Abby: Mail Order Bride (Unconventional Series #1)

| August 17, 2013


Abby: Mail Order Bride (Unconventional Series #1)

This is the first book in the Unconventional Series.

Order of books:
Abby: Mail Order Bride, Broken Angel, Ryder’s Salvation

Minimal language.
Sensual love scenes.

Brant Samson
has fallen on hard times with the death of his beloved wife a year earlier from lung fever. Left with three children, he’s desperate to find a mother for them. Ten year old Jenny does her best to care for two year old Ty, and fourteen year old Luke works the ranch with his father, losing himself in dime novels to ease the pain of his mother’s death. Brant’s options are limited since eligible women seldom pass through Two Rivers, much less settle in the small Texas town. In desperation, he places a classified advertisement for a mail order bride. Marrying a woman he’ll come to know through a newspaper ad scares the bejesus out of him, but at this point, he’s out of options.

Abigail Mary Vaughn always dreamed of having her own family, but caring for her elderly parents, as well as working as a teacher to help with finances, ended that dream. Her parents are now dead and she’s faced with the reality of her dismal existence. After reading Mr. Samson’s advertisement in the Philadelphia Inquirer, she garners enough courage to respond. Since she is considered an old maid at the age of thirty-eight, she’ll more than likely spend the rest of her life in gut-wrenching loneliness unless she does something unconventional.


Abigail swayed as she got her land legs and glanced around the dozen or so buildings. Pitiful looking town. Scanning the hotel porch, she saw a middle-aged man sitting on the railing. His smile showcased missing teeth. Remember, he’s intelligent. Hesitantly, she smiled back. Another man exited the hotel with a gun holstered to his hip. He tipped his hat and reached to adjust his gun belt around his expanding waistline.

Retying the ribbons of her straw hat, Abigail opened her parasol against the early afternoon sun. The second driver handed her trunk down to the first driver and it thunked on the ground. Next, he dropped her small valise and the grizzled man below caught it and set it on her trunk. “There ya go, ma’am.”
The driver was already climbing back atop the stagecoach. With a flick of his wrists and a shout, the horses pulled the coach across the street to a stable. She glanced at the blacksmith’s shop next to the stable and noticed a long-legged man leaning against the siding. He held a cowboy hat in one hand and lazily watched the stagecoach occupants. Even from a distance, she could see he was lean and broad shouldered, with black hair that brushed the collar of his denim shirt. Too young, too handsome.

She turned around and watched another man exiting the general store. Maybe that’s him. He wore a suit that was a decade out of style, but looked distinguished in a countrified way. He was very short, but carried himself proudly and had a pleasant, boyish countenance for a man probably in his forties. Please God, let that be him and not the one with the missing teeth or the one with the gun.

A voice spoke from behind her, “Miz Vaughn?”

Abigail turned and stumbled backwards. The lean cowboy from across the street–with eyes that she could now see were the same color as the cloudless sky above them–reached out and caught her by the shoulders before she fell on her backside.


“Ma’am, I’m Brant Samson.”


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