For Better or Worse (Sweet Treat Novellas #16)

Chapter One

Following his brother out West had been Gerald Smith’s first mistake. Staying had been his second.

“We’ll have an adventure,” his brother had said.

“We’ll be pioneers,” his brother had said.

“I didn’t find near enough gold in Colorado; I’m going to Dakota Territory,” his brother had eventually said, leaving Gerald to pay off all the debts they’d accrued over the previous two years while they’d been busy not finding gold.

Prospecting was no more certain than gambling.

Gerald had given it up the moment his brother’s no-good, traitorous rump had disappeared over the horizon.

He’d spent the two years since digging himself out of the hole, both figuratively and literally.

He had enough of a crop to eat year-round, a good milk cow, two fine horses, a roof that only leaked in one particular spot, and a growing herd he hoped to one day turn into a growing profit.

He wasn’t necessarily comfortable, but he wasn’t starving. Still, a man could only eat eggs and biscuits so many days in a row without feeling a touch deprived. He hadn’t the time for making anything else.

His nearest neighbors regularly took pity on him, inviting him over for supper and sending him home with extra. Bob Attley and his mother were more than generous; their attention leaned heavily toward smothering.

“Thank you kindly for the meal, Mrs. Attley.” Gerald grabbed his hat off the rack by the door. “I always look forward to your cooking.”

“What you need isn’t my cooking. You need someone to cook for you.” Mrs. Attley said that often.

As always, Bob shot Gerald an apologetic look. Gerald had long since learned to ignore the heavy hints Bob’s mother tossed at him at the end of every meal they took together. He simply plopped his hat on his head and pulled open the door. This time, however, Bob followed him out.

“I ain’t meaning to pry,” the man said, “but why is it you never found someone to cook and clean for you?”

“What woman’s gonna want to come work for a surly man like me?”

Bob shook his head. “I hadn’t meant hiring someone on. I was talking about finding yourself a wife.”

“So was I.”

Gerald knew perfectly well the life he had to offer any woman. Long days. A lot of work. No luxuries, sometimes not even all the necessities. Still he couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to have someone nearby. Other than the Attleys.

He thought on that as he made his way home.

He would like someone to talk to, someone to share the load.

His brother didn’t seem likely to return, so he had resigned himself to doing the work alone.

He was tired and, though he didn’t like to admit it, more than a little lonely.

Living as he did, so far from civilization, there was little hope for relieving the long, quiet hours in any way other than finding himself a wife.

Though he’d dismissed the possibility any number of times, that night he lay awake, wondering what it would be like to have someone else in the house.

If he were to send for a wife, would that make things better?

Would she talk his ear off? Or be more inclined to listen as he spoke his thoughts?

He would come home from the fields to a warm meal, instead of needing to make himself another pan full of fried eggs. That’d be a fine thing.

Who was to say they wouldn’t at least get along, perhaps even learn to love each other? He wasn’t, after all, such a gruff, unlikable fellow that no woman could ever grow fond of him.

And he wouldn’t be so lonesome.

That, alone, made the prospect very, very tempting.

***

“It seems to me that this Mr. Smith you’ve agreed to marry is not at all the sort you ought to marry.”

Mary Hill had listened to the same argument again and again from her landlady in the three days since she had accepted a much-needed, though secondhand, offer of marriage.

A man who would send for a stranger to marry likely had something so wrong with him that no one he knew would agree to be his wife, her landlady had argued.

He would likely mistreat her, had been the further argument. It was a good one, truth be told.

But Mary had no family, no home, no secure job. The world was a difficult place for a woman in her situation. Accepting a mail-order marriage was far from ideal, but, then again, so was starvation.

“This may not be the romantic love of a lifetime most girls dream of,” she said, “but that does not necessarily mean it will be miserable. I have no doubt Mr. Smith has chosen a mail-order bride for the same reason most men out West do: there are no other options. That area of the country is not exactly overrun with women, you know.”

Her heart dropped at the less-than-enthusiastic argument. Even she couldn’t make the prospect sound entirely hopeful.

“I have heard disheartening things about these Western men,” her landlady said. “Very rough around the edges. No tender feelings or sensibilities whatsoever. The wives they order aren’t worth much more to them than their cattle, sometimes even less. I can’t imagine that’s what you want.”

What I want and what is possible are no longer the same thing.

She reminded herself of that as she packed her meager belongings. She was not a pessimist, but she had learned to take a logical view of the world. She was tired of moving from house to house, tired of never being qualified for a decent job, tired of being alone.

This was her only option. The only one.

The realization didn’t prevent her from hesitating when the time came to board her train.

It didn’t stop her from chewing her fingernails during the entirety of her westward ride.

It certainly didn’t stop her heart from dropping clear to her boots at the sight of a tender, loving young couple across the aisle in the passenger car.

Her decision made sense. In fact, she firmly believed it had been the right one. That didn’t stop her from worrying.

She closed her eyes as the miles flew by, resting her head against the back of her seat.

What if her landlady had been right after all?

This man she was marrying might very well be an absolute terror.

There’d be no escaping, no changing her mind, and she likely wouldn’t know the truth of his character until after they were married.

Mary didn’t know what awaited her in Greenborough, Colorado. But she could make the best of whatever it was. She would be the hardest-working, most determined optimist Mr. Smith had ever met in his entire life. And she would hope—desperately hope—it was enough.