She Was a Doctor Who Became a Mail-Order Bride — The Cowboy Who Had No Idea What He Was Getting
Chapter 1
The first thing Clara Bennett noticed about the cowboy she had agreed to marry was that he looked nothing like the photograph.
The second thing she noticed was the gun on his hip.
The third was the disappointment in his eyes.
He stood beside a dusty black truck at the small train station in Red Creek, Wyoming, wearing a faded hat, worn boots, and a denim shirt rolled to his elbows.
Clara had expected him to smile.
He didn’t.
Instead, he looked at the woman who had stepped off the train carrying one leather suitcase and a medical bag.
“Miss Bennett?”
Clara adjusted the brim of her hat.
“Clara.”
His jaw tightened.
“You’re younger than I expected.”
“So are you.”
He looked at her suitcase.
Then at the medical bag.
“You brought a doctor’s bag?”
“Yes.”
He frowned.
“Why?”
“Because I’m a doctor.”
Silence.
The cowboy blinked.
“You’re a doctor?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t say that in your letters.”
Clara stared at him.
“I wrote it in the second letter.”
“I thought that was some sort of joke.”
She almost laughed.
“Why would a doctor be a joke?”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“I didn’t know women became doctors.”
Clara stared at him.
“You’re serious.”
“Unfortunately.”
She took a slow breath.
This was going well.
Very well.
The man introduced himself as Ethan Walker.
Twenty-nine.
Owner of Walker Ranch.
Widower.
Father of a six-year-old daughter.
Apparently desperate enough to answer a mail-order marriage advertisement.
Clara had answered his because she needed a fresh start.
Not because she wanted romance.
Three months earlier, she had been working at a respected hospital in Boston.
Then a patient died.
Not because Clara had made a mistake.
Because the hospital administrator had ordered her to ignore a medication discrepancy.
Clara had refused.
The hospital blamed her.
Her career collapsed overnight.
Her fiancé left.
Her savings disappeared into legal fees.
Then she saw the advertisement.
Rancher seeking a wife.
She wrote.
Ethan wrote back.
They exchanged letters for six weeks.
But Clara hadn’t told him everything.
Neither had he.
He loaded her suitcase into the truck.
“There’s one thing you need to understand.”
“What?”
“This isn’t a romance.”
She looked at him.
“I didn’t expect one.”
“My daughter needs stability.”
“And you need a wife.”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
He hesitated.
“A year.”
Clara raised an eyebrow.
“A year?”
“Long enough to satisfy the family conditions on the ranch.”
“Family conditions?”
“My father’s will.”
She understood.
Money.
Always money.
She climbed into the passenger seat.
“Fine.”
Ethan looked at her.
“You’re not asking questions?”
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because I have a feeling I’ll get all the answers eventually.”
He started the engine.
For an hour, they drove through mountains and endless fields.
Finally, the ranch appeared.
Huge.
Beautiful.
Lonely.
A large farmhouse stood beside several barns.
Children’s toys were scattered on the porch.
Clara smiled despite herself.
Ethan noticed.
“My daughter made those.”
“What is her name?”
“Rose.”
“Where is she?”
He didn’t answer.
Clara looked at him.
“Ethan?”
“She doesn’t like strangers.”
“I understand.”
When they reached the house, Ethan stopped.
Rose stood in the doorway.
Six years old.
Blonde hair.
Pink dress.
She looked at Clara.
Then at her father.
Then she asked:
“Is she my new mommy?”
Ethan froze.
Clara smiled gently.
“No.”
Rose looked relieved.
Ethan looked surprised.
Clara knelt.
“I’d rather be your friend first.”
The little girl studied her.
Then glanced at the medical bag.
“What is that?”
“Something I use when people are hurt.”
Rose’s face suddenly changed.
“Can you help Grandma?”
Ethan went still.
Clara looked at him.
“Who’s Grandma?”
Nobody answered.
Rose whispered:
“She’s dying.”
Ethan’s face turned pale.
Clara picked up her medical bag.
“Take me to her.”
Ethan grabbed her wrist.
“Wait.”
Clara looked at him.
“You said she was dying.”
“She is.”
“Then why are we standing here?”
For the first time that day, Ethan looked at the woman he had agreed to marry and saw something he hadn’t expected.
Not a mail-order bride.
Not a stranger.
A doctor.
And she was already asking questions nobody else had dared to ask.
