A Mail-Order Destiny

  A Mail-Order Destiny

  Miners to Millionaires - Book 10

  Janelle Daniels

  Dream Cache Publishing

  Willow Packer has one clear goal: to make her business thrive. Determined to collect what is owed her, she confronts the hotel owner, only to end up rescuing another lady from being thrown out on the street. Willow takes Abigail under her wing and is thrilled when she agrees to sew for her… at least until Abigail's brother, a hotel tycoon from the East shows up, demanding his sister's return.

  In Manhattan, Rhys Winthrop is known as a ruthless businessman, one never to be crossed. When his sister runs from home, he's forced to travel across the county to fetch her. Assuming his sister will comply with his demands, he's sent reeling when a gorgeous, stubborn woman, who's set herself up as Abigail's protector, slams a door in his face.

  Rhys is forced to stay in town until he convinces his sister to return home, but unexpectedly, he's drawn to the town's quirky hotel. Rhys purchases the property on impulse and unwittingly sparks a mad search for a legendary treasure. Now, Willow and Rhys must work together as the search turns deadly. But will the treasure they discover be made of gold… or of the heart?

  To sign up for Janelle Daniels’ readers club and receive notice of new titles as they are available, click here.

  To Dan. You’ve kept me going this whole time. I couldn’t have done this without you. Here’s to the next ten books!

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epilogue

  Titles by Janelle Daniels

  Chapter 1

  Willow Packer was determined, bossy, and persistent, and she didn't bother denying it. So, as she marched down Main Street in Promise Creek, Montana, she knew exactly what she was after, and how to get it.

  She pushed through the glossy, wooden doors of the town’s hotel, intent on finding the hotel owner's wife, Mrs. Clayton. Dressed in a putrid shade of yellow, a color Willow had practically begged the woman not to select, it was impossible to miss her. Besides that, she was tearing into a young lady wearing one of the most exquisite pink dresses Willow had ever seen. If she wasn't on a mission to collect on Mrs. Clayton's bill, she might have been tempted to stop and ask who'd made the luxurious gown.

  Willow marched up to them. "Mrs. Clayton, I need a moment of your time." It was the height of rudeness to interrupt a conversation, but she didn't care.

  At the abrupt intrusion, Mrs. Clayton gave Willow her attention, the sour expression on her face matching the tone of her gown. "Miss Packer, I'm a bit busy at the moment, if you didn't realize. Perhaps another time?" Mrs. Clayton turned her entire body away from Willow, giving her the cut.

  If Willow were anyone else, she might've been cowed, might have slunk away in embarrassment, but that wasn't her. Instead of running out the door, she took a purposeful step forward. Mrs. Clayton still didn't pay her any attention, but the woman in the pink dress raised her green eyes in surprise, and Willow could see the startled amusement in their depths.

  "Forgive me," Willow said to the lady. "I'm afraid my conversation with Mrs. Clayton can't wait."

  The well-dressed woman bit her lip as if she were trying to stop herself from smiling, then nodded. "By all means, I wouldn't want to stand in the way of such an important conversation." The woman nodded to Mrs. Clayton. "We will speak of the matter again soon."

  Mrs. Clayton's nostrils flared. "There's nothing left to discuss, Miss Winthrop. You’re out of funds, which means you're out of the hotel."

  Miss Winthrop spine straightened. "I can procure more funds. Money is no problem."

  Mrs. Clayton rolled her eyes and scoffed. "My dear, if money were no problem, why are you in Promise Creek without any?"

  Miss Winthrop's cheeks blanched, but before she could rally again, Willow cut into the conversation. "Speaking of funds, I'm here to collect payment for the services I rendered."

  Mrs. Clayton's shrill laughter filled the room, and it took every ounce of willpower Willow possessed not to cringe. "My dear," Mrs. Clayton started in a placating tone. "You can't possibly expect me to pay for this—” she pinched the material of her skirt “—well, garment is too nice of a word. It's poorly constructed, and I fear the seams will burst apart at any moment due to poor workmanship."

  Willow bit her tongue and silently counted to five. The seams might be about to burst, but that was only because the overly plump woman had insisted Willow cut the gown until it was a second skin. "If the product is of inferior quality, why are you wearing it?"

  The woman shrugged and ran her hand over the silky soft material. "Oh, well, I thought I would give it one last shot. In case I was wrong, you know. It doesn't happen often, and in this instance—" she lifted her hands in the air "—I fear I was correct once again."

  There were so many things Willow could've said, so many things she wanted to say. But she'd learned from past experience that when she let her temper fly, undesirable consequences occurred. Mrs. Clayton might be a bossy, loud, and brash sort of woman, but the fact was, she also had some sway in the community. "I'm sorry you feel that way. In that case, I'm afraid I’ll have to take possession of the unwanted garments immediately." Mrs. Clayton spluttered and opened her mouth to argue. "Immediately," Willow said, once again.

  Mrs. Clayton's cheeks flushed in anger, and her eyes narrowed. "It seems that having a little wealth has gone to your head." Her eyes flicked to the opposite side of the room, where Willow knew Jared, her bodyguard, waited in the shadows. "It's also easy to make demands when you have muscle to back you up."

