Blue Steel Bride
Page 1
Blue Steel Bride
Belles of Wyoming, Book 17
P. Creeden
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Don’t miss the next book!
About the Author
Love Western Romance?
A Bride for Henry
A Bride for James
An Agent for Josie
An Agent for Opal
Brokken Rising
Brokken Pursuit
Promise of Home
Blue Steel Bride © 2019 P. Creeden
Cover by Virginia McKevitt
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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Belles of Wyoming Series
Christmas 2018 (Theme: Holiday)
Book 1, Christine Sterling, Wynter’s Bride
Book 2, Marianne Spitzer, Holly's Christmas Wish
Book 3, Cyndi Raye, A Tin Star for Christmas
Book 4, P. Creeden, A Pony for Christmas
Book 5, Julia Ridgmont, Natalie's Surprise Engagement
Spring 2019 (Theme: Renewal/Redemption)
Book 6, Christine Sterling, The Homecoming
Book 7, Ginny Sterling, Blessings of Love
Book 8, Cyndi Raye, Mercy’s Gift
Book 9, P. Creeden, Moments of Grace
Book 10, Julia Ridgmont, Emeline's Redemption
Summer 2019 (Theme: Summer Love /Barn raising)
Book 11, Ginny Sterling, Lightning Strikes Twice
Book 12, Julia Ridgmont, In the Nick of Time
Book 13, Jenna Brandt, June’s Remedy
Book 14, Lynn Donovan, The Wrong Bride
Book 15, Marisa Masterson, Grace for a Drifter
Book 16, Rose Castro, Lucy’s Luck
Book 17, P. Creeden, Steel Blue Bride
Book 18, Cyndi Raye, Stealing Her Heart
Book 19, Cheryl Wright, Eleanor’s Dilemma
Book 20, Jo Grafford, Wild Rose Summer
Book 21, Patricia PacJac Carroll, Summer’s Love
Book 22, Lisa M. Prysock, The Prairie Princess
Book 23, Marie Higgins, Whispers of Yesterday
Book 24, Amelia Adams, Butterfly Kisses
Book 25, Margaret Tanner, Flynn's Debt
Book 26, Mimi Milan, September’s Switch
Book 27, Julia Ridgmont, Daring to Love Again
Book 28, Christine Sterling, A Matter of Marriage
Book 29, Ginny Sterling, Change of Heart
Book 30, Christine Sterling, The Barn Raising
Blue Steel Bride
A young widow recovering from a tragedy. A man whose first love has left him broken. Will the two find healing when they are drawn together over the summer in Belle Wyoming?
Tabitha Harker lost her husband nine short months ago. When her Aunt Ruth invites her to live with her in Belle, Wyoming, Tabitha makes the move from Boston to Belle, taking the first steps to overcome the fear that wanted to keep her trapped in her house.
Ethan Younger lost all hope in finding a wife when his first love left him for another man. And Tabitha Harker is just like all other women, conniving, cunning, and mean. At least, that’s what he thinks at first, until the puzzling woman shows more sides of herself to him.
Aunt Ruth’s broken foot brings both of these hurting people together for the summer. But will they get past their personal tragedies to realize that they need one another?
Chapter 1
June 1881
When Tabitha Harker stepped off the stagecoach in Belle, Wyoming, she felt a bit disorientated. The jostling ride on leather seats was far from comfortable. But at least it wasn’t so bad as long as she kept morbid thoughts from her mind. Her aunt Ruth had invited her to come stay with her in Belle for the summer. The small town was growing larger, and with the promise of the railroad coming in, it would grow even more. Tabitha took a deep breath and looked around, straightening her skirts and making sure they weren’t kinked in some fashion from sitting overlong. Her three-day journey from Massachusetts weighed upon her shoulders.
“Where would you like us to put this, Miss? Is someone coming to help you with it?” one of the stagecoach drivers asked as the set down her steamer trunk next to her.
Everything she had left in the world lay in that one box and in the carpet bag she carried. How had it come to this? Just nine months ago, she’d been happily married with a house to care for and a husband who adored her. Then, due to a freak accident with a horse, she’d lost her husband, and shortly after, everything else slipped through her fingers. Another sigh escaped her lips. “I’m really not sure. Can we put the trunk by the stagecoach office until I know for sure?”
“Yes, Miss,” the man said, tipped his hat and nodded to the driver who held the other end of the trunk. They carried it over to the boardwalk in front of the office and set it down.
Tabitha attempted a smile of thanks, and they both bowed her direction before leaving her. A sigh escaped her lips as she sat upon the trunk and watched people and horses move about the small town. After a short while, a cart pulled up to the stagecoach office. The man in the driver’s seat peered down at her, his shaggy, curly hair falling into his brown eyes. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows, the veins on his forearms pronounced along bulging muscles. For a long moment, they each just regarded each other. Then the man finally said, “You wouldn’t happen to be Mrs. Tabitha Harker?”
