“I’m awful glad you haven’t found a man to your liking yet.”
Glory smiled at Cade, her gaze on him assessing. He was to be admired; not only did he seem to be honest and forthright, but he claimed to have a fund of money available should she want to sell any portion of her farm to him.
If she was wrong, if this Cade McAllister was not all he seemed to be, she would have made a mistake greater than any she’d ever made. But if she were right, and if the sheriff was correct in his thinking, then Cade might be the salvation she sought. A man who would be willing to take on the farm and make a success of Buddy’s inheritance. A man to look out for her and the children. A friend for herself.
And perhaps even a husband.
AUTHOR NOTE
I loved this story from the first page on. It dwells on the building of a relationship—a natural outcome of the sort of marriage Glory enters into. The children involved are a large part of this story, for they are also a large part of Glory’s life. I love children, and enjoy including them in my work. The bond formed between Buddy and his stepfather is a path to the relationship that develops, binding the whole family together. Just another Carolyn Davidson story—one of love within the boundaries of a family and the joy to be found in the midst of a home.
I sincerely hope you will relate in some way to the characters who live on these pages, for I wrote this novel with my readers in mind. You have told me what you like to read and have made your position clear. So I write for you, all of you—those who make contact with me by mail or the internet, all of you who buy my books so faithfully and hopefully will continue to do so. The hours spent in front of my computer, my fingers flying over the keys, are dedicated to each of you.
I sometimes wish I could have lived in the days of old, that I could have been a woman such as Glory, living with wood stoves to cook on and scrub boards leaning inside a washtub upon which to clean my family’s laundry. Hmm … perhaps I’ll stick to writing of such women, enjoy my modern conveniences, and forget about churning butter.
So, until my next book and the next time I speak to each of you, I’ll be thinking of new stories to write and new characters to fill the pages.
Happy reading!
About the Author
Reading, writing and research—CAROLYN DAVIDSON’s life in three simple words. At least that area of her life having to do with her career as a historical romance author. The rest of her time is divided among husband, family and travel—her husband, of course, holding top priority in her busy schedule. Then there is their church, and the church choir in which they participate. Their sons and daughters, along with assorted spouses, are spread across the eastern half of America, together with numerous grandchildren. Carolyn welcomes mail at her post office box, PO Box 2757, Goose Creek, SC 29445, USA.
Previous novels by the same author:
A MARRIAGE BY CHANCE
THE TEXAN
TEMPTING A TEXAN
STORMWALKER’S WOMAN
(short story in One Starry Christmas)
TEXAS GOLD
THE MARRIAGE AGREEMENT
ABANDONED
(short story in Wed Under Western Skies)
TEXAS LAWMAN
OKLAHOMA SWEETHEART
A CHRISTMAS CHILD
(short story in The Magic of Christmas)
LONE STAR BRIDE
MARRIED IN MISSOURI
(short story in Mail-Order Marriages)
and in Mills & Boon® Super Historical Romance:
REDEMPTION
HAVEN
THE OUTLAW’S BRIDE
THE BRIDE
A Man for Glory
Carolyn Davidson
MILLS & BOON
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A MAN FOR GLORY
is dedicated to those women who found happiness
in marriages of convenience—a common occurrence
in the olden days. My own grandmother, at the age
of fifteen, came from Austria to marry a man in
Dearborn, Michigan, without ever seeing him.
It was a marriage that produced seven children,
one of whom was my father. I have a love for
such relationships, and write about them often.
And, as always, this work in its entirety
is dedicated to Mr. Ed, who loves me.
Prologue
Green River, Kansas
1847
The man who answered the door looked as if he’d seen better days. His hands were work-worn, his clothing no doubt soiled from toiling in the field out back of the barn. The pitchfork he’d apparently been using leaned against the side of the house, as if he’d left it there so it would be handy when he returned to the seemingly insurmountable job
