Romance: Luther's Property (63 page)

There was an inquiry. No one could find the fire marshal;
the Saints swore up and down that he’d never arrived in their community to
search for us, and as far as anyone knew, he didn’t return to the Shenandoah
Valley either. Pastor Hofmann and the Anglican Curate vouched for our side of
the story; that was enough to secure our liberty.

“It is the opinion of the court that William Abelwolf was
acting in self defense, protecting his home, property and wife, when he shot
and killed Robert Benson. Therefore there is no reason for the territory to
bring a case against Mr. Abelwolf.” The district attorney read slowly from his
document before looking up at the Sheriff. “Are we agreed?”

The Sheriff nodded. “The way I see it, the man brought it on
himself.” He shook his head. “What he did to the dog was bad enough. A man like
that needs killing.”

William bowed his head. “Thank you, sir. Does that mean I am
free to go?”

The district attorney nodded. “Absolutely.”

My husband grinned from ear to ear. “Oh, thank God.” He left
the stand. I rushed into his arms and embraced him with all of my might.

“Thank goodness they saw reason!” I exclaimed. To the very
last moment, I’d been sure that somehow Robert Benson’s wealth and influence
would count against us; even from beyond the grave, surely there was a way that
he could make our lives miserable. But nothing had happened, and having been
cleared of responsibility for Benson’s death meant William could never be tried
on the matter again.

“And now I have to introduce you to someone very special,” I
said to my husband. I took him by the hand and led him to the back of the
courtroom, where my Father sat waiting. He’d been there for every day of the
inquiry; the contract Benson had forced him to sign had been entered into
evidence. “William, this is my Father. Papa, this is William.”

Father stood up. We’d been apart from each other less than a
month, but he appeared to have aged a full year. I didn’t remember him being
quite so short, or quite so frail. He extended his hand to William.

“It’s good to meet you, son,” he said. “I’m sorry I didn’t
get the chance to do so sooner, under more propitious circumstances.”

William smiled, and took Father’s hand. “Well, the
circumstances we have are much better than what they could have been, so I’ll
take them gladly.” He pulled Father into a hug and embraced him briefly; when
William stepped back, I saw tears in Papa’s eyes. “It is good to meet Abigail’s
father. You know she loves you dearly.”

“And I her,” Father said. “Signing that contract was the
worst mistake of my life. If I could change anything, I would have told Benson
to keep his damned money.”

“Well, all’s well that ends well,” William replied.

“I see Abigail’s been reading you her Shakespeare,” Father
said with a laugh.

“Most nights,” William agreed. It had become a treasured
part of our evening routine, as my husband and I would relax in bed together,
the lantern light just bright enough to illuminate the pages I read from.

“That’s what I miss the most, I think,” Father said. “I got
used to her reading me Scriptures on the Sabbath. She does a better job than
any preacher man.”

“You don’t have to miss it, sir,” William said.
 
“My farm’s got plenty enough room that we
could build another small house on it.” He shrugged his shoulders and gave me a
sly little grin. “Maybe even set you up with another print shop.”

Father looked so surprised. “But I’ve no money to put toward
such a project,” he said. “Benson’s lawyers wound up taking the house, you
know. I am practically penniless.”

“The Lord works in mysterious ways, Papa.” The envelope
Benson had tried to tempt William with had contained more than enough money for
everything my husband proposed and then some. “All you have to do is say yes.”

“To be near my daughter once again is joy enough,” Father
said. “More than I deserve. Of course I’m going to say yes!”

“Nicholas Copernicus Abelwolf, get your hands out of that
ink right now!” My oldest daughter has a voice like a martinet; the strident
sounds of her outrage echoed through the yard with a power you wouldn’t believe
a four year old could produce. “Mama! Nicholas is bothering Opa!”

“Shush, shush,” I heard my Father say. “Don’t bother your
mother right now. She’s resting.”

“But Nick is going to make a mess,” Lydia protested. “He’s
got ink all over his fingers.”

“Don’t worry,” my Father soothed her. “I know what to do.
I’ve dealt with this before.” His tone brightened and I could imagine him
smiling, not all that far outside my bedroom window. “I’ll tell you what. Let’s
take care of your brother’s hands, and then we’ll all go see if any of those
blackberries your Father planted are ripe enough to eat yet.”

“Those are for pies,” Lydia said.

“Always law and order with that one,” William said.
 
