

Thank you for downloading this Book.

Join my mailing list and get updates on my new releases.

CLICK Here To Sign Up

****

### AMELIA ROSE

### Mail Order Bride Margaret

### Montana Destiny Brides, Book 1

~~~

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2015 by Amelia Rose.

All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner and publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

#  Dedication

To YOU, The reader.

Thank you for your support.

Thank you for your emails.

Thank you for your reviews.

Thank you for reading and joining me on this road.

# Contents

Mail Order Bride Margaret: Book 1

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Other Books by Amelia Rose

Connect with Amelia Rose

About Amelia Rose

# Chapter One

"Are you comin' to the tavern with us, Declan?" a burly man called out from where he was standing, filling the doorway with his oversized frame.

"Nay Osgar, you go on ahead, I've got things to do. I'll see you in the morning, though, to be sure." The younger man tipped his cap back over his shaggy brown hair and picked up his dinner pail, readying himself to go.

"Aye, you never make time for the boys no more since becoming a working man on your own farm! What's the problem, you can't hold your drink now that you've grown into long pants?" his friend jested, grinning in that way that always put people at ease despite his massive size.

"Not to worry, my drinking's just fine, thanks! I've just got better ways to pass an evening than to spend it staring at all of your ugly faces!" he fired back, keeping a long-running joke going between them. Osgar hooted a deep rolling laugh, then waved one last time as he headed to join the others.

"So, you're not joining up with that bunch of your old buddies at the tavern tonight? Odd, I thought you Irish loved nothing more than to sit around a table with a mug of that black stuff you all seem to love." Coming from anyone else, Declan would have taken offense and taken swift action to remedy it. But coming from the kindly old foreman, he knew it was nothing more than a light-hearted joke, the kind that made the workday go by faster.

"Not tonight, Mr. Sawyer. Got better ways to spend my wages than staring down into an empty glass!"

"That's right smart thinking, son. You keep that kind of head on your shoulders and you'll have your claim paid off and every bit of it legal in your name in no time!" The old man waved goodnight, then tottered off to his meager quarters around the side of the building.

Declan couldn't help but smile to himself as he walked to the small stable where the men stalled their horses during the work day. He saddled his black mare and rode towards his claim, letting the horse lead the way while he stretched his sore back and leaned this way and that. Working at the saw mill nearly eleven hours a day was hard work and didn't leave much time for working his land, but it was one of the best ways for a homesteader to earn the materials for his house, his barn, and the hated fenced he was required to put up.

"That's a good girl," Declan said quietly when they came to a stop outside the unfinished barn. He climbed down and petted her velvety nose while she stamped her forefoot eagerly. He knew what she was after with that impatient stomping, and he smiled before reaching into a small barrel by the door and retrieving an apple core. He hated giving his horse his leftovers, but until he had his claim settled and was bringing in crops, there was nothing to spare.

"I know, I know, don't go looking at me like that. I'll get this barn finished for ya soon enough, then you'll have four sturdy walls around you to keep you safe at night. I'm aiming to get started in the morning if'n the weather holds." Declan patted the horse's nose one last time and went inside his cabin to make his supper.

After eating and washing up, he headed back out to the barn where his own bed waited. With only a roof and four supports covering the small fenced-in stalls where he penned his animals, the farmer himself had a duty to keep watch at night. Coyotes were the biggest threat to his farm that he'd faced out here. Until the barn could be shut tight against danger in the dark, he'd kept his bed made on a series of hay bales.

It had been a long journey to this farm. After agreeing to sign onto a merchant ship, Declan had earned his passage from Ireland over the course of two years of hard work. Then it had taken him another year of criss-crossing the country by working for different overseers in several different industries to reach the Montana territory with a little money to his name. After all that, sleeping on hay that he'd brought in from his own fields, under the cover of a roof that he'd made from trees he'd felled himself, felt every bit as luxurious as if he'd had his own castle.

Declan spread out his sheet on the pile of hay after fluffing a small mound of it into a pillow. He took off his shoes and hung his clothes on a nearby nail, eyeing the gun he kept overhead to ward off predators. He stretched out under the blanket his mother had sewn for him before he ever left home. He called out a few words of goodnight to his horse and the rest of his small stable of livestock, then patted the hay to call his watchdog to come up and sleep at his feet.

It was heavenly, and there wasn't much missing from his life. Declan smiled wearily as he took one last look at the stars shining just beyond his property, and closed his eyes.

It felt like only minutes later that his dog licked the back of his hand, signaling him to get up. He startled for a second, ready to face whatever danger there was head on, but realized it was only sunrise that had the animal so agitated.

"Aye, I'm up, Blue. There's a good dog. You're better'n any fancy church bells, aren't you? More reliable, anyway." He scratched the dog's ears and laughed when the collie seemed to smile, then climbed out of his bed to get the day started.

With no work at the mill on Saturdays or on the Lord's day, Declan had the whole weekend ahead of him to work on his farm. He'd cut down some more trees and hauled them to the mill to be turned into boards several weeks ago, and now that they were slightly weathered, he could start work on the barn walls without fear of them shrinking and pulling at the nails. Before he could hammer away at the walls, though, he needed to move the animals to shady grass within easy reach of the creek, so as not to stir them up with all the noise.

After leading his horse, his two pigs, and the handful of goats to the creek that ran through his property—he knew the chickens would scatter at the first swing of the hammer, so he didn't bother with them—he got to work on the barn. Blue sat in the thin slice of shade provided by one of the young apple trees and observed him, panting as the sun rose higher in the sky. When Blue suddenly jumped up and began to bark, Declan looked up in the direction the dog faced.

"Hallo, O'Bryan!" a man called out from his saddle, raising one arm in greeting. "I'm here to work on ya barn with ya!"

"That's good of you, Ned!" Declan called back. He waved and finished the row of nails he'd started before climbing down from his ladder.

"I'll start right over here and meet you in the middle," the older man suggested, pointing to the boards that Declan had already leaned against the wall to measure them for spacing.

"Aye, sounds good! And in case we're both beat to death by dinnertime, let me thank you now for coming out," he answered with a laugh.

"Oh no, it's the least I can do, seeing as how you've already helped me get my barn up and most of my fence put in. As soon as we get a few good weeks of rain to soften the ground, I'll be back to help you with your property fence."

They each went to their work, but conversation was impossible over the pounding of the hammers and the sheer size of the barn. Even without speaking, though, having another body on the place made it less lonely, and the sky overhead less intimidating.

"That's some good looking trees you've put in," Ned Jackson said when they stopped for a drink of water. "I remember you planting them from just thin little sticks, and they're already getting tall. Are you thinking to turn this into an orchard?"

"Oh no, hay will most likely still be my main crop. But apples always keep well come winter, plus they're good for your livestock. I put 'em in when I dug in my root cellar, seeing as how I had enough room to store more than just carrots and potatoes."

"That's some smart thinking!" Ned replied, impressed. "That's why your claim is going to be successful, where others have already had to turn tail and head back east. You plan ahead, that's what you do."

"I don't know that I'm any more capable than anyone else. Look at your place! You've already brought in enough crops to pay off the fees in just the first two years!" Declan answered, lifting his tin cup of water to the other man in admiration.

"Well, I got an early start, and of course, I wasn't trying to work at the mill while getting my property squared away. You're doing double duty out here!" Ned took a long sip of water before refilling his cup from the pail. "You know what we're missing on our claims?"

"What's that?" Declan said, but inside he was thinking there was a lot missing from his property, namely a finished barn, furniture in his cabin, the fence to mark his borders, and a good three hundred acres of plowed fields.

"A wife," Ned said quietly. "And I aim to fix that."

"How can you be thinking of providing for a wife and a family when we've just barely got the roofs over our heads?" Declan demanded, so surprised by his neighbor's answer that he started laughing. "And where would we find such creatures anyway, given the herd of mostly men who live around this part of the territory?"

"Why, you find a wife same way you find a plow or a new bag of seed crop... you have to order one."

Declan spit out the sip of water he'd just taken and started coughing. When he could finally catch his breath, he turned to stare at Ned.

"No! You don't order a person the way you order yer farm equipment! Leastways not someone as would be worth having for a wife! Are you daft?"

"I'm telling you the plain truth, I swear it! There's agencies to write to, or you can place an advertisement in all the farm journals... there are really women looking to find a husband who's come out West. They want to get away from the cities, and they're willing to marry a man they've never laid eyes on. You can even write off for an Irish bride for yourself if you're missing the gals back home!"

Declan sat silently, both appalled and intrigued by his neighbor's words. Writing off for a wife? Like he'd sent five dollars and a letter to get his dog? The image of waiting at the train station down in New Hope on the appointed day and signing for the small barking crate made him shake the thought out of his head. It was too bizarre.

"Well, that's enough sitting around, I've got work to be doing myself. Let's get this last wall up so I can head home to my chores!" Ned said brightly, jumping up from the stump where he'd been resting. He didn't seem the least bit bothered by the notion he'd just put in Declan's head.

Together they finished the final wall as the sun started to head towards the horizon. Ned said his goodbyes, taking a pan of cornbread that Declan offered him as thanks. When he was alone on his property, Declan went to the creek to retrieve his animals and show them their new home.

"You like the new barn, dontcha girl?" he asked his horse, Bonnie. "You got four walls to surround you now, just to keep you safe and sound. That'll be a help in making you sleep good at night, I wager!"

With the animals penned in their various stalls, Declan set about filling a long linen sack with fresh hay. He tied the end shut and carried it into the cabin for his bed, pleased that he'd finally sleep with a roof over his head and walls on every side of him as well.

#  Chapter Two

"Oh Mags, I can'naw believe you're really leaving me," Brigid said, squeezing her sister tight. "What will I do without you underfoot all the time?"

"Oh Bri, don't be teasing me now! The train arrives any minute, and I can'naw let myself think of it carrying me off," the young woman said fretfully, her long black hair escaping the bun she'd hastily tied it back in. "Tell me happy things to send me off!"

"Well, here's a word of happiness. I know you've written to this gentleman for a while now, and he seems like a hard-working and godly man. He's Irish to boot, saints be praised for that! I know you'll be blessed and filled with joy in this new marriage." Brigid smiled and hugged her younger sister once again. "And if you're naw, you just send word. My Seamus will ride all the way to Montana to fetch you back, and probably clobber this husband upside the head for his trouble!"

Margaret couldn't help but laugh at the thought of her enormous brother-in-law striking fear into another man. She knew he seemed to be scarier than most, but she also knew him like most other people didn't. He was the most tender-hearted man a wife could hope for, gentle with his children and loving with his wife. He'd even opened his home to Margaret, practically a stranger and yet another mouth to feed, when she came from County Cork to join her sister in America.

"Bri... I'll miss you," Margaret said, her eyes welling with tears again.

"Mags, if you're not sure about this..." Brigid said urgently, taking both her sister's hands and squeezing them. "If you're not certain, you do naw have to go! You can stay on at the yarn mill, I know Mr. O'Conner will give you back your job! And if it's Seamus, he's never once uttered a word of complaint about having you stay with us, not with you being such a help to our little ones..."

