Pearson Grove, Texas
November 1884
Scott Ferguson thought of himself as easy-going and pleasant
to everyone. Since his former fiancée, Alexandra Novak, had ended their
engagement two weeks ago, he had lost his good humor. His pride was dented. But,
not only was his heart intact, it was not even slightly cracked. Lately, however,
his patience was exhausted.
Alexandra’s friends had been making tormenting him their mission.
Currently, he forced himself to be polite her two friends, Evelyn Baker and
Deborah Taber. As the owner of the town’s mercantile, he depended on good will
for business but these two stretched the limits of his self control.
Evelyn had—deliberately he was certain—turned stacks of
clothing into a jumble. With no one to help him man the sales counter, he’d
have to straighten those shelves after closing rather than now while customers
were constantly in and out of the store.
He ambled up to the twosome. “Was there something in
particular you wanted to see, Miss Baker?”
The minx had the nerve to drop the shirtwaist she held so
that it slid to the floor. He was glad he kept the floor swept even if he
didn’t get all the dusting done. “I was looking for something new but these are
all too shabby and out of fashion. Come, Deborah, let’s go visit the
dressmaker.”
Deborah sent him a puzzling glance before she followed Evelyn
out of the store. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was embarrassed by
Evelyn’s behavior.
Scott hastily picked up the shirtwaist and straightened the
others enough to leave them until tonight and returned to the front counter.
Virgil Witt, who was Scott’s best friend and also the county
sheriff, leaned his tall, lanky frame near the cash register. His gaze followed
the departure of the two young women.
The sheriff spoke quietly, “Like Alexandra, those two are
troublemakers who think they’re the center of the universe and everyone else is
beneath them. You’re lucky to be out of that engagement.”
“Yeah, but I’m still feeling duped. I have no idea why Alexandra
targeted me.”
“Targeted is right. Man, she pursued you like a cougar does
an aging deer.” Virgil studied Scott. “I guess if I were a female I’d think
you’re handsome. Since I’m not I think you look like a muddy road.”
Scott laughed at his friend. “Thanks, that makes me feel a
lot better.” But talking to Virgil did boost his mood.
He accepted Mrs. Paine’s purchase and rang it up then
wrapped it for her. He thanked her and she left. For now at least, he and his
friend were alone in the store.
“Since her father owns the bank, wouldn’t you think she’d
find out how much money I have?”
“Maybe she doesn’t understand how much you have to pay for
the goods you sell here. Or, that all the farmers paid at fall harvest and you
have to carry them until next year. Your cash might look pretty flush if she
didn’t take those into account.”
“You don’t suppose Byron let her see the accounts, do you?
That doesn’t sound like him.”
“Naw, but her daddy probably told her you don’t have a loan
on the store because it’s paid for. Maybe she thinks you have money from some
other source.”
Scott ticked off on his fingers. “Not enough to buy a house,
hire a housekeeper, hire a cook, and hire at least one person to work here so I
could spend more time taking her places. Of course there’d be the expense of
the places she wants to visit.”
Virgil shook his head, a frown on his usually smiling face. “She’s
always had money from her father. Probably never occurred to her you wouldn’t
take care of her just like her banker daddy.”
Scott considered himself fortunate to have learned her true
disposition before he married her. “You didn’t see her when I told her I
wouldn’t… actually couldn’t do those things. I added she would be expected to
work in the store with me and that we’d live in my rooms upstairs.”
Virgil pushed his hat back on his head. “Scary, huh?”
“Whew, I thought she was going to turn me into a frog.” He
shook his head as he recalled the spiteful look she’d given him as her temper
spiraled. “She is not pleasant when she doesn’t get her way.”
“You don’t sound as if your heart is broken.”
“Aw, you know I never thought I was in love with her, only that
we might grow fond of one another over time.” He leaned forward, resting his
arms on the counter. “Virgil, I haven’t told anyone else so keep this to
yourself. I never actually proposed.”
His friend’s eyes widened. “You don’t mean it.”
Scott gave a shrug. “Actually, she assumed we were a couple.
Imagine my surprise when, before I knew what happened, I learned I was engaged
and the wedding plans were underway.”
He straightened and gestured at his surroundings. “Now I’m
back where I started—single and in need of a wife who’ll help me in the store
and be content to live upstairs.”
“You’re better off this way.” Virgil picked up a copy of the
newspaper, which included a new advertisement. The sheriff tapped a finger on
the page. “You do need help in here, as well as someone to take care of your
home. Why don’t you send for a wife? You know, order a bride to fit your
requirements?”
Scott read the boxed advertisement.
Do you long for
someone to share your life?
I match brides
with grooms. Discretion guaranteed.
Groom should include
2 references and a
letter to a prospective
bride.
Write to
Harriett Long, 300 Rock Creek Road,
Beckham Mass.
“Are you crazy? I could end up with someone who looks like a
mile of muddy road. She could be a harpy as bad as Alexandra turned out to be—or
worse.”
Virgil raised his eyebrows as he once more tapped the
advertisement. “Or, she could be a nice woman who would help you here in the
store, cook your meals, clean your house, warm your bed, and have your children.”
“That’s a tall order for any woman. Not sure any woman I’d
want would volunteer for the job.” Scott tucked the newspaper under the counter
because there were only a couple of copies left and two customers had entered
the store. “Guess I’ll think about it. Where the heck is Beckham,
Massachusetts?”
The sheriff raised his hands in surrender. “You’re asking
me? Man, I barely remember where the state of Massachusetts is on a map. I could
probably point to Boston but I sure can’t tell you where any of its other towns
are.”