Lem brought a pot of coffee and plate of biscuits from the bunkhouse.
“How is she doing?” The worry in the old man’s eyes bespoke his affection for Jane. “It’s my fault. I should’ve noticed she was ailing.”
Harrison bit into a biscuit and grimaced. What had he made these out of? Damp wool and sawdust?
“She’s still sleeping. Doc kicked us out so he could take a look at her.”
After what seemed half of forever, the door finally opened. Doc stood there, wiping his hands on a towel.
Harrison wheeled. “How is she?” His heart acted like a jackrabbit with a coyote on its tail.
“You two need to talk. She’ll tell you.”
“She’s awake?”
“She is. And my prescription is for the two of you to get things straightened out between you. She’s got some odd notions that need disabusing. Beyond that, she needs bed rest and building up. She’s underweight and overworked in addition to being overwrought. No more fieldwork and not much of any kind of work for at least a month.”
“But she’ll be fine?” He hardly dared hope.
“Eventually, if you go carefully.” Dr. Iverson smiled. “What are you standing there for? She’s waiting.” He stepped aside and Harrison took a deep, steadying breath before entering the soddy.
The time had come. Jane pushed herself up against the pillows, so weak her limbs shook. Harrison closed the door and leaned against it, crossing his arms. She needed to get in first, before he said anything.
“I’m sorry. The last thing in the world you needed was to be pulled away from your work to tend to me. And now you have the added expense of the doctor. I’m sure I’ll be fine in a day or so.” She swallowed, trying not to sound as pitiful as she felt. “This won’t set you back from meeting the contract, will it?”
“I don’t care about the contract. My father can have the place. I won’t need it.”
“What?”
Harrison left the door and came to her side, dropping to his knees and taking her hand. “Jane, I’m not keeping the ranch. That contract has done nothing but drive us apart. When you first came here, you were so happy, and you made me happy. You filled a place in my life and heart that I didn’t even realize was empty. Then Lem told you about the contract and you changed. All that joy and hope disappeared.” He lifted her hand and brushed a kiss across her fingers. “I want the old Jane back. The one I married. And I won’t have her killing herself to help me get a ranch. It isn’t worth it.”
She stared at the quilt. Was he really willing to give everything up, everything he’d worked for, just for her? She raised her eyes to examine his face.
“Jane, darling, I love you. I think I’ve loved you from the minute you first set foot on this ranch. Look at this house.” He swept his arm to encompass the small room. “You took a hovel and made it a home. You bring light and joy wherever you go. You’re loving and giving, and so sweet it makes my chest hurt. My father said you called yourself Plain Jane.” He squeezed her fingers. “I don’t ever want you to even think that again.” His hand came up to touch her cheek. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. I could willingly get lost in your beautiful eyes. I want to spend the rest of my life proving my love and earning yours.”
Afraid to hope, yet unable to deny him, she leaned into his caress. “You love me? Me, Plai—” His hand stopped the words.
“I love you, beautiful, sweet, adorable, strong, amazing Jane Garvey.” Gently, but insistently, he gathered her into his arms. His lips found hers, giving and taking, healing and renewing. Love for him overwhelmed her. This was what she had waited for all her life. When he broke the kiss, she rested her cheek against his strong chest, thrilling to the erratic beating of his heart.
“Harrison, there are a few things you should know.”
“What?” He brushed a kiss across her hair.
“I don’t want you to give up the ranch. We’ve got so much invested here. All your dreams.”
“Not all. My dreams are bound up in you now.”
“Well then, my dreams are here. I want to stay. To see this through.” She cupped his stubbly cheeks and stared into his eyes, willing him to understand how important this was to her. When he still seemed unconvinced, she said, “I want our baby to be born here, on his father’s ranch.”
His eyebrows rose. “Baby?”
She nodded, her throat too thick for words.
He exhaled on a half laugh, blinked, and shook his head. “You’re sure?”
“Yes, the doctor confirmed it.”
