Montana Sky: The Purchased Bride (Kindle Worlds Novella) (The Jones's of Morgan's Crossing Book 2)
Text copyright ©2016 by the Author.
This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Debra Holland. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Montana Sky remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Debra Holland, or their affiliates or licensors.
For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds
The Purchased Bride
(A Montana Sky World Novella)
By
Kit Morgan
Dear Reader,
The Purchased Bride, is written by Kit Morgan. I first met Kit at a writer’s conference in San Antonio, Texas in 2014. Conferences are a great place for authors to meet, network, and get to know one another. It’s one thing to interact on social media, quite another to do it in person. Not to mention a lot more fun. Right after meeting Kit, we got our picture taken together with some handsome cowboys, two other authors, and a chicken—a toy chicken, and Kit’s idea, but that’s Kit for you. She writes with a lot of humor, and her books are known for being fun and whimsical. She’s also a very prolific writer, something her readers enjoy and I’m in awe of. Like me, Kit likes to dabble in the fantasy romance genre.
Have fun reading Kit’s second contribution to my world.
Debra Holland
Table of Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
About the Author
One
The Jones ranch, outside Morgan’s Crossing, Montana, June 1890
Jess Jones from Clear Creek, Oregon was the spitting image of his father Ryder. Everyone thought so, and everyone commented on it. By his seventeenth birthday, Jess had gotten tired of hearing it.
He knew that the older he got, the more like his father he became (in looks, anyway). That in itself wasn’t a bad thing; his father was a handsome man. But he didn’t act like his father, and that led to unflattering comparisons. “Why don’t you do it like your pa would?” “That ain’t how yer father’d behave – what’s wrong with ya?” “You’re just like your father except _________, and I can’t understand why …”
Jess could tell them why – because he was a different person – and did so, often. It never seemed to do a lot of good.
One person understood: Eli Turner, Sheriff Turner’s much younger brother. He was about nine years Jess’s senior, and had taken him under his wing when Jess was twelve. They were very much alike – they both went by facts rather than feelings most of the time. They both lived in the shadow of older men – Jess his father, Eli his brother. And they both strived to be the best they could be at anything they did.
Some would call them perfectionists; Jess and Eli preferred “ambitious.” They wanted to see how far they could go, realistically. But over the last few years, Eli hadn’t had as much time to spend with Jess – he was now a happily married man. (He almost hadn’t been, but that was another story.) With Eli busy with his wife, Jess now felt more alone than ever before – and now without an ally in not living up to Clear Creek’s expectations.
So, given an opportunity for something different – somewhere else – Jess was now living with his cousin Anson and his wife Zadie in Montana. He’d been there almost a month and had helped Anson put the finishing touches on his newly-built home. Zadie was ecstatic over the building project, but daily chores took much of her time, so she didn’t get to help the way she’d like to.
Much to Anson and Jess’s relief. “No … put it over there, I think,” Zadie said for the fifth time. They were finally ready to move the furniture from the original cabin on the property into the house. Zadie didn’t want to start moving things until all the wallpaper had been put up. Several women from town had been helping her with that project for weeks, and yesterday they’d finally finished.
Jess and Anson grunted as they picked up a huge armoire. They moved it into a different corner of the room and set it down carefully. The intricately carved monstrosity was brand new, delivered from Sweetwater Springs that very morning. Anson wiped his brow with a handkerchief. “How does it look?”
She cocked her head this way and that as she studied it and envisioned the room with its other furnishings. “Hmmm …”
“‘Hmmm’ isn’t an answer,” Jess said matter-of-factly.
“Mind you, this is not your room,” she retorted. “Anson and I are will be sleeping here.”
“Why didn’t we bring the bed up first?” Jess asked.
“Because that’s the biggest piece of furniture,” she said. “I didn’t want the two of you worn out before bringing the armoire up.”
Anson and Jess looked sheepishly at each other. “Oh” they said at once, realizing she was right. Jess put his hands on his hips before adding, “Thanks, Zadie.”
“Don’t mention it.” She brushed a wisp of blond hair out of her bright green eyes. She was a good woman, and Jess was happy for Anson – they were a perfect match. Anson with his dark hair and steely blue eyes was a nice contrast to his wife’s lighter coloring. Jess noticed how they turned heads whenever they went to Morgan’s Crossing for supplies, especially the heads of the single miners. But Zadie was quite obviously taken, so there was no sense in any of them pining after her. Why they hadn’t any children yet was anyone’s guess.
Having had plenty of time to watch the pair, Jess had started to feel his first real pangs of loneliness. He’d never felt that before, not really. Back in Clear Creek he’d been surrounded by friends and family – mostly family, as his extended relations made up half of the town.
