Mail Order Brides and The Doctor (A Western Romance Book)(COMPLETED)

Chapter 01

1883 Pride Hill, Texas, Late Fall

"Irene, mail!" Tilda Mann called out in a loud, nasal voice as she came into the house, slamming the door shut behind her.

Irene Bailey winced at the sound. Her cousin, Tilda, had an irritating habit of slamming everything. Doors, drawers, windows... if it could be closed, then it ought to be slammed. To Tilda's mind, that seemed to be the only way to ensure things were shut tight.

Irene had been staying with Tilda for the last few months, after what Tilda referred to as "That fiasco of yours in Missouri," which was always followed by, "I don't know what you were thinking."

The two remarks went together like bread and butter. Irene had learned to ignore it, for the most part, but there were times when it still grated on her nerves. Especially when Tilda flaunted her own marriage and two seemingly perfect children—in Tilda's opinion—in front of Irene, who was beginning to feel that she was forever destined to remain alone.

Tilda's smile was as dark as her hair. Her thin body was sickly looking and pale. At least, in Irene's opinion. Tilda herself seemed to take great pleasure in it, as did her husband. He was always commenting on her lithe figure, sometimes even telling Irene that she ought to lose a few pounds so she could look more like Tilda and maybe attract a man. He would laugh as he said that, then frown thoughtfully.

Irene reached for her mail, and Tilda handed it off to her with a strange look. Irene sighed inwardly, wondering what was on her cousin's mind now. She slipped the letter into her pocket.

"Your hair is a mess, dear," Tilda told her. "Is it always this curly? Maybe you've had your head in the cupboards too long this morning. If you're going to clean out my kitchen, you ought to do something about your hair when you're through." She looked her up and down. "And your dress, as well."

Irene automatically began fixing her dark chestnut hair, pushing loose strands back into place. She'd tried to put her hair into a bun, but her curls never wanted to stay. Her figure was fuller than Tilda's, her curves that much more voluptuous, and she'd not been able to fit into any of Tilda's house dresses, so Tilda had instructed their housemaid, Lottie, to loan her one or two as they were roughly the same size.

"I wasn't finished cleaning out your cupboards yet," said Irene, "or I'd already have changed and freshened my hair."

Tilda tilted her head to the side. "Dear, if you weren't finished with your chores, then why did you come and see me?" She was looking at Irene as though she were crazy.

"You called me," Irene said.

"I most certainly did not," Tilda said.

Irene's milky skin, something she'd always considered one of her best features, began to flush with irritation. "Forgive me cousin, but I believe you did."

Tilda sighed loudly and walked past Irene and into the kitchen. Irene hesitated then followed her. "If you're going to come up with excuses to get out of your chores," Tilda said, "then I suggest you try something better. I know for a fact I never called to you specifically, I was merely letting whoever was here know that the mail had arrived." She was staring at Irene again with that same contemptuous look that Irene was coming to loathe.

"I'm not trying to get out of anything," Irene said. "I'm happy to help with whatever you need while I'm here."

Tilda tipped her head back, looking down her nose at Irene. "Gregory's worried you're going to live with us forever," she said out of nowhere. She was staring at her with overly arched eyebrows and a that look that had made Irene's blood boil.