Cowboy Groom

by Linda Ford

  Cowboy Groom

  Linda Ford

  Contents

  Exclusive invitation

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Exclusive invitation

  Sneak peek of Cowboy Preacher

  Dear Reader

  Also by Linda Ford

  Exclusive invitation

  Are you a member of Linda’s email newsletter? Right now you can receive a special gift, available only to newsletter subscribers. Following My Heart is a short story and will not be released on any retailer platform—only to newsletter subscribers.

  The story of the Kinsley family begins long before they take up residence in Glory, Montana Territory. It begins with a young woman, married to a preacher man. Both of them desire to serve God and have a large family. But their lives aren’t the dream they’d imagined. There are disappointments that threaten their hearts. Will their faith endure and their love survive?

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  1

  Late summer, 1884. Montana Territory

  “Aunt Mary, you need help, and you need it now.” Twenty-three-year-old Bruce Reynolds pressed a hand to his burning insides. He hated to see his aunt in such agony.

  “I’m a foolish old woman,” she said, her voice thin with pain. “Putting you to all this trouble.”

  “You’ve never caused me trouble.” He stopped the wagon, jumped down to scoop his aunt into his arms, and crossed toward the house where he’d been told there was a woman who could provide medical help.

  “I feel like a baby,” Aunt Mary murmured.

  “You can’t walk on a broken leg.” She’d fallen from the wagon right into the fire. He’d torn the charred skirt and petticoat out of the way then covered the burns with a clean towel, not knowing what else he should do. When she tried to walk, they’d realized her leg was broken.

  He reached the door and leaned forward to knock. And then he waited. Sounds came from inside. A child yelling. A pot banging. A door slamming. Yet no one answered the door.

  Aunt Mary moaned, causing Bruce to grit his teeth. He’d take her pain if he could. He shifted her so he could rap harder.

  “Ma,” a child yelled. “Someone’s here.” The door opened to reveal a boy of about five or six, with an untidy mop of brown hair and brown eyes brimming with curiosity. “Hi. Whatcha want?”

  “Donny!” A woman hurried down the hall, clutching a heavy pot and a towel. Her wet hands indicated she had been washing the pot. “How many times have I told you to mind your manners?”

  “Sorry, Ma.” He stepped back to allow the woman to take his place.

  “It’s okay, son.”

  Shock raced through Bruce’s veins. This woman didn’t look old enough to be married, let alone have a son that age. She had a fragility behind her calm expression that made him think she’d experienced her share of troubles and trials. The thought made him want to step closer and shield her from further hurt. He drew in a deep breath. Wouldn’t Aunt Mary be surprised by his reaction? She was always telling him he was too guarded. There are times you need to listen to your heart.

  Look where listening to his heart had gotten him. Though the truth was, his troubles had come from trusting someone else’s heart.

  The boy’s mother took in the woman in Bruce’s arms. “You’ve come to the right place. Right this way.”

  He followed the young woman down the hall. Donny on his heels.

  “What happened?” the boy asked.

  His mother slowed. “Donny, please.”

  “Yes, Ma.”

  Bruce grinned at the boy. “Can’t help but be curious, can you? I understand.”

  Donny beamed at him.

  Bruce stepped into a living room.

  “Put her on the sofa.” Donny’s mother put the pot and towel down on the nearest chair.

  Bruce lowered Aunt Mary to the burgundy cushions, cringing at her moans. He turned to the nearby woman. “Mrs. Kinsley?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m as bad as Donny.” A low chuckle from the woman as she drew her son to her side. “I’m Mrs. Norwood, and this is my son, Donny. We are guests here. Mrs. Kinsley is busy with patients in the addition.”

  Relief eased through Bruce’s brain. He’d hoped for someone more mature, more experienced than the woman before him. Regret followed on the heels of his relief. Having the young Mrs. Norwood attend his aunt held a certain appeal.

  It seemed he hadn’t learned the lesson about listening to his head, not his heart, as well as he hoped.

  Bruce gave his name and introduced Aunt Mary as Miss Rivers.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Mrs. Norwood said. “Though I could wish for different circumstances.” She indicated Aunt Mary’s leg. “May I look?” She waited for Aunt Mary’s nod then slowly lifted a corner of the towel. To her credit she showed no shock. “What happened?” Her gentle tones eased Bruce’s concerns that he might be blamed for her condition.

  “She fell from the wagon, her leg broke, and she tumbled into the fire.” Bruce knew his voice sounded tight, but he would never forget the shock of Aunt Mary’s cries and racing toward her to smother the fire and tear away her scorched skirt. And then dismay on top of his shock as he realized her situation.

  “Has she had anything for pain?”

  “I had nothing.” In hindsight he realized how foolish it was to head west, intending to cross the mountains, without carrying something for this sort of emergency. All he’d thought of was getting his aunt to safety.

  That hadn’t worked out too well.

  Mrs. Norwood covered the wound again. “I’ll fetch Mrs. Kinsley.”

  “Can I stay here?” Donny asked.

  His ma paused, studied her son a moment, then gave Bruce piercing study. He held her gaze without blinking, knowing that he was being warned and challenged.

