Whispers in the Wind (Wild West Wind Book #2)

Lauraine Snelling

Description

Book Two in Lauraine Snelling's Exciting Wild West Wind SeriesAfter fleeing North Dakota and the now defunct Wild West Show, Cassie Lockwood and her companions have finally found the hidden valley in South Dakota where her father had dreamed of putting down roots. But to her dismay, she discovers a ranch already built on her land.Cassie's arrival surprises Mavis Engstrom and forces her to reveal secrets she's kept hidden for years. Her son Ransom is suspicious of Cassie and questions the validity of her claim to the valley. But Lucas Engstrom decides from the start that he is in love with her and wants to marry her.Will Cassie be able to build a home on the Bar E Ranch and fulfill her father's dream of raising horses, or will she be forced to return to the itinerant life of her past?

Sujets

• Historical fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Baker Publishing Group
• Date de parution: 01 août 2012
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781441270986
• Langue: English

Extrait

© 2012 by Lauraine Snelling
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Ebook edition created 2012
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means for example, electronic, photocopy, recording without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-4412-7098-6
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by John Hamilton Design
Whispers in the Wind is dedicated to:
Sandy Dengler, who, with her wild wit and wisdom, first introduced me to the intricacies of researching as a writer. I am beyond grateful that she has continued to make my life richer with her enduring friendship and assistance.
Colleen Reece, fiction teacher extraordinaire, who read my first horse book chapter, bled all over it, and then suggested where to send it and how. Colleen has remained a friend and advisor. All of us need cheerleaders like these two.
The many others who have left their marks on my life. I am incredibly blessed.
Who am I? Daughter of the wind,
The wind that covers,
The wind that brings the mist.
I am she who breathes deep of that wind,
Hiding no longer,
Loves so that others
Yearn for the wind.
Lauraine Snelling
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Epigraph
1 2 3 4 5
6 7 8 9 10
11 12 13 14 15
16 17 18 19 20
21 22 23 24 25
26 27 28 29 30
31 32
About the Author
Books by Lauraine Snelling
Back Ads
Back Cover
1

