ISBN: 0-373-48381-3
(click on the ISBN to order online at Amazon.com)
* Leftover bride Suzanna spent her wedding night with a sexy stranger. But when she discovered she was pregnant with his child, coulees she refuse the arrogant cowboy's proposal?
* Determined Diana couldn't turn down a chance at marriage and motherhood with the millionaire of her dreams. Even if she didn't have this single dad's love--yet.
* Spirited Isabelle had married a handsome Native American to save her family ranch--and secretly set out to win her groom's hungry heart...any way she could!
Big Sky Brides is an anthology which kicks off Silhouette's new Montana Mavericks series. Christine Rimmer and Jennifer Greene have written contemporary stories about two sisters who are marrying for convenience and wishing it was for love--as they believe their great-grandmother married.
My story, Isabelle, is about their great-grandmother, a young woman who's been sent away to school in the East and only after her father's death, comes to the Montana ranch where she's always wanted to live, but always felt unwelcome. Kyle Running Horse Brennan, the ranch foreman, does nothing to change those feelings; he wants her to head right back to the city. He had stuck a bargain with her father to be a partner, and his desire is to own this piece of land which used to be in his family.
Isabelle digs in her inappropriate heels for a fight and stays. Since Kyle owns more than half the horses, and she is unable to pay for hands, they strike up a bargain and are married. The marriage of convenience grows into a marriage of love, aided somewhat by a silver amulet which Kyle's Cheyenne aunt gives Isabelle as a wedding present.
A packet of letters that Isabelle wrote to Kyle after their marriage is discovered
in a trunk in the contemporary stories, so the novellas are tied together by
these threads. I was delighted with the way the three tales are linked, and
writing the book was a lot of fun. I especially enjoyed collaborating with
the other two delightful authors.
Chapter 1
Glancing at the nearly deserted train station behind him, Kyle Running Horse Brennan squinted into the afternoon sun and impatiently tugged the brim of his hat lower over his eyes. He scanned the horizon for the train that was now half an hour late. He could have sent one of the hands to meet it, but seeing to Isabelle Cooper had become his responsibility and he wasn't one to shirk duty--even if that duty was to a silly pampered city female.
She didn't belong here. Ranch life wasn't a society ball. And this ranch in particular, The Big Sky, was soon going to be his anyway.
In the distance, the long low whistle from what his mother's people called the iron horse broke the stillness. The rails hummed and the ground beneath his scuffed boots shivered. A covey of quail soared skyward in the distance as the train flushed them up out of the tall dry grass along the metal tracks.
Smoke appeared, then the huge black engine, dried brush stuck in the cowcatcher. In a hiss of steam and squealing brakes, the shiny monstrosity lurched to a halt beside the station.
At a snail's pace, a black-suited conductor lowered himself to the ground and unfolded a set of metal stairs.
On the grate above, a solitary figure came into view. Kyle had caught only glimpses of her during the four years that he'd worked for her father, and he remembered her as a tall willowy fifteen-year-old with shining auburn hair.
The exquisite young woman in an elegant dove gray traveling suit and matching hat, who gracefully opened a frilly parasol and descended the stairs with her gloved hand in the conductor's, made his heart give a crazy little thump. He recognized Isabelle by her unusual height and the expensive clothing, but the fact that she was now a fully-grown woman--and that he'd responded--caught him off guard.
He spent as little time around whites as possible--and even less around white women. Being staked in the noon sun over an anthill would probably be less irritating than having to convince the spoiled daughter of his late boss to sell out to him and go back to the city.
She turned and another portly railroad employee attentively handed down a stack of cylindrical boxes fastened together with gold cord, as well as a dome-shaped object covered by an embroidered cloth. The latter, she held aloft, grasping it by a metal ring at the top.
She approached Kyle with her odd parcels, the sun glinting from her shiny golden earbobs and the jeweled brooch at the base of her slender throat. "Mr. Brennan?"
He removed his hat and didn't miss the fact that her perusal included the sweep of his straight black hair that fell forward. "Miss."
Beneath the jaunty brim of her useless hat with the unnatural-looking flowers, her wide eyes were a stunning blue-gray. He'd never seen them up close before and, focused intently on his face, they made him uncomfortable and hitched his breath momentarily.
