A Midwest Summer Night's Dream (BookStrand Publishing Romance)

by Cate Masters

  A Midwest Summer Night’s Dream

  Open sky, Shakespeare, solitude. All Jebediah Greene needs. Alone since his teens, he’s never known loneliness, until he leaves Winona Young in California. Worse, he fears she’ll trap herself in a loveless marriage of convenience. After acting as her guide to San Francisco, how far will Jeb go to win her heart?

  Reading provides escape for Winona Young. Usually. Fleeing Philadelphia, she learns her distant suitor isn’t who he seemed. Neither is her mountain man guide, in a good way. Intelligent, but muleheaded, Jeb’s impossible to speak to, in any language. Winona falls in love with the stunning beauty of the wilderness, with the simple ways of the Osage people, and with Jeb. But books can’t teach her how to tame a mountain man.

  Genre: Historical, Western/Cowboys

  Length: 23,692 words

  A MIDWEST SUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM

  Cate Masters

  ROMANCE

  www.BookStrand.com

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  A SIREN BOOKSTRAND TITLE

  IMPRINT: Romance

  A MIDWEST SUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM

  Copyright © 2012 by Cate Masters

  E-book ISBN: 1-61926-437-4

  First E-book Publication: April 2012

  Cover design by Jinger Heaston

  All cover art and logo copyright © 2012 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  DEDICATION

  For Gary, always.

  A MIDWEST SUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM

  CATE MASTERS

  Copyright © 2012

  Chapter One

  Strange how fast civilization fell away. Faster with each stop, it seemed to Winona Young. No sooner had the Overland Stagecoach departed the last town—its name meant nothing to her—than plains stretched out, framed by the rectangular coach window like a moving painting. So beautiful, even in its emptiness. Like a clean slate.

  Exactly what she needed.

  Her fingers worried the rim of her silken clutch, a parting gift from Mother, who’d slipped two gold coins inside without the knowledge of her new husband, Edward Winfield. Winona hoped it wouldn’t earn her mother a beating. But all that was beyond Winona’s control now.

  The letter tucked inside her trunk saw to that. Her passage to a new life. She’d studied the tintype of the man who’d signed off with Respectfully yours, Francis Mahoney, and found hope in his dark eyes, despite the thick furrow of brows. She’d imagined kindness from those wide hands. A strong, reliable man. Someone to build a life around.

  If he proved useless with regard to conversation, she had plenty of books to fill that void.

  She glanced opposite at the elderly gent who’d boarded two stops ago. His head bounced against the back of the seat with every rut the coach hit, yet it hardly interrupted his snoring. Thankfully. He’d already shared his life story with her.

  Winona hadn’t responded in kind. Her life story was just beginning. The rest she wanted to leave behind in Philadelphia.

  * * * *

  The Overland Stagecoach wheels provoked the dust from Tipton’s main road as it rumbled to the station. Jebediah Greene’s attempts to wave away the haze proved futile. The midday sun emblazoned the dust cloud into an amber curtain as Jeb urged his horse to follow the stage. Near it, he dismounted and wrapped the worn leather reins around the hitching post. The Appaloosa nickered. “I know, I know, Clementine. Sit tight.”

  Nimble as a monkey, Lester Miller jumped from atop the coach and pulled open the coach door. Lester’s scrappiness enabled him to be a masterful coach driver, fast to catch a stray rein or scramble across the roof to secure the luggage and cargo.

  An older gentleman disembarked. Lester held up his hand and a green-sleeved arm fringed with white lace reached for it. A green bonnet emerged, then a long, slim neck above a dress with the sheen of a blade of grass painted with morning dew. She lifted her skirt as she stepped to the wooden walkway.

  A tall, prim woman, she stood half a head higher than Lester, though a bit on the skinny side. Probably on her way to California like all the rest, for fortune and glory, if only in marriage. Maybe out to snag her a husband newly rich from the Gold Rush. Jeb chuckled at the thought of such a lady at the hands of one of those drunken fools—rich too fast, and not enough time to drink it away, though they sure tried. But no, her stiff spine made her look more the schoolmarm type. A spinster, he’d reckon.

  Situated near dead center of Missouri, all sorts of folks passed through Tipton on the stagecoach. Its arrival was a source of curiosity for townspeople starved for news. There’d be speculation and gossip aplenty at Irv’s Saloon until the old gentleman sashayed in for a sherry. He didn’t much look like the whiskey type, but you never knew. If Jeb had learned anything in his twenty-seven years, it was not to think he knew anyone well enough to turn his back during an argument.

  He ran a hand across Clementine’s rump. Horses, on the other hand, could be counted on in any situation.

  Lester unstrapped a trunk from the top, almost larger than him. He jumped down and tugged on the attached rope. The trunk halves split, and several items fluttered out.

  “Careful!” The woman bent to snatch an envelope and cradled it to her chest.

