Hearts and Spurs

by Linda Broday

  “You broke it, you stupid—”

  She aimed her pistol at him. “I wouldn’t finish that sentence if I were you, mister.”

  “Ah, you won’t shoot.” He slung one leg over the fence rail.

  “You move one more muscle, and you’ll find out you’re wrong.” She cocked her head to the barn. “Call your pa over here. Now.”

  The scoundrel sat astraddle of the fence, still holding his hand to his chest. Then he lunged toward her. She pulled the trigger and blood bloomed from the left side of his chest. He fell into the pen, and the baby pigs squealed as they ran to the other side.

  “Nobody messes with our baby pigs.”

  The man moaned, then squawked for certain when the curious piglets investigated him, sniffing and maybe tasting a little.

  “Bob?” a man called. It was the same man’s voice she’d heard from the barn, only now it was in the front yard. “I got him, Bob.”

  Celia circled to the back of the barn and entered it, staying low and watching every little thing. She wasn’t sure how many men were left, but the leader still thought he was in control, and that worked to her advantage. She peeked through the barn’s front window. The old man held Ross at gunpoint and another man stood beside him and sneered.

  “Bob’s not coming,” she hollered. “Put your pistols down and walk away, or I’ll shoot.”

  He twirled around and shot twice, one bullet lodging in the window frame, throwing splinters in her cheek. Then she heard three more gunshots and all was quiet except for the pigs and Bob. She was afraid to look. She sagged down, her back against the wall, and leaned against the bassinet.

  A kiss for luck. Ross’s kiss was the only one that had ever meant anything. She relived the moment, hoping it wasn’t the only magical moment she’d ever have.

  “Celia? Are you in there?”

  The sound of his voice made her so happy—she never had been so ecstatic. In fact, she was so happy that she was all choked up and couldn’t answer. She stood and ran for the door just as he ran in. He grabbed hold of her and hugged her tight, squeezing all the air out of her.

  “Are you all right?” He brushed the blood from her cheek and kissed her forehead.

  “Yes.” She nodded, her tears flowing freely. “Yes, and so are the pigs.”

  Ross tipped her chin up and kissed her tenderly on the lips, then said, “I was scared to death for you.”

  She kissed him back, long and slow. When she finally came up for breath, she said, “You don’t have to worry about me, Ross. I’m sturdy, remember?”

  He chuckled. “I believe you are.” He held her close. She leaned her head on his chest as she caressed his back and listened to his heartbeat. It was the sound of life—her new life.

  “Help me!”

  Ross stiffened and drew his pistol. “That must be Bob. I lost track of him.”

  “He’s in the pigsty. I shot him.”

  Ross grabbed a rope from a nail on the wall. “Did you get his pistol?”

  “No, but he fell in the muck and I doubt if it works.”

  “Come on. Do you have any cartridges left?”

  “Yes.” She followed Ross to the pigsty. “I shot him once, I’d be happy to do it again.”

  Bob groaned. “Don’t let that woman and her wooden spoon near me.”

  “Don’t worry, the sheriff’s in the house and once he feels a little better, he’ll take you to jail and you won’t have to worry about my woman anymore.

  He struggled to his knees. “Let me get up and I’ll give you a lickin’.”

  Ross laughed. “You couldn’t lick your lip if it had honey on it.”

  “That’s not honey,” Celia said. “That’s pig poop.”

  ****

  The sheriff’s deputy and a posse showed up not too long after. He’d patched up the sheriff well enough to travel, and all had finally gone. Ross didn’t mind collecting the bounty on the Sullys, although the bounty on Bob went straight to Celia. He’d made sure of it.

  She put a pot of coffee on to boil. “Want some potato soup?”

  “Two bowls full. Maybe a bucket of it. And a bushel of those biscuits, too.” He walked up behind her and put his hands around her waist. “Why didn’t you ride to town with them?”

  “Did you want me to go?”

  Did he? He nuzzled the nape of her neck. She smelled nice even though she had no fancy frippery with her. The potato soup smelled pretty dadblamed good, too. The house felt like a home with her there. The farm had a reason to exist. A man needed a family.

