The Wyoming Heir

The Cowboy in the Classroom

Given a choice, Luke Hayes wouldn’t ever leave his Wyoming ranch. Yet when his estranged grandfather dies, leaving him everything, he’ll travel to Valley Falls, New York—but only to collect his sister and his inheritance. He won’t be roped into saving a floundering girls’ school, no matter what mathematics teacher Elizabeth Wells says.

Elizabeth has defied social convention and her own family for the sake of her beloved Hayes Academy. Luke is pure rancher, from the tip of his Stetson to the scuff on his boots, yet he’s also becoming her unlikely ally. Only he can help save her job and school…but how much will she lose when the time comes for him to leave?

“Miss Wells, I can’t say I expected to find you here, either, but this works well.

I need to speak with you.” He glanced briefly at the equation-filled slate on her lap, and the side of his mouth quirked into a cocky little smile. “Do you ever take time off from that fancy math?”

“Do you ever take time off from being a cowboy?”

The smile on his lips straightened into a firm white line, and he swung down off his horse. “I own five thousand head of cattle in the Teton Valley. I’m a rancher. That’s a mite different than being the hired help we call cowboys.”

“Indeed.” She nodded curtly and drew in a long, deep breath. With Samantha sitting beside her, she couldn’t exactly persuade him to let his sister graduate, but she still needed to ask about donating money to the academy. If only she could be polite long enough to make her request.

It was going to be very, very hard.

NAOMI RAWLINGS

A mother of two young boys, Naomi Rawlings spends her days picking up, cleaning, playing and, of course, writing. Her husband pastors a small church in Michigan’s rugged Upper Peninsula, where her family shares its ten wooded acres with black bears, wolves, coyotes, deer and bald eagles. Naomi and her family live only three miles from Lake Superior, and while the scenery is beautiful, the area averages two hundred inches of snow per winter. Naomi writes bold, dramatic stories containing passionate words and powerful journeys. If you enjoyed the novel, she would love to hear from you. You can write Naomi at P.O. Box 134, Ontonagon, MI 49953, or contact her via her website and blog, at www.naomirawlings.com.

The Wyoming Heir

Naomi Rawlings

What doth the Lord thy God require of thee, but to fear the Lord thy God, to walk in all his ways, and to love him, and to serve the Lord thy God with all thy heart and with all thy soul, to keep the commandments of the Lord, and his statutes, which I command thee this day for thy good?

—Deuteronomy 10:12–13

To Nathanael and Jeremiah, my amazing little boys. May you “grow in grace, and in the knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ” (2 Peter 3:18).

Acknowledgments

No book could ever make its way from my head to the story in front of you without help from some amazing people. First and foremost, I’d like to thank my husband, Brian. What would I do without someone to cook dinner and watch the kids and love and encourage me through each and every book I write? Second, I’d like to thank my critique partner, Melissa Jagears, for trudging through all the hills and valleys of this story with me. My writing

would suffer greatly without your keen eye and brilliant mind. I also want to thank my agent, Natasha Kern, for teaching me about writing and putting up with me even when I’m not that pleasant to put up with (which happens more often than it probably should). And my editor, Elizabeth Mazer, for her helpful suggestions and enthusiasm about my stories. Beyond this, numerous others have given support in one way or another—Sally Chambers, Glenn Haggerty, Roseanna White, and Laurie Alice Eakes, to name a few.

Thank you all for your time and effort and helping me to write the best books I possibly can.

Contents

Prologue

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

Epilogue

Dear Readers

Questions for Discussion

Excerpt

Prologue

Teton Valley, Wyoming

October 1893

“Hello, Ma.” Luke Hayes removed his Stetson and stepped over the threshold to his mother’s room. His boots echoed against the sturdy pine floorboards as he moved to where Ma sat at her vanity. A faint, sour scent wound around him, tickling his nose and turning his mouth bitter. The vase of purple coneflowers on the dresser nearly masked it, as did the rose water Ma dabbed at her throat. But the subtle smell of sickness clung to the shadows and haunted the corners, a constant reminder of the enemy that would steal her life.

