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

  If no more cattle were taken, he could sustain the ranch as it was, affording to pay all the hands and keep the place running. But if just another dozen went missing that year, or if there was a storm that took some out…

  Simply put, the tables would turn, and quick.

  Hauling himself up the grassy slope, Mitchell was more than aware this could very well be his last summer on his family’s ranch.

  As usual, the rest of the hands had already gone up to supper, leaving Mitchell in the East field all by himself. He had a hammer that needed fixing and considered going to the tool shed to get that done, but couldn’t stop thinking about supper. Yet, it wasn’t the food that was on his mind. It was the flaxen-haired girl serving it.

  “You are not so tough now, are you?”

  At first, Mitch thought he was hearing Gemma’s voice in his head. He’d spent so much of the day wishing he could get a little bit of time in which to see her. Now, he was going crazy and imagining she was right there with him.

  But then, he saw the familiar white dress, long, blue apron strings dangling down the back of it. Facing the chicken coop, Gemma had her hands on her hips. “I am just here to remind you I have my eye on you,” she told the rooster at her feet. “Come tomorrow, that coop is mine.”

  Mitch pressed his lips together to stop himself from laughing. He was no more than a few yards away and didn’t want to scare Gemma—or do anything that would halt the show.

  She was done, though, and when she turned from the coop and spotted Mitchell, her eyes went wide. “Oh!”

  “How long have you been talking to animals for?”

  Her face, already pink from a long day in the sun, turned red. “Everyone does it,” she defiantly answered, lifting her chin.

  “I don’t,” he chuckled.

  Her hands flew back to her hips. “Well you’re a man, and you’re… you’re...”

  Mitchell stepped closer to her. “I’m what?”

  Gemma swallowed, her eyes quickly darting between his face and the ground. “You’re… What was I saying?”

  Now, he really couldn’t hold back the laughter. It rolled out of him, as wild and unchecked as summer thunder. “It’s all right,” he said around guffaws. “It’s nice.”

  Gemma was still blushing. “I think the question here shouldn’t be how long have I been talking to animals for, but how long have you been spying for.”

  “Well played,” he nodded. “And I was there for less than a minute. I promise.”

  Gemma pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows, only pretending that she didn’t believe him. “Hm. All right. That is your story...”

  “I thought you would be in the house, helping with supper.”

  “Clara told me to go out and take a walk. She thought I looked…” Again, she trailed off, not willing to finish her sentence.

  “Looked what?”

  “Worried,” she whispered, in a voice so low, Mitch could think she was afraid of him hearing it.

  Her confession killed any joy he’d just had. Mitch grimly nodded. “Worried about the ranch?”

  “Um...” Her hands were frantic, moving to her hair, then twisting in her apron.

  “Come on.” Mitch jerked his head at the house. “Let’s walk up to supper. We’ll take the long way.”

  Finally, she smiled. “Are you sure you have the time for that?”

  “Tonight, I’m making it.”

  They strolled across the ranch in silence. Mitch’s muscles still ached, but his soul felt a lot better in the company of Gemma. Even their silence was peaceful and perfect. He could easily see spending another year this way—or another forty years.

  He’d spent a good portion of the day wondering just what Gemma had planned on telling him that morning by the creek, but now that they were together again, he couldn’t bring himself to bring it up. She had said it was something about her past and she’d looked so haunted as she’d mentioned it. Automatically, Mitchell imagined the worst: She had a suitor from her past in New York and was going back to marry him. Or her parents had written her begging to come home, and she’d agreed.

  If either of those situations were the case, Mitch didn’t want to know about them. Not yet. Just as this could very well be his last summer on the ranch, this could very well be his last—and only—summer with Gemma Campbell. His hope in their life together had been up for a while, but seeing her hesitation that morning had brought it barreling back down again.

  Despite what she had told him, he realized there were various reasons she could still leave. For the two of them, nothing was guaranteed. It hadn’t been from the start. And so, he couldn’t ruin their walk with talk of painful things.

  Nearing the horse barn, Gemma looked wistfully in the direction of it. “The horse you’re always riding, what’s her name?”

  “Lady.”

  “Lady,” she softly repeated. “I like that.”

  “She was my mother’s.”

  “Is that why she is your favorite one?”

  He took a moment to think about it. “Maybe. It might also be that she understands me.”

  Gemma laughed and stopped walking, turning to face him straight on. “Understands you? How can a horse understand a man?”

  “How can a woman talk to a rooster and expect him to understand her?”

  “Oh,” she said in befuddlement.

