The Cowboy’s Bride Collection: 9 Historical Romances Form on Old West Ranches Read online

  Georgie wiggled in the wagon bed. “I sing, too.”

  The wagon lurched to a stop. So did Lily’s heart. Georgie. She’d not found anyone among the church members suitable to watch Georgie for Jackson. The townsfolk lived too far away from the ranch to lend a daily hand. Lily’d half expected God to provide a miracle today, but He hadn’t.

  When they’d descended from the wagon and Mrs. Phipps and Georgie hastened into the house, Lily gripped Jackson’s sleeve. “The stagecoach comes in five days. You’ll be in Mexico. Will you take Georgie with you or leave her with Mrs. Phipps?”

  Or ask me to stay? Because I’ll say yes.

  “Neither.” Jackson’s eyes softened, as if filled with pity. “There’s something you need to know.”

  Dread dried her mouth like a hot prairie wind. “What’s happened?”

  Fred stepped forward, hat in his hands. “Miss Lily, I was hoping to talk to you inside.”

  “Tell me now.” Her wobbling legs wouldn’t carry her that far.

  Fred mauled his hat in his thick fingers. “Delia and I haven’t known each other long, but I love her. I promise I’ll do right by her.”

  “You’re getting m–married?” She spun to her sister.

  “Next month when Reverend Wyatt comes back again.” Delia’s hands clasped under her chin. “It’s all worked out. We’ll watch Georgie and you can live with me and Fred.”

  Fred grinned. “The house’ll be done. We’d be pleased if you’d join us.”

  Jackson’s brow furrowed. “It’s a good solution, Red. For everybody.”

  Not for her.

  Her stomach lurched. She wanted to stay in Wildrye, yes. But as something more than Jackson’s neighbor. He wanted nothing from her. Not help with his daughter. Not love. She’d been such a fool.

  Nobody wanted her. Oh, Delia did for now, of course, but she and Fred would grow to resent the intrusion of a spinster sister in their home. Lily would be a burden.

  After all Lily had sacrificed to protect Delia’s fragile heart from Uncle Uriah’s cruelty. After everything. Lily was alone. “You all decided without me?” The words sounded sharper than she intended, but she couldn’t stop them. “After our plans—”

  Delia’s eyes blazed with a fire Lily had never seen before. “You never asked me what I want. But now I’ve found it. Here. Fred’s proposal was the happiest moment of my life. I’d hoped telling you would be the second.”

  The words knocked into Lily like a blow. It was true. She hadn’t consulted Delia. She’d thought she was providing for her sister. Instead she was ruling her. What sort of selfish monster was she?

  Bile burned the back of her throat. She wouldn’t disgrace herself here, now. Her hand fisted to her mouth and she ran. Past the corrals. Through knee-high grass. A large live oak, its shade comforting, loomed ahead. Hiding under its branches was all she could think to do.

  Heat blasted her face as the grass gave way to ledges of rock, sun-warm and smooth. The running was easier over them.

  So easy, it was difficult to stop when the dun-and-mud-colored coil ahead of her unkinked with a sudden spring. Lily’s arms swung backward to restore her balance, but her crinoline rocked forward like a pealing bell.

  She knew nothing of snakes, except to avoid them.

  The snake didn’t like her, either. Its black-and-white-striped tail rattled. And its head poised to strike.

  Crack. The report of the gunshot stung Jackson’s ear and made Lily jump like a jackrabbit.

  “Are you crazy, woman?” His voice was steady, but his hand shook when he replaced the Colt in its holster. “This isn’t Boston.”

  Her hands clenched like she wanted to hit something. Maybe him. “Don’t talk to me like I’m Georgie.”

  “You could’ve been killed.”

  “Thank you for taking care of it.” Her tone wasn’t as grateful as her words.

  He gripped the diamondback by the tail. Over six feet. Ol’ Bill would make soup for the hands. He should take it to him. Leave her to pout. But his blood was too hot in his veins to let things go unsaid. “Delia’s bawling.”

  “I know. I shouldn’t have responded like that.”

  Surprise caught his breath. “So you’re staying?”

  Her stiff shoulders stooped. “I can’t.”

  How stupid of him. He tossed the snake. “That’s right. You’re the next Jenny Lind.”

  Her jaw gaped. “Eager for fame and fortune? That’s what you think of me?”

