by Vivi Holt
Genevieve smiled and leaned closer still, pushing herself up against his chest and snuggling her head beneath the curve of his chin. The end of his beard tickled her forehead and she giggled.
“So we’ve never spoken about it before, but do you want to have more children?” asked Thomas, smoothing her hair with his hand.
“More children?” She pulled away and looked at him in confusion, her eyebrows arched. “Do we have some already that I don’t know about?”
“Well, I’m including Patches.” He laughed at the look on her face.
“You gave me a fright, Thomas O’Reilly!” She whacked his chest with her hand.
“Ouch!”
“Well, you deserved it.”
He chuckled and kissed her on the head. “Remind me not to frighten you again, then.”
“More children would be wonderful.”
He smiled and the two of them rocked in a slow dance under the darkening clouds. Then Genevieve felt something soft and wet on her cheek. She gasped and lifted a hand to her cheek to feel it. “Snow!” she cried, raising her face skyward.
The two of them stood, locked together in an intimate embrace, dancing in a slow circle as the snow fell. It fell cold and dry on the grass around them, filling the air with a new kind of silence as the white flecks floated down. Before long, they could barely see a thing. The candles had been snuffed out by the falling snow and the bunkhouse had almost disappeared entirely from view.
“I think we’d better go inside,” said Genevieve, her teeth chattering loudly. Thomas nodded and released her, took her by the hand and pulled her toward the building.
Tomorrow they would be married. Genevieve’s stomach did a flip as she thought about what the day would bring. She would be a wife and mistress of Paradise Ranch. How her life had changed in only a few short months. She smiled and stepped into the warmth of the bunkhouse behind Thomas.
Everyone cheered as they entered and made room for the couple before the roaring fire in their new brick fireplace, built from bricks fashioned with mud found on the banks of the Yellowstone River. “We thought we’d have to send out a search party,” teased Dusty. He and Dan were playing a game of cards on a makeshift table.
“Just about,” replied Thomas with a grin. “It’s snowing pretty hard now.”
“Well, we’re drinkin’ mash whiskey to yer health,” added Cookie, raising his glass high. “Will ya have some?”
“I will, actually. Thanks, Cookie.”
Cookie poured Thomas a glass. “And you, Genny?”
“Oh, I don’t know – I’ve never tasted whiskey. But I suppose I can make an exception on the eve of my wedding.” She felt her face flush with warmth. She wasn’t used to being the center of attention, and every eye in the room was trained on her and Thomas.
“Ya got it.” Cookie poured her a glass as well and handed it to her.
“A toast!” shouted Coop, banging his free hand on the wall.
“To Tom and Genny,” cried Dan, raising his glass high.
“To Tom and Genny!” Everyone lifted their glasses and threw back their heads to drink.
Before the din of conversation resumed, Sarah spoke up. “We have something to celebrate as well,” she said, her voice shy and proud at the same time. She looked at Bill, who nodded. “We’re going to have a baby,” she said.
The room erupted in a cacophony of catcalls, whistles, whoops and cries of congratulations. Genevieve smiled and hurried over to embrace Sarah. “I’m so pleased for you,” she whispered into Sarah’s ear.
“Thank you,” said Sarah, wiping a tear from her cheek.
There was much to celebrate that night, and the festivities continued well into the night. The snow fell in drifts around the bunkhouse. The cattle sheltered in their pens, and the horses stamped their feet and slept in the snug barn. Patches lay in the shelter built by Thomas against the wall of the bunkhouse, her head tucked into her side. Genevieve and Thomas sat side by side, hand in hand by the fire. She looked up at her groom-to-be and smiled warmly at him. Tomorrow was the beginning of a new life for them. She couldn’t wait for it to begin.
Epilogue
Genevieve stood in her woolen stockings, chemise and stays as Sarah helped her pull on her wedding dress. The dark blue of the fabric offset the blue of her eyes, and she wondered at the reflection she saw in the small looking glass Thomas had bought her in town. The woman who stared back at her was unrecognizable as the person she’d seen in a Texas mirror.
Sarah pulled her hair back and tied it loosely, bringing curls down to frame her face and fashioning the back into a chignon. Once her hair was done, Genevieve pulled her new fur cape around her shoulders and pinched her cheeks to give them color. She was ready.
The two women walked together to the field outside where the crowd of cowboys were waiting. The ground was covered with snow and the group stood, shifting back and forth in their boots to keep out the cold. Thomas had suggested getting married by the fireplace in the bunkhouse, but regardless of the cold Genevieve wanted to stand where the foundation of their future home would be as they said their vows. Her boots crunched over the white covered ground and she stopped to wait for Cookie.
Sarah hurried to the front of the group to stand across from Thomas and Dan, with Rev. Langston all in black between them. Cookie took Genevieve’s arm with a grin and a hint of mist in his reddened eyes, and they walked down the makeshift aisle together.
