Thankful for the Cowboy

by Mary Connealy

  There were five bedrooms so Niall and Megan, Conall and Cindy, and Lauren and Tom each got their own.

  Duncan and Rory bickered over whether to share a room or each be alone. Good natured bickering because they really weren’t that anxious to sleep in a room by themselves.

  In the end, for the pure luxury of it, they went to separate rooms.

  Lauren heard Duncan grumbling good-naturedly that he needed a wife.

  He’d probably hunt one up with ease now that so many people lived so close.

  Tom took Lauren’s hand, so gently it touched her heart, and led her to their bedroom. It was a bit overwhelming to share a room with him. But Lauren didn’t hesitate. She knew, if he’d just kiss her again, she’d be very pleased to be alone with him.

  Closing the door with a firm click, Tom turned to her. He drew her against him and kissed her until all she could think was that she had a new name. She was no longer Lauren Drummond. She’d taken this man, and with him, a new name, to begin a new life.

  The kissed lingered and, lovely though it was, Lauren wanted to lie with him. She broke the kiss and took his hand. Leading him toward the bed.

  A bit awkwardly, Tom said, “I—I have a nightshirt in the bedroll I packed. Should I—”

  He fell silent.

  That was when Lauren realized that, of the two of them, she was the one who knew what a wedding night should be like. Almost giddy with that thought, she realized she’d need to take charge. Teach Tom what it meant to be married. At least one very sweet part of what it meant.

  “You won’t need your nightshirt.” Her voice was a bit deeper than usual as she drew him toward the bed…and toward the future.

  Epilogue

  Spring came with so many wonderful surprises they almost needed another Thanksgiving Day.

  Four babies on the way. Duncan, her spring baby, had warned them he wanted a wife like every other man on the place had. To further that end, he’d gone along with Tom to build three windmills for the fort.

  He’d found a girl at the fort. He’d turned sixteen and married his pretty Linda just after his birthday. And yes, it was just come May and there was definitely a child on the way already. Linda, who’d followed her soldier brother west and made a fine living cooking for the soldiers, hadn’t been keeping food in her belly in the mornings and took unexpected naps.

  That and the most obvious symptom, the absence of her monthly lady’s time, were all Lauren needed to hear to be sure.

  Lauren, Megan, Cindy and Duncan’s Linda all had a child on the way.

  Like her wily son, Niall, Duncan and his wife had each claimed their own homestead before their wedding, and come home with a decent-sized holding with good water.

  Lauren ran her hand over her stomach. No baby was apparent. But she had a child coming. And if her history proved true, it’d be another boy.

  That she regretted just a bit, but having three new daughters made it easier.

  Conall had pushed hard, probably past foolishness, and gotten a soddy up before the snow flew. He wanted his house up. He seemed to want out of his mother’s house and had no interest in living in Tom’s house through the winter. It might have been this restlessness that had driven him off to begin with. Or maybe he just desired to stand on his own two feet, in his own home, on his own land. Whatever his reason, they’d pushed hard in cold weather to get him a house built. Conall and Cindy’s baby would be born in late summer.

  Niall and Megan lived in the soddy they’d built for Tom and Megan.

  Oh, they’d bickered and figured. Who’d live where and for how long to fulfill the requirements necessary for homesteading. They had it all worked out.

  The juggling made Lauren’s head spin. As the sole owner, with clear title, to her land, she saw herself being moved about like a parcel wherever it suited Tom and her boys.

  And she accepted it with good humor.

  Duncan—who hadn’t worked on the windmills before—went with Tom to build a windmill at the fort. The commander ended up ordering three and they’d been gone for most of the month of December. Lauren hadn’t liked it.

  But when the base commander talked about the coming train and how cheaply it would haul in lumber for a house, Tom got excited about the work. He planned to save his earnings toward lumber.

  And the rumor was that homesteaders were rushing into the area in the spring. Tom thought they might all need wells. He planned to make himself a wealthy man with his know-how. When he’d left right after Thanksgiving, it had been with great reluctance, but the chance to earn money, and make a friend of the folks at Fort Niobrara had kept him at work.

