She dives into romance novels to heal her broken heart, but when danger knocks, can she flip the script in time and turn her own love story into a happy ever after?
Heartbroken after being left standing at the altar, Mia seeks solace in the pages of her romance novels. Yearning for purpose, she answers Caleb’s unconventional mail-order bride ad.
Caleb is a brooding rancher grappling with his past and the recent loss of his brother. He only craves stability for his orphaned twin nephews, or so he thinks…
Their first meeting is fraught with tension and clashing personalities, yet an unexpected connection emerges. But when a ruthless businessman targets the boys, their journey becomes a race against time…
1879
The sultry Louisiana night hung heavy with the promise of an impending storm. Lightning crackled in the distance, illuminating the silhouette of the small saloon just outside the small town of Horseshoe, which was bordered by swamps on one side, and cattle ranches on the other. Inside the saloon, the acrid scent of stale whiskey and cigar smoke clung to the thick air. Michael Broussard sat hunched over the scarred wooden bar, a weathered figure in the dimly lit room.
For the past year, Michael had been a constant patron of the saloon. Every night, he would sit at the bar and order drink after drink, drowning his pain and grief over his father’s sudden death. Jean Broussard had been a well-respected man in their small town, known for building a successful ranch with his own father.
But as Michael sat there, memories of his father’s shortcomings as a parent flooded his mind. He could still hear his father’s harsh words and feel the sting of disappointment. Some nights, the alcohol only seemed to intensify these painful thoughts, plaguing him like an angry ghost. “You boys don’t understand the importance of this ranch. You don’t understand the sacrifices I’ve made to this place.”
“Caleb, you’re the eldest. You need to be prepared to carry this place on when I’m gone.”
“Michael! Pay attention, boy! Don’t get in your brother’s way!”
“Christ Almighty, Michael, why can’t you be more like Caleb? You’re such a disappointment sometimes. Thank heaven you aren’t the oldest. You won’t ruin this ranch with your stupidity.”
“It doesn’t matter that Caleb’s left. This ranch will always be his.”
In contrast to his care for his eldest son, Jean’s temperament often turned cruel toward Michael, the younger son who stayed faithfully by his side through the years. Michael had endured the brunt of his father’s disappointment, an unwitting casualty in the shadow of Caleb’s favored status.
No matter what Michael had done, or how hard he had worked, it had never been enough for his narrow-minded father, who simply could not see past Caleb in order to appreciate his younger son’s loyalty. In the final act of his life, Jean had perpetuated the injustice that had plagued his sons’ relationship.
He had left the ranch to Caleb.
He had passed Michael over in favor of the son who had run off to Texas, never to return. Bitterness ate at Michael, rotting him from the inside out. The only thing that ever seemed to remove the bitter taste from his mouth was whiskey, and so he indulged in drink until he felt blessedly numb.
On this particular night, as the storm loomed closer, Michael drowned his sorrows with fervor. Shot after shot, glass after glass, he sought refuge in the intoxicating embrace of alcohol. As the hours slipped away, the saloon emptied, little by little, until only Michael and the old bartender remained.
The bartender, a weathered man with tired eyes and a knowing smile, observed Michael from behind the bar.
“Broussard,” he said in an exasperated tone, “shouldn’t you be at home with those boys of yours?”
Michael looked up through bloodshot eyes and scowled.
“Don’t see how that’s any of your business,” he snapped hoarsely.
The bartender sighed, wiping down a glass with a rag as he leaned against the counter. “It ain’t my business, you’re right, but I’ve known you and your father long enough to see what this place has done to you. You’re drowning in sorrow, Michael, and it’s high time you face it.”
Michael’s face twisted with anger, his hand gripping the glass tightly. “Face it? What is there to face? My father’s gone, and he left me nothing but bitterness and regrets.”
The old bartender shook his head. “Drowning your sorrows in whiskey won’t bring you any peace either. Your father may have made a mistake, but don’t let that define the rest of your life.”
Michael’s gaze shifted to the empty whiskey bottle in front of him, its contents long gone. His thoughts flashed back to his two young sons at home, waiting for their father’s return. He had been neglecting them lately, consumed by his own despair.
What was he supposed to do, though? His father had ruined him as a man, dismissing him in favor of Caleb over and over again.
Had Caleb bothered to return to the ranch he had so unjustly inherited? No. It had still fallen to Michael to oversee it, and he was proving a failure, just as his father had always predicted. His once-thriving cattle business now teetered on the brink of collapse.
What was worse was that he couldn’t even be a proper father because he was so miserable. That night, he had entrusted his children to the care of the kind sheriff’s wife so he could lose himself in the bottom of a bottle. The thought of his little ones tucked away in another man’s house filled him with even more gut-wrenching shame, and that only made him want to drink more.
