Where the Heart Is Romance Collection

by Andrea Boeshaar

  He blinked, grinned, and let loose a laugh. “You’ve been reading too many dime novels. I’m not Wild Bill Hickok, and this isn’t Abilene. I can’t go gunning after every man in Wyoming Territory who hates sheepherders. I’d run out of bullets.”

  Her temper flared at his amusement. “Well, what are you going to do about it then? Sean seemed to think you weren’t planning on doing anything.” Again the fear that she might’ve married a coward nudged her heart. Here she was on her wedding night, and instead of the gallant, brave knight of the range of whom she’d dreamed, she had a pacifist, a man prepared to just swallow any insult or attack.

  “I’m not going to do anything tonight, that’s for sure.”

  Disappointment cracked her heart. A sheepman and a coward? What had she done? Considering the man from behind the shield of her lashes, she knew she wasn’t ready to be his wife, wedding ceremony notwithstanding. He was nothing like she’d imagined, nothing like she’d built up in her mind. When she’d first gotten his letter, she’d spun such dreams. It was almost as if she’d known him forever. But the man before her bore little resemblance to those dreams. A sense of betrayal settled onto her shoulders. Drawing a deep breath, she studied her hands in her lap. “Joe…”

  “Emmeline, I know things aren’t exactly what you expected, but I hope you can adjust to me and my way of life without too much hardship. I’ve been waiting a long time for you to get here, and I know that if you give me a chance, you won’t regret marrying me. We can have a good life together, build up this ranch into something to be proud of, and along the way, I hope we can come to truly care for each other.”

  She dared a glance at his face and had to look away from the hopeful, eager light in his dark eyes. “Joe, everything is just so different from what I expected, I’m going to need a little time. I’m not prepared to…” She battled down the embarrassment fluttering higher and higher in her chest. “… to live with you as man and wife just yet. I think we should get to know each other better first.” Though what good that would do, she didn’t know. She only knew a little about him, and that was more than enough to make her realize she might’ve made a huge mistake in marrying him.

  Chapter 3

  The next morning, Joe took care not to make much noise as he rose and dressed, conscious of the woman sleeping on the far side of the curtain he’d hung around her bunk the previous night. As he tucked his shirt into his trousers and eased his suspenders over his shoulders, he tried to shrug off the disappointment at her pronouncement that she wasn’t ready to be his wife in every sense.

  A part of him could appreciate that… or tried to. She’d suffered some serious blows to her dreams. But he had, too. Finding himself wed to a woman enamored of cowboys had been a shock, not to mention the loss of most of his worldly goods in the house fire.

  But what hurt the most was the disenchantment in her sky-blue eyes as she realized he wasn’t prepared to grab a gun and go after whoever had torched his house. She hadn’t been able to hide the fact that she thought him at best weak, at worst a coward. The fact that she sided with Sean in his assessment of Joe’s character pierced his pride like a cactus spine.

  Emerging into the dawn, he breathed deeply. Shadow rose from her place under the wagon and wriggled toward him, head low, tail waggling so hard her hindquarters danced. Robbie, ever alert at the edge of the flock, trotted over to sniff his hand. The dog shook his head hard enough to make his ears slap, and the shake went through him from nose to tail. Joe grinned at the execution of this morning ritual.

  He stroked Shadow’s head and ran his hand along her shiny, black-and-white back. Robbie submitted to a single pat before heading back toward the flock, which was already rising, methodically cropping grass with insatiable appetites.

  Joe stretched once more, working the stiffness out of his back. He’d tossed on his bunk for hours, wondering if he’d made the biggest mistake of his life, sending for an eastern bride with a head full of ridiculous notions and expectations. The idea had seemed not only feasible but downright sensible when Zeb Parker and Harrison Garvey had approached him about it. Of course, they’d caught him at a weak moment, when he was feeling particularly lonely as the winter wind gusted against the door. Sean and Pierre weren’t much for conversation, and the starkness of their bachelor existence had been nudging Joe for a while. The thought of someone feminine and soft in his life had greatly appealed.

  He glanced through the still-open door of the wagon at the curtain surrounding her bunk. She probably slept peacefully behind the drapery, dreaming of dashing cowboys, stampedes, and gunfights over sacred honor.

