Poppy: Bride of Alaska (American Mail-Order Bride 49) Read online

  Contents

  About This Book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Poppy

  Bride of Alaska

  American Mail-Order Brides Series #49

  Cassie Hayes

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  ABOUT THIS BOOK

  She wants a new life. He wants his old one back. They need each other to make it happen.

  Power, prestige, wealth. Life was good for Matthew Turner, until his family was swindled out of their fortune. Now he must hunt down the man responsible to recover his inheritance. When the trail leads to Sitka, Alaska, stone-broke Matthew resorts to signing on with a missionary group willing to pay his way.

  The only catch? He needs to be married.

  Poverty, hunger, abuse. Fiercely independent Poppy Adams is desperate to escape her old life but her only chance is to do the one thing she vowed to never do: Become a mail-order bride.

  Poppy knows better than to trust any man at his word, but there’s something about her new — gulp! — husband that threatens to break down her defenses. Matthew doesn’t want a wife, but he can’t resist being charmed by her no-nonsense manner and cerulean blue gaze.

  In order for them to have a future, however, they must first let go of the past.

  Poppy: Bride of Alaska is #49 in the unprecedented 50-book American Mail-Order Brides series.

  If you enjoyed reading this book, there are 49 more in the series! Find out about the rest of the American Mail-Order Brides at www.NewWesternRomance.com.

  Chapter 1

  Early December, 1890

  “Stop, Pa! You’re hurting me!”

  Poppy gasped for air, her chest so tight she could barely breathe, much less squeak out her plea.

  Still, her father’s drunk and enraged face loomed inches away from hers, showing no sign of mercy. Sharp points of pain burned her neck where his fingers dug in, shaking and choking her till she had no breath.

  Her fingernails raked across the flesh of his hands, desperately trying to pull them away so she could breathe, but his grip was too strong. His face grew blurry, twisting into a red mask of hate and fear and agony.

  Life was draining out of Poppy and all she could do was flap at his hands. Yet the red-faced monster wouldn’t stop shaking her. She felt herself pulling up and out of her brutalized body, floating away from the horror of her existence into the warmth of light. At twenty-two, her life was ending. But as much as she wanted to live, if only to save her mother from the same fate, the light beckoned to her and she was powerless to resist its call. All she had to do was reach out her hand and the pain would be gone forever…

  “Miss Adams, are you all right?”

  Poppy jerked awake, her heart pounding like the hooves of a hundred horses as she blinked in confusion. The whole world was shaking and rocking, loud clacking thrumming through her addled brain.

  “You were moaning in your sleep,” said the woman sitting next to her, concern etched on her features.

  “I—I’m fine,” she managed to choke out, her fingers fluttering to her neck where her father’s fingers had just been. A quick glance at her surroundings confirmed she was safe, on a train headed west, as far away from the man as she could possibly get.

  Tears pricked at her eyelids but she sniffed them back. When she left her hometown of Lawrence, Massachusetts, close to two weeks earlier, she’d vowed to never cry again. He was the reason she’d broken a vow made many years earlier; she wasn’t about to let him cause her to break another.

  Her fingers slipped into the small pocket Ma had sewn into the waistband of her rough cotton traveling skirt and stroked the small oval locket hidden there. It was nothing much to look at, and certainly held no real value, but it meant the world to her. It was just a cheap piece of jewelry that always seemed tarnished, but Poppy could never remember her mother without it.

  As a child, she loved to sit on Ma’s lap and open and close it, fascinated by the soft lock of auburn hair, the same color as her own, nestled inside. When asked about the original owner of the hair, Ma would only say it was from a lost loved one.

  “I ain’t got nothin’ to give you but this,” she told Poppy just before she boarded the train that would take her out of Lawrence forever, sliding the tarnished brass pendant into the palm of Poppy’s hand.

  That was the last time tears would ever flow from her dark blue eyes, saying goodbye to her beloved and broken mother. There was little doubt that this bittersweet farewell would be the last time they laid eyes on each other, and it was almost more than Poppy could bear. Leaving Ma alone with that monster made it worse, but worst of all was knowing that, only by doing so would Ma have some chance at surviving.

  A shudder ran deep through her body remembering the night, years earlier, that the chain belonging to the locket had broken. It had been so similar to her dream, only in reality, it was her mother who had been under her father’s hands. The fight had been about Poppy, as usual. She’d mouthed off to him again, but instead of letting her take another beating, Ma had stepped between her husband and her fourteen-year-old daughter.

  After Pa had meted out his warped sense of justice, he stumbled out of their dismal one-room flat to go beg another bottle of redeye off one of their neighbors in the tenement. Poppy tried to comfort her mother to no avail. Sobs wracked her bony frame, her tortured voice hoarse from the choking she’d endured.

  “My locket,” she rasped out over and over, crying hysterically and clutching at her neck. Only when Poppy found the necklace under the bed, did Ma stop crying. Ignoring the broken chain, she fell into a restless stupor with the dingy locket clasped tightly to her heart.

