Her Winding Path_Seeing Ranch series
Page 1
Her Winding Path
Seeing Ranch series
Florence Linnington
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organisations, places, events and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Text copyright © 2017 Florence Linnington
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Easy Publishing
United States of America
Book cover design by:
Melody Simmons :: https://bookcoverscre8tive.com
Contents
Also by Florence Linnington
About the Author
Newsletter for new book release
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
1. Ida Rose
Chapter One
Chapter 2
2. Tom
Chapter Two
Chapter 3
3. Ida Rose
Chapter Three
Chapter 4
4. Tom
Chapter Four
Chapter 5
5. Ida Rose
Chapter Five
Chapter 6
6. Tom
Chapter Six
Chapter 7
7. Ida Rose
Chapter Seven
Chapter 8
8. Tom
Chapter Eight
Chapter 9
9. Ida Rose
Chapter Nine
Chapter 10
10. Tom
Chapter Ten
Chapter 11
11. Ida Rose
Chapter Eleven
Chapter 12
12. Tom
Chapter Twelve
Chapter 13
13. Ida Rose
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter 14
14. Tom
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter 15
15. Ida Rose
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter 16
16. Tom
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter 17
17. Ida Rose
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter 18
18. Tom
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter 19
19. Ida Rose
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter 20
20. Tom
Chapter Twenty
Chapter 21
21. Ida Rose
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter 22
22. Tom
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter 23
23. Ida Rose
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter 24
24. Tom
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter 25
25. Ida Rose
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter 26
26. Tom
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter 27
27. Ida Rose
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter 28
28. Tom
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter 29
29. Ida Rose
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter 30
30. Tom
Chapter Thirty
Preview of next book…
Preview: Chapter 1
Preview: Chapter 2
The story goes on…
Newsletter for new book release
Also by Florence Linnington
Seeing Ranch series: Mail Order Brides
FEEL FREE TO CHECK OUT MY OTHER WESTERN HISTORICAL ROMANCE BOOK SERIES
Click the link below
Amazon Author Bio
Book 1 - Her Winding Path
Book 2 - Her Western Heart
Book 3 - Her Wild Journey
Book 4 - Her Rocky Trail
Book 5 - Her Unexpected Destiny
Book 6 - Her Silent Burden
Book 7 - Her Fearless Love
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to Michelle and Chayce
About the Author
Hello to all my Readers, I hope you will enjoy reading my books. I truly derive joy and peace from my creative writings, and I hope my works can make my Readers happy.
Feel free to get in touch with me and share with me your thoughts on my writings. I would love to hear from you!
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florencelinnington@gmail.com
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Acknowledgments
I would like to express my gratitude to Joy Christi and her team for all the valuable advice.
1
1. Ida Rose
Chapter One
Shallow Springs, Wyoming 1881
Ida Rose pressed her hands together to stop their shaking. Her fingers laced around each other, bare and pale. Soon, one of them would carry a ring. The thought made her heart flip over in confusion. Was she thrilled? Terrified?
Both?
Lifting her face, she looked out the stagecoach window. The wheels had been progressively slowing down and were now coming to a crawl. They had arrived in Shallow Springs, Wyoming on a blustery day. The wind howled like hungry wolves.
Being the only passenger on the stagecoach had meant that there was time to think. Too much time, perhaps. Instead of being preoccupied with chatter, the long hours of travel had allowed every worry in the world to surface in Ida Rose’s mind. Suppose her future husband would be disappointed when he met her? Suppose she met him, only to realize she had made a terrible mistake?
If so, there would be no undoing it. There was nothing left for her in New York. There, she had been a burden to her mother and married sister. At least in Wyoming, she would be able to make a good housewife out of herself.
“Here we are!” the stagecoach driver shouted from the front, his call nearly lost in the wind.
The stagecoach stopped in front of the tallest building in town, then the driver came around to open the door for Ida Rose. She carefully stepped down, shuffling to the side so she could wait for her bags.
It was colder than she had expected it to be—somehow, it was colder than New York had been, colder than April should have been allowed to get away with. She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders and surveyed the street. Several men and women scurried about, each looking as if they had a destination in mind. Only Ida Rose lollygagged.
“We got here early,” the driver announced with pride as he set the two bags in the dirt next to her. He tipped his hat back and grinned in pleasure. “I have a good reputation of doing that. They call me one of the fastest drivers in the West.”
“That is very nice.”
Why was he still standing around, smiling at her? Was he waiting for a tip? Were they expected for drivers in the West? If so, Ida Rose could not give one. She had several dollars on her, but they were all that she had left in the world, aside from the clothing and small personal items packed in her bags. She needed to save her money in case of an emergency.
Or did he, perhaps, fancy her? That was another situation that would simply not do.
“How early are we?” she asked.
“About an hour.�
��
“Oh. I see.” She sucked in her lower lip and took another look around the street. So, Mr. Adkins would not be meeting her for a while yet. She would have to find some way to occupy her time until then.
“I think I will take a stroll,” she announced, picking up her bags and briskly taking off. The two cases were heavy, packed with everything she had been able to jam into them, but leaving them sitting in front of the hotel was not an option. Shallow Springs was much smaller than New York, but surely, it harbored thieves, just like any other town or city.
The shopfronts were simple, half of them closed and several empty. At the end of the block, a general store’s door was propped open, a barrel of brooms on its porch. The sight ushered a familiar warmth into Ida Rose’s chest. The shop looked very much like the one that had sat underneath her father’s accountant offices in the city. When she was younger, whenever she brought his lunch pail to him at work, he would take her downstairs for a penny’s worth of candy. Then, they would talk while he ate his sandwich and she sucked on her treat. It had been their own special ritual.
