The Sweetest Mail Order Bride (Sweet Creek Brides Book 1) Read Free Page B

for one minute.
    “You two have done enough damage for the day.” He did his best to not sound too harsh. “Not another word from the two of you. Do you hear?”
    “But, Pa, what about Mrs. Clementine?” Gracie’s enthusiasm dimmed. Her brightness faded.
    “Yeah, Pa. I bet she’ll make a real good ma.”
    “That’s enough.” He said it gently, because he knew how the girls felt about getting a mother. They’d been talking about it, wishing for it, trying to match him up with every unmarried woman in town—even the sixty-year-old spinster.
    Gracie sighed.
    Hope sighed.
    Neither of them said another word. He snapped the reins, sending his horse, Ed down the road and around the parked buggies and wagons full of mothers picking up their children. It was hard to miss the wistful looks on the girls’ faces as they saw all those mothers.
    He had to be practical. That was the best thing for the girls in the long run. They couldn’t keep setting their hearts on something that was never going to happen. Life wasn’t about daydreams, and love couldn’t be wished to life like in a fairy-tale. He’d protect them if he could, but life was hard. Love was even harder.
    “One more thing. You know I’m not going to marry Miss Parks. You’re not to bother her again. Do you understand?”
    Two little girls nodded. Two little girls joined hands, together in their misery.
    They were hurting, he knew. He didn’t see another way around it. He was a confirmed widower—never to try the rocky road of marriage again. Once had been enough. His girls had to learn to be more realistic. He just didn’t know how to help them.
    So he took them straight home.
    * * *
    “I’m sorry.” The shopkeeper behind the counter shook his head stoically. “We aren’t hiring just now. Maybe you want to try next door.”
    “I will. Thank you.” Hiding her disappointment, Clementine made her way around the pickle barrel to the mercantile’s front door. She felt the curious eyes of the women shoppers standing in line, perhaps wondering who she was. She kept her head down and stepped outside.
    We had to save Mrs. Clementine.
Little Hope’s words came back to her as she stepped out onto the boardwalk, making her smile. That was just the sweetest thing, wasn’t it? It was hard not to adore those girls.
    Setting her chin, she made her way to the tailor shop next door. A stern, exacting looking man in a perfectly fitted black suit looked up from his sewing behind a wooden counter.
    “Are you by chance hiring?” she asked.
    “What skills do you have?” The rather dead-looking man pressed his lips together until they disappeared.
    Clementine wasn’t sure if she’d ever seen anyone that pale before. “Well, I know how to keep books. My father was a tanner and I helped him with the accounts.”
    “I’m not interested. I keep my own books.”
    “I see. Well, I am a fine seamstress. I used to work as one.”
    “Did you make your dress?” He eyed the outfit she wore. Nothing fancy—she could see by his expression that he thought so too.
    “I did.” She wished her best calico dress she’d put on to meet Caleb and the girls didn’t have a patch on the skirt. “I do excellent needlework, I can baste faster than anyone and make perfect buttonholes.”
    “I could use someone doing piecework for me, but I am not looking to hire a woman.” The way he looked down his skinny, pale nose at her, it was clear he meant she did not meet his rather high fashion standards.
    Let down, she nodded cordially. “Thank you for your time.”
    Well, that was another no. She’d just keep going until she found a yes. She stepped out onto the boardwalk and breathed in the warm summer air.
    “Hello, there.” A woman somewhere in her twenties, near to Clementine’s own age, came to a stop in the walkway. “Am I wrong, or did I see you walking with Dr. Blake earlier?”
    “He was only showing me to the boardinghouse,” Clementine hedged, knowing how fast