by Savanna Sage
“My father was crippled,” Adam said.
The Emperor bowed. “So I heard,”
“He didn’t do it for money.”
“No, it was in gratitude for his dog, which is better motivation than money.”
Adam nodded. “You heard the same story I did. But Papa would have warned the Chinese camp anyway.”
“You didn’t get the whole story,” the Emperor said. “My father was of royal Chinese blood.”
Adam raised his brow. “Then why was he working on the railroad?”
“There was a plot in China against his life, but he escaped before it could be carried out.”
“I think we would have had news of the Emperor leaving China.”
“He was not the Emperor,’ the Chinaman said. “He was a member of the royal family, but when threatened by traitors, he hid his identity, traveled to America and worked on the railroad. After he returned to China, he told me of how your father saved his life, and bade me, on my honor, to reward this Roland Quinn. But he is nowhere to be found.
“Then I see you with the coin. I know you are not Roland Quinn, you are too young. So I think you maybe stole it. But then I think you may be the son, and now you have the gratitude of my father.” He bowed again.
“This is a lot,” Adam said, hefting the bags and letting them drop back onto his chest with a satisfying thump. “Maybe you need it so you don’t have to box anymore.”
“I box for the sake of my honor,” the Emperor said with a smirk. “I enjoy fighting worthy opponents, and coming out the victor. I have plenty of money. There is no price too high for extending my father’s life so he could return to China with honor.” The Emperor bowed. “The bridge is now in place.”
“Thank you,” Adam said, tipping his head in the best semblance of a bow he could muster while lying on the ground. Then the rumble of Spud’s returning wagon sounded closer and closer.
Chapter 19
Luciana was even smaller than Carmen, but she clapped her hands louder, and yelled commands to her grandchildren that put them on their best behavior. Yet Stella saw the affectionate sparkle in Luciana’s eyes, and caught her giving a passing child an affectionate head rub, or throwing out frequent endearments such as, “que bonito,” “chiquita,” or “mi amor.”
The baby turned out to be a dark haired, black eyed girl. From all the fuss the older children made to hold her, someone might think they’d never seen a baby in this household before.
“We are naming her Star,” Carmen announced.
“That’s a beautiful name,” Stella replied, imagining all kinds of wonderful stories for a girl named Star, whether she was a princess or not.
“Your name means Star, too,” Carmen said with a smile.
“Does it?” Stella asked in surprise.
“Not your Steel name,” Carmen said. “Stella.”
“Oh. It really means ‘star’?”
Carmen nodded.
Did her mother know the meaning of “Stella” when she named her daughter? Was that why she was so drawn to the stars? “I’m so glad,” Stella said.
With her baby cuddled in a sling on her hip, Carmen stood in the new bathroom lean-to, combing Stella’s hair, twisting it, and pinning the short ends up on her head. Then, to Stella’s surprise, instead of the expected braided crown, Carmen pinned the length of Stella’s long hair piece to one side of her head and plucked out some pins, freeing loose curls to cascade down over one of Stella’s shoulders. Carmen stepped back and ran her gaze over Stella. “Hermosa,’ she proclaimed. “So beautiful.” She pointed at the cascade. “Just don’t tug on those curls.”
“Carmen,” Stella said, nearly choking with emotion. “I didn’t expect… you’ve done so much… how can I ever thank you?”
“Seeing you happy makes me happy,” Carmen said simply. “The memory will last my lifetime, bringing me continual joy. That is more than enough thanks.”
Careful not to squish little Star, Stella leaned in and gave Carmen a warm hug, holding on as Carmen hugged her back, infusing her with warmth. “You always have a place here,” Carmen said. “No matter how many children I have to squish together at the table.”
Stella laughed and wiped her eyes.
“Now your prince awaits you.” Carmen shooed Stella toward the door.
Stella preceded Carmen out of the bathroom, the skirt of her new white wedding dress swishing against the doorway, whispering fairy tales come true for Princess Cabbage Head.
