The Secret Admirer Romance Collection

by Barratt, Amanda; Beatty, Lorraine; Bull, Molly Noble

  After kissing Josiah’s forehead, Emilia dropped back against the end of the counter as the cold penetrated to the bone. Shocked, she looked up when she heard the bell over the door jingle. It was Cyrus! He was returning with a blanket, and leaning into the wind to close the door. Why had he come back? Without a word, he crossed the store and sat beside her, whereupon he wrapped her in the blanket and pulled her into his arms.

  Emilia was equally as astonished by the gesture as she was at the sight of the blanket. Though frayed and stained, she recognized the design. “This is one of my quilts!”

  “Asa gave it to me” he confessed. “It was one of the quilts you sent for his comrades. You can’t imagine the effect when I opened the brown paper and saw this. In all my life I had never seen, much less been given, a thing of beauty. Until then, I had felt hopeless and couldn’t close my eyes without reliving the battles or hearing rifle and canon fire in my head. But when I wrapped myself in this quilt, I imagined instead the kind hands making every stitch—while sitting beneath an orange blossom tree. It saved me, Emilia.”

  Emilia arched up. “How did you know?” Of course, Asa had told him. “The orange blossom perfume—that was from you?” He only shrugged. “The quilt frame? The teacup?”

  “I wanted to give something back to you. I never meant to lie to you, Emilia. I should have explained myself that first day. I had assumed that months before you’d already received that last letter. When I saw you through your window, sitting beside that little tree, you looked distraught. I knew I couldn’t tell you then.

  “Once I knew you were coming to Manhattan, I thought I’d tell you here. I tried several times, but it seemed it was too late to broach the subject. Just when I thought to leave the past where it belongs, you put it all together.”

  Warmed by the blanket, warm in his embrace, she finally stopped shivering and began to relax…until he handed her a stack of envelopes tied with a string. They were her letters to Asa. Accepting them, she found they were heavier than she expected.

  “You carried these all the way from Virginia?” she murmured.

  “I thought they would bring you comfort.”

  “No. They won’t,” she shook her head. “They will remind me of my shame.”

  “What shame?”

  “That I didn’t really love him. I was fond of Asa, but losing everything has made me realize how much I was in love with an idea and a way of life. That sounds horrid, doesn’t it?”

  He smiled, fully, sincerely. “No. A way of life can be an important thing.”

  She sighed and said the inevitable: “This store was supposed to be yours.”

  “Ah, you put that together as well,” and he gave a wistful glance around the store.

  “You never wanted to be a peace officer, did you?” The dashing snow sounded as soothing as rain now that she was sitting beside a warm stove—with Cyrus.

  “I had hoped to trade my gun in for a plowshare. Mr. Goodnow is helping me until I can build my home on my claim.”

  “A dugout?” she asked. He shook his head. “A sod house?”

  “I’ve spent my life looking for a home. It will be built of solid rock, a two-story with a shingled roof. It’ll have two bedrooms upstairs, one for Josiah. Downstairs will have a parlor with wide windows to let in the sun so a woman can sew to her heart’s content.”

  “What did you say about Josiah and sewing?”

  “You’re not going to marry Preston Langley.” It wasn’t a question.

  “My dear Mr. Holden, I am not a soldier.”

  “You can’t marry that man.” His tone was flat.

  “He’s a sensible choice,” she said, even though she knew now she could never marry Mr. Langley, or any man, except…except the one she had fallen in love with. She could hardly admit this fact to herself, much less Cyrus.

  “For three reasons,” he said.

  “Is that right? Pray tell, what are those reasons?”

  “First, because he deceived you. Mr. Goodnow informed me that Preston Langley is the owner of this store.”

  “What?” Emilia jerked upright.

  “It appears you trusted your family banker too much, Emilia. You signed it without reading the document.”

  “No! He wouldn’t do such a thing!”

  “It’s my guess that if you married him, he would sell the property, pocket the equity, and you would not be the wiser because a woman surrenders all her possessions at the altar. If you refused him, he would sell the store, leaving you homeless, and thus force your hand.”

