Brides of Iowa Read Free

fine citizens you’re concerned about, and we both know it. You think if you take enough business away from me, I’ll be forced to sell out and then you can charge whatever prices you want. You don’t just want to own Maxwell’s Mercantile. You want to own the town. Well, let me tell you, Kilgore, if I ever plan to sell, it won’t be to you, seeing as how you probably sent my father to a premature grave.” Gideon jerked his head in the direction of the entrance. “There’s the door. Use it.”
    Kilgore laughed, but no mirth filled the sound. “I’m a patient man … for now. In another few months you’ll be singing a different tune.” He withdrew the cigar from his mouth and flicked the ashes on the floor. “Don’t wait too long though, Maxwell. I make a practice of getting what I go after, and I just might lower my offer. Remember, I can buy and sell you ten times over if I want to.” An arrogant smirk filled the man’s face. He took a long draw on the cheroot and blew the smoke in Gideon’s direction before sauntering toward the door.
    Ordinarily Kilgore’s barbs found their mark and Gideon chewed on the crust of the man’s arrogance all day. But today was different. Maybe because the distracting picture of young Tessa Langford at her mother’s grave stuck in his head.

Chapter 2
    T essa fought her way through the grogginess. As she struggled to sit up, the ragged edges of sleep fell away, and she realized two things: It was daylight, and she didn’t know where she was.
    Needles of panic pricked her stomach. Her glance skittered around the simple furnishings in the room, from the clean, white curtain on the window to the closed door. Like pieces of a puzzle coming together, Tessa extracted a sense of time and place. She remembered now. That nice lady who ran the boardinghouse tried to get her to eat something and then invited her to lie down and rest.
    Along with the understanding of her surroundings came the resurgence of grief. The ache blew through her like a searing-hot prairie wind, and a sob escaped her tight throat.
    She almost didn’t hear the soft tap on the door. The boardinghouse lady poked her head in. The woman reminded Tessa of a schoolmarm with her severely pinned, iron-gray hair and creases around her eyes. Tessa guessed the woman either laughed a lot or frowned a lot.
    “I thought I heard you crying, poor thing.” The woman came into the room. Tessa’s dress hung over her arm. “You were so exhausted I didn’t have the heart to wake you last night for supper. You needed to sleep.”
    Last night? Supper? Bright sunlight streamed in the window.
    The woman draped the dress across the foot of the bed. “I hope you don’t mind, but I washed out your dress. There’s fresh water in the pitcher, dear, and I saved you some breakfast.”
    Confusion fought with grief for first place in Tessa’s mind. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be stupid, but what time is it?”
    The woman lifted the dainty watch pinned to her bodice. “It’s almost ten thirty. You take your time freshening up.” A soft smile deepened the creases in her face as she turned to leave.
    Tessa scrambled from the bed and realized she was wearing only her chemise. She snatched up the dress and held it in front of her. “Uh, Mrs.… uh, ma’am, how long have I been here?”
    “I’m Pearl Dunnigan, dear. We met yesterday, but I don’t blame you for not remembering. After the funeral, you swallowed a few sips of tea before you collapsed on that bed, and you’ve been asleep ever since.”
    Tessa gasped. Papa would be furious. Heedless of Mrs. Dunnigan standing there, she lowered the dress and stepped into it. “Mrs. Dunnigan, I’m so sorry. I had no right to stay here. I told the preacher I had no money—”
    Mrs. Dunnigan held her hand up. “It’s perfectly all right, dear. You needed a quiet place to rest. Now come and eat something.”
    “But my father will—”
    The woman’s expression changed from sunny