Galloping away from Lullaby Creek, he found his way back to the flat fields. His cattle grazed in the distance, little pricks of life among the green and tan grasses. It was yet another sight Mitch could hardly stand to see. His ranch, so gorgeous and rich with life, could one day be no more.
They’d do another head count today. Mitchell was already tense about it, afraid to hear the number of missing cattle.
Fences were an option. If they even fenced in the field closest to the cabins and shut the cattle in there at night, it might make it harder for rustlers. They’d have to cut the wires, which would give them extra time to be caught. Add a few guards up every night and the problem might very well be solved.
But Mitch had to be careful. He couldn’t push his hands too hard. His wasn’t the only ranch in the area. If he didn’t treat them fairly, they’d see to it that they found other jobs. With McGuire leaving, Winding Path couldn’t make do with another worker gone.
After brushing and watering Lady, Mitchell trudged up to the house, his legs and heart both heavy. He was doing all he could for the ranch. At this point, the only thing left to do was pray.
“Well, this is a first,” Clara commented as he entered through the kitchen’s side door. “Mitchell Reed, early for a meal.”
Mitch settled on the chair by the window and leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. “I needed a quiet moment inside. Couldn’t be out there any longer.”
“Ah.” She pursed her lips, a knowing look on her face.
He stayed where he was as she went back to her busywork, pulling biscuits from the stove and mixing chopped strawberries with sweet cream. At the least, the farm portion of the land did a good job feeding over a dozen people, what with the garden and all the fat little animals wandering around. No matter their cattle troubles, Mitch and his men would never go hungry.
Clara muttered something to herself as she pulled a large stack of plates down from the shelf.
“What’s that?”
She turned to face him, her palms rubbing against her apron. “I just… I know how you must be feeling right now, Mitchell, and I was thinking this might cheer you up.”
“What?”
Crossing the kitchen, she pulled an envelope from the pail by the door. “A letter came for you. It’s from New York.” A pleased smile spread across her face.
Mitch jumped right up. “New York?”
“That’s right,” she slowly nodded.
Though Mitch had only told Beau and McGuire about his writing Gemma Campbell, there was no such thing as secrets at Winding Path. His mouth suddenly dry as cotton, he reached for the letter.
With the response he’d been waiting for finally in his hands after so many weeks, Mitch found himself hesitating.
What if she had replied with a refusal to his offer of marriage?
Or—and maybe this was an even worse situation—she had replied with a “yes”? Had Mitch made a mistake by looking for a wife? The situation around the ranch hadn’t improved at all. And, despite what Beau said, cattle going missing wasn’t just another small issue. It was a monumental one.
If things kept on in this manner, Mitchell wouldn’t have time in his life for a wife. He might not even have a home for one.
He found himself sitting back in the chair by the door, the unopened letter in front of his face. He needed to read it, he knew. He needed to write Gemma Campbell back and tell her not to come out to Wyoming.
Though he didn’t want to do that, it would be the best thing for her. She deserved a husband who would give her the very best in life, who would make sure she never had to spend a day in worry.
If Mitch couldn’t run a ranch right, he couldn’t run a marriage right. It was an awful, gut-wrenching realization, but there it was.
“Are you waiting for that to open itself?” Clara asked, eyeing him. “I can give you some privacy, if you like.”
“I’m in your space,” he guffawed.
Her cheeks turned rosy as she smiled again. “I have to be honest, Mitchell. I’m just excited to see what that letter says. I’m real proud of you, taking this step and looking for a wife. It’s what your Ma and Pa would want for you.”
Mitch ran his calloused thumb over the edge of the envelope. He hated to let Clara down, but what had to be done had to be done. There could be no more putting it off. Maybe he’d even write Gemma back, telling her not to come, and then tell everyone that she had changed her mind. It would save him from all the pestering Clara and the men would give him once they found out he hadn’t gone through with getting a wife.
He had to read the letter first, though. Swallowing hard, he opened the seal and pulled the paper out. A quick glance of the single paragraph told him everything he needed to know.
“Well?” Clara pressed.
Mitchell dropped the letter on his lap. “She’s coming here.”
Clara let out a squeal of pleasure. “When?”
“In two days.” He lifted the letter. “This says she’s leaving right away. Judging by the date...” He checked it again, quickly doing the rough math in his head. If she caught this week’s stagecoach out to Shallow Springs, like it sounded she would be able to... “Yes. Two days.”
His head spun. In two days, he would meet his wife. It was his doing. He was the one who told her she could come out right away if she pleased, without waiting to hear back from him.
But now that it was really happening, everything was real in a new, frightening way.
Clara clasped her hands together. “Goodness, this is so exciting! I’ll get the guest room down the hall all set up for her. Lord, it’s been too long since there’s been another woman in this house.”
