The Cowboy’s Bride Collection: 9 Historical Romances Form on Old West Ranches
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Toby looked between her and her father, eyes wide. “But the preacher man said—”
“What any preacher says must align with God’s truth.” Nia reached up to touch her father’s hand. “The apostle Paul said man’s words should be tested against the holy scriptures. Especially when a man claims to speak for God.”
The image of her dress intruded again.
What does it mean, Lord? I don’t understand. Please give me wisdom. I don’t want to lose my home.
Papa squeezed her shoulder. “Go on, Petunia. You’re doing fine.”
Sweet relief filled her lungs. “My second concern is what your wrong belief means for the Double L. Ranching is hard work filled with what you once called gambles. If you see yourself as defeated before you begin, you’ll run off when things get too hard.”
Toby went red in the face and his chin jutted. “I’ve never run from anything in my life.”
Gentle in spirit, unbendable in principle.
Nia drew a steadying breath. “According to your story, you already have, including the Whispering Pines Ranch. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here.”
Toby’s mouth opened and closed. He looked toward the window. Then a wry twist lifted his mouth. “So this is how it feels when someone tells you what you don’t wanna hear.”
Nia smiled at the reminder of him challenging her lack of common courtesy to the men. He’d been right then, just as she was right now. It would break her heart to send Toby away, but her first duty was to the Double L. Someone who gave up couldn’t be trusted with a new venture, particularly one as risky as training wild mustangs.
Papa gave her shoulder another squeeze. This one felt like encouragement rather than warning. As though he was telling her whatever choice she made, even if he disagreed, he’d stand with her.
Her breath caught.
Like he’d done the night of her sixteenth birthday!
The pink dress came into clear focus. Of course… it was God’s reminder of grace. She’d made a terrible choice, but Papa rescued her. She’d deserved a lecture, but he gave her precious gems. She’d earned censure, but he took her arm and marched her back into the ball, where they faced down the gossipmongers together. Papa’s response to her worst mistake shaped her understanding of God.
What had shaped Toby’s understanding? A thieving scoundrel of a father was easy to distinguish from a righteous God, but an absent father was, for some people, too similar to an invisible God. No wonder Toby didn’t see God or himself clearly now.
This was her opportunity to reflect a picture of the one, true God.
Nia stood and stepped closer to Toby. “But my greatest concern is that, in all the time you believed in this so-called curse, no one showed you God’s grace and mercy. It’s time that changed.” She met Toby’s gaze. “My father and I would like to offer you a two-year contract to train wild mustangs. If it proves unprofitable, we will terminate that contract—and only that contract. Your employment here will not be affected by the outcome. Of course, I reserve the right to boot you from here to the edge of Texas if you abuse either people or animals, but otherwise you will always have a home at the Double L.”
Toby’s mouth dropped open.
He really did have the nicest lips.
Nia cleared her throat. “Do you understand these conditions?”
“I do.”
The phrase bumped her heartbeat higher. “Then do you accept the job?”
His smile made her blush. “Only if’n you say, ‘Please.’”
Epilogue
Three months later
Double L Ranch
Nia laid her bridesmaid bouquet at the base of the willow tree. “It was a beautiful wedding, Mama. Mari’s smile lit up the entire room, while Humphrey looked like a cat with a whole bowl of cream. I’m wearing the dress you bought for my sixteenth birthday. Mari loved the color, but we had it altered a little to fit current fashion.”
She pulled a single pink rose from her bouquet and laid it where the willow roots formed a heart. “And your son, Mrs. Lane, looks mighty handsome in his black suit.”
Too handsome for her peace of mind.
She’d picked him out of the crowd on her way down the aisle. He’d winked at her, and her legs turned to jelly. During the entire ceremony, she felt him watching her. When the preacher said Humphrey could kiss his bride, Nia’s mouth went dry. She wanted Toby to kiss her—so much that she’d crushed the bouquet stems to pulp.
Three months they’d worked together. Not once had he given up or talked about leaving. His eyes lost their hunted expression, and his smile melted her bones.
