Spring Brides

by Judith Stacy

  “You’re a Blanchard, Julie-girl. Don’t ever forget it. Your name will open a lot of doors in this part of the country. Do what you have to to keep them open and don’t look back.”

  The words he’d instilled in her over and over again came alive, as if it were him sitting across from her in the carriage instead of Camille. They gave her courage to face Tru again and refreshed her resolve to fight for what she wanted.

  “I don’t think I like the look on your face, Juliette.”

  She shifted away from the window and considered her frowning sibling. The scarlet fever that took their parents’ lives had almost claimed Camille’s, too. The disease had left her forever frail, but what she lacked in strength, she made up for in her outspoken opinions.

  “This is a business matter, Camille. You needn’t have bothered coming with me this morning.”

  “I didn’t want to sit in a hotel room by myself while you rode out here and tangled horns with Tru McCord.”

  “‘Tangled horns’?” The term amused Juliette. She adored her sister and took no offense at her scolding. Camille was almost nineteen and the only family she had left except for Aunt Louise. They were as close as sisters could be. “You’re talking like a ranch hand, not an educated young woman from New York.”

  “You make it sound as if being a ranch hand is demeaning.”

  Juliette’s smile faded, and she puzzled over the defensiveness in Camille’s tone. “I didn’t mean to. It’s just a phrase I’ve never heard you say before.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Oh, Juliette, why do you have to have this land?” Her slender arm swept outward, indicating the McCord acres they were riding on.

  She stiffened. “You know why. We’ve discussed it many times.”

  “But there are other places in Nebraska where you could buy three hundred acres. In Iowa, too. Can’t you just—just change your vision a little?”

  Juliette gaped at her.

  “You don’t have to prove yourself like this,” Camille said. “Aunt Louise already favors you. She wants you to be a partner in her agency. Why isn’t that good enough for you?”

  “Because it’s a man’s world, Camille,” Juliette shot back. “I want to earn my own place in it.”

  “With Waite and Caulkings.” Camille rolled her eyes.

  The most prominent architectural and building firm in the state of New York.

  And completely male.

  Juliette’s dream to become their only female partner made even Aunt Louise salivate. Richard Waite and F. W. Caulkings had followed the development of her luxury resort hotel with great interest. They intended to expand their firm on an international level and were considering adding another partner to aid them in the process.

  Juliette intended to be that partner. And she really needed Tru’s land, no matter what Camille said.

  She leaned back in the carriage seat and sought a different topic of conversation. One far safer and less likely to stir Camille’s ire. “Why don’t you call on Sarah Evans this afternoon? Perhaps you can go shopping together.”

  Camille blinked. “Sarah?”

  “Yes. Your very best friend in the whole world. Remember?”

  Camille fidgeted with the folds of her skirt. “That was before we moved to New York. Sarah has new friends now. I doubt she has time for me anymore.”

  Juliette’s heart squeezed. The move from their comfortable life in Nebraska to the bustling city of Buffalo had been hard on them both. Still reeling from the deaths of their parents, Juliette had found solace in her studies. Camille, however, experienced difficulty finding a social circle that suited her.

  Yet Sarah had corresponded often, especially of late, and Camille always looked forward to her letters with eager delight.

  “Nonsense. We’ll call on her as soon as we’re finished with Tru,” Juliette said.

  His name slipped from her lips easily, and her stomach did a funny flip at the reminder of what lay ahead. She’d be seeing him again. Talking to him.

  Pleading with him to sell his land.

  As if she, too, suddenly recalled where they were and why, Camille turned her gaze toward the window and the cabin that loomed ahead. The sight of it seemed to startle her, and she reached for the crocheted handbag in her lap.

  “Oh, Juliette. We’re almost there.” She opened the bag, withdrew a small mirror and patted the dark curls at her nape with fingers, Juliette noted, that weren’t quite steady.

  “Yes. We are.” She drew in a slow breath, tried to calm the incessant fluttering in her belly.

