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

by Florence Linnington

  The children ran to August and jumped up and down. Muffin was in Charlotte’s arms, the girl rubbing her face against the cat’s head.

  “Oh, Muffin!” Mrs. Bain’s eyes turned red. “Mr. Dowdell, wherever did you find her?”

  “Now, now.” Mr. Bain gestured for August to enter the sitting room. “Let’s warm the man up first. He must be chilled to the bone.”

  Lulu popped her head out of the kitchen. “Who is screaming?”

  “Muffin came back!” Horace cried. “Yay!”

  “Lulu, bring Mr. Dowdell some hot tea and soup,” Mrs. Bain said. “Here, Mr. Dowdell, take the rocking chair. Are your clothes wet?”

  The sitting room was a flurry of activity as everyone tended to August and Muffin. Margaret hung back, taking her place by the wall and not saying anything. As Lulu handed him some tea, he glanced over at Margaret, and she bit her bottom lip. So many emotions swirled through her. She had not expected to see him this soon, and now a blizzard had stuck them together.

  “You must be mad,” Mr. Bain said, “going out into a storm like that.”

  “I cannot argue with you there,” August answered solemnly. “I thought I had time before the blizzard hit, but it turns out I was sorely mistaken.”

  In front of the fire, Muffin slept curled up on Charlotte’s lap. Margaret’s bottom lip trembled, and she drew it between her teeth and held it firm. So cats did have nine lives.

  “Mr. Dowdell, you’re my hero,” Charlotte said, beaming at him from her spot on the floor.

  “Yes, we are very grateful to you, Mr. Dowdell,” Mrs. Bain said. “I thank the Lord you and Muffin did not become lost in the storm.”

  “It is most certainly thanks to God that I made my way here,” August said. “I caught sight of your home right before the blizzard hit, and though I did my best to navigate through the snow, it was God’s grace that brought me here.”

  His eyes were on Margaret as he said the last part, pinning her to where she stood. A prickling sensation covered her throat, and she wanted to look away, but at the same time could not.

  August did not have to do what he did. He could have forgotten about the cat and gotten himself to safety. Most people would do that.

  But August Dowdell was not most people, was he?

  Margaret dropped her gaze. She had been wrong about him. He really was as sympathetic and caring as she’d wanted to believe. Her wounded heart had stood in the way of her happiness, though, and she’d unfairly lashed out at him.

  “Lulu is making soup,” Mrs. Bain told August.

  “That sounds wonderful, thank you. May I...” His gaze flicked to Margaret. “Would it be all right if I have a word with Miss Meyers?”

  “Of course,” Mrs. Bain said. “The kitchen is also warm.”

  Margaret clasped her hands together and went into the hall, conscious of August’s following footsteps.

  At the end of the hall, past the closed kitchen door, she turned around. “Lulu is in there,” she said.

  “Yes. I’d hoped to have a conversation in private.” August licked his lips, his face still red from the cold. “Margaret...”

  He paused, and Margaret trembled. How she both loved and hated hearing her name come from his mouth. It brought her pleasure, but at the same time, she knew she had to turn away from such a joy. She had shown August the worst side of herself, and it was a truly brutal one. It would be ridiculous to think he could forgive her.

  “Please,” Margaret said, keeping her voice low so no one would overhear. “Let me say something first. I am sorry for leaving your home in the fashion I did. I... I thought you were taking advantage of me. I thought...”

  Margaret shook her head and trailed off. Her worries, she now saw, had made no sense. But how did she explain that? How did she tell August that the mere thought that there might be a man worth trusting sent her into a panic?

  Manipulative, volatile, cruel men she knew how to deal with, but nice men? Now what was she to do with them?

  “It is all right.” August took a half step to her, but Margaret shuffled back. Her shoulders hit the wall.

  “No,” she said. “It was wrong of me to think that you sought to harm me. That does not even make sense, August, don’t you see? You never did anything to show me malice, but I put a divide between us. I am...” She lowered her face, too ashamed to look him in the eye. “I am a ruined woman, August, and you are better off without me.”

  Margaret let out a shuddering breath, a tear falling down her cheek. The weight of her testimony pressed down on her shoulders, making her body shake.

  A long silence passed, and then a thumb hooked under her chin. Slowly, August tilted her face back up.

  She met his gaze, and the hazel eyes there glimmered with a love that stole Margaret’s breath. Who, other than her mother, had ever looked at her that way?

  “If you are a ruined woman,” August whispered, “then I am an equally ruined man, for I have experienced my fair share of pain.”

  Withdrawing his touch from her chin, he unbuttoned his left sleeve and rolled it up to the elbow. There, a jagged, raised scar ran down a third of his forearm.

