“It’s not your fault,” Angele comforted the woman, knowing she had been forced into all of it. And, at last, the pieces of the horrible puzzle were starting to come together.
And as she continued to kneel by Ryan and hold his hand, she could only hope that she had been wrong about something else, too…that she had been wrong in believing he didn’t love her.
It was late in the day when Ryan awoke. Dr. Pardee had given him a strong dose of laudanum to help him endure the removal of the bullet from his shoulder. He had to sleep it off, he told Angele and Roussel, and then he would be fine in a few days.
When Ryan opened his eyes, Angele was there to wait fearfully for his reaction when he saw her. Then, to her delight—and in answer to her prayers—a smile spread across his face, and, with his good arm, he folded her against him.
“You’re safe,” he whispered huskily. “Thank God. I was afraid I wouldn’t get there in time to keep Roscoe from taking you wherever he planned to. Can you forgive me for letting this happen to you?”
“But it wasn’t your fault,” she protested. “You didn’t know…”
“I knew things weren’t the way I wanted them to be for us, and I didn’t do anything about it. Clarice told me you hated it here…that you wanted to leave. Then the baby—”
“Ryan…” she blurted then, anxious to tell him. “Selma told me how Clarice made her lie and make you think I knew I was pregnant. But I didn’t. And it was Roscoe who helped me with the horse. He said you told him to—because you knew I’d be thrown, and you wanted me to lose the baby. You wanted to be free of me.”
“That’s not true.”
He raised his head, made to get up, but she gently pushed him back. “I know that. We were victims of a diabolical scheme, but there will be time to explain all that later.”
“Then it’s not too late for us,” All the strength of his love for her shone in his eyes. “Not if you love me as I love you.”
“I do, Ryan. I do,” she said fervently. “But you may not want me when I tell you how I deceived you in the worst possible way.” They were alone, and she knew it was time to confide all of it…everything about her past.
He lifted his hand to brush a tendril of hair back from her face. “Then tell me. It can’t be so awful.”
“But it is.” She closed her eyes for a long, heart-stopping moment, then said the words in a rush before she could lose her nerve. “I’m not pure French. I let you believe I was, but the truth is, my father was English.
“And there’s more…” Once she began talking, all the secrets came tumbling out—how her uncle had betrayed her father, driving him to suicide, then brutally raping her and causing her and her mother to flee, destitute, to Paris.
Wincing as he shared her pain, Ryan put his finger to her lips. “It doesn’t matter. I only wish you’d told me sooner, but then maybe it might have. Who’s to say? The only thing I know is that I love you, and I always will, and I don’t care what kind of blood flows in your veins…as long as your love for me flows in your heart.”
“It does, my darling,” she avowed, leaning closer for his kiss. “And it always will.”
Epilogue
Angele was in the ballroom, making sure all the Christmas decorations were in place.
“It sure looks pretty,” Selma said, marveling at the greenery intertwined with holly sprigs. “And I just hope I’ll be here tonight to see all the folks dressed up in their holiday finery.”
Angele pointed at Selma’s very large tummy. “I can’t believe you’re even here now. You look like you swallowed a watermelon.”
“Two watermelons,” Ryan laughed as he walked through the arched doorway. “Is everything ready?”
“I think so.” Angele lifted her cheek for his kiss.
“Then come outside with me. I’ve got a surprise for you.” He was smiling mysteriously, and Angele took his hand, excited as a child awaiting the arrival of Saint Nick. It was her first Christmas at BelleRose, and she was enjoying every minute.
He squeezed her hand. “Happy, darling?”
“Yes, but—”
“But what?” he asked, alarmed to see her sudden frown.
“I just can’t help thinking about little Danny.”
“Don’t worry. I saw to it that lots of toys were delivered to Corbett and Clarice’s house.”
“Are they terribly unhappy?” she asked worriedly.
“As unhappy as they deserve to be, I suppose. They have a comfortable house in Richmond, but it’s far from a mansion. You know I paid for that. And Corbett has a job tending bar in one of the saloons, and I hear Clarice is working as a maid. That has to be quite a comeuppance for them both.”
They walked across the foyer and out the front door to the porch.
Angele thought of Roscoe, how he’d been caught a few days after shooting Ryan. Ryan had not wanted revenge but told him if he ever saw him again, he’d kill him. Evidently Roscoe believed he meant it—as she did—for he seemed to have disappeared.
As for Selma, Ryan had made her and all the slaves promise never to have anything to do with helping runaways again. BelleRose would remain an entity within itself, he insisted, and would not become involved with problems from the world outside.
Angele was impatient to see Ryan’s surprise. “Will you please hurry?” She jabbed him playfully in his ribs. “I’ve got to start getting dressed for the party.”
Just then, Toby came around the side of the house from the stables. He was leading the most beautiful horse Angele had ever seen.
With her lips parting in wonder, she let go of Ryan’s hand and walked slowly down the steps. “He…he looks like Vertus,” she said, awed. “Vertus was my horse in England, remember? I told you about him, and—”
She stopped walking, cocking her head to one side as she took a closer look. “It…it can’t be.” She took the last few steps. “He looks so much like him, but there is no way…”
And then the horse threw back his head and let out a loud whinny of greeting…and love.
