Naomi's Choice

by Claire Sanders

  Naomi’s Choice

  Claire Sanders

  Copyright 2016 CLAIRE SANDERS

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Cover Art by Joan Alley

  Editing by Jacqueline Hopper

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are the product of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Published by Prism Book Group

  ISBN-10: 1-943104-73-5

  ISBN-13: 978-1-943104-73-4

  First Edition, 2016

  Published in the United States of America

  Contact info: contact@prismbookgroup.com

  http://www.prismbookgroup.com

  DEDICATION

  For my daughter, Grace, who lives up to her name every day.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Time to go, folks!” the stagecoach driver yelled. “We’ll be in Loma Verde by noon.”

  Naomi Sullivan stepped outside the inn and pulled her jacket tighter across her body. If she’d known how uncomfortable traveling by stagecoach was, she would have found another way. Walking the ninety miles to her grandmother’s ranch would have been preferable to the jolting trip she’d endured yesterday. At least the cowboy who’d made yesterday’s journey unbearable wouldn’t be traveling today.

  He’d squeezed onto the bench seat next to her, smiled, and waggled his eyebrows. Her stomach had revolted at his stench and then settled into permanent queasiness at the sight of his brown teeth. She’d scooted as close to the window as possible, covered her nose with a handkerchief, and feigned sleep for most of the trip.

  The driver tipped his hat as she approached the stagecoach. “Morning, miss. Did you rest well?”

  Naomi took the hand he offered and climbed into the coach. “Yes, thank you.” It was a lie, but the driver wouldn’t be interested in how awkward it had been to share a bed with a stranger.

  Her bedmate entered the coach next. “You’re so fortunate to be near the end of your trip, my dear,” Mrs. Leeland said, settling herself next to Naomi. “I have another day in this contraption and, even though it is voluntary, I feel as though I am in prison. I hope tonight’s accommodations are better than the Blanco Inn. I didn’t sleep a wink.”

  Naomi hid her smile behind a gloved hand. The middle-aged Mrs. Leeland had spent half of the night snoring and the other half talking to someone in her dreams.

  The last three passengers crowded into the coach. Mr. and Mrs. Jacobson and their infant son were on their way to join family in Waco. Naomi smiled brightly at the couple. Mr. Jacobson was every inch the gentleman. His manners were impeccable and he dressed like a successful businessman. Mrs. Jacobson, as fastidious in her dress as her husband, wore a traveling ensemble with a matching bonnet. The Jacobsons were the perfect couple in both style and etiquette.

  A guard climbed up beside the driver. He carried a rifle, their only protection from bandits and Indians. Naomi whispered a prayer for a safe journey. There hadn’t been Indian trouble in this part of Texas for a decade, but one guard was scant defense against a gang of thieves.

  With a crack of the whip and a shout from the driver, the stagecoach lurched forward. The six-horse team started slowly but managed good speed by the time they reached the open road. Naomi rested her back against the upholstered bench. Four hours, maybe five, and she’d finally be reunited with her grandmother. Naomi closed her eyes and thanked God again for her grandmother. Without Ruth Fairchild, Naomi’s future would be quite bleak.

  Mrs. Jacobson nestled her baby against her shoulder and hummed softly. Mrs. Leeland took a small book from her reticule. Naomi had learned the day before she couldn’t read in a moving stagecoach, so she fixed her gaze on the autumnal landscape. The November breeze from the open window smelled of cedar and freedom. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, willing resentment and dismay to loosen their grip on her heart.

  Several hours later, she awoke to the baby’s cries. Mrs. Jacobson draped a shawl over her shoulder so she could feed the baby while maintaining her modesty. Mr. Jacobson smiled an apology. “Sorry to have disturbed you, miss.”

  “No bother.” Naomi covered a yawn as she straightened her posture. “I didn’t even realize I’d fallen asleep.”

  Mr. Jacobson reached into a vest pocket for his watch. “We should be in Loma Verde soon. Is that your final destination?”

  “Yes. My grandmother lives there.”

  “My wife and I have two more days of this. I’m glad we’ll stop for lunch soon. I’d like to stretch my legs.”