  “I don’t mind.” He spoke calmly, letting her know the boy didn’t bother him.

  She shifted her attention to her son. “Very well. Come and get me if anything happens.”

  “Like what, Ma? You think she’s gonna di—?”

  “Donny. Heavens above, no.” She shook her head. “Try and keep your tongue under control.” She hurried away.

  Bruce drew a chair close to the sofa. Aunt Mary’s head rested on a cushion. Her eyes were closed, her mouth drawn into a narrow line. “Aunt Mary, are you all right?” Bruce whispered.

  Her eyes fluttered open, and he saw the depth of pain that she fought. “I’ll live,” she whispered.

  “I didn’t mean nothin’,” Donny said.

  “No harm done,” Bruce reassured him. They sat in silence for the space of about fifteen seconds.

  “We’s been here a long time. I want to go home, but Ma says it isn’t time.”

  Bruce hid a smile at Donny’s mournful tone. “When will it be time?”

  Donny shrugged. “She says soon. But with my pa dead, she says she’ll need to be good and strong before we go back.” He perked up. “I’m almost big enough to help her with the farm.”

  Bruce ruffled Donny’s hair. “You’ll be a great help when you’re bigger.”

  A movement at the doorway drew Bruce’s attention. A small girl with pale blonde hair and big blue eyes peeked in.

  “That’s my sister, Blossom,” Donny said. “She’s shy ’cause she’s only three.”

  “Hi, Blossom,” Bruce said. “Nice to meet y
ou.”

  Blossom didn’t answer, but her eyes grew wider as her gaze shifted to Aunt Mary. The little girl eased in until she could see Aunt Mary better. “You hurt?”

  Aunt Mary opened her eyes and smiled at the child. “A little.”

  Blossom touched Aunt Mary’s arm. “You get better?”

  “Yes, I shall.”

  Bruce watched his aunt. Was he imagining that this little breath of a girl had eased her suffering? He shook his head. How was that possible? And yet as the girl continued to stroke Aunt Mary’s arm, his aunt drew in a long inhalation…one without a shudder.

  Mrs. Norwood entered again, carrying snow-white bandages, a brown bottle, and a stubby jar. “Blossom. I wondered where you had gone. I hope she’s not being a bother.”

  “Not at all,” Bruce said at the same time as his aunt.

  “She usually keeps her distance from strangers.” She pulled a chair to the sofa, easing Blossom to the side, putting her closer to Bruce’s knees.

  Blossom looked up at him, her blue eyes as calm and still as a deep mountain lake.

  “Mrs. Kinsley is occupied at the moment. She’ll come as soon as she can to make sure the leg is properly set, but she has told me how to tend this burn.” She paused. “Perhaps you’d like to step outside while I do so.”

  Bruce was on his feet immediately. Of course, he didn’t want to be there while his aunt’s leg was exposed. Not that he hadn’t already seen it when he put out the fire but still, she would be embarrassed. Though likely not any more than he. He hoped his face was tanned enough to hide the heat rushing to his cheeks.

  “Come on, kids. Let’s wait in the hall.”

  Blossom took his hand, making him feel like he’d been offered a special prize. Donny skipped ahead of them, waited for them to reach the hall, then he pulled the door closed.

  “Ma will fix your aunt,” Donny said with complete certainty.

  Bruce knew the burns couldn’t be fixed with the application of ointment. They required time and care to heal. Her leg would take time to heal as well.

  He thought this journey would solve most of his problems. Instead, it had added to them. Or at least, given him a new set.

  For his aunt’s safety, he’d ripped her from the home she’d lived in most of her life. Her predicament was entirely his fault. All that mattered now was getting her to a safe place, away from the malicious gossip and threats they had faced back home. Her sister in Washington Territory offered his aunt a home with her. Bruce had promised to take her there. But how was he to provide the care his aunt needed as they crossed the mountains?

  How was he to keep his promise to his aunt to get her to a home like the one she’d had to abandon because of him?

  Stella stared at the closed door. “Strange,” she murmured.

  “What’s strange?” Miss Rivers asked.

  Stella hadn’t expected to be heard, but good manners demanded she now provide an answer. “Blossom is usually guarded around strangers.” She gave the woman laudanum. “That will ease your pain.”

  “Thank you. Your daughter is very sweet.”

  Stella smiled. Nothing pleased her more than having her children acknowledged as the treasures they were. She gently cleaned the edges of the burn and applied some healing ointment to them. “Mrs. Kinsley says the burn itself should be dressed and left to heal. She says her experience has proven to be the best way.”

  “Whatever you think.”

  As she worked, Miss Rivers relaxed, the laudanum taking affect. “Your daughter is special.” The words were low and slow. “She sees with her heart.”

  “How do you know that?” Surprise caused Stella to pause in the task of putting bandages on Miss River’s leg. Not that she didn’t think it was true. From the time she could walk, Blossom had a way about her that defied explanation. She was so keenly aware of how others felt. She realized Miss River’s words said it perfectly. Blossom saw things with her heart.

  “I felt it.”

