Hank's Runaway Bride (Brides of Chimney Rock Book 1) Read online

  Hank’s Runaway Bride

  Brides of Chimney Rock, Book 1

  By Mia Blackwood

  Copyright 2017 Mia Blackwood

  Kindle Edition, License Notes

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  Hank Sanders is ready to take a homestead and start the next chapter in his life. His best friend and boss, Caleb Stark, is soon to become his business partner as they combine their homesteads to increase the size of their ranch. Now all Hank needs is a bride. He is about to send off for a mail-order bride when a young woman literally stumbles into his life.

  Josephine Martin ran away from her abusive step-father in the dead of a Nebraska winter. She was not running to something as much as she was running away from something. What she finds could change her life forever, if she is willing to let go of her past to embrace her future.

  Will Hank and Josephine find the happiness that has been laid before them, or will fate conspire to keep them apart?

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  *Note: Literary license was used with some historical events in this story. For full details, please read the “dear reader” note at the end of the book. Thank you.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  Redington, Nebraska

  February 12, 1891

  As Josephine heard her step-father begin to snore, her heart began to race. It was now or never. She slowly slipped from her bed and began to prepare herself for the journey ahead. If she had her way, she would wait to leave until spring, but after the beating she had received earlier that evening, she knew that she might not survive that long if she did.

  She had always hated the little sod house that they had lived in ever since Horace had moved them to Nebraska. Even at the tender age of thirteen, she had understood the necessity of having a quick shelter built for their survival, but Horace had promised her mother that he would build a better house once he had the money to do so. As it turned out, that was just another broken promise in a long line of broken promises.

  Now that Josephine was twenty-two, she had decided that enough was enough. Since her mother’s death three years ago, she had done nothing but work her fingers to the bone for Horace and had only been met with anger in return. Horace had never liked her and had never treated her kindly, although he had been good to her mother. She supposed that he did not like the reminder that his wife had once loved another man.

  Josephine dressed by the dim light of the moon that filtered in through their one dingy window. When she had prepared for bed earlier, she had left her chemise and corset on to save time later and had merely pulled her nightshirt on over them. Now she left her flannel nightshirt on for the added warmth it would provide and sat down to pull on two extra pairs of wool stockings. She wished she could put more on, but she knew that her boots would not fit at all if she did.

  Next came four layers of petticoats. Two were made from flannel and two from wool. She hoped that they would be warm enough. She would have worn more, but those were all she owned. Over all of that, she put on her Sunday best, followed by two plain white blouses and two dark woolen skirts.

  Once she had her clothes on, she quietly sat in a chair and put on her boots. She had never been more grateful for a packed-dirt floor than she was that night. Horace would not hear her footsteps as she paced through the house and wake up. Had it been a wooden floor, he very well may have.

  Once she was dressed, Josephine carefully laid her shawl out on the bed, smoothing it out so that it was stretched as wide as it would go. She placed her every day shoes and a small, wrapped bundle of leftover bread from supper in the middle of it.

  Next came her overcoat. She watched Horace sleep as she buttoned up her coat, and willed him to stay asleep. She tied the shawl like a sling and draped it over her neck so that it hung across her chest.

  She quickly pulled on her hat, scarf, and gloves, then decided to pull mittens on over the gloves. Her mother had made the thick wool mittens for her the Christmas before she had passed away. There was no way she would leave those behind. She took one long, last look around the tiny one-room sod house.

  Just as she was about to reach for the door, she stopped and looked at her bed. On it was the quilt she and her mother had made years before, well before they had ever met Horace Randall. She quickly walked across the floor and grabbed the quilt off the bed. It belonged to her, just as much as her mother’s necklace that she always wore under her clothes belonged to her. She would not leave either here with that man.

  She quickly made her way back to the door. This time she did not hesitate and, as silently as she could, she slipped out into the cold night. Closing the door behind her, she was met with a bitter wind that took her breath away. She wrapped the quilt around herself for the extra warmth and made her way to the road.

  Josephine had decided to head in a north-westerly direction. In the event that her step-father decided to actually search for her, she did not want to leave an easy trail for him to follow, and the logical thing for her to do would be to return home to Wisconsin.

  So instead of heading east into Redington, she turned to the west and followed the road. She would stick to the well-traveled road until she felt it was safe enough to head in a northerly direction. Sooner or later she would find either some railroad tracks or the North Platte River, and she knew that she could follow those to another town. Perhaps she could find work as a housekeeper. Anything was better than staying where she was.

