Page 9 of Seven Brides for Beau McBride (The McBrides of Montana #3)

Ellie flushed with pleasure at Diana wanting her for a sister. But she was nonplussed by the letter itself. She’d only answered advertisement 262 out of desperation. It had been a very strange ad. Good-looking layabout seeks frontier bride. What kind of man advertised himself as a layabout?

An exceedingly honest one, Ellie learned. Mr. 262’s letter was brutally forthright.

I’ve got no desire to peddle you fantasies, he wrote. So don’t be expecting no model husband. I’m not the diligent sort and I’m not one for listening to advice, nor orders neither. I’m more likely to go dancing than to pickle cucumbers, that’s for sure.

Dancing? In the middle of the wilderness? Ellie blinked, disconcerted at the image.

I can be insufferably rude to those I love but I’ve got no violence in me and my vices are mostly vainglorious in nature.

I’m not a drinker or a coward. I know how to argue well enough but you can be assured I’ll be nice to you and that I’m capable of charm when I can be bothered.

I’m not unkind. That counts for a lot in this world, don’t you think?

Ellie thought a lack of violence and being kind to your wife should be the bare minimum. She’d written back nervously, asking Mr. 262 the same questions she and Diana had asked Beau McBride. The answers came back, plainer than Beau’s, but not displeasing.

We’re mountain people but we ain’t uncivilized. We read a lot of books, so we know a lot more than your regular backwoods folks might. And we know more big words than anyone in Montana, I’d bet my hat on that. Like amplitude. That’s a good word, ain’t it? I learned it last week.

The fact that he read books heartened Ellie. That was at least one thing they had in common. She made a mental note to ask him what he read. Could he possibly be the brother who’d read the French epic to Beau?

We run a trading post, so we see a notable variety of people.

Just last week a couple of Gros Ventre traders came through and they had some mighty satisfying war stories about when they joined forces with the Crow back in the ’60s to fight the Blackfoot.

My buddy Sour Eagle is Crow and he was enthused to join the reminiscing, but Thunderhead Bill is Bitterroot Salish and was none too pleased about the slandering of the Blackfoot Confederacy.

It was the liveliest debate I can remember, and one of the many reasons you’ll find that living on an Indian trading path is a hoot.

You never know what story you’ll hear next.

That was the first Ellie had heard about Buck’s Creek being on a trading path—Beau McBride certainly hadn’t mentioned it.

Do you know of another gentleman looking for a wife in your town? Ellie couldn’t resist writing. There was one other advertisement from Buck’s Creek, and yet I was led to believe it was a very small place.

You’ve been writing to Beau, I suppose, he wrote back, sounding snappish. I can only imagine the damn fool things he told you. It is a small place but we ain’t far from the town of Bitterroot, and that’s a growing concern what with the mining. There’s plenty of men looking for women in these parts.

Ellie hadn’t thought any of Beau’s correspondence was foolish, but she supposed she could see how a hard-bitten mountain man might be leery of Beau’s poetic nature. Beau McBride seemed like he might be a square peg in a round hole, surrounded by backwoodsmen and miners.

Well, I guess you should know that Beau McBride is what some might call a ladies’ man, Mr. 262 wrote, still snappish. So I ain’t surprised you got a letter.

A ladies’ man? Ellie darted a glance across the room at Diana, who was sewing a snippet of lace onto a new nightgown—one she planned to wear on her wedding night.

She hoped Mr. 262 was wrong about Beau being a ladies’ man, for Diana’s sake.

But she remembered the charcoal sketch, that face like a Bourbon prince, and she had a twinge of unease.

But if you liked the sound of him, you’ll like me just fine too, I reckon, Mr. 262 continued.

Ellie was dubious.

I’m just as pretty as he is.

Oh, my goodness. Were they brothers? Or cousins?

Ellie added that to her list of questions for him.

Not that he was one for answering all her questions.

He’d not given his name, no matter how many times she asked for it.

Ellie’s mouth had gone dry at the thought of his looks.

She wasn’t sure she could measure up as a bride for a man who looked like a Bourbon prince.

You answered the ad, Mr. 262 wrote, so I guess you’re on the hunt for a comely man. I won’t let you down on that front. It should make up for my other shortcomings. Can you send me a picture of yourself?

Ellie guessed by now he’d seen Beau’s photograph of Diana and was hoping for someone equally pretty. I’ll send you one of me, if you send me one of you, she scrawled hastily back to him.

“Well, that’s over, then,” she’d said sourly, folding the letter with a sharp crease.

“Oh no, why? Is it a different Buck’s Creek? Is it a million miles away?” Diana had paused in her needlework, looking stricken.

“No, he wants a photograph.” Ellie scowled.

Diana was perplexed. “So? The studio wasn’t that expensive.”