"You're too kind, but no, 'tis not that. I just can'naw believe how far it is! Days and days on the train, they said. Why, 'tis longer to cross this country than it was to cross the ocean! How will I ever see you again?" Real tears spilled down her cheeks now that the moment to leave had finally arrived.

"We'll see each other soon, I'm sure of it! Why, perhaps Seamus might think on moving to the land of open skies and grassy plains, places where children can breathe freely rather than the soot of the city. But never you mind that, we'll write to one another often, and just know that I'll always be here if you have need of me. I love you, my sister!"

They hugged one last time before Brigid had to say her goodbyes. "I hate it that I can'naw see you off, but I've left Mrs. Mantiglioni watching the children and you know how testy she gets when she thinks we've put her out. I love you, Mags. I know you'll be so happy."

Margaret could only nod as she continued to sniff back her tears. Her heart was breaking at leaving her sister, whom she'd only gotten to live with again for a couple of years. She was excited to finally meet this Irishman who'd written for a wife, but the nagging feeling that she was leaving for good tore her heart in two.

She took a seat on the bench overlooking the track, clutching the handle of her bag and keeping an eye on her trunk. Strangers milled about from every direction, and unlike the passengers who waited at the docks for the ship that brought her here, the people moving here and there were a stranger hodge podge of different cultures, speaking to one another rapidly in different languages. It was overwhelming, and made her somewhat fearful.

Margaret passed the time with imaging what she could piece together about Montana, and about this stranger named Declan. His letters had been perfunctory but polite, kind and businesslike if not overly romantic. Brigid had assured her that romance and things of the heart would be hard to judge in a letter from a stranger, but had encouraged her greatly when she pointed out the things that Declan hadn't so much as said.

"He's tall, and has brown hair," Brigid had explained when she read through the letters one by one. "See? He also works in a sawmill, so he must be strong. That means he'll be in good health, and the fact that he farms his own land and still works for an employer means he will be a good provider. He's not afraid of hard work, and nor does he shirk his duties. That's something as to be proud of!"

"I suppose you're right," she'd answered at the time, but the more she thought on it, the more she'd come to love that about this man she'd never met.

Margaret snapped back to the present when the echoing moan of a train whistle sounded in the distance. She patted her black curls, fluffing them lightly where they hung down her back, trying to make sure everything was just. The lady at the agency had told her not to dress too fine for the journey across the country, since she wouldn't want to give any ruffians the idea that she had any valuables. She'd purposely packed her grandmother's opal-crusted abalone hair combs in her trunk, and used only a simple leather chord to tie some of her hair back from her face.

"You're boarding, miss?" a cabin boy asked when she handed over her ticket. "Have you stowed your luggage?"

"No sir, this is all I've got," Margaret answered, holding up her oversized bag and pointing to the trunk filled with items that the brides' office had told her she'd need. There were linens to outfit her home, but sewing supplies, cooking and canning implements, even some medicines and bandages. Most men who wrote, she'd been told, were set up in their homes but were bachelors who had no time to think of the little touches.

"I'll carry that aboard for you, miss, but I hope there's someone waiting on you who can carry it the rest of the way to your destination." The cabin boy reached for the handles on either side of the wooden trunk and lifted it with ease, hoisting it up to his shoulder and climbing the steps into the train car.

_I hope so too_ , Margaret thought with a slight flutter of nerves. She shook her head. _That's no way to think, Mags. Declan has been writing for weeks, and 'tis at his bidding that I'm coming West. He's asked me to marry him, and I've accepted. That's all there is to that._

It seemed like hours before the train finally began to roll, and those first few ear-splitting screeches of the large iron wheels against the metal tracks were the most unnerving sound Margaret had ever heard. When they finally began to move with some measure of speed, the swaying of the cars was almost as upsetting to her stomach as the rolling waves of the Atlantic had been. This would be the longest journey of her life, and one that she met with equal parts joy, excitement, and dread.

#  Chapter Three

"You call this a home, O'Bryan?" Ned called out from the doorway of Declan's cabin. "It looks more like a bear's den!"

"I'm not finished yet," he shot back, trying to keep the irritation from his voice. Declan had neglected his work at the mill on the excuse of needing to make furniture for his cabin, something he'd been able to do without for these many months of his claim. But now that he'd followed his nearest neighbor's advice and proposed marriage to a complete stranger, he felt the least he could do—apart from paying her passage to Montana—was have a decent chair built by a real hearth and a comfortable bed to sleep in. The barn had served him well as he tended his animals, but even he knew that any wife worth having would be furious—and rightly so—at not finding so much as a stick of furniture in the place.

"Well, I'd loan you some of my own pieces, but with Clara just arrived almost two months ago, I can't very well go telling her she'll have to sit on the floor and eat her meals at the back of the wagon 'causes I gave away all our sticks!" Ned laughed, and Declan struggled to find the humor in it.

"No, you're right. 'Twould not do at all! I just have to work faster, and I'll have some things ready before she e'er gets here." Declan swept his hand across the newly constructed kitchen table he'd made, brushing the tell-tale signs of sawdust into his palm and throwing them out the door. The sawed-off tree stumps he'd arranged around the table would have to do until he finished the more necessary pieces.

"You'll be finished in no time, I'll bring some of the boys out to help us tomorrow night. How does that sound?"

"I could naw put anyone out like that," he started to protest, but stopped when he saw Ned shaking his head, glaring fiercely.

"Have you not learned this lesson by now, young 'un? We help one another out around here! And you've already done more than your fair share of pitching in! Your farm won't last a season if you don't stop helping everyone else, and then refusing to be beholden to another! Now, we're coming by tomorrow to make you some furniture, and you can either smile and help us or get out of the way!"

It took Declan a moment to realize the older man was having some fun at his expense, but for those first brief few seconds he worried that he'd actually offended Ned. After all, it was the neighborly thing to do to offer to help out, but Declan had turned him down before the sentence was even finished being spoken.

"Well then, I'm grateful to you. And I know Margaret will be, too, seeing as how you're making it possible for her to sit in a proper chair or sleep in a proper bed!" He blushed for a second at his accidental mention of their bed, but was relieved to see that Ned didn't seem to think anything of it.

"Ah, Margaret. Yes. The girl that my new wife can't stop jabbering on about!" he said, his eyes twinkling in a way that belied his words. "She can't wait for another female to live in these parts!"

"And I appreciate that Margaret will have someone else to speak to. I admit, I was greatly vexed at the thought of hauling a stranger out here and having her suffer from loneliness. I've seen those cities, and there's not a moment's quiet to be had anywhere. Out here, though, there's nothing but quiet! 'Twill do both Margaret and Clara good to have someone else like-minded to talk to."

"True enough," Ned said with a sage nod. "There's a difference in their ages, to be sure, but I couldn't very well expect a young lady to be too interested in an old goat like me. Clara lost a husband in the fighting, and she's of a goodly older age. A calmer age, I'd say. She's the right wife for someone like me."

"And I'm proud for you to have found a match that 'twas so sound," Declan said with a nod, acknowledging the wisdom in Ned's approach. "I can only hope that Margaret and I get along so well as the two of you."

"I'm sure you'll get on famously, 'specially seeing as how she's marrying you sight unseen. I had to invite Clara out and let her make up her mind for a couple of weeks before she'd even agree to take a look at my property. You, though... why, you've already asked her to marry you and everything! You don't suppose... no, never mind."

"What? I don't suppose what?" Declan demanded, a hint of fear in his voice.

"Well, I do hate to be the one to put the thought in your head, but... you don't think this girl was too quick to agree to marriage? She hasn't even seen you, you could have two heads for all she knows, but she's coming all this way to get married to a stranger."

"Did naw your wife do the same thing? Come all the way to the Montana territory without knowing a soul, least of all you?" Declan countered, trying to keep his anger and hurt from getting the better of him. Of course it was easy for someone in Ned's position to be cautious; he was already legally wed.

"That she did, but it's as I said. She waited a while and got to know me. She made me court her like we were young 'uns again. And only then did she give me her answer, after getting to know me in person. But now don't be sore, I'm just wondering if there's something this girl's running from that she's not telling you. That's all. I hate to see a hard-working man like you get taken in, or taken advantage of."

"So what would you have me do? Leave her at the train and tell her she's to put up at a campfire on the outskirts of town?" Declan demanded, trying to calm down.

"Not at all. But I don't mind putting up over here at your place and letting Clara welcome her. Let the girl get to know you proper, and get to know Montana a little bit, before either of you two goes making a decision that can't be undone. Me, I'm old, so I don't have that many years left if I didn't adore Clara the way I do. But you two? You'll find out exactly how long a body can live if you're with the wrong person."

Declan grimaced, but even he could hear the wisdom of his neighbor's words. He finally nodded his head. "If you're certain 'twill naw be putting you to any trouble..."

"No trouble at all, son! I'll bunk up in your barn 'til you all figure out your plans. I'm off to let Clara know we'll be having company, but the boys and I'll be back around tomorrow to get some of this stuff finished. See you then!"

Declan sat down on a low stump and looked around the cabin. Surely, it wasn't as bad as Ned had made it out to be, he decided, but even he could agree that the lone straight-backed chair by the gaping fireplace didn't do anything to make the four walls seem more like a home. The table was finished, wrought from boards Declan had hewn at the mill, but without any chairs around it, the whole thing seemed more functional than inviting. There were no work surfaces by the corner kitchen, and the bucket of water from the well sat directly on the dirt floor instead of on a pedestal of any kind. The boards for the bed still stood leaned against the wall where the bedroom would one day have walls of its own, and the hay-filled sack he'd been using as his mattress still rested in a lumpy pile on the floor.

_That Ned is right_ , he thought bitterly, a feeling of desperation creeping up his spine and causing him to jump up to get back to work. _This is no home fit for a lady. 'Tis naw even fit for a bachelor such as me, let alone a wife. I've work to do to get it ready in time!_

He worked long into the night, sawing and hammering at the wood he'd prepared himself. He used a good many of his precious nails on the bed to make it sturdy in order to keep anyone from falling to the ground in the night, but for all of the other pieces he carved and whittled intricate tongue-and-groove joints or cut small pegs to serve as fasteners, nails being too precious to waste on a chair or a footstool.

As he toiled, Declan couldn't shake off Ned's warning: what if Margaret wasn't what she seemed? What if there was more to her story than she'd let on in her letters? As their brief, written relationship replayed itself in his mind, he couldn't help but think that all of this had happened so fast. She'd accepted his arrangement in the very next letter, even going so far as to ask when he would send for her. She'd made it plain that she was a good girl and that she wouldn't stay on his property until they were husband and wife, but even that had been such an unusually hurried reply.

One thing was for certain: there was no backing out now. The train should have already departed from the east and was at that moment crossing the country. He would have only a matter of a few weeks to meet this young woman and decide if she could be trusted.

#  Chapter Four

The journey was long and tedious, at least in the packed car where Margaret sat upright in her seat. A kindly woman had traded with her and let her sit next to the window from time to time, affording her the chance to lean her head against the glass and let the vibrations of the swift car rattle in her head. It didn't help her endless headache any, but it did settle her stomach some by giving her something to focus on besides the swaying of the car.

