Blackstone’s
Bride
TERESA SOUTHWICK
Dedication
To Maureen Child, Line by line you kept me
on track.
And Cheryl Arguile, for making sure I stayed true
to my characters.
Last, but by no means least, to Christopher Boyle,
my brother and number one fan. Your support
means more than I can say.
Contents
Dedication
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
Epilogue
Stolen Kisses
Books by Teresa Southwick
Copyright
About the Publisher
1
Blackstone Ranch—Santa Barbara County,
California—1886
“Damn it! I smell smoke.” Jarrod Blackstone reined in his roan and looked around. His foreman, Gib Cochran, stopped beside him.
In this wild, rugged country, a man learned to listen with all his senses. No sight, sound, or smell could go unexplained. The threat of fire struck fear in every rancher, especially after all the rain that winter. Vegetation had grown waist high in some places, but was dry and brown now. One spark and a little wind could start a wildfire that would consume every last blade of grass. A blaze could burn for weeks, until it reached the ocean, destroying grazing land, cattle, and lives.
They were about a hundred yards from the house. The birds still chattered and bees continued buzzing. That told Jarrod that the faint smell of smoke was nothing nature need worry about. So he knew it came from the ranch buildings.
“You didn’t forget to bank the fire in the bunkhouse again, did you, Gib?” he asked.
“Nope.”
“I was afraid of that.” Jarrod’s horse shifted nervously as he looked closer. Pointing a gloved finger, he said, “There. It’s coming from the main house.”
Beyond the thick oak grove in front of him, smoke rose, gray and unmistakable against the rich, dark blue haze of the mountains behind it.
“Yup. No mistake. That’s where it’s comin’ from all right.”
“I left the stove cold,” Jarrod said, uneasy. “Haven’t had a fire in the front room since …” He recalled the last time and frowned.
“You expectin’ anyone?” Gib asked, scratching the silver stubble on his chin.
“Who’d come all the way out here?”
“No one. And if they did, they wouldn’t make themselves at home. Unless maybe they was lookin’ for help—or trouble.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Jarrod said, lifting his pistol from the holster strapped to his thigh. He spun the cylinder to make sure he had a full load. Gib did the same.
“Ready, boss?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Jarrod answered. “Let’s go.” The thick undergrowth muffled the sound of horses’ hooves. It was late afternoon and nearly dark beneath the dense ceiling of interlacing tree branches. There was still enough spring left in the air to make it chilly as the sun went down.
They approached the rear of the three-story, white-shingle-covered house. The top floor was an attic, the middle contained bedrooms, and the bottom held the main living area. That’s where the intruder would be, but from here Jarrod saw nothing amiss.
He pulled back on his reins and held up his hand, signaling Gib to stop. Jarrod quickly dismounted, and the other man followed suit. Together, they circled around to the front of the house. Three columns held up the roof over the porch, where two slat-backed rockers sat with a table in between. A wagon hitched to a couple of chestnut horses stood several feet away. Other than that, everything looked the same as it had when he’d left that morning. As they moved closer, Jarrod saw there was writing on the side of the wagon proclaiming its owner: HOLLISTER FREIGHT CO. In the wagon bed stood a canvas-covered object.
Jarrod relaxed his grip on his pistol and holstered it. Wasn’t likely that anyone from the town of Hollister was dangerous. When redheaded Abby Miller walked out onto the porch, he changed his mind about that. She was trouble of a different sort.
“Howdy, Firecracker.” Gib grinned.
Jarrod groaned. He hadn’t seen Abby for a while. Not since Dulcy had left.
“Good day, Gib, Jarrod.” Her voice was husky. “I’ve got a delivery for you. From Chicago.”
He nodded. “I’ll have Dusty and Slim unload it.”
“Thanks.”
“Looks like ever’thin’s fine here. I’ll rub down the horses and stable ‘em, boss.”
Jarrod nodded, although he wasn’t so sure everything was fine. It never was when Abby showed up.
“Nice to see you again, Gib,” she said.
“Same here.” He nodded once, then walked away.
In any other woman, Jarrod would have thought that smoky, soft voice was practiced and meant to tease a man. But not Abby. She was a no-nonsense, get-the-job-done sort of woman. He’d never known her to flirt, at least not in front of him. He couldn’t say what she did in Hollister, which was where she lived, worked, and spent most of her time, when she wasn’t at Blackstone Ranch trying to deliver some newfangled contraption someone else had ordered and didn’t want.
He stopped at the bottom porch step and looked up at Abby. Dressed in a long-sleeved, plaid cotton blouse, brown split skirt, and boots, she leaned back against the middle porch column. They were not quite eye-to-eye and she looked down her nose at him. He noticed it was a pretty little nose crisscrossed with freckles, but he still didn’t like that she was looking down at him.
Jarrod stepped up to the bottom step, then stared straight into eyes as blue as the Pacific on a clear summer day.
He frowned. “What did you bring this time? Some contraption that’ll turn cow pies into perfume?”
Far from being intimidated by his gruffness, she smiled at him. Her eyes twinkled, again reminding him of the ocean as the sun’s rays turned the peaks of the swells into diamonds.