“You’ve come to say goodbye,” she whispered, her voice tired though she’d barely spoken.

Luke hooked a thumb through a belt loop. “It’s time. Can’t linger if I want to be back before the snow comes.”

She turned to him, and the dreary, lifeless blue of her eyes hit him like a punch to the throat.

“You should be in bed.”

“I thought I’d go riding...could ride down the trail with you a ways. To the end of the property at least.”

Just like we used to, his throat ached to speak. How many times had they gone riding together? Felt the wind in their faces and the sun on their backs as they galloped through the shadows of the mountains?

Before. Not anymore. Never again.

But a person couldn’t convince Ma of that. Luke ran his gaze over her gaunt frame. She’d dragged herself from bed and pulled on some clothes, her shirtwaist and split skirt hanging on her emaciated figure as though more skeleton than flesh. “No more riding. Pa told you as much over a month ago.”

She huffed, her skinny shoulders straightening. “Doc Binnings didn’t bar me from riding.”

“The answer’s still no.” His words sliced through the room, and he winced. He’d come to say goodbye, not get into an argument, but there seemed to be little help for it with Ma convinced she could go riding.

“There’s a letter for your sister on the dresser.” She nodded toward the white envelope.

A smile slid up the corner of his mouth. “I’m carrying one from Pa, too, and another from Levi Sanders.”

“Levi?” A flush tinged Ma’s pale cheeks. “Samantha will like that.”

“She’ll like hearing from everyone, I’m sure. She’ll be even happier to finally come home.”

Ma stopped, her hands frozen midway through fastening the gold locket about her neck. “You’re bringing her back?”

“Of course. What did you expect?”

“No. Deal with the estate as we discussed, but leave Samantha there.”

Not get Sam? The thought stopped him cold. Even if he didn’t need to leave for New York to settle his late grandfather’s affairs, he still would have gone to fetch his sister home. With Ma nearing the end, Samantha belonged with her family. “It’s time she came home.”

“I read her letters. She loves that school, makes good grades, will graduate come spring. She needs to stay.”

“Ma...” Luke scrubbed a hand over his face.

“I’ve got a letter for Cynthia, too, on the dresser over beside Samantha’s. You’ll take that one, won’t you?”

Cynthia? His hand stilled over his eyes. He hadn’t heard the name of his brother’s widow for three years and didn’t care to hear it again for the rest of his life.

But Ma was staring at him, hope radiating from her weary eyes.

“You know how I feel about Cynthia.” And if Ma wasn’t half delusional from her illness, she never would have brought up the confounded woman. “Just mail the letter yourself.”

“You’re not even going to see—?”

It started then, one of the coughing fits that spasmed through Ma’s body. She grabbed the rag sitting beside the rose water and held it to her mouth, planting her other hand on the vanity for support.

“You should have been in bed.” Luke strode forward, slipped one arm beneath her knees, and used the other to brace her back before he swooped her in his arms. The coughs racked her body, shaking her slight form down to her very bones. “Breathe now, Ma. Remember what the doc said? You need to breathe through this.”

He laid her on the bed and sat beside her, holding the rag to her face. Blood seeped into the cloth, staining her teeth and lips and pooling in the corner of her mouth. The doc had also told him and Pa not to touch the foul cloths, or they could end up with consumption. But he wouldn’t watch his mother struggle to keep a simple rag in place.

He braced her shoulders and gripped the cloth until she lay back against her pillows, eyes closed, stringy chestnut hair falling in waves around her shoulders, most of it knocked loose from her bun because of the jerking.

And she’d wanted to ride with him to the edge of the ranch.

He tossed the rag into the pail in the corner, already a quarter filled with sodden cloths, washed his hands in the basin, then moved back to her. The scents of rose water and blood and chronic sickness emanated from the bed.

