Sweet Hearts in South Dakota
At the Altar Book 14
Kirsten Osbourne
Unlimited Dreams
Copyright © 2018 by Kirsten Osbourne
Unlimited Dreams Publishing
All rights reserved.
Cover design by Erin Dameron Hill/ EDH Graphics
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Kirsten Osbourne
Visit my website at www.kirstenandmorganna.com
Printed in the United States of America
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Kirsten Osbourne
One
A steady rainfall pattered against the canopy covering the gravesite in her family’s small cemetery plot as the preacher from Deadwood said the words that made Willa Griffin’s grandfather’s death final. Still, she didn’t cry. Her grandfather, a brawny, tough-talking old man, would have cuffed her upside the head and told her to knock it off, and old habits did die hard. She’d started tearing up at his bedside once toward the end of his illness, and he’d bawled her out so bad, she’d quit immediately, afraid he’d give himself a stroke. But, in the end, cancer had gotten him.
She looked away from the coffin and across the land that had been in her family for generations. In the distance, a huge herd of Black Angus grazed on the hillside, the bread and butter of the Circle G Ranch. She loved every bit of the nine-hundred acres of rolling property in the Black Hills of South Dakota, and now, it was up to her to keep things going. They hadn’t talked about it before the cancer took him, but she was sure that was what her grandfather would have wanted. He’d raised her to know everything she’d need to know to take over someday.
As the preacher finished, the cowboys that worked her family’s land filed past her one by one, shaking her hand, giving her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, or just nodding respectfully, their hats clutched in their hands. She held it together until Brodie, her ranch foreman, came along last in line.
“You okay, Will?” he asked, his handsome face concerned, his brown eyes sad. Brodie had been with the Circle G for the last fifteen years, ever since she was a scrawny ten-year-old with a huge crush. That crush had mellowed into a friendship—her only close one—and she loved Brodie like a brother.
She nodded and pushed a damp strand of hair back from her face. Clearing her throat, she said, “If you can get the stock moved to the new pasture this afternoon, I’d appreciate it. I’ve got some paperwork to deal with.”
Brodie nodded. He gave her shoulder a squeeze and followed the rest of the ranch hands back toward the barns. He knew her better than to suggest she take the afternoon off.
Willa turned to thank Pastor Heiland. “I’m here for you, Willa,” the short, pudgy man said kindly, wiping rain from where it threatened to run down the back of his collar. “The whole congregation is, and we’re just a phone call away.”
She nodded her thanks, not trusting herself to speak.
“We’d love to see you back at church, whenever you feel up to it.”
She just nodded again. She hadn’t been to church since her grandma had passed away when she was five years old. She believed in God, but, like her grandfather, she’d rather worship Him out here on horseback in the Black Hills, where she felt closest to heaven.
Forget the paperwork, she thought as the preacher’s truck rattled away, and she tugged her wide-brimmed hat down firmly over her head. She’d saddle up Star and go ride the fences. She could use a little time with Him today.
The next morning, Willa was feeling more settled when Franklin Dowling, her grandfather’s lawyer, came by with a copy of her grandfather’s will. The settled feeling didn’t last long.
“He said what?” she roared, pushing her chair back from her grandfather’s big antique desk so hard that it banged against the wall.
Dowling, not a small man himself, cowered back a little in his chair when Willa drew herself angrily up to her full height of five-feet eight-inches, her black eyes flashing fire. Just now, she looked exactly like old man Griffin when he had his dander up, he thought.
“Now, Willa,” he said, holding up a hand, but she interrupted.
“Don’t you ‘now, Willa’ me, Franklin. I know this ranch inside out and upside down. How dare he say I need to hitch myself to a man just to run it!”
But those were the terms of Richard Griffin’s will, and he’d made it clear he didn’t want Willa to run the ranch. His granddaughter had to marry within thirty days of his death if she wanted to keep it, and if she failed to do so, it would go to his cousin’s son Justin. Justin was a no-account loser in his twenties with a string of misdemeanors, and worse, he couldn’t tell a Hereford from a hole in the ground.
After Dowling had left, Willa read the lines again, written in her grandfather’s familiar bold, blocky handwriting. “Willa needs to marry within thirty days or she loses the ranch. Women are meant for birthing babies, not running cattle.”
“Like heck I’m just going to hand the Circle G over to someone else, old man,” she muttered to the empty room and booted up her laptop. “I can run things just as well as you or great-grandad did.” Pulling up Google, she typed in “professional matchmakers.” After a few moments, Willa let out a whoop. “Matchrimony, huh? Dr. Lachele,” she said to the picture of a grinning, purple-haired woman on the web page, “You’ve got yourself a new customer.”
Willa knew the matchmaker as soon as she saw her waiting at the gate of the Rapid City International Airport. Lachele was small and curvy, and her purple hair and her obviously tailored New York suit made her look a little out of place, but her smile was as warm and friendly as her hug—though she called it a boobie bump.