  “And if I rejected him altogether?”

  “Then he’d get his revenge for being refused.”

  “That’s criminal!”

  “True, you are not a soldier, certainly not one under my command, but as a gentleman and a friend, I must tell you not to marry Mr. Langley.”

  “What’s the second reason?” she probed.

  “You belong out here now. Josiah belongs out here. This town needs you.”

  “What is the third?”

  “I need you. I—” If they hadn’t just faced a blizzard together, and if Josiah hadn’t nearly died out in the elements, the expression on his face might have been comical: a soldier intimidated by a woman. “During the war my regard for you was very high. It wasn’t until the war ended, until I met you, that my regard became something more. I have come to…to love you, Emilia. What I’m saying—what I’m asking—I mean, Josiah is like a son to me as well, and it seems only sensible that…well, that—”

  She took his face in her hands. “You already told me in the letter. I just didn’t see it until now. Thank you for honoring Asa’s last wish. Thank you for being his friend. Thank you for giving up this store for me and for leaving food for us when we were hungry, for the anonymous gifts, and for, for—” She faltered, but the unspoken words loving me must have shone through her eyes. He took her face in his warm hands and said, “I do.” His eyes queried hers, searching for the confirmation of her love.

  “I do, too,” she whispered, their faces so close, their lips almost touching. “Does this mean we’re married now?”

  “Mrs. Vandemark would love to chew on that one.” He grinned.

  “Yes, I suppose she would. We would get matching letters!”

  They chuckled. He took her hands in his, kissed her fingers, and asked, “Will you say those two words to me at the altar?”

  She took his hand, brought it up to her face, and spoke into his fingers. “I will.”

  Chapter 13

  When the first day of spring arrived in Manhattan, Kansas, the gray of winter fell away like a woman casting aside a mourning dress.

  A rising wind blew back the cloud cover as an artist pulls back a sheet to reveal a masterpiece. All at once the sun beamed down on the endless sweep of shoulder-high prairie grass. As Emilia stood on Holden Hill in her wedding dress, she felt as if she were surrounded by a great sea of green. Last summer, all this had appeared harsh and bleak, but now, as she looked out over their patch of Kansas, the scene of living colors took her breath away. In the breeze, waves and waves of green flowed through this vast stretch of grassland and “splashed” glittering seed heads against the rocks at the base of the hill. One could run through this sea all day without sinking, lie at its depths without drowning. Even the sound, swoosh, swoosh, swoosh, reminded her of the sea, and she knew now she had not abandoned the Davis legacy; she had merely relocated it.

  It was as if a lifetime had passed since that day at the post office and the last letter had marked the beginning of the first day of her life. How she missed Papa and Johnny and held fond feelings for Asa! She hugged the breeze as she imagined that they were watching her now, at peace and rejoicing in the peace she had found. Mr. Langley did repossess the mercantile, but little did he realize that when he sold it to the highest bidder, a Mr. Cyrus Holden, he had inadvertently returned it to Emilia. Now she and Cyrus would run the mercantile together. He would stock half for the needs of the miners and f
armers, and she would stock the other side with all the bright bolts of cloth and other necessities a prairie woman could wish for.

  Mrs. Vandemark ceased using that ear horn, and to everyone’s astonishment she heard every tidbit of gossip just fine. Not only was she more receptive to the newcomers in town; she took a special interest in Josiah, using her German to help him master English.

  And as for Josiah, he thrived at school and made friends, wrestling and fishing with the other boys. But he did have considerable trouble speaking when around a certain doe-eyed girl.

  As Emilia stood on the hill, trying to take in the view and the new life she had found so far from Canandaigua, she felt as if she were surrounded by so much more than a living painting of gorgeous scenery, more than new friends and a soon-to-be family. She was, and always had been, surrounded by grace.

  As she turned to hurry back down the hill, to return to her waiting groom and his best boy, she was taken aback when she saw that Cyrus was already at the base of the hill, apparently too anxious to wait for his bride. He was wearing his Sunday suit with what looked, from this height, to be an orange blossom in his coat pocket! He put a fatherly arm around Josiah, who stood at his side. Emilia sighed: her boy looked like a little man! Cyrus had gotten a suitcoat and matching trousers for him. He had the same blossom in his coat pocket and the two were the handsomest men in all of Kansas!

