A Montana Bride to Be Her Mama (Brides of Montana #13)

1. Chapter 1

Claudine Williams smoothed the wrinkles from the Chicago Tribune with unsteady fingers. Tucked between advertisements for miracle tonics and ready-made suits was a small, unassuming notice that might hold her salvation.

She read it three times, her heart beating faster with each pass. The words "no romantic expectations" struck her like a thunderbolt. Most matrimonial advertisements spoke of companionship or shared Christian values. This man—this M. Crawford—made no pretense of seeking love.

Which suited Claudine perfectly.

She folded the newspaper and placed it in her lap, gazing out the window of Mrs. Halloway's boarding house.

April rain streaked the glass, blurring the view of Chicago's busy streets.

Six months ago, she'd walked those streets with her head high, respected as one of the few female nurses at Mercy Hospital.

Now, she could barely step outside without whispers following her like shadows.

"There she is... the Williams girl... worked with Dr. Elliott... you know, the one who killed that alderman's wife."

Claudine closed her eyes. Mrs. Pemberton hadn't died because of any mistake Claudine made.

The doctor had administered the wrong medication.

A fatal dose of laudanum instead of the milder tonic prescribed.

But when the hospital board convened their inquiry, Dr. James Elliott had placed the blame squarely on her shoulders.

"Nurse Williams mixed the medications," he'd testified. "I specifically instructed her on the proper dosage, but she must have confused my directions."

No one had questioned his account. Why would they? He was a respected physician from a prominent family. She was merely a nurse, a woman who had reached above her station by pursuing medical knowledge.

And he had been her intended. The gold ring she'd returned to him still left a phantom weight on her finger.

"Miss Williams?" Mrs. Halloway's voice accompanied a soft knock. "Are you decent? You have a visitor."

Claudine hastily tucked a loose strand of brown hair behind her ear. "Yes, please come in."

The landlady opened the door, her round face pinched with disapproval. "It's Mrs. Pemberton's daughter, Miss Agnes. She's waiting in the parlor."

Claudine's stomach lurched. "Did she say what she wants?"

"No, but she looks upset. I don't need any scenes in my respectable establishment."

"Of course not. I'll speak with her immediately."

Mrs. Halloway sniffed. "See that you do. And remember, your rent is due tomorrow."

When the door closed, Claudine pressed her palms against her eyes.

Her savings were nearly depleted. No hospital in Chicago would hire her, and private families turned her away once they learned of the incident.

She'd applied for positions as far away as Milwaukee, but Dr. Elliott's influence reached even there.

She straightened her simple blue dress and made her way downstairs.

Agnes Pemberton stood by the window, her black mourning dress a stark contrast to the cheerful spring wallpaper.

At twenty-three, she was only two years younger than Claudine but carried herself with the confidence of Chicago society.

"Miss Pemberton," Claudine said quietly. "How may I help you?"

Agnes turned, her eyes red-rimmed. "You have a peculiar way of phrasing that question, considering you helped kill my mother."

Claudine flinched but held her ground. "I understand your grief, but I did not make the error that led to your mother's passing."

"That's not what Dr. Elliott says. The hospital board believed him."

"The board made their decision based on his testimony alone."

Agnes stepped closer. "My father is preparing to file a civil case against you. Dr. Elliott has agreed to testify again."

Of course he had. James would do anything to protect his reputation. Their two-year courtship had taught Claudine many things about the man, including his ruthless self-preservation.

"I'm truly sorry for your loss," Claudine said. "But pursuing this case will not bring your mother back, nor will it punish the truly guilty party."

"You're right about one thing," Agnes replied, her voice cold. "Nothing will bring my mother back. But seeing you ruined might bring some small measure of justice."

After Agnes left, Claudine returned to her room and pulled out her trunk.

She placed the newspaper advertisement on top of her modest belongings.

Montana Territory. The name alone conjured images of vast prairies and untamed wilderness.

Pine Creek probably amounted to little more than a cluster of buildings surrounded by ranches.

Perfect. A place where no one had heard of Claudine Williams or her supposed negligence. A place where she could use her nursing skills again. A place where a loveless marriage seemed a small price to pay for a fresh start.

