The American Heiress Brides Collection

by Carter, Lisa; Davis, Mary; Dietze, Susanne

  Matt tilted his head to one side. “You haven’t been reading the newspaper, have you?”

  She folded the handkerchief he’d given her and handed it back to him. “I don’t enjoy it as much as I used to.”

  “You would have enjoyed the last couple of weeks.” He opened his jacket, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and handed it to her. “This will be in tomorrow’s newspaper, but I thought you ought to see it first.”

  Taking it, Dania slowly unfolded it. The large font caught her attention and she struggled to suck in a breath as she read: Senator Evers Resigns Amid Textile Scandal.

  Questions tumbled around in Dania’s head, but when she looked up at Matt, she couldn’t find the words. He must have sensed her struggle because he took her hand in his. “I was an idiot, Dania, letting Evers use me to hurt you and your family. It will always be the biggest regret of my life.”

  She should step away from him, but it felt too wonderful being this close to him. “Why did you have notes about me?”

  “Not going to make this easy for me, are you?” He took a shuddered breath. “The senator offered me the same position he gave Taylor. Those notes about you were direct quotes he gave me the afternoon of our interview. Once I met you, I knew you were nothing like the woman the senator described, so I tossed them in the garbage pail. Taylor must have fished them out.”

  “So much for respectfulness,” she sighed, lacing her fingers with his.

  “I wanted to get here sooner, but I had to make sure Evers and his cronies couldn’t hurt you again.” She felt him relax. “I didn’t know an investigative committee could convene that fast.”

  She lifted her head to look at him. “You testified.”

  “You bet I did. It was the only way to assure Evers wouldn’t hold a public office in the state of Georgia again.” He laughed. “The funny thing is this situation got the other senators and representatives talking about child labor laws. I wouldn’t be surprised if a reform bill isn’t introduced in the next session.”

  Dania smiled up at him. “The power of the press at work.”

  “Maybe.” The torment in his eyes made her heart ache. “But it doesn’t mean anything if you don’t forgive me. I let my past experiences cloud my judgement and hurt you in the process.”

  “Oh, Matt.” She took a step toward him then stopped. “I forgave you before I ever got off that train.”

  He cut the distance between them, drawing her hand to his chest. “You did?”

  Dania could hardly breathe when he stood this close. “Of course I did. I had to.” There was something else she needed to tell him, but what if he didn’t share her feelings? Still, he needed to know. “I guess that’s what you do when you love someone.”

  Before she could blink, Matt pulled her into his arms, his gaze searching then holding hers. Dania’s mouth went dry at the play of emotions on his face. “I love you, too.”

  “You do?”

  He gathered her closer. “I think I’ve loved you since you stood up to the thief at the train station.”

  “Love at first sight, hmm?” she teased, confident in his feelings for her. “I wouldn’t have thought that of a hard-nosed reporter like yourself.”

  “Me neither.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “But then I’d never met you before.”

  “You’ve only known me for a short while,” Dania reminded him, wishing her practical side would be quiet for once.

  “A situation I intend to correct starting now.” Dania almost groaned when he let go of her and stepped back to put some distance between them. “I paid a visit to your mother this morning.”

  That surprised her. “You did?”

  Matt nodded, his lips turned up in a rather rakish smile. “You might be progressive in your business practices, but I thought you might still like me to ask your mother’s permission to court you.”

  Dania’s heart threatened to flutter out of control. “What did she say?”

  “She had some concerns, one being I live and work in Atlanta and you’re here in Tifton.”

  Dania had thought about that, too. Matt’s life was in Atlanta, his job was there, and he was far too talented to give it up to move here. But she had responsibilities, a community that depended on her for its livelihood. “That would be a problem.”

  “Anyway, I told her about my recent promotion, and that seemed to satisfy her question.”

  “You got a promotion?”

  He gave her a wicked grin. “Meet the new editor in chief of the Tifton Gazette.”

  She took a step toward him. “You’re moving here? But what about Mr. Hornsby? He’s been the editor of the paper since before I was born.”