Her heart skipped a beat in her chest as she met eyes with him again and stood. “Yes, actually. I am.”
He nodded and then dismounted the cart. His wide shoulders and broad chest pressing against the confines of his shirt. He pointed toward her steamer chest. “Is this all you have?”
She tilted her head at him. “Yes. But, may I ask what business it is of yours?”
He squinted in the sun, regarding her for half a moment before shaking his head and offering her a smile. “I’m sorry. I failed to introduce myself. I’m Ethan Younger. Your Aunt Ruth sent me to help collect your things. If you don’t mind, I’ll gather up the trunk if you’ll take the carpet bag?”
Blinking at the man, Tabitha could do little more than nod before the man had hold of her trunk and lifted it into the back of the cart without a bit of help. He treated the trunk, which had taken two men all through the journey to transport, as though it weighed very little. His muscles rippled under tan skin that had the slightest sheen of sweat upon them. “What relationship do you have with my aunt, if you don’t mind me asking?”
After pushing the trunk a bit further into the back of the cart, the man turned about and lifted a brow at her. “Relationship? Neighborly, I guess would be the answer. She lives just past the livery on
the other side of me.”
Tabitha frowned. This hulking man seemed to be honest enough, but why would her aunt send a stranger to see her off from the stagecoach? Why didn’t her aunt come herself? Tabitha clung to the handles of her carpet bag and kept it close to her chest. “Then you’ll take me to my aunt’s house?”
He nodded and ran a hand through his scruffy hair. Why wasn’t the man wearing a hat. Or even a coat and tie like a gentleman? No one back in Massachusetts would be in public without both. As they drew near the seat of the cart, the man held out a hand toward her to help her aboard. She clenched her jaw, but could see no other way of getting upon the seat of the cart except by taking his offered hand. She set her hand in his palm and he squeezed it gently. The warmth of his fingers permeated the thin cloth of her glove. She sucked in a sharp breath, and he loosened his hold, “Oh, I’m sorry if I held you too hard, Ma’am. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
She shook her head, heat rushing to her cheeks and tightness to her throat. No, he hadn’t hurt her, nor had he squeezed her hand too tightly. It wasn’t any of that. It was just that the feeling of his hand had been so masculine, so male, that it had taken her by surprise and reminded her of the fact that no man had touched her in such a familiar way since her husband had passed. The feeling had been thrilling, and then left her with the guilt of getting that feeling from another man as well as the bittersweet sadness that always came when she thought of her dear John.
Mr. Younger didn’t speak again as he came around to the other side of the cart, mounted it and picked up the reins. The chestnut mare pulling the cart listened to her owner’s commands with little more than a swish of the tail or a single ear flicked back. Tabitha eyed the mare with trepidation but it didn’t set one foot out of place. The hard, rough-hewn seat was not as padded as the one on the stagecoach, but the ride was just as jostling. Tabitha’s teeth clenched again. She sincerely hoped that she would not have another spell of nausea like she’d had earlier. After turning about in the street, Mr. Younger guided the mare back toward the part of town she’d watched him come from. From this new perspective, the town seemed a bit bigger than it had when the coach had arrived. People looked up at her with eyebrows raised in curiosity and speaking to one another behind their hands. Tabitha wondered what that meant and peered at her driver. He focused his squinting eyes on the task at hand and didn’t look her direction or say a single word. She wondered if perhaps this man often had gossip going on about him or if it was just because of her presence. Small towns often had people who knew and talked about everyone else’s business. Tabitha wasn’t likely to get lost in a crowd like she could in Boston.
As they passed the center of town, Tabitha marveled at how a large evergreen stood in a patch of grass in the center of the square. That wasn’t something she’d be likely to see in Boston. The number of horses that passed on the street here were few and far between, but in Boston, she could hardly blink hard without missing someone’s pass. With that gross number of people, it would be highly unlikely for the tree or the patch of grass to last long in the city. Horses often spooked and took off and when they did, they had their own mind. Her husband had been trampled by one. It hadn’t been a pretty sight. It was the stuff of nightmares. Tabitha had only seen him at the end, when he’d already lost so much blood, he couldn’t fix his eyes upon her any longer. She shook her head. Why had she let her mind wonder there again?
She missed John.
But no matter how much she missed him, she had to realize the fact that she wouldn’t ever see him again. She clung to the Psalm, “Lord, all my desire is before thee; and my groaning is not hid from thee.”
She needed to move on with her life. Luckily for her, her Aunt Ruth not only allowed her to come live with her, she wanted Tabitha to come. She’d said as much in her letters. Tabitha had had no cousins, and Aunt Ruth was a widow, the same as Tabitha. That much gave her comfort. Ruth would understand her better than just about anyone else. The moment the road started to narrow to little more than a lane, the trees came into view and towered overhead, casting shadows across their path. With a gentle “Whoa,” Mr. Younger pulled the horse to a stop in front of a quaint cottage with a fence across the yard and large maple trees shading the front.
