The Shepherd's Daughter (Dry Bayou Brides Book 1)

by Lynn Winchester

  The Shepherd’s Daughter

  Dry Bayou Brides

  Book One

  Lynn Winchester

  Copyright © 2016 by Mary Lancaster

  Kindle Edition

  Published by Dragonblade Publishing, an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  For Ronda and Esther

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Dry Bayou Ranch

  Dry Bayou, Texas

  May 1857

  Willem Ducharme stood beside his pa and waited for the wagons coming up the dirt road to turn the curve in the lane so he could see who was inside them—if possible, through the iron red dust the wagons kicked up. Dry Bayou, Texas was a relatively new town. According to his pa, it had only been sixteen years since the La Fontaines moved over from Louisiana and built a town. Because there were only a handful of families settled there, the Ducharme family homestead, Dry Bayou Ranch, didn’t get many visitors. Any wagons coming up the long drive from town were enough to stop all busyness in the house and get everyone to step out onto the wide, front porch.

  He reached up and gripped his father’s rough hand. “Who do you think it is, Pa?” His voice held a little curiosity and a lot of awe. He’d never seen a wagon so stuffed full of…stuff. As it drew nearer, he could make out three people, a pile covered by a length of canvas, and a few odds and ends poking out here and there. The second wagon was as full as the first, but it only had one occupant, the driver.

  Not townsfolk.

  Four visitors? That was nearly unheard of out here, where only Billy, his ma and pa, and a few ranch hands lived—though they hoped to add a cook soon because his ma did not believe that hauling dry goods in from the storage shed and sweating to death in the kitchen all day was befitting an up-and-coming, wealthy rancher’s wife.

  “Well, I don’t rightly know, but I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.”

  His pa’s gaze never left the approaching wagons. Once the wagons stopped in front of the house, Billy didn’t know if he wanted to run for the hills or hide behind his mother’s skirts. She’d come out to stand beside Pa, her dainty hand on his thick arm. She took a moment to smooth the invisible wrinkles from her skirt, tuck the loose strands of her auburn hair into place behind her ears, and pull back her shoulders.

  “I wonder if that’s…” His mother’s sweet, lilting voice calmed him a bit and he found he could loosen his grip on Pa’s hand, just a little… “Billy, stand up straight. We don’t want our visitors thinking you’re a slouch, now do we?”

  Billy straightened his spine and tipped up his chin, just as his mother had taught him, of course. She was right. He didn’t want the newcomers to think he was a yellow-bellied wimp, just because he was a little scared of who might be in the wagon.

  Pa cleared his throat and stepped forward to greet the visitors, and Billy stepped up, too, just far enough to see who’d come. He blinked through the blanket of red dust and fanned his face to clear his nose and mouth.

  He coughed, then focused his attention on the two people on the bench in the first wagon.

  There was a large man with red hair and a wide, friendly face and a woman with auburn hair, a bright smile, and a weary, but happy, expression.

  “Ho, there!” Pa called, lifting his arm in greeting. “What can we do for you folks?”

  No matter what, be polite. That’s another thing Billy’s mother had taught him.

  The large man in the first wagon dropped the reins, jumped down, and came around the wagon, hand extended.

  Without hesitation, Pa took the other man’s hand and shook it.

  “We’re the MacAdams’ and he is Pedro Pallo.” The man turned and pointed to the driver of the second wagon—a Mexican with a wiry beard and a big smile. “We’re a few days early, but we didn’t see na harm in comin’, if ye were willing.” The man had a deep voice and he spoke with a strange accent.

  Billy liked it. He liked this man. He didn’t know why, exactly, but the man’s kind face and rugged appearance set Billy at ease.

  “Ah, Brian MacAdams? Glad to meet you. Welcome to Dry Bayou Ranch,” Billy’s pa shook the man’s hand more vigorously and the smile he gave could’ve warmed an ice house. “You are a few days early, but the cabin was readied three days ago. The Merinos are on their way from the Barrett Ranch out near San Antonio. Not more than two days and you’ll have plenty to do ’round here.” He gestured to the surrounding land with a sweeping arm and proud grin.

  It had taken ten years, but Billy’s father, with smart investments and devout prayer, grew the ranch from two-hundred acres of dirt and waist-high grass, to eight-hundred acres of cotton, horses, cattle, and, soon, sheep. At least, that’s what he’d overheard his father say during fancy dinners at the hotel.

  “Oh, I ken it. I have two more men comin’ a few days behind—they’ve been wit me for near six years. They are good, hard workers and I ken we’ll grow yer herd from forty to four hundred before ye know it.”

  So this was the new head shepherd his pa had hired? Billy didn’t know much about it other than what he’d overheard between his parents at night while he was supposed to be reading The Word before bed. He couldn’t help it. He liked sneaking down the stairs to listen to his parents talk when they thought no one was listening. Something about the love between them made Billy want to stick close.

  From what he’d heard and could understand of their conversations, his pa wanted to expand the ranch into sheep and wool but didn’t know how to do it. He’d sent advertisements back east to the big cities, looking for a man who knew the industry and could come live on their ranch to manage the lambing and shearing and rotating—moving the herd from one parcel of land to another without losing a single one.