  “My father gave this to me when I was fifteen,” August said. “He slammed a bottle against my arm. I don’t know if he even thought about what he was doing; he was in such a drunken rage. But the bottle broke and left this scar. It wasn’t the only one. I have another on my back I can show you sometime. It was, however, the last. I left home after that. Ran away and worked at a shipyard until I had the money to go to school.”

  Margaret blinked and stared at the scar, her tongue numb. “August... I... I am sorry. I did not know.”

  August rolled his sleeve back down. “That is what I wanted to tell you after supper the other night. It seems I went about it the wrong way, though.”

  “No,” Margaret gasped. “You did not. You were only trying to speak to me, and I misunderstood, but not because of anything you did.”

  August nodded, looking solemnly at her.

  “How is it you have turned out so much better than I have?” Margaret mumbled. “You have a difficult past as well, and yet you are kind and patient. Understanding. All of the things I struggle to be.”

  August chuckled ruefully. “I am thirty-two, so I have some years on you. At least I am assuming.”

  “You do,” Margaret smiled.

  His face grew serious. “I was angry at my father for a long time. Many years. It was only when the anger became too much to bear that I entertained the idea of changing... and I am glad I did.”

  Margaret sighed. “You are more than I will ever deserve.”

  “Do not be so quick to judge yourself.”

  “How can I not?” Margaret pressed her lips together to keep back a cry. “Some mornings I wake up and it is as if I do not know up from down. The world is a strange and scary place, and it feels as if everyone means to do me harm.”

  “Do you believe that of me?” August took Margaret’s hand and pressed it to his chest, where he covered it with his palm. His heart pounded against her fingers, and as they stayed as they were, it sped up.

  Margaret smiled, her heart increasing its pace as well.

  “If I were to believe anyone was capable of caring for me,” she whispered slowly, “it would be you.”

  August folded his smile between his teeth, his eyes shimmering.

  “I know that sounds awful,” Margaret hurried to say.

  “No.” He tightened his hold on her hand. “It is just what I needed to hear, and it is enough for now.”

  Margaret sighed. “Is it? Do you not wish for a woman who is more capable of managing relationships? Someone who is more... complete?”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I fear I have a very long way to go, August.”

  He nodded. “Then let me travel the distance with you.”

  Margaret’s chest rose with a great swell of emotion, and happy tears sprung. “You are not giving up on me, are
you?”

  He shook his head. “I never will.”

  The kitchen door abruptly opened, and Margaret and August stepped out of the way. Lulu came through, a tray with steam mugs in her hands.

  “What are the two of you doing over here, all alone?” she asked with a wink.

  Margaret hid her hot face. “Talking.”

  “Talking, hmm?” the cook good-naturedly asked. “Well, it’s cold out here. Go have a seat by the cookstove. I’ll get to fixing Mr. Dowdell a room in a bit. He won’t be going anywhere until the blizzard ends.” She eyed him. “You’re not that addled, are you?”

  August laughed. “I hope not.”

  Margaret smiled, waiting until Lulu went into the sitting room to speak. “It might be a long blizzard. They can last days.”

  “That’s all right,” August replied, looking her straight in the eye. “I can weather it out, as I feel I am right where I need to be.”

  Chapter 17

  17. Margaret

  Chapter seventeen

  Even after a blizzard of only twenty-four hours, the silence felt strange. It buzzed in Margaret’s ears, as if eager to show that it, too, could create a fearsome presence. Opening the Bains’ side door, she took in the snow piled past her knees. It created a slope on the steps, leading down to the town that had been half-swallowed in countless flakes.

  “It’s not too bad,” August said from behind her.

  “It does not appear too good, either,” Margaret said.

  Pulling his collar around his ears, August and set to shoveling the steps clear. He huffed as he worked, stopping a couple times to wipe the sweat from his brow. Margaret brought him a cup of coffee, and he sipped it gratefully.

  “I need to see Zeke right away,” he said. “To let him know that I’m all right.”

  Margaret nodded. They had not had any time alone since their conversation in the hallway the day before, and now that she knew he did not despise her, she did not want him out of her sight.

  August looked at the spot where the street should have been but was currently hidden under a load of snow. “Come with me? It won’t be easy going, but I’d enjoy the company, and I can walk you back here on my way to the bank.”

  “The bank will be open?”

  August smiled. “There’s always work to be done.”

  “I need to start an account there,” Margaret said, remembering her pay collecting in her room. It was foolish to keep so much money in one place, but she’d never had that much money before, and learning how to manage it was a new skill.

  “I know a good accountant,” August said, his eyes twinkling as he finished off his coffee.