She opened those dull blue eyes and blinked up at him.

“Are you...” All right? He clamped his teeth together. Of course she wasn’t all right. Every day she crept closer to death. And every day Sam stayed East was a day forever lost between mother and daughter.

“Luke...promise me.” Short breaths wheezed from her mouth.

“Promise you what?” He knelt on the floor, his eyes tracing every dip and curve and line of her features, branding them into his memory lest she not be alive when he returned.

She wrapped her hand around his, her corpselike skin thin and translucent against the thick, healthy hue of his palm. “Th-that you won’t tell Samantha how sick I am.”

“What do you mean? Haven’t you told her yet yourself? Doesn’t your letter explain?”

She looked away.

“Ma?” He stroked a strand of limp hair off her forehead. “You have to let Sam know you’re sick.”

“No.” A tear streaked down the bony ridges of her cheek. “If I tell her, she’ll come home. She needs to stay and finish school.”

“She deserves to make that choice on her own. Deserves the chance to see you before you...” Die. He couldn’t move the wretched word past the knot in his throat. Ma might not want Sam told about her condition, but Sam would never forgive herself if Ma passed without her saying goodbye. “Surely you want to see Sam again? Surely you miss her?”

Ma squirmed. “Let her finish her schooling, and we’ll see each other next summer.”

Except Ma wasn’t going to live that long. “Sam needs to know. Now.”

“I won’t let her give up the life she loves to watch me die.” She shook her head, her sunken eyes seeking his. “You mustn’t tell her. Promise me.”

He couldn’t do it. He could barely stand to leave Ma as it was, wouldn’t if he had any choice in the matter. How could he promise to keep her condition from Sam? Maybe Ma was right, and Sam wouldn’t want to come home, but she should know what was going on.

“Luke? Promise?” Ma’s voice grew panicked, even desperate.

Something twisted in his gut.

His twin’s death three years earlier had been quick, nearly instant. Watching Blake die had hurt, but watching the life slowly drain from Ma? No one should be asked to endure such a thing.

But he couldn’t very well leave her knowing he’d denied her last request.

He might never see her again. Even if he got Sam and brought her home, he might be too late.

“I promise.” The words tasted bitter on his tongue. “Goodbye now, Ma.”

He stood, swiped Sam’s letter from the top of the dresser, and left, taking long strides out of her room and through the ranch house before she could thank him.

Before delight from his agreement could fill her face.

Before common sense forced him to rescind his promise.

Chapter One

Valley Falls, New York

The simple cotton curtains on the classroom window fluttered with a whispered breeze, while autumn sunlight flooded through the opening in the thin fabric and bathed her in a burst of gaiety. But the warm rays upon Elizabeth Wells’s skin didn’t penetrate the coldness that stole up her spine, numbing her lungs and turning her fingers to ice.

Elizabeth tightened her grip around the envelope in her hand. She could open it. It wasn’t such a hard thing, really, to slip the letter opener inside and slit the top. She just needed a moment to brace herself.

The envelope weighed heavy against her skin, as though it were made of lead rather than paper. She ran her fingers instinctively along the smooth, precise edges. A quadrilateral with two pairs of congruent sides joined by four right angles. The mathematical side of her brain recognized the shape as a perfect rectangle. But the contour of the paper didn’t matter nearly so much as what was written inside.

She sighed and glanced down, her gaze resting on the name printed boldly across the envelope.

Miss Elizabeth Wells

Instructor of Mathematics

Hayes Academy for Girls

Forcing the air out of her lungs, she slit the envelope from the Albany Ladies’ Society and slipped out the paper.

Dear Miss Wells...

The jumble of words and phrases from the letter seared her mind. Regret to inform you...revoking our funding from your school...donate money to an institution that appreciates women maintaining their proper sphere in society. And then the clincher. The Albany Ladies’ Society not only wanted to stop any future funding but also requested the return of the money they had already donated for the school year.

