Hannah: A Bride For Cowboy Warren (Mail Order Brides For The Doyle Brothers Book 1) by Jenny Creek Tanner

Chapter 1
     
    May 1880 | New York
    Hannah Parish blinked her bleary eyes, barely making out where her next stich needed to go. The hour was late and she needed sleep, but her workload had piled up faster than her nimble fingers could keep up with. It didn’t help that she needed to divide her time between housework to pay for her room and board in addition to her growing pile of mending.
    “It’s late.” The voice of her friend Josie startled Hannah and she pricked her finger.
    “Oh, Josie. Ouch!” She sucked on the wounded appendage managing to keep the blood off of the linen shirt she was fixing.
    “I’m sorry, Hannah,” Jose said with a sheepish look. “I just wanted to remind you, nicely, that you have to be up early for breakfast duty and you’ve stayed up late the last four nights.”
    Josie’s dark hair was tucked away under her nightcap, and she kept her wide eyes trained on Hannah. She was the older sister Hannah had never had.
    “Thank you for the reminder,” she said, “I’ll be done here soon. Good night, Josie.”
    Josie turned in a huff that was more of a resigned sigh and the room was left silent again. Hannah finished the last few rows of stitching and tied-off the end with a knot.  She sat back to admire her handiwork. It looked as good as new, and that meant she was done for the night.
    “First things first,” she said to the quiet of the room, “Or is that last?” She bit her lip then shrugged. She knew what she meant.
    From beneath the pile of mended clothes she pulled out the letter. Her hands trembled at her nervous excitement but she forced them to be still so she could pry open the rough paper envelope.
    A letter slipped out and she briefly admired the writing on the letter she held.  A strong hand had written it. The letters were dark and bold and the paper had several smudges on it. She smiled. She liked this man already.
    It was a ridiculous notion. She knew almost nothing about him, but the fact that he had allowed something in his life to be a part of his letter made her more aware of him. Like he was a real person. She laughed at her own foolishness—of course he was real .
    She swallowed and took a deep breath. This letter signified more to her than even she realized. Her life in the suburbs of New York had taken on a frantic reality. She felt the city become more and more crowded and her desire for escape more pronounced. It was part of the reason she worked so many hours. She was working to save so she could leave this life behind.
    She envisioned the open, free country of the West. Sweeping vistas and rounded hills were a welcome daydream amid the crowded streets, packed-in apartments, and incessant noise of the city. She wanted a place to belong, a place she could call her own. In New York, she was happy if she could make it out of the boarding house and back in one piece.
    The advertisements she had placed in papers out West had been expensive, and they depleted most of her savings. She would have to take on more work and scrounge and scrape every cent together, but she knew that someday it would all be worth it.
    She clutched the letter in her hands and wondered—and hoped. Was Mr. Warren Doyle the answer to her prayers?
     

     
    August 1880 | Montana Territory
    “Have you made your decision?” Pastor Jeff Huxley rested against the back of a pew in the last row. He had a confident but humble air about him that was unlike most pastors Warren had known.
    “I’m still not sure.”
    “Son,” the pastor said kindly, “It’s been three months. I think that’s enough time.”
    Warren laughed, but it was more from surprise than humor. “Three months? Enough time? I haven’t even met the woman.”
    “Your situation is unique, Warren,” Pastor Jeff said.  He rubbed a hand along his jaw line. “And I’m going to tell you why.”
    Warren folded his arms across his chest and waited to hear what his pastor had to say.
    “The Good Book says, “Whoso findeth a