Summer of Promise

by Amanda Cabot

  “Oh, Charlotte!” The tears that welled in Abigail’s eyes were a combination of happiness, relief, and sorrow.

  “Jeffrey?” Charlotte’s smile of greeting faded at the realization that her sister was alone.

  The time had come. Abigail crossed the room in three swift strides and reached for Charlotte’s hand. With it clasped between both of hers, she said simply, “I’m sorry, but he’s . . .”

  “Gone.” Charlotte pronounced the word, her voice as lifeless as her husband. “Jeffrey’s dead. I feared it was so.”

  Sinking onto the chair next to the bed, Abigail stared at her sister. She had expected tears, anger, and cries of denial, but not this. “How did you know?”

  Charlotte’s eyes filled with tears as she looked down at the child sleeping in her arms. “When the baby was born, I experienced the most wonderful sense of fulfillment. It was unlike anything I’ve ever known, but it was followed almost immediately by a sense of deep loss.” Charlotte looked up at Abigail, not seeming to care that tears streamed down her cheeks. “I couldn’t imagine why I felt like that. All I knew was that something important was gone from my life. I thought it might have been the aftermath of giving birth, but when I saw you there alone, I knew it had to be Jeffrey.” Charlotte tightened her grip on Abigail’s hand. “What happened?”

  Abigail decided to start at the end. There would be time enough to explain the rest later. “He was shot by a strange man. I don’t know who the man was. I never even saw his face, because he kept to the shadows.”

  For a second Abigail thought Charlotte was satisfied, but her eyes narrowed. “Was Jeffrey at Peg’s? Tell me the truth.”

  Abigail nodded.

  Charlotte closed her eyes, and Abigail watched her take a deep breath, as if to calm turbulent thoughts. “Was he gambling again?” She opened her eyes to watch Abigail’s response.

  “No, but . . .”

  “Something worse.” It was a statement, not a question.

  Oh, how Abigail wished Charlotte hadn’t insisted on the truth. It was too soon for her to hear everything, but now there was no choice. Abigail would not lie. “He was involved in the stagecoach robberies.”

  As Charlotte shuddered, the sleeping infant stirred. “I should have guessed. I knew something was wrong, because Jeffrey always acted a bit differently whenever anyone spoke of the robberies. At the time, I thought it was that he was disturbed by the stealing, but it wasn’t that at all. He didn’t want anyone to realize he was responsible.” Charlotte pressed a kiss on her child’s head. “I never thought Jeffrey loved money so much that he would die for it.”

  Abigail heard the pain in her sister’s voice. More than anything, she wished she could take away that pain, but she could not. All she could do was offer a bit of consolation. “Jeffrey loved you most of all. His last words were your name and ‘love’.”

  As her lower lip trembled, Charlotte bit it, then looked up at Abigail. “I loved him too.” She tugged her hand from Abigail’s and wrapped both arms around her baby. “It’ll be all right, little one. I’ll give you all the love you need.”

  When Abigail descended the steps an hour later, relieved that Charlotte was finally sleeping, she found Ethan sitting in the parlor. He’d taken the time to change his uniform and wash his face and hair, so he was no longer stained by Jeffrey’s blood. Though his forehead was furrowed with worry, his eyes shone with an emotion Abigail could not identify. It looked like hope and apprehension blended with something else, something she dared not name for fear of being wrong.

  “How is your sister?” Though filled with concern, Ethan’s voice held no hint of the tenderness Abigail had imagined she saw in his eyes. This was Ethan her friend, nothing more.

  She kept her own voice even as she said, “Right now, she’s pretending nothing happened. She did that when our mother died, almost as if she could bring Mama back if she didn’t admit that she was gone.” It hadn’t lasted long, and when the numbness had worn off, Charlotte had been overcome with grief. Abigail knew that would happen this time, and she suspected the grief would be deeper and more intense than before, for Charlotte’s life had changed almost beyond recognition in the space of a few hours.

  When her initial spate of crying ended, Charlotte had taken a deep breath, shuddering only slightly as she introduced Abigail to her nephew. “Jeffrey and I hadn’t decided on a name, but I’m considering David. I’m afraid this little one may have to slay some giants in his life.” Charlotte’s lips trembled, and Abigail knew she was close to tears again. But then she had straightened her shoulders and begun her pretense of normalcy.

  Abigail took the chair opposite Ethan’s, waiting until he was seated again before she spoke. “Before she finally drifted off to sleep, Charlotte was talking about moving to Cheyenne. She claimed there was no place for her here.”

  Ethan nodded. “What your sister said is literally true. Army dependents have no legal status at a fort. If the soldier dies, they face immediate eviction.”

  Charlotte must have known that, and—being Charlotte—she had begun to deal with her changed circumstances. “That hardly seems fair.” Abigail looked at the parlor with its elegant furnishings and wondered whether Charlotte would take them with her or whether she would try to start anew.