The conductor helped her stack the boxes at her feet. At her thanks, the man's neck and ears reddened; he tipped his hat and waddled back to the rail car.
"The train was late," Kyle said, grateful for the interruption. "We'd better get going."
From the corner of his eye, he noticed two red-faced porters carrying an enormous securely strapped trunk between them. They lowered it not-too-gently to the battered platform.
He frowned at the cumbersome piece of luggage, then at her. "That yours?"
She nodded.
He tested one end by the leather handle. The thing weighed near as much as his horse! He slid it to the edge of the wooden structure, muscled it onto his back and carried it to the waiting wagon. Catching his breath, he turned.
She stood expectantly at the edge of the platform, the cloth-covered dome securely in her grasp. What did she expect him to do? Carry her too?
Carefully, she set the object down. "While you get the other one, I'll be just a moment."
The other one? He cut his gaze back to where they'd been standing. Sure enough, another steamer trunk had been placed on the wooden landing while he'd wrangled the last. "What the hell have you got in these things?"
Her brow wrinkled. "Why, my clothing, of course. A few necessities."
"A few?"
Ignoring his displeasure, she brought the stack of round boxes forward. "I'll be right back."
"Where do you think you're taking off to?"
Her cheeks grew pink, but she straightened and spoke without a qualm. "To use the facilities, Mr. Brennan, since you so rudely insist upon hearing me say it."
He looked away and adjusted his hat. "Be quick about it."
He loaded the other trunk, then the boxes, and grabbed the draped parcel, which was surprisingly light. As he swung it up into the back of the wagon, a rapid, fluttering racket burst from beneath the cloth, startling him. He released the ring and flung back the fabric. Tiny feathers scattered in the breeze. Kyle stared at the yellow bird frantically battering itself against the sides of the cage. "A bird."
Isabelle's peg-heeled shoes clicked as she neared.
He turned with a puzzled frown and said again, "A bird!"
She ran down the set of stairs and through the billowing dust. "You've frightened the poor darling! Please, place his cover back over him."
"He's scared because he's trapped," Kyle said. "Has he been hurt? Is that why you've caged him?"
"No, he's not injured, unless he's hurt himself just now." She peered at the bird from beneath her hat brim, concern marring her perfect porcelain-skinned features, then lifted an accusingly haughty brow at Kyle.
"Then you should set him free." He reached for the tiny wire door.
Isabelle yelped and grabbed his wrist. "No!"
He stared at her stark white glove against his sun-weathered skin and his heart fluttered as if another living thing was caged within his chest.
"It's a domestic creature, Mr. Brennan. Canaries are bred as tame pets. He's never been outside his cage and wouldn't know what to do if you set him free. He'd die of hunger and exposure."
She removed her hand and, able to breathe again, he lowered his to his side. He blinked at the delicate bird, still feeling Isabelle's pleading touch on his skin. Only a city woman would place such importance on a bird as inappropriately bred for this land as she herself was. Silly thing wouldn't make a decent meal for one of the barn cats.
Apparently assured that her bird was safe, she draped its prison. "Please set the cage down on the floor of the wagon, so that the wind doesn't reach him."
With his mouth held firmly in an irritated line, Kyle did her bidding, then turned to raise a brow as if asking if the placement of the cage met her frivolous standards.
Moving to stand beside the wagon and wearing a calculating expression, she studied the distance between the ground and the footboard, then met his gaze.
"Want a lift?" he asked.
Obviously lacking a better solution, she nodded. "Yes, thank you."
He spanned her waist with both hands and lifted her easily into the wagon. She wasn't a delicately built woman, but beneath his fingers, her body felt toned as well as feminine. He shouldn't have noticed. He released her as soon as her feet touched the wood, painfully uncomfortable with the familiarity.
She caught her balance, adjusted her ridiculous hat and seated herself. Kyle bounded up in one easy motion, picked up the reins and released the brake handle. The horses responded to his command and pulled them forward.
A quarter of an hour passed before she spoke again. "The mountains are as beautiful as I remembered."
She was studying the climbing acres of lodgepole pines in the distance, the twin peaks of the snow-capped Crazy Mountains above. An awe-like expression lit her black-lashed smoky eyes.
"How long are you staying?"