  “Always worried about everyone in your community, aren’t you? Another thing I love about you.” He stared at her for a long moment before he continued. “No need to worry. Hornsby is the new managing editor of the Constitution now that Taylor has been sacked.”

  “And you’re moving here.” A sudden giddiness overwhelmed her. Matt was staying. In Tifton. And he wanted to court her!

  “I did tell your mother it would be a very short courtship as I have every intention of marrying you.” He hesitated for a moment. “If you’ll have me, Dania.”

  There was a note of vulnerability in his voice, as if he’d laid out his heart and the wrong word from her would crush it. It only made her love him more. Dania smiled up at him, the thought of spending her life with him, of raising a family, making a home, was almost too much happiness to bear.

  Dania lifted her arms and linked them around his neck. His eyes shone, clear and brighter than a summer ocean, as she met his gaze. “Yes, Matt, I’d like nothing more than to be your wife.”

  Then she kissed him.

  Epilogue

  Almost a year later

  As weddings go, it was fairly simple. Dania had insisted that all the mill employees, past and present, be invited if for no other reason than to ensure they had at least one meal that day. But Matt would do anything for his lovely bride-to-be, even share her with every citizen in the county. For a few hours, at least.

  But as Matt stood at the makeshift altar, looking out at the multitude of faces here to wish them well, he realized how much Dania had changed the lives of these people. She’d taken her small corner of the world and made it a better place to live. A woman of noble character if ever there was one.

  And in a few minutes, she would join her life with his.

  Movement on the front porch caused people to turn, and for one moment, Matt had to fight the urge to stand up on tiptoe just to get a brief glimpse of his bride. First Katie, Dania’s younger sister; then his own sister, Mary; and finally Gilly came down the aisle.

  Then Matt saw her. She was beautiful in her simple white gown made of silk and lace, her veil floating around her shoulders, the wildflowers she carried a reflection of the independent spirit that he loved. Her mother walked beside her, there at Dania’s request. If her father couldn’t give her away, she told him, it only seemed right to offer that honor to her mother.

  Matt knew the minute she saw him. Her smile blossomed, and if he wasn’t mistaken, she walked a bit faster as if she couldn’t wait to reach him. His heart burst at the thought.

  Finally, Dania stood beside him. Her mother lifted her veil, gave her a kiss on the cheek, then took Dania’s flowers and walked to her seat nearby. Dania turned to him, and for just a moment, the world faded from view.

  Matt leaned toward her. “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  “You look so beautiful that I almost met you halfway down the aisle. I didn’t want to wait another minute.”

  She gave him a shy smile. “Didn’t you see me almost pick up my skirts and run to you once I got a glimpse of you waiting for me?”

  “Ready, my love?” He held out his arm to her then covered her hand as they moved forward to stand before the preacher.

  “Yes, Matt.” Dania covered his hand with hers. “I’m more than ready to start our lives
together.”

  Patty Smith Hall is a multi-published author with Love Inspired Historical and Barbour Publishing. She calls North Georgia her home which she shares with her husband of 33+ years, Danny; two daughters, a son-in-love and a grandson who will make his debut in January, 2017.

  Savannah’s Trial

  by Cynthia Hickey

  Blessed is the man that endureth temptation: for when he is tried, he shall receive the crown of life, which the Lord hath promised to them that love him.

  JAMES 1:12

  Chapter 1

  1866, Ozark Mountains

  Savannah Worthington!”

  Her mother’s voice rang across the yard to the barn where Savannah brushed her horse’s coat. She sighed, brushing faster. Mama most likely had another lecture in store about the perils of riding at breakneck speeds. She sighed again, kissed Bullet on the muzzle, and strolled toward the sprawling ranch house.

  Mama greeted her on the veranda, hands on her hips, a scowl on her still-pretty face. “Are you trying to put me in the grave next to your father?”

