The Brides of Evergreen Box Set

by Heather Blanton

  Because she wasn’t seeing them.

  Earlier this morning she’d watched Joel seem to grow taller and stronger as he rode out. She was happy for him. The ranch was good for him. Being here was helping him find something. His dreams, his freedom—himself? She wasn’t sure, but she was so glad he’d come with her.

  Oddly, the thought that made her look down at her stomach and imagine the explosion her father surely had stored up for such wonderful news. For Joel. For the lies. Yet, the baby was innocent and Angela laced her fingers protectively over her abdomen. “Don’t worry, little one, no matter how this turns out, I’ll take care of you.”

  She spent a few hours knitting in a sunny corner of the living room, enjoying the fire, but still her mind wandered continually to her worries. The baby. Her father’s reaction.

  Joel.

  Why hasn’t he left, Lord? The general gave him the perfect excuse.

  Frustrated by problems she couldn’t or wouldn’t solve quite yet, she wandered out to the porch to watch the evening fall. The temperature was going with it. She hugged herself against the chill, wishing she’d worn a shawl.

  Two different groups of dusty, dog-tired hands rode in, the men tipping their hats to her. The scent of Martha’s roast and cherry pie mingled in the air with beef stew and cornbread from the bunkhouse, promising some fine meals to end the day.

  Joel would be back soon. She wondered how his day had gone.

  Clip-clopping horses drew her attention to another group of men reining up at the hitching post just off to her left. Angela raised her hand to block the low sun and saw her father’s dour silhouette.

  He dismounted, noting her presence with some surprise as he climbed the steps. Pausing in front of her, his expression hardened. “He isn’t ever going to be a cowboy—at least not ever as good as a whole one.”

  Indignation flared in Angela and she wanted to defend Joel, scream at her father to let his prejudice go. She almost argued Joel was not only whole, but decent and kind. At the last instant, she bit it all back. Her father didn’t want to hear it. He had never heard anything that contradicted his beliefs or opinions. Disinclined to engage in a fruitless argument, she said simply, coldly, “Dinner’s almost ready.”

  The general moved back a hair, as if befuddled by a nonsensical response, but then he strode past her with the purpose of a man who couldn’t be bothered with triviality. A chuckle escaped one of the cowboys in the group. Angela’s gaze flicked over to the scruffy foreman, Glenn.

  Leering at her, he reached over and grabbed the reins on the general’s horse. “He’s right. You coulda done a lot better. You had the pickin’ of any man in this state. On this ranch.”

  She was offended by the cowboy’s audacity. Her love life was certainly none of his business. She nearly told him so, but Joel and Long Feather rode up at that moment. All the men exchanged tense glances, but the ranch hands took their glares and left.

  Angela absently rested a hand over the butterflies fluttering in her stomach at the sight of Joel. Haggard and dirty, his uniform dusted over with dirt, he looked… handsome.

  More than that, he looked confident.

  “How was your day, Joel?”

  He and Long Feather shot each other sideways glances. “You could say it was educational.”

  “By the end there,” Long Feather nudged his mount into a walk again, “he was falling off less and less. There was great improvement today.”

  Angela wasn’t sure how to react to the comment and only smiled when Joel grinned and followed.

  “I’ll do better tomorrow.”

  “I expect so,” Long Feather said over his shoulder. “Let us put the horses up and I will send your husband along shortly.”

  “I’ll get your bath ready, Joel.”

  The comment seemed to singe the air with electricity and they both stiffened. Long Feather noticed and smirked at Joel. “Well, I’ll make him hurry then.”

  Joel couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this weary. Exhausted, dusty, his mouth dry as a sand dune, he collapsed into the big, over-stuffed chair next to the bed. No, wait, he did recall one other time. His first week with the Seventh. They’d chased a band of renegades for forty-five miles, almost non-stop.

  Ranching here on the Bar FB was ridiculously hard. And the work seemed to get harder, more challenging every time Long Feather came back from one of his trips. Still, Joel was exhilarated. He was riding again, and doing it with some skill. He had a long way to go, but he was riding again.

