Lone Star Heiress

Rescuer Turned Husband?

Plucky Ivy Feagan is headed to Turnabout, Texas, to claim an inheritance, not a widower’s heart. That all changes when strapping schoolteacher Mitch Parker rescues her in the wilderness. Straightlaced Mitch has never met a woman like Ivy—beautiful, adventurous and good-hearted—but he already lost love once and doesn’t dare try again.

When Turnabout’s gossips target Mitch and Ivy’s friendship, he proposes to save her reputation. But Ivy doesn’t want to marry for honor, and she doesn’t need to marry for money. Ivy will only agree to a proposal made for love’s sake—but will Mitch make his heart part of the marriage offer?

Texas Grooms: In search of their brides…

“Oh, you have a tree swing!”

Ivy turned back to Mitch with a teasing grin. “It appears there’s a bit of playfulness in you after all.”

“I hate to disappoint you, but that swing was already there when I moved in.” He regretted the words as soon as he saw the disappointment flash across her face.

She fisted a hand on her hip, looking quite severe. “You mean to tell me that you’ve never once even sat in that swing.”

“Guilty.”

“Well, that’s downright wasteful.”

He waved a hand toward the swing. “Feel free.”

“Well, there’s no time like the present.” With a saucy smile she started across the lawn. Ivy set the swing in motion, soaring high and laughing aloud.

Mitch leaned against a porch support, crossing his arms and enjoying the view.

As he watched her it occurred to him that perhaps her presence in his once quiet household was going to change his life more than he’d considered.

But it was too late to go back now.

What troubled him more was that he didn’t want to.

WINNIE GRIGGS

is a city girl born and raised in southeast Louisiana’s Cajun Country, who grew up to marry a country boy from the hills of northwest Louisiana. Though her Prince Charming (who often wears the guise of a cattle rancher) is more comfortable riding a tractor than a white steed, the two of them have been living their own happily-ever-after for thirty-plus years. During that time they raised four proud-to-call-them-mine children and a too-numerous-to-count assortment of dogs, cats, fish, hamsters, turtles and 4-H sheep.

Winnie retired from her “day job” and now, in addition to her reading and writing, happily spends her time doing the things she loves best—spending time with her family, cooking and exploring flea markets.

Readers can contact Winnie at P.O. Box 14, Plain Dealing, LA 71064, or email her at winnie@winniegriggs.com.

Lone Star Heiress

Winnie Griggs

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He shall choose our inheritance for us.

—Psalms 47:4

To my awesome agent Michelle and my fabulous critique partners Connie and Amy, who all, at various points, helped me talk through some of the tough spots I encountered while writing this story. Thanks for your willingness to listen, offer terrific suggestions and most of all your belief in and enthusiasm for this story.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Extract

Chapter One

Texas

June 1896

“This doesn’t look good.”

Ivy gently set the hoof back down on the grassy road and patted the mule’s side. “No wonder you’re limping, Jubal—it ’pears like you’ve picked up a honey of a stone bruise.”

The mule turned around to nip at her, but she avoided him easily enough. Although Jubal might be ornery at times, he usually wasn’t mean. Unfortunately, these weren’t usual circumstances.

Maybe she shouldn’t have set such a demanding pace this past day and a half, but she’d hoped to make it to Turnabout in two days’ time. A woman traveling alone for this distance, even if she was dressed as a boy, was vulnerable to gossip and worse.

But it looked as if she was doomed to spend another night on the trail.

“Not that anyone’s gonna notice we’re late,” she told Jubal, “since no one is expecting us exactly. I’m just anxious to find out what the mysterious inheritance is that this Drum Mosley fellow is holding for me.”

Ivy gave the mule’s side another pat as he brayed out a complaint. “I wish there was something I could do to make you feel better.” They were a day-and-a-half’s ride from home and headed in the opposite direction. It had been several hours since they’d seen signs of people or habitation, so she figured they’d be better off pressing forward. “Guess we’ll just have to get by as best we can.”

She turned to her other traveling companion, also of the four-legged variety. “Well, Rufus, I guess I’ll be walking the rest of the way alongside you.”

The dog barked in response and she rubbed his head, comforted by the feel of his shaggy coat and the trusting look in his eyes.

“Let’s hope we find a homestead with neighborly folks who won’t mind strangers bunking in their barn.” She straightened. “At least there’s lots of good foraging to be had this time of year.”

She took off her straw hat and wiped her forehead with her sleeve. It might be the first week in June, but the summer heat had already set in.

How far had they come since they’d started out at dawn yesterday? Other than a couple of short breaks, they’d only stopped when darkness made it unsafe to travel last night. They broke camp at daybreak this morning and she estimated it was getting on to four o’clock now. Surely they were getting close to Turnabout. Which meant it would be time to exchange her britches for a skirt soon.

