Brazos Bride

by Caroline Clemmons

  Brazos Bride

  Caroline Clemmons

  The Men of Stone Mountain Book One

  Kindle Edition, 2012

  Copyright 2012 Caroline Clemmons

  Cover Graphics

  Jimmy Thomas

  Romance Novel Covers

  Heidi Hutchinson

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to my real life hero, my husband, for his continued love and encouragement, and to my family and friends. Thanks to all those who helped critique this novel, including Mary Adair, Sandy Crowley, Geri Foster, Jeanmarie Hamilton, Ashley Kath-Bilsky, and the Mavens.

  Reviews For Caroline Clemmons’ Other Books

  “From the start I absolutely loved this book, although the romance between Courtney and Derek remained on the sweet side when there was so much chemistry between them to be explored. The plot and dialogue were well developed with both Courtney and Derek being headstrong, yet knowing when enough was enough. What I liked so much about Courtney was her stubborn streak, and that she followed through with everything the will stipulated. And as for Derek, I adored how much help he gave Courtney, although at first he didn’t want to because she was taking what he thought should have been his.

  In conclusion, Ms. Clemmons has penned a fabulous novel in this one with some great secondary characters such as Derek’s children and Courtney’s brother that helped bring more ambience to the story. And lastly, this is a story I’d definitely recommend because it illustrates that no amount of money in the world brings happiness and that love does. The Romance Studio, 5 Hearts for Home, Sweet Texas Home

  “Ms Caroline Clemmons has written a book that was so good it was hard to put down. She had my attention from the first page.” The Romance Studio, 5 Hearts, for The Texan’s Irish Bride.

  “Just when you thought a happily ever after was just around the corner, another corner appears...I want more!” Night Owl Reviews, Top Pick for The Texan’s Irish Bride.

  “OUT OF THE BLUE is a beautifully written story. The extraordinary characters, descriptive setting and fast paced action/suspense made this a delightful, enjoyable read. The in-depth POV from the hero and heroine gave me a great insight on their emotions. This is the type of book that pulls you in and you just don't want to end, but leaves you with satisfied smile after the last page is read. A perfect mixture of witty dialogue, sensual love scenes, and the happily-ever-after ending, Caroline Clemmons pens a timeless tale that I could re-read over and over again and never tire of it!” Siren Book Reviews, 5 Siren Stones for Out Of The Blue.

  Filled with lively characters and interesting plot twists, The Most Unsuitable Wife, is a delightful tale of one woman's courage in the Old West. Drake will keep you laughing. He expects a normal marriage, with the subservient little wife. He doesn't bargain on Pearl! Pearl is one independent, bossy little lady who does not let a husband stand in her way. Judith Rippelmeyer, The Word On Romance

  Brazos Bride

  Chapter One

  Palo Pinto County, Texas

  August 1870

  Poison!

  One question whirled through Hope Montoya’s mind: Who wants me dead?

  She didn’t know the villain’s name, but she would not let him--or her--succeed. How long would it take to drive the poison from her body and recover? A few more days, weeks, months? Or was she fated to die as Doctor Ross predicted?

  Fearing her pounding heart would burst through her chest or stop completely, Hope eased open her bedroom door and crept down the tiled hallway. In a weak fist, she clutched an empty pillowcase. Her feet bare to avoid creating noise, she padded toward the back stairs.

  Moonlight shone through the window at the end of the corridor. Hope kept to the shadows. She’d heard no movement in the house for hours. The downstairs grandfather clock chimed two o’clock.

  Could she do this? Perhaps she should have asked Ramona to accompany her. Summoning all her strength, she reasoned there was no need to disturb her friend at this hour. Besides, Ramona would probably think her plan foolish.

  The poison had stolen Hope’s energy. But now she knew the cause for her weakness was not the vague wasting disease the doctor had diagnosed--the same cruel disease that had killed her mother just six months ago. Poor Mama. Surely she, too, had been poisoned.

  But why?

  Moonlight through the windows allowed Hope to make out familiar items in the room. She shoved a loaf of bread into the pillowcase. Next came dried apples, then a small wheel of cheese. She couldn’t take much or the cook and housekeeper would notice.

  Seven empanadas remained in the pie safe from last night’s dinner. Surely they were untainted because they were for the household, but the pies would stain the pillowcase. Hope bit into one, and the spicy meat’s flavor burst in her mouth. She savored the empanada and grabbed another to nibble while she searched the storage pantry by touch for food that would not emit telltale odors. Her bag filled with enough for several days, Hope settled on a chair to rest.

  Five days ago, she’d hidden a cache of food in her room and replaced her medicine with thinned syrup. Since then, the fog shrouding her mind cleared more with each day—proof she’d been correct about the poison. A portion of her strength returned while she evaded the killer’s trap. But how long could she escape an unknown murderer and hold on to her ranch and home?

  Who could it be? Who gains from my death?

  Unless someone had a vendetta against her family, Uncle Jorge and Aunt Sofia had the most reason to want her gone. With her death, they would gain one of the largest and most prosperous ranches in North Texas, Papa’s investments, cattle, her home, and cash. The thought sliced through her heart, whittled away the small amount of family affection she’d experienced.

