Her Fearless Love (Seeing Ranch Mail Order Bride) (A Western Historical Romance Book)

by Florence Linnington

  “But you did it anyway,” Wakefield pointed out. “And you kept pushing forward.” He glanced at Neil. “Even when the rest of us were giving up.”

  “I had to,” Bonnie said. “There was no other choice.”

  “There was,” Thea corrected. “You could have lost faith, and yet you didn’t.”

  Bonnie took in the proud faces around her, and her heart swelled with relief, excitement, and love.

  “Steve is coming home,” she whispered. “He’s coming home.”

  Everyone smiled wide.

  “And you know the other good news?” Neil asked.

  “What?” Wakefield said.

  “I got off work early to help with an arrest,” Neil grinned.

  Everyone laughed, and Bonnie’s soul became the lightest it had ever been.

  43

  43. Steve

  Chapter forty-three

  The cabin glowed with light, despite the late hour. Steve dismounted the horse he’d borrowed from Sheriff Ross and took in the welcome sight of his home. He’d left Shallow Springs as soon as the sheriff had allowed him to. When he’d asked for a horse, the sheriff had been slightly surprised, but he’d acquiesced and taken the mare out of the stable.

  It had been slow going in the night, but Steve had also been determined. He did not wish to spend another night away from Bonnie. Not that night and not any other. The rest of his free life stretched out in front of him, and he wanted to enjoy every single minute he could with his bride.

  Tying the horse up to the tree nearest the house, he filled a bucket with water from the well and gave it to the animal before going to the front door. As his hand touched the knob, he paused.

  Barging right in so late likely wasn’t a good idea. Bonnie was liable to have a heart attack.

  Steve knocked.

  There was a long pause, and then, “Yes?” Bonnie called.

  Steve’s smile stretched across his face. “I’m home.”

  The door flew open, and there stood Bonnie. Her hair was pinned in a braided crown around her head, and her eyes reflected the dancing candlelight. Steve stared, drinking in every inch of her.

  “I’m home,” he repeated, this time in a whisper.

  “Oh!” Bonnie threw herself into his arms, and Steve pulled her as tight to his chest as he could get her. Her sweet smell filled his nostrils, and he buried his face in her hair.

  “Why are you up so late?” Steve asked. “It has to be past midnight.”

  Bonnie stepped back, but they held hands. “I was cleaning house. Getting it all ready for you. I wanted it to be perfect for your return.”

  “It is perfect.” Steve ran his thumb across her soft chin.

  “You didn’t even look at it yet,” she smiled.

  “It’s perfect because you’re here,” he said.

  Bonnie giggled in delight and pulled Steve inside. “Have a seat. I made rabbit stew. Just in case you returned tonight. And there’s pie, as well.”

  Steve sat at the table and looked at the hot cook stove. “You’ve been keeping that going?”

  “Yes,” she answered as if staying up all night and tending the fire on the off chance he should return before dawn was no issue at all.

  Bonnie dished up some stew and set it in front of him. She added a spoon next to the bowl, and before she could draw her hand away, Steve took hold of it.

  “Sheriff Ross told me about what you did,” he said.

  Bonnie blinked down at him. “Which part?”

  “About following Sonneborn.” Steve swallowed. “You could have been killed.”

  “But I was not.” Bonnie took the chair next to him. “And now you are free.”

  “Yes. I am. All thanks to you.” Steve squeezed her hand.

  “Did the sheriff tell you everything else? About the Folsom and the gold vein?”

  “He did. And you know what? I remember one day, down at the creek near the mine, Neil and I heard Hawkins hollering at someone. We figured it could have been Margaret. I’d seen her bring his lunch there before. But maybe it was Sonneborn.”

  “They were arguing about the gold,” Bonnie said solemnly.

  “I suppose so. Does Margaret know about all of this?”

  “She’s in Pathways. Perhaps I should go visit her and tell her myself.”

  Steve nodded. “That might be nice. It might be easier to hear all about it from you rather than from the sheriff. Hawkins was cruel to her, and I imagine hearing anything about him is hard to swallow.”

  “I’m so glad you’re back.” Bonnie pulled Steve’s hand to her cheek and held it there with her eyes closed.

  Steve stroked her other cheek. Touching her, though it had been grand before he went to jail, was heavenly now.

  “Neil said that you...” Bonnie opened her eyes, her lashes fluttering. “He made it sound like you’d given up.”

  Steve inhaled long, looking for the right words. “Surrendered,” he corrected. “I let go. Put it all in God’s hands.” He paused. “But you... you kept fighting.”

  “I would fight for you until the end of time,” Bonnie said.

