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Authors: Harvest Moon
Rebecca Hagan Lee - [Borrowed Brides 02]
Praise for Harvest Moon and Rebecca Hagan Lee
Steal a sneak peek at Rebecca Hagan Lee’s A Wanted Man
Harvest Moon
and Rebecca Hagan Lee
“A stunning gem of an Americana romance. Ms. Lee is a writer on the rise!”—
Romantic Times
“The characters are vibrant and so alive I feel they could walk right off the page…a wonderful, heartwarming tale.”—
Heartland Critiques
“Historical romance fans are fortunate to have a treasure like Rebecca Hagan Lee.”—
Affaire de Coeur
“Tender, entralling romance straight from the heart!” Eloisa James
, New York Times
bestselling author
“Every book by Rebecca Hagan Lee is a tender treasure!”—Teresa Medeiros,
New York Times
bestselling author
“Be prepared to lose your heart!”—
Old Book Barn Gazette
A Wanted Man
Taking Chances
Gossamer
Whisper Always
A Hint of Heather
Once a Mistress
Ever a Princess
Always a Lady
Barely a Bride
Merely the Groom
Hardly a Husband
Truly a Wife
Twice Blessed (Homespun Mother’s Day anthology)
Clearly a Couple (Talk of the Ton anthology)
Coventry’s Chrismas (A Regency Holiday anthology)
Harvest Moon
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
Copyright 1993 by Rebecca Hagan Lee. All Rights Reserved.
First e-publication 2013
Cover design by Control Freak Productions
Cover Photo Copyright The Killion Group
Published by Amber House Books, LLC
http://www.amberhousebooks.com
For more information, contact [email protected]
Harvest Moon
by
Rebecca Hagan Lee
Amber House Books
Dedication
For all the readers who inspire me to write when the going gets tough. For the editors and agents who've taught me so much.
For my friend and mentor, Teresa Medeiros, who gave this story a new chance to reach more readers with thanks for believing in me.
For Steve.
And for all the blessings God has given me.
Once again I’m indebted to Ann Nelson and the staff of the Wyoming State Archives, Museums and Historical Department in Cheyenne, Wyoming, and the staff of the Ohoopee Regional Library in Vidalia, Georgia. Thank you.
Chicago & Northern Railroad
Late September 1872
“Tessa, do you think anyone saw us get on?” the small tow-headed boy asked as he scooted closer to the young woman’s side.
Tessa Roarke peered out her dirty train window into the darkness before turning back to look at nine-year-old Coalie. “I don’t think so, but we’ll have to be very careful.” She patted her lap, motioning for Coalie to stretch out on the hard bench and place his head there. “I think we’re safe.” She wasn’t at all sure, but she kept her doubts to herself.
Coalie made himself as comfortable as possible, stretching out full length on the bench, using Tessa’s lap as a pillow. His boots scraped against the hard wood, adding to the noise surrounding them—the loud clacking of the train as it swayed along the tracks, the belching sound of the smoke from the stack, the periodic whistles, and the snores of the male passengers. Tessa looked down at Coalie’s blond hair.
His breathing deepened. She thought he must have fallen asleep, then the sound of his whisper startled her. “Maybe we should go to one of those lawyers.” Coalie opened his big green eyes and looked up at her.
“Oh, no,” Tessa protested immediately. “No lawyers. I can’t abide lawyers. They’ve no loyalty. They make promises they can’t keep and charge people for it. No, Coalie. It’s important that we stay away from the likes of them. This has to be our secret. We can’t tell anyone.”
“I won’t tell, Tessa.” Coalie sat up and hugged her. “I promise. And I won’t go to any lawyers neither.”
Tessa kissed his forehead and smoothed back the hair falling across his brow. “I know you won’t.”
Coalie settled back down, lying across Tessa’s lap once again. Tessa sighed, closed her eyes, and tried to rest. Her past was behind her. Her future, and Coalie’s, was in the far-off territory of Wyoming. Surely they’d be safe in Wyoming. After living in Chicago and surviving the great fire, how much danger could there be in a town called Peaceable?
* * *
At the back of the railroad car a big blond man watched the woman lean over the child. He’d followed them from her apartment and through the dark and dangerous streets of Chicago to the train station. He hadn’t expected her to be traveling with a young boy. He hadn’t expected her to leave Chicago at all. Tessa Roarke was heading for Peaceable, Wyoming, and there was no way for him to stop her.
* * *
Miles down the track, in the tiny town of Peaceable, attorney David Alexander slept soundly, a battered-looking orange tomcat curled up beside him, both of them blissfully unaware that their lives were about to be turned upside down.
