God made romance, we just need to use it properly

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously.

   2018 by Barbara Goss

  All rights reserved

  First Edition May 15, 2019

  Printed and bound in the United States of America

  B07NXZQZ8T

  Coming soon in Audio!

  Cover by Chautona Havig

  Copyright: All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All scripture is quoted from the King James Version of the Holy Bible.

  This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this book is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage system without express written permission from the author.

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  Chapter OneChapter Two

  Chapter ThreeChapter Four

  Chapter Five Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peak / Grace

  All the Prairie Roses Collection Titles

  Chapter One

  February 1862 — Independence, Missouri

  Callum Butler locked the small trunk, put the key on a string, and put it around his neck. He smiled. Now, all he needed was a wife. He had to appear as a casual traveler. A young couple traveling to a new life in Oregon would be perfect. The last time he traveled West, he'd ridden a horse on his own, but this time he had his special trunk and all of his belongings.

  The wagon trains usually started to form around April in Independence, so he had better find himself a wife by then.

  After Callum had brought his prairie schooner to Independence from Kansas City, he put an ad in The Matrimonial News. His plan was to bring a woman to Independence for marriage. His ad read: Wanted: A young woman to marry and travel the Oregon Trail. She needs to be proficient in cooking over an open fire and strong enough to endure the hardships of the trail.

  Callum bought the supplies he’d need for the trip and checked the post office several times a day. He finally had a few replies to his ad, and he read each of them carefully. The job of selecting the right person would be harder than he’d thought. Each day, he received another two or three letters, and he started making piles: "No" and "Maybe."

  By mid-March, he'd narrowed his applicants down to just two women: a Millicent Parker and a Hope Carlson. Millicent lived in New York City, and Hope lived in Quincy, Illinois. Both women were orphans, and that appealed to Callum. He didn’t need in-laws breathing down his neck. His own parents were bother enough. They were always telling him to settle down in Kansas City and start a family while he wanted adventure. Besides, he’d found a much better way to make money.

  He measured the two women's attributes. In her letter, Millicent had said she was single and age thirty, while Hope had said she’d lost her fiancé in the Civil War and she was twenty-two. Hope could get to Missouri faster since she was from Illinois. He threw Millicent’s letter into the “no” pile and took out a pen to answer Hope’s letter. He figured that if she’d already been betrothed, she must be decent-looking. He wondered why Millicent would be single at age thirty unless she was plain. He also figured that the younger the woman was, the stronger she’d be and that would be an asset on the trail. He sent Hope a train ticket to Independence with instructions as to what to bring along.

  Hope Carlson and her best friend, Betsy Wheeler, sat in Hope’s small flat above the barbershop, laughing over tea.

  “And then Edward gave me flowers with a bee in them,” Betsy said.

  “You’re joking.”

  Betsy held her right hand up. “Honest. It was the worst courtship, but then he sort of grew on me. It will be an interesting marriage.”

  Hope leaned over and hugged her friend. “I’m so happy for you.”

  “It’s time you caught up, girl. You haven’t even been courted since George, and you’re gorgeous.”

  Hope sighed. “Betsy, I’m not gorgeous. My hair isn’t blonde, red or brown, but something in between, and my face is too long. My eyes aren’t green like yours or blue, they’re a boring shade of brown. Besides, the love of my life was killed at Fort Sumter.”

  “Your hair is the color of honey, and your brown eyes are extremely becoming.”

  “I just haven’t found anyone I want to be courted by is all. George was the love of my life, and I still dream about him.”

  Betsy pulled a newspaper from her pocket. “That’s why I brought you this.”

  Hope took the newspaper and opened it. “The Matrimonial News?”

  “Yes. There are several good ads and think of the adventure. Look at this one.” She pointed an ad she’d circled.

  “That does sound tempting.”

  Betsy stood. “I have to dash. Edward is taking me to meet his parents, and I really need to spruce up a bit. You can keep the newspaper. Give it some thought.”

  Hope did nothing for two days except read and re-read the newspaper ads. The circled one really tempted her. Traveling by wagon train all the way to Oregon would be an adventure. She’d never cooked on an open fire, but how hard could it be? Should she answer the ad?

  There was a knock on her door, and she put the paper down. She opened the door to her landlord, Howard Burns.

  “Hello, Miss Carlson,” he said. “I’ve come for the rent.”

  “Oh, I’d forgotten." She picked up her reticule which hung by the door, foraged through it, pulled out the two dollars rent, and handed it to the middle-aged barber.

  The man looked her up and down before saying, “I could knock off half the rent if you’d let me get to know you better.” He wiggled his thick eyebrows up and down to let Hope know exactly what he’d meant.

  “I’m fine. I plan to get a job this week.”

  “The offer stands. Good day.”

  Hope closed the door and leaned against it. The man was married and at least forty years old. She wasn’t sure she wanted to marry anyone if all husbands cheated on their wives like Mr. Burns.

