My Heart Knew (Dorado, Texas Book 3)

by Linda Carroll-Bradd

“Do you have any objections to a rancher sending along his own hands?” Fitz Saunders, owner of the Star S Ranch, glanced at the sheaf of papers in his hand then leaned back in the sturdy wooden chair behind his desk. Tall bookcases lined with books stood behind the rancher.

  “More riders are always welcome. We’d be happy to have you and them as part of the group.” Perched in a straight-back chair opposite the dark-haired rancher, Dylan almost held his breath as he waited for a decision. He glanced around the well-appointed den with a glowing fire heating the space and wondered if he’d ever build himself a house this nice. Although this ranch house lacked some of the decorative items he could only call feminine touches that he’d noticed at Shady Oaks—no doilies covered the mantel or side tables, no pillows or quilts accented the sofas, no framed pictures hung on the walls.

  “Not sure I’d be going, but a couple of my hands are itching to get out on the trail. At least for the first time, I’d feel better about them keeping an eye on my stock.” Saunders set down the papers on the desktop and reached for his pen and ink well.

  “Perfectly understandable.”

  The sun arced toward the horizon when Dylan shook hands over the signed contract with Mr. Saunders. “These final one hundred and twenty-five head of cattle round out the herd. My Uncle Farlan appreciates your cooperation.” This handshake finalized his business in Dorado.

  Now he had to return to town in time to clean up and get to the holiday dance that Fitz told him about. As he urged Cynbal into a gallop, he hoped he wasn’t jeopardizing the recovery of his ankle. If he wanted to continue doing business with the area ranchers, then he needed to socialize with them, too. Building community ties was important in a partnership. Common interests were essential to foster and maintain.

  With staggering clarity, he realized the business principles he’d used to convince the ranchers to sign on to a combined cattle drive applied to personal relationships, as well. The days this past week spent away from Maisie gave him plenty of time to remember the glint in her hazel eyes and the curve of her upper lip when she smiled. He’d missed their reading sessions, spending hours lost in another world and sharing the excitement of an adventure. Now, he hoped Maisie would be at the dance. If not, he’d have to go to every building in the town until he found her. As the late afternoon air chilled, he bent low over Cynbal’s neck and gave him a loose rein.

  Two hours later, Dylan slipped into the vestibule of the Meeting Hall, his hair still dripping at the ends. He tugged on the string tie binding his stiff dress collar. The buzz of multiple conversations bounced off the wooden walls. The draw of a bow over fiddle strings produced sweet notes while a man called out instructions. Dylan set his coat on a mounded heap covering a sturdy table and patted the inside pocket to make sure his surprise was still inside. Then he sidled around the end of the entry wall and scanned the room, noting several big pink and red hearts cut from colored paper suspended over the crowd. Paper streamers of white and red draped along the walls from the four corners of the room.

  Along the near wall stood tables loaded with pies, cookies, cakes, and a big punch bowl. Scattered between the plates and dishes were more colored heart cutouts. A row of chairs, occupied by mostly the older townsfolk, lined the far wall. Dancers stomped figure eights and diagonal patterns within their assigned squares. Spectators kept time by clapping from the perimeter of the room. Colors of all different hues whirled through his field of vision, and he struggled to spot the one he sought—Maisie, his honey-blonde beauty.

  The music ended, and the last high-pitched note from a fiddle dissipated. The dancers stilled, breaking into pairs and small groups. Then Dylan saw her standing close to Trevor and the woman from the mercantile. Purely on instinct, he made his way through the crowd toward her. Like she was the sun and he a sun-worshipping flower. Tonight, she wore a rose-colored dress with short sleeves and a flouncy hem. Her hair was loose except for the top section that was woven with ribbons of a matching rosy hue. Maisie was a beauty like he’d never seen in his life. Her cheeks flushed pink from exertion, and her hazel eyes flashed with delight. She looked just as he’d imagine she would when galloping a horse full speed on the flat lands.

  He stepped into her path and waited for her to notice. His heart beat double time, and he hoped she wouldn’t ignore him. Although he acknowledged she had every right to. When the distance separating them was only a couple of feet, he took a deep breath. “Evening, Miss Maisie.”

