Her Western Heart (Seeing Ranch series) (A Western Historical Romance Book) Read online

  Her Western Heart

  Seeing Ranch series

  Florence Linnington

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organisations, places, events and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2017 Florence Linnington

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Easy Publishing

  United States of America

  Book cover design by:

  Melody Simmons :: https://bookcoverscre8tive.com

  Contents

  Also by Florence Linnington

  About the Author

  Newsletter for new book release

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  1. Gemma

  Chapter One

  Chapter 2

  2. Mitchell

  Chapter Two

  Chapter 3

  3. Gemma

  Chapter Three

  Chapter 4

  4. Mitchell

  Chapter Four

  Chapter 5

  5. Gemma

  Chapter Five

  Chapter 6

  6. Mitchell

  Chapter Six

  Chapter 7

  7. Gemma

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter 8

  8. Mitchell

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter 9

  9. Gemma

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter 10

  10. Mitchell

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter 11

  11. Gemma

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter 12

  12. Mitchell

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter 13

  13. Gemma

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter 14

  14. Mitchell

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter 15

  15. Gemma

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter 16

  16. Mitchell

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter 17

  17. Gemma

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter 18

  18. Mitchell

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter 19

  19. Gemma

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter 20

  20. Mitchell

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter 21

  21. Gemma

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter 22

  22. Mitchell

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter 23

  23. Gemma

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter 24

  24. Mitchell

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter 25

  25. Gemma

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter 26

  26. Mitchell

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter 27

  27. Gemma

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter 28

  28. Mitchell

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter 29

  29. Gemma

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Preview of next book…

  Preview: Chapter 1

  Preview: Chapter 2

  The story goes on…

  Newsletter for new book release

  Also by Florence Linnington

  Seeing Ranch series: Mail Order Brides

  FEEL FREE TO CHECK OUT MY OTHER WESTERN HISTORICAL ROMANCE BOOK SERIES

  Click the link below

  Amazon Author Bio

  Book 1 - Her Winding Path

  Book 2 - Her Western Heart

  Book 3 - Her Wild Journey

  Book 4 - Her Rocky Trail

  Book 5 - Her Unexpected Destiny

  Book 6 - Her Silent Burden

  Book 7 - Her Fearless Love

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to Michelle and Chayce

  About the Author

  Hello to all my Readers, I hope you will enjoy reading my books. I truly derive joy and peace from my creative writings, and I hope my works can make my Readers happy.

  Feel free to get in touch with me and share with me your thoughts on my writings. I would love to hear from you!

  https://www.facebook.com/florencelinningtonbooks/

  [email protected]

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  Acknowledgments

  I would like to express my gratitude to Joy Christi and her team for all the valuable advice.

  1

  1. Gemma

  Chapter One

  New York 1880

  “Your eyes are the color of those little mushrooms that grow in the fall. Has anyone ever told you that?”

  The pale and gangly man leaned forward, intruding upon Gemma’s space. She forced herself to smile. “No, I must admit I have never heard that before, Mister… um...”

  “You can call me Charles,” he prompted, extending a sallow and bony hand.

  Gemma shook the hand the slightest amount, forcing herself to focus on calm and even breaths.

  He is just another suitor, she reminded herself. Here one moment, and then gone the next.

  As she had the thought, her eyes flitted around the ballroom. If half the people in it were as bored as she, they did not show it. Their faces were all masks of cool, calm platitude, their eyes frozen solid and emotionless.

  Gemma’s insides felt as if they were shriveling right up. Next to her, Charles was talking, but his words were nothing more than a distant buzz.

  Gemma calculated the number of steps to the front door. If she were to slip out and take a walk down the street, how long would it be before her parents noticed her absence? Was it possible to steal just twenty minutes to herself?

  Then again, perhaps she could have more fun if she stayed inside....

  “It is rather interesting that these activists, as they call themselves, can argue all men are born equal,” Charles was saying. He chortled to himself. “Now, how can all men be just that? We look different, we have different degrees of intelligence...”

  “Would you like to see the upper balcony?” Gemma interrupted.

  Charles’ eyebrows rose in surprise. “The balcony?”

  “Yes. I can show it to you, if you like.”

  A smile twitched on his thin lips. He looked like a little fox, eager to catch a rodent it’d had its eyes on all night. Gemma kept her face passive. She wasn’t the only one in this house who could pretend.

  “I would like that very much.” Charles licked his lips eagerly and extended a hand. “Shall we?”

  Gemma led him from the ballroom, past the quartet and the linen-covered tables, through the marbled hallway, and up the curving staircase. The upstairs was dark and quiet, not even a mouse scratching behind the walls. As she lifted her skirts, her mother’s words from earlier in the evening echoed in her head.

  Please be good tonight, Gemma. We cannot afford any more disasters.

  Was that how her pare
nts saw everything she did? Was she the perpetrator of one endless disaster after another?

  Her teeth ground together. It didn’t matter. Her parents were in the wrong to force such a rapid stream of suitors on anyone.

  Gemma was twenty years old, a million moons away from anything even close to being a spinster. Yet, her parents acted as if the entire city of New York would fall into the ocean if she did not marry soon.

  “Here it is!” she sang as they reached the end of the main hallway. “It has a wonderful view of the park.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?” Charles scurried forward and yanked on the crystal doorknob. The glass door flew open and he stepped onto the balcony.

  “Gorgeous,” he grunted right away. “Your father has really outdone himself, Miss Campbell.”

  “I’m glad you think so,” Gemma replied as she kicked the door shut.

  Before he could so much as turn back to her, Gemma had closed and locked the balcony’s door. She had just enough time to see the outline of surprise on his face, barely lit up by the gas lamps along Fifth Avenue, before she’d turned around.

