Homespun Hearts

by Caroline Fyffe

  When they laid him in the wagon, Faith made Luke as comfortable as she could. He was so still, it sent chills through her body. Now, as she wiped his face with a cool, damp cloth, she gave a sigh of relief. He was coming around.

  The light from the lantern played across his face. His eyes, midnight black, centered on her face and never wavered. As the moments ticked by, she became increasingly uneasy under his scrutiny. Dawn was fussing in her bed, upset since the shot had awakened her.

  “You said you’d wait,” he ground out, over the baby’s cries. The accusation in his voice was thick.

  Knowing what she knew, fearing what she feared, she still couldn’t tell him the complete truth. Not when Ward could still implicate her in his brother’s death. Not when Ward was still a threat to the safety of her children.

  “I changed my mind.” When Luke struggled to sit up she said, “Stay down. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

  “Just get me something to put behind my back so I can lean against the sideboard.”

  Faith quickly folded a blanket and helped him get comfortable. Colton came and looked at the two of them, flanked by Luke’s father and brothers. “Uncle Ward is still out cold, and he’s tied up good and tight.”

  “Good,” Luke said in approval.

  Matt stuck his head in. “What do you want to do?”

  “I’d like a minute to talk with Faith before we do anything. And, thanks for showing up when you did. Who knows how this would have turned out. Charity?”

  “Yeah. I don’t think any of us would have remembered this thoroughfare without her reminder.”

  Luke’s mouth pulled up at the corners. “Her and Colton’s quick thinking saved the day.”

  Saved the day? Why, when Ward woke up he was going to be mad as hell. Faith shuddered at what he might say or do.

  They were alone again. The stillness was almost louder than Dawn’s cries had been when Ward first fired his gun. Now she was quieting and would soon be asleep, unaware of the turmoil going on around her.

  “Why’d you run off?” Luke finally asked.

  The question was so soft, his eyes so full of tenderness, Faith wasn’t quite sure she’d heard him correctly. Maybe it was her imagination, but he seemed to still care. He sounded more concerned than angry, as he’d been moments before.

  “Didn’t you get my note?”

  “It was a little harsh, don’t you think?”

  “Then you know why I left.”

  As she shrugged, he stared at her. “Possibly, but why’d you marry Ward?”

  She grazed her fingers across the top of Dawn’s head, trying to find an answer, an anchor in her storm of emotions. She finally decided on, “I realized I was being foolish. I wanted to go home to the farm I’d grown up on. I missed it.”

  Luke sighed loudly, his exasperation pushed to the limit. “Don’t think so, Faith” he said, in his deep-timbered voice. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

  He reached up and pressed on his shoulder. His normally tempting mouth, the one that could make her insides twist with want, was now pinched with pain. “Try the truth. Maybe I’ll have a little good news for you.”

  What was that supposed to mean? Whatever he had to say couldn’t change the fact that Ward lay bound just outside the wagon, a man whose testimony might see her hanged. Worse, they were married, and he had a piece of paper to prove it. She was doomed now, and there was no escape.

  She glanced down at Dawn, finding momentary comfort. This was right: being with the man who’d brought the child into the world. Oh, God, how she wished it were Luke who’d married her. He felt like part of her family already.

  “If you had the choice of working in Priest’s Crossing or going home with Ward, which would it be?”

  “That’s a fool question. I’m Ward’s wife,” she replied.

  “Go on, answer. Which would it be?”

  She swallowed, lifting her eyes to him. His eyes implored her for the truth. She owed him that much, no matter what Ward would say. “I’d work.”

  Luke sat, head tilted back, resting on the wagon sideboard, causing Faith to wonder if he was too weak to hold it up on his own.

  “And,” he continued slowly, “if you had a choice of working in Priest’s Crossing”—he paused and took a breath—“or going home to the Heart of the Mountains and having to put up with my family for the next seventy or so years, what would your answer be, then?”

  Faith sucked in a breath. Was he serious?

  “Faith?” Luke pressed.

