The Cowboy’s Bride Collection: 9 Historical Romances Form on Old West Ranches

by Susan Page Davis, Vickie McDonough, Susanne Dietze, Nancy J. Farrier, Miralee Ferrell, Darlene Franklin, Davalynn Spencer, Becca Whitham

  Jessica, in particular, the old bat wrote. Living on an isolated cattle ranch with nothing but men for role models is no way for a young lady to grow up. I can give her everything here in the city and will take her home with me in September if I find her lacking in any way.

  Like that would ever happen while he was kicking and breathing. He read the last line again. If necessary, I shall involve the authorities, so do not think to dissuade me.

  Josiah crumpled the thin paper to toss it away, but some nosey so-and-so might find it and tell his business to everybody in Ford Junction. He shoved it back in his vest, released the brake, and snapped the lines. The wagon jerked, and Josiah’s mind ran ahead in a blind fury. He couldn’t let that conniving, grasping woman bust up his already broken family. He slapped the reins again, and the mare lunged before he got a grip on her and his emotions.

  Beatrice had tried to prevent Maisie from marrying Josiah in the first place. And then she’d attempted to weasel the children away from him at the funeral. Could she really get the law on him for not having Jess in dresses and curls? An image of the Baxter girl came to mind. That was how his daughter should look. Fixed up proper. But she’d outgrown all her dresses in the past two years, and the best he knew was to raise her like her brother. Like himself.

  Over the next five miles, Josiah chewed on the woman’s threat. Truth was, parts of her letter nettled him like a cocklebur. Jess sat her horse astride in her brother’s old denims and out-grown boots, her braids stuffed under her hat. Before long she’d be faced with the way of a woman, and Josiah couldn’t help her a lick then. He had three months before Beatrice showed up, and if Jess wasn’t cleaned up like a girl ought to be, he might lose her. The vise around his chest tightened. He’d rather die.

  At the border to his property, he pulled up. “Lord, I need Your help. I can’t lose my baby girl to that ol’ hide.” He glanced apologetically at a sky so close to the color of his children’s eyes that it twisted his heart inside him. As did the thought of a full summer’s work ahead—haying and cutting wood and doctoring cows and every other thing that sucked daylight out of a man.

  He took in the wide park dappled with grazing cattle. The cedar barn, the house, and outbuildings tucked up against the hillside on the east. His band of mares must have found themselves a private valley over the first ridge. Warmth grew in his belly like a fire on the hearth. “Thank You, Lord. You’ve blessed us. I imagine You won’t fail us now.”

  He drew a deep breath, and with it came a crazy idea that darted through his mind like a swallow on a bug. It was worth a try.

  Chapter 4

  Morning slid over the ranch like warm butter. Josiah climbed to the wagon seat and flicked the reins. Rena tossed her head as if she disapproved of the errand, and the act drew a nervous chuckle from Josiah’s throat. Pop hadn’t quirked a whisker last night when he heard Josiah’s plan. Said he’d give up his room and sleep in the barn if it helped. A harebrained idea for sure, but Josiah was short on time and options, and every minute he delayed was a minute gone.

  In full light of day, it seemed a fool’s errand. Less than a hundred people lived in Ford Junction, and precious few were women. How many of them looked to hire out as a ranch cook, housekeeper, and—? He snorted. Couldn’t say “mother,” but that was exactly what he needed for his children. Jess, in particular. But he’d not jump hog-blind into matrimony. Besides, he’d never convince any gal alive to marry him today. No, he had a better chance at hiring one for the summer. For room and board, of course. And, since he was short on funds now, a gentled four-year-old come fall.

  Josiah reached town just after the train and stopped in front of the mercantile. Coal-steamed air hung over the buildings, and passengers trailed along from the depot platform to Main Street. He set the brake and walked inside to Hobson’s surprise.

  If anyone knew everyone, it was the storekeep. But after ten minutes, they had only two names: Abigail Ward and the Widow Lawton. Josiah snorted again. Preacher Ward’s daughter was all of fourteen and the widow was eighty if she was a day.

  “Schoolmarm married last winter, I’m sure you know.” Hobson looked out the window. “Or you could ask her.”

