by Diane Darcy
“You probably are good with children, because you act like a child sometimes. Playing silly games, when you should be well into adulthood.”
“You never told me you were rich, either.”
“So what? My complaint is not over the fact that you have money in the bank. It’s over the fact that you lied to me about who you were. I thought you were a drunk and a womanizer and I was trying not to like you, based on those flaws.”
“So poor Mr. Newby doesn’t have a shot with you?”
She did roll her eyes that time. “Be serious.”
He laughed. “So basically, you liked me against your better judgment, even though I was poor, drunk, and a womanizer.”
“I had no intention of marrying a man that is any of those things. I just didn’t believe that you were. I saw potential.”
He laughed. “Oh, I’m not.” A pause, then he said, “You said you had no intention of marrying a man like that. Does that mean you’re going to marry me?”
She glanced around as they drove across town. “Are you truly proposing to me on the back of a horse, Mr. Jackson?”
He shrugged. “I may have money, but I’m not a classy guy. You should know that about me upfront.”
That made her laugh. “Really? I never would’ve guessed.”
He chuckled. “But I do like pretty things.”
“Like your fancy house?”
“That too. Are you going to marry me, or what?”
She laughed again. Life with this man would not be dull. “I’m still mad at you.”
He stopped the horse in front of his house and dismounted. He reached for her and hauled her down. “I like picking you up.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“So?”
“No more lying?”
“Never.”
“Then I’ll think about it.”
“Let me show you my house. It might change your mind.”
She was still laughing as he hauled her up the stairs.
It was sweet how anxious Boone was to show her the house.
He showed her the different woods he used throughout, and described the carvings of birds and leaves on the way up the stairs.
He showed her the stained glass, told her where it came from, and why he’d chosen it.
He showed her the parlor, dining room, and kitchen. The gas lamps, the wood stacked by the fireplace even though there wasn’t much to be had in the area.
He showed her the library, the ballroom, and finally the bedrooms.
It was when he stopped in the children’s room, that her heart seemed to melt.
“Do you want children?”
“Sure. A whole house full of them.”
She grinned at him.
“And on that note, would you like to see the master bedroom?”
She was laughing again. How this man did make her laugh. She thought about how serious things had always been with Mr. Hargraves, how stilted and boring.
This man would never bore her.
He suddenly took both her hands into the warmth of his and exhaled on a gust of breath. Voice thick, he clenched her hands and said, “I love you, Lucy.” He swallowed. “So, will you have me? If you will, I’ll give you whatever you want. Do you think you could love me back? For myself?”
She inhaled sharply and her heart started to thrum in her chest as his words sank in. He really did love her, didn’t he? “I don’t know. It’s a pretty nice house.”
He pulled her into his arms and growled into her neck.
“But, since I thought that you were a handyman the first time you kissed me, and I fell in love with you regardless, I suppose I will marry you, just for yourself.”
He pulled her tighter against him, pressing his face into her neck before easing back to look at her. “You’ll marry me?”
“Yes. I really do love you, Boone. I love you so much.”
“Lucy…” She could hear his ragged exhalation, and then someone was coming up the stairs and, thinking it was the butler, Lucy stepped back from Boone.
“Oh, my dearest. There you are.”
It was Boone’s mother and Lucy found herself blushing to be caught alone with him like this.
“Mrs. Jackson.” What must this woman think of her?
“I was just showing Lucy around the house.”
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
“But really, the two of you together like this. I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist upon a wedding.”
Lucy blushed harder. “Oh. I… that is to say…”
“I mean, of course I understand that your fiancé is in town. But with you and Boone alone like this… I’m sorry, my dear, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist that you do the right thing.”
“Mother! I’m trying to talk her into it right now.”
“Really?” His mother looked delighted. “Well, far be it for me to get in the way of such things. Don’t mind me at all, my dearest. I think I’ll just head downstairs. But just so you know, I think we’re going to need a quick wedding so that she doesn’t get away.”
“Mother!”
Epilogue
Six months later
Laden with packages, Boone walked up the newly shoveled steps of his house and into the warmth inside.
As he stomped snow off his boots, he could hear laughter in the other room. His wife, his mother, mother-in-law, and grandmother were going to decorate the Christmas tree tonight, and from the sounds of things, had already started.
His mother had ordered ornaments from France, because, well… France.
He set the presents down long enough to take off his overcoat and hand it to his butler. “Thank you, Alford.”
Ramrod straight, Alford accepted it, smoothing it over his arm. “Sir.”
The man tried so hard to stay proper at all times, but living in this house, it wasn’t easy.
“Everything go all right today?”
Alford sniffed. “The mayor came by and dropped off some papers. He also insisted that you still owe him ten dollars for marrying Mrs. Jackson.”
Boone laughed.
“Also, Mrs. Jackson ran up and down the stairs at least twenty times today.”
“Her grandmother?”
“Yes, sir. Mrs. Jackson insists everything be perfect.”
“And I’ve no doubt it is.”
Lucy had been running about like a mad woman for weeks now as she’d prepared for her family’s Christmas visit.
