Fiona: Book Two: The Cattleman's Daughter

by Danni Roan

  “Are you nervous?” her oldest sister asked. Fiona blushed in reply.

  “Don’t worry,” Katie whispered in her ear, “It’s wonderful.” She tittered like a school girl and Fiona felt her face go scarlet. Her other sisters, although unaware of the words spoken could guess and collapsed into peals of laughter on the bed.

  “Can you believe two of us married in the same year?” Katie continued, giving her younger siblings a scowl. She didn’t catch the significant look Issy and Lexi shared behind her.

  “It’s all so strange,” Mae spoke up from the other side of the room. “I guess things never do get to stay the same though do they.” Meg rose from the bed to wrap her arms around her little sister.

  “No Mae, things don’t stay the same, but what an adventure this life is. Just think every day we wake up is like a new gift that we get to unwrap. Who knows what tomorrow will bring.”

  Mae smiled at Meg’s enthusiasm then turned back to watch as Katie draped the dress of softest lilac over Fiona’s head and began buttoning the tiny buttons that worked their way up the entire length of the dress.

  It took a good bit of effort but soon even Fiona’s unruly hair was pinned in place; a thick figure eight knot securing most of it as soft loose tendrils were allowed to fall around her face.

  They had decided the wedding ceremony itself would be held on the front porch and despite her desire to show off her beautiful wedding dress Fiona wrapped her shawl around her shoulders.

  As she stepped out the door she saw Hank, his dark blonde hair slicked back from his face, his dark coat buttoned over a sleek black suit. She smiled and he smiled back at her.

  At the door her father, dressed in his best clothes, offered her his arm and together they walked to the end of the porch and stood before the preacher. On either side of the porch, her family and the men of the ranch stood.

  Joshua kissed his third daughter on the cheek then placed her small white hand into the large callused paw of the towering man at his side.

  “We are gathered here together…” the preacher began but Fiona barely heard the words. Her heart beat in her chest trying to climb out of her and into the man looking at her with gray eyes full of love.

  In only moments he was saying “I do” and slipping a small wedding band onto her finger. She smiled then repeated her vows as the preacher instructed before saying “I do.”

  The preacher’s words rolled over them as he pronounced them man and wife and then like a trigger being pulled the words “You may now kiss the bride” swept them together.

  Hank leaned down to his new beautiful wife and pressed his lips to hers, at the first brush she raised her arms twining them around his neck and pulling him closer to her until their lips melded.

  A loud guffaw snapped the two apart and they grinned sheepishly at their friends and family.

  “Now let’s eat” Billy whooped, jumping down off the porch rail like a boy and headed for the door.

  Hank held Fiona’s hand in his as the rest of the people around them made their way toward the kitchen. He was just about to kiss her again, when a tiny hand patted his big leg.

  “Are we married now Pa?” Eric’s voice rose up from far below. He grinned down at his son, placing a hand on his snowy hair.

  “Yes, we are, son,” he said looking at Fiona. The boy grinned up at her and she bent down to kiss his soft cheek, pulling him into a tight hug. The little man lay his head on her shoulder and whispered softly in her ear.

  “I wished for you,” he said his words almost inaudible. “When I wished on the angel, I wished for you to be my ma.”

  Fiona held him closer, a tear streaming from her eye. She could be the mother this boy had never had, even as Cammy had been a mother to her and suddenly she knew why it felt like she’d known him her whole life.

  They were the same, but like her he would always be loved. Hank crouched taking his new wife and his small son in his massive arms and pulling them close. Family. They were a family.

  Dinner was outrageous. Fiona was sure that Nona had emptied the larders, and the tables groaned under the weight of food. She took her customary seat next to Eric, but her eyes seldom left the handsome features of her husband.

  They ate, and laughed, and told tales on each other and when the eating was done, they all retired to the parlor where the men tuned up a variety of instruments and began to play.

  Meg sang an old Irish song, full of love and longing accompanied by the deeply timbered voice of Brion and as the sun made its way across the winter sky love and joy made its way into each heart.

  As the sun finally began its golden decent into night. Hank took Fiona’s hand. Together they went to wish Eric a good night as the boy was going to stay with Meg for a few days. He smiled as he helped her into her coat and opened the back door. Soft white snowflakes fluttered around them as they stepped out into the darkening night.

  At the entrance of the soddy, Hank stopped opening the door with one hand as he held Fiona’s soft hand in the crook of his arm. Then bending at the waist he scooped her up like a toy and carefully stepped into their home, snapping the door closed behind them with his foot.

  Epilogue

  Joshua James eased himself into his chair at the head of the long kitchen table. A lamp glowed softly as he gazed around at the others assembled there. It was late and after a day of excitement he wanted his bed. Instead, he lifted the steaming coffee mug to his lips and sipped the dark brew. Then with all eyes on him he pulled a letter from his breast pocket and opened the seal. The soft crinkle and tear of paper was the only sound in the kitchen and the sound seemed to bounce off the walls, like a specter.