Suddenly, he felt a hand slide onto his shoulder. With a furrowed brow, he turned to find one of the saloon girls, Nancy, standing next to him. She was frowning in obvious concern.
“Why are you back here, Michael?” she murmured. “You shouldn’t be here.”
He rolled his eyes and shrugged her hand off his shoulder. “What’s with you people, tonight? I’d think you’d all appreciate my business.”
“Michael, I’ve been watching you night after night,” Nancy said softly, her voice filled with genuine worry. “I can see the pain in your eyes, the weight on your shoulders. Is this really how you want to live your life? Drowning your sorrows until there’s nothing left? What would Jenny think if she were here to see this?”
Michael gritted his teeth, sorrow and anger rushing through him. He knew exactly what Jenny would think… She’d be furious with him. She’d drag him out of the saloon by his ear and give him a tongue-lashing all the way home.
But that didn’t matter, he reminded himself. Jenny wasn’t there to witness his downward spiral. Jenny was gone, just like his pa was.
Michael was all alone.
“What do you know about it?” he muttered, his voice laced with bitterness. “Nobody understands what I’ve been through.”
Her grip tightened on his shoulder, and she leaned in closer. “Maybe not everyone knows the specifics of your story, but we’ve all been hurt in one way or another. We’re all carrying our own burdens. Drowning yourself in whiskey won’t make it go away. It’ll only make things worse.”
He scoffed. “Things can’t get much worse for me.”
He continued to drink, ignoring Nancy’s concern, and she eventually gave up and left him to his miserable self.
As he nursed his drink, relishing the burn of the liquor on his tongue and in his belly, ready to succumb once more to a night that ended in a dreamless blackout, a commotion from a private room near the bar caught his attention. He realized the door to the room was slightly ajar, but then he shrugged and turned back to his glass of whiskey. Whoever was in that room was most likely playing a game of poker or getting drunk like him, just in a more private setting.
“I tell ya, Bo, those lawmen are chasing their tails, thinking those attacks are just part of the ranch wars,” muttered a gruff voice, thick with a local drawl.
“You reckon any of them are suspicious?” questioned another, his tone laced with anxiety.
“Nah, ain’t no chance they’re suspicious,” a third man growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Those ranchers know better than to open their mouths.”
“They ain’t got no proof, anyway,” the first man cackled.
“Enough. We’re not here to talk about who we’ve hit. We’re here to talk about who’s next on our list,” the third man hissed, the sound carrying a chilling edge. “The Jenkins’ ranch has it coming. Their number is up.”
Laughter erupted from the group, a callous chorus of amusement that sent shivers down Michael’s spine. Their voices overlapped in agreement, each contributing to the macabre discussion. The men clinked their glasses together, their laughter mingling with the storm brewing outside.
Michael’s gut churned with dread as realization dawned on him. There had been recent attacks on local cattle ranches, but everyone had been attributing them to the cattle wars that had been raging for some time. From the sound of this foreboding conversation, though, these weren’t just random attacks by rival cattle owners; something far more sinister was going on.
Michael’s hand trembled as he swiftly changed seats to conceal his eavesdropping and fumbled for paper and a pencil in his pocket. He painstakingly scribbled down the details of what he had heard, his heart racing with urgency. Folding the note, he moved toward a nearby table and slid it into a small hole he knew was in the leg. If he needed proof to show the sheriff, he hoped that note could help.
As he straightened, the door to the side room opened and one of the men caught sight of him. Michael stared at him for a moment, frozen in place. The man’s eyes narrowed into a suspicious glare.
Before the man could say anything, a loud crash of thunder echoed outside, rattling the windows of the saloon. The sudden burst of noise startled both Michael and the man, breaking their momentary standoff. Michael took advantage of the distraction and quickly made his way towards the exit.
As he left the saloon, the heavy rain masked his hurried footsteps. He glanced back just in time to see several men emerging from the saloon. They looked around, searching, and when their eyes landed on him, they started after him.
Michael quickened his pace, fear knotting in his chest, each step a struggle against the storm’s fury. Desperate to escape, he darted through the muddy streets, the men pursuing him with an unsettling determination.
Michael’s heart pounded in his chest as he raced through the rain-soaked alleys. Thunder rumbled above him, its deafening roar mirroring the chaos that churned within him. The wind whipped at his face, stinging his eyes and driving him forward.
He had to get to the sheriff’s office. It was the only place he could find safety and help. He knew he couldn’t outrun the men for long, but he had to buy himself enough time to warn the sheriff about the sinister plans unfolding in their midst.
