by Jane Peart
runaway heart
a westward dreams novel
Books by Jane Peart
Brides of Montclair Series
1 | Valiant Bride
2 | Ransomed Bride
3 | Fortune's Bride
4 | Folly's Bride
5 | Yankee Bride/Rebel Bride
6 | Gallant Bride
7 | Shadow Bride
8 | Destiny's Bride
9 | Jubilee Bride
10 | Mirror Bride
11 | Hero's Bride
12 | Senator's Bride
13 | Daring Bride
14 | Courageous Bride
Westward Dreams Series
1 | Runaway Heart
2 | Promise of the Valley
3 | Where Tomorrow Waits
4 | A Distant Dawn
5 | Undaunted Spirit
The American Quilt Series
1 | The Pattern
2 | The Pledge
3 | The Promise
ZONDERVAN
runaway heart
Copyright © 1994 by Jane Peart
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Zondervan.
ePub Edition July 2009 ISBN: 978-0-310-83302-4
Value Edition 978-0-310-28802-2
Requests for information should be addressed to:
Zondervan, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Peart, Jane.
Runaway heart / Jane Peart.
p. cm. — (The westward dreams series)
ISBN 0-310-41271-4
1. Frontier and pioneer life — Oregon Fiction. 2. Man-woman relationships — Oregon — Fiction. 3. Women pioneers — Oregon — Fiction. 4. Women teachers — Oregon — Fiction. I. Title. II. Series: Peart, Jane. Westward dreams series.
PS3566.E238R86 1994
813'.54 — dc20
94-20318
CIP
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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means — electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other — except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.
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08 09 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 • 21 20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13 12 11 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
CONTENTS
COVER PAGE
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
PART 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
PART 2
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
PART 3
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
PART 4
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
PART 5
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
ABOUT THE PUBLISHER
SHARE YOUR THOUGHTS
PART 1
To travel hopefully is better than to arrive.
R. S. Stevenson
Perhaps one day this, too, will be pleasant to remember.
Virgil
Chapter 1
Just before sundown a stagecoach, rattling and swaying precariously, lurched down the rutted road into the small Oregon town, sending up cartwheels of dust in its wake.
Inside, its only remaining passenger, Holly Lambeth, clinging desperately to the hand strap, slid from side to side on the tattered leather seat, terrified that the vehicle might pitch over at any minute.
At last with a bone-jarring jolt it came to a stop. Drawing a deep sigh of relief, Holly wiped the small mud-spattered window and peered out hopefully. Before she could get a good look, the coach door was yanked open by the grizzle-bearded driver who stuck his head inside and, displaying tobacco-stained teeth, announced, "This here's Riverbend, lady. This is where you get off. End of the line."
Ignoring her qualms of the probable truth of his statement, she gathered the tiered skirt of her peacock-blue traveling suit, crisp and smart three days ago but now quite the worse for wear, and prepared to get out. Lifting it carefully over two layers of ruffled petticoats, she stepped gingerly down the rickety steps onto the wooden sidewalk.
It felt good to stretch her stiff muscles after the long, cramped journey over rough winding roads. For a moment she stood straightening her snug braid-trimmed jacket, then slowly pivoted to look about her. Just then a gust of wind caught her tiny feathered bonnet, tugging the pins that held it, loosening strands of her russet-brown hair from its coil, and blowing dust and grit into her face. Grabbing her hat brim with one kid-gloved hand, she fumbled into her purse for a handkerchief, then lifted her veil to dab her eyes.
Since it was close to six o'clock and therefore supper hour for most of Riverbend's citizens, there were only a few people on hand as the stage arrived; otherwise, the appearance of a fashionably dressed young woman might have received more than one or two curious glances.
Holly Lambeth was used to drawing admiring looks. In spite of having a peach-bloom complexion, long-lashed hazel eyes, and a dimpled smile, Holly would never be considered beautiful. What made her so attractive was her vivacity and sparkle.
That sparkle, however, was sadly missing now. As she gazed around with mounting dismay, Holly's conviction grew that she had made the second worst mistake of her twenty-three years. The first and worst, of course, was to have kept Jim Mercer dangling for over a year in an "on-again, off-again" engagement.
The sun began slowly slipping behind a rim of purple hills. Overhead dark clouds gathered.
This must be the center of town. Holly glanced down the long unpaved road where the signpost read "Main Street." It was lined with an odd assortment of buildings. Some were old weather-beaten wooden ones with sagging balconies, others of raw brick, some uncompleted. Wheelbarrows of bricks stood abandoned as if left by workers.
So this was Riverbend, Oregon.
Numb with fatigue, Holly bit her lower lip and fought back the tears that threatened, tightening her throat. There was no use telling herself it was her own fault she was here. Her family and friends had all been quick to tell her that.
But at the time, "any port in a storm" had seemed the answer to her problem, the "storm" being the gossip whirling around her when the fact that she had been jilted became known. Anything had seemed better than facing the curious looks, the whispers, the pitying glances that had followed her. Even harder to bear were the smugly spiteful looks of those who made it no secret that they thought it was high time Holly Lambeth got her "come-uppance."
