A gambler who wants to change his wicked ways…
Newton Chadwick is ready to leave behind a life of sin in the saloon and take a wife. But when this ranch hand from the Golden C near Sweetwater Springs arranges for a mail-order bride, he has no idea that the woman who has stepped off the train isn’t the one he sent for!
Bess Atwood only wants to escape from trouble at home, and she’s assumed a different identity just to survive. But can she keep lying to her loving cowboy husband about who she really is—or will the truth tear them apart?
This sweet 21,500 word novella takes place shortly after Debra Holland’s BENEATH MONTANA’S SKY!
Excerpt: Chapter 1
Newton Chadwick was only hours away from meeting the woman he was happily bound to wed.
So why was most of his family watching him with such dark doubt?
As the sun began peeking over the snow-capped mountains and fighting its way through the gray Montana Territory sky, he continued to hitch a horse to the carriage that the boss of the Golden C had so kindly loaned to him for this blessed day.
“Just look at the lot of you.” Newton finished his task and patted the neck of good ol’ Sadie, a strawberry roan mare from the barn. “One would think I’m heading to my funeral rather than the altar.”
His older sister Agnes was as immaculate as always in a long coat that covered her best dress, a pink calico creation that softened the red of her hair. She had tucked every last strand under a straw bonnet tied with pink ribbons, and her white-gloved hands were folded in front of her as she stood by, ready to ascend to the carriage seat. “You know how proud I am of you, Newt. To think—my baby brother married!”
He grinned at her, even as he caught an exchanged glance from his brothers near the buckboard that would carry them to and from Sweetwater Springs, including the supplies they would pick up from the Mercantile.
“I saw that,” Newton said as he kept petting the mare. “I should think the witnesses to my nuptials would be in a more celebratory mood than yours.”
“And what did you think you saw?” Farrell asked.
“I believe it was an oh-so-subtle look from two know-it-alls who think I’ve rushed into a game of matrimony.” Newton loosely planted his hands on his hips near his belt. Like Agnes, he was also wearing his Sunday best, but his ensemble consisted of a black hat, bow tie, fresh shirt, waistcoat, new dark trousers, and a matching coat.
As Farrell shook his head at the comment, Eli turned to fully face Newton. Under the wide brim of his oldest brother’s hat, half of his face was burned from the tragedy that been visited upon him years ago in England, and a perpetual frown marred him there. But the other half of him was still what the ladies had once considered very handsome.
“I’ll go ahead and say it,” Eli told Newton as he hitched his thumbs into the belt loops of his clean denims. “You’re still not dry enough behind the ears for this venture.”
Twenty-four years of age was hardly too young for marriage, Newton thought. But he knew that Eli was rather condescending at times. Both he and Farrell would always see him as “Newt,” the youngest Chadwick, the one his brothers and sister had always looked after during their trying times in England as well as their adventure to the new country that had become their home.
Then again, there was more to it than that, if the truth were to be told. Perhaps Newton had also recently shed a few minor yet notable habits that would not have benefitted a marriage.
“Now, Eli,” he said. “I’m no longer that good-for-nothing little brother who sorely needs to turn over a new leaf in this chapter of life. I’ve already turned it over.”
Farrell, whose full countenance looked so much like the handsome half of Eli’s face except with the addition of dimples, slid his rifle onto the buckboard. “What Eli is saying, Newt, is it might not be too difficult to turn that leaf back over. All it would require is a rather tempting wind that blows you to the nearest Faro or poker table.”
“Says the new-wed groom who knows all about marriage in the short time he’s been hitched.” Newton’s tone wasn’t cutting in the least. He had suffered enough brotherly reminders of his bad habits over the years to take everything with a bit of lightness. “As I remember, you weren’t so suited for a bride yourself a blink and a breath ago.”
Farrell the former wastrel didn’t have much to say to that, and as Newton held out a hand to Agnes so he could help her into the carriage, he gave his sister a jesting wink. She accepted his aid with a smile and gracefully settled her skirts over the seat.
She truly was delighted with Newton. Ever since she had discovered that he had purchased an advertisement in an East Coast newspaper for a mail-order bride, she hadn’t stopped glowing. It was Agnes’s dream to see her brothers married off one by one so the lot of them might someday share a ranch—or as she kept calling it, an estate—in Montana Territory. The first portion of her plan included growing the family and procuring money enough to buy some land, and the second included a return to England after their successes here in America. Like Agnes, Newton longed for the day when they could all stand in front of the man who’d spawned them and show him that they had made good without his fatherly presence. They might even be able to reclaim what Agnes insisted was their birthright.
It sounded fine to Newton, mostly because it fed his anger toward his so-called father. And as far as the plan went, Farrell was the only brother who had already complied by securing himself a bride—and without Agnes’s aid, much to her disappointment.
