AFRICAN AMERICAN URBAN FICTION: BWWM ROMANCE: Billionaire Baby Daddy (Billionaire Secret Baby Pregnancy Romance) (Multicultural & Interracial Romance Short Stories) (102 page)

The two knelt on the ground on the hilltop as the sun set, and they recommitted to each other to be husband and wife directly before God.   After several minutes, both faces wet with tears of joy, the couple stood and made their way back down the hill, to the town, and to the saloon.

***

Nine months later, a very pregnant Paige stood in front of the old saloon sweeping the dust off the wooden plank path.   She stopped as she watched the stagecoach pull up and exclaimed as she watched her sisters both climb out.   Both of the younger woman hurried to greet her, and the three stood in the middle of the dusty town hugging and crying together.   Wiping their eyes, the younger women directed the men helping with their bags to follow Paige.  

Paige led the women into the building and directed one of the well-dressed young women inside to show the men where to put the luggage.  She then turned to her sisters, “Welcome to Rose Hotel!”  

With that announcement, Rose emerged from the kitchen, and offered her own warm welcome to Maria and Julie.  The younger women looked around the main room and noted the expensive decor and the impeccable cleanliness.  They could not imagine that this had been a saloon only six months before. 

Paige had divulged a great amount of information her letters once she and Mitch united.  She shared how Mitch sold the saloon to his sister under the condition that she keep on the women as well-paid workers in her new hotel that easily rivaled the other hotel in town, and during the day was run as a cafe offering some of the best food in town.  Once the papers had been drawn up, Mitch moved he and Paige back to his ranch where Paige found herself wrapped up in a life she never dreamt of. 

She and Mitch lived alone on the ranch for the first couple of weeks as he spent the days teaching her some of the daily chores she needed to stay on top of, and as he did minor repairs or collected scattered cattle from the surrounding areas.  They spent those first two weeks wrapped up in each other under the moon as often as they did under the roof of their home.  Mitch had found it hard to share his bed in that home with Paige at first; too many memories of his life with his first wife, but Paige compromised by turning the old bedroom into her sewing room, and turning the upstairs loft into their new bedroom.  As they found love in each other, everything fell into place much more completely, and when Paige finally realized she was pregnant, she kept the secret to herself for over a month, not wanting Mitch to worry.

It was their sixth week in their home that Mitch realized Paige was getting plump around the middle.  He knew immediately and grabbed her and rejoiced with her, the pair dancing around the main room in excitement.  They made regular trips into town to see Rose and help her transition the saloon to a hotel, and it had been Rose’s idea to have Paige’s sisters come stay around Paige’s due date to welcome the new baby into the world.

Three days after they arrived, Paige, Maria, and Julie were sitting in the front room of the hotel when Paige’s water broke.   With Rose’s help, the sisters moved Paige up to the room she and Mitch had shared before moving back out to the ranch.  One sister ran to get Mitch and another ran to get the doctor.  As her labor ensued, Mitch held Paige’s hand and murmured words of love and encouragement as she worked through the pain. 

After several hours, in the early morning hours of that winter day, the clear cry of the newborn girl broke the silence of the town.  As Paige touched each finger and toe, and Mitch stared in unspeakable joy at his incredible wife and beautiful baby girl, Rose stood at the end of the bed with Maria and Julie.

Rose asked, “What are you going to name her?”

Mitch and Paige looked at each other and smiled knowingly before looking back at their little girl.  “Grace,” they replied in unison.

THE END

Enjoyed the story? Please flip to the end of the book to get directed to leave a review on Amazon - Thank you!

Enjoy your next book:
The Amish Brides New Life

Click here to go back to your table of contents

Want to receive
FREE
Romance Kindle E-Books
delivered right to your inbox?

Click this link and fill out the brief e-mail opt-in form

Click the link above or enter:
http://goo.gl/3rhKhz
into your browser.

Chapter 1

Sylvia shrank down into the train’s seat, wishing that she could simply disappear. Surely this apprehension would fade, would grow smaller and smaller with each mile that she traveled from the only home she had ever known. For now, though, the train still sat in the station and she tried to make herself invisible.

Yes, everyone would realize come tonight when she didn’t come home what she’d done. She just didn’t want to face them, to see the shock and judgement she was sure would fill their faces. It was cowardice, to be sure, but surely in the face of the courage it had taken to make this decision a little cowardice could be permitted.

She had, after all, just walked away from everything she’d ever known with nothing more than the clothes on her back and a whispered prayer that the future could, perhaps, be brighter than the bleak path that had lain before her. No, there was no guarantee that this change would be for the best, but at least it would be change. Sylvia couldn’t, no matter how much she wished she could, stay in her home.

The tight-knit Amish community which she’d seen through her entire childhood as a place of refuge, as her entire world, had become smaller and smaller. Some days it seemed as though the rules, the neighbors, even her own family were closing in on her, constricting around her until she was no longer able to draw a full breath.

It was that feeling, that stifling hopelessness, that had led up to her answering the ad she’d found in the dispatch. It hadn’t been a rash decision, but rather a resolution that was months in the making. When she first tore the clipping from the newspaper, when she’d been in the mercantile trading the quilts she and her mother had made for a few grocery items, she’d never believed she would answer an ad herself. It had been a fantasy, nothing more.