The only other thing to focus her thoughts on was the unknown that awaited her at the end of the line. With every passing inch of track, Margaret knew she was that much closer to marrying a stranger. And while she could only pray that hers was as happy a match as Brigid's had been with Seamus, she wasn't naïve enough to think that theirs was the norm. Men like Seamus—and ladies like her sister, if truth be told—were rare gems.

"Are you getting off in Dupree, or heading all the way to Spokane?" the woman asked her when Margaret sat up suddenly. A sudden jostling of the car made her look around and take notice, but no one else seemed the least bit bothered by it.

"Oh, no. I'm off in New Hope," she answered, not trusting her voice with the way her stomach was still fluttering. "And it won't be a moment too soon, if you ask me."

"Is it your stomach then? Because I have a remedy for it," the lady answered, rifling around in the bag that had been resting in her lap the entire time. She pulled out a small glass flask and uncorked it before handing it to Margaret.

"Thank you so very much," she muttered, accepting the flask and looking towards the woman for permission before taking a sip. She immediately regretted it as the burning sensation started on her tongue and snaked its way down her throat and into her stomach.

"I'm so sorry, I should have warned you that it's rather strong," the woman said, taking the flask and patting Margaret's hand.

"No, 'tis quite alright. 'Tis just been some time since I've tasted whisky, that's all." She forced down a cough and looked out the window as tears involuntarily pricked at her eyes. She recovered enough to thank the woman, and was surprised to find that it wasn't long before her nerves truly were calmer.

"I never leave home without it. You never know these days what ailments you might encounter, especially in new places and with so many strangers at hand." She replaced the flask in her bag and settled back in her seat. "Now, tell me what brings you out to the territories."

Margaret began to recount her tale, first of coming from Ireland to find work and to find her sister, and then to the point where she answered the advertisement for a wife. She felt bad for deceiving this woman who'd been so kind, but she left off with the unpleasant events that led her to look for the advertisement in the first place. There was no need to revisit old hurts, and besides, all of that was in the past. She'd made a promise to herself that she'd think on it no more.

"He sounds like quite a dream," the woman said when Margaret had finished. "And such a hard worker!"

"Aye, 'tis what everyone keeps saying to me," she said quietly. "But I'm afeared there's more to being happily married than finding a hard-working man."

"Is there, my dear? What do you think would make a marriage any better than a man who makes the decision to work himself into the grave before he lets his wife or any children do without?"

"I don't know that I could say," she admitted thoughtfully. "Perhaps a man who likes to sit and talk in the evenings, who likes to explore the countryside when he's not at his work. A man who adores his children to a fault, who would spoil them when my back is turned..."

The woman smiled. "Those are fine qualities, to be sure. But you've no reason to think he's not all of those things, and more!"

"I can only hope so!" Margaret agreed with a wan smile. She leaned her head against the window and let sleep overcome her, and the next time she woke up, the old woman was gone.

_Dear Father in Heaven_ , she prayed silently, _please let that most dearest of your angels have been speaking the truth. Let Declan be a man who is all I can hope for, but strengthen me to be the wife he longs for, too. Bless this marriage and watch over the family it creates. Amen._

Margaret continued on until the conductor walked the aisle, reminding the travelers of the destination. Most of the passengers had disembarked several towns before, leaving only a handful of stragglers who were headed for farther destinations.

"New Hope! Town of New Hope, population a hundred and ninety-seven! New Hope, and all points beyond!" the conductor cried as he marched up and down the aisle, shaking passengers who'd been sleeping and not heard his cries.

She looked out the window and tried to discern some semblance of a town in the distance. All she could see were a scant few squat buildings and an imposing wall of mountains in the distance. This was where Declan had said he would meet her train, but she wondered how far off his own town of Bolton would be.

"Miss? Aren't you getting off in New Hope?" the old conductor asked her, tapping her shoulder. She started at the sudden intrusion, but nodded quickly.

"Yes, then it's on to Bolton by wagon, I believe," she answered primly. The conductor smiled.

"Oh, that's not so terrible a trip. I've made that journey myself a time or two, I have a cousin who lives along the way!"

"Do you really?" she asked, excitement creeping into her voice for some unknown reason. It shouldn't have mattered that the old man knew someone in this part of the West, but it still pleased her to know that there were people around, people with families and friends of their own.

"Yes, feller by the name of Edward Jackson, goes by Ned. Perhaps you'll run into him as you go about your business. He came out here some time ago to homestead a claim, actually just got married some time back, if his letters are correct."

"Do you say so? That's good to hear," she answered politely, all the while thinking with relief that at least there would be some other ladies out in the region to keep company with.

"If you do come across him, let him know his cousin says hello, and that his aunt passed away last winter with the flu. She lived a good life, all of ninety years, and had her family with her at the end." The conductor pressed his lips together in a grim line and tipped his hat, then continued on towards the other end of the car.

By the time the train let out a whooshing blast of hot air that enveloped the platform in a haze of pure, blistering heat, Margaret's nerves were a wreck. The terribly long wait from the time the conductor announced their stop to the cabin boy actually jumping down and sliding a small set of stairs into place had undone all of her reserve. She pressed a hand to her midsection in an effort to slow the butterflies that were at that very moment threatening to upend her simple lunch of bread and cheese.

"Miss? Do you be needing a porter? A carriage ride to any of the nearby towns?" a transport officer asked when he saw her walking hesitantly among the people on the platform. She shook her head no.

"I'm expecting someone, but thank you all the same. Could you direct me to my trunk, though?" she asked, then followed his outstretched hand with her gaze. She thanked him and set off to retrieve it, grateful for the few minutes' wait it would provide. She could only hope it was enough time to get her mind in order before Declan appeared to carry her off.

"Miss McGreggor?" a husky voice behind her asked. The sound of her name made Margaret jump for some reason, and when she turned, she found herself staring straight at the buttons on a man's shirt. It took her only a second to look up, but she realized she was more than a full head shorter than the man who'd spoken.

"Aye, 'tis me. I'm Margaret McGreggor. And you are?" she asked, quickly chastising herself silently for appearing to be an idiot. Who else would it be but the man who'd sent for her?"

"O'Bryan. I'm Declan O'Bryan," he answered, his breath catching slightly. She frowned almost immediately at his somewhat distant reaction to meeting her, but her disappointment quickly turned to relief when he smiled broadly. "I had no idea you'd be so pretty."

The compliment caught her off guard, and she was flustered as she tried to stammer a word of thanks. "Why, thank you, Mr. O'Bryan! But 'tis far more praise than I deserve, I'm afeared. 'Twas a long journey, and I know I look a sight."

"Oh, how foolish of me! Of course, I'd forgotten how long you've been travelling. Please, I insist... go sit a piece there and I'll fetch your trunk." Declan smiled apologetically and pointed to a wooden bench in the shade of the depot's overhang.

Ordinarily, not one to shirk a responsibility, Margaret would have protested, stating that she was capable of gathering her own belongings. But the trip had been far harder to endure than she'd expected, and she was already weary from standing near the offloading car.

"Thank you, I will." She nodded gratefully and went to sit, but still kept an eye on Declan. She didn't know him well, she'd be the first to admit, but she didn't have cause to think he'd steal her trunk. Taking caution was an old habit to break though.

Declan bade her wait once more while he carried the trunk to his waiting wagon, then came back to escort her personally. Margaret noticed that he seemed to hover nearby, never quite touching her but looking for all the world like he would if he knew what was proper and what was forbidden. His hands moved near her elbow without ever making contact. The thought of his nervousness and his excitement at her arrival made her laugh to herself.

"Miss McGreggor, I'd like to introduce you to my nearest neighbors, the Jacksons. Ned and Clara Jackson..." Declan began, but he stopped when he spied the look on Margaret's face.

"Mr. Jackson? Do you happen to have a cousin on the train? A conductor?" she asked, putting a hand on the older man's arm as though they'd been friends for ages.

"Why, yes I do. I hadn't thought of it, seeing as how I rarely come into town this way. Why do you ask?" Ned said with a kind but confused expression.

"Oh dear! 'Tis your cousin on the train! He's there, over there right now!" Margaret answered frantically, pointing to the giant train where it still waited on the tracks for a fresh load of coal. "He told me to look for you once I explained I 'twould naw be staying on in New Hope!"

"My cousin? You mean, James is here?" Ned asked excitedly. Margaret nodded and pointed again to the train. The older man let out a whoop of excitement and jumped down from Declan's wagon, then took off running in the direction of the tracks. It was all Declan, Margaret, and Clara could do not to laugh out loud at the sight of him running off.

"Oh dear, I hope it doesn't upset him too much," Margaret began, remembering the rest of the conductor's greeting. "He'll surely learn of his aunt's passing once he speaks to his cousin."

"Oh my," Clara said, looking after her husband with concern. "But I know Ned, he'll come right back from it. It will vex him for a few moments, but then he'll be back to his own jolly self." She turned to Margaret and extended a hand, both by way of greeting and to help her up into the wagon. "I'm Clara Jackson, recently come from Cape Cod. And you must be Margaret?"

"Oh aye," she answered with a breathless grin. "That I am! I've come to Montana to meet this fine man, and see about staying on."

Declan shifted his feet nervously, Ned's warning coming back to upset him all over again. "Actually, Miss McGreggor, I wanted to explain. I felt it best... for you, I mean... if you'd stay with Mrs. Jackson at their home until you felt like you... well, like you knew me well enough. Mr. Jackson will bunk up at my place. It seemed only the proper thing to do."

The smile on Margaret's face froze momentarily, then slowly began to fade away. It was quickly replaced by rejection of the cruelest kind. She'd come all this way on the promise of marriage, albeit to a stranger, and no sooner than she'd stepped the toe of her shoe off the train was he telling her he'd changed his mind.

"You... you don't want me to come to your home?" Margaret asked, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice. She hadn't come all this way to stay on as a guest at some stranger's house. She'd come to be married.

"Oh, but I do!" Declan answered, covering up his eagerness at finally meeting his wife by remaining stiff and aloof. Formality was the way to go, Ned had assured him. "I'm thinking of you now, though. I couldn't ask you to compromise yourself by staying at my home unattended, but I also can't expect you to walk off the train and head straight to the preacher's house to be married, either. That being said, I thought... I thought a proper courtship might be in order."

Margaret had to force herself to smile agreeably, but inside her stomach was roiling from the disappointment. Her cheeks softened to a faint pink blush at his proposal. "That's terribly thoughtful of you, Mr. O'Bryan. I appreciate all your consideration." She turned to Clara. "But you won't mind me imposing, and sending your husband off?"

"Oh, not a bit! I've been married going on two months, and I've only just gotten off the train myself before that. I'll be ever so glad of a lady's company after nothing but menfolk and livestock to keep me busy!" Clara laughed at her own joke, and Margaret was drawn in by her easygoing personality. "Besides, I think we'll get along famously. We can sew a few things for your new home while you get to know this fine young man."

"I do appreciate your hospitality, Mrs. Jackson, more than you know..." She let her voice trail off when she realized it wasn't so much hospitality as it was having to take in a woman whose alleged betrothed had spurned her.

