Where the Heart Is Romance Collection

by Andrea Boeshaar

  Evelyn gathered her courage. “Let’s go.” She squared her shoulders and marched them all outside. Their trunks—one for each sister and a small one for Jamie—sat in a tidy row in the wagon bed along with their valises and satchels, and Reverend Cummings sat on the wagon seat with the reins in his hands.

  Rattling away from the settlement, Evelyn couldn’t help but look back at the huddle of brown buildings. Sagebrush. Aptly named, for sagebrush seemed to be the only thing the area had in abundance. Unless you counted empty. There was a fair bit of empty, too.

  Jamie stood up behind the wagon seat and stuck his head between Evelyn’s and the reverend’s. “Are we going to live in the mountains?” He pointed to the purple-blue hills rising in the far distance.

  Evelyn gently lowered his hand. “It’s impolite to point, Jamie.” She straightened his straw hat. “Please sit down and be quiet.” She turned to the preacher, who sat, hunch-shouldered with his elbows on his knees. “How far are we going?”

  He flicked a glance at the sky. “Two hours to Kittrick’s. Which of you is Gareth marrying, or is it first choice after he gets a gander at all of you?”

  Evelyn tried to ignore how her heart hitched at hearing his name aloud. “I am.” And may he be as kind and chivalrous as his name implies. As the daughter of a medieval scholar, she knew intimately the legend of Sir Gareth of the Round Table.

  “Good. I’m supposed to marry you and Gareth, then I’ll tote the rest of these gals to their husbands one at a time. If I push it, I can still make my appointment in Dellsville by nightfall.”

  “Won’t all the gentlemen be at Gareth’s for the weddings?”

  “Naw, can’t take the time off in the spring.”

  Her racing heart sank. She would miss her sisters’ weddings.

  Jane tapped the reverend on the shoulder. “Excuse me, but you know each of these men we’re to marry, right? Can you tell us what they’re like?”

  Evelyn shot her sister a grateful look. Why hadn’t she thought of that? A little information ahead of time would help her control the situation better.

  “Bit late to be wondering now, ain’t it?” He slapped the reins against the horses’ rumps. “Guess you’ll meet them soon enough.”

  “But you must know something of the men we are to marry.” Emmeline shifted on the board laid across the wagon box.

  “They’re ranchers.” He shrugged. “I haven’t heard anything against them.”

  Hmm, not much to go on. “All their properties adjoin?” If they were going to have to leave Seabury and marry strangers, Evelyn at least wanted her sisters where she could keep an eye on them.

  Again the shrug. “Not really. They each own the property their houses sit on, but most of the land out here is open range. The ranches are miles apart with lots of free range between. Take all day to get to all of them.”

  Miles apart? All day? The bottom dropped out of Evelyn’s chest, and from the gasps and frowns of her sisters, she assumed they felt the same. They had counted on being able to support one another, to see one another frequently. They’d never been separated, not even by Evelyn’s marriage to Jamison. Because of the war and Jamison needing to return to his post, Evelyn had never left home. Delighted to find she was carrying his child, she had been devastated when her husband had been killed. Her family had held her together through that terrible time. She’d practically raised her sisters. What would she do without them in her everyday life?

  Gwendolyn said, “I thought we’d live closer together, that we’d be neighbors.” Her blue eyes widened as if she’d just thought of the enormity of what they were doing. The youngest of the Gerhard sisters at just under nineteen, Gwendolyn had been accepting and easygoing about the entire enterprise. Evelyn had particularly hoped to live closest to Gwendolyn to help her all she could.

  Her glance went to Emmeline, who could barely suppress her joy at finally getting to see the American West and to meet a real-live cowboy in person. Evelyn worried about Emmeline, who was so enamored of learning to ride a horse and perhaps encountering danger and desperadoes. Evelyn blamed those ridiculous dime novels and serialized stories Emmeline was addicted to for filling her head with such nonsense.

  And Jane, dear, dependable Jane, who was a born homemaker and worked harder than all of them, who could sew and cook and bake and clean. The sister Evelyn leaned on the most to help her take care of everyone.