But Morgan’s Crossing was different. He wasn’t related to most of its residents, only one. Not that he got to see many of the town’s inhabitants. Anson’s horse ranch was miles outside of town, but he was used to that; his family’s ranch back home was almost a three-hour ride from Clear Creek. At home, though, there were always lots of people around, what with his parents, siblings and cousins living at the ranch. When he ventured into Clear Creek, everyone in town knew him and could be counted as, if not a friend, at least an acquaintance. But he really didn’t know anyone well in Morgan’s Crossing except Anson and Zadie.
Oh, he’d been to dinner at the mayor’s house a couple of times with them. The Morgans (the town was named after Michael Morgan, who owned most of it) were nice enough folks. Zadie had been beside herself when Prudence Morgan offered to help decorate the new house. She’d even pitched in with the wallpapering until her child demanded her attention. Ah, motherhood. But that was pretty much it for his social circle.
Finding a wife would be nice, but he was beginning to wonder what his chances were. The pickings in Morgan’s Crossing were slim to none and not much better in Sweetwater Springs, the “big town” two days’ ride away. No, if he fancied himself a wife, he’d have to do the same thing Anson had: send away for a mail-order bride. And he really, really didn’t want to.
Jess was, at his core, a romantic. He wanted to court a woman first, win her affections, take it slowly. He wanted to gaze into her eyes, study her, memorize every inch of her face, her neck, her shoulders, and on and on. He wanted to run his fingers through her hair, caress her soft cheeks– just before kissing
her, of course – then step back and tell her how beautiful she was …
“Jess!”
Jess was so startled he lost his balance and almost fell over. “What?!”
Anson waved a hand in front of his face. “Stop woolgathering and help me with the bed.”
“Oh, uh, sure,” Jess said lamely and followed him downstairs. They’d already hauled in the mattress and bed-coverings and set it in a corner of the bedroom – all that remained to move was the frame.
“You’ll want something better than my old cot to sleep on,” Anson said as they picked up the headboard and carried it out of the cabin. Anson had purchased the bed not long after he and Zadie married. They’d shared that cot as best they could until the bed arrived in Sweetwater Springs. The four-day round-trip to bring it home had been worth it, they insisted.
But Jess wasn’t sure he wanted to go through all that trouble for himself. “The cot will do for now.”
“Yes, but don’t you want to sleep on something more comfortable?”
Jess shrugged. “Depends on how uncomfortable your old cot gets.”
Anson laughed. “True!” They carried the headboard into the house, up the stairs and into the bedroom, set it down and went back for another piece.
After they got the rest of the bed over and put it together, Zadie set to work making lunch. The men still had to tend to some busted fencing and she wanted to make sure they ate before they left. “I’ll use the leftover chicken from last night. I hope that’s good enough,” she said as they entered the huge kitchen.
The kitchen was one of the things Anson insisted she have. He and Jess had both admired the one at the Triple-C Ranch back in Clear Creek, home of the biggest cookstove either man had ever seen. That monster would probably scare poor Zadie, but Anson had made sure to get one that, while smaller, was more than adequate for their needs.
“Whatever you come up with will be fine with us,” Anson said.
“I was thinking of Jess,” she commented.
Anson looked at his cousin. “Jess? What about me?”
“You’re used to my cooking, but poor Jess has had to suffer through it these last few weeks.”
Anson’s mouth dropped open. “Suffer?”
Zadie’s hands went to her hips. “You’re the one who told me about all the great cooks back in Clear Creek. I’m in competition and I aim to live up to at least … one of them!”
Anson and Jess looked at each other, back at Zadie, then laughed.
She waved a butter knife at them. “It’s not funny! You know I’ve been working on my cooking ever since we got married!”
“You’re cooking is fine,” Jess said. “My mother wasn’t the greatest cook for a time. I remember some of the things she tried to make when I was growing up. If I can live through that, I can live through a cold chicken sandwich.”
She lowered the knife. “Well, if you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
She smiled. “Very well, then. If you have time, I can hard-boil some eggs to take with you for a snack … wait.” She turned and looked at an empty bowl on the worktable. “Oh dear, I’m out of eggs.”
“I’ll go fetch you some,” Jess offered.
“Would you? That would save some time.”
“Happy to.” He left through the kitchen’s back door, not bothering to get his hat. Come to think of it, he wasn’t sure where his hat was at this point – the cabin, maybe? He’d check on his way back.
Jess started to whistle as he entered the barn. “Hello, ladies,” he said to the hens. They were almost family pets – Zadie had named each one. “Let’s see, Mrs. Henworth, what have you for me? Anything?”
The chicken he addressed ignored him.
“Well, let’s find out, shall we?” He went into the empty stall where the hens tended to roost during the hotter part of the day. There was a low shelf there covered with straw where he was sure to find a few eggs.
Just as he began to look, a tiny sound caught his attention, and he froze.
Something rustled in the hay behind him. Whatever it was, it didn’t sound like a chicken.
He whirled around. “Jumpin’ horny toads! Who are you?!”
A girl sat huddled in one corner of the stall. He hadn’t even seen her as he entered – she must have been there the whole time. She gasped and shrank further into the corner at the sound of his voice.
