Brides of the West: Josie's Wedding DressLast Minute BrideHer Ideal Husband

by Victoria Bylin

  The memory exploded in her mind.

  Her stomach convulsed with a familiar shame and humiliation.

  “Are you sure you’re all right? You look a little peaked beneath all the mud.” Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped a patch from her face, his gentleness threatening her faltering composure. “I may as well have been tying a two-hundred-pound calf for the rough way I was handling you. How can I—”

  “I’m fine. Now, if you don’t mind…” Intent on getting away from this man’s unnerving touch, she turned to leave.

  “Hey, wait a minute.” Jeb sidled over to stand in front of her. “So, what are you doing here, anyway? I thought you lived in Chicago with your aunt.”

  She had, until she’d left with an escort and just enough money to make it out to Colorado.

  “I came by for a few things.” Lydia glanced up at him long enough to notice the faintest bruise beneath his eye. She also couldn’t help but notice the angry scar slicing across his forehead…it hadn’t been there when last she saw him. “Your housekeeper wrote to me a while back.”

  “Sass did? About what?”

  “She said that she’d found a saddlebag of my father’s things in the root cellar of the foreman’s house.”

  “I suppose the bag was overlooked when you moved away after your father died.” When he folded his arms over his chest, Lydia couldn’t help but notice how much of a man he’d become. Where before he was lean, now his thick shoulders stretched wide, and even his neck was roped with muscle. “You sure didn’t need to make the trip just to save us the trouble of sending it to you.”

  On an inevitable yawn, she tugged her coat tight against the nagging chill of the lingering April thunderstorm. “I didn’t.”

  “You’re here, aren’t you?”

  “I mean that I didn’t come out here just for my father’s things. I attained a position at the hotel restaurant,” she explained as though the significant geographic shift was perfectly reasonable. It’d been the only reasonable option Lydia had had in front of he, seeing as how she had no relatives residing elsewhere. Copper Creek had been her home—far more than Chicago ever had.

  Besides, she’d been left with no choice. The constant barrage of eligible men calling every few days—her aunt’s ploy to get Lydia married off—had finally worn Lydia thin. When her aunt had taken it upon herself to arrange a marriage with one of them, Lydia had vehemently stood her ground.

  She didn’t want to get married. Ever!

  And especially not to some man she barely even liked!

  “Are you talking about the new hotel in Copper Creek?” Jeb asked, one dark brow arching in surprise.

  “That’s the one.” It was the one place she could work and know that she hadn’t been hired because of pity or obligation.

  Mrs. Gussman’s Boardinghouse would have no openings for another week. And although Lydia had no solid solutions to this dilemma, she refused to tell Jeb she was temporarily homeless.

  She glanced at the pitiful, run-down cabin, its one small window gaping open in a silent cry for attention, and she half considered sneaking out here to sleep. Her gaze darted to the sagging door for a moment as she remembered how, as a young girl, she’d christened this little hovel home, tending to the place every week or so, cleaning and primping as though it was her very own. In her naive and innocent dream world, she’d spent an entire lifetime there. She’d married there. Given birth there. Grown old right there in that little piece of perfection—and with the man of her foolish and childish dreams.

  Jeb.

  An unwanted quiver sneaked up her spine. With the dilapidated roof, the cold that was seeping through to her bones and Jeb being so near…

  “I’m going to be starting work soon, so I thought I’d stop out today to get the saddlebag.”

  “But this isn’t your old place,” he said, gesturing with his head to the cabin.

  But this was the place where she’d hidden a very critical part of her heart—letters to Jeb. Throughout her youthful years she’d penned him love letters he’d thankfully never, ever read. She’d kept them hidden in her mama’s etched, silver handkerchief box.

  Above all else, Lydia was intent on getting the letters and box back. She could only hope that someone hadn’t discovered her wistful and ardent and ridiculous thoughts she’d poured out onto pages and pages. From the looks of the structure, she may well have been the last person to set foot in the little dwelling.

  “No. But I’ve always loved this place. I only wanted to take a peek.” She struggled to keep the bitter edge from her voice. How could Mr. Gentry and Jeb allow the cabin to fall into such disrepair? “It’s sure seen its better days.”

  Jeb paused for a lingering moment, his jaw ticking. “We’ve all seen better days.”

  The faint shadow crossing his stoic expression pricked her compassion. There was something decidedly different about Jeb, but she couldn’t allow herself to look too deep. That kind of concern might grow into something more and she couldn’t afford to be vulnerable. Not now. Not with Jeb.

  “So, you were just going to get what you came for and leave?” The dismay etched in his furrowed brow sent shame snaking through her. “No, ‘Hi there, Jeb, it’s great to see you.’”

  The heat of embarrassment crept up her neck to her face. She drew her lips into a tight line, sending sandy granules of mud slipping into her mouth. Grimacing, she resisted the sudden urge to—

  “Go ahead…spit,” he said, as though he’d read her mind. She wasn’t sure if a shiver shimmied down her spine because of being cold or because of the unnerving effects of his half grin. “You used to be an expert, remember? You could hit a target from fifteen yards if my memory serves me right.”

