by Kaki Warner
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Teaser chapter
Praise for
OPEN COUNTRY
“A thoroughly enjoyable historical romance.”
—Night Owl Reviews (Top Pick)
“Vivid imagery . . . [A] beautifully spun tale that will leave readers satisfied, yet yearning for Jack’s story.”
—The Season (Top Pick)
“A wonderful historical tale starring a strong ensemble cast . . . [A] superb Reconstruction era romance.”
—Genre Go Round Reviews
“Warner earned readers’ respect as a strong western writer with her debut, the first book in the Blood Rose Trilogy. With the second, she cements that reputation. Her powerful prose, realistic details, and memorable characters all add up to a compelling, emotionally intense read.”
—Romantic Times
PIECES OF SKY
“Readers may need a big box of Kleenex while reading this emotionally compelling, subtly nuanced tale of revenge, redemption, and romance, but this flawlessly written book is worth every tear.”
—Chicago Tribune
“In her auspicious debut, Warner kicks off the Blood Rose Trilogy . . . Warner develops [the] romance with well-paced finesse and great character work . . . Warner makes great use of the vivid Old West setting.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Romance, passion, and thrilling adventure fill the pages of this unforgettable saga that sweeps the reader from England to the Old West. Jessy and Brady are truly lovers for the ages!”
—Rosemary Rogers
“Pieces of Sky reminds us why New Mexico is called the land of enchantment.”
—Jodi Thomas, New York Times bestselling author
“Generates enough heat to light the old New Mexico sky. A sharp, sweet love story of two opposites, a beautifully observed setting, and voilà—a romance you won’t soon forget.”
—Sara Donati, author of The Endless Forest
“From the first page, it’s clear why debut author Warner has won several awards. Her western romance is a striking portrait of the territory in all its reality, harshness, and beauty. Like Francine Rivers, Warner creates a novel of the human spirit’s ability to conquer emotional and physical obstacles. She conveys her characters perfectly, giving them lives of their own. Readers will be waiting breathlessly for the next book in the Blood Rose Trilogy.”
—Romantic Times
“A very good book.”
—All About Romance
“It’s been a very long time since I read an engaging and sweet historical romance such as Pieces of Sky . . . I absolutely loved Kaki Warner’s writing.”
—Babbling About Books
“I loved everything about this book.”
—Roundtable Reviews
Berkley Sensation titles by Kaki Warner
Runaway Brides Novels
HEARTBREAK CREEK
Blood Rose Trilogy
PIECES OF SKY
OPEN COUNTRY
CHASING THE SUN
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Copyright © 2011 by Kathleen Warner.
Excerpt from Colorado Dawn by Kaki Warner copyright © by Kathleen Warner.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions. BERKLEY® SENSATION and the “B” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Sensation trade paperback edition / July 2011
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Warner, Kaki.
Heartbreak creek / Kaki Warner.—Berkley Sensation trade paperback ed.
p. cm.
ISBN : 978-1-101-51652-2
1. Mail order brides—Fiction. 2. Ranch life—Fiction. 3. Colorado—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3623.A8633H43 2011
813’.6—dc22
2011010070
http://us.penguingroup.com
If friends are more valuable than gold,
then I am rich indeed.
Thank you Cyndi and Janet
for being there when I need you.
Prologue
ROSE HILL PLANTATION,
SOUTHEASTERN LOUISIANA
Edwina Ladoux stood at the window in her late father’s office and watched a small two-wheeled carriage swing through the front gate.
Or rather, what was left of the front gate. The filigreed ironwork had been torn off years ago—rumor was it now graced the back garden of a bordello up by Bossier City—and the lovely stone pillars had toppled soon after. Quarry stone was hard to come by in bayou country, so back when there had still been hope of rebuilding, she and Pru had laboriously carried the stones around to the orchard to fill in the gaps in the garden wall. But now that wall had fallen, too.
The carriage rolled briskly down the oyster shell drive beneath the long-armed oaks and their streamers of moss. Only three of the original trees remained. The fourth had burned the night the Yankees came but had stood until high winds toppled it two years later. Now it sprawled across the lawn like a blackened skeleton, slowly sinking into the overgrowth.
