Lazy Days (34 page)

Happiness and nervousness mingled in Abby's
heart when Brant pulled the buckboard into Two Rivers. He said, "Abby, I'm
going to stop by the church. If Mick and Cora are still there we can pick Luke
and Jenny up." He squeezed her knee. "Are you nervous?"

She placed her hand over his. "Yes. I'm
excited to be home and nervous at the same time."

A few minutes later, he reined the horses to the
front of the church. "Looks like everyone's still here. Wait while I peek
inside to see if the service is over."

Abby nodded and clasped her hands tightly in her
lap. She watched Brant crack the door and then slip inside. Almost immediately
he returned to lift her off the buckboard.

"Service is over. Let's say hello."

Abby placed her hand on his arm and tugged him
to a stop. "What if the children think I'm a coward for leaving?"

Brant brushed a wayward strand of her hair back.
"Not gonna happen. They've been excited ever since they learned about your
homecoming." He reached for her hand, tucked it in the crook of his arm,
and started forward again.

Pausing in the doorway, he smiled down at her
before opening the door and stepping aside for her to enter. Abby held her
breath and walked into the sanctuary.

Unexpectedly, voices shouted, "Welcome
home, Abby!"

Abby placed her hand over her heart when she saw
the hand painted sign hanging above the pulpit.

ABBY, WELCOME HOME! WE MISSED YOU!

Brant laughed and led her down the aisle. Tears
sprang to her eyes as neighbor after neighbor approached and welcomed her
back—Mina Priestly, Mick and Cora McGregor, Neal and Lita Brandon, Vera
Simpson, Kathryn Nantucket, Sadie Thomas, Clyde Jenkins, Jed the blacksmith,
Mr. and Mrs. Snodgrass, and many more. Even Lola Pitts and her parents were
there.

Pastor Merriweather announced, "This is a
celebration and one thing we know how to do in Two Rivers is celebrate. Where
are you Charlie? We need a song!"

Toothless Charlie stepped from the sidelines
and, instead of speaking to Abby, pulled her into a bear hug. She laid her head
against his shoulder unable to prevent tears for both their losses, but also
tears of thanksgiving that his kind words had paved the way for her recovery.
He released her, swiped his own eyes, and walked to the piano where Mrs.
Merriweather had settled on the bench. He nodded and she began playing a happy
tune that he sang in perfect pitch.

Abby glanced around for Jenny and Luke. Brant
grinned and enfolded her hand in his. "Come with me, sweetheart." He
pulled her through the parishioners and toward the back door of the church.
Everyone seemed to understand his intent and didn't interrupt their progress.

Stepping outside, he pointed to the big oak with
the tree swing. "They've been waiting for you."

Jenny sat on the swing and Luke pushed her. A
sob caught in Abby's throat as she ran forward.

Jenny pushed her heels into the ground to stop
the swing's motion and jumped off so she could run to throw her arms around
Abby. "Mama!" she cried. "I love you. I'm so happy you’re
home!"

Abby held her little girl tightly. "My
precious daughter, I'm so sorry I left the way I did."

"Oh Mama, it's okay because you're
better!"

Abby kissed the top of Jenny's head and looked
toward Luke still standing behind the swing. "Jenny, I need to talk to
Luke."

Jenny nodded her understanding and stepped
beside her pa. He placed his arm around her shoulders and encouraged Abby with
his eyes.

Stepping purposefully forward, Abby approached
Luke. He held her gaze for a second and then fidgeted, looking at the ground.
When she stood in front of him, she could see tears glistening as he rapidly
blinked. Silently, she placed her arms around him and he melted against her,
sobbing, "I'm so sorry for the way I treated you."

"Oh, Luke, and I'm sorry for leaving you
when you needed me. Can we forgive each other and become a family?"

"Yes, Ma," he choked, and clung to
her.

Abby felt other arms encircling her when Brant
and Jenny joined them. Together the family wept and hugged and encouraged one
another.

After a long time, Brant said, "Luke, tell
Abby your news."

Abby looked at her son's face, no longer sullen
and unreadable. With a big smile, he said, "I won the Philadelphia
Inquirer's writing contest!"

1888

On a lovely summer day, Brant said, "Is
everyone ready?"

"Yes, Pa," Luke said, and waved the
paper in his hand.

"I am, too." Jenny held up the picture
she'd drawn.

Wally barked.

"Let's go," said Abby.

Brant lifted their six week old son from her
arms. "Okay. Let's do it."

Together the family left the cabin and followed
the short trail to the sturdy oak where Molly and Ty rested in eternal peace.
Jenny picked wild flowers during the stroll and when they arrived, laid a
bouquet beside each stone.

Brant nodded at Luke and he lifted his
first-place certificate. "Ma and Ty, last year I won a writing contest and
now the newspaper wants me to write some serialized stories for them. If it
weren't for Abby, I wouldn't have this opportunity. She's a real good ma."
Luke looked at his sister. "Your turn."

Jenny laid her drawing on the space between the
graves. "Ma and Ty, I've been drawing a lot and Pa and Mama Abby think I'm
pretty good. I drew a picture of all of us here today. I don't feel as sad as I
did before because we're all happy and you and Ty are watching from
heaven." She glanced at her pa and nodded that it was his turn.

Brant stretched his arms out with the baby.
"Me and Abby have a son." His voice broke, "I loved you both so
much. After your deaths, Abby made me want to live again. This life doesn't
always go the way we planned, but the one thing that never changes is love. It's
eternal. Molly and Ty, you are forever with us." He hugged the baby back
against his heart and looked at Abby.

