Truly Yours Historical Collection December 2014

by Susan Page Davis, Paige Winship Dooly, Connie Stevens

  “Gideon, no! I’m all right. He didn’t touch me.”

  Gideon threw Kilgore to the floor, his chest heaving with controlled rage and his fists clenched. He glanced up at Tessa and then to the busted door.

  Hubert Behr stood in the doorway with the bartender just past his shoulder. The Pinkerton agent reached into his back pocket and extracted a pair of handcuffs. “I’ll take over now, young man.” He pulled Kilgore’s hands around to his back and secured them.

  Gideon climbed over the debris in the room and gathered Tessa into his arms. He held her trembling form tightly against his chest as she dropped the chair leg and her torrent of tears released. The fury drained from him. He tightened his arms around her and whispered against her hair, “Shh, it’s all right.”

  Behr hauled Kilgore to his feet with surprising ease. “Allow me to reintroduce myself, sir. Hubert Behr, Pinkerton National Detective Agency, at your service. Looks like we can add kidnapping to your list of charges.”

  Kilgore’s face registered first shock, followed by venom. “You can’t do this,” he spat. “She came here on her own accord.”

  Behr glanced at Tessa weeping in Gideon’s arms. “Judging by the lady’s reaction, the validity of that statement is in question. But not to worry, the charges of land fraud, falsifying official documents, and forgery will all stick.” He sent Gideon a smile. “Since I plan to deliver Mr. Kilgore to the U.S. marshal myself rather than relying on your sheriff, it might take a few days before we can discuss the purchase of the mercantile.”

  Kilgore glared at Behr over his shoulder. “You’re buying Maxwell’s place?”

  Behr prodded Kilgore toward the door.

  Gideon smiled and pulled his shirttail out to wipe Tessa’s tears. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

  Tessa wasn’t sure her shaky legs would carry her all the way to the boardinghouse, but Gideon’s comforting arm around her waist steadied her. He settled her onto a kitchen chair, concern knitting his eyebrows.

  As she sipped a glass of cool water, she listened as Gideon filled Miss Pearl in on the events of the afternoon. She closed her eyes, grateful that Gideon relieved her of having to speak of those horrible moments.

  Miss Pearl hovered over Tessa and bustled about the kitchen in turn. “Mercy sakes, Gideon. It’s a pure blessing that you got there when you did. I shudder to think what might have happened.” She pushed the coffeepot onto the hot part of the stove and set a pitcher of cream and the sugar bowl on the table, clucking her tongue.

  “Actually, Miss Pearl, Tessa had the situation under control before I busted down that door.” He reached across the table and gave Tessa’s fingers a squeeze as his dark eyes locked onto hers. “You’re quite a lady, Tessa.”

  A burning ache crept up her throat. She dropped her gaze to her hands, unable to look at Gideon any longer. How could he say such a thing? Papa always said she was worthless, unfit for polite company. Shame filled her at the thought of Gideon having to rescue her from the tawdry back rooms of the Blue Goose.

  As if reading her mind, Gideon gave her hand a gentle tug. “Tessa, you are precious in God’s eyes. You know it, too. You fought for yourself. You refused to knuckle under to Kilgore’s demands. I’m so proud of you.”

  She slowly raised her eyes to meet Gideon’s again, comprehension dawning like the first light of day. “It’s because of who I am in God’s eyes. I’m His. Because He loves me and promised to never leave me, I’m not worthless.”

  Gideon pulled her hands across the small table and drew her fingers up to his lips. “You are God’s treasure.” He placed a gentle kiss on each of her hands.

  Miss Pearl tiptoed to the back door. “‘Scuse me, I’m just going to go take the laundry off the line.” She slipped out, leaving Gideon and Tessa alone.

  Gideon rose from his chair and stood with his back to her, looking out the window. “Tessa, I know how you feel about my selling the mercantile and starting a horse ranch. It’s been my dream for a long time. I’ve put a great deal of study into it, and I believe I have God’s approval. It will take some time. I need to purchase some acreage, acquire breeding stock, put up fences, a brood mare barn”—he turned to face her—“and a house.” He stared at the floor. One boot scuffed the other.

