Where the Heart Is Romance Collection

by Andrea Boeshaar

  “Surely he must’ve had a reason. No man would just stand there and let someone destroy his property and kill his livestock.” Her mind boggled at the notion, and fear, fear that her husband was a coward, too afraid to stand up for himself, barged into her mind. Her mouth tasted of ashes. She’d been living in a fool’s paradise, choosing to ignore Sean’s allegations about her husband, choosing to consider Joe reserved and thoughtful, not cowardly. But here stood Blake Randall confirming her fears. She started walking once more, barely taking in anything around her until they approached the edge of the flock.

  Movement caught her eye, and a pale, shaggy canine slipped through the brush. Silently, Shep edged nearer, head low, back rigid, on a parallel course. When she stopped, Blake did too, and the dog crouched and bared his teeth, growling deep in his throat, his eyes honed in on Blake. The cowboy froze. Sean jogged down a slope of prairie, his staff in his hand and a scowl on his face. His red hair blazed in the sun, as did his green eyes.

  “Call off your dog, Irish.” Blake stood tensed and completely still.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Blake handed the bucket to Emmeline, moving deliberately, and fingered the gun strapped to his hip. “Call him off, I said.”

  “Sean, please. Blake isn’t here to cause any trouble.”

  “Trouble’s what he’s going to get if he hangs around these parts for long. Joe can do what he wants, but I’m not standing still for any more harassment from the likes of this jughead. And the name’s Sean O’Hara, not Irish.” Sean gripped his staff, his legs braced in a defiant stance.

  “Youngster, I’m getting tired of you. Either you call off that dog, or I’ll shoot him in the head.” His hand closed around the butt of his pistol.

  “Shep.” Fingers snapped, and Emmeline turned. Joe stood a few paces away. Though he had a watchful look in his eye, he stood relaxed. “Sean, why don’t you go unhitch the team and water them.” Though his words sounded like a suggestion, his tone said, “No arguing.”

  The guard dog looked as disgruntled as Sean when Joe motioned him away. Blake let his hand fall away from his gun, and the tightness in Emmeline’s chest eased, though a waterfall of regret cascaded through her because of what Blake had revealed about her husband.

  “What brings you to my camp?”

  “Wanted a word. What’s the idea of bringing your sheep down into the bottoms? Didn’t you get the message after last summer? Sheep ain’t welcome here.” He tucked his thumbs into his waistband and stuck his chest out.

  Joe pressed his lips together and took a deep breath. “It’s open range. The grazing is good here, better for my flock than the upland, and this creek won’t dry out.”

  “That’s just why the cattlemen want that grazing. If we don’t fatten our cows up enough during the summer, they won’t make it through a tough winter, and we’re counting on the grass here in the creek bottom. Every cattleman I know is planning on grazing his herd through here. If your sheep get to it first, it’ll be ruined for cows, not just this summer but clear till next spring.” He jammed his fists on his waist. “I’m not a man for violence, but I can’t see letting my herd starve to death this winter just because you wanna take it easy on those flea-bitten bleaters from Hades. There’ll be trouble if you don’t head back where you came from. And I’m not the only cattleman who thinks so. There’s plenty around here who won’t be content to just tell you to go. They’ll do what they did last year, only worse.”

  Emmeline sent up a silent prayer that Joe would prove Randall wrong, that he’d tell the brash cowboy to get lost, that he wasn’t going to be bullied any longer. Anything to show he wasn’t afraid.

  “I have your father’s word that we’ll be left in peace. He wasn’t happy about what happened last year and offered to make restitution when he discovered some of his own ranch hands had played a part. I’d hate for him to be disappointed again.”

  “Maybe you haven’t heard, but Pa’s ailing pretty bad. I’m in charge of the ranch now. If he doesn’t recover, you’ll find yourself in a world of hurt. Night raiders will descend on this place like wolves on a wounded buffalo.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about your father, but I don’t want any trouble, Blake.”

  “Trouble will come, whether you want it or not if you don’t get these sheep out of here.”