He was off the floor and resting beside her on the bed before she could blink. His arm went around her, and he cradled her close. Reverently, he placed his hand on her abdomen and kissed her temple. “Ah, Jane, I didn’t think I could love you more, but you’re proving me wrong. I think I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned in to him. “Me, too.”
When they broke the news to Rutherford, he couldn’t stop grinning. “How about that? A grandchild. Your mother would be so proud if she could see you now.” He tapped his fist against the edge of the table.
Jane sipped chicken broth from a cup, resigned after much haranguing and negotiation to being on bed rest for the next couple of weeks. Harrison hovered, anxious and loving by turns.
Rutherford dug inside his suit pocket and withdrew a long envelope. “This is yours, son. My gift to you and Jane. It’s the deed to the ranch. Enough of this standoff. I’m tickled to death at the start you’ve made here. Now it’s time to bury pride and be done with that foolish contract. I only cornered you into signing it because I knew you’d get your back up and determine to make good on it.”
Harrison froze. “Are you serious?”
“Never more so. The place is yours. Though you can do me one more favor.”
“What?”
“Get that house out of storage and get it built. I don’t intend to sleep in a dirt house when I come to visit my grandchild. Jane”—his eyes twinkled—“Harrison has been too stubborn to accept my gift of a house, but I know you’re smarter than he is, and you’ll see reason. I’m giving you that house, and I’m trusting you to convince him to get it built before the snow flies.”
She leaned her head against the pillows, tickled at the outraged expression on her husband’s face that quickly turned to sheepish pleasure.
“I think I can manage that.”
Late that night, cradled in her husband’s arms, Jane sighed.
“What’s that for?” Harrison smoothed her hair back from her face and brushed a kiss across her brow.
She savored the security of his embrace. “All my life I dreamed of a gallant knight who would come and sweep me off my feet, carry me away to his castle, and love and cherish me forever.”
“Huh, too bad you got stuck with me.”
She levered herself up to look down into his eyes in the glow of the lamplight. “How can you say that? You are a gallant knight. You brought me all the way to Wyoming Territory to your castle on the plains, made me fall in love with you, then made me the happiest woman alive by loving me back. You’re a wonderful husband and provider, and you’re going to be a wonderful father. What more could a woman ask?”
He caressed her cheek and let his hand drop to cup her shoulder through the thin lawn of her nightgown. “Jane Garvey, you’re amazing. I knew it the first time I saw you, and you’ve been surprising me every day since. I can hardly wait to see what you’ll do next. If I’m a knight, you’re my lady.” He brought her down for a gentle kiss.
She snuggled close, wrapping her arm across his flat stomach and pressing her swelling abdomen against his side. As her eyes drifted closed, she envisioned her knight holding a little lord or lady in his arm, his other encircling her waist, and a smile curved her lips. Her wait for love had finally come to an end.
ERICA VETSCH
Even though Erica Vetsch has set aside her career teaching history t
o high school students in order to homeschool her own children, her love of history hasn’t faded. Erica’s favorite books are historical novels and history books, and one of her greatest thrills is stumbling across some obscure historical factoid that makes her imagination leap. She’s continually amazed at how God has allowed her to use her passion for history, romance, and daydreaming to craft historical romances that entertain readers and glorify Him. Whenever she’s not following flights of fancy in her fictional world, Erica is the company bookkeeper for her family’s lumber business, a mother of two, wife to a man who is her total opposite and yet her soul mate, and an avid museum patron.
Shining Armor
by Erica Vetsch
Chapter 1
Would her soon-to-be husband be a knight or a dragon? In just a few moments, she’d find out. A cluster of buildings in the distance grew larger, as did the ball of anxiety in her middle.
Gwendolyn Gerhard twisted a piece of string around her index finger, unwound it, and wound it again, all the while jolting and jostling in the wagon next to the crankiest preacher she’d ever encountered.
Reverend Cummings hunched over, his elbows on his knees, his face set in a scowl. Had he ever heard of the joy of the Lord? At least he wasn’t talkative. Not that she would’ve minded getting a little information out of him, but every time he opened his mouth, crabbiness flowed out.