  “That’s a cruel question.…”

  “I’m not being mean. I want your answer. Your honest answer.”

  “I’m married to Ward,” she repeated. She tried to keep her voice strong and steady, but it wavered.

  “You’re not married to Ward. He forced you under duress. It’s not legal.”

  She shook her head, surprised he was pushing the point. Turning back, she saw he was deadly serious. So it was time for her to come clean. “It’s not just that. It’s that back home, when Samuel died. We were in a hayloft and—”

  “Praise the Lord,” Luke said. “The truth. And the truth is, I know all about Samuel. I’ve been to Kearney. You didn’t kill him. The sheriff there knows it now, and so does Brandon Crawford. No one will ever bring any charges against you. And, just in case you’re wondering, Ward’s going to prison—that is, if he doesn’t hang first.”

  Faith was thunderstruck.

  Luke sighed. “I guess the important question really is: how do you truly feel about my Indian blood? I know what your note said. Is that how you feel, or just something to push me away? I’d like to think it was just an afterthought, something to hurt me, so I wouldn’t follow. There are reasons beyond understanding why we end up the way we are, though. I’m done questioning.”

  Faith blanched. The truth. She could finally tell the truth. “No. Your blood is good and honorable. I’ve never known another man like you, Luke.”

  Ashamed of all the hurt she’d caused him, embarrassed of her weakness and inability to stand up to Ward, Faith turned away.

  “Look at me,” Luke said.

  She shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “Please, honey?”

  The anxiety in his voice surprised her. She turned back to him to find his mouth tipped up and his expression not what she’d expected.

  “I’m asking you to marry me, Faith. Do I have to spell it out?”

  “Marry you…?” she whispered, unable to believe what he’d just said. Unable to believe everything he’d just related. “Yes, say it again. Spell it out.”

  His lopsided grin widened across his face. “Marry me, Faith. I love you. I have since the first time I saw you, and will until the day I die.”

  They were the sweetest words she’d ever heard. Scooting in carefully, she brushed his hair back from his face and held his face between her palms. He brought his good arm up around her, and she gazed into his eyes.

  “Don’t keep me waiting, darlin’. You’re killing me.” His tone was hushed, his lips just a murmur away.

  “Oh, Luke….Yes, I love you, too. I want to be your wife more than anything else in this world.”

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  The evening was cool and lovely, three weeks since the confrontation with Ward. Men, women and children alike wore their finest clothes, and Esperanza fixed a meal fit for royalty. Tables were set up in the meadow next to the house, the only place large enough to cater to the enormous crowd; white linen tablecloths, flowers and bows adorned each. Children ran here and there in a game of hide-and-seek. A dance floor was set up under the pines, complete with a bandstand and hanging lanterns for when the sun went down.

  Luke gazed at his new bride, who danced protected in his father’s arms. Her cheeks, bright from the champagne she’d been sipping, reminded him of rose petals from his mother’s garden. He laughed, enjoying her happiness.

  Roady arched a brow. “What’s so funny?”

  Luke thr
ew back the remainder of the champagne in his glass. “Just enjoying the scenery.”

  Lucky, Ike and Smokey were providing the music, but they also, one by one, had been demanding a break every so often to swing Faith around the dance floor.

  His friend gave a long whistle. “She is a sight. I’m still trying to figure out how you got so lucky.”

  It was a moment before Luke answered. Then he winked and punched Roady playfully in the shoulder. “Good living…and lots and lots of sweet talk.”

  The man just laughed and shook his head. Over in the corner, a taciturn Chance stood dejected, disappointed he hadn’t gotten a chance at winning Faith’s heart away from Luke. He made polite conversation with Doc Handerhoosen, who’d been completely forgiven and had sworn off whiskey for life. Joe Brunn was there, too. He’d been more than understanding after he’d heard the story about why Faith had so abruptly left with Ward. It turned out Christine had found another willing helper in Tilly the saloon girl, who had decided to change her ways and move out of town since Luke was now taken. Brandon approached, and Luke remembered the relief he’d felt when Faith told him Ward hadn’t consummated their illegal union. She’d kept Colton and Dawn practically glued to her side, not wanting to give Ward a chance. The sheriff reached in his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper.

