ROMANCE: MAIL ORDER BRIDE: The Other Man’s Baby (A Clean Christian Historical Western) (New Adult Inspirational Pregnancy Romance) (13 page)

Chapter Two
Lucas Jackson’s men had wanted to get him good and drunk as a send-off to his bachelor days, but Lucas kept his drinking to a single beer and a lot of smiling. He was glad of it the morning after when he dressed to leave for the train. He shaved with slow, painstaking care; ladies didn’t care for whiskers, he’d heard. But they did like cologne, at least that’s what he’d heard, so he splashed some on his face. He’d bathed the night before, and washed his hair with some fancy soap that he’d bought from the Colonel’s general store, then dressed in his brand new black suit, white shirt, and black string tie.

He studied himself in the floor-length mirror he’d bought when Miss DeFlore had consented to the proposal of marriage he’d written her; he’d heard that women were partial to mirrors for making sure that they looked just right for church and dances and other social occasions. He felt a durned fool in his fancy duds, but the broad-shouldered man with the dark brown hair and dark brown eyes who gazed back at him looked clean and sober and that was as much as he could hope for on his wedding day. Lucas put on his hat and headed outside.

He’d expected his men to be under the weather from all the drinking they’d done the night before, but the hands were all there, even Rock Flint, who’d nearly drunk the Yellow Rose Saloon dry. Whooping and hollering greeted Lucas when he stepped onto the porch.

“Boss, you look so pretty, some vixen’s gonna grab hold of you before you get off the train!”

“My, oh my, will you look at that?  If you don’t look as fancy as an Eastern gentleman, I’m General Hood’s ghost.”

“Hey, boss, you must be planning plenty of kissin’, now that you’ve got your beard shaved.”

His horse was saddled and ready for him. Lyle Nottingham brought the stallion forward. Lucas would leave Figaro in town after he got on the train, and Lyle would bring him back to the ranch. Lyle was steady and reliable. He’d look after the ranch while Lucas was gone.

“I’ll be back by Friday,” he said to the men as he mounted Figaro, who snorted and paced as if he were party to the excitement.

“What kind of honeymoon is that?” Rock demanded.

Lucas grinned. “No honeymoon with two-year olds to bring home.”

The men responded to this with a mixture of ribald comments and snickers. Lucas wasn’t worried. They’d behave when he brought Miss Violet home; cowboys knew how to comport themselves in the presence of a lady, and there was no doubt that Miss Violet was a lady. After she’d responded to his advertisement seeking a mail-order bride, she’d sent him testimonials from her preacher, the president of the Women’s Missionary Society, and a church deacon affirming her character.

All three attested to Miss Violet’s honor and virtue; the president of the Women’s Missionary Society, less circumspect than the gentlemen, had declared that Violet DeFlore was a Christian woman of spirit and sense, skilled in the housewifely arts, an alto in the church choir and the winner of the town’s pie-baking contest for the past four years in a row. “Mr. Jackson,” the woman’s letter concluded. “You are taking our champion baker away from us. I only hope that you will prove worthy.”

The remark about her pie baking had meant more to him than anything the preacher had said. Lucas had been taking his meals in town most nights of his adult life and he would be thirty-one years old this December. Coming home to fresh-baked pie sounded like reason enough to wed Miss Violet, even if he hadn’t been tired of being alone. It hadn’t mattered so much when he was younger and all his energy went into building up the herds. But now that the ranch was prosperous, he didn’t need to eat, breathe and sleep beeves.  He had a fine house that he’d built himself and he’d labored long and hard over its construction, but coming home to a dark kitchen and an empty bed made it seem as though his work had been in vain. What use was a ranch and a profitable income if he had no wife to share it with and no children to leave it to? He had a guitar and he used to be fond of playing in the evenings, but what reason was there to play if no one was there to sing along? It seemed that, as he considered his assets, everything he owned was incomplete without a wife.

Miss Violet had answered his advertisement quickly; she was looking for a husband, she told him. But she wanted him to know that she was raising her dead sister’s two-year old twins and they were spirited. Lucas guessed that spirited was a kind way of saying that they were into everything but bedtime, but he savored the idea of having children in the house. There would be more, no doubt, once he and Miss Violet were setting to a family, but Lucas figured that it wouldn’t hurt to have a head start.