  Emmeline let the bucket drop to the ground, disgusted at the rancher and ashamed of her husband. “Blake Randall, don’t you threaten us. If this is open range, then anyone can graze their livestock on it, be they cows, horses, sheep or… or… camels.” If her husband wouldn’t stand up for them, then she would. “If you or your cowpuncher friends think you can storm in here and hurt our sheep and we’ll stand by and do nothing, then you’ve got another thing coming. Those animals are our property, we’re not breaking any laws, and you don’t know the first thing about sheep if you think they’ll ruin the grazing.”

  Joe put his hand on her arm, but she shrugged it off. “I’m not through. I don’t understand you, Joe Barrett. Why won’t you fight back? Why won’t you protect what’s yours? I’ve seen your guns in the wagon. Sean’s told me what a good hunter you are, a dead shot, he claims, and yet you stand there like a buffoon, letting ignorant men storm over you. Well, I’m not going to stand by and do nothing, even if you are.”

  Her husband blinked. “Emmeline, take it easy. There’s no call to—” But she didn’t have time for his waffling.

  “Mr. Randall, if you and the other cattlemen would use the sense God gave a goose, you’d see that the sheep actually improve the grazing for the cattle, eating a lot of plants the cows won’t and clearing the way for better grass to grow. I’ve only been here a few months, but I’ve already learned that much about sheep. If you took two minutes to talk to experienced shepherds like Joe or Pierre instead of treating sheep like vermin and shepherds like pariahs, you’d learn for yourself how wrong your assumptions are.” She poked him in the chest. “But if you think all shepherds are cowardly or won’t fight back, you’re wrong, because this shepherdess isn’t afraid of you. Next time you come in here making threats, the guard dog won’t be the only one you have to watch out for.”

  Scooping up the bucket, she marched past them both, scattering sheep out of her way. Tears stung her eyes. Though she hadn’t wanted to believe it, her husband was a jellyfish.

  Chapter 6

  Are you going to back down again? Because if you are, I’m through.” Sean jabbed at the fire. “I’d rather be a dead lion than a live dog, and I don’t care what sort of promise you made to yourself. That kind of thinking might work in the ballrooms of Boston, but it won’t fly a lick out here.”

  “I sink perhaps ze boy is right zis time. If what Monsieur Randall said is true and his father is near death, zey may not stop at killing a few sheep. Zey may not stop until we are all dead. We must fight back or flee.” Pierre’s droopy gray mustache sank farther at the corners of his mouth.

  Joe rubbed his forehead, conscious that Emmeline had not emerged from the wagon. The look of disgust on her face when she’d passed him sat like a burning cactus patch in his middle. How could he make her understand his reasons for not taking up his guns without revealing to her all the horrible things in his past he constantly battled to forget?

  And how was he going to keep everyone safe if he didn’t shoot back? Especially Emmeline.

  He had to admire her grit. She hadn’t backed down an inch, reminding him of Shadow guarding her pups when Shep got too close. The thought of night raiders swooping down on the camp, shooting and hollering, turned his blood cold.

  “I think we need to keep two men on watch at all times. It will mean going short on sleep, but there’s no help for it.” He tossed the dregs of his coffee onto the fire. A hiss and puff of steam rose from the coals. “Keep Shep or Robbie with you, too. For now we’ll leave Shadow in camp with Emmeline.”

  “What about guns?” Sean bounced to his feet. “What good is it going to do us to be wande
ring around out there if we’re unarmed? We’ll just make fine targets to shoot at.”

  Pierre rummaged in his pack. “Joe, you can decide for ze boy, but I am a man grown.” He pulled out a wicked-looking pistol. “I have respected your decision not to go armed, but now I sink ze time has come. I will go down fighting.” He thumped his narrow chest.

  “I’m a grown man, too, not a boy.” Sean shifted his weight from foot to foot.

  “You’re barely seventeen.”

  His shoulders shot back and his chin up. “You require the work of a man, and I deliver it. You’ve taught me how to handle a gun. You’re asking me to stand watch like a man, so I have the right to be equipped for the job.”

  In that moment, with the flickering campfire bathing his face in light and shadow, Sean looked so much like his father, that a giant fist gripped Joe’s ribs and squeezed. This was madness. Why wouldn’t the cattlemen just leave him and his little flock alone? He’d tried reasoning with them, ignoring them, and avoiding them, but they were relentless.