He was snuggled in bed against me, one arm
thrown carefully over my swelling stomach. Our third child was due to arrive
soon, an exciting development that also left me more than a little exhausted.

“I wonder where she gets that from,” I teased him. Having
relaxing moments with my husband was a rare treat these days; between the
children’s non-stop adventures, helping Father establish the region’s newest
print shop, and figuring out which two varieties of plums should be bred in
order to create a truly pox resistant cultivar, we barely had a second to
ourselves most days.

“Surely from you,” William laughed.

“I don’t think so,” I said, turning awkwardly to kiss him.
My gravid form left me far from flexible. “Get on this side,” I laughed and
tapped the bed. “So I can kiss you properly.”

“Your wish is my command,” he said, leaping deftly over me.

“Ugh,” I said, as he landing on the other side of the
mattress. “You’re as wild as the children.”

“Even more so, probably,” William agreed cheerfully. He
kissed me again. “There, is that better?”

“Much,” I said, and returned his kiss with one of my own.
“Much, much better.”

William’s kisses grew more passionate. He started to reach
for my breasts, stopping only moments before contact to ask “May I?”

“Clearly, you already have,” I said, rubbing one hand over
my belly. “Go gently. This little one is doing cartwheels.”

He smiled. “I’m not going to upset the baby.” He pulled down
the top of my chemise just enough to expose the swollen rounded tops of my
breasts, placing a gentle kiss on top of each one. “Or his beautiful Mama.”

“Believe me,” I said, running my fingers through William’s
soft golden hair. “You’re welcome to disturb me in that fashion any time you’d
like.”

“You say that, but you know the children will come bursting
through the door the minute we begin to…disturb each other.”

“Opa has taken them down to pick blackberries.” I smiled.
“They should be gone for an eternity – maybe even an entire half-hour!”

William laughed. “You are incorrigible.” He kissed me again.
“How did I get so lucky?”

“I ask myself that same question, every single day.”

“You need to tell that husband of yours to come up with some
other way of describing his findings than all these confounded charts!” Father
looked up from his letter press tray, clearly annoyed. “I’m getting old,
Abigail. I can’t even see eight point type anymore.”

“Have Nicholas help you.”

“He’s too young.”

“He knows all his numbers now,” I said. “It’ll be good
practice for him.”

“And what if he makes a mistake?” Father shook his head. “I
know how William needs every detail of this work to be correct.”

“We’ll have Lydia proof it,” I replied. “You know nothing
will get by her sharp eyes.”

“Never mind her eyes,” Father said. “It’s her ears I worry
about. I unwrapped a peppermint and that child appears out of nowhere.”

“Children are like that, Papa,” I said with a laugh.

“You were the same way,” my Father said. “I remember.”

“I’m glad you’re here to see the children growing up,” I
said. “It means a lot to William and I both.” One of the mysteries that
remained between William and I, even at this late date in our marriage, was who
and where his family were. I knew him to count himself alone in the world, but
just as spontaneous combustion didn’t really happen, children did not spring
into existence without a parent or two along the way.

“I’m glad of it too. I’m glad you’ve lived long enough to
have children. William is good to you.” He shook his head. “That Benson beast –
when I think of what you escaped!”

We’d all learned the truth about Kitty Benson’s
disappearance while her husband’s estate was being settled. Her bones, along
with another set believed to be that of her would-be lover, were found locked
in a stout leather trunk marked Benson Trading & Exchange, Limited.

“All’s well that ends well.” I tried to comfort Father. He
spent far too much time worrying over what might have been, instead of enjoying
what was.

“Shakespeare. That at least I did right.” Father smiled.

“You did a great many things right, Papa.” William walked up
behind us, resting his hand on my shoulder. “You raised a strong girl into a
beautiful woman. You did the best you could to protect her through the years.
And now you’re here to guide and look over your grandchildren.
 
Not every man gets so much.”

“I’m sure I don’t deserve so much,” Father said.

“You do,” I protested. “Every bit and more.”

William wasn’t the only one to find their way into the print
shop. Nicholas toddled in as fast as his legs would take him, followed closely
by big sister Lydia, who watched over him always like a mother hen.

“What’s going on in here?” she asked, looking at us all in
turn, suspicion in her eyes. “Are you having peppermints without us?”

