Lonesome Valley Bride (High Sierra Book 1) Read online

  Lonesome Valley Bride

  By

  G.L. Snodgrass

  Copyright 2019 G.L. Snodgrass

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof in any form. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means. This is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author's imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  Dedicated to

  Tracy Smith

  The best horse person I know and an even better sister.

  Other Books by G. L. Snodgrass

  Regency Romance

  The Reluctant Duke (Love’s Pride 1)

  The Viscount's Bride (Love’s Pride 2)

  The Earl's Regret (Love’s Pride 3)

  Marrying the Marquess (Love’s Pride 4)

  Confronting A Rake (A Rake’s Redemption 1)

  Charming A Rake (A Rake’s Redemption 2)

  Catching A Rake (A Rake’s Redemption 3_

  Challenging A Rake (A Rake’s Redemption 4)

  Duke In Disguise (The Stafford Sisters 1)

  The American Duke (The Stafford Sisters 2)

  Western Romance

  Lonely Valley Bride

  High Desert Cowboy

  Young Adult Romance

  Certain Rules

  Unwritten Rules

  Unbreakable Rules

  My Favorite Love (Lakeland Boys 1)

  One Night (Lakeland Boys 2)

  My Brother’s Best Friend (Lakeland Boys 3)

  Worlds Apart (Lakeland Boys 4)

  My Brother's Bodyguard (Hometown Heroes 1)

  My Hidden Hero (Hometown Heroes 2)

  My Best Friend’s Brother (Hometown Heroes 3)

  My Sister’s Best Friend

  Our Secret (The Benson Brothers 1)

  Hidden Truth (The Benson Brothers 2)

  Deception (The Benson Brothers 3)

  Lonesome Valley Bride

  Chapter One

  Jack Tanner moved the gun on his hip to a more comfortable position as he leaned forward in his saddle to peer down at the valley below. Some places are more special than others, he thought. It had to be the prettiest valley this side of East Tennessee.

  At almost two miles long, about a half-mile wide, with a fast-flowing stream running down the middle. Long green grass covered the valley floor. Tall pines hugged both sides of the valley walls. The east side of the Sierra meant their winters would be milder. But enough rain and snowmelt to keep that stream running most of the year.

  Some family’s paradise, he realized when he saw the long finger of smoke rising from the farmhouse down close to the valley entrance. A sense of envy filled him. It looked like his life of hard roads would continue.

  He sat there a moment admiring the view. “What do you think, Duke?” he said to the dog at his side. “Think they’ll trade a home-cooked meal for a cord of chopped wood?” When a man spent as much time alone as he did, he just naturally talked to his dog.

  “I don’t know about you, but I’d cut two cords of wood for some biscuits.”

  The dog wagged his tail, obviously agreeing.

  Jack laughed. It had been a few lean weeks. They’d both gotten tired of beans and pemmican over a week ago.

  “Come on, Blue,” he said to his horse as he nudged him forward. “Maybe they’ve got some oats they can spare.”

  As he broke through the tree line, he cut sign of wild mustangs. He shook his head. A good-sized herd. They probably used this valley on and off throughout the year. A man could cull enough to sell to the Army he thought as that envy feeling grew.

  After crossing the creek, he spotted an old mossy horned bull watching him. A nasty scar on the bull’s hip surprised him. There were few creatures brave enough to tackle such a beast. Maybe a grizzly.

  “Don’t worry,” he called out to the bull. “We’re just passing through.”

  The beast watched them pass, twisting to keep them under his stare.

  Jack guided his horse along the creek then glanced over his shoulder at the snow-capped mountains in the distance and adjusted his thinking. “Probably year-long water,” he mumbled to himself. A valuable asset on the eastern slope of the mountains.

  As he approached the house, he pulled up a bit away. He had learned long ago not to surprise a man. They had a habit of acting before thinking things through. Instead, he rested a moment and observed.

  A well-built log cabin, longer than most. An outbuilding. Combination barn and chicken coop. No kitchen garden though. A couple of horses in the coral connected to the barn. But no people. No wife out feeding the chickens. No rancher out checking his stock.

  Adding to the mystery. The smoke rising from the chimney had slowed. Someone was letting the fire die off.

  Slowly, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Something wasn’t right. He couldn’t place it yet, but he knew enough to go slowly.

  “Helloooo the house,” he called out to let them know he was there.

  No answer.

  Duke, panting next to him, looked up at him, silently asking if he should go in first.

  Then Jack found it, the thing that had set off his alarms. A red muddy spot just a few feet from the front door. And a square drag mark from the mud back to the front door.

  The unusual tint to the mud made his stomach clench up. Only blood turned dirt that color. A lot of blood. And no man butchers an animal in front of his door.

  Climbing down off his horse, he tied Blue to the corral rail then told Duke to stay. The dog glanced up at him with a questioning expression, obviously not liking the idea of his friend going in alone.