However, Newton hadn’t been so secretive with her about his own plans, letting her know early on of his intentions.
Truthfully, ever since settling in Montana Territory, he knew that women were few and far between. He was all too willing to go the extra lengths to find a bride to warm his bed and look at him as Victoria often did at her husband Farrell. With love that was sure to grow.
With pride in who her man was.
After all, pride was something the Chadwicks had lacked sorely in England, hidden in the woods in a hunting cottage, growing up with a distant “father” who visited his second secret family only when it suited him. They had been his tawdry bastards, and Newton had rebelled against his “father” by sneaking out and gambling his money in back passageways and rooms, learning how to win…and how to cheat to win. After their “father” had cut them loose, telling them that the rents on his estate had dwindled and then giving them just enough money to make certain his secret children would leave the country and never haunt him, Newton had increased those bad habits tenfold, hardly caring if he ever got caught.
He had been destructive. Devilish.
Then Farrell had brought Victoria home to wife, and Newton had seen how a scoundrel could become someone people respected. Someone who didn’t have to keep an eye out everyday in town for the last man he had cheated at the Faro or poker tables.
As Newton began to go round to his side of the carriage, he saw that Farrell had turned his gaze to the bunkhouse’s porch, where his wife Victoria was now standing. Her dark curls were askew, and she had a blanket wrapped round her as if…
Newton heard Agnes clear her throat in ladylike reproach. It was rather clear what Farrell and his wife had been doing before he had rushed out here this morning.
Something in Newton’s chest tightened as he watched Victoria smile at Farrell. A mail-order bride who had fallen in love with her husband.
It was a story that Newton intended to emulate with his own wife so he might be looked at differently here on the Golden C. Then someday, he would certainly go back to England and show their “father” just how successful they could be without his guidance.
As Farrell left the buckboard to go to Victoria and sweep her into his arms for a farewell kiss, Eli gruffly held the reins and climbed into the wagon, clearly knowing he would have to wait out this delay from the lovebirds. Newton only grinned at Agnes and continued to his own seat in the carriage. He climbed to it, lightly holding the reins, resting his forearm on a knee and adjusting his hat.
Yes, sir, if Farrell could carry off a marriage, Newton could surely do so as well.
Agnes prodded him in the side with an elbow. “Your own bride is going to make you as happy as that.”
A teasing mood came upon Newton—and why not? Today would be his wedding day. “Perhaps while we’re in town, you should set about finding someone to make you that happy, Nessie.”
Agnes sat up straight, as she always did when the subject of her own state of matrimony reared its head. She reveled in her spinsterhood, and Newton couldn’t say he blamed her after her heart had been so thoroughly broken back in England. She had never healed, and although she had her share of suitors from neighboring ranches, she would never open herself to another man again.
She swiftly changed the topic while donning a bright, evasive smile as they waited for Farrell to take his seat in the buckboard. “This is almost like Christmas in summer, isn’t it? It’s as if we’ve got a gift waiting for us at the Mercantile.”
“Or the train depot.” Newton lifted an eyebrow. “So…we’ve got a gift? Waiting for us?”
She squeezed his arm. “We’re in this together. I’m as eager as you are to see Miss Janvier. The tintype she sent wasn’t terribly revealing.”
True, because the image had been scratched during postal delivery, and he had merely seen a glimpse of thick hair and big brown eyes. That had been enough, though, because even though Newton had exchanged only one precious missive with the woman who had quickly answered his mail-order advertisement, he had been taken with Miss Dominique Janvier’s description of herself. She had come across the ocean from France and was a lady’s maid in New York, adept at household arts. He had sent money for her passage to Sweetwater Springs straightaway because she had seemed so very right for him that he hadn’t seen any reason to hesitate.
His bride would provide companionship, children, house-running skills, and finally, she would keep this new leaf of his turned over.
Starting today, Newton wasn’t even going to look at a card game. No, sir, he was going to be an upstanding husband for his own Mrs. Chadwick.
By this time, Farrell and Victoria had finally pulled themselves apart on the bunkhouse porch, and he was making his way back to the buckboard.
Agnes sighed. “You would think he was embarking upon a voyage round the world with the way he was saying farewell.”
Before Newton could tease her about the hint of envy he heard in her tone—if he dared—he looked over to see that the ranch was coming awake. A rooster crowed in the crisp early morning air. Ten-year-old Thomas busted out of his cottage door and waved to the traveling party with an egg basket dangling from his hand. His father Boone was right behind him to start his day as the foreman, and he tipped his hat, too.
Newton acknowledged him, clicked his tongue, and snapped the reins, sending Sadie into motion. If he dwelled here any longer he would have to receive more good tidings from everyone else on the Golden C, and that would only delay this trip over the mountains and into town.
All he wanted right now was to say I do in the church and then start turning over more new leafs.