She pulled a sheet of stationery from her desk and began to write.

Dear Mr. Crawford,

I am writing in response to your advertisement for a bride. My name is Claudine Williams, age 25, formerly employed as a nurse at Mercy Hospital in Chicago...

She paused, pen hovering over the paper. Should she mention the scandal? Honesty warred with self-preservation. In the end, she compromised.

...where I gained substantial experience treating various ailments and injuries. Circumstances have led me to seek opportunities outside Chicago, and your need for someone with medical knowledge caught my attention.

Claudine continued, describing her qualifications without embellishment. She was efficient in household matters, having managed her father's home after her mother's death until he remarried. She was no stranger to hard work. And she had no objection to the terms regarding romantic expectations.

If my qualifications meet your requirements, please advise me on arrangements for travel. I can depart Chicago within a week's notice and have sufficient funds for the journey.

Respectfully,

Claudine Williams

She added the addresses of the hospital superintendent and her former nursing instructor as references, hoping they would speak to her skills if not her character. Then she sealed the letter before doubt could creep in.

Tomorrow, she would post it and begin planning. Montana Territory lay nearly two thousand miles away—a journey that would take her across half a continent by rail. The distance appealed to her almost as much as the practical arrangement described in the advertisement.

Claudine returned to the window. The rain had stopped, leaving the street glistening in the late afternoon sunlight. Across the street, a young couple walked arm in arm, the woman laughing at something her companion said. Claudine watched them until they disappeared around the corner.

She had once dreamed of such simple happiness with James. Now she sought only escape and purpose. If caring for a motherless child and a man who wanted no romantic entanglements would provide that, so be it.

Three weeks later, Claudine sat in the Chicago train station, clutching Mr. Crawford's response in her hand. His letter had been as straightforward as his advertisement:

Miss Williams,

Your qualifications are suitable. Enclosed find train ticket to Helena, Montana Territory. Stage to Pine Creek departs Thursdays and Sundays. Will meet Monday, May 20, upon arrival. Telegraph if delayed.

M. Crawford

No pleasantries, no questions about her appearance or temperament. Just practical information and a ticket that represented her last chance for redemption.

The gentleman at the ticket counter had raised his eyebrows when she purchased a one-way passage to Helena. "That's frontier country, miss. Not many single ladies travel there alone."

"I won't be alone for long," she'd replied, tucking the ticket into her reticule. "I'm to be married."

Now she sat on a hard wooden bench, surrounded by her worldly possessions: one trunk containing her clothes and books, a carpetbag with personal items, and a small medical kit she'd assembled from supplies purchased with her dwindling funds.

The waiting room bustled with travelers.

Businessmen in fine suits consulted pocket watches, families corralled excited children, and immigrants clutched their meager belongings with determined expressions.

Claudine felt a kinship with the latter—people leaving everything familiar behind in search of something better.

"All aboard for the Western Express, departing for Omaha, Cheyenne, Salt Lake City, and all points west!" The conductor's call cut through the station noise.

Claudine gathered her carpetbag and medical kit. A porter had already taken her trunk to be loaded in the baggage car. She joined the line of passengers boarding the train, her mind racing with questions about the man she would marry.

Was he kind to his daughter? What had happened to the child's mother? Would he resent Claudine for not being her? The advertisement's cold practicality suggested a man hardened by life's disappointments.

She found her seat in the second-class carriage and stowed her bags on the rack above.

As the train lurched forward, Claudine pressed her forehead against the window glass, watching Chicago recede into the distance.

The spires of buildings where she had worked, the streets she had walked, the life she had built and lost—all shrinking until they disappeared entirely.

"Pine Creek, Montana," she whispered to herself. "Population: one rancher, one child, and one fallen nurse seeking redemption."

The train picked up speed, carrying her west toward a future as uncertain as the vast territory awaiting her. Claudine pulled out the letter and traced the firm, bold signature: M. Crawford. The man who would be her husband.

She only hoped he wouldn't come to regret answering her letter as much as she feared she might regret sending it.