Peaceable, Wyoming Territory’
November 1872
“Help!”
David Alexander sat bolt upright in bed, instantly awake. He thought he’d heard cries for help in his sleep.
But when he sat silently for a moment, he heard nothing more.
“Was that one of your friends, Greeley?” he asked the battle-scarred cat curled up next to him. “I could’ve sworn I heard someone.” The orange tabby arched his back, yawned, then settled back down in the warmth of the bed.
Though the cat seemed undisturbed David listened intently. It must have been a dream. He didn’t hear anything except the tinny sound of an out-of-tune piano from the saloon four doors away. Horace Greeley yawned again. David felt like doing the same. He slipped down under the sheets, pulled the quilts up over his ears, rolled over, and went back to sleep.
The pounding on the back door roused him the second time. “What does a man have to do to get a good night’s sleep around here?” he muttered, flipping back the covers. David grabbed his pants and stumbled out of bed. He hopped from one foot to the other as he pulled on his trousers, then stepped into his boots. He stamped his feet, forcing the cold leather over his woolen socks. Pausing a moment, David took time to scratch the soft fur on Greeley’s head. “Another fight, no doubt,” David muttered to the cat. “In one of the saloons.”
The pounding persisted, louder this time. “All right, all right, I’m coming,” David yelled.
Raking his fingers through his hair, he stuck his arms into a shirt before he yanked the front door open.
A skinny boy of perhaps eight or nine stood bundled up against the cold in an assortment of dirty rags. “You gotta come quick, Mr. Alexander!”
“Why? Who are you?” David asked, surprised to see a child at this time of night. Usually his midnight visitors were disreputable characters.
“I’m Coalie.” The boy stepped forward and tugged on the tail of David’s shirt, gesturing toward the commotion down the street. A group of townspeople, bundled up in quilts and heavy winter coats, stood outside the largest saloon in town.
“You gotta come. They’re takin’ her away.” Coalie tugged again, harder.
“Who?”
‘Tessa.”
David took a step back. He didn’t know anyone named Tessa.
Coalie shook his head, gripping David’s shirt with surprising force.
“Hurry!”
“Just let me get my coat.” David reached back through the open door and grabbed his sheepskin jacket from the peg. “Who’s…” He turned. Coalie was running down the street toward the saloon. “Who’s Tessa?” David shrugged into his jacket. He slammed the door of the office behind him. There was only one way to find out. He sprinted after the little boy.
“What’s going on?” David asked, pushing his way toward the front of the crowd a few minutes later. He could see Coalie edging closer and closer to the entrance of the Satin Slipper.
“There’s been a murder,” someone answered. “A stabbing or some such. In one of the girls’ rooms. Caught her red-handed.”
“Look!” someone else called. “They’re bringing her out!”
The doors of the Satin Slipper Saloon swung wide. Several men stepped outside onto the sidewalk. In the center of the group stood Deputy Harris, a young woman held close to his side. Dressed in the gaudy costume of a Satin Slipper girl, she stood out: the only woman in a group of men, her bright blue dress eerie in the distorted light of pre-dawn morning.
A knot of anger tightened David’s stomach as he watched the faces of the men and women in the crowd. The townspeople milled about, circling the front entrance of the saloon, surrounding the woman like vultures over a carcass. David frowned, lines of concern etching his face. The lawmen had brought her out of the warmth of the saloon into the bitter cold without so much as a blanket around her. The flimsy sleeveless dress she wore was no protection against the frigid Wyoming weather. It left her neck and arms uncovered, exposed to the leers of the men, the wide-eyed stares of curiosity seekers, the cold. David gritted his teeth. The deputy must have arrested her and dragged her from her room before she even had time to find her shoes. Her stocking feet were bare against the frozen wooden planks. David’s disgust mounted. She faced exposure and the danger of frostbite in addition to the gossip and speculation of the townspeople while Peaceable’s deputies, in thick coats and sheepskin jackets, huddled together on the sidewalk, talking.
Although she was possibly a criminal, David admired her quiet dignity. She didn’t shiver or cry or beg for mercy. She simply waited, the center of attention but apart from it. Facing the curious onlookers, she searched the crowd.
Coalie slipped from his hiding place behind a post and rushed toward her. “Tessa!” He moved past her guards and flung his arms around her waist, pressing his head against her skirts. Lifting her bound wrists, Tessa looped them over Coalie’s head, hugging him close. She pressed a kiss on the top of his blond head.