  With a shrug, he turned away to pile sticks and twigs together in the ash circle left from last night’s fire.

  Pierre lay in his bedroll, his shock of graying hair just visible above the blankets. The Frenchman kept mostly to himself, but he was a good shepherd.

  Putting more twigs on the fire, Joe could just make out Sean’s silhouette on a little knoll about a hundred yards away. He sat hunched with a blanket over his shoulders, staring down at the flock. Remembering the young man’s fury from the previous night, Joe scrubbed his beard and pressed his lips together.

  “What am I going to do with him, girl?” He spoke to Shadow as he filled the coffeepot from the water barrel fastened to the side of the wagon. “He’s like a lit match in an ammunition bunker.”

  Joe frowned at the black memories that surfaced at the comparison. When would those dark days stop haunting his thoughts? The war and those horrible times were all behind him, and he had no intention of ever living that way again.

  He foraged among the camp supplies until he found the can labeled Arbuckle’s Ariosa Coffee. Prying off the lid as quietly as possible, he got the coffee into the pot and onto the fire. A few rustles and bumps from within the wagon told him Emmeline must be stirring.

  Sean strode into camp a few minutes later, sniffing the coffe aroma and rubbing his eyes. He nudged Pierre, who sat up and rubbed his eyes. Scratching his chest through the wrinkled front of his shirt, the Frenchman yawned. Joe started to say good morning, but Pierre’s mouth snapped shut and his eyes widened at something behind Joe.

  Wheeling, Joe caught sight of his bride on the top step of the wagon. The breath disappeared from his lungs, and he froze, mesmerized.

  Her hair. He couldn’t take his eyes from it. Falling in a glorious ripple, strands of gold and yellow and a hint of red glinted in the morning light. Not straight and not curly, it swayed in perfect waves from crown to waist. She beckoned him closer, and he unstuck his feet to walk over to her.

  “I hope you don’t mind.” She kept her voice low. “It’s so cramped in the wagon, I keep bumping into things when I try to put my hair up. Is it all right if I come outside to do it?”

  “Yes,” he croaked. How he resisted reaching out to touch those soft, silky strands, he’d never know. A wave of possessiveness swept over him. “I’ll bring a chair around to the back of the wagon so you can have some privacy.”

  He wanted her away from Sean and Pierre’s eyes. As her husband, that glorious sight should be his alone. He brought her a chair, and when she sat, tilting her head to the side to brush her hair with long, steady strokes, he crossed his arms and leaned against the wagon to watch.

  “Did you sleep well?”

  “Once I finally got to sleep, yes.”

  She spoke around a mouthful of hairpins jutting from between her pretty lips, and he couldn’t help but notice the faint pink to her cheeks and the way she kept her lashes down.

  Much too quickly, she had her hair twisted into some kind of fold on the back of her head, removing pins from her mouth one by one and inserting them until she had it all firmly secured. Not until then could Joe seem to draw a deep breath.

  He carried her chair around the wagon as she put her brush away. Sean poked the fire and tested the coffeepot to see if it was hot yet.

  “Lambing started this morning. No trouble so far that I could see. Couple
of sets of twins and a couple of large singles.”

  “Any trouble during the night?”

  “A few coyotes sniffing around, but Shep ran them off pretty quick.”

  Joe poured out the first cup of coffee and took it to Emmeline. She gave him a quick peek, accepted the cup, and blew across the top.

  “Thank you.”

  He couldn’t help noticing that she looked fresh as the morning, and a spark of hope and longing lit in his chest. If she could just get over this infatuation with cowboys, everything would be perfect.

  She seemed impervious to the effect she had on him, her eyes darting to the sunrise, to the fire, and out over the flock on the green hillside. A sip of the dark brew had her blinking.

  “I usually have mine with milk and sugar. Black coffee will take some getting used to.”

  “Sugar I can help you with.” He dug in the trunk beside the wagon. “Milk will have to wait a bit. With lambing just started, ewe’s milk is still a day or so away.”

  “Sheep’s milk?” She turned the full force of her blue eyes on him. Her nose wrinkled.

