“And bring home a demon dog,” Josie muttered.
George whined again.
“Don’t take it personal, George,” Margaret said soothingly. “She doesn’t mean it.”
“I mean every word,” Josie said. “That dog is a menace.”
“He is not,” Margaret shot back. “He’s doing the best he can.”
“All that dog cares about is getting fed and having a warm place to sleep,” Josie said. “Go put him in the kitchen and help us clean this up.”
“Oh, very well.” Margaret grabbed George by the collar. “Come on, let’s go.”
George followed dutifully.
“That dog,” Josie said with another eye roll. She turned to Augusta. “Where’s the list?”
“I don’t know. I put it in my pocket. Maybe it fell out when Margaret went to Mr. Barr’s General Store.”
“Well, that’s it then.” Josie threw her hands into the air. “We’re never going to make sense of all this. And we have brides coming in this week for their train and stage fare. I don’t even know which bride goes to which groom. Do you?”
Augusta gave her a guilty look. “No. Val took care of all of it.”
“Good heavens, what are we going to do?” Josie pinched the bridge of her nose, one hand on her hip. “We’re doomed.”
“Nonsense,” Augusta said. “We just have to clean up this mess. As soon as Margaret secures the beast, we’ll get to work. Everything will be fine, you’ll see.” She brushed at her skirt and swallowed hard. “We’ll get the brides sent out, handle any new correspondence, and run this place the way we did before Val came along.”
Josie stared at her. “Before Val came along, this place was a disaster.”
“But we still ran it,” Augusta insisted, wagging a finger. “We did it once, we can do it again.”
One corner of Josie’s mouth curved up. “If you say so, sister dear. But a disaster is a disaster, no matter how you spell it.”
“That may be true, but there are three of us,” Augusta said briskly. “We’ll get this cleaned up and organized in no time.” She put her coat back on.
“Where are you going?” Josie asked.
“To Mr. Barr’s General Store, of course. I want to see if I can find that list.”
Both of Josie’s hands went to her hips. “And if you can’t?”
Augusta let out a long, weary sigh. “Then heaven help us.”
Chapter Two
Phoebe Hale stood outside The Sister’s Mail-Order Bride Company, her heart in her throat. This was her last chance at survival. No one wanted to hire her because of her father. The old coot was known as a thief and a liar, and though he’d had little to do with Phoebe and her mother, he was still her father. She longed for the day he’d quit his philandering ways and come home. But he was rarely home. Instead he was always chasing the “next big thing” that would make them rich. Gold mines in the West, silver mines in Montana, and on it went. When he did return to Chicago, it was often to collect whatever money she and Mama had managed to make in his absence.
Now Mama was gone, and Phoebe didn’t want to be around when Papa showed up next. He was a crafty thing, and who knew what he’d try to talk her into? So here she was, standing before her one means of escaping Chicago, not to mention a visit from her father.
Phoebe took a deep breath, trying to muster her courage. She never thought she’d sink so low that marrying a stranger would become her only means of survival. But here she was, ready to plunge herself into the unknown with a man she had yet to meet.
She straightened her hat, ran a hand down the front of her respectable coat, and tugged on her gloves. Mama always told her first impressions were everything, and she had to make sure she looked good enough to land herself a husband. If she could impress The Sister’s Mail-Order Bride Company, then they were sure to find her a suitable match.
Phoebe took another deep breath and entered the building. She stood in a large foyer with a staircase to her right and a door to her left. Before her was a wall lined with half a dozen chairs. The waiting area. She turned toward the door and knocked, unsure if she could simply enter.
A commotion erupted on the other side, and someone yelled “George!” in a frantic voice. The door flew open and a huge sheepdog bounded out, knocking Phoebe flat. “Oh!”
“George!” an older woman cried. She grabbed the dog by the collar and pulled him off Phoebe. “I’m terribly sorry about that. He hasn’t learned his manners yet. He gets overly excited, you see.”