  “It would be unladylike.” Not that she looked anything like a lady at this moment—except for the warm blush beneath her mud-covered neck and cheeks. “I do have a little pride, you know.”

  “Oh, I know. I haven’t forgotten.” The fleeting arch of his eyebrows irked her good. “I have to know for sure…you were planning on saying hello, right?”

  She hugged her arms to her chest, feeling strangely undone by his inquiry. After all, she’d lived the first sixteen years of her life on this ranch. He used to call her his young shadow. “I hadn’t planned on it.”

  He paused for a long moment, his mouth drawn into a firm line and his gaze unreadable. “Well, I can guarantee you that I’ll never hear the end of it from Sass if you don’t stay for supper. Unless, of course, you have big plans.”

  A wave of sentimentality washed over her thinking about the Gentry’s housekeeper. When Lydia was growing up, Sass had stepped in at times when Lydia’s father, a widower since Lydia was five years old, was hard-pressed to speak a little womanly advice to his daughter. Lydia didn’t remember much of her mama, except her warm smile, and the brave way she’d passed on after being ill for a long time.

  “Not exactly, but…I should be going, regardless.” She shoved a lock of hair from her face, knowing she must look a sight, but not really caring. “I’m sorry if I’ve kept you from something.”

  “I’m not sorry.”

  She narrowed a skeptical gaze on him.

  “Do I look sorry?” He tipped his head her direction.

  Lydia bit back a languid yawn, trying to drum up some kind of excuse why she shouldn’t stay—but her daddy had raised her better than that. Besides, she was exhausted and the achy chill that had seeped all the way to her bones, begged for a little relief.

  “Listen, you’ve got to be soaked through. And it’ll be getting dark before you know it.” His brows creased in concern over those deep brown eyes she’d dreamt about more times than she could count. “Please just come back to the house and stay for supper. It’s the least I can offer after throwing you dow
n into the mud. And hurting you,” he added with a sympathetic wince.

  He might be able to make up for hurting her just moments ago, but she’d never allow him close enough to the deep wound he’d inflicted five years ago. “I don’t know… .”

  Jeb took one step closer. “You’ll catch your death of a cold if you don’t get out of those wet clothes. And we need to see about your side in case something is broken.”

  “Nothing’s broken.” She pulled her shoulders back even when they begged to droop in fatigue. “Honestly, I feel just fine.”

  When he hooked a finger beneath her chin and tipped up her head to look at him, eye-to-eye, her knees went alarmingly weak. “Humor me. Please, Lydia. I feel horrible about this. At least let me make up for my rude manners.”

  She was really too exhausted to fight him. On a defeated sigh, she said, “Very well—but I’ll be on my way after dinner.”

  She’d have to make do until a room at the boardinghouse opened up. And she’d have to make the best of things in Copper Creek because Aunt Tillie had proclaimed that if Lydia left Chicago, there would be no coming back.

  Lydia didn’t need help, though…she had her pride.

  * * *

  “I’m glad you’ve decided to stay for dinner, anyway.” Jeb felt enormous relief, knowing that Sass would take good care of Lydia.

  He could barely take his eyes off Lydia as she clutched her coat so tight a raindrop couldn’t find its way in. He sure hadn’t recognized her from the back, but in spite of the mud caking her face, he’d know those wonder-filled, crystal blue eyes anywhere. He’d pictured those beautiful eyes of Lydia’s countless times over the past five years. And now, here she was.

  Embarrassed. Alone. Vulnerable. And hurt.

  She appeared as nervous as a rabbit that had wandered into a coyote den. There was just something about her that held him hostage. Was it her obvious attempt to look indifferent? The adorable way she tried to ward off embarrassment with that stubborn tilt of her chin? Or was it the way she seemed set on protecting herself?

  “So, you have somewhere to stay all lined up, right? Or were you planning on staying in this place?”

  His playful wink managed to send her gaze crashing to the ground.

  “Had I known you were coming, I would’ve fixed the place up,” he half joked, attempting to lighten her somber mood. He’d wanted to do some repairs around here after his father passed away a year ago, but there were only so many hours in the day. And if he wasn’t working his hands raw, he was catching a few blessed hours of sleep.

  He really couldn’t even afford to take the time to have dinner with Lydia tonight, but he felt just awful for hurting her the way he had.

  Lydia… .

  Growing up she’d worn britches more often than not around the ranch. He could count the times he’d seen her in a feminine, fitted dress, on exactly one finger. He suddenly remembered her last day on the ranch—the day she’d turned sixteen. She’d come sprinting toward the corral, where he’d been training a very spirited and unbroken stallion. He could see her now…her dark hair swishing around her shoulders like strands of rich satin, and that dress, as blue as the sky in springtime, gently hugging feminine curves he hadn’t even known existed. Even from a distance he could see the frantic, almost longing-filled look in her eyes.

  As she had approached, he was caught completely off guard by her striking beauty. Bowled over by the gorgeous woman Lydia had become.

  And disgusted with himself for thinking of her in such a manner.

  His heart had come to a sudden stop. He’d forgotten to breathe. And an undeniable sense of knowing had surged through his entire being.

