Deborah's Discovery (Westward Home and Hearts Mail-Order Brides #71)

Prologue

Deborah Prescott folded the letter for the twelfth time, smoothing its edges as though that would make the impossible message inside any easier to accept.

Milly Crenshaw from Home and Hearts Matrimonial Agency had written to her, confirming her arrival date and accommodations in a place called Willowhaven, Montana, and her upcoming marriage to a man named Nolan Avery.

A man she had never once written to... A man whose name she had never even heard until the day she received the letter.

She read the letter again, shaking her head. “This must be a mistake,” she whispered into the stillness of her boarding house room. “I didn’t apply to be a mail-order bride. I applied for a job.”

It made no sense. Unless the agency had mixed up her application. Had someone else answered on her behalf? She rested her fingers on the page. Or... a different letter was sent to the matrimonial agency because someone wanted her out of Bloomington, Illinois, very badly.

The thought made the back of her neck prickle.

Outside her window, a carriage clattered down the street. A woman laughed somewhere below. A vendor called out prices for fresh bread. Life moved on effortlessly, but Deborah’s didn’t. Not anymore.

She shifted her gaze to the trunk at the foot of her bed, the one she’d packed in haste after the last incident.

She didn’t want to think of that night. Not when her hands still trembled at the memory of footsteps behind her.

And she could still recall the cold, assessing eyes of the woman who had warned her, sweetly and softly, that some questions were better left unasked.

The papers concealed deep within her trunk seemed almost restless, their rustling echoing her unease.

Deborah had made several attempts to return them, knowing they were stolen and not meant to be in her possession.

Despite her efforts, the documents remained with her, an unwelcome burden she feared might cost her dearly.

The sense of danger was constant. She was convinced that somewhere, someone would go to any lengths...

even kill... to recover what she carried.

With a steadying breath, she refolded the letter and tucked it into her bodice.

Perhaps moving to Montana wasn’t such a terrible idea after all.

It would be a fresh start. Definitely a safer distance away from Bloomington.

And hopefully, Willowhaven was a quiet town no one important had heard about.

Her lips twitched wryly. And apparently, a groom waited for her.

Deborah’s stomach churned as she reached for her satchel and the small, brass-framed photograph she always kept of her brother. He smiled in that wide, fearless way she hadn’t yet mastered.

“I suppose we’re going west,” she murmured. “Let’s hope Mr. Avery is the understanding type.”

But as she blew out the lamp and stepped into the hallway, pulling the trunk behind her, she hesitated. Down the corridor, a shadow shifted. A door softly clicked shut.

Deborah caught her breath and forced herself to move. Descending the stairs as quickly as she could with her trunk, her heart thudded hard. It was nothing. Just nerves. And hopefully, only a coincidence.

At the base of the stairs, atop the newel post, she found an envelope waiting. There was no name, just two words scrawled in elegant black ink: Soon, Deborah.

Deborah’s blood ran cold. Did someone suspect her of leaving town? Were they watching her now?

She clutched the letter from Willowhaven tighter.

Montana couldn’t come soon enough.