She turned her head and those disturbing eyes focused on him. Something behind them changed. "How long am I staying? Not, 'please accept my condolences on the loss of your father, Miss Cooper'. Not 'it's a pleasure to see you. How was your trip?' But 'how soon will I be rid of you?'"
Her words pricked him with a swift twinge of guilt. "I'm sorry about your father. I did what I could to save him."
"I've no doubt you did." Her voice had become throaty and she spared him only brief glimpses. Several seconds passed. "I'm planning to stay for good. The Big Sky is going to be my home."
Well that figured. He should have known dealing with her wasn't going to be easy. He would have to change her mind. He would have to show her she didn't want to stay. Isabelle Cooper was going to have to make different plans.
Isabelle breathed the verdant air and relished the wide-open blue sky and the land that stretched and rolled in all directions. Her grief for her father conflicted with her newfound and astounding sense of freedom. The only joyful memories she possessed were those of her too-brief childhood visits to Montana. She thought those memories had been well buried--she'd hidden them to escape the hurt and longing they carried. She'd determinedly made the best of the world her father had insisted she live in and prided herself on becoming a modern young woman.
But now that her father wasn't here to prevent her from staying, she could do as she pleased. She was, after all, the new owner of The Big Sky. Blinking away stinging tears, she remembered how he'd always met her at the station. He'd hugged her and she'd been deliriously happy to see him--even if he hadn't needed her.
Isabelle cast a furtive glance at the intimidating dark-eyed, copper-skinned man who shared the wagon seat. She'd had only quick looks at him in the past, and he was just as unsmiling and gruff as she recalled. He'd been her father's right hand man for the past four years. Sam Cooper had trusted him, and now she had no choice but to trust him, too.
She didn't know the first thing about running a ranch--but she was going to learn.
The ranch house and buildings came into view, and as always, the sight warmed Isabelle with a safe secure feeling.
Her attention focused on the enormous house her father had built for her mother after he'd bought this land. After his wife's death, he'd sent Isabelle away and had never allowed this to be her home.
The house stood two stories tall, white with green shutters and pitifully empty planter boxes beneath the upstairs windows. She could already picture them overflowing with colorful petunias and verbenas, just like when her mother had been alive.
Kyle halted the team before the dooryard and Isabelle eagerly jumped down without waiting for assistance. Her heels clicked on the stone walk that led to the gate in the white picket fence surrounding the house and separating it from the rest of the ranch buildings.
She stepped through the opening and studied the welcoming etched oval window that graced the front door. A wide porch stretched across the front and the west sides of the house. Rockers and a swing beckoned for a shady afternoon rest.
Her yearning gaze caressed the house, absorbed it with a sad hollowness that made her chest ache, then she turned and stared toward the wagon shed and the enormous rust red barn beyond. She would never see her father cross the yard again--never have an evening to sit on the porch with him and ask about the horses. Any chance of gaining his love or getting to know him was gone--except whatever she could learn by being here, by finding out who he'd been and what he'd thought and done all those years they'd been apart.
A small glimmer of hope flickered in Isabelle's heart. The fulfillment of her plans and dreams would eventually crowd the loneliness from her heart and she would belong. She was home at last.
Chapter 2
Kyle and two of the hands noisily carried the unwieldy trunks up the stairs.
"First room on the left," she called, daintily slipping her gloves from her hands.
Tott, a wrangler barely out of his teens, and Sidestep, the second best trainer on the ranch, stared down at the primly dressed and coifed young woman. Kyle spotted their enamored gaping and urged their attention back to the task.
Kyle's aunt had helped him clean the house and launder the curtains and bedding, but he hadn't seen Isabelle's room himself until he stepped into it with the dusty ranch hands. The three lowered their cumbersome loads.
Sheer white ruffles adorned sparkling windows and draped a canopy above the mahogany bed. The walls had been covered with rose-trellis paper and the plush dawn-tinted carpet sank beneath their boots.
Gaping, Tott swept his hat from his head, then turned and nearly trampled Sidestep in his eagerness to exit.
Sidestep slugged him on the shoulder and thundered down the stairs behind him.
Kyle followed at a slower pace.
"Will one of you gentlemen help me move this table?" Isabelle's cultured voice called from the dining room beyond the enormous tiled foyer.
