A Man for Glory

  “I’m awful glad you haven’t found a man to your liking yet.”

  Glory smiled at Cade, her gaze on him assessing. He was to be admired; not only did he seem to be honest and forthright, but he claimed to have a fund of money available should she want to sell any portion of her farm to him.

  If she was wrong, if this Cade McAllister was not all he seemed to be, she would have made a mistake greater than any she’d ever made. But if she were right, and if the sheriff was correct in his thinking, then Cade might be the salvation she sought. A man who would be willing to take on the farm and make a success of Buddy’s inheritance. A man to look out for her and the children. A friend for herself.

  And perhaps even a husband.

  AUTHOR NOTE

  I loved this story from the first page on. It dwells on the building of a relationship—a natural outcome of the sort of marriage Glory enters into. The children involved are a large part of this story, for they are also a large part of Glory’s life. I love children, and enjoy including them in my work. The bond formed between Buddy and his stepfather is a path to the relationship that develops, binding the whole family together. Just another Carolyn Davidson story—one of love within the boundaries of a family and the joy to be found in the midst of a home.

  I sincerely hope you will relate in some way to the characters who live on these pages, for I wrote this novel with my readers in mind. You have told me what you like to read and have made your position clear. So I write for you, all of you—those who make contact with me by mail or the internet, all of you who buy my books so faithfully and hopefully will continue to do so. The hours spent in front of my computer, my fingers flying over the keys, are dedicated to each of you.

  I sometimes wish I could have lived in the days of old, that I could have been a woman such as Glory, living with wood stoves to cook on and scrub boards leaning inside a washtub upon which to clean my family’s laundry. Hmm … perhaps I’ll stick to writing of such women, enjoy my modern conveniences, and forget about churning butter.

  So, until my next book and the next time I speak to each of you, I’ll be thinking of new stories to write and new characters to fill the pages.

  Happy reading!

  About the Author

  Reading, writing and research—CAROLYN DAVIDSON’s life in three simple words. At least that area of her life having to do with her career as a historical romance author. The rest of her time is divided among husband, family and travel—her husband, of course, holding top priority in her busy schedule. Then there is their church, and the church choir in which they participate. Their sons and daughters, along with assorted spouses, are spread across the eastern half of America, together with numerous grandchildren. Carolyn welcomes mail at her post office box, PO Box 2757, Goose Creek, SC 29445, USA.

  Previous novels by the same author:

  A MARRIAGE BY CHANCE

  THE TEXAN

  TEMPTING A TEXAN

  STORMWALKER’S WOMAN

  (short story in One Starry Christmas)

  TEXAS GOLD

  THE MARRIAGE AGREEMENT

  ABANDONED

  (short story in Wed Under Western Skies)

  TEXAS LAWMAN

  OKLAHOMA SWEETHEART

  A CHRISTMAS CHILD

  (short story in The Magic of Christmas)

  LONE STAR BRIDE

  MARRIED IN MISSOURI

  (short story in Mail-Order Marriages)

  and in Mills & Boon® Super Historical Romance:

  REDEMPTION

  HAVEN

  THE OUTLAW’S BRIDE

  THE BRIDE

  A Man for Glory

  Carolyn Davidson

  www.millsandboon.co.uk

  A MAN FOR GLORY

  is dedicated to those women who found happiness

  in marriages of convenience—a common occurrence

  in the olden days. My own grandmother, at the age

  of fifteen, came from Austria to marry a man in

  Dearborn, Michigan, without ever seeing him.

  It was a marriage that produced seven children,

  one of whom was my father. I have a love for

  such relationships, and write about them often.

  And, as always, this work in its entirety

  is dedicated to Mr. Ed, who loves me.

