This week's Blog Tour Tuesday features
The Rogue's Bride
by Lynn Winchester
Blurb:
Guilty of a terrible crime and dogged by a sense of
obligation he can’t shake, Gaston Mosier hopes to find a little peace by
getting himself hitched. Maybe his new wife can help him feel human again.
Aimee Prentice is seeking a life far away from the trouble she left behind, and
becoming a mail-order bride is the only way out of a bad situation. So, when
she arrives in Dry Bayou to marry the mysterious man from the ad, she’s
surprised to find a man more handsome than she ever imagined. And more
troubled.
Gaston only wanted to marry a quiet, simple woman, someone who could keep him
company and bear his children. He didn’t expect to find outspoken, startlingly
beautiful Aimee waiting for him at the stagecoach station.
What’s Gaston to do with a bride who riles him as no one ever has? What’s Aimee
to do about a groom who is more cold shoulder than warm welcome?
One seeks redemption, the other seeks protection, so what happens when trouble
finds them both?
AIMEE
PRENTICE DROPPED HER CARPETBAG on the boardwalk and took a deep breath.
“You can do this. You can do this,” she
muttered to herself, wishing the words actually calmed her pounding heart.
Drawing in another deep breath, Aimee
took in her surroundings. Having just stepped from a stagecoach, she was rather
surprised at what greeted her. When she’d written to Miss Fisk at the Marriageable Ladies Market Catalog &
Advertisement Service to answer the ad, she’d hoped to end up in the middle of nowhere, far away. She hadn’t,
however, expected to end up in the middle of such a bustling town.
Dry
Bayou. A name she could appreciate as a woman who knew the ins and outs of
every bayou near her small home in Dixon, Alabama. Her home—a farm that was no
longer hers. A legacy she no longer held. A family she’d lost. The home she’d
grown up in, the garden she’d nurtured, the notches inside the kitchen door
that chronicled her years… All of it stolen. Stolen by a man she was told she
could trust. A man her father had trusted… right up until the moment he was
killed.
A lump rose in her throat, threatening to
choke the hope she’d only begun to feel again. Fighting back the tears, she
blinked into the noonday sun and made a point of noting every detail of the
town that was to be her new home.
The
street, Robinson Street—as the sign on the corner read—was wide and made of red
dirt that kicked up into a fine cloud when people or horses walked by. The dust
also coated the wood buildings, which were lined up on either side of Robinson.
Each of the buildings, though covered in dust, were otherwise clean and well
kept, with brightly colored signs in their windows.
There was a barber shop, a candy shop, a
post office, and what looked like a boardinghouse—a large building, with two
levels and many windows. It looked welcoming.
In fact, the whole town looked welcoming.
The men tipped their hats as they passed by, and the women offered smiles free
of the cattiness she’d become so used to seeing in Dixon.
I think I’ll like it here.
She
offered a genuine smile to two little girls with large brown eyes. They smiled
back then tugged on their mother’s hand. The woman, a lovely lady with the
same-colored eyes, turned and smiled at her as well.
The hope that thoughts of Dixon had
squashed began rising again. She could
make a home here.
Aimee
reached into the small clutch purse she carried and retrieved the worn piece of
paper she’d kept inside. It had been folded, unfolded, and refolded so many
times, it was beginning to tear right along the creases.
She’d read it and reread it, not because
she couldn’t understand the words but because she couldn’t believe that a
handful of words could mean so much—a fresh start and a new chance at a
security she hadn’t felt since Pa died.
Unfolding the paper, she tucked a wayward
strand of brown hair behind her ear and reread the words again.
A.
PRENTICE. STOP. DIXON, ALABAMA. STOP. AGREEMENT REACHED. STOP. GASTON MOSIER.
STOP. DRY BAYOU, TEXAS. STOP. ARRIVE BY MARCH 28. STOP.
-
L. FISK
That’s
it. A short telegram from the mail-order bride agency that had given her the
chance at a new life… one without the fear of living under the watchful, roving
eye of her neighbor, Jack MacNaught.
As soon as she’d received the telegram,
she sent a quick telegram to Dry Bayou, attention G. Mosier, telling him to
expect her in two weeks. She was on the next train to San Antonio, with only
the belongings she could fit into her worn carpetbag.
Now, exactly two weeks later, she was
standing on the stagecoach station platform, waiting for—she didn’t even know
what to call him—her fiancé? There
hadn’t been an official offer of marriage. It was just an understanding between
Mr. Mosier, the mail-order bride agency, and her.
She didn’t even know how old Gaston
Mosier, the saddler from Dry Bayou, was. Or even what he looked like. She only
knew what he’d written in his ad, the one she’d answered out of desperation.
She pulled the crumpled cut-out of the ad
from her clutch.
SADDLER
FROM DRY BAYOU, TEXAS SEEKS A QUIET, MODEST, OBLIGING WOMAN OF NO MORE THAN
TWENTY-ONE YEARS. MUST BE ABLE TO COOK, CLEAN, AND BEAR CHILDREN. A HOME AND
ALLOWANCE WILL BE PROVIDED. REPLY BY APRIL 30.
