style="font-size:15px;"> Durango, Colorado
Eliza Kelly’s worse fear had just been confirmed.
She couldn’t believe she was standing on the train platform waiting for a mail-order groom. One she hadn’t ordered!
With shaking fingers, Eliza opened the envelope and pulled out the slip of paper inside. Once more, her eyes scanned the letter that explained how her best friend, Hannah Young, had ordered the expected groom.
My dear friend Eliza,
I know this will come as a shock to you, but I have been writing as you to a Mr. Miles Thatcher. He posted a mail-order bride ad in the same newspaper as my own prospective groom, Mr. Westland. After reading his ad, I answered as you.
Eliza, I think you will like Mr. Thatcher. He will be arriving on the two o’clock train this afternoon.
Before you close your mind to the possibility of being a mail-order bride, know that I’ve prayed about this and feel I did the right thing in answering Mr. Thatcher’s advertisement. Granted I should have told you. For not doing so, I apologize now.
After you read his letters, you can decide if he is a man that you will enjoy spending the rest of your life with. If you decide to send him away, I promise to never do this again.
I’ll write once I get to Granite, Texas. I’m looking forward to hearing how you and Mr. Thatcher get along.
Sincerely,
Your friend Hannah
Emotions sliced through her like sharp scissors through cloth. How could Hannah do this to her? Anger at her friend’s impulsiveness demanded an answer that wasn’t forthcoming. She caught her lower lip between her teeth. What if Mr. Thatcher arrived and refused to return to wherever he came from?
She stuffed the note from Hannah back inside the envelope with Mr. Thatcher’s letters. Eliza had read them all so many times she almost had them memorized.
The two o’clock train squealed to a noisy stop. Eliza closed her eyes, said a quick prayer of deliverance and slowly counted to ten.
* * *
Jackson Hart lifted his head from the table and held it in his hands for several long seconds, waiting for the sound of grinding breaks to stop pulsating through his brain. He felt as if someone had taken a hatchet to his skull.
Keeping his eyes closed, he did a quick check of his pockets. As expected, they were empty. Whoever had taken advantage of him being alone in the train car and hit him over the head, knocking him out, had also robbed him.
“Sir, we’ve arrived in Durango.”
Jackson looked up at the porter. He rubbed the back of his head and winced. A knot the size of a goose egg pulsated against his skull, but when he pulled his fingers away there wasn’t any blood coating them. He was thankful for that and that he’d had the good sense to hide half of his money in his luggage.
He nodded to the young man and stood. “Who do I report a robbery to?”
Ten minutes later, Jackson stepped from the train. He moved off to the side of the platform and tried to ignore the sounds around him as he waited for his bag. It seemed to take forever before the porter lugged his belongings toward him. Taking pity on the young man, Jackson met him halfway and picked up the luggage. It held a few of his favorite tools, clothes and his Bible. Not to mention half the money he’d planned to use to get started in Silverton, Colorado. Again Jackson thanked the Lord that it hadn’t been with him at the time of the robbery.
“Sorry for the delay, Mr. Hart. I stopped and reported what happened to you to Special Agent Wilson. He says to assure you he will be looking out for future passengers and if the thief is caught, he’ll make sure you are notified.”
Jackson nodded. The action cost him as pain sliced through his skull. The porter hurried away and disappeared from sight. He closed his eyes to narrow slits, trying to shut out the piercing sun and willing the pain to subside. He’d planned to rest a couple of nights in Durango before traveling the fifty miles to Silverton. Now he didn’t have enough funds for the train and would have to secure employment of some kind here until he could move on. Jackson sighed. His search for his father would have to wait a little longer.
“Oh, Mr. Thatcher!”
Jackson cracked his eyes and looked to where the high-pitched call came from. He envied Mr. Thatcher as the lovely woman hurried toward him. A wisp of brown hair escaped from her hat; her brown eyes shone but didn’t match the smile on her lips. She was waving as if afraid Mr. Thatcher wouldn’t notice her. Jackson turned to see who she was frantically waving at.
Seeing no one, Jackson turned back around to find her standing directly in front of him. The silly bluebird on her hat bobbed just below his chin. He tilted his head and looked into her coffee-colored eyes. The woman slipped to the side of him and tucked her arm in his. She began to pull him down the dirt street.
Was the woman insane? What did she think she was doing? Jackson felt like digging his boots into the dirt, but he’d already noticed the attention she was getting from bystanders. His temples throbbed; maybe it would be better to let her get wherever they were going and then tell her she’d made a mistake.
“Come along, Mr. Thatcher. I am Eliza Kelly. I am a little tired and would really like to get back to the boardinghouse and get this situation taken care of, immediately. I know none of this is your fault, but I am exhausted because we were up so early yesterday to make the trip here from Cottonwood Springs, then this morning Hannah had to be at the train station by seven, and that’s when she told me about you. My stomach has been in knots all afternoon. At one point I thought I’d be sick. I still can’t believe Hannah would do such a thing.”
He marveled at the fact that she didn’t even take a breath as she continued walking and talking. That the woman had the courage to pull him along also amazed him. Most women took one look at his bulk and turned the other way.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I have made arrangements for you to stay at Mrs. Hattie’s boardinghouse until we can smooth out this mess. Hannah didn’t mean any harm in what she did, but well, I’m afraid she put us both in a very bad situation. You see, I am a widow.” She stopped and glanced over at him. A puzzled look crossed her pretty features before she pressed on. “But she probably wrote you that already, at least I hope she did. Anyway, I have asked Mrs. Hattie to make us a nice pot of tea so that we might discuss the situation.”
The woman talked faster than anyone he’d ever had the pleasure to meet. Her brown eyes sparkled, or maybe he was still seeing stars from the knock to the head, as she chattered on about Hannah and letters. The scent of vanilla filled his nostrils as he inhaled her fragrance.
When she took a deep breath, he decided now was the time to tell her she was mistaken, that he wasn’t Mr. Thatcher. “I...”
“Now, let’s not discuss it out here on the street.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I would hate for the town to find out that you were brought here under false pretenses. Of course, I’m sure Hannah didn’t mean for it to happen like that.” She paused and her voice returned to normal. “Well, maybe she did. Although, I want you to know that she did apologize to me and promised never to do such a thing again.”
Jackson felt
