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

  Pearl, out of Frank’s, and it was Lily’s doing. “You’ve been busy.”

  “A little.” Lily glanced at him, her cheeks pink with pleasure.

  Mrs. Buckridge patted Delia’s arm. “I’ll make a nice cake for your wedding.”

  “And I’ll have your bouquet ready.” Pearl’s voice was girlish. It was the first time Jackson ever heard her speak.

  So they were wedding planning. Lily trailed the other womenfolk, so he reached for her elbow. “Wait. How we left things—”

  “I shouldn’t be here, I know.” Her gaze fixed to the ground. “I’m staying for the wedding. Then I’ll be gone. I won’t bother you.”

  “That’s not what I meant, Red.”

  “Lily?” Mrs. Gardner poked her head back into the salon. “I’ve a roast on the stove.”

  “Just a moment, ma’am.” Lily looked at him, an air of finality in her gaze. “I said things I didn’t mean, and I’m sorry.”

  “I am, too. You don’t need to stay in town. Stay here.”

  She shook her head. “Frank is mad at Pearl for leaving. He won’t let the church borrow his piano anymore. I think that’ll be the extent of his actions, but Pearl can’t be alone.”

  And he’d made it clear Pearl couldn’t come here. “Then both of you stay.”

  “We’re settled, but thanks. Pearl will be on the stagecoach, too. Fort Worth. She’s written her father she’s coming home. She can start fresh.”

  Pearl poked her head in this time. “Lily?”

  “Coming.” Lily’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Good-bye, Jackson. Thank you.”

  He didn’t move until Georgie bounded into him, her hair mussed from sleep. “You’re home! Did you bring cows?”

  “Lots. You’ll see them tomorrow.” She was warm and soft in his arms. “I missed you.”

  She squirmed to be put down. “Lots happened. Miss Lily left—”

  “I saw.”

  “—but she visits. Aunt Martha’s in bed since she fell in the crick. Miss Lily said it wasn’t all my fault she couldn’t get up. I didn’t mean to trip her like that. Can we get birds now?”

  Aunt Martha hurt. Georgie responsible—Jackson shook his head. After a hasty consultation with Delia, he washed up then peeked into his aunt’s darkened room. The odor of camphor hung heavy in the air, but Aunt Martha was awake, her gray hair in a neat braid over her shoulder.

  “Jackson. I didn’t hear you come home.” She sat up, wincing at the effort.

  He knelt by her bed. “Don’t try to move. I heard you took a tumble.” He’d have to deal with Georgie later.

  “’Tis but a bruise. No thanks to Georgia. Your hands are full with that imp.” She poked his collarbone. “I should have let the younger women chase her, but it worked for good. Since things were such a jumble, Lily missed the stagecoach.”

  That time. She’d be on the next one. “What’s important is you aren’t in too bad of shape.”

  Her eyes blazed. “Did you not hear me? Lily missed the stage. She couldn’t abandon me when I was hurt. Oh, you are a nincompoop.”

  Maybe he should be offended, but a laugh bubbled out his throat. “She’s a good nurse, then?”

  “She’s a good woman. Do you know what nincompoop means? From the Latin, non compos mentis. Mentally incompetent, which describes you if you cannot see why else Lily stayed.”

  “The wedding. Pearl.”

  Aunt Martha expunged an exasperated sigh. “I may not hear well anymore, but my eyes are keen. I know three things when I see them: proper penmanship, an ill-behaved child, and the signs of love in a female. All exist in this home.”

  “But—”

  “Fred’s taking good advantage, but you? I thought you were savvy. Perhaps your shrewdness does not extend past business matters.”

  The rap on his knuckles was as sharp as if she’d used a ruler on them. “Aunt Martha—”

  “Get her back. Georgia loves her. So do you. If you lose her, you deserve it.”

  Jackson bent to kiss the paper-thin skin at Aunt Martha’s brow. “Yes ma’am.”

  He was never one to disobey his elders.

  “There.” An old tonic bottle made a makeshift vase, its green glass creating a striking contrast to the wildflower bouquet of yarrow, oxblood lily, and huisache Pearl had gathered. Lily set the flowers on the dresser in their miniscule room behind the general store. “Beautiful.”