  He smothered a smile at her astonishment. “Sure. People have been drinking sheep’s milk since Adam and Eve. Makes a fine cheese, too, so I hear.”

  She accepted the sugar crock and dipped out half a spoonful. “No, thank you. I’ll make do with just sugar.”

  Sean rolled his eyes. “Are you going to cook breakfast?” He sloshed coffee into a cup and eyed Emmeline as if to say “Why are you even here?”

  “Sean.” Joe lifted a cloth-wrapped bundle from the food locker. “We’ve been a bachelor household for a long time, but I’m sure you haven’t forgotten all the manners your mama tried to teach you. Emmeline is a lady and my wife, two very good reasons for you to show her some respect.” He kept his tone mild, but he gave Sean a steady look to let the boy know he was serious.

  With a shrug, Sean drained his cup. The sound of hoofbeats drew Joe’s attention away from any further reprimand.

  Blake Randall.

  Though the rider was still too far away to see his face in the early morning light, Joe would know that black horse anywhere. Loping along on graceful legs, that stallion was the pride of the Rocking R Ranch.

  Randall rode through the edge of Joe’s flock, scattering ewes and wethers without care. Shadow lowered her head and emitted a deep growl. Her hackles rose, and her lips pulled back, baring her teeth. Joe snapped his fingers and flattened his palm toward the ground. Shadow lowered herself until her belly touched the ground, but her body remained tense.

  Joe didn’t blame her. Blake Randall had a disturbing effect on man and beast.

  A real-live cowboy at last. Emmeline couldn’t stop staring at the young man on the black horse. From his wide-brimmed hat to his tall leather boots, he was the epitome of everything she’d imagined a cowboy should be. He wore a bandanna knotted at his throat, a leather vest, and a confident smile.

  His horse pranced, tossing its head, causing the sun to flash off the bright metal of the ornate bridle. The saddle creaked pleasantly, and the bit jingled in time to the impact of hooves on the dry ground. Emmeline couldn’t help but compare the image before her—the perfect picture of a true westerner—with her homespun-clad, soft-spoken husband.

  Joe stepped forward. “Blake. You’re out early.”

  The cowboy didn’t dismount. “Pa sent me over.” He shrugged. “That cranky Reverend Cummings came through our place just after dark last night and said your house went up in smoke. A real shame. Any idea what happened?” He cocked his head, his horse sidling. He didn’t sound particularly sorry, more bored than anything.

  Shaking his head, Joe put his hands into his pockets. “No. We were tending the flock and saw the smoke. By the time we got there, it was too late to save anything.”

  “Like I said, that’s a real shame. Cummings said he’d brought you a bride, too.” His encompassing glance took in the campsite and stopped on Emmeline. With graceful fluidity, he dismounted and swept his hat from his dark hair, his smile flashing. “He didn’t mention how pretty you were.” He dropped the reins and advanced, holding out his hand.

  Though this was a breach of eastern etiquette—not waiting until the lady offered her hand first—Emmeline reciprocated, a flush of pleasure at his compliment rushing to her cheeks. She tried to quell the blush, but easy coloring was the curse of being so fair. Her sisters, though fair themselves, had teased at how easily Emmeline’s skin flushed, whether angry or happy.

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr….?” She raised her eyebrows and smiled into his gray eyes.

  Joe cleared his throat. “Sorry. Emmeline, this is Blake Randall. Blake, this is my wife, Emmeline Barrett. Blake and his family own a spread just west of here. His father, Orla, is my friend.”

  Her new married name sounded strange to her ears, and the possessive tone to Joe’s voice didn’t escape her. Blake engulfed her hand in his gloved one, gave it a quick squeeze, and let go. “A pleasure, ma’am.” He turned back to Joe.

  “Pa wanted me to tell you that if you need anything, you just have to ask. Supplies, blankets, anything. Why he wants to let stubby-legged, walking vermin ruin the best grazing is beyond me, and I’ve told him so many times.” His lip twisted, and he flicked a glance toward the flock. “Mangy beasts. Not worth the aggravation of driving them to the market. But I’m still willing to buy every last one of them. When you’re finally ready to sell, I’ll pay top dollar then run them all off a cliff.”