  An unintelligible shout from the driver and the crack of his whip caused Naomi to return her gaze to the window. When the coach began to slow, she and Mr. Jacobson exchanged puzzled looks. “This can’t be Loma Verde,” he said, checking the time on his pocket watch.

  Naomi leaned out of the window. What had caused the driver to change speed? “There’s someone on the side of the road.”

  “I hope it’s someone the driver knows,” Mr. Jacobson replied. “Stopping for a stranger could be an invitation for highwaymen.”

  Naomi clutched her reticule tightly. The guard was still there, his rifle ever-ready for trouble.

  As the coach pulled to a stop, the guard hailed the stranger. “Ethan Garrett. What in the world are you doing on the San Antonio road? Isn’t there enough work on your ranch to keep you busy?”

  “Nice to see you too,” the man said with a wide grin. “Thanks for stopping.”

  “I’ve never been known as a man with too many brains,” the driver replied with a laconic drawl, “but I believe you may have had trouble with a horse.”

  Ethan looked at the saddle at his feet. “Figured that out, did you?”

  The driver’s hoarse chuckle sounded like a rasp drawn across rough wood. “Throw that one-of-a-kind fancy saddle of yours up top and climb in.”

  “Isn’t there room on top for me?” the stranger asked.

  “Not this trip,” the guard said. “Besides, passengers without a ticket don’t exactly get first-class seats.”

  The driver cackled loudly at his compatriot’s humor. “First class. That’s a good one.”

  The unexpected passenger opened the stagecoach door, peered inside, and touched a finger to the brim of his hat. “Morning, ladies. My name’s Ethan Garrett. Sorry to crowd you.”

  The only man in the coach extended his hand. “Name’s Benjamin Jacobson, and this is my wife and son.”

  Ethan shook Mr. Jacobson’s hand and tipped his hat to his wife. “Ma’am.”

  In preparation for another assault to her nose, Naomi reached for her handkerchief. Mrs. Leeland began to scoot toward the middle of the bench in order to make room for the new passenger.

  “Thank you for the consideration, ma’am,” Ethan said, removing his hat, “but I’ll just make space on the floor. No need to disturb you more than necessary.” The cowboy climbed into the coach, dropped to the floor, and stretched his legs between the passengers’ feet.

  “You ready down there, Ethan?” the guard shouted.

  The cowboy closed the door behind him. “Ready for anything you throw at me,” he called.

  The guard and driver laughed loudly and the coach slowly pulled ahead.

  “How far are we fro
m Loma Verde?” Mr. Jacobson asked.

  The cowboy rested his hat on his knees and ran his fingers through dark hair. “By coach, about a half-hour. Walking, however, would have taken me most of the afternoon.”

  “What will you do about your horse?” Mrs. Jacobson asked.

  “I left him to graze and rest his leg. I’ll come back after I get a fresh mount. A trip to the farrier will set him right.”

  “Do you live in Loma Verde?” Mr. Jacobson asked.

  “Yes, sir. My parents settled there in ’37, just after this area became a republic. Now, we’re the twenty-eighth state.”

  Mr. Jacobson grinned at Ethan. “Don’t tell me you’d rather Texas had remained an independent nation. My father says we had nothing but nine years of debts and immigrants.”

  Naomi sighed quietly. Why did men enjoy talking about politics? Her father had hosted many heated debates in their drawing room while Naomi refilled coffee cups and smiled demurely.

  As the men talked on, Naomi examined the newest passenger. His legs were too long to stretch along the coach’s floor, so he must have been at least six feet tall, if not more. He wore dusty, heeled boots, the kind popular with all men who spent time on a horse, and his wide-brimmed straw hat was the flat-crown style worn by Mexican vaqueros. Her gaze moved to his hands and, to her surprise, they were clean. She took a deep breath and detected a mild odor of perspiration. Clean sweat. Not the onion-like smell of unwashed clothes and dirty bodies.

