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Western Spring Weddings: The City Girl and the Rancher / His Springtime Bride / When a Cowboy Says I Do
Acclaim for the authors of Western Spring Weddings
LYNNA BANNING
‘Funny. Enjoyable. Adventurous. Banning has written another winning Western.’
—RT Book Reviews on The Lone Sheriff
‘Banning pens another delightful, quick and heartwarming read.’
—RT Book Reviews on Smoke River Bride
KATHRYN ALBRIGHT
‘[A] fast-paced, sensual and delightful read about lovers torn apart by duty and reunited by destiny.’
—RT Book Reviews on The Gunslinger and the Heiress
‘Fans of Western and marriage-of-convenience romances have it all.’
—RT Book Reviews on Texas Wedding for Their Baby’s Sake
LAURI ROBINSON
‘The Roaring Twenties come to delightful life.’
—Heroes and Heartbreakers on The Bootlegger’s Daughter
‘Robinson delivers a sexy, engaging adventure.’
—RT Book Reviews on A Fortune for the Outlaw’s Daughter
LYNNA BANNING combines her lifelong love of history and literature in a satisfying career as a writer. Born in Oregon, she graduated from Scripps College and embarked on a career as an editor and technical writer, and later as a high school English teacher. She enjoys hearing from her readers. You may write to her directly at PO Box 324, Felton, CA 95018, USA, email her at carowoolston@att.net or visit Lynna’s website at lynnabanning.net.
KATHRYN ALBRIGHT writes American-set historical romance for Harlequin Mills & Boon. From her first breath she has had a passion for stories that celebrate the goodness in people. She combines her love of history and her love of story to write novels of inspiration, endurance and hope. Visit her at kathrynalbright.com and on Facebook.
A lover of fairy tales and cowboy boots, LAURI ROBINSON can’t imagine a better profession than penning happily-ever-after stories about men (and women) who pull on a pair of boots before riding off into the sunset—or kick them off for other reasons. Lauri and her husband raised three sons in their rural Minnesota home, and are now getting their just rewards by spoiling their grandchildren. Visit: laurirobinson.blogspot.com, facebook.com/lauri.robinson1 or twitter.com/LauriR.
Western Spring
Weddings
The City Girl and the Rancher
Lynna Banning
His Springtime Bride
Kathryn Albright
When a Cowboy Says I Do
Lauri Robinson
www.millsandboon.co.uk
Table of Contents
Cover
Praise
About the Authors
Title Page
The City Girl and the Rancher
Dear Reader
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
His Springtime Bride
Dedication
Dear Reader
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
When a Cowboy Says I Do
Dedication
Dear Reader
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Extract
Copyright
The City Girl and the Rancher
Lynna Banning
Dear Reader,
After winter—often a long, cold, bleak period in nature and in life—a miracle happens: Nature regenerates and lives change.
To me, spring signals the renewal of both living things and the human spirit. It’s a time when growth is resumed, when hope is renewed, when fear turns into courage and when the seeds of new life are sown.
Lynna Banning
Chapter One
April, 1873
“Hey, mister! Mister? Are you awake?”
Something lifted the battered wide-brimmed hat Gray had pulled over his face. “Who wants to know?” he grumbled.
“Me!”
He opened one eye. “Yeah? Who’s ‘me’?”
“Me! Emily!”
Gray stared into a pair of wide blue eyes framed by a mop of bright red curls. A kid. A female kid, by the look of her ruffled blue plaid dress.
“Are you sleeping?” a high-pitched voice chirped.
“He— Heck, yeah. At least I was tryin’ my da—darndest.”
“Are you hungry? My mama’s gone to get something to eat.”
“Gone where?” He surveyed the other seats in the stifling passenger car. Three silver-haired ladies with big hats, two ranchers he thought he recognized and a preacher in a shiny black suit and stiff collar.
“Gone with the conductor man. To get a sandwich for me. I hope it’s not chicken. I hate chicken!”
Gray stretched his legs across the aisle space. “What’s wrong with chicken?”
A frown wrinkled the girl’s forehead. “A chicken pecked me once. It hurt.”
“Yep, a chicken’ll do that sometimes.” He resettled his hat over his face and closed his eyes.
