A Mail Order Bride for Thanksgiving (Love by Mail #5)(5)

“It was, but people here are more tolerant now. Very much thanks to Mercy and her husband.” He pulled the reins, and urged Rusty forward. Betty instinctively straightened up in the saddle.

“Claire’s throwing daggers at me,” he half-whispered as an apology for the sudden movement.

She looked over her shoulder to see Claire nearly fall off her horse, trying to wave them over. Betty giggled as John led them back.

“Were you nervous about the horse?” John asked.

“I was more afraid I’d make a fool of myself.”

“You seem very capable…”

“…for a woman my size?” she blurted, only realizing what she had said once the words left her lips. She was so used to fending off the insults she didn’t even let him finish. “I mean… I – I was afraid I’d have a hard time climbing on top of Rusty.”

“I don’t think you’d have a hard time doing anything,” John said with a laugh. “Plus, I think you’re beautiful just the way you are.”

Betty blushed. “Really?”

John nodded, then extended a hand as she climbed down. “Trust me, all my life I’ve been judged by my looks.” When she dropped before him, he placed her hand on his chest. “What matters is always here.”

“All right, time to go!” Claire called, approaching them.

Betty blushed again and pulled her hand back. “Thank you for the ride,” she said, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the heartbeat she felt under her fingers a few moment earlier.

“You’re welcome.”

He gave her one last smile before Claire took her way, muttering about decency and shy lovers.





Chapter 3


Betty fidgeted in the yellow petticoat that Joy Briggs, the local fashion fanatic, had gifted her for the wedding. At first, she was afraid she wouldn’t fit in, but Joy got everything right. And although Joy had thrown in a corset, Betty left it at home. No way was she going to pass out on her own wedding day.

And what a lovely day it was. The ceremony itself was a blur as she barely held off the tears till they left the church. Everything turned out better than she had ever dreamed of. To think just a few short weeks earlier she despaired she would never find a husband. And John… He grabbed her heart at that faithful riding lesson, and squeezed it tighter with every meeting from there on.

Betty wiped a tear threatening to turn into another outpouring of joy with her handkerchief and turned to the guests streaming into the reception area in the garden behind the church. Half the town seemed to be present. She stood by the table at the end of the lawn surrounded by small lanterns hanging off strings. They stretched all around the edges and over the tables lighting the afternoon sky.

“They’re so beautiful,” she said to her husband as she sat down beside him. “Thank you.”

“Oh, don’t thank me, dear. Cole Beckett did most of the work,” John said, modest as always. He reached out with his hand, but then paused, looking like a deer caught in the open.

Betty bit the insides of her cheeks to stop from grinning widely. She took his hand. “Really, thank you.”

John rubbed the back of his neck. “The Becketts helped a lot. Even Joy Briggs…. Couldn’t have done this without them.”

Betty leaned forward, squeezing his hand. “Also, thank you for dealing with my mother’s questions after the wedding.”

John shrugged. “It’s normal, I like friendly questions like that and I was happy to finally meet your family.” He looked over her shoulder and tugged her hand. “And now, I want you to meet my family.”

They stood up as a group of people arrived. Betty held her breath. The music was still playing, the young and old men strumming on banjos and guitars, but many people had stopped what they were doing to watch. Who wouldn’t?

Dressed in what Betty could only assume was animal skin, four men and two women approached them, carrying live chickens, a fruit basket, and a goat. Betty gulped.

John greeted them in a different language, shaking hands and hugging.

“This is my wife, Betty.” He pulled her towards them. “Betty, this is my family.”

Betty’s eyes darted from person to person, taking in their sandy-colored clothes, moccasins, and brown, smiling faces. The older of the two women, who had her black hair tied in a bun, approached Betty and handed her the basket. “A gift,” she said, “for a year of fruitful blessings.”

“Auntie,” John said, “thank you.”

“Yes, th-thank you,” Betty stammered, her clammy hands gripping the basket, “Thank you, Ma’am.”

“No need to call me that. You are, after all, now a member of our family.”

“And this is my uncle,” John whispered, drawing her attention to a tall man with an impressive build. Though older, there wasn’t a single gray hair on his head adorned with a simple feathered band.

“It is good to finally meet you. You are now my child as much as John since his parents passed away,” he said, narrow eyes alight with interest. He, too, like his wife, had long hair he wore in a bun behind his head. “I am Wapasha, and this is my wife, Wichapi.”

The names breezed through Betty’s mind, but she smiled at the woman anyway.

“And this is Kohana,” John said, patting the shoulder of a muscled young man, who stood a head above all of them, “my younger cousin.”