  He had an ordinary face, shadowed with a few days’ growth of beard. He smiled frequently while debating with Mr. Jacobson, and his eyes shone with intelligence. But he was a cowboy, nonetheless. Another man who drifted from ranch to ranch, picking up whatever work he could find and then losing all of his money in the nearest saloon.

  Mr. Jacobson and Ethan were still arguing the merits of statehood when the stagecoach slowed again. “Are we in Loma Verde?” Mrs. Leeland asked Ethan.

  Instead of answering her question, Ethan grinned broadly and made a show of sniffing the air. “I smell carne asado and fresh-baked bread. Lunch is ready at the Loma Verde station.”

  Mrs. Leeland frowned. “Carne what?”

  “Roasted meat,” Ethan explained. “The Garcia family runs the Loma Verde station and they’re mighty fine cooks.”

  “I’m too hungry to be particular,” Mr. Jacobson said. “As long as it’s recognizable, I’ll eat it.”

  The coach slowed to a stop. Ethan reached behind his head, opened the door, and climbed out. Then he offered his hand to the ladies. Mrs. Leeland and Mrs. Jacobson disembarked, leaving only Naomi and Mr. Jacobson in the coach.

  “After you,” the gentleman said.

  Naomi tried to move. There was no reason to suspect Ethan Garrett would behave improperly. Mrs. Leeland called, “It’s all right, my dear. Mr. Garrett is nothing like that ill-mannered brute from yesterday.”

  Naomi’s face warmed. Surely Mrs. Leeland wouldn’t embarrass her by telling Ethan what the cowboy had done.

  Mrs. Leeland, however, was apparently anxious to relate the tale. “You should have been here, Mr. Garrett.”

  “Why’s that, ma’am?” Ethan asked.

  “We ladies had to suffer a most impudent lout. Wouldn’t you agree, Mrs. Jacobson? A vagabond of the worst type, a drifter of unseemly morals, took liberties with Miss Sullivan when we stopped for the night.”

  “Come now,” Mrs. Jacobson said with a laugh. “You make it sound much worse than it was.”

  Naomi took a deep breath, gathered her skirts, and reached for Ethan’s hand as she stepped off the stagecoach. Then she squeezed her eyes shut, as if to make Mrs. Leeland and her overdramatic retelling disappear.

  Naomi glanced at the young mother and sent her silent thanks. But Mrs. Leeland was caught up in her own lurid retelling. “That drifter, who hadn’t used soap and water for at least six months, stood beside the coach step and offered his hand as politely as any footman. He helped me and Mrs. Jacobson alight with nary a hint of impropriety, but when Miss Sullivan took his hand…”

  Mrs. Leeland paused for dramatic effect and Naomi walked away from the passengers. She couldn’t stop Mrs. Leeland, but she didn’t have to listen to Ethan Garrett laugh at her.

  “Would you believe that no-account grabbed Miss Sullivan around the waist, twirled her around, and kissed her? Right on the lips.”

  Naomi raised her chin. The other passengers didn’t need to know the remorse that now lived under her skin. She’d dreamed of her first kiss since girlhood, only to have that dream crushed by a loathsome drifter.

  Let the man laugh. Once she found her grandmother, she’d be on her way. There was little chance she’d ever see Ethan Garrett again.

  But she didn’t hear laughter.

  She slowed her steps, intent on catching Ethan Garrett’s reaction. “I’m sorry to hear Miss Sullivan was accosted in such a way. Was she hurt?”

  “No, no,” Mrs. Jacobson answered. “The man put her down, laughed, and went into the livery. I’m sure my husband would have gone after him, but Benjamin was on the opposite side of the coach and didn’t see what happened.”

  “If you ask me,” Mrs. Leeland continued, “Miss Sullivan isn’t entirely blameless. She must have done something to encourage that cowboy.”

  Naomi closed her eyes. She’d never spoken a word to the man. She’d rarely made eye contact. But wasn’t that the way of the world? The woman was always to blame.

  As Naomi stepped onto the boardwalk, she turned her head in order to catch of glimpse of Ethan Garrett. He put on his hat and climbed to the top of the coach. A moment later, his saddle sailed over the edge, sending up plumes of dust as it hit the road.

