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The Rancher Inherits A Family
Unexpected Father
The pretty redhead Seth Halloway pulls from a derailed train has surprising news for him. The children she’s accompanied to Cowboy Creek aren’t hers—they’re his, thanks to the last wishes of a late friend. Busy rancher Seth must suddenly cope with three rambunctious boys...and try to ignore his growing feelings for independent Marigold Brewster.
Marigold hopes to start over as the town’s new schoolteacher. She’ll choose her own path, and stay aloof from the adorable Radner boys—and their guardian. But the man who rescued her from a wrecked railcar might just be the one to save her from loneliness...if she dares to let him in.
CHERYL ST.JOHN’s love for reading started as a child. She wrote her own stories, designed covers and stapled them into books. She credits many hours of creating scenarios for her paper dolls and Barbies as the start of her fascination with fictional characters. Cheryl loves hearing from readers. Visit her website at cherylstjohn.net or email her at SaintJohn@aol.com.
Also By Cheryl St.John
Return to Cowboy Creek
The Rancher Inherits a Family
Cowboy Creek
Want Ad Wedding
Cowboy Creek Christmas
“Mistletoe Reunion”
Irish Brides
The Wedding Journey
The Preacher’s Wife
To Be a Mother
“Mountain Rose”
Marrying the Preacher’s Daughter
Colorado Courtship
“Winter of Dreams”
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk
The Rancher Inherits a Family
Cheryl St.John
www.millsandboon.co.uk
ISBN: 978-1-474-08255-6
THE RANCHER INHERITS A FAMILY
© 2018 Harlequin Books S.A.
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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Version: 2020-03-02
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“I’m glad you and your boys are all right.”
“Well, that’s the thing...”
“What’s the thing?”
“They’re not my boys.”
“They’re not?”
“I never saw them before I boarded the train headed for Kansas.”
“Well, then—”
“They’re yours.”
Had he taken a blow to the head, as well? “I assure you I’d know if I had children.”
“Well, as soon as you read this letter, along with a copy of a will, you’ll know.”
At the sound of paper unfolding, he opened his eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“It seems a friend of yours by the name of
Tessa Radner wanted you to take her children upon her death.”
* * *
Return to Cowboy Creek:
A bride train delivers the promise of new love
and family to a Kansas boomtown
The Rancher Inherits a Family—
Cheryl St.John, April 2018
His Substitute Mail-Order Bride—
Sherri Shackelford, May 2018
Romancing the Runaway Bride—
Karen Kirst, June 2018
Dear Reader,
Getting reacquainted with all the wonderful characters from the previous Cowboy Creek series and once again working with fellow authors Sherri Shackelford and Karen Kirst was great fun. If you haven’t read the entire series, I hope you’ll look for previous books and enjoy them as well.
Seth and Marigold were interesting characters to develop. Marigold is a resilient, determined young lady who is hungry for love, but afraid to risk it. Seth is a hardworking, responsible rancher who doesn’t have time in his life for an injury, a schoolteacher with a pet cat, or three challenging kids who need a lot of love and attention.
When they’re thrust together, this couple has a lot to learn about themselves—and about love. We’ve all experienced losses, and we’ve all dealt with them in diverse ways. Seth and Marigold have something to teach us, and what we learn from them is that love is worth the risk.
I enjoy keeping in touch with readers.
You can contact me at: Saintjohn@aol.com.
Visit me on the web: http://www.cherylstjohn.net/.
Like my Facebook author page: https://www.Facebook.com/CherylStJ.
See inspiration photos for all the Cowboy Creek books here: http://Pinterest.com/cheryl_stjohn/.
Happy spring!
Cheryl St.John
Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.
—Proverbs 3:5–6
This book is dedicated to my aunt Marilyn, a kind and gentle spirit. Surely now there are chocolate chip cookies in heaven.
Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
About the Author
Booklist
Title Page
Copyright
Introduction
Dear Reader
Bible Verse
Dedication
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
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Extract
About the Publisher
Chapter One
Cowboy Creek
April 1869
Seth Halloway heaved a burlap sack of dry beans over his shoulder and carried it to the back of the wagon, where he vaulted into the bed and stacked the bag beside kegs and crates. He yanked a faded bandana from his back pocket and wiped his face and neck. The sun was warm for April. Good for the early hay.