  No, it wasn’t. But he was so angry his vision tinged red. “You said you want a home. If you did, you’d stay. Or maybe you just don’t like this one. Not even for Delia.” Much less Georgie. Or him. “You’d rather sing.”

  Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Singing makes me selfish?”

  “It does when you make an idol of money and success.”

  “That’s ironic, since you’re so concerned with growing your ranch, you’re robbing those villagers in Mexico.”

  The shift jarred his bones like a rearing bronc. “I’m making fair payment.”

  “And taking away those people’s livelihoods.” Her hands fisted on her hips. “Money only lasts so long when they have no crops or stock. But who cares, because you’ll have more cows.”

  “I care.” About the people. And her, if she’d stay and give him time.

  “But apparently I only care about myself,” she snapped. “I need to get dinner on. Georgie will be hungry.” Her words faded as she clomped past him in a whirl of red plaid.

  He retrieved the dead snake, delivered it to Ol’ Bill, and marched to the house. Verifying Lily was in the kitchen, he hurried to his bedroom. It smelled of Lily, like flowers, and oh, he had to get her unstuck from his craw.

  He dug his lockbox from Paloma’s hope chest. Yanked out a handful of bills. Stomped to the kitchen, sending Cat scurrying from his path. He smacked the money on the counter by Lily’s elbow.

  She glared at his hand. “What’s that?”

  “Use it for the stage. Coach. Theater. Both.”

  “But I still owe you for my uncle’s fee—”

  “I don’t want it.” What I want is for you to stay.

  She gulped. “It’s too much.”

  Her words softened something in him. He’d been harsh, angered by her response to Delia. If she’d just look at him, he’d know what she wanted: a home, or everything represented by that token she kept in her pocket. But she didn’t look up, so he stepped back.

  “Fred and I’ll be gone at first light. Won’t be back before the stage comes through. Good luck, Red.”

  Chapter 7

  At dawn, Lily strode into the front yard, wrapping her shawl tighter about her shoulders. All was quiet in the pale morning light except the conversations of the ranch hands waiting on the drive with spare horses and pack mules. Delia clung to Fred as if he marched off to war. Georgie gripped Jackson’s chaps. Mrs. Phipps dabbed her eyes with a hankie. Nobody looked at Lily at all.

  She offered Jackson a paper-wrapped bundle. “Fried egg sandwiches. I know Ol’ Bill packed plenty for the rest of the trip, but I thought you might like breakfast.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” It was clear from his hollow tone he still didn’t think much of her quest for “fame and fortune.”

  But he did like her fried egg sandwiches. He took the package.

  “Go with God.” And be happy. He may not want her, but after a prayerful night, she reckoned she wanted God’s best for him.

  His Adam’s apple worked. So he wasn’t unaffected, after all. “Let Delia know where you are. She’ll want to tell you about the wedding.”

  She’d see it for herself. But—how could she, if she left? Her throat thickened. “I will.”

  He nodded, pressed a kiss on Georgie’s cheek, mounted his gelding, and was gone.

  Delia burst into tears.

  Lily enfolded her in her arms. “I’m sorry. For everything. I want you to be happy. I should’ve said that yesterday when you told me the n
ews.”

  “We shocked you. I’m sorry.” Delia sniffled.

  “Dry those tears. Just think, in a few weeks, Fred’ll be back.”

  “But you won’t. Lil, how will I go on without you?”

  It’d be hard, but Delia would manage fine. She, at least, wouldn’t be alone.

  Lily’s trunk yawned open, awaiting her earthly possessions. Tomorrow she’d be on the stagecoach. Alone. “Have you seen my lace sleeves?”

  Delia folded unmentionables. “Not since Sunday.”

  “I’ll peek in Georgie’s room.” Both the child and Mrs. Phipps napped, providing Lily the opportunity to pack without distraction.

  “Wait.” Delia took Lily’s wrist. “Don’t go.”

  “I won’t wake her.”

  “Not that. Wildrye. Stay for the wedding. Maybe Jackson—”

  “He disapproves of me. Or he’s scared of me. Either way, he doesn’t want me here.” They’d discussed it many times in the three days since the men left for Mexico. Lily admitted her feelings for Jackson, along with details of their final, painful argument.

  “But you’ll live with me and Fred.”

  “You’re making your own family. Just as you should.” Lily hugged Delia and stroked her flaxen hair.

