Always (37 page)

Wearing a sly smile, he dropped his head, and she lifted her face, angling her chin so their mouths were only a tantalizing inch apart. She closed her eyes, and—

“Get wet,” he said.

“Huh?” But his foot had already come around behind her ankle. A split second later, she landed with a splash on her rump, soaked to the skin and up to her neck in swirling muddy creek water.

“Ross!” She shook her head furiously, spat out some water, and blinked to clear her blurred vision. “That was a dirty trick!”

“Yup. Next time, watch out who you call an imbecile.”

“You’ll pay,” she said. The cold water had been a shock at first, but it already felt good. She wasn’t about to say it, though. She kept her eyes on him as he dropped to his knees and took her by one wrist.

“Of that I have no doubt,” he said and grinned as he pulled her up onto her knees to face him. “In fact, I can’t wait, but now I want to tell you how the book ends.”

“How?” But as he dropped her wrist to move closer and enfold her in his arms, her mind was not on her own sweet revenge or his novel. It was on finishing what they’d started.

Their kiss was slow and deep, as earthy and sensual as their surroundings. A new warmth that had nothing at all to do with the sun overhead blossomed in Emily’s middle to spread like a long, lazy sigh through her limbs. If she hadn’t been able to see the truth in his eyes earlier, she would have known it now. He did love her. He loved her the way a man was supposed to love a woman.

When they parted, Ross didn’t release her but instead held her firmly pressed against the length of him. “When Andrew asks Eleanor to marry him, she says ...”

“Yes.” With her arms still locked around his neck, Emily closed her eyes and rested her head against his shoulder. As far she was concerned, they could stay like this. On their knees and in each others’ arms.
Summertime forever.
“Yes, yes, yes, yes.”

But Ross chose that moment to let go. Emily’s head popped up. “You’re not going to dunk me again, are you?”

He didn’t reply as he brought his left hand from around her back and opened it to reveal a fragile golden ring. Emily’s lips parted as it caught the light and flashed dazzling white. A marriage ring. And he’d had it all this time.

“Forever, Em.” Gently, he took her left hand and slid the gleaming gold circle very slowly down the length of her ring finger.

“Always,” she whispered, for that was all she could manage. Her voice had deserted her. She lifted her gaze to his and smiled. As with the promises they’d made to each other so many years before, this one, too, they’d keep.

***

From the Author

To avoid offending Civil War historians who know better and misinforming those readers who may not, I confess to shuffling some dates to fit into Ross and Emily’s story. The cornerstone for the national monument at Gettysburg was laid on July 4, 1865, not in early June.

With regard to Lancaster, Pennsylvania, many of the businesses, streets, and landmarks mentioned in this story are authentic. Some are not. While the Columbia Pike did indeed run west of the city, most other landmarks mentioned outside city limits are figments of my imagination—the Brenners’ Woods, Mowrer’s Creek, and the Kissing Bridge, unfortunately, included. I would like to think, though, that there were countless very special places along Lancaster County’s many lazy, winding streams where two children like Ross and Emily could have played in the woods. In fact, I know there were.

*

I hope you’ll linger for a short while longer as we leave Post Civil War Pennsylvania behind and move ahead about a decade in time to the American West circa1878. The setting of my next backlist title coming to e-book is a sprawling ranch near Fort Worth, Texas, where a headstrong cattle princess learns, much to her chagrin, that she needs a husband.
Fast.

 But only for six months.

And she knows just the footloose, not-the-marrying-kind of guy to help her...

Excerpt from BROKEN VOWS

There was more to that handsome gun than she wanted there to be…

Chapter One

The Elena Rose Ranch, Fort Worth, Texas, April, 1878

When a man knows his days are numbered, his perspective on life changes. Galen Girard knew this for a fact.

He stood with his back to the others in the room as he gazed through the window of his study and surveyed his second greatest achievement, the working section of the sprawling cattle ranch known as the Elena Rose. Over the years, he had invested his sweat, his fortune, his heart, and his soul into the Elena Rose, and he had built it into one of the largest, most profitable spreads in the state.