She’d flirted a little, but either he wasn’t interested—please, no—or he was oblivious.
Could she order him to kiss her?
Several times she’d stopped herself from grabbing his ears and puckering up. And that was during work hours when both of them smelled like horses! But today, with him cleaned up, decked out in a suit and sporting a fresh haircut…
The need for him to kiss her was so overpowering she’d had to escape the reception.
A swish of leaves sounded behind her. “You okay in here?”
Toby.
Her spine prickled. She stepped closer to the willow and gripped a low-hanging branch. “I’m fine.”
He came closer, kneeled, and touched the single rose lying on his mother’s spot. “Thank you for this.”
“You’re welcome.” She stretched her hand toward his shoulder but drew back before touching him.
Toby pushed to his feet. “Your father looked good today. Better than I’ve seen in weeks.”
“He’s been so excited about this wedding and about watching you train those mustangs, he told Doc Hickman to stop coming.” Nia crossed her arms and rubbed her left elbow. Papa wasn’t getting any better, though. He’d started coughing up blood.
“He sent another telegram to that army captain about buying our mustangs.”
Toby ran a finger under his shirt collar. “I think they’re gonna buy a bunch just so he’ll stop pestering them.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I’m going to miss him.”
Toby stepped closer, and his arms encircled her. “Hush now. None of that.” He placed gentle fingers under her chin and tipped her head up. “Let’s just be grateful for every day we have with him.”
Her world tilted. A man—an honorable one—didn’t touch a woman he’d not spoken for. She shuddered and nibbled her bottom lip. Toby’s gaze dropped. Focused on her mouth.
“Nia?” He whispered her name like a prayer. “I already asked your pa for permission to court you, but now I’m asking you.”
When he met her gaze, she went weak in the knees at the awe in his green eyes. Like she was something precious.
“’Cause I’m aiming to kiss you, Nia Lindley, and I wanna do it proper like.” His focus returned to her lips. “May I?”
All she could do was nod. But that was enough.
His lips met hers. Soft. Gentle. Growing bolder when she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back.
After waiting so long, Nia half expected angels to descend and play harps. It wasn’t that dramatic and far more thrilling. In Toby’s embrace, she was…
Home.
Becca Whitham (WIT-um) is a multi-published author who has always loved reading and writing stories. After raising two children, she and her husband faced the empty nest years by following their dreams: he joined the army as a chaplain, and she began her journey toward publication. Becca loves to tell stories marrying real historical events with modern-day applications to inspire readers to live Christ-reflecting lives. She’s traveled to almost every state in the U.S. for speaking and singing engagements and has lived in Washington, Oregon, Colorado, Oklahoma, and Alaska. She can be reached through her website at www.beccawhitham.com
THE COWGIRL’S LASSO
By Jaime Jo Wright
Dedication
To my CJ.
May your spirit race
with dreams.
May it run in the wilds of faith.
May the Lord create in you the strength of Deborah, the steadfastness of Ruth, and the bravery of Esther. Be strong, Baby Girl. You are your momma’s heartbeat.
And to Daddy.
For never letting me give up on my dream.
For always sharing my imagination.
For being my hero.
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank:
Mary Keeley, Colleen Coble, Erica Vetsch, Ronie Kendig, and my
Books and Such Family.
Uncle Dave, for being the inspiration for “Charlie.” You are my forever cowboy.
My sisters, Anne, Kara, Sarah, and Laurie.
You are all my muses and my best friends.
My sister, Halee. You are Clairee to my Ouiser.
We just belong together.
And Nathan.
It’s a true act of love to sacrifice so much
when to you, fiction is a foreign language.
Your love is cherished.