Tott and Sidestep stopped mid-stride, glanced at one another, and collided shoulders on their way through the door. Kyle shook his head.
"I'd like it over here in front of these windows, if you please. That way Chipper will get the morning sun."
Chipper? Kyle almost snorted, but cleared his throat instead.
At her direction, the two men hauled an oak table from the corner and sat it before the lace-curtained windows. Isabelle draped the stand with a daintily crocheted cloth, then placed her birdcage atop it. She removed the embroidered cover with a flourish. Wispy feathers floated on a beam of indirect sunlight. Tott and Sidestep stared at the bird huddled on the floor of the cage.
"Thank you, gentlemen."
They mumbled something incoherent and hotfooted it out of the room. The front door opened and closed.
She had removed her hat, and her lustrous hair shone in the afternoon light filtering through the filmy curtains. Her jacket was gone too, revealing a wrinkled white shirtwaist tucked into the narrow band of her skirt. Kyle forced his attention to one of the china cabinets that flanked the open glass-paned doors, leading to the kitchen.
"What time is dinner?" she asked. "I think I'd like to freshen up and rest."
"Harlan rings the bell at the bunkhouse when he has dinner ready." He spared her a glance.
Her expressive eyes widened with a question. "We always had dinner in here when I was home."
"Your father hired someone from town for your visits," he replied honestly. "He ate with the hands the rest of the time."
Her brow furrowed. "Oh. I see."
He couldn't let the woman starve, but her eating alongside the hands was out of the question. "I'll bring you a plate."
"Will you join me?"
She needed to see what ranch life was really like, but she'd just arrived. His gaze drifted to the long empty table where she'd have to eat alone if he didn't join her, and without considering his reasoning, he replied, "Yes."
She folded her hands and gave him a satisfied smile. "Good. I'll see you then."
She picked up her hat and jacket and swept gracefully from the room. He followed slowly, turning to see her gliding along the upstairs hallway toward her room.
Agreeing to join her for supper was all right. He needed to talk to her anyway. Ambling into the study that had been her father's, he rearranged the papers on the desk and seated himself to finish reading the ledgers he'd left open that morning.
Already her presence here was a distraction and a hindrance. He'd wasted his morning and then called hands in from their chores to unload her things. The woman was a nuisance. The sooner he got her out of here, the better.
He'd asked Tott and Sidestep to help him because they were the two he trusted most around women. Even he knew that an unmarried attractive female shouldn't be alone on a ranch with a dozen men.
What was he going to do about it? The more he thought of her alone here day after day--night after night--the more he knew he had to do something.
He would ask his aunt's advice this afternoon. He only needed a short-term solution. As soon as Isabelle saw how much painstaking work the ranch took, how all the money went into its operation, she'd be on a train bound for finer living.
He'd been working for years to save up enough to offer to buy out her father. Sam hadn't been willing to sell, even though his poor management had brought him to that point. But he had been ready to go into partnership. They'd come to a verbal agreement just before Sam had been killed leading horses from the burning barn.
Sam's death was a tragedy and Kyle mourned his senseless passing. But his death was also an opportunity--a chance for Kyle to get back the land that had been his own father's.
Only here on the land where he'd been born, did Kyle belong. No prissy city woman was going to keep him from getting what should have been his.
The clang of the dinner bell woke Isabelle, and she sprang from the bed, surprised that she'd napped so soundly. She cleaned her teeth and brushed her hair into order before hurrying down the stairs to set the dining table with a linen cloth and gold-rimmed china that had been her mother's.
The kitchen door closed and the tall half-breed appeared in the dining room with cloth-covered plates. He stopped and stared at her table setting. "Already have plates here."
He placed them on the table and peeled back the napkins, revealing meat and vegetables in dark gravy. Several biscuits rested on the edge of each plate.
Isabelle removed the china quickly, arranged the full plates, and seated herself in the chair she'd always used. She couldn't help glancing at her father's empty place at the head of the table.
Kyle left that chair empty, took a seat across from her and pulled his meal toward him.
"Did you make coffee?" he asked, picking up the fork.
She unfolded her napkin and placed it across her lap. "No. I can boil water for tea."
"Can you light a fire in the stove?"