  He jammed his fingers into his hair while his stomach did a Texas two-step. “All right. You can go armed. But you don’t shoot first, understand?” He stared hard at Sean, who stood tall and stared hard right back, growing up before his eyes.

  “I understand.”

  Joe rose, his feet leaden, and went to the wagon. He knocked lightly to give Emmeline some warning and opened the door. He needn’t have bothered knocking. The curtain around her bed was tightly closed.

  All the progress they’d made, the growing closeness, destroyed in a few minutes. And how did he go about rebuilding? If her face and her actions were anything to judge by, she’d lost all respect for him. But if he did as she asked and gave in to the anger, if he strapped on guns and took the war to his enemy, then he’d lose all respect for himself.

  He raised the mattress and bunk where he slept and moved a couple of items to get to the one he wanted. Lifting the heavy parcel, made heavier by the responsibility it contained, he let the bunk down quietly. No sound from behind the curtain.

  When he returned to the fire, Pierre had gone, taking his gun with him. Sean paced with Robbie Burns at his heels. Unwrapping the burlap and twine, Joe withdrew one of the rifles. Reluctant to let it go, he resisted when Sean grabbed hold of it, but finally gave it up. “Be careful, stay sharp, and don’t shoot unless you have to. The dogs will alert you if anyone is around.”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  “One of you come and get me about three or so.”

  Sean’s glance fell on the other rifle. “You best load that and keep it close.”

  Though he’d hunted game with that gun many times and not worried about it, the gun took on a sinister look and feel as Joe inserted bullets he prayed he wouldn’t have to use against another man.

  Please, Lord, don’t make me have to shoot another human being. I swore I would never take up arms against my fellow man again, but I can’t let anyone hurt Emmeline. In the morning, I’ll have Sean escort her to one of her sisters’ places so she’ll be safe. Please keep all of us safe through the night, and show me what I’m supposed to do. I never thought about what might happen if Orla Randall couldn’t control his son, or I never would’ve brought Emmeline here…

  The prayer continued as he doused the fire, checked the picket lines tethering the horses, and lifted the box of sleeping puppies up into the wagon. “C’mon, girl.” He jerked his head to Shadow. She rose to follow but hesitated since she’d never been allowed into the living quarters of the wagon before.

  “It’s all right.” He wanted her close to alert him if anyone started prowling around camp. If he was to be any use on watch in the middle of the night, he had to get some sleep, but he didn’t want to be totally unguarded. Laying the gun alongside his bunk, he eased his suspenders off his shoulders and slipped out of his boots. Removing his shirt, he stretched out on his blankets. Nothing stirred behind the curtain. Would there be time in the morning to explain his motives to Emmeline before he sent her to one of her sisters? Would she understand? Would she despise him for a killer rather than a coward if she knew all he’d done? Or would it be best to get her away as quickly as possible and explain everything after the dust settled?

  Night sounds surrounded him, and he identified each one: the breeze rustling through the grass, the croak of a frog from the creek, the night call of an owl. He strained to hear any noise coming from the flock’s bed-ground. If Orla Randall didn’t recover…

  Smoke filled the air, men shouted, and bullets whined. Chunks of earth exploded skyward under the impact of cannon fire. Joe clutched his rifle, crouching, running through the trees. Each round from the artillery sent a shockwave reverberating through the forest, and each concussive blast bombarded his chest and left it feeling hollowed out.

  Swiping the sweat from his brow, he strained to see through the trees, smoke, and running men. His objective lay a hundred yards up the hill in a small clearing. He dropped to one knee to catch his breath and survey the situation.

  In a flash, he was transported from the woodland battle at the Wilderness to a hiding place in the loft of a ramshackle barn. He lay flat out on his belly in the musty straw, all his attention focused on the gap in the trees down the road. Seamus lay beside him, and his best friend and sergeant nudged his arm and passed him the spyglass. “They’re coming.”

