Lariats, Letters, and Lace

by Agnes Alexander

  “And you just left her there?”

  Gabby drew back from Russ’s wrathful glare. “Yeah. Did I do somethin’ wrong?”

  Russ shook his head. “No. I guess there wasn’t anything else you could do.” He turned and started out the door.

  “They’s one more thing, Boss.”

  Russ turned around. “What is it, Gabby?”

  “She give me this here letter and told me to give it to you. I was waitin’ till you come in for the night, but I might as well give it to you now.” He picked up his coat and began searching in the pockets. “Here ’tis.”

  Russ took the letter and nodded. “Ma was worried about her, so I better go tell her what happened. I’ll see you all later.”

  Outside, Russ took a deep breath of the winter air. He opened the note, but it simply said, I’m too sick to ride back to the ranch. Will stay at the hotel tonight.

  He wasn’t sure what Samantha was up to, but he had an idea, and he didn’t like what his thought indicated. Yes, she should go back to Philadelphia. Yes, she would never fit in here. But damn it, in spite of all the reasons why he shouldn’t, he wanted her here.

  ****

  At breakfast the next morning, Jamie looked at his grandmother. “I know it’s Valentine’s day. Will Aunt Samantha come home today?”

  “I make her card,” Abby said with a mouthful of egg.

  Russ decided to go against his hunch and said, “I’m sure she’ll be here before the day is over.”

  “Good,” Jamie said.

  “Son, are you sure?”

  “Of course, Ma.” Russ wiped his face and stood. “I’m going to my room and get another shirt since I noticed a tear in this one when I washed up this morning. I’m sure Miss Whitener won’t mind.”

  Going straight to his wardrobe, Russ pulled out a warm blue shirt, removed the one he had on, then slipped the clean one over his head. It was when he turned to go that he noticed the letter propped on the table beside the bed. Frowning, he moved over and picked it up. He was surprised to see his name written across the envelope.

  Still frowning, he ripped it open and began to read.

  To Russell Jenson: Because I know you think I’m worthless and am no good to or for anyone in your home, I am relieving you of the idea that you have to pretend to like me in front of the children. I’m sure you and your mother will take excellent care of them and they will soon forget their Aunt Samantha. I will never forget them or their parents. Please take extra care of Jamie. His father’s death hit him hard. Of course, Abby needs care, too, but she’s young and doesn’t understand all that’s happened.

  Please try not to feel too harshly about me, Mr. Jenson. I tried as best as I could to fit in on your ranch. It was a life I’d never seen or been a part of. You were right when you said I was worthless there. I do want you to know that I felt welcome by your mother, and I tried to help as I learned what and how to do things that were required. As for you, though I know you never liked me, I couldn’t help appreciating the way you related to the children. You’re a good man, and I can’t help telling you that, after meeting you, I doubt I could ever be satisfied to be the wife of the silly man my aunt has picked out for me. Blessings to the Jenson family.

  Samantha Whitener

  Russ read the letter again, then crammed it in his pocket. It was clear to him now. He knew what he had to do.

  Chapter 6

  It was daybreak when the stagecoach pulled away from town. Samantha sat in the corner with her head turned toward the window. A man in a suit sat across from her and tried to start a conversation, but she didn’t want to talk with him or anyone. There was nothing he could say to make it easier to go back to Philadelphia. Even the constant tears hadn’t helped her like her decision to go.

  But after crying through the night in the small hotel room, she had no more tears. All that was left was the sadness that had seeped so deep it had invaded her soul. She realized this feeling would continue into her future. Oh, she’d be physically comfortable in her aunt’s lavish home, and she’d smile at her friends, and drink the tea they served when she visited. But marrying Weldon Wheaton, III, was out of the question now. Alana Nelson could have him. They were perfect for each other, because Alana would never change—and she was sure that would be what Weldon would want in a wife. Samantha only hoped when she was an old lady that her decision to leave the west wouldn’t leave her as bitter and uncaring as her aunt Vivian.