  Emmeline stiffened. Run the animals off a cliff? Just who did this young man think he was? Not that she had any love for sheep, but to just kill them all? She waited for Joe’s response, hoping he’d throw this arrogant neighbor out of his camp.

  But it was Sean who leaped into the fray first. He thrust out his chest, strode over to stand in front of Blake, and poked him in the shoulder. “We’re not selling, and you can’t drive us out. I don’t care how many shanties you burn or how many of our sheep you try to kill. We’re staying. This is our land, bought and paid for. If you think you can drive us off, you’ve got another long think coming.” His chin jutted, and his hands clenched so hard he shook. Rearing back with one skinny arm, Sean prepared to launch a punch.

  Blake responded in kind, his huge hands balling and his muscles tensing as he reared back.

  Lightning quick, Joe’s hand covered Sean’s fist and held it, spinning the boy around. The speed and ease with which he deflected the boy amazed Emmeline. He interposed his body between the two combatants.

  “Enough. Sean, get back to the flock and check on those lambing ewes. Blake, I apologize. Please thank your father for his offer of assistance. We’re doing fine for now.”

  Sean’s hot glare and red-suffused face reminded Emmeline of a kettle ready to explode. He quivered, his narrow chest rising and falling, before spinning on his heel and stomping toward the sheep. Emmeline let out her breath. She wasn’t used to being around men much at all and certainly had no experience to prepare her for yelling and brawling. Yet she couldn’t deny the thrill that shot through her. This was more exciting than a dime novel.

  Pierre set his cup beside the fire and headed after Sean without a word.

  Blake removed his gloves, finger by finger. His gray eyes were cold as sleet. “My ma said to tell you that if you need a place to leave your bride until you get your house rebuilt, she could stay with us. Ma would like the company, and we’ve got plenty of room.”

  Emmeline waited for her husband to answer. Would he take this opportunity to send her away?

  Joe shook his head. “I appreciate the offer, but we’ll be staying here. Mrs. Barrett is prepared to spend the summer months in the camp with us. I’m sure by this fall I’ll be in a position to rebuild the house.”

  Blake tucked his gloves into his belt. “You’re making a mistake. Why not sell out now? If you wait too long, you might not have anything worth selling. Pa isn’t going to be around forever to protect you, you know. His heart’s might
y fragile.” His eyes narrowed. “Once he’s gone, you might find yourself in a tight spot.”

  “We’ll be fine.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Blake mounted his horse. He nodded to Joe, touched his finger to his hat brim, and she couldn’t quite be sure, but he might’ve winked her way. He certainly smiled broadly. Lifting his reins, he galloped away. Shadow wriggled to her side and put her broad forehead under Emmeline’s hand.

  “Are you done?”

  Joe’s question jarred her out of her daydreams. “Pardon?”

  “Did you look your fill at that cowboy?” His voice held a tone she’d not heard before, something sharp and weighted.

  “Was I staring? I’m sorry.” She stroked the dog’s head. “Would he really run all these sheep off a cliff?”

  “That’s the cattlemen’s favorite way of destroying a flock. Cheaper than wasting bullets. I heard up in the Bighorn Basin they ran a flock of two thousand off a cliff in one go.”

  “Two thousand?” She gasped. “Did those men go to jail?”

  “No. The law is on the side of the cattlemen. Even if they do investigate, nothing ever comes of it.” He grabbed a handful of last night’s leftover biscuits. “I’ll take these out to the boys.” Stalking away across the short-cropped grass, he looked so strong and capable. He hadn’t backed down from Blake Randall, nor had he gone out of his way to provoke him.

  Joe Barrett was a puzzle.

  Like squirrels, her thoughts raced and chased one another, over and around, through and back. If only she could talk to her sisters, to see how she was supposed to handle this. Though she had always chafed at their restrictions, she now longed for their advice. Emmeline tried to imagine what they would say. Evelyn would tell her to get her foolish notions about knight-cowboys out of her head and start thinking sensibly about being a married woman. Jane would tell her to get busy in camp, straightening up and making herself useful instead of mooning after things she couldn’t have. Gwendolyn would put her arm around Emmeline’s shoulders, give her a squeeze, and whisper that she should make the best of things, because things always turned out pretty well, didn’t they?