Short Straw Bride. Dallas Schulze

      It was no wonder she was so bone-deep selfish.

      Anabel had been only ten when Eleanor came to stay, but she’d already been well versed in getting her own way. At the suggestion that she might share her big, sunny bedroom with her cousin, Anabel’s pretty pink complexion had flushed an ugly shade of red and she’d begun screaming. Eleanor could still remember her cousin standing in the middle of the parlor, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her body rigid with anger as shriek after shriek issued from her perfect Cupid’s-bow mouth.

      Eleanor, dazed by the abrupt changes in her life, had waited in vain to see one of Anabel’s parents slap her to stop her hysteria. Dorinda’s pale blue eyes had filled with tears and she’d quickly promised her daughter that “Mommy’s precious” wouldn’t have to share her room with her cousin. After all, Dorinda had told her husband, without regard for Eleanor’s presence, there was no telling what kind of manners they could expect from a child raised in saloons. Best not to risk Anabel’s delicate sensibilities by subjecting her to bad influences.

      Eleanor could have told them that she’d never been in a saloon in her life and that she certainly had better manners than her young cousin, but it hadn’t seemed worth the effort. She’d been grateful for the privacy afforded by the boxy little room at the rear of the house—the maid’s room, Anabel had pointed out with a smug smile the first time they were alone together—and the more she got to know her cousin, the stronger her gratitude had become.

      When she’d first come here her aunt had explained that she undoubtedly had a great deal to learn about proper living. Raised as she had been, she’d no doubt picked up many improper notions, and such notions wouldn’t be tolerated in the Williams household. Six years later, Eleanor still didn’t know what ‘improper notions’ she might have had, but she did know that if this was “proper living,” she was not impressed. Zebediah and Dorinda Williams might be proper but they were also smallminded, parsimonious people who took no pleasure in life.

      She sighed again and rested her chin on the hands she’d propped on the windowsill. She could leave, of course, but she had no money and no way to earn a living. Though her father had done his best to shield her from the more sordid realities of life, she’d seen enough to know just how difficult the world could be for a woman on her own.

      She might be able to wangle a job as a schoolteacher in some remote area. There was always a crying need for such. Or she could marry Andrew Webb and become a mother to his four small children. She could do worse. Andrew was pleasant enough and, as owner of the general store, considered a good catch, particularly for a young woman of no real beauty or expectations, as her aunt Dorinda had pointed out when Mr. Webb began making his interest in her niece obvious. It isn’t as if Eleanor can simply have her pick of beaux, after all. Not like dear Anabel. This last had been said with a fond look at her daughter, who’d managed to blush and look modest, no mean feat for a girl who spent nearly every waking moment in front of a mirror.

      Aunt Dorinda was right, of course. She could do worse than to encourage Mr. Webb. It was just that…The thought trailed off as a cloud drifted across the face of the moon. A light breeze blew through the open window, its chill cutting through the light cotton of her nightgown. Shivering, Eleanor rose from the trunk where she’d been sitting and lowered the window.

      It was just that she was a silly, romantic fool, she told herself as she climbed into her narrow bed and pulled the covers up around her shoulders. She was still clinging to the childish idea of a handsome knight who’d ride into her life and fall instantly under the spell of her negligible charms.

      It was past time to put away such foolish notions, she told herself briskly. She was twenty now, no longer a girl. Unless she wanted to prove that little cat Anabel right and end up an old maid, it was time to stop looking for a handsome knight and start thinking of marrying a good man with whom to build a solid, dependable foundation for the future.

      An image of Andrew Webb’s thin face and watery blue eyes rose in her mind’s eye and she felt her determination falter. She wasn’t clear on just what intimacies being married entailed, but whatever they were, it was difficult to imagine sharing them with Mr. Webb. Still, his first wife had clearly had no difficulty doing so, as witness the four children she’d given him before falling victim to consumption.

      Eleanor set her chin with determination. Tomorrow was Sunday and she was sure to see Mr. Webb at church, since he attended the services as regularly as the Williams family. When she saw him, she’d do her best to discreetly indicate that his attentions were not unwelcome. If she was not mistaken in the strength of his feelings, she could find herself Mrs. Andrew Webb before the summer was out.

      She used the edge of the sheet to dry a tear from her cheek. It was the sensible, mature thing to do. If it wasn’t the love match of her childish dreams, it would certainly be better than spending the rest of her life as Aunt Dorinda’s unpaid housekeeper.

      Closing her eyes, Eleanor forced back tears that threatened to spill over. Despite the turmoil of her thoughts, she was soon asleep. Through her dreams drifted images of a dark-haired man with a dazzling smile who swept her up onto the back of his horse and carried her off to a castle that sat incongruously in the middle of the prairie.

       Chapter Two

      The last time anyone could remember the McLain brothers setting foot inside a church was three years past when their mother had been laid to rest beside her husband. So their arrival on this fine spring morning created a buzz of talk as people wondered what had caused their sudden attack of piety.

      The speculation was already well advanced by the time Eleanor’s family arrived. Zeb Williams had a firm, if unspoken, belief that God rewarded not merely godliness but punctuality. But this morning Anabel had been unable to find a particular hair ribbon and their departure had been delayed while the house was searched for the missing item. Though the pink ribbon was found in Anabel’s reticule, exactly where she’d apparently put it, the blame for their lateness had somehow fallen on Eleanor and she’d been treated to a telling silence on the carriage ride.

      She was actually grateful for the opportunity to review the decision she’d made the night before. Though she tried desperately to find some flaw in the plan, none presented itself. No matter how she looked at it, marrying Andrew Webb seemed the best option available to her. He was a respectable man, a kind man, even. She’d be a very foolish girl indeed to turn him away.

      So, when Mr. Webb greeted the Williams family today, she’d put on her very best smile for him and try to look as if the prospect of wedding a man with cold, damp hands and four small children filled her with something other than dread.

      But the whispered buzz that hummed through the small church pushed all thoughts of Andrew Webb momentarily aside. Of course, even without the whispers running through the pews, Eleanor would have noticed the McLains. They sat in the front pew, next to the aisle. Broad shoulders beneath neat black coats, dark hair worn just a little too long for complete respectability—even from the back, they drew a woman’s eyes.

      Though she’d attended church there every Sunday for six years, it seemed to Eleanor as if the building was suddenly much smaller than it had been, as if the McLains’ presence filled up the available space in some way that mere mortal men had no business doing.

      It was doubtful that anyone paid much attention to the Reverend Sean Mulligan’s sermon that day. Eleanor certainly couldn’t have repeated a word of it. When the sermon ended, the murmured amens were perfunctory, everyone’s mind occupied with things of more immediate interest than the hereafter.

      It was the normal practice for people to linger in front of the church, exchanging greetings with each other, complimenting the minister on his sermon. On this particular Sunday there was only one topic of conversation among the womenfolk—what had brought the McLains to church after all this time. And though the men pretended to be above such common speculation, it didn’t stop their eyes from sliding to where the McLains stood