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A Marriage of Convenience for the Mountain Man

“She’s about to become homeless, and you need a wife. It would be convenient for both of you.”

Our marriage is a practical agreement —he keeps his ranch, and I get a stable home for my daughter. There’d be no room for love. But my heart doesn’t follow rules…

Charles is a rugged rancher determined to protect what’s rightfully his. When his father’s will demands marriage to retain the ranch, he thinks this must be a joke. The only solution is an arranged marriage with someone who will gain something from this agreement—someone he is sure he won’t fall for…

After losing her husband, the ranch’s debt and the challenge of raising her daughter alone had Bertha barely holding on. When Charles offers a practical deal, she has no choice but to accept.  She vowed never to love again but couldn’t stop her heart from falling…

They come together out of necessity, but soon, their pragmatic arrangement begins to evolve. But when Bertha’s past comes knocking at their door, will they be able to protect their newfound family?

Written by:

Western Historical Romance Author

Chapter One

Bannack, Montana

1872

 

“Here you go.” Anthony leaned in with a glass of water. “Take it slowly.”

Grant scowled at him. “I wish you would stop treating me like a child. I know how to drink water.”

“Although you would rather be drinking something else, right?”

His friend gave him a knowing look. Grant didn’t want to be reminded of something he had been longing for since he had become ill. Ever since he had had his stroke a year ago, his lifestyle of drinking and eating rich food was long gone. They were not something he could enjoy anymore. Grant hated that he was missing out on things he loved because of his body giving out on him.

Why did Anthony have to go and say that?

“Just give me the water,” he slurred. “I’m thirsty.”

Anthony helped him to drink. Normally, Grant could use his good arm to drink himself, but he had been struck down by the influenza that was going around town. With his health not as good as it used to be, it had made his body weaker and doing simple things proved to be a struggle. Someone had to sit by his bedside and look after him instead of working, and Grant hated it. He was always used to being independent and looking after himself. Now he was shriveling before everyone’s eyes, stuck in bed and barely able to even drink water without some sort of help.

If he had known that he would have a stroke at the age of forty-seven, Grant might have slowed down what he was doing with running his livelihood. Then again, his old self would have scoffed that it would happen at all.

The water soothed his sore throat, and Grant slumped back against the pillows, unable to catch himself so he landed heavier than normal. Anthony winced.

“Sorry…”

“Nothing to apologize for,” Grant croaked, staring at the ceiling as he waited for the throbbing in his head to ebb. “I hate this. I wish that I didn’t have to be in this body.”

“You’ll get better. You’re tougher than all of us, Grant.” His friend blinked hard and cleared his throat. His graying hair was on end after running his fingers through it so much. He was going to lose it if he carried on like that. “You’ll be up and running around the ranch in no time.”

Grant grunted. “I doubt that will happen. It’s been more than a year since I had this stroke. I feel like I’m going to lose my mind.”

Anthony swiped at his face, looking as if he was rubbing his eye. Grant peered at him.

“Are you crying, Anthony?”

“What, me? Of course not.” Anthony lowered his hand, but his eyes were red. “Anyway, do you want to rest alone? It’s not long before Thomas gets here.”

“If you don’t mind. I want you to make sure the children stay away from this room and don’t see Thomas coming here and leaving.” Grant licked his chapped lips. “If they see him, they’re going to figure out what’s going on. I don’t want that just yet.”

“I’ll make sure that they’re distracted.” Anthony stood up, dusting himself down. “I think the girls have gone out with their friends, so they won’t be back until later. Charles is going to be somewhere in the house.”

“Then make sure he doesn’t find out about Thomas visiting. And that the rest of the staff know to keep it quiet?”

“Of course. They’re going to be keeping it to themselves.”

Grant was grateful about that. He had a few people who looked after the house, something that his son had insisted on once Grant had fallen ill, and they were good at keeping secrets when they needed to. For a short-term job, it felt comforting to know that his staff could be relied on.

Charles would be upset when he found out what was going on, but this needed to be done. Grant wasn’t about to let this get out before it was put onto paper.

He gestured at a box on top of the dresser.

“Can you…bring that to me?”

