The Telegraph Proposal

Book 3: Montana Brides Romance

by Becca Whitham, Gina Welborn

Genres: Historical Christian; Religious & Inspirational

Synopsis

A Montana Brides Inspirational Romance
 
Book 3
 
In the rough and rugged Montana Territory, the journey to true love is filled with unexpected twists—and sweet rewards—for daring frontier women who faithfully believe every heart has a home . . .
 
With the help of the Archer Matrimonial Company, Yancey Palmer has finally put Hale Adams, the man she’s loved for ten years—sometimes not wisely or well—behind her. Yancey is so sure of her love for the man the agency matched her with, she readily promises a friend that she’ll help Hale with his mayoral campaign without chasing him.
 
Hale has also engaged the services of the matrimonial agency. He’s so pleased with one lady, he requests that she join him in Helena to commence a sixty-day courtship. But instead, the Archer ladies arrive in town to reveal the true identities of both Hale’s and Yancey’s matches: each other.  Can they look past their misunderstandings and hurt to see that they are still a perfect match?

Release date: October 29, 2019

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 343

Sample

Yancey pressed the latest letter from Nathan St. John against her chest and sighed. The wait had been worth it. She’d picked up his letter on her way to the train depot but hadn’t wished to read his precious words with people around. She’d brought it to work, where it seemed every person in Helena had come to visit the telegraph office. Each tick of the clock, blast of a train whistle, or call of the conductor had her itching to yank the pages from her pocket. But she’d waited for the moment the depot cleared of customers so she could rip open the envelope and devour Nathan’s typewritten words. Four months ago, she’d been skeptical about Antonia Archer’s declaration that she had a client who would be Yancey’s perfect match.

Then Nathan’s first letter arrived.

He’d described himself as blond, average in looks, of average height, and with an acceptable amount of ambition. Yancey could almost hear Hale Adams describing himself in the same way. The next two months of correspondence proved Antonia hadn’t lied. She had found another Hale—only better because, with Nathan, there were no past mistakes or burned bridges for Yancey to overcome.

And her parents agreed.

After erring by accepting Joseph’s marriage proposal without thinking it all the way through, Yancey consulted her parents before signing up with the matrimonial company. Then she showed them Nathan’s biography and discussed her growing affection for him. So far, they all agreed that Nathan St. John seemed to be a wonderful match.

Yancey sighed and pulled the letter away from her chest to reread the last line.

Nope. Not too forward.

Not at all.

The sound of the office door opening set her heart to pounding. She didn’t want anyone intruding on this moment, but she dared not ignore whoever it was.

Yancey turned her back to the customer, folded the letter along the crease marks, and stuffed it back into the envelope. Smiling because at least she’d had a few moments of quiet to read the letter in its entirety, she turned around to greet the intruder. “Isaak?” Surprise made her voice squeak. “What are you doing here?”

“Hiding. If you’ll let me.” He pointed at the wall behind the counter between the office and the depot.

It was ridiculous that a man of Isaak’s size thought he could hide by keeping his back against the wall. The only people who’d be unable to see him were those who didn’t come inside or who didn’t glance through the office windows overlooking the platform. He was six feet, five inches tall, with broad shoulders topped by the second-handsomest face in all of Helena, Montana. Only his twin, Jakob, was better-looking. Yancey had always been partial to the younger-by-five-minutes Gunderson brother, which was why she hadn’t quite forgiven Isaak for upstaging Jakob’s dramatic marriage proposal to Miss Zoe de Fleur yesterday morning.

In front of the family’s burning business, no less.

Yancey stuffed Nathan’s letter inside her skirt pocket. “Be my guest. May I ask from whom you are hiding?”

A blush filled Isaak’s cheeks as he scuttled through the narrow opening at the end of the wooden counter into the employees-only area of the telegraph office.

Her mouth fell open as realization struck her. “You’re going after Zoe, aren’t you? And you don’t want her to see you until she’s on the train.”

He nodded. “I have Jakob’s blessing, just so you know.”