  *****

  Chimney Rock, Nebraska

  February 13, 1891

  Although it was well past midnight, Hank Sanders lay awake and stared at the ceiling. He should have been asleep hours ago, but an idea had formed in his mind just before he had gone to bed and now it would not let him rest. He hoped that Caleb Stark, his boss and his friend, would understand.

  Hank had moved into Ben Stark’s house just before Christmas to keep an eye on the place, but it had yet to feel like home to him. He understood that Caleb needed someone to keep an eye on the place for George, Caleb’s nephew who was orphaned when his parents were murdered last fall. One day, when he was grown, George would inherit the house and the acres that went with it. Until then, someone needed to live there and keep things in working order—not to mention keeping it safe from squatters.

  At thirty-four years of age, Hank was ready to have a place of his own. He wanted to build his own house, to get married and settle down, to have his own family. Ever since Caleb had told him that he had sent off for a mail order bride, Hank had been itching to do the same. Just before Thanksgiving, he
had made his mind up to send for one himself, but had decided that no woman in her right mind would want to travel all that way on a train during the harsh winter months. He vowed to wait until spring.

  In the meantime, Hank had visited the Land Office in Sidney, the county seat, where he received the quarter section next to Caleb’s land through the Homestead Act. He needed to tell his boss that he would be settling on it come spring, but did not know the best way to do that. He had worked for the Starks since he left home at sixteen, and Caleb was like a brother to him.

  Hank was hoping that maybe he and Caleb could work together. They could grow corn and grain on Hank’s land and keep the cattle on Caleb’s land. That would free up more of Caleb’s land to use for grazing and Hank could still work for Caleb as a ranch hand, though he would probably hand over the reins of being the ranch foreman to one of the other men. The foreman could live in Ben’s house as part of his pay, at least until George came of age. He thought it was an excellent idea, but now had to sell the idea to Caleb.

  He finally drifted off to sleep as he dreamed of the house he would build on his land. He planned on starting out with a two room structure, but he would build it with plans to add on to it over the years. He and his wife would fill it with love, laughter, and children. A smile played over his face as he dreamed of the future.

  *****

  Josephine followed the road for what felt like an hour before she spotted an animal trail that ventured off to the north through the snow. She followed that trail until it crossed Pumpkinseed Creek and continued in what she hoped was a northerly direction. She was glad that she had thought to bring along the quilt—while her coat and her layers were warm, it was definitely chilly tonight and the added warmth of the quilt was a welcome addition.

  After walking for what felt like hours, she saw what appeared to be a sod house in the distance. She made her way toward it in the hopes of resting for a bit and perhaps warming herself before a fire. She could barely feel her feet and her fingers were stiff with cold.

  As she approached the structure, she saw that it appeared to be abandoned. The door was crooked on its hinges and the only window she saw was covered with a torn piece of oiled paper, which flapped in the wind. She cautiously peered inside and noted that the home was empty. Whoever had been there had moved on and taken everything with them. Still, even with the broken door and torn window covering, it was relatively out of the wind, so she slipped inside for a rest.

  Josephine tried to push the door closed, but try as she might, it would not budge. She gave up the attempt and found the least drafty corner the shelter provided. She tented the quilt about her, removed her mittens and gloves, and then breathed on her hands to warm them. Once she could feel them again, she removed her boots and proceeded to rub her feet vigorously. Slowly they began to tingle as the blood once again began to flow through them. She tucked them under herself as she sat cross-legged on the dirt floor and breathed into her cupped hands with the quilt pulled tightly around herself.

  She remained sitting there until she could fully feel her feet and her hands once again. Once she was certain that she had suffered no damage from the cold, she pulled her boots, gloves, and mittens back on, got up, and rewrapped her quilt around herself before she headed out once again into the cold night.

  When the frigid wind hit her full-force once again, she nearly turned and went back inside the tiny dwelling. Only the thought of her step-father finding her and forcing her to return home with him kept her feet moving forward. She pulled her scarf up higher on her face, looked up at the moon to get her bearings, and trudged onward through the night.

  *****

  Hank woke up in the wee hours of the morning to the sound of the rooster crowing, tired from having been awake so long the night before. He could tell by the wan, gray light that the sun was rising, but clouds were moving in. He hopped out of bed and dressed quickly in the chilly morning air, eager to get downstairs and get the stove going.

  He made his way to the kitchen and stopped to start the fire in the stove before he headed out to the barn. No matter how cold or hungry he was, the animals always came first. Most of Ben’s farm animals were still at the ranch, but he had brought a few with him when he moved in. His trusty old horse Rusty had come along, of course, as had a milk cow and a few chickens. Just enough for a bachelor’s daily needs.