“Of course.” Anthony brought it over, opening the fiddly clasp and laid it on the bed beside Grant. “Take it easy. Doctor Phillips said that you needed to have lots of rest, and I don’t want you to make things worse for yourself.”

Grant rolled his eyes.

“Things are already worse. There is no proper cure for recovering from a stroke, Anthony. I just have to manage with my new body. As for everything else…”

“You’ll be able to go back to how you were before, Grant. You’re tougher than that.”

His foreman and closest friend sounded so insistent about it, but Grant didn’t believe it. Not anymore.

God, he was going to start crying again, and Grant didn’t want to do that in front of his friend.

“I’ll make sure Charles is distracted for a while,” Anthony said as he moved towards the door. “He will want to see you later. You know that your son worries about you a great deal.”

“I know he does.”

Anthony gave him a small, sad smile and then he left the room. Grant managed to tug the box closer to him and he opened it. He reached in and pulled out the top photograph. It was grainy, having faded over the years, but he could still make out the woman sitting in the photograph, staring at the camera with a blank expression. The camera was a strange thing, and everyone who had their photograph taken looked like weird dolls. But the woman in the picture was anything but weird-looking. She had been beautiful back then, and it shone through even with the unsmiling expression. Grant found himself smiling as he took in every feature he had committed to memory over the years.

It was something he would never get to see again. It had been twenty-one years since Elizabeth had died, bringing three lives into the world before leaving it herself. Grant had been devastated at losing the one woman he loved to the point that he had almost forgotten that he had children. He had other people raising them and making sure they didn’t get into trouble instead of doing it himself. The few times he had tried to get involved, the absence of their mother rang hollowly.

Grant regretted that. He wished that he had been there for his son and daughters from the beginning. It wasn’t fair on them that he retreated into such grief, but he couldn’t help it. The six years he had spent with his wife had been the best of his life, and to have it snatched away had taken all the joy out.

Saying that now after he had sunk into his grief felt hollow, though. He should have done better.

A tap at the door brought Grant back to the present. He didn’t have the energy to put his wife’s picture back into the box. He slumped back against the pillows.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Thomas.”

Thank God for that. Grant had thought it was Charles coming to look in on him. His son kept checking him as if he expected his father to be dead in his bed. It was sweet and annoying at the same time, but Grant did appreciate Charles’ concern. He had stepped up and helped more on the ranch since Grant first had his stroke. It was good to see his son, essentially, taking over at the young age of twenty-five.

For the first time in a while, Grant suddenly wanted to have his son sent for so he could give him a hug, to say that he was proud of him. That made him feel like he was struggling to breathe as his chest tightened. He was really going to miss his children.

“Grant? Can I come in?”

Grant jumped. He really needed to focus right now.

“Come in, Thomas.”

The door opened and Thomas Gregory stepped inside. The lanky man was so tall that he had to duck his head to get through the door. As he bowed his head, Grant saw the thinning of his hair on top. Anthony had used to laugh that Thomas had knocked his scalp so much going through doors that his hair had started to fall out. That gave him a bit of hilarity, but Grant couldn’t bring himself to do that. It was a struggle to speak at times, and even worse when he was tired, for his words became slurred,, so laughing hurt when he was feeling ill.

“You weren’t seen coming up here, were you?” Grant asked.

“Only by the housekeeper, Henrietta. She let me in.” Thomas closed the door behind him. “She said to go straight upstairs and then let myself out once I was done.”

“She’s very reliable.” Grant gestured at the chair Anthony had vacated. “Come and sit down. I won’t keep you long. But this is important.”

“I figured it was if you were asking me to come under the cover of darkness and not tell anyone where I was going.” Thomas eased his long body onto the chair and stretched his legs out. “I must admit while I enjoy a little bit of secrecy and a change to my routine, I can’t help but feel worried about all of this.”

“Well, I needed it to be secretive so my children didn’t find out. Otherwise, they would try and protest at what I was doing.”

“What are you planning on doing? I can’t think of anything that would result in not wanting Charles, Mina and Helen to know?” Thomas hesitated. “Unless it’s about your will. You want to discuss it?”

