The Brides of the Old West: Five Romantic Adventures from the American Frontier

by Peggy Darty, Darlene Franklin, Sally Laity, Nancy Lavo

  She frowned, still perplexed. “I’m not busy just now.”

  “Good.” A tiny flicker of hope coursed through him. He breathed a quick prayer that the Lord would loosen his tongue. “I must have asked at a hundred gold camps if anyone had seen you or knew of you. I was just about to give up, when you appeared out of the blue, just down the street.”

  Her expression remained fixed.

  “I’ve been wanting very much to apologize,” he went on, “for the callous things I said that day at the river. They were rude and completely uncalled for.”

  Amanda moved nearer the swinging doors and sank slowly to one of the chairs occupying either side of them. “Really, Mr. Holloway, the incident has long since been forgotten, I assure you.”

  “Not by me, it hasn’t.” He paused. “Do you mind if I sit down?”

  “Oh. Not at all.” She indicated the other chair.

  Noticing the absence of a wedding band during her gesture, Seth thought it odd, but figured her preferences were none of his business. Obviously Hill must be an addlebrain, unconcerned about letting the world know she was taken. “As I was saying, I came to tell you how sorry I am. My partner seemed to take singular pleasure in pointing out what a cad I was—which is true. It’s gnawed at me ever since.”

  “Well, pray, suffer no more, then. I accept your apology.” A tiny smile softened her face, revealing a touch of her old feisty spirit. He didn’t realize how much he’d missed it. Missed her.

  “Splendid.” Swallowing, Seth stood to his feet. “Then I won’t keep you from your work any longer. Thank you for hearing me out. I wish you well.”

  “And you,” she whispered.

  Watching him cross to the door, Amanda rose, still in shock over his sudden appearance. “Mr. Holloway?” He paused, his hand on the latch, and turned.

  “Since you’ve come so far, and all… might I offer you some tea?” At her rash invitation, Amanda felt her knees wobble as she rose. The whole thing seemed unreal, dreamlike.

  “That would be… kind. Yes, thank you.”

  She waved toward the chair again. “I’ll be only a moment. I had some brewing in the back room.” Hastening there, she filled two cups and returned. By sheer determination she willed her hand not to tremble as she gave one of the cups to him. There was certainly no reason to be nervous.

  “Thank you.”

  “I don’t see any familiar faces in town,” she said, noting the presence of circles under his dark eyes, a day or two’s growth of beard. And his boots were dusty. He really must have been traveling. For some unaccountable reason, she thought that was sweet. Touching. She felt her face growing warm. He couldn’t be the ogre she had painted him after all. His gaze, wandering about the premises, returned to her. “This your place?”

  She nodded, gathering herself. “Didn’t you see the sign?”

  “I wasn’t paying much attention.”

  “Oh. Well, it was Sarah’s and mine, until she left.”

  “Left?” He raised the tea to his mouth.

  “Moved, actually. To Mount Shasta, after she and Jared married.”

  He swallowed too quickly and choked, and some of the scalding brew spilled over on his hand. The cup crashed to the floor and shattered in a thousand pieces as russet spokes of tea stained the plank floor. He knelt to collect the shards. “How clumsy. Sorry.”

  Amanda was more concerned about him. “But you’ve burned yourself. Let me look at it.” Before he could argue, she knelt beside him and took his work-roughened hand in hers. Gently she unraveled the clenched fingers, turning them this way and that to assess the reddened skin. “It’s not”—she raised her lashes, finding his face mere inches from her own—“not too bad.” The last words were barely audible.

  She released her hold even as her face turned every bit as scarlet as his burn. Why had she been so impetuous? This man somehow managed to bring out the absolute worst in her—and had since the first time their paths had crossed a summer ago. She’d never been more humiliated… unless she counted those half-dozen other times she’d been in his presence. She tried to regather her dignity while easing graciously back onto her chair seat.

  He sputtered into a laugh. Then roared.

  Hiking her chin, Amanda turned her back. Perhaps he wasn’t the gentleman she’d thought she’d glimpsed mere moments ago. “I’ll thank you not to make fun of me.”

