“He’s gone, Noah. Your brother’s gone. He’s left.” Letter to Reader About the Author Title Page Dedication CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN CHAPTER FOURTEEN CHAPTER FIFTEEN CHAPTER SIXTEEN CHAPTER SEVENTEEN CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Copyright
“He’s gone, Noah. Your brother’s gone. He’s left.”
“What are you talking about? What do you mean, he’s gone?”
“This.” Abby fumbled in her skirt pocket and took out a balled-up sheet of lined paper. “This!” she cried.
Noah opened the crumpled paper and scanned the few lines on the page. “I’m so sorry, Abby,” he read. “I wish I could have faced up to it, but I just can’t marry you....” The letter was signed simply Jesse.
Noah swore. His brain was spinning. Left her! The stupid, useless son of a bitch had left her. High and dry Alone. Pregnant. With no one to turn to—except him.
“Come on,” he said, leaning down and taking her by the arm. She staggered to her feet “Come inside and let’s talk this over.” Noah cleared his throat “You got any money? Enough to go home?”
“I can’t go home again, I just can’t,” she said, shuddering. “And I quit my job. Who’s going to hire a teacher with a baby on the way? No husband? Maybe...maybe I could start over. somewhere else....” She buried her head in her hands and her shoulders shook.
He glanced at her. “I have one idea,” he said. “You could marry me.”
Dear Reader,
Every baby ought to be welcomed and loved, but certainly every conception isn’t planned—all women know that!
Still, when it happens, expected or unexpected, a woman’s life is never the same again.
Usually the expectant mother has the love and support of a good man. When she doesn’t, she hopes she can count on the love and support of her family. That’s looking on the brightest side. Too often, the single mother is shunned by her community and her family. When she has no man to stand by her, either, where does she turn?
American Abby Steen finds herself in that situation when she moves to Canada, pregnant and alone. Glory rancher Noah Winslow has no plans to marry—ever. But how can he turn his back on a woman in trouble? Especially when it’s his brother who’s responsible for the whole mess?
I hope you enjoy this new story in my MEN OF GLORY series set in Alberta ranch country. I know you’ll recognize some of the townspeople, and the ranch and farm folk, too.
Judith Bowen
P.S. I’d love to hear what you think of Noah and Abby’s story. Drop me a line at P.O. Box 2333, Point Roberts, WA 98281-2333
His Brother’s Bride
Judith Bowen
For Paula
An Editor in a Hundred
CHAPTER ONE
Carlisle, Minnesota
November
WHAT IN HEAVEN’S NAME had happened to her friend? She’d gone to the ladies’ room nearly fifteen minutes ago.
Abby played with her empty glass and tried to ignore the curls of cigarette smoke that floated lazily in the overheated air. The atmosphere in the bar was thick with sweat and sawdust and booze and hormones belonging to both sexes. Plus the music. She could hardly hear herself think.
She wasn’t used to this. The one gin and tonic she’d had was making her feel dizzy. That, and the music. As soon as Marguerite returned from the ladies’ she was going to ask if they could leave.
Abby felt thoroughly uncomfortable sitting by herself at a table along the wall. She hoped no one would think she was looking for company. From time to time she glanced around quickly, trying not to meet anyone’s eyes. If her father could see her now. If the good folks in Wicoigon. South Dakota, could see her now. Mavis and Perry and the well-meaning Viola Palmerston, the town librarian, the widow who’d had been so helpful to her when Frank died.
Damn. There was a big cowboy at the bar who she swore kept watching her. It gave her the creeps. She didn’t dare look any closer. Besides, without her glasses on, what could she see, anyway? That had been an exercise in vanity, leaving her glasses at the motel room, thinking she looked better without them. Who would care?
“Another one, ma’am?” The waiter paused briefly, his tray loaded with beer glasses, pitchers and a stack of flimsy foil ashtrays.
“No, thanks.” She shook her head, not sure the waiter could hear her in the din. She was getting out of here. If her so-called friend didn’t show in another two. minutes-Abby glanced at her watch—she was leaving without her. Trust Marguerite to go off with someone else, or sit down at another table.
Abby would just take a taxi to the motel. Tomorrow was a busy day for Wicoigon Jersey Farm at the stock show, and she could use the sleep. Her father would never forgive her if she blew this fair. He lived and breathed Wicoigon Jerseys, and if he hadn’t had a bad fall last week, he’d be here at the agricultural exhibition himself, showing the family company’s top young bulls and heifers with Pepper and Will.
But he wasn’t. Abby was in charge on her own. Pepper and Will, both eighteen, her niece