  He milked the cow, cleaned the stalls, fed and watered the animals, gathered the four eggs the chickens had given him, then made his way back toward the house. He was halfway there when he noticed a figure walking toward the house from the south. The sun was just coming up over the horizon at that point, and he was curious as to who would be walking through the prairie at that hour.

  He quickly placed the milk and eggs in the house, then checked to make certain his pistol was in its holster before he headed out to meet the stranger. Hank walked as far as the main road and then watched and waited for whomever it was to get closer. They certainly did not appear to be moving in a threatening fashion. As the shape drew nearer, Hank could tell by its size that it was either a very small man, a woman, or an older child.

  As he watched, the shape stumbled and cried out for help, which unglued Hank’s feet. The cry was clearly that of a woman. He was running before he even realized that he was moving.

  When he reached her side, he could see that she was struggling to get to her feet. She had herself wrapped in a quilt from her head down. A knitted wool scarf and hat covered her head so well that he could barely see her eyes. Her hands seemed to be clutching at the quilt from the inside and she held it closed tightly under her chin.

  Hank started to help her to her feet, then decided to just scoop her up and get her inside by the fire. She had to be nearly frozen to death. What kind of person went wandering around the frozen prairie in the middle of winter? She must be either desperate or insane.

  He quickly carried her back to the house. He bent his knees to open the door, then used his backside to force it closed against the brisk wind. He pulled a chair out from the table by hooking one leg with his boot and pulled it closer to the wood stove before he deposited his load onto the seat.

  Concern gave his words a harsher edge than he meant them to have. “What in tarnation were you doing out there in weather like this?” he asked as he began to unwrap her from her quilt.

  Josephine looked at the stranger in surprise, though her brain was a bit slow from the cold to form words. “W…wa…walking…” was all she managed to stammer in reply. She felt so cold that she wondered if she would ever be warm again. She also thanked God that this man had come to help her. She was certain she could not have taken another step and would have frozen to death if he had not come to her rescue.

  Hank paused as he removed the quilt from her shoulders and gave her a strange look, but said nothing. Next he removed her hat and scarf, and got an unpleasant surprise. He expected her lips to be a bit blue from the cold, which they were, but he did not expect to see a large bruise on her cheek. His eyes narrowed when he saw it.

  “Does that bruise there have anything to do with why you’re walking across the prairie in the dead of night in the middle of winter?” His voice sounded much calmer than he felt. What kind of person would hurt such a beautiful young lady like that?

  All that Josephine could do in response was nod a little. She felt like a human icicle, and her mind was slow to process what the man was saying to her.

  Hank proceeded to brush the snow from her skirts in an attempt to help keep her dry. Truth be told, it was so cold outside that the snow was not sticking too much of anything, which would work in her favor. He moved his hands down to her boots and looked up at her.

  “I know this ain’t exactly proper and all, but I need to take off your boots and see how your feet look,” Hank explained as he began to unlace her boots. He looked into her eyes, saw acknowledgement register in them, then pulled her boots off.

  He was pleased to see that she was wearing several pa
irs of wool socks. At least the girl had thought to bundle herself well before she headed out. He pulled the socks off her left foot first, then frowned when he saw that she was also wearing those stockings ladies wore that tied above the knee. He needed to see her toes to see if she had frostbite.

  “Are you able to untie your stockings for me?” he asked her uncomfortably.

  Josephine realized that the stockings needed to come off her feet, but she knew that she was too cold to manage anything with her fingers at the moment. There was no way they would work with how stiff they were from the cold. Embarrassed at the thought of the man reaching up under her skirts to do it for her, she shook her head no and averted her gaze.

  Hank sighed and grumbled under his breath as he reached up under her skirts to untie her stockings. He fumbled around a bit before he managed to complete his task, quite certain that he had seen and felt much more of her than was proper. If there was time, he would have gone to fetch Madeline Stark, his boss’s wife, but he knew that time was of the essence if he was going to save this lady’s feet.

  He pulled off her wool stockings and knelt down to get a better look at her feet. He was relieved to see that, while they were drained of color and maybe a little bluish, they didn’t appear to have discolored any further. He almost heaved a sigh of relief when he realized that he had not looked at her hands yet.

  Hank quickly pulled the mittens and gloves off her hands to find them in much the same condition as her feet. Relief flooded through him once he realized that she would recover from being out in the cold as she had been. He had heard of people freezing to death during blizzards and hated to think of this pretty young lady finding help and then passing on anyway, or even being maimed by her ordeal.

  He started to rub her hands and her feet in an attempt to get the blood circulating through them again. He knew that is was hard for her to talk at the moment, so he tried to keep up a steady stream of chatter as he worked. He was not good at small talk, so it was harder than he thought it would be.