A Bride For Clay (The Proxy Brides Book 2) Read online

  A Bride for Clay

  The Proxy Brides Book 2

  By Marianne Spitzer

  © September 2018

  This book is a work of fiction. All the names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, events, locations, or organizations is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced without the written consent of the author.

  Acknowledgments

  There are many people I would like to thank for their help and understanding while I wrote this book, but first and foremost, I want to thank God for all His blessings. I also wish to thank my family and friends for their patience and understanding when I disappear into my writing world especially my son, Lance, for his unwavering support. Last, but by no means least, I would like to thank my loyal readers who read my books and leave reviews. I couldn’t do this without you. You’re the best.

  The cover was created by the talented Virginia McKevitt. You can find her on Facebook at Virginia McKevitt, Author.

  Chapter One

  Wyoming Territory 1870

  Mid-morning May sunshine filtered through a few of the barn slats as Clay Hutchison spoke quietly to the horses to calm them. The night’s previous storm had left two of them a bit skittish. He rubbed the forehead of the last horse and pushed out through the barn doors into the bright sunlight. He squinted at the figure moving down the lane toward their ranch.

  He called to his brother, Wade, working in the corral, “Buggy’s coming. Looks like Doc Weldon.”

  “Why is Doc here? I thought grandpa was feeling better,” Wade replied slapping his dusty work gloves on his thighs before following Clay to the front of the house.

  “Not sure, let’s ask,” Clay mumbled while he walked up to the doctor’s buggy. “Is something wrong, Doc?”

  Doc raised his hand in greeting before climbing out of the buggy. “Not that I know of. I told Hutch I’d stop by sometime to see how he’s doing.”

  “His cough is better,” Clay offered. “I’ll water your horse while you visit grandpa.”

  “Thanks, Clay. I shouldn’t be too long,” the kindly old doctor said as he climbed the stairs to the front porch. He was met by Cora, the housekeeper, who invited him into the house while the two men stood and wondered why Doc would visit when their grandfather wasn’t ailing as bad as the week before.

  Wade shrugged and returned to the corral while Clay cared for the doctor’s horse.

  Fifteen minutes later, Doc appeared and said he needed to hurry to another call but stopped long enough to tell Clay to make sure his grandpa got a lot of rest and no stress. Clay scratched his head as he watched Doc leave wondering what was so crucial that he had to rush off. He always stayed for some of Cora’s pie and coffee. He intended to find out but was stopped at the door by Cora. “Your grandfather is asleep. Best be quiet and let him rest. I think he’ll be awake for the noon meal.”

  Clay strode to the corral and waved at Wade. “Come here. We need to talk.”

  “What? Did Doc say something about grandpa?”

  “Just that he needs more rest and less stress. Cora wouldn’t let me in. Said he was sleeping,” Clay explained.

  “What? She can’t do that.” Wade’s temper flared. “She’s just a cook and housekeeper.”

  Clay grabbed his arm before he could storm off to the house. “You know better than that, Wade. She’s cared for grandpa and us since ma and pa died. She’s more than a cook and housekeeper.”

  “Yeah, I suppose,” Wade grumbled, “but I still don’t like it.”

  The men were still discussing the matter when a second buggy appeared coming down the lane. “Who is that now?” Wade wondered aloud.

  Clay answered, “It’s Mr. Williams.”

  “Why would grandpa’s lawyer be here on a Saturday morning? Let’s find out.”

  Clay followed Wade, and the two of them met the buggy in front of the house. Before Wade could say a word, Clay offered, “Grandpa is asleep, Mr. Williams. Doc says he needs more rest.”

  “Exactly why I’m here young man,” the aging lawyer answered as he did his best to climb down from the buggy gracefully.

  Clay was going to ask what he meant but was interrupted by Cora when she opened the front door. “Come in, Mr. Williams. Mr. Hutch is waiting for you.”

  Wade and Clay exchanged confused glances and sat on the porch determined to get answers as soon as the lawyer left. They waited for more than an hour.