  Jeb envisioned the case flattening Lester to the ground, and the lady shrieking he’d ruined her prize possessions. “Hold up, Lester. I’ll give you a hand with that.” A leisurely trot across the dirt road landed him on the wooden walk. Lester pulled the rope and Jeb braced the trunk as they lowered it safely to the ground with a thud.

  “Did you pack your entire house in here?” Jeb rose along the bell shape of her skirt to where it curved in to her waist, jutted out to her ample bosom sadly confined behind the green fabric, along the graceful arch of her neck to her pinched rosebud mouth, flared nostrils, and dark eyes that sparkled like the clear night skies above a mountaintop. Within the bonnet, chestnut hair framed her heart-shaped face. Her stark stare and peach-blush complexion arrested him—she was no spinster. No chance of that, with her looks.

&nb
sp; Still shielding the envelope against herself, she drew to her full height, nearly eye level with him. “The weight of civilization is well worthwhile, Mister…” Arching a brow, she waited.

  “Greene,” he blurted. “Jebediah Greene.” He remembered his manners and tipped his slouch hat. “At your service, ma’am.” Though he’d rather it the other way around. The thought provoked a smile.

  His smile provoked something else in her. The slightest flare of her eyes gave away her irritation. “Yes, well, Mr. Greene, I’m sure a man such as yourself cannot appreciate the value of books, but I, for one, find life intensely vacuous without them.”

  A schoolmarm. He knew it. Though if he could be assured of having a teacher as fine as this lady, he’d have been the first to arrive at the schoolhouse and the last to leave. And asked for special instruction to boot. “The lunatic, the lover, and the poet.”

  Her lips parted so invitingly he nearly didn’t hear her ask, “Pardon?”

  No need to debate Shakespeare’s interpretation of the imagination. He touched the brim of his hat. “Glad to oblige you, ma’am.” He glanced pointedly at the envelope. Strange she should dive for that before her bloomers.

  Swift as a petty thief, she inserted the letter into her luggage and tightened the strap.

  He turned to Lester with wide, rolling eyes. “I’d be happy to buy you a drink, young man.” Lester would need it, after a trip with this one. Jeb wanted to hear all about it. He could use a good chuckle after his long, lonely days in the wilderness.

  Her commanding tone halted him. “You’re not going to leave my luggage here, are you? Where anyone could steal it?”

  Jeb smiled nice as could be. “Ma’am, they’d need a team of draft horses to steal this trunk. But if you like, we’ll move it inside.”

  She clutched her bag. “If you please. The coach to San Francisco isn’t due until tomorrow. It can’t stay outside all night.”

  San Francisco. Maybe people were more predictable than he thought. Some, at least. This one was a hoot. He could stand here all day and watch her pretty little lips move. Though spending time with her would be cozier on a porch swing. Maybe she’d even bring him a lemonade.

  Lester opened the station door and grunted with each pull of the rope.

  “You’ll give yourself a hernia, Lester, if you move this behemoth yourself. Hold on.” Jeb positioned himself behind the trunk and pushed, inching the case through the door. Huffing the words, he asked, “How in the devil did you get this on top of the coach?”

  Lester wiped a forearm across his brow. “Took four of us.”

  “How many books did she bring, I wonder.” A library worth?

  “Too many.”

  With a bawdy laugh, Jeb slapped Lester on the back. “I believe we both need a drink now.”

  They stepped outside. Clutching her drawstring purse before her, the lady stood in the same spot. If it weren’t for her sternness, she might look a little lost.

  She turned to Lester. “If I could have my other bag, please.”

  Lester wiped his hands on his pants. “Almost forgot that one.”

  Two bags? What could she possibly have not fit in the trunk?

  Lester hoisted himself onto the stage and pulled a small fabric bag from the top. “Jeb?”

  Jeb held out his hands, caught it and set it on the walk. “There you go, ma’am. Anything else?” He kept the sarcasm from his voice. The list might go on forever.

  “No, thank you. You’ve been more than kind.” She glanced up the street and down.

  “Can I help you find your way?” The flash of an image halted him--his fingers smoothing her chestnut hair, loose around her bare shoulder, her head tilting up invitingly. A rush of heat coiled in his lower parts, and his private parts stood up in full salute. Too many months on the trail. But he had no real hopes of her relieving his condition, and despite the vision, he couldn’t imagine her allowing anyone to loosen her stiffness.

  As if she’d viewed his thoughts, her narrowed eyes pierced his. “Is the hotel close by?”

  Embarrassed by his aching groin, Jeb snatched off his hat, held it in front of him and nodded across the street. “Right there, ma’am.”

  “The saloon?” Her horrified look inspired pity.

  It served to cool his ardor. “Yes, ma’am. Irv has some real nice rooms upstairs.”

  “Forgive me. I’ve heard stories about such establishments. Is it…respectable?”