The carriage stopped and the driver stepped down, a tall, thin man Edwina knew well. Bernard Alexander, and his father before him, and his grandfather before that, had been bankers for the Whitneys for almost seventy-five years. He probably dreaded this meeting as much as Edwina did. And he hadn’t come alone, she noted, recognizing the other occupant as he came around the back of t
he carriage. He’d brought Reverend Morton.
Reinforcements? In case the distraught Widow Ladoux needed a tut-tut and a pat on the shoulder to help soften the loss of the home that had been in her family for three-quarters of a century? Bless his heart.
The front door opened and closed. Murmured greetings. Without furniture or carpets to muffle sound, voices carried through the empty house. A moment later, footfalls thudded in the hall. Clasping her hands at her waist to hide the shaking, Edwina turned as the door opened.
But only her sister, Prudence, stepped inside. “Mr. Alexander is here. Reverend Morton has come with him.”
“I saw. Is he expecting a ruckus, do you think?”
“Oh, dear.”
Edwina gave a brittle laugh to cover the fear gripping her throat. “Don’t worry, I’ll behave.”
Pru hated scenes. Edwina—the impulsive, high-spirited sister—thrived on them. As with any well-bred, well-trained southern lady of quality, drama was her weapon, just as pride was her strength. Like the whalebone corsets and hoops under her dress, they shaped her and supported her, hiding beneath the bows and ruffles and hospitable smile the core of determination that gave her the strength to endure what she must.
Today would be a test of that. Today she had a task to perform—her last as the sole survivor of the Whitney family and inheritor of Rose Hill. With the flourish of a pen, her own personal drama would be over. She could finally drop the mask of brave but impoverished southern widow struggling to cling to her home while the last shreds of a way of life crumbled around her. She was so very weary of the pretense.
It was liberating, in a way. This final act had been so long in coming she was almost glad to have it done. She was ready for a new role.
More or less.
Pru walked toward her, her footfalls echoing hollowly off the stripped walls and empty shelves and bare wood floor. “Do you want me to stay?”
Edwina saw the worry in her sister’s dark eyes and forced a smile. “What I want is for you to keep Reverend Morton occupied. If I have to suffer through one more pitying glance or murmured platitude, I declare I will throw myself out the window.”
Pru arched a dark brow. “And fall the entire twelve inches onto the veranda? You brave thing.” Reaching out, she gave Edwina’s clasped hands a gentle squeeze. “He’s only trying to help.”
“Like he helps all the lonely widows?” Seeing Pru was about to scold, Edwina waved her away. “Fine. I’ll be nice. But really. Doesn’t the man realize we’re Catholic?”
“He came to stand witness, not preach. And he brought the mail.” Pru reached into her apron pocket and pulled out an envelope. She studied the address. “That’s a dismal name. Heartbreak Creek.”
Finally. Snatching the letter from her sister’s grip, Edwina stuffed it into her skirt pocket. “I saw an advertisement for an employment opportunity and inquired about it, that’s all.”
“In Colorado Territory? Over a thousand miles away?”
To forestall further questions, Edwina nodded toward the door. “I think we’ve left the gentlemen waiting long enough. Show them in. I want this over with as soon as possible.”
Pru hesitated. “You’re sure you don’t need me to stay?”
“I’ll be fine. This is simply a formality.” Edwina forced a smile. “We knew Rose Hill was lost months ago. I’m just glad it’s going to our banker, rather than that Yankee scalawag tax man.”
Pru nodded and turned away. She took a step, then paused to swing her gaze around the room that was empty of all but their father’s desk and three mismatched chairs—one behind the desk, and two in front. “I shall miss the books.”
Edwina heard the quaver in her sister’s voice and strove for a lighter tone. “I don’t know why. You read every one of them.”
But Pru didn’t seem to hear. “They were like friends. I felt safe among them.”
Safe. Something twisted in Edwina’s chest. Guilt, no doubt. She wanted to blurt out that those days of hiding—under beds, behind drapes, inside the pages of books—were over. She had a plan. A desperate, foolish, outrageous plan that was already in motion and, if successful, would allow them a new start far away from this place of destruction and despair.
It wasn’t just the war-torn South Edwina hoped to escape but their own desperate childhoods. Years ago Pru had been Edwina’s protector—and would bear the scars from that selfless act for the rest of her life. Now it was Edwina’s turn to step out from behind her sister’s skirts and do what she must to save them both.