And they called themselves ladies. Elizabeth slammed the letter onto her desk. Two other organizations had also asked that money previously donated—and spent—be returned. Then there were the six other letters explaining why future funding would cease but not asking for a return of monies.

This request galled more than most. If even women cared nothing about educating the younger generation of ladies, then who would? She’d spoken personally to the Albany Ladies’ Society three times. Her mother was a member, and still, at the slightest bit of public opposition to the school, the society had pulled their funding.

She stuffed the letter back into the envelope, yanked out her bottom desk drawer, and tossed it inside with the other letters—and the articles that had started the firestorm.

She shouldn’t even be receiving letters from donors and disgruntled citizens. Her brother, Jackson, was the head accountant for Hayes Academy for Girls, not her.

But then Jackson wasn’t responsible for the mess the academy was in.

She was.

She’d only been trying to help. With the recession that had hit the area following the economic panic in March, the school had lost students. A lot of students. Many parents couldn’t afford to send their daughters to an institution such as Hayes any longer. And without those tuition dollars, the school risked being seriously underfunded. So she’d written an editorial delineating the advantages of female education and girls’ academies and had sent it to the paper.

She’d hoped to convince a couple families to enroll their daughters or perhaps encourage donations to the school. Instead, she’d convinced Mr. Reginald Higsley, one of the reporters at the Albany Morning Times, to answer her.

On the front page.

She pulled out the newspaper, the headline staring back at her with thick, black letters.

Excessive Amount of Charity Money Wasted on Hayes Academy for Girls

Since the economic panic in March and the ensuing depression, countless workers remain unemployed, food lines span city blocks, four railroad companies have declared bankruptcy, three Albany banks have failed and myriad farmers have been forced to let their mortgaged lands revert back to lending institutions. But not six miles away, in the neighboring town of Valley Falls, community and charity money is being wasted on keeping open an unneeded school, Hayes Academy for Girls.

It has long been recognized that the overeducating of females creates a breed of women quick to throw off their societal obligations to marry and raise children. It is also well-known that educated women are more concerned with employment opportunities and their own selfish wishes rather than fulfilling their roles as women....

Elizabeth’s stomach twisted. No matter how many times her eyes darted over the words, the opening made her nearly retch. The article went on to compare the lower marriage rate of women with college educations to those with only grammar schooling. It examined the divorce rate, also higher among women with college educations. And then the reporter turned back to the topic of Hayes Academy’s funding, questioning why anyone would waste money teaching women to throw off their societal responsibilities while the poor of Albany were starving.

Elizabeth shoved back from her desk and stood. Charity money “wasted” on keeping an “unneeded” institution open? How could the reporter say such a thing, when the academy prepared young women to attend college and qualify for jobs that enabled them to support both themselves and their families? An educated woman could certainly make a fuller contribution to society than an uneducated one.

Yet since the article had appeared, the academy had lost half of its financial backers.

A burst of giggles wafted from outside, and Elizabeth rose and headed to the window. In the yard, groups of girls clustered about the pristine lawn and giant maple trees with their reddening leaves. They laughed and smiled and talked, flitting over the grass alone or in packs, their eyes bright, their spirits free, their futures optimistic.

She sank her head against the dark trim surrounding the window. “Jonah, why did you go and die on me?” The words swirled and dissipated in the empty room. As though she’d never spoken them. As though no one heard or cared what a mess Hayes Academy had become when its founder unexpectedly died three months earlier.

If Jonah Hayes were still alive, he would know how to get more donors. He would write an editorial on women’s education, and people would listen, enrolling their daughters at the academy. And in the interim, while the school struggled through the recession, he would likely donate the money Hayes Academy needed to continue operating.