  “I want you to stay, Celia. First thing in the morning, I’d like to go to town and find us a preacher if there are any left alive, or maybe a judge. Would you want that? Would you marry me?”

  She turned around and kissed his cheek. “Yes, it’s what I want.”

  “Only one thing.”

  “What?”

  “Take it easy with the wooden spoon.”

  About the Author

  Jacquie Rogers is the author of the award-winning Hearts of Owyhee series. Besides western historical romance, she also writes fantasy romance (faeries, dragons, and magic), as well as traditional westerns. She lives in Seattle with her husband and they serve a once-feral cat, Annie. Many of her stories, including A Flare of the Heart, are set in Idaho, where she grew up. She’s a member of Romance Writers of America and Western Fictioneers, frequently teaches online courses on writing, and owns the popular Romancing The West blog. She welcomes readers’ comments and can be contacted through her website: http://www.JacquieRogers.com or email: jacquierogers@gmail.com

  Coming Home

  Tracy Garrett

  Sometimes it takes two to make dreams come true. When a man who believes he’ll never have a home and family finds a woman who has lost everything…It takes a lot of forgiveness and a few fireworks to realize that together, their dreams can come true.

  CHAPTER ONE

  River’s Bend, Missouri, April, 1853

  The wagon skidded to a stop in a cloud of dust and a barrage of curses from the young driver, which the team of horses ignored. Maryland Henry righted her navy blue bowler, straightened her dust-covered suit, and wished with all her heart she’d chosen a different traveling ensemble. Though the long sleeves, high collar, and neck-to-waist row of buttons, were appropriate for her classroom, it was entirely too heavy for an open wagon under the spring sun. She’d given up on holding her parasol to protect her face—both hands were needed just to stay on the wagon seat.

  And why had she chosen to wear navy blue? A light dusty brown would have been better for this trip. Tugging at her collar, she allowed herself a moment to wish for a basin of cool water. Why did it have to be so hot? “It’s only April,” she huffed.

  “Excuse me, ma’am?”

  Mary pushed a couple of loose hairpins back into place. “Nothing, Deputy Owens. I’m just worried for my brother’s children.”

  The young man blushed as he turned to offer her a hand down. “Doc’s the best, ma’am. I’m sure everything—”

  “Thank you, Deputy.” She simply couldn’t endure platitudes about how everything would be fine, given time. The few she’d heard this morning as she prepared to leave town had been more than enough. “If you’ll excuse me? I must see to my nieces.”

  “Certainly, ma’am. I understand. You can be sure I do.” Deputy Owens lifted her carpet bag from the back of the wagon and set it in the dusty street, then climbed into the seat. As he clicked the team into motion, Mary brushed at the dust on her skirt and looked for…

  She twisted her fingers together as she realized she had no idea where to find the doctor’s office. Turning full circle in the middle of the street, Mary spotted a man standing alone, watching her. Tall, with blond hair showing from under his dusty tan hat, his gaze travelled from the toes of her buttoned half boots to the ribbons decorating her hat. Though his eyes were blue like hers, even from a distance his were cold. Unsettling. When he started her way, she considered calling the depu
ty back. Foolishness. Lifting her chin, she deliberately turned her back.

  “Miss Henry?”

  His voice didn’t match his looks. The tones were deep and warm, obviously educated. Her heart fluttering like a caged bird, she glanced over her shoulder to find him closer. He touched two fingers to the brim of his well-worn hat. “I’m Jericho Hawken. I’ll take you to the girls. Carolina is quite anxious to meet you.”

  Her racing heart settled a little. This was the man who’d saved her nieces. “You must be Marshal Hawken.”

  “Don’t call me that!”

  All her hard-won poise deserted her. “I—I’m so sorry, Mr. Hawken. It’s just that the deputy said—”

  “Well, he was wrong.”

  The look in his icy eyes sent a shiver through her.

  “This way. The girls are waiting.”

  Picking up her bag, he strode away, forcing her to nearly run to keep up. “How is Virginia? I’ve been so worried.” She trailed in the wake of his long, powerful legs, rapidly losing ground. “Mr. Hawken, if you wish to outrun me, you have only to say so.” He stopped so suddenly she plowed into him and stumbled back. Before she could right herself, he grabbed her elbow to steady her.