  Jack took a deep breath and adjust the gun on his hip. Then, thinking it through, he reached back and removed his rifle from its scabbard. A man could never have enough firepower.

  As he passed the wet spot in the yard, he read the signs. A man had been shot. The large boot prints and the size of the drag mark confirmed it. He could spot the elbow marks in the dirt where the man had pulled himself along the ground.

  A quick glance around told him that the boot marks were alone. Whoever had shot him had done it from a distance.

  “Hello,” he called.

  A grunt from inside the house surprised him. He had expected with that much blood they’d be dead long ago.

  “Can I come in? Do you need help?”

  There was a long pause then a deep voice said, “You the one that’s killed me?”

  Jack had to admire the man’s courage; he had always appreciated gallows humor. Heaven knew he had seen more than enough of it to last a lifetime.

  “No,” he said to the man inside. “If I kill a man, I do it close. You would have seen me.”

  The man grunted then told him to come in.

  Jack used his rifle to slowly push the door open then winced. The man sat on a wooden chair. One arm resting on the table, the other hand holding his stomach together. A flash of bad memories shot through Jack. Gut shot, the man was as good as dead. No one survived that.

  “Excuse me for not getting up,” the man said. “It seems my legs aren’t working right.”

  “What happened?” Jack
asked as he scanned the room for hidden dangers.

  The wounded man shrugged. “Stepped outside to tend the stock and some fool shot me. What does it look like?”

  Jack ignored the bitterness in the man’s voice. “Anything I can do for you?” he asked as he stepped closer.

  “Water.”

  Once again, Jack winced. The battlefield doctors used to say never give a gut shot man water. It just hurried the process. But Jack figured a dying man’s wish took precedent. He grabbed a tin cup off the counter and filled it from a bucket.

  The man thanked him as he took the cup then sighed with contentment after a long drink.

  “Thought for sure I was going to die of thirst before the bullet finished its work.”

  Jack nodded as he examined the man. About his own age of thirty. He was well built but short. But then, most men were short when compared to him.

  “Any idea who could have done this?” he asked the man.

  The man shook his head then grunted as a bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face.

  “No idea.”

  A long awkward silence fell over them. Jack had spent too much time among the dying to push the issue. He would let the other man lead the way.

  Suddenly, the man scoffed and shook his head. “I was supposed to get married tomorrow. Do you believe that?”

  Jack cringed. “A jealous beau?” he asked, referring to the shooting.

  “No, couldn’t be,” the man grunted. “I ordered her through the mail. From St Louis. Supposed to arrive tomorrow.”

  Jack kept quiet. He had heard that more men were doing this. It sounded too desperate in his view. But a man could make his own choices.

  The wounded man closed his eyes for a moment as if trying to gather himself. “Name is Nate Parker,” he said without opening his eyes. “Thought you should know so you can put it on the marker.”

  “I’m Jack Tanner,” he answered.

  The man opened one eye and studied him for a moment, his gaze flicking to the gun on Jack’s hip.

  “Heard of you,” Nate said through gritted teeth. “Thought you were up in the Dakota territory.”

  Jack shrugged. “Felt like moving on. Heard there might be work hereabouts, guarding the gold shipments to San Francisco.”

  The man’s head sunk forward to rest on his chest. It could take hours yet, Jack realized. It was a long painful way to go.

  “Any particular place you want to be buried?”

  “Under the oak up on the hill,” the man said without opening his eyes. “I can watch over my valley from there.”

  “Any family I should tell?” Jack asked.

  The man sighed and grunted again. “No family. But maybe you could tell my Jenny. She comes in on tomorrow’s train. Tell her I’m sorry for dying on her. Her letters made me think she would make a good wife.”

  Jack frowned. “Do you want her to have this place?”

  The wounded man laughed then coughed hard as a trickle of blood spilled from his mouth.

  “A woman alone?” he said after he had regained himself. “Up here, in these mountains? Couldn’t … She couldn’t survive alone.”

  “Maybe sell it?”

  Again, the man grunted. “Why would someone pay for land? It’s free from the government. Besides, it’s just too far away.”

  Jack nodded his agreement; it was a long way off but that perhaps was one of its best points he thought. Up here in the High Lonesome, a man could become lost, perhaps learn to live with himself.

  “I could leave it to you,” the man said. “But …”

  Jack’s heart lurched. Settle down here? Surprisingly, the idea appeared more tantalizing than he would have thought. Granted, a new urge to settle down had come over him the last few months. It was one of the many reasons he’d left the Dakotas.

  A need to put down roots could pull at a man. Establish something lasting. Something worthwhile. And this valley, a man could build a life here.

  “But?” he asked.

  The wounded man took a deep breath and held it. “But,” he continued, “you’d have to marry Jenny. Seems only right.”

  Jake sucked in a quick breath. There was always a catch. “Seems like a high price to pay.”

  The man scoffed, “A man shouldn’t be up here all alone. In fact, I come to call this place Lonesome Valley.”

  Jack didn’t know if he agreed. He’d gone his own way for so long he didn’t care for the idea of sharing his life with some unknown woman.