  It was that night when Poppy decided two things. First, she had to leave her childhood home, such as it was. Anger and hatred toward her father were growing like ugly weeds inside her heart, and no matter how hard she tried to keep her big mouth shut, she couldn’t resist trying to take him down a peg or two. Only, instead of simply slapping her a few times, as he’d done when she was younger, the beatings had become more violent, and more frequently doled out to her poor mother. Ma had suffered enough at his hands, and Poppy refused to be the cause of any more beatings.

  The second decision was much easier to make. Never would she fall into the trap that ensnared her sweet, caring, once-beautiful mother. Never would she blindly trust anyone without taking precautions to protect herself. Never would she allow herself to be dependent on anyone else for her survival. That night, listening to her mother labor to breathe through her swollen nose, Poppy Adams vowed to never marry.

  “So, Miss Adams,” said the woman next to her, startling her out of her reverie. “What takes you to Seattle?”

  Poppy’s jaw clenched, the words like glass in her mouth. “I’m getting married.”

  * ~ * ~ *

  Matthew Turner hated to wait. He’d endured months of waiting before receiving news of Vinchenko’s whereabouts. Then, despite thinking his quick departure from Boston was taking action, he only ended up waiting in Seattle. He was still waiting, but the incoming train would bring his ticket to finally leave ‘Soggy Seattle’ behind.
r />   An unsettling blend of excitement and anxiety swirled around in Matthew’s guts. By all accounts, the journey to Sitka, Alaska should be easy enough, even though leaving this late in the year meant that the weather in some spots might be rough, not to mention cold. But that wasn’t what worried him. What really bothered him was the very real possibility that, by the time he finally made it to Sitka, Vinchenko might have moved on. Then what would he do?

  You’ll track him until you find him, and then you’ll restore your family name. Father will be so proud.

  That calmed him some, but other thoughts intruded to make him even more anxious. What about this woman, Poppy Adams? She was the only one to respond to his advertisement in The Grooms’ Gazette, a matchmaking newspaper, and if she had expectations beyond what he was willing to offer…

  No, his ad was clear.

  In need of a wife in name only to travel to Sitka, Alaska. Appearance, wealth and status unimportant. Must have skills to support oneself. Independence guaranteed. Women looking for love and domesticity need not respond. Passage paid for the right match.

  If she had some hope that this marriage would be more than a cold, hard business transaction, she had only herself to blame. Yet without her, his plan would be put on hold indefinitely, and that wouldn’t do. He had to get to Sitka and he needed her to do it.

  Tugging her letter from the inside pocket of his once-fine suit, he reassured himself by re-reading it for the hundredth time.

  Sir,

  I believe I am the match you seek. Unlike other silly women my age, I sincerely believe romantic love is a myth. Even if I am wrong, I have no interest in it. I also have no interest in bearing children, keeping a home or depending on any man for my well-being.

  I am a hard worker, with references, and I have no doubt I will find suitable employment upon arrival. My current circumstances being what they are, I would ask for full passage and one month’s lodging, paid in advance to the landlord, to allow me time to secure an income.

  In return, I will forego my heretofore steadfast vow to never wed. I have little else to offer, but your advertisement indicated that was all you require. If you seek any of the comforts and privileges of a traditional marriage, you need not respond. If these terms are acceptable, I can leave Lawrence on a moment’s notice.

  Sincerely,

  Poppy Adams

  He’d known a great many women back in Boston, and not a single one of them was as level-headed and pragmatic as this Miss Adams seemed to be. Of course, it was perfectly possible that the woman was lying in her letter, but it had the unmistakable air of brutal honesty. He respected that.

  Confident that she wouldn’t expect more than he’d offered in his letter, Matthew leaned his long frame against a post on the platform with a sigh of relief. All would go as planned.

  So why couldn’t he stop fidgeting?

  The toe of his scuffed black shoe tapped a rapid beat as his gaze followed every woman walking near the station. Would his mail-order bride look more like the harried middle-aged matron herding three rambunctious boys through the muddy street or more like the lovely young woman beaming up at her beau as he helped her over puddles? Her letter offered no hints at her age or physical appearance. She could be a wealthy widow his mother’s age or a poor orphan closer to his twenty-seven years.

  Doesn’t matter, he chided himself. He was going to know her all of one day before he set off for Sitka aboard the steamship City of Topeka, leaving her behind to live her life as she saw fit. He was just anxious because he’d been stuck in this miserable mud puddle for four long months.

  And the day after tomorrow, I’ll be on my way, he thought as the train bearing Miss Adams screamed to a halt in front of him. The thought soothed his jangled nerves — for the most part.

  The platform turned into a scene of chaos as hordes of travelers poured out from the passenger cars. Families hugged newly arrived relatives, businessmen offered stout shakes and back-slaps to their associates, and ladies snuggled up to their men. Matthew scanned the crowd for a woman looking lost, as he imagined Miss Adams would feel. Spotting a tired, frightened woman alone in the world shouldn’t be that difficult.

