A Bride for Cameron Read online

  He realized he’d been unappreciative of Hannah and her efforts.

  Once they’d arrived home, the children ran into the house with Bessie. When he came around to help Hannah from the buggy, he kept hold of her hand.

  “Hannah, you did a remarkable job dressing the children today. They did, indeed, look adorable.”

  Hannah removed her hand from his grasp with a smile. “Thank you. I’ve become extremely fond of them.”

  “I was surprised to find myself enjoying the service. It was quite nice.”

  Hannah walked toward the house. “It was, wasn’t it? I think I’m going to love going every week. I always feel refreshed and excited about life after a good church service, don’t you?”

  Cameron remembered Bessie’s words—he had to loosen up. “Yes, I do feel rather refreshed, so much so, I wondered if we might take a buggy ride after dinner, just you and I. It would be nice to become better acquainted, don’t you think?”

  Chapter Eight

  After dinner, Hannah put Georgie down for a nap and gave Annabelle a school project to work on. She went into her bedroom to fix her hair and powder her nose.

  Hannah had been shocked by Cameron’s compliments. Perhaps the church service had been good for him. She had to be careful, though, for he was a good-looking man, and she didn’t want to become too fond of him. She still had strong reservations about him and his motives to become a senator. Of course, he’d married her to help win the election as well to be a mother for his beautiful children. If that was all he wanted, she could live with that. At her age, she’d never imagined becoming a mother, and he’d made that possible. She would devote her life to the children, and if their marriage helped him win the senate seat, all the better. It would keep him too busy to bother with her—the children would supply her with all the love she needed.

  She did wonder about his offer to ride in the buggy later, though. Did he really want to get better acquainted, or did he want her to do even more to help him out with the election?

  Cameron helped Hannah into the buggy before taking his place at the reins. “Isn’t it a lovely spring day?”

  “It certainly is,” she replied. “I love warm, sunny days.”

  “As do I,” he said as they sped down the lane to the main road.

  Hannah raised her voice to be heard over the rumble of the buggy. “Are we going anyplace in particular?”

  “Oh, yes. You can’t be a genuine Hunter’s Grove resident until you’ve been to Rainbow Falls.”

  “Is it far?” she asked. “I’d like to be home when Georgie wakes up, and I have Annabelle working on a project.”

  “It isn’t too far, just about two miles away.”

  He seemed to be staring at her rather than keeping his eyes on the road, which made her nervous. Finally, he asked, “You’re truly fond of the children, aren’t you?”

  Hannah smiled. “Yes. They are lovely children, and I enjoy their company. They invigorate me. Teaching them has given my life purpose.”

  They rode for a while without speaking until he pulled off the road and came around to help her from the buggy. “We’ve arrived.”

  Once on the ground, Hannah said, “I don’t see any falls.”

  “You will. It’s not a huge falls, but we’re proud of it, and it’s just around that large clump of trees. Come.” He took her gloved hand and led her around the trees.

  Hannah gasped. “Oh, it’s lovely! Why do they call it the Rainbow Falls?”

  “Come sit down,” Cam said, leading her to a large boulder near the water. He helped her up and they sat, staring at the falls. “How did the falls get its name? It’s a long story, passed from generation to generation, I heard the story from my friend, Joe. He claims that when the Indians first saw it, a rainbow was arched over the falls—it had probably been after a rain—and the name stuck.”

  The waterfall wasn’t large, but it was beautiful the way it came off the rocky ledge and fell to another ledge before merging with the water below.

  “Is this a river?” she asked.

  “No, just a large creek, but it is a run-off from the Smoky Hill River. I hear the fishing here is fantastic.”

  They sat in silence for quite a few minutes, but she watched him from the corner of her eye. Cameron seemed nervous.

  Finally, he spoke. “There’s something you should know...I hope it won’t affect our relationship,” he said.

  Hannah tried not to laugh or smile as she wondered what relationship it was they had.

  “I know you hate lies and dishonesty, and I need to come clean about something.”

