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Last Chance Wife
Janette Foreman
Her Secret SuitorWhen six-time mail-order bride Winifred Sattler is stranded in Deadwood, Dakota Territory, she’s grateful to find a temporary position at Mr. Ewan Burke’s business until she can return home. Ewan is handsome, but stuffy and serious—her complete opposite. Unlike her new anonymous correspondent, Mr. Businessman, who appreciates her bubbly optimism.To keep his mining company afloat, Ewan can’t be distracted by Winifred’s vivacious beauty. He needs a no-nonsense wife. Someone like Miss Thoroughly Disgruntled, the only respondent to his recent ad with whom he truly connected. In person, Winifred and Ewan don’t get along, but in their letters they’re falling in love. Will they discover a perfect match in each other?
Her Secret Suitor
When six-time mail-order bride Winifred Sattler is stranded in Deadwood, Dakota Territory, she’s grateful to find a temporary position at Mr. Ewan Burke’s business until she can return home. Ewan is handsome, but stuffy and serious—her complete opposite. Unlike her new anonymous correspondent, Mr. Businessman, who appreciates her bubbly optimism.
To keep his mining company afloat, Ewan can’t be distracted by Winifred’s vivacious beauty. He needs a no-nonsense wife. Someone like Miss Thoroughly Disgruntled, the only respondent to his recent ad with whom he truly connected. In person, Winifred and Ewan don’t get along, but in their letters they’re falling in love. Will they discover a perfect match in each other?
JANETTE FOREMAN is a former high-school English teacher turned stay-at-home mom with a passion for the written word. Through her romances, she hopes people see themselves as having worth in God’s eyes. When she sneaks in time for hobbies, she reads, quilts, makes cloth dolls and draws. She makes her home in the northern Midwest with her amazing husband, polydactyl cat, bird-hunting dog and the most adorable baby twin boys on the planet.
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Last Chance Wife
Janette Foreman
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-08442-0
LAST CHANCE WIFE
© 2018 Janette Foreman
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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“You’re certain these are all the sales you’ve made?”
“Yes.”
She pointed to each name, but Ewan averted his gaze. Three sales.
“This man, Arnold Pickling, needed a screw to hold the chain on his arrastra. Do you know what an arrastra is, Mr. Burke? Mr. Pickling told me all about them.”
Irritation built in his gut. “I know what an arrastra is, Miss Sattler.” Sighing, he rubbed his hand down his face. “I used one before I built up the mine.”
The mine. The years of defending his claim, of mining gold along the creek in the beginning, battling the rain and the snow. Of building the store, the kitchen and his office. The fight to make a living. The desire to be more than a failure to his father.
What if he lost it all?
Miss Sattler placed her hand on his forearm, jarring him out of his thoughts. “Everything will work out, Mr. Burke.”
Slowly he met her gaze. “Thank you,” he murmured.
She smiled. A nice smile. Genuine. Warm. For all her faults, Miss Sattler wasn’t malicious. He’d do well to respect her, even if her personality grated on his patience.
As every man hath received the gift, even so minister the same one to another, as good stewards of the manifold grace of God.
—1 Peter 4:10
Dear Reader (#ud85a72a4-116e-5eed-a23a-29de90edaf38),
The idea of a heroine “six times ordered but never a bride” intrigued me, so when I finally got my chance to write her story, I had so much fun! It was a joy visiting the Lead-Deadwood gold mines last summer for research, even if I was experiencing morning sickness while pregnant with my twin boys. My mind came alive as I traveled the damp, dark drifts, imagining Ewan fighting to save the Golden Star...and dealing with Winifred as she jumbled his well-laid life with her unorthodox ways and unending optimism. Two real Deadwood staples are mentioned in the story—Sol Star truly was the postmaster, and the notorious and deplorable Gem Theater really employed women tricked into working there. I always wanted someone like Ewan to give down-on-their-luck people a second chance. I’m thankful to know that with Jesus, we all can have that chance at redemption.
Love,
Janette Foreman
This book is dedicated to Karen Turgeon, my second grade teacher. Because of you, I found my love for stories. Thank you for your continued support and love.
Contents
Cover (#u974f5457-a45f-599d-9fe7-9406ab1f4b5c)
Back Cover Text (#ud658f7c9-258f-5f66-9b71-6b3916a46c2c)
About the Author (#u83c99f64-35be-5eb3-a962-fb02d38e90c4)
Booklist (#uff2a9fb9-c05a-596f-92bb-0b5705b621aa)
Title Page (#u736c899d-3c78-5c6e-9569-3604156028c3)
Copyright (#u89b74721-2bd8-5440-82cf-d183e0c2e7e3)
Introduction (#u4aec9472-96e1-53bb-8618-75ba41f9f027)
Bible Verse (#u76acdb13-0613-5282-9780-72f0ee893067)
Dear Reader (#u772bf27f-1c8e-5f51-bcd6-b950962eb7a5)
Dedication (#u3dc9d85d-34fc-5674-b3bb-647fc962c274)
Chapter One (#u239b9c44-7228-5e8b-9ac9-acc135e6f904)
Chapter Two (#u531d081b-b0a8-5457-830a-d4603e891573)
Chapter Three (#ua5e98480-deae-567a-b2f2-563c54e83976)
Chapter Four (#u99e0d3e9-f7c2-5bfd-bae0-37579329fcc4)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ud85a72a4-116e-5eed-a23a-29de90edaf38)
Deadwood, Dakota Territory September 1878
“In case of trouble, call upon Mr. Ewan Burke at the Golden Star Mine in Deadwood.”
