The Cowboy’s Bride Collection: 9 Historical Romances Form on Old West Ranches
Page 21
Chapter 3
Grant opened his burning eyes and lifted his head. He only made it an inch or two before he flopped back onto the pillow and moaned. “What happened? Where am I?”
The rustle of cloth and soft footfalls met his ears and a dim memory returned. An angel? He shook his head and groaned again.
A cool hand touched his forehead, light as a bird’s wing, then as quickly disappeared. He struggled to open his eyes again and focus. “Is someone here?” He felt the heat from the stove, and recognition dawned. The line shack. The storm. He’d been caught out overnight, and his horse was lame. “Diego. My horse.” He tried to push back the blanket that covered his chest. His horse would be hungry and thirsty.
“Shh. Lie still now. Diego. So that’s your horse’s name. I’ve been calling him Brownie, since I didn’t know.” The soft words from off to the side drew him, and he longed to see who owned that musical voice, but he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes open. “I found old hay in the shed, and a bucket, which I filled with water. He’s out of the wind and doing fine. Can you tell me your name?”
The gentle fingers touched his forehead again. “Grant. I thought you were an angel. But angels don’t feed and water horses, do they?” He wasn’t making sense, he knew it, but that butterfly touch to his face must be addling his brain. No. That wasn’t right. Someone was in the cabin with a rifle. His heavy lids flew open, and he reached out to grab the angel’s hand. “You have to be careful. Outlaws. Could be killers. Lock the door.” The effort of the long speech left him drained. His fingers loosened their hold from the soft skin, and his brain shut down as he drifted off to sleep once again.
Addie stared in bemusement at this stranger named Grant. At least she knew his first name now, and that of his horse. She smiled in spite of the seriousness of the situation. The most important fact—the man—Grant—had thought of his horse before himself. Definitely someone with character.
But what had he said about outlaws? Killers? She jumped to her feet and ran to the door, fumbling with the heavy bar and lowering it into the slots fashioned on each side to hold it in place. She glanced at the window. It was too small for a man to gain access through. She put her hand over her hammering heart and told herself to be calm. She was a decent shot with a rifle, and she’d gathered all the shells she could find before leaving the wagon.
Was there really anything to be frightened of? Would outlaws venture out this far in the deep snow and bitter cold? Surely not. Maybe this stranger was imagining things, just as he had when he’d thought her an angel.
Her cheeks warmed at the thought. The one time he’d managed to keep his eyes open she’d been startled at the depth of the walnut brown, not to mention the wonder shining from them as he’d stared at her. And she had to admit, he was a handsome man, as well as being concerned about his horse.
Addie placed her hands to her cheeks. What was she thinking? Why, she was as good as betrothed to Sam Tolliver. Granted, he’d told her if she found the situation unendurable after they met, he wouldn’t hold her to their agreement and she would be free to go her way, but go where? She had no other recourse but to marry Mr. Tolliver.
Something clunked outside. She rushed to the door and checked the bar again, then grabbed her rifle and slipped to the window, her heart hammering. Could she hold off outlaws and protect Grant? What if they stole Diego? She and Grant would have no way of making it out of here except on foot, and the snow was too deep to travel far, especially combined with the cold.
Addie kept to the side of the glass and peered both directions, but nothing in sight moved. Had it been her imagination? No. She’d heard something thud near or against the cabin. It might only be snow falling off the roof of the lean-to. Dare she open the door and go check on Diego, if she kept the rifle ready? A light sweat broke out on her forehead, and a shiver ran up her spine. If someone stood outside the door, they could grab her and the rifle before she had a chance to shoot. They might be waiting—hoping she’d do something foolish. Better to stay inside where she could at least protect the sick man still sleeping in front of the stove.
Grant stirred again and muttered. He’d been so much cooler last time she’d checked. If only he’d recover so he could help her keep watch—or even better, so they could get out of here to somewhere safer. She shook her head at her selfishness. She was thinking of herself instead of the man who’d been so sick. She whispered a prayer for his healing and strength.