  “What’s that?

  “Telegram. Ward, Earl and Will all got their maximum penalties. It’ll be years for the two who killed your bull calf to be eligible for parole. And Ward,” Brandon said solemnly, “will swing.”

  “What are you waiting for?” the lawman added, as Luke glanced at his watch for the tenth time in the past hour.

  “A surprise. I’m expecting a delivery, and I hope it gets here before this shindig is over.”

  The sheriff, sipping from his crystal champagne flute, smiled roguishly. “Ah, what a mysterious bridegroom. What could it be?”

  “You’ll just have to wait to find out like everyone else, Crawford.”

  Charity appeared at their side. She was garbed in a beautiful blue dress that fit her slender figure perfectly and accentuated her tiny waist. Luke almost laughed at her obvious overture. On her head was the beat-up old Stetson that Brandon had given her when she’d been just a girl following him around like a puppy dog on his trips out to the ranch. Luke hadn’t known she still owned the old thing. By his expression, Brandon hadn’t either.

  She stood there twisting back and forth, hands clasped behind her back and beautiful young face exuberant. She threaded her arm through Brandon’s and said, “Aren’t you ever going to ask me to dance, Sheriff?” She gave a pout, all mock wide-eyed innocence.

  “Well, I guess I’m asking now.” And with that, Brandon skillfully guided Charity to the center of the dance floor, his hand on the small of her back.

  As he turned her, Charity glanced at Luke. He winked. She smiled.

  Colton and Billy burst into the center of the crowd, followed by Adam, scattering the dancers and bringing the music to an abrupt halt. “A wagon’s coming!” they both shouted excitedly.

  Luke smiled. Looked like he’d gotten his wish.

  Dressed in his Cheyenne wedding clothes, her new husband was a sight to behold. His dark hair ruffled in the breeze, and the small feather Charity had attached at the nape of his neck fluttered. Faith thought she’d die at the sight of him. Never could there ever be another as handsome as he. Even with his bandaged shoulder and remnants of the bruised cheek he’d gotten falling from his horse, he stole her breath away.

  He came to her and took her hand possessively in his, and they both watched the approach of a tall freight wagon. It was boarded up on all sides, making it impossible to see inside. Anticipation hummed through her body.

  Everyone hushed as Luke turned to her. He grinned mischievously, and then he brushed his lips across hers. “It’s your wedding present, sweetheart.”

  “A present?” she repeated, surprised. Warily, she glanced at the wagon. Seeing her worried expression, everyone laughed. “What on earth could it be?”

  A loud moo sounded from the wagon interior.

  “A steer? My wedding present is a steer?”

  The freighter, who’d gone back to unload the wagon’s contents, led a dark brown and white cow down the tailgate. Luke was laughing.

  “No, not a steer. We have enough of those around this ranch. A milk cow. A very special milk cow.” He grinned.

  Shocked, Faith covered her mouth, adoration shining in her eyes. “Penelope!” The name came out as a whisper. She ran to the cow’s side and slid her hands lovingly around the docile animal’s neck and kissed the top of its head. Penelope, calm of demeanor and wide of eye, looked curiously around at all the spectators.

  “Penelope,” Faith breathed again.

  “Hold on now,” Luke protested good-naturedly. “Don’t be giving all your kisses to her.”

  Faith threw herself into Luke’s arms. “How did you find her? I mean, I can’t believe…”

  She stopped, unable to go on, and buried her face in his chest.

  “Shh. This is your wedding day,” he replied, tipping her face up to his and gently wiping the tears from her cheeks. “Don’t go about crying.”

  “Oh, Luke.” She shook her head, overwhelmed. “I love you…so much. I only wish I had something to give you, too.”

  “You do, honey, you do.” He gestured to Colton, and then to the upper bedroom window where Dawn slept soundly. “You’ve given me more than any man rightly deserves.”

  He gently pressed his lips to hers, kissing away her tears.