  Steve’s heart warmed. “And I would do the same for you.”

  Bonnie smiled. “Now what?”

  “Now it’s Sonneborn on trial. He confessed although the verdict remains outstanding. Did he do it in self-defense?”

  “Hardly,” Bonnie said sharply.

  “It’s up to the judge to decide.”

  Bonnie set the spoon in the bowl. “You need to eat. You’ve been...” A look of confusion crossed her face. “How did you get here?”

  “Sheriff Ross loaned me a horse. She’s outside.”

  “Ah.” Bonnie nodded. “So you’ve been riding for hours. Please eat.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Steve grinned.

  She blushed. “Technically, I’m still a miss. I’m not a ma’am quite yet.”

  “You will be soon.” Steve held the spoon but didn’t make a move to take a bite.

  “Eat,” Bonnie urged.

  “Marry me.”

  She laughed. “That’s been the plan all along.”

  “This weekend. This Sunday.”

  “Oh.” Bonnie looked in shock.

  “The wedding is back on. The reverend will be in town all weekend. I stopped by and saw him on my way here.”

  “This weekend...”

  “Is that all right?” Steve asked.

  A smile stretched Bonnie’s lips. “Of course that is all right. I would be very happy to marry you this weekend.”

  Steve chuckled. “And I would be very happy to marry you.”

  Before Bonnie could say another word, Steve scooped her out of her chair and pulled her into his lap. Her face tilted naturally toward his, and he brushed his lips along the curve of her mouth, and all of the joy, all of the pain, all of the uncertainty and the longing, all of the passion they had shared thus far came together to create a once-in-a-lifetime kiss.

  Epilogue

  Epilogue. Bonnie

  Epilogue

  Bonnie turned her face upward, catching a snowflake on the tip of her nose. She opened her mouth, and another flake gently landed on the tip of her tongue.

  In the church’s backyard, Jenny’s children Peter and Farrow ran around in circles.

  “Snow!” Peter shouted. “Snow! We’re gonna go sledding!”

  “Yay!” Farrow shrieked.

  “Perhaps,” Jenny told them. “But right now go inside the church, you two. Have a seat with your father.”

  The children did as told, running to the front of the church.

  Thea smoothed down a strand of Bonnie’s hair. “Let’s see...”

  She and Jenny stood back and inspected Bonnie.

  “How do I look?” Bonnie asked.

  “Beautiful,” they replied at the same time.

  Bonnie took in a long breath, her heart beating faster. Snow whirled down in clumps and stuck to the grass.

  “Is everyone in there?” Bonnie asked.
“Is it time?”

  “You’re the bride.” Jenny winked. “It’s time whenever you decide it is.”

  Thea laughed. “Yes, it’s time. How are you feeling?”

  Bonnie paused, thinking over everything that had happened since her arrival in Whiteridge. She’d departed one home and been amazed to discover a magnificent new one, only for Steve to be ripped away from her. And now he was back.

  And about to become her husband.

  “Wonderful,” Bonnie said, meaning it with every fiber of her being. “I feel truly blessed.”

  Thea and Jenny led the way around the church, where Mr. Mullins opened the door for them. Bonnie stayed outside, clutching tight to the bouquet Rosalie had made her out of paper. Being too cold for flowers, she’d cut and twisted bits of paper into the shapes of roses and made an arrangement nearly as beautiful as any real one.

  Thea went into the church first. Next went Jenny.

  And then... it was Bonnie’s turn.

  The church had no piano to play a wedding song, but as Bonnie took her first few steps down the aisle, she found the silence to be perfect. Everyone stood, and she heard the rustle of their clothes and the intakes of their breaths. She looked around at the faces of the people who had become her friends, every last one of them smiling her way.

  But the best part of it all waited for her at the end of the aisle. Steve stood with his hands folded in front of him and his hair combed to the side. His gaze locked onto Bonnie, and she looked deep into his hazel eyes as she finished her journey to him.

  The reverend nodded at Bonnie and lifted his hands. “Welcome, everyone. We are here today to celebrate the union of Steven Huebner and Bonnie Potter.”

  Steven and Bonnie. The two names together created all the wedding music Bonnie needed.

  He was her rock, the thing that kept her going. Through the turmoil of the murder case, Bonnie had remained focused in a way she’d never known was possible. Her love for Steve had forced her to reach deep inside of herself and pull out the kind of power she hadn’t realized she had.

  Bonnie had someone to love. Someone to fight for. Someone to wake up to every day. A person who reminded her of why life was worth living.