  “Red and yellow, just like you and Delia.” Pearl chuckled.

  “Now it looks like home sweet home.” She hummed a few bars of the popular song.

  Pearl sighed. “Wildrye isn’t my home sweet home. But I think it’s yours.”

  Had Pearl and Delia formed a private society, dedicated to pressing this point? “You know why I can’t stay—”

  A commotion of masculine laughter carried through the thin wall. Pearl stiffened. “I recognize a horde of menfolk when I hear it.”

  Poor Pearl. “If they want whiskey, they’re in the wrong store.”

  Mrs. Gardner’s head appeared in the doorway. “You’re wanted, Lily.”

  By a crowd of men? “Ridiculous.”

  She was no saloon gal. Vexed curiosity drove her into the store, where what looked to be a dozen men crammed between the counter and the cracker barrel. Lard Jones, a few ranch hands, and townsmen stood facing her, behind a tall, fresh-shaved man wearing his Sunday best.

  Lily clutched her throat. “Jackson?”

  Someone shoved him forward. He caught himself and glared at the men behind him. “Enough, fellas. Buy something or let the Gardners be.”

  “Oh, that’s all right.” Mrs. Gardner waved at the noncustomers.

  “I’ll buy penny candy if’n I can stay and watch,” Lard said.

  Jackson’s finger worked at his collar. “Do you want to take a ride?”

  Her skin tingled. She managed a nod.

  Pearl shoved Lily’s shawl into her hands. The men made a path for her, bowing like knights of old. Jackson snorted.

  It wasn’t cold, but once outside she shook out her shawl with trembling fingers. They fumbled so much Jackson took it, wrapping it around her neck like a scarf.

  “Are you ready?”

  For a blizzard, yes. To be alone with him? Mercy. She took his arm.

  “Is something wrong?” She found her voice at last. “Georgie or Mrs. Phipps?”

  “They’re fine.” He scooped her into the wagon, leaving a trail of fire when his hands left her waist. He climbed beside her, and they left Front Street. “Everyone’s fine. Except me.”

  He had returned without Fred. “Did something happen in Mexico?”

  He parked under a cottonwood at the edge of town. Technically the edge of the street, too. It wasn’t much of a drive, after all, but his hands shook as much as hers, maybe too much to handle the reins. “I bought a lot of cattle. And hired a lot of people.”

  “What?” Her fingers stilled from loosening the choke hold of her shawl.

  “You were right about the Mexicans’ livelihoods. It plagued me all the way south, so I offered them jobs.”

  “The whole village?”

  “Anyone willing to come norte. With more cattle, I need more hands. They’re in a wagon train following Fred.”

  Her heart swelled into her throat. “That’s wonderful.”

  “What’s wonderful is you, sweetheart. I said awful things, called you selfish for using your voice. I was selfish, wanting to keep you here while I figured out my mind. And my heart.”

  She licked her dry lips. “So, you figure anything out?”

  “We all need you, Red. Me most of all. I love you.” His hands were cold when he took hers. “I’m going to ask you to stay, but at the same time I’m going to tell you to go live your dream, because I won’t take that from you.”

  If she hadn’t been sitting, she’d sink. “You’re going to tell me all that?”

  “Guess I just did.” He rubbed her knuckles. “Georgie wanted birds, but God sent us you. Y
ou were everything I didn’t know I needed. Or wanted. But I want you so. To stay here. To marry me. If you want to go sing, though, I’ll make sure you’re safe wherever you go.”

  “It was my idea to be Jenny Lind, not God’s. And I don’t want to go anywhere you aren’t. I love you and Georgie.”

  His eyes shone. His head dipped.

  “Hoo-ee!”

  Jackson’s head stayed put, his lips an inch from hers, but his gaze flitted to the side. Hers followed. The crowd from the general store lingered across the street. Even Pearl and the Gardners, who’d left their store unattended.

  Mrs. Gardner whacked her husband’s arm. “Quit your jaw-jackin’. I’m trying to hear what he says.”

  Jackson’s gaze returned to Lily’s. “Should I speak up, then, Red?”

  “Depends on who you’re talking to, me or them.”

  “You.” His breath was warm on her cheeks. “Will you do me the honor of marrying me, beautiful redbird?”