So now, here she was. She could be
approached by a rheumy hunchback, with missing teeth and a shiny bald head.
Dear Lord, please don’t let that be the
case.
Immediate guilt snapped at her. She
honestly couldn’t be picky; she was in a tight spot. Either she could marry the
man who promised to provide, or she could go home and spend the next four years
of her life looking over her shoulder, wondering when Jack and his father would
come to steal the clothes from her back… and perhaps more.
She
shuddered, suddenly overwhelmed with where life had brought her: alone in
small-town Texas, waiting for a complete stranger to come and marry her.
A humorless laugh erupted from her chest
before she could stop it.
“Oh,
hello,” a pleasant voice said from behind her.
Aimee
spun to find a beautiful blonde standing there, big smile, sparkling blue eyes,
gorgeous dark green walking dress, and a countenance that immediately put Aimee
at ease.
“Hello,”
Aimee replied, tucking the telegram and ad back into her clutch.
The
woman stepped forward and tipped her head. “You wouldn’t happen to be A.
Prentice, would you?”
Surprised,
Aimee nodded slowly, not sure what to think. Her surprise was compounded when
the blonde stepped forward and embraced her in a warm, strong hug.
Aimee
tensed. “Do I know you?”
The
woman let go and stepped back, her hands lightly gripping Aimee’s elbows. She
laughed. “Oh, I’m sorry, I’ve lost my head, apparently.” She let go of Aimee’s
elbows and smiled. “My name is Tilly Bartlett, I’m Dr. Bartlett’s wife. I came
by because I knew he’d leave you
waiting,” she rattled off her sentence as if talking to complete strangers was
an everyday experience for her.
“Dr. Bartlett? I don’t understand… I’m
here to meet my… well, my fiancé, I suppose.” Still not comfortable calling a
man she’d never met her fiancé, she felt the heat rise in her face.
The blonde, Tilly, rolled her eyes. “There
I go, confusing you. Sorry. You’re here to meet my brother, Gaston Mosier,
right?”
Aimee felt a rush of ah-ha and a twinge of anxiety. This was her future husband’s sister?
Well, she was young. And beautiful. Maybe, just maybe, Gaston Mosier wasn’t an
ugly old coot.
“Oh,” Tilly cried out, clapping her hands
excitedly. “Here he is. He’s always late. Always getting caught up in his
little projects and forgetting the time. That’s why I came to…”
While
Tilly was speaking, Aimee turned, heart in her throat, fear and excitement
mingling in her belly.
Her gaze collided with deep blue eyes,
rimmed with golden lashes. His nose was straight, with a little bump in the
middle as though he’d broken it and it set wrong. His nose led her gaze right
down to two wide, unsmiling lips. Aimee immediately wondered what they’d look
like cocked in a wicked grin.
She stopped breathing. Why am I thinking that?
Because he was the most gorgeous man she’d
ever laid her eyes on, that’s why.
The fear in her belly turned to
nervousness in a flash. Her future husband was an Adonis. Heat burned through
her skin, rising over her cheeks. Aimee fought the urge to turn tail and run.
Rose, lily, lilac, iris, mum, tulip…
“So, you’re A. Prentice?” his deep voice
was like down-covered steel.
Orchid, orange blossom, cherry blossom,
narcissus…
“Ya… yes. I… I… I’m Aimee.” She was
stammering like a fool, right when she needed to make the best impression of
her life.
I think I’m going to be sick!
The man before her narrowed his eyes and
cocked an eyebrow, clearly not impressed with the woman he’d agreed to marry.
God, this was a mistake.
After long moments, he nodded to his
sister then looked back at Aimee. “Come on, then,” he snapped, bending to take
her forgotten carpetbag. “Preacher won’t wait long.” Without waiting for her to
respond, he turned and walked toward the end of Robinson Street.
“Wait,” she called out, finally finding
her senses. “What do you mean, the preacher won’t wait?”
He stopped, tensed, then began walking
again. “We’re getting married. Right now,” he called over his shoulder and
disappeared around the corner.
Aimee’s stomach dropped into her feet.
Author Bio:
Lynn Winchester is the pseudonym of a
hardworking California-born conservative, now living in the wilds of Northeast
Pennsylvania. Lynn has been writing fiction since the 5th grade, and enjoys
creating worlds, characters, and stories for her readers.
Lynn writes charming, romantic
romance that focuses on the growth of the relationship and the power of true
love. Lynn's historical western Dry Bayou Brides series is a highly acclaimed,
bestselling sweet romance series. Keep an eye out for her upcoming releases.
When Lynn isn't writing, she is running a
successful editing business, reading whatever she can get her hands on, raising
her four children, making sure her husband is happy, and binge watching shows
on Netflix.
Join the
Dry Bayou Brides Fan Group HERE
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