kathryn's arrival in Sapphire Springs, Texas brings problems of its own. She expects a carpenter and businessman, not a man who has no ambition, is content to spend his days fishing, in his garden or with his friends. Pete, on the other hand, had no idea he'd sent for a woman who grew up in luxury and who has never worked a day in her life.

However, as they get to know each other, feelings grow and Pete starts to think that perhaps he was wrong about Kathryn, that maybe she is a woman he could love.

Then tragedy strikes, forcing Pete and Kathryn to face their pasts, but the lessons they must learn could destroy the life they've built with each other forever.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clover Ridge Press
• Release date: Feb 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9781988191195

Margery Scott

Margery is the author of more than thirty romance novels, novellas and short stories. When she's not writing or traveling in search of the perfect setting for her next novel, you can usually find her wielding a pair of knitting needles or a pool cue. Margery loves to hear from her readers. You can reach her at [e-mail] and follow her on Facebook and Twitter.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

The rattle of wagon wheels on the rutted path leading to the house drew Pete Fallon’s attention. He looked through the window of the shed he used as a workshop, smiling when he recognized his visitor—his best friend, John Weaver.

He didn’t see John much these days. When he stopped to think about it, he didn’t see any of his old friends as much as he used to. Now, he was the only unmarried man left in the group he’d grown up with in Sapphire Springs.

Surprised to see John at this time of day, he opened the shed door. A blast of cold air greeted him.

What brings you out here? Pete asked once John was inside.

Miranda sent me to invite you to supper after church on Sunday, John told him.

Why? What’s the occasion?

Pete looked away. No occasion.

Pete had known John since they were barely out of diapers and by the way John was studying the grain on the surface of the bureau beside him, Pete knew there was something behind the invitation. Who else is coming?

John turned away and ran his hand over the smooth surface of the table. Well… he muttered, Neall and Audra, Sam and Dorothy…

Three couples. An even number. He’d be number seven. Miranda wouldn’t invite him unless she’d also invited an unmarried—and eligible—woman to even out the numbers. And?

Dorothy’s sister, Agatha, is in town… John mumbled.

Just as he’d thought. His friends were trying to marry him off. Again.

Not a chance! Tell Miranda I died, or I’ve got the plague or…tell her whatever you want to, but I’m not spending one more minute with that woman than I have to. Have your forgotten what happened the last time you talked me into having supper with her? She’d already picked out our children’s names before we even had dessert.

She’s a nice woman…and it’s time you settle down, get yourself a wife, have a few kids⁠—

Why?

Who’s going to take over your farm when you’re too old and feeble to do it yourself? And who are you going to teach to build furniture like you do? Besides, you might have enough women to warm your bed right now, but when you’re wrinkled and bald and have one foot in the grave, that bed’s going to be cold and empty.

That might be so, but I don’t need a woman nagging at me, or complaining that I don’t bring in enough money to buy her all the frilly things she wants, or telling me what a sorry excuse I am for a man. He’d heard those words coming out of his mother’s mouth every day for years until his father had had enough and had left a note on the kitchen table one afternoon when Pete was twelve years old. They’d never seen him again.

You saying Miranda’s a nag?

Pete laughed. Nah, you just got lucky.

I did, but you were just unlucky with the ma you had. My ma wasn’t anything like that. Don’t tar all women with the same brush. Dorothy’s sister⁠—

Will not be seeing me at the same supper table that she’s at. Thank Miranda for the invite, but I’ll pass. Now, do you have time for a cup of coffee?

Thanks, but I don’t. The girls want to play the new song Miranda taught them on the piano before they go to bed, so I’d best be getting back.

John moved to the door. He wrapped his fingers around the handle, then looked back over his shoulder. Think about it, and if you change your mind…

I guarantee I won’t.

John nodded and opened the door, lowered his head against the wind and hurried away, pulling the door closed behind him.

Pete moved to the window and watched him go until the wagon disappeared around a bend in the road. He shook his head at John and Miranda’s invitation. Surely they knew he wouldn’t be in any hurry to spend time with Agatha Trimble again.