We laughed and assured her that no, we weren’t. Then of
course, Father had to search for a candy to satisfy the treat. I took William’s
hand and watched the proceedings with a smile on my face. Despite a rocky
start, life had turned out pretty sweet after all.

By: Sharon Wright

The Billionaire
Rancher's Unexpected Baby

© Sharon Wright, 2016 – All rights reserved

Published by Steamy Reads4U

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any
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publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles
or reviews.

This is a work of fiction.
 
Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either
the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.
 
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or
dead, or actual events are purely coincidental.
 
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Warning

This book contains explicit content intended for readers 18+
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If you are under 18 years old, or are not comfortable with
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Shauna was beat.
 
She had
watered and fed all the critters, mucked the barn.
 
The stack of hay looked so clean and
inviting, she thought about just plunking down on the pile of it and sleeping
there for the night.

She must have done that. She was so exhausted that what she
thought were just notions blending with reality.
 
She must not have just thought about sleeping
in the hay loft but did so.
 
When she
felt the toe of a boot on the tip of her own, she stirred.
 
Cautiously.

She peeled opened her eyes, scanning upward a pair of very
long legs to take in the full view of a cowboy standing before her.
 
He wasn’t staring her down exactly.
 
But he was studying her all the same.

“You there,” he said.
 
“Thunderstorms coming in.
 
I need
shelter till they pass,” he said.

Few people crossed Shauna’s day, even if it was one that was
slipping into the evening. Not after what happened.
 
She saw to it.
 

“Fine,” she said, coming to her feet by backing away from
him up the pile of hay.

Shauna took a mental inventory of where her pitch fork and
scythe were, in case she had to grab them quickly.
 
She side stepped him, not letting his eyes
off of him for a moment.

A slight smile broke his otherwise grave face.
 
“You’re fine ma’am.
 
Just looking for shelter.
 
Nothing else.
 
Of course, if you have a pot of coffee somewheres, I wouldn’t mind.”

Shauna plied the barn door which the cowboy had taken it
upon himself to close.
 
The sky was black
and green off in the distance with a shock of white above the horizon.
 
The storm was a good ways off, at least far
enough that she was clear to get to the house.
 
The thought crossed her mind that she could invite him into the
house.
 
He was a stranger.
 
He wouldn’t have any questions. But Shauna
thought again.

“I’ve got some on the stove.
 
Got some slumgullion too.
 
You’re
welcome to it,” she said.

“Obliged,” he said.

As she headed for the house, she realized she was being
quick about it.
 
Not because of the storm
or because she wanted to be done with the chore of feeding her stranger but
because, somewhere deep within her, she was glad for the company.

He was a hauntingly handsome man, beneath the Montana
dirt.
 
He smiled as little as she did.
But his lips bent with amusement once or twice as they conversed, and it was
more than nice.
 
It had been that once
when a man was above her in the sweet shadows of the night.
 
That once before he went off and never came
back.

At least in person.
 
Shauna had him with her in the form of her little son, probably down for
the night.
   
She would look in on him
before bringing the cowboy some supper.
 
She would not have Haya
do
it.
 
She wanted to do it for herself.

Shauna had been a mail order bride from Annapolis,
Maryland.
 
She was the aging single
daughter of a domineering, fairly wealthy father who had little time for her
since she had the audacity to be a daughter and not a son.
 

Her father was an academic and a business man who was
something of a circuit lecturer.
 
He kept
such a tight rein on her, not because he was doting and overprotective but
because he was mean.

He allocated an allowance to Shauna which she squirreled
away until she knew what she was going to do about her lot in life.
 
Once she happened on an ad for mail order
brides, it was clear.
 
She put herself on
the block as a mail order bride.

Shauna followed the counsel of the agency who advised
travelers to split up their valuables into small satchels so that if they were
to be robbed – an ugly reality – that all would not be lost.
 
She took everything she had from her bank
account after a major argument with the vice president who thought she needed
her father’s permission.
 
She split up
her fortune in several hiding places and traveled a hellish sojourn to make her
way to Fort Shaw, Montana to meet with her future husband.
 

Shauna did not know what was worse.
 
Facing spinsterhood under her father’s thumb
or her journey out west.
 
It was not one
bit the romantic adventure the agency promised her. It was so horrible, she would
not risk going back though she was lonesome homesick.

So when her husband left and didn’t come back she figured it
was something she said.
 
Or did.
 
Or didn’t do.
 