  It was near noon when the stage gave a sudden jerk and began to slow down. Samantha pulled back the sash and saw they were nowhere near any building that could be a waystation or what looked like civilization to her. What was happening? With another jerk, the stage stopped.

  In a moment, the door flew open and the driver stuck his head in. “Ma’am, step out here, please.”

  Being the only woman in the stage, Samantha knew he was talking to her, but she could only stare at him.

  “What in the world do you want her for?” one of the fancy dressed men asked.

  “This don’t concern you. Come on, ma’am. Your husband is here to git you.”

  Her eyes grew large. “Husband?”

  “Yes. Now, come along and talk to him.”

  “There’s some mistake. I have no husband. I’m—”

  “Go talk to him, lady. Holding that door open is making it colder in here.” The man took her arm and propelled her toward the door.

  The driver reached in and took her hand to help her out.

  “I don’t understand why…” Her voice floundered when she saw Russ Jenson standing behind the driver.

  He looked at her and shook his head. “How could you do this to us, Samantha?”

  She stared at him. Was she dreaming, or was she having a nightmare?

  “Little Abby and Jamie are all upset because you left without even saying good-bye to them. We’re a family, Samantha. How could you run out on us just because life hasn’t turned out like you thought it would?”

  Her heart began to pound. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “The children need you. Ma needs you, and no matter what you think…I need you, too. Please, come home.”

  “I’m going home to Philadelphia.”

  “But you’ll be so far away, the children will never see you again. Don’t you love them at all?”

  “Of course I love them, but they’re better off with you than with me. You’ll provide them with everything they need and…and I’m worthless.”

  “You’re not worthless. You just have a lot to learn about living on a ranch.”

  The door to the stage opened, and the man stuck his head out. “Damn it, woman, go home to your husband and children so we can move on.”

  “He’s not—”

  The driver intervened. “That man’s right. I’ll throw your bag down, and you go on home with your husband.”

  “He’s not my husband!” she almost screamed.

  “If he’s not your husband, is there no children?”

  “Yes, there are children, but—”

  “No buts. This line don’t harken to helping a woman running away from her family. Now, go on home where you belong.” The driver climbed back on the stage coach and tossed her valise to the ground.

  “Wait—”

  The driver ignored her. “Better step away, lady.” He then snapped the whip over the horses’ backsides and the stage began to roll forward.

  “No. You can’t do this!” But the stage moved away, leaving her standing there in the snow.

  She whirled toward Russ. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “I got your letter.”

  “So?”

  “Do you want to stand here until we freeze, or do you want to ride back home with me?”

  “How? I only see one horse.”

  “It’ll only take one.” He picked up her valise, hooked it over the saddle horn, then mounted. Before she could say anything, he reached down, scooped her up with one arm, and settled her in
his lap.

  “Why in the world did you kidnap me, Russell Jenson? It’s cold out here, and I was trying to do the right thing.”

  He reached behind him and pulled a blanket from behind the saddle. “Here’s an extra blanket. Wrap up in it and put your head against my chest. You’ll be warmer that way.”

  The horse plodded down the snowy road in the opposite direction from the disappearing stage. Samantha felt she should at least try to make Russ take her back to the stage and explain to the driver that she wasn’t his wife, and Jamie and Abby weren’t her children. But it felt so good sitting here in his lap with his arms around her. The only thing that marred the scene was the fact that the sun went behind the clouds, and in a short time, it began to snow.

  It took her some time to work up the courage to speak to him. Finally, she muttered, “Why?”

  “I found your letter.”

  She thought a minute. Then said, “You weren’t supposed to go into my room until you came in from work tonight. That’s when you should have found the letter.”

  “I believe it’s my room, too. I have a right to go in there any time you’re not using it.”

  “It is, but—”

  “Why didn’t you leave on yesterday’s stage?”

