Naomi's Choice

by Claire Sanders

  Ruth wiped tears from her eyes. “I never cry. Ask anybody who knows me.”

  Naomi embraced her grandmother. “Perhaps you only cry when you’re happy.”

  “I wish Ethan’s mother could be here. She’d love you so much. Just think, Elizabeth’s son and my granddaughter, getting married right here on the Garrett ranch. I’m sorry your father’s not here to give you away.”

  “I didn’t really expect him to come,” Naomi said. “He’s quite busy these days, supporting a wife and four children.”

  Ruth shook her head. “Foolish man. He doesn’t understand what he’s missing.”

  Naomi understood her grandmother’s unspoken message. One day, her father would regret his decision. He’d chosen a new wife and a new family over her, but Naomi was determined to hold that bite of rejection at bay. Especially on her wedding day.

  Marta Garcia and Paloma entered the bedroom where Naomi had dressed. “Oh, Naomi,” Marta gushed. “You look like an angel!”

  Naomi smoothed the skirt of her wedding dress. “Grandmother insisted on white. She said it’s the latest fashion.”

  “I don’t know much about fashion,” Marta said, “but I do know an angel when I see one.”

  Naomi bent to speak to Paloma. “How about you? Ready to help me and Ethan get married?”

  Paloma beamed at her new friend. “Miss Ruth got me a new dress too.” She turned a circle so that all the ladies could appreciate the pastel pink dress with yards of frothy lace.

  “You’d better not keep Ethan waiting,” her grandmother said. “He’s likely to storm in here and drag you to the altar.”

  “Ethan wouldn’t do that,” Paloma protested.

  Marta hastened to reassure her daughter. “It’s all right. Miss Ruth is making a joke.”

  Paloma looked at Ruth from the corner of her eye before moving to Naomi’s side. “I go first, remember? Then Miss Ruth, then you.”

  “Where are your flowers?” Naomi asked.

  “On the kitchen table, next to yours.”

  “Then I think we’re ready.” Naomi reached for her grandmother. “If you hadn’t invited me to Loma Verde, I never would have met Ethan.”

  Ruth wiped fresh tears from her eyes. “It works out well for me too. My only granddaughter living a stone’s throw away. Life doesn’t get much sweeter than that.”

  Naomi embraced her grandmother. A few months earlier, she’d been confused and resentful, a servant in her own home. Now, she was about to marry the love of her life and build a future with him.

  Vicente’s loud voice broke through the women’s quiet sobs. “If nobody’s getting married today, is it all right if I dig into the food?”

  “Oh no, you don’t,” Marta called. She rolled her eyes and smiled as she left. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure the food is safe.”

  Ruth wiped Naomi’s eyes and then her own. “All right, Paloma. Lead the way.”

  The little girl skipped out of the room. Ruth looked over her shoulder at Naomi.

  “I’m ready,” Naomi said.

  Ruth took a deep breath, let it out, and left the room. Naomi closed her eyes and bowed her head. Her heart was so full it was difficult to concentrate on the words she wanted to say. “Thank You, Lord. I pray You will bless my marriage.” Her mind darted from one thought to another. “I have no idea how to be a good wife,” she confessed, “but I’m sure Ethan will forgive my mistakes. He’s already forgiven the worst of them.”

  Paloma met her at the door and handed her a small bouquet of wildflowers. “I’ve never been in a wedding before,” the girl said.

  “Me either,” Naomi answered with a smile.

  The two stepped outside and joined Ruth on the porch. Friends and neighbors gathered under a massive oak where Reverend Lewis waited. A wooden cross and flowers adorned a cloth-covered table that served as an altar.

  Abraham Braun, the only fiddler in town, had evidently been waiting for the moment, because one nod from her grandmother was all it took for him to launch into a merry tune. The guests quieted and gathered near the table where Reverend Lewis stood. Paloma waved to her father who stood next to Ethan, and walked toward him as though she were a princess greeting her subjects. Ruth followed, smiling and nodding at her neighbors.

  Naomi fixed her gaze on Ethan. How had she transformed from a girl to a woman in six short months? Thank goodness, she’d learned to distinguish infatuation from true love. Thank goodness, she’d learn to recognize virtue instead of allowing false beauty to mislead her.