  “Right.” Mitch crossed his arms. Sparring with Gemma was proving to be satisfying.

  “I do love horses,” she said. “And I suppose I might talk to them, if I ever had the chance.”

  “They’re everywhere around here. Talk to them all you like.”

  “Yes, but...”

  Mitch raised his eyebrows and waited.

  “They are somewhat intimidating. I mean, they are lovely, but I have never ridden one. Not by myself.”

  Mitchell looked her straight in the eye. “You’re telling the truth?”

  Her nose wrinkled. “Of course, I am telling the truth!”

  “What did you do in New York? Just be driven around all the time?”

  He had been half-joking, but Gemma’s eyes shifted to the side, away from him.

  Mitchell stepped closer. “If you really can’t ride a horse, we have to change that right now.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at the house. “Now? It is supper time.”

  “Now,” he gently pushed. “There’s a bit of daylight left. Enough to get you in the saddle and around the field once or twice.”

  Gemma blinked rapidly. “I...”

  “Don’t say no. Just do it.”

  She smiled in that open, genuine way that no one else did. “I was not going to say no. I was going to say that I would love to.”

  Mitch’s heart lifted, right up into the sky. “Come on. Let’s get old Buttercup out.”

  “Not Lady?” Gemma followed him to the horse stable.

  “Buttercup is smaller and just as gentle as Lady.”

  Mitch moved fast in the barn, saddling the pure-white horse and taking her out into the dying light. He could teach Gemma to saddle another day, when there was more time.

  “All right, now. She’s all yours.”

  Gemma cautiously approached Buttercup’s side. “Do I ride side saddle or…”

  “Cowboy?” Mitch grinned. “That one is probably the best.”

  Helping her into the saddle, he guided the reins into her hands. The thrill he’d received the several other times they’d touched catapulted through him, making him forget to breathe.

  “The key is to stay calm,” he told her, keeping his face turned so she wouldn’t be able to see how undone she was making him.

  Gemma didn’t answer. Peeking from under the brim of his hat, he noticed her giant smile. Her attention was focused on the field ahead of her.

  “How do I get her to run?”

  Mitch couldn’t answer. He was too busy laughing. “That comes later. First, we’ll practice walking.”

  Giving Gemma careful instr
uctions, he walked alongside Buttercup as horse and woman followed the horse path already engraved between the field and barns. The sun was dropping quickly, illuminating Gemma’s profile with its last strength.

  “This is wonderful,” she exclaimed, her face shining.

  “It is,” Mitch agreed, not able to look away from her. “You’re doing good.”

  “Am I a natural?” she coyly asked, giving him a saucy smile.

  “It would seem so.”

  A ding rang across the ranch—the last bell announcing supper. Get it now or get it cold, as Clara would say.

  Showing Gemma how to use the reins to turn Buttercup around, he guided them back to the horse barn. Gemma got off the horse with newfound confidence, her boots hitting the ground with a hard smack.

  “Can we ride more tomorrow?”

  “I would like that,” Mitch slowly said. He couldn’t promise her anything, though. Who knew what tomorrow would bring?

  They both stayed where they were, Gemma’s face upturned and Mitch’s downcast. Full night was pushing in, stealing the lines of Gemma’s face, but it didn’t matter. Mitchell already knew every curve and line there. If he lived another fifty years, he’d still be able to see her face clear as day when he closed his eyes at night. That’s how special she was.

  A hard air bubble pushed against his chest. There was so much he wanted to say, to ask. What was worrying her? Had something happened back in New York?

  But he couldn’t do it. The crickets were singing. The horses were snorting in their stalls. The night was perfect. He couldn’t up and ruin it by opening his mouth. Time would do what it always did and reveal a destiny that no man had control over. Despite everything that had happened, Mitch still had faith God’s hand was in everything. He knew Mitch wanted Gemma with him. All that was left was to work hard, be as good a man as he could, and wait.

  And enjoy her, he realized as he gazed down at her shadowed face. His fingers tingled and his lips burned with the need to feel her mouth. If he kissed her right then and there, would she let him? Maybe if they were in the middle of a normal engagement, it would have been appropriate—but nothing about their situation was normal.

  Mitch had to keep his hands—and his promises—to himself until the reverend said the right words and his and Gemma’s souls were united before God.

  “Come on,” he gently said. “Let’s go eat.”

  “Yes,” she whispered back. “Let’s.”

  They walked side by side up to the house, Mitch painfully aware of how close their shoulders were the whole time. One step to the side and his arm would brush hers.