Late October 1906 Bar E Ranch Argus, South Dakota
A re you telling me this ranch is not ours?”
Mavis Engstrom shook her head, wishing for a way to erase the anger she could read on her son’s face. Ransom wore the ice blue eyes and steel jaw of his father when he was fighting for control. “No, that is not what I am saying. I said the ranch belongs to Cassie Lockwood too.”
“How can this be? You’ve never mentioned it before.” Ransom snapped off anything else he was going to say.
“No, I haven’t, and that is my fault, but I couldn’t see any sense in worrying about something that might never happen.” Mavis scrubbed her sweaty hands down the sides of her full apron. “This is a long story, so I’ll put supper on the table and then we can talk.”
“This better be good,” Ransom muttered as he grabbed the canvas wood carrier and stomped out to the front porch to bring in wood for the fireplace.
Mavis crossed to the front window, wishing she’d been able to convince Cassie to stay longer. Cassie Lockwood, the daughter of Adam Lockwood. What a wonderful surprise. At least in Mavis’s mind. But Cassie and her guide, Chief, had elected to return to their camp closer to town. Amazing how she had recognized in the old Indian the young man who had guided her not-yet-husband, Ivar Engstrom, and his new partner, Adam Lockwood, in their search for both gold and land. What a long story she had to tell. Where to begin?
“Did they leave already?” Gretchen, Mavis’s twelve-year-old daughter, asked. “I thought they would stay awhile. Did you see Cassie’s horse? Mor, did you really know her pa?”
“Yes, I saw her horse. He truly is a beauty.” Mavis paused, as if to say something else but then stopped. “Please set the table, Gretchen, and slice the bread. Oh, before you do that, will you go to the cellar and bring up a jar of string beans and one of applesauce?”
“We having pork chops?”
“Well, elk chops, and applesauce tastes good on them too.”
“I thought the applesauce was for the gingerbread.”
“Oh, that’s right. It is.” Mavis blinked as if coming awake. She shouldn’t let the situation rattle her like this. But trying to explain the story from those many years ago to her two grown sons was not something she was looking forward to.
Gretchen came up the stairs from the cellar with two jars and a pint of jam. “I thought Juneberry jam would be good on that corn bread.”
“Oh yes. The corn bread. We were going to have that.”
“Mor, are you all right?” Gretchen set the jars down on the counter, keeping her gaze on her mother.
“I will be.” Mavis forced herself to cross the kitchen and add wood to the firebox of her shiny black range with chrome trim. After rattling the grate to let the ash fall through to the box below, she opened the damper so the wood would catch more quickly. “Maybe a cup of coffee will help.”
“Help what? Are you sick?”
“No, I am not sick. The arrival of Cassie and her guide was just a huge surprise.” Shock might be a better term for the way she was feeling. Mavis tried to smile reassurance, but the look on her daughter’s face told her she’d failed. “Besides, I need to get my thoughts together. This is dredging up a lot of memories, and I want to be sure I tell the story correctly.” How much to put in and what needed to be left out. Just be honest , she reminded herself with the wisdom she had passed on to her children.
Gretchen went about setting the table before taking a loaf of bread from the bread box. “I thought we were going to have corn bread.”
“We are. It is in the oven.”
“Then why am I slicing bread?”
Mavis chuckled and shook her head. “You caught me.” She could hear wood being stacked by the fireplace in the parlor. Not that it was really a parlor but instead the room where the family lived, other than the kitchen. With a huge stone fireplace on one wall, cottonwood frames with leather cushions for furniture, and a bear rug in the middle, the room invited everyone to come sit a spell. Right now Mavis would love to have done just that. A cup of coffee, a blazing fire, and time to ponder her situation.
Instead, she heard the men’s boots on the back porch. After bringing in the wood, Ransom had milked the cow for the last time until she freshened while Lucas checked on the cattle. Ever since they’d had a fence cut in two places, they checked the herd morning and night to make sure all were accounted for. Cattle rustling was still considered a hanging crime unless, of course, one talked with Sheriff Edgar McDougal, a real by-the-law lawman.
Taking the pan of corn bread from the oven, she set it on the table on top of a pot holder and then brought the skillet of elk chops, along with the potatoes she’d baked. The gingerbread sat cooling on the counter, and Gretchen emptied the kettle of string beans into a bowl. The jar of Juneberry jam waited by the corn bread.
“Are we missing anything?” She turned to Gretchen. Other than my mind, I think not. She glanced up to see Ransom studying her.
“I strained the milk and set it in the tank. There wasn’t even enough to fill a jug.”
“I wonder if anyone else might have some milk for sale. It won’t be long until Rosie comes in, so we can get along without if need be.” As soon as they were all seated, she bowed her head. Tonight it was her turn to say grace, and she needed all the grace she could get. “Heavenly Father, thank you for this food and all the provisions you have given us. Thank you for this day, for my family, and please show us your leading in all matters. In Jesus’ name we pray.” They all joined in the amen.
Except for the occasional “please pass” and “thank you,” an uncharacteristic silence settled over the table. The tension did a fine job of doing away with her appetite. Lord, tell me what to say, where to start. Let these men of mine hear me out with ears of love. The furrows on their foreheads are deep.
“Would you like dessert now or later?” she asked when the last plate was scraped clean.
“Both?” Lucas grinned at her, obviously trying to lighten the situation.
“Of course. There is plenty. I’ll bring it into the other room.”
They all picked up their plates and set them in the pan of soapy water staying hot on the reservoir. Gretchen set about putting the other things away, and Ransom retrieved small plates, cups, and saucers from the cupboard.
Mavis called, “Lucas, would you please cut the gingerbread and put applesauce on it? I need to get a few things.” When he returned from the parlor, she ignored his questioning look and strode down the hall to her bedroom. The box she needed lay at the back of the shelf in her closet, resting there all these years. She debated just bringing the whole thing into the sitting room but hesitated, thinking through the treasures she had saved in this box. Mementos from the early years before she and Ivar were married, the contracts, later contracts, the journal Ivar kept in the early years before they turned to the leather- and cloth-bound ones they used now, a lock of hair from each of the boys when they’d had their first haircut, a baby rattle, a poem that Ivar wrote on the death of their son. She’d never known he could write poetry until then. Feelings he couldn’t say, he put on paper.
Realizing that the others would be wondering what had happened to her, she took out the parchment packet that held the original ranch contracts between the Engstroms and the Lockwoods and, after setting the wooden box up on the shelf, returned to find that they’d served themselves and were waiting.
“I fixed yours too.” Gretchen pointed to the table by the rocker Ivar had made for Mavis when she was expecting the first time. Why did everything remind her of Ivar? Perhaps the arrival of Cassie Lockwood had opened the floodgates of memory and she was swimming for all she was worth.
“Thank you.” Mavis sat down and smiled into each of the three