The dress came from fabric Luciana brought from Mexico. Carmen insisted that Paul pay for it with the money he got from Uncle Owen. Paul had the decency not to argue.
Carmen and Luciana made the long, white dress that fit Stella perfectly. She was determined to return it to Carmen after the wedding to use for her own daughters. After all, her prince already knew that she was sewing herself some better fitting trousers to wear when the need suited her.
Paul stood in the corner, staring morosely at the frosted wedding cake on the table, dense with fruit and nuts. It was big enough for all his children to have a generous piece. As Carmen slipped past him with her restored girlish figure, she whispered, “You get two pieces, huh?” and brushed a kiss against his sullen cheek.
His expression brightened, one corner of his mouth turning up in a reluctant smile.
The noisy wedding party was filled with the youthful exuberance of ten DeSoto children, a few jovial neighbors, Spud, and Franklin. Even the Emperor was there, standing against the wall in a splendid red vest embroidered with dragons, watching with barely concealed amusement as the children tried to behave themselves. His companion wore a Chinese cap instead of a bowler hat, his long braid unwound down his back.
Although Uncle Owen stayed home, he’d already given Adam the gift of his architectural connections that he’d carefully cultivated over the years for Franklin.
Adam stood by the preacher in a dark suit that fitted almost tightly at the shoulders and skimmed his hard, flat stomach. His warm lion eyes watched every step Stella took toward him. When she reached his side, before they turned toward the preacher, Adam bent his head and whispered in her ear, “Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess, who agreed to marry a lonely ogre.” He squeezed her hand gently.
She turned her mouth to his ear and whispered, “And they lived happily ever after.”
The End
Copyright © 2017 Savanna Sage
(Scroll down for preview of “Colorado Dreams” by Heather Horrocks!)
A warm, Western thanks to my proofreaders Connie McCaughey, Linda G. Pratt, Janet Olsen, Steve Clark, Lannette Nielson, Megan Roth, Scott Bahlmann, and Lorene Clark. Yeehaw!
All rights reserved. No reproduction without the author’s written permission, except in the case of short quotations in articles and reviews. In that case, go for it!
Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! This work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, locales, or events is purely coincidental. I’ve taken author’s license with some historical elements in order to tell the story in a more entertaining fashion. Consider suspending reader’s disbelief to better enjoy your ride through these entertaining historical fiction pages. Thank you.
Savanna Sage.
About the Author:
Savanna Sage has ancestors who lived in the Old West and experienced their own heart-tugging true-life love stories. As a child, Savanna found herself staring out the window at any old pioneer house her parents happened to drive by. Even with a broken roof or sagging porch, Savanna found herself wondering who built it, who lived there, what their lives were like, and why they left.
For a while, Savanna used a wringer washer similar to her grandmother’s. When their well went dry for a week, she and her husband hauled water and bathed their small sons in a big metal kitchen bowl. While she appreciates the skills of surviving without modern conveniences, she readily admits to preferring the use of harnessed electricity, hot running water, and a flush toilet over an outhouse an
y day.
Incurable curiosity helps her spend many happy hours researching about days gone by while writing stories from the heart.
If you enjoyed “New Mexico Enchantment” please leave your review on AMAZON, and be sure to check out the other books in the “Rocky Mountain Romance” series.
You are invited to like Savanna’s Facebook page at: Savanna Sage - Author
Visit savannasage.com and sign up for Savanna’s newsletter to keep you updated on new, heartwarming romances.
Do you have a Western heart? Then the Pioneer Hearts Facebook group, where writers and fans of westerns meet to talk about books, cowboys, and romance, just might be for you! You won’t know until you saddle up and visit: https://www.facebook.com/groups/pioneerhearts/
Preview of Colorado Dreams by Heather Horrocks
CHAPTER ONE
1890, Barren Gold Mine, Colorado Springs
“Found any gold?” The grizzled old miner sat astride an old gray donkey, studying him.