  Hope stood and the chair skidded a few inches on the tiles.

  “Que? Is someone there?” called Annunciata, the elderly cook.

  Oh, no! Fear set Hope’s body trembling and she almost fell back onto the chair. What would she do if the cook rose from her bed in the adjoining room and came into the kitchen?

  Wait! Anger sparked through Hope and she exhaled. This is my kitchen, my house. How has my life changed so that I’m forced to steal from my own provisions?

  Bed ropes creaked, and soon the cook snored again. Like a wraith, Hope moved toward the stairs. By the time she reached her room, she was bent almost double from fatigue and the swirling nausea that plagued her.

  She pushed aside the clothes in her armoire and released the catch that revealed the hidden compartment where she stored her food. When her cache was safe, she straightened the clothing and closed the doors.

  Sinking to her knees, she retched into her chamber pot and replaced the lid. Without the strength to rise, she stretched out on the cool floor and closed her eyes, a voice echoing in her head: Who would do this to me?

  She came awake with someone shaking her gently. Her eyelids fluttered open. Ramona knelt beside her, concern in her dark brown eyes.

  “Pobre Hope! What has happened to you, amiga mia?”

  Tinges of predawn light showed through the French doors to the balcony. Surprised to find herself on the floor, Hope rose slowly.

  “I threw up, th
en I was very tired. I’ll be fine now.”

  “Let me help you to bed. Should I summon the doctor?”

  Hope allowed her best friend to help her slide between the bed’s cool sheets. She sank into the pillows. “Not the doctor. Go ahead with your day, Ramona. I want to sleep a while longer.”

  “A dose of your medicine may help.”

  “I suppose.” Hope allowed her friend to give her a spoonful of the tonic. If Ramona thought it helped, what would be the harm? When Hope had poured out medicine the doctor had left fearing it might contain poison, she had been careful her substitution duplicated the color and consistency.

  “I’ll get something to strengthen you. You’re so pale.”

  “Thank you, but I couldn’t eat now. Please don’t trouble yourself. Lately, you spend all your time caring for me. Have your breakfast and enjoy the morning.”

  “You know I am happy to do whatever I can to help you.” Ramona patted Hope’s hand. “I’ll sit with you until you feel well enough to rise. Shall I read to you?”

  “Always you are kind to me, but now that I’ve had my tonic, a few hours of sleep will help.”

  “As you wish, Hope.” With a worried look over her shoulder, Ramona slipped from the room and closed the door.

  Hope tried to relax, to let sleep’s restorative powers claim her. Rest evaded her, and she prayed.

  Dear God, help me. I'm so afraid.

  Determined to fight her unknown assailant, she could trust no one until she learned the killer’s identity. No one, not even her closest friend. But she was too weak to fight alone. Who could help her? Who would help her?

  She needed a clever strategy to hold on to her ranch, her home, and her life. She vowed she’d escape this villain and see justice done. But how could she fight a faceless threat?

  Think, Hope. Think.

  Chapter Two

  "This is my last chance." Micah Stone put the power of his back into scooping a shovel full of moist earth and tossing it aside. “Blast, it seems we’ve been digging forever. If we don’t hit groundwater soon, I’m finished for sure.”

  Mired ankle deep in the muck of a dried up spring, Micah fought to keep his balance while he talked to his brothers, Zach and Joel. “Too far to keep hauling barrels of water from your land, Zach.”

  Zach barely glanced up. “Even that isn't enough to keep you going much longer.”

  They’d hit damp earth, but no water to speak of. Not enough to sate the thirst of his herd, that was for damn sure. Just enough to cling to the shovel and his boots and make digging that much harder.

  Zach leaned on his shovel and stared at the dying cattle hugging the fence between them and water. “Damn Montoya to hell for getting himself killed before he let you cut a path to the river. If not for his orneriness and damned inconvenient death, we wouldn't be forced to scoop out your spring for a few buckets of water."

  Some said Micah and his brothers were alike, but he couldn’t agree. Each was tall with gray eyes and black hair, but personalities made them very different. As youngest, Micah had grown up fast in the War and later worked in the Rangers with his brothers. He’d hated being on the move and the gunplay his former life required.

  Micah had finished with killing, had vowed never to shoot at another human. Not after the incident that still haunted his nightmares. All he wanted was to be a peace-loving rancher. To turn this little spot in Texas into a haven, a place he could put down roots and someday start a family.

  Zach was the tallest and best looking of the three Stone brothers. If ladies were nearby, they always smiled at Zach first. Not that he noticed. He had his own spread a few miles west with good grass and water, but not enough to support Micah’s herd along with Zach’s and Joel’s.

  As the eldest brother, Joel was the most serious of the brothers, yet still hadn’t decided when or where he wanted to settle or if he’d choose politics. He smiled less than Micah or Zach, but a better man than Joel had never been born. Joel had led Micah’s defense in the dark hours Micah had been falsely accused and jailed for killing Alfredo Montoya.