  Behind Steve, through the window, the snow swirled down. He shone against the white backdrop, an angel brought to her through the grace of God. As the reverend went on, performing the ceremony, she swept her gaze across Steve’s face, taking in every line and curve. She wanted to remember this moment for the rest of her life.

  And she knew she would.

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  Tale 2

  Chapter 1

  1. August

  Chapter one

  August looked up from the book spread out in front of him and rolled his neck, attempting to loosen the kink there. Outside his office window, in the front area of Walsh Bank, the snow glittered like diamonds scattered across the ground. He tried to count the weeks since he’d last seen the ground beneath all the snow and found he couldn’t. Winters in Wyoming were so long. It was only January, and it seemed forever ago since the first snowflakes drifted out of the sky.

  Numbers. That was August’s life. Every day he added, subtracted, multiplied, and spoke with people about numbers.

  He enjoyed it, too, and never had one complaint about his job as an accountant at the tiny bank in Pathways. Although his personal life could certainly use some improvement.

  Glancing away from the log he’d been checking some figures in, he caught sight of a woman trudging through the snow. Her gait and figure were familiar, and August sat up straighter.

  Margaret Meyers. Everyone in Pathways knew about her. She’d arrived in town several months earlier to work as housekeeper for Mr. Bain, a man in the upper echelon of railroad management. Best August could tell, she kept to herself. He’d seen her at church and in the street, but other than that, it appeared she never ventured outside. Not even the church social for young people had brought her out.

  August sighed lightly as Miss Meyers went into the bakery. Did she even have a clue as to how beautiful she was? From a distance, she appeared as any other woman, with a thin figure and light brown hair. August had seen her close up once, though, while leaving church, and been struck by her soft lips and delicate chin. And her eyes...

  They had a story in them. An unpleasant one, August knew.

  A knock on the door made him look over. Reuben Walsh, August’s boss, stood in the doorway. August sat up straighter, ashamed at being caught dawdling.

  “I checked over the McGruffin account.” August cleared his throat. “All looks well. Mr. McGuffin even turned in his last two loan payments early.”

  Mr. Walsh nodded and thoughtfully tapped his thumb against his thick, white mustache. “A second loan is still a lot. At the amount he seeks, that is.”

  His gaze drifted to the window, and August followed it. Through the bakery’s front window, Miss Meyer’s inspected a shelf displaying loaves of bread.

  “She’s a pretty one,” Mr. Walsh said.

  August’s face burned. “Yes.”

  “Pity about her story.”

  “Her husband died,” August said. “Correct? He was involved with the gold scandal.”

  And scandal it had been. Pathways was larger than its sister towns, Whiteridge and Shallow Springs, but a rumor as rich as the one about the murder of the gold vein in the mountains hadn’t passed through its streets in years. Not in the last five, that was - which was how long August had been there for.

  “Must mess with a person’s head something awful,” Mr. Walsh said. “Especially a woman’s.”

  August chose to stay quiet. He’d heard what people said about Miss Meyers: at the best, that she was unnaturally quiet. At the worst, that she was stunted mentally.

  August didn’t think the last claim had any true credibility. He’d never spoken with Miss Meyers, but he’d seen her going about her shopping and attending church. There seemed nothing wrong with her mental facilities.

  But losing her husband... What had that been like?

  “He was rough with her, you know,” Mr. Walsh said.

  “What?” August asked.

  Mr. Walsh nodded and absentmindedly smoothed down his jacket’s lapels. “Pushed her around all the time. That’s why they initially thought perhaps she’d killed her husband.”

  August shook his head. “She doesn’t look like a killer.”

  Mr. Walsh tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “We all have that potential in us, though. If a person is pushed hard enough... if they have to defend their life...”

  August nodded. Yes, he understood that. But he thought Mr. Walsh also generalized. Some people, trapped in desperate circumstances, would flee rather than take another life.

  August knew this from person experience, but though he’d worked for Mr. Walsh for seven years total, both in Richmond and in Pathways, his employer did not know this. There were parts of August that he kept hidden behind steel doors.

  A knock on the bank’s front door made Mr. Walsh look over his shoulder. “That must be Mr. and Mrs. Stedmore.”

  August stayed at his desk, listening as Mr. Walsh opened the door and greeted the couple. His eyes strayed back to the bakery. Margaret Meyers was no longer in front of the window. Had she departed the bakery while he spoke with Mr. Walsh? Or moved further into
the shop, away from sight?

  He thought over everything he’d heard about her. Mid-twenties. Came to Wyoming Territory as a mail-order bride. Her married name was Hawkins, but once she moved from Whiteridge to Pathways she began going by her maiden name. That made sense. If August were her, he would want to leave the past behind in any way he could, too.