“I do. And I want to adjust a few things.” Grant tried to raise a hand, only to remember that he couldn’t move it anymore, so he managed to raise the other with a lot of shaking. God, he wished that this would stop. “It’s nothing bad, don’t worry. I just want to ensure things are looking as they should. To be sure.”

“To be sure?” Thomas echoed. He looked worried. “You sound like you’ve made up your mind about something.”

“You know me all too well, Thomas.” Grant managed a smile, even if he couldn’t move one side of his mouth very well. “It’s been forty years. If you didn’t know me by now, that would be worrying.”

Thomas swallowed. Was he starting to cry as well? What was it with men around him wanting to burst into tears? Grant didn’t want anyone to do that for him. Not in front of him, anyway.

“You know, it’s really tough to see you like this,” Thomas said, laying his leather case across his lap. His fingers seemed to be trembling, but Grant couldn’t be sure in the low light. “You’ve always been so tough and strong to carry on as normal. Now this is happening, and…it feels like a bad dream.”

“You’re not the only one thinking that,” Grant muttered. “When I suffered my stroke and I had no idea what was going on, I genuinely thought that was the end of it for me. This life I have now makes me wish I had been taken last year.”

Thomas looked horrified.

“Grant, don’t talk like that. You’re going to be fine. You’ll recover from this.”

Grant had been trying to fight the tears back for a while, not wanting to give in and cry around everyone else, but he couldn’t help it. Tears began to fall and he wasn’t able to lift his arms properly to wipe them away. They just kept coming.

He cursed under his breath. This was not what he wanted to happen. He was meant to be the strong one, the person in charge. Nothing made him cry, not since he lost his beloved Elizabeth. Now it just wouldn’t stop.

“Oh, Grant.” Thomas fumbled in his pockets, pulling out a handkerchief and moving onto his knees by the bed. “Here.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he helped to clean Grant’s face, which made Grant want to cry even harder. He hated feeling helpless.

“That’s enough, Thomas. I don’t want someone to come in and find you in here, and I have no intention of wailing like a baby.”

“Sorry.” Thomas grimaced as he lowered the handkerchief. “We’ve known each other since we were three years old, and I can count on both hands how many times you’ve actually cried.”

“I think I can as well,” Grant slurred. He swallowed and spoke a little slower. It was easier to talk when he did that. “I want to be sure that my affairs are in order, that things are ready for when I pass…”

“You’re not going to die!” Thomas protested.

“I think we both know that it’s not going to be as simple as you think. I’m not getting any better. It could be tomorrow, it could be next year. But my time is closer than we think.” Grant managed to hold up Elizabeth’s photograph. “Do you think I’ll be like this when I meet Elizabeth in the next life? Or will I be as I was before my stroke?”

“Maybe with less of a belly,” Thomas managed to say with a slight smile.

“Maybe I can look how I want. I wonder if that’s possible.”

“Well, follow that thought when I’m not here. I don’t want to contemplate it.” Thomas shifted back onto the chair. Given how tall he was, he made it extremely awkward. “So, what was it that you wanted to amend? It’s not going to be an extra condition, is it?”

“No, nothing like that. It’s to benefit everyone. I promise.”

Although Grant had a feeling that once Thomas found out what he was planning to put into his will he would try and persuade him from following through. It was a bit of a strange condition, he could admit that, but it might give his family a kick up the backside.

Charles would understand. Once he got over the anger, he would know that his father’s heart was in the right place. Grant might have struggled with looking out for his children in the past, but he was going to do something about it now.

He couldn’t leave the bed, not with his body failing him, but his mind was as sharp as ever.

Chapter Two

Three Years Later

 

Bertha stood at the edge of the cemetery, watching as the gravediggers filled in the hole in the ground under the tree. The branches spread out over the workers and the canopy of leaves protected them from the majority of the rain. It hadn’t started until those attending the funeral were standing at the graveside, and the pastor was going through the rigmarole that he had to do before the coffin was put into the ground. Now it was spitting, tickling her face in a gentle spray.