  Banging sounded on the glass behind Gemma, but she was the only one who could hear it. The string music and the idle chatter from downstairs could muffle even the loudest cry.

  With her first genuine smile of the evening lifting both her lips and heart, Gemma picked up the hem of her pink silk dress and descended the stairs. Her mother had asked her to play nice tonight, but honestly, how could she be expected to be good when everyone else on Earth was so awful?

  “Gemma!” The call greeted her as soon as she stepped back into the ballroom. Within the blink of an eye, Abigail had her white-gloved hand on Gemma’s wrist. “Where have you been?”

  “Just tending to some… things.”

  Abigail’s eyes rolled. “Why are you so mysterious?”

  Gemma laughed. “Does it make me more entertaining?”

  “It does seem to make you more desirable. What is this, the fourth party your parents have thrown you this year?”

  “Something like that,” Gemma murmured, not caring to admit it was the fifth.

  “Come along.” Abigail pulled on her hand. “Penelope and I are facing a most unfortunate situation. We need your assistance right away.”

  Gemma allowed herself to be pulled along the perimeter of the ballroom floor. Passing swirling skirts and men all dressed like replicas of each other, they ducked and dodged waiters with silver trays. Penelope waited on a quilted settee in the corner of the room, her back rod-straight and her eyes darting around the space.

  Gemma plopped down next to Pen, with Abigail settling herself on the redhead’s other side.

  “I am here,” Gemma dramatically announced. “And I heard there was a dire emergency.”

  “Yes,” Penelope replied through the tight lips she always wore. Her eyes slid over to Gemma. “I am going to have to go change.”

  “Change?” Gemma dumbly repeated.

  “Yes.” She nodded at a brunette lady dancing nearby. “Look.”

  Gemma did, but didn’t understand why Penelope needed her to.

  Abigail leaned across Penelope’s lap. “Her dress looks just like Pen’s,” she hissed.

  She looked again. The colors were the same—all greens and golds—and the scooped necks were also similar, but other than that, Gemma didn’t see any cause for alarm. “I am not so sure...”

  Penelope harshly exhaled through her nose. “I ordered this dress from my seamstress in Paris. She assured Mother that she was making no other ones like it, that this dress would be special… And now, look!”

  Gemma instead looked for the right words. “Um, it is special, Penelope. You are delightful in it.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “I look a fool!”

  Abigail nodded eagerly. “It’s just awful.”

  Gemma chewed on the inside of her cheek. Most evenings, she would just stay silent and go along with whatever Penelope, Abigail, and whoever else was around them had to say. Most arguments were not worth the time and energy.

  But tonight was different. Perhaps it was the real pain in Penelope’s eyes, or the devilish excitement in Abigail’s, or the man locked out on the balcony right above their heads. Whatever the cause, Gemma Campbell was tired of being polite and agreeable.

  “It is just a dress, Penelope. Take care not to start a war over it.”

  Penelope’s and Abigail’s eyes went wide as dinner plates.

  “It is not just a dress,” Penelope snapped. “It is what my future husband might see me in!”

  Gemma inwardly groaned and leaned back against the cushions. To try was pointless, just as it always was. “Would you care to change into one of my gowns?”

  Penelope sniffed. “You have worn them all. Everyone will recognize it as one of yours.”

  “No,” Gemma shook her head. “I have a new deep red one which has not been worn.”

  “But I have red hair,” Penelope moaned. “It will look garish.”

  “It is better than nothing,” Abigail meekly offered.

  Finally, Penelope nodded. “True. You do not mind, Gem? If everyone sees me in it, then it will not be new when you wear it.”

  “I do not care.”

  She frowned. “I will never understand your approach to life. It is almost as if you care about nothing.”

  “Maybe I don’t,” Gemma sullenly agreed. “Go change. Hettie is up there. She will pull the dress out for you.”

  Gemma settled more comfortably into the settee as the two others headed upstairs. She tracked them for a moment, her eyes following their high skirt bustles and perfectly curled hair.

  A fist closed around Gemma’s stomach, refusing to let go. There was a chance that what Penelope had said could very well be true.

  Did Gemma care about anything? Other than books and the time she got to spend alone in the park, nothing had ever truly mattered to her. It was her moments alone that meant something. It was the dreams that she escaped to early in the morning hours or late at night, when no one else was awake that sustained her, that gave her true life.

  She closed her eyes as the music and talk pressed thick against her skull. Somewhere deep in her heart, there was a wild space, a land untouched by man, far away from parties and teas and governesses and strained banter. It was the place Gemma ran to, her own personal great, wide-open country.

  If only it were the kind of place her fingertips could touch.

  “Gemma Campbell.”

  Her eyes popped open at the stern voice. Inches away, Gemma’s father towered over her, his face red behind the bushy white mustache. Next to him, her mother looked equally furious. And behind them?

  Mr. Charles Whoever-He-Was himself.

  Gemma swallowed hard. “Oh. Hello.”

  “Oh?” her father roared. “’Oh’ is all you can say?”

  His wife placed a hand on his shoulder. “Not here, Edward.”

  Her touch seemed to pacify him. Taking in a deep breath, he squared his shoulders. “The study. Now.”

  Gemma stood, not wanting to obey this command, but knowing she had to. “Yes, sir.”

  She passed by Charles, who gave her a look of fury. “And I was going to propose to you next week!”

  Gemma suppressed a snort. Lucky me.

  In her father’s mahogany-lined study, Gemma closed the door behind herself. Not ten seconds later, it opened again, both of her parents storming in. Thankfully, they had shaken wimpy Charles off somewhere in the ballroom.