  Ethan smiled broadly and Naomi’s heart answered. She took a step toward him and the fiddler changed his tune. Recognizing the hymn, the guests sang along.

  Blest be the tie that binds,

  Our hearts in Christian love…

  Ethan extended one hand to her. Naomi gratefully and gleefully slipped her hand into his. From this day forward, the two of them would become one. It was a future she enthusiastically embraced.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  After many years of writing and publishing in the nonfiction world of academia, Claire turned her energy, humor and creativity towards the production of compelling romantic fiction. Claire writes captivating stories that fit the genres of contemporary, historical, and inspirational romance. Claire creates heroes any woman would want to be with and heroines who overcome all obstacles to find love. Written with wit and tenderness, her stories engage the readers’ hearts and imaginations. Readers will find themselves anxiously turning the pages to find out what happens next. Claire lives in the greater Houston area with her family and two well-loved dogs. When she isn’t writing, you’ll find her cooking, gardening, and dreaming of places to travel.

  Please enjoy this excerpt from Hill Country Homecoming by Julie B Cosgrove, available now from Prism Book Group!

  Live rich, marry richer. That had been Sarah Mansfield’s goal since grade school. Now, after years of plotting and planning, it lay within reach.

  She angled the two-carat round-cut solitaire, surrounded by a myriad of smaller stones, to catch the light streaming through the car window. The facets glimmered in the warm, winter sun as it bounced off the bare cypress branches swishing overhead. Her fiancé, Tucker Simpson, sat next to her in his shiny, new Italian convertible. As he shifted gears and pressed the clutch, his hand-stitched, never-stepped-into-manure boots gave off a soft whiff of saddle-soap. Outside the window, the glistening emerald Guadalupe River wound along the state road like a lazy rattler seeking shade.

  “It is the one you wanted. From Harrison’s, right?”

  “Yes. I should have known you’d dare not shop anyplace else.” She gave him a teasing wink.

  “Only the best for my girl. As soon as I signed the Henderson account with the firm, it proved my worth.” His diamond-eyed, eighteen-carat gold longhorn tie tack blinked in her direction. Symbol of graduating in the top of his Texas law school class.

  She grinned.

  He slipped his hand from the gearshift and laced his fingers through hers. “After only six months with Abernathy, Smith and Firth, I am the newest junior partner. At $300K a year, I can almost afford you.”

  “The ring is perfect. Just like you, honey.” She fluttered her mascara-laden eyelashes and pecked his golf-course-bronzed cheek in response. His French aftershave, at $129.95 an ounce, swept her into euphoria. Yep, all the effort and waiting had paid off.

  Born into one of the wealthiest horse breeding families in Central Texas, Sarah spent her summers galloping across the plains in the morning, lounging on rafts in the river through the afternoons, and kicking up dust at the rodeo dances until midnight, all the while tantalizing the local boys she kept at arm’s length. While they offered a certain amount of fun, they didn’t fit the bill. Too uncouth and prone to spit chewing tobacco.

  The school year, spent in San Antonio, sequestered her in an upscale parochial girl’s school away from the inner city sharks, though a few boldly circled the posh pond trying to lure a socialite with their good look
s and slumming charms. Nice playthings on which to practice her femininity, but long ago, she’d set her sights on far larger fish—Dallas or Houstonian guys with daddy’s money bulging from wallets in the back pockets of their too-tight jeans.

  After she graduated, she attended one of the top private colleges in the state and pledged a sorority—the one of her mother and grandmother. Next, she spent the obligatory year touring Europe with the other debutantes, per time-honored protocol, in order to round out her cultural repertoire and to catch the eyes of rich and eligible cosmopolitan bachelors. The fact she had enough brains to make straight A’s all the way through school hardly mattered. Graceful flirtations, the right haircut and perfume, and a flawlessly tanned body did.