  Hope set out to find a job in the morning. She visited the bakery, the general store, the flower shop, and the feed and grain store. They all said they weren’t hiring, and one of them had even had a "help wanted" sign in the window. Was it because she was a woman?

  When she arrived home, she flopped down on the settee, exhausted. Hope felt something beneath her, and she pulled it out: The Matrimonial News! She tossed it on the floor. How could she ever marry a complete stranger? She wasn’t even sure she wanted to marry, but she was running low on money—she had ten dollars left to her name—and she did desire an adventure.

  A knock at the door brought Hope to her feet. She hoped it was Betsy. Hope always loved their chats. Betsy had been her best friend at the orphanage—not only had the job in which the home had placed Betsy work out for her, but she'd met her future husband there.

  She opened the door to see Mr. Burns.

  “I've already paid the rent.”

  The man gave her another lustful look. “I’m here to tell you that as of next month, the rent will be five dollars.”

  “Five dollars! That’s outrageous. This is a three-room flat.”

  “That’s the price. Rentals are scarce, and I can rent it out for that much easily—unless you accept my previous offer.”

  His eyes roamed over her body, giving her the chills.

  “I’ll simply find another place to live.”

  “Good luck with that,” he said, and went down the stairs. “See you on the first of the month.”

  Hope closed the door, scooped up the newspaper from the floor, and took it to her kitchen table. She answered one of the ads, but she remained calm about it since she was only applying. The man would surely get hundreds of replies—sending him a letter wouldn’t bind her to anything.

  After she'd written the letter, she walked to the post office, feeling like she’d at least tried to solve her problem. In the meantime, she’d keep looking for work and hunt for another place to live.

  The job at the butcher’s shop included Betsy’s living quarters. Since she’d be leaving the job when she married, perhaps they’d hire her. Hope walked to the shop.

  Betsy greeted her when she entered. “Howdy, Hope. The pork’s fresh and on sale.”

  “Hello, Betsy. I’m not buying today.

  Hope moved closer and said in a half-whisper, “I wondered if the owner would hire me in your place after you marry.”

  Betsy shook her head. “They’ve already hired another woman from the orphanage. I’m so sorry.”

  Hope shrugged. “Anyone I know?”

  “Irma Watkins.”

  Hope’s shoulders sagged. “I’ll keep looking.”

  Betsy leaned over the counter. “Don’t forget that newspaper.”

  “I answered the ad you circled, but I don’t know how to cook over an open fire.”

  Betsy laughed. “Don’t worry. Edward can teach you.”

  “I probably won’t hear from the man anyway, but if I do, I’ll take Edward up on the offer.”

  Two weeks later, Hope opened a letter from a man named Callum Butler, and a stagecoach ticket to Independence, Missouri fell into her lap. She hadn’t imagined going to meet him until they’d exchanged a few letters, yet she only had ten dollars in her reticule and next month's rent would take half of it. If she paid the rent for another month, she wouldn’t have enough money to eat.

  The orphanage had set her up with a job as a maid for a wealthy family, but it hadn’t worked out since the lady of the house thought her husband had become too fond of Hope. Her next job was at the Horseshoe Saloon, but it only lasted one night since they wanted her to do more than serve beverages.

  Hope fingered the letter and ticket. It would solve her landlord problem and her hunt for a job. It would also be an adventure.

  After thinking about it for three days, she had Edward show her how to cook over an open fire. Once she’d mastered it, she threw her things into a duffle bag and headed for the stagecoach station. She said goodbye to Betsy at the stagecoach depot with a promise to write when she reached Oregon. Callum Butler had emphasized the necessity of getting to Independence before May first. If all went well, she’d get there a few days before that. If this Callum was good to her, she could easily learn to love him.

  When Hope arrived in Independence, she stepped off the stage and waited patiently by the livery with her duffle bag. She’d followed Callum’s instructions and telegraphed him from Casey Creek, the stop before Independence, so he’d know when she would arrive.

  Hope held her breath and waited for her future husband to approach her. She silently prayed he wouldn’t be too bad looking and that he’d turn out to be a good husband. Praying was second nature to her from her years in a Methodist orphanage.

  Several men looked as though they were approaching her, but they walked right past her. None of them looked like she imagined her husband would. Then, a red-headed man with a thin, red mustache stopped before her and tipped his hat.

  “Hope Carlson?” he asked.

  She nodded. Though she felt disappointed, she tried not to show it. “Callum?”

  “Yes. Come along. We need to marry as soon as possible because the wagon train is due to leave in two days.”

  He grabbed her arm and pulled her down the wooden walkway. “I have a hotel room for us, and I have the license. We’ll go to the church right now. The minister is waiting for us.”

  Hope hadn’t expected it to happen so fast. Had she made a huge mistake?