  Stella finished dressing the burn. It pleased her to hear this assessment of her daughter, but life had taught her that feelings were impractical. And with two children to raise as a widowed mother and a homestead to save, she couldn’t afford to be anything but practical.

  “You rest. Mrs. Kinsley will be in shortly.”

  “Thank you.” The woman had grown drowsy. She’d be comfortable for now. As far as Stella could tell, the bones were in alignment, but her leg would have to be splinted until it healed.

  She slipped from the room and followed the sound of voices to the kitchen. She paused at the doorway to observe.

  Their visitor sat at the table. Blossom leaned close, facing him and talking.

  Stella strained to hear her daughter’s words.

  “How long you staying?” Blossom asked.

  “Not long. I’m on my way west.”

  “Why you not stay?” Blossom’s voice trembled.

  “I can’t. I have to go.”

  Stella crossed her arms and held herself still. Poor little Blossom was learning early about men who had what Stella’s mother called ‘itchy feet.’ At least Blossom wouldn’t have time to grow fond of the man or count on him to consider her feelings.

  Blossom smiled, and her blue eyes brightened. “I like you. You stay.”

  Mr. Reynolds chuckled. “You say it and that makes it so?”

  Blossom nodded.

  Stella studied the man at the table. What was there about him that had Blossom declaring affection? He was lean, hardened looking, his blond hair cut short, his shirt sleeves soiled. She blinked. Ashes from caring for his aunt. Was it something about his relationship to his aunt that Blossom saw?

  Stella moved forward. The three in the kitchen looked at her. The man’s eyes were blue, dark blue, like the sky just before dawn. She blinked. What difference did it make what color his eyes were? She had only noticed because of Blossom’s unusual interest.

  “Your aunt is resting comfortably at the moment.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Would you like something to drink?”

  His stomach rumbled loudly, sending Donny into a fit of laughter.

  “Sorry. Guess in all the drama we didn’t eat.” His stomach growled again.

  Blossom covered her mouth to hide her giggles.

  Stella glanced at the clock. “It’s almost suppertime. We’ll be eating soon. You’re welcome to join us.” She knew the Kinsleys would have offered the invitation if they were there.

  “I didn’t expect—”

  “I know how you feel,” she said. “I’ve felt the same way, but this is what the Kinsleys do. They care for the ill and injured and open their home to those who need shelter.”

  “That’s what I was told.”

  Stella continued, feeling a need to avoid any silences. “Right now, there is a family of eight in the addition. I’m not sure what’s wrong with them, but they are very ill.” Mrs. Kinsley had wondered if they had food poisoning or perhaps some contagious infection. She’d insisted on everyone but herself staying away from the family in case it was the latter. The mother and the youngest child were the worst off, and Stella knew Mrs. Kinsley worried if they would pull through. “There’s a woman with her two half-grown daughters upstairs. She’s come to join her husband, but hasn’t been able to locate him.” Stella and her two children had moved up there as well. “They are away at the moment, searching for his homestead. There’s two bedrooms down the hall. The preacher and his wife sleep in one. Right now, there is an elderly woman in the other.” Old Mrs. Sears could no longer take care of herself. She slept most of the day and ate very little.

  “I’ll be going on as soon as my aunt’s leg is set.”

  This man was just like her pa. Couldn’t wait to be on the move. Even if it brought pain to someone. Traveling in a wagon across the mountains would surely cause his aunt unnecessary pain. But what he did wasn’t Stella’s concern. She’d let Mrs. Kinsley warn the man about the dangers of traveling with hi
s aunt in this condition.

  A pot simmered on the stove—stew she had made earlier in the day. Another pot full of broth simmered. Mrs. Kinsley would need that for those who were ill but able to take a little sustenance. It was about all Mrs. Sears would take too.

  Stella shooed the children over to the basket of toys to play, then she quickly mixed up a large batch of biscuits and put them to bake.

  Mrs. Kinsley hurried into the house.

  The man was instantly on his feet, and Stella introduced them.

  “I appreciate your hospitality,” he said.

  “Let me have a look at your aunt, and then we’ll talk.” Mrs. Kinsley indicated he should wait while she checked on his aunt.

  He stood at the doorway, tension evident in the way his jaw muscles bunched. It was good to know he was concerned for his aunt. Just not concerned enough to postpone his travel plans.

  Memories of her pa’s restlessness tugged at her mind. His impatience to be on the go after a few months in one place. His refusal to hear any protests. Stella knew she too often judged other men by how her father had been. How could she not? Her life had been one of constant moving and uncertainty. Even marriage, she learned, had not given her the stability and security she had vowed she would give her children. Not that she could blame Frank for dying. He’d fought hard to get over his pneumonia. But now she must provide for her children. Give them the roots she’d never had. However, if she didn’t soon return to her homestead, she stood the risk of losing it.

  Was she strong enough to take care of the place on her own?

  2

  Bruce heard the noises behind him as if from a distance. The clang of dishes being set on the table. The bang of metal against metal. A chair scraping across the floor. A child’s voice. Blossom’s. He knew from the silvery tones. A smile comforted his heart for the space of one breath. There was something about that little girl that charmed him. But mostly he strained for a word or sound from the front room to indicate how his aunt was doing.