  God, You’ve done it again. You’ve taken my expectations and ripped them away. How am I supposed to watch over my sisters if they’re a day’s ride away? How am I supposed to make sure their husbands are good men if I don’t get to even meet them before the weddings? Why did You take Jamison and Papa from me? If they were alive, we wouldn’t be in this mess.

  Reverend Cummings broke into her prayer—if it could be called a prayer. “That boy yours?”

  “Yes, Jamie is my son.”

  “He legitimate?”

  The preacher’s bluntness took her breath away.

  “My husband was killed in the war a few months before Jamie was born.” She infused her voice with all the ice she could muster. Which was considerable every time she thought of the way God had taken Jamison from her. In a cruel twist, Jamison had been killed two weeks after Lee’s surrender. Ambushed by bandits on his way home from the war, he’d been murdered and robbed only a few miles from Seabury. But it was easier to say he’d died in the war than try to explain. Not that she could explain the way God seemed to delight in foiling her plans.

  Chapter 2

  Gareth looked up from the forge and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Chilly as this spring had been, bending over hot coals, wrestling with balky cow ponies, and molding metal to his will sure chased away any cold.

  A light brown smudge of road dust followed a dark brown dot out on the prairie. He sucked in a deep breath, bellows-like. That had to be her.

  Rimfire Dawson, his friend and right-hand man, led another horse into the shop. “Did ya see it?”

  “Yeah.” He removed his gloves and shoved them into his pocket then yanked them out and tugged them onto his hands again.

  “Was you this jumpy the first time you got married?”

  His first wedding day, a subject he’d been trying not to think about. All his friends and family packed into the church. The flowers, the meal, and dancing afterward. But most of all, Justine. Big green eyes, dark shiny hair, and a smile that said he was the only man on earth.

  This time he didn’t even know what his bride looked like. He should’ve asked for a photograph at least, but there hadn’t been time. Was she tall? Short? Dark? Fair? Did she like kids? Did she snore?

  What he did know about her made a pretty short list. Twenty-eight, a widow, and from Massachusetts. A Christian woman. Evelyn. Pretty name. And she wrote with a very nice hand, though her letter wasn’t overly long. His heart shied and skittered around his chest like a green-broke horse.

  Gareth ripped his hat off and whacked his thigh. Dust flew from his pants. He smelled of smoke and horse and hot iron. Delightful.

  “No.”

  Rimfire scratched his ear. “No, what?”

  “No, I wasn’t this nervous the first time I got married.”

  “Why you gettin’ married now?”

  Gareth shrugged. “It’s time.”

  “You don’t look exactly settled to the idea. You’ve been skitin’ around here, nervous as a mouse in a rattlesnake nest. I suppose it’s too late to back out now, but the donnybrook that blew up over breakfast this morning… whew.”

  “My mind’s set. And I’m not going to be swayed by a tantrum. It’s those kinds of things that make me more certain than ever that I’m doing the right thing.”

  “Tell that to Mad Dog.”

  “I tried. It wasn’t pretty.”

  The dot grew larger. Now that the situation was at hand, his stomach started acting like he’d swallowed a chestnut hull. He reminded himself of all the reasons why his getting married was the best course
of action, and that though it might take them all a little while to adjust, eventually the dust would settle.

  “Four unmarried sisters.” Rimfire tied off the horse to a ring high on the wall and shoved his hands into his pockets. “How old did you say they were?”

  “According to the advertisement, the youngest is eighteen and the oldest is twenty-eight.”

  “And you’re getting the oldest one?”

  “Yes, a widow woman. Lost her husband in the war.”

  A grunt. “And she didn’t get married again after ten years? Is she ugly? Or devoted to her dead husband?”

  Questions Gareth hadn’t thought to ask himself. New worries cropped up like weeds after a rain. Was something wrong with her that she hadn’t married again before now?

  The dot had grown so he could make out Preacher Cummings and several passengers. Though he strained his eyes, he couldn’t discern anything beyond bonnets. The woman beside the preacher was smallish, and she wore a dark cloak. Was that Evelyn or one of her sisters?

  Rimfire joined him in the wide doorway of the smithy. “Maybe I better scout around and see if I can find Mad Dog.”

  “Good idea. Go ahead and leave the horse here. I’ll come back and finish the job in a while. I’ll meet you up at the house.”