Her sister Emmeline rode in the wagon behind her, taking in everything about their surroundings. After Gwendolyn got married, Emmeline would have to go on alone to her own wedding without the benefit of any of her sisters in attendance. Though she didn’t seem worried. Of all the Gerhard girls, Emmeline had most embraced the notion of coming West as a mail-order bride.
Gwendolyn wound the string again, noting the ridges it caused in her finger. The shock of leaving her two oldest sisters just moments after each of their weddings hadn’t quite worn off. This morning when they set out from the town of Sagebrush in southeastern Wyoming Territory, they had all been single women. Now Evelyn and Jane were married, Evelyn had acquired a stepdaughter in addition to her son, Jamie, and Jane was living in a dirt house.
That might’ve been me. After all, the selection of husbands had been a bit haphazard, with each sister picking a name from the list of four who had answered their advertisement. If she had chosen Gareth or Harrison instead of Zebulon, she might now be the mother to an angry young hellion of a girl or residing in a sod hut. According to Cranky Cummings, she was next on his mail-order-bride delivery route, and who knew what fate awaited her there? Of the four applicants, she knew the least about hers. Where her sisters had all received letters, she had only a telegram.
SENDING TRAIN AND STAGE FARE. STOP. COME AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. STOP. WARMLY, ZEBULON PARKER. STOP.
At least he’d included the word warmly. Not exactly a love letter to melt a girl’s heart but better than nothing.
In spite of the shocks of reality, she couldn’t quite bring herself to be downhearted. For the first time in her life, she felt as if the doors had flown wide open. Living with a widowed father and three older sisters was like having three mothers. One or all of them usually had some correction, suggestion, or instruction regarding her appearance, her posture, or almost anything else she could name. With Evelyn a Civil War widow, the house had been somber and structured most of the time. And her father, while giving them all a deep appreciation for medieval history and classical literature, had often been distant and distracted, living in some castle in Camelot in his head and only surfacing to the real world periodically.
Of course, Camelot was a fine place to escape to. How often had she dreamed of Sir Gawain or Lancelot riding to her rescue, scaling ramparts, slaying dragons, laying siege to her heart? A man who would want her for the rest of her life, who would offer love, laughter, and a life together?
She pressed her palm against her skirt pocket, crinkling the telegram. Being a mail-order bride had little to do with the romance of her girlish fantasies, yet she couldn’t help hoping—dreaming—just a little, that she was traveling to meet her knight.
The buildings were growing uncomfortably and excitingly near. A lump lodged in her throat, and her heart beat double-time. Pressing her lips together, she tried to sort out the structures ahead. A barn, sheds, and outbuildings, and oh, praise be, a house.
A two-story, wooden clapboard house. She threw a quick glance over her shoulder at Emmeline, who grinned back. No soddy or log cabin for Gwendolyn. She’d have a proper house, with a wide porch that wrapped around two sides, glass windows, and gables. There were even saplings planted in the yard and a picket fence with a gate. Though the barn and outbuildings bore some signs of age, the house looked surprisingly new and well kept.
Several figures moved between and around the buildings. Which one was him? She swallowed. Soon, she’d meet her intended, her knight in shining armor. Please, Lord, let him be a knight and not a dragon.
Reverend Cummings pulled the wagon up in front of the house with a grunt. “Parker’s place.”
A long, sloping ramp led to the porch—the boards even newer than the house appeared to be, still yellow and filling the air with a sawdust-and-pine redolence. A hundred questions popped into Gwendolyn’s head, colliding and bouncing off one another. She gathered her skirts and her courage and climbed from the wagon on the side away from the house. Emmeline joined her, clutching Gwendolyn’s hand with chilly fingers. The wagon box was so high, they could barely see over it. Movement caught her eye. The men working near the barn and in the corral all headed their way.
Cummings rounded the back of the wagon and unpinned the tailgate, muttering and grumbling.
