Spring Brides

by Judith Stacy

  “It’s not the rent man, Mama. It’s Dan Ingram,” Eleanor said, her voice quiet and strained.

  “Well, I swan! Dan Ingram!” she said. “Stay and eat with us, Dan—take his coat and hat, Nellie. Let him go and get warm by the stove.” She went back into the kitchen.

  “Does everybody here know who I am?”

  “Just Maria and my mother.”

  “Maria…Woodard?”

  Eleanor nodded and took his coat, but she didn’t do anything with it. She stood in the middle of the hall, holding it tightly to her breast, her head bowed.

  “Eleanor,” he said.

  She looked up at him. “I never expected to see you again. Never.”

  “You are so beautiful…” He wanted to touch her, but he didn’t dare.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to get you—”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “Yes, I did. I told you I intend to marry you.”

  “That was before. When you didn’t know…anything.”

  “Then I’ll ask you again. Will you marry me, Eleanor Hansen? I’ll go and speak to your mother right now. What do you think?”

  “I think you’re crazy—and I can’t marry a crazy man.”

  “I’d be pleased if you made an exception in my case,” he said, but she wouldn’t smile.

  “Nothing’s changed.”

  “Everything’s changed,” he said. “I’ll do my best to make you happy. I’ve already talked to Mrs. Selby.”

  “Why? To get her permission?”

  “To get a better paying job.”

  “She let you stop looking for Karl Dorsey to come here?”

  “She’s not worried about Karl Dorsey—and neither am I.”

  “The colonel is.”

  “He’s gone back to England. Mrs. Selby says it’s permanent. She sold the Arabian, and she mortgaged enough land to buy him out. Karl left the territory. Last I heard he was in Mexico. Marry me, Eleanor. You like Wyoming—I know you do. And you like me.”

  “I love you,” she said, as if it were the worst thing in the world. “You’re going to make me cry.”

  He put her arms around her then, and she let him, resting her head on his good shoulder.

  “I can’t go with you. You know I can’t.”

  “The past is the past, Eleanor. Yours and mine. It’s not going to matter—”

  “It will matter. Sooner or later.”

  “Not to you and not to me. And we’re the only ones that count. Mrs. Selby wants me to tell you the job is still yours.”

  “Dan…” She lifted her head to look at him. “I want to believe it can be done. Oh, I’m afraid!” She hid her face in his shirt.

  “Do you love me, Eleanor? Tell me again.”

  She nodded.

  “Then trust me—and I’d kind of like to hear you say it.”

  She looked at him again. “I just did.”

  “I’d like for it to sound a little less like an affliction.”

  “It is an affliction.”

  “Say it anyway.”

  She smiled suddenly. And it was at that moment he knew he had won.

  “I love you, Dan Ingram. I do,” she said.

  “Then come with me. Come home.”

  He kissed her then, her forehead, her cheek.

  “We’ll get married there—so they can all see it. Hester, Annie and Theodore—everybody. A spring wedding because we’re both starting new. Don’t cry.” He kissed her eyes, her mouth. “Say yes. Go on. Say it!”

  “Dan—”

  “Say it,” he whispered against her ear.

  “Yes,” she managed to gasp between kisses. “Yes!”

  Epilogue

  Soul Harbour, Wyoming

  June 1870

  It was a beautiful day for a wedding.

  Eleanor held on to her new husband’s arm and walked with him among the guests, greeting each and every one who had come to witness their marriage. So many people. All of Soul Harbor was here, including Hester and most of the army garrison. And passengers—strangers all—from the westbound train, who had wanted to share in the festivities before they traveled on. The out-of-doors was the only place in Soul Harbor big enough to hold them all.

  She looked into their smiling faces, wondering as she always did about where they had come from—and what they might have done. It troubled her still that no one knew who had shot Dan that snowy afternoon. Some said rustlers, coming back for more cows. Some said Karl Dorsey, following his boss’s orders. But if Livingston Warner was guilty of any machination in the event that had nearly cost Dan his life, he certainly didn’t show it. She could see him now, laughing and talking with Lavinia Selby and the few men here he considered important enough for his time and attention.

