Mail Order Bride: Summer (Bride For All Seasons 2)

“Listen. Uh.” The doctor’s voice trailed off, on an air of discomfort, as he preceded her to the door. “How’s that sister of yours doin’?”

As for Molly, the wayward bride, she was spending her time in the most lackluster way possible: waiting for her intended husband to appear.

Chapter Four

HE WAS EVERYTHING SHE had hoped he would be. And more.

Tall. Narrow elegant shoulders that nicely filled a stylish embroidered waistcoat. Flashing brown eyes matched by thick smooth brown hair. A neatly trimmed beard, spade-shaped in the style of Mephistopheles.

She had been waiting so long for him to get here, following his imagined progress kitty-corner across Kansas and Oklahoma Territory into this tucked-up corner of Texas. Now, she realized, it had been well worth any amount of time to wait.

“Mr. Hennessey,” preened Molly in her best sweet Southern Belle cadence.

She extended her hand, barely covered by a white lace mitt; and, right on cue, Quinn Hennessey caught her fingers to raise to his lips.

“Ma belle,” he said extravagantly. “You are exactly as I pictured you. So beautiful. So graceful. So refined.”

Ben, accompanying his wife and her sister to this crucial first meeting upon Camellia’s request, merely rolled his eyes. Much as he had come to love and appreciate his own bride, his tongue still remained stuck when it came to voicing such superfluities. One could only wonder if he admired or disdained the newcomer’s apparent talent at smooth talk.

They were standing in the ample carpeted lobby of the Drinkwater Hotel (built, owned, and operated by one Ezra Drinkwater), as arranged according to Mr. Hennessey’s request in the message delivered to Miss Molly Burton. Fortunately, for decorum, under public scrutiny; unfortunately, for the sense of privacy, under public scrutiny.

“C’mon, let’s all g’wan over to our house and get a little friendlier,” Ben, feeling the weight of interested gazes all around, suggested. The clerk, a couple of spectators waiting to check in, patrons in the dining room next door... He had already (somewhat reluctantly) given up time at the store this morning; might as well go for broke and waste a couple more hours.

Camellia shot him a look that could only be considered speculative. Of course, she was fine with the invitation; that had been her idea in the first place, once news had come out that Mr. Hennessey was arrived in town. What she was mulling over, and what Ben had no doubt he would hear about later, was his attitude. Cynical, as always. He couldn’t help it. In his opinion, the fellow looked like a fop. Surely everyone else could see that?

“So. Quite a trip was it, from—where, some place in Kansas, I heard tell?” Ben, sitting casually at his kitchen table with one ankle resting atop the other knee, was making polite conversation while the women bustled around preparing refreshments.

“It was, indeed,” said Mr. Hennessey with

a smile made somewhat disconcerting by the shape of his beard. “Rough, in patches, I must admit. But gorgeous bits of scenery along the way. This is a wonderful home you have here, Mr. Forrester.”

“Ahuh. Camellia’s done a fine job, workin’ with just the bare bones of the place. What was the name of that town again?”

“Oh, a little hamlet you’ve probably never heard of. Prairie Spring, incorporated just a few years ago.” This time he aimed the smile in Molly’s direction. “But I was given strict orders to relocate from there to here, if I had any intention of making this lovely lady my wife.”

“Mmmm. You’ve learned a valuable lesson already, my friend: best just to give in. These Burton women are hard-headed about gettin’ their own way, for sure. Ouch.” The hand of a certain Burton woman that rested so lovingly on his shoulder squeezed down. Hard. In response, he offered Camellia a sheepsh smile. “Thanks for the coffee, darlin’.”

She smiled sweetly back. “But I haven’t poured it yet.”

“Oh, I have faith that you will, right soon. In a cup. Not in my lap.”

Small talk ensued for a little while, as everyone munched on oatmeal cookies and raisin scones. Their guest did ask, in a slightly plaintive voice, if tea might be available, and Molly immediately swept away from the table to heat water.

“You pulled into Turnabout yesterday afternoon, then?” Ben pursued the subject like some dog chasing a bone, refusing to give up until he’d reached the tasty marrow.

“Yes, Mr. Forrester, I did. And I asked that a note be sent to Miss Burton, just as soon as I had booked a room at the hotel and refreshed myself. I’m so pleased that all of you could arrange to meet me so quickly.”

“You do know there’s two more of these ladies runnin’ around town, doncha?”

Gratefully Mr. Hennessey accepted the cup of hot tea presented to him by Molly, brewed by her own two worshipful hands. “Is there cream, perhaps? And sugar?” he murmured in an aside. Then, “Oh, yes, Miss Burton provided quite a full description of her entire family. Her circumstances. Her former home, and her current situation here. Living in a boarding house, as she explained, when there’s all this lovely extra space right here.”

“I’ll just bet she did,” muttered Ben, in a low enough tone that no one could quite decipher the words. “Huh? Oh, yeah, well, the girls were kind enough to give Cam and me some privacy when we first took up residence together, ’steada crowdin’ in on top of us. And so you two are gonna get hitched?”

Her intended caught up Molly’s accessible hand and brought it to his lips once more. “That’s our plan, isn’t it, my dear? As soon as possible. We’ll spend the afternoon making arrangements, if that meets with your approval.”

Camellia had been remarkably restrained during today’s encounter. At this, she couldn’t prevent a worried protest: “On the strength of just a few letters exchanged back and forth? Surely you will want to become better acquainted first? Surely you will—”

“We’ve become acquainted just fine.” Molly, already infatuated, was staring into the man’s dancing brown eyes with intensity and delight; she might have been drowning in some deep, dark pool, declining any thought of rescue. “Besides, you and Ben had no more a foundation than this, did you, with your own marriage?”