Thomas stood waiting for her on ground he’d chosen as a place for his future home a year earlier. His eyes sparkled and he stood with his hands linked together in front of him. He wore his best suit, with a woolen overcoat. She noticed with relief that the black Stetson was nowhere in sight. The lilting notes of a fiddle rose and fell in the silence around them, and Genevieve saw Dusty standing off to the side, the instrument tucked beneath his chin, a grin under his beard.
When she reached Thomas, he winked happily at her and took her by both hands.
The minister cleared his throat and led them steadily through the ceremony. Genevieve felt as though she were floating through a fog, unaware of the words he spoke or anything that went on around her. All she could see was Thomas. All she heard was his voice promising to love and protect her always. She repeated her vows in a small, quiet way, holding back tears of joy.
And when they were pronounced man and wife, Thomas took her in his arms in the midst of a rowdy celebration of whooping, hollering and hat-throwing to kiss her full on the mouth. A kiss of promise, of hope and of love.
After, she looked deep into his eyes and saw them crinkle around the edges. “’Til death,” he said, repeating a phrase from their vows.
“’Til death,” she replied and tugged on the back of his neck, pulling him close for another kiss.
***
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Read on for an excerpt from The Strong One - prequel to Of Peaks and Prairies.
Excerpt from The Strong One (Cutter’s Creek, book 2)
Chapter 1
1866
Sarah Songan stuck the end of one dirty finger into her mouth and chewed anxiously on the tattered nail. The nail was already so short there was nothing left to bite off. She flicked the finger from her mouth and strained her eyes across to the other side of the camp to watch the group of men gathered around the chief’s wickiup. She shuddered, and returned the finger to her mouth.
“Sarah!” admonished an older woman sitting with a group of womenfolk beside the embers of a waning fire.
Sarah knelt next to them and went to work slicing bison meat into thin strips, making sure to leave a nice layer of fat on each piece for added flavor. As she finished each cut, she glanced back at the group, noticing the chief gesturing emphatically to the elders to punctuate some point he was making. She shivered again, considering what they were likely discussing. She knew that she was the topic of conversati
on, but what were they saying about her?
The smoke from the fire wafted into Sarah’s eyes, making them smart and blocking her view across the camp. She coughed and shifted around to the side of the fire circle. Behind her, the doorway of the wickiup flapped gently in the breeze, and the feathers hanging near the peak of the structure bent and swayed in time to the soughing of the long, green grasses surrounding the campsite.
The camp itself was set on one side of a lush valley, and the rolling hills on either side were garnished with yellow buttercups, blue asters, and sweet, pink, wild roses.
Sarah sighed in contentment, sweeping her gaze across the colorful landscape and feeling the peacefulness of the valley filtering into her soul for just a moment. Then she caught sight once again of the group of elders huddled together discussing her fate and her heart jumped in her chest. What would they decide? The flap over the doorway of Chief Mutaweer’s wickiup opened for a moment, and a flash of brown swept through the doorway and disappeared into the heart of the camp.
Sarah smiled and bent her head over her work. She thought quickly, then rose to her feet.
“I need a drink of water,” she said to the upturned faces of the group. Then she turned to run downhill to the nearby creek bed before any of the women could object.
Reaching the side of the creek, she knelt and scooped a handful of clear, sweet water up to her mouth, savoring its cool refreshment. In a moment the flash of brown was there, giggling and splashing creek water into her eyes.
“Ky! Stop!” she laughed, falling onto her side against the tall reeds and grasses at the water’s edge.
Ky sat beside her with a thump and pushed stray strands of her thick, black hair away from her face. It was decorated lavishly with beads and feathers, and her buckskin dress had lines of multi-colored beads sewn into it as well, indicating her status as the chief’s daughter.
“So?” asked Sarah, her wide, green eyes watching Ky’s face intently.
“So, they say you’re to be married,” said Ky, her expression becoming serious. She pulled a stalk of grass from the ground and chewed on the end, pensively.
“Married? To who?”
“Some white man over at Fort Smith.”
Sarah threw herself back against the creek bank, her hands over her eyes. Ky lay beside her, squinting up into the bright sky above with one eye closed, the end of the stalk still moving about in her mouth.
“I don’t want to get married. Especially not to some white soldier I’ve never met. I can’t leave my family to live at that Fort with a bunch of strangers. I don’t want to leave you; you’re my best friend. What am I going to do?”
Ky wrinkled her nose, and sat up to face Sarah. “They said that you’re too much of a risk to keep here. You’re not really a true Apsáalooke, seeing as how your father was a white man. Your mother always fought to keep you here, and because she was the old chief’s daughter they respected her wishes. But now that she’s dead, they say you can’t stay.”
Sarah jerked up beside her, her heart pounding in fear. Her mouth dropped open, and her eyes widened.
“You look too much like a white woman, and with your green eyes every warrior who sees you, wants you as his bride. They’ve already had to fight several skirmishes with the Sioux and Cheyenne because of you. And if the white man finds out you’re here, they’re worried that he’ll come after you as well.”
A frown creased Sarah’s forehead, and her lips tightened as she pictured the elders speaking with the chief about her future as though she were no more valuable than horse flesh or buffalo hides.