Clutching the crinkled note Aunt Mildred had given her, Winifred Sattler raised her gaze to the town in which she’d found herself stranded. Dust curled up as the stagecoach drove away, tinting the air with a dirty dose of failure that caked her lungs. Surely that was what stung her eyes and clouded her vision.
The dust. Not the failure.
Stuffing the note back into her pocket, Winifred wove on foot up the cramped street through a tangle of men, vegetable carts, wagons and horses. Her glance bounced between the wooden buildings and the gaping holes in the road, then scaled the hills on either side of the narrow gulch where the town rested. A slight breeze made the mining town stink of dirt, unlike the sweet aroma of pine that permeated the canyon she had ridden through to get here, and the metallic pounding of stamp mills had begun to give her a headache.
But Winifred would not lose hope. She couldn’t. Sure, she’d spent the last of her dowry traveling from Denver to Spearfish to marry Mr. Ansell. Then her remaining cash had barely covered the fifteen-mile trip to Deadwood when the mail-order match had turned disastrous.
All she needed now was money to get home. Then she could eat a little humble pie before Uncle Wilbur and devise a new plan. Place new mail-order bride advertisements in the newspapers. Send out more letters to the prospects she would gain. Pray the dear old man hadn’t been serious about marrying her off to one of his colleagues if she—again—returned unmarried.
At least this time the mail-order disaster was entirely not her fault.
As she focused ahead, a sign for the Golden Star Mine caught her attention—barely. Small and brown, it blended with its natural surroundings. Winifred approached the tall wooden building that scaled the hillside in stair-step fashion and knocked on the door. The entrance certainly didn’t feel inviting. How much prettier it would be with flowers or a hedge. Did the slat siding need to be a weathered, natural brown? Wouldn’t it be nicer painted white?
Lost in her design ideas, she almost didn’t hear the door open.
“Ma’am, may I help you?” A man stared down at her, blocking the entrance. His suit seemed a bit threadbare, though meticulously pressed. Sandy blond hair was combed up off his forehead—which pinched at the sight of her—and gray eyes narrowed in suspicion. “The shop is closed for the night. Might be closed for the rest of the week.”
She dug for the note in her pocket. “Are you Mr. Burke?”
His forehead wrinkled further. “Yes...”
Winifred released her breath. “Oh, good. I’m Winifred Sattler. Wilbur Dawson’s niece? Nice to meet you.” She wedged her way inside before he could protest against it.
She found herself in a quaint, cozy store lit by a lantern on the corner counter. Shelves of merchandise lined the walls, the entire space smaller than Aunt and Uncle’s airy sitting room. Except she had thought this to be a gold mine. Why had the man attached a store?
When Winifred turned to Mr. Burke, who didn’t appear much older than she, she noted the confidence in his stance, the square rigidity of his shoulders. Strong. Masculine. He crossed his arms and waited for her explanation, so she hastened to give one. “I apologize for my abrupt visit, but my aunt gave me your name in case I ran into trouble, and I must say, I have certainly run into trouble. You would not believe—”
“Hold on.” Mr. Burke sliced through her words. “I’m sorry. Who are you?”
“Winifred Sattler, sir.” She stood straighter, hoping she didn’t look too frazzled after riding the coach so long. She’d left Denver over a week ago, roomed in Deadwood last night, and traveled to Spearfish this morning...only to turn around and come back to Deadwood tonight when prospects in Spearfish turned sour. If Mr. Burke didn’t help her, what options would she have? “I’m Wilbur Dawson’s niece.”
His eyes narrowed further as he looked her over.
She moved one polished black boot against the other, touched her bonnet lined with forget-me-nots. “Lovely place you have here.”
Mr. Burke frowned deeper. “Wilbur Dawson...from Denver?”
“Yes. He works closely with your father, Peter Burke. At least that’s my understanding.”
“Miss Dawson—”
“Sattler.”
“Miss Sattler, please understand my confusion.” The poor man obviously grappled to keep up. “I was not expecting you. What sort of trouble are you in?”
She opened her mouth to answer, then thought better of it. “I’d rather not say.” Best to figure out her next move before sharing her embarrassing mail-order blunder with a stranger. “I can assure you it’s nothing illegal. I simply found myself in Deadwood without a place to stay or funds with which to seek lodging or get home.” She lifted her face with her brightest smile. “That’s where I hope you’ll come in. Might you have a place for me to spend a few nights? Any place would do, really. Or I can be gone in the morning if you need me to be—”
“Please.” The man held up his hand, signaling for her to stop. “I do have a place available for a few nights. If you need it.”
“Oh, I do. I do.” She wanted to clap, to shout to the ceiling in triumph—but decided it might be too much for her benefactor to handle.
Mr. Burke locked the front door, turned down the lantern, then lit a small candle. Without a word, he led the way down a long hallway, casting shadows along the wall with his flame.
She followed close, her footsteps light. Removing her bonnet so it hung down her back, she watched the surety with which he carried himself. “So, why will your shop be closed for the week?”