  Now that he understood what went on between a married couple, he never stopped telling Lauren he didn’t want to spend another night away from her.

  She understood that perfectly and considered accompanying him on some of his work journeys. All in all, she decided it was a fine thing to have a husband who knew how to do something everyone needed done.

  For now, they were all home. Lauren stood at the door to her soddy and contemplated her growing family.

  She watched water run as the snow melted away on the vast, rolling Sandhills. Baby calves were dropping everywhere. There were chicks hatching in the barn.

  The new foal was growing and lively. Tom had taken on the job of training it as he’d had some practice and the little horse was calm and friendly when it wasn’t kicking up its heels and running.

  Almost more shocking—but only almost because four new babies was very shocking—Rory had turned fourteen. Her winter baby had sprouted up over the winter and was now a few inches taller than Lauren. He still had a ways to go, but his voice had gotten deep and he was holding his own when the brothers worked side-by-side.

  Lauren couldn’t decide if she needed to keep Rory locked up until he grew all the way up. Or just let him find his way. She suspected it was a waste of time to decide. Rory would decide just as it had been with all her boys.

  Tom came up behind her and slid his arms around her waist and kissed her neck.

  “How’s the little mama feeling this morning?” He held her as if she were the most precious thing in the world. He had a knack for making her feel safe and loved.

  And all the while he protected her, he treated her as if she were protecting him. He never let her forget all she’d taught him and how much better their lives were thanks to her wisdom.

  Love for him curled inside her. Strong and warm. She smiled, then laughed as the kiss turned to one that gave her shivers.

  “Stop that, you rogue. It’s such as this that got this baby started so soon.”

  Tom murmured as he kissed her. His lips led from her neck, to her cheek, then he turned her to face him and the kissed warmed her straight to her heart.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and wondered at the passion there was between them. Wondered and enjoyed.

  “That’s not exactly how I remember it.”

  He’d been in their room changing out of soaking wet socks and pants. He’d found a calf born on the edge of a marshy area with cold water standing in grass. He’d dragged the baby to safety and gotten drenched for his trouble. Tom had his work cut out for him warming the little heifer up. But baby longhorns were strong little critters and it would survive.

  Her arms tightened. “I miss you something fierce when you’re gone.”

  He would be leaving for the spring windmill work in the morning.

  “This one is a long ride. We’ll pick up the windmill material at the fort then Duncan and I will ride far and fast to get the building done. I’ll try and be back but it will be at least two weeks. It’ll push us hard to make it in that time. This rancher wants two windmills.”

  Tom forgot his talking for a bit to kiss her.

  “Are you sure this isn’t what caused me to be with child?” she whispered against his lips.

  “It seems you’ve forgotten and it’s best I be reminding you before I leave.” They were alone at her soddy. The r
est were in their own homes. Rory hadn’t ridden over with them from Tom’s cabin to do morning chores here.

  “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”

  I have a real treat for you, Readers! Here’s a sneak Preview of Blizzards and Blessings

  the next story in the

  Thanksgiving Books & Blessings Collection!

  For your reading pleasure . . .

  Samantha Bayarr

  Blizzards and Blessings

  Samantha Bayarr

  Copyright © 2019 by Samantha Bayarr

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form either written or electronically without the express written permission of the author.

  PROLOGUE

  Silver City, Nevada 1885

  “Ain’t no woman gonna git hitched up with you, pig-farmer!”

  Doggone drunken miner was always stumbling around, sticking his nose in Clay’s business when he ought to be keeping to himself!

  Clayton Tucker stooped in front of the miner feeling as if his six-foot stature had just been cut in half by the drunkard’s crudity, especially since he feared there could be some truth to his raw honesty.

  His bottle of Red Eye whiskey sloshed around while he struggled just to keep a staggering gate. Maybe he should be minding his manners instead of giving Clay a hard time, but that was the man’s nature when he was feelin’ poorly, as he often referred to his drunken state. Clay reckoned anyone who would carry around a bottle of Red Eye as his companion the way Buster did would likely be feeling mighty poorly all the time.

