Free A Bargain For A Bride: Clean mail order bride romance (Montana Passion Book 1) by Amelia Rose Page B

pests that decimated his crop and left him broke at year’s end, or even an illness or injury that prevented him from working would destroy everything he’d worked for.
    And a day of rest for something as silly as a cut to the forehead wouldn’t be enough to put him to bed, not when there were chores to done and a fence line to finish before the deadline. Homesteaders only had a set amount of time to finish their obligations on their claims, and it was only a matter of months before his date came due. Pryor had had the foresight to begin his fence at the farthest points from his house and work his way home, meaning these last few acres left to be secured were nearby. He’d originally done it to keep any future neighbors from “accidentally” absorbing his property into their own, but now it meant that he no longer had a day’s ride to go work on his fence. The months of riding to fence work, spending weeks at a time sleeping on the bare ground in the unprotected wide open land, were months he couldn’t plant or grow his livestock because he wouldn’t be near enough to tend to them.
    “I’m ready to get to work,” Pryor announced, emerging from the bedroom with his clean nightshirt tucked into his denim overalls. Both ladies stared in horror for a second before remembering their manners and turning away. “What? I made this shirt from almost identical cloth as the work shirt you’re holding. Why is one acceptable for ladies’ eyes, and the other scandalous? It’s just as decent, now come on, we have work to do.”
    “You’re right, Pry,” Moira said, forcing her voice to remain steady in the presence of a man in his night clothes. “There’s work to be done, and lessons to be learned about working my claim. But first, you have to have a good meal, and then, you have to agree to not overexert yourself today. There’s no better way to learn than by doing, and I ask that you sit yourself beside us and instruct us in your chores. I don’t want to have to repeat my embroidery when you snap the threads holding your head together!”
    Pryor laughed, instinctively touching the bandage tied around his head. “Believe me, I don’t want any more of your stitching, either, not that I’m not grateful to you for doing it. I never thanked you for having the steely gumption to bring me in the house and fix me up, by the way. So, thank you… thank you both.”
    “You’re quite welcome, although I truly hope never to have to do that again,” Moira answered. Behind her, Gretchen nodded eagerly, the memory of the incident obviously paining her.
    They finished their food in relative silence, other than a few questions from Pryor about how the food had been cooked, making mental notes to remember how to mix ingredients and add flavorings. Gretchen turned the talk to the need for Pryor to rend some of the fat for cooking and baking the next time he slaughtered a pig, which turned the talk to a lively conversation of their favorite childhood foods. Pryor was surprised to know that many of Moira’s and Gretchen’s fond memories of their favorite foods from Brennan were meals Pryor had had at his grandmother’s own table.
    “She was from Cork,” he explained with a happy expression, remembering Christmases in his grandparents’ cabin in Ohio. He wore an almost dreamy look as he remembered the holidays filled with family members and the mixture of Irish and English on his mother’s side, and French and English from his father’s relatives.
    “So how did you come to be here if all of your family are far away?” Moira asked, genuinely interested in knowing what would make a man move away from home and live an isolated, solitary existence.
    “I think I’ve asked you the same thing,” he said with a rueful grin.
    “And I believe I’ve answered you!” she retorted playfully. “So now it is your turn. Why come all this way and live the life of a monk?”
    Pryor shrugged. “Just looking for adventure, I suppose.