  “Go on,” she said, as she steadied herself for what he had to confess.

  “The man who I defended in the murder trial... I think he might have been guilty, yet I got him off. He’s a free man. I’m not sure if I did the right thing.”

  “Let me get this straight,” she said, “because of you there is a murderer loose here in Hunter’s Grove?”

  “It’s likely,” he said with a grimace. “The prosecution had very little evidence to show he did the killing, and I had a few things that could show he didn’t do it."

  “Like what?”

  “Well, Wilson was out of town and arrived home on the stagecoach at nine-thirty. He had to walk home, and the undertaker claims Mr. Monroe was dead before he would have arrived. I’m fairly sure that’s the evidence that cleared Mr. Wilson.”

  “What makes you think it might have been Mr. Wilson, then?” she asked.

  “Well, Wilson walked the mile and a half carrying his suitcase. Here in Hunter’s Grove, if anyone were to pass a person walking, especially with a suitcase, they’d offer him a ride home. So, if that happened, Mr. Wilson could have arrived home earlier and found Mr. Monroe with his wife.”

  Hannah became intrigued with the story; she had always loved reading mysteries. “Did the prosecution try to find someone who might've stopped to give Wilson a ride home?”

  Cameron stroked his chin. “They couldn’t have found anyone since it was never mentioned during the trial.”

  “Did you try to find someone who might have given Wilson a ride?”

  “No. It was simply my job to defend the man.”

  “Oh.” Hannah brought both hands to her cheeks. “But isn’t that dishonest?”

  “I don’t think so. I was being paid to defend Wilson, not make it easier for the prosecution to find him guilty.”

  “Even if he was?” she asked.

  “That’s what’s bothering me. This was my first murder trial. When I’m talking to Wilson, I’m convinced he’s innocent. He’s a slightly-built man and extremely likeable. It’s when I’m not with him that I find myself doubting him. What I don’t understand is that I hear he is back home living with Mrs. Wilson. I find that odd.”

  Hannah gasped. “Wait—he found another man in a compromising situation with his wife, and he’s still living with her?”

  “Yes. Like nothing happened.”

  “That is curious. You’re a man, Cameron—what would you have done in Wilson’s place?”

  “Most of my close friends call me Cam. You may call me Cam, too.

  “As for me,” Cameron said, “in Wilson’s place, I’d definitely file for divorce and find another place to live.”

  Hannah shook her head. “That’s very strange. I love mysteries. Suppose we try to do some sleuthing to find out who did kill Mr. Monroe.”

  “Hmm.” Cam rubbed his chin again. “It would look strange for me, his lawyer, to be caught snooping around after I got him off.”

  “I could do it!” Hannah said. “I’d be very careful.”

  “How could you possibly do it without people knowing you were sleuthing... the wife of Wilson’s lawyer?”

  “Indirect sleuthing, of course.” Hannah’s mind whirled for ideas. “I know—neither Mrs. Wilson nor Mrs. Monroe attend our church. I could pay them a visit to invite them to a service.”

  “Why would you want to get involved?” he asked.


  “I love mysteries and detest unsolved ones.” She also knew it bothered Cam to think he let a murderer off. To her, it was a sign that he had some decency in him. Maybe he wasn’t such a cold, uncaring man, after all. If only he’d show more love to the children.

  “What about your sheriff? Didn’t he investigate at all?” she asked.

  Cameron laughed. “Stafford? He’s a lazy, good-for-nothing slug. He went through the motions but did very little. I’d love to see him replaced.”

  “What a shame.”

  Cameron made her jump slightly when he took her hand, as she hadn’t expected it. “Did I startle you?”

  “A little. I was daydreaming about how I’ll go about things. What do you know about Mrs. Monroe and Mrs. Wilson? Do you know why they don’t attend our church services?”

  “No, but I do recall discussing the case with Bessie who knows quite a bit about everyone in town, and she said she’d never met either of them.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Thank you for spending time with me. I really hope to know you better. We shall have to do this every Sunday evening.”

