Page 1 of Val (Wild Rose Ridge #1)

Chapter One

Valentine O’Malley snapped her little pocket watch closed with a click.

“On time, as always,” she muttered. Straightening the lapels of her traveling jacket, she gave herself a swift once-over in the tiny mirror above the washstand.

Jacket buttoned, boots polished, hair reasonably in place. That would have to do.

No nonsense, no fuss. The Sisters’ Mail-Order Bride Company had entrusted her with half a dozen hopeful young women, and she’d see them delivered neat as parcels.

She caught her reflection in the tiny cabin mirror and sighed.

In her mind she heard them as clear as if they were crowded in the cabin with her.

Augusta would be brisk as a general: “Our good name is at stake, Val. Someone must see the brides delivered safe, and you’re the only one I’d trust with a ledger or a pistol.”

Margaret, who always had her head in the clouds, would say: “Can’t you see it, Val?

The South Thorn River glistening like silver, gallant men waiting, true love blooming like roses!

Why, it will be poetry in motion.”And Josie would grin like a loon and say: “It’ll be a holiday!

Four weeks by the river, fresh air, a jaunt to the frontier.

You’ll have the brides wed and yourself back in Chicago before your shoes need a polish. ”

Val shook her head at her reflection. “Holiday, she says. Fresh air, she says.” She peered at herself again in the tiny scrap of mirror nailed above her wash stand and sighed.

The ship pitched gently beneath her, turning her reflection into a wavy ghost of herself.

She pinched her cheeks for color, then gave the mirror a flat look.

“Well, Val, girl, here you are in the middle of nowhere, your hair refusing to curl right, about to parade off this boat with a pack of nervous hens. What in heaven’s name possessed you to say yes to this?” The mirror, as usual, offered no answer. She’d been talking to her reflection for days now.

Val wagged a finger at the glass. “I’ll tell you what possessed you.

Those blasted sisters with their sweet smiles and their high talk of ‘helping poor young women find a future in the West.’” She huffed, straightening her collar.

“They made it sound like a grand cause, a noble adventure. And what did you say? ‘Oh, sure, I’ll do it. How hard could it be?’” She reached for her parasol.

The ship lurched, nearly sending her into the washstand. She caught herself, clutching her parasol like a lifeline.

“You could be back in Chicago now, minding your own business, matchmaking in peace. But no. You’re marching brides up a river to a town with more trees than people.

Well done, Val.” Her mouth quirked despite herself.

“At least you’ve got your wits, your good shoes, and this trusty parasol.

One whack from it and the men’ll keep their paws where they belong. ”

She tilted the parasol at her reflection like a saber, then laughed softly. “All right, girl. Chin up. Those brides are counting on you. And if Wild Rose Ridge isn’t ready for Val O’Malley, that’s their problem, not yours.” She gripped her parasol and marched up to the deck.

The icy river air hit her at once, along with the din.

On the dock below, a sea of men pressed against the pilings.

They were calling, waving, and jostling each other for their first glimpse of the brides.

Hats waved like gulls over fish, their voices carrying above the hiss of the steamship’s engines.

Val’s mouth flattened. “Good grief. What a circus.” She turned, her eyes landing on her little flock clustered together at the rail.

The ribbons of their bonnets fluttered in the wind while their hands clutched carpetbags and reticules as if they were trying to fly away.

“All right, girls,” she said, her tone cutting through their nervous chatter.

“Spines straight, chins up. You’ll walk off this ship in a line neat enough to impress St. Peter himself.

And if any fool on that dock thinks to crowd you, he’ll get this parasol in his ribs.

” She waved it at them for good measure.

Val said a few more things, stalling the inevitable.

Getting through that crowd was going to be like running a gauntlet.

A few of the women giggled nervously. One whispered, “Do you think they’ll really try to…?”

“I don’t think,” Val cut in. “I know. But never you mind. You’re with me.” She leveled the parasol toward the docks like a commander sighting the enemy line, then squared her shoulders. “Now, let’s show Wild Rose Ridge what kind of women they’ve been clamoring for.”

The Merry Jo bumped against the pilings.

After a moment or two, its gangplank lowered with a heavy thunk.

The crowd of men pressed closer, their noise rising like a wave about to break.