  “I planned to, but I missed it.”

  “I’m glad you missed it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I didn’t have to go as far in this awful weather to stop you, which means we’ll be home by dark—or a little after.” He reached up and turned up the collar on his coat and pulled his hat down over his eyes.

  Glancing up at him, Samantha saw the snow on his nose and eyelashes. He had to be cold. Without thinking it over, she took the blanket from her shoulders and spread it across the front of both of them.

  “Thanks,” he muttered, and used one hand to unbutton his coat. He then pulled her against his chest, and pulled the coat as far as he could around her.

  “I’m sorry I left.”

  “You’re going back.”

  “Russ, please tell me why you want me to go back to your ranch.”

  “It’s simple, Samantha. You belong there.”

  She was stunned. What did he mean? Did her want her there because of the children? Or did he want her there himself? Again, she asked, “What makes you say I belong there?”

  “I said it because you do. Matter of fact, I told Ma to make sure the preacher was there when we got home.”

  “Why?”

  “Honestly, Samantha…do I have to explain everything?”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “Alright. The preacher will be there, because I plan to move back into my room tonight.”

  “Where will I sleep?”

  “You’ll sleep where you’ve been sleeping.”

  “But… Russ Jenson, are you asking me to marry you?”

  “I guess I should ask instead of telling you we’re getting married.”

  “It would be nice to have a choice as to whether to marry you or not.”

  “That’s why I didn’t ask, Miss Samantha Whitener. I was afraid a hard-headed woman like you would say no. It’s easier just to tell you we’re getting married tonight. The kids will have the room all decorated with Valentines, and Ma is making a big celebration supper. I wouldn’t want to disappoint them.”

  She was quiet a moment, then snuggled closer to him. “I don’t want to disappoint them, either.”

  He let out a big breath leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “That takes a load off my mind. I was afraid I’d have to tie you up for the ceremony. Now, stop talking. I need to concentrate on this road. We may be running into a blizzard, and I want to get us home while I can see where we’re going. If Thunder steps wrong and throws us, we could freeze to death out here.”

  Samantha nodded against his chest and bit her lip to keep her curious questions from spilling out. There would be time enough for that, later. Russ was right. They were going home, together. What a wonderful Valentine’s Day!

  About the Author—Agnes Alexander

  Since childhood, Agnes Alexander has been intrigued with all things western. On her first vacation in the west, she knew this was a part of the country and a history she wanted to write about. Her first Western book was published in 2012. She now has eleven in print and two under contract. A Family for Valentine’s Day is her second short-story for a PRP anthology. She feels she’s found her place in the writing world and plans to write more stories as well as more books. She loves to hear from her readers and can be contacted at www.agnesalexander.com.

  A Valentine Promise

  B. J. Betts

  Come hell or high water, Kitty Clark will hold Brady Wells to his Valentine promise.

  Chapter One

  Kitty Clark stood at the kitchen window and looked out toward the horse corral. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw the silhouette of the man standing with his booted foot hooked over the bottom rung of the pinewood fence. He leaned his handsome face on the palm of his hand, his elbow braced against the top rail.

  A smile split her full, cherry–red lips as she gazed out at him. She stepped away from the window and went directly to the small oval mirror her mother had hung on the wall by the kitchen table. She used her fingers to re–pin the barrettes that held her hair up on the sides and then ran them through the long, blonde curls falling down her back. She adjusted the lace collar of her dress, and then smoothed her hands over the soft fabric, down her slender waist and hips.

  Her cornflower–blue eyes flashed with excitement at the thought of what she was about to do. She gave her cheeks a quick pinch to brighten them and then walked over to the kitchen stove and picked up the envelope she'd placed there just minutes ago.