Chapter 1
1895
Desert Pony Ranch, New Mexico
Jonah spun on his heel away from the window, marched over to his massive cherry desk, and ran his index finger down a line of mathematical columns he’d penned yesterday. The ink had long since dried, and it brought him a small bit of comfort. But CJ Matheson’s form was still etched in his mind. Bad enough that she’d invaded his ranch. He’d be daft if he let her take up residence in his thoughts and dreams. Jonah set his jaw and contemplated the vision he’d just seen out the window. CJ, inspecting the corral. Woman foreman indeed! Who ever heard of such a thing? But he was saddled with her. Like a cumbersome burden, and he was the beast. CJ was worse than a dust storm. Not only did she destroy all his preconceived notions of how a proper woman should conduct herself, she’d also settled her granules of personality into every crevice of his ranch. Except his ledgers. He still had control of his accounts.
A knock sounded on his office door. Jonah rolled up his shirtsleeves as he approached it. When he tugged on the doorknob, he stared down into CJ’s coffee-brown eyes. Well, she moved like tumbleweed in the wind, too. He could’ve sworn she’d just been outside at the corral, and now, here she was. Her hair wisped around her face in brunette strands and tickled the freckles that dotted her nose and cheeks. She probably wouldn’t have freckles if she stayed indoors like a woman should. Like the women he’d been raised by, in England, where proper deportment was respected.
“Yes?” Jonah’s voice sounded curt even to his own ears.
“A word with you?” She was as straightforward as he was. That was one plus in a plethora of minuses.
Jonah stepped back and allowed her entrance. He averted his gaze from her backside. Trousers indeed! It said a lot of Miss Matheson that she would have Jonah’s old friend Charlie write that letter of recommendation on her behalf. She was using the old man for her gain. “CJ Matheson. Eight years of experience as a foreman.” It should have read: “Celia Jo Matheson. Twenty-two years of experience as the now-orphaned daughter of a rancher whose estate was eaten up by the bank on his death for the horrible debt he’d incurred.”
“We need to let Sam go.”
No. Absolutely not. Jonah grated his teeth as he settled onto the chair behind his desk. It felt good. The desk. The chair. He was still in authority.
“Out of the question.” Yes. Take charge.
CJ slapped her palms on his desk and leaned forward. Good gracious, she smelled like lemongrass and fresh air with a hint of leather. The contradiction rattled Jonah’s senses.
“No, not ‘out of the question.’” CJ tipped her head, and her braid slid over her shoulder. She raised a curved eyebrow. A spark in her eyes snapped at him. “Sam isn’t worth his salt. Stands around all day watching the others. He only helps out when I insist, and then he mutters under his breath the entire time. I’ve had to go back and check out the work he’s done on the fence line. Shoddy. Wouldn’t hold a lizard, let alone a horse.”
“He probably doesn’t like taking orders from a woman.” Jonah regretted his honesty the moment it escaped him. CJ drew back to full height, which was an impressive five feet eight inches, but far below Jonah’s six foot three.
“You hired me. He should listen.”
Hired her under obligation to Charlie. The sealed note CJ handed to Jonah the day of her arrival was Charlie’s belated addendum to his original lack of candor. “You did good in hiring Celia Jo. She needs a place, Jonah. Her pa left her high and dry when he died. She ain’t got nowhere to go, and she can run your place better than you can. Let her.”
Well, there was a proclamation of faith if Jonah ever had one. Charlie had been the Desert Pony Ranch’s foreman the summer Jonah came from England at the age of fifteen and visited his uncle’s ranch. It was also the last summer that Jonah’s newfound mentor worked the Desert Pony before moving on to help “an old friend.” The old friend had been CJ’s father, and CJ had become Charlie’s protégé. If Charlie hadn’t been going on seventy-five, Jonah would have brought him back to run the Desert Pony Ranch. He would have let the man return to his original position since the Matheson ranch farther south was defunct. But alas, the old man was far past his prime and had recommended CJ instead. When that woman stepped off the train three months ago in full female assembly with a little green parasol to boot, Jonah would’ve swallowed his chaw if he chewed. And he didn’t, much to his chagrin. He could use a good excuse to spit about now.
CJ cleared her throat and commanded his attention. “Well?”
“Well what?” Dash it all, the woman was sassy.