  Prologue

  Green River, Kansas

  1847

  The man who answered the door looked as if he’d seen better days. His hands were work-worn, his clothing no doubt soiled from toiling in the field out back of the barn. The pitchfork he’d apparently been using leaned against the side of the house, as if he’d left it there so it would be handy when he returned to the seemingly insurmountable job he’d left undone. Hay lay on the ground in neat rows, drying in the sun.

  It looked as if he might be in need of help and so she offered. “I’m looking for a job, mister. My name is Glory Kennedy. I need a place to stay and work for my keep. I can cook and clean and I’m a hard worker.”

  Her gaze met his, and shadows beneath his eyes told of long days and nights without enough sleep. And the words he spoke carried the ring of truth.

  “Pleased to meet you. I can sure use some help here. But one thing we’ll get straight right off. I won’t be lookin’ to get underneath your skirts, girl. I just want a woman to take care of my young’uns and keep things up around here. My name’s Harvey Clark, a widow man with more work than I can handle. I’d be pleased should you give me a hand. There’s an extra bedroom you can use.”

  The man’s offer was far from what Glory had hoped to hear back during those days when she’d been a dreamer. But life had proved to be one set of failures after another, with the latest landing her on this man’s doorstep, hearing him offer her a life of servitude and not much of a promise for a future.

  She’d walked away from the wagon train after her parents were buried, lying side by side with many more from the group. Diphtheria was a powerful disease, and had it not been for Glory’s mother sending her from the wagon when she and her father became ill, she’d have no doubt been buried along the trail with the dozen or so who’d been put to rest beneath the prairie grass.

  Her unwillingness to choose a husband from any of the survivors who’d offered had left her on her own, for a woman unmarried could not travel with a wagon train. And so she’d run, across the open country where tall grasses grew in endless meadows, to where a small town cast its shadow on the horizon. And then the sight of a group of buildings, a tidy farm, had offered shelter of a sort.

  Now the man who stood before her offered her more of the same future that had sent her fleeing just days since. Except that this one claimed he had no interest in lifting her skirts, only needing her to tend his children and keep them and their clothing clean.

  Looking at it from that viewpoint, she was tempted to quit running and hiding and instead seize the opportunity to settle in one spot for longer than a day or two.

  “How many children do you have?” she asked him, noting the rough beard, the shaggy hair, the fatigued eyes.

  “Two. A boy past the age for startin’ school, and a girl, walkin’ and talkin’, but not much use to me yet.”

  She needed all the cards laid out on the table, so she prodded a bit more. “You want them cared for? And you want someone to cook and clean?”

  His head had been bowed, but now he lifted weary eyes to her, and she saw beyond the wrinkled clothing, the lean body and the whiskered face. Saw a man at the end of his rope. A man who might be the means to an end for her. An end to running, a chance to catch her breath and find a new beginning.

  “And you won’t expect me to—” Unable to utter the words, she felt a blush cover her cheeks and heard a dry chuckle f
rom the man who faced her on the narrow porch.

  “No, I won’t expect anything of you but that you treat my young’uns right, and see to it there’s food on the table.”

  From behind him, a small face peered past his denim trousers. Wide blue eyes viewed her with suspicion and a small hand rose to press against a soft mouth. The child was probably two or three years old, if her father’s words were to be believed, for she was obviously the one who walked and talked but wasn’t of much use to the man.

  Small for her age, but bright-eyed and dainty, she viewed this stranger as though she hoped for some small bit of attention.

  “This is your daughter?” Glory asked quietly, venturing a smile at the child.

  “Essie’s her name. Her mama called her Esther, but she answers to most anything.” His big hand touched the matted hair, resting there in a gesture Glory decided could pass for affection. And that small gesture decided her future.

  A man couldn’t be all bad when he touched a small child so kindly, when his first thought was for someone to tend her needs. And so she nodded briskly, sealing her fate for the days ahead.

  “I’ll take on your children, mister. I’ll cook and keep things clean if you’ve told me the truth about having a room of my own where I won’t be disturbed and food for me to cook. I’ll need a washtub and a scrubbing board and a good supply of soap. I don’t cook in a dirty kitchen, and from what I can see past you, yours isn’t much to brag about.”

