Bride for Colton Read online

  RNWMP: Bride for Colton

  Mail Order Mounties: Ontario

  Cassie Hayes

  Contents

  About This Book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Epilogue

  Also by Cassie Hayes

  About the Author

  About This Book

  What happens when a lie turns into love?

  Honor was never a high priority for the thieves and charlatans Gemma Spurling was raised with. When she’s finally old enough to break free of her mother’s control, dear ol’ Mum has other ideas. Just one more swindle, she says, but Gemma knows it will never stop. The only way to live the honorable life she truly wants is to escape Ottawa forever. The trouble is she has no friends, no prospects and no money, so she turns to Mountie matchmaker extraordinaire Miss Hazel Hughes for help.

  Some might say Colton Leeds is naive. He prefers to think he’s trusting. Having grown up in a small town where nobody lies — and don’t try to tell him otherwise — Colton believes in absolutes. Right and wrong, good and evil, and nothing in between. As a newly minted Mountie, he can’t wait to arrive at his first posting and bring all wrongdoers to justice. But first he and his fellow Mounties must stop at the home of Miss Hazel to find wives to take with them into the great white Ontario wilderness.

  The moment Gemma meets Colton in Miss Hazel’s parlor, she knows she’s found the perfect pigeon. She just needs to fool him into thinking she’s the perfect wife until she can figure out a way to strike out on her own. But it doesn’t take long for Gemma to realize life with Colton was the life she’d dreamed of all along. When an evil man from her past threatens to tear down everything she’s built, Gemma must choose between her life with Colton and her honor.

  We hope you are enjoying the Mail Order Mounties Series. All of the books are works of fiction, and the stories completely created by the authors of the series.

  While we have done our best to be historically accurate, there are certain pieces of history we’ve had to take “creative license” with to help make our stories come alive. In truth, it wouldn’t have been likely for a member of the Royal North West Mounted Police to have a mail order bride, and in many cases, wouldn’t have lived in such close proximity to other members.

  However, for the purposes of our stories, we wanted to create a world that showcased the history of Canada during the early 1900s while also bringing you stories that would combine the talents of the authors involved.

  Chapter 1

  “You’ll report to Mrs. Hannigan, our head housekeeper, tomorrow morning at six sharp. Not a minute later. We don’t tolerate tardiness here at the Ottawa Grand Hotel. Is that understood, Miss Spurling?”

  Mr. Albury, the stodgy manager of one of the most exclusive hotels in Ottawa, rose from his seat and edged his ponderous frame around his small desk to open the door of his little office. He stood with his back ramrod straight as he peered down his bulbous nose at Gemma. As tall as he was, and as small as she was, it was a wonder he didn’t strain a muscle in his neck keeping his head held high. But Gemma didn’t care how he looked at her, just as long as he hired her.

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Albury,” Gemma said, smiling up at the man as she stood and extended her hand.

  He appeared bemused for a moment — as if no woman had ever offered to shake hands with him before — then deigned to take her hand. Her firm grip must have surprised him even more, because his rheumy eyes widened slightly, and Gemma thought she spotted one side of his thin-lipped mouth tweak upward.

  Mr. Albury was all business, and she knew from the moment they'd met he would respond to professionalism and confidence. Of course, she was careful to temper her boldness so he wouldn’t misconstrue it as insolence. No one wanted to hire an insolent maid, least of all a man like him.

  “Very good, Miss Spurling. It was a pleasure to meet you. I trust you can find your way out.”

  Without waiting to discover her answer, he nudged her out the door and closed it behind her. The click of a door latch had never sounded sweeter to Gemma. It meant he had no doubt about hiring her, and that knowledge lifted a lifetime of regret from her shoulders. The only problem was that his trust was misplaced — she had no clue how to find her way out of the bowels of the massive hotel.