  Her best friend, Emma Rose, landed a minor British duke, but Sarah’s attention fell on Tucker as he volleyed the beach ball while summering on the Italian Riviera. His rippled abs captured the Mediterranean sunbeams and ricocheted into her heart. She used every feminine wile in her well-bred arsenal to convince him to snare her instead of one of the other girls, and then played a mild hard-to-get to reel him in. She convinced her father to pay for her to get her Master’s in Renaissance English Literature at the university in Dallas so she could keep Tucker wiggling on the hook once he landed employment at the prestigious law firm. It was also where she made her debut into society, accumulating well-established names and addresses for her future wedding invitations. Yep, her plans had fallen in place.

  Sarah laced her arm through Tucker’s and leaned into his shoulder blade. She raised her left hand higher. “Everyone at the Christmas Dance tonight at the Bar-M Ranch will wish they were us. You are going to drool over my dress.”

  “I’d prefer to see you out of it, but I know you are the wait-until-the-honeymoon type.”

  She lifted off his chest and protruded her lower lip as she twisted to face him. “Which you’ve agreed to abide by.”

  “Anything for you, angel. You just keep reminding me you’re worth the wait, okay?” He winked.

  She snickered. “My daddy will, for sure. He’s won awards for his rifle shooting.”

  Tucker cleared his throat. “How many folks are you expecting tonight?”

  “Oh, around two-hundred I guess.” She scrunched her nose and swished back her palomino-blonde hair. “Dad insists on letting the ranch hands and their families join in the holiday festivities. Which, unfortunately, means Mr. Righteous will be in attendance.” She mimed a gag, dipping her finger to the back of her tongue.

  Tucker’s eyes twinkled in response as he draped an arm over her shoulders and pulled her close. “You mean your dad’s right hand man, Travis?”

  She snuggled into his ribcage and yawned. “That’s the one. Hope he leaves his Bible in the bunkhouse. I don’t want religion spoiling my Christmas.”

  He reared his head back, revealing a protruding Adam’s apple peeking from his starched and professionally pressed Oxford shirt collar. A laugh exploded from his lips.

  “Turn down that road up ahead on the right, honey, where you see the large oak and the Texas flag.”

  “Yes’m.” Tucker twisted to face her as she rose off his torso and smoothed her hair back into place. “Sarah. Am I seriously supposed to get on this Travis’ good side? I mean, could he prevent our wedding if he disapproved?”

  She brushed a piece of lint from her French designer jeans. “Daddy always values his opinions about raising horses, so sometimes, he gets his nose a bit too high, if you get my meaning. But”—she lifted her gaze and narrowed her blue eyes—“if that cowpoke hisses, you ignore him. He’ll slither back into his hole where he belongs as soon as he realizes Daddy’s happy as long as I’m happy.”

  “Good to know.” His eyes returned to the road winding through the prairie grass ahead of them.

  “There’s the entrance. Turn left here.”

  Sarah clicked the remote fob on her key ring to open the massive metal gates. They parted like the Red Sea for Moses. Bar-M Ranch, welded in a bronzed-relief arc, crowned the entrance, flanked by seven-foot high sculptures of rearing horses perched on Texas limestone columns.

  Tucker pressed the gas pedal to the floor as the high-powered engine revved. The speedometer needle jerked to eighty-five. Sarah squealed as the vehicle levitated over the iron rods of the cattle guard. With a high pitched va-room, the chassis soared until the tires once again found road. Tucker steered his red sports car back onto terra firma, spewing a cloud of rusty-yellow caliche dust.

  “Mr. Simpson, I swear you are showin’ off now.”

  “I believe in a grand entrance.” He dashed his famous, ultra-charming smirk in her direction. “You never told me. What does the “M” in Bar-M stand for?”

  Sarah gave him a wry smile. Her answer drawled out in a sophisticated Texas twang. “Why, money, of course.”

  * * *

  Travis Wallace raised his head at the sound of a foreign automobile engine. Not a normal noise zipping down the oak-lined lane toward the main house. Star Blazer, the quarter horse colt—acquired because he stood a good chance of becoming a ribbon-winning cutter—whinnied and stomped his front hoof.

  “Easy, there. It’s just Miss Priss and her latest boy toy comin’ home for the holidays.” He patted the animal on the neck and clicked his teeth to lead him to the stables. But as the sports coupe careened into the circular drive, spewing gravel in every direction, Travis’ jaw clenched. He clamped his leather-gloved grip on the horse’s reins and jerked the animal’s head away from the scene. “Stupid idiot,” he mumbled under his breath. “Doesn’t he know horses can spook?”