"Oh, that's enough of that! I might be old enough to be your... well, let's say your big sister!...but I'd like you to call me Clara from now on. And I'll be calling you Margaret!"

"Actually," Margaret began, ducking her head shyly, "those who love me best have always called me Mags."

"Mags, then! I love it! It suits you just fine," the woman answered, taking her hand.

Declan watched the women making their introductions and their arrangements and he felt as if a tight band was slowly unworking itself from around his chest. He'd had nothing but worries and questions ever since he'd taken Ned up on his advice to write off for a bride, and it had only been made worse by Ned's suggestion that he needed to get to know this woman before taking up with her. But if this woman before him was everything she seemed, he looked forward to sending Ned packing back to his own place and marrying the girl in no time.

#  Chapter Five

"So, how long have you been in America?" Declan asked, making pleasant conversation as they rode out to Ned's place.

"Only for two years," Margaret answered. He waited for her to offer something more, but her nerves had gotten the best of her again and she stayed silent.

"So, why did you come to America?"

"I came to stay with my sister after the birth of her twins, and to be a help to her."

Declan waited again, casting sidelong glances at Margaret to make sure she wasn't annoyed by his persistent questions.

"And now?" he asked, leading her to answer.

"As the twins grew and Brigid—that's me sister's name—had no more need of me, I took a job in the yarn mill so I could earn my keep." She folded and unfolded her hands in her lap, nervous about Declan's questioning.

"So, since she had no need of you at home..."

Margaret sighed, resigning herself to having to prattle on in the very way she'd always been taught not to do in front of a man. "After having five little ones in only three years, her home was as crowded as any cargo hold. Her husband, saint that he is, never once complained, but I knew they'd be better off with one less body in the place." She nodded her head firmly, as thought that explained it all perfectly well.

Only Declan wasn't so convinced. He'd been warned by someone he trusted that a woman who would find her way west on promises of marriage might have something to hide, and Margaret felt she was behaving for all the world like just such a woman.

"Do you have anything you'd like to ask of me then?" he asked quietly, looking at her out of the corner of his eye again. In the back of the wagon, Mrs. Jackson rolled her eyes at the awkwardness of young love but had to smile just the same.

"I suppose I'd like to know where you're from, just to see if we were neighbors once," Margaret said with a musical laugh that made Declan sit up and take notice.

"Oh me? I came over from County Mayo, but I spent a good deal of time as a sailor and a journeyman first. 'Twas a long journey, years even, from the Old Country to where I am now."

"I feel the same, although I only had to book passage and leave from Liverpool. Did you see much of the world then?" she asked, turning to face him on the wagon seat and watching eagerly as he spoke.

Declan began to tell Margaret of the many places he'd been, the ports of call he'd experienced, and the wonders that still appeared before his eyes when he went to sleep at night. She watched with a dreamy expression as he listed the many countries and peoples he'd seen. It seemed unreal to her that one person could see so much, but then again, she had the same lost feeling at having only traveled from Ireland to America, and then to Montana.

"I thought we'd ride as far as my home and let you take a look around before I carry you and Mrs. Jackson back to her place. Ned—that's her husband, the man you met in town—is already gone to his place to pack up a few things. Besides, 'twill give me a chance to unload these stores that I picked up in town. I'm almost ashamed for you to see my kitchen!" Declan said, laughing shyly.

"Oh, I'm sure 'tis not so bad as all that..." Margaret began, but stopped when she saw him shaking his head.

"No, 'tis a sight. 'Tis clean, I mean to say, but only that it's rather spare. Ned's been bringing the boys 'round to make furniture, and I'm afeared they've eaten my out of house and hearth. But 'twas the least I could do to cook a proper supper for 'em, seeing as how most of 'em had come straight from the sawmill or from working their farms."

"My, that was kind of them. But here I'd been told by the agency back east that I would naw even have neighbors to rely on, let alone that they'd be so helpful."

"That can be the way of it in some places, and I admit even 'round these parts the winter gets rather empty due to the snow and the cold. I'll go ahead and say it..." Declan ducked his head and lowered his voice as he looked away. "...'tis part of why I wrote the advertisement. The long months can run together on ya if you don't take notice of 'em. There were some days last winter that I went without even seeing my own horse for all the snow piled up around the cabin, let alone another human."

"I see," she answered somberly before forcing herself to brighten up. "Well, I'd be proud to keep you company during the winter." Margaret blushed when she realized what she was intended to say wasn't entirely the most proper meaning, but she didn't dare speak another word on it for fear of embarrassing herself by being forward. She could only hope Declan hadn't read more into her words than she'd intended.

"Ah, well. Here we are, my humble farm. I know 'tis not much..." he started to say, but his voice trailed off as he took in Margaret's astounded expression.

"Oh but, but 'tis gorgeous!" she finally said, exhaling sharply. "This? This is truly your farm?"

"Aye," he answered, confused. "I know 'tis only three hundred acres, but I've got plans to finish paying on this claim and buy the plot next to it. I've already put down fifteen dollars as a payment to hold it in my name."

"No, 'tis perfect! And here all along I thought Ireland was the most beautiful country in the world! But this... I've never seen anything like it!" Her eyes filled with tears of happiness as she looked down from the ridge where Declan had stopped the wagon. The valley stretched out before her, cast in purple shadow as the sun dipped down low enough that its rays backlit the hillside. The edges of the valley seemed to glow from the strange sunlight.

"I'm glad you like it," he answered. "I'm right proud of it, too." Declan gave the reins a light slap and the horse started walking again, following the wagon path that her hooves had formed in the hillside. Margaret had to cling to the edges of the wagon seat as they headed down the path, but she relaxed when the surefooted mare even out her pace.

"Why don't you look in the cabin and the barn while I take these stores to the smokehouse?" Declan suggested when they finally reached the lane in front of the farmhouse. He stopped and hurried out of his seat in order to come around the other side of the wagon and help Margaret and Mrs. Jackson down.

"That we will, young man. This kind of cabin has always intrigued me," Clara said, linking her arm through Margaret's and heading for the door. They left Declan to unload the small barrels and sacks of grain as they headed into the darkened house.

"Oh, my dear. This is lovely!" Mrs. Jackson said. She took a deep breath and smiled. "Oh, and the smell of freshly cut wood. I could make my bed every night in a pile of sawdust and dream of the forest!"

"If you say so, but for me, I'll take a feather down bed any time!" Margaret answered, teasing. "But I see what you mean. It smells... homey in here."

"So..." Clara said, before turning to Margaret and pausing. She wore an expectant expression on her face, but it was Margaret's turn to wait in anticipation. Finally, she shook her head when she saw the older woman wasn't going to say anything further.

"Yes? You were saying?"

"So... what do you think of Mr. O'Bryan?" Clara asked, holding back a giggle by biting her knuckle.

"Oh. I see. Um... well, he seems quite nice, and very kind, and as you'd said yourself, he appears to be a very hard worker. I mean, look around us! He built all this!" Margaret said, pointing to the cabin.

"That's all well and good, dear, but what about _him_? What do you think of him? Is he someone you could envision marrying?" Clara waited, an eager smile on her face, her hands clasped at her chest.

"I suppose I could," she answered quietly, a small smile turning up the corners of her mouth. "I've only just met him, of course, but after all... is that naw why I came to Montana?"

"But that's not the only basis for a young lady such as yourself to marry a man, not because you said you would! You should marry out of mutual respect, admiration, and dare I say it... love!"

"But Clara, how am I to fall in love with someone—even if such a thing exists—if we've only just met? And Mr. O'Bryan hardly seems pleased that I'm here. He seems far more formal than I imagined him to be."

"I'm sure it was just a touch of the nerves at meeting someone as beautiful as you. Remember, it's been a long time since Mr. O'Bryan has been here. He's been here almost as long as my Ned. I'm sure that's all it was. Give it time, you'll find out how much you both love each other!" Clara gushed, a dreamy look in her eye.

"I understand admiration and respect, and certainly I feel both for Mr. O'Bryan. Is that naw good enough?" she asked genuinely.

"For now, maybe. But you need to keep love in your heart, too. Keep it in your mind. A marriage based on respect will bring you comfort, but a marriage that also has love will bring you happiness. Mark my words, dear. I've been married twice, both times to two wonderful gentlemen. Where there is love, there is a long and happy marriage." Clara patted Margaret's hand endearingly and started to walk around the cabin. "May I?"

"Be my guest," Margaret answered, gesturing for Clara to go ahead and open the cabinet. "But 'tis not my home to invite you to wander in, remember."

"Oh, how rude of me! I hope it's not an imposition then," she said, shutting the cabinet door before lovingly running her fingertips along Declan's handiwork. "But my sweet girl, you have to start thinking of it as your home too, if you're to marry him."

"Seems so odd when you say it that way... my home. Marrying. 'Tis strange enough, you know." Margaret shuddered slightly.

"Hold on, missy. Are you unsure of this arrangement?" Clara put a sympathetic hand on Margaret's arm and gave her a squeeze. "Remember, these things are arranged by the agency, but you're free to return home to your own family. Mr. O'Bryan even has to pay for your passage, it's in his agreement."

"Oh no, 'tis nothing like that! But thank you for being so concerned about me. I'm just... overwhelmed, I should think."

"Of course you are! You've only just gotten off the train and then had to ride all this way. You must be worn slap through and be ready to fall asleep on your feet. Come, we'll talk more when you've had a chance to rest." Clara linked her arm through Margaret's again and led the way outside to where Declan waited by the wagon.

"Did you ladies get to see the barn?" he offered politely, but Clara shook her head.

"I'm afraid not, we were so taken by your handiwork inside the cabin. It's quite lovely, Mr. O'Bryan. It's a beautiful home," Clara answered. "But I'm afraid poor Miss McGreggor is on the brink of exhaustion. We must get her home and let her rest now."

Declan looked alarmed but hurried to help them both into the wagon. Margaret smiled gratefully when he offered her his hand to climb into the wagon, and remembered Clara's warning. Respect was important, but where there was love, there would also be joy.

#  Chapter Six

"Margaret dear, wake up!" Clara said softly, shaking her by the shoulder. "Margaret, you've been asleep for half the day. You have to wake up!"

"Clara? What time is it?" she asked sleepily.

"The sun's been up for several hours, but that's of no matter, you needed your rest after your journey. This is the matter! This!" Clara held out a sheet of paper with scrawled handwriting on it. "It's Mr. O'Bryan! He's asking to come by and escort you on a walk this afternoon!"

"What?" Margaret asked, sitting up and brushing her unruly hair back. "He's coming here?"

"Yes! Hurry, get up. We have to fix you up with a new dress, maybe ties your hair on some rags for curl. But first, you've got to eat something. You were so tired you only picked at your dinner last night, and there's no telling when you had a good meal last." She poured some water from the pitcher on the wash stand and placed fresh linen beside it. "This will get you through your breakfast, and I'll go heat some water on the stove to pour you a proper bath. It's so exciting! A real offer of courtship!"

Margaret shook her head as Clara flittered out of the room and busied herself in the kitchen. She climbed out of bed and washed up to the background sounds of Clara singing to herself and fixing some breakfast. She dressed in the same dress she'd had on the day before to the sound of the washtub being dragged across the floor closer to the back door then filled with splashing cascades of water.