  Both appeared to be awestruck as they gazed up at her, and it was then that she realized what a scene she struck, backlit by a massive glowing cloud. Her dress fluttered about her ankles with the same excitement that fluttered in her heart, and she ran down into their waiting arms.

  CJ Dunham is an author, presenter, and storyteller. She has performed across the country, given creative writing presentations, and published a fully illustrated children’s book, and her work has appeared in national magazines. A mother of five and grandmother of thirteen, Dunham enjoys cycling and pretending she can paint. Learn more: authorcjdunham.com and @CJDunham1 or @AKALM.net.

  The Outcast’s Redemption

  by Jennifer Uhlarik

  Dedication

  To Michele, who endured a thousand late-night text messages as I worked on this story. Thank you for the many wonderful ideas, helpful brainstorming sessions, and unwavering friendship you offered through this process. I couldn’t have done it without you! (It’s your turn next….)

  Chapter 1

  Blackwater, Texas

  1872

  Ma, my diary’s missing. Again.” Maisie Blanton stormed into the kitchen, hands fisted. “How many times do I have to tell Charlotte to leave my things alone?”

  “When did you last have it, dear?” Ma remained focused on the noon meal preparation, rather than turning to face her.

  “I wrote in it after breakfast then hid it under my pillow. Now it’s nowhere to be found.”

  Ma glanced over her shoulder. “Since breakfast?” She shook her head. “Your sister couldn’t have taken it, honey. She went to see Patricia right after her morning chores. Perhaps you left it somewhere else?”

  “I’ve checked my whole room.”

  “I thought you were supposed to be at the café by now.” For some reason, Ma’s voice sounded just like Charlotte’s.

  “What? Ma, you’re not making sense. Why would I need to be at the café?”

  “Maisie, wake up!” Someone jostled her from her dream. “You’re late for work!”

  Maisie snapped her eyes open and glanced to the window across the room.

  Sunlight. Very bright sunlight.

  She bolted from the desk where she’d fallen asleep reading the previous night, the chair tipping over in her haste. Her neck and shoulders protested the sudden movements, particularly given the strange sleeping position. “Charlotte! Why didn’t you wake me sooner?”

  Before the girl could answer, Maisie flew into action. She brushed and arranged her hair then splashed water on her face. Thankfully, she’d slept in her clothes, so she wouldn’t lose time donning umpteen layers of underpinnings.

  Charlotte helped change to a clean dress then gave her a shove toward the door. “Go.”

  “Tell Ma and Simeon I love ’em.”

  Maisie darted out the front door but stopped at the sight of a beautiful blue, hand-painted vase, filled to overflowing with Texas bluebonnets, which sat in the center of their porch. She stared a moment then glanced up and down the street. Surely someone was playing a prank. Sighting a rolled paper protruding from the vase, she unfurled the message: “For the prettiest gal in town, Maisie Blanton.”

  She stared at the writing, noting the little flourishes on the M and the B of her name. Heart pounding, she gingerly lifted the vase. It was breathtaking.

  “Maisie, go!” Charlotte hissed from behind her. “You’re gonna get fired.”

  Oh, no! Vase in hand, she sprinted the block to the Blackwater Café, paused an instant to catch her breath, and, trying to seem collected, stepped through the back door.

  Heat greeted her as she barged through the kitchen and plucked an apron from atop a nearby crate. Whether from the already-cranking woodstove or the glare from the café owner’s wife as she cooked, Maisie wasn’t quite sure.

  “So glad you decided to grace us with your presence,” the other woman sneered.

  Mute, Maisie swept into the dining area, vase still in hand, and slinked toward the café owner.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late.” She set the heavy vase on the counter then wound the apron around her waist. “It won’t happen again.”

  The man glared. “I’d believe you, but this is the fourth time you’ve said those very words to me.”

