Bride By Arrangement
Mail-Order MatchmakingNewly minted Cowboy Creek sheriff Noah Burgess doesn’t want a wife—despite his friends insisting that he needs one. So when they send for a big-city single mother to be his mail-order bride, he’s fit to be tied. Even if vivacious Grace Longstreet might just be the only person who can see past Noah's scars…and help him heal.Grace needs a husband to keep her and her twin daughters out of her brother-in-law’s grasp. And she’ll do anything—including taking on her cousin’s identity—to find one. But as the attraction between Grace and the lawman sparks higher, she begins hoping for a real marriage. So she needs to tell the truth…or a mail-order match that’s meant to be could crumble.Cowboy Creek: Bringing mail-order brides, and new beginnings, to a Kansas boom town
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Mail-Order Matchmaking
Newly minted Cowboy Creek sheriff Noah Burgess doesnât want a wifeâdespite his friends insisting that he needs one. So when they send for a big-city single mother to be his mail-order bride, heâs fit to be tied. Even if vivacious Grace Longstreet might just be the only person who can see past Noahâs scars...and help him heal.
Grace needs a husband to keep her and her twin daughters out of her brother-in-lawâs grasp. And sheâll do anythingâincluding taking on her cousinâs identityâto find one. But as the attraction between Grace and the lawman sparks higher, she begins hoping for a real marriage. So she needs to tell the truth...or a mail-order match thatâs meant to be could crumble.
âIâm afraid youâve come all the way out here from...â
âChicago.â
âChicago.â Of course. Lots of wealthy industrialists in that fine city. Was there a shortage of acceptable men her age? Both sides of the war had lost significant numbers.
With the rush of adrenaline fading, he began to notice details about her. Miss Longstreet wasnât a classic beauty. Her features were too interesting. Slightly playful. It was the eyebrows, he decided. Sweeping over large, expressive eyes, the dark slashes formed a natural arch and were set in perpetual inquisitiveness.
No, it wasnât the brows. It was her unusually shaped mouth. Soft and pink, the top lip curved in a smooth arc above the full lower one. A tiny freckle hovered above it on the right. Definitely intriguing.
He blinked those thoughts away. Intriguing or not, the city girl wasnât staying.
Folding his arms across his chest, he delivered a glare that made most townsfolk quiver in their boots. âThe trip was a waste, Miss Longstreet. I am not, nor will I ever be, in the market for a bride.â
* * *
Cowboy Creek: Bringing mail-order brides, and new beginnings, to a Kansas boomtown
Want Ad WeddingâCheryl St.John, April 2016
Special Delivery BabyâSherri Shackelford, May 2016 Bride by ArrangementâKaren Kirst, June 2016
KAREN KIRST was born and raised in East Tennessee near the Great Smoky Mountains. A lifelong lover of books, it wasnât until after college that she had the grand idea to write one herself. Now she divides her time between being a wife, homeschooling mom and romance writer. Her favorite pastimes are reading, visiting tearooms and watching romantic comedies.
Let nothing be done through selfish ambition or conceit, but in lowliness of mind let each esteem others better than himself.
âPhilippians 2:3
To Elen Matuszkovaâeven though thousands of miles separate us, youâre still close to my heart. We love and miss you.
Many thanks to editor Elizabeth Mazer for choosing to work with me again. Itâs been a pleasure. And to my fellow authors in this continuity, Cheryl St.John and Sherri Shackelford. Iâve enjoyed working with you both.
Contents
Cowboy Creek, Kansas
June 1868
Noah Burgess wasnât cut out to be sheriff. Heâd worn the badge less than three days and had already failed the town heâd helped found. Seemed one simple taskârounding up the Murdoch brothers and their band of outlaws, men whoâd managed to relieve the bank of its gold and end Sheriff Davisâs lifeâwas beyond him.
Muscles stiff from long hours in the saddle, his shirt clinging to his sticky, sweat-slicked skin, he welcomed the sight of his homestead rising up from the sea of prairie grass. The steadfast sun painted everything in a butter-yellow haze. The one-and-a-half-story cabin wasnât grand or vast like his friendsâ houses. In fact, with its awkward roofline and porch awning dissecting the front facade, the home heâd designed and constructed was somewhat of an eyesore.
Unlike Daniel Gardner and Will Canfield, his best friends and cofounders of Cowboy Creek, he didnât plan on taking a wife and filling his home with offspring. His cabin may not impress folks, but it was practical. Kept him warm during the brutal prairie winters and cool enough during the summer months. Kept the rain and snow out. What critters managed to breach its walls the cat took care of.
Heâd done a better job with the barn. Granted, heâd gone a tad overboard. The structure was large enough to house five wagons abreast and ten deep. Straight ahead, stately cottonwoods lining the creek bank blocked the frequent breezes sweeping across the undulating plains. Above him, a hawkâs cry sliced the air, the birdâs broad wings outstretched as it dipped and peaked searching for a meal.