Now that it was too late, she realized she had been vain and foolish in recklessly risking Jim's love and patience with all her silly flirtations, her careless disregard for his pride. If only . . .
But it was too late for "if only." She had nobody to blame but herself that she was here in a forsaken Oregon frontier town instead of planning a fairy-tale wedding, with a white lace gown and veil, walking arm-in-arm with her army-lieutenant husband beneath an
arch of crossed sabers held by his West Point classmates.
As if it had just happened, Holly felt the shock of that morning when she had read in the local paper, along with the rest of Willow Springs, the announcement of Lt. Jim Mercer's marriage to the daughter of his commanding officer at his first army post.
"This all yours, miss?" The whiskey voice of the driver cut through her remorseful memory. With a start, Holly turned to follow his dirty index finger pointing to his helper on top of the stagecoach, straddling her trunk and unstrapping it.
"Yes, and please be careful—," she began, but her voice was lost in the noise of the tumbling luggage. Holly was forced to jump back as her trunk catapulted down and landed at her feet. She gasped and was about to reprimand the fellow sharply when he hollered down, "Anything else?"
"Yes, my valise and hatbox, and please—," she started to caution again when the valise and hatbox, containing her very best bonnet, came hurtling down in the same manner as her trunk.
"Well!" she gasped indignantly. But whatever else she might have said was checked by the surly expression on the driver's face. She realized he was expecting a gratuity, highly undeserved in her opinion. Under his glare she dug into her purse and handed him a coin. Acknowledging it with only a pull on the soiled brim of his battered felt hat, the man turned and shuffled down the street.
It came as no surprise to Holly to see him push his way through the doors of the nearby saloon, the Nugget. She had observed that this was his custom at every stagecoach station en route, a practice that had not done much to lessen her anxiety, traveling the treacherous mountain roads on the way to Riverbend.
The one he now entered was one of several other such establishments along Main Street with names like Last Chance and the Doggoned Best. Most of Holly's information about the far West had been gained from the covers on the pulp magazines confiscated by her cousin Willy's mother from his hidden horde. These depicted lurid scenes of cowboy shoot-outs, Indian attacks, and barroom brawls. Looking down the unpaved street lined with saloons, she felt as if she might have stepped right into the pages of one.
Before being hit by her next attack of second thoughts on her fateful decision to come West, she heard a familiar male voice behind her say, "Cousin Holly?" Holly whirled around to find herself face-to-face with Ned Thornton.
"Oh, Ned! It's so wonderful to see you!" she exclaimed holding out both hands to him.
When his kind, homely face turned crimson, Holly realized she may have greeted him too effusively. Belatedly she remembered that Ned had been one of the many young men flocking around her at Willow Springs parties, hoping to add his name to her dance card. He'd had quite a case on her then—now, of course, he was married to her cousin Hetty Granville. The same Hetty who was providing her "a port in the storm."
"Welcome to Riverbend, Holly," Ned stammered.
Trying to allay any embarrassment Ned's own memories might be causing him, Holly rushed on, "Is Hetty with you? Where are the children? I can't wait to see them."
"They're all at home. They're so excited about their cousin's coming all the way from Kentucky that they've run Hetty crazy with questions all day. Hetty's fixed a real special supper so we best get along home or else she'll be might—" Ned stopped abruptly and pointed to her three pieces of luggage. "Are these yours?"
"Yes, but I can carry my hatbox and valise," Holly said.
Shouldering Holly's small trunk, Ned told her, "It's not very far. It's only a short walk. We live just at the end of town so I can be near the store. You knew, didn't you, I have the General Store? That's it right over there." There was a note of pride in Ned's voice as he nodded his head to a neat-looking building across the street.
"Yes, I do know, Ned. I've heard you've done very well. Of course Hetty has written to her folks, Aunt Dolly and Uncle Sid. We all think it's fine you and Hetty have made such a good life for yourselves. Although it does seem awfully far from home." How far, Holly was just beginning to realize.
"It's a good place and it's growing. The railroad's going to be coming in here before long—branch line through here between Portland and Sacramento. That's going to bring a lot more people and more business here. Everyone's counting on that. Thirty years ago this was just a raw gold-mining camp, but the vein ran out within a few years. Then homesteaders came here and brought their families. Farmers came and prospered. This is fine orchard country; Riverbend's becoming famous for its pear crop. Yes, indeed, Riverbend's turned into a solid township. One day folks think it will become the county seat," Ned said with conviction. "It's home now to me—to us."
Good for Ned, Holly thought as they walked along. Ned had been wise to leave Willow Springs, move out from under the shadow of his critical father, a prominent judge, and his older brother, a brilliant lawyer. Evidently here Ned had become his own man, made a place for himself. And, Holly reminded herself a bit ruefully, Hetty had been smart enough to see his potential and marry him.