  He’d never thought of her as anything other than the foreman’s daughter, six years younger than him and as innocent as a newborn kitten. Not once in all the time she’d tagged along with him around the ranch, had he felt that kind of attraction. It was all he could do to gather his thoughts enough to hold on to the stallion’s lead rope. He remembered forcing all of his attention to the anxious stallion, bent on rearing back and throwing its massive head around.

  Lydia had spoken, but her words were lost as the stallion reared, pawing at the air with furious energy. Jeb had dodged the massive hooves. Labored to keep hold of the lead rope. Frantic, he’d motioned her away, yelling for her to go before she was clobbered by the enormous beast.

  He didn’t remember a thing after that. Only that the stallion’s massive hoof had come down, grazing his head, knocking him out and leaving a long cut slicing across his forehead.

  And now, Lydia was back again. And he couldn’t deny the instant longing he felt for her in his heart.

  But failure loomed like an ominous storm. He’d certainly heard enough about his failures from his father, even though he’d always done his best and worked from dawn to well beyond dusk. It was all he could do not to fall prey to its wicked upheaval when everything around seemed cursed by his father’s legacy.

  The ranch was a shadow of what it’d been. The bank was breathing down his neck, far worse than any opponent Jeb had fought in boxing matches over the past few months. Even if he paid back every last cent of gambling debt incurred by his father, Lydia couldn’t possibly want him, a man who couldn’t seem to lead this withering ranch out of the red and into the black. A man who struggled to hold on to some kind of belief in himself.

  So much had changed in five years.

  Life had all but hardened him. He didn’t know that he believed in much of anything anymore—except that he was a fighter and sometimes fighters came out on top.

  He longed for the day when he could truly rest again. When he could find joy in life again, and when he could really believe in God’s goodness again. And His love.

  Because right now it seemed all but impossible to have faith for anything more than just making it through the next few days.

  Chapter Two

  Without a doubt life had just gotten a whole lot more complicated now that a certain little lady, chin height, slender and with a stubborn thread woven into the fabric of her personality, had shown up on his property. But for some reason Jeb felt no urge to herd her out of here anytime soon.

  Since her arrival last night Jeb had gotten little sleep, between getting all of his chores done and checking in on her every hour or so. She’d had good intentions of leaving, but the poor thing had barely been able to keep her eyes open enough to make it back to the main house. Peering at her now from the front parlor doorway, and seeing the way her brow creased in discomfort as she shifted on the sofa, he was glad she’d stayed. Very glad.

  He’d get her on her feet again and then she’d walk out of his life. And that would be for the best.

  He had nothing to offer a woman like Lydia.

  When he spotted her rousing, he moved a little closer. The midmorning sun streamed in through the window and bathed her fair face in a wash of light. Her eyes fluttered open as soft as a butterfly’s wings. She blinked several times, then turned her head and focused on him, her gaze clouded with sleep.

  For a moment, he could almost imagine himself waking up beside this beautiful woman—every day for the rest of his life.

  “Good morning, sleepyhead,” he said, offering her a half grin.

  A look of horror flitted across her face as she shifted her focus to the window. “Morning?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Jeb hunkered down and sat on the table in front of the sofa. “You’ve been sleeping for almost sixteen hours straight.”

  “That can’t be true.” Her disbelieving sigh tugged a slight grin to the corner of his mouth.

  “You’re saying I lie?”

  “Well, no, but how did I—when did I—” She gave a small groan. “I don’t even remember—”

  To see the tenacious way
she seemed determined to protect herself from him nearly broke his heart. He couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out why she felt so wary, but he had a niggling feeling that something had happened in their last interchange that maybe he just plain didn’t remember.

  “I am so sorry to intrude like this.” Her full mouth compressed into a hard line.

  “It’s not an intrusion.”

  “Why in the world didn’t you wake me?” she half accused, rubbing her eyes as though to focus better.

  “I didn’t have the heart.” Peering down at where his hands were clasped between his knees, he tried to guess just how many times he’d looked in on her, and lost count somewhere around nine. It had felt so good to have something to focus on, other than the piles of problems surrounding him. “Sass didn’t have the heart, either, for that matter. She gathered extra pillows from her bedroom and we fixed up this nest for you. Is it comfortable?” He patted the fluff of pillows surrounding her.

  Her cautious gaze landed on his. “It is. Very much so.”

  “Sass has tended to enough injuries through the years that she figured you were better off right here on the sofa.”

  “That was very considerate. But unnecessary,” she said, covering her mouth when a wide yawn commanded her full attention. “Thank you for your trouble, Jeb, but I’ll be leaving within the hour.”

  “You may as well stay here where you’re comfortable,” he reasoned. “Sass will take good care of you—probably mother you till you wish you were a little girl again.”

  “I don’t need anyone fussing over me. Really. I’m fine.” The weariness weighting her eyes said otherwise. “Besides…last night I said I was going to leave right after supper.”

  “I remember. You were firm about that, too,” he said, watching her brace her hands beside her as though she was preparing to get up only to slump into the nest of pillows.

  The way she was clearly struggling to put on a good front, pricked his compassion. “Are you all right?”

  “Perfect,” she said, a little too fast to be convincing.