“Hadn’t you better clean yerseff up and git over to the station?” Old Horace, shuffling from the interior of Booker & Son general store, slowly drew a cheroot beneath his nostrils and inhaled. He paused at the nearest porch beam and struck a match. The loamy dark scent of tobacco drifted upward. “Bride train’s arrivin’ any time now.”
Seth tucked away the bandana. “Too much work waiting to go gawk at women keen on a husband,” Seth answered. “There’ll be plenty of eager grooms crowding the rails.”
“Might be you’d take a shine to one of those young fillies,” Gus Russell said from the bench where the two old men sat a healthy portion of the day when they weren’t playing horseshoes behind the church.
“A wife is pretty far down my list,” Seth told the two men, who knew all the comings and goings in town. Last fall, he’d sold his land in Missouri to start a ranch here in Kansas, and getting the White Rock stocked and operational took all his time and energy.
“You need sons to help you run that ranch,” Old Horace advised, peering up through a trail of smoke. He punctuated his statement by pointing his pipe stem at Seth.
Seth thought the same thing. He’d learned ranching from his father, and he wanted to pass down land and know-how to his own children, but the war and some unfortunate turns had put a kink in any plans he may have had. “Plenty of time for that.”
Shouts reached them, and the clanging bell across the intersection at the corner of The Cattleman hotel echoed along Eden Street. Seth’s immediate thought was a fire, and a jolt of unease rippled through his chest. He jumped to the ground.
Hoofbeats alerted him to a fast-approaching rider.
“Train derailed to the south!” the cowboy hollered from atop his prancing piebald. “Need ev’rybody’s help!”
Abram Booker appeared in the doorway in his clean white apron. “I’ll get another wagon from the livery. We’ll need to bring in the injured.”
“Help me unload these onto the boardwalk,” Seth called to the cowboy. They made quick work of stacking his purchases, and Abram tossed in an armful of blankets. “I’ll be right behind you.”
“I’m comin’, too!” Old Horace climbed up to the seat. Seth helped Gus into the back, and by the time they’d gotten to First Street, half a dozen more men and a few women had joined the old men in the back of the wagon. Seth urged the team past the now-deserted railroad station and south alongside the creek after which the town had been named.
He spotted a thin line of black smoke before he came within sight of the train. The engine and tender were overturned, and men worked at putting out fires along the tracks. The hazard of a prairie fire seemed to be under control. The foremost passenger cars had been overturned, and beyond those the stock cars were detached and had skidded together in a zigzag pattern.
The wailing of crying infants and children could be heard, along with shouts of men and whinnying horses. Other townspeople had arrived, as well. A few women offered water and assistance to passengers seated or lying on the sloping ground.
Seth set the brake handle and helped Old Horace down, then joined one of the small groups of men gathering to search cars.
“You’re strong and agile, Halloway.” Chesley Lawton, the portly gray-haired barber, gestured to him. “Come with our group.” He glanced over Seth’s shoulder. “You, too, young fella.”
The five men passed the closest cars and made their way farther along the tracks. A snake slithered from behind a rock and disappeared into the grass ahead. Seth chose a car no one had reached and surveyed the exposed underside facing them. He found hand-and footholds and climbed upward, another young man joining him. Finding the doorway, Seth sidled inside.
Two dozen passengers, having found no way to reach the doors or windows above them, appeared visibly shaken with various cuts and bruises. Together the men helped move debris and assisted women and children out and down to safety. The men made their way out last.
“Anyone still in here?” Satisfied everyone had escaped, Seth climbed out.
The young fellow beside him stuck out a hand as they headed for the next car. “Freddie Simms.”
“Seth Halloway.”
Entering the next car didn’t go as smoothly. The door was jammed and blocked. Freddie ran ahead of him to the front and yanked open the metal door. The cowboy led a group of frightened passengers out of the railcar.
“No wonder the rear door didn’t open.” Once inside, Seth surveyed the destruction. An entire row of seats had come loose and, along with a piece of interior ceiling, were piled at that end. He located an unconscious man with a head wound and kneeled to press his ear to the fellow’s chest. Freddie returned to stand behind him. “Heart’s beating.”
Together, they got the man as far as the doorway, and then shouted for help to get him down the twisted platform to the ground. The three on the ground took the unconscious person’s weight and Freddie helped ease him onto the grass.
Seth turned back inside. “Anyone here?” he called. Crunching broken window glass beneath his boots, he maneuvered toward the rear one more time. A muffled sound caught his attention. The size of the pile blocking the door prevented him from spotting anyone trapped beneath.