  Thanks to Hester, Eleanor did know who had shot into the schoolhouse—Mick. The colonel hadn’t given up on trying to scare Lavinia’s schoolteacher away, and Mick had done the scaring, because he was the only one of the Selby hands who was a marksman with a rifle. The colonel had given yet another of his irrevocable orders, and Mick, believing that he was the only one who could keep her safe, had secretly carried it out. He hadn’t wanted to see Dan’s schoolmarm get hurt in the Selby war—or so he said. The incredible part was that Eleanor believed him. Clearly, she had been in Wyoming Territory long enough for his reasoning to make perfect sense, and she smiled at the thought of how far she had come.

  “What is it?” Dan asked, putting his hand over hers.

  “I’m happy,” she said, and he kissed her on the lips—much to the delight of the guests.

  “I’ve made another promise,” he said, looking into her eyes as if they were alone. “Besides the wedding one.”

  “What promise is that?”

  “I made a promise to…Rob. I’ve promised him I’ll do the best I can for you. Always.”

  She could feel the tears welling. “Dan…”

  The music for the first waltz began to play.

  “Will you waltz with your husband, Mrs. Ingram?”

  “I will, sir,” she said.

  Smiling now, she accepted his hand—and with it his love and their new life together.

  It was a beautiful day for a wedding. Winter had gone from the land. Winter had gone from her heart.

  MCCORD’S DESTINY

  Pam Crooks

  To my editor, Melissa Endlich,

  who honored me by asking for this story.

  Chapter One

  Omaha, Nebraska, 1892

  A lone eagle soared over the breadth of the small oxbow-shaped lake, its wings spread in graceful flight. Beneath it, the water shimmered and sparkled, kissed by the midday sun. Lazy waves lapped against the shoreline, which stretched toward hills crowned with trees and teeming with wildlife. Here, nature pulsed with springtime abandon. Fragile sprouts had burst into color, and vibrant hues of green painted the land as far as the eye could see.

  Juliette Blanchard stared and stared. The place was even more beautiful than she remembered.

  “It’s perfect, isn’t it?” she breathed, her eyes riveted to the three hundred acres sprawled out before her. “The water. The trees. The gentle slope of the land. It’s all so perfect.”

  “Indeed.” Stephen Dunn, the entrepreneur who intended to purchase the acres, nodded. He was clearly pleased.

  “There isn’t a finer place to build the hotel,” she added, more convinced than ever of her choice. “None this side of the Missouri.”

  “I suspect not east of it, either, Miss Blanchard.”

  “No.” She’d done the research, had painstakingly investigated every suitable body of water in the Midwest and beyond.

  But this, this had always been her favorite. And now her dream would come true.

  “I’ve designed the hotel so the guests will be spared the morning sun when they have breakfast on the patio. On the other hand, the outdoor pool will soak up the heat from the hottest part of a summer’s day. Families can lounge to the
ir hearts’ content.”

  From the time she’d been ten years old, the serenity of this little patch of Nebraska had captivated her. Even after moving to New York three years ago to continue her studies in architecture, she’d not forgotten it.

  “The land, of course, will make a fabulous golf course, don’t you think?” Her mind envisioned the well-manicured greens, the bunkers, even the tiny balls being lobbed about. “Gentlemen will come from all over the country to play here.”

  “Your enthusiasm is most catching.” Dunn beamed. “I can hardly wait to break ground.” He turned to Charles Hatman, the Omaha land developer in charge of the project. “I trust the building contractor is prepared to begin as soon as we give him a date?”

  “Yes, sir.” Hatman puffed on a cigar. “The bids are in. Construction crews are assigned. Materials are ready to be ordered.”

  “Good. Very good,” Dunn said.