There was no doubt in his mind as the train rolled through the varying landscapes of Texas but that he had made the right decision to marry. The round-up was over, autumn was here, and he and Miss Violet and the children would have time to get to know one another over the winter. Miss Violet might like singing with that alto voice of her while he played his guitar. He thought of the four of them in the parlor, the children sitting on the floor at his knee while he played and Miss Violet sang, after enjoying a fine supper with some of that pie that the church lady had spoken of.  He spent the trip envisioning marriage: a table laden with good food, all of it made by Miss Violet; children clustered around it, eagerly enjoying the food which their mother had prepared; ponies for the children so that they’d learn to ride; having a son or two sons who would learn ranching from his example; sharing yarns with the other men at the church socials and the barbecues while his young’uns played games with the others and Miss Violet sat with the ladies, fanning themselves and talking about babies . .  .

It was a pleasant reverie that occupied his thoughts for the rest of the trip. When the train slowed to a stop, he picked up his valise and exited, eager to meet his bride. The train station was crowded with family and friends welcoming the arrivals. He was taller than most of the other passengers, so it was easy for him to scan the crowd. Off to the side, standing between a man and a woman, he saw her; she had told him in her letter that she’d be wearing a hat with violets on the brim.

His long-legged stride took him to the trio quickly. Miss DeFlore’s head was lowered; maybe the sun was in her eyes, he thought. She looked up hesitantly as his shadow fell upon her. He’d never seen such beautiful eyes; they were changeable, he noticed, with bits of green, blue, and even tiny specks of what looked like amber in them, with thick black lashes so long that they ought to be getting in the way of her seeing.

“Miss Violet,” he said.

“Mr. Jackson.”

“Oh, stuff. You’re going to be married tomorrow; I think it’s time for you to get used to your given names,” said the woman, a tall, lean woman who reminded Lucas of a paddle, so spare was her outline. Not Miss Violet, though; his bride-to-be was round and curvy, generously proportioned in the places that a woman should be and brimming with health, from her pretty pink lips to her clear, creamy skin.
“Miss Violet,” he said, “I reckon I’m out of line, but I’d sure like to kiss you,” he said.

The woman chuckled. “If that’s out of line, I reckon every woman in Texas is signing up for it.”

He bent his head and took her into his arms. She felt strong and sturdy in his embrace as he held her. Her lips were pliant, and soft; warm and not reluctant for his kiss. He let her go, mindful of the need to conduct himself like a gentleman, even if his thoughts were not what a gentleman should be thinking before he’d put a ring on a woman’s finger.

The woman introduced herself as Lily Landis, and her husband Charlie, a man whose slender weight seemed to leave no support for words because he simply nodded when his wife made the introductions.

“Rev. Whitacre will be over this evening for the wedding,” Lily explained as Lucas assisted Miss Violet into the back seat of the buckboard. “We figured you and Violet could use some time this afternoon to get to know each other a little better.”

“Sounds right fine, Miss Lily. Thank you for your troubles.”

“No trouble. Violet’s my only sister and we do right by our kin.”

She said this fiercely but Lucas thought better of her for it. It would be good to have family; his own parents had died of fever ten years ago, and he had a brother who’d gone to Nevada to mine and ended up dead in an accident.  People with family were connected and Lucas wanted that for his family, once he had one.

Chapter Three

Lily kept up a conversation the entire length of the trip back to her home, and Lucas answered her questions without tiring. It was natural that she’d be cautious about a stranger coming to take her sister away and he wanted to make certain that she knew that Miss Violet would be in good hands. He told them about the town he lived in, the number of cattle in his herd and the number of hands he had working for him. He assured Miss Lily that he was baptized and saved and in church on Sunday. He didn’t smoke or curse and he drank sparingly.

“I won’t lie and say I’ve taken the pledge, because I haven’t, but I’m not out carousing on Saturday night. I like music,” he added, giving Miss Violet a sideways glance. She looked back shyly and smiled, as he added, “I’m looking forward to hearing that fine alto that your Missionary Society president spoke of.”

“Violet has a mighty pretty voice,” Lily affirmed. “She’s the only one in the family, except for our Ma, who knows how to make a tune sound like it’s coming straight from a bird. Me and our sister Rose, she that was the twins’ mother, we sounded like someone was scrubbing nails in a washbucket when we sang. But Violet always sings a solo on Easter morning, and I’ll tell you, Lucas---you don’t mind me calling you Lucas, do you, being as how we’ll be kin soon—there’s no better way to think of the resurrection than to hear our Violet singing about it.”