Holly doubted her cousin's welcome would be as genuine as Ned's. The truth was she and Hetty had never been friends. In spite of the facts their mothers were sisters and throughout childhood the girls were constantly thrown together at family gatherings of the Lambeth and Granville clans, they had always clashed. Holly considered Hetty a prig, a tattle-tale, a goodie-goodie, and Hetty accused her of being a showoff, a tomboy, and a tease. Both of them were right.
As they grew up it was worse, and the differences between them became more pronounced. Holly developed into a young lady of natural charm and gaiety that was enormously appealing. Unfortunately Hetty inherited her father's plain looks and prickly personality instead of her pretty mother's sociability. While Holly's fun-loving vivaciousness attracted many beaux, Hetty became a typical wallflower. Of course, now the shoe was on the other foot. Hetty was married to a prosperous man, had children and a home, while Holly remained unmarried and possibly on the brink of becoming an old maid!
Well, whatever their past differences, Holly determined to try to get along with Hetty. Surely they were beyond all their old squabbles. She would do her best to make herself useful, helpful, and be cheerful, making sure Hetty wasn't sorry she'd offered her cousin a temporary haven.
These mental resolutions were interrupted when a tall man stepped out of the door of one of the buildings in front of them. "Evenin' Ned."
"Evenin', Adam," Ned replied. Putting down Holly's trunk on the wooden sidewalk, he turned to her saying, "Holly, this is Adam Corcoran, the editor of our local newspaper, the Riverbend Monitor. Adam, I'd like you to meet Hetty's cousin, Miss Hollis Lambeth."
Holly set down her valise, gratefully. It was heavier than she thought, jammed with last-minute things she'd forgotten to put in her trunk.
At Ned's introduction Adam Corcoran removed his broad-brimmed hat, bowed slightly. "Delighted, Miss Lambeth." The fast-fading light cast shadows upon an angular face. Although the high-bridged nose gave a look of arrogance, that was offset by the humor in his eyes and his mouth under the well-trimmed mustache. "I take it you have just arrived? Then you have not yet had a chance to get much of an impression of Riverbend." He smiled. "And just how long to you plan to stay in our fair city?"
Holly thought she detected a hint of irony in his tone and had the feeling he might be baiting her. It made her uncomfortable, and she replied coolly, "I've not any definite plans as yet, but I'm sure I'll enjoy my visit however long."
"Ad, here, runs the newspaper practically single-handed. Besides writing all the articles and doing all the reporting, he helps Tom Simmons set type and gives young Mike Flannery a hand with the press."
"You didn't mention my editorials, Ned, and the fact that they are often controversial and not always well received. We also print some pretty outraged letters to the editor and have had a few smashed windows—mainly on Saturday night!" Looking directly at Holly, Adam said, "What Ned's too polite to tell you, Miss Lambeth, is that I'm not the most popular man in town."
"I wouldn't say that." Ned
shook his head. "You give folks a lot to talk about. Debate never hurt anything."
Adam threw back his head and laughed a rich, full laugh. "Ned, you should have been a diplomat instead of a storekeeper. Or maybe, better still, a politician. Let me know if you ever want to run for mayor or—"
"Not me, not ever." Ned joined in the laughter, then said, "Well, we best be getting on home. Hetty'll be wondering what's keeping us. I'm sure she probably saw the stage arrive, and the children will be driving her crazy. Even when I went home at noon for dinner, they were already asking if it was time yet and running to the window to see if their cousin Holly had arrived."
"I wish you a very pleasant stay in Riverbend, Miss Lambeth, and I'm sure we'll meet again."
Adam Corcoran's voice held a confidence that annoyed Holly, so she merely nodded, then picked up her valise again, and moved on with Ned.
They had gone only a few more steps along the uneven boardwalk when a small, shabby, black buggy pulled to a stop on the road beside them. A man called out, "Howdy, Ned! Did my box of medical supplies come in on the stage?"
The man leaned farther out, took off his hat, ran his hand through a shock of thick hair, and greeted Holly.
"Howdy, Doc!" Ned responded. "Not unless it was on this last one. I haven't had a chance to check the freight yet. I had to meet my wife's cousin from Kentucky who came in this evening." Ned indicated Holly, saying, "Miss Hollis Lambeth." To her he said, "Holly, I'd like you to meet the most important man in town, our doctor, Blaine Stevens."
The man in the buggy took off his hat, leaned farther out, and greeted Holly, "Good evening, Miss Lambeth, welcome to Riverbend. I hope you had a pleasant journey."
While Holly hesitated between truth and exaggeration, Ned answered for her. "Well, that kind of depends what you mean by pleasant, I guess." He chuckled. "It was Joe Rossiter's run—"
"Oh, no! Not foe Rossiter!" the doctor affected a look of horror. Even as he shook his head, he laughed. "What an introduction to Riverbend! I've ridden with Joe a time or two myself. It's like being with one of those circus stunt riders! I sure hope it didn't ruin your impression of Oregon!"