  She jerked her head in his direction and smiled, then pinched her lips together. “Mister MacInnes, I wasn’t aware you had returned.” She turned to her companion and extended a hand, palm up. “Clarissant, have you met Mister Dylan MacInnes? He’s been a temporary resident of the boarding house this past week or so. Mister MacInnes, this is my friend Clarissant Rochester, and you remember Trevor Driscoll from Shady Oaks.”

  “How do you do, Mister MacInnes?” Clari dipped a short curtsey. “Trevor’s told me of the work you’re doing to help the small ranchers. Admirable.”

  “All at my uncle’s behest.” Work that had brought him to Maisie. He’d have to thank his uncle upon his return to Alba Ranch. “My pleasure, miss.”

  “Speaking for Jake and myself, we’re looking forward to participating in the cattle drive.” After a nod, Trevor escorted Miss Rochester away.

  Impatient to get her all to himself, Dylan touched a hand to her elbow and drew her to the edge of the room. “After that strained wagon ride a week ago, I wasn’t sure you wanted to ever talk to me again.” He dipped his knees so he could look her straight in the eyes, hoping his expression conveyed the sincerity of his words. “I apologize for my remarks that day at Shady Oaks. When I spoke, I didn’t consider how hurtful they must have sounded.”

  Her gaze met his and then flitted around the room. She crossed an arm over her stomach and tugged on the end of a long strand of hair, a finger running over the tips. “My pride flares hot and fast but ebbs just as quickly. After that day, I wanted a chance to let you know I understood the reasons for your actions. But you seemed determined to avoid me.”

  A protest caught in his throat. An entire week wasted. He pushed aside his irritation and aimed for a calm tone. “Because I thought you wished me apart from you.”

  Maisie looked down and swallowed hard. She took a step closer, grabbed hold of the bottom of his string tie, and tugged. “Quite the opposite.” Then she looked straight into his eyes.

  The emotion he saw in those amber depths stole his breath. She doesn’t hate me. Her compassionate nature was one of the first attributes that attracted him. Forgiving him for his rash statement endeared her all the more.

  The fiddler sawed a few lively notes, the kind filled with entreaty to all who heard.

  Dylan clasped her hand and pulled her toward the middle of the room. They fit themselves into a square headed by Kell and Vevina, and Ivey and Mister Shipley, and one side formed by Mister Saunders and Miss Fletcher, the schoolmarm.

  The storekeeper, Mister Othmann, clapped his hands in time to the fiddle. “Ladies and gents, bow to your partners then to your corners. Now Allemande left.”

  Years had passed since Dylan had danced, but the steps came back easily as each one was called. Even if someone bumped shoulders in a Do Sa Do or Pass Thru, everyone just laughed and kept moving.

  “Circle left then couples meet in the middle. Now back to the square.”

  He especially liked the calls where he maintained contact with Maisie’s soft hand, and they moved in rhythm as a couple. Conversely, he regretted the movements that pulled them apart or forced a change in partners. But he kept his gaze on her flashing hazel eyes and bouncing honey-blonde hair every chance he got.

  Minutes later, Othmann’s call was to Weave The Ring and Promenade Home. After the dancers finished, applause and whistles sounded in appreciation for the caller and the musicians.

  Extending a hand toward the refreshment table, Dylan waited for Maisie to start in that direction. “I’m in n
eed of a few sips of punch or lemonade.”

  She gave him a smile. “Me, too.” When she’d finished her cup, she gazed at him and tilted her head. “I’ve missed our reading sessions.”

  “As have I.” She cares. A wave of relief washed over him, and Dylan sucked in a calming breath. “Your brother’s conversational skills are no match for yours. In truth, my rides with him were quite boring.”

  ****

  At his teasing tone, Maisie relaxed. During the past week, she’d learned from Vevina that bantering was a sign of affection and from Clari that she needed to listen for what the man meant, instead of what he said. All very confusing to a woman unschooled in affairs of the heart. Good thing Clari was willing to lend her romance novels—stories which had proved especially enlightening. “Did you come to the gathering to talk to more ranchers, or to dance?”

  Dylan tilted his head and narrowed his gaze. “You’re not saying more about our argument?”