As he sprinted down the darkened street, Michael’s mind raced with thoughts of his sons. He couldn’t let them grow up in a world where evil deeds were carried out unchecked. He had to protect them, as his father had failed to protect him.
The rain pelted his face, washing away the traces of whiskey and tears that stained his cheeks. Fortitude fueled his every step, drowning out the exhaustion that gnawed at his limbs. The darkness of the night cloaked him, granting him a sliver of hope amidst the encroaching danger.
The relentless downpour obscured his vision, the only light coming from sporadic flashes of lightning. He dipped into the shadows and weaved in and out among the buildings, hoping to lose his pursuers. When he glanced behind him again and didn’t see the men, he thought he might have evaded them. The next moment, though, a hand clamped down on his shoulder and yanked him between two buildings and out of sight of any nearby windows.
What followed was simply chaos, a maelstrom of violence that was almost drowned out by the deafening roar of the storm. Michael could barely make out his attackers in the darkness, their blows raining down upon him like torrential rain. He fought desperately, his senses overwhelmed as he tried to defend himself against the savage onslaught. But as the brutal assault continued, his strength waned and his consciousness began to slip away, swallowed up by the swirling darkness and unforgiving tempest.
Caleb – 1880, Texas
In the well-lit workshop, the scent of fresh leather and the faint aroma of wood shavings tinged the air. The space was filled with tools hung neatly on the walls and a workbench scattered with leather scraps, stitching needles, and various pieces of hardware.
Caleb Broussard stood beside the workbench, running his hands over a piece of high-quality leather, the grain smooth against his calloused fingertips. He began by meticulously examining the hide, assessing its texture and flexibility, searching for imperfections or blemishes that might compromise the saddle’s integrity.
He deftly traced an outline on the leather, using a sharp knife, cutting it with steady, precise movements. Each piece was skillfully crafted, shaped, and dyed to perfection, bearing the promise of comfort and durability for both rider and horse.
Next, Caleb moved to the saddle tree, the backbone of the saddle. He selected a well-seasoned wooden frame, the foundation upon which the saddle would take form. With careful attention to detail, he adjusted and shaped the tree, ensuring it perfectly matched the contours of a horse’s back.
Then came the artistry of assembling the pieces. Caleb skillfully stitched the panels of leather together, using a sturdy waxed thread and a saddle-making needle. Each stitch was placed with meticulous precision, the pattern forming a symphony of strength and elegance.
The sound of hammering reverberated through the workshop as Caleb secured metal rivets and hardware, ensuring that every piece was firmly in place. He burnished the leather edges, smoothing them to perfection.
He attached the stirrup leathers with practiced hands, carefully adjusting their length and positioning. Every adjustment was made to ensure the comfort and safety of both rider and horse.
Caleb stepped back to admire his creation as the day waned and the sun dipped lower in the sky. He was quite pleased with his work and smiled as he wiped the sweat from his brow. As he began to collect his tools and clean up his workspace, the silence of his workshop was abruptly shattered by a loud knock on the door. Frowning, Caleb moved to answer it and was surprised to find a courier standing on his doorstep.
“Mr. Caleb Broussard?”
Caleb nodded. “That’s me.”
The courier handed him a sealed envelope. “A telegram for you, sir.”
Caleb took the envelope. “Thank you.”
The courier tipped his hat to Caleb and left without another word. Caleb slowly made his way back to his workbench and propped his elbow against it as he opened the telegram.
He ran his eyes over the message, and his hands began to tremble as disbelief surged through him. His grip on the paper tightened as if, by sheer force, he could reverse the tragic reality it conveyed.
Caleb,
Deep regret in informing you of Michael’s passing. Tragically, he succumbed to bandits outside town. Funeral arrangements underway. Please return soon.
Auguste
Caleb’s knees trembled, and he nearly collapsed to the floor. His brother was dead? The weight of grief and guilt bore down on Caleb’s shoulders like an unbearable burden. Barely half a year had passed since their father’s death, and now fate had dealt him another cruel blow. Tears welled in his eyes, blurring the words on the telegram, his mind overwhelmed by regret and sorrow.
It had been nine years since he had seen Michael. When Caleb had left Louisiana, the relationship between him, his father, and his brother had been fractured. Caleb had written to his brother and father many times over the years and had even tried to visit home, but they’d acted like he no longer existed.
The last correspondence he’d received from Michael had been a short letter informing him about their father’s death and telling him not to bother showing up for the funeral as he wasn’t welcome.
