Winnie Griggs - Lone Star Heiress

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.