  Whatever people thought about the Stone family, Micah admitted he’d have been lost without his brothers’ help these past few months. Though Micah loved this land, he was close to surrender. He’d filed on his section and bought an adjoining section from a man pulling out. Exhaustion erased the pleasure of owning his own spread. Micah wondered if he should have left too. Would he outlast this drought? Would his cattle survive?

  Scrub oaks and mesquite trees dotted acres of dried up grass. An occasional stand of live oaks offered more substantial shade but not much relief from the dust. High, wooded hills of the Palo Pinto Mountains were visible on the western and northern horizons. The nearest large peak was Stone Mountain, the location of Zach’s ranch. Ravines held nothing but cedars and sand, and there was no water hereabouts until the Brazos River. Montoya’s five strands of barbed wire denied Micah’s cattle access to that river.

  At the other side of the current excavation, Joel ceased digging and flexed his shoulders. “With this much mud, we’re sure to hit water soon.” He took a swig from his canteen and cast a glance at the endless blue overhead. “Not a dad-blamed cloud in sight. Hellfire and damnation, is it ever gonna rain?”

  "Nothing here but dust and heat. Even a good breeze would help." Against his will, Micah followed his brother’s glare at the relentless summer sky, but movement caught his attention. “Rider coming. Lord, I hope it’s not more trouble.” He’d already had his fill and then some, more than enough to last this lifetime.

  He soon recognized John Henderson, owner of the local newspaper. Micah leaned on his shovel and watched John gallop across the parched range. When John reined in near the brothers, he took off his hat and swiped his handkerchief across his forehead.

  “Scorcher again today. Found water yet?”

  Micah shook his head. “Nope, nothing but mud. Gotta be water under it somewhere.” Micah tugged his hat brim lower to shade his eyes while he looked up. He assessed John's business clothes then met his friend’s gaze.

  Joel spoke before Micah could. “You here for the newspaper or being sociable?”

  In spite of the fact that most locals still considered Micah guilty of Alfredo Montoya’s murder, the Henderson family’s friendship had won them Micah’s undying loyalty. John was among the few locals who’d publicly defended Micah’s innocence and had offered support before the acquittal two months ago.

  John tucked his handkerchief into his pocket. “Delivering a message for you from Hope Montoya.”

  Micah’s gut clenched. “For me? From...from Hope Montoya?” He never thought he’d see the day she contacted him.

  Her name fit her, and hope fit his part of their relationship. Not that Hope knew they had one. Micah cursed himself for pining after a woman he could never have, but he couldn’t help longing for the graceful, elegant beauty.

  “Yep. Hope’s in town visiting Theresa. Waiting for you at our place.”

  “Waiting for me?” Micah knew he sounded like a damn fool, repeating everything John said. “What for? I haven't seen her since the trial."

  John shook his head. “Don’t know. I’ve been married to Theresa long enough to give up trying to figure out women.” He fished an envelope out of his shirt pocket and handed it to Micah. “Reckon it says in here.”

  “Dang, John, this thing’s so sweaty the ink’s likely run together.” In spite of his comment to his friend, irrational joy spread through Micah. Hope had written him a letter. He opened it and took out a single sheet of damp paper. He read the delicately formed script.

  Mr. Stone,

  I know you are desperate for water. It is urgent that we meet today. I await you at the Henderson home. Please return to town with John so we may discuss a solution to your water problem and to a problem of my own. Please come! Urgency and discretion are essential.

  Hope Montoya

  Urgency essential? That damn sure described his need for water
, but what kind of problem could she have?

  Micah lowered the letter and looked at his brothers. A glimmer of light blossomed in his heart, but he didn’t dare relax his guard. Disappointment had pummeled him too many times.

  “She wants me to meet her at the Hendersons’ right away and discuss a plan to get water for the cattle. Maybe she’s convinced her uncle to honor her father’s agreement after all.”

  Joel stomped on his shovel and dug into the muck. “Lord, I hope so. Get going and see what she has to say.”

  Zach looked up and winked at Micah.

  Accustomed to their eldest brother giving orders, Micah let Joel’s advice slide off him. Micah looked down at his mud-caked clothes, took in his body’s reek. “Don’t reckon the lady would approve of me tromping in looking and smelling like I do.”

  John shook his head. “Neither Theresa nor Mama would appreciate you showing up in the parlor like that. Best knock off at least some of that mud.”

  “Yeah, I’ll go to the cabin before I ride into town.” Micah set his spade against a scrub oak. His weary muscles protested the extra weight of the mire hugging his boots. He beat at his denim britches and stomped a few clods off his feet, then climbed onto his horse. He reined in near his brothers. ”You two coming?”

  Joel shook his head. “You’re the one who’s been mooning after her. Besides, she didn’t invite us. I’ll stay here and keep at this. Slim and Bert’ll be back from Zach’s place soon with the water barrels. No, wait.” Joel paused in his digging and turned to Zach. “You ought to go along in case this is one of her uncle’s tricks.”