  Excitement spiraled through Juliette. Only one detail remained, a formality at this point, and the deal would be final. She glanced at her watch and noted the time. “The bankers are waiting for us, gentlemen. We have papers to sign, and I don’t want to be late.”

  Dunn chuckled. “No grass will grow under her feet, will it, Charles?”

  She smiled at his teasing. He was highly recommended by her aunt Louise, a renowned architect in her own right; indeed, the man had financed many of her famous designs. Juliette was honored by his interest in her hotel.

  In the time she’d been conferring with him, they’d fallen into a comfortable business relationship. Still, until the project was complete, Juliette intended to remain professional and attuned to every detail.

  Oddly enough, Hatman made no response to Dunn’s comment. Just puffed vigorously on his cigar and stared at the land beyond the lake.

  He looked inexplicably grim. She exchanged a quick glance with Dunn. She’d arrived in Omaha only a few hours ago, with her younger sister, Camille. Hatman and Dunn had met them at the train, and they’d driven directly out here. While she knew Dunn well enough, she hadn’t met Hatman before today, though they’d corresponded many times via her aunt’s office in Buffalo. Perhaps the man was always this tense.

  “Shall we go?” she asked, and pivoted toward the carriage, where Camille waited for her.

  “Certainly.” Dunn extended his hand, indicating she was to precede him.

  But Hatman didn’t move.

  “He won’t sell,” he said suddenly.

  Juliette blinked in puzzlement and turned back toward him. “Who won’t sell?”

  “The son of a gun who owns these acres.”

  Horror coursed through her. “What?”

  Dunn’s chest puffed in indignation. “I thought everything was set, Charles.”

  “Everything was—except the land.” Cigar smoke billowed in frustrated swirls. “He won’t budge, damn him.”

  “But he must sell!” Juliette gasped. “This entire project depends on it.”

  “You think I don’t know that, Miss Blanchard?” Hatman jerked the cigar out of his mouth and faced her. “He’s been stringing me along for weeks. I’ve done everything I could to convince him.”

  “Why weren’t we informed of this problem?” Dunn demanded. “You led us to believe the sale was proceeding as planned.”

  “Because I was sure it would.”

  “You offered him the price we discussed?” Juliette asked.

  “More.” Again, Hatman puffed furiously on his cigar.

  The entrepreneur’s brow arched. “And he didn’t take it?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Claims he’s not interested.”

  Juliette pressed trembling fingers to her lips. “Perhaps you should speak to him again. Offer him more money or—or something.”

  “I’m telling you, it won’t do any good, Miss Blanchard,” Hatman said. “I rode out to his place just this morning. Figured it was my last chance to deal with him before you got into town. Didn’t do me a damn bit of good.”

  “A stubborn cuss, isn’t he?” Dunn muttered.

  “Thickheaded like his pa was. Everyone knows the McCord boys are down on their luck. We’ve offered Tru the sweetest deal around. Why he won’t sell is beyond me.”

  “Tru?” Juliette’s world tilted alarmingly. “Tru McCord owns this land?”

  “He does.”

  “But that’s impossible,” she said, her heart pounding. “His father lost it. In a card game several years ago. He—”

  Memories crashed in on her, stifling the words on her tongue. She hadn’t known, never dreamed…

  “Don’t know how he came to own it, Miss Blanchard. But he’s had these acres for as long as I’ve been acquainted with him, which has been a good long while.”

  Dunn frowned. “Doesn’t matter how he came to own them, just that he does. And he won’t sell.”

  Juliette squared her shoulders. The entrepreneur’s brisk tone was a sober reminder of the seriousness of their dilemma. “Of course. That’s the crux of the problem, isn’t it?”

  She would do well to hide her past relationship with Tru from these men. They had little interest in it, especially since a luxury resort hotel was at stake—as well as the enormous profits they would stand to lose.

  But, oh God. Why Tru? Of all the landowners in the state of Nebraska, why did he have to own the acres she needed?

  “Well, Miss Blanchard. There’s no use in meeting with the bank now, I’m afraid. Can’t buy land that’s not for sale, can we?” Dunn heaved a heavy sigh.