  Sorrow pinched her. She’d intended to apologize to him for her hasty opinion, but with everything that had happened, her apology slipped through the cracks. “Gideon, I—”

  “Tessa, do you think—” She smiled. “You first.”

  Gideon didn’t smile. He raised his eyes and held her gaze.

  She couldn’t look away even if she’d wanted to.

  “Tessa, I’d like to ask you to reconsider your opinion.”

  Emotion swelled in her chest. She wasn’t sure she could contain it. He wasn’t just asking her to change her mind. He was telling her he valued her support of his dream. “Gideon, you and your father built a solid, reputable business through hard work and integrity. When your father passed away, he left you a legacy. But I see now that the legacy he left isn’t the mercantile. It’s the integrity he taught you. Your dream will succeed because of that integrity and hard work, but most of all because you have God’s blessing.”

  A light from within slowly lit Gideon’s face. “Tessa, there’s one more thing I need for God’s blessing to be fulfilled.” He crossed the kitchen and lowered himself to one knee in front of her. Enfolding her hand in his, he spoke as solemnly as if taking a vow. “Tessa, I love you. My dream won’t be complete unless you’ll marry me.”

  A single tear slipped down her cheek. “Gideon, it’s my dream, too. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

  He rose and drew her up from the chair. Cupping her face in his hands, he leaned down and sealed their pledge with the gentlest of kisses.

  She snuggled into his embrace, releasing the shackles of her father’s accusations.

  Gideon lifted her chin. “There’s just one other question I need to ask you.”

  She couldn’t imagine anything else being important enough to need an answer this minute, but she nodded.

  “What is it?”

  He pressed his lips into a thin line and took a deep breath.

  “You said you’ve already made plans to attend the barn dance with someone.” His dark eyes searched her face. “Who?”

  Tessa threw her head back and gave free expression to the joy that overflowed within her. “Gideon, it’s you. I always planned to go with you. I was just waiting for you to ask me.”

  epilogue

  Willow Creek, Iowa, 1883

  Gideon wiped his hands on a rag and tiptoed out of the stall to stand beside his wife. If there was any doubt of God’s blessing on his dream, the twin foals standing on wobbly legs beside their mother erased it.

  Tessa leaned against him. “Just look at them, Gideon,” she whispered. “Aren’t they precious? Did you know she was going to have twins?”

  Gideon grinned. “Well, I thought she was a might plump, even for a pregnant lady.”

  His wife lifted her shoulders in a contented sigh. “I’m so glad I got to help bring those little ones into the world.”

  He slipped his arm around her as they made their way out of the barn to give the new family some privacy. “The two yearlings are coming along well. They’re both broken to halter, and by this time next year, I’ll start training them to harness.”

  A high-pitched whinny drew their attention to the small corral attached to the barn where another new mother with her month-old foal trotted along the fence. Beyond the fence, two more mares and their foals grazed in the meadow among the wildflowers.

  Gideon paused to lean on the top rail and appreciate the blessings God had given him. “Five strong, healthy foals so far.”

  Tessa propped her arms on the fence beside him. “The miracle of birth is something I’ll never tire of watching.”

  He grinned down at her and drew her close as they walked toward the house. “If God keeps blessing us like this, we’re going t
o have to add on to the brood mare barn next year.”

  She cocked her head to one side but kept looking straight ahead. “I think we should add onto the house first.”

  When he cast a sideways glance at her and saw a twitch play at the corner of her mouth, he thought she was teasing. She’d not made mention before of the house being too small. In fact, she’d told him it was the most beautiful house she’d ever seen.

  “Why would we need to add onto the house?”

  She peered up at him in a demure fashion. “Think about it. You’ll figure it out.” She continued on toward the house, leaving him standing by the birch trees, scratching his head.

