Rustlers and Ribbons
Kirsten Osbourne
Rustlers and Ribbons
Kirsten Osbourne
Amelia C. Adams
Carra Copelin
Peggy L. Henderson
Margery Scott
Contents
Amelia C. Adams
A Distant Shore
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Amelia C. Adams
Carra Copelin
Mail Order M’Lady
Foreword
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Acknowledgments
About The Author
Also by Carra Copelin
Peggy L. Henderson
Mail Order Millennium
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Margery Scott
Mail Order Brides of Cold Water Creek
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Margery Scott
Kirsten Osbourne
Mail Order Marm
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
About the Author
Also by Kirsten Osbourne
A Distant Shore
A Kansas Crossroads Novelette
Amelia C. Adams

Copyright © 2018 by Amelia C. Adams
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Chapter One
England, 1901
Collette Barnard clutched the railing of the ship tightly as it pulled away from the dock in Liverpool. Her stomach churned, as did the water below her. She’d never been so far away from home, and now she was going even farther. It seemed there was no place left in the world for her, and that was truly a desolate feeling.
When she had first come to Lady Sybil Douglas’s English estate, she’d been grateful to receive a place as a seamstress, but Lady Douglas felt she had earned the right to work as a ladies’ maid, a much more respected role in a household. Now Collette worked for Mrs. Eugenia Reynolds, a displaced American woman who could not be pleased, and her husband, Mr. Harold Reynolds, who had decided to take up business pursuits in California.
California! It might as well be the very end of all creation. Collette wished she could stay at the Douglas estate—she’d been treated so kindly there, and she would gladly have been a chambermaid forever if it meant she didn’t have to make this horrible ocean voyage. But Lady Sybil said that America would hold a wonderful future for Collette, something much better than anything she could imagine, and Collette was holding on to that hope as surely as she held to the ship’s rail. Lady Sybil had taken this same voyage twenty-five years before, so she must know what she was talking about.
With a sigh, Collette straightened her shoulders and took a step back. It was time for her to unpack dresses and lay out jewelry, not to wallow in self-pity. It was time to find the humor in her situation. There always was some to be found, if one looked for it.
Days upon days on a ship that drifted with the currents and seemed not to care about the sick passengers on board. Two days in a stuffy New York hotel while they waited for their train, and Mrs. Reynolds complaining about every single thing for that entire expanse of time. Mr. Reynolds took long walks and did everything else he could to separate himself from his wife’s carping, but Collette had no escape. All she could do was smile, do what she was told, and say “Yes, ma’am” at regular intervals. She had to hide her amusement from time to time at the arguments she overheard between her employers—they sounded so very much like children squabbling in a schoolyard. They didn’t seem to mind airing their grievances in front of her, which was a bit awkward, to say the least.
Mrs. Reynolds decided to vent her displeasure by spending huge amounts of money at the stores nearest the hotel, and Collette hurried along behind her, carrying the parcels. Everything was neatly stacked in the corner of the hotel room, only to be returned by Mr. Reynolds when he returned. It was a tug of war that left Collette eager to retire at night so she could alternately roll her eyes and giggle at how ridiculous they were being. She wondered just how well Lady Sybil knew them and if she’d had any idea they’d behave this way on their journey. It seemed she would have given Collette some sort of fair warning before making the job recommendation.
Perhaps, though, things would be better when they arrived in California. Mr. Reynolds seemed eager to continue his American business pursuits after his time spent in England, and he’d spoken of purchasing a large home decorated lavishly enough to please even his wife’s tastes, as he put it. Surely once they were on the other end of the trip, Mrs. Reynolds would put her attention into setting up house, and this battle of wills between the two of them would ease. In the meantime, it was more entertaining than reading a novel.
When at last it was time to board the train that would carry them to the opposite side of the country, it was a relief, as the sound of the wheels on the tracks drowned out almost everything Mrs. Reynolds had to say, and Collette could smile and nod without having to listen to much of anything at all.
This wasn’t the life her parents had envisioned for her. She had been born and raised in a small, quiet village in France, and then sent to school in England to be trained to be a governess in a fine house someday. But when her mother and then her father took ill and passed away during one of the coldest winters she had ever seen, she’d had to leave school and find work.
