“I’d like that, Clemmy-mine.”
Clementine leaned over and gave him a sweet kiss. It was a warm kiss. A comforting kiss.
When they broke apart, Hank looked in her bright blue eyes. “I love you, Clementine Beck. I really do. I hope you feel the same.”
Clementine wrapped her arms around Hank’s neck pulling him closer again. “I love you too. I’ve never stopped loving you. I think I loved you when you rescued me from the creek.”
“Me too,” he said. “Only one thing.”
Clementine leaned back. “What?”
“If we are going to be a family, we are going to do it the right way. Clementine, will you become my wife?”
“Yes. Yes. Yes!” she said, pulling him close and peppering his face with kisses.
Hank pushed her back a bit so he could see her face. “I love you,” he said once more before leaning down to claim her lips with his own.
He could tell Clementine poured all of her heart and soul into this kiss. This time the kiss was for his homecoming.
Epilogue
“Dearly Beloved,” Pastor Elkins started the ceremony.
The day couldn’t have been any better. The weather was warm, and the bride and groom were surrounded by the people they loved.
Clementine looked over at Rosalie and gave her a smile. Paps sat in his suit and all the ranch hands were in their best clothes.
Momma wore a black dress and Martha had a black shawl around her shoulders. Odd dress for a wedding, but Clementine could still see the freshly dug dirt in the distance. Her heart grieved that her father couldn’t be here for her special day.
It was hard to believe that three months ago Rosalie was standing in the same spot exchanging vows with her husband, Martin.
Now it was Clementine’s turn. Momma and Aunt Martha repurposed Rosalie’s wedding dress since she and Clementine were about the same size. They made enough alterations that it looked completely different than the one Rosalie wore.
Once the wedding was done, they would take the dress and make two christening gowns. One for Rosalie and one for her.
But she needed to get married first.
She looked at the man who was about to become her husband and smiled.
Hank stood on the porch of the ranch house facing her. He wore a dark suit and a tan hat. His boots shined and if she looked hard enough, she could see her reflection in them.
“I love you,” he mouthed as the Pastor continued with the service.
Clementine mouthed the words back. She passed her bouquet to Abby who was serving as her maid of honor. The girl inhaled the flowers and smiled.
Abby had come out of her shell more during the past four months that she had spent with them. Her nightmares were less frequent. Clementine realized she was a delightful and inquisitive child. Where she didn’t talk a lot before, now she was a regular chatterbox.
She watched as Hank slid a gold band on her finger as he repeated the vows. He clasped her hands in his and gave her fingers a kiss.
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” Pastor Elkins said. “You may kiss your bride.”
Hank threw his Stetson in the air and cupped Clementine’s face in his hands. They kissed to the whoops and hollers from the ranch hands.
When they finally broke apart, Clementine was breathless.
“I love you, Mrs. Lucas,” Hank said taking her hand and leading her through the crowd to the small reception beyond.
Clementine thought her heart was going to burst. Hank Lucas was finally home.
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The End
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The Belles of Wyoming
You can see all The Belles of Wyoming Books on our Amazon Series page.
Our beautiful covers were designed by Virginia McKevitt of Black Widow Books.
The Holiday Belles
Wynter's Bride by Christine Sterling
Holly's Christmas Wish by Marianne Spitzer
A Tin Star for Christmas by Cyndi Raye
A Pony for Christmas by P. Creeden
Natalie's Surprise Engagement by Julia Ridgmont
The Springtime Belles
The Homecoming by Christine Sterling
Blessings of love by Ginny Sterling
Mercy’s Gift by Cyndi Raye
Moment of Grace by P. Creeden
Emeline's Redemption by Julia Ridgmont
Coming Soon – The Summer Belles
Sneak Peek
Wynter’s Bride - Belles of Wyoming #1
A young woman kidnapped. A tracker bent on revenge. Throw in a blizzard and watch the romance develop in this holiday romance.
Ivy Holiday was headed home to New York for the holidays. When her train is held-up right before Christmas and she is taken as a hostage, she wonders if she will ever see her family again.
Sebastian Wynter has spent the past five years wanting revenge for the murder of his wife. When he hears about the young woman who was kidnapped by the same man who killed his wife, he steps in to rescue her.
When one of them is injured and they end up snowed in together, can love thaw out their hearts?
Turn the page to read the first Chapter of Wynter’s Bride.
Chapter 1
December 3, 1880 – Somewhere in Wyoming
“All aboard,” the voice cried before the train huffed its way out of the station. Ivy Noel Holiday could see the dark billows of smoke from the steam engine as they made their way past her window into the darkening sky.
She had already been travelling for 4 days and it was just the first week of December. The train just pulled out of Lowell, heading towards Laramie and Ivy was already tired of the scenery. Granted, the snow-capped mountains of the Rockies were beautiful, but with the train stopping every hundred miles or so to pick up and discharge passengers, she thought the train ride would take four years, not four weeks.