  He let go of her hand, and she said, “I’d be delighted.”

  Hannah had a difficult time falling asleep in bed that night. She kept running the murder scenario through her head. Something definitely was not right. Mrs. Wilson had to know who killed Monroe. It had happened in her bedroom, after all. No one slept that soundly.

  After breakfast, Hannah settled the children in the playroom and went in search of Bessie. She found her in the back room, doing laundry.

  “Need some help?” Hannah offered

  “Oh, my, no.” Bessie laughed. “I’m nearly done.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t mind helping.”

  Bessie looked up at Hannah for several minutes as if to judge her motive, then she smiled. “I need to hang these things on the clothesline. Grab that jar of clothespins.”

  Hannah followed Bessie out the back door, and Bessie hung the clothes while Hannah handed her the pins.

  “Bessie,” Hannah began casually, “have you ever met Mrs. Monroe or Mrs. Wilson?”

  “Mercy, no!”

  Her answer surprised Hannah. “Don’t they live in Hunter’s Grove?”

  “Oh, yes, but they aren’t the kind most in town would mix with, if you know what I mean.”

  Hannah handed her another clothespin. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not one to gossip, mind you,” Bessie said as she hung the last shirt, “but, it’s no secret that both women were um... employed at the... ah...”

  “Saloon?” Hannah offered

  “No, worse. There's a house at the far end of the main street where women do... um... favors for men in return for money. Wilson and Monroe frequented the place, and for some reason each of them married one of the women. Now, there is a shortage of single women here in town, so it’s not as uncommon for a customer to buy a woman from the owner and marry her.”

  Hannah’s mouth had fallen open during Bessie’s news, and she closed it promptly. “I had no inkling.”

  Bessie grabbed the jar of clothespins and motioned for Hannah to follow her into the house. “Mind you, now, I don’t judge others—that’s God’s job—but none of the decent people in town will mix with those two women, married or not.”

  Hannah reached out and grabbed Bessie’s arm, stopping her from entering the house. “God forgives people of their sins, right?”

  Bessie looked confused. “Well, of course.”

  “Then why don’t I invite those women to church.”

  Bessie gasped.

  “If anyone needs forgiving, Bessie, it’s those two.”

  Chapter Nine

  “I plan to take a ride out to see Mrs. Morgan and Mrs. Wilson and invite them to a service,” Hannah said firmly.

  Bessie stared at Hannah, speechless. “Hannah!” she cried. “You can’t do that. The church will empty like a sieve if those two walk in.”

  “Then they aren’t truly believers. Remember that Jesus forgave the adulteress?”

  Bessie shook her head. “Go ahead and invite them. I don’t think they’ll come, anyway.”

  That evening after dinner, before Cameron could run to his office, Hannah caught his arm. “May I have a word with you once the children are in tucked into bed?”

  Cameron nodded. “Sure. I’ll be in my office.”

  “No, you won’t,” Hannah said. “You agreed to the bedtime routine.”

  “Ah, I forgot.” He shrugged. “Lead the way.”

  “Wait—I shouldn’t have to remind you into seeing your own children tucked in for the night. Who tucked them in before I arrived?”

  Cameron waved her words off with his hand. “I’m a busy man and I often forget, is all.”

  Hannah gave him a frown before leading the way upstairs and to the children’s bedroom where Georgie was jumping on his bed, and Annabelle was reading a book.

  “Bedtime,” Hannah said.

  Georgie stopped jumping on the bed, and he crawled beneath his covers.

  Annabelle closed her book and slid beneath the quilt. “What book will you read tonight?” Annabelle asked.

  Hannah smiled up at Cameron. “I think it’s your father’s turn tonight.”

  She enjoyed the look of shock on Cameron’s face. After stuttering a few times, he finally said, “I’m not much of an out loud reader.”

  “It doesn’t have to be read. You could tell them a story instead.” Hannah clapped her hands. “Won’t that be a treat, children?”

  Cameron looked cornered. He sat down on the edge of Georgie’s bed. “A story, huh?”