He turned away from the window and crossed the large room to where he’d been carving egg-and-dart molding into the edge of a dressing table for a customer in Austin.

Where was the gouge he’d been using? He’d had it in his hand when he’d heard John’s wagon. What had he done with it? He sighed. It had to be there somewhere.

It took almost five minutes of searching before he finally found it in an open drawer of a chest he’d been working on earlier that morning. He must have put it there just before he’d opened the door for John.

He went back to work, carefully using the gouge to finish the design on the dressing table.

As he worked, his thoughts wandered back to what John had said.

John was wrong. Pete didn’t need a woman. He was happy with his life. When he wasn’t working the small parcel of land he’d inherited when his mother passed away, he spent his days in the shed out behind his house. His reputation for building fine furniture was spreading to the point he had more work than he could handle. He had enough money to get by, and that was all he needed. He could do what he wanted, when he wanted, without having to account to anybody or be criticized for his faults. And he had female company when the mood struck him without having to make any promises.

Yeah, he’d worry about his old age when the time came.

The bell jingled again, the fifth time in less than a half hour. Kathryn Higgins leaned against the counter in the kitchen and let out a sigh. She loved her father. She really did. But sometimes the constant demands and complaints made her want to run screaming out of the house and as far away from Ohio as her legs could carry her.

She wouldn’t do it, of course, but deep down, when she allowed the dreams to take root in her mind, she craved a life of her own, a home of her own, a family of her own …

She’d mentioned leaving once, and her father had become so distraught she’d thought he was going to have a stroke right in front of her eyes.

Slowly, she straightened and climbed the stairs. He was propped up in bed, pillows behind his head, his breakfast tray across his lap. What is it, Papa? she asked.

When’s Doc coming?

He said he’d stop by this morning sometime.

I need to be washed and my hair combed before he gets here.

I’ll be back to do that as soon as I finish my breakfast. Are you finished with yours?

He shook his head. I couldn’t eat it, he said. The porridge was lumpy and my coffee is cold.

If you hadn’t left it for a half hour, she wanted to point out. Instead, she clamped her lips shut and crossed to the bed. Do you want more coffee? she asked quietly as she picked up the tray and turned to leave.

That would be nice, he replied. I don’t know what I’d do without you, she heard him say as she went back downstairs.

She’d just finished her own bowl of cold porridge when a knock came to the door. Dr. Lawson stood on the porch, his white hair disheveled, fatigue showing in his eyes. She was surprised to see him at this time of the morning, but she couldn’t very well turn him away until she’d had time to make her father presentable. She’d hear about it later, though. Come in, Doctor, she said, opening the door wide.

I apologize for stopping in so early, but I’ve been up all night delivering Mrs. Gradwell’s twins so I decided to check on your father before I head home.

That’s quite all right. You must be exhausted, Kathryn said sympathetically. She knew the doctor was at least ten years older than her father, yet he was never too tired to make a house call. Can I get you a cup of coffee or something to eat?

No, but thanks for the offer. He took off his hat and hung it on the hook behind the front door. Is your father still in bed?

She nodded.

He made a sound that almost sounded like disapproval and trudged over to the stairs. I’ll just go up now then, he said, gripping the banister and hauling himself up to her father’s bedroom while Kathryn went back into the kitchen to clean up the breakfast dishes.

She was scrubbing the porridge pot when she heard the doctor’s footsteps on the stairs a few minutes later. Drying her hands on a towel, she hurried through to meet him in the foyer. How is he, Doctor? she asked.

He’d do a lot better if he’d get himself out of bed and start moving.

Excuse me?

He scrubbed a hand through his sparse white hair. I’ve been treating your father for years, and I can’t find a thing wrong with him that couldn’t be cured with a little fresh air and exercise.

That’s not possible…his rheumatism…his muscles…he’s so frail. I can see that when I wash him…

They’ve shrunk because he doesn’t use them. Same with his joints. They need to be used to function properly. He took Kathryn’s hand in one of his and patted it kindly with his other hand. "You’re a good daughter, Kathryn, but you’re not helping him when you run after him hand and foot. He needs to do for himself, and there’s absolutely no reason he can’t. He’s not an old man. There’s plenty