Ivy sighed and stared out the window, fiddling with a paper in her lap. She wished she could enjoy the train ride, but she was already feeling frustrated.
Frustrated that she was leaving the comfort of San Francisco and returning home to New York.
Frustrated that this was the first time she was returning home to New York since her mother died, five years prior.
Even more frustrated for the reason of her return. She wouldn’t forget Momma so easily.
She looked down at the letter in her lap. It was from her father requesting her presence back home before the New Year.
What he was thinking by having her travel in December was beyond her. The train was overcrowded, as travelers moved from one destination to the next with the holidays approaching. She had been jostled about on the hard bench more than she cared to admit. Ivy was certain her posterior was going to be bruised by the time she made her destination.
As one of the leading politicians in New York State, Wilbur Holiday decided he needed to be remarried before campaigning for reelection as Secretary of State. In this case he asked, no, demanded, her presence at his wedding to a New York socialite, one of her momma’s friends no doubt, on New Year’s Eve.
Her stomach sank at the thought of her mother, and the woman her father was about to marry.
Her mother may have been gone for five years, but it had never gotten easier for Ivy, especially around the holidays. It was her mother’s favorite season and the same time of year she passed from a fever. Christmas was never the same.
At twenty-five-years old, Ivy was considered their Christmas miracle. She was the only child of the couple, being born on Christmas morning. Thinking they were unable to have children after years of
trying; her mother prayed every night for God to grant them a child of their own.
She recalled her mother reading the story of Sarah, wife of Abraham, from the bible, who had a son when she was in her nineties. Her mother never gave up hope, and finally Ivy Noelle Holiday was born. Her mother was forty-five at the time.
Ivy had never wanted for anything. She wasn’t spoiled, and she lived a modest life, but her upbringing and family obligations were always there, lurking in the background.
She was very sheltered, going to an all-girls boarding school in Boston. Most of the politician’s daughters went there. She was surrounded by entitled girls and vowed she would never fall into that category of spoiled, rich young women.
After graduation, her parents wanted her to marry a young man of political aspirations, but eighteen-year-old Ivy wanted to defy tradition. Her dream was to become a school teacher and help those that were less fortunate. She started tutoring young children from her own social circles in New York, until she could find a job serving the children that really needed her.
The decision to move to San Francisco was made easy once her mother passed. She could no longer stand to be in the city and took the first job that became available, moving all the way across the country. Her father didn’t approve, but she did it anyway and set out to make her mark upon the young minds that she now taught.
She loved her life in San Francisco. The hustle and bustle, that was different from New York. The salty air that greeted her when she woke up every morning, instead of the smog from the factories that prevented her from opening the windows in their New York townhome. Most of all she loved her charges.
She taught reading, math and history to twenty students in a one-room school house. There were all ages in her class and the students’ families became her new family. They welcomed her with open arms and almost made her forget her family back east.
She kept up with her father in the newspapers that would be shipped from New York. Granted the news was a bit behind, but it allowed her to have content to discuss when she would write a letter to him. She made a point of sending a letter once a month and hadn’t missed one since she arrived in the western town.
She received a total of eight letters from her father, each asking her to come home and peppered with sentiments that he wanted her to settle down. He was very passive-aggressive in his approach, mentioning her age, that she was approaching spinsterhood, coupled with he was just thinking of her future.
She rolled her eyes at his sentiments. Maybe she wasn’t prepared to get married? Perhaps she was happily content with her life, her students and simple living.
It was this sudden request that grabbed her attention. It was simply a few lines on his official letterhead, stating he needed her to return home immediately and arrive by Christmas. Oh, by the way, he was getting remarried and needed her to be at the wedding.
Truthfully, she thought it was more for political posturing versus her actual participation in the wedding.
She checked the watch attached to her shirtwaist. It was close to suppertime. No wonder her belly was rumbling. She finished her basket of sandwiches and snacks hours ago. Hearing the couple behind her talk about the station in Laramie, she knew she could refill her basket there.
As the conductor passed to collect tickets, she stopped him briefly. “When do we arrive in Laramie?”
The conductor checked his pocket watch. “About another three hours.”
“Three hours?” Her belly gave another rumble. “When is the next major stop?”
He looked at his watch again. “We should be in Fort Bridger just about an hour. Was there something you needed?”
“I was wondering if there would be enough time to get a few supplies? I needed to refill my basket.” She pointed to the wicker hamper on the seat next to her.
“The fort mercantile is fairly limited, and rather overpriced. You are better waiting to Laramie, it is a bigger town with more options. We’ll be stopping there for an hour. Is there anything else, Miss?”
Ivy bit her lower lip, which she always did when she was thinking. It didn’t seem there was any way to get around spending a few coins on the trip. “Which way is the dining car?” she finally asked. Maybe she could just purchase a snack to tide her over until she could get into Fort Bridger. A cheese sandwich and a cup of tea would suffice nicely.