  A part of him knew he was dreaming, for it was a scene, a memory that had visited him many times before. He could taste the gunpowder in the air, smell the coppery blood soaking into the ground, feel the heaviness of his rifle in his hand. It was all devastatingly real. And he knew how it would end.

  A line of gray-clad soldiers marched down the road, two mounted men in front carrying tattered flags. Joe forced his heart to slow down and steadied his breathing. Their mission was clear. His squad was in position. A dozen men, all with the ability to shoot fast and straight, were positioned along the road, and the instant the enemy was all in view, they were tasked to cut them down. Joe, as the officer in charge, would fire first, the signal to open the battle.

  Not that it would be much of a battle. These men were footsore, half-starved, and worn to the fraying point by the punishing Northern army. They had very little ammunition and almost no will left to fight. And yet, the major had ordered no prisoners to be taken. If they were to bring an end to this war, they had to stay aggressive and not give the enemy any chance to recover.

  A single wagon followed by a single cannon brought up the rear of the procession. Joe studied them through his field glass—haggard faces, tattered clothing. Ribs showed on the horses, and several of the men wore dirty bandages.

  He squashed any feelings of remorse, any feelings at all, lowering the glass. His orders were clear. This was war. He had a job to do.

  Easing his rifle up, he drew a bead on the soldier with the most gold braid. He fired, and the massacre began. Confederate soldiers dropped onto the road as gunfire burst from the trees and tall grass. Seamus’s rifle barked beside Joe’s head, but it sounded far away.

  Then he was running through the trees, once more at the Wilderness, only this time, Seamus was ahead of him, dodging and weaving through the trees, racing to outflank the enemy. Everything slowed down, and the edges of his vision blurred. Seamus shouted something to Joe, but the words were garbled, muffled by gunfire. A Confederate soldier appeared around a pine trunk, raised his rifle, and aimed at Joe. Seamus charged, knocking Joe off his feet. A single rifle shot split the air, drowning out every other sound as Joe fell. A red splotch formed on Seamus’s breast, and he staggered backward, lurched, and dropped to the ground. Joe tried to scramble to his feet, to race toward his friend, tried to catch him as he fell, but his legs refused to move. He shouted for Seamus to hold on, not to leave him, to be strong for his wife and son, but his tongue became wooden, his voice stopping up in his throat until he could only make a garbled, sobbing groan.

  A horrible, agonized sound jarred Emmeline awake. Immediat
ely alert, she sat up. The sound came again. Joe. Was he hurt?

  She flung the curtain aside, swinging her legs over the edge of her bunk. Something stirred at her feet. The dog. Shadow whined and pressed her nose into Emmeline’s hand. Joe thrashed and groaned on his bunk. Moonlight from the window over his bed revealed his sweat-drenched grimace.

  “Joe.” She reached for him. “Joe, what is it?”

  He flung out his arm, knocking her hand aside. “Seamus, no!” The blankets twisted around his legs, and his chest heaved. “No!” The long, haunting cry sent a quiver through Emmeline. She realized he wasn’t hurt, only dreaming, but this wasn’t a normal dream. Whatever nightmare held him, it was strong.

  “Joe, it’s a bad dream. Wake up.” She shook his shoulder. Shadow whimpered and tried to worm around Emmeline’s legs. Knocked off balance, she toppled onto Joe. His breath shot out of his throat, and his arms closed around her.

  Her cheek pressed against his bare chest, and his heart thundered in her ear, nearly drowning out his harsh gasps.

  “Emmeline?” The question ripped from his throat in a raspy whisper.

  Pushing herself upright, she shoved her hair out of her face. “Joe, are you awake? You were having a nightmare.” She fumbled for the lantern and matches. Yellow light bathed the interior of the wagon as she lowered the glass over the wick. “Are you all right?”

  He nodded, his throat lurching. Her eyes strayed to the curling brown hair covering his broad chest. She’d felt its softness against her cheek moments ago, breathed in the manly scent of his warm flesh. Heat congested her face, and she knew she was blushing fiercely, but she couldn’t look away. Hopefully the low light hid her blatant curiosity.

  Joe didn’t seem to care or even notice. He drew his hand down his face. “It’s been a long time since I had that nightmare.”