  Apparently, these newcomers were the ones his pa had picked for the job. Billy didn’t know, quite yet, what he thought of the whole thing.

  Not that it really mattered. Billy was set on growing up to be the best horse breeder in the state. He didn’t care much for smelly old sheep. He’d stick to the stable and barn, and leave Mr. MacAdams and Mr. Pallo to their sheep.

  Billy’s pa turned to him and motioned for him to come forward. Billy complied with only a little warmth rising in his cheeks.

  “Mr. MacAdams, this is my son, Willem.”

  Pa patted Billy on his shoulders and squeezed one just enough to make him clear his throat and say, “Good afternoon, sir. Nice to meet you.” Just as his mother had taught him.

  Mr. MacAdams grinned down at him. “What a polite young man ye are. Nice to me ye.”

  Billy’s mother stepped forward. “Good afternoon. Welcome to Dry Bayou Ranch. I’m Linda Ducharme and we’re very pleased to have you here.”

  His mother’s voice was soft, friendly, and cultured. She was a fine lady, much too fine for all the dust now coating her skirts. Pa said he’d found her in
a catalog and she’d moved west to marry him. He said he was a lucky man, especially since she hadn’t turned tail and run at the first sight of the shack he’d lived in back then.

  Mr. MacAdams turned around and helped the woman from the wagon. She strutted toward the porch, put out her hand, and smiled. Pa took it and shook it, a little less vigorously than he did the man’s.

  “I’m Moira MacAdams—,” she called into the back of the wagon. “Get down here, bairn, and say hello.”

  Billy didn’t know what to make of the bundle of rags and wild, frizzy, red hair that appeared. He stood, staring at the little girl who seemed more hair than girl. She looked a few years younger than his seven years, but he thought maybe her size threw him off. Her small face was covered with freckles, her brown eyes were filled with curiosity and something else he couldn’t name.

  She bounced from foot-to-foot, then stuck out her hand. He blinked down at it, surprised and a little uncertain what to do.

  “Go ’head, take it, it won’t bite,” she chirped. Her voice was like sugar on syrup and he found he didn’t know what to say back. So, he stepped forward and gripped her hand without saying a word.

  “Name’s Raychelle, but you can call me Ray, account of the fact that I don’t like Raychelle ’cause it sounds too uppity.”

  Billy couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face.

  He liked her.

  He tightened his grip on her hand. “He-hello, Ray, I’m Billy.”

  Her smile brightened and he felt the light of it right down into his boots. In that moment, he wondered if smelly old sheep weren’t all that bad.

  She must’ve read his thoughts because a glint of excitement filled her eyes and Billy could only blink in awe.

  “Billy, do you know how to catch a frog?”

  Chapter One

  Dry Bayou Ranch

  Dry Bayou, Texas

  1871

  “Billy Ducharme, you get your good-fer-nothin’ hide down here this instant!” Ray stopped pacing long enough to yell up at the hay loft from outside the large, red barn. “You got to be done with your chores by now, it’s near midday!”

  She and Billy were supposed to head down to Clipper’s Creek for the fishing derby and she hated to be late. She didn’t want to miss out on the prize for the biggest trout. She’d won it three years running and she’d be pickled if she lost this year.

  Where is that man? She stood on her tiptoes and rocked back onto her heels, all while balancing her armload of fishing gear.

  She’d been looking forward to this day for near six months. She even made sure she woke up a few hours before her usual time in order to get a head start on her daily chores; tending the two ewes who were lambing, mending the fence that was struck by lightning two nights ago, and checking with the gauchos to recount the heads to make sure none of the sheep were missing.

  Thankfully, all were accounted for, which meant she didn’t have to go hunting for a wayward ewe—that could’ve taken all day. She didn’t have all day, not if she wanted to get to the derby.

  Now, to get Billy moving so they could get going.

  The whinny of a horse caught her attention and she stopped moving and stared at the tall, wide doorway that led to the interior of the barn. A bead of sweat slid down her forehead, over the bridge of her nose, and dripped off the end.

  “Come on, you’re movin’ slower than molasses and Lord knows I can’t stand the stuff!” She juggled the tackle and poles in her arms and heaved a heavy sigh.

  Her sigh of frustration turned to a sigh of appreciation when Billy came into view from around the barn door. He’d pulled his hat from his head and was brushing the straw from it. Ray had to stop herself from staring like a ninny at his rich, chestnut hair, dark brows, and smooth, tanned face.

  He was tall, lean, walked like a man who knew his business, and had a face she wouldn’t throw a dead frog at…unless he was cracking a joke about her.

  Ray didn’t know when, exactly, her thoughts about Billy Ducharme turned from sweet and annoying little sister-like to mushy and silly and… Well, not sweet nor sisterly. But she wasn’t going to let her sudden mental ailment mess up her chance to win the derby.

  “There you are. Shake a leg so we can get to the creek before they call the last round.”

  Her urgent tone didn’t get him to move any faster. He actually slowed down, slapped his hat back on his head, and gave her a big, too-handsome smile.