  Josiah pulled off his hat and scrubbed his hair back. “Any barbers move to town while I was gone?”

  Hobson mirrored his movement, smoothing his balding pate. “Not that I know of. Though the dentist across the way has been known to try his hand at a few things besides fixing a fella’s talk box.”

  Josiah reset his hat, tucked his thoughts underneath.

  The storekeep’s ruddy cheeks reddened further, and he cleared his throat and looked out the windows again. “His sister-in-law, Corra Jameson—you, uh, met her yesterday—she’s single, as I mentioned before, and not under any obligation that I could tell. Other than helping at the boardinghouse.”

  Did the man read minds? Josiah rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. “I’ll take two peppermint sticks.”

  Hobson wrapped the candy in brown paper and handed it to him.

  Josiah laid a coin on the counter. “Appreciate your silence on the matter.”

  The man bobbed his head. “Good luck.” The bell over the door agreed as Josiah walked outside, warmer than when he’d walked in. He ran a finger between his collar and skin and crossed the street. Swallowed hard. Stepped onto the porch and knocked.

  Corra Jameson came to the door, surprise flitting across her face. “Good morning, Mr. Hanacker. Do come in.”

  She gestured to the parlor. “If you would care to wait, I’ll see if Dr. Baxter is available.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Miss Jameson. It’s you I came to see.”

  Corra stared up at meadow-green eyes. He knew her name? No doubt Mr. Hobson had something to do with that. She pried her feet from the floor and moved into the parlor, indicated a sturdy velvet-covered chair for the rancher, and then settled on the settee. “I can assure you, Mr. Hanacker, I do not fix teeth.” Though she could fix the unruly mop that fell in his eyes when he doffed his hat.

  He filled the chair, his shoulders hiding the elegantly carved and cushioned back. Corra folded her hands and searched for a plausible cause for his visit. Letty was the one who had entertained gentlemen callers, not Corra. What could Mr. Hanacker possibly want with her?

  He coughed and cleared his throat repeatedly until she felt amiss at not offering refreshment. As she made to stand, he found his voice.

  “I’m looking for an upstanding woman to come to the ranch for the summer to cook for my family and help my daughter learn to be a lady.”

  Straightforward, she’d give him that. But did he say daughter? “Yesterday you rode by with two cowboys. Neither of them looked to be a girl.”

  A reddish tint seeped across his tanned face. “Jess—Jessica—flanked the herd on the far side.” He squared himself, almost defensively. “She’s a good hand and rides as well as any man.”

  Dear Lord! A young girl driving cattle? What kind of man treated his daughter like a hired hand? Letty’s words rolled back to Corra, reminding her he was a widower. Her jumbled thoughts crashed in upon each other and she spoke the first one that hit her tongue. “What about the schoolmistress in the fall? Could she not help?”

  A determined shake of his head. “Jess’s aunt, my wife’s sister, is coming in September. Threatens to take Jess with her if the girl’s ways don’t meet with her approval.” His eyes locked on Corra’s, and her heart skipped two complete beats.

  “Horses and cattle are all I know, ma’am.” He swallowed, and his jaw tightened around a rough whisper. “I cannot lose my baby girl.” He shoved his shoulders back. “So if you know a woman who’d come out to the ranch for the summer and help my Jess, I’d be much obliged. She’d have a private room in the house and a gentled horse of her own to take home in the fall.”

  “A horse?”

  “A horse.”

  “What would this woman do with a horse?”

  His mouth twitched
. “Ride it. Sell it.”

  Corra ran her index finger along the still-red quick torn yesterday, rehearsing again what Letty had told her and scrutinizing the odd sensation that thrust itself into her chest.

  “What of a beef?”

  His brows pinched momentarily until he realized what she was doing. “I could throw in a side.”

  Letty could use that beef come fall, with all the mouths she’d have to feed. Corra stilled her fingers and raised her chin. “Two sides would make the offer more appealing.”

  The rancher studied her with a narrowed look then heaved a sigh that tugged on his shoulders. “Fair.”

  “Well then.” She braced herself. “I will do it.”