  She’d stayed up until the early hours of the morning studying the construction costs of her hotel yet again. She knew the margin of profit. She knew the potential for loss. She knew exactly how much she could offer Tru before the project dropped into red ink.

  Red ink the bankers could never see. Tru had to accept her best offer. He had to!

  The carriage rolled to a stop, and the driver opened the door.

  “Shall I wait, Miss Blanchard?” he asked.

  “Please.” She took his hand and descended the step. “I won’t be long.”

  “Tru’s a reasonable man,” Camille said, her voice low so it wouldn’t carry. “Try not to worry.”

  There she was, defending him again. How would she know if Tru was reasonable or not? Juliette hid her annoyance and lifted her chin. “If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll convince him to sell.”

  “But it’s not the end of the world if he doesn’t,” Camille persisted. “It’s his land. He’s entitled to keep it if he wants.”

  Juliette bit back a retort and turned toward the cabin. This wasn’t the time or place to challenge her sister’s stubbornness. She had to concentrate, remain composed.

  She had to succeed.

  “You’re a Blanchard, Julie-girl. Don’t ever forget it.”

  Her father’s words inspired her, as they always did, and bracing herself for the confrontation ahead, she went in search of Tru.

  Chapter Two

  It was only a matter of time before she came.

  Tru knew it. He could feel it.

  He didn’t like it.

  Having Juliette Blanchard in his life again was a distraction he could ill afford. The woman was trouble, had been from the moment she first rested those violet-blue eyes on him more than four years ago, bewitching him, seducing him with her innocent female wiles.

  Hell, she was all-woman back then, even at seventeen years of age. She had the ability to knock the wind out of him with a demure sweep of her lashes or a shy smile. And her kisses…

  But that was four years ago. And now was now. He’d grown up plenty since she was in Nebraska last. Had to, considering her old man was responsible for taking what little the McCords owned.

  Everything but these three hundred acres.

  Not surprising Juliette wanted those, too. To build a damn fool fancy hotel on. For the love of Pete, wasn’t that just like a Blanchard?

  Grimly, Tru shook his head. He refilled his coffee cup, left the cabin’s kitchen and strode outside. His younger brother, Ryan, was waiting for him, but thoughts of Juliette left Tru distracted this morning. His routine was off. He’d spent more time on her than he should have.

  He blocked her from his mind. If it was the last thing he did, Tru intended to see she never got his land. Nothing she could do would make him sell. He’d done enough thinking on it.

  He found Ryan at the stock pen, one foot propped on a low rail. Inside the fence, a dozen cows lingered at their feed, but one in particular, a black Angus heavy with calf, had separated herself from the rest.

  “Looks like we got trouble coming, Tru,” Ryan said without greeting. “She’s acting real anxious. Won’t eat.”

  “I noticed as much last night.” He’d checked her twice after midnight, but she appeared worse now. He studied her swollen abdomen, the extended tail, her listless movements around the pen. He suspected her little critter was complicating matters. “I hoped we’d find her calf b
awling his lungs out this morning.”

  “No such luck.”

  “Seen the water bag yet?”

  “It burst not long ago.”

  “Let’s get her in the chute.”

  He tossed aside his coffee cup, his taste for the brew gone. The as-yet-unborn calf represented his dream of developing a brand-new breed of cattle, one more suited to the weather extremes common to this part of the West, providing high quality beef at the same time. If he succeeded, stockmen from all over the country would clamor to add the breed to their herds—and pay well for the privilege.

  He couldn’t lose the animal. His future—and Ryan’s—depended on it.

  Once the cow was secured, Tru examined her. Labor was in full swing, and though she strained, she couldn’t expel the calf from the womb.

  “Going to have to pull it.” Concern built inside him. If the fetus was already in the birth passage, the risk increased with every minute that ticked by. He strode toward the barn, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. “Keep an eye on her. I’ll be right back.”

  He returned in moments, carrying a pair of ropes. He removed his shirt and threw it over the top rail, then oiled his right hand and entire arm with petrolatum. Ryan took one of the ropes and formed a small noose, handed it to Tru, then did the same with the second. The cow tensed with a contraction, and the effort presented one foreleg and a glimpse of the nose.