  Cameron had just gotten to the point where he actually felt something for Hannah. She ran the house perfectly, cared for the children, taught them, and pretty much left him alone, but the trick she’d just pulled on him filled him with something close to loathing. She’d trapped him. Now, he had to tell the children a story. He raked his mind for one. His aunt had read him most of his stories when he was a child. He’d have to remember one of them.

  He cleared his throat. “There once were three goats, and they decided to build themselves houses. The first built his out of straw—” He stopped abruptly when Annabelle laughed.

  He raised his eyebrows in her direction. “What is it, Annabelle?”

  She giggled. “They were pigs, not goats.”

  Of course, they were pigs. What had he been thinking?

  “Very good, Annabelle. I was just testing to see if you were paying attention.”

  “So, the first pig built his house from straw, the second pig built his house out of sticks, and the third pig built his house out of bricks. Along came a nasty bear, and he wanted to eat the pigs so he—” Annabelle’s giggle stopped him again.

  “Now what, Annabelle?”

  “It wasn’t a bear, Father; it was a big wolf.”

  “It was a wolf come to think of it. It’s been years since my aunt told me the story.”

  Annabelle sat up. “Your aunt? Didn’t you have a mother and father?”

  “No, I didn’t. I lived with my aunt, and she raised me.”

  “What happened to your parents?” Annabelle asked.

  “My mother got sick and died when I was about Georgie’s age,” he told her.

  Georgie’s eyes widened.

  “My father’s heart was broken, I suppose, because he left me with my aunt and ran off.”

  Annabelle hopped from her bed and knelt before Cameron. “Oh, father, I’m so sorry.” Tears rolled down her cheeks.

  Cameron felt a lump form in his throat. He patted Annabelle’s head. “It’s all right, Annabelle. Aunt Mary was a kind woman. She was like a mother to me.”

  Annabelle wiped her tears. “Where is Aunt Mary?”

  “She became very sick and died.”

  “Oh,” Annabelle said, drawing out the word with compassion. “Well, now you have Mama, Georgie, and me. We’re your family, and we love you.” She jumped up and scam
pered back to her bed.

  Cameron felt touched by her sweet sympathy. “Since you’ve both heard my story already, I’ll bid you a good night.”

  Cameron started to stand, but Hannah pushed him gently back down. “First, we listen to their prayers, remember?”

  “My favorite part,” Cameron grumbled.

  Annabelle said, “I say the prayers for both of us since Georgie doesn’t know how yet.” She folded her hands, and Georgie imitated his sister. “Dear Lord, thank you for the day, and bless Mama, Father, and Bessie. Amen.”

  Hannah nudged Cameron. “Our goodnight kisses will give them good dreams.”

  Cameron went to kiss Georgie’s forehead, but Georgie pulled him down to give him a hug. Cameron pulled quickly away. “Goodnight, Georgie.”

  He kissed Annabelle’s forehead. “Goodnight, Annabelle.”

  “Goodnight, Father.”

  Hannah kissed and hugged both children, blew out the lamp, and backed out of the room with Cameron.

  When they reached Cameron’s office, he pointed to a settee across the room from his desk. “You wanted a word with me?” he said after they'd settled.

  “Had the children never heard about your family?” Hannah asked.

  “No, I thought them too young.”

  Hannah nodded. “Of course.

  “What I need to discuss is, I would like to take on a few outside projects, and I wondered if we could hire a nanny for the children for just four hours in the afternoon. I’d start Annabelle on her schoolwork, so nanny would really only have to care for Georgie.”

  “Outside projects?” he asked. “Like what?”

  “Oh, you know—church projects, mostly. It would give me the chance to meet more people in the community, as well as visit Mrs. Monroe and Mrs. Wilson.”

  Cameron rubbed his chin. “I don’t mind hiring a nanny or the church projects, but I’ve been thinking about your visits to those women, and I think it might be too dangerous.”

  “How could a simple visit be dangerous?” she asked.

  “Because the real killer—whether it is Wilson or someone else—might not like your poking around.”