  Chapter Two

  On their walk to church, Callum explained the importance of being ready when the wagon train set off on its journey.

  After a hasty reciting of vows, Callum rushed her to the hotel, but Hope froze and stopped short before Callum opened the door to the inn.

  “I can’t sleep with you yet, Callum. We need to get acquainted first.”

  Callum shrugged. “That’s fine. I realize we’re strangers. I never expected it to happen right away. It’s not a problem, but I only have one room. I’ll ask for a cot for our room. The hotel is full as you can imagine just days before the train leaves.”

  Hope felt relief. She walked into the hotel and up a flight of stairs to the room Callum ushered her into.

  “You can get ready for bed, and I’ll see about the cot,” he said.

  He left the room, and Hope lit the lamp and looked around. She was in a small room with a four-poster bed, an old dresser, and a straight-backed chair. Hope pulled the shade down and undressed. How she yearned for a bath. She put her flannel nightgown on and crawled into bed. She felt exhausted after the long days of traveling and fell fast asleep before Callum returned.

  Callum couldn’t believe how pretty Hope was. He’d gotten lucky, but he couldn’t touch her until they were on their way to Oregon or he’d scare her away. The whole purpose was to seem like a normal couple traveling to Oregon for land. With her good looks, it wouldn’t be easy to keep his hands to himself, but if he didn’t, he’d spoil the whole plan.

  He vowed to be as nice as possible—at least until the train got underway.

  Knowing it would be difficult to keep his hands off such a lovely wife, he only had two mugs of beer before going back to the hotel.

  Hope opened her eyes in the morning and for a moment, she couldn’t remember where she was. Then she saw Callum lying on a cot at the foot of her bed. His hair was long and very red. His skin was so white she wondered if he ever ventured outdoors. His blue eyes popped open, and he smiled.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Butler.”

  “Good morning.” The reminder that she was his wife left a bad taste in her mouth. Maybe he wasn’t much to look at, but he might be a good husband. She told herself to be patient and get to know him before judging him.

  He turned around and slid his trousers on quickly. Then, he threw on the same shirt he’d worn the day before, donned his wide-brimmed hat, and walked to the door.

  “I’ll check us out of the hotel and meet you down in the lobby. We’ll be staying at our wagon from now on. We need to settle in and get ready.”

  Hope simply nodded. When he’d gone, she washed in a bowl of cold water and put on a simple cotton dress. It had been on Callum’s list of things to bring. He’d also put on the list: sturdy shoes, aprons, bonnets, and toiletries. She slipped on the Oxford shoes and grimaced—they were ugly, but comfortable.

  She felt two emotions: fear of the unknown and the excitement of a journey. She also felt a distaste for romance with her husband. She couldn’t even imagine kissing him, yet she knew that, eventually, she would have to do more than that with him. She cringed and packed up her belongings.

  They had breakfast at a crowded diner. The long wait for their food gave Hope the chance to study the surrounding people. Most of the women dressed the same, in plain cotton dresses, bonnets, and sturdy shoes. The men, like Callum, wore pants and shirts and some wore suspenders. Most wore beards, mustaches, or both. Callum had explained that shaving on the trail would take a lot of time and most of the men didn’t bother, but some shaved or trimmed their facial growth on Sundays.

  Callum treated her with cool kindness, showing no sign of forcing her into intimacy. It relieved Hope to know it was just being put off temporarily; it was a reprieve, nevertheless..

  After they ate, Callum led her down the main street to the edge of town. There, to Hope’s amazement, were a myriad of wagons all lined up with people buzzing around them doing odd jobs.

  “Oh, my!” was all she could say.

  As they weaved between the wagons, Callum told her, “I’ve been loading things in our wagon all week. We need to label the barrels and crates and put them in order.”

  “Will there be room for us to sleep in it?” she asked.

  “No. We won’t be sleeping in the wagon. It’s full. We can sleep on blankets under the wagon or in the tent I bought.”

  Hope winced. “Is it safe to sleep out in the open?”

  “Pretty much, but I have my rifle and shotgun at the ready at all times, just in case.”

  Callum stopped in front of a large wagon much like the others, with its white cloth top, large wheels, and supplies hanging from the sides. He opened the rear flap and pulled out a small crate. “You can step on this to get inside.”

  Once inside, Hope looked all around. “How do we label the crates and barrels?”

  Callum pulled a piece of white chalk from his vest pocket and held it up. “Your handwriting is probably better than mine, so I’ll tell you the containers' contents and you can write it on the outside.”

  That was how they spent their first day at the campground, labeling everything but one small trunk.

  “What’s in this one?” Hope asked, holding her chalk near the top, ready to write.

  “That one?” Callum rubbed his chin. “Um… just write Callum on it. It’s my personal things.”

  Hope complied and wrote his name on it.

  “Why are we going to Oregon? For the adventure?” she asked.

 

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