Dreaming on Daisies
Read Dreaming on Daisies Online
Authors: Miralee Ferrell
Tags: #Oregon Trail, #Western, #1880s, #Wild West, #Lewis and Clark Trail, #Western romance, #Historical Romance, #Christian Fiction, #Baker City, #Oregon
Love Blossoms in Oregon Series
Blowing on Dandelions
Forget Me Not
Wishing on Buttercups
Dreaming on Daisies
To Daddy
I treasure the lessons you taught me.
I miss you and am so grateful you were my father.
As I was with Moses, so I will be with thee:
I will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.
—Joshua 1:5
Contents
Acknowledgments
I decided when I started writing that each book must point readers to God in some way, and I hope and pray this one won’t be an exception. I write for Him first. If He’s satisfied, I know the rest will fall in place. All glory goes to: God, my Father; Jesus, my best Friend; and the Holy Spirit, my Guide and Comforter.
My biggest thanks goes to my family—most especially my husband—for being patient as I work toward my deadlines, while being supportive of all it takes to bring a new book into the world. My children, Marnee and Brian, and Steven and Hannah (who provided me with a baby granddaughter last year); my mother, Sylvia, who is one of my closest friends—all offer encouragement and support. Also a special thanks to my church family, who pray as I write each new story and eagerly awaits the publication of every novel. You are special to me.
The writing of a book is never completely about the author; it takes a team working behind the scenes to bring it to life. First are my critique partners, Kimberly Johnson, Vickie McDonough, and Margaret Daley, who also offer brainstorming help. Judy Vandiver also read and critiqued my manuscript when it was finished. Kimberly Johnson, Vickie McDonough, and Judy Vandiver spent time on the phone brainstorming parts of the story line, and a number of friends gave me title suggestions. I love all these wonderful ladies who are an integral part of my team.
Early in the writing of this book, I put together an amazing group of ladies that I call my Street Team. Each of them is a strong champion of my work, and each has become dear to me this past year as they work hard to spread the word about my books and pray for me as I write. Thank you each and every one. You girls are wonderful!
My publishing team starts with my agent, Tamela Hancock Murray, who champions my work and helps find it the best possible home. Tamela, a friend as well as a business associate, works diligently to make my career succeed.
This is my third book with David C Cook. They graciously accepted my request to assign an exceptional editor, Ramona Tucker, for this entire series. I’m so blessed to partner with Ramona and value her professional expertise and editing, as well as her friendship. The Cook team welcomed me from the start, and I’ve loved working with Don Pape, Ingrid Beck, Karen Stoller, Caitlyn Carlson, Tonya Osterhouse, Amy Konyndyk, Jeane Wynn, and Michelle Webb, as well as the sales and marketing team. I look forward to interacting more with these quality people.
And, last, to my readers—I value every email I receive, as well as the posts on Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, and Pinterest, and I’d love to have you drop by. Thank you for your faithful support!
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Chapter One
One mile outside Baker City, Oregon
Mid-March 1881
Leah Carlson kicked a wicker chair out of her way and stormed off the porch, angrier than she’d been in years. Well, years might be a stretch, but at least weeks. Or perhaps several days. Maybe riding to town and finding Pa would be a good idea.
She glared at the ground, her mood not improved by the thick mud clinging to the bottom of her boots, and scraped it off on a horseshoe nailed to the bottom step. March—her least favorite month—always felt somewhere between winter and spring, with none of the benefits of either.
She trooped up the steps and righted the chair. Not the chair’s fault Pa had gotten drunk again and stayed all night in town. Buddy, their aging ranch hand, had seen Pa go into the saloon when Buddy had headed home from the mercantile last night. At first he hadn’t told her in hopes that his boss would return at a decent hour, but that hadn’t happened.
Leah wrapped her coat closer around her shoulders. Now most of the chores would fall on her, Buddy, and Buddy’s wife, Millie. With Buddy’s back giving him fits, she couldn’t ask him to do the heavy work, although his pride would force him to try. Why did Pa keep falling off the wagon whenever hope set in that he’d finally beat that horrible habit?
Empty promises, that’s all she’d ever gotten. Promises he’d change. Promises he’d do better. Promises he’d broken ever since Ma died nine years ago. And lately it had only gotten worse. Leah had gone from a child at the tender age of fourteen to a caretaker and ranch foreman almost overnight, and to this day she still felt robbed.
At least the ranch was safe as long as she worked hard to pay the bills—as long as Pa didn’t try to use it as collateral for his drinking debts. But something needed to change. Maintaining this place was too much for her and Buddy alone. Pa had to stop drinking. Of course, he appeared to think everything was fine and even bragged in town about his successful cattle and horse business.