Her father had always been good at making time for each of his daughters, never mind the fact that there were four of them. Such an ability had been one of many that made him a special man.
Clearing the lump in her throat the reminiscing had created, Ida Rose climbed the steps and entered the shop. With only two aisles, the store was stacked to the ceiling with bins, shelves of cloth, jars, cans, and anything and everything else created to hold objects. Barrels crowded the floor, nearly every square inch along the windows and walls taken up by them.
Edging sideways to accommodate her bags, Ida Rose stepped along the first aisle. The air was thick in the shop, musty and sweet.
“Good afternoon.”
The gray-haired shopkeeper smiled at her from behind his tiny counter.
“Good afternoon,” Ida Rose repeated.
“You’re new to town.”
“Yes, sir,” she slowly answered. “I came to marry.”
His eyebrows popped up in slight surprise, but there was nothing unfriendly about the gesture. “Wonderful. Congratulations. Who is the lucky man?”
“Thomas Adkins, sir.”
Now, he really smiled wide. “I know Tom. A good fellow. A wonderful family.”
The news brought Ida Rose a wave of relief. “I am to meet him at the hotel in an hour.”
“Well, do give him my congratulations.”
“I will.” She smiled. “Thank you very much.”
“Let me know if I can help you with anything.”
She nodded her acknowledgment and turned away. Although she had been corresponding with Thomas Adkins for several months and had gotten the sense that he was a nice man, one could never really tell. People could write anything they chose to in letters. Having his character vouched for by another party greatly increased Ida Rose’s hope.
Lifting her eyes to the shelves in front of her, she noticed a display of ladies’ fans arranged next to cans of smelling salts. Quite abruptly, the ache in her heart returned. The blue fan with little cherry blossoms decorating it looked just like the one Martha had. Sweet, sweet Martha… Would Ida Rose ever see her youngest sister again?
Blinking back tears, she forced herself to dispel any further thoughts of her family. She had left so as not to be a burden to them. Martha was doing just fine back in New York, working as a seamstress, putting her skills knitting lace to good work. Crying for her would do no good.
Still, Ida Rose could not stop her hand from lifting the blue fan from the shelf. Perhaps she would splurge and purchase it. She had nothing of Martha’s with her, save for the hand mirror the two had shared…
The fan trembled in her hand. Ida Rose quickly stilled her wrist with the other hand, ashamed to be shaking with emotion yet again. But the tremors did not abate. In fact, they only increased. The fan shook. The shelves shook, jars rattling as they knocked against each other.
“An earthquake!” The shopkeeper’s voice sounded so far away.
The boards beneath Ida Rose’s boots rolled as if they were waves in the ocean.
“We need to get outside.” The man touched her shoulder, urging her to move toward the door. Fear seized her whole body, but she dropped her bags, going forward.
The shop that had just a few minutes ago looked so small now seemed tremendously large, its open doorway miles away. Each step became more difficult. A crack of wood pierced the air and the whole sky seemed to be coming down.
Goods and walls collapsed around Ida Rose, making everything go dark. She threw her arms up to protect herself as something hit her shoulder and knocked her to the ground.
Her knees hit the boards with a painful smack. Behind her, the shopkeeper yelled, his cry barely audible above the groaning and crashing of the world. Everything was black, so black, the air thick and oppressive.
Ida Rose gasped for air and tried to stand. Her head struck something, making her see stars. Defeated, she crumpled back to the floor.
Her heart frantically raced, its loud beating replacing the chaotic sounds of the earthquake.
“Are you all right?” the shopkeeper asked between coughs.
He was alive! As was she.
Thank you, God.
“Yes,” she gasped. “I think so.”
She heard him moving somewhere close to her. The silence following the earthquake was eerie, sinking into Ida Rose’s bones and filling her with even more dread than the quake had. Why was it so quiet?
“We’re in a pocket of air,” he rasped.
She sucked in a long breath. Her head ached, her knees stung, and the shaking that now possessed her body was ten times greater than it had been in the stagecoach. “What do we do?”
“We wait.” There was a tightness to his voice, like he was in pain and finding it difficult to speak. “And pray,” he added.
Ida Rose sealed her eyes shut, the darkness of her lids easier to face than the darkness of the tiny jail cell she had found herself in. Was this how her life was to end? The next chapter of it had not yet begun. She had not even met her fiancé yet, and now, this.
Dear God, she prayed. Please protect us. Give us strength. Fill us with your love and comfort.
She wanted to live. Oh, she wanted to live! But if this was her last day on Earth, she would not fight it. She would embrace God’s will. She would follow His lead.
And if she were to pass on, at least she would see her father soon.
The shopkeeper gasped. “Listen.”
Doing so, she cocked her head. Shouting! It was muffled, but surely nearby. Ida Rose held her breath, listening harder than she ever had in her life. Something was being moved, wood tossed to the side.
A beam of light, small but bright, entered the dark cavern. Ida Rose gasped in relief. Rescuers!
“We’re down here,” the shopkeeper coughed.
“Just hold on,” a man answered. “We’re coming.”
Ida Rose kept her palms pressed together, her mouth silently moving in prayer as more light and air made its way downward. The silhouettes of three men appeared, their faces and bodies blacked out against the sun.
“How many are in there?” someone asked.
“Two of us,” the shopkeeper answered. With some light on them, Ida Rose could see that he had a handkerchief pressed to the side of his head. A bit of blood seeped through its fabric.
“Give me your hand.”
“You go first,” Ida Rose instructed, helping the man next to her stand. He struggled to right himself, but she kept her hands firmly under his arms, encouraging him to climb the rubble. The men above hauled him out of the chaos. Then, it was Ida Rose’s turn.