  She looked into his green eyes and read concern in his gaze. By now, she’d learned how shallow had been her reaction and, no matter the reason, she’d only hurt herself by staying away. Every time she heard Ivey’s voice mingled with Dylan’s, she’d experienced a flash of jealousy tightening her body. A most unsettling sensation. “Right now, I want to dance and drink punch and have fun.” On impulse, she clasped his hand and held tight. “Tonight may be all we have together, Dylan. Shall we dance again?”

  A smile crept over his mouth, but he just tugged her toward the center of the room.

  This time a banjo led the upbeat tune as they joined a square with Trevor and Clari, Jake and Ivey, and the MacElroys.

  Mister Othmann clapped his hands. “Y’all listen, heads to the middle and greet. Then sides follow and repeat. Four ladies chain then, gents, greet your new partner.”

  Dylan guided her with an expert touch, and soon they moved together like they’d been dancing forever. Although she clasped and held the hands of three other men in the square, Maisie registered a tingling only from Dylan’s touch. All she took note of was the caring in his emerald eyes. The flitting in her belly was like she’d swallowed a swarm of butterflies…just like she’d read about. Within his embrace, she felt protected, and the spark in his gaze told her she was cherished.

  A warbling note from the banjo and a twang from a guitar hung in the air as the song ended. Then the fiddler raised his bow and circled it over his head. “Listen up.” He gazed around the crowd until voices hushed. “Folks, we got a special performer tonight who’s gonna grace us with a right pretty song. Bet most folks here in Dorado didn’t know that our own schoolmarm Miss Harriet Fletcher performed on the stage in Chicago.”

  The plain schoolmarm dressed in a robin’s-egg blue dress with black piping accents stepped forward and launched into When The Whippoorwill Is Calling. Her notes were clear and true, and her face lit with an inner glow.

  Maisie felt Dylan standing close behind her and relished these special moments.

  Miss Fletcher started the final chorus.

  Strong hands rested on Maisie’s shoulders, and a raspy whisper tickled her ear. “I have a gift for you. Follow me.” After a quick glance around to see if her sisters were watching, Maisie turned and faced a solid crowd of listeners. Curiosity drove her steps to find a path through the individuals until she reached the semi-seclusion of the hall’s entry.

  Dylan stood with one hand holding out a pink heart edged with lace and the other tucked behind his back. “First is the souvenir I know you’ll accept. Back at the boarding house, we can write our names and today’s date. I’m told these cards are becoming all the fashion.”

  A gasp escaped before she could hold it back. She held onto the paper, wishing their names were already inscribed to mark this special occasion. Not for many years had she received a Valentine, and never one from a man she cared so much for. “I wish I had some token to give in return.”

  “Accepting my apology was my Valentine’s gift. Sharing several dances was a wonderful bonus.” He stepped close but kept his arm behind his back. “We’re shared some of our backgrounds, but I don’t think I’ve told you that I’m part Welsh and part Scottish. From my mother’s Welsh heritage comes the tradition of a lovespoon. A tradition passed down for several generations.”

  At the mention of love, Maisie sucked in a deep breath and clasped her hands together under her chin. His voice wove a spell, tantalizing her with traditions from a faraway land. More of which she could barely wait to learn. Her breathing became quick and shallow.

  “Are you all right?” Dylan frowned and scrutinized her face.

  Wide-eyed, she could only nod. Her pulse beat an unsteady tattoo.

  “When a man wishes to show his affection and romantic intent, he carves a special spoon with symbols personalized for him and his lady. Although my talent is nothing like that of Widow Edda’s late husband, here is my token.” He brought his arm forward and cradled the carved object in both hands as he extended it.

  “Oh, Dylan, it’s beautiful.” A piece of golden wood about a foot long contained the outline of a heart, an open book, a horseshoe, a padlock with a keyhole, a curled-up cat, and the flattened bowl of a spoon. The edges were rounded, and the finish burnished to a mellow glow. A heartfelt offering that must have taken him hours to create. Had he turned to Mister Shipley for use of his carpenter’s tools? “I love the personalization you gave to the symbols. Thank you.” She traced a finger over the cat, feeling the numerous dots he’d carved, and blinked away the burning in her eyes. That tiny detail indicated an acknowledgement and understanding of her concern for injured animals. That’s when her heart knew Dylan MacInnes was the man she truly loved.