“Mister? Mister, aren’tcha gonna talk to me?”
“Not if I can help it,” he said. He’d just finished a four-hundred-mile cattle drive plagued by bad weather, rustlers and no sleep. He was desperate for some shut-eye.
“Emily!” The voice was stern and female. “What are you doing bothering that man?”
“I’m not botherin’ him, Mama. I’m talkin’ to him.”
“Haven’t I told you never to talk to strangers? Come away from there, honey. I’ve brought you a sandwich.”
“It isn’t chicken, is it?” the small voice inquired.
“I beg your pardon? Emily, what’s wrong with chicken?”
Something swished past him. Something that smelled good, like soap. Maybe honeysuckle, too. “She doesn’t like chicken,” Gray said. He thumbed his hat back and opened his eyes. And then he sat up straight so fast his jeans rubbed the wrong way on the velvet upholstery. Holy—! The prettiest woman he’d ever seen in his life sat opposite him, a brown paper sack in her lap. She wore a stiff dark blue traveling dress and a silly-looking hat with lots of feathers on top. Partridge feathers.
She looked up and smiled. “Oh, good morning, sir. I trust Emily was not bothering you?”
“Uh, no.”
“Would you like a sandwich? I wasn’t sure how long it would be before the train made its next stop, so I purchased an extra one.”
He shot a glance at Emily. “Is it chicken?”
“Well, yes, it is. You do not like chicken?”
“Nope.” He winked at the girl who was sprawled on the seat next to her mother. “A chicken pecked me once.”
Emily giggled.
“Oh. I also have, let’s see...roast beef and egg salad. I trust a cow has not pecked you in the past?”
Gray laughed. “Not hardly, ma’am. Fact is, I’ve seen enough cows in the past month to last me a good while, so if it’s all the same to you, I’ll take the chicken after all. And thanks.”
“You are quite welcome,” she said primly. “I suspect my daughter has interrupted your rest.” She looked straight at him with eyes so green they looked like new willow leaves and handed him something wrapped up in butcher paper. “Emily is quite skilled at interrupting.”
Emily unwrapped her sandwich. “Mister sleeps under his hat!”
“I do hope you didn’t wake—”
“Yes, I did!” Emily crowed. “And he talked to me and everything.” The girl’s bright blue eyes snapped with intelligence. He’d bet she was a real handful. He didn’t envy her mother one bit.
Suddenly he remembered what manners he’d managed to pick up over the past thirty-one years. “Name’s Graydon Harris, ma’am.”
“How do you do? I am Clarissa Seaforth, traveling from Boston. And this is Emily, my daughter.”
He tipped his Stetson. “Emily and I met earlier, Mrs. Seaforth.”
“It’s Miss Seaforth.”
That stopped him midbite. “Miss? As in not married?”
“That is correct. Emily is adopted.”
“Yes, and I’m real special!” the girl sang. “Mama said she really, really wanted me.”
Gray watched Clarissa Seaforth’s face turn white as an overcooked dumpling and then pink and then white again. Whoa, Nelly! Something about Miss Clarissa Seaforth didn’t exactly add up. He clamped his jaw shut and resolved not to ask. Not his business, anyway. He had enough on his mind getting back to the ranch after the drive to Abilene, paying Shorty and Ramon the salary he owed them, eating something besides beans and bacon, and finally getting a good night’s sleep.
“Are you a cowboy, mister?”
“Emily,” her mother admonished. “Eat your sandwich and don’t bother the gentleman.”
Jehoshaphat, nobody’d called him a gentleman since he was ten years old and helped old Mrs. DiBenedetti corral her runaway rooster. The train gave a noisy jerk and began to glide forward.
“Yeah, I’m sort of a cowboy. I just drove three hundred cows to the railhead in Kansas. Guess that makes me a cowboy.”
“What’s a railhead?”
“Emily...” the cool voice cautioned.
Gray bit into his chicken sandwich. “A railhead? Well, that’s where a train stops to pick up cattle cars.”
“You mean a train like this one? I’ve never been on a train before. It’s kinda rumbly.”
He couldn’t help chuckling. “Rumbly is a good way to describe it.”
