MARGARET: Suffragettes Mail-Order Bride (Choice Brides Agency #3) Page 3

  “Mrs. M? You mean his mother?” asked Margaret. Mr. Barnes nodded. “I would really appreciate that, thank you.”

  He nodded again and left the room before she could ask anything else.

  Margaret sat on the edge of the bed and gazed around the room, taking in its bareness, its lack of personality. She’d lost everything but the clothes on her back in the fire. Elizabeth and the other suffragettes had given her everything she’d needed, and she was so desperately grateful for everything, but they couldn’t replace her home. Her bedroom with all of its memories, the photographs of her parents – they were all lost in the blaze. She gazed around at the blank canvas of a bedroom she’d been given and wondered if this was a sign that she was meant to disappear now. That moving to Montana, becoming Jake MacDonald’s wife and taking his name would somehow mean that Margaret Singleton would vanish.

  But Elizabeth had promised that she could live her own life. That was one of the corner stones of Elizabeth’s agency.

  Still, Margaret couldn’t help but feel the unease creeping into her as she surveyed her surroundings. The bare walls which seemed to throw her memories of the home she’d lost into sharper clarity.

  “Enough of this,” she said, standing up and brushing off her skirt. She started ticking off reasons to smile: “The sky is a lovely blue today. Your future husband has dogs. Nobody tried to rob you on your way here…”

  When she was finished, Margaret made her way out of the room, closing the door decisively behind her, and walked down the hall towards the front door. With any luck, she would find the friendly dog there. That would cheer her up.

  Five

  Margaret played fetch with the work dogs for over an hour before she met Jake MacDonald.

  She saw him coming in from the fields – a strong-looking man on the back of a grey stallion riding with such ease Margaret thought for a moment that he was a centaur from a myth. She paused in her games to watch him approach, knowing on some instinctive level this was the man she’d come to marry. Perhaps it was the way he held himself that told her he owned the property he was riding on. Or perhaps it was the way the dogs raced forward excitedly to greet him. Only the female with the black spot on her back remained at Margaret’s side.

  Mr. MacDonald seemed to spot her. As he rode closer, she saw his handsome face shadowed by his Stetson.

  “Good afternoon,” he said, his lips set in a gruff frown as he nodded down to her.

  Margaret was speechless for a moment. He truly was remarkably good-looking – his jaw was strong and graced with a light dusting of stubble, and his strong shoulders were held back with the self-assurance of a man who didn’t need to prove himself to anyone. She thought of the men from Boston – some of whom were very strong looking, but lacked that confidence, while others were handsome without the strong core that Mr. MacDonald seemed to carry. She hadn’t seen such a beautiful man since the first time she’d laid eyes on Captain Sharpe, Elizabeth’s husband. Margaret had never told her how attractive she’d found the man when Elizabeth had introduced him to their circle. Now, she wondered if she’d been more obvious than she’d thought. Mr. MacDonald didn’t look like Captain Sharpe, but he had the same capable confidence about him.

  There was dirt on his hands and face. He wore it well.

  “Good afternoon,” replied Margaret. She cursed herself and how breathless she sounded.

  “You must be Margaret Singleton,” he said. He dismounted gracefully and Margaret reached out a hand to shake. He must not have noticed – he was too concerned with loosening the horse’s saddle. “Greg brought your things into the house, didn’t he?”

  She dropped her hand. “He did,” she replied. “And who is Greg, exactly?”

  He looked at her then. His eyes were so dark brown they looked almost black. “He’s the station manager,” he said. “Didn’t he tell you?”

  “We didn’t exchange pleasantries,” Margaret replied. “I hope whatever it was that kept you from the station has been resolved?”

  “Yes,” he said. He didn’t elaborate. He began walking the horse to the stable, glancing back to see if she was following. “Follow me to the barn; I’ve got to get Toby rubbed down. We can talk while I’m doing that.”

  With staggering indifference, he turned back to the barn and left her standing in the dust.