"Can I help you cook, or with the washing?" Margaret asked, but Clara cut her off.

"Oh no, you don't have to worry about a thing! There's plenty of time for chores later. Right now, you have to eat a good breakfast and then we'll get you cleaned up. I have a dress that will suit you wonderfully for today, it's simple but well-fitted. You can wear that while we wash and hang all of your things. I know they can't be that fresh after being worn during your journey."

Clara darted from point to point in the kitchen, gathering breakfast, filling the kettle, heading to the table to lay out a plate and cup, and then back to the bucket of freshly drawn water again. Margaret watched her movements, so precise but yet still so frantic, like a hummingbird flitting around a vine of morning glories.

"Why Clara, you're more excited than I am! What's gotten into you?"

"I don't know!" she answered, stopping to press a hand to her chest and laugh. "I am just so happy for you! Mr. O'Bryan could have just written off for a wife and taken you to the town hall the moment you stepped off the train, but he won't. He wants to court you proper, like a true gentleman. It just warms my heart."

"And mine too, I'll admit," Margaret answered with a smile. "But come... 'tis just a typical day, not a wedding day or anything of the sort! We've still got chores to do, promises of courting or no, although I will take you up on your offer of a bath. I almost hated to lie down on your linens last night after being on the train for so long!"

When the water was ready in the tub, Clara hung a sheet across two nails to provide some privacy. She opened the back door to the cabin to let in a breeze, and to give her guest a view of the mountains in the distance to watch and relax. Margaret undressed and sank down into the water facing the hillside, squirming this way and that to fit as much of herself in the basin as possible.

"Did you find the jar of soap on the shelf?" Clara called from the other side of the sheet as she tidied up.

"Aye, thank you! It smells lovely, not like the lye soap I'm used to. How did you scent it?" she asked, reaching into the jar and scraping up a thin wedge to wash with.

"Oh, it's just some wildflowers that I found on a walk with Ned to the creek. It was so kind of him, we were on our way to be married and he insisted we stop to gather some flowers for a proper bouquet. He even tucked a daisy in the buttonhole of his jacket. He is the most thoughtful man, I tell you." She paused while ringing out a wash rag, remembering the day fondly. "Afterward, I brought the flowers home with us and hung them to dry, then crushed them into the soap as it was simmering. I never could stand the smell of lye soap, but I'm not about to go spending any precious coins on the fancy kind they sell in town! Not when the valley's full of all that nature has to offer!"

"Could you teach me then?" Margaret called.

"Teach you? Teach you what, dear?"

"All of it. I've only lived in the city, and back in Ireland I lived on the sea. I've never seen a place such as this one, and I wouldn't know the first thing about what grows here and what can be used in my home."

"Of course! I'm happy to do it. My first husband was a farmer too—well, until the fighting came and he enlisted. I've always lived in the countryside. I wouldn't know the first thing about how to live in one of those cities, not with the stories I've heard about them. Oh dear, I let this soak too long. You just keep washing, I'm going to go hang these things on the line. Just call out if you need me!"

Margaret heard the front door of the cabin close, and relaxed a little more. It wouldn't do to have her hostess be put out by her nakedness if a gust of wind blew the sheet back, so she'd kept the towel across her while she soaked. Now, with Clara out hanging the linens, she could let down her guard and give herself a thorough scrubbing.

Instead, it was anything but relaxing. A movement out of the corner of her eye caused Margaret to look up and she almost immediately screamed, clutching at the towel again and forcing herself even lower in the tub. The sudden motion scraped her back painfully and caused her to hit the back of her head against the rim of the washtub, but those pains were nothing compared to the knowledge that a man was walking behind the cabin and could easily see her.

The man looked up and pondered both the screaming and the scene before him. He froze in shock and shame for a moment, then took off running at a dead sprint back the way he'd come.

"Margaret! Margaret, I'm coming!" Clara screamed, racing around the back of the house, running so fast her skirt flew out around her legs. She reached the porch and scrambled up the steps, then stopped, a hand pressed to her heart as she gasped for air. "I heard you scream. What's the matter? What happened?"

Margaret could only point towards the field beyond the cabin as tears of shame stung her eyes. Finally she choked back her humiliation and stammered, "There... there was a man over there. I'm afeared it was Mr. O'Bryan! I just know he saw me, Clara!"

"What? What would Mr. O'Bryan be doing here?" Clara asked, averting her eyes by turning and looking out over the empty field. "Are you sure you saw someone? You didn't imagine it?" Margaret shook her head and wept silently from embarrassment. "Maybe you simply fell asleep from the warm water, and you dreamed it?"

"No Clara, I saw him. And he looked right at me when I screamed. What must he think of me now, a woman who brazenly washes where anyone could happen by and see her? He won't even look at me, let alone speak to me now, I'm sure of it!"

"Oh, you poor dear. I'm sure it can't be as bad as all that. Besides, what would he have even been doing here? If he was here, as you say, then he's the one in the wrong! He clearly stated in his letter that he would be by this afternoon. He has no business lurking about another man's property while there's only women at home!" Clara was indignant at the thought that Declan might be the one to be scandalized. She frowned, standing with her hands firmly planted on her hips, ready to take part in battle for the sake of Margaret's honor. "Well, this will never do. I've got half a mind to march over to his place and demand that Ned give an accounting of the young man's behavior. It was Ned who should have talked him out of coming here!"

Margaret looked up sharply, her voice sinking to a whisper. "Oh Clara, you don't think he was coming here because... because something's happened to Ned?"

Clara's face went white, but then she shook her head. "No, dear. He would have ridden on horseback if it was urgent, and he would have seen me from the cart path then. But come on, let's get you out of that water and dressed, and we'll sort this out."

She left Margaret to finish washing, then handed in the kettle filled with more hot water for her to rinse. Margaret kicked the door firmly shut with a loud slam before moving another inch in the water, just in case.

#  Chapter Seven

"Why, Declan? What's the matter with you, son? You look like there's a mountain lion chasing after you!" Ned said, getting up from the porch where he'd been carving an arm rest for his wife's new rocking chair.

"No, no. Nothing like that," he answered. Instead of approaching his cabin, he turned on his heel and headed toward the barn.

"Oh no, you don't! You're not getting away from me that easy! What in tarnation has gotten into you?" Ned put aside his carving and followed after Declan, matching his stride despite his older age.

Declan sighed and stopped where he was, letting his head fall forward until his chin almost touched his chest. He waited until Ned had caught up with him before answering.

"I've done something horrible," he said without looking up. "I went over to your place this morning, thinking to leave a small token on the steps of the cabin. I saw Mrs. Jackson hanging the wash so I thought I'd leave it on the back porch."

"So what? It's a kind thing to do, even if it's a bit unheard of. Your future wife is there, I bet she'd have felt right welcome to find a gesture like that!" Ned smiled, but his face fell when he looked at Declan's sorrowful expression.

Declan took another deep breath while he thought about how to explain. His skin grew hot with flush as he remembered the horrified look on Margaret's face.

"That's not the worst of it. I went around the back to leave it on the porch... and Margaret was out there."

"Do you think she saw you?"

"Oh, I'm sure of it!" Declan declared, shuddering at the memory of her blood-curdling scream.

"Well, that's no matter! So what if she saw you? You, her future husband? You two are half-betrothed, it's not like you're not supposed to see the bride. Besides, you're going over to formally visit this afternoon, you know she'd see you then. As for the surprise, sure, it didn't turn out as you'd thought it would, but that's no—"

"She was taking her bath!" Declan finally yelled, interrupting the old man. Ned stopped talking, blinked once, and took one small step back. His eyes opened wider in astonishment. He let out a long, slow sigh.

"And you're sure she saw you?"

"I'm sure of it. She screamed and everything, and it brought Mrs. Jackson running around the house. It was awful! Now what am I gonna do, if she thinks I'm nothing more than a lowly peeping Tom who lurks around other people's property, hoping to spy on ladies in their undress!" Declan threw his hands in the air and started pacing back and forth while Ned simply thought through the dilemma.

"Well, son... you've got to go explain yourself! You can't have Miss McGreggor—or my wife, for that matter—thinking you're some kind of odd fellow who'd do a thing like that!" Ned waited for his words to sink in.

"Oh no, I can naw! I know she'll naw see me, not after what I've done! I've got no choice, I'll just have to write a letter stating my apologies, and offer to pay her passage back home. I can naw believe this, how could I have been so horrible to her? I was only trying to do something kind, to let her know how happy I am that she's come here!"

Declan looked as miserable as Ned had ever seen him, and the old man couldn't help but feel the deepest sympathy for him. He patted his shoulder kindly, then brightened.

"Well then, perhaps she'll listen to me! Let me go. I'll talk to Clara and tell her what happened. I'll even bring over that token you were aiming to leave behind, it'll be proof that you're telling the honest truth."

"Would you really do that? Would you go to her and try to help her see reason?" Declan asked, grabbing Ned's hand and shaking it firmly.

"Why sure! It'll give me a chance to peek in on my own bride, too, and make sure everything's okay up at my place. I need another piece for the other arm rest I'm working on anyway. I'll ride up there just as soon as you fix us some dinner; I got so busy working on this chair for Clara's birthday that I didn't eat while you were off spying on ladies."

Declan rolled his eyes at Ned's light-hearted jab, but couldn't help but grin. Surely they'd listen to Ned, he thought hopefully. Declan knew in his heart they'd never even let him speak long enough to apologize, but there was no reason not to listen to Ned, an innocent man in all of this. He raced into the house with a renewed sense of hope and a feeling of gratitude for goodly neighbors.

#  Chapter Eight

Ned appeared on the steps of his own house, his hat in hand, waiting for someone to answer the door. He was just about to knock again when the door opened only a crack and a single eye peered out from the space.

"Oh Ned, thank goodness it's you!" Clara cried, throwing the door open just wide enough to slip out. She pulled it shut and threw herself into his outstretched arms. "I'm at my wits' end with that poor girl! She's beside herself with shame and grief, and nothing I say does any good towards cheering her up."

"She's crying? Why in the world is she the one crying? I'm over at O'Bryan's place trying to talk him out of packing up and leaving town in the middle of the night!"

"Whatever would he do a thing like that for?" Clara demanded, stamping her foot indignantly. "After dragging this girl all the way out here, he'd take off and leave her? That scoundrel!"

"That's the rub of it! He thinks he is a scoundrel! He's up in the barn, throwing himself into his chores, muttering about how he's half-violated poor Miss McGreggor, and how she'll never speak to him again after what he's done!" Ned stopped and took a breath. "Now start over... why's she the one crying?"

"Well, I guess you've already heard what happened here... you know, the bath... the visitor," she hissed through clenched teeth. "Well the poor girl's got it in her head that Mr. O'Bryan will think she's got loose morals, all because she had the poor judgment to take a bath after riding across the entire country on a train for the past few weeks. I've tried to tell her no one in the whole territory could blame her for washing, but she seems to think that because she didn't bathe under the cover of darkness inside a locked room somewhere, she's just plain trashy."

