For a long time Rebecca watched the stars, listening to the rumble and snort of the men who slept about the campfire.
Lantree also watched the stars, his head tipped so that she felt the tickle of his hair on her ear. After a while he turned his face and she watched his gaze settle on her.
She drew in a quick breath. The emotion she saw in his eyes was not that of a comfortable friend. He was a man wanting a woman…wanting his woman.
He touched her hair, smoothing back some of the tangles that the day’s ride had caused.
“My sweet, beautiful Becca,” he whispered.
There might be words in the universe to chastise that remark, but at that moment she could not find them…did not want to.
Are you drawn to stories of the Old West like I am? There is something so unique about that time and place. It was a hard, rugged land that tested the mettle of those who ventured into it. At the same time it was a land of new beginnings. For some it was a place of refuge, where one could leave a regrettable past behind and start anew. For others, young and fresh with hope, it was a place to dig in roots and build a future. For many the Old West represented a way to throw off the constraints of proper society and live life on their own terms.
When Rebecca Louise Lane ventures to Montana it’s for all three reasons. As destiny will, in the land of romance, it leads her to Lantree Boone Walker—a man who has gone West to hide from his past.
I hope you enjoy the story of how Rebecca and Lantree each find a new beginning, as well as a life together, in the wilds of Montana.
Wed to the Montana Cowboy
Carol Arens
CAROL ARENS delights in tossing fictional characters into hot water, watching them steam, and then giving them a happily-ever-after. When she’s not writing she enjoys spending time with her family, beach-camping or lounging about a mountain cabin. At home, she enjoys playing with her grandchildren and gardening. During rare spare moments you will find her snuggled up with a good book.
Carol enjoys hearing from readers at
[email protected] or on Facebook.
Dedicated with love to the memory of Tony Arens.
Brother, we will always hear your boot-heels two-stepping across our hearts.
Contents
Kansas City, Missouri, April 1882
Despite appearances, Rebecca Lane was not a wallflower.
Glancing to her left, then her right, she watched her passed-over companions sitting primly against the wall of the Kansas City Ladies Cultural Club while the fiddler played his jumpy tune off-key.
While the other ladies might be considered blushing flowers, waiting hopefully for some man to pluck them from disgrace, she was not.
What she was, was a spinster.
If a man did come and pluck her, it would only end in humiliation. There was no disguising the fact that among the dainty wallflowers wilting in their chairs she stood out as bold as a ragweed.
If this were not a charity event, and if Aunt Eunice had not spent the best part of an hour casting frowns at her, she would stand tall, very tall, six feet worth of tall to be exact, and escape this hall of merry, dancing people.
A sigh coming from her right reminded her that not everyone was merry. If she had an ounce of spit, she’d unite her sisters in humiliation and together they would march out the door.
Perhaps not Mary Crowner, though. Willard Phipp had just lifted her from her seat of misery and whirled her onto the dance floor.
Because Rebecca had idle moments with nothing to do but tap her toe and clench her fingers together, she considered her future.
There were a few fates worse than being a spinster, and truth be told, some advantages. She closed her eyes to the colorful skirts twirling past her feet. As she often did, she recited the advantages in her mind.
One, no man would tell her what to say. Two, no man would tell her what to wear. Three, no man would dictate where she could go or when she could go there.