  “I don’t know.”

  The man didn’t respond for a long moment then said, “Got any paper? A pencil?”

  Jack removed the small tally book he kept in his front shirt pocket and tore out a sheet of paper. He placed it and a pencil on the table next to the man.

  The man grunted as he shifted in his chair. All the while, he kept his left hand on his stomach. Tacking a deep breath, he started to write. Jack reached over to hold the paper in place.

  “There,” the man said as he sat back with a heavy sigh. “Show that to Judge Benson. He knows my hand.”

  Jack looked down at the paper. “I don’t know. I still haven’t agreed to this.”

  The man shrugged his shoulders. “If not, then sell the team and wagon and give her the money. It should be enough to get her home.”

  Jack nodded. It was the least he could do for a dying man.

  Later that afternoon, he used the shovel to hammer in the marker then stepped back and dipped his head for a moment.

  He took a deep breath and stepped away from the grave.

  “Come on Duke,” he said to his dog. “We need to go disappoint a young woman.”

  Chapter Two

  Miss Jennifer O’Neil glanced down at the letter in her hand and sighed. Two more hours, she thought as the train rocked back and forth. Two more hours and she would know if she had made the stupidest mistake of her life.

  But then, what choice did she have? That was the thing about bad mistakes. They were usually a result of limited options.

  Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm her racing heart. Really? she told herself. She should not question herself. This was for the best. Nathanial’s two letters had reassured her, and his offer of marriage had been like a rope to a drowning woman.

  Tucking a stray wisp of hair back into her bun, she wondered if Nathanial would be pleased with her. She had been told that she was attractive. In fact, that was the reason that Mr. Butler had pursued her. Of course, Mrs. Butler had not been pleased and spread ugly rumors throughout their small town.

  Rumors she had been unable to knock down. It seemed there were too many wives who wanted her gone. Preferably sooner rather than later.

  Nathanial’s offer had been a godsend. Even if it did mean marrying a man she had never met. But then, what woman truly knew the man she married?

  Sitting back, she looked out at the brown landscape so different than the plains of East Missouri. Slowly, the scenery disappeared as she let her mind wander.

  What would their life be like? she wondered. His letters made him sound rather … normal. Not dull, she tried to reassure herself. She preferred the term ‘safe.’ Perhaps not as well educated as herself. But then beggars could not be choosers. She feared there would be little passion. But perhaps they could grow to care for each other. Really, wasn’t that all any woman could ask for.

  And, if she was particularly lucky, they would be blessed with children. The thought made her smile. Yes, that would be the life she wished for. Marriage. Children. And if she had to travel halfway across the continent to achieve it. Then so be it.

  Deep down though, she pined for the loss of passion. A great love. The kind that was written about in books. That was what she secretly desired. But a poor woman without prospects had little choice.

  As the train rocked back and forth. The clickity-clack lulled her to sleep. To dream of a tall strange man with wide shoulders and dangerous eyes.

  The lonesome call of the train whistle woke
her from her nap. Sitting up straight, she wiped at her mouth, checked her hair, then ran her hands over her dress to make sure everything was in place. The best of her two dresses, she prayed that Nathanial didn’t notice the repaired cuff or the lace she had added to hide the frayed hem.

  This was the moment, she thought as the train slowed. Her stomach churned with worry as she took a deep calming breath. Nathanial would want a composed, sensible woman. Not some emotional ninny. No, they must start their lives together with the right impression.

  Swallowing hard, she forced her racing heart to calm down. As the train slowed to a halt, she bent down to look out on the platform. All the while holding her breath. This was ridiculous. She had no idea what the man looked like. Other than his comment about being of average height. She had no clue.

  Once again taking a deep breath, she handed her bag to the porter and allowed him to guide her down the steps and onto the platform. Twisting about, she scanned the area for anyone who might be Nathanial Parker.

  A tall cowboy leaned against the station, but it couldn’t be him, she thought. The man was too tall. And a quick look confirmed that this man need never send for a mail-order bride. Half the single women in the state would have jumped at the chance.

  Where was Nathanial? Two cowboys were offloading a bull from the back of the train. A young couple was meeting what was obviously the woman’s parents. The conductor was looking at his watch.

  Jennifer’s heart lurched. Was he late? Was the train early? Or, had he changed his mind? No. Surely not.

  Suddenly a sick feeling filled her. Had she traveled all this way for nothing? She thought of the three dollars and twenty-two cents in her reticule and shivered. How would she survive? Suddenly, the gravity of the situation began to sink in.

  The sick feeling was slowly replaced with a stomach-churning fear.

  “Excuse me, Miss O’Neil?” A deep voice said from behind her.

  She quickly spun around, her hopes rising only to be sorely disappointed. It was the handsome cowboy. He was even taller than she had thought.

  He frowned for a moment then quickly removed his hat. Studying her, she watched as a look of confusion crossed his face. As if he were having to rethink his reality.