Winning The Mail-Order Bride. Lauri Robinson

       Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Chapter Fifteen

       Chapter Sixteen

       Chapter Seventeen

       Chapter Eighteen

       Chapter Nineteen

       Chapter Twenty

       Extract

       Copyright

       Chapter One

      The single fly that buzzed between the people sitting shoulder to shoulder in the pews in front of him annoyed folks. Not Brett Blackwell. When the fly finally landed on his shoulder, he let it be. The fly wasn’t any more irritating than the sweat rolling down his neck, and the bug probably wasn’t any happier than he was. Not usually prone to selfish thoughts, Brett wasn’t sure what to do with the melancholy that sat inside him. It had to do with the ceremony taking place in the front of the church.

      The folks up there were getting married. He’d paid money to have a chance that one of the brides the Oak Grove Betterment Committee had brought to town would pick him, but that hadn’t happened, and there wasn’t a whole lot of hope inside him to say he might have another chance at getting married anytime soon. Only five brides had arrived instead of the twelve Mayor Melbourne had promised, and though the mayor claimed more would arrive soon, Brett was with the other dozen or so men who figured Josiah was just blowing hot air. The mayor liked to do that. Put Josiah Melbourne behind a podium and a person’s ears would wear out before Josiah’s voice would.

      Brett figured the town should be glad that at least five gals had arrived on the train a month ago. There couldn’t be a whole lot of women willing to travel to the center of Kansas to marry a stranger. Although Oak Grove was a nice little town, and growing as folks hoped it would, it was a long ways from everywhere else. Dodge City was a solid hundred miles south. Yet good people lived here. He liked most of them, and despite his own melancholy, he was genuinely happy for the men who were marrying the brides the Betterment Committee had brought to town.

      Those men were some of his best friends. Steve Putnam had been the first to welcome him to town a few years ago, and he’d spent plenty of hours fishing in the Smoky Hill River with Jackson Miller, one of the other men standing up there. That was what he should do today, go fishing. It had a way of settling a man’s thoughts.

      However, his thoughts might never be settled again. Not until he found himself a wife like Steve and Jackson had.

      As he was taller than most everyone else, his gaze easily surveyed the heads ahead of him, until it settled on Josiah Melbourne’s. The mayor was sitting front and center as usual. Abigail White, wearing a hat full of flowers, sat beside Josiah, and Teddy, Abigail’s brother and one of Brett’s best friends, sat beside her. Teddy had been hoping for a wife too, as had several other men in the church.

      Just last night he and Teddy had talked about that, about how they doubted the full dozen of brides Josiah had promised would show up, and how there wasn’t a whole lot either of them could do about it.

      The fly left his shoulder, and Brett watched as it circled a couple of people before it flew toward the window and ultimately buzzed out the opening. The fly’s freedom sent Brett’s thoughts in a different direction. That fly could have given up, or hit the glass and knocked itself out. But it hadn’t. It had found a way to change its situation, and that was what he needed to do.

      Change the situation.

      He’d done that before. Had left Wisconsin to change his life and settled here in Oak Grove after completing his time with the railroad. He wasn’t sorry he’d done either of those things. He wasn’t sorry he’d chosen to set up his blacksmith shop here in Oak Grove or that he’d opened up a feed store to go along with his blacksmithing. He wasn’t sorry for anything he’d done. That was how he chose to live his life. A sorry man wasn’t good for anyone, including himself.

      Brett sat up a bit straighter, listening as the preacher blessed the unions of the couples getting hitched, and when the preacher offered a prayer for the newly wedded couples, Brett bowed his head and added his own. Then, as an afterthought, he included a quick one for himself. That if God had a mind to, sending a few more brides to town would be appreciated, especially if one took a liking to him.

      The services ended shortly thereafter, and he stood in line to shake each man’s hand and give his congratulations to the brides. Then he stepped aside and waited for Teddy to exit the doorway.

      It was time he found a wife of his own. On his own. Well, not completely, he needed a little bit of help.

      While people continued to file out of the church, congratulating the happy couples, Brett mentally went over the message he’d send his mother. Word for word so it didn’t sound like he was desperate but that there was clearly an element of urgency He could send her a letter, but a telegram would be better. Short and to the point, a telegram would, in itself, tell his mother how speedily he’d like a response.

      Teddy not only owned the local newspaper, he ran the telegraph office, and because of the festivities happening, which Teddy was sure to want to attend, Brett would offer a few extra coins to have the message sent today. He usually wouldn’t ask for a favor when the office was closed, but seeing the new brides and grooms looking so happy—which they had a right to be—increased the urgency inside him.

      When Teddy finally walked down the steps, Brett waved to catch his attention and was extremely glad when Teddy’s sister, Abigail, remained behind. Abigail wasn’t married, and at one time or another, almost every man in town had considered courting her, including him. Everyone had quickly changed their mind. For him, it wasn’t because she was as thin as the pencil she always kept behind one ear or that the end of her pointed nose had a hook sharper than a hawk’s, it was her voice. Its high-pitched squeak was more irritating than a wheel needing grease and Lord but that woman was nosy. As the town’s one and only reporter, she felt she had a right to know everyone’s business and that it was her duty to write about it. Every picnic and stroll she embarked upon with a possible suitor ended up in the newspaper. His consideration of Abigail as a possible wife hadn’t gone that