  Heat warmed Maisie’s cheeks as if the truth slapped her. “Yes, sir. I’m very sorry.” She couldn’t afford to lose her job. It was hard enough to get her position, given the circumstances. “I beg you, sir. Please…one more chance.”

  The tendon near his jaw popped repeatedly. “I haven’t gotten the orders yet. Get to it. But this conversation isn’t over.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

  She retrieved a pad and a stubby pencil, her heart still pounding.

  “And what is this?” He waved at the vase.

  Her cheeks warmed. She dared not say she’d found them on her doorstep with a cryptic, yet flattering note. “I thought they might brighten the place up.”

  He shook his head and stalked toward the kitchen. “Get to work.”

  At the sight of her father’s old friend, Rocking D Ranch owner Robert Dempsey, seated near the window, her heart rate slowed. At least there was one friendly face in the bunch.

  “I’ll be right with you, Mr. Dempsey.” She shot the balding gentleman a lopsided grin and hurried toward the only other occupied table. As she neared, her steps faltered.

  “Thomas?” The name dribbled from her lips in a breathy whisper.

  Sporting his most charming grin—the one that used to turn her belly to mush—Thomas Eddings stared back at her. Suit-clad, hair slicked neatly. Looking like a fine Eastern gentleman. “Howdy, Maisie. It’s been a while.”

  Her belly knotted. A while? Almost two years to be exact. “What are you doing here? I thought you were studying in New York.” He’d nearly crushed her when he’d left to pursue medical training.

  The bell on the front door jingled, and Lucky Tolliver entered. The mere sight of the roguishly handsome cowhand set her stomach to quivering, though why was a mystery. He rarely said more than hello before giving her his order. Not much different than most other townsfolk, though at least he was polite.

  “Perhaps you’ve heard about my pa?” Thomas’s words jarred her from her thoughts.

  “Your pa?” On occasion, she’d overhear conversations in the café, but she was hardly included in the latest town gossip. More often, she and her family were the gossip.

  “It’s his heart. Ma called me back to run the ranch until he improves.”

  After the way Mr. and Mrs. Eddings had turned against her family, perhaps this
was God’s judg—

  She cut off the uncharitable thought. The Eddings family had been like an extension of her own for many years. “I’m sorry, Thomas. I hadn’t heard.”

  His expression turned grim. “Maisie, I came today to say I’m sorry. For the way I left so suddenly without a word, for not writing. My folks still haven’t come around, but I’ve done a lot of thinking while I was gone, and I needed to apologize to you. I never intended to hurt you.”

  She cleared her throat to rid herself of the knot threatening to choke her.

  When the door to the kitchen jostled, Maisie shot a panicked glance toward it then back to him. “I’m sorry, Thomas. I need to get to work. Can I get you something? Coffee? Some eggs?”

  He shook his head and rose. “No. I only stopped by to see you for a moment. I don’t want to get you in any trouble.”

  Tears threatened to overrun her lower lashes.

  “I’ll see you soon.” He hesitated, pecked her on the cheek, and headed toward the door.

  Thoughts and emotions swirling, Maisie stared after him.

  On his way out the door, he glanced at the flowers. “That’s a real pretty arrangement, by the way.” He grinned at her. “Suits a pretty girl like you.”

  Lucky Tolliver’s gut clenched. Had that blasted dandy just kissed Maisie? By golly, he had, and the way her mouth was hanging open, she might just have liked it.

  His boss, Robert Dempsey, looked mildly amused from where he sat across the table. Confound it. Wasn’t nothing amusing about this situation. Not to him.

  “You all right over there, darlin’?” Mr. Dempsey called, drawing Maisie’s attention.

  In a flurry of motion, she grabbed the coffeepot and mugs before heading their way. “I assume you’ll want coffee, gentlemen?”

  Mr. Dempsey nodded. “Yes, please.”

  She shifted toward him. “How’re you, Lucky?”

  Warmth threaded through him at the way his name sounded on her tongue. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. As long as I’m around you, I’m right happy, Maisie. Did you like the flowers I picked you?