“Are you still angry about that painting? That was a long time ago, Jarrod.”
“It was fruit, Abby. What am I supposed to do with a flat canvas full of apples, pears, and bananas?”
“Hang it in the parlor like I suggested.”
“I didn’t want it.”
“Maybe not, but your wife did. My responsibility was to deliver it to its destination. You could have sent it back to Hollister with me.”
“You would have charged me to haul it back.”
“I had no choice. It’s my job.”
“So what did you bring me this time?” He almost didn’t want to know. Every time she showed up, his life turned upside down.
“It’s the bookcase you ordered. There’s something else—”
Just then the front door opened and slammed shut. A small boy stopped beside her. Jarrod hadn’t the least notion how old he was. He’d never been around kids much. This one’s blond head came to about Abby’s waist. He was blue-eyed and scrawny. He had his thumb in his mouth, and his other hand clutched his privates as he hopped from foot to foot.
“Are you my uncle Jarrod?” he asked.
Stunned, Jarrod couldn’t get a word out. A pained expression crossed the child’s face. “Gotta go,” he said. As he bounced, he looked around for the necessary.
Jarrod pointed through the trees. “Over there,” he said.
The boy took off running.
“What’s going on, Abby?” he as
ked suspiciously.
Before she could answer, the door opened again. A girl came out and stood beside Abby. She was slightly taller than the boy and there was more than a little resemblance between them. Same color hair, but hers was curly, and she had green eyes.
“Where’s Oliver?” she asked.
“He went to the outhouse.” Abby put her hand on the child’s shoulder. “This is Katie.”
Two of his sister Sally’s children were named Oliver and Katie. The door opened again. An older girl and a boy slightly younger stepped outside. The brown-haired, green-eyed girl stood close to Abby, as if for protection. The boy’s hair was the exact color as his sister’s, but his eyes were gray. He kept himself slightly apart.
All four of them were thin. Jarrod didn’t remember ever being that skinny as a boy, but that had been a long time ago. He wondered about their ill-fitting, threadbare clothes. Sally wouldn’t dress them in playthings to travel. More likely, they’d be in their Sunday best.
“What’s going on?” Jarrod asked.
Abby looked at him nervously, although she was trying to hide it. “I did bring you something else,” she said. “But this time I think you’ll be pleased. They tell me you’ve never met. Jarrod, may I present your nieces and nephews.”
“Where’s Sally?” he asked. He hadn’t seen his sister in fourteen years. Why hadn’t she let him know she was coming? He had a bad feeling as he glanced at the three of them. “Where’s your mother?”
Abby’s eyes clouded as she looked at the oldest girl. “Lily?”
The child’s hands anxiously twisted together. “She’s dead, Uncle Jarrod. We buried her three weeks ago. Before she died, she wrote you this.” She reached into the pocket of her patched calico dress and pulled out an envelope. Then she stepped shyly to the edge of the porch and handed it to him.
He opened it and scanned the paper. Instantly he recognized Sally’s neat, artistic handwriting. He read quickly, barely absorbing the essentials. Sally’s no-good husband was dead. She begged Jarrod’s forgiveness for not listening when he had tried to warn her about Reed Donovan. When she knew she was dying, she had to make sure her children would be provided for. She wanted them raised as Blackstones on the family ranch, as she and Jarrod had been.
He looked at Abby. Of all the deliveries she’d made, this was the worst. Shock, grief, and unreasonable anger boiled up inside him. He knew it was unfair, but the need to lash out at someone was overpowering.
He fought it as Abby and the children stared at him, waiting.
The silence dragged on, and Katie started to whimper. Abby squeezed the girl’s shoulder reassuringly. “Say something, Jarrod.”
“I can’t.”
“They’re your family. The resemblance is unmistakable. Tom has your eyes. They’ve got Blackstone written all over their faces.”
“I can see that.”
“On the way from town, they could hardly wait to meet you. Lily showed me a picture of you that her mother gave her.” She half turned to the girl. “Show him, Lily.”
The girl hesitantly stepped toward him again, and Jarrod’s chest tightened when he saw that she was the image of her mother. He took the old tattered tintype from her and recognized the likeness of himself taken when he was twenty and Sally six years older. She had left not long afterward.
He couldn’t believe that his sister, always so full of life and mischief, was gone. He’d never see her again. There were things he wanted to say to her, and now he never could.
At the sound of running footsteps behind him, Jarrod turned to see Oliver coming as fast as he could go on his short, spindly legs. The boy stopped beside him and tugged on his pant leg.
“What?” Jarrod asked.
“Mama said you’d take us to the Specific Ocean. Will ya?”
“Not today.”
“Then when?”
“Can’t say.”
The boy stuck his thumb in his mouth and spoke around it. “When’s Mama gonna get here?”
Jarrod didn’t know what to tell him. Surely he knew his mother was never coming back. Was he old enough to understand?
“How old are you?” he asked Oliver.
The child left his thumb in his mouth and held up his other four fingers. When he turned five, he would have a better use for that thumb, Jarrod thought wryly.
