“I’d say the first thing you should do is go and see Colt. Maybe he’ll have some suggestion as to how to deal with this. He and Homer are pretty chummy.”
“Yes,” Allison said, already heading for the door. “Thanks, Ellie.” Before she reached the jail, she’d worked up a pretty good head of steam.
* * *
Colt was leaned back in his chair, his feet propped on the top of the scarred desk, his hands folded behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling. He’d done everything he could to persuade Allison that he loved her and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. He didn’t know what else he could do to convince her that he was serious. The next move was hers.
He was savoring the memory of their kiss the night before when the door crashed against the wall. He lowered his gaze and saw the object of his daydreams storm through the open door like a miniature tornado—eyes flashing, temper obviously high. What now? he thought with a sigh of resignation that didn’t quite extinguish the pleasure darting through him just seeing her and knowing they were about to embark on another round of their verbal sparring.
Uncertain what to expect, he uncrossed his arms from behind his head and drawled, “Miss Grainger. What can I do for you this fine morning?”
A feeling of déjà vu came over him as she swept across the room and placed her hands palms down on the desk.
“Marry me.”
Colt froze for a second or two, unsure he’d heard right. He lowered his booted feet to the floor very carefully and stood, placing his palms on the desk and leaning toward her as he’d done on another occasion.
“I beg your pardon,” he said. “Did you just propose?”
She narrowed her eyes and leaned farther forward. “It’s all over town that you spent the night before last at my place,” she said in a deadly murmur. “My reputation will be ruined! Homer will run us both out of town so fast that—”
“I’m sorry,” Colt interrupted, trying to keep a straight face. “While I’m very sorry about your reputation, I’m afraid that, like you, I can’t marry someone who doesn’t love me.”
He almost laughed at the startled look on her face. It didn’t seem that Miss Grainger liked having her words thrown back at her.
“But I do love you. You must know I do.”
“Funny that you only realized it when the gossip started,” he said with a slight shrug.
Looking a little bewildered, she said, “I knew it long before that, but I wouldn’t admit it for fear of being hurt again. But when you were out there with Ace and Dan and there was a chance that you might not come back, I knew I was being foolish. You just walked out and didn’t give me a chance to say it before.
“You’re right. Love just happens, and life is short, and we don’t have any guarantees about anything. All I know is that I’m ready to take a chance again with you.” She watched him closely, uncertainty in her eyes.
Colt closed the distance between them and pressed a brief hard kiss to her lips. “Okay,” he said when he drew back.
“Okay what?” she asked, staring at him in confusion.
He was grinning from ear to ear. “You proposed and I accepted. I would love to marry you, but not to save your reputation, because you love me and I certainly love you. Actually, though it’s a tad unmanly to admit it, I’ll take you any way I can get you, Miss Grainger.”
“You...you will?”
He nodded. “I can’t imagine a life without you in it.”
He saw her need to believe him in her eyes. “B-but I’m not beautiful like Leticia or Ellie.”
“I think you are exquisite.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m, uh...a bit plump.”
“It was recently brought to my attention that you are very...curvy.”
“My hair is red, not a pretty auburn like Ellie’s.”
“I have noticed that,” he said, straightening and rounding the desk. “And you definitely have a temper to match.”
“I...have lots and lots of freckles.”
He unhooked the wire frames of her spectacles from behind her ears, folded them closed and put them in his shirt pocket, even as his gaze moved over her sweet face with loving thoroughness.
“My grandmother called them ‘angel kisses.’” He touched his lips to a place on her temple, then her jawline and her chin.
He lifted his head and looked down at her, his eyes smiling into hers. “I plan to count and kiss each and every one. Several times, probably. Even if it takes a lifetime. In fact,” he said, “I plan for it to.”
He kissed her again, and Allison’s arms slid around his middle.
From the other side of the open doorway where they’d been listening to every word, Cilla and Brady turned to each other and grinned. Brady gave his sister a thumbs-up. He’d been skeptical about the idea proposed by Ben Gentry, who was well acquainted with how gossip could force two people into marriage, since the same thing had brought his mother and Caleb together.
Cilla had loved the notion from the start, but it had taken a lot of persuasion from her and Ben, especially since Brady maintained that they had promised their dad no more dirty tricks. Cilla had insisted that all they would be doing was telling the truth and that they would be doing it for a good reason. What could be wrong with that? Finally Brady had agreed to try the cockamamy idea. Now, watching his pa kiss Miss Grainger and hearing that they planned to get married after all, it looked as if their plotting and planning and machinations had worked exactly the way they’d hoped.
He blew out a sigh of relief and made himself a promise. This was the very last time he would let his sister talk him into anything like this. Absolutely the last time.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from COWBOY SEEKS A BRIDE by Louise Gouge.
Dear Reader,
Welcome back to Wolf Creek! I hope you are enjoying meeting the people who live here and look forward to each new story as much as I do. You met Allison Grainger briefly in the first book when she came to help Abby decorate for her wedding with Caleb, and you got a peek at Sheriff Colt Garrett in the second book. Well, who knew that Allison and Ellie (at the café) are sisters? It was a surprise to me, but it seemed so right.
