When a pretty spitfire who's down on her luck clashes with a stubborn man in search of a wife, sparks must turn to flames....
A year after the Civil War, courageous former Union nurse Lydia McQuire was gamely scraping out an honest living. But now, as she said yes to marrying a stranger, her knees gave way with fear. Mr. Devon Quade had seemed polite and handsome when she answered his ad for a wife. Only after Lydia had arrived in Washington territory did she learn that her bridegroom wasn't to be sweet Devon Quade, but his older brother Brigham, a widower with strapping shoulders, hands as strong as steel, and an arrogant belief that he was lord and master of his lumber empire, the town of Quade's Harbor, and the woman he married. Lydia's dislike of him was instantaneous...yet Brigham was awakening in her a white-hot passion, and a firm resolve: before she would share his bed, he would have to surrender himself, heart and soul, to love....
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1 . read this years ago
Posted May 03, 2010 by rose , scThis was one of the first Linda Lael Miller books that I have ever read. I still remember it and have read it more than once. I was happy to see it as a download for the ereader, so now I am able to take it with me whenever I want to read it.
No matter how much time has gone by this one remains one of my favorites.
May 31, 1993
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Excerpt from Yankee Wife by Linda Lael Miller
LYDIA McQUIRE WAS DESPERATELY HUNGRY, AND A night's piano playing had earned her enough for a bed at Miss Killgoran's boardinghouse or a meal, but not both. She squinted to read the bill affixed to the wall outside the supper club, her blue eyes still stinging from the dense cigar smoke within.
WANTED: ONE WIFE FOR A GOOD, SOBER, AND PROSPEROUS MAN. CONTACT DEVON QUADE, ROOM 4, THE FEDERAL HOTEL
Lydia sighed. The Federal Hotel was just a few blocks from where she stood, yet it might as well have been in another world. There, people slept on crisp linen sheets, drank hot, strong tea with all the milk and sugar they could want, ate full meals without first examining the fare for mold and weevils. Perhaps if she went to see this Devon Quade, he would offer her some small refreshment during the interview ' coffee and rolls, perhaps. Even that sounded like a feast to Lydia, who hadn't eaten since the day before, when a kindly bartender had given her two hard-boiled eggs that had somehow been overlooked in the mad scramble of hungry, thirsty patrons.
She started automatically toward the hotel, picking up speed as she walked. It was dawn, and there were only a few carriages and wagons in the brick-laid streets; a Chinaman wearing a round, pointed hat, his trousers and shirt made of black silk, hurried along on the opposite sidewalk. A policeman strolled his beat, looking bored and weary, his nightstick making a clunk sound against each lamp post he passed.
It occurred to Lydia that she would probably rouse Mr. Quade from a sound sleep, arriving at his door so early, but she proceeded anyway. Perhaps he would be impressed by her industry and initiative and overlook her tattered dress, her mussed blond hair, the smell of smoke that had permeated her skin and grown stale there.
Her resolve was beginning to fade, so she walked faster. It was only when she reached the front door of the Federal Hotel that Lydia realized she was holding the advertisement for a wife in one hand. She didn't recollect pulling it from the wooden wall where she'd found it.
Standing on the sidewalk, drawing in deep breaths, Lydia folded the bill into neat quarters and then tucked it into her pocket with the two pitiful coins she'd received for entertaining that lot of sodden, pinching drunks. Briefly, she considered the idea of actually applying for the post of wife to this forthright stranger, but she soon discarded it again. In time she would find an honest position as a governess, or she would scrape together enough money to take a room in a boardinghouse where there was a piano. That way, she could give lessons and earn a dignified if modest living.