  Margaret found herself following. The dog stayed on her heels. She was a comforting presence as Margaret’s mind reeled with the way Mr. MacDonald had treated her – giving her little more than a glance, not even bothering to shake her hand before deciding she would do what he said and going about his business as though she were a momentary distraction.

  The glance had been a tiny bit more hurtful than she’d thought it would be. Not that she particularly wanted to be seen as nothing more than an ornament, but she had always considered herself pretty by conventional standards. Not beautiful, like Elizabeth. But pretty. She liked the way she looked. She didn’t want that to be all she was, which was why she’d always worked so hard at being a teacher – to remind herself and everyone else she had a brain as well. But still, the fact that Mr. MacDonald had barely looked at her did rub her the wrong way. She’d been so affected by how handsome he was she’d gone momentarily breathless, but apparently Mr. MacDonald was completely indifferent to her.

  She tried to tell herself that this was a positive thing. That she had come to Montana to be a wife in name only, so it didn’t matter whether her husband liked her looks. But she supposed it was one thing to know she would be a wife in nothing but name, and then to be confronted with the reality that the man she would spend the rest of her life with barely spared her a glance before heading to the stable to tend to his horse.

  It was unsettling – as though the power between them had already been aligned heavily in his favor. She didn’t like that. Margaret wanted to be an equal in this relationship.

  She followed Mr. MacDonald into the dark stable. There was hay underfoot and a strong odor of horses, but no stench of manure like she would have expected. He kept a clean stable. At least he took an active interest in something.

  “Did Elizabeth tell you about me?” Mr. MacDonald asked as he led the horse to the very last stall and tied him up.

  Margaret and the dog lingered outside of the stall while he began removing the horse’s tack. “She did,” Margaret said. “She said that you were looking for a partner to help you in running the ranch.”

  “That’s true,” he replied. His sleeves were rolled up and she could see the way his muscles bulged as he pulled the heavy saddle off of the horse’s back. “And I’ll be needing you to see to William as well,” he added. “You’re a teacher aren’t you? So you’ll be able to school him?”

  “I’m sorry –” Margaret said, cutting him off. “William? Who is William?”

  Mr. MacDonald looked at her then. The stable was dark, but she could see the edge of melancholy around his eyes.

  “William’s my nephew,” he said. “He lost his parents about a month ago. Stage coach robbery. He saw the whole thing.”

  Margaret’s heart went out to the boy. She felt those words like sharp pains in her heart – phantom aches like the ones she’d felt for days after the fire, lingering like ghosts in a haunted house.

  “I’m sorry for him,” she said. “I recently lost my parents as well.”

  He looked surprised at that. She expected him to ask how they died, or offer condolences. That was usually what people did, and although the condolences never actually helped with the pain, it was kind of them to offer. But Mr. MacDonald just blinked and said: “William’s living with me, now. I’ll be raising him.”

  Margaret had to take a moment to process that. “So… you have a young child?” she said incredulously. “That’s – I wasn’t expecting that.”

  “Neither was I,” Jake MacDonald replied in a hard tone.

  Margaret supposed she shouldn’t hold it against him. It was not his fault, after all, that his nephew needed a ho
me. She supposed it was admirable that he had taken the boy in at all. She’d heard stories of families in Boston who would ship their unwanted relatives to boarding schools, foster homes and orphanages, and it always broke her heart to think of those poor children being pushed to the side as though they were nothing more than a nuisance.

  But why hadn’t he mentioned young William in his letter to Elizabeth? Of course, it explained why he’d needed to speed up the process. Why he’d requested a match within the month.

  “Look, I don’t know what the problem is,” Mr. MacDonald said, sounding irritated as he turned his back on Margaret and pulled his horse’s bridle off of its head. “Elizabeth said you’re a teacher, so you’re used to dealing with children – right?”

  “I am, indeed, ‘used to dealing with children’,” Margaret replied. “But if you’ve been in correspondence with Elizabeth, then you will know that I planned to pursue a career – not become a nursemaid.”