“I’m firing him.”
“No, you’re not.” Jonah tapped his fingers on his ledger.
“I am.” She smacked her palms back on his desk and jerked her head, sending her braid swinging. No man would take her seriously. She was a princess in boots and trousers.
Jonah rose, garnering courage from his stature. “You will not release Sam. I need him and the rest of the boys.”
“Why? You’re wasting money paying a lazy man for nothing.” She lifted her chin. Jonah blinked. Her lips were full, blushed, and totally unfitting to be on the face of his foreman.
“Miss Matheson—”
“CJ,” she interrupted.
“Celia Jo,” he insisted.
“No. CJ.”
“Listen here, Roadrunner.” Jonah leaned forward across his desk until they were nose to nose. “I’ll not have you racing circles around me. I still own this ranch.”
“Yes, but you haven’t a clue how to run it.” CJ blinked and held her stance, hands still splayed on the desktop.
Jonah swallowed back a growl. “I have successfully run this ranch for four years now.”
“Then why did you hire me?”
Her question was rife with challenge. Why indeed? Because he couldn’t run the business end of the ranch and act as foreman at the same time.
Jonah squared his shoulders and leaned away from the disconcerting woman who’d masqueraded under the name of a man and shammed him into hiring her.
“I hired you out of pity.”
Well then. That silenced her.
Jonah felt anything but proud when CJ shoved herself off the desk, her massive eyes watery. She blinked three times. No, four. The tears dissipated.
“I don’t need your pity, Mr. Sparks.”
She turned and left the office, the door closing with remarkable restraint.
Well, he was an oaf, and it was only going to get worse. Jonah collapsed onto his chair. He couldn’t have that woman running his ranch. She put his nerves on edge, and he couldn’t relax. Maybe if she quit. Then he wouldn’t feel so bad, so guilty, as if he were letting his old pal Charlie down. Yes. If Miss Celia Jo Matheson quit, it would be of her own choosing. Jonah had never promised that the role of Desert Pony foreman would be an easy one.
All her life. All her life she’d been told no. As if she had no sm
arts, no know-how, no nothing. From her four older brothers, who always thought they knew better than her, to their father, who’d dwindled the family ranch away in debt and mismanagement. Even now, she’d had to run from her brothers. They had each denied her dreams and passions in exchange for their suggestions of one arranged marriage, one train ticket to Boston’s elite school for young women in transition, one offer to escort her to Aunt Margaret’s in Chicago, and another ridiculous recommendation that she take a position as a seamstress of all things! All CJ ever wanted to do was ranch. Plain and simple. Run a ranch. To feel the satisfaction of watching it grow. The horses, the cattle, the desert floor beneath her boots, cactus roses, and New Mexican sunrises. All of it was in her blood from birth. Although she wasn’t Spanish, she knew this land as well as any native. Celia Jo Matheson had been born in the harsh, beautiful territory, and she had every intention of dying here. But most definitely not as a seamstress or some prearranged housewife.
Her dreams were a solitary journey. CJ was misunderstood by most. The only person to ever validate her talent was Charlie.
CJ kicked at a stone that bounced and chased a horned toad scrambling into the shadow of the fence post. The improperly mended fence. Where was Sam? He was fired no matter what that accented, dark-haired British transplant had to say about it. Jonah Sparks wasn’t a rancher. He wasn’t even American. Yet here he was, living her dream, on a well-established ranch he inherited from a dead uncle. The precise style of ranch CJ had always dreamed of. A wild mustang ranch. Of course it would be handed to someone who had no appreciation or experience with this land. And he was making her life miserable, in more ways than one.
She caught sight of Jonah toe-to-toe with Sam, his cap slouched on his forehead and his curls flipping up and over the brim like a boy’s. Drat. It would be easier to hate him if he wasn’t such a handsome man. He didn’t even have the brains to wear the sensible hat of a cowboy, fit to shield his face from the sun. Instead, he appeared ready for fly-fishing some cool, countryside trout stream.