The conductor pointed in the direction of the dining car and proceeded down the passageway to the next train car. Apparently, everyone else on the train must have had the same idea as the car was crowded. Ivy stood in line and placed her request when she arrived at the counter.
Counting out the required coins she gathered her purchases and headed back to the passenger car.
She returned to her seat, placing her sandwich on her lap. She even splurged and spent two-cents on an apple. As she bit into the juicy fruit, she looked outside. It was darker now and clouds were rolling in. Too dark for early afternoon. It almost looked like snow. She finished her apple as she watched the darkness envelop the train.
She had just finished her sandwich when the train lurched, knocking Ivy off her seat and onto the floor. She scrambled back up to a sitting position when a group of masked men burst through the door at the front of the car.
“Place your hands where I can see them,” one of the men yelled, waving a gun in the air. He had a sack in his hand and thrust it towards the passenger in the first row. “Put all your valuables in here and be quick about it. Don’t leave anything out or I’ll have to shoot you.”
He continued down the row handing the bag from seat to seat. When he approached a female passenger, he leaned over to ask a question. All the women shook their heads.
He was halfway down the row when she heard her name.
“You Ivy Holiday?” he asked, leaning over to the woman sitting next to the window.
She shook her head as she dropped her jewelry in the bag.
Ivy ducked lower in her seat. She was at the end of the car, so it would be a few minutes before they reached her. What should I do? she thought.
He looked down the car. “Anyone here Ivy Holiday?”
She gave a little gasp but didn’t respond. The bandit was still walking down the aisle gathering his bounty when she saw her opportunity.
A man dropped his gold watch on the floor and it slid under the seat in front of him. While the bandit was busy retrieving the stolen article, Ivy quickly grabbed her reticule and wrap, sliding from the seat and out the door onto the icy platform.
The wind was bitter and howled between the two cars. She attempted to brush her hair from her face, but the wind pushed it back again, covering her eyes. She quickly took a pin and secured her bangs.
Looking back through the window into the car she just left, she saw the man quicken his pace towards her.
Pulling open the door to the adjoining car, she saw a group of men walking to the car she just vacated.
Why would they be looking for her?
There was nothing nice looking about any of the men. They were all dressed in dark brown and black and had hats pulled down low, so she couldn’t see their eyes. The lower half of their faces were covered with bandanas and they wore leather gloves. Most of them had six-shooters in their hands.
Ivy went to the edge of the platform. There was one step leading down to the ground, but the earth was covered in snow. She ran to the other side. The snow didn’t appear to be as deep and there was a line of trees about 300 feet away. Perhaps she could make it to the trees. But then what?
The door to the car began to open and Ivy shut her eyes, leaping into the snow. The white cushion broke her fall, as she scrambled to get back up and head towards the trees. She made it half the distance before her skirt caught around her legs and pulled her back into the snow.
She heard the commotion behind her and tried to get up again, her fingers grasping for anything she could latch onto to leverage herself. It was no use as she heard the men jump from the platform to the
snowy ground below.
She rolled over as the man approached and stood over her. Her heart pounded in fear. He offered her a hand as if to assist her from the ground.
Ivy looked around. There was no one there to help her. She saw the faces of the other passengers looking out from the warm cars.
“Screaming won’t help you, Miss Holiday,” the man said, flexing his fingers. “You might as well let me help you up.” He looked around at the tree line. “There isn’t anywhere for you to go.”
Ivy hesitated for a moment before putting her hand in his outstretched one. He pulled her up with ease and placed her back on her feet. Ivy’s feet were cold, and she was starting to shiver.
“There, there. Can’t have you being cold now, can we?” The man took her wrap and placed it around her shoulders. “Now there. Let’s get you back on the train where you’ll be all nice and warm and we can talk about what we need.” Ivy saw him signal to one of the men on the platform. “Get the horses,” he called.
Horses? Ivy turned, but his large arms wrapped around her waist and the sickly smell of chloroform assailed her nostrils before darkness consumed her.
Grab your copy of Wynter’s Bride here.
About Christine
Christine Sterling is the creator of the wildly popular Pinkerton Matchmaker Series and the Proxy Bride Series. She is an author in multiple collaborations, including: Cowboys and Angels, The Widows of Wildcat Ridge and Silverpines, where her book Wanted: Medicine Man won best historical novel of 2018. She recently joined Sweet Promise Press as a historical romance author, writing for the Pioneer Brides of Rattlesnake Ridge series.
She writes sweet and wholesome historical western novels and published her first book in 2017. She lives in Pennsylvania with her husband, a spoiled Shih Tzu and a knucklehead German Shepherd, and too many rescued barn cats to count. She has been writing stories since she was 8 years old when her grandparents gave her a Sears & Roebuck typewriter with a hard-plastic cover for Christmas in 1977.
The Homecoming Page 7
