The Courageous Brides Collection

by Johnnie Alexander, Michelle Griep, Eileen Key, Debby Lee, Rose Allen McCauley, Donita Kathleen Paul, Jennifer Uhlarik, Jenness Walker, Renee Yancy

  An Everlasting Promise

  by Eileen Key

  For the mountains shall depart, and the hills be removed;

  but my kindness shall not depart from thee,

  neither shall the covenant of my peace be removed,

  saith the LORD that hath mercy on thee.

  ISAIAH 54:10

  Chapter One

  Texas 1890

  Aunt Susan?” Veronica Fergus leaned over the bed and tucked wispy strands of gray hair behind her aunt’s ear. So tiny. The tough prairie woman with the booming voice now lay clutching a threadbare quilt, her blue-veined eyelids fluttering. “Aunt Susan?”

  A smile tilted one side of Susan’s dry cracked lips. “Go home.”

  Veronica leaned in closer, her brow furrowed. “I can’t—”

  “Go …” Susan coughed a stale breath. Veronica lifted her aunt’s head. Susan’s rheumy blue eyes darted about the room. “Home.” She closed them and sighed, nestling back into the pillow.

  Veronica tucked the quilt in tighter against the bedroom’s chill and propped her elbow on the headboard. Go home. What lovely words. But maybe her aunt meant she was going home—heaven home. Veronica stroked the soft hair, a sob strangling in her throat. Her father had deposited her with Aunt Susan over a year ago with the promise to return within a month, two at the most. But he’d not come back. And now Aunt Susan was leaving. A tear tipped over her eyelashes and trailed down her right cheek. Veronica swiped it with the back of her hand. She straightened and smoothed her skirt.

  With a glance at the rise and fall of Aunt Susan’s chest, Veronica pushed away from the bed and stepped into the small kitchen. The smell of coffee too long in the pot stung her nose. She poked at the dying embers in the fireplace and dropped in more wood. By morning she’d need to split a few more logs. She placed her hand in the small of her back and pressed hard. After three weeks sitting, watching her aunt wither away, her body cried out for rest, but there was none to be had. No one else to call upon. Her family did for themselves. That’s how she and her dad had built their ranch—her home.

  A pitiful wail mewed from the bedroom. Veronica dashed to the bedside and grasped Aunt Susan’s hand, wincing when the old woman’s nails dug into her palm. Her aunt struggled to raise up. “Ronnie, go home.” Susan lay back, a raspy rattle deep in her throat. She looked at Veronica and closed her eyes. One more crackling breath, and she was gone.

  Gone…home.

  Tears streamed down Veronica’s cheeks. She tugged the quilt over the small frame and shuffled to the kitchen table, her chest tight as she struggled for breath. It was as though her aunt’s gasps now filled her body. Ronnie. The nickname clapped on her by her daddy had finally escaped her aunt’s lips. She had longed to hear the word for the last few lonely months, but Aunt Susan wasn’t one for terms of endearment or nicknames.

  Veronica folded her arms atop the table and laid her head down. “I need a few minutes.” She sighed, tears trickling, and her nose running. Just a few moments.

  “Then I’m going home.”

  Dust swirled around the bawling cattle, and Seth McKenzie pulled the kerchief tighter against his face. He blinked furiously and swiveled in the saddle. Despite the heat of the day, the dust, and the long road ahead, he smiled. He’d give McCrosky Ranch credit. Fort Worth stockyards would receive some of the finest beef he’d worked in a long time. He settled back into the saddle and nudged Ranger into a trot. Once they got the count in Alvin, stocked up on provisions, and hired a cook—a good cook—they’d head out.

  Some three hundred miles north, he’d be done. Maybe for a long time. Seth sighed. He reined up beside Ernie, his head drover.

  “Tighten up.” He pointed east. “Drive them into the third corral.”

  The wizened cowboy raised a hand and circled his horse, lariat flying high and slapping his saddle. “Hiyah! Hiyah.”

  Bawling and tossing their heads, the cows surged forward into the corral. Seth pulled up short at the gate, removed the kerchief, and watched the herd. Mamas and babies pushed through the opening and bawled their displeasure at the fence line. With the three corrals filled, Mr. Miller would count and give Seth a report. He sighed and prayed the tally in Fort Worth would be near about the same.