She moved around the kitchen, continuing to talk to herself as she served up the meal. Mitch stayed stuck to his seat, his whole body feeling as if it were buzzing. She was coming. Gemma Campbell—who would soon be Gemma Reed.
Though he’d wanted this, he had hardly planned for it. He didn’t even know just when they would be married. Would they have a full ceremony with a party afterwards, or would they just go on into town and have the reverend take care of it for them? What would Gemma want?
And what was she like?
The photograph of her came back to him. He still had the paper, folded so that her face was on top, hidden in the top drawer in his wardrobe. He’d only taken it out to look at once or twice more, but he often thought about it, stashed away there. He recalled the way she prioritized her love of the earth, not bothering to mention her skills in the kitchen or washroom.
She seemed like the kind of woman he would have met in his dreams. And now, she was on her way to him. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t ready. It didn’t matter that the ranch was struggling and he was in less of a position to take on a wife with each passing day.
Gemma Campbell was soon to be his.
7
7. Gemma
Chapter Seven
Gemma scooted as close to the window as the hard seat allowed. On the other side of the glass, fields stretched as far as she could see. Above it all, the bright blue sky claimed its place in the magnificent scene.
A sigh of pleasure left Gemma as she pressed her fingertips against the cool glass. It was the first truly peaceful moment she’d had in months. After receiving Mitchell Reed’s letter, she’d begun planning her escape right away.
It took over half of the pocket money she’d been hoarding since the week her parents revealed their plan for her arranged marriage, but she’d been able to purchase a one-way ticket to the city of Lincoln. From there, she’d take a stagecoach on to the small town of Shallow Springs.
A thrill went through Gemma at the thought. Shallow Springs. Just the name itself was almost too delightful for belief. She couldn’t wait to get to her new home, to lay her head on a soft pillow and take a warm bath, or to meet Mitchell Reed.
She’d made sure to bring his picture with her, packing it in her carpetbag with a small collection of clothes and books.
She had wanted to bring more, of course, but sneaking a whole suitcase out of the house in the dead of night just hadn’t been feasible. Instead, she’d had to make do with the one small bag she could carry, which held no more than several dresses, the appropriate undergarments, her grandmother’s ivory brush and mirror set, and a few of Gemma’s favorite novels.
And, of course, Mitchell Reed’s picture.
Her fingers itched to extract the picture once more, to look it over and study his eyes. From his letter, he seemed like an educated and intelligent man. She silently prayed that his love of the great outdoors came hand-in-hand with a gentle nature. If he turned out to be just like William Picoult….
No. She couldn’t think like that. Being optimistic was of the utmost importance right now. Gemma was following more than a dream leading her westward. She was following her destiny. Surely, such a sense of purpose couldn’t lead her astray?
“Where are you heading, dear?”
The elderly woman wearing the velvet and taffeta dress smiled at Gemma from the opposite seat. Gemma didn’t have to work at all to return the gesture.
“Wyoming Territory,” she proudly said. “My fiancé is waiting for me there.”
The thin eyebrows rose. “Oh! Goodness. That is so exciting.”
Gemma eagerly nodded. “Yes, Ma’am. I simply cannot wait.”
“And your parents? Are they there as well?”
A vice grip tightened around Gemma’s heart. “No. They, uh… they are in New York.”
This time, Gemma had to work to keep a pleasant expression on her face. Writing her parents the letter explaining that she had to leave had been the hardest thing she’d ever done. It hadn’t mattered that she was eager to go, tired of her father’s oppressive ways, and sick with the need for her own autonomy. Turning one’s back on those who bore and raised them shouldn’t ever be easy, and Gemma had found it was gut-wrenchingly difficult.
She hadn’t explained exactly where she was headed, of course, for fear that they would come after her. All her short letter had detailed were her grievances with staying in New York. She’d finished with a short paragraph assuring them not to worry about her, that she was in safe hands, and would write from time to time to let them know she was still quite all right. Then, she folded the paper and slipped it under the glass weight on her father’s desk.
And then, she’d slipped out, disappearing into a morning that the sun hadn’t even yet claimed. She’d gotten on the earliest train out of New York and left her first life behind for good.
Gemma squeezed her fingers tightly together. On the train, it had been hard not to think of New York from time to time, but she took refuge in knowing Wyoming would soon occupy her heart and mind.
“You must miss them terribly,” the older woman mused, drawing Gemma from her reflections.
Gemma blinked, trying her best to push down the growing guilt in her core. Hopefully, that would one day subside. “Yes, very much.”
A movement over the seat caught her eye. At the end of the car, a too-familiar figure stood, his back to Gemma. At once, her heart leaped into her throat. Those shoulders… That hunched back…
William Picoult. He had come for her.