  “I’m sorry,” Hatman said, genuine regret in his expression. “I did all I could. There are other sites available, however. I’ll draw up a list—”

  “No.” Juliette shook her head emphatically. “There’s no other location that would be as well-suited for my hotel as this one. I’ve designed it specifically for this very spot.”

  Both Dunn and Hatman studied her, then shook their heads in unison.

  “A damn shame,” Dunn said.

  With Hatman beside him, he strode toward the carriage, and Juliette could feel the deal slipping through her fingers.

  “Wait!” she called.

  They halted, and she hurried toward them.

  “I’ll talk to Tru,” she said, and swallowed hard.

  Hatman frowned. “Won’t do any good, Miss Blanchard. He won’t listen.”

  “I can try.” God, she had to.

  “But—”

  “What harm can it do, Charles?” Dunn asked. “We don’t have anything to lose at this point.” He gave her a faint smile. “Would you like me to accompany you, Miss Blanchard? Perhaps between the two of us we might convince him to sell.”

  The weak side of her wanted to say yes, that she couldn’t face Tru again, alone, after all these years. But the proud side didn’t want the entrepreneur to see her beg.

  Because if that’s what it took to get Tru McCord to give up his land, that’s what she’d do.

  Get down on her knees and beg.

  “No,” she said. “I’ll see him myself.”

  “Very well, then.” Dunn patted her shoulder, a grandfatherly gesture of encouragement. Or perhaps it was one of sympathy for a lost cause, she couldn’t be sure. “You know where to find me. Do inform me how this meeting transpires, won’t you?”

  Juliette managed a confident nod. “Of course.”

  The businessmen climbed into the carriage, and after a long, troubled moment, Juliette joined them.

  The Next Day

  Juliette ignored Camille’s concerned gaze upon her. For the second time in as many days, she and her younger sister were in a carriage, riding toward the McCord ranch. Yesterday’s scheduled appointment with the bankers had come and gone. Today, Stephen Dunn and Charles Hatman were somewhere in Omaha, free to see to their own matters.

  Matters that no longer pertained to her and her beloved hotel.

  Juliette alone had to keep her dream alive. What if she failed? What if Tru tossed he
r on a train back to New York empty-handed and defeated?

  The worst of it would be explaining to Aunt Louise that three years of study, planning and hope were wasted. That the demise of this project had doomed her career before it started.

  A career she urgently needed to support herself and Camille. The salary she’d earn from the hotel project would replenish her bank account, alarmingly drained from the high costs of their education and the Blanchard family medical bills.

  “I suspect he’s not the monster you think he is, Juliette,” Camille said quietly.

  Juliette’s thoughts scattered. Her gaze flew to her sister’s. There was no need to ask who “he” was. “He’s being deliberately defiant about selling.”

  “I’m sure he has his reasons for refusing.”

  “He’s in dire need of money. The McCords always are.”

  “Tru is entitled to his land. It’s all he has.”

  Why was Camille defending him? Juliette leaned forward, desperate to make her understand. “With the money we want to pay him, he could have so much more. Don’t you see, Camille? He could put a down payment on a nice house in town. Or buy more land someplace else.”

  “Juliette.” Camille sighed. “Listen to yourself.”

  Her sister’s softly reproving words pulled Juliette up short. Her mouth dipped in a wry grimace. “I’m sounding like Father again, aren’t I?”

  “Yes, you are. He was driven to make money, any way he could. And he didn’t care who he stepped on along the way.”

  Juliette shifted her stare back out the carriage window. She was like her father in some ways, she supposed. She had the same need to succeed. The same intelligence. The same creativity.

  But was she as ruthless?

  She’d never been tested before now. Had never had so much at stake.

  She was fast learning why her father had become successful in the business world. He’d done what he had to to make a name for himself, even if it meant resorting to tactics that were…ruthless.

  If only he were still alive. He’d tell her exactly how to get those acres for her hotel.