Crumpets & Cowpies: (Sweet Historical Western Romance) (Baker City Brides Book 1)

  Baker City Brides, Book 1

  by

  USA Today Bestselling Author

  SHANNA HATFIELD

  Crumpets and Cowpies

  Copyright © 2015 by Shanna Hatfield

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Please purchase only authorized editions.

  For permission requests, please contact the author, with a subject line of "permission request” at the email address below or through her website.

  Shanna Hatfield

  shanna@shannahatfield.com

  shannahatfield.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Special thanks to Hardway for sharing such great photos of Eastern Oregon!

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  Crumpets

  Author’s Note

  Thimbles and Thistles Chapter One

  Books by Shanna Hatfield

  About The Author

  Praise for Crumpets and Cowpies

  “Thane and Jemma are a perfectly snarky fit for each other, able to fling era-appropriate zingers with a passion and precision seldom done so well in a historical. Rare for a book of any kind, the children and animals have just as large a part of the story as Thane and Jemma themselves, and that just makes the world in Eastern Oregon come more to life…The setting of the small up-and-coming town, and the surrounding cast of characters have created a rich and vivid world, with more than enough to spin tales about this family and town for years to come. Those tales would be at the top of any readers’ lists!”

  Julie York — InD’Tale Magazine

  "Crumpets and Cowpies by Shanna Hatfield is a romantic delight. I really enjoyed reading this book. Shanna Hatfield has created characters that were impossible not to like. The romance that slowly evolved between Thane and Jemma had me crying, laughing, and cheering. This is a sweet and loving romantic story that is a must-read for young and old… lots of good, old fashioned reading. Don't pass this one up!"

  Trudi LoPreto for Readers' Favorite

  “Full of humor, love, two adorable children and a bunch of wonderful secondary characters this book was worth waiting for and one I will be reading again. I am looking forward to the next book, Thimbles & Thistles which also sounds like a very delicious and fun book to curl up with.”

  Amazon Reviewer

  “Shanna's stories always have you "hitting the ground running" from the very start and don't let you loose until the end. It is indeed, a sweet historical book with warm, witty and endearing characters. I enjoy the extra effort Shanna gives in educating the reader to the historical points of interest within her book(s) and even gives a recipe or two at the end for some dish or pastry that was mentioned in that particular story.”

  Amazon Reviewer

  “Lovely romantic story with a lot of interesting twists and turns to keep you turning the pages. Loved the kids and dogs and horses, they add quite a lot to the story. Lots of history wrapped in an interesting novel.”

  Amazon Reviewer

  “This was an awesome book! OMG — made me cry and laugh! Can't wait to read the next story.”

  Amazon Reviewer

  To Jemma -

  You’ve been such an inspiration to me

  and I’m grateful every single day

  for the privilege of knowing you…

  Chapter One

  Liverpool, England

  September 1890

  “I could ravish you with kisses.”

  The urge to press his lips to the firm, unmoving surface beneath his feet nearly overcame Thane Jordan. Gratitude filled him as he placed his cowboy boots on solid ground and glanced back at the ship that had served as his floating home for the past thirteen days.

  “Merciful heavens!” A feminine voice, gasping in shock, drew his attention to his immediate right. A matronly woman with an attractive girl at her side gaped at him. “Well, I never, sir!”

  Thane tipped his hat to the young woman, winking roguishly. Slowly turning to her affronted chaperone, he gave her a thorough once-over. “Maybe you should, ma’am. Your bloomers might not be in such a tight bunch if you did.”

  “Oh!” Insulted, the woman spun around, grabbing her young charge by the arm and marching away from the pier where passengers continued to disembark. The girl smiled coyly at him before disappearing into the crowd.

  Thane chuckled at their hasty retreat. He could have simply explained he aimed his comment at the ground he stood on, not either of them, but he found inordinate satisfaction in irking the uptight woman. He held little regard for propriety and bucked it every opportunity he could.

  Removing his hat, he raked a hand through his dark blond hair, grown long from his continued procrastination of visiting a barber. After replacing the Stetson on his head, he rubbed at the scruff growing on his face and frowned at the ship behind him.

  If a desperate need to return to his ranch in eastern Oregon didn’t force his impending journey back across the ocean, he’d refuse to leave dry land again. No wonder his brother, Henry, chose to stay in England instead of sailing back to New York when he left fourteen years earlier.

  Thoughts of his brother made his chest constrict with unwarranted pain. He picked up his leather traveling bag in one hand and propelled his feet forward, still a little wobbly on his legs as he adjusted to being on land again.

  He’d spent most of the time aboard ship seasick. Every movement up and down with the waves sent his stomach churning.

  Determined to wipe the misery from his mind, he wanted to find somewhere he could soak in a hot bath, eat a decent meal, and sleep through the night.

