The Lawman (Montana Men Book 1) by Vanessa Vale

as predicted, some people said, by the color of her hair. For the first time, I was able to look to the future, one of my own making instead of a life on the family ranch as I'd been expected to run. Taking the step to branch out, I'd broken with tradition. Marrying Ellie was also divergent, as a homegrown bride would suit most men. I didn't want to settle. Not in profession and not in love.
    Love. Did I feel love for Ellie? Fondness, yes. Devotion, definitely. Possession, absolutely. She was mine and soon, she'd swell with my child. A little girl with curly red hair, or a boy with a stubborn streak a mile wide.
    After leaving my horse with Mr. Leudke, I walked back to the jail. Murphy called out to me as he stepped out of the restaurant two doors down. The other man was just a year younger than I. We'd grown up together, although I'd lived on the family ranch, and Murphy lived in town as his father ran the Mercantile. As such, we were good friends. He approached and held a letter out to me. "The stage came through, and this was left for you."
    I took it, glanced at the travel worn paper. Minneapolis. "Thanks."
    He left me to open the letter alone. It was from Mrs. Bidwell.
    Dear Mr. Graves,
    I hope this letter finds you happy with your new bride. I endeavored to find just the right woman to meet your needs, as well as for Mr. Blake. While I felt confident that the women met your personal specifications with regards to appearance, personality and proclivities, it is often difficult to ascertain their reasoning behind becoming a mail order bride. In the case of the other women sent to the Montana Territory, their histories were readily available. As for Miss Adams, however, some new information has come to light that I felt vital to share with you with immediate haste.
    Miss Adams had said she'd been courted by a local man, and a match did not come. Her reasons seemed sound, and a frequent tale of women I meet. A Mr. Allen Simmons, who is part of a very influential and prestigious Minneapolis family, has not been seen at the usual functions as mentioned in the society pages. While this is nothing in of itself, it did mention his attentions had been affixed to a woman by the name of Ellen Oldsmere who has gone missing. A woman with striking red hair.
    Shit. What had Ellie gotten herself into? I looked around me, at the small town of August Point. Life was so utterly different than in a big city like Minneapolis, yet men were men and red haired women were few and far between.
    On Saturday past, Mr. Simmons arrived to partake in the services of my girls at the brothel. Upon quick observation, he had a large gash on the side of his face that appeared to run into his hairline as well as a black eye. He explained away the injuries as a fall from his horse and hit his head upon a rock.
    This combination of details had me seeking the truth. I have ascertained the following: Your bride is not Eleanor Adams, but Ellen Oldsmere. An event occurred between her and Mr. Simmons for him to receive the injuries I mentioned. She took a new name and has fled the city, with my assistance, out of fear for either what she did or the repercussions.
    Regardless of her actions, Miss Oldsmere still is my choice for your bride. I have no doubts she is the perfect match for you. What you do with this information is at your discretion, however I felt it my professional, and personal, responsibility to share it with you.
    Respectfully,
    Mrs. Bidwell
    It appeared my wife was not who she claimed. In fact, it appeared she was not legally my wife.
    Ellen
     
    Carrying a basket as I walked down the main thoroughfare to the Mercantile, I found myself being stopped frequently by those I'd met at church, or by those who had not had the opportunity, but took one now. I felt content and happy, something that had been missing for a long time. The deaths of my parents had been the catalyst for the change, culminating in Allen's death. This entire time, I'd felt alone.