Sylvia had felt unbearably guilty, both for entertaining such fantasies and for taking the page that contained the ads, but from that moment it seemed almost as if her present course was inescapable. It was as though admitting her unhappiness somehow gave it more weight, made it an almost tangible pressure that overlaid everything that she did. She kept the page, read the ad every day. It didn’t say much really. It just advertised that a man from Texas was searching for a bride, and that he would pay her expenses if she were to agree to wed him.

Sure, on a logical level she understood that if she were to answer that ad—or one like it, because that one had been printed months ago and she was sure someone had answered the request—there was no guarantee that life would be any better. In fact, if she were honest with herself, it was entirely likely that the situation she found herself in would be worse.

Somehow though even ‘worse’ sounded better. At least she could, if only for a time, have the hope of a better future, the excitement of the unknown. As it was her entire life was mapped out for her. Her parents hadn’t chosen her a husband yet, but it was only a matter of time. Once they did she would settle down with him and raise children in the same small village she’d grown up in herself. Sure, life as a mail-order bride didn’t seem much different, but at least she wouldn’t feel as though the world was passing her by while she had to live apart from it all. To even speak such thoughts might get her shunned, if the wrong person heard…of course she’d more that taken care of that.

Sylvia took a deep breath as the train began to rumble down the tracks and tried in vain to keep the tears that threatened from leaving cold, twisted trails down her cheeks. No, there was no looking back now. There was nowhere to go but forward. With shaking hands she removed her prayer cap and apron. Sylvia smoothed her hands over the starched white fabric.

She reached back then with one hand to touch her uncovered hair. It was a lovely golden shade, though it was a sin for Sylvia to admit her pride in it, even to herself. The prayer caps were donned to prevent emotions like the ones she always felt anyway about her hair.

Her other features weren’t as admirable, in her estimation. She wasn’t unseemly, to be sure, but neither was she a great beauty. Still, with clear blue eyes and a healthy flush to her cheeks, surely her future husband could do worse. She hoped that her future husband wouldn’t be terribly disappointed with her…

Vanity or no, it felt strange to be out in public without her hair covered.

She’d never dared to be seen outside the house without the cap and apron on before now. Even though she was the only person sitting in the passenger car at the moment she had to fight the urge to fold her hands over the dark blue fabric of her dress to hide herself.

The cool air that lingered from the time the train had stood open and awaiting more passengers that never came seemed to sting against Sylvia’s scalp, a soft reprimand for the sin of uncovering her hair in public. She shook off the notion though. She’d grow used to it soon enough.

She began to put the garments aside, but in the end some small, sentimental part of her refused to let that final tie with her old life go. Instead she folded them up, as small as they would go, and shoved them into the bottom of her bag. With an effort she banished the thoughts of home from her mind, but there was no stopping them from returning once she’d closed her eyes.

“Have you ever wondered what it would be like, Helen? To just leave, to never have to wear this prayer cap again, to be able to speak with whomever we want, to—“

“Hush, Sylvia! You mustn’t say such things! What if Papa heard you? He might even consider shunning you, and then where would you be?”

Sylvia had swallowed the curiosity. Back then a shunning had actually seemed like the end of the world. Her mother and father were harsh, with little enthusiasm for life and even less love for the two daughters they’d brought into the world. Sylvia didn’t doubt, as shameful as the thought was, that she could walk away from them without a backward glance. But Helen? She could never walk away from her little sister.

Sylvia woke with a start and dried the tears that had formed on her face during the dream. Even though it had seemed so real, some part of her must have realized that she would never be faced with the choice of walking away from her younger sister. You couldn’t leave someone who was already gone.

Dispassionately Sylvia stared out the train’s window as the scenery passed her by. After some hours had passed the mountains gave way to flatter territory that was no less green. Still, no matter how pleasant, no matter how novel the new sights that she was presented with, the sadness of her dream still filled her. As the miles went by, one after another, with nothing beyond the sights outside the window to fill her mind, sadness began to give way to a much darker emotion.

Sylvia tried to tamp down on the anger that rose up in her at the thought of her younger sister. When Helen had fallen ill her father had refused to seek medical help outside their community, even though it was not against their beliefs to do so. He’d claimed to place his trust in ‘divine providence’. He had said that if it were God’s will her sister would be healed.

While she didn’t doubt a higher power, Sylvia didn’t quite buy into divine providence in her sister’s case. Her beliefs fell more in line with a saying she’d heard repeated often by men and women in the mercantile: “God helps those who help themselves.”

That was what Sylvia was doing now. She wasn’t walking away from faith as a whole as much as she was leaving behind her a family that would stand by and let her waste away to nothing if she were to fall ill. Surely self-preservation couldn’t be wrong. How could wanting to know that your life was truly valued be a sin? The direction Sylvia’s thoughts had taken steeled her resolve. As the last remnants of her earlier tears dried on her cheeks she vowed to only look forward rather than behind.