  Instead, he walked along the pier, taking in the stacks and stacks of cotton bales. Most of the world’s raw cotton traveled through Liverpool’s ports. Cotton was the reason Henry left America and Thane moved to Oregon.

  Once he reached the street, Thane hailed a hansom cab and handed the driver the address of Henry’s solicitor, a man named Arthur Weston.

  A month ago, Thane looked up from fixing fence on his sprawling cattle ranch to see his friend Tully Barrett racing across the pasture toward him. The telegram he delivered, from Mr. Weston, informed Thane that Henry passed away from injuries sustained when he took a fall from his horse.

  Named as Henry’s sole beneficiary, the missive from Weston asked that Thane make immediate arrangements to travel to England to settle his br
other’s estate. A flurry of telegram messages passed between the two men as Thane demanded to know why he needed to make the journey. Weston provided vague responses, continuing to insist he come.

  Finally giving in to the solicitor’s unyielding request he attend to matters in person, Thane tied up loose ends on the ranch. He left with Tully’s promise to keep watch over the place until his return.

  The train carried him from Baker City, Oregon, across the country to New York City. He booked passage on the first boat headed to Liverpool and regretted leaving the peaceful sagebrush-dotted hills of his ranch with every mile the ship crossed on the open sea.

  As he settled himself against the smooth leather seat of the cab, Thane took a deep breath, inhaling the scents of saltwater, fish, coal, and roasting meat. Hungry after days of illness with little more to eat than hardtack and soda crackers, the rich aroma of the meat made his stomach rumble.

  “Solicitor, bath, then food,” he muttered as the cab rolled along cobblestone-paved streets, lined with lamps and neat brick buildings standing three and four stories high.

  Men in top hats strolled beside women dressed in the latest styles, enjoying an afternoon outing in the warmth of the sun.

  Since he spent the majority of his time alone or with his hired hands, Thane possessed limited knowledge about women’s fashions, other than what his friend Maggie tried to teach him. He held no interest in seeking an education on the matter. As long as his female counterparts appeared pleasing to the eye, he didn’t care what they wore.

  However, the finely dressed women drew his gaze while the passing scenery captured his admiration.

  While the cab traversed down the busy street, he took in a store with a cutlery sign in the window just a few doors down from a café. A hotel sign hung high overhead, welcoming guests. Making note of the location of both the hotel and café, Thane decided he might soon be able to find a filling meal and a comfortable bed.

  The cab finally pulled to a stop in front of a red brick building with ornate gold lettering painted on the shiny glass windows.

  “’Ere we are, good chap. Mr. Weston’s office is up on the second floor, it ‘tis.” The cabby grinned at Thane as he stepped out of the conveyance and paid him. Thane tipped his hat to the cabby and started toward the door.

  “Do ye need me to wait for ye, sir? ‘Appy to wait for ye.” The cabby gave him a hopeful glance, grateful for the generous tip Thane included with his fare.

  “You best move along. I don’t know how long I’ll be here or where I’m going when I leave.” Thane nodded to him again and turned the knob on the door, stepping inside the building and staring at a broad set of wooden stairs.

  Resolute, he jogged up the steps and read a large brass sign hanging on the wall, finding Mr. Weston’s name among those listed. A few paces down a corridor, he knocked on a door bearing the man’s name and opened it.

  A pale, slight young man glanced up from a desk covered in papers and files, pushing a pair of round spectacles up the bridge of his nose.

  “May I assist you, sir?”

  Thane neither frowned nor smiled, keeping his face impassive as he spoke. “I’m here to see Arthur Weston. He’s expecting me.”

  “I see.” The young man rose to his feet and looked up at Thane. He stood with his feet slightly apart, towering above the clerk on the opposite side of the desk. “And your name sir?”

  “Thane Jordan. Brother to the late Henry James Jordan.”

  “Just a moment, sir.”

  The young man quietly walked to a door behind him, tapped lightly, then stepped inside.

  He reappeared within a moment and motioned for Thane to have a seat on a straight-backed chair beneath a window.

  “Mr. Weston is indisposed at the moment. If you’ll please be seated, he’ll attend to you directly.”

  Thane nodded his head and took a seat on the hard chair. He set the traveling bag on the floor before crossing a foot over the opposite knee, leaning back, and waiting.

  The young man picked up a pen, dipping it in a well of ink, and continued writing on a thick piece of stationery.

  As the pen scratched across the paper, it grated on Thane’s tightly strung nerves. Mindlessly drumming his fingers on his thigh, he fastened his steely blue gaze on Mr. Weston’s door, willing the man to appear.

  Patience had never been his strong suit. Tired and hungry after traveling more than twenty-five hundred miles across America and that far again on the ocean, he just wanted to sign whatever necessary papers Mr. Weston needed and be on his way home. In fact, if they completed business immediately, he could be on a ship headed home by the following afternoon.