"You're having me on!" Ned replied, his face breaking out in a wide grin before he finally gave in to laughter. "O'Bryan sent me out here to beg her forgiveness! He thinks he's the one with the loose morals, and that Miss McGreggor must think he's some kind of vagrant for walking back behind the house and catching her in the bath!"

"What? Why, she thinks no such thing! She's thinking too highly of him, if you ask me. I mean, he's got to be at least some part vagrant if he's sneaking onto other people's farms and poking around where he doesn't belong!" Clara said sternly, but too soon she started laughing too. "Oh Ned, these poor children! I'm so grateful to the Lord above that you and met as fully-grown people. I couldn't imagine doing what they're doing, leaving home the way they've done, meeting another person through a farm journal..."

"Well, it's how you and I met, dear!" Ned protested before nodding his head thoughtfully. "But I know what you mean. I've been a bachelor all this time and I won't lie to you, it's been an adjustment these past two months to have someone else in the house. Now don't go giving me that look, missy! You know I meant that kindly! I'm glad we've found each other as well."

"You'd better be!" Clara teased. "Now sit right there on that bench and let me try to fetch Miss McGreggor before she drowns in her own tears."

"I heard every word," Margaret said, throwing open the door. "'Tis true then? Mr. O'Bryan doesn't think less of me?"

"No, ma'am! Why, the poor boy's pining away at this very minute, I bet," Ned replied.

"Oh, I sincerely doubt that." Margaret crossed her arms in front of her and looked skeptical.

"What? Why would you think it's not true?" Clara asked, torn between defending the young lady and standing up for the husband who'd just been practically called out for fibbing. Margaret pointed.

"Because here comes Mr. O'Bryan now."

The three of them watched as Declan rode down over the ridge and took the cart path that ran to the Jacksons' house. He struggled to meet Margaret's gaze, certain that Ned had been delayed for trying to convince her.

"See there? I told you the boy's pining. He couldn't even wait for me to get back to his place with word that you'd be willing to forgive him. You do forgive him, don't you, miss?" Ned grabbed her hand in his desperately. "Please say you forgive him. I can't go back to that house with him if he's going to be sore over losing you."

"There's nothing to forgive, Mr. Jackson," Margaret answered happily, trying not to cry again as she raced down the steps and took off across the stretch of yard. Clara shot her husband a look and shook her head slightly, glad all over again that she wasn't twenty years old and in love.

"Mr. O'Bryan!" Margaret called out happily. "Declan, I mean. I'm so glad you came."

"As am I... Mags," he answered, remembering what she'd said about her nickname and how only those who loved her best called her that. He slowed his horse and climbed down from the saddle, but kept a respectful distance. "I'm so sorry about this morning, I had no idea you'd be... I was only trying to... I'm sorry, there's no excuse."

It was Margaret who came closer. "No, you have nothing to apologize for! 'Tis I who should be sorry for not being so modest. My, what you must have thought of me. And when I learned you were the forgiving sort, it made my heart so happy!"

They chatted happily while Ned and Clara watched from the porch, seated on the bench and smiling at the young people. Ned reached over and took Clara's hand, grateful to have found a wife of his own after all this time.

"If my memory serves," Ned called out when he finally stood up, "you all are supposed to be going for a walk. What say we pack up a few vittles and head out to the creek?"

"That suits me fine!" Clara answered eagerly, jumping up from her seat and waving at the young couple. "I've got a new pan of cornbread I made this morning, some salted smoked pork laid out on the sideboard, and a cobbler that Miss McGreggor showed me how to bake from the peaches on the tree out back. I'll just be a minute, and then we can strike out for that walk."

They set out in only a few minutes' time, Declan and Margaret walking ahead with Ned and Clara bringing up the rear. The members of both couples talked pleasantly to one another, carefree and idle.

"So answer me truly, Declan," Margaret began after looking over her shoulder to see that she wasn't overheard, "were you not vexed with me for being so bold this morning? Because I couldn't bear it if you thought any less of me."

"Not at all, Mags. You had no way of knowing I'd even be there, certainly not in the morning before the proper time to call on someone."

"What do you know of the manners surrounding calling on ladies, hmm?" she teased, masking her surprise that Declan knew the most stringent rules for paying a visit.

"Ah, but I'm a man of mystery, Mags. The things I know, the things I've learned and seen... they're hair-raising!" he joked back. "But to be honest, 'twas my fault entirely. And I'm glad that you were able to look past my bad manners and still speak to me."

Margaret was silent for a moment, struck by a sudden thought. It had been eating at her all day, and now she could finally give voice to why. She stopped suddenly, and turned to stand before Declan.

"I've made up my mind," she announced, her jaw set firmly with a determined look in her eye. "I want to marry you. As soon as I can."

"What's that? What's brought this on? I thought it would be right to court first, to get to know one another. That's what Mr. Jackson told me that..."

"I know, and Mrs. Jackson also cautioned me that we should get to know one another, to give it time and hope for love. But I know that today was the most awful day of my life. I spent the entire day churning inside over the fear that you'd not want me. It was naw just fear for my livelihood or fear that I'd be scorned and sent home again... it was a genuine fear that I might not get to know you better, nor to become your wife. That sounds as close to love as anything I've e'er known, if you ask me."

Declan was quiet, silent for so long that Margaret began to fear she'd overstepped some invisible boundary between them. But wasn't that why she'd come? Why else had he brought her to Montana if not to be his wife?

She searched his face for an answer, but found only a blank response. Before either of them knew what she was doing, she pushed past him and ran at breakneck speed towards the Jacksons' cabin. Ned and Clara looked up as Margaret raced by and Clara finally managed to call out to her, but it was too late.

#  Chapter Nine

"Margaret? Margaret, are you in there? Please, dear. Open the door. It's only me, and no one else," Clara urged through the locked door. She waited, but heard only the muffled sound of sobs that were cried into a pillow. She knew the sound all too well, as it was how she'd cried herself to sleep many a night after the day she'd read the wounded soldiers list.

"Mags... I have to insist that you open this door. I'm sorry to be stern with you, but I must speak with you. Open this door at once, young lady!" Clara finally called out, smacking the flat palm of her hand against the solid wood.

She heard a slight gasp of surprise followed by footsteps. The door latch was lifted inside and Margaret peeked out. Clara hated to be cross—with this poor girl especially, but with anyone at all—and couldn't help but give her a sympathetic smile.

"That's better. Now won't you please come out here and tell me what's wrong? I'm the only one here, I promise. Ned and Mr. O'Bryan went back to his place, and if I know Ned, I'm sure he's horsewhipping him all the way there for making you cry. But you haven't told me what happened."

Margaret sniffled and choked back another sob, but emerged from the room and came to sit in a chair at the table. Instead of answering right away, she played with the lace edge of the table cloth, turning it around and around her finger nervously. Clara handed her a handkerchief, then wordlessly went to put the kettle on.

She watched Margaret from the corner of her eye while she fixed them each a mug of tea, then when she'd brought their drinks to the table, she settled herself into a chair near the girl and waited for her to begin.

"Clara," Margaret finally whispered. "I told him I wanted to marry him."

"You did? Why, that's wonderful!" Clara gushed, but quickly checked herself when she saw fresh tears in the girl's eyes. "Isn't it? Or is it not wonderful? Because I really can't tell from the way you're crying."

"It was horrid. He was horrid, I should say."

"What do you mean? What did he say when you told him?"

"Nothing at all. He didn't have the decency to utter a single word; he only stood there staring at me with a blank look. And after I'd poured my heart out and told him that I wanted to marry him, that I would marry him whenever he said! He said nothing at all." Margaret stirred her tea absentmindedly, but continued to sniffle. Clara's heart ached for the girl, but she had no words of comfort.

"I... I don't know what to say, dear. That is so strange! All I can tell you is that I know Mr. O'Bryan has been so looking forward to your arrival, and to your wedding. This just doesn't make any sense."

"If he's been as glad of this as you say, then that only confirms it. 'Tis me he's displeased with. Why else would he not even acknowledge what I'd said? Unless he simply does not wish to be married to a woman who would come out and say as she feels?"

"Perhaps Ned can shed some light on it. I know he'll be by later if he can clear this up." Clara looked at Margaret and her heart ached even more now that she'd seen the mask of hurt the girl wore. Her usual chipper demeanor was undone by this, and there was nothing she could do or say that would take away the hurt. "Go back and rest, Mags. I'll be here if you need anything. And my dear... I'm so sorry, really."

Margaret nodded, then silently slipped back into the room and threw herself on the bed. Everything she'd endured to get to Montana had fallen through her fingers like water. She had crossed the country to take a chance on a husband, and now she had nothing to show for it but the awful memory of Declan's emotionless face.

Sometime later, she heard the sound of voices outside the bedroom window, and she sat up for a moment, letting hope stir in her chest. She was crushed all over again to discover it was only Ned. He'd come to speak to his wife, and he'd come alone. The knowledge that the saintly man was being pulled in the middle while Declan didn't have the honor to face her sent Margaret into another round of tears.

"What are you going to do?" Clara yelled frantically beneath the window, causing Margaret to open her eyes and listen. "Ned! Please! Please tell me, what are you going to do?"

Margaret listened, but she couldn't hear his answer. The sound of silence followed by the loud slamming of a door made her start. She heard the unmistakable sound of a chair's legs scraping against the floor and knew it meant Clara had reached the point where she had no more positivity or good thoughts to share.

"Clara? Are you all right?" Margaret asked, stepping out of the bedroom and coming to stand behind the older woman's chair. She reached a hand out and put it on Clara's shoulder, and the older woman responded by putting her own hand on top of Margaret's.

"I don't know, dear. Ned... he's gone... he's gone to talk to Mr. O'Bryan. I'm afraid, I think he might do something rash. I've only known Ned a short time but I've never seen such a look of fury cross his face. He's always so even tempered, so jolly. But this... I just don't know."

Margaret leaned forward until she had both her arms around Clara's shoulders, holding her closely as she stood behind her chair. The older woman sniffled once, then turned to look at Margaret with her usual bright expression, although it was obviously forced with a great amount of effort.

"It'll be all right, you'll see. Somehow, it will all turn out well. I'd best get the washing in off the line. Excuse me." Clara removed herself from Margaret's arms, and for just a moment, she thought she saw a look of irritation cross the older woman's face. Maybe it was simply her own emotions projected on the woman, but Margaret thought she saw a tiny flash of blame come over Clara, as though she blamed Margaret for whatever may befall her husband.

_Maybe she's right_ , Margaret thought. _These people were happy. Ned and Clara were happy, Declan may even have been happy. I'm the reason for all the unrest. It's clear to me now._

She hurried to the stack of freshly washed dresses that Clara had brought in earlier and changed back into her traveling dress. After only arriving the day before, it didn't take long to replace her few items in her traveling bag and ready herself to go. Margaret looked at her trunk, the one that had once carried the sum total of her entire worldly possessions across an ocean, and wondered how she would drag it all the way back to town with her, knowing the walk would take her more than a day even if she traveled light. Suddenly, and with a sinking feeling in her heart, she realized she didn't have much need of anything in it. After all, the trunk was packed with items that a frontier wife would need: cooking items, a heavy skillet, needles and thread to sew clothes for her new family. She'd have no need of those things once she returned home.