  “Oh, I’d never make fun of you, Amanda,” he said in all sincerity. “I promise you that.”

  It was the first time he had ever called her by her given name. And it sounded so—different, in that raspy voice of his. Her heart hammered erratically against her ribs as she turned and shyly met his gaze.

  He wasn’t laughing now… but a strange almost-smile caught at her, stealing her breath. “You truly came all this way just to see me?” she asked in wonder.

  “Mostly. I’m trying to acquire some good horseflesh for my new venture, so I answer every advertisement I come across. But in my travels, I’ve been looking for you.” He reached to brush a few stray hairs from her temple as his intense gaze focused on her eyes. “Everywhere.”

  Her mouth went dry. “That’s—that’s really—” Unable to think straight, she moistened her lips.

  “I thought I could forget you, Amanda Shelby,” he continued. “Tried my hardest to. Drove Red crazy with my mutterings. That day I saw you turn off the trail, I figured you would be marrying that widower. Even when I saw you today, I thought you’d become his wife by now.” His face blanched. “Or someone else’s. Are you promised to anyone?”

  She shook her head, wondering where this was all leading, fearing the hope that it could go anywhere at all. And did she want it to?

  “Good.” He appeared visibly relieved. “Then I might as well go for broke. If I were to stay on at the hotel here for a while—” He swallowed nervously. “What I mean is, would you be opposed to being courted? By me?”

  Amanda felt suddenly light-headed and took hold of a spindle of the chair to steady herself. “Aren’t you forgetting the matter of my being—how did you put it—brainless and foolhardy, wasn’t it?”

  Seth had the grace to smile, though it was tinged with more than a little guilt. “I deserve that. I’ve been unbearably thoughtless to you. But I know now that I was way off course, Amanda. After you drove off the trail and out of my life, I had to face up to the way I’d mistreated you—and forsaken the Lord. I finally sought His forgiveness and then knew that to have true peace I needed to seek yours as well. I’m no longer the man you met in Independence. I’ve changed. Because of you. I’m asking for a chance to undo that bad impression I made on you… if you’ll allow me to.”

  Looking at him, Amanda could see how vulnerable he was. There had been a considerable amount of ill feeling between them, but thinking back, she could recall sensing almost from the onset of the journey west that he was trustworthy and honest. He affected her in ways she’d never before experienced, stirred chords within her soul as no man she had ever known. And she felt profound inner peace about his offer, because for longer than she cared to admit, she had been in love with Seth Holloway.

  All things considered, she had only one choice… to be honest in return. “I would be truly honored, Seth, to have you court me.”

  His vulnerability evaporated, leaving a fragile hopefulness in its place. He expelled a ragged breath and drew her close, close to the beating of his heart. “I promise you, Amanda, you will never be sorry.”

  Raising her lashes, Amanda tipped her head back, needing to glimpse again the intensity of the love he made no effort to disguise. Seeing it, she smiled.

  Seth held her gaze for a heartbeat, then slowly lowered his head, until his lips were barely a breath from hers. Then with tenderest reverence, he kissed her.

  Amanda felt her heart sing and wanted the moment to last forever. But all too soon he eased away.

  “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he murmured huskily.

  “And I wish
ed for a long time that you had.” The remark came in all honesty.

  He wrapped his arms about her just as the bell above the door tinkled, announcing a customer.

  Seth took a step back, and a comical spark of mischief glinted in his dark eyes. “Well, thank you kindly, miss,” he said with a mock bow. “That’s mighty friendly service, I must say. I’ll be by later for that new shirt.” With that, he exited, whistling.

  Amanda smiled after him. Yes, come back later, my love. I’ll be here waiting.

  Sally Laity has written both historical and contemporary novels, including a coauthored series for Tyndale House, nine Heart-song romances, and twelve Barbour novellas. She considers it a joy to know that the Lord can touch other hearts through her stories. Her favorite pastimes include quilting for her church’s Prayer Quilt Ministry and scrapbooking. She makes her home in the beautiful Tehachapi Mountains of Southern California with her husband of over fifty years and enjoys being a grandma and a great-grandma.