  “Easy there.” He held her arm a moment longer than was proper. “My apologies, ma’am. Didn’t mean to take a sore subject out on you.”

  Mary stared when he offered his arm in escort. Fussing with her hat to cover her surprise that the man could at least act like a gentleman, she finally slipped her fingers into the crook of his elbow. “Thank you, Mr. Hawken. How are the girls?”

  “Ginny is doing better. They all are, considering.”

  Considering her brother was dead. A wave of grief buffeted Mary. Oh, Penn!

  Jericho glanced down from his superior height. “I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am. I really liked Mr. Henry. Missus, too.”

  Rather than respond, Mary studied the tidy two-story home they approached. The flower boxes lining each window, upstairs and down, spoke of a woman’s touch. Daffodils lined the walk and a tree budded in the middle of the neatly trimmed yard. “Where are we?”

  “This is the doc’s house. Doctor Franz Bittner. The girls are staying here while Doc sees to Ginny. His sister, Martha, does the nursing for him. Runs the house, too, though Doc would never admit it.”

  A small smile changed him from forbidding to gentle. Not friendly, but at least more approachable. “Was Ginny the only one injured? The Sheriff’s letter was rather brief.”

  Jericho stopped her before she climbed the stairs. “I’ll tell you what I know, but I’d rather the girls didn’t hear. They’ve lived through it. That’s enough.”

  Whatever the tale, it was obviously much worse than Mary had imagined. “All right. I want to see the girls now, but perhaps we could…” She trailed off and glanced around, hoping for a suitable place for them to meet.

  “Martha’s expecting you to stay here for as long as you want. She’ll probably have food on the table soon. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be at the sheriff’s place. Martha or Doc can point the way.” Apparently, he decided nothing else needed to be said, and ushered her into the house.

  “It’s about time you brought the girl in.”

  “Hello, Martha.” Jericho set down Mary’s valise and bent to plant a kiss on the cheek of a pretty, dark-haired woman. Taller than Mary, Martha was softly rounded, with light brown eyes, a welcoming smile, and an accent that was heavy with the old country.

  “I’m Martha Bittner.” She smoothed her fingers down her starched white apron then offered her right hand. Her grip managed to be strong, sympathetic, and comforting, at the same time. “Welcome, Miss Henry. The girls are anxious to see you.”

  As if her words were a signal, two pairs of little feet clattered down the steps. Carolina charged forward and threw her arms around Mary’s legs. “Are you Aunt Maryland?”

  Mary kneeled in front of the precious little girl with pale blond hair and light blue eyes much like her mother’s. “Yes, I am. Are you Carolina?”

  “Uh-huh. And that’s my sister, Georgia.”

  The older of the two hovered near Jericho. Her hair was more like spun honey than Mary’s own golden hair, but Georgia’s deep navy blue eyes were pure Henry. With a pat on her shoulder, Jericho urged her forward. “Hello, Aunt Maryland.”

  Tears stung Mary’s eyes. “Oh, sweetheart.” She opened her arms and Georgia fell into them, sobbing.

  ****

  “How could a man do that to a reverend? To women!” Jericho Hawken shoved fingers roughened by years of leather reins and hard work through his hair. “What if they'd found those girls?”

  Even days later, remembering what he'd found at the campsite of a small wagon train threatened to bring his supper back up. Jericho paced over to stare out the picture window at the sunset coloring the wide meadow surrounding the house. “I should have been there.”

  “Then you'd be dead.” Sheriff Matthew Tate, the law in River’s Bend, Missouri, and the only man Jericho called friend, rose to fetch a squat bottle of amber liquid and two elegant crystal glasses. “You couldn't have stopped what happened.”

  Matt's words echoed those he'd repeated to himself for the last week whenever the nightmares visited. Jericho still wasn’t sure he believed them. “At least I'd have taken some of the bastards with me.”

  “Probably. But at what price?”