Though on her wedding night, she was pretty sure she did it all.
 

Or it maybe it was that her appearance was not pleasing to
him. She thought she had a pleasing face but she was plumper than most.
 
Her father let her know in no uncertain terms
just what he thought about what she looked like. He punished her for being
full-figured.
 
The result was Shauna was
somewhat skittish to look a man in the eye.

 
After their first
week as man and wife where, her husband had showed her her duties as a farmer’s
wife -- nearly a year to that very day.
 
He went out on the morning of the seventh day to shoot their dinner and
did not return.
 
She thought he had
saddled up with a bit too much gear and did not take a wagon for his kill, but
she had been relatively new to the Frontier at the time.
 
She did not dare question him.
 
Out loud.

Except that when she finally took a hard look at the facts
that her new husband was not returning, Shauna noticed that her life savings
were gone too.
 
At least one satchel of
it.
 
Her new now missing husband packed
more than his camping gear when he departed.
 
When Shauna confirmed her money was missing, she no longer had to wonder
if he was coming back.

Fortunately, she had enough money to keep things going
because she was there to stay.
 
Both of
them.
 
When she learned she was pregnant
loaded up the wagon and road till she found the next human being.
 
She was not going to have a baby by
herself.
 
That’s when she found Haya, a
Cheyenne woman who more than willing to come live with Shauna.
 

All this went through her head when she went into her house
to fetch the stranger a bowl of stew.
 
Her son was content, asleep under Haya’s attentive care.

Haya didn’t speak at all, ever.
 
But she did nod at Shauna when she spoke to
her in English.
  
Shauna loaded up a bowl
and walked back over the same line she had just traveled into the house, back
out to the barn.
 
The wind had picked up
quite a bit in that short period of time.

“Here you go.
 
I
imagine you can figure out where the pump is if you’re thirsty,” she said
quietly.
  

“Thank you for your kindness,” he said. “So your husband
won’t mind my being out here, will he?”

Fear twisted within her.
 
She was struck with the notion that he might be fishing to see if any
men were on the property.
 
As it was it
was just Haya, the baby and her.
 
Shauna
thought it was best to lie.

“He’ll be back directly,” she said.
 
“I will explain the situation. If you’re
still here.
 
This thing may just blow
over.”

The cowboy smiled a slow wry smile.

“What is your husband’s name? I might know him?” he asked.
“For I thought this was Sam Bishop’s place.”

“Sam Bishop,” she replied hesitantly.
 
Suddenly she felt very vulnerable.
 
“That’s his name.
 
I am Shauna Bishop.”

A gust of wind slammed against the barn.
 
The cowboy raised his brows.

“Really?” he pushed his hat up off his head and ran his
fingers through his thick, wavy hair.
  

He continued, “I heard tell he was gone these past few months
over in Deadwood.
 
Had a claim that
proved out.
 
Imagine that.
 
Didn’t know he was a married fellow.
 
Leaving wife and a home.
 
Man ought to be horsewhipped, if you don’t
mind my saying.”

She didn’t mind his saying.
 
Shauna would like to see him horsewhipped too.
 
And there was a tremendous relief in having
another person share the same sentiment.

“You’re telling me he struck it rich?” she nearly
collapsed.
 

The news took the sap right out of her. Shauna
staggered.
 
She grappled with the reality
of the incredible struggle.
 
The making
ends meet.
 
While her husband was off in
a God forsaken town no doubt drinking and gambling.
 
Oh she had heard of Deadwood.

Sam reached out for her.
 
He caught her in his big strong arms before she fell to the barn floor.

“You okay?” he asked her.
 
“What were you doing out here when I wandered in? Why are you sleeping
in the barn with a house close by?”

“I finished my chores,” she began.

“You got no hired hand?” he inquired.
 
“Shauna, look at me.”

He took her chin in his long fingers. “Your husband isn’t
coming back directly.”

Tears welled in her eyes.
 
It felt so good to let go even some she wasn’t sure could hold
back.
 
He had been let go of her face,
his touch felt way too good.

“Do not hurt me,” she managed.

“Shauna no one is going to hurt you.
 
I am concerned.
 
Who left you out here to tend to this place
all by your lonesome?” he demanded.

“Sam Bishop, my husband,” she replied.

“No darlin’, that just couldn’t be.
 
I am Sam Bishop.
 
And this here is my house.”