  “It isn’t fair,” Ethan agreed, “but those are the regulations.” He paused for a second, and once again concern deepened the lines between his eyes. “I had to report everything to Captain Westland. Since we’re not overcrowded, I convinced him to let Charlotte stay for another month.”

  It appeared Ethan had been busier than she had realized, for in addition to his official duties, he had found time to help Charlotte. No wonder Abigail loved him. He was kind and caring, and though he might not use the word, he was loving.

  She swallowed deeply, trying to control her overflowing emotions. “Thank you,” she said as calmly as she could. Dare she hope that Ethan loved her? He did. She was certain of that. It was only the nature of that love that she did not know, that and whether he would admit it.

  “A month will give Charlotte and me a chance to make plans.” It would also give Abigail another month to store up memories in case at the end of that time she and Ethan parted forever.

  Her words seemed to disturb him, for Ethan’s lips tightened, and he looked away, as if suddenly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken. Abigail tried but failed to tamp down the hope that he dreaded the possibility of their parting as much as she did.

  “About your plans . . .” His voice sounded strained, and the worry lines that formed between his eyes reminded Abigail that, as horrible as her day had been, Ethan’s had been worse. He was the one who had faced death.

  Still staring at the wall, he said, “The time never seems to be right.” Abruptly he turned to face Abigail, and when his gaze met hers, she saw hesitation in his eyes. Whatever Ethan was going to say, he wasn’t sure how she would receive it.

  He swallowed again, and as he did, his expression changed. Worry turned to hope. “Oliver told me ladies expect pretty settings and special words,” Ethan said, his voice deep with emotion. “I wanted to give you that. I even had it all planned, but then . . .” He paused, and the furrows between his eyes told Abigail his thoughts were troubled. “This evening changed everything. I can’t wait any longer. Facing death made me realize there is no time to waste. Tomorrow might not come, and there may be no second chances.” His lips tightened as he said, “I’ve done a lot of things wrong in my life, but in the moment when I knew I was about to die, I had only one regret. I didn’t want to leave you without telling you how I feel.”

  Abigail felt elation rush through her veins. Though Jeffrey’s death cast a horrible pall on the day, one good thing had happened: the barriers that encased Ethan’s heart were gone, freeing him to express his feelings. Her heart so filled with emotion that she was unable to speak, Abigail smiled at Ethan, hoping he would see the love shining from her eyes.

 
; He extended his hands, his brow smoothing and his lips curving into a smile when Abigail placed her hands in his. His hands were warm and comforting, his smile the one she had dreamt of so often. If dreams came true, soon he would say the words she longed to hear: I love you.

  Ethan’s smile faded slightly as he said, “I know you dislike the West and Army life, but there’s no way around it. I owe the Army another year. Will you wait for me?”

  Those weren’t the words she had expected. “Wait for what?” Abigail wouldn’t make the mistake of assuming she knew what Ethan meant. Though the look in his eyes, a look that mirrored her own, spoke of love, she needed the words. Why wouldn’t he say them?

  Ethan rolled his eyes. “There I go again, putting the cart before the horse. It’s your fault, you know. I was never this way before I met you.” He tightened his grip on her hands. “I love you, Abigail. I love your smile, your kind heart, your impulsive nature. I love everything about you.” Ethan paused, and she sensed that the man who had faced death without flinching was afraid of her reaction. “Is it possible that you love me?”

  Her dream had come true. Her heart overflowing with happiness, Abigail smiled at the man she loved so dearly. She had longed for three special words, and Ethan had given them to her. Not once but three times. And if that weren’t enough, the momentary fear she’d seen had shown her the depth of his love. Ethan loved her. He loved her, and now she could tell him of her own love.

  “Of course I love you.” Abigail infused her words with every ounce of sincerity she possessed. Ethan must never, ever doubt how much she loved him. “I think I’ve loved you from the first time I saw you, although I didn’t recognize it at the time. I thought God brought me to Wyoming to help Charlotte, but as the weeks passed, it seemed that he had more in store for me. Now I know what it was. He brought me to you.”

  “And used you to show me what love is.” Ethan rose, tugging Abigail to her feet. “Will you make my life complete? Will you marry me when my time with the Army is ended?”

  There was only one possible answer. “No.”

  As Ethan’s eyes widened, Abigail saw disbelief on his face. “You won’t? I don’t understand. If you love me, why won’t you marry me? Don’t you want to?”

  Again, there was only one answer. “I do want to marry you, Ethan. More than anything else.”

  His confusion was endearing, and Abigail knew they’d speak of this moment for years to come. “Then why did you refuse me?”

  “It wasn’t your proposal I refused; it was the timing. Why should we wait a year?”

  “Because you hate Army life. I don’t want to start our marriage knowing you’re miserable.”