  “One small favor,” he asked with a crooked smile.

  “Yes?” she whispered, enjoying the contact of his body pressed next to hers, the feel of his lips on her face. It didn’t matter that his whole family and the townsfolk were watching; this was now her family, too. They wouldn’t judge her. There wasn’t anything she couldn’t share with Luke. He was her champion and would love her through thick and thin, and then some. Her heart, secure in his hands, was sheltered by his strength. It was a magnificent feeling.

  He gently tipped her face up and looked into her eyes. “I’m all for having your aunt here for the wedding, her being your closest relative and all…but maybe we should skip inviting her anywhere for tea. It might be a trifle hard to explain to the neighbors.”

  More in the McCutcheon Family series

  Texas Twilight

  Mail-Order Brides of the West: Evie

  Mail-Order Brides of the West: Heather

  Moon Over Montana

  Mail-Order Brides of the West: Kathryn

  Montana Snowfall

  Texas Lonesome

  About Caroline Fyffe

  Caroline Fyffe was born in Waco, Texas, the first of many towns she would call home during her father’s career with the US Air Force. A horse aficionado from an early age, she earned a Bachelor of Arts in communications from California State University-Chico before launching what would become a twenty-year career as an equine photographer. She began writing fiction to pass the time during long days in the show arena, channeling her love of horses and the Old West into a series of Western historicals. Her debut novel, Where the Wind Blows, won the Romance Writers of America’s prestigious Golden Heart Award as well as the Wisconsin RWA’s Write Touch Readers’ Award. She and her husband have two grown sons and live in the Pacific Northwest.

  For More Information

  CarolineFyffe

  www.carolinefyffe.com

  caroline@carolinefyffe.com

  Garters

  By Pamela Morsi

  Prologue

  February 26, 1888

  Mr. M. Cleavis Rhy

  Vader, Tennessee

  Mr. Rhy:

  It is with a good deal of excitement that I take up my pen for this correspondence. I have just Thursday past received of my good friend from my days at Yale, Benjamin H. Westbrook, now employed with Dr. Phythe in Washington, the exciting news of your work with pisciculture. I believe yo
ur efforts may prove a genuine boon to my research here.

  I concede difficulty in believing that in such a desolate highland place as I have heard Tennessee to be you would be blessed with such riches as three different species of Salmonidae. Surely, your little spring-fed mountain creek must be the southernmost home of the Appalachian Brook Trout.

  I sincerely hope that I am not too forward in suggesting that I would very much love to visit your valley and see for myself that work that you have accomplished there. I write this very day to Dr. Westbrook suggesting same.

  With greatest sincerity,

  Theodatus G. Simmons

  Springfield, Massachusetts

  Chapter One

  Tennessee, 1888

  Winter was still enough of a memory to whip a distinct chill into the morning breeze, and the smoky-gray haze had not been burned off by the sun. Yet on this inhospitable morning Esme Crabb made her way down the mountain, her threadbare coat pulled tightly about her. Her thoughts, however, were not on the weather.

  In the valley below her, through the dark barren trees of winter, she spied her destination, Vader. The tiny little crossroads on the Nolichucky River was the nearest thing to a town that Esme had ever known. Four houses, a church, a livery stable, and the tiny "graded school" that Esme had attended only a half-dozen times were in sight, as was the building that was her destination.

  A false front made it appear two stories high, but from Esme's perspective it was clearly only one floor, built long and narrow. Though she was still too far away to see it, she knew the sign emblazoned on the front read: "M. Cleavis Rhy, Jr. General Merchandise."

  When she reached the foot of the mountain, Esme made a quick stop to right herself. Hiking up her skirt, she pulled at the much-mended black wool stockings that now clung precariously at her knee. After first carefully smoothing the material up her thigh, she rolled it down about two inches. Grabbing one edge of the roll, she twisted it until the material tightened, painfully digging into her flesh. The near-knotted twist was carefully tucked underneath the roll. It was a makeshift solution, not as good as garters, but such trifling matters didn't concern Esme.