  He watched as she stopped by the vegetable garden to pull a couple of weeds from the row of carrots. I’ll figure it out?

  She dusted off her hands and climbed the front porch step to their home, pausing in the doorway to send him a secretive smile.

  Realization dawned, and he let out a whoop of exultation. “Tessa!” He ran and scooped her into his arms, his joyful laughter blending with hers as he twirled her in a crazy circle. When he let her slip to the ground, his arms surrounded her, and he lowered his face to smother her with kisses. God had blessed them with such an amazing love.

  To my mother, from whom I inherited my love of books and storytelling. I miss you, Mom.

  A note from the Author:

  I love to hear from my readers! You may correspond with me by writing:

  Connie Stevens

  Author Relations

  PO Box 721

  Uhrichsville, OH 44683

  CONNIE STEVENS lives in north Georgia with her husband of over thirty-five years, John. She and John are active in a variety of capacities in their home church. One cantankerous kitty—misnamed Sweet Pea—allows them to live in her home. Some of Connie’s favorite pastimes include reading, sewing, browsing antique shops, collecting teddy bears, and gardening. She also enjoys making quilts to send to the Cancer Treatment Center of America. Visit Connie’s Web site and blog at www.conniestevenswrites.com.

  Copyright

  ISBN 1-58660-689-1

  © 2003 by Nancy J. Farrier. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of Truly Yours an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., PO Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.

  All Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.

  One

  Dakota Territory—January 1888

  Jesse Coulter hunched over in the saddle, clinging to his horse, praying for shelter from the blizzard raging around him. The howling winds tore at him with invisible hands. The cold ripped the very breath from his nostrils.

  How long had he been struggling through this storm? It seemed like days, but he knew that couldn’t be true. Oh, God, he sobbed from his very soul, I’ve failed You. I’m so sorry. If I could do it over, I would follow You no matter how difficult. Forgive me, Lord.

  His horse had stopped. He couldn’t see, but he could feel the still muscles beneath his hand. He swayed dangerously far to the side. Tired, I’m so tired. He could barely form the thought. Then the wind gripped him, lifting his exhausted body into the blackness. The wet snow formed a blanket about him. He felt warmth as the cold fingers of death wormed their way through his sodden clothing. A whale might have been better, Lord, he thought as the blackness closed about him.

  ❧

  Megan Riley paused, her mittened hand resting on the door latch. Rising panic tightened her chest, making breathing difficult. She leaned her head against the door, listening to the gale outside trying to tear the house apart. Where are they? Why aren’t they home by now? Tears she couldn’t afford to shed if she were to go out in the frigid weather threatened to fall anyway.

  She glanced at the curtain blocking her view of the bed she shared with her younger sister, Seana. Indecision reigned. As the outside temperature dropped through the day, Seana’s fever had risen, then broken at last. She finally slept, but Megan felt a desperate need for their mother to be here.

  “Meggie.”

  A sudden drop in the wind brought the hoarsely whispered word to Megan. She quickly crossed the room and opened the curtain. “What is it? I thought you were asleep.”

  “Is Momma home?” Seana’s pale face gleamed in the lamplight. “Where are you going?”

  “Hush, now. There’s no need to worry. Pa probably decided to stay in town rather than head home today. Maybe he and Matt didn’t get everything loaded in time. They’re most likely still visiting with Pastor and Mrs. Porter. You just rest. I’m going outside for a little more firewood.”

  Megan watched her sister’s dull gaze drift to the pile of wood along the inside wall. “But you’ve brought in enough wood, haven’t you?” The soft words were full of fear.

  “I suppose I have.” Megan smoothed the hair from her sister’s forehead. “But for some reason I feel the need to bring more.”

  Seana closed her eyes. “You’re right, Meggie. I feel it, too. Hurry back.” Her head turned on the pillow; her eyes closed again in sleep.

  Megan swallowed against the lump in her throat. God, please take care of her until I get back. Help me to be safe. At nine, Seana was eleven years younger than Megan. She had followed Megan since she could first toddle on unsteady legs, always calling her Meggie.

