He surely loved her—and he was amazed he could think it with such certainty. And just as Eli loved Clare’s untamable nature, LeRoy loved Gennie’s boundless strength of heart. He thought back to what his pa had said to him about why he married Ma. “Because she’s my strength and my inspiration to live my life with courage. To face whatever may come—for good or ill.” LeRoy realized, as he stood there—facing the miles of open pasture, facing his future—that his father had been preparing him for this moment. LeRoy knew Gennie would forever be his strength and his inspiration to live a courageous life, come what may.
“My, you’re lookin’ mighty thoughtful, LeRoy.”
LeRoy wheeled around at the sound of his ma’s voice. He didn’t know she was still at Whitcomb’s. He assumed she’d gone home straightaway after the wedding to tend to their horses at the ranch. He hadn’t heard her approach, which didn’t surprise him. Then he thought on how Gennie had snuck up on him that night and struck him with that rifle. He rubbed the spot on his head where the lump had been.
His ma smiled and laid a hand on his arm. He noticed she was dressed in her traveling clothes and wearing her warm coat.
“Did you just get here?” he asked.
“This morning,” she said. “I figured you’d be showin’ up soon, seeing how the weather turned warm again. You bring me back that bear pelt?” she asked, a sparkle of mischief in her eyes. LeRoy was glad to see her relaxed and happy, and that her face wasn’t full of all manner of ominous warning.
“I would’ve,” LeRoy answered with hesitation, “but … well, someone else has laid claim to it.”
“I see,” his ma said evenly, looking at the horses with a thoughtful gaze. After some moments of silence, she said, “Maybe laid claim to more than that, my ka'ėškone? You found those secrets the mountain was hiding.”
He regarded her thoughtfully, then nodded at her statement. He hoped she didn’t mean to hound him with questions. At least not right now. His feet were twitchy, worrying about Gennie and how she was faring with the women. After having spent the last week with her always by his side, he felt odd and uncomfortable being apart from her. Was this what love felt like? Like missing a limb when the woman you loved was gone? His longing for her grew thick at the thought of her.
His ma studied the wolf with a keen gaze. Peluche stared back.
“What is she called, this ho’nehe?” she asked. LeRoy noticed she used the Cheyenne word for wolf, not dog. And she knows Peluche is female. No surprise there.
“Her name’s Peluche.” His ma’s eyebrows raised at the funny name. “It means fur ball. It’s French.”
His ma grunted and nodded. “Not so much furry now. But when she was a pup, yes. Your gal name her?”
LeRoy stiffened at the mention of his “gal.” Clearly his ma had been talking to Eli.
“So, I’m thinking you have a few weeks to finish up here,” she said firmly. “You need to make good your promise to Whitcomb.”
LeRoy swallowed. She was right. He couldn’t let a couple of ornery ranch hands chase him away. What was he thinking? But what to do with Gennie? He’d only thought far enough ahead to get her off the mountain.
“This gal of yours. Gennie?” She said the name softly. “She’s had a hard life. She needs time to heal. You remember how Lucas was, when he came down the mountain—after he lost his wife and baby? How hurt he was?”
LeRoy nodded. How could he forget? The pain and anguish was so raw, it had pained LeRoy’s heart to see it. He never thought Lucas would get over it—let alone fall in love again and remarry. But after a couple of years, the weight of his loss had lessened enough for him to get busy living again. Emma’s love gave him the strength to do so.
“Remember what I told you, LeRoy? That you shouldn’t let your fear hold you back. To listen to your heart. It will tell you when the time to love has arrived.” She looked hard and long in his face. He felt naked—but not ashamed. She grunted again, a sound of approval. “So, has the time arrived?”
LeRoy blew out a shaky breath, thinking of Gennie and how she made him feel—alive, strong, happy. Fulfilled. He longed to hold her, to love her, to cover her with kisses and slip under cool sheets with her, joining his body with hers. Becoming one in flesh and in heart. His heart pained him with such sudden longing, he had to swallow back a cry.
“Yes, Ma. I love her. With all my heart and soul.”
