His Precious Inheritance (Inspirational Historical Romance)

by Dorothy Clark

  She placed her hand over his thudding heart and gave him a smile that sent joy exploding through him. “Yes. With all of my heart.” Her arms slipped up around his neck and the coat fell unheeded into a pile at their feet as he claimed her lips in a kiss that promised forever.

  Epilogue

  Clarice brushed her hair up to the top of her head, gathered it into her hand, then loosened it until it fell in a pouf of soft waves against her temples and forehead. The length of hair still in her hand she twisted into a soft pile at her crown and pinned it in place.

  “Here’s the ribbon.”

  “Thank you, Mama.” She took the length of wide ivory silk into her hands and wound it around the base of the puffed black mass of hair at her crown, tied it into a bow and let the ends fall down the back of her head. They just touched the top of her gown’s high collar.

  “And one more thing...” Her mother opened the drawer of the dressing table, pulled out a cluster of white silk flowers and tucked the stems beneath the ribbon at the front of her twisted puff of hair. “There. They look beautiful and the ribbon will hold them in place.”

  Clarice sat back and gazed at herself in the mirror, marveling at how different she looked. She hardly recognized herself since Charles had declared his love for her. The happiness inside glowed in her gray eyes, making them look wider and brighter, and turned the corners of her mouth up into the hint of a smile. All the shadows of bitterness and fear caused by the cruelty of her father were gone.

  She took a breath, rose, spread out the ivory gown’s short train and smoothed her hands down the front of the long ruffled skirt. “I guess I’m ready.” She gave her mother a shaky smile. “Thank you for making my gown, Mama. It’s lovely.”

  “You’re lovely, Clarice. Charles will not be able to take his eyes off you during the ceremony. Or after.”

  Heat climbed into her cheeks.

  Her mother cupped her face in her hands and gave her a loving smile. “Especially if you blush like that.”

  “Mama!” The heat in her cheeks increased. She raised her hands to cover her mother’s, admiring their softness, thinking of how dry and calloused they had been for as long as she could remember. Tears stung her eyes. “I’m so happy for you, Mama. And so thankful that you can walk beside me.”

  Her mother sighed and nodded. “The Lord has richly blessed us, Clarice. He has taken all of our hurt and fear away and replaced it with the amazing love of two wonderful men—and one adorable little boy.”

  “I know, Mama. It’s wondrous how the Lord took something as selfish and heartless as Mrs. Thornberg’s—or whatever her name is now—discarding of her sons and turned it around for their good. Whoever would have thought God would use her cruelty to bring Jonathan and Charles together. To give them both the family they otherwise would never have known. He turned her selfishness around for their good.”

  “And for ours.”

  “Oh, yes, most definitely for ours.” She looked at her mother and laughed. “I guess there are times when being poor and having to make a living for yourself is a good thing.”

  “And when being crippled and unable to walk is a blessing.”

  She nodded, sobered by the memory. “I was so angry with God because all of the hard work Father demanded of you crippled you. But that is what set you free from a life of drudgery and pain, Mama.” She passed the button hook to her mother and smiled. “And it brought you the man you are about to marry.”

  “Indeed it did.” Her mother buttoned her shoes, rose and donned the jacket that went over the blue gown she had made for her wedding day. “A widowed doctor...” She pinned her small flower-trimmed hat in place, her blue eyes sparkling with happiness. “God truly does work in mysterious ways.”

  “He truly does.” She drew a breath, smoothed the front of her gown one more time. “Are you ready, Mama?”

  “Never more so, Clarice. Are you?”

  “I truly am, Mama. I can’t wait to be Charles’s bride—” the joy in her heart broke out in a huge smile “—and Jonathan’s sis’er.”

  They walked downstairs, the hems of their gowns whispering softly against the polished oak treads then crossed the entrance hall. Side by side they stepped through the door into the sitting room. Mrs. Duncan was there wearing a happy smile. And Jonathan, wide-eyed and adorable beside her. But it was the men standing by the fireplace waiting for them who captured and held their gazes.

  They walked forward, each drawn by the love of the man waiting for her. Charles, breathtakingly handsome in his new dark suit, stepped forward and held out his hand. She looked into his eyes, warm with love, and placed her hand in his safe, loving grasp.

  “Me too!”

  The whisper brought a shared smile—the oneness that would be theirs from this moment on. Charles looked down at Jonathan, and that slow lopsided smile that made her stomach quiver tilted his mouth. “Not this time, Skipper. This time, she’s all mine.” He met her gaze, placed his mouth by her ear and whispered, “And forever more.” The words settled in her heart, a promise of the love and happiness to come, as they stepped forward to stand beside her mother and Dr. Reese in front of the minister waiting to perform the double ceremony.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from A HOME FOR HIS FAMILY by Jan Drexler.

  Dear Reader,

  Clarice Gordon made her appearance in An Unlikely Love, my first book with a Chautauqua Lake setting. She was such an intriguing character in that book that I knew I had to write her story. I also knew, because of her nature, she had to have a self-confident, strong yet gentle hero to win her heart. Charles Thornberg was the perfect man for her. I enjoyed writing their story and, once again, giving two wounded people a happy-ever-after ending by God gently leading them into the knowledge of His love.