In his youth, Galen had cut a fine-looking figure, and now that he had reached middle age, he was proud that he still retained a full head of chestnut hair and that his body, worked hard by ranch life, had never gone to flab. That body, however, had turned traitor on him, falling prey to an invisible disease that was likely to claim him before the year was out. His mind was as sharp as ever, though, and he fully intended to see that certain things were done before he was forced to bid adieu to this world and continue on to the next.

Now, he disregarded the stunning vista outside his window and turned to face his single greatest achievement of all, that which far surpassed the success of the Elena Rose—his only child, Rachel. She was a grown woman and magnificent to behold. This morning, she stood tall, dressed smartly in a navy blue riding habit, with her coppery mane loose and wild. She had her late mother's high cheekbones and flashing green eyes, but that square jaw and that stubborn, determined set to her mouth, they were Galen's own. Oh, yes, Rachel was his daughter, in spirit as well as in flesh, and he was proud of her.

Knowing her high spirits as well as he did his own, he eyed her warily now, aware that her apparent calm in the face of his latest pronouncement was only a prelude to the storm. After all, she had no way of knowing the truth about his condition. He had sworn his old friend, Doc Bowers, to secrecy.

"
Married?
" Rachel spat out the word like a piece of spoiled meat. "What in blue blazes do you mean I have to get married? That is the most outrageous piece of poppycock I've ever heard in my life!"

Galen's sister-in-law, Charlotte, rose from her chair in a corner of the study and glided to Rachel's side. "I'm sure your father didn’t mean it like it sounded, did you, Galen?"

Galen flipped open the lid of his cigar box and extracted a Havana cigar. As he cut it, he had to rein in his irritation. There was only one reason he had planned to have Charlotte sit in on this exchange, and that was because he knew her presence would exert a certain pressure on his daughter. "I meant it
exactly
like it sounded, Charlotte."

So many years ago, Galen had warned his twin brother not to get involved with Charlotte, but she’d been comely and flirtatious, and George was a sucker for a pretty face. When Charlotte became pregnant, George did the right thing by her and then lived just long enough to rue that day. Now it looked as if George’s son, Nicholas, had inherited his father’s weakness for enticing coquettes. One had only to look at Nick's new wife, Daisy, to see that history was about to repeat itself.

Rachel pointed at her father as he reached for a match. "You have rounded the bend! You're plumb loco if you think I'm going to get married just because you've suddenly got the addle-pated idea that you want an heir. Take a look in front of you. I
am
your heir!"

Galen made a grand show of lighting his cigar in a leisurely fashion. “Why, I hadn’t thought that far ahead, my dear, but an heir would be nice. I’d consider that a point in your favor when I make out my will.”

Charlotte interjected eagerly. “Galen, you needn’t fear for the Girard name. There is Nicholas, you know, and given time, I’m sure he and Daisy—”

Galen shot Charlotte an annoyed glance that caused her to clamp her mouth shut.

Rachel tried to collect herself. She sucked in a deep breath and spoke in a calmer tone. “Daddy, you aren’t being reasonable. I’ve worked hard to earn the Elena Rose. You always said—”

“You’re right. I’ve always said it would be yours when I’m gone, but I’m still breathing, Rachel Elena, and until that fact changes, I call the shots.”

“But—”

“No buts!” He pointed his cigar at his daughter. “You
will
get married, and your husband
will
be capable of running the Elena Rose, and he will
not
be some weak-kneed pansy you can dance a do-si-do around whenever you have a mind to!”

Galen realized too late that he’d begun to shout in an effort to intimidate his defiant offspring. It wasn’t working; it never had. Rachel merely raised a recalcitrant eyebrow.

He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “Now, I’m giving you a chance to pick him out for yourself. Two months is plenty of time as I see it. If you haven’t found yourself an acceptable man by then, well, by God, if you want to inherit the Elena Rose, I’ll pick one out for you myself.”

“And if I refuse?”

With great dignity, Galen lowered himself into the chair behind his desk. “The ranch will go to Nicholas”—and now he chose his words carefully for maximum effect—“and Daisy, of course, since she’s his wife.”

