The Most Eligible Bachelor Romance Collection: Nine Historical Romances Celebrate Marrying for All the Right Reasons (37 page)

“You knew?” she said to Papa.

“Aye. He confided in me late on the Sabbath. He felt responsible for Willie’s last attack and wanted to make sure we were kept safe.”

“At which task I failed miserably,” Sam said.

“You couldn’t have known,” Papa said.

“I came down this evening to find the coat and hat missing.”

“Aye.” To Sally’s surprise, Papa chuckled. “Your girl here, she never doubted you for a moment.”

“Where’s the coat now?” she asked.

“I think it caught fire when you dropped that lamp,” Papa said.

She looked at the fire, and to her dismay, her eyes filled. “All your hard work, Papa.”

“We’ll get it back, sweet girl.”

Slowly, she turned to Sam. He looked entirely different—harder, sure of himself.

“If you’d be willing, sir,” he said, “I’d be pleased to stay and help you rebuild.”

“Help would be welcomed. And what of after?”

Sam shifted and met Sally’s gaze. “That, sir, depends upon your daughter.”

Chapter 13

H
e’d never seen her more beautiful—cap gone, hair loosed about her shoulders, dirt smudging her face.

Tears in her eyes as she stared at him, openmouthed. Like she still couldn’t believe it.

Well, he’d a lot of years of silence to make up for.

Her eyes narrowed, her lips firming for a moment. “Did you mean anything you said to me? Out there in the orchard?”

“I meant all of it.” He stepped toward her. “Every word, Sally. I have loved you since—oh, I can’t remember when. But not until the night you first met me as the Highwayman could I bring myself to speak.”

She swallowed, and her lips parted again. “That was a lot of words for Samuel Wheeler… but spoken like the Highwayman.” She closed some of the distance between them. “Courtly. Gallant, even.”

He felt a smile tugging at his mouth. “Jed and his family always did say I was too bookish, by half.”

She stepped nearer, skimmed his chin and jaw with her fingertips. A half frown warred across her features, and she sniffed. “The Highwayman was too bold, by half, for a girl he’d never courted before.”

“Aye, that he was.” His hand stole out to touch the waves of hair falling across her shoulders, shimmering like the fire it reflected. “He might be forgiven, perhaps, if it were known that he intended to reveal all and make it right.”

She gulped a breath, sniffled—and suddenly was in his arms. He gathered her close, breathing her in.

“Aye. Oh, aye. This is familiar.” She shook in his embrace—was that a laugh? She tipped back her head, one hand still on his face, the other at the back of his neck, and gave another watery chuckle. “I’d never imagined the Highwayman with fair hair and blue eyes.” She met his gaze. “Nor that it was Sam Wheeler I’d kissed.”

“And what of now? Can you bear the thought of kissing him again?”

“I don’t know, let me see.” And there in front of her family and half the town, she pulled him in.

Lost in her sweetness, he was dimly aware of the cheer that rose around them.

When she drew away, eyes shining, she said, “I can bear it, I think. But only if you promise to kiss me like that every day for the rest of my life.”

His grin stretched from ear to ear, and the blaze in his cheeks surely matched that of the inn beside them. “I will most certainly do my best, sweet lady mine.”

They’d stood hand in hand when the magistrate arrived, fuming and sputtering at the sight of his son in irons. The other four young men had been likewise arrested. The sheriff, so easily swayed before, now shook his head to the magistrate’s demands. The men of the town had enough of Willie Brown’s misbehavior, and the burning of Brewster’s Inn was the final straw for them.

The sheriff was still an elected official, they reminded him, and liked his job. And if the chief justice wanted to keep his, he’d stop subverting justice. The tide of change had begun, and they’d no longer stand for anything smacking of tyranny.

Papa and Sam had a quiet talk with the sheriff after. Because none but Willie had been seen wearing the Highwayman’s coat, and none could say with any surety who the original owner was—and said coat had disappeared somewhere in the inferno that was the inn—the sheriff saw no reason to do aught but drop the matter. Let the Highwayman disappear as all legends did, into the mists of time.

Sally felt a touch of sadness at the loss of that beautiful coat. But truth be told, it was the man inside she loved—not the costume.

And Sam still sported those tall boots. Sally smiled as she realized why they’d seemed so familiar that one morning.

He turned, as if he knew she watched him, and met her eyes across the stable yard. His eyes widened, and then he gave her that unbearably sweet smile that had so broken her heart on Sabbath’s evening.

Sam—her Sam—the Highwayman.

Who would have thought it?

Transplanted to North Dakota after more than two decades in Charleston, South Carolina, Shannon McNear loves losing herself in local history. She’s a military wife, homeschooling mom of eight, and a member of ACFW and RWA. When not sewing, researching, or leaking story from her fingertips, she enjoys being outdoors, basking in the beauty of the Dakota prairies.

Four Brides and a Bachelor

by Gabrielle Meyer

Dedication

To my parents, George and Cathy VanRisseghem, thank you for teaching me how to believe in God, in dreams, and in myself. I love you both.

Acknowledgments

My heartfelt appreciation goes out to my agent, Mary Keeley, from Books and Such Literary Management who diligently champions my work; to the wonderful editors at Barbour Publishing who have fulfilled my lifelong dream; to my amazing writing friends, Alena Tauriainen, Lindsay Harrel, and Melissa Tagg, who make me laugh and hold me up; to my faithful beta readers, Andrea Skoglund, Angie VanRisseghem, Sarah VanRisseghem, Lindsay LeClair, Sarah Olson, Beka Swisher, and Kimberly Perry, who put their lives on hold to give me feedback; to Susan May Warren who is a phenomenal writing teacher and mentor; and to my extended family members and friends who encourage me every day. A very special thank-you goes to my husband, David, and our four children, Ellis, Maryn, Judah, and Asher. Thank you for being my biggest fans and my greatest joy. I’m grateful God planted this dream in my heart and is allowing me to see it come true.