“Dear God…Ryan…it is him. It’s Vertus.”
She ran to throw her arms around the horse’s neck, and he tried to nuzzle her as she hugged him. “How did you ever find him? How were you able to buy him from my uncle?”
Ryan went to stand beside her as he proudly explained how he had hired several men in Richmond to go to England—to Foxwood—and persuade Henry to give up the horse. “They were very large men,” he laughed. “Henry didn’t give them much of an argument.
“So, my sweet,” he slipped his arms around her from behind to hold her close against him. “Merry Christmas. Now you can ride to your heart’s content.”
“No, I can’t.” She turned about, putting her hands behind his neck. “Not for a while. But I can still enjoy having Vertus, knowing he’s mine…”
Ryan blinked, confused. “I don’t understand.”
“You will,” she smiled. “In about six months…because that’s when you’ll receive your Christmas present from me.”
With a cry of delight, Ryan grabbed her and kissed her for long, breathless moments.
Then, hand in hand, they went to tell Roussel the wonderful news, at last.
His first grandchild would be born at BelleRose in the spring…to parents who would love each other forever.
About the Author
Maggie James aka Patricia Hagan might be the New York Times bestselling author of 38 novels and 2500 short stories, but she can also lay claim to being among the vanguard of women writers covering NASCAR stock-car racing. The first woman granted garage passes to major speedways, she has awards in TV commentary, newspaper and magazine articles, and for several years wrote and produced a twice-weekly racing program heard on 42 radio stations in the south.
Patricia’s books have been translated into many languages, and she has made promotional trips to Europe, including England, France, Italy, Norway, Greece, Turkey, Croatia, Spain and Ireland.
Hagan’s excit
ing eight-book Coltrane saga, which spans from the Civil War to the Russian Revolution, has appeared on every major bestseller list and is one of the most popular series published in France, never having been out-of-print in that country in nearly 30 years.
Born in Atlanta, Georgia, Patricia grew up all across the United States due to her father’s position as a federal attorney, finally settling in Alabama where she graduated from the University of Alabama with a major in English. She now resides with her husband in south Florida where she volunteers as a Court-appointed Guardian Ad Litem for abused children.
But of all her accolades and accomplishments, Patricia most of all loves to boast of being the proud mom of a Navy SEAL.
Look for these titles by Patricia Hagan
Now Available:
Texas Lucky
Writing as Patricia Hagan
Souls Aflame
Passion’s Fury
This Savage Heart
Love’s Wine
Midnight Rose
Heaven in a Wildflower
The Coltrane Saga
Love and War
The Raging Hearts
Love and Glory
Love and Fury
Love and Splendor
Love and Dreams
Love and Honor
Love and Triumph
Coming Soon:
My Irish Love
Arizona Gold
An unexpected journey leads to the love of her life…
Texas Lucky
© 2013 Maggie James
On her way out West to marry a man she had never met, Tess Partridge found herself a prisoner in a makeshift jail. Her cellmate, darkly handsome Curt Hammond, was a man accused of cold-blooded murder. Bonded together through their captivity, they must go their separate ways when they make their escape.
Alone on a strange, unforgiving frontier, Tess must find a way to survive—and thrive. And when chance brings Curt back into her life, Tess is no longer able to deny her love for him.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Texas Lucky:
The stagecoach struck another gopher hole in the road, and Tess bounced so high she nearly struck her head on the roof. Her bonnet slipped to one side, and just as she tried to straighten it, she was thrown to the side.
“Gracious, Sam, do we have to go so fast?” She leaned out the window to call up to the driver. “I’m getting bumped to pieces down here.”
He spat a wad of tobacco juice, and she ducked back just in time to avoid being hit as he yelled down, “We’re almost there, missy. I guess the horses smell that cold beer a-waitin’, ’cause it’s all I can do to hold ’em back.”
“Cold beer, indeed,” she muttered with a disgusted sniff, settling back against the worn leather seat. Out of all the drivers she had encountered during the arduous trip west from Philadelphia, Sam Conch had been the most uncouth. His partner, Rooney Wessner, was no better. They were both as dirty and unkempt as the stagecoach itself, but since they were private hire, she supposed she could not expect much better. After all, the stationmaster back in Prescott had explained how difficult it was to get to her destination—a watering hole, as he had called it, for prospectors in from the desert and drovers traveling to and from cattle drives. Devil’s Eye, Arizona, she had been told, was truly in the middle of nowhere.
Glumly, she stared out at the desert glistening in the late afternoon heat of the April sun. Giant saguaro cactus with their fluted columns of plant flesh, shaped and sized in as many different ways as humans, dotted the landscape in every direction. In the distance, a vast carpet of verbena and golden poppies trailed up the mountain slopes.
It all looked so lonely and desolate, which was exactly how she felt, for it had not been a journey she had wanted to make. Still, she was anxious to get it over with, anxious to meet Saul Beckwith…the man her father had sold her to.
Sold.