Excitement built in Tabitha’s chest. This was the start of a new era for her. Even though nothing was going as she’d planned, she’d step forward in faith. She squeezed the carpet bag to her chest tighter. If she just drew on the bravery God gave her and took the first step willingly, she could do this.
Slowly, Ethan dismounted the cart, keeping an eye on the petite woman who remained sitting in the seat for a long moment after they’d arrived in front of Ruth’s house. She’d been sad on the way there and even though the trip had been only about a mile, it had felt like a much longer time, just because there had been a pallor of melancholy over it. Even now, he wasn’t sure if he should interrupt her introspection to announce their arrival. Instead, he just walked slowly around the old chestnut mare, patting the horse on the forehead before continuing to the same side of the cart as the woman. He had remembered the woman’s name only long enough to ask if she was Ruth’s niece. Then he’d let it slip from his mind as unimportant. Now he wished he’d remembered.
Her soft brown eyes were fixed on the house with a measure of mournfulness to them. Watching her broke Ethan’s heart, making it ache in his chest. Unshed tears gathered at the bottoms of her eyelids and when she blinked, they slipped over her cheeks before she blinked again and swiped them away. Then she met eyes with Ethan. Without a word, he stretched out his hand to offer her help to get down from the cart. She gave him a tight-lipped smile, sighed quietly, and accepted his hand. He tried not to squeeze it as hard this time, since last time it seemed to be what had started the woman’s bout of melancholy. Instead, the woman squeezed his hand tightly.
He swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how the woman smelled of honeysuckle and sunshine. She smelled like summer. His heart began to race and when she dismounted the cart, she missed her step and stumbled forward. Ethan’s heart stuttered in his chest. To go from racing to stopping caused him an unusual pain that reached down into his core. His other arm shot out and caught her about the waist. At the same time, her free hand gripped his shoulder. And for a moment they stood together in a pose best suited for dancing. His heart went back to racing while his stomach flipped and he forgot how to breathe.
For a long moment, her soft brown eyes searched his, and it made his heart glad that there wasn’t sadness found there any longer. It was confusion, hope, and then strength as she released him and pulled from his grasp. A smile tugged at his lips in response, and he turned without a word and headed to the back of the cart.
“Would you really give no apology for your behavior, sir?” she asked with a sharp tongue.
He turned about and blinked at her. “Apology? Should you not be thanking me for keeping you from falling in the dirt?”
She set her hands upon her hips and narrowed her eyes at him. “A small misstep doesn’t mean that I would have fallen in the dirt. I believe I could have caught myself.”
Lifting a brow at her, he shook his head and then said between clenched teeth, “Then I apologize for not allowing you to catch yourself.”
The woman nodded with finality, and Ethan turned back to the back of the cart, grinding his molars. Had he thought her sweet or nice? Had he thought her sad and mournful? Why had he allowed his heart to feel anything for the woman, even pity? As he grabbed the steamer trunk and pulled it to the back edge, he admonished himself. All women were alike. They were hateful creatures prettied up in honeysuckle or lilac perfume. He was a fool to think anything different. As he lifted the trunk, it suddenly felt lighter than it had been before. He followed her to the front porch of Ruth’s house and knocked. When Ruth called from inside, he opened the door and stepped in. Ruth sat in her rocking chair as she always did and smiled as he entered. “Oh! Ethan. Thank you so much for making sure my
Tabby got home safely.”
He nodded toward her but didn’t feel much like talking. Tabby? That didn’t sound quite right.
“Won’t you let me pay you back with supper? I have a stew on the stove,” Ruth offered, standing slowly.
Automatically, his stomach growled low in response. He hoped no one heard it as he backed up a step and shook his head. “I’d love to, Ruth, but I have some things I need to get done in the shop. You two have a lovely evening.”
Without a word, he started for the door, making certain that his gaze did little more than slip past Ruth’s niece. Tabitha. That was her name. He’d make sure he forgot it again.
Chapter 2
After the man left, Tabitha could finally breathe and get control of her heart once more. The heat in her cheeks began to recede, and as it did, regret replaced the anger she’d felt. She wasn’t angry at Ethan, and she shouldn’t have taken it out on him. She was angry with herself, with her own body for betraying her and betraying the memory of her husband, John. How could another man make her heart flutter when her husband had only been gone for nine months? Her emotions were getting the better of her. First she’d felt sadness, then surprise, attraction, and finally anger and guilt. Nothing she’d been doing seemed right. How could she constantly make so many mistakes? They only succeeded in making her feel useless. She took a deep breath and let it out as she watched her Aunt Ruth limp toward her.
Tabitha gasped. “Aunt Ruth! What’s the matter?”
Ruth leaned against the table to the side of the doorway. “It’s why I asked if you could come visit for at least a while, dear. I’ve broken my foot.”