  “You look exhausted.”

  Joel opened one eye to peer at Angela. She held his robe and towel in one arm, a scrub brush in the other. “I’ll set these on the table beside the tub. If you don’t mind, I’ll sit by the fire, of course with my back to you. I’m practicing my knitting.”

  “No, that’s fine.” He had no strength to argue anyway.

  “Oh, and your luggage is finally here. I laid you out some clothes and we don’t have to keep washing your uniform nearly every night. We were about to scrub holes in it.”

  “Yes, thank you.” He didn’t have the energy to muster up even a chuckle.

  She sat down, her back turned slightly to him, and he stood up. Moving like his arms were encased in mud, he undressed and slid into the warm, healing water, all the while marveling over this absurd situation. Married but not. Learning to ride again and not falling. From cavalry officer to cowboy. That made him chuckle. “Long Feather has some crazy idea I can win a contest in the ranch rodeo.”

  Angela stopped knitting. “I’d forgotten all about that. It’s a huge event. Ranches from all over compete in it.” She started knitting again, then stopped once more. “Wait. He thinks you can actually win something? You must be an extremely gifted rider.”

  “For a one-legged soldier? Maybe he’s just trying to build up my confidence.”

  “No. Long Feather isn’t like that. He speaks only truth. Either he doesn’t understand lying or prefers not to lower himself to it. I think it’s the latter.”

  “I grew up around horses, and cavalry soldiers live in the saddle. Riding a horse used to be as effortless as walking. Maybe I’ve held on to some of that.” He hoped so.

  Soaping up, Joel pondered the beautiful girl sitting by the fire, turned mostly away from him. She sat up and stretched, rotating her shoulders, the light gleaming in her hair, silhouetting her lovely figure. “The pick of any man in the state, huh?”

  She sagged, and he knew he’d accidentally touched a nerve. Nonetheless, she answered. “Yes, who wouldn’t want to marry a cattle baron’s daughter?” Bitterness in her voice betrayed her feelings. “I was a prize catch. I suppose that’s why I…fell in love—or what I thought was love—with Gabriel. He didn’t know anything about me. He didn’t want me for my cattle.”

  Joel didn’t speak. Just listened. He guessed this was no easy conversation for her.

  “Turns out, what he wanted me for was what every woman has, only it’s of greater value than cows…” She hung her head. “And I gave it away. Now no one can love me.”

  Joel ached for her. He knew shame and regret. He knew redemption, too. And he wished it for her. “We all make mistakes, Angela. The Bible says all have sinned and come short of the glory of God. Through His grace, He brings something good out of our disasters. And look at you, you are going to have a baby. You should be happy about that.”

  “I am. I love this child fiercely. I wish his father did. I wish my father did.” The fire crackled in the silence that fell. After a moment, she said, “Back in the hotel, when you were unconscious, you spoke of your wife.”

  Joel remembered the dreams, snatches of Ruth’s complaints. Her vitriol. Her insults. Her voice screeched in his ears even now.

  “She sounds—forgive me for saying this—cruel.”

  In the last few months, Ruth had called him everything but a whole man. Half a man. Worthless. Even a burden on her. He wouldn’t deny it. He could explain her cruelty, though. “She’s
afraid.” And maybe carrying some of her own guilt.

  He extricated himself from the tub and reached for the towel. “All the comforts she stored up for herself are in jeopardy.” He dragged it over his body as he spoke. “All her expectations for social events, rising in the right circles, attending lavish balls…” Dried off, he slipped into his robe and strapped on his leg. “She fears I hamper her chances.” To lighten the mood, he added. “She’s right. I can’t dance…I never learned.” He straightened up and waited with a grin.

  Slowly, Angela turned her head to him. Her smile spread to a mischievous grin that worried him. She rose and walked over to him. “Part of the Christmas Rodeo is a ball.” She raised her hands into a dance position. “If you can ride a horse, you can dance. I’ll teach you.”

