Emma's Journey (Oregon Trail 1)

“Oh, that’s good. I’m happy for him.” She bolted upright and grabbed her stomach as a pain shot from her back to her front. “Oh, dear.”

“I knew it!” Davis yelled, shoving his chair back.

The End

If you enjoyed Nathan Hale in Emma’s Journey, his story continues in An Angel in the Mail, available on Amazon.com, Barnes & Noble and Soul Mate Publishing.

An Angel in the Mail, set in 1861, unites newly penniless society belle Angel Hardwick and widower Nathan Hale, father of five, who is desperate for a wife to straighten his life out. Nate’s looking for someone who loves children and can easily take over the cooking, cleaning and laundry. Instead, he is getting Angel, whose culinary knowledge consists of weekly meetings with Cook to decide the family’s menu.

Angel is a strong-minded young woman, resigned to her fate, and determined to make the best of her situation. But will her new husband allow for mistakes? Or will he send her packing when she burns meals and misplaces his children?

Nate just wants a peaceful, well run household, without the distraction of an attractive wife. However, his beautiful wife with a very distractible body is not giving him peace. Somebody lied, because despite what he was told by the Bride Agency, this beauty knows nothing about running a home, but she sure sets him on fire at night.

Nate and Angel have to come to a working arrangement, overcoming problems between them. But will they be able to find a happily ever after with someone desperately working behind the scenes to destroy their relationship?

Other books by Callie Hutton:

A Run For Love (Oklahoma Lovers #1)

A Wife by Christmas (OK Lovers #2)

A Prescription for Love (OK Lovers #3)

Tessa’s Treasures

Miss Merry’s Christmas

Daniel’s Desire

An Angel in the Mail

Chapter One

New York City, New York

1861

Angel Hardwick checked her image in the elaborate gilded mirror hanging over her dresser, and smoothed a few stray hairs out of place. She glanced down and frowned

at her black bombazine dress. It was slightly wrinkled, but she had no time to deal with it. A swift tug at the cuffs of her sleeves, and she was ready to meet her stepmother. As ready as she could be with a nervous stomach causing jolts of pain.

Sylvia Hardwick had sent a summons for Angel to meet her in the library. The two women had a cordial, if not close relationship, but in the few months since Gerald Hardwick’s death, things had become strained. Sylvia walked around with a pinched look on her face, oftentimes taking to her bed in the afternoon, having her maid bring a cool cloth sprinkled with lavender for her headache. When Angel inquired after her health, Sylvia merely sighed and turned away.

Apparently Sylvia was finally ready to share her troubles. Something was up, and Angel didn’t think it would be good news. As she descended the stairs, various catastrophes ran through her mind. She shrugged. Since Papa was already dead, surely there couldn’t be anything worse.

Perhaps Sylvia wanted to talk about Angel’s latest milliner bills. She’d noticed the lack of favorite foods at the dinner table, and Sylvia’s sighs when the morning post arrived, laden with bills. There had been numerous meetings with Papa’s attorneys behind closed doors, but Angel couldn’t imagine money being the problem. Papa had been wealthy.

As she approached the open library door, she took a deep breath.

“Come in, Angelina.” Sylvia waved her scented handkerchief under her nose. “Don’t linger in doorways, it’s not ladylike.”

Still an attractive woman at forty-two, Sylvia’s blonde hair, pulled straight back from her face in a tight bun, gave her a somewhat Oriental look, although her light blue eyes belied any association with an Asian culture. She had high cheekbones, a rounded jaw, and perfectly straight white teeth.

Her black dress clung to her well-defined curves. While Angel appeared drawn and tired in black, mourning clothes looked striking on Sylvia. Posture perfect, her spine never touching the back of a chair, her stepmother was the picture of ladylike decorum.

Sylvia’s delicate hands fiddled with the handkerchief in her lap, twisting the scrap of linen and lace. She attempted a smile, but never quite made it. Angel’s sense of unease increased. Sylvia was very nervous.

“You wished to see me?” Angel settled on the stiff, high-back chair across from the fireplace.