He kept searching, moving aside mangled metal and splintered wood. The car lurched, settling beneath him, and his heart jumped. He’d surveyed the ground by the railcar before entering, and there was nowhere for it to slide, so the movement was unsettling, but didn’t pose a threat. The battered seats and metal overhead were a true concern however.
He shoved aside a valise to discover a pair of women’s feet encased in high-top black boots. He wrapped his hand around her ankle and felt for a pulse. The leg moved, along with the dust-covered fabric of her skirt. He let go and wrenched away the cushions and frames, exposing a space where the fallen seats had formed a protective barrier. After dislodging the seats, he discovered a huddled woman and three children. He stifled his amazement and asked, “Are you all right?”
“I—I think so.”
The reverend, Virgil Taggart, joined Freddie behind him. He breathed a prayer of thanks and reached to take the children’s hands one at time. All three boys’ faces were tear-streaked and the youngest’s jagged breathing demonstrated his fear and recent crying. Freddie picked up the smallest one and herded the others toward the door.
“Come on, ma’am.” Seth helped the woman to her feet. She was taller than he’d expected—younger as well. Her red-gold hair had fallen from its mooring and hung over her shoulder in a shiny wave, with hairpins protruding. “You and your boys are safe. We’ll get you all to a doctor.”
“Peony is still under that pile somewhere.” The young woman backed away from the reverend’s outstretched hand and stepped closer to Seth. Her wide hazel eyes, with flecks of gold and green, had the uncanny ability to plead with his sensibilities. “I can’t leave her.”
Startled at that disturbing information, Seth turned back to the corner where he’d found them. Another child buried, injured or worse? “Where was she?”
“Right beside me when the train crashed, but I’m afraid all the shifting debris has covered her.”
“Get back.” He grasped her by the upper arms and moved her. Clearing away twisted metal, he got on his belly and pressed farther into the space from where he’d only just uncovered the passenger and her other children.
A mewling similar to a baby’s drove a shiver up his spine. An infant? Lord, help me find her and get her out of this.
The sound came again, much louder this time.
“That’s her! That’s Peony!”
He spotted a small cage at the same time the woman’s voice and the feline squalling registered. “A cat? Peony is a cat?”
“Do you see her?”
The railcar shifted again.
“Come on, lady!” Freddie bellowed. “I’ve got her. Get out of there, Halloway!”
Seth inched closer, reached for the cage and inched backward. Backing out of the narrow space wasn’t as easy as going forward. He had to push with his elbows and wrists and then scoot the cage along, a fraction at a time. Finally, he had his body out of the tunnel, but a loud creak from above alerted him to imminent danger. He threw his arm over his head a split second before an unhinged seat broke loose.
* * *
Seth’s shoulder and wrist throbbed under what he guessed, due to the numbing cold, was an ice pack. He opened his gritty eyes and squinted against the light that was making his head hurt. He didn’t recognize the room or the pungent earthy smells. The pain in the other hand was appallingly familiar. He’d taken more than one shot during the war, as well as a couple after. A groan escaped his lips.
“Mr. Halloway.” The soft voice near his side added to his disorientation. “Are you in pain?”
Ivory-skinned and hazel-eyed, with a halo of red-gold hair, the woman from the train came into view. She’d rearranged the shiny mass back on her head and had only a scrape on her chin as a result of the ordeal. “You fared well,” he said, barely managing to get the words out.
“I’m perfectly fine, thank you.”
“And the children?”
“They have a few bumps and bruises from the crash, but they’re safe.”
He closed his eyes with grim satisfaction.
“I’m Marigold Brewster.”
If she was one of the brides, she was certainly a young widow. And more power to the man willing to take on all those kids. “Seth Halloway.”
“I know. The other men told me your name. Thank you for rescuing me.”
“I’m glad you and your boys are all right. Reverend Taggart must’ve been praying the whole while.”
“Well, that’s the thing...”
His head throbbed and the light hurt. He closed his eyes. “What’s the thing?”
“They’re not my boys.”
“They’re not?”
“I never saw them before I boarded the train headed for Kansas.”
“Well, then—”
“They’re yours.”
With his uninjured hand, he touched his forehead gingerly. Had that blow to his head rattled his senses? No, he hadn’t lost his memory. He remembered what he’d been doing before heading off to the wreckage, and he recalled what had happened inside the railcar. “I assure you I’d know if I had children.”
