Marrying Minda
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Marrying Minda
by Tanya Hanson
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Romance
www.thewildrosepress.com
Copyright ©2008 by Tanya Hanson
NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
CONTENTS
Kudos and Reviews for Author Tanya Hanson
Other Cactus Rose titles to enjoy:
* * * *
Norman Dale was simply not the charming
father he'd presented in his letters. What other surprises did he have in store for her? Did he imagine her so besotted she wouldn't mind?
No matter. She'd signed that register pure and simple. He'd made her his wife, and she'd willingly taken him as her husband. For better or worse.
“Sit yourself down. I'll go get Silly and the rest of the kids,” he said through slitted lips. He raised his brows at the blonde woman and she nodded, leaving them in private.
“The rest of what kids?” Minda's skin prickled. Deciding to obey him for the first and only time, she sat down.
“Our kids. Yours and mine.”
“Our kids? What in the world do you mean, Norman Dale? You wrote that you've got one daughter. Fourteen years old.” Minda's voice rose and despite the heat, her shoulders tensed with a sudden chill as if a clump of snow had just fallen from the treetops. “What kids? What on earth are you saying, Norman Dale? Your letters didn't say one single words about
kids
.”
He glared down at her. “You must've misread my brother.” The last two words slid from his tongue in slow deliberation.
His brother? She sat helpless, hopeless, paralyzed against the back of the hard little chair. For a moment, she had no air to speak.
“Your brother?
Your brother
? What do you mean?”
He leaned close to her, like he had during their kiss, but at her ear he growled, low, “You promised to wed a Haynes today. Well, I'm the only one left. Your Norman Dale, my brother—” His fingers, calloused and hot, held her chin still so he could glare into her eyes, “—is dead.”
Kudos and Reviews for Author Tanya Hanson
MARRYING MINDA placed first with perfect scores in the “Ignite The Flame” contest, historical division, sponsored by Central Ohio Fiction Writers, 2007.
MARRYING MINDA placed first in the Merritt “Magic Moment” Contest, historical division, sponsored by San Antonio Romance Authors 2008.
And for MIDNIGHT BRIDE:
“If you like the writings of Diana Palmer, then you will definitely want to pick up MIDNIGHT BRIDE.”
~Joyfully Reviewed
“Ms. Hanson has a distinctive voice and a wonderful turn of phrase ... making this a book to curl up with.”
~Love Western Romance, Four Spurs
“...a book you won't be able to put down.”
~Romance Junkies, Blue Ribbon Rating 4.5
“Tanya Hanson creates a great plot with a well-developed cast that keeps the pages turning.”
~Coffee Time Romance, a Four Cup Outstanding Read
Marrying
Minda
by
Tanya Hanson
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Marrying Minda
COPYRIGHT ©
2008 by Tanya Hanson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by
Nicola Martinez
The Wild Rose Press
PO Box 706
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Cactus Rose Edition, 2009
Print ISBN 1-60154-469-3
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
With love to my sister and brother-in-law,
Roberta and Tim Pelton.
I couldn't have made it without you.
Chapter One
Paradise, Nebraska, July 1878
Where is Norman Dale
?
Minda's heart thumped. The noon stage had run late, so he had plenty of time to get here. Unless he had backed out.
She swallowed hard. Nowhere on the empty street did she see a bridegroom bearing a bouquet of her favorite white roses. The gulp turned into a sob. They had signed a legal contract fair and square, and the dry official document hadn't stopped them from falling a little bit in love with each other. His letters had been full of compliments and promises and excitement, too, about meeting face-to-face.
And today was the day.
Even in the stuffy interior of the stagecoach, Minda shivered with a chill of unease. After tossing her valises on the boardinghouse steps, the driver lifted her down. Minda shrugged out of the long linen duster she'd worn as protection against the grime of travel, for underneath she wore her wedding gown. Norman Dale's last letter had sweetly insisted they wed the minute she arrived.
Trying to impart a radiant smile, she paid no heed to the reactions of her fellow travelers. The woman wearing an old-style coal-scuttle bonnet of green gingham had chatted pleasantly for the last five miles, but upon seeing Minda's silk and lace, her mouth turned wide and silent as a full moon. And a grubby codger leered while showing off his two brown teeth.
She ignored them just as she'd paid no heed to her younger sisters’ claims that a spinster didn't need a lovely white wedding gown. Well, Minda Becker might be a spinster and a mail-order bride on top of it. But she
was
a bride, and she was going to do it right.
In the hot dust of the departing stage, she drooped in disillusion at the hard-luck little town. Norman Dale's letters had glorified Paradise. Truth to tell, her new hometown was one brick building and a dozen false-front wooden structures with miles of cornfields and prairie grass billowing around the edges. Her bridegroom's own farm and fine wooden house must lie quite a ways outside of town.