  Clearing his throat, he began to read:

  Dear Joshua, November 25, 1888

  I hope this missive finds you and yours well and happy. I am pleased to inform you that the package we have been watching for has just recently arrived and it’s a dandy. The packaging is of the kind that would be well received in polite company or just about anywhere else for that matter. With the weather here in Amarillo at the moment, I’m afraid I’ll have to detain it here for the season but I’ll be sending it on to you in the spring. It is of the type of quality that travels well and holds up to the roughest handling. I trust that upon its arrival good news will be forthcoming.

  I was pleased to receive your recent correspondence and look forward to hearing of the outcome of your current endeavor.

  Please give my love to the girls and all at the Broken J. Perhaps in the near future I might be able to pull myself away here and join you for a short visit.

  Your Loving Brother,

  Jude.

  Joshua’s eyes cast about him, studying the reactions of the others at the table.

  “Weel, that sounds promisin’” Billy whispered, loud enough to be heard in the next room.

  “Yes,” Nona added looking at the men. “But it’s getting harder and harder to know how to prepare for these things. Just look at the way everything worked out this time. I was so flustered.”

  Isadoro reached out a weather browned hand and gently patted his wife’s arm.

  “We’ll just have to wait and see,” Benji offered, then winked at his wife who was barely controlling a fit of giggles that threatened to erupt.

  Winny smiled and took Brion’s freckled hand. “What will be, will be,” she stated stoically. “We are only tools in this matter. Only the good Lord knows what the end result will be.”

  Everyone nodded in agreement, as they studied each other with knowing eyes.

  Joshua laid his wide, work worn hands on the table then pushed himself to his feet. “I guess there’s no point in worrying about it just now. Springs a long way off and we have enough to keep us busy with as it is. Now let’s get off to bed.”

  The quiet scrapping of chairs on the plank floor covered the soft patter of bare feet as they ascended the back stairs, leaving the kitchen council unaware that their privacy had been infringed.

  One by one eac
h of the oldest crew of the Broken J made their way silently from the room offering a silent prayer to the night. With a deep sigh, Joshua blew out the oil lamp, letting darkness have the night.

  If you enjoyed this book check out more books by Danni Roan at http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B013UPZ3IK

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  A group dedicated to this genre that offers a chance to know the author’s, win prizes, and learn about new books.

  About the Author

  Danni Roan, a native of western Pennsylvania, spent her childhood roaming the lush green mountains on horseback. She has always loved westerns, specifically western romance and is thrilled to be part of this exciting genre. She has lived and worked over seas and tries to incorporate the unique quality of the people she has met throughout the years into her books. Although Danni is a relatively new author on the scene she has been a story teller for her entire life, even causing her mother to remark that as a child “If she told a story, she had to tell the whole story.” Danni is truly excited about this new adventure in writing and hopes that you will enjoy reading her stories as much as she enjoys writing them.

  Please go to the next page for a Sneak Peek of Meg: Book Three the Cattlman’s Daughters.

  Wyoming Territory March 1889

  Muiread James, Meg to her family, leaned down, placed her hands on the handles of the window sill and pulled. As the window slid smoothly open a cool breeze passed into the room bringing with it the fresh clean smell of spring.

  “That’s better.” She said looking over her left shoulder toward her sister Katie who sat propped up by pillows on her bed, drinking peppermint tea to sooth her roiling stomach.

  Meg had already emptied and rinsed the chamber pot where her older sister had sicked up earlier in the morning and the fresh air, now softly ruffling the sheer lace curtains, helped to carry away the miasma that had shortly engulfed the room.

  Smiling Meg stooped, leaned her elbows on the sill, placed her chin in her hands and gazed out across the ranch yard at a new day.

  Startled she sucked in a breath as her eyes landed on a cowpuncher slouched in the saddle of a large black horse, a thick green bound book in his hands just in front of her home. Her eyes grew large as she took in the cowboy who was still engrossed in his tome.

  A wide brimmed black Stetson, its band wrapped in silver Conchos, tilted rakishly on a head covered in equally black hair that curled around ears and collar. A black, white and gray, plaid flannel shirt stretched across broad shoulders, its crisp sleeves still creased, while a black leather vest spanned a wide tapering back. The cowboy wore new dark blue denims, under black leather chaps, that were tucked neatly into black boots bedecked with silver spurs. His saddle, also of black leather, was heavily tooled and studded with silver trim and in-lay. He certainly looked smart.

  While Meg’s eyes ran the length and breadth of the new arrival, he turned his head toward her, as if sensing her eyes on him. He smiled lifting a handsome face up at her and touched the tip of his hat before winking a glowing eye the color of dark amber.

  Meg withdrew into the window with a start, bumping her head in her haste and could hear the puncher’s laughter as she slammed the window closed.

  “Well the nerve!” She announced to the room, with a huff, turning away from the window and rubbing the spot on the back of her head.