  Taken aback—but Angela did that regularly to him—he took her hands. She placed his right hand on her hip, then dropped her left hand on his shoulder. “Your hand should be on my shoulder, but for now, let’s leave it there.”

  Joel’s heart raced. He had no business being this close, touching her, but the cleft of her waist felt natural, as if his hand was always meant to rest there. Her gaze, warm and inviting, touched him in a physical way, like a caress on his cheek. Soft, pink, inviting lips stole his wits. She smelled like everything good on the ranch—cherry pie, roast, leather, and lilacs.

  She squeezed his other hand. “We’ll just do a simple box step. That should get you through any song. Take your left foot forward and I will step back on my right. It looks like this. Follow my feet. Step… side…” Joel teetered a little, but she had him. “Now bring your feet together. Very good. Shift your weight…”

  He couldn’t help but grin. A touch wobbly, but he had followed.

  “Again,” she ordered. “Step…side…together. Excellent,” she squealed.

  The grin was beginning to hurt his face. “I’m dancing.”

  “Yes,” laughter laced her voice. “You are dancing. Step. Side. Together. Step. Side. Together.” She fell silent and they did several more steps, eyes locked on each other. No music. Only silence. Except for the beating of their hearts and he felt sure she could hear his.

  “What are we doing?” She asked in a whisper. They drifted to a stop. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her cheeks burned brightly with a beautiful pink flush. “You have to leave…don’t you?”

  Desire in her eyes, mixed with pleading, undid him. What wouldn’t he give to kiss her right now? He couldn’t think of a thing. He let go of her hand and brushed her cheek. He drew closer and she lifted her face to him.

  Desperate for control of himself, Joel squeezed his eyes shut. “Angela, we can’t…I can’t.”

  “I’m sorry.” She slipped back from him, out of his embrace. “You’re right.” She spun to the fire. “You’re right. It’s the firelight and my situation. I’m…lonely and scared, Joel. I’m sorry. And you’re so,” her voice dropped to a whisper, “wonderful.” She hugged herself. “Please don’t think…think badly of me.”

  Think badly of her? “Of course I don’t.” He wanted to hold her and tell her everything would be all right. That if her father didn’t want her and the child, he did. But how could he say any of those things?

  God help him, he had a wife and even thinking about Angela in any romantic way was a sin. He should have never agreed to help her.

  And now they were playing with fire. He had to leave.

  21

  Long Feather stared for a moment at the flap on Miss Laurie’s tent. He knew well the expectation the whites had for privacy. That was why their houses were divided by rooms and doors with locks. Even in the bunkhouse, the hands respected each other’s beds and the space around them. As if each bunk had an imaginary wall the cowboy owned.

  Long Feather did not understand it, but being aware of the expectation, he cleared his throat and said, “Miss Laurie?”

  She did not answer and after a moment he started to reach for the flap when a noise behind him made him turn. Laughing Deer stared at him with dark, sad eyes and a pinched face. “She is at the bluff, drawing her pictures.”

  Long Feather hated the way Laughing Deer looked at him. Their situation was not his fault. He had done as their customs demanded. Why did her face always have to say she wished she were as dead as his brother?

  Wishing not to talk with her, he nodded and strode off to find Laurie. She lifted his heart, breathed life into his soul, set fire in his veins. Not a boy anymore, Long Feather had decided on the ride back to the reservation to act like the warrior and wise elder he was and tell her of his feelings.

  He stumbled upon her, paintbrush in hand, staring off the bluff at the great expanse of rolling plains awash in the burning glow of a setting sun. Silhouetted against the great light, she glimmered like some magical being from the spirit world. Strands of her unbraided hair, lifted by the breeze, fluttered around her like orange and red tongues of fire.

  For a moment, Long Feather was breathless and awestruck by her beauty, by her mystery. Truly, the White Buffalo had shown himself to Miss Laurie because she was a great power. At least, she held great power over Long Feather’s heart.

  Reminding himself of his age and stature, he raised his chin and approached her. “Your hair is loose.”

  “Oh.” She jumped at his voice and spun. “Oh, yes. Turtle Woman has been avoiding me. Red Bird said it is because I saw the buffalo.”