Joseph Sayers raised his eyes to the other man. “Greetings, Uriah. When did you get back in town? I thought you'd headed out to the gold mines of California again.”
“Got lonesome for family.” Uriah Adams shrugged, removed his misshapen hat, and hit it against his thigh, sending up a small cloud of dust. “And you ain't answered my question yet, boy.”
Discouraged, Joseph knocked the dust off his own hat. “No gold,” he admitted. “Not one solitary nugget.”
Men’s voices drifted over the sound of the small babbling brook beside them. Joseph's partners — Henry Ralston and Robert Sayers — were returning to the site. When they spotted Uriah, they exchanged greetings with the older man.
Uriah said, “Joseph here was just telling me that you've had no luck.”
His partners agreed.
“Back in ‘49, I saw plenty of miners with no gold but lots of brand spanking new supplies. I heard tell that the real money to be made in a gold rush is by the people selling supplies to the miners. People were even saying that during a gold rush, sell shovels.” Uriah shrugged again. “Maybe you're in the wrong end of the gold rush business, boys.”
Joseph exchanged glances with his two partners, who were also covered with dust — and who looked as intrigued by the idea as he was — and said, “Maybe we are.”
Uriah laughed. “I won’t be buying any supplies from you, boys, ’cuz I'm giving up searching for gold. My bones are too old for this job. I'm going home to my Matilda. Best of luck to you, boys.”
~ ~ ~
Three Months Later, 1890, Maxwell Mansion, New York City
Emily Maxwell was never going to marry.
She especially had no intention of marrying Mr. Ebenezer Lloyd. Unfortunately, her father was just as determined that she would marry his business partner, thus cementing their businesses.
“You merely need to get on with your life,” her father said. “Just as I have moved on with mine. Petunia is a wonderful wife and helps me deal with the pain of losing your mother. Now it is time for you to move on with your life by getting married. Mr. Lloyd is a wonderful match for you. He will be here in five minutes to visit with you. I expect you to come down and to be wearing your beautiful smile. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, no smile in sight.
As her father left her side, Emily seethed with anger. Mr. Lloyd was no more appropriate for her to marry than Petunia was for her father. There was a twenty-year age difference between both couples.
Mrs. Hastings, who had been standing behind Emily, waiting for instructions, reached out a hand to stroke her shoulder. The housekeeper had become Emily’s dear friend and ally — the only ally she had at the moment. “Give him a chance, Miss Emily. Perhaps your father has chosen wisely for you. Perhaps you will be happy with him.” The words would have been more convincing if her voice sounded as though she did not believe the words she was uttering.
“Perhaps.” But Emily knew better. Her father had chosen Mr. Lloyd's courtship of her because he was a business partner. It was too tight of a relationship for Emily to feel good about.
And Petunia being Mr. Lloyd's daughter made this whole arrangement seem vaguely incestuous.
Nevertheless, Emily had few choices in the matter. And no one besides Mrs. Hastings to aid her.
Reluctantly, she descended the grand staircase of her father’s grand mansion, heading toward what felt like her doom. She could hear men's voices coming from her father's den.
Her steps slowed until she stood just outside the door. Dread nearly choking her, she knocked.
“Come in,” her father said.
Her heart hammering in her chest, Emily did as she was bid. The two men inside looked at her.
When she forced the required smile, her father smiled back, because she had done his will, and Mr. Lloyd grinned, but it was no grin she would want to see again. There was too much leer involved.
Mr. Lloyd rose to his feet and stepped toward Emily, while her father opened the French doors leading to a balcony, and motioned to the other two to go through.
Mr. Lloyd extended an arm to her and she repressed a shudder of dread as she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow.
He led her through the doors onto the balcony. Though she was chaperoned at all times, and had been her entire life, her father closed doors behind them.