She wasn’t completely surprised. Jakob’s attentions to Zoe were like Fourth of July fireworks—a big, showy blaze that quickly faded into wisps of smoke. As a mail-order bride herself, Yancey had taken Jakob to task for his inattention, but she’d somehow missed that Isaak had quietly fallen in love with the dark-haired Frenchwoman. As Yancey was forming the words to ask if Isaak thought Zoe would welcome his attentions after she’d publicly rejected his marriage proposal—and Jakob’s—a very different concern usurped her train of thought. “What about your mayoral campaign?”

Isaak scratched his jaw. “That was the other reason I wanted to get here early. We need to talk.” He slid to the edge of the wall and craned his neck to peek around the corner through the glass-windowed doors into the depot. He then looked at the three large windows on the adjacent wall overlooking the train platform, a frown drawing his lips into a tight line.

“Would you like me to lower the blinds so no one can see us in here?” Yancey kept a tight rein on the humor attempting to bubble over at the high-and-mighty Isaak Gunderson skulking around like a schoolboy. He’d never skulked even when he was a schoolboy.

“That would be great.” He scooted along the wall until Yancey could pass him.

She lowered each shade, the yellowed canvas casting a golden light onto the hardwood floors. Only the luggage porters observed her. She smiled and waved at them as she pulled down the last blind. “I’ll stand here”—she pointed to a spot where she could observe the doors leading to the depot—“and let you know if anyone is approaching.”

“Great.” But after that pronouncement, he remained silent. He took off his black bowler and stared down at it.

Yancey had never seen Isaak Gunderson at a loss for words. And she’d known him her whole life. They’d practically grown up as siblings. At any other time, she would have teased him, but something inside warned her to keep silent. To wait until he was ready to speak.

“I . . . uh . . .” Hesitating? She barely recognized this Isaak. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Of course.”

He looked up, his unique eyes—a combination of moss green with brown flecks near the iris—boring into her. “Don’t be too quick to agree. This isn’t going to be easy for you, Yance.”

“You only use my nickname when you’re trying to butter me up, but I have to tell you”—she shook her index finger at him—“I’m immune to your charms.”

His lips twitched into something resembling a grin. “This is about Hale.”

Her chest constricted. It had been almost an entire year since she decided to put aside her infatuation with the man, but—whenever his name came up unexpectedly—she still reacted. Bothersome yet true. She cleared her throat and kept her face impassive. “What about him?”

Isaak tossed his bowler on the countertop. “Before I tell you, I need your word that you’ll keep this quiet.”

“Of course.” If she had a dime for all the secrets she’d kept over the years, she’d be as wealthy as Mrs. Hollenbeck.

“I’ve talked Hale into running for mayor.”

Her natural enthusiasm that someone of Hale’s caliber would agree to run vied with her misgivings about his ability to campaign. The man hated crowds. “How on earth did you manage that?”

“Told him he was the only man who could defeat Harold Kendrick. Helena deserves better than that crook, and Hale knows it.” Isaak shifted his weight from his left foot to his right. “Winning is going to be an uphill battle for him, even with Uncle Jonas in his corner.”

“Hale’s not good with people.”

Isaak shook his head. “I disagree. He’s great with people as long as there aren’t more than four or five of them to deal with at a time.”

Yancey chuckled her agreement. “Do you remember last year at the Independence Day picnic? He arrived at noon sharp, stayed only long enough to eat and hear Mayor Kendrick speak, then took off the moment the official festivities were over. He probably spoke to a grand total of five people the whole time.”

Isaak gave her another of his piercing glares. “No. I can’t say I follow Hale’s every movement with such ... enthusiasm.”

“It’s not like I was watching him the entire time.” Just forty-five out of the sixty minutes. How embarrassing.

“I need you to promise me”—Isaak pointed his index finger at her, then curled it into his fist, pulling his hand close to his chest—“I’d like you to promise me that you’ll continue to help with the campaign launch a week from tomorrow and the July fourth barbecue—”

“—which I still think needs to be . . . something grander.” She ducked her head so he wouldn’t see the heat climbing into her cheeks. She’d entreated him to ask Zoe to cater a full-scale dinner, but with the future between him and the French chef so uncertain, she didn’t want to rub salt into his wounded heart by mentioning it again. “Kendrick does a barbecue. Hale needs to set himself apart.”