  “That’s an unkind thing to say.” Savannah removed her gloves, slapped them against her split skirt, and marched into the house. How could Mama bring up Pa’s death like this? He’d been gone less than a year, and the agony was as raw as the day his body was discovered in the cotton fields. His heart, the doctor said.

  “Bills are due.” Mama followed her into the kitchen. “I’ve let the cook go and one of the maids.”

  Savannah whirled. “Not Mrs. Wilson.” They’d had the same cook for years, and Mama burned water if she tried to cook.

  “I had to do something in order to pay for the man I hired. If we don’t get help, we’ll be tossed out on our skirts before winter.”

  Normally, Mama cried doom at the slightest provocation, but this time … Savannah groaned. “I hope the hired hand is worth his keep.”

  “I will be.”

  She turned at the sound of a deep voice rumbling through the open doorway. Broad shoulders filled the space. When the stranger stepped into the light, Savannah was mesmerized by eyes the color of bluebonnets and hair the color of fresh straw. She held out her hand. “Savannah Worthington.”

  His large hand engulfed hers, pleasing in the fact he sported calluses. Not afraid of hard work, then. “Wyatt Jamison.”

  “You’re a lifesaver, Mr. Jamison,” Mama said. “Genteel women such as my daughter and I are not accustomed to physical labor. I fear my daughter is losing her roots working like a field hand.”

  Savannah’s face heated. “I’m not fragile, Mama.”

  To the man’s credit, he chose to ignore Mama’s outlandish idea of what was proper. The ranch was in danger of failing despite Savannah’s efforts, and if roughening her hands got the work done, then she’d proudly sport calluses as big as the Ozark Mountains.

  A knock sounded on the front door. Savannah excused herself to greet their visitor. The banker, Mr. Morrillton, stood there in a suit no speck of dust would dare settle on. The man would have no good news.

  She stepped onto the veranda rather than invite him inside. “Good morning.”

  “I wish I could say the same in return.” He removed his hat. “There’s no gentle way to say this, so I’ll come right out and say it. The taxes are overdue on this ranch.”

  “I’m aware of that. We’re struggling to dig ourselves out after my father’s death.”

  “And I have empathy for your loss, but financial matters don’t wait.”

  “Give us six months.” The door banged open behind her as Mr. Jamison joined them. “I’m the new foreman. We’ll have you your money.”

  “Six months and not a day more.” Mr. Morrillton plopped his hat back on his head and headed for his buggy.

  Savannah turned. “You take a lot upon yourself, Mr. Jamison.”

  He grinned, revealing a dimple in his right cheek that made her stomach do flips. “If I can’t pay those taxes, then you fire me on the very day the bank forecloses.”

  Really, the man was incorrigible and seemed to be a terrible flirt! “Of course you’d be out of a job, sir, just as we’ll be out of a home.”

  “Perhaps, rather than argue over whether I’ve overstepped my boundaries, you show me around? Then you and I can come up with a plan to turn this ranch into making a profit.”

  At least he didn’t plan on completely pushing her aside for his own ideas. She led him to the barn, where Bullet stuck his head over the stall door and nickered. She paused long enough to give him a rub. “This is my pride and joy.”

  “Do you mind if I take a look?” He reached for the handle before she agreed. “Have you thought of using him for stud? I’m sure you could get a good price.”

  “We’ve used him several times. The funds from his last service is what keeps food on the table.” She leaned on the stable wall. “We have several mares of good bloodlines, too.”

  “Are they pregnant?” He ran his hands up and down Bullet’s legs. “Since the war, the army is looking for good horse stock. Are these all of the horses you have?”

  “We’re a horse ranch, mostly, but we do have a few heads of cattle. Of course we have more horses.” She led him out of the barn and to the pasture where twenty-five horses grazed. “These horses, while of good stock, don’t meet the same criteria as the ones in the barn.”

  “But quite worthy of the army.” He propped one foot on the fence and cut her a sideways glance. “You seem like a smart woman. Why haven’t you considered selling them?”

  “I’ve been too busy with the cotton.” Which was failing miserably.