She caught sight of a trim white church down the street and the slew of horses and wagons hitched to rough-hewn posts along its side. Relief as sweet as her silk dress flooded her. Of course. Norman Dale must be busy greeting wedding guests who waited on a bride delayed by a stage running late. Of course, he'd be along in a minute to fetch her. They'd already agreed to march up the aisle together. A widower had no reason to wait at the altar for a mail-order bride who had no one to give her away.
Past the church, tables piled with platters and baskets sat in the shade of big cottonwoods along the riverbank. Her wedding dinner. Goodness, she was about to become Mrs. Norman Dale Haynes. With a quiver of delight, she shook dust and wrinkles from her skirts and walked up the boardinghouse steps to seek a mirror and a bowl of cool water for freshening.
But a
closed
sign hung on the lopsided door. Minda smiled at her reflection in the grimy window anyway. Likely the innkeeper was a wedding guest already at church. After digging through a valise, she brought out the veil she'd fashioned from odds and ends at the millinery back home. Just touching the beautiful headpiece set a new flock of butterflies aflutter inside her belly. The froth of netting cascaded from a wreath of roses she'd crafted from scraps of ivory velvet.
As she arranged the veil, she heard her name. However, the angle of reflection didn't let her see the speaker.
“Miz Becker? You are Minda Becker, right?”
She turned to see a man approaching, tall and lean in his Sunday best, awkwardly carrying her bridal bouquet.
Mr. Norman Dale Haynes. She couldn't stop the outtake of breath. He was much younger and far more handsome than the daguerreotype he had sent her. Hair dark as midnight brushed each side of his neck, and tall as he was, her head wouldn't reach his shoulder. Her face warmed. It wouldn't take long at all to give him her whole heart.
Or her body.
Her heart hammered beneath her whalebone corset. Heat that had nothing to do with the weather poured over her like new milk. Merciful heavens, he must have wed young the first time around to have the teenage daughter he needed her to raise.
This man didn't appear to have any flaws at all. She tingled from top to toe, recalling how her three married sisters, with many blushes, had explained the delights of the marriage bed. She wanted the same for herself.
Her eye for style had designed quality hats in Gleesburg, so the poor fit of his dark coat stumped her. She'd expected better attire from a well-off farmer on his wedding day. More important, his grim countenance and the black moustache over his unsmiling lip started the blood in her veins to run cold. But a second later she warmed a little. Likely he had some jitters himself. His masculine handsomeness made her proud. She'd chosen well.
Although she was almost twenty-five, she quivered like a flighty schoolgirl. Gathering up her dignity, she walked toward him, eager for a welcoming embrace. In truth, his letters had indicated he'd fallen for her as well.
“Yes, yes, of course, I'm Minda Becker.” She smiled big and bright to keep her words from shaking. “Is there another bride arriving this afternoon?”
“Nope. Just you. Let's get you married up.” He still didn't smile or offer a hand or an introduction. Or even remove his hat. Heart sinking, she shut her lids tight to hold back tears.
Had she come a thousand miles to get her heart broken?
A wisp of the veil fluttered across her face in the hot wind and she grabbed the edge to have something to do. Had that interminable trek from Pennsylvania been a powerful mistake?
Folks in Gleesburg had considered her a spinster after she gave up her girlhood to raise her three little sisters when Mama died. But at least her hometown had cobbled streets and brick houses, decent businesses including the hat shop where she'd made her living. Neighbors close by, too. Every homestead she'd seen around here seemed miles away from the next one.
She still had time to change her mind. But no, she'd signed that contract. She'd given her word. More than anything, she wanted a husband and a home of her own. As she forced herself to return her bridegroom's unyielding gaze, her skin prickled a little at his dark eyes that didn't blink.
“I regret the late start to our wedding, Norman Dale. My train arrived in Columbus on time, but I truly had no control over the stagecoach getting me to Paradise.” She tried to laugh lightly. No thinking person could hold her responsible.
Her face burned. Unless he thought she'd delayed the stage's departure by taking time to change into her wedding dress. His correspondence had complimented her plenty on her common sense. She couldn't bear him thinking her frivolous and vain.
“A late stage isn't your fault. But hurry up now. Folks are waiting.”
Minda's spirits plummeted once again at his abrupt tone. Was this the man she'd spend the rest of her life with? Worry and doubt turned her cold in spite of July. But as he handed her the flowers, he took her hand.
At his touch, she barely found enough air. Her bosoms shivered beneath the lace and silk of her gown, and the bones of her corset seemed strangely tight. Silent, he led her toward the church. Stepping away from some horse dung, she leaned hard against him. He pulled away.
Her heart sank. Maybe Norman Dale hadn't written those wonderful letters himself. Maybe he wasn't eager to meet her like he'd claimed. Maybe all he wanted was a new mother for his teenaged girl.
Or maybe he was dissatisfied with her looks. She bowed her head in a sudden petition. The daguerreotype she'd sent showed her flaws as well as her graces. Although her sisters had declared her lovely enough to steal any man's heart, Minda gulped disappointment along with the hot summer air.