A few hours later, his eyes were open—and lucid. How long had he been watching her? She almost dropped the rifle in her haste to get to his side, but she tightened her grip as she remembered what they could be up against. Just because he was awake didn’t mean the danger had lessened.
Addie sank to her knees on the floor beside Grant. “How are you? Do you want more water?” She touched his forehead again only to see his eyes briefly close at her touch. “Please. Don’t go to sleep again.” She tried to keep the urgency from shivering through her voice, but she wasn’t certain she’d been successful.
His eyes opened again, and he nodded. “Yes. Water.”
She lifted his head and helped him take a sip. “There. Lay back now. Your fever has broken, but you’re apt to be weak for a day or two. I have soup simmering on the stove. I’ll dish some up for you in a moment.”
He raised himself to one elbow, all the while keeping his gaze trained on her face. His puzzled smile turned to a frown as his glance took in the rifle. “I wasn’t dreaming. You’re real, not an angel. What are you up to?”
Chapter 4
Grant stared at the woman kneeling by his makeshift bed on the floor, taking in the rifle she clutched and her wide, frightened blue eyes. Dark hair, almost black, streamed in curls over her shoulders, as though she hadn’t had time to put it up on her head. But that face—it was the one he’d seen in his dreams—or had it been a vision—the angel who’d bent over him and touched his brow. It had to be her.
Something wasn’t right with this picture. She cradled the Winchester as though she knew how to use it. He remembered hearing a hammer draw back when he’d entered the cabin. Surely this woman wasn’t who he’d been worried about during his lucid moments? She must have at least one cohort who’d traveled here with her. He could be outside saddling Diego right at this moment, ready to take his horse and this woman and leave him stranded.
But if that was the case, why had she stayed and nursed him? She could have left him in his soaked coat and pants and not spread the bed by the fire. For that matter, how had she gotten him to it, and built the fire? He frowned. Another indication there had to be someone helping her. This woman was tall, but slender and fine boned—certainly not sturdy enough to have carried him to this makeshift bed.
“Where’s your partner? Is he your husband? Are you planning to steal my horse?” He rasped out the words over a dry throat, hating the weakness that assailed his body. A cough hit him, and he sank back onto the blanket.
She took a step forward then hesitated and looked over her shoulder toward the door as another muffled thud sounded outside. “Did you hear something?”
He frowned, certain she was trying to throw suspicion away from herself. “No. I doubt you did either. Now tell me your name and what you’re doing here.”
“My name is Addie Patrick. I was traveling to Mt. Dora in a wagon when it overturned and the driver was killed.” She lifted her head and met his gaze. “I walked here alone yesterday afternoon before the storm got bad. I don’t know why you think someone’s with me, but it’s not true.”
Grant scooted up against the wall and leaned back in relief. He felt a little stronger, but the thought of standing didn’t appeal quite yet. “You said your driver was killed? Did you come from Clayton?”
She nodded. “His name was Clem, but I don’t know anything else. He was driving fast, fearful of being caught in the storm. We came down a hill, and he tried to slow the horse, but the brake didn’t work. The wagon was pushing the horse down the hill
, and she bolted. Clem couldn’t stop her.”
“So the wagon overturned?” He threw the blanket from his legs, thankful she’d only removed his coat and nothing else.
“Yes. It hit a rut in the road, bounced once or twice, then flipped on its side, throwing me into some brush. I was knocked out, and when I woke I discovered I’d bruised my knee and shoulder, but thankfully I wasn’t seriously injured.”
“And the driver?”
“He was thrown clear as well, but he hit his head on a rock. I’m guessing he died instantly. There was nothing I could do.” Tears welled in her eyes, but she brushed them away. “The horse’s leg was broken, and I had to put her down.” She gestured at the rifle and bit her lip. “This belonged to the driver. I gathered it, the shells, and a few of my things and made my way here.”
