Julia: Bride of New York (Amercan Mail-Order Bride 11) (2 page)

Home.

Now there was a suggestion. Being the oldest of nine children, her parents had been only too happy to see her leave the nest and take a job in Lawrence, a small town outside of Boston, where she didn’t take up space in their crowded home or eat their meager food. In fact, she’d sent a good portion of her salary home to help out.

No, there was no
home
to return to.

“Not really. My last home was in Lawrence where I worked in a sewing factory. But the business burned down, so most of us girls signed up with the bride agency.” She moved her plate aside. As hard as she’d tried, she just couldn’t finish the sandwich. Her stomach was in knots, and she was having a hard time tamping down the rising panic at her situation.

“I don’t know of any job openings, but then I haven’t been looking for one either.” Fletcher pushed the brim of his hat back and rubbed his forehead with his thumb and index finger. “I don’t suppose you have friends—other brides—in this town?”

She shook her head.

He cleared his throat. “Money?”

The tears standing in her eyes threatened to fall, so she blinked rapidly and shook her head again. Then drawing herself up, she pushed back from the table and stood. “I will be fine, Sheriff. There is no need for you to concern yourself with me.” She reached for the satchel and nodded. “Thank you for lunch. As soon as I find a job, I will reimburse you for the meal.” Turning on her heel, she stumbled for a second, then righted herself by gripping the back of her chair, then walked to the door.

“Wait!”

She ignored the sheriff and continued on, swiping her cheeks as she yanked the door of the café open and limped down the boardwalk. No matter what, she had no intention of sitting there any longer, watching the pity in the man’s eyes. She limped, true. But she was no cripple and she didn’t need anyone’s pity.

Despite her injury that had never healed correctly, she’d always been able to take care of herself, as well as her younger brothers and sisters when she was at home. No one need feel sorry for Julia Benson. No, indeed.

She had passed no more than three stores when she heard rapid footsteps behind her, then a strong hand grasping her elbow. “Wait just a minute, there, Miss Benson. You can’t just storm away from me and think I’ll let you go. For no other reason than I’m sheriff of this town, and every citizen here is my responsibility.”

She tugged her elbow free, then turned to him. “I am not your responsibility, Sheriff. While I am grateful for your assistance and sorry for the trouble Mr. Johnson dumped on you, I can take care of myself.”

“Oh, really? And what is it you plan to do since you have nowhere to go and no money?”

“I will find a job.”

“And at the end of the week they will hand your pay to a dead woman because you will have starved to death.”

With the blood pumping through her veins, she narrowed her eyes, wondering why in heaven’s name she was mad at him. The old “shoot the messenger” deal, no doubt. “Perhaps I will find a job that includes meals.”

“And a bed?”

She nodded.

“Don’t even think about taking that sort of a job,” he growled.

“Why? Because I’m a cripple? And no man would want me?” Good Lord, what had gotten into her? She had always been sweet, friendly, and kind. Right now she felt like a shrew, which is probably how Sheriff Adams viewed her. Most likely he was thinking how smart Mr. Johnson had been to walk away from her. She wished she could walk away from herself.

“No. You are not a cripple, you have a limp. And you are beautiful, and any man would want you.”

“Not Mr. Johnson.”

“He’s an idiot.”

They glared at each other, passersby on the boardwalk eyeing them curiously as they walked around them.

“If you have no place to go, then I will have to lock you up in the jail.”

Her jaw dropped. “What! I didn’t break any laws.”

“No. But vagrancy is on our law books, and without a home, job, or money, you are a vagrant.”

Oh, the man was despicable. And to think she had been grateful because he’d fed her a cheese sandwich. She fisted her hands at her side and leaned in. “You would lock a woman up in jail for vagrancy?”

“Not if you allow me—rather the town—to put you up in the hotel for a couple of days until you decide what you want to do.”

“Do you do that for all the people who come to Wickerton and get stranded?”

“No. But we haven’t had a whole lot of women coming as mail order brides, being left at the station.”

She reared back. “Oh!”

“I’m sorry.” He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “I shouldn’t have said that. But I will tell you the town does allow money for a person in need to provide a place to stay and money for meals.”