“So, this is South Dakota! I could see the mountains when we flew in. Those must be your famous Black Hills. How far away is your ranch? I hope it’s not too close—I want to take in some scenery and maybe snap some pictures to show Sam.”
“We’ve got about a forty-five-minute drive,” Willa assured her when Dr. Lachele stopped for air. And to think, she’d been worried about an awkward, silent car ride with a stranger.
By the time they reached the Circle G, Willa felt like she knew everything there was to know about Lachele. The woman hadn’t stopped talking since she’d landed, but instead of being annoyed by the chatter, Willa soaked it all in. It had been so long since she’d been around another female, she’d forgotten how much fun it could be. Mrs. Hollis, her father’s part-time housekeeper, didn’t count. She didn’t speak much, except to give orders.
“Ooh,” Lachele gasped, jumping out of the truck. “Is this your ranch? It’s beautiful!”
Willa watched her excitement with a smile, retrieving Lachele’s wheeled purple suitcase from the bed of the truck. The woman sure did have a thing for purple. “Come on in the house,” she offered.
Willa was proud of the sprawling single-story ho
me. Glowing pine floors, soft yellow walls, overstuffed leather couches with brightly colored pillows, potted plants and Native American artwork here and there, some of it her great-grandmother’s, made the home feel warm and welcoming. It was a little lonely for one person, though.
But not for long. She’d have to share it with a husband soon. The nervous butterflies that immediately started up in her belly had Willa straightening her spine. “Let me show you to your room, and then we can get this thing started.”
Soon, the two of them were settled in the living room with plates of sandwiches and cookies Mrs. Hollis had made up that morning.
“I know we spoke some on the phone but tell me more about why you want to get married so quickly and in such a non-traditional way,” Dr. Lachele asked after wiping a chocolate chip smudge from the corner of her mouth and leaning back with a contented sigh. “Don’t you have lots of cute cowboys out here to choose from?”
Willa smiled wryly. “That’s exactly what I don’t want. A cowboy.” She explained the terms of her grandfather’s will. “Literally the only thing I’m interested in is a man who knows nothing about ranching and won’t try to take my place here.”
Lachele frowned. “I’m not sure I can help you after all, then. I’m not in the business of making mergers, I’m in the business of making marriages. Love, romance, a lifetime commitment . . . a happily ever after. Don’t you have any interest in any of that?”
Willa held back the quick ‘no’ that jumped to her lips and tried to give the question some honest thought. She just knew Dr. Lachele would be able to tell if she wasn’t fully truthful, by the searching look the woman was giving her. Lachele was a trained psychologist. Willa spoke slowly. “I’m not opposed to a traditional marriage. I was raised in faith, and I do believe a man and woman can be partners and helpmates, but I don’t know if I would be any good at marriage.” She jumped to her feet and paced restlessly in front of the big bay window that faced the barns and the hills. “I don’t remember my mom. I have few memories of my grandma. My entire life is here.” She swept her arm out. “I spend my days on horseback or balancing books or pitching hay, not primping and fussing and . . . being a girl. I don’t know how to be girly, much less wifely. I can’t cook, I don’t own any makeup, and I’ve never even been around kids. How do I know if I’d like them? When would I have time to raise them? The cattle don’t take days off and I couldn’t, either.”
Lachele studied Willa’s face long enough, her brows drawn together in thought, that Willa began to feel uncomfortable. “Sit down, honey,” she finally said kindly, patting the couch beside her. “You may not know what you want, but I think I can find you exactly what you need.”
The phone only rang twice before Lachele’s soft voice sang out, “Hello, handsome! How’s my favorite PR guy?”
Ryder Pearce chuckled. He sure was going to miss this crazy woman. “Lachele, have you gone and hired another firm? I thought I was your only PR guy.”
“Well, of course not,” she huffed back. “Matchrimony only uses the best, and that’s Pearce and Lightheuser.”
“Correction,” Ryder said, spinning his office chair around to take in one of his last views of Manhattan. “Just Lightheuser. Now you’re going to have to put up with my partner, Jerry. He bought me out today, and I’m bound for greener pastures.”
“Congratulations, Ryder! I hope you got lots of money! What are you going to do now?”
Ryder laughed. Lachele was beyond outspoken, and she never failed to crack him up. “Yes, I did, and I don’t know. I might start up another company, but I haven’t decided. I’m thinking about leaving New York and heading out west somewhere.”
“Oh, really?” Lachele’s voice perked up considerably. “Why is that?”
“I’m ready for an adventure,” Ryder said, turning back to his desk and kicking up his Converse-clad feet. “I’ve been tied down with business far too long, and I’m ready for something new. Something different. Did I ever tell you that my great-great-grandpa was a gunslinger? Family legend has it that he once had a shootout with Wild Bill Hickock, and they both walked away unharmed. Turns out, a mean old rooster ran into the road and distracted them both, just as they drew, and both of them fired at it by accident. One of the saloon girls sashayed out in a frilly red dress, picked it up, and hauled it back in to cook for dinner while my great-great-grandpa and Wild Bill rolled around in the street, laughing like loons. Who knows if it’s true, but they supposedly ended up sharing two plates of tough chicken and fluffy dumplings, and afterward, ol’ Grandpappy married the saloon girl, hung up his guns, bought fifty acres and some horses, and lived happily ever after.”
