Her Western Heart_Seeing Ranch series

by Florence Linnington

  Gemma sighed, her warm breath washing over his lips. “Yes. I suppose I do.”

  But still, she did not move. They both stayed where they were, their eyes closed and their heads pushed together.

  Mitch gently held the back of Gemma’s neck, enjoying the tangle of her hair in his fingers. Time stopped as they just sat together.

  Everything in the world was perfect. With Gemma in his life, it couldn’t be any other way.

  “Gemma?”

  She didn’t answer, instead leaning forward and collapsing against his chest. Her eyes were closed. She was asleep.

  Carefully, he lifted her in his arms and carried her down the hall. The door to her room gave easily and he deposited her on the bed, then fetched the blanket she’d worn earlier and draped it across her legs.

  “Good night, Mrs. Reed,” he whispered before closing the door and slipping from the house.

  29

  29. Gemma

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Dearest Mother and Father,

  I hope that you can forgive my transgressions against the both of you.

  With time apart and some more experiences under my belt, I have come to a greater understanding of what it means to respect and love.

  I see completely that everything you did for me was out of concern for my welfare. My childhood was one of very little want. I did not understand how marvelous I had things, but now, I do.

  Please be assured, I am in a place where I am very happy.

  Engaged, I will wed a wonderful man very soon. Indeed, he is more than a wonderful man. He is the man God intended for me. Through a series of coincidences, trials, and tribulations, we have finally come together.

  Leaving under the cover of night and abandoning your plans for me was not the way I wished to depart. I do pray that you understand, however, that I could not marry William Picoult.

  God had other plans for me and they have unraveled perfectly.

  I am writing the return address of the town I am in, should you wish to write back. I genuinely hope you do.

  The ranch I am living on is a gorgeous place, ripe with beauty and with little miracles blossoming everywhere. Perhaps one day, you will see it.

  If you do choose to not correspond, I understand completely. I still think of you fondly and have much love in my heart for you both.

  If you do write back, by the next time you hear from me, I will be a married woman. Of course, I will never forget my childhood and the time I spent with my mother and father.

  Forever Your Daughter,

  Gemma

  Gemma read the letter over one last time before folding it into the envelope and handing it over to Mr. Garrison.

  “New York,” he commented, reading the address.

  “Yes, sir. It is where I am from.”

  “That’s right,” he nodded. “I remember now. The wife told me that was where you were from. What a big place.” He added the letter to the small stack on the hotel’s front desk. “Any plans to go back there soon?”

  Gemma looked out the hotel’s open front door. The late afternoon had brought with it a cool breeze, which drifted in now to kiss her face. “I think I am rather happy here.”

  Leaving the hotel, she crossed the street, meaning to take the road back to Winding Path.

  “Miss Campbell!”

  A strange man hurried toward her. As he got closer, the light caught the silver badge on his chest and Gemma suddenly realized he must be Shallow Springs’ sheriff. If she had ever heard his name, though, she could not remember it now.

  “Sheriff Mayes, Miss.” He tipped his hat at her.

  “How do you do?” she nodded. “May I ask… how did you recognize me?”

  “It’s not a big town.” He smiled warmly, his salt-and-pepper mustache turning up as he did so. “I was at your ranch last night, getting Mr. Reed’s statement. I am very sorry about what happened to you, but I can assure you the law won’t be dishing out any favors to Fred Greene. He’ll get what he deserves.”

  “Oh… yes. Th-thank you.”

  “How are you doing?” he asked.

  “I am… well. Considering.”

  When she’d woken that morning, in her bed and fully dressed after not remembering going there, Shallow Springs’ doctor was waiting in the kitchen. While Mitchell and Clara hovered nearby, Gemma was checked over and deemed to be healthy. She had a few bruises from her run-in with Greene, but other than that, she was fit as a fiddle.

  The sheriff cleared his throat. “This, uh, this is a strange request, and I expect you might say no to it, but Fred Greene would like to have a word with you.”

  Gemma blinked, unsure of what to say.

  “He won’t be able to touch you,” the sheriff said. “He’s behind bars. He’ll be that way until the date for his trial is set, and then after that, he’ll likely be headed to the prison in Cheyenne.”

  “Why does he want to speak with me?”

  “I didn’t ask him that, Miss. If you’d like to decline, or wait to bring your fiancé with you, I understand.”

  “No, I...” Gemma tried to take a moment to think over the offer, but her mind was numb. No thoughts would form in it. “Take me to him, please,” she found herself saying.

  The sheriff led her down the street and into his office. The front of it was new, with boards that still smelled freshly hewn, but the jail cell attached to the back seemed older. Or perhaps it was the bars across the window that gave it that tone.

  Mr. Greene sat on a bunk behind the bars that ran from ceiling to floor. When Gemma and the sheriff entered, he stood right away, but didn’t make a move to come any closer to them.