Struggling to compose himself, Caleb took a deep, shuddering breath. He crushed the telegraph in his hand and tossed it to the side. His mind raced to determine everything he needed to do now. He knew Michael had a family, and they would need looking after. There was also the ranch to consider. Caleb knew if he didn’t go back to run it himself, it would fall to the vultures who had been circling it for years.
In the end, the decision to return home was an easy one to make. He’d been wanting to for some time but had known Michael and his father hadn’t wanted him back. Their animosity toward him didn’t matter anymore, though. He needed to go home. He needed to make things right.
And he needed to bury his kid brother. He’d missed laying his father to rest, but he wouldn’t make that same mistake with Michael. He’d lay him to rest, and then he’d do everything he could to care for the family he’d left behind as a way to make what amends he could after so many years of strife.
***
Weeks later, Caleb rode down an all-too-familiar road toward his family’s ranch. His heart was racing with anticipation. Selling his small ranch in Texas had been an easy enough task, as his neighbor had been wanting it for some time, and Caleb had never had the same sentimental attachment to it as he had the ranch he’d grown up on.
He was actually excited to be returning home, even under such heartbreaking circumstances. It had been so long since he’d seen the rolling pastures and proud, sturdy buildings of the ranch. Memories from his childhood flooded his mind as he urged his horse onward in a brisk trot—memories of running through the fields with Michael, fishing in the nearby swamps.
Of course, his memories weren’t all pleasant, as his father had not been the warmest or most empathetic of men, especially after losing Caleb’s and Michael’s mother. Caleb quickly pushed the thought of his mother’s death aside, not wanting to revisit that awful time. Despite all that, though, his father had done his best, Caleb supposed, and despite their falling out, he’d always held a deep respect and regard for Jean Broussard.
Suddenly, Caleb crested the final hill before the ranch; he paused at the top so he could gaze down at the property, wishing to soak in the moment and the beauty of his family’s land after so many years away.
However, his anticipation quickly gave way to disbelief as he gazed down at his childhood home. The once vibrant and bustling cattle ranch now stood as a desolate shadow of its former self, a testament to neglect and decay. The ranch was surrounded by unkempt fields, with tall grasses growing wild and untamed.
Once sturdy and well-maintained, the fences now sagged with broken posts and rusted wire, unable to contain the scattered cattle that wandered aimlessly across the pasture.
The ranch house, weather-beaten and worn, bore the scars of neglect. Its once vivid paint had faded to a dull, peeling hue, and the roof showed signs of missing shingles and leaks. Broken windows were patched haphazardly, and the porch sagged under the weight of years, its railing worn and splintered.
The outbuildings and barns also wore a dilapidated appearance. Some of the structures leaned precariously, their weathered wooden frames suggesting years of abandonment. The barn doors hung askew, creaking in the wind, and patches of the roof had collapsed under the weight of neglect, exposing the interior to the elements.
The pastures, once lush and well-tended, were now overgrown with weeds and thistles. Once a rich green carpet, the grass was now parched and yellowed in patches, evidence of inadequate care and lack of maintenance. Though still grazing, the cattle appeared malnourished and thin, evidence of insufficient care and irregular feeding. Their numbers were much smaller than they should have been for a ranch of this size.
Overall, the ranch exuded an air of abandonment and decay. Its neglected state painted a grim picture of a once-thriving livelihood fallen into disrepair, calling out for someone willing to invest time, effort, and care to restore it to its former glory.
What was almost as startling as the physical state of the ranch was how quiet and still everything appeared. Caleb didn’t see a single person anywhere when there should be at least a dozen ranch hands working throughout the property. The absence of hands struck him profoundly. Where is everyone? he mused, incredulous. The work could not cease, even in the face of the boss’s death.
With growing apprehension, Caleb nudged his heels into his horse’s sides to get the animal moving again, and he made his way down to the ranch, all the while searching for signs of life. His heart thudded with a mix of anxiety and bewilderment.
Where is Michael’s family? His wife? The boys?
There didn’t appear to be anyone living in the main house, so he continued wandering through the property, taking in the full extent of its neglect. At last, a newly constructed cabin caught his eye, nestled at the rear of the property. Curiosity urged him forward, and as he approached, voices reached his ears. Pushing open the door, Caleb was met with an unexpected sight—two little boys, sitting on the floor in the middle of the small cabin, stared up at him with wide blue eyes.
They looked exactly like Michael.
These had to be his nephews. Caleb had known the boys were twins, but seeing them for the first time was rather startling. Their reddish blond hair was the same as Michael’s had been, which was actually the same shade as Caleb’s and a sign of their Acadian roots.
“Caleb?” a deep voice spoke, causing Caleb to jerk his gaze away from the boys. “Caleb? Is that you?”