The crush of eager onlookers made the path to the hotel near impassable.

Val gave the brides a few more words of encouragement before she snapped open her parasol with a sharp thwip.

She then proceeded down the gangplank with her brides in tow.

Halfway down, Val glanced back at them, her eyes fierce but proud.

“You’re marching into a new life. Let’s make it look like we mean it. ”

Val turned to the pressing crowd of men.

“Saints preserve us,” she muttered. She leveled her parasol like a bayonet at the first man who lunged too close.

“We’re here to deliver brides, not put on a peep show.

Back off, the lot of you!” A few men chuckled, one ducking as the parasol swished past his nose.

“Easy there, missy, we just want a look!” one called.

“You’ll be wanting a doctor if you don’t give these ladies room,” Val shot back.

She glanced behind her. The brides were beginning to cluster together again.

“All right, girls, single file! It’s the quickest way through this lot.

” Val waved the parasol like a general’s baton.

“Keep your eyes forward, and if a man tries to snatch your bag, kick him in the shins and say your prayers after.”

A nervous giggle rippled through the group. One of the brides whispered, “Are they always like this?”

“Worse on payday,” Val said dryly, green eyes flashing.

“Now march. And mind your feet; dock boards are often slick and slimy.” She brandished the parasol again, clearing a narrow lane through the swarm.

The women shuffled forward, emboldened by her bravado, until the way opened enough for a group of women to sweep forward, ribbons and feathers bobbing on their hats like banners in a parade.

Well-dressed men loomed just behind them, broad-shouldered and grave, offering the weight of their presence rather than their hands.

Val figured they had to be their husbands.

Dockside porters trailed with trunks, staggering under the load, while the ladies clucked and fluttered as if orchestrating the entire affair.

“Welcome!” cried the one in the middle, her voice bright enough to carry over the murmurs and occasional shouts from the men around them.

The other women nodded, their smiles stretched tight.

Whistles drifted from idlers on the dock aimed at Val and her brides.

They were quickly smothered by the ladies’ sharp looks.

The one in the middle introduced herself as Mrs. Schulte, but Val was busy checking on her brides lined up behind her.

The main thing was to get them to the hotel before one of them got accosted.

When she gave her attention back to Mrs. Schulte and her friends, a preacher stepped forward to give what Val assumed would be a welcoming speech.

Val folded her parasol as her gaze flicked up…

and up again… until it met a pair of gray eyes, cool and steady as river stone.

He was of medium build, not bulky, not slight, yet to her four feet eleven inches he loomed like a giant blocking out the sun.

Medium brown hair, mussed by the wind, softened the effect, but only just. Where the other men on the dock jostled and hollered, he stood calm, shoulders squared, voice carrying with a quiet authority that cut sharper than their shouts.

Her lips twitched. “Best make this place sound like paradise, or these brides are liable to turn tail and run.”

Before the preacher could comment, several men shoved into them, nearly knocking Val over. She bristled. “Stand back, you pack of wild dogs! You’ll not trample my girls today.”

The preacher’s voice carried over the din, calm but firm. “Gentlemen, I’ll have order here. Let the ladies disembark decently.”

Val shot him a look sharp enough to cut timber. “Decency? Order? I’ve found both require a firm hand, sir.” She jabbed her parasol at a particularly eager man with a long beard who yelped and stumbled back.

The preacher’s brows lifted, but his tone remained calm. “Or perhaps a steady one.”

“Steady won’t clear a path,” Val retorted, her Irish lilt sharpening the words.

“And I intend to have my charges in that hotel before nightfall.” Hmmm, where did Mrs. Schulte and company go?

She spied them making their way to the hotel.

Had she been so distracted by the preacher she didn’t hear the woman tell her to follow them? She glared at the preacher.

A smile flickered at the corner of his mouth. “Then perhaps between your parasol and my patience, we’ll manage it.”

“See that we do,” Val huffed. “I’ve no time to waste.

” She jabbed her parasol at another overeager suitor, then turned to find the tall preacher simply…

waiting. Arms folded across his chest, broad shoulders squared, gray eyes steady as ever.

Not a word, not a twitch, just the silent weight of his presence.

It set her teeth on edge. “Are you going to help, sir,” she snapped. “Or stand there like a statue in a churchyard?”