Newton Chadwick is ready to leave behind a life of sin in the saloon and take a wife. But when this ranch hand from the Golden C near Sweetwater Springs arranges for a mail-order bride, he has no idea that the woman who has stepped off the train isn’t the one he sent for!
Bess Atwood only wants to escape from trouble at home, and she’s assumed a different identity just to survive. But can she keep lying to her loving cowboy husband about who she really is—or will the truth tear them apart?
This sweet 21,500 word novella takes place shortly after Debra Holland’s BENEATH MONTANA’S SKY!
Excerpt: Chapter 1
Newton Chadwick was only hours away from meeting the woman he was happily bound to wed.
So why was most of his family watching him with such dark doubt?
As the sun began peeking over the snow-capped mountains and fighting its way through the gray Montana Territory sky, he continued to hitch a horse to the carriage that the boss of the Golden C had so kindly loaned to him for this blessed day.
“Just look at the lot of you.” Newton finished his task and patted the neck of good ol’ Sadie, a strawberry roan mare from the barn. “One would think I’m heading to my funeral rather than the altar.”
His older sister Agnes was as immaculate as always in a long coat that covered her best dress, a pink calico creation that softened the red of her hair. She had tucked every last strand under a straw bonnet tied with pink ribbons, and her white-gloved hands were folded in front of her as she stood by, ready to ascend to the carriage seat. “You know how proud I am of you, Newt. To think—my baby brother married!”
He grinned at her, even as he caught an exchanged glance from his brothers near the buckboard that would carry them to and from Sweetwater Springs, including the supplies they would pick up from the Mercantile.
“I saw that,” Newton said as he kept petting the mare. “I should think the witnesses to my nuptials would be in a more celebratory mood than yours.”
“And what did you think you saw?” Farrell asked.
“I believe it was an oh-so-subtle look from two know-it-alls who think I’ve rushed into a game of matrimony.” Newton loosely planted his hands on his hips near his belt. Like Agnes, he was also wearing his Sunday best, but his ensemble consisted of a black hat, bow tie, fresh shirt, waistcoat, new dark trousers, and a matching coat.
As Farrell shook his head at the comment, Eli turned to fully face Newton. Under the wide brim of his oldest brother’s hat, half of his face was burned from the tragedy that been visited upon him years ago in England, and a perpetual frown marred him there. But the other half of him was still what the ladies had once considered very handsome.
“I’ll go ahead and say it,” Eli told Newton as he hitched his thumbs into the belt loops of his clean denims. “You’re still not dry enough behind the ears for this venture.”
Twenty-four years of age was hardly too young for marriage, Newton thought. But he knew that Eli was rather condescending at times. Both he and Farrell would always see him as “Newt,” the youngest Chadwick, the one his brothers and sister had always looked after during their trying times in England as well as their adventure to the new country that had become their home.
Then again, there was more to it than that, if the truth were to be told. Perhaps Newton had also recently shed a few minor yet notable habits that would not have benefitted a marriage.
“Now, Eli,” he said. “I’m no longer that good-for-nothing little brother who sorely needs to turn over a new leaf in this chapter of life. I’ve already turned it over.”
Farrell, whose full countenance looked so much like the handsome half of Eli’s face except with the addition of dimples, slid his rifle onto the buckboard. “What Eli is saying, Newt, is it might not be too difficult to turn that leaf back over. All it would require is a rather tempting wind that blows you to the nearest Faro or poker table.”
“Says the new-wed groom who knows all about marriage in the short time he’s been hitched.” Newton’s tone wasn’t cutting in the least. He had suffered enough brotherly reminders of his bad habits over the years to take everything with a bit of lightness. “As I remember, you weren’t so suited for a bride yourself a blink and a breath ago.”
Farrell the former wastrel didn’t have much to say to that, and as Newton held out a hand to Agnes so he could help her into the carriage, he gave his sister a jesting wink. She accepted his aid with a smile and gracefully settled her skirts over the seat.
She truly was delighted with Newton. Ever since she had discovered that he had purchased an advertisement in an East Coast newspaper for a mail-order bride, she hadn’t stopped glowing. It was Agnes’s dream to see her brothers married off one by one so the lot of them might someday share a ranch—or as she kept calling it, an estate—in Montana Territory. The first portion of her plan included growing the family and procuring money enough to buy some land, and the second included a return to England after their successes here in America. Like Agnes, Newton longed for the day when they could all stand in front of the man who’d spawned them and show him that they had made good without his fatherly presence. They might even be able to reclaim what Agnes insisted was their birthright.
It sounded fine to Newton, mostly because it fed his anger toward his so-called father. And as far as the plan went, Farrell was the only brother who had already complied by securing himself a bride—and without Agnes’s aid, much to her disappointment.
However, Newton hadn’t been so secretive with her about his own plans, letting her know early on of his intentions.