She’s almost here! Everything needs to be perfect! Had been a common refrain in recent weeks. She, being her grandmother, of course. Lucy had even taken him in hand, purchasing new clothing, brushing at him frequently, and checking his fingernails.
“It’s not like she hasn’t met me before at the wedding,” he’d told her. “She knows what I do for work.”
“Yes, but you were on your best behavior then.”
He’d laughed at her, and promised to try.
“You don’t know my grandmother. Everything needs to be just so.”
She’d had his mother running around as well. Although, from the happy smile on his mother’s face, she hadn’t minded in the least. As far as she was concerned, Lucy was the best daughter-in-law ever, and could do no wrong.
Boone had just simply tried to take a step back, and hold on for the ride.
“Sir,” Alford grabbed his attention once more. “If you could explain that everything is in perfect order to your wife, I’d be most appreciative.”
“Will do, Alford.”
The butler went to hang up his coat, and Boone picked up the newly purchased presents, and entered the parlor. He couldn’t help but smile at the picture the women made as they decorated the Christmas tree.”
At a casual glance, his wife wasn’t showing just yet, and was planning to reveal the news on Christmas morning. He had no doubt the announcement would be better than any present her parents could receive.
“Boone!”
He’d never get tired of that exuberant welcome.
Lucy raced over to hug him and he enfolded her in his arms.
“Have I missed anything?”
She smiled up at him, obviously pleased to see him. “No. Father is still out shopping and the rest of us are decorating the tree. Dinner will be served soon.”
“Perfect timing, then.” He teased her with the word she’d been using for weeks now.
She mock punched him in the ribs. “Come and help us.”
As he let himself be tugged toward the huge tree he and his father-in-law had hauled in the day before, she smiled at him, and from the glee in her expression, he knew she was thinking about the announcement she was to make tomorrow.
His mother, and her parents and grandmother would be over the moon at the new addition to the family in five months’ time. He was only surprised she’d been able to keep it a secret this long.
With Lucy’s hand in his, he greeted the other women, and then took a seat to get out of their way.
As he settled back and listened to their happy chatter, and occasionally caught his wife’s gaze, he couldn’t help but remember the loneliness he’d felt before Lucy had come into his life. How empty this room, and this big house had felt.
Openly flirtatious, Lucy met his gaze once again. It didn’t feel that way now.
Now, he could honestly say, he had everything he’d ever wanted.
Would you like to see what happens with the next Rocky Mountain bride? Read the sneak peek below for more fun…
Sneak Peek at Book # 4 of the Rocky Mountain Romances series
Ride for a Bride in Wyoming (Copyright 2017 Charlene Raddon)
CHAPTER ONE
October 1897, Cheyenne, Wyoming
Birch Struthers took a bite of fried beefsteak, enjoying the rich, juicy flavor, and looked out through the restaurant window.
Despite being the breakfast hour, activity outside hummed. Men and women strolled the walkways. Horses at the hitching rails flicked tails at pesky flies and added grit to the scents floating on the breeze. Dogs and children darted between wagons, horseback riders, and buggies.
Birch witnessed the same scene every day, all day, although mostly from his law office across the street.
As he had often of late, he asked himself why he didn’t go home to Sheridan.
The answer came easily. His father, Archibald Struthers.
Not that anyone called him Archibald unless they had a yen for a broken nose. Shank Struthers, as he preferred to be known, detested his given name. Hell, he detested everything.
A man with cow manure on his boots rode up to the hitching rail at Birch’s office across the way. That the manure existed was a given, seeing as how the owner of the boots was Chance Brownell. Birch and Chance had grown up together in Sheridan, and a better friend couldn’t be had.
For the man to show up here in Cheyenne meant one thing.
Trouble.
Swallowing his bite of beef, Birch rose, tossed money on the table, and headed for the door. By the time he reached his office, Chance was rattling the door knob and cursing.
Birch didn’t bother with the usual greeting. The food in his belly wasn’t sitting right. Worry did that to a man. “What are you doing here, Chance?”
The man turned. “Shit, Birch. I was just thinking I was going to have to hit the saloons to hunt you down.”
“You have news for me, or you wouldn’t be here. What is it?”
Chance ducked his head, took off his hat and chewed on his mustache. “Let’s go inside, shall we, old friend? This ain’t gonna be pleasant for either of us.”
Birch unlocked the door, and they went in. He didn’t sit down. Too antsy. Judging from Chance’s appearance, the man had ridden all night to reach Cheyenne. “All right, give it to me. Is it my father?”
Turning his hat round and round in his scarred and tough-as-rawhide hands, Chance nodded. “He’s gone, Birch. I know there was little love lost between the two of you, but I’m right sorry to have to bring news like this. He died late yesterday afternoon.”
Birch shook his head. “Impossible. That old man will probably still be going strong when I’m pushing up daisies. Hell, he’s too ornery to die this young.”
“Regardless, he’s gone, Birch.”
Now, he sat. The chair at his desk squeaked under his weight. He rubbed his brow. After a few minutes, he said, “How did it happen?”