  “Stick with ’em, Ernie. I’m heading in.” Seth pointed toward the general store, the site for information and supplies.

  Ernie nodded, and Seth turned Ranger in the direction of the store at a slow pace. He took in the clapboard buildings, store, small hotel where he’d bunk for the night, barbershop, and a church at the end of the street. “Wonder if there’s a service this Sunday, boy. Might have to get some preaching and singing in before we head to the wilderness.” He patted his favorite companion’s sweaty neck. He’d had the roan for six years and spilled most of his tales while in the saddle. No one to yell at him or tell him to stop talking back. He’d had enough of that.

  Seth lifted his hat and wiped his brow with his forearm. Setting the hat back on, he nudged the horse to the hitching post and dismounted. He loosened the girth a bit then pulled off his saddlebag and slung it over his shoulder. Three steps led him to the wide boardwalk. He paused and scratched his cheek. Maybe a shave would be in order, too.

  He stepped inside the mercantile and surveyed the room. The smell of peanuts brought up an instant memory: reaching in the barrel for a handful and being popped on the back of the head. He’d never had much taste for them after that. Cheese and crackers. Peppermint and licorice sticks. Every time he came in this building, his mind wandered.

  “Seth.” A stout Mrs. Goodman waved at him. “You got a list for me?” She swung around the corner of the counter and stood before him. “Of course you do. You’re the most prepared cowboy this side of the Mississippi River.”

  Seth leaned forward and pecked her cheek. “You haven’t been to the Mississippi River, Mrs. G. You’re telling a tale.” He grinned. “But I do have a list.” He pulled a notebook from his back pocket and jerked a piece of paper out. “Reckon y’all have all I need, too.”

  He handed the list to her, and she scanned the page, nodding. “Think you’re right.” She squinted back up at Seth. “When you heading out? How much time before you need this packed?”

  Poking his fingers into his pockets, Seth studied the floor. “Before we go, I need us a cook.” He raised a hand. “A good cook.” He grinned broader. “You wouldn’t want to go to Fort Worth, would you? I’ve tasted your apple pie.”

  Mrs. Goodman’s cheeks flushed, and she chuckled. “Get out of here, boy. The only cook I know of is sitting at the café down the street. Rusty Mills can stir up a pan of beans, but he don’t hold up next to my pies.” She stepped back to the counter. “Go tell him I said he needed work, so get to it.” Her eyes gleamed mischievously. “And don’t take no for an answer. My brother has been sitting on his fanny far too long.”

  Seth laughed. “Thanks for the recommendation. Hang on to the order ’til I get our count and a cook.” He tipped his hat. “You’re the best, Mrs. G.” He turned toward the door then paused. “Hey, are there services tomorrow?”

  She nodded. “Same time, same place. And if you want to sit next to us, I’ll feed you roast after.” A sly grin crossed her face. “And possibly some pie.”

  Seth patted his stomach. “Now how can I possibly refuse that invitation? Thank you.” He tipped his hat once again and wandered out the door. He scanned the street and noted the café. Best find Mills and see if he’d hire on. Seth’s mouth watered. “Could he possibly make something worth eating on this trail?”

  Clomping down the steps, he untied Ranger and led him down the street. “Lord, I’m hungry right now, so help me find food, and give me a real cook. Amen.” Prayer in place, he tied the horse up again and headed on his cook quest.

  Journal

  March 29, 1890, Saturday

  Contracted McCrosky with regular pay, hired Ernie Stillman and charged with drovers, herd bedded for count, possible cook, last real bed
for a spell.

  Chapter Two

  Ronnie tied bonnet strings under her chin and surveyed her face in the wavy mirror. Not too bad—other than the crater of dark circles under her eyes. Eight days since the funeral and she was still worn out. Didn’t seem to be much rest in the future she could see. Aunt Susan had sold off most of her furniture to pay doctor bills, and what was left wasn’t worth trucking home. If she had a way home. No wagon, no mule, only an old mare and a worn-out saddle. It would be a long, lonely ride back to Fort Worth. She had enough money to stop over at the hotel there and then ride out to their homestead, but little else.