  He straightened, and his mouth curved up on one side then broke into a grin. He stood and offered his hand in a gentleman’s agreement.

  Corra sat stock-still. “On one condition.”

  His eyes slitted, and he slowly sank to the chair as if sizing her up for battle. “And that might be?”

  “You must bring the children and me to town for church on Sundays.”

  He waited, measuring her grit, no doubt. But she’d not avert her gaze. She would test his mettle here and now before she got in over her head.

  “Done.” He offered his hand again, and this time she stood and extended her own. His strength flooded through her like his cattle had the town. Releasing her fingers, he hesitated and fumbled with his hat. Corra tucked in her breath and steeled herself for the next surprise.

  “Can you be ready today?”

  Chapter 5

  Josiah would pit Corra Jameson against any horse trader any day and take her side in the deal. His pulse hammered as he climbed to the wagon seat, and he checked the peppermints to make sure they hadn’t shattered. She’d turned him down flat on coming with him today, but she hadn’t thrown him out. Or come after him with the fire poker. He collected the reins and clucked Rena down Main Street.

  Miss Jameson was the one he’d wanted all along. For Jess, of course. He just wished he’d worn his spurs to hold on to those fancy chair legs with.

  Rena took the bend at a quick pace, and he let her have her head. The woman was right to insist he take her and the children to church. They hadn’t been since Maisie passed. The mare clopped sharp and quick along the road, as did thoughts of another woman in his home. But he had no option. Jess needed help, and he wouldn’t farm her out to live in town.

  The sun bore straight down as he drove into the empty yard. Pop slouched in the porch rocker, chin on his chest. Fear shot Josiah off the wagon seat, and his boots pounded the steps. The old man drew up, blinking and palming his beard. Another scare like that and Josiah wouldn’t be fit for fiddlin’. His hands burned and flexed with the tension. The memory of Corra Jameson’s soft fingers fired up through his arms, and a jump in the creek became an unquenchable longing.

  He looked around for Jess and Joe.

  “Fishin’.” Pop jerked his chin toward the creek. “Joe wanted fried fish for supper. I agreed if he caught ’em.”

  “Rusty with them?”

  The shaggy head bobbed. Josiah wasn’t the only man on the place who needed shearing. A bushy brow arched over twinkling eyes. “You catch anything in town?”

  The spark caught Josiah in the funny bone. Just like his pa to look like he’s dying one minute and make a joke the next. “Corra Jameson agreed to come. The boardinghouse owner’s sister-in-law.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I hauled the wagon all the way in for nothing. She wouldn’t come today.”

  His pa huffed and toed the rocker. “That’d be asking too much.”

  “She said something like that. I go back for her on Monday.”

  The old rocker croaked like a toad. “You gonna tell ’em tonight?”

  Josiah pulled the wrapped peppermint sticks from his vest pocket. “At supper.”

  Leaving his pa to nap on the porch, he unhitched the mare and turned her out then hung the harness on the barn wall and peered into the first stall. He and Joe could each bed down in a corner. Wasn’t like they hadn’t slept out under the stars before. Pop, too. Depended on Corra Jameson and what she wanted. He’d haul Pop’s bed out so he wouldn’t have to sleep on the ground, if need be.

  Josiah headed out through the back of the barn and cut across the meadow for the aspen grove. When he reached its dappled shade, he slowed until he came to the small whitewashed cross. Removing his hat, he took a knee. Scooped his hair from his eyes. Maisie would have had him trimmed up and presentable by now. His throat swelled, cutting off the words.

  The wild rose he’d planted the first spring draped a pink bud over the crossbar. He rolled the brim of his hat and looked toward the creek where childish laughter rang through the scrub oak. “Jess looks just like you. But she’s comin’ a woman, and I can’t help her much beyond riding and roping and helping Pop cook when I can corral her long enough.” A chuckle stuck in his chest, unable to escape.

  “I’ve hired someone to come and help us this summer.” He wouldn’t desecrate the place by mentioning Beatrice and her threats. “Help Jess be a lady and wear dresses and fix her hair and such.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I hope you don’t mind, but she’ll be takin’ our room and I’ll sleep in the barn while she’s here. Just for the summer. So Jess is ready come fall.”