She picked up her fork and looked at the food, rather than face his scrutiny. He thought she was helpless, and she didn't want to add to his thinking by admitting her lack of ability.
She didn't reply.
"This afternoon there was warm water for you to wash, because I heated it earlier and left the coals banked. I don't do that every morning. I'll have to show you how."
His words registered. "You've been living here--in the house?"
"I've been staying here since Sam died. Someone had to look over the house and the barns," he replied. "I have my own place--my own land to the East."
"Of course."
"I'll be staying."
She met his dark unreadable eyes.
"You can't stay here alone."
But with him? She couldn't stay in the house alone with him! The thought was scandalous.
"While you were sleeping, I found someone to keep you company, so you won't be alone with me. Her name is Pelipa. She'll be here before dark and she'll stay upstairs with you."
"A chaperone?"
"A paid helper."
"Oh."
He ate his meal without further conversation.
Isabelle found the stew surprisingly tasty and filling.
"You going to eat those?" He gestured to the two remaining biscuits on the edge of her plate.
"No."
He reached across the table and helped himself.
She watched him dunk them in the gravy on his plate and eat them. She'd never eaten a biscuit without preserves or jam, but her father's hired man seemed to think they were a delicacy.
Glancing at the napkin beside his plate, he picked it up and wiped his fingers and mouth and stood. "I'll show you where the wood is. After we make coffee, we have business to discuss."
He handed her a canvas sling, led her out the back door and across the yard where he pointed to a pile of split wood. She loaded the manageable-sized chunks into the sling and carried the heavy bundle. He followed with a few bigger logs.
He opened the door on the cast iron stove. "Now you build the fire."
Awkwardly, she poked a few logs inside the charred belly of the cast iron stove, discovered matches in a tin on the wall, and tried ineffectually to light one of the pieces of wood. Frustrated, she avoided looking at him, not wanting to see his criticism.
"Like this." She moved aside and he showed her how to prop the wood with dry kindling beneath and light the sticks. His movements were sure and methodical, his hands graceful.
Isabelle caught herself glancing from his long-fingered hands to the sleek ebony hair that fell to his broad shoulders. Beneath the fabric of his well-worn flannel shirt, his muscles corded and bunched with each movement.
He glanced up and caught her staring.
Her cheeks warmed and she dropped her gaze.
"The water," he said, standing. He moved to open the door and showed her the wooden barrel outside. "Fill buckets from here, but keep this barrel filled from the well."
Isabelle had changed from her grimy traveling suit, but she'd barely had enough water to sponge bathe. In the past, there'd been a tub carried in for her, but she wouldn't ask him. She'd look for it later.
He left her alone.
She found the teapot in a china cupboard, knocked a dead spider from its depths and rinsed the china pot with boiling water and added tea.
While the tea steeped, she searched until she found a tray for the pot and cups, then poured his coffee and found him in her father's study.
The room still smelled faintly of tobacco, and the scent unleashed a flood of memories that immediately saddened her. A fire burned in the enormous stone fireplace that took up the outside wall.
The man sat in the leather chair and before him on the desk lay an open ledger. From all appearances, it looked as though he belonged there. "Things are not very good."
Not used to a man remaining seated when she entered the room, Isabelle gathered her wits and sat on an upholstered chair. "What do you mean?"
"Your father had been steadily losing money over the past several years."
She blinked. "That's not possible."
He gave her a disgusted look. "Why not?"
"Because he owned land and horses and this house."
"Your father was a good horseman, but a poor businessman. Three years ago when I brought in new breeding stock and got him a contract with the army, things started to turn around. More than half the horses on The Big Sky are mine."
Fear burst in her chest at his words. He could be lying in order to swindle property that belonged to her. "How can I know that for sure?"
A muscle in his lean jaw jumped. Brusquely, he opened a desk drawer, withdrew an accordion-pleated folder and thumbed through a stack of documents before withdrawing several and shoving them across the desktop.
Isabelle took the legal-looking papers and read them, her heart sinking. Her father's signature was unmistakable.
Kyle Running Horse Brennan owned the horses he'd brought to the ranch, as well as half the offspring which had been bred over the past two and a half years. It seemed he already had more stake in this place than she did--and he knew how to run it. As always, she was the outsider.
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