  “Maybe it’s best if you go, so you aren’t pained by seeing him, but I want you at my wedding.”

  “I can’t be in the house when Jackson comes back from Mexico.” They cried then, comforting one another until a rich smell wafted up from the kitchen. “Bread’s ready. Why don’t you get it before it burns?”

  Delia pulled back. Then Lily stood, wiped her eyes, and crept to Georgie’s room to look for the lace sleeves.

  Georgie wasn’t there, an unsurprising discovery. The child had a habit of crawling into everyone’s beds. Lily peeked in the third bedchamber, once Fred’s, now Mrs. Phipps’s. The lone creature resting there was Cat. Lily conducted a quick search of the house, upstairs and down, before hurrying to the kitchen. “They’re gone.”

  Delia placed a loaf on the cooling rack. “The sleeves? Take mine.”

  “No. Georgie and Mrs. Phipps.”

  At the shocked look on Delia’s face, Lily hastened to the veranda. Empty. She ran around the house’s perimeter. “Georgie! Mrs. Phipps!”

  “I’ll check inside again,” Delia called.

  “I’ll be in the barn.” Stifling mounting nausea, Lily climbed to the loft. It was vacant, save for crates the men had used as makeshift nightstands. The sight of them ached her heart for Jackson all over again, but there was no time for those kinds of thoughts. Not with her two charges missing.

  On her way down the ladder, hands gripped her waist and set her on her feet. Her heart jumped into her throat, but it wasn’t enough to plug her scream.

  “Sorry.” Lard Jones’s hands flew in the air. “Just tryin’ to help. Boss told me to watch over you ladies, and now you’re dashin’ hither and yon like quails. First Mrs. Phipps, now you.”

  “You saw Mrs. Phipps?” At his nod, Lily clapped her hands. “Georgie, too?”

  “Not the little’un. Just the lady. ’Bout a half hour past, walkin’ toward the crick. Want me to go get her?”

  Fear heated Lily’s skin. If Mrs. Phipps wandered to the creek, was that where Georgie had gone, too? The creek wasn’t deep, but a child could drown in an inch of water. Not to mention the dangers between here and there. Holes, stones, cactus. Snakes.

  Her nod for Lard was curt. “I’ll go. If you could check the pasture in case Georgie’s not with Mrs. Phipps, I’d be obliged.”

  Delia scoured the yard and animal pens. Lard and some hands divvied up the pasture. Lily rushed to the creek, hand shielding her eyes from the scorching sun.

  Lord, please protect them. I don’t care if Jackson never forgives me. “Georgie!”

  “Miss Lily?” The little voice carried through the oaks. Darling, naughty girl.

  Lily caught her in her arms. “What are you doing here?”

  “Playing with sticks.” Drawing letters of the alphabet in the muddy bank. Mrs. Phipps would be proud of that G. Then Georgie pushed away from Lily. “You’re going away.”

  A hot tear slid down Lily’s cheek. Relief? Grief? Every emotion she’d fought since Ma died seemed to well behind her eyes, pushing to get out. “I’m sorry. But I will m–miss you.”

  “No you won’t. If you did, you’d be my mama.” Georgie plopped on her rump in the mud.

  “It’s not as easy as all that.” The words came out choked.

  “I want birds and a mama and a baby brother.” Georgie kicked her legs, splattering mud everywhere. The child was confused and missing her Pa. And her nap.

  It would be so easy to drop to her knees and join the girl in crying, but Lily had made her choice, and so had Jackson. Lily scooped the bawling, muddy bundle into her arms.

  “It will be well. I don’t know how, but God will care for us. But right now, shh.” She comforted both Georgie and herself. “Right now, we must find Aunt Martha. Where is she?”

  Georgie’s wet face soaked Lily’s bodice, but at least her cries subsided. She shrugged.

  “You don’t know, or you’re not telling?” Lily rubbed her damp eyes on her sleeve.

  Georgie’s face pressed into Lily’s neck. “Don’t be mad, Miss Lily, but I did something bad.”

  “Easy, Jack,” Fred hollered. “We can’t keep pace with ya.”

  Jackson pulled up Crockett, his dun gelding, and turned around. Fred spoke true. The party was big and cattle could only move so fast. “Sorry. I was distracted.”