She plopped down into the righted chair. Over the years she’d done her best to cover for him, but he’d had enough “episodes” lately that she knew people were talking. All she could do was keep up appearances and find at least one more hired hand—the sooner the better. Digging up some extra cash and increasing her herd of horses by a couple dozen wouldn’t hurt, either.
Dragging Pa home and shaking some sense into his noggin sounded very tantalizing. But knowing her father, he would ignore her efforts or embarrass her in public. No, accosting Pa in town wouldn’t work. Somehow she had to beat him at his own game and bring him to his senses. She had no idea how, but she’d find a way, if it was the last thing she did.
The front door creaked on rusty hinges, and Millie poked her head outside. “Girl, you goin’ to sit there all day starin’ at nothin’, or come in and get ready for that weddin’ you’ve talked about for the past two months?”
Leah bolted upright and jumped to her feet. “Oh my goodness. I can’t believe I forgot Beth’s wedding.” She brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. “How much time do I have to get decent?”
Millie gestured at her mud-caked boots and stained trousers. “Not near enough, from what I can see. Guess you could stay at home. It’s not like you’re close friends with either the bride or the groom.”
Leah shook her head. “I promised Katherine Jacobs I’d help with the refreshments since they’re entertaining a few close friends at the boardinghouse after the ceremony. Besides, Beth has attended our quilting group occasionally since Christmas, and we’ve become friends.”
She stepped past Millie and headed for the stairs leading to her room. “If Pa comes home while I’m gone, see if you can make him stick around, will you, please?”
Millie grunted. “Can’t nobody make that man do nothin’ he don’t want to, girl. You should know that by now, especially if he’s been drinkin’. But I’ll try.”
She waved her hands when Leah paused. “Get on with you. Nothin’ you can do here, anyhow. It’s about time you had some fun before you’re old and gray like me. Who knows? Maybe some good luck will rub off the bride and land on you.” She wrinkled her nose. “There’s got to be at least one man in this world who’s marriage material that don’t irritate you.”
Leah grinned. “Of course there is, but you snatched him up years ago. I’m destined to be an old maid the rest of my life and live here with you and Buddy, so quit trying to fix me up. I’m perfectly happy the way things are.”
“Hmmph. Likely story.” Millie crossed her arms and scowled, the creases beside her mouth deepening. “We’re not going to be around forever, you know.”
“You are too. Neither of you have permission to leave me alone.” Leah choked on the last word and fled to her room. Millie had been the closest thing to a mother she’d had for more years than she cared to remember.
Steven Harding hauled on his horse’s reins, his heart galloping so fast he thought it would burst from his chest. Had his horse trampled that man lying in the road? He set the brake and wound the reins around the handle, then leaped from his buggy and ran forward.
The man seemed almost burrowed into the mud, his shoulder muscles twitching and right leg jerking. He lay flat on his back, eyes closed, with one arm flung over his forehead. A guttural groan broke from his parted lips.
Relief swept over Steven. At least the man wasn’t dead. But where had he come from? The busy streets of Baker City were behind Steven, and the boardinghouse where his sister and mother lived was only a few blocks away on the outskirts of town. Had he been daydreaming and not noticed the man crossing the road?
He leaned over and touched the man’s arm. “Are you all right, sir?”
The fallen man mumbled before rolling to his side and pushing to a sitting position. He swiped a filthy hand across his cheek, flicking away a glob of mud and blinking his eyes. “Wha’ happened?”
Steven recoiled as the stench of alcohol hit him. It was only midmorning. Surely no one started their day drinking enough to be intoxicated at this hour. He pulled his thoughts back where they belonged. It wasn’t his place to judge, especially after he almost ran over the fellow. “I’m not certain. I didn’t see you crossing the road in time to stop. Can you get up? Nothing’s broken, I hope?”
The man groped for his hat, resting on a flat rock a short distance away. He clutched it in his hand, then jammed it onto his head, covering the ring of gray hair. “Don’t think anything’s broken. I don’t remember what happened. I need to get home and do my chores.”
Steven gripped his arm and hoisted him to his feet. “Let me give you a ride. Unless you have a wagon or horse nearby?”
“Don’t rightly remember if I do.” He gazed around with a bewildered stare and took an unsteady step. “Reckon I can walk.” Taking another stride, he staggered, his boot plopping into another section of mud, sending a spray of dirty water only inches from Steven’s clean trouser leg.
Steven sprang forward and caught the man with one hand before he pitched onto his face. With his other hand, Steven took out his pocket watch and gave it a hurried glance. Two hours before he had to pick up his sister, Beth, and his mother for the ceremony. “Do you live far?”