  Outside, the wind, a howling banshee determined to have its way, pushed Megan back against the side of the house. The bitter cold burned all the way down her chest as she breathed in. She adjusted her scarf to cover her nose, hoping it would warm the air a little. Tiny needles of snow did their best to pierce the few parts of her face exposed to its touch.

  Megan groped for the wood sled, thankful once more that her father had made it. On snowy days, it was so much easier to pull a sled full of wood than to carry an armful of logs while crossing the treacherous ground. She fumbled for the rope that would guide her through the storm and growing darkness. Earlier this afternoon she had put up a guide rope to the barn and to the woodshed so she wouldn’t get lost.

  The heavy drifts resisted her efforts to move. Her feet felt like lead weights after only a few steps. God, I don’t know why You have me doing this, but please help me. A person could easily freeze to death in this. Keep me safe. And, Lord, please keep Momma and Papa and Matt safe. I don’t really think they stayed in Yankton another day. This storm began so suddenly, they could have been caught unaware. I don’t think they were prepared for it to get this cold. Please watch over them.

  Tucking her head down to block the arctic air, Megan plowed ahead. Used to the resisting tug of the snow, she didn’t realize her foot had connected with something solid until it was too late. She lost her grip on the lifeline and tumbled forward into the snowdrift, freezing ice crystals coating her face. She braced for the impact, a jolt of surprise racing through her as her hands contacted something that didn’t belong in the deep snow.

  A bump against her shoulder knocked Megan sideways. She stifled a scream that wouldn’t be heard in this howling gale anyway. She lifted her head, squinting to see in the dimness of the late afternoon. She saw the movement just before the horse’s nose nuzzled against her shoulder. Heart pounding, she reached up to pat it, then bent to brush aside the snow at her feet.

  Whose horse was this? Had her father or Matt ridden ahead? Had she stumbled over one of them? Frantically, she dug, blindly seeking whomever lay buried here. Ever so slowly, she managed to free the upper body from the snow. God, help me! I can’t do this on my own. How will I ever get him inside? I’m not strong enough, and the snow blows back as fast as I push it away.

  Calm began to replace the panic. Megan knew she had to think clearly or whomever this
was would die before she could help him. She inched upright, patting the horse that stood so close it blocked a bit of the wind. A tug on her arm reminded her of her errand. The wood sled. Of course! If she could only get him on the sled, she could pull him to the house.

  Megan hauled the long sled next to the inert body. God, please don’t let him be dead! She yanked and struggled, wondering how her little bit of strength could move someone so heavy. She knew for certain this wasn’t her father or Matt. They were both slightly built, and this man—for she was sure it was a man—had much broader shoulders. In fact, his stocky body was proving impossible to lift onto the sled.

  God, he’s going to die if I don’t get him inside. Please, help me.

  The horse leaned over and blew its warm breath in her face. Megan brushed the ice crystals from the horse’s nose. She gasped as an idea dawned, then doubled over in pain as the cold air rushed down her throat. Straightening, Megan began to run her hands down the horse’s neck. Frantically, she prayed to find what she needed.

  Relief flowed through her as her hands connected with a circle of rope. She fumbled with the leather thong while tying it to the saddle, wishing she could take off her awkward mittens. The rope finally dropped into her hand, and she quickly tied one end securely to the pommel.

  She knelt next to the man, brushing away drifting snow that accumulated in the last few minutes. Making a second loop, she seesawed it over his shoulders and under his arms. Pulling it tight, she stood and groped for the guideline. She sighed with relief as her fingers connected with her lifeline to the house.

  Snow swirled; darkness marched closer. Megan realized she had no idea which way the house was. In the midst of trying to rescue this man, she had gotten turned around. She spun one way, then the other, straining to see through the raging blizzard. Panic washed over her like a wave.

  Think, Megan, a nearly audible voice spoke. Remember where you were at the start.