Truthfully, ever since settling in Montana Territory, he knew that women were few and far between. He was all too willing to go the extra lengths to find a bride to warm his bed and look at him as Victoria often did at her husband Farrell. With love that was sure to grow.
With pride in who her man was.
After all, pride was something the Chadwicks had lacked sorely in England, hidden in the woods in a hunting cottage, growing up with a distant “father” who visited his second secret family only when it suited him. They had been his tawdry bastards, and Newton had rebelled against his “father” by sneaking out and gambling his money in back passageways and rooms, learning how to win…and how to cheat to win. After their “father” had cut them loose, telling them that the rents on his estate had dwindled and then giving them just enough money to make certain his secret children would leave the country and never haunt him, Newton had increased those bad habits tenfold, hardly caring if he ever got caught.
He had been destructive. Devilish.
Then Farrell had brought Victoria home to wife, and Newton had seen how a scoundrel could become someone people respected. Someone who didn’t have to keep an eye out everyday in town for the last man he had cheated at the Faro or poker tables.
As Newton began to go round to his side of the carriage, he saw that Farrell had turned his gaze to the bunkhouse’s porch, where his wife Victoria was now standing. Her dark curls were askew, and she had a blanket wrapped round her as if…
Newton heard Agnes clear her throat in ladylike reproach. It was rather clear what Farrell and his wife had been doing before he had rushed out here this morning.
Something in Newton’s chest tightened as he watched Victoria smile at Farrell. A mail-order bride who had fallen in love with her husband.
It was a story that Newton intended to emulate with his own wife so he might be looked at differently here on the Golden C. Then someday, he would certainly go back to England and show their “father” just how successful they could be without his guidance.
As Farrell left the buckboard to go to Victoria and sweep her into his arms for a farewell kiss, Eli gruffly held the reins and climbed into the wagon, clearly knowing he would have to wait out this delay from the lovebirds. Newton only grinned at Agnes and continued to his own seat in the carriage. He climbed to it, lightly holding the reins, resting his forearm on a knee and adjusting his hat.
Yes, sir, if Farrell could carry off a marriage, Newton could surely do so as well.
Agnes prodded him in the side with an elbow. “Your own bride is going to make you as happy as that.”
A teasing mood came upon Newton—and why not? Today would be his wedding day. “Perhaps while we’re in town, you should set about finding someone to make you that happy, Nessie.”
Agnes sat up straight, as she always did when the subject of her own state of matrimony reared its head. She reveled in her spinsterhood, and Newton couldn’t say he blamed her after her heart had been so thoroughly broken back in England. She had never healed, and although she had her share of suitors from neighboring ranches, she would never open herself to another man again.
She swiftly changed the topic while donning a bright, evasive smile as they waited for Farrell to take his seat in the buckboard. “This is almost like Christmas in summer, isn’t it? It’s as if we’ve got a gift waiting for us at the Mercantile.”
“Or the train depot.” Newton lifted an eyebrow. “So…we’ve got a gift? Waiting for us?”
She squeezed his arm. “We’re in this together. I’m as eager as you are to see Miss Janvier. The tintype she sent wasn’t terribly revealing.”
True, because the image had been scratched during postal delivery, and he had merely seen a glimpse of thick hair and big brown eyes. That had been enough, though, because even though Newton had exchanged only one precious missive with the woman who had quickly answered his mail-order advertisement, he had been taken with Miss Dominique Janvier’s description of herself. She had come across the ocean from France and was a lady’s maid in New York, adept at household arts. He had sent money for her passage to Sweetwater Springs straightaway because she had seemed so very right for him that he hadn’t seen any reason to hesitate.
His bride would provide companionship, children, house-running skills, and finally, she would keep this new leaf of his turned over.
Starting today, Newton wasn’t even going to look at a card game. No, sir, he was going to be an upstanding husband for his own Mrs. Chadwick.
By this time, Farrell and Victoria had finally pulled themselves apart on the bunkhouse porch, and he was making his way back to the buckboard.
Agnes sighed. “You would think he was embarking upon a voyage round the world with the way he was saying farewell.”
Before Newton could tease her about the hint of envy he heard in her tone—if he dared—he looked over to see that the ranch was coming awake. A rooster crowed in the crisp early morning air. Ten-year-old Thomas busted out of his cottage door and waved to the traveling party with an egg basket dangling from his hand. His father Boone was right behind him to start his day as the foreman, and he tipped his hat, too.
Newton acknowledged him, clicked his tongue, and snapped the reins, sending Sadie into motion. If he dwelled here any longer he would have to receive more good tidings from everyone else on the Golden C, and that would only delay this trip over the mountains and into town.
All he wanted right now was to say I do in the church and then start turning over more new leafs.
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You can read Debra Holland's wonderful Montana Sky books themselves, or check out the many fantastic stories in her Kindle Worlds!http://www.debraholland.com/kindle-worlds.html
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