  A sob threatened. She put her fingers over her lips in an effort to hold it back. “It’s going to be all right. I can do this.” She shivered and plucked her shawl from the nail by the door. “Hot as blazes outside and cold in here.” She arranged the shawl, picked up her reticule, and gave one last glance in the mirror. “I’ll sit with Mrs. Goodman, Aunt Susan’s friend.” She opened the door and stepped into the morning breeze. “Then I won’t feel so alone.”

  The dust stirred about her skirts as she made her way down the street toward church. Last time she’d been inside was for the funeral. Only seven in attendance. Aunt Susan’s crusty side had kept most people away. Except for the Goodman family. Susan smiled. “Good. Man. Yes, that’s what they are.” She stopped in front of the church steps, grasped her skirt, and shook it a bit to freshen it up before trekking inside. Someone collided into her back, and she lurched forward, catching herself on the banister with two hands. She straightened, swiveled, and glared at a man.

  He held out his hands. “Ma’am, I am so sorry. Wasn’t watching where I was going. Hope you aren’t hurt.”

  Nothing but my pride. Ronnie ducked her head and brushed the skirt again, ignoring her stinging palms. “I’m quite all right, sir. But you might pay attention to where you’re going.” She looked at the man. The hat shaded his face. “Excuse me, service is about to begin.” Ronnie jerked about, held her head high, and walked up the stairs. The shadows in the foyer helped cool her cheeks.

  Mrs. Goodman and her family sat on the third pew, left side. Ronnie moved toward them and tapped her on the shoulder. “May I?”

  “Of course, dear.” Mrs. Goodman shuffled over, and Ronnie sat down. Her hands probably held a splinter or two from the fall, but there was no blood. She’d deal with them later.

  A warm breeze blew through the windows and stirred the hair at the edges of her bonnet. Ronnie sighed and felt her shoulders droop, releasing some tension. For the next bit, she would focus on church, not on traveling home. The small, stained-glass window above the cross caught her attention. It painted the pulpit in rainbow colors.

  Someone coughed, and Ronnie looked up. The stranger who had knocked her down stood beside the pew. Mrs. Goodman reached across Ronnie, a broad smile on her face. “Seth, you made it.” She scooted down a bit more and patted the seat. “Come sit between us, young man. I love to hear your deep voice when we sing.”

  The man hung his hat on the end of the pew and stepped across Ronnie’s legs, barely catching her toes. “Excuse me, again, ma’am. Seems we keep bumping into each other.” A lopsided white smile crossed his tanned face. He settled himself in the seat.

  Ronnie could feel the heat crawl into her cheeks. Relax? Focus? With…beside a cowboy? Her heart pounded so loudly she was certain it could be heard throughout the church. The sharp smell of a fresh shave tickled her nose. Her daddy smelled like that after he visited town. Tears stung. She cleared her throat and glanced at the man out of the corner of her eye.

  Broad shoulders had made her scoot to the end of the pew. Fresh britches and a pressed shirt. He seemed clean. She darted a look at his face. And met piercing hazel eyes.

  Seth shifted uncomfortably and looked away from the girl. He leaned closer to Mrs. Goodman. The girl beside him seemed positioned to run out the door once he sat down. He’d not make the mistake of spooking her with a touch of his shoulder—that was for sure. Maybe he should move. He leaned forward, ready to leave.

  Mrs. Goodman slipped her hand in the crook of his elbow and tugged him back. She whispered in his ear. “You are a fine example to the men in this town, Seth McKenzie. If only more of you boys would show up and hear God’s Word.” She tsked, tsked.

  Seth grunted, his attempt to flee thwarted. “Few of my men are on the back row.” He wished he were sitting with them. The lure of pie had brought him forward.

  “Glad of that because I have a pretty good lunch spread waiting.” She squeezed his arm. “Might be a surprise, too.” She took her arm away. “Rusty said he signed on, so now’s you have a cook, guess you’re leaving.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He shoved hair from his forehead. “By Tuesday we will be Fort Worth bound.”

  The girl jolted into his side. He turned his head and smiled. Tiny freckles dotted her brow and nose, and bright green eyes looked as though tears might begin. His mouth grew dry. He sure hoped not.

  She lifted a shapely brow. “Fort Worth?”

  Seth nodded and stared at her. “Taking a herd to the stockyards.”

  The girl sighed and gripped her reticule tighter. She drew her legs together and seemed as though she shrunk into herself. Was his presence upsetting her?