  Willow's jaw clenched, and she offered the older woman a tight smile. "First off, I didn't come into a little bit of money. I came into a lot. Second, I don't need a bodyguard to demand payment for my work, or to retrieve any unwanted items. Now, I'll ask one more time before taking this matter to the sheriff. Give me the items, or pay the agreed-upon amount." Her chin raised a notch.

  Mrs. Clayton's eyes darted around the room, as if looking for any excuse to turn Willow away. Finally, she huffed and walked over to the hotel’s check-in desk, reached behind, and pulled out paper bills. She stalked toward Willow and shoved the money unceremoniously into Willow's hands. "Here, take it. I can't be bothered with the inconvenience of changing now, and while the quality of the workmanship is inferior, I'll keep the garments and hope the stitches don't come out after the first washing."

  Reminding herself that building her business was her number one priority, Willow swallowed the acidic comment lingering on her tongue. "Thank you for your business."

  Mrs. Clayton rolled her eyes disgustedly, her gaze finally landing on Miss Winthrop. "And you, you beggar, I'd better not see you step one foot into this establishment again, without being able to pay in advance for your stay. Now get out."

  "But—"

  Before Miss Winthrop could utter another word, Willow hooked her arm through the woman's, and glared at the rude, unfeeling Mrs. Clayton. "Miss Winthrop and I were just leaving. She'll have no need to step foot in your establishment again, because she'll be staying with me."

  "With you?" Miss Winthrop asked softly. "I couldn't possib—"

  Willow squeezed her arm. "Of course, you are. Now, we really must be going. Mrs. Clayton." Willow lowered her head only a fraction of an inch, refusing to waste any other social niceties on the woman.

  Willow and Miss Winthrop took their leave as Mrs. Clayton's putrid form s
hook with indignation. Willow knew it said something terrible about her, but she was pleased. Not only had she secured payment, she'd also gotten revenge. Infuriating Mrs. Clayton had been the extra sugar in her lemonade.

  When the door closed behind them and they stepped onto the boardwalk, Willow let out an aggrieved sigh. "I generally like most people, but that woman is like a tick under my skin. Now," Willow stopped their progress as she turned and looked at the woman beside her. "I didn't give you a choice back there, but if there's somewhere else you'd like to go instead of staying with me, I'm fine with that."

  Miss Winthrop didn't meet her eyes. "I don't have anywhere else to go."

  Willow studied the lady, the frustration and aggression from their earlier conversation with Mrs. Clayton dissipating. "What about your family?"

  Miss Winthrop shook her head. "They're still back east."

  "You came out here all alone? Are you a bride?"

  "Not a bride." She laughed humorlessly. "I'm nothing."

  Willow wasn't normally thrown off-guard, but this instance was an exception. "What's your name?"

  "Abigail Winthrop. Well, Abby. I've decided I want to be called Abby from now on." Her chin raised as if she were expecting Willow to argue over the name change.

  Willow took in the woman's dress again. It was even finer up close than when she'd seen it from across the room in the hotel. The stitches were so tiny she could barely see them, and the fabric appeared to have been spun by fairies, silky and smooth. Abby was obviously a lady of means. Whatever had prompted her to flee to Promise Creek must have been significant. "I think Abby is a wonderful name. Strong, dependable, feminine. I like it." Willow smiled.

  Abby's shoulders fell. "Thank you," she said, drawing out the words. "I'm sorry. I’m used to people ordering me around."

  "Well," Willow rolled her eyes playfully, "I can't promise not to be bossy. It's something I like to do."

  Abby laughed delicately. "I appreciate the warning. And to be fair, I'll let you know right now, I don’t intend to do anything I don’t want to ever again.”

  Willow cocked her head. Abby's words were more telling then she probably realized. "I think we'll get along just fine, then. Is there anything you'd like to fetch before I show you the house? It’s a bit of a drive, but not too bad if you'd like to come into town often."

  "Sounds like heaven. I have one trunk. Although—" she bit her lip and her eyes darted toward the hotel "—I'm not certain I'll be able to get it."

  Fury welled within her. "Oh, we'll get it." Abby was obviously a woman running from something, and she'd landed in a bad situation with Mrs. Clayton. Well, Willow wasn't going to allow anything else to happen to her. Willow could've found herself in such a situation last year, arriving in town only to find that her mail-order groom had ordered himself ten brides instead of one. Fortunately for him, he died three days before they all got there. Otherwise, the women might have strangled him.

  It all worked out, though. In exchange for allowing the men in town to court them, the mayor had given them Ivan's house, and his slowly producing mine. Well, it had been slowly producing up until a few months ago. Now, they'd hit the mother lode, and they were all deliciously wealthy. Wealth aside, Willow was still moving forward with her business. She needed something to keep her busy.

  Willow patted Abby's arm. "Wait here, and I'll be back in just a moment."

  "But what will you do?"

  "I think that should be obvious." Willow grinned, thinking of just what she would say to Mrs. Clayton. "I'm going to get your trunk."

  The slow smile that brightened Abby's face filled Willow with satisfaction, and she realized she missed this type of companionship. She was the last unmarried bride, and being last was a lonely business.