“So . . . you’re going to be a gunslinger?” Lachele asked when she could catch her breath from laughing.
“Ha ha, and no.” Ryder grinned into the phone. “But I want to go poke around and maybe see how deep my Western roots run.”
“Says the boy born and bred in New Yawk,” she replied with an exaggerated East-coast accent. “But you’re serious about this, I can tell. Have you been dating anyone lately?”
“I knew you’d get around to that,” Ryder said, shaking his head and smiling wryly. “You’ve been wanting to match me up for years.” But Matchrimony had been on his mind a lot lately. Selling his business had freed up so much time, he would finally be able to start a family—to him, that sounded like the ultimate adventure.
If only it didn’t involve dating. Ryder shuddered. He still had emotional scars from when Jerry had tried to set him up with his giggly cousin, Belinda. And then there was the gum-chewer cousin, Bernadette. And before that, the eyelash-batting cousin, Beatrice. He’d thought that one was going to take flight at any moment. Ryder really wanted to leave town before Jerry could dig up any other single female cousins.
“If there was a way I could get the best of both worlds,” he mused out loud, “I would really consider it. I trust you more than I trust Jerry and his cousins.” Dr. Lachele had an amazing track record with matching couples. He’d done enough PR for her to come to admire the crazy, purple-haired woman’s skills in marriage-making. She even had a whole wall of baby photos, a really cute collection of what she called her “Matchrimony Munchkins.”
“Ryder,” Lachele asked sweetly, “what are you doing next weekend?”
Ryder tugged at his tie nervously and looked around the little church. It was exactly what he’d always pictured an old West church would look like. The long, narrow chapel had tall stained-glass windows, rough-hewn beams overhead, and hand-carved woodwork everywhere. Near the altar, the friendly man who had introduced himself as Pastor Heiland was checking his watch again. It figured, Ryder thought. He finally made up his mind to become a married man, and the bride wasn’t even going to show up.
Dr. Lachele bustled over to where Ryder waited and straightened the tie he’d tugged out of place. “Don’t worry,” she said. “Your beautiful bride will be here any minute. I just called her on her cell, and she’s on her way.”
“Can’t you tell me anything about her?” Ryder asked impatiently, tugging his tie loose again. “This is so weird. I’m getting married, and I don’t even know her name.”
“You don’t need to know her name yet! You just need to know that you two are a perfect match. I haven’t been wrong yet, and trust me, this gal’s going to knock your socks off. Remember, I interviewed her just as long as I interviewed you, and I guarantee you, this marriage will be all the adventure you could want.”
Ryder glanced nervously around the nearly empty church. He hoped his socks would be knocked off in a good way, but at least if he passed out, there wouldn’t be many witnesses.
At the end of the hallway, the double doors opened, and Ryder’s tie suddenly felt much tighter again. A tall, beautiful woman in tight jeans, a neat checkered shirt, a wide-brimmed hat, and cowboy boots stood there. Lachele bustled over to her. “Good gravy, girl. You should have told me you needed help getting dressed! It’s bad luck for the bride and gro
om to see each other before the wedding!”
Willa smiled at her. She felt like she and Lachele had almost become friends during Lachele’s stay at the ranch, and Willa was glad to see her again. It was hard not to feel close to someone when the person spent almost eight hours peppering you with personal questions.
“I am dressed for the wedding,” Willa said. “Clean shirt and everything.”
Lachele’s eyes widened. “You don’t have a dress?”
“Well, I do, but I literally haven’t worn a dress since I was five years old, and I don’t know . . .”
Willa thought Lachele couldn’t look more surprised, but her jaw dropped at that. “Seriously?” She hooked her arm with Willa’s and steered her out the door before Willa could even get a glimpse of her groom. “Well, then, today’s the perfect day to break that long drought. Now, let’s get to it. We don’t want to keep your future husband waiting!”
Less than fifteen minutes later, Willa, feeling like a fish out of water in her mother’s beautiful white wedding gown, was led back to the sanctuary of the little church. Willa tried to sneak a glance around Lachele to get a glimpse of her groom, but Lachele’s husband, Sam, was in the way. He introduced himself and shook her hand carefully, his big paw almost dwarfing hers.
“Would you like some help down the aisle?” Sam asked, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a friendly grin.
“No, thank you, sir,” Willa replied, hoping she didn’t sound rude. “I can get myself down there.” Sam nodded and gave her a wink, sitting back down in the pew next to Pastor Heiland’s wife, Patty, who was beaming at her, sniffling, and already had a wadded-up tissue clutched in her fist.
Sweethearts in South Dakota (At the Altar Book 14) Page 1