  “Can’t see the other leg,” Tru said. “It’s in the wrong position, damn it.”

  He looped the rope above the fetlock joint to keep the leg from passing back down into the womb, and figured the contractions were a couple of minutes apart. He wouldn’t have much time to find the errant limb.

  He waited until the labor pain ended before he went in for the search. He found what he was hunting for, tucked behind the calf’s ears. Working between contractions, he manipulated the foreleg back into place beside the head, then managed to loop the second noose above the leg’s joint like the first.

  He withdrew and tugged on the rope, a gentle test to ensure the nooses held. They did. He braced his feet and Ryan did the same.

  “Next contraction, you pull first, and I’ll alternate with you. Go easy. We can’t lose this little fella,” he ordered.

  Ryan had pulled calves before, but none as important as this one. Tru trusted him implicitly, and Ryan didn’t fail him. They worked in tandem, walking the shoulders out, using their combined strength firmly but cautiously. Several inches at a time, the calf squeezed through the birth passage. Once the head and shoulders were out, they pulled the calf downward, nearly parallel with the rear legs of its mother.

  Tru held his breath. The next maneuver was crucial. The animal was out to its midsection, and should the hipbone become lodged against his mother’s pelvis, they could lose him. He wasn’t yet breathing on his own, and seconds were precious.

  Tru and Ryan kept pulling, and finally, after a great gurgling, sucking sound, the calf dropped to the ground, the navel string broke and his lungs filled.

  Ryan broke into a grin. “Look at him, will you? He’s a beauty!”

  “That he is,” Tru breathed. “That he is.”

  He hunkered down and stared at the wet, wriggling creature before him. The miracle of nature amazed him.

  A miracle he’d helped create.

  The knowledge humbled him. Exhilarated him. The calf would look nothing like his Angus mother; instead, he’d be a strong replica of his sire—Tru’s prize Romagnola bull he had shipped all the way from Italy. The bull he’d signed his life away to buy.

  The bull that’d give the McCord name respectability again.

  His gaze lifted to the other cows in the pen. They’d all been impregnated by the bull and were due to calve at any time. He murmured a fervent prayer that their offspring arrived healthy and strong. If they did, his herd would increase in size and superiority. There’d be no other stock like them in America. Maybe even the entire world.

  His mind envisioned the pen a month from now, crowded with scampering calves and watchful cows. He’d have to move them—

  “We’ve got company, Tru.”

  —give them room to graze, get a feel for Nebraska weather—

  Ryan gave him an impatient shove. “Tru, did you hear me? We’ve got a caller.”

  Tru dropped back to reality with a jolt. He rose. Turned. And drew in a stunned breath.

  Juliette.

  Sweet Jesus.

  He’d known she’d come, of course. Had expected her to yesterday. Last night. Today, for sure.

  But to have her arrive now, when he was dirty and smelled like a cow’s birthing…

  Damn.

  Just his luck she’d come when he looked his worst. She stood outside the pen, watching them in all her high-society perfection. He wasn’t a vain man, but it’d been so long since he’d seen her and—

  If anything, she’d gotten more beautiful. More female. The gown she wore absorbed the morning sun, the dark navy fabric looking more expensive than anything he’d ever paid for in his entire life, except his bull, and maybe not even then. The color leaped to her eyes, making them appear more blue than violet. She held him transfixed and unable to form a coherent string of words to save his pathetic soul.

  “Hello, Tru,” she said quietly.

  Hearing his name roll off her lips in that soft, cultured way of hers broke the spell she held over him. He turned away, his gaze raking the pen for something—anything—to clean himself with. He found his shirt and snatched it from the rail.

  By the time he faced her again, her chin had hiked up an inch. She’d clearly dismissed his lack of response as something not to be concerned with. Instead, she lavished his brother with a bright smile.

  “Why, it’s Ryan, isn’t it? You’ve grown up since I saw you last.”