  “I will.”

  His kiss was honey, sweet and drizzling warmth to her toes. When it was done, she’d lost her shawl, but Jackson was quick to retrieve it. Then he waved his hat at the cheering crowd.

  “I’ll have her back by sunset.” He nodded to the Gardners.

  “Are we going home?” It felt good to say it. Home.

  “Soon.” He released the brake and flicked the reins. The look in his eyes was one she’d never seen—sparkling and eager. “I’ve got some lips I’d like you to become better acquainted with first.”

  “Don’t move, or we’ll scare it.” Lily cuddled Georgie as they crouched in the tall grass. “Let Pa sneak up.”

  “But it’s not red or yellow.” Georgie’s lower lip protruded. “It’s brown and green.”

  “And it won’t sing, either.” The olive sparrow’s beak opened, emitting a desperate chip-chip as it hobbled in a circle, dragging a bent wing at its side. “But he’ll fly again when we’ve nursed him to health.”

  “After you splint the wing, he’ll live in my cage?”

  “For a time, until he’s well. Then we’ll let him go and he can rejoin his family.”

  Jackson tiptoed behind the bird, net at the ready, but then he tossed the net to the ground and cupped his hands. The determined set of his jaw brought to mind the way he’d approached the unbroken mustang. Lily stifled a giggle.

  “Is it funny?” Georgie’s nose crinkled.

  “I think so. Look. He did it.”

  Lily set Georgie down. When Georgie opened the black wire cage door, Jackson gently placed the bird inside.

  “Georgie’s Bird Hospital,” Jackson joked, squatting beside his daughter. “Now, sweetheart, we have to be careful with him—”

  Lily scooped the discarded net and swung it over Jackson’s head. It knocked his hat askew and caught his ear, earning her a look of mock disapproval. “I’m already yours, Red.”

  “Well, I’m no good with the lasso and I’ve got to ensure you’re on time for the preacher tomorrow.” They’d be married in a double ceremony in the salon with Delia and Fred.

  “I’ll be early.” He knocked the net to the ground. Then he pulled her in for a kiss.

  “Don’t look, bird.” Georgie took the cage. “I may not get to keep you, but I get a mama forever. And a baby brother.”

  Jackson’s kiss stopped. “Oh, yeah. The third item on her wish list.”

  There’d be time to discuss that particular item later. “My wishes all came true. I’m sorry you had to pay so dear a fee for it to happen, though.”

  “The hundred and fifty dollars?” He shrugged. “A pittance. I got you for a song. Speaking of which, shall we teach this bird to sing? How about ‘The Wedding March’?”

  Georgie giggled.

  “Lily!” Delia, Fred at her side, hurried through the grass, waving a piece of paper. “Mail. From Uncle Uriah. And a bank draft for two hundred dollars.”

  “Impossible.”

  Jackson read the letter aloud. It wasn’t cordial. Nor was it an invitation to return to Boston, but it seemed the guilt of sending his nieces to a saloon and fleecing Mrs. Phipps was too much to be borne. Uriah asked his nieces to return the “fee” to Mrs. Phipps and use the rest to find decent employment.

  “God heard your prayers for him, sweetheart.” Jackson kissed her temple. “Don’t stop. Maybe one day he’ll come all the way around.”

  Carrying the cage, the letter, and Georgie, they walked back to the house with full hands. And hearts. Lily leaned against Jackson’s side, secure under his arm. God had given her so much. A home. A family. And a song in her heart.

  It was one she would never stop singing.

  Susanne Dietze began writing love stories in high school, casting her friends in the starring roles. Today, she writes in the hope that her historical romances will encourage and entertain others. A pastor’s wife and mom of two from California, she loves fancy-schmancy tea parties, travel, and curling up on the couch with a costume drama and a plate of nachos. You can visit her on her website, www.susannedietze.com.

  CRAZY ABOUT CAIT

  By Nancy J. Farrier

  Dedication:

  To two of my Bible Study ladies who no longer meet with us:

  For Ruth Johnson, whose love for Jesus shined through everything she did. She is now in a home closer to her sons and is greatly missed.