  The sound of voices carried across the open space as two men exited Mr. Weston’s office. A tall, white-haired man with a tan face and athletic build walked out accompanied by a short, portly man nervously twirling the end of his walrus mustache between his fingers.

  The two shook hands at the door then the portly man touched a finger to his top hat and exited.

  Thane uncrossed his foot from his knee and stood, pleased Arthur Weston appeared to be of sound mind and body.

  “Mr. Jordan, I offer my sincere apologies for the wait. I received your telegram, but held no certainty as to the day of your expected arrival. Welcome to Liverpool, sir. Arthur Weston at your service.”

  “Mr. Weston, nice to meet you. I appreciate you meeting with me since I don’t have an appointment.” Thane shook the man’s proffered hand then picked up his bag and followed the solicitor into his private office.

  Anxious to settle Henry’s affairs, he took a seat in a leather-upholstered armchair. Thane dropped the bag at his feet, waiting for Weston to get to the point of why he had to travel thousands of miles to sign a few papers.

  “I trust you had an uneventful journey?” Weston asked as he opened a drawer and removed a file stuffed with papers.

  “Most people would consider it so,” Thane answered vaguely. “I don’t particularly enjoy the water.”

  “Were you seasick on the crossing, sir?” Weston glanced at him as he riffled through papers.

  “You could say that.”

  “Nasty bit of business, what? I must say, I try to avoid the need to sail myself. These legs much prefer solid ground beneath them.”

  Thane nodded his head. “I’m curious, Mr. Weston, why I had to travel all this way to sign a few papers for Henry’s estate. Couldn’t you have mailed them to me?”

  “No, sir. I assure you, settling your brother’s estate entails much more than signing a few papers, as you so aptly put it.”

  Weston slid a thick stack of papers across his desk to Thane. “These are the legal documents regarding Henry’s business holdings.”

  Thane sat up a little straighter and leaned forward as Weston slid another handful of papers toward him.

  “These papers detail his personal holdings.”

  Thane felt the muscle in his jaw tighten. So much for signing a few papers and heading home tomorrow. “Anything else?”

  “Yes, sir. This includes the terms of his will.”

  Thane stared at the third stack of papers the solicitor slid his direction, holding back a discouraged sigh.

  Weston sat back in his chair and studied Thane Jordan. He’d known Henry since the day he arrived in Liverpool until his death. His mind worked to associate the tough, rugged man in front of him to the jovial, smiling friend he’d known. Henry was a gentleman in every sense of the word, maintaining a meticulous appearance as a successful and prosperous businessman.

  The cowboy sitting across the desk from Weston needed an appointment with the barber and a set of respectable clothes. Although he didn’t arrive dressed in buckskins, like Weston rather imagined a man living in the western wilds of America might appear, his woolen jacket and corded front chambray shirt were not of the quality he’d expect someone related to Henry to wear. He absently wondered if Thane Jordan even owned a decent suit.

  From what information Henry ha
d shared when he engaged Weston to prepare the details of his will, he knew Thane disappeared from Henry’s life when the lad turned sixteen and moved from his last known location without sending his brother any forwarding address. Henry engaged any number of men of questionable character over the years to track down Thane, finally locating his whereabouts in late spring.

  Upon finding his residence in Oregon, Henry debated sending Thane a letter. In the meantime, he bequeathed everything he owned to his brother, surprising Weston. It certainly came as a shock to those in Henry’s household when he read the will to them upon the man’s death more than a month ago.

  “Do you have any questions, Mr. Jordan?” Weston asked, resting his arms on the top of the desk as Henry’s brother continued to stare at the papers without touching them. Curious if the man could read, he contemplated how best to broach the question. “Would it provide assistance to you if I read the documents aloud?”

  Careworn, Thane sat back in the chair with a sigh. “My belly’s as empty as a forgotten post hole and I can’t sit here for a couple of hours listening to you read all that legal mumbo jumbo. I’ll take the papers with me and review them this evening, but why don’t you tell me the important points right now.”

  Weston’s eyebrows rose toward his snowy white hairline, but he nodded his head.

  “It is my understanding that you and your brother have not communicated in a dozen years. Henry was beside himself when he realized you left South Carolina and moved on. He managed to hire someone who finally located your whereabouts in the spring. At that time, he came to me and changed his will, leaving you everything.”

  “What, exactly, does everything include?” Thane leaned forward with his elbows propped on his knees, staring inquiringly at his brother’s lawyer.

  “Your brother owned, both outright and as a partner, more than a dozen successful cotton mills in Bolton, where he resided. In addition to his home there, he owned a lovely vacation home in Bath. He also recently engaged in a partnership with several shipping business here in Liverpool.”