Chance lowered his big body onto a chair across from him and set his hat on his knee. “Al and Stubby Joe were breaking a bronc. A mustang stallion. Shank got impatient with the way they were going about it and decided to take care of the matter himself. The horse threw him against a corral post. Broke his neck. He died instantly.”
Birch swallowed, surprised by the emotions stirring inside him. Regret, mostly. “When’s the funeral?”
“Tomorrow. Charley Hawks sent me to fetch you. Said you needed to hear the will read.”
Hawks was Shank’s lawyer.
“He could’ve sent a telegram,” Birch pointed out.
“Wanted to bring the news myself.”
Birch simply nodded. He’d have done the same had circumstances been reversed. He had no reason not to go. Business had been slow lately. The only case on his desk now was a dispute over the ownership of a chestnut horse. He would turn the matter over to one of the other lawyers in town. “You heading straight back?”
“Yep. Come morning. You joining me?”
“Yes. I’ll go pack my bag. You riding back or taking the train with me? We should be able to catch the 10:15.”
Chance nodded. “That’ll do.”
Both men stood. Chance settled his hat on his head, and the two shook hands.
“I’ll go buy the tickets and get my horse ready to load while you pack. See you at the depot,” Chance said as he left.
Thoughts chased around Birch’s head as he locked up the office. What had his father done with the ranch? When Birch had left three years ago, following a fight with the old man, Shank had sworn to leave everything he owned to his closest friend and neighbor, John-B Angstrom. The B separated him from the many other Johns in town. Shank knew nothing would burn Birch more than to know his heritage had been handed off to a man Birch hated.
Would Charley Hawks ask him to come home just so he could tell him he’d been disinherited? Somehow, Birch didn’t believe that. But there was only one way to find out.
Birch Struthers was going home.
Nine Months Later, July 1898, New York City
Annora Lee Bostwick rushed into the house with three squirming, squealing piglets in her arms. She kicked the door shut, and yelled. “Mother?”
“In here.”
The voice came from the sitting room. Annora didn’t try removing her coat, hat, or gloves. She had to keep hold of the piglets. As she swept into the room, quivering with excitement, one of the piglets wriggled free and darted under the sofa. “Mother, guess what? I’m to be given my own territory in which to establish a new branch of the ASPCA. Isn’t that marvelous?”
Eleanore Bostwick kept her gaze on her needlework frame as her delicate hands plied her needle in and out, in and out, of the canvas. “Is that the new club you joined, dear? Do call Helga to take care of those pigs.”
The maid ran in and tried to corner the escaped piglet, but it evaded her grasp and hid behind Eleanore’s long skirts.
With a sigh, Eleanore switched the needlepoint to one hand and used the other to lift her skirts while she rose to her feet and stepped up onto a footstool to evade the piglet.
“No, it’s not a club. I told you all about it months ago when I joined. It’s the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.” She tried to pick up the little pig, only to lose another one in the process. “Oh, and Mother, guess where my new territory will be? Sheridan, Wyoming!”
“Isn’t that where your second cousin, Lisette, and her new husband live?” Still standing on the footstool, Ele
anore continued to ply her needle.
Helga rushed by after a piglet.
Annora rolled her eyes in frustration. Didn’t her mother ever listen to her? “Yes, that’s why I chose Sheridan. I’ll be leaving in two weeks.”
“Do sit down, dear. I make errors in my stitching when you distract me.”
“I don’t have time to sit. I have to pack.” As she headed out the wide, open doorway, she shoved the third baby pig into the frantic maid’s arms. “I do apologize, Helga. Put the pigs in the pen in the back yard.”
“The pen is full, Miss. Three dogs, a goat, and a rabbit are there already.”
“Pack?” Eleanore’s voice called after her. “Do not tell me you’re planning to move to this Wyoming place, Annora Lee.”
“Oh, dear. Have Thomas build another pen,” Annora told the maid. “I promise to find homes for them all before I leave.”
Ignoring her mother’s words, she raced up the stairs to her room. There, she opened a small trunk at the foot of her four-poster bed and began throwing garments from her dresser inside. Within five minutes, her mother, with her father in tow, marched in, both in high color.
“Annora, what is this your mother tells me about you moving to some godforsaken village in the middle of the wilderness?” her father demanded, his side-whiskers trembling with the movement of his prominent jaw.
Kneeling in front of the trunk, Annora began neatly folding and arranging clothes. “It’s not a godforsaken village, Father. It has a population of 1,500 and sits on the east side of the Big Horn Mountain range in Wyoming. And before you say I can’t move away from New York all by myself, Cousin Lissette lives there with her husband, Chance. He’s the foreman on one of the largest ranches there. I’ll be in good company.”
A cat sleeping on the bed awoke, stretched, and nudged Annora’s arm with its head, begging for attention. She stroked its sleek fur and went back to packing.
Eleanore snatched a skirt from her daughter’s hands. “Stop that. You are not going anywhere.”
“Listen to your mother,” Osgood Bostwick said. “You’re only twenty-four years old. Wyoming in a long distance away and in territory barely settled by whites. There are probably still Indians there.”