  She must still be on the train, he mused because all the ladies on the platform were either with someone or moving with purpose, as if they knew exactly where they were headed. Not a single one ambled about, lost and helpless.

  A sour feeling settled in his stomach like a basketful of crabapples. What if she wasn’t on the train at all? All of this waiting, the expense of paying for her train ticket with what little funds he had left to his name, all the planning would be for nothing!

  “You Mr. Turner?”

  Startled out of his waking nightmare, Matthew spun to his left only to see the first person who’d disembarked. She’d made an impression by practically leaping out of the last passenger car and moving rapidly across the platform, clearly on a mission, before being swallowed up by the crowd.

  While he’d dismissed her as a candidate for his incoming bride, he hadn’t failed to notice her fine features and thick auburn hair twisted up in a disheveled bun. A perfectly pink Cupid’s bow mouth, set in a determined pout, sat under a pert little nose. Milky skin covered high, proud cheekbones, and nestled above them were the most vibrant blue eyes he’d ever had the pleasure of gazing into.

  The faded blue and white striped skirt and dark blue bodice she wore were hopelessly out of style, not to mention cheap, and if she was wearing a corset at all, it was much looser than fashion dictated. Of course maybe the poor, emaciated woman didn’t really need a corset to make her waist smaller — she looked as if she’d spent the better part of her life in a constant state of hunger. Only recently had he discovered what that particular malady felt like, and pity welled up inside him at the idea of enduring a lifetime of it.

  “Turner?” she asked again, her brow furrowing in the most fetching — and disorienting — way.

  She was a good foot or so shorter than him, a wisp of a thing, really, but her presence on the platform was larger than life. Several passing men turned to drink in her rare beauty, and that didn’t settle well with Matthew. Heat burned in his chest and cheeks as he glared down the nearest ogler, who quickly turned his head and scurried away.

  Naturally, he had no interest in Miss Adams romantically, but they would have to maintain the rouse long enough to fool old Mr. Horton, and a pack of drooling men following her around wouldn’t do. No, that wouldn’t do at all.

  “Miss Adams, I presume,” he said, willing his most charming smile to his lips. He’d used it many times to great effect back in Boston, but the thing that really got the ladies sighing was when he batted his impossibly long eyelashes at them. For the first time in memory, though, the object of said batting seemed completely unfazed.

  “I suppose you should call me Poppy,” she said, shoving a hand at him. By instinct, he took it as he would a man’s, and her callused grip was just as strong. Never in his life had a woman shaken his hand like that. It was unthinkable in better circles, but he could tell by her accent, not to mention clothing, that she came from different stock.

  If given half a chance, he would have done the gentlemanly thing and kissed the back of her hand but she’d taken him by surprise. As he returned her firm shake, he wondered what her warm skin would have felt like against his lips.

  Shoving the errant thought from his head, he said, “And you may call me Matthew. I have a justice of the peace waiting for us. Are you ready?”

  Poppy eyed him carefully, her keen gaze resting for a fraction of second too long on the worn edges of his shirt cuffs and the small hole on the left knee of his trousers. Matthew shifted under her scrutiny, clearing his throat pointedly.

  “Right down to business, huh? Just need to ask you a couple questions first,” she finally said. At his nod, she continued. “Why are you doing this?”

  Matthew rocked back on his heels. That was none of her business! Any warmth he’d been feeling toward
Miss Adams evaporated like so much steam.

  “The why of my situation is irrelevant. What you really want to know is if I will honor our agreement, and I will. In fact, I will guarantee you an annulment after my business in Sitka is concluded.”

  Her observant cerulean eyes narrowed into a squint.

  “And you won’t expect me to warm your bed, right?”

  Matthew flushed red at the suggestion. Again, no woman he’d ever met would dream of speaking to him so plainly. It was shocking and scandalous and…rather fascinating.

  “Of course not! You have my word, Miss…um, Poppy. This is purely a business proposition. I expect nothing from you except to sign our marriage certificate and to meet with the director of the YMCA, Mr. Horton.”

  This seemed to catch her off-guard, but she quickly recovered. “Good, because I grew up in a rough part of Lawrence, Massachusetts, and I know how to hurt a man in places he doesn’t want hurt. Understand?”

  Matthew’s loud bark expressed an unsettling mix of shock and amusement. It was almost a shame that he’d be leaving this little spitfire behind in Seattle. He had no doubt she could inflict the promised pain, and what he wouldn’t give to see Vinchenko writhing on the ground. But this journey was no place for a woman, even one as tough as Poppy Adams.

  “Perfectly.”

  Chapter 2

  Poppy cast a sidelong glance up at her groom as the justice of the peace droned on about the sanctity of marriage and how it’s “forever” and other such nonsense. Well, what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. There was no doubt in her mind that she would take her new husband — the word stuck in her throat like a chicken bone — up on his offer of an annulment once his business was finished, whatever that meant.