  His foreman gave him a strange look and headed for the barn—the most likely spot to find his quarry. Gareth made for the house and arrived at the same time as the wagon.

  “Morning, Preacher.” Though he spoke to Cummings, he looked from one female face to the next. Then his eyes lit on a small straw hat.

  “I brung ’em.” Preacher wrapped the reins around the brake handle and jumped down.

  The woman on the front seat stared at him so hard he wondered if she were trying to read his thoughts. Beautiful blue eyes, fair skin, and from what he could see under the rim of her somber bonnet, pale yellow hair.

  “Evelyn?”

  She nodded, and a tight place in his chest loosened. She looked nothing like his dead wife. Justine, with her brown hair and green eyes. He hadn’t even been aware of his desire that his mail-order bride not resemble his dead wife, but surely that would make things easier for everyone.

  Instead of waiting for her hand to help her alight, he reached up and spanned her waist, lifting her over the edge of the wagon and setting her down before him. He found himself staring down into her eyes. She was small. The top of her head barely came to his chin. And she was light as a tumbleweed. Her hands gripped his forearms.

  Preacher pulled the pins from the tailgate and let it fall with a clank. “Burnin’ daylight, Kittrick. I have a lot of miles to go yet.” He dragged a trunk toward him, scraping along the wagon bed. “Which ones belong to her?”

  One of the girls in the back of the wagon directed him to the correct luggage.

  Gareth couldn’t take his eyes off Evelyn. When she tried to move, he realized he still held her waist, and stepped back, letting his hands fall to his sides. Though travel-stained and weary, she had a look about her that drew him. Attraction wasn’t something he’d counted on or even expected, at least not at this stage of the game. He flattened his lips, rolling the idea around.

  “I’m Gareth Kittrick.”

  “Yes.” She turned back to the wagon. “These are my sisters and…” She trailed off.

  His attention was drawn to a little face, the owner of the straw hat, peeking over the side of the wagon. Coal-dark eyes and curly hair to match.

  “And who might you be, young man?”

  The boy scrambled over the side of the wagon and stuck out his hand. “Jamison Trent Stanford Jr., sir. I’m pleased to meet you. Are you going to be my father now?”

  A gut punch couldn’t have been more effective at knocking the wind right out of him. Evelyn chewed her bottom lip and bunched her eyebrows. Not just a widow, but a mother. She placed her hand on his arm and sparks flew up his veins. “I know I should have told you, but things happened so quickly, and I was hoping…”

  He knew. “It’s not a problem.” Bending, he took the boy’s hand. “Nice to know you. And to answer your question, it would seem that, yes, I am going to be your pa.”

  The child gave a quick shake of Gareth’s hand and moved to his mother’s side. A regular little gentleman, though the wide collar and short pants would have to go. What Mad Dog would make of him, Gareth could hardly guess.

  He reached up to assist each of the girls to the ground, and though each was pretty enough, none set his heart to racing like Evelyn did.

  Preacher hoisted a trunk and thunked it onto the porch. Two satchels followed while Evelyn made introductions. Her voice had a clipped, eastern quality, and she spoke rather quickly, but it was a nice voice for all that and sounded like her letter.

  “Let’s get to the marryin’.” Preacher reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a tattered Bible. “I’ve got to make tracks.”

  Gareth winced at this abruptness, though he expected no less from Cummings. “Just a minute. There’s something I need to talk to Evelyn about before we have the ceremony.” He motioned for her to step away from everyone and kept his voice low. “I don’t mind about the boy. In fact, I’m relieved you have a son, because—”

  A scream erupted from the barn. Rimfire appeared in the doorway, a writhing bundle under his arm. He marched up to the house and dropped the squirming mass onto the porch. Legs and arms and braids sorted themselves out into a furious child.

  “Don’t do it, Pa. It ain’t too late if you ain’t said the words yet. Send her back.” A little boot stomped the packed dirt, and fists jammed onto nonexistent hips. “We don’t need her around here. Look at her, dressed like an undertaker and thin as a fence post. She won’t last one winter.”