  “Ma’am?” Her bonnet hid her face, so Seth leaned forward a bit to catch her attention. “I sure hope you’re okay after that tumble.”

  “I’m fine.” She shifted again and looked out the window away from him.

  Well, fine. He drew his arm across his chest in an effort to pull away lest he touch the skittish girl. How would he focus on a sermon with her by his side? When they stood for singing, he’d slip away and join Ernie and the boys. Seemed a kind thing to do.

  An elder stepped into the pulpit and announced the opening hymn. As they stood, Seth patted Mrs. Goodman’s arm. “Think I’ll join my men so I can guide them to your house.” He turned toward the girl. “Ma’am, reckon I can get by without stepping on your toes this time?” He worked his lips into a passable friendly smile in the hopes she wouldn’t wilt. She nodded, drew back, and he sidled around her. Seth grabbed his hat and trekked to the back row.

  Whew. Think my shoulder’s out of place with all that effort.

  He drew in a deep breath and belted out the words “How great Thou art,” knowing within himself how true those words rang.

  Despite the stirring words and a rousing sermon, his eyes returned time and again to a shapely neck and a lovely bonnet.

  Chapter Three

  Sunday dinner at the Goodmans’ was proving uncomfortable for Ronnie. The tall cowboy, Seth McKenzie, and several of his hands had joined them. The food tasted wonderful—succulent roast beef and fresh vegetables. No one could fault Mrs. Goodman’s kitchen handiwork. Even so, swallowing proved difficult when Mr. McKenzie looked her way. Ronnie kept her eyes on her plate.

  “Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Fergus?” He squinted in her direction.

  She blinked and looked at the man, her cheeks flushing. “I’m sorry?”

  “The pleasant weather we are experiencing. It’s been refreshing after the cold.” Seth seemed to study her face.

  Heat crept up her neck. “Yes, yes. Quite pleasant.” She dabbed her lips with a napkin and nodded at Mrs. Goodman. “Your meal is delicious.”

  “Just wait till dessert.” Seth chuckled and leaned forward to whisper, “The real reason I came.”

  Mr. Goodman popped the table with a meaty hand. “If you folks will excuse me, I have a couple of chores to finish.” He stood and smiled at his wife. “I’ll take my dessert tonight.” He touched his brow in a farewell and trundled out the door.

  “That man.” Mrs. Goodman’s lips drew in a tight smile. “He’s just not comfortable with company. Never understood that.” She rose and plucked the roast platter from the tabletop. “Pie coming up.” She gave a halfhearted laugh. “Glad someone appreciates my cooking.”

  “More than appreciates, Mrs. G.” Set
h licked his fork and held it at the ready.

  Ronnie giggled then caught herself, pressing her fingertips to her lips. Seth tipped his head and watched her. Her heartbeat sped up, and she tucked her hands into her lap.

  True to her word, Mrs. Goodman brought out her apple pie and served Seth and Ronnie. She nodded at the other young men seated at a table in the corner. “Boys, got another one just for you.” The thank-yous reverberated. Soon clinking of forks and murmurs of approval filled the room.

  Ronnie sighed in delight. She’d not been this relaxed since—she frowned. Since when?

  Mrs. Goodman held out the pie plate with one last slice and gave it a shake. “Come on, sweetheart, this is just for you. I know how you love sweets.”

  Ronnie readied her fork and tipped her plate—at exactly the same time the cowboy did. The ceramic dishes collided and hers cracked across the edge. Ronnie looked at Mrs. Goodman’s rounded eyes, her face aflame. “Oh, my.” Ronnie jerked back as though burned. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Goodman. I’m so sorry.”

  The cowboy chuckled. “What makes you think she was talking to you, sweetheart?” His hazel eyes appeared grayer in the lighting of the dining room. He had a strong chin and really nice teeth. He could use a haircut, since the blond-red locks tumbled over his forehead when he looked down. Ronnie had watched him finger-comb them back time and again.

  “Never you mind about that old dish, Veronica. And Seth. Don’t go making the girl feel bad.” Mrs. Goodman bustled to the kitchen and returned with another piece of pie. “I’d put this back to tuck in your give-away bag, so it already belongs to you. Veronica, you scoop up the piece on the plate. A little crack isn’t going to mar the set, I promise.” Mrs. Goodman fussed over Seth’s pie.