The man shook off his grip. “’Bout a mile or less. My ranch is the closest one to town. Don’t need no charity from strangers, though.”
“I’m headed that direction, so it’s not charity. Please. It’s the least I can do.”
Bloodshot eyes met his. “Guess it won’t hurt nothin’ if you’re headed that way.”
Steven stayed close as the older man lumbered into the passenger side of the buggy. He’d have to scrub out the mud before taking the womenfolk to the church, but it couldn’t be helped.
It was possible this individual was already lying in the mud when he came along. That would account for Steven not seeing him until he was almost on top of him. But it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t drive off and leave anyone needing help, whether his fault or not.
The ride to the ranch was silent, and Steven kept his gelding at a hard trot, intent on making the best time possible. He drew to a stop in front of a two-story white house sadly wanting paint and repair. After setting the brake, he leaped from the buggy and hurried to the other side, determined to keep the man from falling as he disembarked.
His gelding dropped his head and nibbled at a clump of soggy grass near the base of the hitching post. Steven halted on the passenger side and lifted his hand to the man still sitting inside.
The front door of the house slammed nearby, but Steven kept his attention on the fellow climbing unsteadily to the ground.
The older man ignored Steven’s extended hand. “Don’t need no help, mister. I’m right as rain.” He grasped the handrail next to the seat and swung his legs over. Planting his boot on the step, he edged down, but as soon as his feet hit the ground, he lurched forward, almost into Steven’s arms. Steven grabbed the man’s arm and held him upright.
“Pa? What in the world?” The feminine voice was accompanied by a light patter of steps on the porch. “I see you finally decided to come home and got another one of your cohorts to bring you.”
Steven loosened his hold on the man’s arm and pivoted, arrested by the undercurrent of anger tingeing the words. He turned slowly and his heart jumped. A young woman who looked just a bit younger than him stared at the man she’d called Pa. Her emerald green gown matched her bewitching eyes, but the glow emanating from them certainly wasn’t warm or friendly. “I beg your pardon, miss, but I think you’ve misunderstood.”
The fiery redhead stood with her hands planted on trim hips, her green eyes shooting sparks. “I doubt it. You aren’t the first man to bring my father home in this”—she shot an irritated look at her parent—“condition.” She nearly spat the last word. “I appreciate the ride, but I’ll thank you next time not to buy him any more drinks when he’s had more than enough.”
Steven’s heart sank, and he took a step back. The last thing he wanted was to add more sorrow to this woman’s life, but he hated that she thought him responsible. But did it really matter? He wasn’t likely to see her again. He tipped his head. “Sorry for the trouble, ma’am. Now that he’s home and safe, I’ll be on my way.”
Leah gritted her teeth to keep back the words threatening to spew out as the handsome, dark-haired driver picked up the reins and clucked to his horse. This one was certainly younger and better mannered than her father’s other cronies who had delivered her inebriated parent to their door in the past.
Anxiety struck her as she remembered the crisp white shirt beneath the suit jacket and the stiffly starched collar. What were the chances he’d come from a saloon dressed like that? She’d probably stuck her foot in her mouth again with her impetuous accusation. Someday she must learn to think before she allowed words to blurt out.
She swiveled and glared at her father, who was tottering up the path toward the porch. “What do you have to say for yourself, Pa? I’ve been worried sick, not to mention having to do most of the chores myself. Was that man who brought you home drinking with you at the saloon?”
“Who I drink with is my own business, not yours,” he tossed back. “I told that fella I didn’t need his help, and I’m tellin’ you, too. If you already did the chores, I’m gettin’ a short nap.”
“Pa! We need to talk.”
He squinted red-rimmed eyes at her. “Done talkin’. I’m hungry, and I’m tired. Millie can fix me a sandwich; then I’m goin’ to bed for an hour or two. Nothin’ to talk about, anyhow.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Go on with you, and leave me alone.”
Leah moved closer, barely containing her frustration. “There is a lot to discuss, Pa. Starting with your drinking. It’s getting out of hand, and it needs to stop or you’ll put this ranch and everything we’ve worked for in danger.”
Pa reached for the newel post at the bottom of the short flight of steps leading to the porch, clamped his hand on top, then maneuvered himself onto the first step. “I won’t tolerate no daughter of mine preachin’ at me about my responsibility or my sins. It’s my ranch, so I’ll do what I see fit with it. I’ve worked hard makin’ it what it is all these years. You got no call to tell me what to do.” He headed for the door. “Now leave me be whilst I get somethin’ to eat. My head hurts, and I don’t wanna hear any more.”