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    Mail Order Bride: Looking After The Drunken Man
    Mail Order Bride: Looking After The Drunken Man
    Mail Order Bride: Looking After The Drunken Man
    Ebook56 pages47 minutes

    Mail Order Bride: Looking After The Drunken Man

    By Beth Overton

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    About this ebook

    On her way to her fiancé in the Wyoming Territory a woman encounters an apparently inebriated man during the next leg of her journey but when all disembark for the night at a way station, they discover that he is severely wounded. What happens later shocks them all.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBeth Overton
    Release dateFeb 7, 2016
    ISBN9781310159909
    Mail Order Bride: Looking After The Drunken Man
    Author

    Beth Overton

    Beth Overton lives in Northern California with her husband and three cats. Besides writing romances, she loves to read everything she can get her hands on, as well as cooking up gourmet delights for her entire family.

    Read more from Beth Overton

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      Book preview

      Mail Order Bride - Beth Overton

      Mail Order Bride: Looking After The Drunken Man

      By

      Beth Overton

      Copyright 2016 Quietly Blessed & Loved Press

      Synopsis: On her way to her fiancé in the Wyoming Territory a woman encounters an apparently inebriated man during the next leg of her journey but when all disembark for the night at a way station, they discover that he is severely wounded. What happens later shocks them all.

      Am I pretty enough? As she studied the reflection from the small bureau mirror allotted to her, a pinch of both cheeks brought up faint color to skin so pale as to be considered washed-out.

      Is my hair thick enough, shiny enough, or long enough? Sorrel brown and unruly, it was, according to dictate, scraped back into a severe knot. Yet a few tendrils defied order to escape here and there.

      Will I be strong enough to survive, capable enough to cope, and wise enough to endure whatever comes along? Seen by the dim light glowing through a small high window, her mouth, too gentle for the harsh world around her, tightened, and her eyes, as navy-blue as the getup she wore, narrowed. She had no choice. She would have to be.

      Sophronia! Sophronia Taylor!

      A whiny voice carried up two flights of stairs, then grumbled, Blast it all, where is that girl? She knows I have to take my medicine at this time of day. Sophronia!

      If nothing else could have dissuaded her, one last glance around the bare, cramped room hardened her resolution and her heart. Swiftly she undid buttons, unfastened cuffs, threw aside the abhorrent white apron and compulsory uniform to pull on her summer Sunday best, a simple green and white checked skirt, topped by its companion gauzy white polonaise with flowing sleeves. At the collar she had fastened her only piece of jewelry, a small cameo pin.

      Sophronia! Get down here immediately!

      Another hail, raspy and frustrated, that echoed through the halls.

      I require your services!

      Time to gird her loins and move forward. Her arrangements had long since been made. Her meager belongings had been packed. It needed now only that she leave.

      Dragging in a deep breath, she picked up her battered leather valise and, taking the strong bold steps that would be necessary from here on, started down the stairs.

      Ephraim Hartwell, seated in the parlor’s large leather chair, peered up at her over the rim of his spectacles as she entered the room.

      Took you long enough to show your face, he complained. Haven’t you heard your mistress calling for you?

      I have, sir.

      Though she kept her voice calm and her expression carefully neutral, Sophronia could feel her heartbeat racing. What she was about to do she had never tried before, and the very idea of standing up with audacity to anyone in control had her insides twisting like a leaf in the wind.

      Really, Sophronia, you have been most inconsiderate, fretted Mrs. Hartwell, clomping back through the doorway in her ridiculous tiny high-heeled pumps. Where on earth have you been? It’s time to fix our mid-day dinner. And why are you not wearing your uniform?

      My uniform.

      The girl bit down on incongruous laughter. Her uniform was the least of her worries.

      You’ll find it in my room, Mrs. Hartwell, neatly folded and laid aside. From now on, I’ll be wearing my own clothing.

      A frown of deepest displeasure from the lady, her stock in trade, once used to intimidate and devastate anyone within range of power, especially Sophronia, but no more. Amazingly, throwing off the shackles of servanthood, she was beyond that now.

      And just why would you do such a thing? her spouse demanded, rising to his feet.

      An upright posture, he had learned long ago, is much more threatening than one seated.

      Sophronia looked from one to the

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