  Clay tried his best to ignore the man’s ridicule as he stood in front of the postal window at the telegraph office, staring at his newest letter from Emma Jane Miller. She would arrive in a few days; her letter, dated two weeks ago, had taken that long to arrive. His heart thumped; that didn’t give him much time to finish getting things in order.

  “Is she on her way?” the miner asked with a hiccup.

  Clay gave a curt nod; wishing he could keep it to himself, but he didn’t have the heart to be rude to anyone.

  Buster drew his six-gun from his holster, pointed it toward the late afternoon sky, and pulled the trigger. He hooped and hollered as he pulled the trigger again. “Yee-haaaaaa!” he said, drops of deep amber liquid spilling from his bottle onto the ground as he lowered his drinking arm long enough to shoot off another round. “The pig farmer thinks he’s gonna git hitched!”

  “Keep your voice down, ole timer!” Clay scolded him.

  The unkempt man chuckled. “She’s going to take one look at you and your pig-slopped boots and go runnin’ home cryin’ to her pa!” the miner said, his slurred speech whistling through the space where his two front teeth used to be. He chuckled again, spilling a little more whiskey in the dirty street. “She won’t have to come lookin’ for ya; she’ll be able to follow the pig-stench right to ya! That’ll be enough to make her go runnin’ from ya. Maybe I’ll have to catch me that purdy little gal myself when she runs from the likes of you, pig-lover!”

  Buster grabbed hold of Clay’s arm and hung onto him trying to keep his balance; his breath wreaked of Red Eye and the wad of chaw bulging in his cheek; the drool from it ran down his chin and settled in the creases of his neck like a dirty ring. His clothing was dusty and ragged, but Buster wasn’t one to worry about his appearance or even notice the way he smelled. He was only interested in Clay’s business, and right now that was the letter he’d gotten from his intended.

  Buster continued to laugh as he stumbled back toward the Silver Dollar Saloon, leaving Clay to stew over his crude comments. He tried to shrug it off knowing the man was so sauced up he was due for a long night of sleeping it off in the hoosegow, but that didn’t do much to calm his nerves. What if the ole timer and the rest of the miners who teased him regularly were right about Emma Jane Miller?

  What if she didn’t like him—or his stench?

  Did it matter that her own pa raised pigs back east? Surely the little gal was used to the stench! He’d prayed it was something they had in common. A few months ago when he’d stumbled across her letter of introduction among the list of eligible mail-order brides, he’d thought for sure he’d met his match. Had he been too blinded by the excitement to think about the consequences of sending away for her?

  It was too late to change his mind; she was on her way and would be here on Monday’s stage. He had only a few more days to get his place ready for his bride, and it was best if he paid a mind to get it done. It would be a tough enough transition from her life back east to this wild and unforgiving part of the west without having a proper house to live in. He’d all but finished putting in wood over the dirt floor of his cabin, and he’d partitioned off a bedroom from the kitchen area. He’d put in a pump at the dry sink so she could wash dishes easier this winter, and he’d even purchased a new stove and installed a smokestack so it could vent out through the roof. He’d fixed every shaker shingle on the roof so it didn’t leak and he’d dug an outhouse just outside the back door so she wouldn’t have to walk past the barn in the cold winter months. He’d worked so hard to make sure his new bride would be comfortable in his home when she arrived that he’d plum forgotten to make any improvements to himself.

