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

  As they neared the house, more wondrous sights popped up. A small fruit orchard. A fenced-in garden bursting with melons, tomatoes, and a score of plants Gemma had never seen. A coop with chickens clucking around its exterior.

  It’s marvelous.

  “It is, isn’t it?”

  Gemma started and turned the most that she could to look at Mitchell. “My apologies. Did I see that out loud?”

  Mitchell grinned, his face awash with joy. “Don’t apologize for that. Admire the ranch all you want. It is a beauty. And soon, it will be yours as well.”

  Hers as well…was she really hearing right? Did her future husband see the land as belonging to both of them?

  William Picoult would have never entertained the thought of a woman being his equal in any regard. Neither would her father.

  “I got the horses,” Beau said as the three of them reached a tall stable.

  Her feet firmly on the ground once more, Gemma craned her neck and studied the hay poking from the loft in front of her. The familiar smell of horses wafted from the darkness beyond the double open doors, but there was also something new about it. This wasn’t just any horse barn. It was Mitchell’s. And it was soon to be hers.

  “I want to see everything!” she cried, turning around so fast her skirts could hardly keep up.

  Mitchell smiled down at her, his thumbs on his belt buckle and his eyes dancing. Seeing him looking at her in such a way had Gemma’s insides instantly swelling. She clasped her hands together and quickly dropped her gaze.

  Years of flirting with and pulling the wool over dozens of men in New York, and now, she was in Wyoming and turning shy—and all thanks to the reserved, rough man in front of her.

  Out of all the surprises the West had revealed, the biggest one had to be the way Gemma felt and acted around Mitchell Reed.

  Since meeting him, she had turned into a person she didn’t recognize. It scared her, but also thrilled her.

  Perhaps Wyoming Gemma was who she was meant to be all along, and New York Gemma had been nothing more than a facade that needed casting aside?

  “I would think you’d be pretty tired,” Mitchell said, his words slow and deep. “This had been quite a day for you.”

  As he mentioned it, Gemma realized she did have a slight headache. The sun was still sweltering, and she was hungry as well. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

  He nodded toward the house. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to Clara and get you all settled in.”

  Taking her bag, he led the way to the giant cabin. Gemma expected the front steps to creep under her feet, but they were strong and sturdy. She ran her fingers along the thick posts, reveling in the smoothness of the worn wood. She hadn’t even stepped across the threshold, and yet had already found the entire home exuded warmth and comfort. She would be safe in this house. She wasn’t sure how she knew this, but it was absolutely true.

  “Clara!” Mitchell called as he held open the door for Gemma. “We’re here!”

  Gemma stepped inside, but barely had time to take in her surroundings before a round woman rushed forward and pulled her in close. Flour mixed with hay and a half-dozen other scents made Gemma’s head spin.

  “Oh, you’re here!” the other woman breathed into Gemma’s ear. Releasing Gemma, but keeping her hands squarely on her shoulders, she studied her face. “And even more beautiful than your picture.”

  Mitchell gently inserted himself between the two of them. “Clara, this is Gemma Campbell. Gemma—”

  “Clara Harman,” she interrupted, making a show out of shouldering Mitchell out of the way. “Winding Path’s housekeeper and, up till now, the only woman on this cowboy-infested ranch.”

  Gemma giggled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Harman.”

  Taking a step back, Clara extended Gemma’s arms and studied her dress. “You’re too pretty. Goodness, goodness, goodness....”

  “And tired and hungry,” Mitchell added.

  Clara gasped and clapped her hands together. “Yes! Right this way, hon. I just pulled the pies out for supper. I have a nice hot slice waiting for you. Mitch, go put Miss Campbell’s bag away and join us in the kitchen. Come on, dear.”

  Before Clara had even finished talking, Gemma found herself in a large and airy kitchen. Windows nearly covered two walls and a small, square table sat wedged in the corner. Clara pulled a chair out for Gemma and spun right back around again.

  “It’s chicken pie. I do hope that’s all right. If not, I have sweet potato, as well as blackberry.” She pressed her fingers to her lips. “Let’s see… what else?”

  “Whatever you have will be quite delicious,” Gemma assured her. “Thank you.”

  Clara got to work, pulling a plate from a shelf and cutting into a steaming hot pie. “I just can’t tell you enough how wonderful this is. And you arrived in the best season, too. You’ll get a grand taste of Wyoming weather this whole year!”

  Gemma eagerly nodded. “Mr. Reed told me all about the snow. I can’t wait to see it.”

  “It’s lovely, just lovely,” Clara quickly said, her words coming out so fast it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. “When that heavy snowfall comes in January, it’s so quiet you’d think all the sounds in existence had been sucked right out of the world.”

  She kept talking, but her words became indecipherable when Mitchell arrived. He leaned in the doorway, his shoulders at a slant and his arms crossed. The familiar ball of heat surged in Gemma’s chest and she nervously sucked in her lower lip.