She glanced down at Rufus. “Whatever this inheritance is, it sure better be worth all this trouble. ’Cause we could really use some good luck about now.”

She patted Jubal’s neck. “Wouldn’t it be something if we could return home with enough money to rebuild the barn and buy a new milk cow? That would sure make Nana Dovie’s life a lot easier.”

Grabbing the reins, Ivy looked the mule in the eye. “I know you’re hurting, but we need to make it a little farther before dark.”

She moved forward and lightly tugged. To her relief, Jubal decided to cooperate. She glanced down the narrow, deserted road as she absently swatted a horsefly away. They hadn’t seen so much as a fence post or wagon rut since before noon. Apparently this shortcut to Turnabout wasn’t well used. But surely they’d spot some sign of civilization soon.

Not one to enjoy long silences, Ivy shared her thoughts aloud. “It’s been a wearisome day and you two have been great companions. Don’t think I don’t appreciate it. In fact, I have a special treat for each of you that I’ll hand out as soon as we stop for the night.”

She glanced at Rufus, padding along beside her. “It would be nice if you and I ended up with a barn or shed to sleep in tonight, don’t you think?”

Not that she minded camping out—that’s what they’d done last night and, other than fighting off some pesky mosquitoes, they’d managed just fine. But those gray clouds gathering overhead would likely bring rain before morning and she didn’t relish the idea of getting soaked.

But as Nana Dovie always said, worrying was like doubting God. If you truly believe He’s in charge, then you have to trust He’ll work everything out for the best.

Of course, it never hurt to let Him know what you’d like to have happen.

“Mind you, Lord,” she said respectfully, “I know we can use a bit of rain to settle the dust. It’s just that I’m not sure that sheet of canvas I brought along will keep out more than a spit and a drizzle, and I’d rather not have a mud bath. If You could help me find a dry place to sleep, it would be most welcome.”

She glanced over at the mule. “And please help Jubal heal quickly. Amen.”

Ivy smiled down at Rufus. “Now, whatever happens, we’ll know He has it in hand.”

An hour later, she frowned up at the overcast sky. The clouds had thickened like clabbered milk and the heavy air clung to her skin like a damp petticoat. And they still hadn’t come across any signs of civilization. Jubal’s limp was more pronounced now—she couldn’t in good conscience push him further today. She had to let the injured animal rest.

“Well, boys, as Nana Dovie says, when you don’t get the thing you prayed for, it don’t mean God ain’t listening. It just means the answer is either no or not now. So it looks like we’re going to spend another night under the stars. And this is as likely a spot as any.”

* * *

Mitch Parker sat comfortably in the saddle, soaking in the morning sunshine and peaceful surroundings, letting all the stress of the past few weeks dissolve away. It had rained most of last night, but the rhythmic pattering on the cozy cabin roof had added to the serenity.

And today had dawned bright and warm—perfect weather for the first full day of his vacation. The leaves on the trees had that special shine they always had after a rain and the only sounds were those of the birds and insects. He might even take out his sketch pad later.

School was out for the summer, giving him a welcome break from his teaching duties. But more than that, he was ready for a break from Hilda Swenson. The persistent widow and mother of three had made him the target of her attention for the past several weeks and seemed oblivious to his hints that he wasn’t interested. She was a flibbertigibbet of the highest order—something he had no patience for. And her determined pursuit was playing havoc with the quiet, well-ordered life he’d strived so hard to build for himself and was determined to maintain at all costs.

He never wanted to go back to what he’d once been. Nor did he want to be a husband again, not after the tragic outcome of his marriage.

His rebuffs of the widow’s overtures would obviously have to be more direct in the future—a confrontation he wasn’t looking forward to. Thus his decision to slip away to a friend’s cabin for a week or so.

Mitch shook off those thoughts. He’d deal with that unpleasantness when he returned to Turnabout. This week was for relaxing and regaining that all-important sense of control over his life.

And this back-of-beyond cabin had been just the place to do it. He was grateful to Reggie Barr for giving him the use of it. In a way, it was a homecoming. The cabin was where he’d spent his first night in this part of the world, two years ago. Reggie had been a stranger then, but had held his fate in her hands. Now he counted her and her husband, Adam, amongst his closest friends.

He’d made it to the cabin yesterday afternoon, in time to get some fishing in. Fishing, reading and sketching, and no people around. Yes, this was going to be a fine week indeed.

Just before he’d left town yesterday, Reggie had told him he could find some mulberry trees north of the cabin. So now he was heading that way, hoping to gather a generous amount of the fruit, and curious to explore a different section of the woods. Perhaps he’d find inspiration for some of the sketching he planned to do.