The men, six in all, approached and formed a half circle around the wagon, staring and shifting their weight. She searched each of the faces, praying for a glimpse of recognition, hoping she would know Zebulon Parker when she saw him. But though she surveyed each one carefully, nothing special happened, not on their faces or in her heart. They were just men.
Some looked away from her scrutiny, some reddened and shrugged, and one grinned and raked her with his gaze. Though handsome, with black hair and mustache and glinting green eyes, he wore an insolent expression that diminished his good looks. Please, Lord, don’t let this be him.
She’d been saying a lot of “Please, Lords” over the past few weeks.
The screen door squeaked. A man’s voice—she couldn’t see him over the heads of the other men gathered around—broke the silence. “What’re you doing standing around? I’d think, heading out on the range like you are tomorrow, there’d be plenty to keep you boys busy.”
The men parted, and Gwendolyn sucked in a breath.
Broad shoulders, lean hips, long legs, and brilliant eyes so blue they seemed to sparkle, even from this distance. She grabbed hold of the side of the wagon and peeked over the edge at him.
“Oh my,” Emmeline whispered. “Do you think that’s him?”
He strode across the porch, scorned the ramp, and leaped to the ground in a lithe movement. “Padre, what brings you out this way?”
Cummings dragged a trunk toward himself, cocked an eyebrow at the girls as if to ask “is this the right luggage?” and at their nod, hefted it from the wagon box. “I don’t have time to palaver. I brung your bride. Let’s get this wedding over and done with.”
The blue-eyed man laughed and shoved his hat to the back of his head, revealing a forelock of reddish-brown hair. “Right. Tell me another while you’re at it.” His thumbs went into his belt loops. “Seriously, it’s been awhile since you’ve been through. On your way to Dellsville? Need a place to stay, or are you going to try to make it before nightfall?”
“I am on my way to Dellsville. I don’t need a place to stay, and I’m serious about the wedding.” The trunk hit the dirt. “One of these two gals. Not sure which. You’ll have to ask them which is which. Where’s Zeb? He knows all about it.”
“You can stop kidding around, Cummings. We’re not much in the m
ood for it around here. I don’t know anything about a bride, and you can’t talk to Zeb. He isn’t here.”
Gwendolyn bit her bottom lip, gripping the side of the wagon box until her hands ached. Obviously this young man couldn’t be her intended. Odd that she should feel a little swoop of disappointment when she didn’t even know the man. But where was Zebulon?
Grimness stole over the young man’s face, and his voice lowered. “Zeb passed away two weeks ago.”
This brought Cummings to a halt. His perpetual scowl deepened. “I hadn’t heard.” He adjusted his jacket and scratched his chin. “His heart?”
“We’ve known for a while that he could go at any time, but it’s still a shock.”
“Too bad, but the wedding can go on just the same.”
The man’s hand shot out in a throwaway gesture. “What wedding? Make sense, man.”
The reverend motioned toward Gwendolyn and Emmeline. “Come around here. Which of you is supposed to marry a Parker?”
Emmeline’s grip on Gwendolyn’s arm made her fingers tingle, but Gwendolyn rounded the wagon. “I am.” She hoped her voice didn’t sound as small and bewildered as she felt. If it was true that her intended had passed away, where did that leave her? “Zebulon’s dead? Are you sure?”
The tall young man’s gaze raked her from bonnet to boots. “Don’t you think I’d know if my own grandfather was dead?”
She flinched at his harsh tone and the cloud of grief in his eyes. “Of course. I’m so sorry for your loss—wait. Your grandfather?” Her voice squeaked. “Zebulon Parker is—I mean, was—your grandfather?” Her mind cartwheeled.
“Just who are you, anyway?”
The reverend nudged the trunk out of his way and reached for a valise. “This one yours, missy?” He hefted it. “Zeb asked me to wait around Sagebrush until these gals arrived. I watched Zeb send the telegram myself, six weeks ago. I thought he looked poorly then but figured he’d just had a hard winter. She’s one of those mail-order brides, her and her sisters. Zeb fetched her out from back East. Massachusetts, I think it was.”
Love Is Patient Romance Collection Page 14