“I don’t disagree.” Isaak spread his hands, palms up. “But I have no more say in this campaign. You’ll need to talk Hale into it.” He took a deep breath. “Can you promise me that you’ll continue to help with the campaign without being enthusiastic about working with Hale?”

Yancey placed her hands on her hips. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve not chased after Hale Adams since last July.”

“But you did admit to me back in March that you intended to break your engagement to Joseph Hendry because he wasn’t Hale.” Isaak lowered his chin and raised his eyebrows. “And that no other man has ever made you feel the way he does.”

Yes, but that was early in her correspondence with Nathan. Soon after, their letters lengthened, deepened in substance, and made her heart soar. Hale may have been the first to make her feel like her feet left the ground at the mere mention of his name, but he was no longer the only one.

How grateful she was that falling for Nathan had gotten her over Hale.

Mostly.

But she was determined to transfer every bit of her hopes and dreams to Nathan St. John as soon as possible. It was difficult to fall hopelessly in love with a man without ever having met him face-to-face, but it sounded like he might send for her soon so they could begin the sixty-day courtship in Denver.

She hoped so. Oh, how she hoped so.

Isaak tugged at his shirt collar. “So? Will you promise to help Hale get elected until I get back? If I get back, that is.”

Yancey dropped her hands to her sides and took a step closer to her friend. “What do you mean, ‘if you get back’?”

He looked at the floor, but he was so tall, Yancey could still see his face. He sniffed and swiped his right hand under his nose. “I don’t know if she’ll have me.”

Sympathy replaced every bit of ire she retained on Jakob’s behalf over losing Zoe de Fleur. “You really love her? Don’t you?”

Isaak nodded before raising his eyes. “I never understood it, Yance. How you could pursue Hale with such single-mindedness. Not until now.”

Having someone as no-nonsense as Isaak Gunderson validate her devotion to Hale was too little, too late, but tears of gratitude stung her eyes. “Thank you.”

“And now that I get it, I understand how difficult it will be for you to work with Hale without pursuing him. I’m not asking you to stop for always. I’m just asking you to stop from now until November. No tricks, no trying to make him jealous, and no stratagems until the election is over. After that”—Isaak raised his hands as though surrendering—“you can be as enthusiastic as you want.”

The train whistle blew, announcing its imminent departure.

“Look, Yance.” Isaak picked up his bowler. “I know I’m doing the right thing going after Zoe.”

Yancey shot a glance at the shades she’d lowered. “Even though you’re trying to sneak out of town without anyone noticing?” Her lips twitched. “You’re hard to miss, Isaak.”

He put his hat on his head. “My parents and Jakob have agreed to say I’m taking a trip to replace what was lost when the store burned.”

“A rather clever way to make people think you mean inventory instead of Zoe.”

Isaak pressed his hat lower with the palm of his hand. “I don’t want anyone knowing Hale has taken my place until he announces it himself tomorrow.”

The train whistle blew its second warning.

Isaak inched closer to the corner of the wall. “I hate tossing the campaign to Hale then leaving town for who knows how long.” He snuck a peek through the doors leading to the depot before returning his attention to her. “Please help with the kickoff next week and the Independence Day picnic. After that—if it’s too hard—stop working on the campaign. Can you at least promise me that much?”

She reached inside her skirt to touch Nathan’s letter. “I promise.”

Later that day, across town

Hale Adams checked his pocket watch again. Four in the afternoon. After three hours of heated debate, the votes between Anaconda and Helena—the two cities vying to be Montana’s capitol if it ever became a state—were still tied. None of the arguments, finger pointing, or pleas had swayed a single person to break rank and vote for a rival city.

At this rate, Montana would never become a state because they couldn’t decide on a capitol city. Everyone crammed inside the sweltering room knew it.

Time to make his motion.

Hale stood and walked down the center aisle of the courtroom. City Hall only had offices and two courtrooms, one of which had been converted into a makeshift meeting room today. He reached the bar, pushing open the polished wooden gate to stand in front. “Gentlemen!” He had to shout his greeting three more times before the room quieted enough for him to speak in a normal tone of voice. “Can we all agree that statehood is our goal?”

Several nods and a few shouts of assent.