A bark echoed through the trees, catching Mitch’s attention. What would a dog be doing out here? It was a four-hour ride from Turnabout and as far as he knew, no one lived out this way. Then again, maybe someone had settled here recently. He grimaced at that thought. He hoped whoever it was wasn’t the gregarious type—he wasn’t in a sociable mood.

But he was getting ahead of himself. A dog didn’t necessarily mean there were people around. The animal could have wandered all this way on his own.

Mitch slowed Seeley, then pulled the horse to a stop. Maybe he should turn around and return to the cabin. If there were people up ahead, there was no sense in inviting an acquaintance. Perhaps if he refrained from intruding on them, they’d return the favor.

Then he reluctantly set Seeley in motion again. If he was going to have neighbors, it was best he meet them at a time of his own choosing rather than have them arrive on his doorstep when he wasn’t prepared. He could also drop a hint or two that he valued his privacy.

As Mitch neared the spot where the dog’s bark had come from, he heard a human voice as well, though he couldn’t make out the words. Well, that answered that—there were people out here.

He peered through the woods and spied a youth standing on a log, plucking mulberries from a tree. It appeared someone besides him had designs on the berries.

Mitch quickly scanned the surrounding area, looking for the other members of the lad’s party. There was a scruffy-looking dog and a mule, but no sign of either a homestead or other people.

The dog spotted him first and began barking furiously.

“Goodness, Rufus, what’s gotten into you? Is it another squirrel?” The youth turned to look and, as he caught sight of Mitch, his eyes widened and his foot slipped, losing its purchase on the log. His arms flailed as he attempted to catch his balance. The youth’s hat went flying and the appearance of a long untidy braid had Mitch quickly revising his initial impression.

A moment later, she was flat on her back on the ground.

And not moving.

Nightmare memories of another fallen woman whooshed through Mitch with the force of a flash flood. He vaulted from his horse, his heart pounding like a mad thing trying to escape his chest.

Not again. God wouldn’t be so cruel as to make him relive such a tragedy a second time.

Would He?

Chapter Two

In a matter of seconds, Mitch knelt beside the all-too-still form, checking for signs of life. When he saw the rise of her chest, his frenetic heartbeat slowed slightly. But he refocused immediately. He needed to find out just how badly she was hurt.

His breath caught for a moment as he spotted reddish stains on her shirt and hands. But a heartbeat later he realized they came from berries, not blood.

Why was she out here alone, and why was she dressed as a boy?

He shoved those thoughts aside—there would be time later for those questions, once he’d made certain she was okay.

It was his fault she’d fallen. He hadn’t intended to startle her, but that didn’t absolve him of the fact that he had. He of all people knew that actions often had unanticipated consequences. He also knew his imposing size could make strangers uncomfortable at the best of times. For a lone female who wasn’t expecting him—even one dressed as a boy—his arrival must have been a shock.

She stirred and he turned his attention to her face, only now taking in her physical appearance. Her nose and cheeks were dusted with a liberal sprinkling of freckles, giving her a youthful look. Her still-closed eyes were partially covered by a fringe of reddish-brown hair that had escaped her braid. He absently brushed the tendrils away from her face and was rewarded with a grimace and a soft moan, welcome signs that she was regaining consciousness.

“Easy,” he said, still uncertain of her condition.

She started at the sound of his voice, and her eyes flew open, regarding him with wide-eyed confusion and uncertainty. The deep clover-green of her irises startled him momentarily. They were the most amazingly intense eyes he’d ever seen.

“Are you hurt?” He kept his voice calm, trying not to further alarm her.

“I don’t... My head hurts, but I think I’m okay.”

She made as if to sit up, but he placed a hand on her shoulder, gently restraining her. “Easy now. Take a minute before you move around too much.”

She gave him a peevish frown. “I need to sit up—the ground’s wet.”

That’s what she was worried about? Probably still addled from the fall. “I understand, but let’s check you out first.”

The suspicion in her expression deepened, and she attempted to put more distance between them. “I can check my own self, thank you.”

Though her words were assertive, her tone was slurred and she seemed none too steady. He didn’t want to agitate her further, however, so he nodded.

“All right, but if you insist on sitting up, at least let me assist you.” He placed a hand at her elbow and helped her up, keeping close watch for signs of injuries or weakness. Once he was sure she wouldn’t fall over again, he eased back on his haunches, ignoring the dampness seeping through the knees of his pants, trying to maintain a nonthreatening pose.

As soon as he moved back, she pulled a knife from somewhere and had it unsteadily pointed at his chest. “If you’re thinking to rob me, mister, you should know I don’t have much worth stealing, but what’s mine is mine.”

The dog, alerted by her tone, stiffened and bared its teeth at him.