  Glory saw the look of hope that formed on his weathered face. “I’ll provide what you need if you’ll take on my young’uns and feed them some good meals and wash up their clothes.”

  “You’ve got a deal, mister,” Glory said, recognizing that a better prospect might not be available should she keep on walking.

  “Just one thing, missy.” His eyes darkened as he gave her chapter and verse of his bargain. “You’ll marry me, first chance we have to get to town. My kids won’t be living in a house with a man and woman who don’t share the same name. And if something happens to me, they need to know that there’s somebody who’ll look out for them.”

  Glory swallowed hard, taken aback by the words he spoke, and then she tilted her chin and spit out her own conditions. “The bargain will still remain, mister. I’ll still have my own bed and you’ll stay out of it.”

  His look was hard, but his brief smile gave consent to her words. “I give you my word, girl.” His head jerked toward the interior of the house. “I had one woman up there in my bedroom. A mighty good woman. There ain’t another alive can take her place. I don’t want another one.”

  Glory nodded her agreement and stepped past him, her steps slow as she walked through the doorway into the farmhouse that would be her home.

  And as she passed by the small girl, a tiny hand reached up to touch her own, as a fragile smile appeared on the small, dirty face.

  “Tell you what, Essie. Let’s get you washed up and your hair combed. I’ll warrant you’re a pretty girl.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the child said quietly. And in that moment Glory’s heart was touched and her courage strengthened by the choice she’d made.

  Chapter One

  Green River, Kansas

  1850

  “Your papers seem to be in order, Mr. McAllister. What I want to know is why the bank sent a Pinkerton man out here to see me.” The sheriff held the sheaf of paperwork in his hands, glancing once more at the first page of Cade McAllister’s identification, the details certifying him a Pinkerton detective, in the employ of a large bank in St. Louis.

  “You had a hanging here a month or so ago, sir. I was sent to verify the man’s identity and begin a search on behalf of the bank for the money he took in a robbery ten years ago. The bank had a dandy time catching up with him. Pure luck they ran him down to ground here.”

  The sheriff nodded bruskly. “The man was Harvey Clark and though it was a nasty business, I did just what I was ordered to do by the government. Clark was a bank robber, according to the details I was given. I was all set to send him back to St. Louis, and let the law there handle it, but my orders were clear. He was sentenced to death by hanging ten years ago, and when he escaped in a jailbreak, his sentence trailed right along behind him. They gave me the job of carrying it out here in Green River.”

  “Sounds like we’re on the same page, Sheriff. Can’t say I envy a lawman his job when it comes to such stuff, but my job now is to try locating the gold.”

  Joe Lawson chuckled. “More power to you, McAllister. There’s been a dozen men digging around on the Clark farm in the last couple of weeks and no one’s had any success yet. My guess is, it’s in the house somewhere, but I’ve made it my business to take that place apart since the hanging and couldn’t find hide nor hair of it. The cellar’s an open book, the pantry the same. I went over the bedrooms with Mrs. Clark’s permission. I think she’d like to have the gold located same as me. It’d save her a lot of frustration, should it come to light, for she fears the chance of strangers coming by and giving her a hassle over it.”

  “Well, I’m the next best fella for the job, it seems. The insurance company doesn’t want Mrs. Clark to know who I am. They’ve given me a cover as a man looking for a farm to buy, with a nice nest egg in my pocket.”

  “Mrs. Clark isn’t interested in selling her place, McAllister. Nor in getting married and giving the title to a husband. And that’s what will happen should she marry again. The law don’t do much for women, you know.”

  Cade grinned. “I know all about that. My mother was left a ranch when Pa died, and when she remarried, it all went to her new husband. Fortunately, he was a man of honor and he took care of her and raised me and my brothers the way my pa would have wanted.”

