Page 1 of Mail-Order Bride Substitute
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Riley Shannon had let grief and regret rule his life too long. At twenty-eight, it was time to move on. His house needed to be a home with a wife and children living there.
Leaning against the warm wooden wall of the train depot, he watched passengers departing the coach. Being convinced his decision was right did not erase a tightness behind his breastbone as he waited to meet his future bride…someone he knew only through the exchange of letters. A telegram had come yesterday informing him she’d arrive on today’s train.
The puffs of steam drifting uncertainly across his view might well have been his thoughts on display. He dismissed his lingering doubts. From what Sylvia Thorton had written, he understood she was accustomed to plain living and hard work. He was sure she’d fit into ranch life with ease.
This was to be a marriage based on convenience. There’d be no need for romance. He’d clearly laid out the terms of their union and she’d agreed. The preacher waited at the church for them to tie the knot.
Two men struggling under the weight of the trunk they carried from the freight car to a trolley drew Riley’s attention. They set it in place then returned and pushed a large object wrapped in white canvas down the ramp. The covering did nothing to disguise that it was a piano.
A young woman pointed and waved as she instructed the men. She was well-dressed, her hat at a cocky angle, and obviously, used to ordering others around.
Riley shook his head. A typical rich city girl. He turned away as old familiar regrets clawed at his throat then he shifted his gaze back to the racket as more trunks were unloaded.
An older man stood nearby, carpet bags in his hands, alternately watching the young lady and those moving the piano. He wore a collarless white shirt, black woolen trousers, and a black suit jacket despite the heat. He was clearly at the young woman’s service.
Riley’s fingers dug into his upper arm, and he forced himself to relax. Sorrowful memories of another well-off young woman had been buried long ago. But no matter how deep he pushed them, they resurfaced at times like this. He drew in a deep breath and released it in a long sigh then directed his attention back to the passenger car.
The conductor removed the portable step and headed for the waiting room.
Riley stopped him. “I was expecting someone.”
The man jabbed his finger at the growing array of trunks. “Miss Mullen and that man she called her steward and those two gents” —he nodded toward a pair departing the platform— “are the only ones getting off here.” Having answered Riley, he continued on his way.
Riley stood rooted to the platform as he digested the information. Had she missed a connection? Perhaps she’d wired. He went inside to inquire. But there was no telegram for him. He looked around again with the faint hope he’d missed her even though he knew he hadn’t.
What was the point in waiting? There wouldn’t be another train coming from the west until tomorrow. Best he could do was return then and see if she arrived on the later train.
He gave one last look at the young lady who seemed to be taking stock of her many trunks, the piano, and other things. She certainly didn’t travel light. He was about to leave when she started toward him.
“Mr. Shannon, I believe.”
He stared. How could she know his name? That was easily answered. The men unloading her things must have mentioned it.
“Yes. What can I do for you?” No doubt she needed directions and information for arranging a wagon to transport her goods.
She strode forward with all the assurance of someone used to being in charge.
“I assume you’re expecting me.”
He laughed. As if everyone knew and cared about her comings and goings. “Can’t say that I was.”
Her footsteps faltered a fraction then she recovered. “I’m Miss Mullen. Olivia Mullen. The one Sylvia wrote to you about.”
“Sylvia Thorton?” At the woman’s nod, he shook his head. “What does she have to do with you?” He turned back to watching the train. “Where is she?”
“As the letter explained—”
He’d read every letter Sylvia had written. Several times. None had mentioned a Miss Mullen. Wait. Hadn’t she once or twice said she’d gone to an event with an Olivia? This was her? But what was she doing here? What was going on? Had Sylvia come to harm or fallen ill? But why not send a wire if that was the case? “What letter are you talking about?”
The lady—Miss Mullen—hesitated at his question then drew in her chin. The gesture did little to hide the concern drawing her mouth down.
When she didn’t answer, he pressed her. “I think you better explain where Miss Thorton is.”
Miss Mullen gave a tiny sigh. “I had hoped you were ready to welcome me.” She must have seen his impatience growing for she hurried on. “Sylvia is a dear friend. When she decided she wasn’t prepared to go through with this marriage…” A gentle shake of her head. “She suggested I take her place.”
Hot breath blasted from his mouth. “And you believe I have nothing to say about it?”