Even steely resolve, however, cannot fight off boredom. Over the next several days Sylvia spent her days traveling by train. The seats in the passenger cabins were far more comfortable than they could have been, and certainly more comfortable than anything Sylvia usually sat in. Still, though, after sitting there for several hours every day only to disembark, seek a room, and do it all again the next day…Sylvia thought she might never want to sit again after this journey was done, no matter how inviting the cushion.

Then, before she’d even reached the Texas border, Sylvia changed modes of travel. The rest of her journey would be completed via stagecoach. She’d spent plenty of time riding to town in an open buggy. If someone had told her she might suffer from motion sickness she would have laughed them off quickly. She would have been wrong.

Something about the small, closed in cabin of the stagecoach, the scent of dust and a hundred travelers before her…it just turned her stomach. Rather than enjoying the scenery as it changed around her, so different from the hilly, green land back home, she spent most of each day with her head tilted back and her eyes closed.

She breathed through her mouth in order to avoid the unpleasant scents, only to find it dried and coated with dust. The cold air left her throat aching and, though she bundled up as best she could, her hands and feet numb.

Though she normally preferred her space, particularly around people that she wasn’t well acquainted with, Sylvia found herself hoping that the coach would be full each morning when they set out. Surely it wasn’t inappropriate to sit closely when there wasn’t room to do much else. It was certainly warmer with more people riding in the stagecoach alongside her.

Sylvia hadn’t thought things could get much more miserable. Then it rained. The going that day, while less bumpy, was painfully slow. Still, she shouldn’t complain. Those who had paid a lower fare had to get out and walk when the wagon got too bogged down in the mire. And those who had paid less still had to push until it was freed again. Only then were they able to climb back into the wagon, mud logged and completely exhausted. When they passed into a region that hadn’t seen wet weather recently Sylvia had felt ridiculously thankful for the dusty, bumpy ride she’d taken for granted only days before.

Though it was preferable to the rain, the bumpy rides had their problems. Her dress was grimy and travel worn, and it hung more loosely on her frame than it had at the beginning of her journey, which wasn’t exactly a good thing.

Sylvia had never been a large woman. She wasn’t exactly tiny though, not like some of the delicate girls in her church. She’d been more athletic, although she was still slender. Over the days traveling with an almost empty stomach—a necessity if she hoped to avoid losing its contents during the day’s carriage ride—Sylvia’s slight form had diminished until she was border line bony.

It was a shame that she couldn’t rest of for a week or so to put a bit of meat back on her bones before she met her husband to be. Her betrothed had certainly sent enough money for her to do so, if she desired, but she felt as though he would probably rather that she spend the money frugally and return as much as possible to him upon her arrival. And do, she thought with a sigh, it would be skin and bones for her, brought on by day after day of half starved, half sick rocking, bouncing torture.

Sooner than she would have thought, though, her days fell into a rhythm. She learned that the seat beside the driver was best, for it didn’t seem to bounce quite as hard as those around it. Though she couldn’t read to take her mind off the trials of the journey—she’d tried once and ended up with double the motion sickness and frigid hands for her trouble—she could occupy her mind by picturing her new home in her mind, and by pretending to describe the journey to Helen.

She would paint it as a grand adventure rather than the grimy, wearing travel that it was. If she were to tell Helen about the trip the plain fare at many of the stage coach stops would be made to sound exotic and fun. Finding a room in a new location every night could be made to sound like an opportunity to meet amazing people rather than an exercise in patience when she was already weary from the day’s travel, all the way down to her bones.

The rocking of the coach, however, would not be romanticized or even minimized in her tale. Some things were simply too miserable to lie about. And the cold, there could be no lying about that either. Sometimes at the end of the day it seemed that she would never be warm again. It was such a relief at the end of the day to settle down in a warm room. Unless the room wasn’t any warmer than the stagecoach had been. On those nights Sylvia shivered beneath her blankets and tried to be thankful that, while it might be chilly, at least the room wasn’t rocking to and fro. Running away from home, she concluded, was a business best done during warmer weather.

Sylvia was jolted from her reverie when a stranger plunked down next to her. She’d noticed that the stage was stopping. Somehow, though, even knowing that it was the last stop didn’t entice her enough to make her leave her seat. Eating would only make the rest of the day more miserable, and somehow warming up just made the cold that much sharper when she went back into it.

“Excuse me, Ma’am.”

Sylvia opened one eye to see who had jostled her, half expecting to see the gangly boy that had been sitting next to her that morning even though the apology had obviously been spoken with the voice of a grown man. Instead she found herself staring into an arresting pair of blue eyes.

“I…um…excuse me too…I mean that’s perfectly…yes. You’re excused.”
Well…That was just mortifying.
Sylvia felt a blush warming her cheeks against the cool winter air.

She reached back to touch her prayer cap, a nervous habit she’d formed at some point during her youth, only to realize that it was absent. That made her blush even more deeply, even though there wasn’t anything indecent about a stranger seeing her hair. Logically she knew that…Sylvia stared at her hands, which were encased in thick woolen mittens. She just wouldn’t engage him further. There was probably no salvaging this conversation anyway.