Seven Brides for Beau McBride (The McBrides of Montana #3)

Prologue

Junebug McBride had sworn on her life that she wouldn’t advertise for any more unwanted mail-order brides for her brothers.

Over the past two years she’d ordered up two separate brides—one for her brother Kit and one for her brother Morgan—and she’d caught all kinds of hell for it.

Mostly because no one had known she’d done it until the wives had turned up in Buck’s Creek, expecting a hitching.

If there was one thing Junebug had learned about her brothers, it was that they didn’t appreciate having women sprung on them.

But while they’d bullied her into promising no more unwanted brides, no one had said a darn thing about wanted ones.

Junebug’s brother Beau was actively interested in matrimony, which changed everything. Thank goodness—because she needed more help around here with all the wretched women’s work. As if men couldn’t launder and cook, Junebug thought darkly.

Even though she’d ordered wives for her eldest brothers Kit and Morgan, Maddy was banned from doing any of Junebug’s chores, and Pip was off honeymooning with Morgan. It was high time Junebug got a proper wife. One who’d do some of the damn work around here.

It had been a flat-out delight to find Beau raiding her stockpiled editions of the Matrimonial News.

Well, maybe not at first. At first, she’d been incensed that he’d dared to touch her things.

And it was extra vexatious because her things had been hidden, damn it.

What kind of man went rifling through a girl’s secret hiding place?

“What in hell are you doing?” she’d exploded, catching him red-handed up in the loft of the trading post. He was lucky she hadn’t crammed him full of buckshot.

He snapped the newspaper open, completely at ease with his blatant thievery. “What does anyone do with the Matrimonial News ? I want to find a woman.”

Junebug felt like he’d whipped the ground out from under her. “You what?”

Beau had settled into reading on a pile of old hides.

“I’m a red-blooded man, ain’t I? And there ain’t no women up here, so I thought I’d see if I could order one up.

And then I got to thinking about all the ads in here.

There’s plenty of women already looking for husbands.

I don’t need to do anything but pick one. ”

That was Beau in a nutshell, wasn’t it? Too lazy to even write his own damn ad.

Beau was her third oldest brother, after Morgan and Kit, and full of airs now Morgan was away and Kit had moved into the big house with his wife.

Beau had always been irritating but he was extra irritating now that he thought he was the man of the cabin.

He’d taken to bossing her and their brother Jonah around something awful.

And he did it so breezily, like they should be glad of it.

Junebug blamed the women of Bitterroot, who treated him like some kind of minor deity just because he had a pretty face.

This is what came of people melting at his feet all the time.

He thought Junebug should take his orders with melty gratitude—when in fact she just wanted to kick him most of the time.

Junebug was the only unmarried girl in Buck’s Creek and she wasn’t melting over anyone, least of all her idiot brother.

But the meagre clutch of women in Bitterroot, four hours ride down the mountain, spoiled Beau something rotten.

It was a shame none of them were marriageable.

Junebug would put up with their spoiling of Beau if they did it while washing a pot or two.

But they were all too old, too young, or too disreputable for wifedom.

Junebug wasn’t entirely sure what made a woman disreputable, but she knew it had something to do with working in the cathouse.

It was a crying shame disrepute and marriage were mutually exclusive, because those cathouse girls sure were fond of Beau and would probably marry him in a heartbeat.

And then Junebug could put ’em to work making the morning bread…

Her brothers ate bread faster than she could bake it so she baked more bread than a girl should reasonably be expected to.

Beau was well into his twenties now and if he’d lived anywhere else he’d be safely hitched with a nice amenable wife kneading all that dough.

But no, they had to live up a mountain in a town of seven people, all of them McBrides and none of them the baking sort.

McBrides who left Junebug with a lot of pots to wash, a lot of laundry to scrub, and a lot of damn cooking to do. And she hated cooking.

“I thought for a while about catching a train to Butte to go find a wife,” Beau sighed as he pored over the ads. “I figured I’d be more saleable in person. A nice face goes a long way in winning a wife.”

He wasn’t wrong. He did have a nice face.

And girls liked it. All of her brothers were decent looking, but Beau stood out like a peacock in a flock of hawks.

Not that hawks flocked, but if they did, Beau would peacock their flock right up.

He was the elegant sort. Not thick and hulking like Morgan and Kit, but willowy and graceful.

He relied on slyness rather than brawn; the only time he won a wrestling match against either of them was when he got crafty.

He was tall like the rest of them, but leaner and more refined of face.

His jaw was almost heart-shaped, and he had a dent in his chin and a perky cupid’s bow to his fat mouth.

It was only the fact that he had the same heavy brows as Morgan that saved him from being too pretty, Junebug thought in disgust. They afforded him some of the irascible family spirit.

He had dark eyes like Kit, only they were more glistery, like he was always on the verge of some high emotion.

He had the same wild dark hair as the rest of the family, although he snipped at it constantly with Ma’s old silver scissors, so it curled around his neck, licking at his jaw.

He was also prone to shaving more than was usual for a backwoodsman and had even been known to be bare faced in the depths of winter, which was just plain insanity.

There were more than a few weeks in January when even Junebug wished she could grow a beard to keep out the chill.

Beau liked his duds too. He pored over catalogs and ordered up the most ridiculous things, like that rolled brim derby hat with the tall crown that he wore rain or shine.