  He hadn’t laughed at her. Although he was far from being a gentleman, at least he had acted with consideration.

  “Welcome to Loma Verde station.” The greeting came from a dark-haired woman who stood in the doorway of a wooden-frame building.

  “Thank you. I’m hoping to meet Mrs. Ruth Fairchild here. Do you know her?”

  “Of course,” the woman answered. “Miss Ruth told us her granddaughter was due today. Are you Naomi?”

  Naomi’s shoulders relaxed in response to the woman’s amiability. “Yes. Is my grandmother here?”

  “Not yet, but don’t worry. The stage arrived earlier than usual today.” The woman took Naomi’s arm and guided her into a stone building. Long trestle tables and benches were quickly being filled by her fellow passengers. Floor-to-ceiling shutters had been opened to allow fresh air to pass through. “Have a seat, Miss Naomi, and I’ll bring you a plate of food.”

  Disappointment clouded Naomi’s heart, but she smiled her thanks and took a seat where she could watch for her grandmother. Two years had passed since she’d felt her grandmother’s warm embrace. Two lonely years of grieving her mother and learning to be the lady of the house.

  A young girl with dark braids set a bowl of soup in front of Naomi. “Thank you. What’s your name?”

  White teeth peeked from behind the girl’s timid smile, but she did not answer. Instead, she turned her attention to the sound of boot steps at the entrance. “Ethan!” the little girl shouted. “Ethan!”

  Naomi watched with amusement as the child ran toward the doorway, her thin arms raised in anticipation.

  “There’s my little dove,” Ethan Garrett answered with a wide smile. He swung the girl up and rested her against his chest. “Did you save some food for me?”

  The child’s braids bobbed as she nodded her head vigorously.

  “Paloma! Let Mr. Ethan eat.” The same woman who had welcomed Naomi scolded the little girl.

  Had Naomi thought Ethan Garrett an ordinary man? The way he greeted the child and the sparkle in his eyes gave her cause to reconsider.

  “Oh, Marta, leave her alone,” he said. “It’s nice to have someone who’s happy to see me.”

  The woman said something to the little girl in Spanish and the child climbed down from his arms. “I wasn’t e
xpecting you today,” Marta said.

  Ethan Garrett hung his hat from a peg near the door. “I had a bit of trouble with a horse. Think Vicente could lend me one until tomorrow?”

  “I’ll ask him,” she replied. Then she smiled at the little girl who carried a plate of food toward him.

  He sat on the bench a few feet from Naomi. “Thank you, Paloma. I’m so hungry my stomach sounds like an unhappy donkey.”

  Naomi smiled as the girl laughed. The cowboy certainly had captured one feminine heart. He folded his hands on the table and bowed his head. Realizing she hadn’t yet said grace, Naomi laid her spoon on the table and did the same. When she lifted her head, her grandmother’s kind face smiled down at her.

  Naomi sprang from her seat to embrace her grandmother. “Finally,” she whispered into her grandmother’s white hair. “It’s been too long.” She held on tightly and let tears of joy run down her face.

  “I almost didn’t recognize you,” Ruth said, stepping back from the embrace. “You’ve grown so much. How old are you now?”

  “Twenty-two last month. Papa says I look like Mama.”

  Ruth held both of Naomi’s hands. “Your hair’s the same,” Ruth replied, “and your eyes. But you’re taller. And, I daresay, prettier.”

  Naomi reached into a pocket for her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “I’m so glad to be here.”

  Ruth’s eyes shone. “No more than I am to have your company.”

  Marta reappeared at their side. “Will you have something to eat, Miss Ruth?”

  “Oh, Marta,” Ruth answered. “Have you met my granddaughter?”

  “Yes, and her soup is getting cold. Would you like to join her?”

  Ruth looked around the small room as though seeing it for the first time. “Why, Ethan. What are you doing here?”

  Ethan Garrett stood. “Enjoying Marta’s fine cooking. I found myself unexpectedly in town and decided to take advantage of it.”

  “This is the granddaughter I told you about, come all the way from San Antonio to visit.”

  Ethan glanced at Naomi. “Glad she made it safely.”