“They want to strengthen their alliance with the white soldiers, since the Sioux and Cheyenne are always baying at our door. They say a Crow alliance with the White Man is the only way we can hope to survive. So, they’re going to use you to build that bridge.”
Sarah had been studying the length of a reed beside her as Ky spoke. Its heavy head bent toward the ground as though it were bowing to the bubbling creek below. She pulled it up from the root, threw it to the ground with a hiss, and stood to her feet, stamping her moccasins in the damp soil.
“I won’t let them use me like a set of beads or a coat of fur to trade for favors. My destiny isn’t to be a slave for a white soldier. My mother taught me to speak English so that I could one day make my way in the white world if I needed to. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll run away and decide my own fate.”
Ky’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Run away? You can’t do that. What will my father say? Where will you go?”
“I don’t care what he says, and I’m not staying to find out. I’ll leave at dusk. Maybe I’ll be able to get a job in Hardin. They say that town is growing like the prairie grasses in summer. I’ll go there, and make my own way in the world. Only, I do wish I didn’t have to leave you behind.”
Sarah’s voice softened, and she stepped forward to grab Ky’s hands with her own, holding them tightly as tears formed in her eyes.
“You’re the only one left on this earth who cares about me.”
Ky pulled her close, and wrapped her arms about Sarah’s shoulders. She cried softly into Sarah’s wavy brown hair, and sniffled.
“Then don’t go.”
“You heard your father, I have to leave – one way or the other. I’d rather do it on my own terms.”
“I guess that’s true,” began Ky, stepping back and wrinkling her nose, “though maybe I can talk to him.”
“No, you know him well enough to realize that wouldn’t do a bit of good. In his eyes we’re not nineteen. He still sees us as those five-year-old girls who squeezed onto his lap to hear stories of the ancestors’ battles.”
“You’re right. He would pretend to listen to what I have to say, and then, when we least expected it, he’d ship you off to Fort Smith without telling me.”
Sarah nodded in agreement. Her expression dejected, she turned to face the camp, nestled in the clearing in front of them. Winding trails of smoke climbed slowly skyward, the smell of roasting bison meat wafted to them on the breeze, and the cozy wickiups reminded her of nights spent nestled together with her mother with the icy Montana winds whistling overhead.
“All right, well at least let me help you. And make sure you don’t get caught; they’ll just send you right back here, and then you’ll really be in for it.”
“I could use your help to get away from the camp without being noticed. Don’t worry though, I don’t plan on getting caught,” said Sarah. Her gaze roamed across the camp where the steady beat of activity carried on as usual in preparation for the evening meal, while Sarah’s world crumbled around her.
“I can do that.”
“Thank you. You’re a good friend.” Sarah’s eyes filled once more, and she pushed away the tears with her fist, drawing a deep breath of the fresh, southern Montana air into her lungs.
“I’ll never forget you Sarah Songan,” whispered Ky, tracing the curve of Sarah’s cheek with her fingers. Her tanned face was splotched with red, and tears streamed down her cheeks.
“You, too, Ky.”
Keep reading The Strong One.
Also by Vivi Holt
Orphan Brides Go West
Mail Order Bride: Christy
Mail Order Bride: Ramona
Mail Order Bride: Katie
Mail Order Bride: Holly (coming soon!)
Cutter’s Creek
The Strong One
The Betrothed
Cherished
Season of Love
Paradise Valley
Of Peaks and Prairies
For an updated list of my books, please visit:
www.viviholt.com
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About the Author
Vivi Holt was born in Australia. She grew up in the country, where she spent her youth riding horses at Pony Club, and adventuring through the fields and rivers around the farm. Her father was a builder, tu
rned saddler, and her mother a nurse, who stayed home to raise their four children.
After graduating from a degree in International Relations, Vivi moved to Atlanta, Georgia to work for a year. It was there that she met her husband, and they were married three years later. Vivi also studied for a Bachelor of Information Technology, and has worked in the field ever since. She spent seven years living in Atlanta and travelled to various parts of the United States during that time, falling in love with the beauty of that immense country and the American people.
She now lives in Brisbane, Australia with her husband and three small children. Married to a Baptist pastor, she is very active in her local church, and continues to work part-time as a Knowledge and Information Manager. Whatever spare time she has left after all of that goes into writing – something she has only recently discovered, but now loves to do.
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank my wonderful beta readers and ARC readers. Ray Anselmo for his editing prowess. The always supportive Facebook groups who encourage and cheer me on - Pioneer Hearts and Clean Indie Reads.
Most of all, I’d like to thank my husband and children who put up with me disappearing with increasing frequency, to tap away frantically at my laptop, as I draw closer to the release date for each book. They love me in spite of the messy house, and I adore each one of them more than they will ever comprehend.
And lastly, thank you to my readers. You gave my books a chance, in a sea of possible books. Then you gave me a second chance, and your feedback and encouragement have helped me to become a better writer with each story I tell. I appreciate all of you.