  Chapter 2

  Rhys Winthrop was a man who got what he was after. Businessmen in Manhattan knew him as a ruthless opponent, one who was never to be crossed. When he wanted something, he got it. He didn't care who was in the way, he didn't care who he had to go over, what he desired was his.

  But there were certain lines he never crossed. He paid his debts, he never swindled anyone, he only entered into fair deals, and as long as it was deserved, he treated people with respect whether they were the highest Knickerbocker, or the lowliest servant.

  So now that he was in Promise Creek, determined to fetch his sister and return home as quickly as possible, he had no doubt he would be able to do so quickly and efficiently. He was almost willing to wager they'd be able to leave on the next train. Almost. Abigail was sweet and kind, loving and giving—most things he wasn't with people outside his family—but she was also one other thing.

  Stubborn.

  Just like him. It amused him that temperamentally they were so different except in that one area. She'd hidden it better, forced to conform to the rules of society, but he still remembered their arguments as children, the way she’s hold strong when Mother and Father told her she couldn't do something.

  His lips twitched, as he thought of the ways Abigail had gotten around such orders. Though sweet, she was also cunning and brilliant. He'd have to work to convince her to come home.

  But how hard could that be?

  He stepped off the train onto the bustling platform, sweeping his gaze over the buildings, the town, the people, and ruthlessly analyzing them in mere seconds.

  It had its charms, he couldn't deny that. He'd been through one too many rough, western towns on his way here, and they'd held little appeal until now.

  The buildings had fresh coats of paint, and the boardwalks which connected them were freshly swept with no signs of warping or sinking. The streets looked tidy, as if it were someone's job to clean and maintain them, and the whole atmosphere filled him with a sense of peace he hadn't felt in some time.

  He wondered if his sister had stumbled across this place accidentally, or if she’d done her research and come here on purpose. He wouldn't be surprised if she had. It seemed too coincidental for her to end up here.

  One of the porters rushed up to him, tugging the brim of his hat in greeting. "Something I can do for you, sir?"

  He eyed the elderly gentleman before making a snap decision. "Yes. I'm looking for my sister, Abigail Winthrop. Do you know where she is?" In any other town, no one would know a new woman so quickly, but from the disproportionate number of men milling about, he had a feeling Abigail might have stood out.

  The man nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, sir."

  Exactly as he'd hoped for. "Excellent. Take me to the hotel, so I can see her."

  "She ain't at the hotel."

  The man shuffled his feet at Rhys' glare. "Then, where is she?" It took every ounce of willpower to moderate his tone. It was neither this man's fault, nor his responsibility what Abigail did.

  "Well, she's at Ivan's house."

  "Ivan's house?" His voice rose. "You mean to tell me she’s staying with a man?"

  The porter didn't look up. "No sir. Ivan died last year."

  Rhys took a deep breath, locking away his frustration. He was more tired than he realized. "Forgive me. I'm weary, but that's no excuse to speak to you thusly. How do I get to Ivan's house?"

  The man's gaze darted up in surprise. As if realizing Rhys wasn't a threat, he straightened fully. "You'll follow the path out of town, and eventually you'll come to it."

  "And how will I know it's the correct house? I assume there are other houses along the road?"

  The man smiled, showing him an exceptionally gappy grin. "Oh. You'll know it. Ivan had a flair for luxury, if you know what I mean."

  Rhys frowned. "Do you mean to tell me he built a mansion in the wilderness?"

  The man chuckled. "Not quite a mansion, but close. Especially for these parts. Good thing, too. All those women wouldn't have had a place to go."

  Rhys had been turning away to leave, but the man's last line had him glancing over his shoulder again. "Which women?"

  "His brides, of course."

  Rhys's eye
s bugged out. "Brides? As in, more than one?"

  "Yessiree. The crazy fool ordered ten, if you can believe it. It worked out, though. Now that nine of them married, only one remains. Wonder what will happen to the house after she gets hitched?"

  "And my sister is staying with this unmarried woman? Just the two of them alone out there?"

  "Yep." The man grinned and tugged on his hat again, before moving on to assist someone else.

  Rhys couldn't decide if shock or astonishment filled him. His sister was so bright, he couldn't imagine her putting herself into such a precarious situation. What about her safety? Had she not considered that? And who was this spinster Abigail had formed an attachment with?

  Rhys was determined to find out the answers immediately, and was grateful he hadn't been more delayed in arriving. Who knew what else Abigail would've gotten herself into?

  Flagging down the porter once again, he gave the man instructions to bring his trunk to the hotel, and paid him handsomely. The man gave him another gap-toothed smile, before rushing off to do his bidding.

  With grim determination, Rhys marched into town, set on renting a horse.

  He loved his sister dearly, but he would make her see reason, and he would be leaving here shortly with her at his side.

  There were no variations to how this would end. Abigail was coming home.

  It had taken some time to procure a horse, but the same as anywhere else, Rhys found that with the right amount of money, anything was possible. With the price he paid, he could've purchased the nag, but it wasn't worth the bother. He had no intention of keeping the animal, and he had every confidence Abigail would return with him by the end of their conversation.