“It’s not about the money, Diana, it’s about me. ” How could she ever explain to Diana, who had no idea what it was like to be ordinary?

“There’s nothing wrong with you.” Diana frowned.

Ellie made a disgusted noise. “I’m wallpaper. ”

“You’re what?”

“Banal. Boring. Forgettable. Ordinary. ”

Diana had no patience with that. “Poppycock. You’re pretty enough.”

“Pretty enough. Like wallpaper. ”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Fine for you to say, you’re beautiful. And so’s he. ”

Diana was struck when Ellie explained the latest letter. “Are you telling me they are brothers?”

“They must be,” Ellie said glumly. “Or cousins. A couple of stupidly good-looking McBrides.”

“But that’s perfect, El!” Diana dropped her sewing and darted over to Ellie, smothering her with a full-body hug. “We’ll be sisters! Or cousins! In the same town! What are the chances!”

“Not good if I have to send a photograph.”

Diana eyed her good naturedly and smoothed Ellie’s hair back off her forehead. “You goose. We’ll pretty you up, and you’ll take a photograph that will knock him senseless.”

A couple of days later Diana had trussed Ellie up in her own best dress, curling her hair and rubbing forbidden rouge on her cheeks.

Ellie thought she looked ridiculous as she posed in the studio in Diana’s dress, composing her face according to the photographer’s instructions and feeling like a fool. But she’d sent off the photograph.

And now, this very evening, after a long day at the looms, she was hurrying home to check the mail, hoping against hope that Mr. 262 approved of her wallpapery self enough to propose.

And include a photograph of himself. And finally give her his name.

Because Diana was leaving soon, and Ellie was out of time.

Ellie had driven herself half mad all day at work, sometimes sure the letter would be there on the sideboard, sometimes sure it wouldn’t be.

“I can’t bear it,” she moaned to Diana as they turned the corner, and the row of boardinghouses loomed against the brooding night sky. She needed that proposal. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, stay here without Diana.

Ellie couldn’t swallow or breathe. She pushed Diana ahead of her as they reached the front door. “You go in first. I can’t look.”

Diana squeezed her hand and then opened the door.

The smell of boiled cabbage and corned beef rolled out at them, a damp and vinegary assault on the senses.

It only added to Ellie’s nausea. She hid her face in her hands as Diana as reached for the mail on the sideboard.

There was the sound of envelopes being shuffled, then a sharply indrawn breath.

“El! It’s here!” Diana thrust it at her.

Ellie’s hands were trembling as she tore open the letter. She was aware of the other girls coming in now, filing past, too tired from their shifts to bother with Ellie’s drama.

“What does it say?” Diana whispered sharply.

Don’t be expecting no proposal. Those were the very first words. There wasn’t even a salutation.

Ellie’s heart shot to her toes and her face turned red. Oh no. Had the photograph been that bad?

I’m looking for a kicked-in-the-head kinda feeling and that’s hard to gauge in written form.

Although I like your letters fine enough and you ain’t bad looking.

But looks ain’t that important in the long run, given we all lose them eventually.

Your nature will do more to kick my head in that your looks, even if I’m sometimes too much of an idiot to realize it.

Ellie didn’t know how to take that.

I don’t believe in marrying people I ain’t met.

I reckon it’s best you come out here and we get to know each other, proper like.

Enclosed is a money order for a train ticket.

I’ll cover a room at the hotel in Bitterroot, all proper and above board.

I’ve learned a thing or two about ladies and I know they like things proper.

Don’t worry about the cost, I turned a good hand of cards with some of the Ella Jean miners last time they were in Bitterroot.

Don’t tell my brothers when you meet ‘em, though. They’re censorious of me gambling, even though I’m flat-out good at it.

And don’t be fretting that I’ll expect anything in return—I ain’t the type to take advantage of a woman.

Not that I’ve ever had the opportunity before, but I reckon even with the opportunity I’ll prove trustworthy.

Oh. Oh my! The import of his words hit her solidly. Of course they should meet and see if they were compatible before they promised anything—how entirely sensible. Ellie was flooded with relief.

“So? Did he ask you to marry him?” Diana demanded.

“Not exactly.” Ellie grinned. “But this might be even better.” She held up the money order. “I’m coming with you!”

Diana snatched the letter out of her hands and scanned it. “This is as good as a proposal! You’re going to be Mrs.—” She broke off. “McBride? Is he a McBride?” Diana frowned. “Did he tell you his name?”

Ellie reappraised the letter and laughed. “Sort of.” There was a smudgy scrawl across the bottom. She couldn’t make out the first name, but the second was most definitely McBride. She showed Diana, who squealed.

“We’ll be together!” Diana threw her arms around Ellie and squeezed the life out of her.

“Watch out McBrides,” Ellie gasped, “here we come!”