A man and woman stood across the room, and both were staring at Caleb in shock. After a moment, Caleb recognized Auguste Landry, Horseshoe’s sheriff and Caleb’s childhood friend. The woman next to him was his wife, Odette, whose own bright blond hair was pulled back into a long braid.
“Auguste?” Caleb murmured. “Is that really you?”
Auguste nodded, his lips curling into a wide smile and his green eyes twinkling. “It is! It’s been so long, but you don’t look that much different. Still got that awful beard, I see, and your hair is still too long.”
Caleb chuckled as he ran a hand through his shoulder-length hair.
“You sound like my ma,” he replied. Glancing back down at the boys, who were still watching him, Caleb continued, “Thank you for letting me know about my brother. I got here as soon as I could. Before I do anything else, though, I want to pay Jenny my respects. Where can I find her?”
Auguste’s brow furrowed, and he exchanged a glance with Odette before turning back to Caleb. “Caleb, I’m sorry to say this, but—” The sheriff hesitated a moment before he pushed on with a sigh. “Jenny’s been gone for eight years now. She died giving birth to the boys.”
Caleb stared at Auguste, stunned. “I…I didn’t know,” he stammered. “Michael never told me.”
Auguste’s gaze was sympathetic. “I know things weren’t great between you and your brother, but I know he’d be glad that you’re back.”
Caleb wasn’t so sure, but as he turned his gaze back to his nephews, he knew he needed to step in. Those boys had lost everything, just as Caleb had—their mother and their father; all they had left was the ranch, and it was in such bad shape, Caleb wasn’t sure how much longer they’d have that.
“What’s happened around here?” he demanded to know. “Why’s the ranch in such poor shape?”
Auguste scratched his head, clearly reluctant to explain. “I’m afraid after you left, things started to decline. You know how your father was.” Auguste paused, as though the words evaded him. “He wasn’t the easiest man to work for, and ranch hands didn’t stick around here for long. Then, after Jenny died, Michael became as insufferable as your father, and it became impossible for them to keep on as many hands as this place needs to stay running. I’m sorry you’ve returned home to such a mess. I know the state of the ranch weighed heavily on Michael’s mind.”
Caleb released a long breath. Handling the ranch was one thing. Caleb could do that. He had plenty of experience running one. What he had no experience with was children. He didn’t know the first thing about raising a child, let alone two.
Odette moved to stand next to him as he stared down at his nephews.
She laid a hand on his shoulder and softly said, “They need stability, Caleb. A family. A mother. You know you can’t run this ranch alone and raise the boys. You need help.” He knew what she truly meant.
Caleb didn’t just need help—he needed a wife.
***
Seated at a weathered desk in the sheriff’s office, Caleb considered his requirements for a wife while Auguste diligently transcribed his words into an advertisement. Caleb was not a strong reader or writer, and so he left it to his more educated friend to pen his request for a bride.
They had left the ranch and brought the boys into town as Caleb had been too overwhelmed being out there to think properly.
“She must be willing to work hard,” Caleb insisted. “I can’t have a lazy wife, not when there’s so much work to get the ranch back to its full capabilities.”
Auguste nodded. “Very true, though you don’t want to make coming here sound too unappealing. How can we balance this out a little more?”
“Highlight the challenge and the opportunity coming here presents,” Odette suggested, her words laced with a touch of excitement. “Appeal to the woman’s sense of adventure and the chance to make a difference.”
Odette’s input resonated with Caleb. Her perspective offered a fresh angle, infusing the ad with an allure and purpose that he hadn’t initially considered.
“Anything else?” Auguste asked.
“Describe the ranch’s potential,” she continued, leaning in to look over her husband’s shoulder. “Emphasize the beauty of the land, the opportunities for growth, and the chance to be part of something meaningful. It’s always best to appeal to a woman’s sense of purpose.”
Caleb nodded, acknowledging the wisdom in her words. Her suggestions breathed life into the advertisement, transforming it from a mere notice into an invitation—an invitation for a capable and passionate individual to become an integral part of the ranch’s future.
As Auguste skillfully incorporated Odette’s suggestions into the wording, the advertisement began to take shape, reflecting a compelling narrative that captured both the challenges and the prospects awaiting the prospective applicant.
Grateful for Odette’s invaluable input, Caleb felt a renewed sense of hope, a belief that the right person—someone capable, dedicated, and passionate—would heed their call and join in the endeavor to breathe new life into the ranch that held so much history and promise.
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Can’t wait to read the book !!!
Thank you! I can’t wait to hear what you think after you’ve finished it!🥰