“Doesn’t it bother the cows?”
“This is a passenger train, honey. Cows ride on different trains.”
Her red curls bobbed. “Where do they go?”
“Uh, well, they go...well, my cows are goin’ to Chicago.”
“What do they do when they get there?”
“Emily...” the woman warned. “Eat your sandwich.”
Whew. He didn’t relish explaining a slaughterhouse to little Emily. Or her mother. He devoured another mouthful of chicken sandwich.
* * *
Clarissa swallowed a morsel of roast beef down a throat so dry it felt like sandpaper. How her brother would have laughed about her discomfort. What, sis? You riding the train all the way across the country? You won’t last a single day.
He was wrong. I have lasted all the way from Boston, and I’m not finished yet!
But she was most definitely exhausted. She settled back in her seat and let her eyelids drift shut. Emily was a handful, irrepressible, full of four-year-old curiosity and questions and... Oh, she did hope her niece, now her adopted daughter, wasn’t making a pest of herself. In one ear she could hear her daughter’s high, piping queries and in the other the deeper, grumbly responses of the cowboy in the seat facing them.
“Mama?” Emily jostled her arm. “When are we gonna get there? Can I have a horse?”
“I do not know, and no, you cannot have a horse. Life is dangerous enough as it is.”
The cowboy crossed his long, jean-clad legs. “How far are you goin’, Miss Seaforth?”
“All the way to Oregon. Smoke River.”
“That’s about ten more hours,” he said from under his hat.
She blinked. “Now, how would you know that, sir?”
He sat up. “Cuz I’ve traveled this route before. That’s where I live.”
“Oh?”
He sat up. “I own a ranch near Smoke River. Just sold all my cattle in Abilene and now I’m goin’ home. You?”
Emily pressed up against her arm. “Tell him, Mama.”
“Why, I am traveling to join someone.” She paused and swallowed. “A...friend. I have agreed to be his wife.”
“Sight unseen?” He thumbed his hat back off almost black hair.
“Well, yes, actually. When my brother, Anthony, died, Caleb offered to—”
“Caleb? Caleb Arness?”
“Why, yes. Do you know him?”
Gray bit back a groan. Yeah, he knew him. Last time he’d tangled with Caleb Arness, he’d sworn he’d kill the lowlife some day. “Yeah, I know Caleb.”
“Ah. Could you tell me a little about him? Please?”
Like hell he would. But her green eyes darkened into an entreaty no man could resist. Not this man, anyway. “What do you want to know?”
She hesitated. “Well... Caleb wrote that he loves children. That he would treat Emily as if she were his own child. Does Mr. Arness have children of his own?”
Gray tried hard not to flinch. Caleb Arness was a liar and a cheat, and if he spent a single minute thinking about anyone other than himself, Gray would cut up his Stetson with his pocketknife and eat it. “Listen, Miss Seaforth. I gotta ask why a woman like you would even consider marrying a man she’s never laid eyes on.” A man at the rock bottom of anybody’s list of eligible men.
She cuddled Emily closer to her body. “Whatever do you mean, a woman like me?”
“A woman who—” he sucked in a breath “—is, um, attractive. Okay, pretty.” Really pretty. Hot damn, she made him crazy.
She blushed the nicest shade of raspberry he’d ever seen, and he bit the inside of his cheek. What could he say to save her from the clutches of Caleb Arness?
* * *
The train chuffed noisily into the station at Smoke River, and Emily began to bounce up and down and peer out the window. “Ooh, look, a horsie! And a funny wagon. Can I ride in it, Mama? Can I?”
Clarissa straightened her hat, then stood up and shook the wrinkles out of her bombazine travel suit. “We’ll see, honey. First we must get off the train.” They moved past the dozing cowboy, Mr. Harris, and descended from the train. The red-shirted conductor followed, set Clarissa’s single suitcase on the platform and disappeared back into the passenger car.
The sun was blinding. She raised her gloved hand to shield her eyes and squinted at the small station house.
“Oughtta get you a sun hat pretty quick,” said a masculine voice behind her. Graydon Harris stepped into her field of view.
“Yes, thank you, I will do that.”