It felt odd, being a widow. Her husband was dead, and she was alone. Of course there was Annie, and she brought light into her life. Bertha knew she certainly needed it. But not having Dan around…

It felt horrible to think that the weight on her shoulders was lighter than before, knowing that her husband was never coming back. It should have been a time when Bertha was inconsolable. It felt like her body was wound too tight, making her sit rigid in the pew while the funeral service was being held before they had walked out to the graveside. Her neck and shoulders were sore from the tension, her head throbbing from the pressure behind her eyes. And yet she couldn’t bring herself to cry for him. A few tears, yes, but that was it.

She felt like a bad wife.

“Bertha?”

Bertha jumped away with a gasp when someone touched her arm. Her heart began racing, and for a moment she expected to see Dan standing beside her, glowering at her and demanding that she got him another drink. It would be just like him to leave his grave to get something to guzzle back.

But it wasn’t Dan. The man standing there, looking confused at her reaction, his eyebrows drawn together in a frown, did share some similarities, but he was very different. He was well-built, but not as broad-shouldered as Dan, and his hair was a reddish-brown rather than a dark chestnut. His jaw was clean-shaven as well, and he was dressed smartly.

It took a moment for Bertha to remember his name. The shock of being touched without warning had left her mind blank.

“Jack?”

“Who else did you think it was?” Her brother-in-law gave her a bemused smile. “You looked like you were lost in your own world.”

“I…I guess.” Bertha looked towards the gravediggers again, who had lowered the pile of dirt beside the hole significantly while she had been watching. “It just feels…strange. I can’t believe he’s gone.”

“I know. It’s…surreal to know that he’s never coming back.” Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without him. It was always just the two of us for years. Now he’s dead…”

Bertha could understand that. Jack and Dan’s parents had died some years before she met them, and they had always looked out for each other. Even though things had been a little fractious lately, they were close and stuck together. She had wished that she had something like that herself.

“Mama?”

Bertha tried not to jump in shock again as someone tugged at her sleeve. She looked down and saw Annie staring up at her with her big hazel eyes. She was frowning, pointing at her feet.

“Can we go home? I’ve got mud in my shoes, and it feels nasty.”

“All right, darling. We’ll head home now.” At least they wouldn’t have to walk far. Bertha could see her home from the church. She took Annie’s hand and turned to Jack. “You know Annie and I are your family as well now, Jack. We’ll be around for you if you need us.”

“I do appreciate that, Bertha.” Jack looked sheepish. “I don’t want to be a burden on you…”

“Of course not. Don’t be silly.”

“And if you need anything from me, you know where to find me. I’ll always help out little Annie.” Jack winked at the little girl. “Anything for my niece.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.” Bertha urged Annie to walk with her. “Come on, honey. We’ll go home.”

“But my shoes…”

“I’m not carrying you, you’re too big. You’ll be fine for a little walk back home.” Bertha nodded at Jack. “I’ll see you around, Jack.”

“You know where to find me if you ever need me.”

Bertha did. While Dan owned the main house on the ranch, Jack lived in his own little cabin on the outskirts. He had decided that himself shortly after Dan and Bertha got married, saying that they didn’t need a brother-in-law to get in the way. Bertha felt guilty for him moving out, but she had seen the cabin Jack lived in and it was a decent-sized home for him. He looked happier for it.

At least he wouldn’t be far away if she needed someone to talk to. But Bertha knew that it would be a struggle to get herself to ask anyone for help. She was used to hiding away and believing that nobody would help when she was desperate for it. Nobody in the town had done that for her, even when it was clear that she was struggling.

Dan’s employees had turned a blind eye, the townspeople were uncomfortable talking to her, even the sheriff looked like he wanted to get away from her as soon as he saw Bertha in the few times she was running errands. He had witnessed a lot of what Dan did, and yet he didn’t step up and help until…

Until Dan almost went too far. She couldn’t believe that all of that had been her life.

And yet, despite it all, Bertha felt guilty for being relieved Dan was gone. He had changed over the years, and the last few months had been the worst. If he hadn’t died in his sleep after passing out drunk…

She didn’t want to think about that. It was too frightening, and it left her shaking. Bertha knew that wasn’t going to help Annie, who was relying solely on her now. Then again, Annie had been relying on only her for some years. Dan hadn’t been someone their daughter could look up to, not with the way he behaved.