  He reached for the rosebud and lifted it with a calloused finger. “I love you, Maze. I’ll always love you.” He shoved his hat on and scrubbed a sleeve across his face then started back through the pasture.

  That evening, Jess and Joe sat at the supper table like two stumps. Not a mumble or question between them over Aunt Beatrice’s threat and Miss Jameson’s arrival.

  “She’s just here for the summer to help out. She’ll teach you things, Jess, and I need you to learn them.” He reached for her shoulder. “She’s not going to be your and Joe’s ma.” His daughter shoved up from her seat, her blue eye brimming like a flood pool in spring.

  “You got that right, Pa. She ain’t gonna be our ma.”

  The door to her room hit hard against the frame and he flinched.

  Sunday evening, Corra calmly emptied the chest of drawers and packed her trunk while Letty tossed accusations across the room like stoneware. Mad. Ill. Taken leave of her senses. Pushing up from her knees, Corra gathered books and magazines from the nightstand. Letty snatched one and raised it in the air. The Last of the Mohicans.

  “This is to blame. These novels have fired your imagination with fanciful tales of adventure and romantic nonsense, and now you’re off to the wilderness with a wild cowboy, of all things.”

  Corra turned a steady eye on her younger sister. “Who said Josiah Hanacker was a good man with two children to raise and a crippled father?”

  Letty puckered her lips until they turned white then tossed the book on the bed. Her flushed cheeks shone with tears. Corra came round the end of the bed and took her sister’s hands in her own. “The children’s aunt has threatened to take Mr. Hanacker’s daughter if he doesn’t raise her like a proper young lady.” Squeezing Letty’s fingers, Corra tugged, forcing Letty to look her in the eye. “If you were to take ill, would you ever have peace knowing Ali could be torn from the arms of her loving father?”

  Letty blanched, her red-rimmed eyes staring as the question hit its mark.

  “I will be only five miles away, and Mr. Hanacker has agreed to drive me and the children to church each Sunday.”

  Letty sniffed and pulled a hand free to press her eyes with her apron.

  Corra softened her voice. “Give me one week. If all is not as it should be by next Sunday, I will return to the boardinghouse.”

  In spite of Letty’s twenty-six years, she looked like the frightened child she was the night their father died, leaving his wife and two daughters to manage alone. The memory tore at Corra’s heart, and she pulled Letty into her arms, fighting off her own last-minute misgivings. Was she doing the right thing, offering to help a motherless child? Or, as Letty feared,
was she dashing off after a fancy of her own foolish heart?

  Chapter 6

  Monday morning blushed through the lace at Corra’s bedroom window and her heart fluttered like a silent sparrow. Her sister had been right about one thing. Corra longed to live, really live, outside the pages of her books.

  How weary life had become in Cincinnati. Dull, dreary, predictable. Even here in Ford Junction it had settled into unchanging routine—until a meadow-eyed cowboy trailed his cattle past the boardinghouse.

  Excitement bubbled up again, and she questioned her motives. “Oh, Lord, have I rushed ahead in a blind, romantic notion, as Letty put it?” She forced aside the rancher’s image and probed her memory for a girl riding herd like a common cowboy. A smile tugged Corra’s mouth. What she would have given to do the same at such an age.

  She rose and completed her morning ablutions then twisted her hair into a neat bun, counting on her yellow gingham dress to brighten her appearance. After straightening the bedclothes and quilt, she gathered her bag and hat, left them at the hall tree downstairs, and joined the family in the kitchen. Robert pored over a catalog, his glasses perched at the tip of his nose. Alicia stirred her oatmeal, and Letty fried eggs and a thick ham slice.

  Corra helped herself to coffee and took the chair facing the hallway. “Ali, did your mother tell you I am leaving to help a rancher and his daughter for the summer?”

  “He’s the cowboy who tipped his hat at you, isn’t he?”

  Heat shimmied up Corra’s neck, and she reached for the sugar as daylight dimmed in the hall. A firm knock sent her heart to her throat.

  “I’ll get it!” Alicia dashed from the table, slipping past Robert’s reach to run down the hallway and open the door.