  He moved until their bodies were only inches apart and slid an arm around her shoulders. “I mean to court you, Maisie Treadwell, even though we live a couple hundred miles apart.” He ran the back of his knuckles down her cheek. “I may have to fill my absences with lengthy and frequent letters, but I now have a very good reason to ride north more often.”

  Blinking fast to keep the tears at bay, Maisie nodded. “I agree to be courted. Now will you please seal the promise with a kiss?”

  Dylan grinned then lowered his head and pressed his lips against hers.

  At the first contact, Maisie stilled and then relaxed into his embrace. A giddy sensation ran through her body. She felt the nibbling moves of his warm lips and returned the gesture, exalting in the shivers that prickled her skin. Her heart thumped in her chest, and she lifted a hand to grasp his arm, wishing for the gentle and sensual kiss to last. She couldn’t think of a time when she’d felt so tingly—inside and out.

  When he pulled apart and braced his hands on her shoulders, he rested his forehead against hers, his breath a bit erratic. “All I can say is, I guarantee the courtship will be short.”

  For a second, she closed her eyes, savoring this long-anticipated moment. A caring man with a generous heart wanted her. Then she smiled and connected with his gaze, reveling in how it focused only on her. “And my heart agrees.”

  Opening scene of

  Forged by Fire

  Book 4 in Dorado, Texas series

  by Linda Carroll-Bradd

  Chapter One

  Another day to endure in the solitary world under his control. Shimmering air danced before his eyes, blurring his view of the buildings across the street. Berg Spengler leaned away from the heat blasting from the blazing fire. He swiped a thick forearm at the perspiration beading his forehead. Summer in central Texas was not his favorite time to be working the forge. But neither the season nor temperature had an effect on when horses needed shoeing or wheels needed repairing. That was all part of a blacksmith’s job, and he had no argument over being the sole practioner for a thirty-mile radius around Dorado.

  Hoping to catch a breeze, he untied the strings holding up his leather apron, letting it drop forward, and stepped to the open double doors of the smithy shop. Flittering among the leaves of a nearby mesquite tree wer
e a host of chirping birds, sounding like they vied to outdo each other for the loudest calls. Wind stirred a dirt devil along the road, and the swirling air cooled his bare arms and torso. A fly buzzed his ear, and he swatted at it with an impatient hand.

  Over the breeze came a female voice singing notes from a high lilting melody. Berg recognized the sweet tones and tightened his grip on the wooden door. Miss Ivey’s voice. The same one he heard from his doorway at the boarding house on Saturday nights to hear the harmonizing songs from her family, the Treadwells. Unable to resist, he leaned forward to catch a peek and looked along Main Street toward the open prairie.

  Within seconds, the short, rounded woman walked into view, sauntering along the road with a basket over her arm.

  Probably she’d been out walking to collect the various greens or luscious berries that made the meals she cooked so tasty and different from any other place where he’d boarded. A blue calico bonnet covered the hair Berg knew to be the prettiest shade of brown with hints of copper and gold from spending time in the sunlight. Today, she wore a green blouse with a dark skirt. His favorite was her yellow blouse with tatted lace along the collar that she wore to Sunday services.

  As she drew abreast of the building, Ivey slowed and started to turn her head his way.

  He stumbled backwards a couple of steps until he was in full shadow. No need to offend her with the state of his sweaty and bared skin. His profession might be considered an honest one, but not many women sought out the items he created. His customers were mostly men, and the gender he was most comfortable being around.

  Her steps hesitated, and she cocked her head at the open doorway. But she didn’t move closer.

  Is she looking for me? His chest tightened. With fumbling fingers, he drew up the leather thongs of the apron and tied them around his neck. From a hook inside the door, he grabbed a chambray shirt and shoved in his arms, dragging the sleeves across his damp skin. Did he have time to do up all the buttons? With propriety uppermost in his mind, he fidgeted with a couple. Three long strides brought him into the sunlight, but all he saw was her back about two rods distant as she walked toward her family’s boarding house.