  Joe Clark nodded knowingly. “She’s a lucky woman, then. Lots of men are looking to freeload. Glory Clark’s been stung a couple times, had to use her shotgun to chase off a fella or two when they came courting. She’s a good woman, McAllister, and I won’t put up with any shenanigans where she’s concerned. You’ll be honest with her so far as you can.”

  “I won’t tell her who I represent, Sheriff. My job is to find the gold that Harvey Clark hid somewhere. I’ll get a reward for it, and keep my hands clean. I’m not a thief, nor a man to harm a woman in any way.”

  The sheriff placed the sheaf of paperwork on his desk with a flurry of pages scattering hither and yon. He gathered them up into a pile and opened his desk drawer, placing them inside. “Your job is your own business, McAllister. I’ll introduce you to the widow lady as a man looking to buy a place in this area. I’ll show her the stuff the bank sent that covers you, the letters from your minister in your hometown, and give you my recommendation as an honest man.”

  “How do we go about meeting this lady, Sheriff?” Cade asked, already looking ahead to the task he’d assumed. One way or another he’d find the gold, and in the process, leave the lady a bit to help her along in her struggles.

  “Let’s take a ride out there right now, McAllister. She’s always at home, what with two youngsters to take care of.”

  And without further ado, the men rode west from Green River to where a holding sat several miles out of town. A sign over the lane leading to the house read, The Clark Farm, and near the unpainted house, a woman stood in the midst of a garden.

  “That’s Mrs. Clark, McAllister. She’s young, but capable. Been raising those two young’uns by herself and running this farm alone. I won’t stand for anyone giving her a hassle.”

  “I read you right, Sheriff,” Cade said, taking in the small figure ahead of them. She was dark-haired and slender, a woman who appeared too small to be saddled with a farm and two children to raise. “There won’t be any shenanigans on my part.”

  “If I didn’t feel you were a man to be trusted, I wouldn’t have brought you here, mister. Now let’s introduce you and I’ll leave you to it.” The sheriff raised a hand in greeting and they halted their mounts near Glory Clark.

  “Mrs. Cl
ark,” the sheriff said in greeting. “This here is a fella who’s on the lookout for a piece of property to buy and run. I told him about your farm and he’s mighty interested in making a deal with you.”

  “I’m not giving up my farm, Sheriff. I thought you were aware of that,” Glory said firmly.

  “Ma’am, I’d like a chance to talk to you and meet your children. This place looks to be a fine setting for a horse-breeding and training ranch. I’d like to give you my credentials and introduce you to my thoughts for your place,” Cade said with assurance.

  “How would you know all that just from riding up my lane and taking a gander at the place, mister? I’m willing to sit down on the back porch and talk to you, but I’ll tell you right now, I’m not willing to sell out to anyone.”

  The man nodded. “My name’s Cade McAllister, from Oklahoma. I’m good with horses and know all the ins and outs of running a farm. I can put in a good day’s work with the best of them, ma’am. Perhaps I can be of some use to you here. Anyway, can we sit and talk?”

  There was about the man a look of honesty, Glory thought. He was sturdy, a man of strength, if she was any judge. Besides, the sheriff seemed to think he was to be trusted. His clothing was clean and a bit worn, but his saddle was well oiled and the horse he rode was a good one, a stallion of perhaps sixteen hands, held under control by the man’s easy grip on the reins.

  It wouldn’t hurt to hear him out, she decided. She led the way to the porch and called into the screen door as she climbed the steps. “Essie, please bring out some lemonade, and a plate of the cookies we baked this morning.”

  Within minutes, a small child, pretty as a picture, appeared in the doorway, sidling past the threshold with a tray in her hands. “Here you go, Glory. I didn’t know how many glasses you wanted, so I brought four.” Small and delicate in stature, the child was fair-haired with eyes as blue as a summer sky, with a ready smile for the visitor.