  “You’ll talk her ear off, Clara,” he interrupted.

  Clara shooed him with her hands. “Oh, nonsense. This is how women folk talk. You’re just not used to it because you spend all your time with men who only have up to ten words in their whole vocabularies.”

  Mitchell gave a short nod. “I can’t disagree with that. I have to admit, though, it looks an awful lot like you’re making a move to steal my new bride.”

  Pleasure filled Gemma at his words. She knew Mitchell wasn’t truly jealous, but thinking that he could be made her happy in a kind of wicked way.

  Before anyone could say another word, the front door closed with a bang and a wiry man with dirt covering his pants appeared behind Mitchell.

  “Goodness me,” Clara clucked. “How many times do I have to tell you all? That door wasn’t made to be slammed.”

  “Sorry, Clara,” he quickly said, before turning to address Mitchell. “There’s a hole in the new fence. A big one. Like someone done cut it.”

  Mitchell straightened up, his face becoming hard. “Take me there.”

  The two men left, gone from the kitchen and through the front door with just a few steps. Mitchell hadn’t said goodbye. He hadn’t so much as looked at Gemma before leaving.

  The warmth that his appearance had created quickly turned into a terrible coldness that settled itself in the pit of her stomach. She looked down at her hands, her eyes burning.

  A pat on her shoulder made her look up.

  “Don’t you worry,” Clara said as she set a slice of pie in front of Gemma and took the seat next to her. “Mitch has a lot on his mind right now.”

  “He’s very...” Gemma didn’t know quite how to put it. She hadn’t even known Mitchell Reed for a full day yet, and already, it seemed as if he had a countless amount of sides to him.

  One moment, he looked at her like she was the most important thing in the world, and the next, he turned away as if she had never existed.

  Clara sighed. “The ranch has been having some troubles. On top of that, it’s not easy being the one leading the whole house. Mitchell is a mighty fine man, but his job is a heavy one.” She pursed her lips and looked out a window.

  “What kind of troubles?”

  “Don’t you worry about them.” Clara patted Gemma’s hand. “A few cattle have gone missing, but Mitch will have it all settled soon.”

  Gemma picked up her fork and knife and cut into the slice of pie. It smelled
delicious, with thick chunks of chicken and vegetables spilling from under the crust, but she suddenly found she had no appetite.

  “Perhaps you’d like to see your room?” Clara suggested. “After you take a rest, you might find your appetite is back.”

  Gemma smiled gratefully at her. How did this woman know exactly what she needed? “Yes, that sounds wonderful. Thank you.”

  After covering the uneaten pie, Clara took Gemma back out of the kitchen and down a wide hallway. A grand room to the right displayed a large fireplace and straight-backed chairs. Other than the bear skin spread across the floor, though, it was surprisingly empty.

  “This is the dining room,” Clara said, pointing at another large room, this one situated right next to the kitchen. Gemma peeked in and saw a long table with more chairs than she had the time to count.

  “And here is my room,” Clara continued on. “And there’s yours, and right next to it is Mitchell’s.”

  She swiveled around to face Gemma. “He’ll be staying in one of the ranch-hand cabins for a while, so it should be nice and quiet up here, save for mealtime.” She winked. “A dozen hungry ranch hands coming in here at noon makes more noise than a buffalo stampede.”

  Gemma laughed. Life at Winding Path sounded wild. She couldn’t wait to experience it firsthand.

  Clara pushed the door to Gemma’s room open to expose a simply furnished room with a bed, a wardrobe, and a rocking chair. A window looked out onto a rolling field.

  “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me. Take your time resting up. I’m sure you’re going through a lot right now, being in this new place and so far from New York.” Clara cocked her head and smiled, her eyes drifting across Gemma’s face. “It sure is good to have you here.”

  “It’s good to be here,” Gemma whispered, her throat tightening.

  Clara bustled back down the long hall, retreating once more into the kitchen. Gemma stayed in her doorway, looking around the somber room. Her carpetbag rested against the wall, a familiar object looking out of place in a foreign land. Some flowers would brighten the space up. Perhaps she would knit a lace doily to go on the top of the wardrobe.

  For a long time, Gemma stayed where she was, loitering between the hallway and her room. Now that she was alone, laying down to rest didn’t seem appealing. She couldn’t stop thinking about Mitchell, out looking at the fence.

  The door to what Clara had said was his usual bedroom was right across the hall from Gemma, and she couldn’t take her eyes off it. She knew it was wrong to poke through others’ private spaces, but surely, one tiny peek would be all right.

  Stepping as lightly as she could so as not to make noise, she crept across the hall and pushed open the already cracked door. The room was just as simple as her own, with the exception of a collection of photographs on a shelf. Moving quick, Gemma fluttered across the floor and picked up a frame.