  No matter. What better way to familiarize herself with her new home than wandering around until she had a feel for it? The structure undoubtedly had innumerable hidden hallways and rooms, but there was no better way to discover them all than by exploring. Excitement bubbled up inside Gemma until she feared she might actually shout with happiness. But that wouldn’t do, not at all.

  So she kept a firm grip on her emotions, though it felt like a taut wire ran through her, and walked at a normal pace, though she felt like running. Finally, she could live life on her own terms, and she didn’t have to lie or cheat to do it. This new way of living was going to take some getting used to, but she’d longed for this moment for so long she couldn’t remember not wanting it. Not to be a maid, specifically, but to live honorably.

  “Excuse me, miss. Can I help you find something?”

  Gemma spun around to find a lovely young woman in a maid uniform peering at her from around a corner. Her vibrant red hair was pulled back into a tight bun under a pert white mop-cap. One of her soon-to-be coworkers, and her open features and happy smile told Gemma she would be forthcoming about working at the Grand Hotel.

  “Hi, I’m Gemma. Mr. Albury just hired me to be a maid, and now I’m trying to find my way out.”

  She laughed at her own daftness as she shook the maid’s limp hand. Gemma instantly loosened her grip so the other woman wouldn’t feel intimidated or uncomfortable.

  “Oh! Good to meet you. I’m Colleen Hennessy. When do you start?”

  “Bright and early tomorrow morning,” Gemma answered cheerily, matching Colleen’s temperament. “But first I have to go home and pack up all my belongings. And before I can do that, I have to find out how to get out of this place.”

  “Oh!” Colleen gasped. “I’m sorry, you said that already. Follow me.”

  Colleen led her down a maze of dim hallways, chatting the entire way. Gemma appreciated that because she always learned so much more about people when she didn’t have to ask a bunch of questions.

  “I’d lose my head if it wasn’t attached to my neck,” Colleen sighed. “I’ve just been a little distracted lately.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, my mother is pressuring me to become a nun. You see, my sister was supposed to join the sisterhood, but she got cold feet at the last minute. Miss Hazel helped her find a Mountie to marry, and now they’re the picture of wedded bliss.” Colleen paused to sigh dramatically. “If Mam doesn’t let up, I’m going to go have a talk with Miss Hazel myself.

  “Who’s Miss Hazel?” Gemma normally wouldn’t care about such life dramas, but she felt for the other woman. Gemma knew firsthand how difficult it could be to defy a dominant mother.

  “Oh!” Colleen exclaimed again. Gemma suspected she’d hear it often in the future from the scatterbrained girl. “Miss Hazel Hughes? She’s a wonderful old lady who matches would-be brides with handsome Mounties all over Canada. She has quite a knack for it if my sister and her husband are any indication.”

  She asked Gemma if she knew the street the woman lived on, which almost made Gemma snort. She knew all the areas of Ottawa — especially the poorest and the richest, and the neighborhood this Hazel woman lived in was the latter —but it might appear suspicious to sa
y so. She settled for a noncommittal grunt.

  “Well, hopefully I won’t have to worry about it, now that I have a respectable job here,” Colleen added as she rounded yet another corner. At the end of that hallway, though, stood the ornate door Gemma had entered through earlier.

  “Your mother must be proud,” Gemma said, wondering what that might feel like.

  Colleen sighed, then shrugged. “She thinks I’m too old to be a maid. She’s taken to calling me ‘Old Maid’.”

  Gemma winced. “You don’t look that much older than me.”

  “I’m twenty-six. How old are you? You don’t look old enough to be a maid here. Maybe a kitchen maid.”

  “I’m eighteen,” Gemma replied, trying not to feel insulted. “Everyone thinks I’m younger than I am.”

  Colleen laughed. “Well, enjoy it. That’s so much better than them thinking you’re older than you are.”