  He’d barely glimpsed this guy and already, Travis didn’t like him. Rich, and cocky. The stiff jeans and his stride in obviously new, hand-made cowboy boots told the truth. The jerk had never been outside the city limits before. Might not even be a native Texan. He grumbled under his breath. “She sure knows how to pick ̓em.”

  The boyfriend opened the passenger door. Travis gulped. The lanky teenager who went off to college six years ago didn’t get out of the car. Instead, long shapely legs hugged by skinny jeans emerged. As Sarah took her beau’s hand and rose off the seat, her lean figure came into view. Not scrawny, but filled out in all the right places. When did that happen?

  She flashed the boy toy a sparkling-white smile and laced her arm into his. As they strolled past, she glanced in Travis’ direction, elevated her nose and flicked back her shimmering flaxen hair. Perhaps his imagination, but her hip swing seemed to exaggerate as they walked by him, showing off the taut curves.

  After they entered the main entrance, Travis realized he hadn’t taken a breath. He released a long exhale and blinked. “Well, Blaze. Now you’ve met the princess. Let’s go brush you out. You’ll want to look your best for her.” He rang his fingers through his own chestnut locks, wondering when he’d last visited the barber. Then he shook his head. Why did that matter?

  He brushed Blaze’s flanks and mane. “If we’re lucky, boy, we can avoid her. Trust me, she is one filly you don’t want in your corral. High-strung, hard-headed, and spoiled rotten. Rich little daddy’s girl, through and through.” He closed the stall door. M-Man, the main money-making sire, bounced his head in the next one and snorted. That began the cacophony of animals neighing for their dinner. Travis whistled for Manny, the stable boy. “Time to get their feed on or they’ll bring the whole household running with their racket.”

  The teenager cocked his cowboy hat back and grinned, reminding Travis of himself at that age. He’d been sixteen when Mr. Mansfield hired him to work before and after school, as well as Saturdays, summers, and holidays.

  Manny heaved a bag of oats over his shoulder. “You see that beauty in the drive?” He whistled.

  A sour taste emerged inside Travis’ mouth for a moment when he thought Manny referred to Sarah. Then he realized the boy’s eyes were dazzled by the sports car. He slit the sack open with his knife and dragged a tin cup through it, measuring the right portion for the oldest m
are. “That kind can afford expensive toys like that, kid. They are a breed all to themselves.”

  “Thought you liked old man Mansfield.”

  Travis leaned against one of the barn supports. “Yep, I do. He worked his way into wealth the hard way. Took his papa’s floundering cattle ranch and turned it into this equine empire in three decades. Too bad he never taught his daughter what honest tenacity can get you in life.”

  Manny shrugged. “She’s outright gorgeous. Ya gotta admit that.”

  Ah, so he had noticed. Travis sauntered over to his underling and rested his hands on the teen’s shoulders. He bored his gaze into the dark brown eyes of naivety. “Stay in your own gene pool, friend. There are sharks in her waters.” He chuckled. “Besides, she’s seven years older than you. And from all appearances, looks like someone’s finally lassoed her.” He dosed out an amount for another mare. “Or vice versa. Remind me to pray for the poor dude tonight.”

  The two ranch hands whooped. Then Manny fell silent as his eyes widened.

  Travis turned. There she stood in the stable doorway, hand in hand with boy toy, the setting sun highlighting her like a halo on an angelic host.

  She shot him a deep, daggered glare. “Some things around here never change.”

  Sarah’s boyfriend gestured with his head at Travis as he encircled her in his biceps. “You must be Travis. You will be the one needing prayer when I tell Mr. Mansfield what you said.”

  Sarah turned her attention to her beau. She laid her hand on his cheek to coax his face in her direction and reached up on tiptoe to give him a long, soft kiss. The last few sunbeams reflected off her engagement ring. The sparkles danced on the wooden wall like fairy-tale pixies.

  Manny’s mouth dropped.

  Tucker pulled out of the lip-lock and flicked his gaze to Manny. “Cat got your tongue, horse boy?”