She smiled and patted his arm. “I fixed up Lucas’s cabin. Washed the curtains and sheets, aired out the blankets. No one’s been in there since he moved into that place across the river with Emma. Just the place for Gennie to heal. Give her the peace and quiet she needs. And if she feels restless and needs to keep busy, well, there is always plenty of work to be done on a horse ranch.”
It was LeRoy’s turn to grunt. His ma had already worked this out, before he even headed off after that bear. But she was right—the old cabin would be perfect for Gennie. She could fix it up how she liked, and Peluche would have plenty of open space to run without startling folks or horses. Just as with Lucas, his ma would leave Gennie be, but keep the door open for her to come join them at breakfast, or help with the horses. All in her own good time.
Then he thought on Gennie’s bad feelings toward Indians. What would she say to his ma’s offer? Would her old fears crop up again? He hoped she’d accept and come to love his ma. Lucas’s wife, Emma, was close to Ma. And Clare adored her. Young women often looked to his ma for guidance and wisdom, and her warmth and honesty drew them to her. He could only hope Gennie would be likewise drawn. Just another lie she had to fight to conquer. But she’d come this far. LeRoy believed in time all those lies would be buried so deep, she’d never be able to dig them out.
“I’m going back to the ranch,” his ma told him.
“You’re not staying for dinner?”
“I’ll hear your stories tomorrow. After breakfast, you can bring Gennie over to see the ranch—”
“But I have work—”
“Whitcomb understands.” She began walking back to the lodge. LeRoy hurried to keep up, and Peluche trotted after him.
“What if she doesn’t want to go? If she wants to stay here? Maybe she should. Until I finish breaking these horses—”
His ma stopped and gave him a sharp look. He knew better than to argue with her. “Tomorrow all the wedding guests are leaving. Gennie would be left alone with the cook and the housekeeper. And you would be busy, with all the ranch hands. Better for her to be with me, have an older, wiser woman to talk to . . .”
LeRoy rolled his eyes. “All right, Ma. I’ll ask her. But whatever she decides is what I’ll do.”
His ma looked surprised. “You are learning fast, my ka'ėškone. Yes indeed.”
LeRoy wasn’t sure if she was talking about him giving in to her or to Gennie. Or both.
“There she is,” his ma said as they approached the porch.
LeRoy looked over at the wide-open double doors. At first he didn’t know who his ma was talking about. A beautiful young woman in a dark-green silk dress, the skirt poofed up with layers of petticoats, stood at the threshold. Flickering light from the lanterns inside lent a golden glow to her reddish-blond hair pinned up on her head. Puffy sleeves laced with ribbons came midway down her arm, while long white gloves adorned her hands. The dress hugged her tiny waist and revealed a creamy neckline and full bodice that made LeRoy’s longing turn to hunger. He was sure he was seeing a vision, or maybe an apparition.
LeRoy’s heart hammered his ribs as he realized he was looking at Gennie. She was the spitting image of her mother, from what he recollected from the photograph he’d studied. Her cheeks flushed pink in the cool evening breeze, and she stood tall and poised, looking at him with a smile from under her thick lashes. If anyone had told him this soft, womanly creature had lived half her life pretending to be a man, had hunted and dressed deer, could shoot the hair off the back of a prairie dog from fifty feet, and tracked and challenged the most fearsome of all be
ars, he wouldn’t have believed it—not for a second.
But it was true—every bit of it. And while he was glad she’d left “Dan” behind, LeRoy knew the wildness was still in there, and he meant to respect and honor it. Let it be a reminder and a source of strength for him in the months and years to come.
His pulse raced as he went up to her and took her hands in his. Her eyes overflowed with love, and it eased his worries. Peluche trotted over to her, and Gennie smiled and stroked the wolf’s head.
“Gennie, this is my ma—Sarah Banks.”
His ma grinned. “I’m pleased to meet you, Gennie.”
LeRoy watched for any sign of disapproval on Gennie’s face, but he saw none. He sighed with relief. Already Gennie had changed so much. But in a good way. Most folks wouldn’t have the inner strength to face their fears and tackle them. LeRoy chuckled. Well, Gennie wasn’t most folks—not by a long chalk.