I wanted to write about a heroine who had a little self-esteem problem, something that affects many of us in one way or another. In fact, I wanted this whole book to be about how we perceive ourselves and how we so often wrongly judge people by their outward appearances or their abilities—or lack thereof. Brady can’t read, so he feels inferior and acts out. Cilla responds and takes up for him. Too often our perceived “faults” dictate how we react. We need to remember that God loves us no matter what.
The older I get, the more I realize that a lot of people are hurting for one reason or another. As Christians, we should look beyond the obvious. Look for the real person. Be thankful for who you are and what you have. Be kind. Smile. Say hello. Say a prayer. Be a blessing to someone every day.
By the way, there were conflicting dates on when dyslexia was first recognized as a learning disability, 1886 and 1887, so I chose the one that worked for me!
Be on the lookout next time for Meg Thomerson and Ace Allen’s story. And then...well, we’ll see.
Blessings always!
Questions for Discussion
Have you ever known children like Cilla and Brady Garrett you hated to see coming because of their behavior? How did you handle it/them?
Do you know someone whose “imperfections” make them feel different and cause them to withdraw or, contrarily, “act out” for attention? Do you think this could be part of the reason for the mass killings that have become so prevalent? Shopaholics? Hoarders? Substance abuse?
How can we teach our children not only tolerance for the different and unattractive but also that everyon
e has worth?
What do you do when your children or grandchildren see someone who is different and make a comment, often within earshot? Do you use that as a “teachable moment” to explain how God loves us all, or do your comments reflect your biases?
Do you think the world puts too much emphasis on outer beauty and physical competency in sports, etc.? How can this obsession with perfection impact young people today?
What kind of problems can this preoccupation with our outer appearance/performance lead to? Should there be more emphasis on our inner person? Why? What can we do to change this?
Were you ever guilty of choosing the “unpopular” kid on the playground last when choosing teams? Would you do things differently today?
Do you make a habit of looking beyond the obvious and trying to find out what may be at the root of someone’s problem and try to see from their viewpoint?
We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired Historical title.
You find illumination in days gone by. Love Inspired Historical stories lift the spirit as heroines tackle the challenges of life in another era with hope, faith and a focus on family.
Enjoy four new stories from Love Inspired Historical every month!
Connect with us on Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!
Other ways to keep in touch:
Harlequin.com/newsletters
Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks
Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks
HarlequinBlog.com
Chapter One
July 1881
Randall Northam is a gambler. Randall Northam is a killer.
The words pulsed through Marybeth O’Brien’s head, keeping time with the clatter of the iron wheels on the railroad track as the train propelled her inescapably toward her prospective husband. Until a few moments ago she’d thought his most notable quality was being the second son of a wealthy Colorado ranching family. But the lively young woman seated across from her had just imparted a vital bit of information Randall Northam’s parents had left out when they’d arranged this marriage. And from the enthusiasm brightening Maisie Henshaw’s face, Marybeth could see her story wasn’t finished.
“Yep, he shot that thieving varmint right in the heart. Why, Rand can outdraw anybody.” The red-haired girl elbowed her handsome young husband in the ribs. “Even me.”
Dr. Henshaw chuckled indulgently, his expression utterly devoid of censure, but rather, exuding only devotion for his wife. “You may have heard stories about how wild the West is, Miss O’Brien, but you will certainly feel safe with Rand protecting you.”
“Just like me protecting you.” Maisie chortled in a decidedly unladylike manner.
Her more refined husband nodded his agreement with a grin. “Well, we all have our talents.”
Marybeth returned a weak smile while gulping down a terror she’d never felt as she’d made her plans to go to Colorado. She’d had some concern, yes. A great deal of doubt, of course. But never fear. In fact, the farther she’d traveled from Boston and the closer to her destination, she’d actually begun to look forward to meeting her prospective husband. If he turned out to be all that his parents and his own letters stated, she would reconsider her lifelong vow never to marry. But this disclosure about her intended changed everything and reaffirmed her determination never to be trapped in a miserable marriage, as her mother had been. She lifted a silent prayer of thanks for this encounter with the Henshaws and for finding out the truth about Mr. Randall Northam before meeting him.
Even as she prayed, guilt teased at the corners of her mind. She’d accepted her train fare from Colonel and Mrs. Northam, arguing with herself that perhaps Randall would turn out to be as kind, handsome and noble as his father, a former Union officer. If so, perhaps she could convince him to postpone the wedding until she found Jimmy. Surely, with two brothers of his own, he would understand her desperate desire to find her only brother who’d fled to Colorado eight long years ago to escape their abusive father. Finding Jimmy would not only reunite her with her only living relative, it would provide a means for her not to marry at all. That was, if Jimmy still had Mam’s silver locket. With the key to a great treasure tucked inside, the locket would mean she could repay the Northams for her train fare.
“Don’t you think so?” Maisie reached across and patted Marybeth’s gloved hand.