  As Mitchell stepped out of the way to let Gemma ascend the front steps first, she abruptly broke the silence. “I met Mr. Greene today.”

  “Oh, yeah? How did that happen?”

  “I was walking back from checking the post and he picked me up in his wagon and drove me back to Winding Path. He is quite a lovely man.”

  “He’s a good neighbor,” Mitch admitted. He’d always found Greene to have an unnecessarily rough exterior, but that could have just been the way he was with other fellows. A lot of men acted very different when they got around ladies.

  Gemma paused at the closed front door. “Yes, he seems to be that. He has some stories he is going to bring by for me to read. Is that not so nice?” She went on, not waiting for a response. “I only brought one dime western with me here. I did not know where I would find more reading material! And he offered his condolences about Winding Path’s troubles. He heard about the missing cattle and the Northern fence being broken, and he told me—”

  “Hold on.” Mitch paused, his hand on the doorknob. “What’s that about the Northern fence?”

  “He offered his condolences about it being broken.”

  “He did?”

  “Yes. Shall we go have supper now?”

  Mitchell opened the door for Gemma. “You go on in. I’ll be there in just a minute.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  Mitch opened his mouth to say “yes”, but instantly reconsidered. He’d been keeping Gemma separated from the ranch business since she had arrived, but what real good did that do? They were growing closer. She had been the one to find the English yew. And if she ended up staying, he’d been confiding in her all the time…

  “You’re sure he said the Northern fence?”

  “Yes,” Gemma slowly answered. “I am fairly certain. Why? Is something the matter?”

  “There is no break in the Northern fence.”

  “Oh. He must have been mistaken, then.”

  With that, she turned and went inside. Mitch still didn’t move from his spot, though. There was an itch in the back of his mind, and though he didn’t yet know what it was about, he could tell something strange was going on.

  25

  25. Gemma

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Gemma skirted around the edge of the long dinner table, throwing a look behind her at Mitchell. But he wasn’t there. Frowning, she stopped walking and waited for him to come inside.

  “Clara, this is the best meatloaf I done ever had,” one of the men said.

  Clara laughed. “You say that every time I make it. Gemma, hon, what are you doing just standing there? Sit down and have some supper.”

  Gemma did her best to erase the bad look she surely wore. “I was just...” Words failed her. Where was Mitchell? He had been behind her a moment ago, and now what? He was not coming in to join them all for a meal—and yet again? What happened to his making time that evening?

  “I am not feeling very hungry,” she murmured.

  “Are there any more rolls?” Nat asked, his mouth full of food.

  Clara stood up, reaching for the bread basket.

  “I will get them.” Deftly snatching the empty basket from Clara’s hands, Gemma carried it into the kitchen. With the door securely shut behind her and muffling the dining room’s noise, she sat down in a chair and closed her eyes.

  One deep inhale… One deep exhale…

  With each breath, she saw the way Mitchell had looked at her in the barn. Even in almost full dark, she had been able to tell he wanted to kiss her. How she wished he had.

  There one moment, and then gone the next. That was Mitchell Reed.

  Gemma squeezed her eyes shut tighter, tears burning at the corners of them. She should have told him her secret. While they were in the barn had been the perfect time. But she had not. And with each hour that passed, the thought of telling him she was a runaway bride became harder to bear.

  The tears pushed their way out from under her eyes. There was no point in trying to hold them back any longer. Clutching the bread basket in her lap like it would save her from the pain, Gemma cried and cried.

  Abruptly, the door swung open. “The rolls are on the...” Clara gasped. “Gemma, hon, what is the matter?”

  Gemma sniffed. “I am a terrible person.”

  “Now, don’t expect me to believe that foolishness.” Pulling out the chair next to Gemma, she took a seat. “Tell me what is wrong.”

  “The bread...”

  “They wait all afternoon for supper. I expect they can wait another minute or two for some rolls. What has you in here weeping? Is this about what you told me about Mitchell and not being honest?”

  Gemma pathetically nodded. “Yes.”

  “Did you tell him about what you meant to?”

  “No,” she mournfully whispered. “I could not bring myself to. That’s why… that’s why...” A fresh round of tears threatened to erupt, and Gemma had to stop talking so she could concentrate on keeping them at bay.

  Clara sighed. “I don’t know what kind of secret you’re carting around, but from the tears, I can tell it’s a mighty heavy one. Perhaps you should go on and get the confession over before keeping it kills you.”

  “I left New York engaged,” Gemma gasped out, the admission leaving her without her planning it to.

  She expected Clara to look surprised, or
perhaps enraged, but she only kept her calm composure. “And why did you do that?”