“You’re a brave gal,” his ma said to her. “It takes a lot of courage to do what you’ve done.”
Gennie looked uneasy at her words. As if everyone knew her secret now and there was no place to hide.
“Plenty gals have tried to win LeRoy’s heart. Tried and failed. You must be something special for him to get past his fears. Guess he had to face a grizzly to find you.”
Gennie’s face softened, and a chuckle came out.
“Ma, please—” LeRoy started.
“How ’bout I take your wolf home with me?” his ma asked. “Got a nice big haunch of meat for her, soft blankets by the fire. You come tomorrow with LeRoy and we’ll have lunch, show you around the ranch.”
Gennie looked at LeRoy, and he saw the confusion and uncertainty written across her features.
“It’s kind of you to offer, Mrs. Banks—”
“Call me Sarah, please.”
Gennie drew in a breath and tightened her hold on LeRoy’s hand. “Sarah, I don’t think she’d go with you—”
His ma took a few steps from them, then spoke something to the wolf in Cheyenne—words LeRoy couldn’t make out. Peluche perked up her ears and trotted over to his ma’s side, then sat on her haunches looking up into his ma’s face as if awaiting orders. He’d never seen a dog more obedient.
Gennie’s jaw dropped. LeRoy whispered in her ear, “I told you she has a way with animals. I’m sure Peluche will be as happy as a hog in a mud puddle at the ranch. That way we can enjoy dinner and company—just like ordinary folks. And then have a little time to ourselves afterwards.” He nuzzled her ear with his nose and rested his warm lips on her neck. She shivered at his touch and nodded, taking shallow breaths. She played with his fingers, and a rush of heat fired his loins. He moaned into her ear and felt a sigh shudder through her as he held her close.
“All right, young’uns,” his ma said, watching them with amusement. “Don’t miss dinner.” Without another word, she turned and walked away, but LeRoy got the strong sense she was chuckling as she walked with a light step, the big wolf-dog at her heels. He was glad she’d been so welcoming of Gennie. No doubt she knew what a remarkable treasure he’d found—this secret the mountain had held in its clutches for years.
LeRoy watched his ma and the wolf head over to the carriage house, where he guessed she’d left the wagon. She’d find some of the ranch hands there to help hitch up her horse—if Gennie’s pet didn’t scare the dickens out of them.
He turned to Gennie. “I reckon we should go inside and join the others for dinner.” He frowned as he ran a finger down her soft rosy cheek, thinking of all the things he rather be doing with her right now. But there would be plenty of time later. All in good time. And he had no doubt it would be good. More than good.
He drank in her beauty as she stood with the warm lamp light playing against her skin and sparking her green eyes. How had he missed seeing this—this stunning woman hiding in man’s clothes? She had sure fooled him. Fooled everyone. But his heart hadn’t been fooled, and that’s what mattered. He’d listened to his heart, as his ma had urged, and it had led him to her. He’d tracked a bear and found her at the end of his trail, and at the end of his hope. He thanked the Creator that he hadn’t died and been taken to Seana. He was grateful Gennie had stopped that grizzly in time. And that the sky had opened up so moonlight could show him where she lay half dead in the snow.
And he was grateful she’d opened up her heart and trusted him with her wild secret and wild longing. Oh, how grateful he was! His heart burst with love.
“LeRoy?” Gennie wrested his attention, pulling back and searching his eyes. Her mouth opened, and LeRoy hungered for her lips. “Would you . . . kiss me?” she asked breathlessly.
“Oh yes,” LeRoy said, his longing spilling over and filling the night sky all the way to the milky path of stars. “There’s nothing in this world I would rather do than kiss you, Gennie Champlain.” He felt as if his father were smiling, his presence close, and it made his heart glad. LeRoy had found his mate, his match. A woman to inspire him in every way. A woman to give him the strength to face life, whatever might come. A woman to love with every beat of his heart.
She sighed as he pulled her close and enwrapped her in his arms. Her heartbeat pounded against his as he kissed her long and deep and thoroughly. And as his mouth explored hers, he thought of all the secrets he would uncover. Sweet wild secrets sparked by his passionate longing for her.
