Mail Order Love (Sweet Mail Order Bride Historical Romance Novel) (Oregon Mail Order Brides) Read Free Page B

simple but hearty meals, big pots of stew that lasted for days. She hobbled around the house on her not-so-good legs and did what little cleaning and laundry she could manage in between naps. More often than not, Jared pitched in with some of the household tasks. Together, they kept everything going.
    Grammy still worked as a seamstress when she could, taking in sewing and mending from the folks who lived in and around the nearby town. Her eyes were not as good as they used to be, but her skills were such that she could almost sew blind by feel alone.
    Grammy also had a hobby that brought in extra income for the place. She bred Irish wolfhound puppies, the descendants of the dogs her husband had originally brought over from Ireland.
    The two of them had emigrated to America all those years ago, to escape the collapse of their business and the tough times in Ireland. It was the best decision they had ever made, and with a lot of hard work they had established themselves a prosperous and happy home. Irish wolfhounds had always been there with them. They represented a link back to their past.
    Noble and loving creatures, these dogs had the purest hearts and would die to protect their human family. They were in great demand around these parts as guard and farm dogs.
    People had to make an application if they wanted to buy one of the puppies. Grammy would check into their backgrounds through her gossip network and find out their circumstances. Only if Grammy was satisfied that the applicants would make good owners would the transaction take place. People would send their servants from miles away to come and collect a puppy by train.
    The wolfhounds possessed an uncanny ability to sniff out good from bad human spirits. Grammy adored the dogs, as did Jared.
    “Come here, my pet. Give Grammy a cuddle now.”
    One of the five soft wispy puppies reclining with Grammy on her sunlit bed bounded up to her floppily and batted her arms with his paws.
    His new dark gray fur, though wiry to look at, was silky to the touch. He had brown, button-like expressive eyes, dark ears that flopped down in two velvet triangles either side of his face, and a little white patch of fur on his chin.
    “Don’t spill my tea, you rascal! Come to Grammy, have a piece of my biscuit now, there’s a sweetheart.”
    Grammy smiled and relaxed back in her bed with a sigh, enjoying the late winter sun and a little more relaxation before starting back on her sewing. Grammy had seen a lot of hardship in her life but she wasn’t one to dwell on bad times. She had too many other things to think about and there was too much fun to be had.
    In a couple of days she would attend her weekly card game with the other local old folk. They met up mostly for a good chin wag, but they also liked to keep their noggins ticking over by challenging each other to a game of cards. No gambling, but Grammy didn’t refuse a glass of whiskey once a week to lubricate the brain matter.
    Grammy’s eyes followed the speck that was Jared. He moved through the sloping hills kicking up a big cloud of dust as he rode his horse. He herded up those cattle well with the help of his two dogs.
    Ah, he seems lost, that boy.
    On the face of it, Jared was doing well, but Grammy worried for him and his future. She had watched as he had withdrawn into himself after the death of his parents. He had become quiet, and only sometimes would his cheekier, happier nature come out again.
    He was working himself to the bone. He seemed content, and he was always gentle with a ready smile, but Grammy was the only one who knew how lost he felt inside.
    He needs young company. Not an old one like me, on my last legs. And not those rough farm hands he hires. He needs someone light and pretty and lovely to make him laugh.
    Grammy’s eyes drifted up from Jared to the sparkling blue sky where tiny violet-green swallows flitted and dropped. She watched them as they flew in arcs, curving through the air with perfect