It was going to be a strange situation for them, being able to go about the house without worrying that the slightest noise was going to set him off. The house would be quiet, but in a different way. Bertha was actually looking forward to that.

She shouldn’t feel this way about it, but it would be good for the both of them to have a fresh start, to look forward and know that Annie could grow up into a beautiful, independent woman. Bertha wanted that for her.

She deserved it more than anyone else. Bertha certainly didn’t.

“Will Papa come back?”

Bertha wondered if she had heard that correctly. She frowned at her daughter, who was squelching along the path beside her.

“Why would you ask that, Annie?”

“I was wondering if he came back, then he would be covered in mud as well.” Annie started gently swinging Bertha’s arm as they walked. “If he comes back at all.”

Bertha sighed. Annie was only four, so comprehension of death was going to be hard. How could she put that more bluntly without upsetting her daughter further?

“Well, Papa isn’t coming back. He won’t be able to.”

“Has he gone to somewhere better than this?” Annie asked.

“I…I guess that he has.” Bertha didn’t know what to say to that. “He…he’ll be fine where he is.”

Although Bertha had a feeling that wherever Dan was he was definitely not in heaven.

“I hope he finds forgiveness for what he did,” Annie replied.

Bertha frowned. That was more surprising than asking if her father was going to return from the dead.

“Why do you say that, darling?”

“We learn about it in Sunday school. About how you should seek forgiveness if you’ve done something bad.”

Bertha stared at her child. How was a four-year-old able to comprehend forgiveness and doing bad things better than a grown adult? And Annie sounded so sincere about it. Bertha hadn’t realized that her daughter paid so much attention during Sunday school; she was barely able to focus on something for more than a few minutes.

If only Dan had listened to that. He was always at church on Sunday mornings, and he liked to preach what he heard when he was drunk.

“Why do you think Papa needs to seek forgiveness?” Bertha asked.

“Because he did some very bad things. He kept hurting you and always broke your heart, Mama.” Annie’s eyes were wide and innocent as she gave Bertha a candid stare. “He hurt me, too, and he never said sorry. You always told me if you did something bad that you had to apologize. Papa never did that. And he never said sorry to you.”

Bertha’s throat began to close up. No, she would not cry in front of her daughter. She licked her lips.

“I…I don’t know what to say to that.”

“Papa didn’t love us, otherwise he would never have hurt us as he did.” Annie squeezed Bertha’s hand. “I am sad that he’s gone, but I’m not sad as well.”

“Yes, I know what you mean.” Bertha cleared her throat. “Let’s not talk about this, darling. Why don’t we go home and have lunch? Then we can do whatever you want.”

“Can we bake a cake?” Annie brightened. “Papa hated mess, and I want to try.”

“All right,” Bertha replied, trying to keep her tone light despite her heavy heart. “We can do that.”

Bertha always enjoyed baking bread but Annie had never been allowed to join in. The brat makes a mess, Dan would seethe. She should be nowhere near the kitchen. Bertha had argued that their daughter needed to learn at some point so she could provide food for her own family, but she had received a slap for talking back. She hadn’t brought it up again.

It didn’t take long to get back to the house, although it was rather muddy. The rain hadn’t gotten any lighter, but thankfully, it hadn’t gotten heavier, either. But water still seeped into her shoes. Maybe she should invest in some new shoes for herself. She had been given a pittance for an allowance, so she was always trying to save just in case. Now she was a widow she should be able to use her husband’s money to get what they really needed. Or wanted.

If only she could get rid of this guilt over Dan’s death. Bertha didn’t want to feel any guilt. She wanted to grieve like a normal wife would with a husband.

But their circumstances were not normal. There was no changing that anymore.

As they neared the house, Bertha could see a man sitting on one of the chairs on the porch. He was looking through a folder he had in his hands, frowning through his spectacles. As she got closer, Bertha recognized Leonard Barber, one of the clerks at the bank. What was he doing here?

“Can we go inside, Mama?” Annie asked, hopping from foot to foot. “I want to get these shoes off. They feel disgusting.”

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    • Hehe, I don’t know if you’re ready for what’s coming next!😄 So glad you’re enjoying it—can’t wait to hear what you think as the story unfolds!😍

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