“Excellent.” Hale turned his head left and right to make sure he had the attention of Harold Kendrick, Marcus Daly, and William Clark, the three men whose opinions every other man followed. They were seated behind the plaintiff’s and defendant’s tables, their chairs facing the bench seats filled with delegates.

Hale looked down at his notes, not because he needed to remember what he’d written but to draw everyone’s attention. Uncle Jonas—who was sitting in the back row as an observer because his duties as territorial judge made his attendance too sporadic for him to be a delegate—had taught Hale the power of a dramatic pause when he was a young lawyer. He’d used the technique multiple times with great success.

The room quieted.

He lifted his head to find every eye on him. Kendrick and Clark glared like jealous schoolgirls watching a prettier girl flirt with a boy. Neither of them had been able to command so much attention. Daly looked like he always did—respectful and respectable—as he waited for Hale to speak.

He pushed his glasses back in place with a finger. “As we delegates are deadlocked, I move that we defer the selection of Montana’s capitol. I have researched the legality of a delay, and it’s entirely lawful. Once we achieve statehood, we can hold an election, and the good people of Montana can vote for whichever city they prefer to be their capitol.”

Silence. Then the room erupted with applause.

“Hear, hear!” The shouts echoed around the room.

“I second the motion,” was heard from different corners of the crowd as several men raised their hands.

Harold Kendrick pounded his gavel on the plaintiff’s table. As mayor of Helena—for the time being anyway—he was hosting this latest round of debates. Kendrick scowled at William Clark, the foremost advocate of Anaconda for state capitol and the only occupant of the room more corrupt than Kendrick. “Well, Clark? Do you second?”

William Clark scratched his salt-and-pepper beard as he swept his gaze over the men—likely gauging their interest in the motion—before he said, “I second.”

After the secretary nodded to show he’d recorded who’d moved and who’d seconded the motion, Kendrick called for a vote by show of hands. When a slew of hands went up, he changed his wording. “Looks like we have a majority, but let’s be sure. All those opposed, show of hands.”

Five hands went up.

Kendrick counted them out loud. “Of our thirty delegates, we have twenty-five for delaying selection of the capitol city until after statehood and five against. Anyone dispute my numbers?”

No one voiced any objection.

“Then”—Kendrick pounded his gavel with shattering force—“motion passed. Our thanks to Mr. Hale Adams for the brilliant suggestion. You should be a politician, Son. You’d make an excellent one.” The last was a barb intended for Uncle Jonas, who had lost the mayoral election to Kendrick four years ago.

Hale thanked the mayor for his endorsement anyway. Too bad he couldn’t announce his candidacy for mayor on the heels of it, but there was an order to things. He needed to talk to several people—not the least of whom were his aunt and uncle—before the general populace knew he was running. However, Kendrick’s demeaning use of son needed to be countered. Hale gave the mayor a polite smile. “I’m glad you think so, Harold.”

Kendrick’s skin turned pink, then red.

Satisfied he’d made the impression he’d intended, Hale tucked his notes under his arm and returned to his seat. The meeting adjourned a few minutes later. He searched for his uncle while making his way through the delegates but didn’t see him. He headed straight for Uncle Jonas and Aunt Lily’s house, where his uncle—who had badgered Hale for almost four years about running for mayor—would gloat and say, I told you so, a number of times.

Couldn’t be helped.

Hale stuffed his notes inside his leather satchel as he walked outside. Even though City Hall was a good mile away from the charred remains of The Resale Co., the scent of burned wood carried on the breeze. Thin clouds stretched across the sky like cotton pulled into wisps. No rain in the near future, unfortunately. The city could use a good dousing to get the smoky smell out of the air.

Hale lowered his gaze to the boardwalk a few feet in front of him so people wanting to chatter wouldn’t interrupt him. He reached his aunt and uncle’s house quickly.

He loved this house ... or had come to love it in the last five years. Aunt Lily always had cookies or cake on hand for whoever dropped by, and Uncle Jonas—when he was in town—dispensed wise, fatherly advice. Ten years ago, when Hale’s world fell apart, he barely knew his mother’s elder brother and wife. Now they were dearer to him than his own parents.

After a couple of knocks, he opened the door. The scent of baking bread greeted him. “Hello? Anyone home?”