  “What?” Katie asked, her color looked better after the tea. “Who are you talking about Meg? Why did you close the window?”

  But Meg didn’t reply. Instead she stood, eyes blazing as she chewed on her lower lip for long minutes, occasionally snatching a glance at the rider below

  “Meg.” Katie’s exasperated bellow finally shook her sister out of her thoughts.

  “Oh!” Meg replied her eyes still flashing with outrage. Then remembering herself she turned back and pulled the window open again. This time she could just see the hind quarters of the black horse standing at the hitching rail below the tin roof of the house’s wrap around porch. She could see no sign of the arrogant young cow hand.

  “Sorry Katie.” She called across the room. “It looks like a new ranch hand has arrived. And can you imagine he winked at me?”

  Katie hiding a smile behind her tea cup, only grunted in reply.

  “He looks like he’s quite stuck on himself if you can judge by his clothing." she added with a huff. "All dressed up in black and white like some court jester.” Still full of indignation she began tidying Katie and Will’s room, with quick sharp motions.

  “I suppose he thinks he’s like some dime store novel hero riding in here on a big black stallion." She rolled her eyes. "How cliché.” In her agitation, she clinked and clattered Katie’s toiletry items together on the small bureau. “He probably thinks he’s handsome and dashing.” She huffed again for good measure.

  Katie couldn’t suppress a giggle. “You’d know all about that wouldn’t you?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

  “What?” Meg asked stiffening, her voice sharp; suspicious.

  “Oh, Meg.” Katie laughed. “Everyone knows you read all of Billy’s Penny Dreadful stories, there’s no point in pretending.”

  Meg at least had the decency to blush. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She said haughtily, her voice flat as she turned her back on her sister’s accusing eyes.

  Clayton Allen flicked The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn closed with a snap. When he’d agreed to ride out here to Wyoming looking for a fresh start he’d had no clue that the first person he’d see would be a pretty copper haired chit with haughty eyes looking down her long nose at him.

  Well he’d had enough of that back home and he’d not stand for it here, even if it cost him this job. His eyes flashed as the memories threatened to over whelm him and heat started to fester in his gut. Reaching his forefinger into his vest pocket he ran it over the cold chill of metal that rested there and pulled his emotions back in check.

  Removing his hand from his pocket, he patted his big black horse on the neck. The animal, used to his ways, stood patiently in front of the sprawling ranch house, one leg cocked, as his rider took in the spread.

  “Now whata ya’ think o’ this place Duke?” the cowboy asked his mount as he looked up at the gray two story house, with its wide wrap around porch. The horse flicked its ears back toward him in reply but was otherwise silent on the subject.

  Assessing his surroundings Clayton could see the care and hard work that had gone into building the place and had to admit he was impressed. The house was large and study. Above the porch four nine over six windows each with real glass panes ran along the top floor. On the first floor two more wide windows sat on either side of a door frame itself fitted with a screen now standing wide letting in the cool spring air.

  In the far corner of the fenced ranch yard he could see what could only be a bunk house, built with low log walls heavily chinked to keep out the winter cold and the summer heat. The dark structure was long and set at a ninety-degree angle to the house some twenty yards away. Two doors could be seen spaced equally apart in the building with a set of short heavy stairs leading to each entrance. This building also had two large windows, one on either side of the doors.

  Turning his gaze toward the large barn he smiled. The structure was trim and square and in good shape, its heavy planking tightly fit in long vertical lines. It looked big and airy but also snug for bad weather and had plenty of room to store hay above the main structure. A large corral with its own windmill, pump and tank for drawing water was attached to the right side of the structure and several sleek horses nibbled hay contentedly inside its rail fence line. Maybe this place had something to offer after all.

  As his eyes roved the lines of the building a tall older man, perhaps in his mid to late fifties, stepped around its far corner wiping
his hands on an old cloth. His white hair was trim under a gray hat, and his lean frame showed no signs of age as he suddenly halted in his tracks.

  Joshua James came around the side of the barn wiping axel grease off of his hands on an old cloth. He’d been helping Deeks, the blacksmith, grease the wheels on the chuck wagon in preparation for the spring round up and hadn’t heard the stranger ride up. For a long moment he stood there studying the young man who’d obviously just seen him.

  “Who’re you?” a small voice caught Clayton by surprise, making him jump and turn in his saddle to see a small tow headed boy leading an ugly flea bitten blue roan mule around the corner of the house.

  A flicker of annoyance raced through him as he wondered why The Duke hadn’t given him any warning, or maybe he’d just been too caught up watching the old man.

  “My names Clayton.” The cowboy replied pushing his dark feelings away. “I’ve come to work here on the Broken J. And who might you be?” he added with a smile.

  “I’m Eric, an’ this is Scooter.” The boy answered, deep blue eyes sparkling from an innocent face as he indicated the pitiful mule at his heels.

  “Pleased to meet you Eric.” Clayton said swinging down from his saddle and offering his hand to the boy, who shook it stoically.