“Dressmaker in town sells hats,” he volunteered. He strode past her and slung the saddlebag he carried over his shoulder into the wagon bed, then climbed up beside the driver.
“Uh, can we give you a lift, Miss Seaforth?”
“Yes!” Emily chirped. “I wanna ride on the horse!”
“No, you don’t, Emily,” Gray said. “Nobody rides this horse.”
“How come?”
“Well...” He jumped down and lifted her suitcase into the wagon. “Because he doesn’t have a saddle.” He gestured at the seat he’d just vacated. “You ride up here, ma’am. Emily and I’ll climb in behind you.”
Well! He gave her no chance to refuse, just grasped her around the waist and swung her up into the empty space. She heard the driver chuckle. “Don’t do no good to say no, ma’am,” he said. “Once Gray makes up his mind, that’s pretty much how things are gonna be.”
Gracious sakes, what grammar! She sneaked a look at the speaker. Why, he was nothing but a boy! An Indian boy, she gathered from his bronze skin and the strip of red calico tied around his head. He grinned and nodded at her, and she quickly averted her gaze.
Emily squealed as Mr. Harris lifted her up into the wagon bed and climbed in after her. Her daughter’s next words made her cringe. “Look, Mama, an Indian! A real live Indian!”
Both Mr. Harris and the driver laughed.
“I apologize for my daughter,” she said as the boy picked up the reins.
“No need,” he said. “You must be from back East. Everybody out here’s already seen what us Indians look like, so it’s no surprise to them.”
The wagon rattled into the rutted road, and Clarissa clutched the edge of her seat.
“Ooh!” Emily screamed. “We’re moving!”
“Sit down, honey.” Mr. Harris’s voice came from the back. “Don’t want you to fall out.”
“I wanna go fast!”
Clarissa sighed. Emily always wanted to do everything fast—she talked fast, skipped instead of walking sedately and gobbled her food. Part of Clarissa lived in perpetual amusement; the other part endured perpetual exasperation and worry.
“Miss Seaforth,” Mr. Harris called, “that’s Sammy Greywolf who’s drivin’ us.”
“H’lo, Sammy,” Emily called. “My name’s Emily.”
“How do you do, Mr. Greywolf,” Clarissa added.
“The boy let out a whoop. “Ya hear that, Gray? Mister Greywolf.”
“Yeah,” Mr. Harris said drily. “I hear. Next thing you know you’ll be wearin’ a black silk top hat.”
The boy laughed and flicked the reins. “Where to, ma’am?”
“Oh.” Mentally she counted up the precious few coins at the bottom of her reticule.
“I—”
“Take her to the Smoke River Hotel,” Mr. Harris said.
“Righto, Gray. Then I’ll drive you on over to the livery stable.”
The wagon thumped along over what must be the main street and stopped in front of a white-painted three-story hotel. The next thing she knew two strong hands gripped her around the waist and lifted her down onto the board sidewalk.
“You’re shakin’,” he said quietly. “Anything wrong?”
“N-no. Thank you.”
He released her. “Nervous about meetin’ up with Caleb, maybe? Woulda thought he’d be there to meet your train.”
“He—he didn’t know when we were arriving. Exactly.” She couldn’t look at him.
“Hey, mister, what about me?” Emily stood in the wagon, arms extended. Mr. Harris swooshed her down so fast she screeched with delight. “Again! Do it again!”
Gray obliged, swinging the girl back into the wagon and then out again, while keeping one eye on Miss Seaforth. Something was wrong. He didn’t want to lay eyes on Caleb Arness anytime soon, but she did. He didn’t for one minute believe the man hadn’t known when they were arriving. So what was going on? Where was he? Probably drunk in some bar, or maybe down at Serena’s place.
Well, shoot, it wasn’t his problem. He lifted her suitcase out of the wagon and suddenly realized how light it was. “I guess you shipped your trunk on ahead, huh? You want Sammy to deliver it from the station?”
“I shipped no trunk, Mr. Harris.”
“You mean you came all the way out West with—” All at once it hit him. She had nothing but what few things were packed in that small suitcase and the clothes on her back. And he’d bet most of the things in the suitcase were Emily’s. In fact, he’d bet Miss Seaforth didn’t have a bean to her name.