  This was good news and it pleased Long Feather. He shifted so the sun was not in his eyes and smiled down at Woman-Who-Holds-On. While the sunset glowed in her hair and bathed her skin in a copper glow, the pale blue of her eyes did not change, and they peered into his soul.

  She rubbed her arms and hunched her shoulders. “It’s time for me to quit. My fingers are cold now.”

  Long Feather reached out and took her hands in his. Her mouth fell open into a little “o”, but she did not protest or pull away. Emboldened, he raised them to his mouth and gently blew warm air over her fingers. Her eyes widened, the brush fell from her grip, and her expression slowly changed to one of warmth and hunger.

  The warrior in him rose up and he slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her to him. How long since he’d held a woman who ignited his body and his soul? He brushed her cheek, marveling over the feelings stirring within him, his racing heart, and his quick breaths.

  Color rose to her face. Her breath, too, came in short, soft whispers. She tilted her lips up to him and he took the kiss. Soft, easy, careful at first, crossing the boundary between their worlds with hesitancy. But shortly passion blurred the lines. He folded her into him and deepened the kiss. She yielded to him and the thrill of her surrender shot through him like an arrow.

  His dark fingers tangled themselves in the strands of her gold tresses; delicate arms reached up and encircled his neck. Reason left him. Divisions were forgotten. He tasted her, breathed her in, lost himself in the warmth of her melting to him. The fire of a young man burned again deep in the hollow places of his heart. Life soared from his chest like an eagle.

  He was a man. She was a woman. Tribes, races, their differences faded with the setting sun.

  22

  Long Feather emerged from the bunkhouse and considered the morning. Steam puffed from the nostrils of both man and beast. Frost glittered on the ground and fence rails. Almost instantly, his fingers ached a little from the deep cold and he didn’t care. A rooster crowed over near the main house and he smiled. Thirsty, he decided the water barrel over near the schoolroom was more interesting. Meandering through the waking ranch, he blew warm breath on fingers, surprised at the pain in them. Perhaps he was getting long in the tooth when he wished for summer.

  He glanced over at the dark, quiet school as he approached the water barrel. He’d heard she’d come back last night with soldiers. Wondering if it was truth, he took the ladle hanging from the edge of the barrel and cracked the thin sheet of ice over the water. The bite of the icy sip made him flinch. Days like this he could understand the
cowboys who clung to their steaming mugs of coffee as long as possible.

  He warmed, though, as he took another drink of the frigid water and recalled how Miss Laurie felt in his arms. Interesting how just thinking of her made his heart beat faster, returned some of the warrior’s strength he’d forgotten. His step was lighter. His senses sharper. His patience with all these Indian-hating cowboys had grown a longer fuse. And he had reason to thank the Creator for something more than horses.

  He replaced the ladle and straightened, glancing around the ranch. Miss Laurie emerged from the house, clutching a carpet bag to her chest.

  She saw him, waved, and hurried over. Her red wool coat was buttoned snugly at her tiny waist and he allowed himself a moment to admire her curves, appreciate the sun glinting on her hair, the frosty breath swirling around her lips.

  “You are back. I would have come and got you.”

  “Thank you, but the soldiers offered me an escort yesterday.” Her face tightened a little and he wondered if she was ashamed or unhappy about their kiss. As if to allay his concern, she said, “I know it’s difficult for you go to the reservation. The time away. You have obligations here.”

  He didn’t argue. Between training Joel and working with the new remuda of ponies, yes, his trips to the reservation were burdensome. But he didn’t mind.

  “I could use your help,” she rushed on. “Might I talk you into the lighting the fire in the school house this morning? I haven’t been able to get it to burn warm enough.”

  He let the corner of his mouth rise subtly. “It would be my pleasure to light your fire.”

  She gasped softly and pink flooded her cheeks. She glanced away quickly. “You shouldn’t say such things, Long Feather.”

  The shade of color in her face deepened and he had to laugh. “But I so enjoy the flush of color it causes you. Cheyenne do not show this so much.”