The Governess Bride: A Sweet Mail Order Bride Historical by Eliza Lewis Page B

for her, the only choice .
     
    It occurred to her suddenly that she lacked experience of children. But there were books on such matters weren't there? Surely that was as good a starting place as any? She skipped girlishly to the window, a rare bubble of hope forming in her chest. The sky was streaked pink and coral all the way to its edges. Perhaps there was a future out west for her after all. She would write immediately to Mrs Abercromby and find out as much as she could about this rancher.
     
     
    * * *
     
    Gideon was pacing angrily from the fireplace to the window and back again. "I don't like it, Mrs Abercromby. Let that be known," Gideon said, as evenly as he was able.
     
    "Yes, Mr McCabe," Mrs Abercromby responded matter-of-factly to Gideon as he continued to cover the room with his great strides, struggling to comprehend the news that a wife-to-be was to be landed on him that very day. "I can quite see that you do not like it. In fact I can quite see that if you were less of a gentleman you'd be spitting nails at me. But we must put that aside for the moment. The fact remains that left to your own devices you'd live and die alone out here. A wife – even if she will be a wife in name only – will be mother to those babies, and a companion at least for you. Now, leave the little ones with me, and get yourself into town to collect her."
     
    " Now? She's arriving today? " Gideon was finding it difficult to keep up with all this.
     
    "Mmhmm," was Mrs Abercromby's reply.
     
    "Then let her board in the town. I'll pay." Even as he spoke the words, Gideon knew he would no more allow that than Mrs Abercromby would.
     
    "Certainly not!" Mrs Abercromby returned. "She has travelled all this way in good faith – and we, you Mr McCabe, you , shall not leave her to the attentions of the less than desirable cohort of men-folk in the town!"
     
    Once more Gideon's hands went to his hips. He shut his eyes for a second. She was right, of course . He clenched his teeth, glowered at Mrs Abercromby, and reached for his well-worn hat before striding past her and out the door.
     
    Mrs Abercromby huffed along behind him, "Do take these," she wheezed, "They will be of some interest to you, I think?" The old lady thrust a small bundle of letters into Gideon's hands. "Her name is Miss Clara Hamilton. We corresponded half a dozen times. It seems to me that she is a very sweet girl who has not had a particularly easy life. So, please…"
     
    Gideon paused long enough to hear the old lady out. Something tender in her voice caught his attention.
     
    " – if you could, Mr McCabe, please just don't be ornery with her? And also – you must be kind. I specifically promised her that you would be kind."
     
    Gideon stuffed the letters into his pocket and strode wordlessly out the door.
     
    * * *
     
    Ornery. Ornery indeed! Gideon thought as he made his way to the town. "Hmmph," he muttered to the breeze as the wagon rattled along. "Ornery…" He was vexed right up to his ears, but he prided himself on having enough about him to be gentlemanly and kind to the young lady. Whoever this Clara Hamilton was, she couldn't be blamed for creating this pickle. The meddle afoot was entirely Mrs Abercromby's doing. And he would see to it personally that it was undone. To Gideon McCabe's way of thinking, that there wasn't a meddle in the world that couldn't be undone.
     
     
    * * *
     
    It was only when the steam from the train had finally dispersed, and she was the last of the passengers to remain, that Clara saw the lone, silhouetted figure of a man who fitted Mr Gideon McCabe's description. He was an imposing figure, this rancher. Taller than most, and broad across the shoulders. Strong looking, Clara thought, it suddenly occurring to her that a rancher would need to be strong. She focused on his face now, and saw that there was strength also in his features – and a dark, calm steadiness about his eyes. Clara had a long-standing habit of