Aunt Lily’s voice came from the back of the house. “Is that you, Hale? I’m in the kitchen.”

Hale closed the front door behind him. He took off his hat and coat and hung them on the stand before strolling through the dining room toward the kitchen. This was the type of house he was looking to buy. Big enough to hold a family but not ostentatious. Tastefully decorated with comfortable, quality furniture. And filled with memories of holidays, meals shared with friends, and good conversation.

Uncle Jonas once said that while it was the husband’s job to provide a house, a wise one allowed his wife to make it her home. Hale had plenty of money saved so his future wife could determine which house within his budget she wanted to turn into her home.

A decision that seemed to be drawing closer.

Smiling, he pushed open the door to the kitchen. The delicious bread smell was strong. “Mm. What are you baking?”

Aunt Lily held up a crescent-shaped roll. “It’s a croissant. Zoe taught me how to make them when she . . .” Aunt Lily turned her head and wiped at her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a watering pot, but I’m still upset about Zoe leaving town this morning after yesterday’s . . . events.”

Hale changed the subject to give her something else to think about. “Are these the rolls Mrs. Hollenbeck can’t stop raving about? The ones you served at her welcome-home breakfast?” He picked up a still-warm croissant and took a bite. “Mm. Heavenly.”

The compliment worked as he hoped it would. Aunt Lily turned back toward him with a tentative smile and nodded. “I’m glad you like them.”

“Hale?” Uncle Jonas walked into the kitchen. “I was just about to tell your aunt about the meeting. Why don’t you go ahead.”

Mouth filled with flaky, buttery goodness, Hale turned to his aunt for help.

“Give the boy a moment to finish his bite, darling.” She picked up another croissant and handed it to her husband. “Here. Now go on out to the dining room. I’ll bring coffee in a few minutes.”

Uncle Jonas winked at her. “You are a ruby beyond price, my dear.”

“And don’t you forget it.” She placed two more croissants on a china plate and held it out. When Uncle Jonas took it from her, she waggled her hands at him and Hale. “Now run along, boys.”

Laughter and loneliness vied for the same space inside Hale’s chest at the loving banter. This was the kind of marriage he wanted, one in which a husband and wife teased and laughed and enjoyed each other. He hated that he might have to put his own happy ending on hold—yet again—because of someone else’s actions. Isaak, however, had a much better reason than Yancey Palmer ever had. Hale swallowed down his bitterness. Why, after all these years, did her interference in his courtship of her sister still bother him? Luanne was now married to a fine man, and—in retrospect—Hale understood that his pursuit of her was more about wanting a home than wanting Luanne. He liked to think he would have come to the conclusion they weren’t suited before he proposed marriage, but he never got the chance.

Because of Yancey Palmer.

Had that been the end of her meddling, he’d have forgiven her. But no. She made it clear to every eligible woman in Helena under the age of thirty that Hale was hers. No woman would have him for fear of going against her.

Well, he’d figured out a way around that.

News for later in the conversation. Hale swung open the door between the kitchen and dining room. “Actually, if you don’t mind, there’s something else I need to discuss with both of you.”

Uncle Jonas’s smile faded. “That sounds serious.”

“It is, but it’s a good serious.” Hale glanced at his aunt to gauge her reaction. She held both hands to her chest. Hale reached out to touch her shoulder. “I promise. It’s . . . it’s about my future plans.” He tipped his head toward the dining room. “Shall we?”

Aunt Lily lowered her hands and smoothed her apron. She eyed him as she passed by. “You’re sure everything is all right?”

“Yes.”

After piling three more croissants on the plate he held, Uncle Jonas winked at Hale on his way past. “A bit of sustenance while we talk.”

Grinning because he was about to suggest the same thing, Hale followed his uncle into the dining room. He waited for his aunt to set out three china plates and then for her and Uncle Jonas to sit before beginning. “I have three things to tell you. Which would you like to hear first—personal, professional, or political?”

The older couple stared at each other for a full second—a silent conversation passing between them—before Uncle Jonas leaned against the back of his chair. “As it appears you’ve already thought about what you want to tell us enough to apply alliteration, why don’t you go in the order that makes the most sense to you.”

Hale’s lips twitched. “. . .