  Mr. Williams rushed past them and didn’t offer any more information than they already knew. Wade stormed into the house determined to get some answers. If their grandfather was relapsing, he intended to find out and right then.

  He held up a hand, “Don’t try and stop me, Cora. I am going to see grandpa,” Wade insisted.

  Cora waved the wooden spoon she was holding. “Don’t be insolent, Wade Hutchison. You need to learn respect.”

  “Get out of my way,” Wade spat and barged past the normally good-natured housekeeper.

  Clay shook his head and asked Cora to make some coffee. “I’ll make sure Wade doesn’t upset grandpa.” Cora just nodded and left the parlor.

  Clay found Wade standing at the foot of their grandfather’s bed. “He wants us to think he’s sleeping, but I know he isn’t. He’s breathing too hard.”

  Grandpa Hutchison opened his eyes and glared at his grandson. “I was resting. Both of you sit down and listen to me.”

  Clay and Wade obeyed and pulled two chairs close to the bedside.

  Grandpa cleared his throat, and another coughing spell wracked his body, but he drank water from the glass on the bedside table and lay back against his pillows.

  “You boys know I started this ranch before your pa was born. Your grandma bless her soul, and I always planned to leave it to your pa someday. Neither one of us could imagine the tragedy that would strike this family. Losing your folks when the river flooded was the hardest day of our lives and to lose your grandma to the fever just a year later nearly did me in. Now, I need to make plans before my time comes.”

  Clay jumped to his feet. “Don’t talk like that, Grandpa. Doc said you had pneumonia and would recover. Did he tell you something different today?”

  Grandpa motioned for Clay to sit back down.

  “Yeah,” Wade interjected. “Did he say you were dying? What about the ranch? One of us needs it so we can continue what you started. I’m the oldest. Tell me, I’m going to inherit the ranch and take over.”

  Grandpa shook his head listening to his greedy grandson insist he inherit the ranch. He shook his head again and took another sip of water.

  “I changed my will today. Here is what will happen when I pass over. First, neither of you can inherit anything unless you’re married to a respectable girl that will help you continue on with this ranch.”

  “Humph,” Wade mumbled. “Married, where are we supposed to find respectable women?”

  “That’s your problem,” Grandpa Hutchison continued. “Remember I said respectable. No soiled doves and don’t try to marry an aging widow just to have a wife. I want great-grandchildren to inherit this ranch from you one day. I know neither of you seems to have the inclination to marry, so I will make this easy. The first to marry receives a seventy-five percent share and controlling interest in the ranch. The other will receive a twenty-five percent share and work as ranch foreman. The choice is yours. Marry and inherit or don’t marry and work for your brother.”

  Another coughing spasm hit grandpa, and he waved the two men from the room. Clay held back tears at the thought of losing his grandpa and Wade grumbled
about how he was going to find a wife first because he was not going to work for anyone especially not his younger brother. The ranch should be his, he is the oldest. Fury raged through his mind as he thought of ways to get a wife before Clay.

  Clay watched his brother stomp from the room and then heard the door to the office slam. “Grandpa, you can’t be serious. Where are we supposed to find wives? The women in town are either too young, too old, or not what you would consider respectable.”

  A slow smile spread across Grandpa’s face. “You both are smart young men. You will find a way.”

  “Grandpa, this is not a good idea. Wade won’t play fair. We both know we have to look elsewhere for a lady and I can’t imagine what Wade will do. His temper keeps any lady he meets from considering him. The sheriff arrested him twice for punching the ladies at Murf’s Saloon. If you force us to marry to inherit the ranch, I worry he may do something drastic.”

  Grandpa waved him off again. “I will make sure the lady he finds is respectable, and she will be under my protection.”

  “But, Grandpa, you sound as if you don’t plan to be here much longer. I certainly can’t keep Wade under control.”