Margaret wiped at a tear and, for a moment, she stood still, looking at the beautiful cabin Ned had built for his life on the prairie, for a life he now got to share with Clara. They were so suited for each other that even the simple home seemed luxurious when she noticed the little touches.

_And I will naw have any of that_ , she thought, brushing aside another betraying tear. _I'll have to go home and beg my sister's husband to take me back in. I'll have to beg for my position in the yarn mill, too. I'll spend the rest of my life having to beg others to take care of me, all because I've lost what I never had out here._

Margaret ran her hand over the old wooden trunk one last time, longing for the life that its items had promised her. She picked up her traveling bag and headed out the back door of the cabin so as not to be seen, and started walking back towards town.

#  Chapter Ten

Ned stormed up the steps to Declan's cabin and didn't bother with knocking. His years of hard, devoted labor had given him a strength in his body that he usually didn't need to call on when he wasn't working, but this was one of those times when his muscles burned for exertion of some kind. He kicked in the front door of Declan's cabin with one swift motion, then barged through the door without waiting.

"What do you think you're doing?" he roared, coming to stand over Declan where he sat at the table. The young man looked up, almost in a daze. "What are you doing just sitting here on your rump when that kind young lady is nursing a broken heart?"

"A broken heart? Why? From what?" he asked, blinking as he tried to clear his head.

"From you, you dolt! Clara's already told me how you didn't even have the good manners the Lord gave a donkey, letting that girl tell you she'd marry you—although why she'd want to, I'll never know—and then not even having the right mind to answer her! It's no wonder she's been crying all afternoon!"

"Margaret's been crying? I don't understand..."

Ned stopped and looked at Declan closely. He couldn't be sure, but the boy almost had the look of one who'd taken to drinking. He decided he knew better, knowing Declan as he did, which meant there was no excuse for his empty replies. He'd finally had enough, and grabbed both of Declan's shoulders and gave him a solid shaking.

"Have you not heard a word I've said? She's heartbroken, and you're the reason! Now what are you gonna do to fix this mess you made?"

"Why is she unhappy? And what do you mean, I had something to do with it?" Declan asked, his voice growing louder in his anger and confusion.

"Of course you did! The girl told you she wants to marry you, and you don't say one word in reply! She's thinking you don't want to get married to her!" Ned yelled, perplexed that he had to explain it any further.

"Why would she think I do naw want to be married to her? Why else would I have brought her all the way to Montana?" Declan asked, raising his hands as though the answer was obvious. "I do naw know why she's unhappy."

"That I don't know, son, but you've got about five minutes to figure out what you're gonna do next. You've done her wrong and you're gonna go make it right. You're gonna get up outta that chair and go talk to her."

"But you are the one who told me to keep her only at arm's length, to not be so quick to marry her! I listened to your advice about her, and you were the one who told me that she might be covering up for something. This whole mess happened because I listened to you! So if she's as unhappy as you say, why would she speak to me? I need for you to talk to her!" Declan said, finally standing up and realizing how grave the situation was.

"Oh no! I done that once, and it didn't do a bit of good. I got the whole thing straightened out for you and had Miss McGreggor all happy to see you again, and what do you do? You clam up like a school boy at lessons and make her think you don't like her none! No, this time, you're on your own. Now, go act like a man and make this right!"

Declan nodded slowly, then went to the door to follow Ned's advice. He opened it to find Clara standing there breathlessly, one of Ned's horses standing in the yard.

"Clara? What are you doing here?" Ned asked, coming forward and pushing past Declan.

"She's gone! Miss McGreggor, I mean... she's gone! Her trunk is still at the house but her bag is gone, too, and I can't find her anywhere. Did she come here, by any chance?" Clara leaned in the doorframe to see if she could spot Margaret, but Declan and Ned stood mute. "Come! We have to look for her. The sun's going down and she'll catch her death of chill, if the animals don't get her first!"

Clara turned and raced down the steps, then threw herself up in the saddle with a deftness that made both men look twice. Ned finally smacked Declan's shoulder and told him to get moving.

"Saddle up your horses, son! We've got to find that girl!" Ned called out before running back into the cabin for supplies. He threw food and water in a sack that hung from a nail, then joined Clara in the front yard.

By the time Declan had the horses ready to go, Ned had questioned Clara about Margaret's disappearance. He turned a fierce eye on Declan and growled, "If we don't find that girl, if something ill-fated has befallen her, I will hold you accountable. I will see to it that the lawman seeks justice for her."

"There's naw a need for that kind of talk," Declan insisted as he swung up into the saddle. "If we don't find her, I'll save you the trouble and throw myself in the river."

They rode out across the open distance between Declan's home and Ned's, then made plans to split the territory. Clara was to return to the house and wait in case Margaret changed her mind, venturing out in different directions like the spokes on a wagon wheel before returning to the house to check once again. Ned would ride in the direction of the creek to see if Margaret had tried to follow its direction. Declan would ride in the direction of town, hoping that she'd tried to reach the train.

Declan struck out from the Jacksons' house in the direction of town, slapping at his horse's neck with the reins to spur it on. His mind raced with worry for Margaret's safety, just as much as it raced with the thought that he might have lost her forever even if he did find her.

He rode on, calling her name out over the prairie, his hoarse cries carried by gusts of wind. The whole time he rode he watched the sun, aware with each passing hoof beat that the light was fading, the temperature falling some. He scanned the road ahead as he called out, looking right and left to see if Margaret had tried to cross the distance by connecting the bends in the path.

Before he knew what was happening, his face was wet with tears from both the stinging air rushing past and from the thought that she might really be gone. Surely, she couldn't have covered the distance in such a short time, but if a coach or wagon had come by, she might have been given passage. If so, there was no way of knowing where she may be now.

Declan rode on for some time, unaware of how much time was passing. He knew somewhere in the back of his mind that he was racing farther and farther from home and had no means of lighting the road ahead of him, but he didn't care. It could grow black as pitch out for all he cared, he wasn't going to stop until he knew where Margaret might be. If she never wanted to speak to him again, then so be it. He deserved it for taking others' bad advice instead of listening to his own heart.

A dark shape in the road caught his eye and he slowed his horse so he could climb down and investigate. He left his horse to stand and catch her breath for a moment as he walked closer. When Declan bent to retrieve it, his heart stopped for a moment. It was a tapestry bag, one of its handles coming loose from its stitching. It looked as though it had torn suddenly. He felt like an intruder peeking inside, but he had to know if it was Margaret's bag.

The contents confirmed that it was indeed a lady's bag, but when he saw the hair comb that she'd worn the day she'd arrived, he had to grab his middle to keep from heaving the contents of his stomach. He walked rapidly in circles, scanning the landscape to see if he could find any sign of where she might have gone. He looked for wagon tracks or hoof prints to see if someone had possibly taken her, and looked to see if she'd possibly found a spot to rest.

Finally, at the edge of the path, he saw the grasses broken down in a way that looked like someone might have passed by there. His eyes followed the direction where here and there the grass had been crushed down until, at the bottom of a low hill, he saw her lying in the grass, not moving.

#  Chapter Eleven

Declan climbed down the hill and dropped down beside her, calling her name. He reached out to shake her but stopped himself in case she was too badly hurt. He looked at her face and was horrified to see how pale she was. A cut just above her hair line had bled out but now left a rust-red streak dried in her hair. Her arm was out from her side at an odd angle that made Declan wince just looking at it.

"Margaret?" he asked desperately, praying that she was okay. "Mags, can you hear me?" A soft moan was the only answer that told him she was still alive. He breathed a sigh of relief until he heard a wolf howl in the distance, a chilling cry that was answered by several other wolves in a ring around them.

"We've got to go, Mags. Stay with me, dear. I'll have you home in no time." Declan scooped her up, trying not to jostle her too much. Her whimper of pain was another relief; it meant she could still feel the hurt. "Stay with me Mags."

Declan fought his way back up the hill with her nestled in his arms, struggling to keep his balance as he held her as still as he could. When he finally reached the top, he hooked her bag with one hand and carried her to his horse. With some great effort, he managed to rest her on top of the animal's back in a way that supported her head but would keep her mostly upright. He started for home, leading the horse by the reins while keeping an eye on Margaret.

The walk took even longer than he could have imagined, considering the pace they kept to, and more than once he was glad of the moonlight shining overhead. It lit the cart path well enough that he only stumbled once or twice, and his horse's night vision kept her from faltering at all. They walked on through the darkness, keeping a snail's pace as the night sounds around him kept Declan plenty alert.

It was almost sun up by the time the Jacksons' cabin came into view. Declan was half-dead on his feet but was determined to get Margaret safely to the cabin. He owed her that much. If she chose not to speak to him again that would be her decision to make, but it wouldn't be because she'd been gravely injured and left for dead.

"Mr. O'Bryan! Oh my god, you've found her! Ned! Hurry, come quick!" Clara called out in a rush as she ran across the field to meet them. She stopped beside the animal and felt for Margaret's pulse, then nodded gravely. "Take her inside and put her in the bed. I'll tend to the horse and meet you inside. Tell Ned to put on the kettle to boil, and fetch some linens from the line. Start cutting 'em up into strips to bind her wounds!"

Clara led the horse to the barn to eat and drink from the water trough while Declan did as he was told. Ned met him at the door and followed the instructions Clara had given him, but decided he'd be better suited to caring for a tired animal than a deathly-ill girl.

"Here, Mr. O'Bryan. Take these shears and start cutting," Clara said, handing him her sewing scissors and one of her best sheets. "Go on, take it. Bed sheets can be replaced, beautiful girls can't."

He did as he was told, alternating between Margaret's face and watching Clara assemble her tools to care for her. He understood the hot water and the linens, but when Clara went for her sewing basket and began to heat a needle in the flame of the oil lamp, he felt his stomach start to churn.

"'Tis so bad as all that? She needs stitching, ya think?" he demanded in a fearful voice.

"She might, it'll depend on whether or not the bleeding starts up again when I wash it. I can't see how deep it runs until I get the dried blood out of the way." Clara got up and grabbed the jar of soap from the shelf to clean Margaret's wounds but she stopped when she took the lid off the jar. She smiled weakly before shuddering with a silent sob. "She was so pleased with this soap. She said it smelled good."

Clara shook off the memory and got to work washing the cut on Margaret's head. She dabbed at the cut, pleased to see that it wasn't as deep as she'd initially feared. After, she tenderly pressed her fingertips to the lump forming above Margaret's shoulder.

"It's just as I feared, this bone's broken. We'll bind it when she can sit up. Take off her shoes please, Mr. O'Bryan. Be mindful of any swelling."

Declan once again obeyed her orders like an obedient child. He started on the buttons that ran from the top of her high-edged shoes nearly to the toes, but with every button that he managed to open, the puffy skin beneath spilled forward from inside her torn stockings.

"You're right, ma'am, this one's swollen something awful. Do you think 'tis broken, too?"

"Hmm, we can't know yet, but I would wager not. It looks as though she twisted her ankle, which caused her to fall and hit her head. She might have tried to catch herself with her hands out, and that snapped her collarbone. The poor, poor girl... Where did you say you found her?"