  They set off through town, what was usually a short and easy walk now a laborious adventure. August pushed ahead through the snow, leaving Margaret to walk in his trial, but even then she struggled to not fall into the drifts.

  At the house, Zeke greeted them joyously.

  “I though you were dead!” he roared, slapping August on the back.

  “I told you I’d be fine. Remember?”

  “Yes, yes,” Zeke nodded. “The steps.”

  “The steps?” Margaret asked.

  “We measured the steps it takes to cross the street here,” August explained. “That way, if we’re lost in a snow storm, we can know if we’ve accidentally walked between two buildings and off into the valley.”

  A shudder ran through Margaret. How close had August come to doing just that?

  After warming up by the fire, August and Margaret set off again, using the trial they had forged earlier. More people had ventured out into the street, and they shoveled snow away from their doors and shouted at each other from across the way.

  They walked silently for a few minutes. Despite how tightly Margaret had laced her boots and buttoned her clothes, the snow seemed to creep in at the most unexpected places. A cold ankle here. A chilly finger there. She would be glad to get home and into the warm kitchen.

  “Margaret.” August stopped walking and turned to face her.

  “Yes?” she asked.

  August took her hand. “I know we are standing in the middle of the street, and this is not the most romantic place...”

  Margaret laughed. “The middle of the snow,” she corrected.

  August didn’t laugh, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed.

  Margaret’s stomach dropped. Was something the matter? Was this the time when he told her that he had changed his mind about her? That she was too damaged of a woman to be bothered with?

  She tried to shake that thought from her head, but it persisted, as did the deepening hole in her core.

  August looked down at where their hands touched. “Thank you for being open with me yesterday.”

  Margaret shook her head. “I was not that honest. You already knew about my past. It is you who are brave and open.”

  August looked up at her, his pupils widening. “Please don’t run away from me,” he whispered.

  Margaret ached all over. “I don’t want to,” she croaked.

  August nodded, but she could see he was still uncomfortable. He kept licking his lips and clearing his throat.

  “August? What is it?” Margaret sucked in a breath, watching him warily.

  “I am simply, uh, slightly nervous.”

  “Over what?”

  “Over asking to formally court you.”

  Margaret’s lips parted in surprise. “Oh.”

  “Yes.”

  A smile slipped across Margaret’s face, and she bit into it. “No one has ever asked me that before.”

  “Then every other man in this world is mad.”

  Margaret laughed, her heart lighter than air. “So are you going to ask me, or not?”

  August blinked rapidly. “Did I not?”

  “No. You said you were nervous over asking me, but you never actually did.”

  August chuckled. “Margaret. May I court you?”

  Margaret almost said yes, but she hesitated. “It is hard for me to believe life is good, August. You do know that, right? And meeting you... it has caused me to question everything. I cannot promise I won’t have times where the fear creeps back in. Times where I doubt your kindness merely because the past has such a hold on me.”

  She paused, wanting to make sure she said everything she needed to. “But I will try my best to recognize that those are old wounds... scars, really... that there... that there is a better way to look at things.”

  Margaret finished her speech and folded her hands. Her pulse thrummed erratically, and she felt uncomfortable in her own skin. It was not like her to say so much at one time--or be so honest.

  August was nodding, though, and... smiling.

  “No one is perfect,” he said. “And as you come to know me better, you will no doubt come to experience my many flaws.”

  Margaret smirked. “You cannot have that many.”

  “Oh, you will be surprised then, Miss Meyers.”

  “Is this your attempt at wooing me?” she asked. “Convincing me you have many more flaws hidden under the rug?”

  August kissed the top of her gloved hand. “If it is what works, then yes.”

  Their gazes caught, and Margaret took a small step closer to August. Her head buzzed, and her breathing quickened.

  Lightly wrapping his hand around the back of Margaret’s neck, August brought his lips down to her face. The shape of his mouth melded perfectly against hers, and Margaret kissed him back with every part of her healing heart.

  Heat swirled through her, lifting her higher and helping her to believe in a brighter future. If it was still cold outside, she didn’t know it.

  Epilogue

  Epilogue. August

  Epilogue

  August shifted his weight in his office chair, attempting to get comfortable, but it was no use. All day long, he’d had trouble focusing on work, and the spring breeze coming through the open window did not help at all.

  Earthy and fresh, the
May wind carried the scents of valley grasses and wildflowers. August inhaled deep, closing his eyes and remembering the blizzard from months ago. How Pathways had changed since then--and not just its weather.

  Since asking Margaret to formally court him, August had made sure to spend as much time with her as he could. At first, he’d been worried that the more interest he showed in her, the greater the chances were of her becoming afraid and backing away.