  “Then make sure you marry first,” Grandpa insisted pulling the clean white sheet further up his chest. “You’re a smart young man. Use your head. Now, go, please. Doc said I need to rest.”

  Clay nodded and turned to look back at his grandfather’s face. Something about the old man’s eyes gave him away. “You’re not as sick as you’re letting us believe, are you? You just want us married and settled.”

  Grandpa’s smile broadened, and he answered, “My health is my concern. Now go and find a wife. I’m tired.” He rolled over on his side turning his back to Clay ending the conversation.

  Clay shrugged and left the room closing the door quietly. Where in the world was he going to find a wife?

  Chapter Two

  Clay sat on the front porch pondering what to do when Wade pushed through the door and nearly tripped in his rush. He had an envelope in one hand and a sheet of newspaper in the other.

  Clay stood and reached for the paper. “What are you reading?”

  Wade pulled it back so quickly all Clay could do was hang on to a small strip of the paper. “It’s none of your business,” Wade growled. “I think that old man has lost his mind.” He hopped off the porch and headed for the barn.

  Cora opened the door and told Clay it was time for lunch. He was busy studying the small strip of newspaper and didn’t hear her. She cleared her throat and asked what he was reading so intently.

  “Wade was holding a newspaper, and I reached for it. All I got was this bit, and I can’t make heads or tails out of what it means.” He held out the paper strip with the words “trimonial Times” still visible.

  Cora reached for it and laughed. “I saw this in the last paper on your grandpa’s desk. It’s part of the Matrimonial Times. I think your brother is sending for a mail-order bride.”

  “A mail-order bride. Whoever she is has no idea what she’s getting if she marries Wade. I suppose he’ll marry first. I can’t think of anyone near here, and I’m not riding to Cheyenne to ask strange women to marry me. I’ll be arrested. I hate losing the ranch to Wade.” Clay mumbled to himself but loud enough for Cora to hear.

  “Then find a way to marry first.”

  Clay turned to ask her how he was supposed to do that when an idea struck him. “That’s just what I’m gonna do.” He kissed her on the cheek and jumped off the porch just as Wade galloped past them on his way to town.

  “What about lunch?” Cora asked again.

  “Feed it to grandpa. He needs the strength. I have business to attend to,” Clay called as he jumped off the porch and headed for the barn and his horse. His brother was not going to beat him to the altar.

  Cora shook her head and walked back into the parlor to find grandpa standing in the middle of the parlor chuckling.

  “Did you hear all of that, Mr. Hutch? Those boys think your dying, and they’re going to kill each other trying to marry first. What exactly have you done?”

  “Nothing, it’ll all work out. Doc says I’ll be fit as a fiddle in a couple of weeks, but he did remind me that none of us are getting any younger. I didn’t change my will. Both boys inherit equally when my time comes. I just want them married and settled. I want a couple of great-grandchildren before I pass on. Is that too much to expect? Now, what did you make for lunch? I could eat half a steer. Doc says I don’t need to eat that broth you’ve been forcing down me for the last few weeks.” He spun on his heel like a man half his age and strode to the kitchen.

  ~ * ~

  Clay rode a fair distance behind Wade along the road into town, but Wade was far too angry to pay attention. Clay reined in his horse when he saw Wade jump off his horse, rush into the mercantile, and then cross the street to the saloon his horse plodding behind him.

  Smiling to himself, Clay spoke to his horse, “It looks like Wade just mailed his letter to the paper and has to fortify himself at the saloon. I have a much better idea. Let’s ride to Judge Clancy’s office.”

  Five minutes later, Clay stood outside the office of the Honorable Judge J.R. Clancy and knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” the gruff voice of the judge filtered through the door.

  Clay opened the door and stepped into an office that could only be described as organized chaos. Papers and books were strewn over three tables, and the judge’s desk appeared to match the tables. Judge Clancy sat behind the desk with his nose just inches from the paper he was reading. When he looked up, his bright blue eyes defied the age that had settled on his wrinkled face.