  Gareth stepped forward, hauled the child up against his side, and wrapped his hand over her mouth. “You’ll keep a civil tongue in your head, Mad Dog. We’ve been through this. We need her, and she stays. And look, she brought her son with her. You’re going to have a brother.”

  Evelyn’s eyebrows rose. “Did you just call this child ‘Mad Dog’?”

  Keeping the furious kid pinned to his side, Gareth nodded. “This is my daughter, Madelyn. The boys took to calling her Mad Dog because she gets so worked up about things, and the name stuck.” He prepared himself, awaiting his prospective bride’s response.

  After her initial shock, a rueful humor flickered in her blue eyes, and something in his middle eased a fraction.

  “It seems we are each hoist with our own petards, Mr. Kittrick.”

  “If that means strung up with our own nooses, then you’re right.” He braced against the bucking and kicking Maddie put up. “I need some help with this one. She’s wild as a Texas steer and can be more trouble than a wagonload of wildcats. That’s one of the reasons I sent for you.”

  “I see.”

  The boy stood halfway behind his mother, dark eyes round as he watched the struggle. Rimfire stepped onto the porch and swept his hat off his head. “Ma’am. I’m Rimfire. I work for Gareth. Welcome to the Lazy K. Glad you’re here.” He cast a look askance at Gareth and the wriggling Maddie.

  Enough. Gareth hauled his daughter up against his chest and took her around the corner of the house. “Stop it, Maddie. I’m ashamed of you.”

  The child went limp, and as he eased her to the ground, her lower lip quivered. She scrubbed at her eyes but didn’t cry. Maddie never cried. Shout, stomp, rage, yes, but tears, never.

  “Why’d you do it, Pa? We don’t need anyone else.” Anger radiated from her skinny, overalls-clad body. “We’re doing fine.”

  He squatted in front of her and pushed his hat back on his head. “We’re not, or you wouldn’t have thrown a tantrum like that. You’re growing up wild as a mustang out here without anyone to teach you any manners and show you how to be a lady.”

  “I don’t want to be a lady. I want to be your pard.”

  “You are my pard, kiddo, but you need to learn all that girl stuff I can’t teach
you. You need a woman for that, a mother.”

  She shook her head so hard her ginger braids flopped on her shoulders. “You didn’t tell me she had a kid.”

  “I didn’t know she did.”

  “I don’t want a brother.”

  “I’m sorry, Maddie, but you’ll just have to accept it. We both will. And you’re not giving him a chance. He seems like a nice kid.”

  She sniffed and scowled. “He looks like a greenhorn. What kind of a hat is he wearing, anyway? One good breeze and it’ll sail right into Sagebrush Creek. And his clothes are all wrong.”

  “Stop it now. I know you’re not in favor of the idea, but I’m getting married, and you’re going to treat your new mama with respect and be civil to your new brother. You’re going to start acting like a girl and learning to be a lady.”

  Maddie’s arms crossed on her chest, and her jaw set. “She won’t be my mama, and he’s not my brother. You can have them.”

  Tired of the fight, Gareth straightened. “I’ve had about all I’m going to take today, Maddie. If you can’t be nice, then at least be quiet. You want to be my pard, you’d better show some manners, and that’s that. Now, come on. Preacher’s in a hurry.”

  They returned to the group, and Gareth put his hands on Maddie’s shoulders, bringing her around to stand in front of him. “I apologize for my daughter’s behavior. She’s having a bit of a hard time adjusting to the idea of me marrying again.” A quiver went through Maddie’s shoulders, but she remained rooted to the spot and tight-lipped.

  Cummings scowled and smoothed his beard. “Let’s get to it then. You ain’t the last stop I have to make today, you know.”

  In an almost indecent amount of time, Gareth found himself promising to love, honor, and cherish Evelyn Stanford for the rest of their lives. Before they could hardly blink, Preacher was chivying the sisters into the wagon.

  The good-byes were hard to take. Clinging to each other, whispering encouragements, and wiping a few tears. Not even Preacher seemed to have the heart to pull them apart too quickly. Finally, the three youngest girls were loaded and headed west, and Evelyn and her son stood on the porch watching them go, as forlorn a pair as Gareth had ever seen. In small measure, he began to understand the complete upheaval of Evelyn’s life by coming across the country to marry him.