A heated flush rose to her face. “I am not in need, and I don’t take charity.”

“All right. You can earn it.”

“How?”

“You can work at the jail.”

“Oh, so now instead of being arrested and tossed into a jail cell, I get to clean the place?”

“Yes. You can also organize my desk. I’m not too orderly.”

“I accept.” She wasn’t so stupid as to pass up the sheriff’s offer. She could work for him for a short time while she decided what she was going to do next. At least she wouldn’t be taking a handout.

He grinned, making her heart do funny little jumps in her chest. “Fine. I’ll walk you over to the hotel and get you settled. You can report to work first thing tomorrow morning.”

The walk to the hotel was only a couple of blocks, but they spent the time in silence. She studied the sheriff under lowered eyelashes. He was just as she imagined a small town sheriff would look. Deep blond hair, tall, broad shouldered, slim waist, and with a gun belt low on his hips. His strong features taken separately wouldn’t be considered handsome, but the overall combination put him into that category.

He tugged on the brim of his hat as they passed shoppers and business people. Wickerton was a nice place from what she could see. The stores were doing a fine business, and the sheriff kept a peaceful town.

Once they reached the front of the hotel, he stopped her by touching her arm. “Before we go in, I thought I would mention there is one solution to your problem that we hadn’t considered.”

She looked into two mesmerizing hazel eyes and tilted her head in question.

“Why don’t you marry me?”

Chapter Two

The young bride stared at Fletcher open-mouthed. Had he done it again, and proposed to her? Well, as close to a proposal as a man could get without actually making one. But the more he thought about it, the better the idea fit.

He’d been thinking a lot lately about Patty Ann. At seven years old, she’d never been separated from him before. When Laura had died this past year trying to give birth to their son who died with her, he’d been lost. Still grieving, Laura’s sister, Catherine, had swooped down and taken Patty Ann from him, “until you get settled.”

Since she’d taken Patty Ann in, Catherine had come up with one excuse after another as to why she should stay with her aunt. Her main reason had always been that, as a man in a small town with a dangerous job and no wife, he wasn’t fit to take care of a little girl. As much as he wanted to argue the point, he knew she was right. Patty Ann was better off with Catherine, but he couldn’t let that situation continue much longer.

He wanted Patty Ann back with him, but how could he raise a little girl on his own? He loved his daughter and missed her every day since she’d been gone. He made the trip to see her in Doylestown as often as he could get away, but every time he left her, it was with a growing sense that he was losing his little girl. He wanted his Patty Ann back, the little girl who he used to toss into the air, tickle like crazy, and settle in front of him on his saddle when he rode around town.

“No.”

He was yanked back from his thoughts by the firm response from Miss Benson. The fire in her eyes confused him. He thought it solved her problem perfectly. “Why not?”

“Because you don’t want me any more than Mr. Johnson had. You feel sorry for me, that’s all.”

“No. That’s not true.”

She rested her hands on her hips and tapped her foot. “Sheriff, if you were truly interested in marriage, I’m sure you would have come up with the idea before I was dumped in your lap.”

He grinned when she blushed slightly, no doubt imagining sitting on his lap. The thought also wreaked havoc with his blood supply which began to travel south.

“I need a wife.”

“Really? And you just now discovered this?”

He flushed “No. I’ve been thinking about it for some time.”

Miss Benson’s raised eyebrows was her only response.

“Well, what else are you going to do?”

“Provide for myself as I’ve been doing for years now. And, unless you’re reneging on our deal, you did offer me a job at the jail.”

He blew out a breath. “The jailhouse is no place for a lady.”

“Yet you were going to toss me into a cell for vagrancy.”

Damn if the woman wasn’t stubborn and ornery. Here he was offering her a way out of her dilemma, and instead of being grateful, she tossed his idea back in his face. “That was a threat because you were being stubborn about accepting help.”

“And now I’m not accepting help by way of a marriage proposal you didn’t mean, that you think is the only way I can survive, and right now are probably thrilled to death I turned you down.”

