LITMIR.BIZ

       “I’m awful glad you haven’t found a man to your liking yet.”

      Glory smiled at Cade, her gaze on him assessing. He was to be admired; not only did he seem to be honest and forthright, but he claimed to have a fund of money available should she want to sell any portion of her farm to him.

      If she was wrong, if this Cade McAllister was not all he seemed to be, she would have made a mistake greater than any she’d ever made. But if she were right, and if the sheriff was correct in his thinking, then Cade might be the salvation she sought. A man who would be willing to take on the farm and make a success of Buddy’s inheritance. A man to look out for her and the children. A friend for herself.

       And perhaps even a husband.

       AUTHOR NOTE

      I loved this story from the first page on. It dwells on the building of a relationship—a natural outcome of the sort of marriage Glory enters into. The children involved are a large part of this story, for they are also a large part of Glory’s life. I love children, and enjoy including them in my work. The bond formed between Buddy and his stepfather is a path to the relationship that develops, binding the whole family together. Just another Carolyn Davidson story—one of love within the boundaries of a family and the joy to be found in the midst of a home.

      I sincerely hope you will relate in some way to the characters who live on these pages, for I wrote this novel with my readers in mind. You have told me what you like to read and have made your position clear. So I write for you, all of you—those who make contact with me by mail or the internet, all of you who buy my books so faithfully and hopefully will continue to do so. The hours spent in front of my computer, my fingers flying over the keys, are dedicated to each of you.

      I sometimes wish I could have lived in the days of old, that I could have been a woman such as Glory, living with wood stoves to cook on and scrub boards leaning inside a washtub upon which to clean my family’s laundry. Hmm … perhaps I’ll stick to writing of such women, enjoy my modern conveniences, and forget about churning butter.

      So, until my next book and the next time I speak to each of you, I’ll be thinking of new stories to write and new characters to fill the pages.

      Happy reading!

      About the Author

      Reading, writing and research—CAROLYN DAVIDSON’s life in three simple words. At least that area of her life having to do with her career as a historical romance author. The rest of her time is divided among husband, family and travel—her husband, of course, holding top priority in her busy schedule. Then there is their church, and the church choir in which they participate. Their sons and daughters, along with assorted spouses, are spread across the eastern half of America, together with numerous grandchildren. Carolyn welcomes mail at her post office box, PO Box 2757, Goose Creek, SC 29445, USA.

       Previous novels by the same author:

      A MARRIAGE BY CHANCE

      THE TEXAN

      TEMPTING A TEXAN

      STORMWALKER’S WOMAN

      (short story in One Starry Christmas)

      TEXAS GOLD

      THE MARRIAGE AGREEMENT

      ABANDONED

      (short story in Wed Under Western Skies)

      TEXAS LAWMAN

      OKLAHOMA SWEETHEART

      A CHRISTMAS CHILD

      (short story in The Magic of Christmas)

      LONE STAR BRIDE

      MARRIED IN MISSOURI

      (short story in Mail-Order Marriages)

       and in Mills & Boon^® Super Historical Romance:

      REDEMPTION

      HAVEN

      THE OUTLAW’S BRIDE

      THE BRIDE

      A Man for Glory

      Carolyn Davidson

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      A MAN FOR GLORY

       is dedicated to those women who found happiness in marriages of convenience—a common occurrence in the olden days. My own grandmother, at the age of fifteen, came from Austria to marry a man in Dearborn, Michigan, without ever seeing him. It was a marriage that produced seven children, one of whom was my father. I have a love for such relationships, and write about them often.

      And, as always, this work in its entirety

       is dedicated to Mr. Ed, who loves me.

       Prologue

       Green River, Kansas

       1847

      The man who answered the door looked as if he’d seen better days. His hands were work-worn, his clothing no doubt soiled from toiling in the field out back of the barn. The pitchfork he’d apparently been using leaned against the side of the house, as if he’d left it there so it would be handy when he returned to the seemingly insurmountable job he’d left undone. Hay lay on the ground in neat rows, drying in the sun.

      It looked as if he might be in need of help and so she offered. “I’m looking for a job, mister. My name is Glory Kennedy. I need a place to stay and work for my keep. I can cook and clean and I’m a hard worker.”

      Her gaze met his, and shadows beneath his eyes told of long days and nights without enough sleep. And the words he spoke carried the ring of truth.

      “Pleased to meet you. I can sure use some help here. But one thing we’ll get straight right off. I won’t be lookin’ to get underneath your skirts, girl. I just want a woman to take care of my young’uns and keep things up around here. My name’s Harvey Clark, a widow man with more work than I can handle. I’d be pleased should you give me a hand. There’s an extra bedroom you can use.”

      The man’s offer was far from what Glory had hoped to hear back during those days when she’d been a dreamer. But life had proved to be one set of failures after another, with the latest landing her on this man’s doorstep, hearing him offer her a life of servitude and not much of a promise for a future.

      She’d walked away from the wagon train after her parents were buried, lying side by side with many more from the group. Diphtheria was a powerful disease, and had it not been for Glory’s mother sending her from the wagon when she and her father became ill, she’d have no doubt been buried along the trail with the dozen or so who’d been put to rest beneath the prairie grass.

      Her unwillingness to choose a husband from any of the survivors who’d offered had left her on her own, for a woman unmarried could not travel with a wagon train. And so she’d run, across the open country where tall grasses grew in endless meadows, to where a small town cast its shadow on the horizon. And then the sight of a group of buildings, a tidy farm, had offered shelter of a sort.

      Now the man who stood before her offered her more of the same future that had sent her fleeing just days since. Except that this one claimed he had no interest in lifting her skirts, only needing her to tend his children and keep them and their clothing clean.

      Looking at it from that viewpoint, she was tempted to quit running and hiding and instead seize the opportunity to settle in one spot for longer than a day or two.

      “How

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