  “Things don’t always go to plan.”

  “Clearly.”

  They glared at each other. Margaret was annoyed at how handsome he looked, even then. The dog at her side brushed her fingers with her nose and Margaret reached over to give it a soothing pet.

  Mr. MacDonald’s eyes followed the movement of her hand. “You like dogs?”

  “I do,” she replied. “What’s her name?”

  “She doesn’t have one. She’s a working dog.”

  Margaret frowned. “She should have a name.”

  Mr. MacDonald paused for a moment. Then he shrugged. “Give her one, if you like,” he said, before turning back to the horse. He took a brush off of the wall and began rubbing it over the beast’s fur. “Elizabeth said the women she was working with want stability,” he said, looking at the horse as he spoke to Margaret. “That’s what you’ll get here. All I ask is that you help me raise William and see to the house while I work the ranch. You won’t want for anything – I’m fairly well off.”

  Margaret clenched the hand that wasn’t petting the dog into a fist. “I assure you, Mr. MacDonald, if I wanted money I could have married any old, fat banker in Boston. I came here because I was expecting to be treated like an equal.”

  He turned his chin to look at her over his shoulder. “This is how I treat my equals, Miss Singleton. I told you what I need and what I’ll give you in return. If it’s not good enough for you, tell me now so neither of us wastes our time.”

  Margaret took a deep breath, trying to keep her anger in check so she wouldn’t lose control. A part of her recognized that Mr. MacDonald obviously had a point – that these are the facts, and that if she didn’t like them then she doesn’t need to marry him. Elizabeth could probably find her someone else. Someone nicer. But the fact remained that she was miles away from everything she’d ever known. That she was alone, that her parents were dead, and that the only person she knew in all of Montana was the man standing in front of her – and she’d only heard about him second-hand from Elizabeth.

  She’d come to Montana with certain expectations, and instead of meeting those expectations, she’d found a man who was apparently completely indifferent to who his wife was as long as she gave him what he needed and didn’t complain. She wondered why he hadn’t simply married one of the women in town – surely any number of them would be completely willing to ‘want for nothing’ as he’d put it?

  At least he is honest. At least he isn’t trying to convince me that he’s going to fall in love with me and make me the happiest woman in the world.

  She hadn’t expected a child so soon. If she were honest, children – the prospect of them as a by-product of marriage – had barely occurred to her. But she was good with children.

  “I understand where you’re coming from,” she said slowly. “I assume that, although I will be expected to help raise your nephew, I will also be allowed to pursue a career beyond this ranch?”

  “You can do whatever you want,” Mr. MacDonald said, shrugging. “Just as long as William comes first.”

  She considered that for a moment, absently petting the dog at her side. Margaret decided she should give the dog a name.

  “Alright,” Margaret said finally. “Let’s see if we can make this work.”

  Six

  Jake watched out of the corner of his eye as the city girl frowned in thought. His hands moved over Toby’s hide with practiced ease. He couldn’t help but hold his breath as she seemed to be making up her mind.

  When he’d written to Elizabeth and asked her to speed up the process, he’d thought she would send some homely girl with more brains than she knew what to do with. Instead, he’d come home from the fields to find an angel with shining brown hair playing fetch with his dogs. He’d thought he was looking at a mirage. He’d wondered if Elizabeth had made a mistake – surely the girl standing in front of him could have had any man she wanted? Why would she need to come all the way to Montana to marry some rancher she’d never met?

  He’d tried his best to remain cool – to not show how flustered he was. When he’d dismounted from his horse and gotten a good look at her, his heart had sank. She looked tired. Tired and annoyed. As though the ranch wasn’t what she’d been hoping for.

  Now, she looked thoughtful. Jake probably shouldn’t have given her an ultimatum like that, but he didn’t want to risk William getting to know her – growing attached to her – only to have her snatched away when she decided ranch life wasn’t for her after all. The boy had already lost enough. Plus, there was a chance that Jake would wind up getting attached. He’d always liked tough girls who stood up for themselves and weren’t afraid to argue back.