  I’m going to miss the steamer rides on beautiful Chautauqua Lake. But I think the mode of transportation in my next book will be a train. At least until my heroine reaches her destination. I’m looking forward to that. I’ve always wished I could ride one of the old trains and experience the sway of the car, the clickety-clack of the wheels against the track and the faint smell of smoke as the steam engine chugged its way west. How about you, dear reader? Would you like to come along?

  Thank you, dear reader, for choosing to read His Precious Inheritance. I hope you enjoyed Clarice and Charles’s story. I truly appreciate hearing from my readers. If you care to share your thoughts about this story, I may be reached at dorothyjclark@hotmail.com or www.dorothyjclark.com.

  Until the “All aboard” call sounds,

  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired Historical title.

  You find illumination in days gone by. Love Inspired Historical stories lift the spirit as heroines tackle the challenges of life in another era with hope, faith and a focus on family.

  Enjoy four new stories from Love Inspired Historical every month!

  Connect with us on Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!

  Other ways to keep in touch:

  Harlequin.com/newsletters

  Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks

  Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks

  HarlequinBlog.com

  http://www.harlequin.com/harlequinexperience

  A Home for His Family

  by Jan Drexler

  Chapter One

  Deadwood, Dakota Territory

  May 1877

  “Sorry for the delay, folks. There’s a bull train on the trail ahead of us, and they’re hogging the road. It won’t be long until we’re moving again.” The stagecoach guard acknowledged Sarah MacFarland and Aunt Margaret, the only ladies in the cramped stage, with a tip of his hat. Water sluiced off the brim on
to the feet of the male passengers. “The good news is that we’re only a few miles from Deadwood, and the rain is easing up a bit.”

  “Thank you.” Sarah answered him with a nod, but kept her face classroom-firm. She had already learned women were few in this western country, and men were eager to take even a polite smile as permission to overstep the boundaries of propriety. Aunt Margaret had the notion Sarah might find a husband out here in the West, but Sarah had no such dreams. Twenty-eight years old put her firmly in the spinster category and she was more than happy to remain there.

  “Excuse me, ma’am.” Mr. Johnson shifted his bulk and reached under his seat. The man’s cigar jammed between his teeth had bothered Aunt Margaret the entire journey from Sidney, Nebraska. “If you’ll oblige, I’ll take my bag. Since we’re this close to the camp, I might as well walk the rest of the way.”

  He grabbed his satchel and squeezed out of the crowded coach. The other men spilled out after him like a half-dozen chicks from a grain sack.

  “Are they all walking to Deadwood from here?” Aunt Margaret adjusted her hat as she peered through the open door.

  Peder Swenson pushed himself up from his spot on the floor. “I’m not. But I am going to stretch my legs and see what’s going on.” The blond eighteen-year-old had kept them entertained with stories of his native Norway on the long journey.

  As Sarah watched Peder stride away on his long legs, she couldn’t sit still another minute. “I am, too.”

  Aunt Margaret grabbed her sleeve. “You will not. Who knows what you’ll find out there? We’ve seen enough of those bullwhackers along the trail to know what kind of men they are.”

  Sarah held her handkerchief to her nose. Rainy weather kept the heavy canvas window covers closed, and even with the men gone, the heavy odor of unwashed bodies was overwhelming. “I’ll be careful. I have to get some fresh air. I’ll stay close by, and I won’t go near the bull train.”

  Aunt Margaret released her sleeve, and Sarah climbed out of the stagecoach, aching for a deep breath. With a cough, she changed her mind. The air reeked of dung and smoke in this narrow, serpentine valley. She held her handkerchief to her nose and coughed again. Thick with fog, the canyon rang with the crack of whips from the bull train strung out on the half-frozen trail ahead. She pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders and shook one boot, but the mud clung like gumbo.

  A braying sound drew her attention to a wagon a few feet from the coach, leaning precariously close to the swollen, rocky creek at the side of the trail. She stepped closer to get a better look and nearly laughed out loud at the sight of a black mule tied to the back of the covered wagon. The creature sat in muddy slush as it tried to pull away from the rushing water and noise.

  A tall man, soaking wet and covered in mud from his worn cavalry hat down to his boots, grabbed for the mule’s halter. “Loretta, if you break that rope again, I’m going to sell you to the first butcher I find.”

  The mule shook her head, and he missed his grab, landing flat on his back and sliding down the slope toward the edge of the creek. As he fell, the animal flicked her gray nose toward him and snatched his hat in her teeth.

  A giggle rose in Sarah’s throat at the sight, and her shoulders shook as she fought to keep it in.

  The man rolled over, lurching to his feet as he grabbed his hat from the mule. “You stupid, dumb, loco...” He muttered all kinds of insults at the animal, who only tossed her head as he slapped the hat against his legs in an effort to clean the mud off it.

  A young boy appeared at the back of the wagon, pulling the canvas cover open. He couldn’t have been older than eight or nine, with a straw-colored cowlick topping his forehead. Would he be one of the students in her new academy? Uncle James had written that several families lived in and around Deadwood and that some of the parents were desperate for a good school. Sarah had brought a trunk full of books and supplies for boys just like this one, and for the poor young women trapped in the saloons. She smiled at the thought. Dr. Amelia Bennett would be so proud of her.