Again, that feeling of liberation swept through her. She might be leaping from the fat into the fire, but at least for that brief moment she hung suspended between the two, she would be totally free. Clasping her hands once more at her waist, she stiffened her back and lifted her chin. “I’m ready, Pru. Send them in.”
A scant fifteen minutes later, the papers were signed and witnessed. Rose Hill Plantation was now the property of Bayou Bank & Trust of Sycamore Parish, to be auctioned off at a later date for back taxes.
Before the ink had dried, Edwina was slipping out the office door and down the veranda steps into the south lawn.
Hardly a lawn anymore. Mostly ragweed and dandelions. More weeds choked the azalea and camellia beds. The crepe myrtles had been left untended for so long they hardly bloomed anymore, and the arbor where she and Pru had hidden from Mother was now a tangled mass of ropey wisteria vines. With no one left to fight back the undergrowth, Rose Hill, like most of the grand houses throughout southern Louisiana, was slowly falling into neglect, disappearing beneath a mountain of untamed vegetation.
Blood was an excellent fertilizer, Edwina had heard.
Chased by so many memories and emotions she couldn’t separate one from the other, she quickened her pace. By the time she reached the resting place on the rise above the bayou, she was almost running.
The gate creaked as she pushed it open. Slowing to catch her breath, she followed the weed-choked path past the raised vaults of all those who had lived and died at Rose Hill. Here, in this quiet place, nothing changed. The same birds nested among the wide, glossy leaves of the magnolias. The same squirrels scurried by with their acorns. The stately oak still stood guard over the dead, its outstretched arms trailing long streamers of moss like gray tattered scarves.
When she came to the newest graves, where the lime-washed concrete was still starkly white, unscarred by war and time, she sank down on a stone bench and dropped her head into her hands.
It was over. Gone. Her home, this resting place, an entire way of life . . . lost with the signing of her name.
“Daddy, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
After a while, disgusted with herself for giving way to useless tears, she blotted her cheeks and straightened. She had cried and wrung her hands for years, and it had gotten her nothing. Now she would do what she must to protect herself and Pru, even if that meant going all the way to Colorado Territory.
Gathering what courage she had left, she pulled the letter from her pocket and broke the seal.
A bank draft and several railroad vouchers slipped from a folded piece of paper and into her lap. Edwina carefully studied them. One voucher was for passage on the Texas and New Orleans Railroad dated five days hence. Another was for a later date on the Missouri Pacific, and the third was for the Colorado and Nevada.
It’s happening, she thought, her heart starting to pound. It’s really happening. With trembling fingers, she unfolded the sheet of paper.
I accept your terms. Enclosed find train vouchers and travel funds. I will meet you in Heartbreak Creek on the eleventh of April, 1870. Bring proxy papers. Brodie.
Edwina stifled a sudden urge to break into hysterical laughter. Or maybe wails of despair. It didn’t matter which. It was done. Her fate was sealed. Within less than a month, she would serve herself up like a timorous virgin to a man she had never met, in a place she had never been, for a purpose that made her cringe.
Except, of cours
e, she was neither timorous nor a virgin, and this time, she knew exactly what was in store for her.
A shadow passed overhead, and Edwina looked up to see a brown pelican wing by, the pouch beneath its beak full. She doubted they had pelicans in Colorado. Or magnolias, or shrimp gumbo, or long sultry days when even the alligators didn’t venture far from the slow, murky waters.
But they had mountains. And snow. And since she had never seen either, she at least had that to look forward to.
“You’re what?”
Pru’s voice had risen to a near shriek. Her eyes were as round as a carp’s, and her brows had moved halfway up to her tight dark curls as she’d stared at the papers in her hands.
It might have been comical had Edwina been in a laughing mood. Hoping to avoid arguments, she had planned to put off this confrontation until tomorrow, the day before their departure. But her sister had found the proxy papers, so Edwina was forced to tell her all.
“A mail-order bride.” Edwina flopped down on the narrow bed in the room they shared in Mrs. Hebert’s boardinghouse. “It’s the perfect solution. And please don’t try to talk me out of it, because as you can see by those papers, the deed is already done.”
“You’re married?”
“This morning. In Judge Aucoin’s chambers. His assistant stood as witness. It was all rather humdrum.” And somewhat sordid, but she didn’t mention that. She’d been through one grand wedding. She certainly didn’t need another.