Rachel dropped all pretense of control. Her eyes shot sparks of pure fury. “
Daisy?
Daisy Parker? You would leave our family’s legacy in the hands of Daisy Parker?”

“She’s Daisy Girard now, Rachel,” Charlotte cut in. “I know you two have never gotten along, but I think—”

Rachel gave her aunt a look that would have wilted a blooming rose. “Daisy Parker is
not
a Girard! She will never be a Girard, and she will never get her greedy hands on any part of the Elena Rose!”

Charlotte pressed her lips together and held her tongue, but it was obvious that she too was now simmering.

Rachel narrowed her eyes at her father. “What’s brought all of this on so suddenly, Daddy? All this foolish talk about retiring from ranch work and writing up a will and—” She paused and frowned. “Is there something wrong with you?”

Galen took the cigar from his mouth, fixed his beloved daughter with his unflinching blue gaze, and lied through his teeth. “Of course not. It’s just come to that time in my life when it’s time to set matters straight. I’ve been meaning to get to it ever since your mother passed on.”

Rachel stared at him hard, perhaps trying to discern if he was telling the truth. Finally, she scowled. “Then there’s no other explanation for it except that what they say about you is true. You’re just a mean old, ornery son of a—”

She didn’t dare finish, and Galen tried hard not to grin as he plunked his cigar back in his mouth and reached for some papers on his desk. He’d always been partial to folks with guts enough to speak their own minds. That went for his business associates and staff as well as his daughter. “I’ve said all I need to say. I’ve got work to do.”

Rachel opened her mouth to retort but decided against it. Instead, she spun around to leave and bumped a desk lamp with her elbow.

Galen almost laughed out loud as her hands, so well practiced from years of similar mishaps, shot out to steady it before it could crash to the floor. She fixed him with one last determined glare. “I will
never
do it! Never!”

She stormed from the room with such a dramatic flourish, Galen thought she might have done even her legendary mother justice. It had been two years since Elena Rose Girard passed away, and there were times, times like these, when Galen missed her so badly it felt like a physical ache in his chest.

He settled back in his chair and puffed philosophically on his cigar. After all the ballyhoo and bellyaching was done, Rachel would do it, all right. She would do it because she loved the Elena Rose as much as he did.

Charlotte cleared her throat and reached up to smooth her chignon. “Frankly, Galen, I’m also at a loss to understand this sudden turn of mind. You never seemed concerned about Rachel’s status as an unattached woman. I mean, you and Elena raised to be so...”

“So what, Charlotte?”

“Well... outspoken. Not many true gentlemen find that to be an attractive trait in a young lady.”

“Nothing wrong with a woman who can speak her mind. Shows she’s got one.”

“Regardless, I still don’t understand your sudden hurry.”

“She’ll be twenty-one soon. It’s nigh on time she got hitched— past time if you go by them silly society rules you’re always concerned with, am I right?”

Charlotte frowned. “I hardly thought you cared much for—”

“Rules or no rules, it’s time she settled down. Maybe I just want to see to it she makes a good choice while I’m still around to have a say in the matter.” Galen gave her a sly smile. “You wouldn’t want her to end up with some slick fortune-hunter after I’m gone, now would you?”

Charlotte raised a hand to her chest. “Most certainly not!”

Galen imagined he could see the dollar signs flashing in Charlotte’s eyes at the very thought of some stranger siphoning off the Girard family fortune Why, that had always been
her
responsibility.

In actuality, Galen had no fear Rachel would fall for the wiles of a fortune-hunting lothario. She was too sharp for that, too sharp and too suspicious. No, his fear was that his daughter would never marry at all. Though not from a lack of suitors.

On the contrary.

Rachel had, seemingly overnight, transformed from an awkward adolescent into an eye-popping beauty, and Galen, who had always seen the light within his daughter, was left to cringe as one hapless young man after another appeared with bouquets and high hopes on their doorstep. None, of course, were a match for Rachel’s sharp intellect or scathing tongue, and all of them, sooner or later, ended up creeping away like shamed dogs.

 Galen was astute enough to see the writing on the wall. He was worried that, in all her efforts to become a practical-minded business woman, his proud and independent daughter had hardened herself to the point where she was fearful of her own heart.