  Gemma had her doubts about that, but kept her opinion on the matter to herself. She thanked her new friend and headed across town to her dingy boarding house with a bounce in her step. The proprietress was stern and cold, but fair. Gemma had been helping in her kitchen and performing some cleaning duties in exchange for a free room. She’d be doing the same work at the hotel — only a lot more of it — but now she’d be paid honest wages for honest work, and she would receive free room and board. The situation was ideal. So far in her miserable eighteen years, this was undoubtedly the best day of her life.

  Gemma’s mood crashed when she recognized the figure loitering at the bottom of the boarding house’s front steps. Her feet hurt, and all she wanted to do was sit in her room for a bit, reveling in her success, then pack up her meager belongings. Now she had to deal with this. She paused half a block away, wondering if she could escape before she was spotted.

  She couldn’t.

  “Gemma, love!” The shout rang up and down the street, drawing curious gazes from passersby. Accents weren’t unusual in the cosmopolitan city of Ottawa, but thick Cockney ones were less common — especially such loud ones.

  Gemma sighed, then took a deep, bracing breath before moving forward. “What are you doing here, Mum?”

  “Now what kinda hallo is dat for your poor ol’ mum? Give us a kiss!”

  Bronwen Spurling pulled her daughter into an awkward embrace and kissed both of her cheeks before Gemma could object. Releasing her, Bronwen gave her a sharp-eyed once-over.

  “What’s different about ya?”

  Gemma huffed. “I got a real job, that’s what. You should try it sometime.”

  She tried to push past but Bronwen blocked her path. “Darlin’, you think I haven’t had me fair share o’ jobs? Where you working?”

  Gemma rolled her shoulders back with pride. “The Grand Hotel. As a maid.”

  Bronwen raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Done a job or two there in my time.”

  “I’m sure,” Gemma said with a sniff, which her mother ignored.

  “Speaking o’ jobs, I got one for us,” Bronwen murmured, smiling while glancing around for eavesdroppers. “Sundry shop o’er on Elm Street. Owner’s a pigeon if I ever seen one.”

  “I told you weeks ago, I’m done with all that.” Gemma tried to move around her mother again, but again she was blocked.

  “Dearie, don’t pretend ya ain’t hard up for money. Me too.”

  “That’s your problem. I have a job now.”

  Bronwen’s piercing stare had always made the soles of Gemma’s feet itch, now more so than ever. Dropping her gaze, Gemma watched the toes of her scuffed shoes like a scolded child.

  “Tell ya what,” Bronwen said softly, easing close in to Gemma so only she could hear. “I’ll break my rule and share the profits with ya, fifty-fifty. Even split. Then I swear I’ll leave ya be, just like ya asked.”

  Gemma knew from years of painful experience that her mother never kept her word, not even to her only daughter. She’d keep coming back, no matter what she said. When she caught the scent of a mark, she tracked him down like a bloodhound after a fox. Nothing and no one — except perhaps the police — could stand in her way.

  “Mum, don’t you think I’m too old for this? No one will believe I’m a little girl anymore.”

  “Pish! Ya don’t look a day o’er thirteen. C’mon, do it for ye ol’ mum. Just one more time.”

  Bronwen wore the most motherly of smiles, but a chill rippled down Gemma’s spine at the spark of determination in her mother’s eye. Gemma would have to stand her ground for her mother to go away for good, but she found it almost impossible to summon the courage. Almost.

  Closing her eyes, Gemma curled her hands into tight little fists. “No.”

  Silence hung between them until she dared to peek open one eye. Her mother stood there stunned, but anger grew in the depths of her dark brown eyes. Finally, the shock wore off, and when she spoke, her voice quavered.

  “What did you just say to me?”

  The same old childish fear streaked through Gemma, but she stood firm. “I said no. I’m done with all of that. I have a good job now, and I’m going to build a respectable life for myself.”

  Bronwen’s upper lip quivered as she latched onto Gemma’s upper arm and drew her close. Her hot, stinking breath forced Gemma to turn her face away, but she couldn’t escape it — just as it appeared she couldn’t escape her past.