  “When ain’t you been these past few weeks?” Fred trotted closer, kicking up dust. This section of the trail home was dry and inhospitable, with nothing but sunbaked earth to cushion his bedroll at night. Made a man yearn for his bed of straw in the hayloft at home.

  Except he’d be back in the house once Delia married Fred. Then everything would be as he wanted: Aunt Martha here, Georgie cared for, and him free to focus on his ranch. The only things missing were Georgie’s pet songbirds. So why wasn’t he happy?

  The answer repeated itself in rhythm with his jangling spurs, over and over, across the miles to Mexico and back.

  Lily.

  “You’re gonna have to get over it.” Fred shook his head. “The stagecoach left days ago. Lily could be anywhere by now.”

  Jackson could deny he’d been thinking of her, but it wasn’t in him to lie. “I know.”

  He’d known more than that when he left for Mexico. Knew it when he’d spoken in anger. He knew it before he taught her to lasso. He’d just been too afraid to believe it.

  He loved her. Hadn’t expected to, hadn’t wanted to. He’d judged her as a saloon gal, but she had taught him about God and love and home in ways he hadn’t imagined.

  Now it was too late. She’d wanted to follow her dream, and he wouldn’t have stopped her. But if given the chance, he’d have admitted his feelings and tried to figure out a way to make things work. “Maybe someday she’ll come visit Delia.”

  Fred shrugged. “Unless you go find her first.”

  Jackson had never fallen from a broken horse, but he almost did now. “What?”

  “Find out where she went, and go. We’ve got Georgie.”

  “I couldn’t.”

  But he could. At this pace, the wagon train would make it to Wildrye tomorrow. But on his own…

  “Yellow-bellied coward.” Fred grinned.

  “Not for long.” Jackson grinned back. He flicked Crockett’s reins. “Giyyup!”

  Chapter 8

  When Jackson rode into the yard, four buggies were parked in front of the house, one of them the doctor’s. Was Georgie ill? Or Martha? With mounting concern, he made for the house.

  Lard Jones ambled around the side of the house. Spying Jackson, he waved his hat. “Boss. Somethin’ wrong?”

  “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

  “Naw. Maybe Miss Delia’s havin’ a party.” The lean rancher
took Crockett’s reins. “Where’s Fred and them? You leave ’em in Mexico?”

  “They’ll come tomorrow. I’ll explain later.” He slid from Crockett’s back. “Could you see to Crockett? He’s had a hard day.”

  “Yessir.”

  Jackson jogged to the house. Delia, having a party? Doubtful. He rushed through the front door, tripping on Cat and almost falling into the salon.

  A gaggle of females holding teacups stared at him. Wives of the doctor, the liveryman, the merchant, and a farmer. Delia. Pearl, in a high-necked dress, and—Jackson almost tripped again—Lily, sweet as an apricot in her orange dress.

  “Jackson.” Lily stood, her hand at her throat.

  He slid his hat off his head. “Ladies. I didn’t mean to interrupt your—party.”

  Delia popped up. “Where’s Fred? I mean, welcome home.”

  “He’ll be here tomorrow. I had urgent business.” It would have been more polite to look at Delia, but he couldn’t pull his gaze from Lily. “You missed the stage.”

  Her nod was tiny.

  Relief enfeebled his knees. Once these womenfolk left, he’d take her onto the veranda. Tell her everything.

  “My, look at the time.” The merchant’s wife, Mrs. Gardner, set down her teacup. “We must be going.”

  “Don’t leave on my account.” Although Jackson’s gut leaped with joy. He’d have Lily to himself in mere minutes.

  Mrs. Gardner scrutinized his dusty form. But she was right. If he held Lily’s hands, they should be clean. He should put on his Sunday shirt, too. As soon as the last buggy left the yard, he’d scrub and change—

  “Sorry I can’t help you clean, Delia.” Lily placed a few cups on the tray, belying her words. “Tell Georgie and Mrs. Phipps good-bye for me.”

  Jackson’s hat slid from his dirt-caked fingers. “You’re leaving?”

  Lily stared at the cups. “Pearl and I board at the Gardners, in the room off their store.”

  She didn’t live here anymore? He bent to retrieve his hat and hide his confusion.

  “It’s a tiny pantry of a room.” Mrs. Gardner gathered Pearl in a protective gesture. “But it’ll do for such a short stay.”