  The saloon wouldn’t do for this one, although for the life of him, he couldn’t guess how her reputation might be tarnished by an overnight stay there.

  Jeb interrupted Lester’s stuttering response. “Doc Wilson and his wife have a spare room. They sometimes allow passers-through to stay with them. You’d be better off there than at the saloon.”

  Hope flickered in her dark eyes. “Oh, I couldn’t put anyone out.”

  To ease her conscience, he added, “I wasn’t suggesting you stay there for free.”

  Fingering the edges of her clutch, she ducked her head. “No, of course not. I wouldn’t think of it.”

  Maybe he’d judged her too harshly. She seemed earnest enough. When her dark eyes reached into his, it stirred up an agitation within him he couldn’t quite put a name to. It heightened at the sight of Julius Pickering approaching, eyeing her as if she were a winning hand of cards. So much for the man’s legendary poker face.

  Pickering’s newly shined black boots clipped along the wooden walkway. He tipped his bowler hat toward her. “Afternoon, Jeb. Miss…”

  Her mouth tightened into a thin line. “Young.”

  “Happy to make your acquaintance. Julius Pickering, at your service.”

  Her questioning gaze flicked to Jeb. “Service? What sort of service are you offering?”

  Pickering’s eyes slid down her body. “Any type of service you need.”

  As her back straightened, she stood taller than Pickering. “I’m well able to take care of myself, thank you.”

  Jeb couldn’t let him get off that easily. “I don’t believe you’ll be able to convince Ms. Young to sit in your game, Julius.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Game?”

  “Poker.” Jeb gave a slow smile in anticipation of her reaction. “Julius is a first-rate gambler.”

  Julius winked. “But I sure could use a good-luck charm.”

  Her sweet smile could melt butter. “Yes. I’m sure you could.”

  Jeb held in a laugh. Her cold words could turn rain to sleet. Glee billowed in his chest, and he willed it away. No reason to take such pleasure in her slicing Pickering off at the knees. More than likely, she’d turn on him next.

  If she aimed to take him down, he’d rather it be in his bedroll.

  * * * *

  Winona held her smile until Pickering’s wilted. Men like him were why she left Philadelphia, but Lord only knew what awaited her in San Francisco. The letter in her pouch might prove her a fool, or prove her salvation. Either way, it gave her the needed confidence to flee her former life. And good riddance. Except it meant leaving behind her mother, but she’d chosen to imprison herself in a loveless marriage to escape debt. Winona would never make that mistake.

  “Miss.” Pickering touched the tip of his bowler and scurried off.

  Jeb’s smugness disappeared when she focused her attention on him, but not so much as to allow his good looks to sway her. Handsome is as handsome does, her mother always said. Winona had learned the hard way the meaning of it. Handsome got away with too much. “How do I contact Dr. Wilson?”

  Jeb lifted her bag from the walkway. “I’ll introduce you.” He strode off.

  It took only a beat for her to catch up and match his brisk pace. He glanced over, surprise evident in his hazel eyes, glinting beneath his slouch hat. Dust coating his hair made description difficult, but she guessed the color to be light brown. The musky scent wafting from him shocked her system. It further shocked her to find it didn’t repel her. Rather, it made her jittery in a str
ange way. She had no difficulty keeping up with his fast gait.

  To counter the awkward silence, she babbled. “I so missed the opportunity to exercise during the long ride. In any case, I can’t abide a slow walk.”

  “Neither can I.” He snapped his attention ahead, to the horse whose wide eyes followed them as they crossed the street. “I haven’t forgotten. I’ll be right back.”

  “Friend of yours?” She couldn’t help but ask, the way he spoke to the horse so intimately.

  “My best friend. Clementine needs a drink worse than I do.”

  As they passed the horse, she halted. “Please give her one. I’ll wait.” Animals often made better friends than people, Winona knew.

  He hesitated before setting her bag down. “I’ll hurry. You behave, darlin’.”

  Winona’s mouth gaped.

  “My horse, I mean.” His long legs took him to the pump, where he filled a bucket to the brim. Water sloshed his boots as he returned.

  Winona stroked Clementine’s blaze. “You’re beautiful.”

  “Careful,” Jeb said. “She’s not overly fond of other females. The jealous type.” He thrust the bucket near her mouth. The horse slurped.

  “She’s a sweetheart.”

  His brows furrowed. “Must be too exhausted to mount a challenge to unwanted advances today.”

  After Clementine emptied the bucket, Winona fingered her mane. “My, she was thirsty.”

  “We had a long ride.” Jeb set the bucket near the hitching post and untied the horse. “After you.” He gestured to the walkway and followed alongside, leading Clementine.

  They walked past the dry goods store and the telegraph office to a house just beyond. Jeb tied Clementine to the rail and knocked at the door. From within, a clang sounded. “Be right there.”