It was an ugly description of the situation, but she could think of it in no other way, because that was exactly what her father had done. He had taken money from Saul Beckwith in exchange for forcing her to marry him.
Her father had said she should be grateful he had arranged the union. After all, at nineteen, Tess appeared destined for spinsterhood, but not because men found her unattractive. Actually, she had always been too busy for suitors, as running the household for her widowed father and caring for her younger brother, Perry, took up all her time, and potential swains had turned their attention to young ladies without family responsibilities.
The last four years had been particularly burdensome due to her father having gone away, like most able-bodied men in Pennsylvania, to fight for the Union in the Civil War. But she had managed, looking forward to the day when the war would end and things would settle down to normal.
Normalcy, however, was not to be, for when her father did return, he was nursing a serious wound, his health declining.
Fearing he might not live long, Jasper Partridge had wanted to make sure his family would be taken care of after he was gone, and Tess was horrified when he announced that he had made arrangements for her marriage. But he assured her that Saul Beckwith, a man he had met during the war, would make her a fine husband. Saul needed a young, healthy wife to bear the many children he wanted, as well as share his life in Arizona prospecting for silver. He was a widower, having gone west before the war, and his sickly wife had been unable to withstand the hardships there and died.
Tess had begged her father to change his mind, but one night when he had been drinking to try to quell the pain of his wounds, he admitted Saul had paid him. And money, he’d said, was what he desperately needed, for he now also had the burden of providing for his sister, Elmina, who had been widowed in the war. Therefore, Tess getting married was the ideal solution. Elmina could take over the house and the rearing of Perry, and Tess would not be an old maid after all.
She squeezed her eyes shut against the painful memory of the night her brother had crept into her room to kneel beside her bed and cry unashamedly in his misery over both their fates. Aunt Elmina had no children of her own and no patience with anyone else’s. She was mean-spirited, bad-tempered, and they both knew his life with her would be unbearable.
“I’ll send for you,” Tess had vowed, gathering him in her arms as they wept together. “I’ll find a way just as soon as I can. I swear it.”
Tess liked to think that as the time for her to leave for Arizona had crept ever closer, she would have been able to persuade her father to renege on his agreement, for he actually seemed to be having second thoughts. But all hope ended the night he died in his sleep, and her aunt could not send Tess on her way fast enough.
But maybe, she told herself—and not for the first time—it wouldn’t be so bad after all. Maybe Saul Beckwith really was a kind man and they would have a nice life together, even though she had not been able to stretch her optimism to think she might ever love him. And she fully intended to do her best to be a good wife from the very start so he would yield to her request to send for Perry as soon as possible.
She wondered when the wedding would take place. She had sent Mr. Beckwith a wire two days earlier from the territorial capitol of Prescott, just as he had instructed in his letter when he had enclosed her tickets. No doubt he was planning on having the ceremony right away. After all, it was a matter of propriety after having traveled so far all by herself. Decorum demanded that he make her his wife as soon as possible after her arrival.
The stage hit another hole, and this time Tess was almost thrown to the floor. She dared to lean out to protest again, and that was when she saw what looked like a town just ahead.
“Is that it?” she called, but without enthusiasm. She had no excitement at all, for every beat of her heart was another stroke of dread.
“Yeah, that’s it,” Sam confirmed in his loud, robust voice as he popped the reins over the horses’ rumps to set them into a wild, frenzied gallop.
Beside him, Rooney took off his hat to wave as he shouted, �
�Yah-hoo! Devil’s Eye, Arizona. Wildest women and best whiskey in the West, and here I come to get me a bait of both.”
Tess drew back inside with a shudder but only momentarily, for she was anxious to see her new home.
Sam slowed the horses to a walk as they began to pass the jerry-built false-front buildings of unpainted pine that lined the street on both sides.
People stopped to stare, most unable to remember the last time they had seen a stagecoach in Devil’s Eye.
Tess knew she was about to be an object of curiosity and hoped Mr. Beckwith was there to quickly whisk her away.
She looked at her traveling suit—a soft blue velvet gown with matching cape. All the women she could see were wearing plain muslin dresses and wide-brimmed bonnets that hid most of their faces. None of the outfits she had brought were as ordinary, but maybe Mr. Beckwith would buy new ones for her so she would not feel so out of place.
“Whoa, now,” Sam called to the horses with a final yank of the reins. “We’re here. And Lordy, I can hear the beer calling.”
He jumped down and opened the door for Tess.
She took his hand, though she would have preferred not to, as she glanced about in hopes that one of the staring men would claim her. But, after seeing how rough and dirty they looked, she found herself hoping none of them would.
Sam had stopped the stage in front of a saloon. Rooney had already disappeared inside, and Tess could hear the men’s voices and women’s laughter over the sound of a tinny piano.
Sam made a clamor taking her trunk down, and when he set it on the boardwalk next to her, she whispered, “Did you have to stop here? Couldn’t you have gone to the way station?”
He spat another wad of tobacco juice. “Nope. ’Cause there ain’t one.”
He stared past her, and she caught his arm. “But where can I go to wait for the gentleman I’m to meet?”
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