She stayed in England, having at least a few connections there. After six months at a dressmaker’s shop, she’d had the good fortune to be asked to work on a ripped seam for Lady Sybil Douglas, who had been out visiting and caught her dress on a nail protruding from a door frame. She’d come into the shop in a state of some agitation, miles from her home, with several visits yet to make. Collette had managed to mend her dress so the repair was invisible, and Lady Sybil had invited her to come work at the Douglas estate.
But that was all in the past, she told herself firmly. She was getting to travel the world—how many seamstresses could say that? She had no idea what their lives would be like in California, but she could at least face it with good humor. She’d had her few minutes of feeling sorry for herself, and now it was time to get on with it. She focused instead on the landscape rolling past the window of the train, admiring its beauty and also being startled by how different it was from what she was used to.
Collette was awakened to po
unding on her door. When she opened her eyes, it took a moment for her to remember where they were. Oh, that’s right—Mrs. Reynolds had insisted that they leave the train for a night and sleep in a real bed, and they were in Creede, Colorado. Her room in the Miners’ Hotel wasn’t elaborate, but it was tidy, and it did feel nice to escape the train and stretch out on a mattress.
The pounding resumed, and she blinked. She’d nearly drifted off again. What time was it? She couldn’t make out any light coming through the curtain. She pulled her robe around her shoulders and opened her door to find a perturbed Mr. Reynolds standing there, the hallway light showing his face to be purple with rage.
“Can you believe this?” He held up his hand, a piece of paper crumpled inside his fist. “She’s gone. She simply up and left.”
Collette wasn’t awake enough to make sense of anything. “I’m sorry, sir?”
He shoved the paper at Collette, and she took it, turning on the light in her room as she did so. It took her a moment to understand what was happening, but then everything clicked, and she looked up. “Mrs. Reynolds is going back to New York?”
“That’s right.” He snatched the paper away again. “I found this on her pillow just now.”
The note said that she was renting a buggy and would drive until she reached the next train station. Collette didn’t understand why the woman simply didn’t wait for the train to pass through Creede again, but she never had understood the woman’s fits of temper. And to rent a buggy in the middle of the night? How was that possible, and had she gone mad? It wasn’t safe, attempting to travel alone like that.
“She never wanted to come out here,” Mr. Reynolds muttered. “She wanted to stay in London, and she said she’d leave me if I tried to force her to move again. We were never meant to be in England forever, though, and she knew that. We’re Americans, and England was just a rung on the ladder.” He gave a hmph. “Well, she’s left me, just like she threatened.”
“I’m sure you could catch her,” Collette said. “She can’t have gotten far.”
“Oh, no.” Mr. Reynolds gave a wry chuckle. “I’m not going to play her little games. You see, that’s what she wants. She wants me to grovel and beg and make an idiot of myself so she’ll come back. Well, I don’t need her. I was a self-made man before she came along, and I’ll be successful without her. Let’s see how long she can get along without me.”
That sounded like a terrible idea, but Collette wasn’t in any position to argue. She also couldn’t say she was surprised, after all the bickering she’d witnessed, but she hadn’t expected anything quite this dramatic or final. “Does she know anyone in New York, sir?”
“Oh, she has friends. Socialites always have friends in New York.” He waved that off as if it mattered little to him. “As for you, Collette, your services will no longer be needed.” He fished in his pocket. “I’ll pay for your room here at the Miners’ Hotel for one week, and here’s some additional money to get you by for a bit. I’m sorry this didn’t work out. Thank you for your services to date.” With that, he spun on his heel and left, closing her door behind him.
Collette stood there, her mouth agape, staring down at the money in her hand. What had just happened?
She couldn’t understand Mrs. Reynolds’ actions. Why hadn’t she left her husband while they were still in New York instead of coming all this way first? Why had she left in the night? And then the biggest surprise of all—Collette was now stranded in Colorado, a place she’d barely known existed a few days ago, with only a small amount of money to get her by. But then again, she didn’t understand American money—perhaps it was more than she thought. Perhaps this wasn’t so entirely terrible after all. She would figure that out and make a plan.
It would be impossible to go back to sleep now. She crossed over to the window and peeked out to see the first hint of light coming from the horizon. She would dress in one of her few gowns, and then she would see what she could do about finding herself some work. There would be a way to solve this problem.