“Whoa there,” he said, his voice gentler. “It’s okay. Where did you come from?”
She tried to make herself smaller, tucking her legs closer to her body.
Jess took a few steps toward her to get a better look. At that time of day that end of the stall was in shadow. “Hey, I’m not gonna hurt you.” He held his hands out, palms up. “See? Now why don’t you stand up and tell me who you are?”
She kept one eye on him and one eye only. The girl – correction, young woman, now that he was close enough to get a better look – wouldn’t turn her head to face him.
He took another few steps and dropped to one knee, his hands still up. “Are you all right?”
She watched him warily, her head turning toward him slightly. She had a black eye, and her right cheek was bruised. He blinked a few times, as if not believing what he was seeing. “Ohhhh … what happened to you?” he whispered. “I promise, I’m not gonna hurt you, okay? I just want to help.”
She faced him now, but still didn’t get up.
He inched closer. Maybe she was hurt elsewhere. “I’m Jess Jones,” he said. “Nice to make your acquaintance. Miss …?”
She swallowed hard but still didn’t speak, just whimpered.
“You’re hurt worse somewhere, aren’t you?” He knelt and leaned back on his heels, studying her as best he could in the dim light. Her arms were wrapped around her knees, her dress torn and dirty and her feet bare. “I can’t help you if you won’t come out of that corner.” He peered at her more closely. “What’s this? Are you bleeding?” Without thinking he reached for her.
She gasped and shook her head.
Jess held up both hands. “It’s all right, I’m not gonna drag you out of here or anything, not if you’re injured. I just want to see where the blood’s coming from. You look like you’re badly hurt.”
She swallowed hard, then shuddered.
“Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do. I’ll help you out of there, all right? You try to stand. If you can’t, I’ll carry you to the house and we can fix you up there.”
She turned her face away.
“My cousin, his wife and me,” Jess explained. He changed positions and crouched next to her. “Easy now, sweetheart, easy …” For a moment he felt as if he were talking to some wounded animal, the way she was acting.
Her eyes widened as he gently put a hand on her shoulder, but she didn’t protest. Neither did she speak when he slid his arm around her, placing his other beneath her bent legs. In one move he pulled her to him and pushed himself to a standing position. She was much lighter than he expected, even though she seemed to be wearing more than one layer of clothing. Odd in the middle of summer.
“Okay, that’s it.” He bent slightly and slowly let go of her legs, but as soon as he did she cried out in pain. He picked her up again and stood stock-still. “Okay, okay … I won’t do that again. Is your leg broken?” No … if it was, he wouldn’t have been able to pick her up the way he did without hurting her. “One of your ankles?”
She was looking right at him now. She grimaced in pain and shook her head.
Jess didn’t have time to guess – blood was dripping on the straw. “I’m taking you to the house,” he said firmly.
She didn’t protest. Instead, she fainted.
“Miss? Miss, are you okay? “Oh no, no, no, no …” He hurried out of the barn with her, heading for the house. If she didn’t have any broken bones, where was the blood coming from? Well, he’d find out soon enough.
He reached the house, carried her up the back porch steps and went into the kitchen. “About
time,” Zadie said as she turned around, then stared at him in shock. “Oh my, that’s not a basket of eggs!”
“No, but I found her in the stall the hens use. She’s hurt.”
Anson jumped up from the kitchen table and motioned Jess to him. “Quick, lay her down here.”
Jess complied, gently laying the woman on the table. “I don’t know who she is or where she came from, but she’s in pain and she’s bleeding. I was about to carry her out of the barn when she fainted.”
Zadie came to stand beside her husband. “I’ll check her.” Anson and Jess both backed up as she began to examine their patient. She untied the tattered shawl the girl had around her shoulders, studied her clothing and started to unbutton her shirtwaist. “She looks like she’s wearing three sets of clothes.”
“That’s strange,” Anson commented. He watched his wife continue to peel back layers of clothing. “Maybe … Jess and I should wait in the parlor?”
“No,” she said, “get the bandages I keep in the cabin. I’m sure we’re going to need them.”
“Of course. What am I thinking?” Anson rushed out of the house to comply.
Jess remained. “How can I help?”
“We need to check to see if she has any broken bones.”
“I asked her, but she … told me no. I mean … she didn’t speak, but she shook her head no when I asked. Maybe she’s in shock.”
“Let’s hope not,” Zadie checked the girl’s arms for broken bones. “I’m not sure what to do for someone who is. Doc Drake never showed me that.”
“I see,” Jess said. Doc Drake and his wife Ellie from Clear Creek had paid Anson and Zadie a visit the previous year along with Anson’s parents. The doctor had been kind enough to show Zadie a thing or two about mending bodies in case Anson was ever hurt working with his horses. A necessary skill, miles away from the nearest town.
She moved on to the girl’s legs, lifted her skirt – skirts – and examined her feet and ankles. Blood had been trickling down her right leg to her foot. “What on earth?”