  Lessons in Love

  by Nancy Lavo

  DEDICATION

  To Debra and Louis, precious friends and wonderful role models of courage and strength. And in loving memory of Casey, their daughter, a seven-year-old freckle-faced spirit whose too-short life inspired so many.

  What glorious reunion heaven will be!

  CHAPTER 1

  Danger.

  Frissons of energy, like icy fingers, shot up Luke’s spine. Every nerve in his body was on alert. Life on the fringes gave a man a sixth sense about danger, and right now that sense was screaming life and death.

  Luke scanned the area. Though in the deepening shadows of twilight it appeared he was alone, the feeling of imminent danger intensified. He nudged his horse through the swaying grasses toward the copse of trees fifty yards ahead, slowing as he reached the perimeter. Without a sound he dismounted, pulled his rifle from his saddle, and crept through the tangle of mesquite to the other side. At the sound of voices, he froze.

  “Is he dead?”

  “How would I know? Check his pockets. See how much he’s carrying.”

  Not ten feet from where Luke stood, two men, their backs to him, crouched over a third man lying motionless on the ground. Luke stepped out from the trees and cocked his rifle. “Move away from him.”

  They whirled around to face Luke. The first man, scarecrow-thin and clad in tattered butternuts, pulled a pistol and fired. Luke was faster. He fired, felling the gunman. His stunned companion didn’t appear to suffer from an overabundance of loyalty, and without a backward glance he sprinted to his horse, scrambled into the saddle, and galloped off.

  Luke stepped over the body of his would-be assailant to kneel at the side of the unconscious victim. He was a large man, probably in his late forties. His cotton shirt was torn and dirty, but dry. No sign of a gunshot wound. Luke’s gently probing fingers located an egg-sized lump on the back of his head. Not fatal, but sure to bring on a headache like a mule kick.

  The man stirred, blinking twice in an effort to focus. “What—?” He stiffened at the sight of Luke.

  “I won’t hurt you.”

  “Two men,” he gasped. “Ambush.”

  Luke laid a calming hand on the agitated man’s chest. “They won’t bother you now.”

  Unconvinced, he pushed Luke’s hand away and struggled to a sitting position, his glance falling on the body beside him. His eyes darted back to Luke. “Where’s the other one?”

  “Rode off.”

  The man relaxed then and lowered himself to the ground. He closed his eyes to digest the information. After a long silence, he reopened them, leveling his gaze on Luke. “You saved my life.”

  Luke shrugged.

  “Not many folks around here would stick their necks out like that.” He shook his head, wincing as the bump on his head met the hard ground. “These are sad times for Texas. Since the war, we’ve been overrun with thieves. Bad enough the carpetbaggers are stealing us blind, but when our own turn on us…” His voice drifted off.

  The man pushed himself back up and squinted at Luke, studying him in the falling shadows. “I don’t know you.” The statement wasn’t unfriendly, merely curious. “New to the area or just passing through?”

  Luke didn’t have a good answer so he shrugged again.

  His reticence didn’t slow the other man down. “We could use a man like you around here. Somebody good with a gun to stand for law and order. My neighbors and I got us a ranchers’ association. We’d pay top dollar for your services. We’d make it worth your while to settle here.”

  Luke wondered if that offer would stand in the light of day. “Not looking to stay.”

  The man considered him a moment before speaking. “I understand. If you ever change your mind, you look me up at the Double-L Ranch.” He extended a beefy hand. “I’m Jed Crandall.”

  “Jed.” Luke nodded his acknowledgment. “I’m Luke.”

  Despair was not an option.

  How many times had she told herself those very words? Despair was not an option when war broke out and claimed the lives of her older brothers. Despair was not an option when she lost her parents to grief and her family home to fire. Deborah had stood fast in the face of each crisis, knowing her younger brother depended on her to be strong.

  Deborah raised her grime-streaked face to the horizon—to her future—and swallowed hard. Despair might not be an option, but it was surely a temptation.

  “Is that it?” an excited voice squeaked from the wagon. “Is that our new home?”