  “Forget the cotton. Plant sorghum and sell the painted stallion and two mares. One stallion is enough for a herd of this size. Keep the next colt born. With half the proceeds, buy a few beef cows. Grow what your father started. Buy a bull. You’ll be out of the hole in no time.”

  She sighed. She’d have to admit the real reason she hadn’t sold to the army. “I’ve avoided selling horses to the army at all costs. My brother, Luke, left home to serve in the Union and never returned. He’s presumed dead, although his body was never found. I’ve been reluctant to help other men ride to their deaths.”

  “The war is over, Miss Worthington. It’s time for you to make money from what is left of that crisis.”

  Wyatt continued following his employer around the ranch, dismayed at the amount of work involved. No wonder the women were struggling. How one little gal could do what she had managed to accomplish was nothing short of a miracle. Somehow, they needed to hire a couple more hands to work the fields. At least get the small crop of cotton in and plant the sorghum.

  He spotted the vegetable garden, where Mrs. Worthington roamed the rows looking as out of place in her fashionable gown as a pig in church. He glanced to a couple of shacks on the edge of the property. “Are those slave cabins?”

  Miss Worthington stiffened. “We never owned slaves. Pa built those for migrant workers.”

  “We need help, ma’am. I’d like to hire two men with the understanding they get paid when the cotton is in. If we provide food and lodging, I’m sure I can hire a couple of freed men. Would you have any objection to my doing so?”

  She twisted her mouth in thought. “No, that sounds like a fine plan. I wish I would have thought of it.”

  “I’ll head to town when we’ve finished the tour to hire some men and send a telegram to my cousin in the army. We’ll get your taxes paid, Miss Worthington, but it will be a lot of hard work.”

  Eyes the color of a summer meadow flashed. “I’m not afraid of hard work, nor do I relish selling any of my horses. But, I see your point, as painful as it may be.”

  “I can see that you aren’t.” Her spirit and determination would make this ranch a success if anything. If not, then that same grit would help her and her mother survive whatever might come.

  After a quick lunch of leftover biscuits and ham, Wyatt rode into the town of Pineville. After sending a telegram to his cousin, he headed
to the shantytown a few miles away. Not wanting to get shot, he kept his hands in plain sight as he rode up to a group of men gathered in front of the general store.

  “What do you want?” A tall man with coffee-colored skin stepped forward. Behind him stood ten more, all with serious expressions.

  “I’m looking for two men to work for food and board. Once the crops are in, they’ll be paid a fair wage from the proceeds.”

  “When do you want them?”

  “Now.” Wyatt grinned. “How about you and one other of your choosing?”

  The man frowned. “Why me?”

  “You seem to be the take-charge type. That’s the kind of man I want to hire. Name’s Wyatt Jamison.”

  “Did you fight in the war?”

  “Yes sir, on the Confederate side.” He held up his hands as cries of outrage echoed. “I fought with my father, not because I shared his beliefs, but because family sticks together. He didn’t come home from the war.”

  The man stepped forward, hand extended. “Name’s Lincoln Jones.”

  Wyatt leaned forward and accepted his offer of a handshake. “Pleased to meet you. The ranch is the Rocking W. Can you be there in the morning?”

  Lincoln nodded. “My wife’s a fair cook. Would there be work for her?”

  “You bet.” If the hard biscuits were any indication of the type of food he’d be eating from the hands of Mrs. Worthington, he’d pay a good cook out of his own funds if need be. “There’s work in the house garden, too.”

  “We’ll see you before the sun sets tonight.” Lincoln turned and ambled away.

  Summarily dismissed, Wyatt steered his horse toward his new home. Things were already looking positive for the ranch. He had high hopes the taxes would be paid on time with a bit of money to spare.

  Instead of returning to the main house, he chose instead to ride the perimeter he and his boss lady hadn’t covered during their walking tour. Three hundred and fifty acres of rich farm land. They could sell fifty acres and still be sitting pretty.