“Well, as soon as you read this letter, along with a copy of the will, you’ll know.”
At the sound of paper unfolding, he opened his eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“It seems a friend of yours by the name of Tessa Radner wanted you to take her children upon her death.”
“Tessa... She’s dead?”
“This letter says she is. I’m sorry.”
He remembered his friend well. They’d been neighbors and classmates in Big Bend, Missouri, a hundred years ago. He’d joined the infantry alongside her husband, Jessie. Jessie had made it nearly all the way through the war and had been killed at the end of the Appomattox Campaign in Northern Virginia’s final battle. Seth winced at the magnitude of senseless loss.
Miss Brewster held up the letter, so he could read it. Tessa had gotten sick and her main concern was for her children. She’d believed she was getting better, but had taken a turn for the worse. Arranging to send her children to Cowboy Creek had been her frantic effort to see they were cared for. She’d been a young widow, frightened to die, frightened to leave behind her children. Seth’s chest ached with sorrow and sympathy for his childhood friend. But sending her beloved babies to him? She must have been desperate to believe he was her best choice. What was he going to do with them?
He realized she was still holding the letter and his vision had blurred on the words. He glanced up. “So...you’re their chaperone?”
“No, I’m the new schoolteacher. I’ve been hired to replace Miss Aldridge. The town council paid my fare. I met the boys—Tate, Harper and Little John—soon after the trip started, and asked why they were traveling without supervision. I shudder to think what might have happened to them. Tate showed me this letter, which explained why they were alone. Harper and Little John looked so frightened, and Tate was trying to be brave and act as though he had everything under control. He’s only seven himself. All I did was help them out as best I could.”
The news was a lot to take in. He would show the letter and the will to his brother, Russ, who was an attorney. Russ would know if everything was on the up-and-up, but Seth didn’t know what choice he had. If these were Jessie and Tessa’s sons, and they had no other family, he had no choice. He always did the right thing, the responsible thing.
He swallowed, finding his throat dry. “Well, I reckon we’re even then.”
“Pardon?”
“We’re even. You took care of the boys, and I rescued you.”
“I suppose so,” she agreed.
The door opened and Dr. Marlys Mason entered, wearing a crisp blue dress and a white apron. “How are you feeling, Mr. Halloway?”
“Call me Seth. I’ve been worse.”
“Yes, I noticed that when I removed your shirt. Besides several other interesting scars, one from a .58 Minié ball, I’d say.”
He quirked an eyebrow at her. “You can tell the caliber by the scar?”
“Indeed, and you were fortunate it was the Minié ball because the greater weight and velocity allowed it to penetrate and come out the other side. Another inch and it would have shattered your shoulder or become lodged in the bone and necessitated amputation.”
Beside him Marigold sucked in a breath of surprise.
“There are a couple of wounds I don’t recognize, though,” the doctor added, clearly fascinated and peering again to have another look. “These inch-long scars on your upper arm and your shoulder.”
He raised his arm only to regret it when pain shot through his ribs. “Arrows.”
The doctor’s eyebrows rose. “Arrows?”
“Comanche.”
“They didn’t pierce bone, however.”
“I was a moving target.”
“Fascinating. How were they removed?”
“Grin and yank. The ones that had gone clean through were easiest because I could break off the tips.”
Dr. Mason’s fascination was evident in her raised eyebrows. He had spoken to the doctor other times, and was accustomed to her logical thinking and straightforward speech. Her intelligence and intuition impressed him. He glanced over, and Miss Brewster, on the other hand, appeared a shade paler and unimpressed. “I’m glad they brought me to you, Dr. Mason. I respect your natural remedies. What’s ailing me at the moment?”
Marlys peered into his eyes one at a time. “You took a blow to the head, but seem to be clearheaded now. I want to observe you overnight however. Besides the head injury, you have several contusions and your ulna is broken.”
“My arm?”
“Yes, this bone,” she said, raising her arm to show him the underside. “It’s a clean break, and will heal properly in a few weeks. I’ll put a cast on it as soon as the swelling is down. I’ll make a poultice for those ribs and we’ll wrap them. I would say a large object struck you there, rather than something with an edge, which would have broken or cracked ribs. Bruising will heal far more quickly, but is still quite painful. I will supply you with herbs. Those ribs will hurt every time you move until they’ve had a couple of weeks to heal.”