“Wha—?” Marybeth felt an unaccustomed blush rush to her cheeks. How rude of her not to pay attention to her companions. “Forgive me. Would you repeat the question?”
“Now, Maisie, dear.” John Henshaw bent his head toward his wife in a sweet, familiar way. “Miss O’Brien must be tired from her travels. We should give her time to rest so she will be at her best when she meets her future husband.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Maisie’s pretty face crinkled with worry. “Would you like a pillow? A blanket?” She nudged her husband and pointed to the bag beneath his seat. “Honey, dig out that pillow I packed.”
“Thank you. You’re too kind.” Marybeth accepted the small cushion, placed it against the window and rested her head, not because she wanted to sleep, but because she needed time to think. Although she hated missing the beautiful mountain scenery as the train descended the western side of La Veta Pass, she closed her eyes to keep Maisie from further talking. Again guilt pinched her conscience. This was no way to treat such kind people.
When they’d first met early this morning, the Henshaws had recognized their social duty to an unattached young woman traveling alone, just as several matrons and couples had all the way from Boston. Due to their protecting presence, Marybeth hadn’t been accosted by a single man on the entire trip, although one well-dressed man in particular had stared at her rather boldly today when the doctor wasn’t looking. He would have been more careful if he’d known Maisie was the one to watch out for. Marybeth wanted to laugh thinking about her new friend being a sharpshooter. If anything, she looked like a perfect lady in her fashionable brown traveling suit and elegant matching hat.
The moment the conductor had escorted her to the seat across from the Henshaws, Marybeth could see they were decent Christian people. Because they lived in the town where she would soon reside, she’d gradually told them more about herself, at last telling them she was Randall Northam’s intended bride. Maisie had hooted with joy, announcing she’d known “Rand” all her life, and his sister, Rosamond, was her best friend. As if unfolding a great yarn, she told Marybeth about Rand’s shoot-out over a card game in a saloon.
A gambler, a killer and, no doubt, a drunkard. This was the man she was expected to marry? Indeed she would not marry him, not in a hundred years.
* * *
Rand checked his pocket watch and then glanced down the railroad line toward Alamosa searching for the telltale black cloud of smoke from the Denver and Rio Grande engine. The wind was up today, so maybe tumbleweed or sand had blown over the tracks, slowing the train. Maybe a tree had fallen somewhere up on La Veta Pass and they’d had to stop to remove it before proceeding down into the San Luis Valley.
Rand chewed his lip and paced the boardwalk outside the small station, his boots thudding against the wood in time with his pounding heart. How much longer must he wait before the train arrived? Before his bride arrived?
He glanced down at his new black boots, dismayed at the unavoidable dust covering the toes. Hoping to look his best for his new bride, he brushed each boot over the back of the opposite pant leg and then wiped a hand over the gray marks that ill-advised action left. So much for looking his best. Where was that train anyway?
“Settle down, Rand.” His younger brother, Tolley, half reclined on the bench set against the station’s dull yellow outside wall. “If the train’s going to be late, Charlie’ll let you know.” He jutted his chin toward the open window above him. Inside, Charli
e Williams manned the telegraph, but at the moment no syncopated clickety-click indicated an incoming message. Tolley shook his head and smirked. “Man, if this is what it’s like to get married, I don’t want any part of it. Where’s my cocksure brother today?” He patted the gun strapped to his side, clearly referencing the worst day of Rand’s life.
“Could you just keep quiet about that?” He shot Tolley a cross look. After three years his brother still wouldn’t let him forget the time Rand had been forced to kill a horse thief. Instead of understanding how guilty Rand felt about the incident, Tolley idolized him, even wanted to emulate his gun-fighting skills. “Don’t say anything to Miss O’Brien except ‘how do you do’ and ‘welcome to Esperanza.’ Let me take care of the rest, understand?”
“Yes, boss.” Tolley touched his hat in a mock salute. He glanced down the tracks. “Looks like your wait is over.”
Rand followed his gaze. Sure enough, there came the massive Denver and Rio Grande engine, its black smoke almost invisible in the crosswinds, its cars tucked in a row behind it. Now his pulse pounded in his chest and ears, and his mouth became dry, just as it had before that fateful gunfight. Cocksure? Not in the least. Just able to hide his emotions under stress better than most people. At least most of the time. Today he couldn’t quite subdue his nerves.
The engine chugged to a stop and sent out a blast of gray-white steam from its undercarriage. Porters jumped out, set stools in front of the doors and gave a hand to the disembarking passengers.
“Rand! Hey, Rand.” Emerging from the second passenger car, Maisie Henshaw ignored the porter, practically leaped from the last step and ran toward him. Behind her, Doc Henshaw, toting a valise and his black doctoring bag, stretched out his long legs to keep up with his bride. Rand would never understand how these two very different people had gotten together, but it sure wasn’t any of his business. Besides, anybody could see how happy they were.
Wolf Creek Father (Wolf Creek, Arkansas Book 3) Page 23