Jarrod knew nothing about bringing up children, and even less about helping them deal with the death of their mother. He knew they were blood relations, even before Abby had pointed out the obvious to him. He knew all about them from Sally’s letters. Lily, thirteen and on the verge of young womanhood. Tom, eleven, staring at him with hostile gray eyes. Katie, six, cute as a button, with her curly blond hair and green eyes. He wondered at the purple circles beneath them. And last was Oliver, only four years old. The dark stain on the front of the boy’s pants told him that the child had not found the necessary in time. He wasn’t old enough to grasp the fact that his mother was never coming back.
Jarrod was having trouble with that one himself. How could he explain it to the little guy?
But the most immediate question was: With a ranch to run, how the hell was he supposed to look after four children?
When the silence continued, Katie started to cry. “Don’t you want us, Uncle Jarrod?”
He felt horrible. When she walked to the edge of the porch, he instinctively opened his arms, pulling her up against him as sobs wracked her tiny body. Her thinness surprised him; she weighed hardly anything.
He awkwardly patted her back. Although he liked youngsters well enough, he had no experience comforting a small child, or an older one either. She continued to cry, and when she buried her face in his neck, he swallowed hard, twice. The lump in his throat wouldn’t budge. He wasn’t sure if it was her grief or the trusting arms around his neck that moved him. But the fact that she went to him at all felt good.
“Don’t cry,” he said, tightening his hold on her. “Everything’s gonna be fine.”
She lifted her head. “You won’t send us away?”
“Oh—” Abby made a small noise somewhere between a gasp and a stifled sob. “Of course he won’t send you away, sweetie. Lily, will you take them in the house and help Oliver change? Supper’s ready. We’ll be in shortly.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she said, taking Katie from Jarrod. The others followed Lily inside.
As soon as the door closed, Abby rounded on him, eyes flashing. “You aren’t going to send them away. Are you, Jarrod?”
“Of course not. But I need some time to get used to this.”
“Unfortunately, you don’t have time. Those children lost their mother a few short weeks ago. They need to know they have someone who will take care of them. You could look a little happier to see them.” Her disbelief, annoyance, and discouragement were evident as her body tensed.
“Now hold on, Abby. It’s not every day a man finds out his only sister has passed on, much less that she left her four kids to him. This is a hell of a shock. Just give me a minute.”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking,” she said softly. “This must be a terrible blow. I can only imagine what it would feel like. If the shoe were on the other foot, and it was my brother, Clint—” She stopped and swallowed. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
He nodded and the muscle in his cheek jerked once as he clamped his jaw tight. When he trusted his voice, he asked, “How did she die? Did the kids tell you anything?”
She took a deep breath. “Lily said it was sudden. One day she was fine, the next she was hurting, and she didn’t eat after that. The pain got worse and she wasted away.”
“Seems you know a lot.”
Abby shrugged. “It’s a long ride from town. They needed to talk to someone.”
“Did Sally have a doctor?”
“They didn’t say anything about one. I’d guess not. Did you notice their clothes, and how thin they are? I don’t think there was much money.”
Jarrod heard the disapproval in her
voice and knew she was wondering why his sister’s children were wanting when he had so much. He didn’t know why, but he felt he owed her an explanation.
“Since she left here in ‘seventy-two, my sister wrote me twice a year. Once on my birthday and again at Christmas. I knew about every one of the kids being born. Other than that, all she ever said was that things were fine.”
“You never went to visit her?”
“I’ve got a ranch to run. For God’s sake,” he said defensively, “there are hardly enough hours in the day to do what needs to be done around here as it is. Besides, I never had reason to suspect things weren’t the way she said. Which brings us back to those kids. I don’t know anything about raising children, and I don’t have the time to see that it’s done the way Sally would want.”
“Maybe not, but you’re all they’ve got. And you’re better than nothing.”
“Thanks,” he said wryly.
“You know what I mean. They’re just children, Jarrod,” she said softly, sympathetically. “You’ve lost your sister, but they’ve lost their mother. Think about what they’re going through.”
Jarrod knew she was right. It didn’t sweeten his temper any, but he did his best to tamp his anger down. For the kids’ sake.
He took a deep breath. “Guess I’d best go inside and get acquainted.”
She nodded. “You’ll do fine. Good-bye, Jarrod. Good luck.”
“Where are you going?”
“Back to town.”
He glanced through the oak grove and saw the rays of the setting sun. “You can’t get there before dark. It’s too dangerous to travel at night.”
“It’s a chance I’ll have to take.”
“Why didn’t you wait until morning to deliver the kids, if you couldn’t get out here and back before dark?”
“I thought I could. They’re nervous and upset and needed to be settled as soon as possible. I figured I’d have just enough time. But when we arrived and the house was empty, I just couldn’t leave them here alone.”
“So now that I’m here, you’re going to dump them in my lap and hightail it back?”
“Yeah.”
He took her arm. “I don’t think so. This is the last time you drop something on my doorstep and leave. Besides, what kind of host would I be, not offering you a place to stay for the night? I don’t want to come across what’s left of you when the coyotes get finished. You can leave at first light. Not before.”
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