Grant’s brows rose. This woman showed genuine emotion, but she wasn’t wailing or carrying on. In fact, she was handling the tragedy the same way Connie would have done—with strength and common sense. She’d seen what needed to be done, did it, then cared for herself. Suddenly another thought hit him and he frowned. “How did you know about this cabin?”
“Clem told me. He said the owner uses it when he has to stay away from the ranch at night, when he’s too far from home. He pointed this direction and said it wasn’t far, not long before the accident.” She glanced at the hot stove. “I’m glad the man who owns it thought to leave supplies and firewood. I couldn’t believe it when I got here and discovered food, matches, wood, and a bed. I hope someday I’ll be able to thank him.”
The ice around Grant’s heart, along with the last vestiges of distrust, melted at her comment. “You’re welcome, but I think we’re even. If it hadn’t been for the fire you’d already built and your care, I’m not sure what kind of shape I’d be in now.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re the owner? Were you too far from your ranch when the storm hit?”
Grant slowly shook his head. “Something kept nudging me forward—all I could think was God had a reason for me to be out here.” He shot her a look. “I thought you were an angel when I first saw you—it must have been the fever—and I figured I was already in heaven.” He smiled. “Now, tell me what was so important you had to attempt the trip to Mt. Dora with a storm coming on. Surely you could have stayed at your home in Clayton until it passed?”
She lifted one shoulder. “I came on the train yesterday while the weather was mild. I’m afraid I didn’t believe the men at the station when they said a storm was coming. I wish now I had—my driver would still be alive.” The young woman’s face blanched. “It’s my fault he’s dead.”
“That’s foolishness. He was a grown man, not a child, and he made his own decision to drive you. He could have just as easily turned you down.” He gestured toward the corner where she’d propped the rifle. “Can you hand that to me? I’d like to get on my feet.” He grimaced. “This isn’t the most comfortable place to sit and talk.”
She stepped forward and held out her hand. “There’s no need for the rifle. I can help you up. I’m quite strong.”
Grant looked at the extended hand and hesitated, not sure why. What was it about this woman that stirred him? Even when he’d felt a surge of concern or mistrust, he’d known in his heart she was good. No one with that sweet expression and kind smile could be evil or in cahoots with outlaws. He was ashamed he’d considered it. He braced one hand beneath him, ready to push himself up, then reached out and clasped her hand. An immediate shock ran through him, and it was all he could do not to drop her hand as he staggered to his feet.
Her eyes widened. “Oh my.”
He didn’t reply but loosened his hold and fell onto the bed feeling as weak as a newborn calf. He wasn’t sure what had happened, but he needed to put some space between them. Fast.
Addie tucked her hand behind her back and walked to the one upright chair pulled next to the small table and sat, not sure she could stand much longer. She was no fool. Grant Hollister might not have felt a thing—in fact, her touch might have repelled him based on how quickly he’d dropped her hand. But she certainly had. And it shamed her. She was as good as betrothed to another man. She couldn’t possibly entertain feelings for this one, no matter how handsome or strong.
Besides, what about Connie and Thomas? This man had a family, and she had no right being attracted to him. She turned her head so he couldn’t see the battle that must be shining from her eyes.
He lay back on the bed with a groan. “I don’t know why I’m so weak. Maybe because I haven’t had anything to eat since yesterday afternoon. I’ve been away from the ranch for a couple of days, but I only brought provisions for one, since I didn’t plan to get caught in a storm. Foolish on my part.” He grinned. “Is there any food in this place still fit to eat?”
Her heart jumped at the warmth of that smile, and she pushed from the chair and stepped to the small bank of cupboards beyond the table. “There are a few tins of meat and jars of canned fruit. No bread, I’m afraid, but you won’t starve. I made a pot of soup with the meat stock.” She stirred the soup in the pot as he lay on the bed and watched her silently.