  There were three people in the photograph. The one in the middle, though younger by at least a few years, was undeniably Mitchell. The man and woman flanking him must have been his parents. Gemma let her eyes linger on the beautiful woman with dark hair before setting that frame carefully back down.

  A familiar face stared back at her, taking her by shock. It was Gemma herself. Mitchell had framed her picture in the mail-order bride paper.

  She felt a smile tugging at her lips. How long had he had the photograph up for? Had he framed it before he even heard back from her?

  Mitchell Reed… The man was an enigma if one ever existed, his moments of harshness strongly contrasted with his gentle ones. There were notes to his personality that scared Gemma, but was that only her? Were her own fears from New York just following her around, saturating her current interactions with anxiety?

  Only time would tell. And, as fate had it, Gemma had the rest of her life to unravel the mystery of Mitchell Reed.

  14

  14. Mitchell

  Chapter Fourteen

  “A week,” Mitchell seethed through gritted teeth. “One week.” He tightened his jaw before the slew of curses that wanted to escape it could.

  The fence had only been up for seven days, and already, it had been cut. Either someone had good timing or they had their eyes on his ranch. As there hadn’t been a head count done for a few days, there was no way of telling how many cattle had gone missing this time. Just thinking about how many it could be made Mitchell’s stomach roll in a sick way.

  He straightened up and looked around at the trees and grasses around him. Everything seemed innocent enough. There was real evil in the world, for sure, but at that moment, it remained hidden from Winding Path.

  Beau thoughtfully inspected the blade of grass he was rolling between his fingers. “I’ll have it patched up after supper.”

  “We’ll need a guard out here tonight.”

  “Uh-uh. They won’t be back tonight. Not at this spot, anyway. They know you’ll be looking for them here.”

  “You’re saying we shouldn’t patrol?”

  Beau dropped the grass and looked down at his boots. “I’m saying don’t waste men on a spot no one is going to be at. The cattle are over in the south and southeast fields right now. Get ‘em together and keep watch. I got no problem spending another night under the stars.”

  “Neither do I,” Mitchell grimly agreed. “Especially if tonight is the night we catch these thieves.”

  They walked back to the house in silence, the light pulling away from them on all sides, evening on its way back to cover the barns and fields. Mitchell’s mind raced, endless questions filling it. As far as he still knew, no other ranches were missing cattle. Winding Path was being targeted.

  But why? Was it simply because of its proximity to the mountains? Mitchell’s hands tightened into fists at his sides. He wanted nothing more than to hop on Lady, ride up into the hills, and track down whoever was responsible for the rustling. But he knew that wouldn’t do any good. Looking for a man in those hills was like looking for a needle in a haystack.

  At the bottom of the trail leading up to the house, Mitchell turned right. “I’m going to start a head count.”

  Beau looked at him like he’d near lost his mind. “Right now?”

  “It has to be done.”

  “Wait until supper. You ain’t gonna get much done on an empty belly.”

  “It has to be done,” Mitchell only repeated. How could he explain to Beau that the need to keep track of his cattle was now burning in him hotter than the sun? Seeing that cut fence had taken him to the point where he now felt he wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink or take a bite to eat until danger had passed. Those rustlers had to be caught. They had to be caught right away.

  Beau ran his tongue across his teeth and continued to skeptically look at Mitch. “Don’t you have someone waiting for you up at the house?”

  “Someone waiting...” Mitchell trailed off before shame rose in him. Gemma. For a little bit there, he’d forgotten his bride had arrived. That’s how sucked up he’d been in everything that was happening.

  He couldn’t abandon her on her first evening at the ranch. But he also couldn’t take a break. If the ranch was being watched, the rustlers would take note of supper time and maybe snatch up another head.

  “I need to be out here,” Mitch glumly said. He didn’t like it, but that was the way it was.

  “I’ll send a couple of the boys,” Beau promised. “Whoever is done chowing down first. Come on.”

  Before Mitch could respond, he found himself being steered up the hill and into the house. The usual chatter floated from the dining room, but Mitch didn’t hear any female voices. At the doorway, he stopped and glanced all around the table, finding only weathered, male faces.

  “Good evening,” a soft voice behind him said.

  Mitchell quickly turned, finding Gemma standing just a few feet away. A fresh, soapy smell came off her and her hair was braided elaborately and pinned on top of her head. She’d changed her dress, too, putting on a pure white one tha
t had a lot less fabric than her last garment. Mitch opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. The woman in front of him was an angel straight out of Heaven.

  The talk behind Mitch died as everyone else noticed Gemma as well. Making himself move to the side so she could enter the room, he cleared his throat.

  “Boys,” he addressed the whole table, “this is Gemma Campbell.”

  A round of hellos echoed through the room. The men must have been as struck by her beauty as Mitch was, but they stayed respectful and simply nodded before averting their eyes.

  Clara burst into the room, a giant pie balanced in each hand. “Oh! You’re up, honey. Have a seat at the table.”