Declan explained how he'd found her bag and then noticed her at the bottom of a small hill, and Clara shook her head sadly as he relayed it.

"Yes, that sounds even more likely then. Once she's had a chance to rest and regain her strength, she might be able to tell us more. With this goose egg on her head though, it wouldn't surprise me in the least if she doesn't remember a thing."

Clara finished washing and binding Margaret's head, then bade Declan leave the room so she could finish washing her and dressing her in a comfortable gown. She sent him off with instructions to find Ned and have him put a beef bone on to boil down for the soup she'd make, reminding Declan to dig up some potatoes and carrots to go in it.

Declan found Ned on the front porch, sitting on the bench beside Clara's half-finished rocking chair and staring out at the landscape in front of his cabin. He didn't look up when Declan came out, and it was a long time before either of them spoke.

"I don't blame you... not entirely, at least," Ned said without turning to look at him. "I did give you my advice without your asking, but I only wanted to warn you. I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

"You did naw do anything wrong, Ned. You were only trying to protect me. 'Tis my fault for not seeing what was right before me. I knew the moment I saw her step off the train that I wanted her to marry me, but I did naw say anything for fear of looking too headstrong, too much like someone who didn't have a good head on his shoulders. I wanted her to get to know me and choose to marry me, not just marry me because she had to or something silly like that.

"Instead, I chased her away without even trying to. She did tell me she wanted to marry me, but I was so taken by surprise and so happy that I did naw have the right words to say. When she ran, I did naw chase after her, and I still have no fathom as to why."

Ned gestured to the bench and Declan sat, letting his head fall back against the outer wall of the cabin. He closed his eyes and tried hard not to see her pale, blood soaked face in his mind, but he couldn't erase the memory yet. It felt like he would see it every time he closed his eyes for the rest of his life.

"Let me get started on those things Clara needs," Ned said wearily, standing up and stretching out his back. "The sooner we can get this girl well, the sooner you can beg her to forgive you, even if she'll never speak to you again. It's the least you can do, that and driving her to the train in a proper carriage."

Declan didn't answer, and as Ned walked away and the porch was quiet again, he finally succumbed to the lack of sleep and the long walk leading his horse back home. He dozed fitfully with his head resting against the cabin, but even sitting up on the rough-hewn bench he slept soundly, so soundly that he couldn't shake off the dreams.

He dreamed all manner of outcomes in the long time that he slept. He dreamed once that Clara was unable to help Margaret get well, that Margaret died and haunted his farmhouse. Later on he dreamed that she did recover only to hate him for the rest of her days. That last dream was actually the scariest of them all, and it caused him to wake with a start. He blinked at the bright light of a mid-morning sun shining directly on his face.

"Mr. O'Bryan!" Clara called out as he sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Mr. O'Bryan, come here!"

Declan heard the urgency in her voice and hurried inside to find Clara standing in the doorway to the bedroom where Margaret lay. He searched her face for any hint that something was wrong or that Margaret had taken a turn for the worse, but instead she had her lips pressed together in a thin white line.

"She's awake now, and asking for you," Clara said in a threatening voice as he came closer. "So help me, you say one word that makes her start crying, and they won't ever find your body. I'll cut you up and feed you to my pigs, then tell the whole town that you ran off with the gypsies."

Declan turned a ghostly white as the color drained from his face. This was a side of his friend's wife he'd never seen before, but even he couldn't say that he didn't deserve it. He sidestepped around her to keep from turning his back on her, then walked through the bedroom door. He stopped when he saw Margaret with a small pile of pillows behind her head, looking more frail than any other human he'd ever seen.

"Margaret..." he breathed, taking only one step closer. "You're... you're looking well."

"Am I?" she asked, scoffing. "I do naw feel like I look all that well. I ache everywhere. But Mrs. Jackson told me how you went looking for me, how you found me and brought me back. I'm beholden to you. So, thank you."

"You do naw have to thank me, I did nothing. Well, except for causing you to run off in the first place. 'Tis my fault you were out there, so 'tis my fault you fell. I'm so sorry," he said, coming closer until he sat on the low stool that Clara had kept by Margaret's bedside.

Instead of answering, Margaret turned away as though she was refusing to look at him. It was just as he'd feared, even as he'd dreamed it. She would never forgive him, he could tell.

"Margaret," he began again, "I mean it. I'm so truly sorry. I'm the cause of your hurts. I was so surprised when you told me you'd marry me. You, someone who's so beautiful and pleasant, had just agreed to marry me. I could naw believe my own ears, and I did naw answer you. I'm a fool for it, I am. I wanted to marry you so much but was too stubborn to come out and say it, then to have you come out and say it... I was speechless, that's all."

"Is it then? Or is it only because you feel guilty at what's befallen me?" she asked bitterly. There was rejection in her voice, not just her rejection of him but in her acknowledgement that he was the one who had turned his back on her.

"That's naw it at all! I promise!" he cried. "I do naw know how to make you believe me, but I promise you this. I will naw give up until you do. I'll stand right outside your window and make you see that I honestly want to marry you. If you leave on the train, I'll have to ride my horse right alongside it so you can see that I'm serious. Of course, that horse will die and 'twill be your fault, but never you mind, I'll find another horse and then another and then another..."

"Stop it!" Margaret said, trying not to laugh but failing. She wanted to be angry but even she could see how genuine he was. "I can naw be responsible for the deaths of so many magnificent horses!"

"Well then, the only way to spare their lives is to tell me that there's still a hope that you'll marry me. You don't have to answer me now, but just tell me that I can hope. Just give me your permission to hope for that."

"I do," she whispered softly. "I don't know when I'll be well again, but now is as good a time as any to begin courting the way you'd thought to."

"Oh no! I have no need of courtship, I know I want to marry you! As you said to me, I'll marry you right now if 'tis what you want!" Declan said firmly, but he softened his tone when a new thought struck him. "But if you wish for a real courting, I understand. You must think you can naw really know me after all that I've done. And you're right, we'll take our time getting to know each other."

He stuck out his hand and Margaret looked at it for a moment before realizing he meant to introduce himself. She smiled lightly and shook his hand.

"Good morning, miss. The name's Declan O'Bryan, and it's wonderful to meet you. So wonderful, in fact, that I shall now count this as perhaps the best day of my life so far."

"And good morning to you, too," she answered with a soft giggle. "I'm Margaret McGreggor, and I'd like it very much if you would call me Mags."

#  Chapter Twelve

The sun had risen high in the sky before Margaret was done with her bath, her crutches still leaned against the wall beside the open door. On the other side of the sheet that had been pinned up, Clara was alternating between fretting about something cooking for that afternoon's feast and fussing with the hem of Margaret's new dress, the one she would wear into town when she met Declan at the church to be married.

"Are you almost done, dear? I need to check the length on this and take the pins out!" Clara said through clenched teeth, her mouth still full of pins.

"Aye! I'm just checking for spies before I stand up out of the water!" Margaret said with a laugh.

"Can you manage it without me? Are your crutches close enough to reach?"

"I've got it, thank you. I'll be out in a moment, just let me dry and slip this on." She emerged with a bright smile lighting up her face, hobbling over to the table where her wedding dress lay draped across a chair. On the sideboard, several cakes were cooling, ready to be frosted in layers for the afternoon's feast.

Together they finished getting ready, but all the while Margaret's thoughts kept being pulled back to the past two weeks. Declan had been a saint, coming over each morning after his own chores were done and stopping in to see her on his way to the sawmill. He'd ask after her ankle and her shoulder, then carry her out to the porch for some sunshine while they ate their breakfast. He'd carry her back inside and place her gently in the rocking chair Ned had finished, then he'd head into town to see to his work. He'd stop back at the Jacksons' house after he'd finished working for the day, just to visit with Margaret again and ask about how she was getting on.

When she'd gotten well enough, he would lift her into the wagon and take her for rides to the creek or into town to see the new wares in the general store. He'd come to take her to church each Sunday that she'd been there, introducing her to all of the members of the small but devoted congregation.

And now the day had come, the day she'd been looking forward to when she first got on the train to Montana. Her wedding day was here, against all odds and all adversity, and she was determined that it be one of the best days of her life.

The ceremony was simple but heartfelt. Ned and Clara served as their official witnesses, but all of Declan's friends from the sawmill had come out to wish them well. Clara had outdone herself with the food, and the ladies of the church had also taken the opportunity to show out a bit with items from their own kitchens. All told, it made for a fine event, and the merriment lasted until well past supper time.

One by one, their guests had to return to their own farms and see to their evening chores. Declan was no different, as there was no such thing as a holiday for a farmer and a homesteader. He and Margaret thanked Ned and Clara over and over, then finally bade them goodnight as they set out for home.

Along the way, Declan stopped the wagon, pausing in the middle of the path and letting the moonlight glow around them.

"Declan? Whatever's the matter?" Margaret asked, putting a hand on his arm.

"'Twas right here in this spot... this is where you went missing from the road," he answered quietly, seeing the land in a new light. "This is where I almost lost you for good because I was a pig-headed imbecile who did naw see that he'd hurt you."

"Oh, my husband, do naw think on it. 'Tis in the past, and I'm here now. And I will naw be leaving you, not now and not ever." She smiled reassuringly, then slid closer on the wagon seat to rest her head on his shoulder. He instinctively put an arm around her waist and held her tight as he told the horses to move on.

They rode the rest of the way in near silence, each lost in their own happiness. When they reached the ridge overlooking Declan's land, Margaret was struck all over again by its moonlit beauty, remembering the day not so long ago that she'd first laid eyes on her new home, on this vast expanse of open land in the territory. It had been a long journey from Ireland to Montana, but an even longer journey from loneliness to never-ending joy.

"Welcome home, my wife," Declan said as he looked out over his hard-won property. He leaned down and kissed Margaret's lips, reveling in the feeling of having her beside him.

"'Tis the most wonderful thing you've said to me. I will never tire of those words," she promised, smiling up at him. "Now let's go home.

#

THE END

Thank you for reading and supporting my book and I hope you enjoyed it.

Please will you do me a favor and leave me a review. It would be very much appreciated, thank you.

#  Other Books by Amelia Rose

Mail Order Bride Kathleen (Montana Destiny Brides: Book 2)  
Bargain For A Bride (Montana Passion Brides: Book 1)  
Stranded, Stalked and Finally Sated (License to Love: Book 1)

Silver River Romeo (Rancher Romance: Book 1)

Silver Heart (Longren Family: Book 1)

Learning to Love (Carson Hill Ranch: Book 1)

Mending Fences (Texas Heat: Book 1)

#  Connect with Amelia Rose

Subscribe to my mailing list: CLICK HERE

Like me on Facebook: CLICK HERE

Favorite me on Smashwords: CLICK HERE

#  About Amelia Rose

Amelia is a shameless romance addict with no intentions of ever kicking the habit. Growing up she dreamed of entertaining people and taking them on fantastical journeys with her acting abilities, until she came to the realization as a college sophomore that she had none to speak of. Another ten years would pass before she discovered a different means to accomplishing the same dream: writing stories of love and passion for addicts just like herself. Amelia has always loved romance stories and she tries to tie all the elements she likes about them into her writing.