But Jonah Hayes was gone, and his estate had been tied up for three months, waiting for the arrival of his grandson heir from out West. In her dreams, the grandson came to Valley Falls, filled Jonah’s position on the school board, convinced the other board members to keep Hayes Academy open, obliterated all opposition to the academy.

Of course, the heir had to arrive first.

And at this rate, the academy would be closed and the building sold before the man got here.

The students returned from lunch, a cascade of laughter and conversations fluttering in their wake. Elizabeth tried to smile, tried to straighten her shoulders and stand erect, tried to be grateful for the chance to teach her students—an opportunity that she might not have in another month.

Tried, but failed.

“Miss Wells?” The shining blue eyes of Samantha Hayes, Jonah’s granddaughter and one of the academy’s most intelligent pupils, met hers. “Meredith, MaryAnne and I are going to have a picnic along the stream that runs through Grandfather’s estate tonight. Do you want to join us?”

Elizabeth did smile then, though it doubtless looked small and halfhearted. How enjoyable to spend the evening chatting with the girls beside the clear stream, watching autumn swirl. If only she didn’t have to find a way out of the financial mess she’d created for Hayes Academy, which meant she had an appointment for tonight with the extra set of ledgers she kept for the school. “I’d best not. Thank you for asking.”

“Are you feeling all right?” Concern flitted across the young lady’s face. “You look pale.”

“I’m fine, but...well, now that I think of it, I could use your help on a certain project tomorrow.”

Samantha’s eyes danced, light from the window streaming in to bounce off her golden tresses. The girl was breathtaking. More than breathtaking, really. Elizabeth smiled. Little surprise her brother, Jackson, had started courting Samantha Hayes last spring. Half the men of Albany would be courting her if they had any sense about them.

“Is it more calculus?”

She did smile then, full and genuine. If only all her students were as exuberant over calculus as Samantha Hayes. “I’m afraid not. I’ve some ciphering to do tonight, and I’d like for you to check my sums.”

Samantha excelled at finding discrepancies in account books, whether they be the school’s or Jonah Hayes’s or Elizabeth’s personal ledgers. “Sounds fun. Should we meet at the picnic spot around lunchtime tomorrow, then?”

If Samantha knew the state of Hayes Academy’s accounts, she wouldn’t be nearly so happy. Oh, well, the younger girl would find out tomorrow.

“Yes, that will be fine, but you’d best take your seat now.” Elizabeth moved to the chalkboard and turned toward her students. Thirteen expectant faces stared back at her. Last year, she’d had twenty-three in her advanced algebra class.

“Today we’re going to learn about...”

But she couldn’t finish. How could she, with the school struggling to pay its bills and teachers’ salaries? Did the girls understand how much funding had been pulled from the academy within the past five days? That they might not be able to finish their final year of high school if more students didn’t enroll or if new funds couldn’t be raised?

And part of it was her fault. Oh, what had ever possessed her to write that editorial?

“Miss Wells, are you feeling okay?”

“Can we do something for you?”

“Did you forget what you were saying?”

The voices floated from different corners of the room. Elizabeth plastered a smile on her face. “Forgive me, class, but I’ve decided to change the lesson. We’ll review today.”

Her hand flew across the chalkboard as her mind formed the numbers, letters and symbols without needing to consult a textbook for sample equations. “I’m giving you a surprise quiz. Take the next half hour to finish these quadratic equations, and we’ll check them at the end of class.” She wiped her chalk-covered hands on a rag and turned.

A shadow moved near the open classroom door, and the darkened frame of a man filled the doorway.

A man. At Hayes Academy for Girls. What was he doing here?

“Can I help you?”

He entered and dipped his head. “Excuse me, ma’am.” A Western drawl lingered on the rusted voice.

“You’re here!” Samantha screeched.

Elizabeth nearly cringed at the unladylike sound, but Samantha took no notice as she sprang from her desk and rushed toward the gentleman. “I can’t believe you finally came. I missed you so much!” Samantha threw her arms around him for all the world to see.