  As she held the envelope in her hands, memories of Valentine's Days gone by flashed through her mind:

  Brady Wells had come to the Triple C Ranch when Kitty was just eight years old. It was Valentine's Day. She had made a Valentine for each of her classmates at school, and had just one left. For the life of her, she couldn't think of anyone to give it to; that was, until she gazed out her window at the new hired hand. He looked kind of scared and lonely. She quickly printed her name and added a few hearts beside it. With a determined smile set on her lips, she marched out to the paddock and stood quietly behind the stranger.

  "Ahem." She cleared her throat, trying to get his attention.

  Brady turned and looked down at her. "Well, hello there. And just who are you?"

  She put her hands on her hips. "I’m Kitty…umm…Kathryn—but my daddy calls me Kitty. I’m the daughter of William and Betsy Clark."

  "Well, now, aren't you just as cute as you can be, Miss Kitty–Kathryn Clark," he answered, smiling down at her. "Hmm, come to think of it, Kitty–Kathryn Clark is too long a name for a bitty little thing like you. I figure I'll just call you Little Bit."

  For a moment, she didn't know whether or not she liked this new name, but just one look at his bright smile and dimples, along with sparkling, black–brown eyes, and a small nutmeg–colored curl that fell down the middle of his forehead—and she was smiling back and nodding in agreement.

  From that day on, she had been his shadow. Every year since, she had made him a Valentine's Day card with two little hearts drawn beside her printed name, "Little Bit."

  ****

  Brady stood with his booted foot resting on the lowest rung of the fence as he gazed off into the distance. A soft breeze lifted the edges of his collar-length, nutmeg-colored hair. A slight chill raced over him, and he pulled his lamb's-wool parka more closely about him. Spring was just around the corner, and soon he would be up to his neck, pulling baby calves from their mothers' warm wombs, not to mention the fine line of mares that would be delivering their foals next month.

  He didn't mind a hard day's work; in fact, it seemed to make time pass more quickly. If Brady had one flaw, it was that he had felt a bit of wanderlust these past few weeks. Iowa winters were always hard, but this last winter
had been one he'd not soon forget, that or the forty below zero readings on the bunk house wall. It hadn't been fit for man nor beast to be outside on those bitter days. Sadly, they could only fit a small portion of the herd William Clark had acquired last spring into the barn and the lean-to around the property. He had lost a good portion of his herd.

  Every dead steer Brady found after the weather let up enough for them to go and bring in hay and water, nearly broke his heart. All these years, he'd pined for his own herd. At twenty-six, he'd saved up a good amount to get his herd started, but he just wasn't so sure he wanted to raise them in Iowa. Nowadays, he dreamed of moving on and finding himself a nice piece of land, maybe somewhere in the Dakotas.

  It was February 14th, 1875, and gold had been found in the Black Hills. The gold rush was on. The United States government had opened the lands for homesteading. Daily, Brady watched as covered wagons loaded with families' belongings, traveled the long trek to Sioux Falls, South Dakota, just miles from the Sioux City, Iowa border.

  Each homesteader could lay claim to a one-hundred-sixty-acre plot. It would mean a fine start to his ranch. From what he'd heard, folks were making a claim on the land and then selling at a great profit to continue on to the gold fields in Lead and Deadwood.

  "Brady?" a soft voice said from behind.

  Brady turned and smiled at Kitty, standing there with her hands held behind her back. At sixteen, she was a pretty little thing. A wisp of soft blonde hair drifted across her creamy cheek and her cornflower–blue eyes sparkled as she smiled up at him.

  "I have something for you."

  "Well, pray tell, Little Bit, what could it possibly be?"

  He'd come to the Clark ranch eight years ago. And from the first year, young Kitty had given him a valentine—each one having two drawn hearts beside her name. He knew she had a terrible crush on him and had smiled at the heart she had drawn a few years ago with both of their initials printed in them along with the words "I love you". He'd simply read it and smiled telling her thank you, and that she was his favorite girl. She was a sweet kid, and he wouldn't hurt her for the world. Instead, he accepted the valentine in the spirit it was given.