Once Upon a Mail Order Bride - Linda Broday Page 0,8

was.

Life is 10 percent made up of what happens to you. Everything else is how well you cope with the events. Don’t waste time being bitter. A mistake is not a life sentence. We learn, we grow, and we move on—hopefully as better people.

Those words had spoken to her. She would try each day to make Ridge proud of her and make sure he had no regrets for marrying a convict. As for her, she had no qualms about tying herself to an outlaw. No one else could keep her safer than someone who lived free of rigid rules and social norms. He’d spoken of his own principles and rules he’d set down for himself, complete with lines drawn in the sand that he’d never cross. She shared her personal conviction with him that those were much more important than the dictates of others.

Before going inside, Adeline stood on the hotel porch for a moment and gazed out at Hope’s Crossing. The town sat in a canyon rimmed with high rock walls and only one way in or out. Luke said it had once been an outlaw hideout and very easily defended. Now businesses lined one side of the wide town square like staunch soldiers, with dwellings on the other.

A group of children played chase, and two dogs barked alongside them. Two women walked together, talking and laughing, while another hung wash out on a line. A tall windmill rose next to a church, which was surrounded by a white picket fence.

The calm and peace floating in the air seeped deep down into her bones.

Here she would rest and heal. Then she’d make sure no one found the stolen child. The motherless boy would be three years old now, still vulnerable. She’d die before she gave him away. And she very nearly had landed in a grave. She shivered as fragments of the nightmare passed through her mind. If she did nothing else in life, she would keep him safe.

Adeline pulled her thoughts back to the view. One thing seemed curiously missing—the public whipping post. Maybe, hopefully, these people were more civilized than where she’d come from. She allowed herself a snort. Funny the differences in people’s perceptions of a civilized society.

These simple people in Hope’s Crossing seemed content with what little they had. Josie said they were kind and welcoming, not closed off and ruled by suspicion and fear. Time would tell the truth.

Painful memories swirled and twisted the picture in front of her into horrible scenes of suffering and despair.

Adeline shuddered and took the images inward into her hiding place. Ridge had assured her that the people of Hope’s Crossing would open welcoming arms, for each person here had a checkered past and now focused only on the future. But how much could she believe? It would take actions to convince her.

Her whole life had been built on terror—where the only way to survive was not seeing, not hearing, not feeling one single blessed thing.

Only when it had come down to her moment of truth, she hadn’t been able to keep her head buried in the sand.

The days and months ahead would decide what kind of future she had. Yet how could she get acquainted with the women when she couldn’t speak? A frisson of worry rose and knotted in her stomach.

“Coming?” Josie asked.

Adeline nodded and went inside. The hotel was nice, but then according to Luke, it had been built only three years prior. She liked the bright, airy feel, the high tin ceiling and pretty wallpaper.

Ridge collected a key from the clerk and strode toward her. “You’re on the second floor. Lead the way, and I’ll carry your trunk.”

With a nod, she turned to the stairs, and he followed. At the landing, he told her to turn right to Room 205. A few moments later, she stood inside, glancing around. The room was inviting, a handful of wild red roses set in a vase on a small table. A pretty quilt of pink and yellow covered the bed, and it looked very comfortable, a nice change from the hard ground she’d slept on during the journey and the cold slab she’d called a bed for the last three years.

She moved to the flowers and lifted a rose to her nose. A long-forgotten memory flooded over her. A cool arbor. Wild summer roses that shielded her hiding place—the refuge she’d often escaped to when things became unbearable. She bit her trembling lip and fought to swallow past