Chapter 1

Minnesota Territory
August 1852

S
arah Ellis trudged through the tall prairie grass with her heavy burden of laundry, scanning the riverbank with an anxious eye. Any day now a man would arrive who might change her name, and her destiny, forever.

The homespun fabric, stiff from drying in the Minnesota wind, spilled over the edge of the basket and scratched her bare forearms. The material would become soft under the hot irons, but that job would have to wait until tomorrow. There were other things needing her attention.

The work at the Indian mission school never ceased, but she didn’t mind. She had finally arrived at Belle Prairie two months ago and would never begrudge a bit of hard labor, not when she was doing God’s work.

She stepped through the open door of the large Main House and into the kitchen, where the aroma of simmering beef stew greeted her. The August sunshine filtered into the room as Hazel Smith stood over a mixing bowl, measuring flour into a cup with the precision of a general. Mary Cooper sat at the table, artfully arranging a vase of colorful wildflowers she had picked on the prairie.

Just two days ago, seeing her friends in this cozy setting would have filled Sarah with joy, but after receiving Mr. Longley’s letter yesterday, little had been pleasant at the mission—at least not between the Mission Sisters.

Sarah dropped her heavy basket on the plank floor, causing both ladies to jump.

Hazel’s head came up, and Mary dropped an orange snapdragon on the floor.

“Oh, goodness.” Mary’s hand fluttered over her heart. “It’s only you, Sarah.”

“It’s only me.” Sarah pushed the basket of laundry under the worktable near the door. The basket tipped, spilling the clean clothes on the dusty floor.

Hazel’s sigh was filled with rebuke. “Is it possible for you to complete a task properly?”

Sarah bent over and quickly refilled the basket.

“It’ll be a wonder if you last through the winter.” Hazel spoke under her breath, but Sarah knew the words were meant to be heard.

Mary’s sympathetic blue eyes rested on Sarah. As always, she tried to smooth over the tension. “For a moment, I thought you might be Mr. Longley. Isn’t this all terribly romantic?”

Sarah put the basket in its place. “It seems like an odd way to go about such business.”

Mary smiled at the flower in her hand. “Just think of the story we can tell our grandchildren about how we met.”

“You’re too impractical, Mary.” Hazel glanced over her shoulder, her eyes peeking out from behind round spectacles. “Mr. Longley has no desire for romance. He simply needs a wife—like we need husbands. One man is no different than another.”

“Oh, but he is different.” Mary touched the flower to her pert nose. “He could become my husband.”

“Or, he could become my husband,” Hazel said matter-of-factly as she measured out the precious store of salt. “I do have the most mission experience, after all, and he’s coming to Belle Prairie because he heard I arrived here last year. He doesn’t know about the rest of you.”

No, he didn’t, but he would soon find out. Sarah ran her hand over her dark brown hair and tucked away several curls. Why hadn’t she worn her bonnet more often when they’d traveled to Minnesota Territory from Massachusetts? The covering might have prevented the spray of freckles that littered her nose and cheeks now. What man would take her seriously when she looked more like a girl of fourteen, and not a woman of twenty?

She hadn’t intended to look for a husband when she arrived. The letter Mr. Longley had received from the American Board of Missions for Foreign Missions, instructing him to find a wife by the first of September, was likely the very same letter each of the ladies had received just a week ago, instructing them to find a husband. The Mission Board felt their missionaries could better serve if they had spouses.

“Sarah, please call Genevieve in to help set the dinner table.” Hazel lifted the lid off the pot to drop a spoonful of dough into the steaming stew.

Sarah stepped back outside as a gust of wind blew across the golden prairie grass, rolling like a wave on the ocean, and thought of Mr. Longley’s letter. He’d heard a single female missionary, Miss Smith, had arrived in the Territory. His letter said if she was amiable to marry, he’d take her back to the Red Lake Mission, some hundred and fifty miles north, as his bride.

Little did he know that Mrs. Greenfield, the Belle Prairie Mission director, had gone back east for more teachers. Instead of one single female, there were now four, and each was as amiable to marry as the next. Though Mr. Longley was coming for Hazel, Mrs. Greenfield felt it best if they let him choose from among all four.

Sarah crossed the yard in front of the Main House and inhaled a deep breath. Belle Prairie was everything she’d hoped, and more. Along with the house, there was a barn, and a large school building, which doubled as a church on Sundays. Everything was neat and clean, and built in the familiar New England style.

Sarah followed the sound of thwacking and rounded the corner of the house to see Genevieve Pinet smack the wool rug with the flat metal beater. A small grunt escaped Genevieve’s mouth.

“Supper will be ready soon,” Sarah said, loud enough to be heard over the next thwack.

Genevieve nodded her head and took another swing at the rug, her beautiful brown eyes never leaving her task.

“Would you like some help?” Sarah took a tentative step toward Genevieve, careful to avoid the rug beater.

“No.”
Thwack.
“I’ll ask for help when I need it.”
Thwack.
Genevieve’s face pinched tight, but even with her sour expression, Sarah couldn’t deny she was a lovely woman. Her clothing was much more extravagant than the other ladies’, hinting at a wealthy background she wouldn’t speak of.