“Wait for me, Sammy.” He picked up her suitcase, grabbed Emily’s hand and escorted Miss Seaforth up the steps and into the hotel.
“Harold,” he said to the skinny desk clerk. “Miss Seaforth and her daughter need a room,” he announced loudly. “And,” he murmured, “put it on my bill.”
“Yessir, Mr. Harris,” the clerk acknowledged under his breath.
“And, Harold, tell Rita that their restaurant meals are included.”
He turned to look down at Emily, who was holding on to her mother’s skirt, then hunkered down to her level. “Miss Emily? I want you to go next door with your momma and have a dish of ice cream, okay?”
“Are you coming, too, mister?”
“Yeah, in a little while. You got a favorite flavor of ice cream?”
She sent him a grin that made him feel funny in the middle. “Yes! Strawberry.”
Miss Seaforth laid a restraining hand on the girl’s red curls. “Oh, I don’t think—”
“Right.” Gray straightened to face her. “Don’t think. Your daughter wants some ice cream, and that’s all there is to it.”
Chapter Two
“Mama, I think ice cream is the deliciousest thing in the whole world! Can I have another dish?”
Clarissa set her spoon beside her teacup. “No, honey. You’ll spoil your supper. And it’s may I have another dish.”
“But Mister Cowboy said—”
“Mister Cowboy—I mean Mr. Harris is not your father.”
“Nobody’s my father, not since Papa went away.”
She sighed. “Your papa didn’t go away, honey. Your papa was lost at sea, remember?”
Emily surveyed her with interest. “What’s lostatsea mean?”
“It means he is not able to come back, even though he wanted to more than anything in the world.” Clarissa swallowed hard over something stuck in her throat. Thank the Lord the restaurant was deserted at this hour of the day. Her nerves were badly frayed. The waitress, Rita she said her name was, said it was too late for lunch and too early for supper, but tea and ice cream would be no problem. The woman wore a crisp blue apron and had a kind face; watching her bustle back and forth made Clarissa feel a little calmer.
The restaurant next door to the hotel was cool and dim, and the red-and-gold carpeting muffled the sound of footsteps. At least the room was not swaying, like the train.
Emily scraped her spoon around and around in her bowl of ice cream. “Can I play with Sammy tomorrow?”
“No, you cannot.”
“Then what are we gonna do tomorrow, Mama?”
Clarissa pressed her lips together. She hadn’t the faintest idea what she would do tomorrow. She had expected Caleb to meet the train, and now she felt completely at sea, alone in a strange town, a small—very small—Western town, where she knew no one, in a wild, untamed state she had only recently learned was a state, with exactly two dollars to her name. What on earth would she do when that was gone?
She drew in a long, slow breath and closed her eyes. She couldn’t simply sit and wait for Caleb to realize she was here and come to find her. What if he were away on business? He could be gone for days, even weeks. If he didn’t show soon, she must look for some sort of employment, she decided. Even though she had never worked a day in her life, she had Emily to think of. She had to do something.
The waitress approached. “More tea, ma’am?”
“Oh, no thank you. Rita, may I ask you a question?”
“Why sure, miss. Fire away.”
“Well...um, does this restaurant need a...a dishwasher by any chance?”
The waitress’s dark eyebrows went up. “You don’t look like the dish-washin’ type to me, ma’am. Besides, we already got a dishwasher, Rosie Greywolf.”
“Oh. I see.”
Emily perked up. “Izzat Sammy’s mama?”
“It is,” Rita verified. “Rosie’s been washin’ dishes here for more years than I can remember.”
“What about the mercantile across the street—Ness’s, is it? Would they need a clerk?”
“Prob’ly not, miss. Carl Ness has two daughters who help out after school and on weekends.”
Clarissa bit her lip. “You see, the problem is that I am running low on funds and—”
“You need a job, right?”
“I—well, yes, I do. Someone was supposed to meet me at the train station, but he failed to show up, and now...”
Rita propped her hands on her ample hips. “Who was it?”
“Caleb Arness.”
The waitress’s face changed. “Arness, huh?” She studied Clarissa for a full minute. “He a relation of some sort?”