He’d probably step off a train into a town like Butte and be hitched before lunchtime.

Personally, when the time came for Junebug to hunt for a man for herself, she’d prefer less looks and more gumption. She didn’t really get the point of peacocks.

“But then ,” Beau drawled, pulling her out of her thoughts, “I got to thinking about how you already had these papers full of women looking for a husband and I figured it’d be plum easier to just pick one of them.”

See? Lazy.

“You don’t want to answer those ads,” she told him scornfully.

“They ain’t no good. You’d have to hunt for ages to find a decent one.

You’re much better off writing your own specifications so you can get exactly what you want.

” Junebug scooted down the raw timber ladder and headed for the trading post’s counter for a pencil and paper.

She stole a glance out the window, towards the big house; from across the meadow she could hear the ringing strike of Kit’s hammer in the smithy, so she assumed she wasn’t likely to get caught.

It was worth the risk. Junebug couldn’t trust Beau to do this right without her.

Besides, she’d never said she wouldn’t help order a wife; she wasn’t actually doing the ordering herself.

Junebug snatched paper and pencil from the counter and raced back up before Beau could make a bad decision.

“Here, write down what you want, and I’ll show you how to get it in the paper.”

Junebug peered over his shoulder as he put pencil to paper.

Good looking guy seeks gal for fun, Beau wrote.

“That ain’t an ad for a wife,” Junebug said, disgusted. “That’s for a whole different kind of relationship.”

“I’m open to it.”

“You can’t go inviting just anyone into the family,” Junebug protested. Jeez. If he wanted a whore, there were plenty down in Bitterroot.

“Sure, I can. Who I marry ain’t no one’s business but my own.”

“I could find you a better woman than you could find yourself,” Junebug insisted. “You’ll pick someone for short-term fun. That’s no way to go about it. When I do it, I make sure they know what they’re getting into, with a view to long-term happiness.”

Beau didn’t buy it, she could tell. But that was only because her first two wives hadn’t quite worked out as she’d planned.

You couldn’t expect a girl to get it right without some practice.

And Kit and Morgan were happily married now, weren’t they?

So, she had a perfect record, even if the process had been messy.

“There ain’t no way you could find a better woman than I can,” Beau disagreed. “You don’t have a clue what a man wants in a woman.”

Well, that was flat-out untrue. She’d married off two brothers already, and they were sickeningly happy.

And Thunderhead Bill and Sour Eagle, her trapper friends, had explained all the ways a man could get himself kicked-in-the-head lovestruck by a woman.

Junebug had attended closely to their tales of bare feminine shoulders and sideways smiles and the like, and it had paid off, because both Kit and Morgan were about as in love as men could be without being totally witless.

Junebug’s sisters-in-law should thank her too, because neither of them had been the naturally wily sort.

It had taken some elbow grease on Junebug’s part to provide their happy endings.

But did anyone thank her? No. They just carped on about how she needed to keep her nose out of other people’s business.

But what they didn’t understand was that it was her business.

The wives were as much for her as for her stupid brothers, weren’t they?

“Here, what about this?” Beau held out the paper with his draft advertisement.

Junebug thought his ad was stomach-turning in the extreme. Charming gentleman seeks beguiling woman to warm the long Montana winters.

“That makes it sound like you want a whore,” Junebug protested.

Beau didn’t look displeased at the notion.

Junebug had a suggestion. “What about: Good looking layabout seeks frontier bride. ”

“No decent woman is answering that ad.” Beau was offensively dismissive.

“Wanna bet?” Junebug said mutinously.

Beau’s eyes narrowed. “A bet?” He glittered with that piratical look he got when he leapt headlong into trouble. Beau got into more trouble than anyone Junebug knew. Save herself. “You want to make this a bet?” he asked. “What kind?”

Oh, this was getting good. Junebug was beginning to see how this could work to her advantage, on multiple fronts. “It’s simple. We both advertise, and we see who hooks the best wife.” Junebug knew she’d win. It wasn’t even in question.

“And what are the stakes?” Beau’s dark eyes were gleaming.

“If I win,” Junebug said, “you take me to a circus.”

“A circus?” Beau looked at her like she’d grown a second head.

“I’ve always wanted to see a circus. We might have to go to Iowa or somewhere, though. From what I can tell there ain’t no circuses in these parts.”

“You get the daftest ideas.” He shook his head. “Fine. What about if I win?”

“I’ll buy you a mirror?”

“Get off it.” He swatted her with the paper. “How about you take over mucking out the stables from me? For a year.”

“A year!”

“Well, you want me to take you to Iowa—that ain’t cheap,” he sniped.

Junebug thought on it. “Deal.” She held out her hand for him to shake. “May the best McBride win.”

“I plan to.” He gathered up as many Matrimonial News es as he could and tucked them under his arm before he headed down the ladder of the loft.

“I’d best read up on these ads, so I can write the perfect one.

” He disappeared. And then his head popped back up.

“And, Junebug, not a word of this to the others.”

Junebug snorted. What did he think she was, stupid?

She grinned as she considered the kind of wife she’d need. Soon, there’d be another wife to help around the house, and she’d have beaten the pants off Beau and be on her way to the circus.

Life was looking good.