  For Pamela Scrivin, whose “mortality [was] swallowed up by life,” (2 Cor. 5:4 NKJV). She loved reading novellas, and would love this collection. Pamela is missed so much.

  Acknowledgments:

  To Jesus, always, for all He has done for me.

  To my family: Thank you for your constant love and acceptance of someone how walks around communicating with people you can’t see.

  To my wonderful agent, Karen Ball. You are a constant source of encouragement.

  To the many people at Barbour. Thank you for all you do.

  Chapter 1

  Papa, you can’t do this.” Cait Sullivan swallowed all the disrespectful words that wanted to jump out of her mouth. She’d been trying hard to learn to control her temper, but her papa’s announcement might test every purposeful bone in her body.

  “This isn’t something for negotiation, Cait. Jonas is going to be here today. Martha prepared a room for him.” Her father tugged his hat lower on his face, putting the deep wrinkles surrounding his eyes in shadow. His mouth thinned to a slash, a stern warning that she should watch herself. His ire sent strong men running.

  Indignation heated her face. A wave of her red hair flattened across her nose. “You can’t hire Jonas Hall.” Cait jutted her chin toward her father. “You can’t do that.”

  “You don’t tell me what I can, and can’t, do.” Her father leaned down until their noses were almost touching. “On this ranch, I am in charge. You will work with whoever I hire, or you will do another job. Maybe you should just clean house instead of working with the horses.”

  Horror washed through Cait, startling her speechless for a moment. “We have Martha. She does a fine job and doesn’t need me to cook or clean.” She would rather drop dead than do women’s work. She’d rather ride drag in a cattle drive. She’d rather muck stalls. She could see her father understood her unspoken thoughts.

  “Caitie.” Her father sighed and pushed his Stetson back on his forehead. The wrinkles above his eyebrows were as deep as the ones around his eyes. White peppered the hank of mahogany hair that flopped from under his brim. “Caitie, you know we need to sell these horses to the cavalry. Their buyer will be here in a couple of months to get what we have ready. He told me he won’t touch any horses trained by a woman.”

  He held up one hand, palm out, as if he could hear her objections before she voiced them. “You know I don’t agree with him. You are the best trainer anywhere, bar none. But, I have to sell these horses.” He fell silent as his gaze tracked skyward.

  Cait tilted her head back to see the cloudless sky overhead, sun beating down on the dry ranch. The drought h
ad lasted longer than they imagined possible. Dead grass didn’t feed livestock. Their supply of hay was almost gone. The oats, too. Her father had to sell a lot of the cattle and even had to let some of the ranch hands go. Several of their herd were dead from starvation and lack of water.

  Her throat tightened. At least they had the sale of horses to help them through this time. Some of their neighbors had nothing and had to sell out. Two weeks ago, when they attended church, she heard the preacher wax on about how God wanted them to love one another and forgive more times than she could count. She didn’t see how anyone could forgive God for allowing the drought, let alone forgive those who caused hurt. Like Jonas.

  “You can let me train the horses and then tell the buyer you did it.” Cait hated the desperation straining her voice.

  “Cait, you know how I feel about lying.” Her father frowned.

  “You wouldn’t have to say you trained them, just let him think what he wants.” She pushed her hair back from her face, hoping her father didn’t notice she’d wiped a tear from the corner of her eye at the same time. The thought of facing Jonas, after what he’d done to her family… she’d prefer to chew locoweed and become crazy like the cattle.

  “That’s still dishonest, Caitie. I couldn’t do that and keep my head up in church.” The weight of her father’s hand on her shoulder should have been comforting. Instead, the heft made her shrink inside. She knew if her mother were still alive, she would be horrified at what Cait suggested.

  “I know.” She fought to keep from digging her toe in the dirt like a little child caught doing something wrong. “Isn’t there someone else?” Cait swallowed hard. “Someone… trustworthy?”

  “Jonas is trustworthy. He’s a fine young man.”

  “How can you say that? You know what he did to Keira.” Cait stared agape at her father. How could he forget? How could he forgive?

  “Your sister may have cried a lot over that broken engagement, but I figure since she married Stuart a month later, she wasn’t that hurt.” Her father squeezed her shoulder. “You have to let this go, Caitie. Otherwise, you’ll end up with a bitterness inside you won’t want to part with.”