~The End~
About the Author
Charlene Whitman spent many years living on Colorado's Front Range. She grew up riding and raising horses, and loves to read, write, and hike the mountains. She attended Colorado State University in Fort Collins as an English major. She has two daughters and is married to George "Dix" Whitman, her love of thirty years.
If you enjoyed this book . . . One of the nicest ways to say “thank you” to an author is to leave a favorable review online. I would be appreciative if you would take a moment to do so! Just click on the link here. Thanks so much!
Comments? Questions? I love hearing from my readers, so feel free to contact me via my Facebook Author Page, or e-mail me at [email protected].
Don’t miss any of the excitement!
Read this excerpt of Book 1 in The Front Range Series set in 1870s Colorado:
Colorado Promise
Chapter 1
New York City, June 1875
“Emma, dear, I believe this heat is about to make me faint.”
Camilla Bradshaw fluttered the silk fan close to her flushed cheeks as the carriage jostled along the bumpy streets of the Upper West Side. Emma reached over and dabbed her mother’s perspiring brow with a lace handkerchief, frowning over her propensity for melodrama.
She glanced out the window. “We’re nearly home, Mother. I’ll have Josephine bring you some sweet tea in the parlor as soon as we arrive.” Hoping to stem the tide of complaints sure to follow her mother’s remark, Emma said, “Weren’t the florals beautiful? I especially enjoyed the still-life oils from Venice—”
“Yes, oh yes, Emma, dear. A stunning exhibition.” She turned and looked at her daughter. “But your paintings are just as delightful. Perhaps one day we’ll see your works of art hanging in the prestigious Metropolitan Museum.”
Emma refrained from shaking her head at her mother’s imagination. “I do botanical illustrations. Not something anyone would hang on the walls of a museum. But I hope someday my drawings will be good enough to be used in reference books.”
Her mother made a little noise of disapproval, but Emma turned from her and looked through the window at the bustle of the city, letting the sound of the horses’ hooves on pavement and the rhythmic turn of the carriage wheels lull her in the balmy afternoon, the heat matting her coifed hair against her head.
As she watched the passing of gleaming black Hansom cabs drawn by sluggish, heat-weary horses, she thought about the lovely book her father had given her for Christmas, a book she cherished above all others and one that had inspired her to take up pen and ink and watercolor to capture
the fine details of plants. Which led to her growing passion to study botany. The artist, a Belgian woman named Berthe Hoola van Nooten, did more than just paint flowers and trees; she somehow captured their perfection in a way that made each living species fascinating and magnificent. Emma wished she could portray creation with such precision, but knew she still had a long way to go. She longed for a studio in which she could paint for hours, uninterrupted.
Her heart thrilled at knowing her opportunity to reach her dream was at hand. Soon, in a scant two months, she would be off to Vassar College—seventy miles away. Away from the stifling heat of the city and the suffocating scrutiny of her parents.
She chided herself for such thoughts, but she yearned for room to grow, for more space than their small but elegant brownstone home afforded, where she had little privacy and even less say in how she spent her time. She loved her parents truly, and although some of her friends had already found their escape through marriage, Emma had yet to find a suitable beau. Like them, she yearned for love and often fantasized what her future husband would be like, but none of the young men her parents had arranged for her to meet were at all what she hoped for in a husband. Stuffy, arrogant, well mannered—and oh so dull.
Upon her sixteenth birthday, her father had seemed determined to marry her off as quickly as possible, but after the last disastrous dinner, at which her father nearly pressed the poor man into a corner with his unrelenting questions, Emma begged her father to give her a little time off from the arranged meetings with potential suitors.
She scoffed. She knew why her father was anxious to marry her off, and it had nothing to do with her happiness.
Their carriage drew to a stop. Emma glanced out the window and said, “Mother, we’re home.” The coachman pushed the lever and opened the door, then helped her mother down to the sidewalk. She then extended her own gloved hand, careful to gather up her skirts as she stepped out. Emma took her mother’s arm and walked with her to the door, which opened briskly to allow them entrance.
Wild Secret, Wild Longing: A Sweet Historical Western Romance Novella (The Front Range Series Book 3) Page 14