  “Clay Hutchison come in son. Don’t stand in the doorway. How the heck is your grandfather? I heard he was fighting pneumonia.”

  “I’m not sure, sir. That’s part of the reason I’m here.”

  “Grab a chair and sit.”

  Clay pulled a ladder-back chair from a nearby table and sat facing the judge. “I wish I knew how grandpa’s doing. He won’t tell us. Both the doc and his lawyer stopped by this morning, and then grandpa called us into his room and inferred he would die soon and told Wade and I we need to get married. He said the first to marry would inherit most of the ranch.”

  The judge leaned back and pulled a cigar from the box on his desk, lit it, drew in a deep breath, and blew smoke across the desk. “Well, that certainly sounds like something old Hutch would do. What brings you here? Do you think I can help you find a wife?”

  “Not find one but help me marry one.”

  “You found a young woman in town to marry? Where is she? I can perform a marriage right now.” The judge said drawing in another lungful of smoke.

  “She’s not actually here, sir. I read an article in the paper a month or so ago about a rancher in Montana that arranged for a bride to come from Europe. To protect the woman’s reputation on the long journey, he married her by proxy and then hired a companion to accompany her to this country. I need to know if one of these proxy marriages are legal if the woman is in this country and not Europe or is it only legal for marriages performed in Europe.”

  The judge laughed. “You intend to find a bride, marry her by proxy, and beat Wade to the inheritance. Yes, it can be done, but you must marry again upon her arrival here. Either the pastor or I can officiate to meet all legal obligations. You must have a proper reason. I suppose we can stretch the limits to say you cannot leave the ranch due to your grandfather’s health. After all, the old coot is the cause of all this. Smart move, Clay. The ranch would suffer if Wade ran it alone. How are you going to find a bride?”

  “Remember Mason Callen?”

  The judge nodded.

  “He finished school and is working at a small hotel in Chicago. I’m going to send a telegram telling him I need a proxy bride and then have him accompany her back here. He planned to return home this summer anyway.” Clay leaned back in the chair. “He’s my best friend. I trust him with my life, s
o I think I can trust him to find an acceptable wife.”

  “I hope you’re right. The rest of your life is a long time. You send your telegram, and I’ll write up the paperwork we need on this end,” the judge stated while making notes.

  Clay sprang to his feet and held out his hand. “Thank you, Judge Clancy. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear back from Mason.” The two men shook hands, and Clay hurried to the telegraph office.

  Pushing the door to the telegraph office open, Clay smiled thinking his plan would work far better than his brother’s. He approached the telegrapher and said, “Afternoon, Joe. These telegrams are strictly private, right? Not even a family member can find out about them?”

  Joe nodded vigorously, “You bet. I’d end up in jail if I shared even a bit of one with someone besides the sender or the recipient. You expecting one or wanting to send one?”

  “Send.”

  Joe nodded and handed Clay a blank form. “Fill this out, and I’ll send it right off.”

  Clay stared at the blank form for a moment and then wrote:

  Mason Callen

  Quincy Hotel

  Chicago, Illinois

  Urgent STOP Need to marry immediately STOP Arrange proxy marriage STOP Respectable woman your choice STOP Grandfather dying STOP Insists I marry STOP Inheritance contingent on marriage STOP

  Clay Hutchison

  Prairieville Wyoming

  Clay handed the form back to Joe, and Joe lifted his eyebrows but didn’t say a word. Clay paid for his telegram and heard the key clicking away as he left the office. He knew his telegram would reach Mason long before Wade’s ad would publish in the paper and knew he had the advantage. He knew the judge’s concern about life being long with the wrong woman wouldn’t be a concern. Mason knew him better than anyone and would find him the perfect bride.

  He placed his left foot into his horse’s stirrup and pulled himself onto his horse noticing that Wade’s horse still tied outside the saloon. Wade would be on his fourth or fifth whiskey by now and never know that Clay came to town much less that he had sent for a bride.