  She hated it when he smiled like that. She fought to ignore the melting sensation in the pit of her stomach and growled at him. “Don’t you dare, Willem!” She only ever used his full Christian name when she was annoyed at him.

  He only smiled bigger and walked slower.

  She narrowed her eyes and bit her lip to keep from yelling at him again—it wouldn’t be proper to yell the things she wanted to say to Billy at this moment.

  By the time he stood before her, looking down into her overwarm face with a mischievous grin and glimmering blue eyes, she was fuming—’bout ready to toss the fishing poles on the ground and wallop him.

  “Whoa there, Ray. You’ve got to learn patience one of these days or you’re liable to get so worked up you’ll have a fit.” Ray held her breath. “Now, if you had a fit and fell to the ground like a startled heifer, I’d have to sell tickets. Lots of folks ’round here would pay good money to see that.” He laughed, his deep chuckle breaking through the cloud in her head.

  “Why you—” she reached out to slap his arm, but dropped her armload of fishing supplies, instead. “Ugh!” she called out in frustration, staring down at the now scattered and tangled lines, poles, and bobbers.

  Chuckling louder, Billy stepped closer. Ray stopped moving, thinking, breathing—he was much too close for comfort.

  His brilliant blue gaze dropped from her eyes to her mouth, where it stayed for a second, then it lowered to her hands that she’d just braced on her hips. “You sure know how to make a mess of things, don’t you, Baby Ray?” He looked at her face then, but his eyes were a darker blue this time. His voice seemed deeper than usual, too.

  Ray didn’t like the confounding nickname he’d given her nearly fourteen years ago. He only used it when he wanted to get her good and flustered.

  It worked every time.

  “You know I don’t like it when you call me that—” She repositioned her skirt and stooped quickly to get away from Billy’s crooked smile and the strange sensations his attention stirred inside her. She fumbled to gather all the gear she’d dropped.

  Why are my hands so shaky?

  When Billy squatted to help, Ray couldn’t help but look at the muscles bunching and flexing in his thighs as he moved to grab at the loose bobbers that had rolled from the tackle box. She closed her eyes against the urge to look some more and nearly jumped from her skin when she felt something soft brush across her cheek.

  Billy let out a bark of laughter and held up a feathered bobber. “You sure are jumpy. Maybe you need to take a tea with Ma instead of heading down to the derby.”

  Billy’s ma was the prettiest and most dignified of ladies. She never failed to make Ray feel a little…less than female. Mrs. Ducharme was all fine dresses, fine manners, and genteel talk—nothing like Ray. Though the older woman didn’t mean to, she could make Ray feel like a bump on the back of a horned lizard whenever she was around.

  “Nah, I don’t need tea, I need to win the prize for the biggest trout. And if we don’t get down to the creek in a quick minute, I’ll get right mad at you, Willem Ducharme.”

  He smiled again, only two feet from her, where they still were gathering her fishing odds and ends.

  “I don’t know…” his gaze slowly moved from her eyes, to her mouth again, and then back up to her eyes. “I think I like you mad.”

  She didn’t know what happened in that second, but the expression on his face made her stand quickly, hoping to put some distance between them. She was saved from total humiliation by a voice calling out fr
om behind her.

  “You two still here?” It was Mrs. Ducharme. “Oh, good, I was hoping you hadn’t left yet, dear,” she said to Billy as she glided forward, holding the skirt of her dress in one hand so it didn’t drag in the dirt.

  Ray didn’t need to turn to know Billy had come to stand beside her. She could feel the heat from his body radiate into her, could sense his strength and male presence thrumming in the air around her, and she could smell his musky, sun-soaked scent, even over the ripe smell of horseflesh and fresh hay that ambushed them from the barn.

  Recently, she discovered she preferred Billy’s scent over the smell of fresh-baked pie or any of the fancy French perfumes Mrs. Ducharme kept trying to get her to wear.

  She sucked in a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and willed her mind to focus on the lady before her, not the man beside her.

  “Did you need something, Ma?” Billy asked, his manners as clean and crisp as his ma taught him.

  Mrs. Ducharme patted Billy on the cheek, her love for him evident. “Can you come to the house and…well…there’s a rodent in the trap, and…”

  Billy nodded.

  “Of course, Ma, I’ll get rid of it for you.” He smiled at her, no annoyance in his voice or expression. “Where’s Pa? He could’ve done it for you.”

  Ray didn’t dare pipe up and mention that Eva, the cook, could’ve easily emptied the trap. It was her kitchen, after all.

  Ray grumbled at the thickening red, purple, and orange swathes in the sky that indicated the sun was setting. It was getting later and later, but she couldn’t begrudge Billy helping his ma. She wouldn’t know what to do with a dead mouse and wouldn’t dirty her hands with the thing even if she did.

  “Oh, he went into town a few hours ago. He should be home soon, but I wanted to make sure the rodent was gone before…before—well, before he got home.” Ray raised her eyebrows at the other woman’s less than eloquent answer. She’d never heard the woman stutter before and, apparently, neither had Billy.