  “Miss Campbell.”

  Gemma’s back straightened at Mr. Greene’s use of her name. The one thing she’d carried her whole life, since the day of her birth, it had been passed on to her by her parents and had not been intended to be used by those who also wished to see her dead.

  Perhaps she should have waited to bring Mitchell with her—or not come at all.

  She inclined her head in acknowledgment, saying nothing. His eye that she had jammed her finger into was sealed shut and swollen.

  “I just want to apologize.” He held up his hand. “I know that’s not going to get me anywhere. It won’t set me free. What’s done is done. You’ll never forgive me and that’s all right. You shouldn’t. You’re a nice lady and you got mixed up in my mess. I lost it.” His voice became thicker. “I don’t know what else to say. I lost my mind in that barn and now, I’m going to pay for it for the rest of my life.”

  He dropped his head, looking smaller than any man should have to.

  Gemma stared at him for a long time, her heartbeat and the shuffling of the sheriff behind her the only sounds in the jail.

  “You were going to burn the barn down.”

  Mr. Greene slowly met her eyes. “Yes.”

  “And you tried to kill me.”

  His lips pulled tightly back and his whole face twitched like a rat’s. He didn’t answer.

  Gemma didn’t know—couldn’t know—what to say. And then, she remembered. She remembered so much from her life. But this time, the seeing was not as normal memories were. She was standing on the outside, observing the years of her youth as if she were a third party. She observed the way she had treated all the suitors of her social years, playing tricks on them and purposefully making them feel awful about themselves. She saw the agony she had put her parents through—the agony that had, in turn, caused her father to become so strict and callous with her.

  She had done wrong herself. Perhaps she had not attempted to kill anyone—no, and she certainly never would, but still, she had done wrong.

  And God had forgiven her. She knew deep in her heart that He had because if that were not so, He would not have brought her to Mitchell. He would not have given her the great gift of finding true love.

  And so, He would forgive Mr. Greene, just as He would eventually forgive everyone.

  Taki
ng a deep breath, Gemma lifted her chin. “I forgive you, Mr. Greene. It is only up to God to judge, after all.”

  His eyes widened. “I don’t expect you to do that...”

  “But I do,” she firmly said. “That is not to say I have no anger still. I do, in fact. But, with God’s help, I will move past that one day. I wish you the best, despite what has happened.”

  The older man’s good eye turned red and wet. “Thank you. The same to you.”

  Though Gemma’s whole body felt constricted, her soul was unbelievably light.

  Turning from Mr. Greene, she left the jail cell and emerged into the crisp air. Eyes closed, she took in a long, deep breath.

  “There you are.”

  Gemma’s eyes snapped back open. Mitchell was walking toward her, leading Lady by the reins. “What are you doing over here?”

  Gemma glanced back at the office. “Just speaking with the sheriff for a moment.”

  She would tell Mitchell about the conversation she and Mr. Greene had at some point,but for the time being, it was too fresh. She needed to keep it to herself for a while, to hold it close to her heart and understand it some more. When some time had passed, she would share the event with him.

  “What are you doing in town?” Gemma inquired.

  “I came to get you.”

  “Are you not busy on the ranch?”

  Mitchell shrugged. “Beau has me covered for now. Besides, I needed the afternoon off so I could check in on my girl.”

  Hearing him call her his “girl” made her warm all over. Men had given her many pet names, but never one as simple or… perfect.

  “Care for a ride home?” He held up Lady’s reins in a gesture.

  “That would be wonderful,” Gemma smiled. “Thank you very much.”

  Taking his offered hand, she climbed onto Lady. Mitch hauled himself up behind her, his strong arms taking hold of the reins and guiding Lady out of town.

  “When is my next riding lesson?”

  Mitchell laughed, his breath against the back of her neck causing the hairs to stand up there. “Soon. How about that?”

  “Hmm. I suppose that is an answer I will have to be content with.”

  “This weekend.”

  Gemma turned as much as the saddle allowed her to and stared at the man behind her. “Is that an honest answer? I did not think ranch owners observed the weekend.”

  Mitchell seriously nodded. “What we just went through… what you went through… I don’t want to waste any more time, Gemma. I’ll teach you to saddle Buttercup this weekend. I promise.”

  Grinning wide, she turned back around and faced forward. Lady joyfully clopped along the road, bringing Gemma and Mitchell closer to home with each step.

  “Don’t run off just yet,” Mitchell said as he helped her off at the barns.

  Gemma cocked her head in interest. “Why not?”

  “Hold on. Just stay right there.”

  Gemma obeyed, twisting her hands against her skirt and looking around the farm yard as Mitch took Lady into the barn.