  Stepping up onto the boardwalk, Clay scraped the bottoms of his boots on the edge of the wooden slats in front of the mercantile and then kicked the muck onto the dirt as he glanced across the road at the sheriff’s office. Sheriff Farley was sitting in his chair outside his office, as usual, leaning back and balancing on the back two legs, his feet resting on the rail of the hitching post in front of his office. He tipped his hat toward Clay, and he nodded back; they had an understanding, the two of them. Clay was to take care of his business in town as quickly as possible to avoid as much confrontation with the miners, and the sheriff left him alone. The only problem was; the miners, except the two who used to be his friends, had put him on the receiving end of all their jokes. He’d come to Silver City with his childhood friends, Jack and Dewey, but when he’d decided to homestead a piece of land and go back to pig farming when he didn’t have any luck mining, they all but joined forces with the men who teased him regularly. Being miners, Jack and Dewey had pretended they hadn’t been pig farmers back home so they wouldn’t get lumped in with Clay. They tried to make him understand they had to work with those men, but it didn’t do much to take away the sting of having his best friends turn on him the way they did.

  Clay tugged on his long, scraggly beard, turning his focus back to Miss Emma’s arrival; a trip to the barber in town was long overdue for him. Looking at his reflection in the window of the mercantile, he figured he might as well get himself a pair of store-bought clothes from the tailor while he was at it. He’d been meaning to get some Sunday clothes, but Reverend Albie didn’t care what a man wore on his outsides, as long as his heart was right with the Lord Almighty.

  Walking into the mercantile, his letter from Emma Jane tucked away in his pocket, a sense of excitement washed over him as he looked at the shelves full of spices and coffee that he intended to stock his kitchen with for his new bride. He didn’t have to purchase much else for her since he grew or raised most of his food. For a woman, though, spices were a necessary staple. The mercantile owner’s wife, Flora, was busy dusting the shelves with a feather duster when he’d entered and was now standing at attention in front of him. Usually, he was there to barter with her husband, but today, he was a customer.

  “When can we expect that new bride of yours to arrive?” Flora asked cheerfully.

  “She’s coming in on Monday’s stage; I’ve got her letter of acceptance right here,” he said, patting the front pocket of his shirt. “So, I’m gonna need everything a woman needs to set up house for cookin’.” Clay puffed out his chest proudly. “Emma Jane is comin’ to stay in our town, and she’s gonna marry me.”

  “Congratulations!” Flora said with a kind smile. “In that case, you’ll need flour, sugar, salt, coffee, and at least a few s
pices to get you started.”

  The woman rattled off a few extra things, and Clay’s eyes bulged as he watched the items piling up on the counter in front of him. How was he going to pay for all of that? If he spent his entire budget on food staples, he wouldn’t have enough to go to the barber or get himself a suit for marrying up with Emma Jane.

  He gulped at the wares and staples in front of him. “Can I exchange a few bushels of potatoes and some other vegetables for it?” Clay asked quietly.

  “I’m not sure if I can exchange it for merchandise,” the woman said, looking over her shoulder for her husband, Roland, who was known to be a bit of a miser.

  “I don’t have much money on me,” Clay admitted. “What little I do have; I think I ought to use to pay for a visit to the tailor and the barber.”

  The older woman smiled as she let her gaze fall to his unkempt appearance. “I agree, but only because I know you want to look your best when that little gal gets here. Besides, your vegetables are the best around these parts; I’ll make the exchange since we’re nearly out of everything until we get the wagon loads in from the train.”

  The reference to the wagon loads the mercantile was expecting pricked at Clay’s heart; her husband had mentioned he intended to get a bulk shipment in from an outside vendor who offered to sell him the vegetables at such a cut-rate that Clay couldn’t compete without losing his investment of time and money into his farmland. Clay had hoped Roland was only using the information as leverage to get him to lower his prices. He’d been buying from Clay for the past five years until he decided he didn’t want to pay Clay’s increase even though his profit margin was barely enough to work his farm the next season. He’d offered Roland the lowest price possible, but in the end, the man had declared he could save money buying from someone else. It hadn’t hurt his pride as much as it had hurt his feelings to be truthful; he’d known Roland was tired of being teased for being a pig farmer's friend. They weren’t friends by any means but purchasing from him made them look as if they were, and that was enough to cause Roland to make the decision he’d made. It wasn’t the Christian decision, as Reverend Albie would put it, but Roland didn’t attend the Sunday services with his wife, so Clay supposed the man justified his actions because of that.