  Somehow, home seemed too fine a word for the primitive log structure. Shanty. Shack. Hovel. Deborah thought those would be more accurate descriptions of the desolate site.

  Her brother released a long, contented sigh. “It’s the Promised Land. Just like you said.”

  Deborah stared into her brother’s freckled face. Was he serious? His front-toothless grin assured her he was. The depthless imagination and optimism of a seven-year-old boy was staggering. She found herself smiling back at him, in spite of serious misgivings.

  “Shall we go on then? Shall we inspect our new home?”

  Case whooped his response, and Deborah urged the team of oxen into motion. They passed through a broken gate in the ramshackle split-rail fence and entered the yard of packed dirt and tall clumps of bright green weeds. She led the creaking wagon up the dusty rutted road to the house and halted the team in front of the porch.

  The house did not improve on closer inspection.

  “Can we go in?” Case asked. “Can I see where I’m going to sleep?”

  “In a minute, dearest. Let me catch my breath.”

  Deborah loosened her heavy black bonnet and pulled it off her head, leaving it to dangle by the ribbons. A cooling gentle spring breeze whispered across her forehead and stirred the tendrils of hair on her neck. She removed a dusty linen handkerchief from her pocket and swiped at the sheen of perspiration at her hairline.

  Now that they were finally here, her first order of business would be to peel off a few heavy layers of clothes. That and a bath. And not just a quick sponge bath at the bank of a creek, but a full sink-down-to-your-neck bath, the kind she hadn’t enjoyed since they left Louisiana.

  “Have you caught it yet? Your breath, I mean?”

  Deborah turned to her impatient brother and chuckled. “I have. Are you ready to go in?” Not that the answer wasn’t written across his impish face.

  He scooted to the wagon’s edge where she caught him under the arms and carefully lifted him down. He staggered before finding his balance. Once stabilized, he slowly made his way across the hard-packed dirt to the plank porch. His awkward gait made progress slow, but his wide smile never faltered.

  The scarred wooden door of the house was slightly ajar. Though she knew the house was theirs, Deborah felt uneasy about entering. Her brother suffered no such qualms. He pushed open the door and stepped inside, his sister at his heels. “Welcome home,” he called brightly.

  They paused just in
side the door to allow their eyes to adjust to the shadowy interior. Case found his voice first. “It doesn’t look much like the Promised Land, does it?”

  Deborah couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry. Case was correct. Their dream house wasn’t a dream. It was a nightmare.

  They were standing in a hall, some seven feet wide, which ran the length of the house, front to back. Square openings in the mud-chinked walls on the left and right led into rooms. But it was not the length of the hall, or the size of the rooms that held Deborah’s attention. It was the filth.

  The hallway was littered with dried leaves, broken furniture, tin cans, and heaven only knew what else. Deborah shuddered as something small and furry darted out from behind a pile of refuse and scurried down the hall in the opposite direction.

  “Maybe it’s better in there,” Case suggested, pointing to the room on the right.

  Slowly and somewhat reluctantly, they picked their way through the trash to the opening and stood there, studying the first room. No improvement. This room, obviously the kitchen, was also a disaster. A large cast-iron stove stood along the far wall. Two tall windows flanked the stove, but the thick film on the panes of glass prevented light from pouring in. Toward the center of the room was a wooden table and two chairs. Two more chairs, each missing a leg and part of the back, were lying in a heap beside the table. Trash was scattered everywhere. More leaves, fragments of pottery and paper, and empty cans covered the floor and tabletop.

  They crossed the hall to the room on the left and found more of the same. Leaves and twigs carpeted the floor. Skeletal remains of furniture lay in dusty heaps. Ashes and charred remnants of logs clogged the opening of the large smoke-blackened stone fireplace on the far wall.

  Deborah was so stunned by the degree of deterioration, she had forgotten her brother’s presence until she heard him squeal.

  “Look, Debs. A loft.” He pointed to the second-story room opening onto the area where they stood. He eyed the rickety ladder longingly. “I’ll bet that’s where the beds are. Do you suppose I can sleep up there?”