“Well, considering how ornery you are, maybe I am grateful you turned me down.”

Miss Benson grinned. “I knew it.” She turned and headed toward the hotel door, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. “Please get me settled, Sheriff. I need to report to the jailhouse first thing tomorrow morning.”

His growl, that turned heads as he stomped behind her, was his answer.

If Julia wasn’t so spitting mad at the sheriff for trying to cajole her into another disastrous idea, she would have been grateful for his kindness. She knew he meant well, but she still hadn’t recovered from the humiliation of being left at the train station by the man who’d sent for her with a promise of marriage.

She’d suffered enough comments and slurs over the years about her leg. She knew she’d been lucky when the wagon that had run over her hadn’t killed her. But without proper medical care, the bone had never healed properly and left her with a limp. Something she’d learned to live with, and most people who knew her well eventually ignored.

In retrospect, she probably should have told Mr. Johnson about her limp when they’d corresponded, but in all honestly, she didn’t think much about it anymore. It had become just a part of who she was. A part that apparently was a major hurdle for him.

The room she secured at the hotel was clean and spacious enough. In fact, it was bigger than the room she’d shared in Boston with Katie and Genny. Thinking of them left her a bit weepy. It had been hard leaving all the girls, but especially them. They had grown so close during the time they’d worked at the factory and shared rooms, it had been like leaving sisters behind. As soon as she got the opportunity, she would write them each a letter. Hopefully their mail order bride husbands turned out to be better than Mr. Johnson.

She removed her coat and bonnet and hung them on the hook by the door. Even though it was only early afternoon, she felt the need for a nap. The anticipation, followed by the embarrassment she’d suffered at the train station, had worn her out. She also hadn’t been sleeping well the last few nights, wondering what her fate would be. Now she knew.

Rejected, and left to her own devices.

She removed her shoes and stockings, but before she could climb into bed, there was a knock on the door. Startled, since she knew no one in town, she eased up to the door and called softly. “Yes?”

“It’s Mr. Johnson.”

Mr. Johnson? What was he doing here? Hopefully he hadn’t had a change of heart and expected her to put on a smile and stand before the parson with him. Surely he wasn’t that much of a dolt. She opened the door, just enough to see him. “What?”

He pushed his hand in the small space. “Here.”

Not thinking, she took what he handed her. She looked down. He’d handed her a fistful of crumpled bills. “What’s this for?”

“The sheriff said I owed you. I don’t figure I do, since you didn’t tell me you were a cripple, but he threatened me if I didn’t give you enough money to eat on.”

Too flabbergasted to even speak, she stared at her hand as he turned and hurried away. Slowly, she closed the door and sat on the edge of the bed. Should she laugh or cry? She’d thought she’d reached the limit of her humiliation, but it seemed the sheriff decided to pile more on.

With her anger rising, causing her heart to pound so hard all sound ceased except for the thudding in her ears, she straightened out the bills, rolled them up, then stood and put her stockings, shoes, coat, and bonnet back on.

A man in the hallway jumped when she slammed the door to her room shut. He stepped away from her, obviously not wishing to get in her way. Smart man.

She made a brief stop at the front desk to inquire as to where the jailhouse was. The clerk swallowed several times and then gave her directions, adding that the jailhouse was no place for a lady. Right now she didn’t feel much like a lady.

The ten-minute walk to the sheriff’s domain did nothing to quell her anger. Breathing heavily, she opened the door marked “Sheriff’s Office” and marched inside. The sheriff sat in a leather chair, his booted feet crossed at the ankles, resting on a large wooden desk. He was shuffling papers when she entered.

“How dare you?”

His feet dropped to the floor, and he stood, still clutching the papers. “How dare I what?”

“How dare you tell that weasel of a man that he ‘owed’ me money to eat on? Wasn’t my humiliation enough that he left me stranded at the train station? You had to threaten the man?” She moved to his desk and tossed the bills on top of a pile of papers. “I don’t want his money. I don’t want any money I haven’t earned.”

He pushed the brim of his hat back with his thumb. “Well, to my way of thinking you did earn it by dragging yourself here to marry the man.”