After a few minutes, she started to hum to fill the silence. She plucked a tin plate off a shelf and ladled hot beans and a generous scoop of applesauce onto it, then dished up a bowl of soup. She glanced at him and saw that he’d relaxed against the pillow and closed his eyes. Should she wait to serve him and let him sleep? She picked up the plate, intending to cover it for later.
“You didn’t tell me what was so important that you had to get from Clayton to Mt. Dora.”
His unexpected question made her jump, and she placed her hand over her heart. “You startled me. I thought you’d gone to sleep.”
“Sorry. Just resting my eyes. I’m afraid I’m still a bit tired, but the food will put me to rights in no time.”
Addie held the plate, waiting for him to sit up in the bed.
He dipped his head. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
“I’m not hungry. Maybe later.”
He sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “I’ll sit here and eat. You take the chair. You’ve stood long enough.”
She hesitated, handed him the plate and utensils, then walked back to the potbellied stove. “I’ve got coffee warming as well.” She lifted two chipped mugs from pegs near the stove, poured the coffee, and set his mug on the edge of the table, less than an arm’s length from where he sat. Shyly, she scooted the chair to the other side of the table and sank into it then took a sip of the black brew. “You asked why I was anxious to get to Mt. Dora. I traveled all the way here from Iowa to meet my intended, Sam Tolliver. I imagine he’s probably frantic with worry since I haven’t arrived.”
Chapter 5
Grant felt as though he’d been kicked by a rank mule, and there was no earthly reason for it. He’d only met this woman—she was nothing to him. Then why was there something akin to grieving at the thought of her marrying another man? For all he’d known when he woke up, she was already married and had a brood of children waiting for her.
But when he’d grasped her hand long enough to get to his feet, he’d felt such a strong reaction, he’d hoped she was single. Or at least, a part of him had prayed she might be. Now he knew there was no hope. Her intended. They were going to marry when she arrived in Mt. Dora. “Have you known each other long?” The words blurted out before he could stop them.
Color rose in her cheeks, making her even prettier than before. She bit her bottom lip then drew in a soft breath. “No. We’ve never met.”
He frowned. “Forgive me for asking, but why would you marry a man you don’t know? Have you been corresponding for a long time?”
“No.” She whispered the word and looked at her hands clasped in her lap. “We’ve only exchanged a half-dozen letters.”
He stared, unsure what to say. This wasn’t his affair, and he shouldn’t intrude. But he wanted to. In fact, he could barely stop himself. “A half
-dozen letters?”
“Yes.” She raised her gaze to meet his and held it. “My parents were killed in a fire a couple of years ago while I was gone from home for a few hours. I lost everything. My parents, my home, all our belongings. I lived on charity from church people, but I couldn’t continue that way much longer. It wasn’t fair. I come from a tiny town, and no one could afford to take in another mouth to feed, even if I helped around the house. So I answered an advertisement for women to come west as brides.”
She looked away. “Mr. Tolliver seems like a decent, God-fearing man. He owns a store in Mt. Dora, and he said he would love to have a wife who could help at the store as well as his home. Someone smart, strong, and decent, and he said appearance was not a criteria. I’m certainly strong and decent.” She ended the sentence on a quiet laugh.
“And a lot more than that.” Grant muttered the words. Then he cleared his throat and continued. “So this man wants free help for his store and a wife to take care of his home?” He set his plate down on the table with a clang. “Doesn’t sound like a great marriage to me.”
She shrugged. “My pastor sent a letter to the pastor of the church in Mt. Dora, and he assured us that Mr. Tolliver is a good man, even if he’s a… little older than me.”
“How much older?”
“Um, about fifteen years, I believe. He’s a widower with no children.” She heaved a sigh as though relieved at that part. “Do you know him?”
He scanned his memory, but the name wasn’t familiar. “Can’t say as I do. My ranch is halfway between Clayton and Mt. Dora. Since Clayton is bigger, I tend to go that direction for supplies more than the other.”
She leaned forward, her eyes bright. “So you own a ranch? Do you run cattle or horses? How many head?”