  While Matt poured, Jericho studied his friend in the ornate mirror over the fireplace. Similar in size, they were as different as night and day in every other way. Where Jericho had light hair and eyes, Matt’s hair was dark as coal, with eyes to match.

  Jericho looked up as Matt handed him a glass. The fumes from the French brandy made his eyes water.

  “I know you stopped at the doctor's before you came here. How are the girls doing?"

  “I escorted the aunt to the house.” Jericho savored the warming burn of the liquor. “The girls are doing fine, considering. God himself must have overturned the Henrys’ wagon at that moment. Trapping the girls underneath saved their lives.” Jericho couldn’t think about what would have happened had the raiders who attacked the small wagon train found the girls. “Martha’s keeping the younger ones occupied well enough. And Doc says Ginny will keep the use of her arm.”

  “Thanks to you, I hear. He told me you did a fine job of setting the bone.”

  “I had help.” He smiled slightly at the memory. “Matilda Henry taught her children some useful skills. Georgia, that's the middle girl, knows more than I do about disinfecting. And Virginia never made a sound though her arm had to hurt something fierce. I think she was more afraid of scaring little Carolina than she was for herself.”

  Matt stretched his legs in front of him and studied his glass. “It’s a sad state of affairs when men find it acceptable to take another’s life for sport.”

  Nodding agreement, Jericho looked around the room. The house on the edge of town might be a simple shotgun style, but it was done up right, with glass windows in every room, polished wood floors and fancy imported rugs. The library was stuffed full of books and fine leather furniture. His friend came from old money and society manners, and enjoyed his comforts. Jericho wasn’t poor by any measure, but he was definitely not in the same social strata as Matthew Tate.

  The men sat in silence, lost in thought, until their glasses were empty. Jericho accepted Matt’s offer of more liquor with a nod. “I think the girls are glad to have their aunt here, though they’ve never met. And I retrieved the rest of their belongings this afternoon.”

  Matt refilled their glasses. “What belongings are you talking about?”

  “Before we left the campsite, I’d buried what could be salvaged, which wasn’t much. Some clothes, a few canned goods, a trinket or two.” He flexed his hands, still sore from using a shovel. “Figured they ought to have a few familiar things to call their own.”

  Matt toasted him with his glass. “I don’t care what anyone says, you're a good man
, Jericho Hawken.”

  Jericho scowled into his glass. “Remember that when I find the sons-of-bitches that did this.”

  The sheriff studied him for long, silent, moments, his deep brown eyes serious. If they hadn’t been friends for most of their twenty-six years, Jericho would be fidgeting by now. “Do you want your badge back? Wearing it would be of more help than I can be.”

  Jericho surprised them both by hesitating before shaking his head. Apparently, he hadn’t left U.S. Marshal Hawken behind for good, after all.

  A soft knock at the front door brought both men to their feet. Matt reached for his gunbelt. “Just once I’d like an uninterrupted evening at home.”

  “You don’t need that.” Jericho headed to the door. “I invited the Henry woman to stop by so we could talk about what happened without the girls overhearing.”

  Stifling a groan, Matt set aside his weapons and started buttoning cuffs and collar. “You could warn a man, Hawken.”

  “But I so enjoy seeing you all aflutter.” The sheriff’s curse had him laughing. He opened the door and forgot all about his friend’s genteel manners.

  Mary Henry stood on the wide porch surrounded by the glory of the sunset. The golden rays flamed her blond hair and caressed her pale cheeks, leaving her deep blue eyes to reflect the coming night. “You found me.” And wasn’t that was a stupid thing to say.

  “Doctor Bittner walked me most of the way. May I come in?”

  Jericho mentally kicked himself for staring like a schoolboy. “Sorry.” He stepped back to make room.

  “Come in, Miss Henry. I’m Sheriff Tate. Welcome to River’s Bend, though I wish your visit were under happier circumstances.”

  Jericho watched Mary’s shoulders sag and her composure weaken. He wished he could lift away her sorrow as easily as he took the shawl from her shoulders. “May I get you something, Miss Henry? I’m sure the sheriff has some tea around here someplace.”

  Matt shook his head. “Brandy is in order, I believe. You look in need of what my mother would call a medicinal glass, Miss Henry.”