Violet made a sound of protest; Lucas took her hand in his and held it. She didn’t object. They rode the rest of the way holding hands, while he continued to answer Lily’s questions and tried to concentrate on his responses, all the while bewitched by the floral scent that Miss Violet was wearing, the soft fabric of her sleeve when it brushed against his hand, and the bright colors of her dress, lavender and pink, next to the sober black of his suit. He felt half in love with her already, just because she had pretty eyes and soft lips and a pretty dress. He was foolish for thinking such worldly thoughts, he knew; marriage was ordained by God for the raising of children. But it was God, Lucas argued in his mind while his senses wallowed in the awareness of her femininity, who said that it was not right for man to be alone. Just now, he felt the devil in him, wishing that he and Miss Violet were alone, all right, and married.

The horses pulled the buckboard into a sprawling house that appeared to have been added on according to need rather than an architect’s plan. The front door opened and young ones ranging in age from toddlers in dresses to a young lady who looked to be around sixteen spilled out, shouting their greetings.

“Are those the twin?” Lucas asked, pointing to the matching set of children in dresses who were clambering to get out of the confining arms of their keepers.

“Lucas,” Lily turned around and fixed him with an intent stare that looked like bullets firing out of a rifle. “You mean right by Violet?”

“I do, Miss Lily,” he said uncertainly.

“You mean to wed her, for better or worse?”
 

“I do.”

“Some would say twin two-year olds are the worse part of that wedding vow,” she warned grimly.

“Lily---“ Miss Violet began, but the twins had spotted her and they were  wriggling out of the arms of the oldest of the youths as if they had more arms and legs than God had seen fit to give most folks.

Lucas smiled. Maybe someday they’d go on so when they saw him coming. His heart swelled with warmth as he helped Miss Violent to the ground and the twins, finally released, hurried over to her, a tiny swarm of two, with untamed yellow curls that blew in the breeze like captive flower petals. Clearly they had no mind for anyone but Miss Violet, who swept them up into her arms and kissed them as if she’d missed them.

“Rosie, Ren, I want you to meet someone. Now stand still, mind your manners.”

But the twins, distracted by the violets in her hat, were reaching for it with eager fingers. Carefully, Lucas reached for the boy and took him into his arms. Rendell tried to break free, then he knocked the hat from Lucas’ head. Lucas looked at him, a long, level glance that allowed the two to take each other’s measure. Then Lucas, Rendell under his arm, bent over to pick up his hat, which he put on Rendell’s head. Rendell burst into laughter, which caught his sister’s attention. She turned to look at him and reached for the hat. Rendell shook his head vehemently and placed the hat in front of his face so that he could not see his sister.

“Lucas,” Lily said, “I don’t know if that fine hat is going to stand up to the kind of attention it’s getting.”

“It’s just a hat,” Lucas said, trying not to grin too much. He’d have a son like this one day, he was sure. An impish little boy who’d want to wear his Pa’s hat, and probably his boots too. Miss Violet had brought him a family and he wished he had the words to tell her how grateful he was. The house that was so silent was going to be overflowing with laughter, voices, singing, and probably some scolding, too. Children needed firmness, and looking at his bride-to-be, he reckoned that the firmness would have to come from him. That was all right. There was strength in being able to love children, especially children she hadn’t birthed.  He looked over at her, to catch her eye, but she was trying to introduce her nieces and nephews, a fine-looking brood, while Lily barked orders and questions and Charlie disappeared, having exhausted his quotient of human society. The names tumbled from her lips and were matched by handshakes from the boys and quick bobs from the girls. He hoped he’d be able to remember them; they were his nieces and nephews too, now, or at least, they would be on the morrow.

“Supper will be ready in a couple of hours, or sooner if these lazy girls of mine did what I told them to do,” Lily announced. “Why don’t you two go along for a walk by the crick and spend some time together?’

“What about the twins?” Lucas asked.

Lily snorted. “How are you going to do any courting when you’re busy trying to keep those two devils out of the water? Go on, we’ll mind them here. Josie will call for you when we’re sitting down to eat.”

“I’ll fetch them when it’s ready,” Josie said. She was a freckle-faced girl with brown braids tied with blue ribbons, the oldest of the girls, Lucas decided.

“You’ll do no such thing, Josephine Landis. I know what you’re up to, trying to sneak and see if Lucas is trying to steal a kiss from Violet. Well, he probably will, and seeing as they’re marrying tomorrow, it’s not stealing, it’s just borrowing. Lucas, I hope you like sausages and potato pie because that’s what we’re eating. If the girls did right by Violet’s recipe, the potato pie will make you happy you’re getting a cook for a wife.”

“Sounds mighty tasty, Miss Lily,” Lucas said happily.