  Abigail had never argued with him. She’d just accepted everything he’d said like it was gospel. He could have said the sky was made of cheese and she would have nodded along as though everyone knew that. Not the best quality in a partner, he thought.

  Finally, Miss Singleton said: “Alright. Let’s see if we can make this work.”

  Jake was surprised, but he did his best to hide it. “Good.”

  They stood for a moment, avoiding each other’s eyes. Jake looked at his filthy hands and wished he’d had the chance to wash up before he’d met Miss Singleton. She probably thought he was just some dirty hick. She was probably mad that he hadn’t met her at the station. He supposed it was cowardly to send Greg instead of going himself, but when it came down to it, he figured she might as well get used to the fact that this was a business arrangement more than a proposal.

  Better to let her see the ranch first. It was beautiful, and he was proud of it. It was probably the best thing he could offer anyone. If he’d had his way, she would have met William as well before meeting Jake – William, who no one could help but love, would have made a far better impression than his uncle had made.

  Hank would have made a better impression as well. Jake tried not to dwell on that.

  Before he could say anything else, he heard a lofty voice from the entrance of the stable.

  “Jake – are you in there? Did you realise Greg put Miss Singleton’s bags in your spare room? Honestly, that man doesn’t think at all!”

  Jake stifled a groan. He turned to see his mother standing in the entryway, her wrinkled hands on her hips, and her greying hair in a loose bun on the back of her head.

  “I’m here, Mom. Come meet Miss Singleton.”

  Margaret turned curiously, her frown disappearing when she saw Jake’s mother approaching. The older woman’s face lit up when she saw the beautiful city girl standing there in her blue travel dress.

  “It’s lovely to meet you, dear,” she said, approaching with her hand outstretched. Jake hadn’t been able to shake Miss Singleton’s hand. His own hands had been too dirty, and when he’d seen her clean and pale fingers he couldn’t bring himself to reach towards her and risk contaminating them. “I’m Cora MacDonald, Jake’s mother.”

  “Margaret Singleton,” Margaret replied. “It’s no trouble about the spare room –”

  “Nons
ense. I won’t hear of you living with Jake before you’re married. Not that I don’t trust you,” she added, giving Margaret a kind look. “But you’re the first woman to come through this ranch in years and I could use the company. I’ve already arranged for your trunk to be moved to my house.”

  “Your house?” Margaret replied. “Is it nearby?”

  Jake cleared his throat so that both women looked at him. “Mom lives on the property. The house is behind the barn.”

  “Oh,” Margaret said. She looked surprised. Something flickered behind her kind, light blue eyes that Jake couldn’t identify. He wondered if she was annoyed about being moved out of his house, and that thought made him turn away again to hide his reddening cheeks.

  It would be good if she and his mother hit it off, he thought. If she’d lost her parents recently – he felt a pang in his chest at the thought of what she must have been going through – then perhaps his mother could give her some motherly attention. Give her someone to talk to about it, because Jake was terrible at talking about feelings and loss. He preferred to work through his problems on the ranch, pouring all of the energy which could have been spent grieving into making sure everything ran smoothly.

  “That’s very kind of you,” he heard Margaret say to his mother. “I’d be glad for the female company.”

  “Excellent,” Cora replied. There was a pause. “So, are you two getting on?” she asked.

  “Well enough,” said Margaret dryly. “I’m sorry to hear about your loss – Mr. MacDonald was just telling me…” she trailed off.

  Cora didn’t answer right away. Jake kept brushing Toby’s fur, even though it was long past the point of needing it, determined to hide his face during this part of the conversation.

  “Yes, well, we’re all very grateful William was spared,” Cora said. There was an edge to her voice, but otherwise it was cheerful. “I’m sure you’re looking forward to meeting him.”

  “I only just discovered that he exists,” replied Margaret in the same dry tone. “But of course, I’m sure he’s a lovely boy.”