  “Oh, you silly man.” Abigail smiled to take the sting from her words. “How could I be miserable if I’m with you? The only thing that would make me miserable is being apart. I love you, Ethan. I want to spend the rest of my life as your wife . . . starting now.”

  Ethan’s smile threatened to split his face. “That’s the Abigail I love: headstrong and impulsive, with a heart that’s bigger than all of Wyoming. I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

  Dear Reader,

  One of the questions I’m often asked is how I get the ideas for my books. The answer is that oh-so-frustrating “It depends.” And it does. Each book is different from every other.

  Those of you who’ve read my bio know that I’m an avid traveler, and so you probably won’t be surprised to learn that Summer of Promise was inspired by a trip. I’ve always been fascinated by the pioneers who traveled West in covered wagons, so what better place to visit than Fort Laramie, where all the wagon trains stopped to rest and stock up on supplies before crossing the Rockies?

  At the time that I planned the trip, I had no intention of setting a book there. It was simply a chance to escape the seemingly unending work associated with moving into a new house. But inspiration strikes when you least expect it.

  When we arrived at the fort, I was struck by several things. First of all, it didn’t look like my image of a Western fort. There’s no stockade surrounding the garrison. Instead, it’s open and seemingly unprotected. The second surprise was that the buildings didn’t fit my picture of Army construction. The barracks and the officers’ housing were constructed of a variety of materials and, combined with the central parade ground, made the fort look like a New England village. The third surprise was that, although this was once a military installation, it felt peaceful. In other words, it wasn’t what I had expected.

  Prior to that day, if someone had asked me to write a book set at Fort Laramie, I would have assumed that it would take place during the great migration and that the heroine would be part of a wagon train. But as I walked around the fort and learned more about its history, I became fascinated with its final days. During its last decade of existence (the 1880s), Fort Laramie saw no wars, and not even much in the way of conflict. Instead, it was a place where officers lived in relative luxury, where their wives held teas and balls, and where the parade ground boasted gaslights and birdbaths.

  I was hooked. And so, in the space of an afternoon, when all I had expected was a little recreation, I had the beginning of a book. As it turned out, not just one but three. I realized that Abigail was one of three sisters and that each of them deserved her own book.

  Charlotte’s comes next. I don’t want to spoil the story by giving away all her reasons, but I can tell you that Charlotte moves to Cheyenne to build a life for herself and her son, never dreaming that she’ll find both love and danger in the territory’s capital.

  Did you wonder what happened to the baron? The answer is coming in the next book, and it just might surprise you. Book 2 in the Westward Winds series will be available in the spring of 2013.

  And, for those of you who’ve said that a year is too long between books, I’m delighted to tell you that Revell will be publishing my Christmas novella this fall. It’s also set in Wyoming but brings you a whole new cast of characters. I’m excited about it and hope you will be too.

  As always, I look forward to hearing from you. It’s true: you are the reason I write.

  Blessings,

  Amanda Cabot

  Acknowledgments

  Writing any book requires a lot of research, and this one was no exception. Three visits to Fort Laramie, dozens of books, and hours of internet browsing provided the foundation, but there were still gaps in my knowledge. Fortunately, three women generously gave of their time and expertise to fill in those gaps.

  I owe much gratitude to:

  Kayce Lassiter, who took time from her own writing schedule to answer my seemingly endless questions about horses. Kayce has been an immense help, not just for this book but also for the Texas Dreams trilogy. Thanks to her, I know now what ailing horses should be fed and how to deal with an injury, not to mention hundreds of other details of equine life.

  Peggy Griffin, who answered my online plea for information about snakes. I appreciate Peggy’s not laughing at my total ignorance about reptilian behavior, at least not when I could hear her. Not only did she tell me what a snake might have done, but she suggested a plausible reaction for my heroine.

  Sandra Lowry, librarian at Fort Laramie National Historic Site, who provided myriad details of life at the fort in 1885 and whose meticulous research kept me from putting my hero in the wrong uniform.

  Kayce, Peggy, and Sandra, you have my heartfelt thanks.

  Dreams have always been an important part of Amanda Cabot’s life. For almost as long as she can remember, she dreamt of being an author. Fortunately for the world, her grade-school attempts as a playwright were not successful, and she turned her attention to writing novels. Her dream of selling a book before her thirtieth birthday came true, and she’s been spinning tales ever since. She now has more than twenty-five novels to her credit under a variety of pseudonyms.

  Amanda is a member of ACFW, a charter member of Romance Writers of America, and an avid traveler. She married her high school sweetheart,
who shares her love of travel and who’s driven thousands of miles to help her research her books. A few years ago they fulfilled a longtime dream and are now living in the American West.

  Books by Amanda Cabot

  * * *

  Texas Dreams Series

  Paper Roses

  Scattered Petals

  Tomorrow’s Garden

  Westward Winds Series

  Summer of Promise

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