Gemma jumped from her seat, every inch of her body silently screaming at her to run.
“Dear?” The woman’s voice was tinny and far away. “Are you all right?”
Gemma’s legs were gelatin. She clutched the top of her seat, trying to pull herself along, away from the man who had somehow followed her onto the train. She couldn’t move, though. She was frozen, unable to escape.
“I… I,” she stuttered. She needed to scream, to cry out for help.
Suddenly, William Picoult turned—except it wasn’t him at all. The sloped shoulders and hunched back belonged to a different man, one older and more bearded than Gemma’s old betrothed.
The most refreshing breath ever taken entered her lungs. “Yes. I’m all right. My apologies. I just… I lost my senses for a moment.”
The older lady knowingly nodded. “It can happen on these long trips. But look. We are entering Lincoln.”
With her attention drawn to the window once more, Gemma noticed the buildings cropping up alongside the train tracks. They were small at first, all one-story and generously spaced. Soon, though, they became more plentiful, adding stories and windows. Carts and wagons filled the streets, and people riding or walking stopped what they were doing to wave at the train.
Tremendous relief washed over Gemma. Lincoln! She was so close to Wyoming, it hardly seemed real. Working loose the latch on her window, she slid it down and stuck her arm out the opening.
“Hello!” she called to a gaggle of children, aware she sounded like a child herself, but also feeling as if it didn’t matter one bit. Seeing Lincoln had set her worries behind her once more. She had been foolish to think Picoult had somehow pursued her. No one was after Gemma at all. An increased sense of relief settling into her bones, Gemma plopped back into her seat.
Shallow Springs, here I come.
8
8. Mitchell
Chapter Eight
Mitch gnawed on his lower lip, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth. Realizing what he was doing, he pursed his lips together.
“You doing all right over there?” Beau asked from atop Stetson, the palomino he always favored for rides.
Mitch sent him a quick glance. “Just fine.”
Thankfully, Beau had the sense to not say anything. As much as he was trying to act calm, Mitch was a growing ball of nerves inside. He’d had close to no notice for Gemma’s arrival, and now, she was set to be in Shallow Springs in just a couple hours’ time. This was truly happening. His wife was on her way.
Mitchell had never spent so much time looking in the mirror as he had that morning. He must have combed his hair a dozen ways before finally ruffling it right back up. The last thing he needed was the boys noticing he was trying to look good and making fun of him for it.
The dusty road curved and took them Southwest, down a dip, and then up toward Fred Greene’s farm. Lady picked up the pace a bit, noticing they were at another ranch and probably getting eager to get to the water trough.
Far off in the distance, some of Greene’s cattle kicked up a cloud of dust as two ranch hands steered them on toward the barns. The dry spring and summer hadn’t treated the land well, and Greene’s acres were doing worse than some others’. Mitch had heard he’d taken to keeping some of his heads up in the mountains, with his hands camping up there full-time.
At the main barn, they swung off their horses and led them into the building’s shade. Lady eagerly dipped her head into the trough, taking a long and deserved drink. Leaving the horses to their water, Mitchell and Beau trespassed into the cool darkness of the barn.
“Afternoon,” Mitchell called to a figure about halfway down the stalls.
Greene walked their way, his hand shielding his eyes as he blinked against the light behind the other two. “Mitch. Beau.” He nodded. “How you all doing today?”
“Good, Fred. How are you?” Mitchell took off his hat and rubbed the back of his sweaty neck. It wasn’t even noon yet and he was already close to drenched. He’d make a fine first impression on his new bride, for sure.
The tanned and lean ranch owner hooked his elbow on a hanging saddle. “I’m sorry to hear about your recent troubles.”
Mitch nodded his acknowledgments. “Thank you. We were actually just stopping by to see if you’d yet heard or seen anything.”
Greene worked his jaw around. “No, I can’t say that I have.”
It felt like all the life was being drained from Mitch. It was good to hear that his neighbor hadn’t been victim to any rustling, but on the other hand, the news failed to lead Mitch any closer to catching the thieves. He was in the same place he always was, left with eyes blindfolded and hands tied behind his back.
“I wish I could be of more help to you boys,” Greene went on. “This is a re
al tricky situation we got here.”
“You been guarding your cattle at night?” Beau asked.
He gave a hearty nod. “Yes, son, I have. Been making real sure to do that. If anyone comes around here looking to snatch my heads, best believe I’ll be right on them.”
Mitchell worked to suppress his exasperated sigh as he offered Greene a shake. “Thank you again.”
Her Western Heart (Seeing Ranch series) (A Western Historical Romance Book) Page 5