Chapter Two
I’m sorry, miss, but this town just isn’t what it used to be,” the clerk at the hotel desk said, his eyes kind beneath bushy white eyebrows. “You see, this whole area used to be into mining, but when the lines dried up, people moved on. I don’t expect you’ll have much luck finding work. Most folks around here are making plans to sell, not stay.”
Collette thanked him, smiled, and weighed her options. She’d go outside and look around town—the businesses might not be hiring, but what if one of the families needed a housekeeper or help minding their children? She could do laundry, and of course she could teach French or do sewing. She was skilled, if she could simply find a place to use those skills.
The street was quiet. It was still a bit early yet, but it seemed there should be more activity—children running to school, women out beating their rugs, but no. She spoke with the few shopkeepers she spotted. None of them had much to say that was hopeful, although they were kind and wished her well.
She’d never been so flummoxed. Or so tired, or hungry . . . She hadn’t wanted to buy a meal until she had some idea of the job situation in town, and that decision was catching up with her fast. Interrupted sleep and anxiety also played their part in wearing her down, and her knees felt weak and wobbly.
She was about to turn and walk back to the hotel when she saw a sign indicating a telegraph office. She paused, weighing her options. What if she sent a message to Lady Sybil and asked for her advice? Of course, the lady couldn’t do anything from across the sea, but a word of cheer would go such a long way. It would be worth the cost, wouldn’t it? She would sacrifice a meal for the chance to hear from a friend.
She entered the telegraph office and was greeted by a man seated at a desk. “Hello,” he said, coming to his feet. “How can I help you?”
“I was hoping to send a telegram,” she replied. “Of course, that’s what everyone does when they come in here, I assume.”
He chuckled. “Yes, that’s fairly predictable. I’ll be glad to help you out with that.” He paused. “You have a lovely accent. Where are you from?”
“France, originally, but I was educated in England.”
He nodded. “Welcome to Creede. I’m Arthur Jameson.”
“And I’m Collette Barnard.” She watched as he pulled out a form and picked up a pencil, then provided the address upon his request. His eyebrow quirked as he wrote, but if he thought it was odd that such a simple girl as herself would be sending a telegram to a lord and lady’s English estate, he didn’t comment.
“And what would you like to say?” he asked, pencil poised.
Words swirled through her head, and she found that she couldn’t settle on any of them. “I’m afraid I don’t know. I suppose that sounds silly.”
“I hear it all the time,” he reassured her. He tilted his head and seemed to be studying her. “Miss Barnard, perhaps I’m overstepping, but I can’t help wondering—have you had anything to eat today?”
She glanced down at the floor and then back up. “No. I wasn’t particularly hungry.”
It was obvious that he didn’t believe her lie, but he didn’t say anything about it directly. “Well, it so happens that I was about to step through into the house and have a bite, and I can’t do another lick of work until afterwards. So why don’t you join me and my family for lunch, and then I’ll send your telegram.”
“But . . . but why can’t you just send it now?” she asked. The sooner it was sent, the sooner she’d have a reply, and she’d feel much better knowing it was in progress.
“I telegraph much better on a full stomach,” he said with a wink. “Let me introduce you to my wife, Beatrice. She’ll find us something to eat, and then we can get back to business. Plus, this will give you time to work out what you want to say.”
“I suppose,” Collette said, feeling a little trapped, but also grateful. She was being foolish to balk at the offer of a meal, but she very much disliked feel
ing like a castoff, a beggar.
Beatrice Jameson didn’t make her feel like either of those things, though. When she welcomed Collette into her home, she was warm and gracious, and she immediately offered Collette a seat at the table. “I’m so glad you’ve come,” she said as she sliced the bread. “Some weeks, I can go for days without seeing another woman, and I feel cooped up inside not having someone to talk to.”
“You can talk to me,” Arthur said good-naturedly from the other end of the table.
“I know I can, my dear, but it’s not quite the same.” She gave him an indulgent smile, then set the bread on the table and took her seat. “Beef stew, fresh bread, and pie. It’s not fancy, but it’s warm.”
“Thank you,” Collette replied. “I appreciate your kindness.”