Abby stepped forward. "Ty, I think of you
everyday with a heart full of love. For the rest of my days I will find joy in
memories of our short time together and when I leave this life, I will hold you
again. Molly, I love Brant and promise to do everything in my power to fulfill
my wedding vows. Although we've never met, I know you through the character you
instilled in your children and the love you inspired in Brant. Thank you."

Brant pulled Abby close to his side and Jenny
and Luke stood on either side of them. Jenny bent to pick up her drawing.
Suddenly, two butterflies flitted above the graves before one landed on Molly's
stone and the other on Ty's. Jenny pointed to her picture and said excitedly,
"There they are."

Abby, Brant, and Luke gazed at the drawing. On
each headstone a butterfly rested. After their initial shock, the hillside
echoed with laughter.

When I started this story, I had no intention of
it becoming a series. However, toward the end of writing Abby and Brant's
romance, Luke began sharing how he met and fell in love with Angel. I wasn't
ready to let the characters go, so I gave in to Luke's beseeching that I listen
to him. When he told me that he became a Mail Order Groom, I was hooked. The
fact that a woman would advertise for a husband was just too audacious!

He even gave me the title for his book,
Broken
Angel.
He also suggested the name of the series,
Unconventional.

In writing Luke and Angel's romance, I was able
to revisit the characters from
Abby: Mail Order Bride.
Please continue
reading for an excerpt of book two in this series.

On a final note, I'm really excited to announce
that I now have three audio books available:
Abby: Mail Order Bride; Broken
Angel, and Cry of the West: Hallie.

As always, I love hearing from readers so don't
be shy.

[email protected]

Chapter One: Angel
in Need

Luke Samson followed the waiter in the expensive
restaurant to a tiny table for one. After a month's visit with his family in
Two Rivers, a small town south of Dallas, he was ready to kick back and enjoy a
steak dinner with all the trimmings. Although his stepmother had fed him well,
no one prepared steaks like Porter's Steak and Ale. Every time he was in Dallas
he ate at the popular restaurant.

Dimly lit by gas lamps, a certain mysterious
charm hovered over the tables and patrons. Making himself comfortable at his
corner table, he stretched his long frame, thinking about the next installment
of the series he was writing. His stories were in demand and he grinned,
remembering how his beloved stepmother had asked him at the age of fourteen to
enter a writing contest sponsored by the Philadelphia Inquirer. He had balked
at her request but his father had insisted he enter. To his amazement, he had
won the contest and shortly thereafter been asked to write serializations. Over
the years, popularity for his adventure tales had increased and his stories
were widely circulated. Generally, he wrote a twenty-part series that was
eventually published in book collections of five stories each. Now, at the
youthful age of twenty-five, he had amassed a small fortune.

His waiter returned with a mug of ale and he
placed his order: steak—rare, baked potato and hot bread, both dripping with
butter, green beans, salad, and a large slice of his favorite dessert, apple
pie.

Settling back again, he closed his eyes and
smiled, reminiscing his visit with his family. His father, as strong and active
as ever, still behaved like a lovesick schoolboy around Abby, his stepmother
for over ten years now. His brothers, nine year old James and seven year old
Rusty, had him chuckling aloud. Had he, himself, been that mischievous?

The only person he hadn't seen during his visit
was his sister, Jenny. Now twenty-one, she had refused to marry any of the
suitors who had come courting, instead choosing to travel to New York to study
art at a respected academy. When his father had shown him Jenny's latest
paintings, he had stood riveted by her portrayals of country scenes that always
made him feel as if he could step into them.

Taking another sip of ale, he switched his
thoughts to a classified advertisement he had read that morning in the
Dallas
Morning News
and shook his head. Never had he read anything so blatant.

Mrs. Angel St. Clair, a widow, is seeking a
husband to accompany her to California. Said husband will be paid handsomely
for the escort and then released from matrimony after safely depositing Mrs. St.
Clair at her destination.

Luke shook his head. The woman must be desperate
to have to advertise for a husband, and the fact that it would end in divorce,
simply boggled his mind. The posting made no sense.

Absentmindedly, he heard chairs scraping and
patrons being seated behind him. He paid little attention until he heard a
gentleman say, "Now, Mrs. St. Clair, may I call you Angel?"

A woman with a voice as smooth as aged brandy
said, "Mr. Pinkle, I do not seek to offend you, but I would prefer being
called Mrs. St. Clair, for the time being, at least."

The gentleman sounded slightly offended when he
responded in his nasally voice. "Of course, as you wish." He
continued, "Now as I was saying at our previous dinner engagement, I
believe I am the perfect husband to protect you on your journey to California.
I have traveled there before and I am aware of the perils that could befall a
woman traveling alone. I would protect you with my life."

Luke listened to the exchange in fascination and
finally, not caring that it would appear rude, turned to look at the woman who
had become infamous in his mind. At the same time a waiter stepped between
their tables.

Damn!

Rather than turn back around, he waited for the
attendant to set water glasses down and leave. For reasons unknown, his heart
pounded. Finally, the waiter stepped aside
.

And then he saw her.

Roth

Shapeling Trilogy

Book One:

 Protector

Verna Clay

This book is dedicated to
my friend, Carla, who has mastered the art of really listening
.

Roth

Book One:
Protector

Shapeling Trilogy

Copyright © 2011 by Verna Clay

All
rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof
in any form whatsoever.

For information contact:

[email protected]
website:
www.VernaClay.com

Publisher:

M.O.I.
Publishing

"Mirrors of Imagination"

Cover Design: Elaina Lee (For the Muse)

Male Model: Jimmy Thomas (Romance Novel Covers)

This
book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either
products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance
to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.