  Ryan whipped off his Stetson and clutched it to his chest with both hands. “Yes, ma’am, I have. It’s been a good while since you’ve been back to these parts.”

  “Three years.” Her head cocked slightly. “How old were you then? Twelve? Thirteen?”

  “Sixteen, Juliette,” Tru said, impatient with her line of thinking. She needed to know those days were gone, that the McCords could hold their own in life, no matter what she thought. “He’s nineteen now. A man.”

  “Yes.” She swiveled her heavy-lashed gaze on Tru again. “I see that. Could you excuse us, Ryan? There’s a matter I need to discuss with your brother.”

  Ryan’s uncertain glance bounced between them. Tru jerked his chin toward the cabin, a silent command to do as she asked. Ryan nodded, still holding his hat in a death grip, and began backing toward the fence.

  But he halted and cleared his throat. “You come alone in that rig, Miss Blanchard?”

  A slight frown puckered her brows, as if she’d had to reshuffle her thoughts. She considered the carriage waiting in the yard. “No. My sister, Camille, accompanied me. You remember her, don’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I do. I sure do.” Ryan’s cheeks flushed, and he threw another quick look in Tru’s direction.

  Tru knew the meaning of that look.

  “Go on,” he murmured.

  Ryan looked relieved. Did he think Tru would deny him? He ducked between the fence rails, pushed his hat back onto his head and headed straight toward the Blanchard rig.

  Juliette faced Tru squarely. “Before we have another word between us, just let me say I hope we can discuss this without resorting to fisticuffs.”

  “Fisticuffs?” The term amused him. “As I recall, the last time we saw each other, a hand fight was the last thing on our minds.”

  Twin dots of color bloomed on her cheeks.

  Seeing it, a corner of Tru’s mouth lifted. Seemed she recalled it, too. “My hands were more intent on pleasuring you than—”

  “That’s enough, Tru,” she snapped.

  He shut the memories down, as he always did when they crept in to haunt him.

  “You’re starting on me already, aren’t y
ou?” she accused. “We haven’t even begun to discuss this—obstacle between us before you accost me with your cynical innuendos, which are highly improper, not to say downright rude!”

  The memories surged forth all over again. “Nothing rude about what we were doing that night, Juliette. Only thing rude was your father and the way he handled the situation.”

  “My father had every right to act the way he did given the fact that your father—”

  “Leave my father out of this,” Tru snarled.

  “He’s a factor in this discussion.”

  Tru bristled as the ugly memories cut through him. “Not anymore, is he, Juliette? The high-and-mighty Avery Blanchard saw to it my old man would never be a factor again, in our discussion or anyone else’s. Ever.”

  Moisture sprang to her eyes, and she angled her head away, hiding it from him. “You’re being hateful, Tru.”

  “That’s right, I am.”

  He’d been consumed by hate for anything that had to do with Juliette’s father, or the fact that she’d abandoned Tru when he needed her most. Still was consumed, and he didn’t intend to apologize for it. Avery Blanchard had been responsible for Pa’s death, and a whole hell of a lot of heartache besides that, whether Juliette believed it or not.

  The one good thing Blanchard managed to accomplish was his daughters. Camille was as innocent of the feud between their families as Ryan. And Juliette—

  Would she resort to her father’s way of doing business to get the three hundred acres she wanted?

  She’d always respected Avery Blanchard. Admired his accomplishments. His blood ran in her veins.

  Hell, yes, she would.

  Yet she’d been sweet and vulnerable in Tru’s arms four years ago. Untouched by the harsh ways of the world. She looked vulnerable now, too, as if he’d hurt her feelings with the slur against her old man.

  Unexpected regret shot through him. Moments like these, it was hard to remain convinced she’d be as underhanded as Avery Blanchard was.

  Tru turned away. The feeling unsettled him, and he let himself be distracted by the bull calf up on all four legs and making a wobbly attempt at walking. Tru maneuvered the cow from the chute so she could get acquainted with her baby.