“Whoa, there.” Mitch threw his hands up, palms out, trying to assure her he wasn’t a threat. The knife, while not especially large, looked sharp enough to do some damage. And although he was quite certain he could take it from her with little effort, he didn’t want to do that unless he had to. “I just want to make certain you’re okay, nothing more.” She placed her free hand on the dog’s back, but he had no illusions she was restraining him.

“I’m talking about before that. Why were you sneaking up on me that way?”

“I didn’t sneak up on you. I happened on you while looking for the mulberry trees. My apologies if you were startled.”

She blinked those amazing eyes as if trying to clear her vision, and the trembling in her hand grew more pronounced. Was it due to pain? Or weakness?

“Are these trees on your place?” she asked. “’Cause I didn’t mean to trespass.”

Trespassing should be the least of her worries right now. He didn’t like the slur that had crept into her voice. Time to be firm, for her own good. “We can discuss all that later. Right now I need to know if you’re badly hurt.”

She still didn’t lower the knife, though the effort seemed to cost her. But her left hand moved from the dog to the back of her head. “I... My head—” She pulled her hand back and stared at it as if it belonged to someone else.

It was stained with blood.

Mitch bit off an oath. “You are hurt. Let me have a look.” He moved in closer, and she quickly raised the knife to block him, swaying slightly with the effort. Her dog let out a warning growl.

This girl had more spunk than sense. “I’m only trying to take a look at your injury—that’s all. You’re bleeding and it’s not something you can tend to yourself.”

Without a word, she nodded, her gaze never leaving his face.

Keeping his moves slow and smooth, he shifted to get a better look, ignoring the knife that unsteadily tracked his movements. A patch of blood on the back of her head stained her hair, matting it against her scalp. The wet, muddy ground she’d been lying on hadn’t helped matters any, either. He tried gently parting the hair but couldn’t see much beyond the blood.

He moved to face her again, and realized she’d closed her eyes. Had his ministrations hurt her?

But a moment later her eyes opened with obvious effort and her gaze held a question.

“I’m going to get my canteen so I can clean this up and get a better look. Try not to move.”

She nodded wearily, then winced. “There’s a shallow creek just beyond those trees.” Her voice sounded strained and pain shadowed her expression.

He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, crossed his fingers that she’d be all right until he returned, then sprinted back to Seeley.

Snatching up his canteen and the small cloth bag he’d intended to put the berries in, he quickly headed back, only detouring once when he saw her own canteen amongst her things.

Mitch pulled out his handkerchief as he knelt beside her again. Her hand was back on the dog’s neck, but now she seemed to be using it for support rather than restraint. Not a good sign. Still, her stoicism and ability to keep her wits under the circumstances was commendable.

“I’ll be as gentle as I can,” he said as he wet the cloth.

She tried to raise the knife again. With a sigh, he wrested it from her in one quick move, then set it carefully out of her reach.

He regretted the spark of fear he saw in her eyes. “I’m sorry—” he kept his tone matter-of-fact “—but I can’t have you hurting either yourself or me while I’m focused on fixing you up.”

She watched his every move, and he saw the caution and uncertainty she was trying to hold at bay.

“I guess I should introduce myself,” he said, hoping to distract her. “Mitch Parker, at your service.”

“Ivy Feagan.” She offered her name reluctantly, then he heard a quick intake of breath as he dabbed at the cut. She indicated the dog. “This here is Rufus.” Her voice had a note of challenge in it.

Good. He preferred bravado to fear. “Glad to meet you. By the way, did you get to sample those mulberries before I interrupted you? I hear they’re exceptional.”

She answered affirmatively, then fell silent again. There were no indications she was hurting, other than an occasional hitch in her breathing when he touched a particularly sensitive spot. When that happened, she’d start talking, mostly rambling thoughts, as if to hide her reaction.

Despite her unfocused chatter, he found himself admiring her. She didn’t complain, or dissolve into hysterics or cower—all of which would have been understandable reactions given the situation. Instead, she maintained a stoic demeanor. He’d known men who would have acted with less restraint in these circumstances.

It took all the water in his canteen, but he finally had the area clean enough to see the cut. It was a nasty-looking gash, but the bleeding had almost stopped.

He rinsed his now-soiled handkerchief, then squeezed out as much water as he could. He folded it into a thick pad, then gently covered the injury. “Do you think you can hold this in place for a few moments?”

She obediently placed a hand over the pad. He picked up the cloth bag, quickly removed the drawstring and held it up to show her. “I’m going to use this to tie the bandage in place. Okay?”

“Okay.”

He secured the pad, then leaned back to study his work. With the ties dangling over her left ear, she would have looked comical if the situation weren’t so serious.

“That will have to do for now.” He met her gaze and frowned. He didn’t like the paleness of her skin. Her freckles stood out in stark relief, her eyes looked huge and the rest of her face had a pinched look. And he could tell she was struggling to stay focused. What should he do now?