A sense of panic and impending doom slid over Emily and she sucked in a quick breath.
Mr. Lloyd led her to the railing. “I am thrilled that you have agreed to marry me, my dear.”
She gasped, as she had done no such thing. Her father had not given her the choice, Mr. Lloyd had never bothered to ask her, and she had never said yes. But that didn’t matter in her situation.
Could she possibly be happy with Mr. Lloyd as her husband? She supposed some women might find him handsome, but his hand was clammy on hers and his girth was large. With his free hand, he wiped drops of sweat from his forehead. How could she help but be repulsed?
He turned to face her and touched her cheek with his free hand. It was clammy, as well.
No. She could not be happy with this man.
“You are so beautiful. I am happy to tell you that your father has agreed that we shall be married in thirty days.”
Thirty days?
As he leaned closer she froze. What was he going to do? With her father right outside that door — that door that her own father had closed — he was condoning anything Mr. Lloyd might do.
She fought a surge of panic and tried to lean back. It didn't help, as Mr. Lloyd put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him.
Then he kissed her.
It was vile, and made more repellent when he added his tongue to the mix.
She placed her hands against his chest and pushed, but he was much stronger than she. Holding her in place, he continued to kiss her, running one hand along her breast.
When he finally pulled away and released her, she was shaking. Looking at him, horrified, she pressed trembling hands to her bosom.
She felt as though she'd been violated. She had been — and with the full approval of her father. The sense of betrayal might never leave her.
Mr. Lloyd smiled, a lustful leer. “I can scarce wait for our wedding night.”
She turned, opened the doors, and rushed through them. Without looking at her father, she fled the room. Mr. Lloyd's satisfied laughter followed her up the stairs.
When she reached her room, she closed the door and leaned against it. With shaking hands, she wiped at her lips and her face and her breast, trying to get the feel of him off of her.
She might never feel clean again.
~ ~ ~
There was a light knock at the door. Emily shuddered. Surely her father would not allow Mr. Lloyd to follow her to her bedroom.
She rushed toward the window, ready to fling herself to her death if necessary to escape him.
“Miss Emily, it's me. Mrs. Hastings. May I enter?”
Rel
ief flooded through her, and she crossed back to the door and opened it. Mrs. Hastings entered and, seeing her face, pulled her into a hug. “Oh you poor dear. What are we going to do?”
Emily clung to Mrs. Hastings, the only mother she had left since her mother had died and the only family member she could turn to. She could no longer trust her father. Her older sister was already miserably married to a much older man. Her brother—
Her brother.
She could go to her brother.
He'd told her he was doing well. He'd said she could come if she ever needed to. He of all people knew what her father was capable of. His own father had died young, and her mother — their mother — had married again.
Her half-brother, Robert Sayers, would welcome her. Surely he would. He’d invited her to visit readily enough when he’d first moved to Colorado Springs.
Feeling stronger already, Emily gave Mrs. Hastings one last squeeze and pull back. “Thank you. I know you will keep my confidence, so I will tell you what I will do. I must plead to Robert.”
“But you will be destitute,” Mrs. Hastings protested.
“I have the jewels Mother left me. I will take those, as well as some of my clothing, and the small amount of cash I have.”
“Are you sure?” Mrs. Hastings sounded exceedingly worried.
Emily nodded, feeling more resolute every moment. “He kissed me.”
A gasp revealed Mrs. Hastings’s shock.
Emily frowned. “And he pawed my body. I cannot stay a moment longer. I will leave tonight.”
Shaking her head in horror, Mrs. Hastings declared, “Then I will help you.”
“Father may send you away.”
“The only reason I will stay now is to send you letters to know if you are in danger. Otherwise, I will go to my brother's home, as well.”
The two women stared at each other. Mistress and maid. Surrogate mother and daughter. Friend and friend. Mrs. Hastings was dear to her. “Will you go with me?”