  The ranch was quieter than it usually was, with only the animals making the occasional sound. Usually, there were shouts from the hands to be heard, or banging from their working in the barns and sheds, but this afternoon, the area was unusually silent. Perhaps they had all gone into the fields.

  “Ready. Let’s go.” Emerging from the barn, Mitchell took Gemma’s hand and pulled her to the house. She had to nearly skip to keep up with him and she couldn’t take her eyes off their intertwined fingers. His hand, though calloused, was gentle. Holding it for a sustained amount of time made Gemma worried she might collapse from excitement.

  “What is this about?” she demanded as they entered the house.

  Mitch didn’t respond, only continuing to pull her down the hall. At his bedroom, he stopped and pushed the door open.

  A gown, white as snow, lay spread across the bed. Gemma gasped at the sight of it, letting go of Mitchell’s hand to cover her open mouth.

  “That… why...” She took a tentative step into the room, wanting to inspect the dress further but feeling shy for some reason. Slowly, she reached a hand down and fingered the delicate lace along the collar. The wedding dress was older, but had clearly been taken care of.

  “It’s Clara’s dress. She fitted it this afternoon for you.”

  Gemma lifted her eyes to Mitchell’s, sure she understood what he was saying, but also too afraid to believe it was true.

  “It’s not your mother’s dress,” Mitchell continued. “I know. Or a fancy dress from London or wherever, but I know it’ll look beautiful on you.”

  “It’s wonderful,” she breathed.

  “I want you to wear my mother’s ring.”

  “Y-yes,” she stuttered. “But… why are you showing me this now?”

  “Because I’d like to marry you now, Gemma.”

  Gemma couldn’t respond. She couldn’t find the breath to. Mitchell took a languid step toward her, taking her hand once more and lightly coiling his fingers around it.

  “I don’t want to wait another day to be your husband. I want you as my wife now—this very hour. What do you say?”

  “I…” She looked around the room in amazement, but what she searched for, she did not know. Everything she needed stood right in front of her. “Yes,” she finally managed. “Yes!”

  Mitchell’s broad grin showed off all his teeth. “You don’t know how happy you just made me.”

  “I think I have an idea,” she smiled back.

  With a kiss on her hand, he stepped back. “I’ll see you out back once you get changed.”

  “Out back?” She frowned in confusion, but Mitchell was already gone, the door closing behind him.

  Gemma quickly stripped and pulled on the wedding dress. Her fingers shook against the buttons. She prayed that her nerves would calm before they arrived at the church in town. She knew that wasn’t likely, though. With each button she fastened, her stomach bunched up tighter.

  Married. She was getting married!

  Somehow, Clara had known just what parts to take in and what parts to expand, because the dress fit perfectly. Taking a quick look in the small mirror on top of the bureau, Gemma smoothed her hair and pinched her cheeks till they were red. She couldn’t help but laugh at herself. If, years ago, someone had told her she would be marrying a ranch owner in the wilds of Wyoming while wearing a homemade dress—and be thrilled to the core about it all—she would not have believed them.

  Finally feeling fit enough to make an appearance, she left the room and let herself out the back door—and gasped in surprise.

  The backyard, which usually held nothing more than the long clothesline and the wash bin, now contained a wooden arch. Underneath it stood Mitchell and a reverend, bible in his hand. The ranch hands were all there as well, standing with their hands folded and their hats off.

  Clara hurried forward to squeeze Gemma’s arm. Her face was rosy with joy and she pressed her handkerchief against the corner of her eye as she sniffled. “Oh, I knew you would be a delight in that!”

  “Clara, I...” Gemma took note of all the eyes on her and lowered her voice. “What is happening?” she whispered. “Are we not going to town to marry?”

  “No, love,” Clara answered back. “Mitch wanted to do it here in the great outdoors, on your land. What do you think?”

  “It’s...” Her eyes fell back on Mitchell, who had changed into a suit and combed his hair. It was strange to see him outside without his hat on, and the more she looked at him, the more in love she became with the sight.

  Mitchell. Her Mitchell.

  “It’s lovely,” Gemma breathed. “It’s so lovely.”

  “Come on. Let’s get you married.” Clara pushed a small bouquet of wildflowers into her hands.

  Gemma did not need any more encouragement. With Clara at her side, she walked down the makeshift aisle, ending her journey under the arch. Those bright brown eyes shone down on her, promising
everything she had ever wanted—love, compassion, freedom, and undying devotion. Mitchell Reed was the dream Gemma hadn’t even known she had. And yet… here she was now, watching as God’s plan unraveled before her.

  The reverend began speaking, but she could not make out his words. Her ears seemed to no longer work and all her eyes could make out was Mitchell, the man whose letter she had prayed for. The man who had shocked her like an earthquake with his first appearance. The man who sometimes infuriated her, but who could still make her feel as if she were the only woman in the world. The man who would be her husband, then and forever more.