  “Listen to me, little chippie,” Bronwen hissed, “you’ll do as I say or I’ll march right down to that fancy hotel and tell ‘em what ya really are. Then I’ll find the nearest constable and tell him.”

  Bronwen had been forceful for as long as Gemma had lived with her, but she’d never stooped to threats. Worse, she clearly meant to keep her word. For the first time ever.

  “But you’d go to prison too,” Gemma balked, tears pricking at the back of her eyes.

  Bronwen shrugged. “So? Ain’t like it’d be my first time. But you…” She stroked a finger along Gemma’s cheek. “You never been. I made sure o’ dat. Far as I can tell, ya owe me.”

  The tears finally fell. Just when she thought she was finally free of the sordid life her mother had raised her in, Bronwen wanted to drag her back into it against her will.

  “But—“

  “No buts about it, dearie. Do this job and I’ll keep my trap shut. For now. Otherwise, you’ll get sacked before ya even start. Prolly have to go call on the brothels just to stop from starving, cuz no respectable place will have ya. Now stop yer bawling and get movin’.”

  Bronwen ushered Gemma down the street as she tried to find a way out of this mess. But her mother was right. If Mr. Albury — prim and proper as he was — caught so much as a whiff of scandal surrounding Gemma, she’d be out before she could plead her case. Word would spread fast, and before she knew it, she’d be blacklisted and she’d never find a legitimate position. Once again, she had no choice.

  Gemma barely listened as her mother filled her in on the details of their latest mark. Her mind raced, and a flicker of an idea sparked, but Bronwen’s prattling scattered it before it could catch. Something to do with the young woman she’d met at the hotel. What was her name again?

  “…And just do like we always done. Trip o’er a basket or somethin’ and howl like a banshee. I’ll come runnin’ in and cry o’er my poor, hurt wee girl…”

  Colleen! That was her name. But by then Gemma had lost the thread of her thought.

  “It’s not going to work, Mum. I’m too old.”

  “Shaddup and get going.” Bronwen gave her a hard shove, her tone allowing for no argument.

  Each step along the rough boardwalk seemed harder than the last, but before she knew it, Gemma stood inside the little shop. A kindly old man stood behind the counter, placing balls of wool into a basket. He looked up and smiled.

  “Afternoon, little miss. Can I help you?”

  Nearly in a daze, Gemma walked into the room, hating herself for what she was about to do. Instinct took over and she glanced about until she found the perfect s
pot — a sewing machine stood out in the aisle a little too far. One ‘accidental’ trip and she’d fall head first into a nearby table. She could picture herself writhing around on the floor holding her head and crying for her mama.

  “Are you lost, hon? Where’s your mother?”

  Her mother. The evil witch was right outside the door, waiting for Gemma to start screaming, but she couldn’t very well tell him that. This nice old man who only wanted to make sure she was safe and cared for. She hadn’t been either of those things since she was a little girl.

  As Gemma approached her target, her gaze landed on a poster tacked to the wall behind the counter. A handsome man in a uniform stood proudly with his hand raised to his stiff-brimmed hat in salute. Maintain the right! Join the Royal North West Mounted Police was printed in bold, black letters at the bottom.

  Gemma stopped short of the sewing machine that would lead to this poor man paying off her mother after shouted threats of police and lawsuits. She stared at the recruitment poster and the idea that had sparked earlier burst into a blazing wildfire. She beamed at the man behind the counter, happier and more afraid than she’d ever been in her life.

  “Do you have a back door?”

  He looked puzzled for a moment, then pointed to a door. Gemma strode purposefully through it without looking back. Hopefully her mother would wait for a few more minutes, at least. That should give her enough time to reach the house of one Hazel Hughes.

  “Keep your eye on the pea, follow the pea.”

  The man crouching behind a crate smiled at Colton and shuffled three walnut shells around the top of the crate. His hands moved so quickly that Colton had a hard time following the one that hid the pea, but he had a quick eye and he was smart. The Mounties didn’t recruit dolts.