  The boy caught her attention again, shaking his head as he watched the man and the mule. “She was only trying to help.”

  “Charley, the day that mule helps me do anything will be the day I eat my hat. I’ve never seen a more useless...”

  “Not Loretta.” Charley’s voice rang with boyish confidence. “She knows exactly what she’s doing.”

  The man leaned one gloved hand on the corner of the wagon box while he raised a boot to dislodge the mud with a stick. “Then why does she keep fighting me every time I try to get her to do something?”

  “Because she’s smart. She doesn’t want to go any closer to this creek.”

  The man stomped his foot back onto the ground and lifted the other one. “The horses don’t have any problem with it.”

  Sarah glanced at the four-horse team at the front of the wagon. They stood with their backs hunched as the rain gave way to a cold wind that threatened to snatch her hat away. She pushed it down tight and turned back to the scene in front of her.

  “The horses are stupid.”

  The flabbergasted expression on the man’s face as Charley pronounced his judgment triggered another giggle. Sarah slapped a gloved hand over her mouth, but a snort of laughter escaped between her fingertips.

  “Ma’am.” The man locked eyes with her, then released his foot, stomping the heel on the ground. “I’m happy to see we amuse you.”

  “Oh, I’m...” She snorted again. “I’m so sorry. But the mule, and you and those poor...” She couldn’t talk through her laughter. “Those poor horses. I think the mule is right.”

  “See, Uncle Nate? I told you.”

  “Charley, get back in the wagon.” The boy ducked inside as the man called Nate strode across the few feet of trail toward her. “So you think the mule is right?”

  Sarah’s laughter died. No answering smile lit his dark eyes and his lips formed a thin, tight line. She was the only one who had found the incident funny, but he didn’t need to condemn her. She lifted her chin. “You drove into a precarious spot. One misstep and your wagon and all its contents could end up in the creek.”

  “You think we ended up there on purpose? The stagecoach...” He looked at the coach, and then at her. “Your stagecoach about ran us off the road.”

  Sarah’s face heated in the cold air. A muscle in one of his stubbled cheeks twitched. “I apologize. I should have realized you were at the mercy of the crowded trail.”

  He pulled his hat off and wiped a weary forearm across his brow. “Yes. The crowded trail, and the rain, and the forty freight wagons all trying to head into Deadwood today and the cold.” He turned away, gazing into the fog-shrouded pines looming above them at the edge of the canyon, and then faced her again. “And now it’s my turn to apologize. I’m letting my frustrations get the better of me.”

  Sarah observed him as he waited for her reply. His apology had turned the corner of his mouth up in a wry grin.

  “Of course, you have my pardon.” She smiled, breaking her self-imposed rule. “Anyone would be hard-pressed to let a day like today not frustrate him.”

  As he smiled back, a gust of wind ruffled his short dark hair.

  “You and Charley are on your way to Deadwood?”

  “Yes, ma’am, we are.”

  Sarah searched his eyes for that wild gleam of gold fever—the look that made the men she had traveled with lose all their common sense—but his brown eyes were calm and clear in spite of the tense lines framing them that spoke of exhaustion and many days on the trail. He met her gaze with his own interested one. Something foreign fluttered in her stomach.

  “My uncle has started a church in town, and I’m a teacher. I’ll be opening a school soon, and I hope Charley will be able to attend.”

  His smile disappeared. “Wouldn’t count on us
, ma’am. We’ll be busy getting settled.”

  The flutter stilled. “But you can’t let a boy like Charley grow up without any education.”

  “I don’t intend to, miss. The children will get all the education they need.”

  Sarah pressed her lips together. Did this cowboy truly think a child could get a decent education while mining for gold or running wild in the streets?

  Her reply was interrupted as the stagecoach driver climbed back up onto his seat. “You’d better take your place, miss,” he said over his shoulder. “We have a way cleared and are going on into town now.”

  “Yes, all right.” As she turned to the coach, Charley’s uncle reached out to open the door for her. As he leaned near, she caught the scent of leather and horses.

  “Thank you, Mr....”

  “Colby. Nate Colby.”

  He smiled as he offered his hand to steady her climb into the coach.

  “I hope we’ll be able to continue discussing Charley’s education at another time.”

  He waited until she was seated and then leveled his gaze at her. “I think we’ve finished with that subject. The children’s schooling is already taken care of.”

  Sarah opened her mouth, ready to deliver the stinging words that would put this cowboy in his place, but as her eyes locked with his, the argument died in her throat. He smiled, nodded to Aunt Margaret and closed the door. He was gone.

  “Why, Sarah.” Aunt Margaret began, straightening Sarah’s skirt as she took her seat. “Who is that man? You promised you would stay away from the bull train.”

  Sarah rubbed at a splash of mud on the hem of her skirt, turning away from her aunt. She was certain her face held a telltale blush. “He was driving an immigrant wagon and has his nephew with him.”

  And he had mentioned children, so more than only his nephew.