Finding Promise

Book 2: McBride Brothers

by Scarlett Dunn

Genres: Historical Christian; Christian Romance; Clean & Wholesome Romance

Synopsis

A trail of danger and dreams... She may be an heiress, but Parker Promise Sinclair cares more about living an adventurous life than snaring a suitable husband. So it's no surprise when she joins a Colorado wagon train--only to survive a massacre that leaves her with no memory, a target on her back--and her abiding faith tested by the only man who can possibly protect her. His gunfighting skills and trail savvy have saved U.S. Marshal Jake McBride more times than he can count. And his instincts tell him the only way to keep Promise alive is to take her along on his high-stakes cattle drive. But she soon proves she can ride and shoot with the best of them--and Jake finds it increasingly difficult to keep himself from falling for her. Soon, with danger closing in, they'll have only one chance to face their doubts, their fears--and their growing love... Named by Booklists at one of the Top 10 Inspirational Books for 2015!

Release date: January 1, 2016

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 384

Sample

Dodge City

The telegraph operator peered over his thick wire-rimmed spectacles at the tall, muscular man at the counter. “Is that all?”

“Yep,” Jake McBride replied, placing some coins on the counter.

Jake’s best friend, Cole Becker, started laughing. “Your big brother is gonna kick your butt all over Wyoming for that last sentence.”

“It’ll give him more incentive to take good care of that beautiful woman.” Jake wanted to needle his big brother for no other reason than he thought he was the luckiest son-of-a-buck alive. He wasn’t jealous of Colt; he was the finest man he knew, and he deserved a woman like Victoria. Plain and simple, he was envious.

Cole slapped Jake on the shoulder. “I don’t think Colt needs incentive. I’ve never seen a man more in love.”

That was the truth if Jake had ever heard it. Colt was crazy in love with his new bride. In Jake’s estimation, Colt had found the perfect woman, not to mention the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was also the reason he needed to get out of Wyoming for a while. Even his brother could see Jake was half in love with Victoria from the moment he saw her. Being recently reunited with Colt, he couldn’t allow his feelings to cause any ill will between them. It had taken him ten years to go home to Wyoming, but once he saw Colt, and the ranch where they grew up, he realized it was where he belonged.

Jake had resigned as a U.S. Marshal, as had his partner of ten years, Cole Becker. They’d just escorted the territorial judge to Dodge as a last favor for their boss, and now they were on their way to meet up with the cattle drive headed to Wyoming.

While Colt placed no conditions on his return to the ranch, Jake didn’t think it was fair to come back after all this time as an equal partner with no investment of his own. Colt had single-handedly made the ranch more successful than it had been under their father’s control, and Jake didn’t take that lightly. He couldn’t make up for the years Colt had invested in back-breaking ranch work, but he could use his savings to buy cattle to add to the ranch’s herd. He also figured the months spent on the drive would give him the time he needed to get his head on straight where his sister-in-law was concerned. Logic told him his infatuation would fade with time, but as he’d learned through the years, logic and emotion didn’t often ride double.

Once they exited the telegraph office, Jake looked up at the low-hanging gray clouds. “Storm’s brewing, and from the looks of it, it’s going to be a good one.” The weather hadn’t posed a problem until now, but the angry-looking sky foretold that good fortune was coming to an end.

Cole glanced at the sky with a grim face. “Yeah, just as we’re headed into Indian Territory.”

As they reached their horses, Jake felt the first drop of rain on his Stetson. “Let’s ride.”

It rained for two solid weeks after Jake and Cole left Dodge, and today was more of the same. Jake was riding point in a torrential downpour well over a mile ahead of the cattle, trying to locate a defendable place to camp for the night. Hearing thunder ahead of him was a sure sign the storm wasn’t easing. They were going to be in for a long night with twenty-five hundred head of restive cattle. He’d instructed Cole and the rest of the men to keep the cattle as close together as possible, hoping to forestall problems before nightfall.

An ear-splitting crack of lightning caused him and his horse both to jump. Jake stroked Preacher’s neck. “That scared you as much as it did me, huh, boy?” More loud bursts of thunder ahead of him darkened his mood even more. “This storm is getting worse by the minute,” he muttered. Hell’s bells! I’m a dang fool for not stopping before now.

Another round of piercing pops rent the air, but within seconds he realized it wasn’t thunder. Gunfire. Hearing gunshots out in the middle of nowhere was never a good sign. Nudging Preacher forward with the rain pelting them in the face, he was tempted to set a pace that matched his foreboding sense of urgency, but he wouldn’t pose a danger to his horse. They hadn’t ridden much farther when the rain started coming down so hard he couldn’t see a foot in front of him. Pulling Preacher to a halt, he dismounted and pulled a bandanna from his back pocket to dry Preacher’s face as best he could. “I don’t think you can see any better than me.” It wasn’t going to do a bit of good with the rain coming down like it was, but he knew it would soothe his horse all the same. Preacher had also been his partner for ten years, and he knew the horse hated to have water on his face more than anything. Preacher nudged his hand as a thank-you.

When the rain changed to a steady drizzle, he remounted. Pulling his Winchester from the boot, he told himself it might be nothing, but experience warned not to ignore that little voice in his head that told him something was amiss. And right now that little voice was beginning to sound like the seventh angel’s trumpet.

He’d covered about a quarter of a mile when he noticed something on the horizon that looked oddly out of place on the usually barren landscape. “Whoa, boy,” he murmured, pulling Preacher to a halt again. He squinted, trying to make sense out of what he was seeing. Wiping away the water dripping from his eyelashes, he blinked, trying to focus. What was it? Crazy as it sounded, what he saw reminded him of large white flags whipping around in the storm. Searching the terrain, some movement caught his eye, and he saw riders hightailing it to the trees some distance away. He clicked Preacher forward.

As he drew closer, Preacher laid his ears back and started sidestepping. Jake’s senses went on high alert. His horse was as good at detecting danger as any U.S. Marshal he’d ever seen. He stroked Preacher’s neck as he assessed the situation. The riders were well out of sight, so he didn’t know what had Preacher so worked up. “Settle down, boy. I don’t see anyone moving about.” He focused again on what he thought were flags, and realization dawned. Covered wagons. They were turned over on their sides and the canvases had been ripped apart, leaving the tattered pieces to flap in the wind like sails on a ship.

“Come on, boy. Let’s see what this is about.” Preacher snorted at him as though he disagreed with the command, but he moved ahead. Jake counted six wagons overturned as he reined in at the nearest one. Dismounting, he held on to Preacher’s reins just in case he needed to make a fast getaway. What happened here? Indians? Is that who was riding away? They hadn’t encountered any Indians so far, but that only meant one thing; they were due. One thing was certain, if Indians were around, he figured he’d see them soon enough. Not many places to hide out here in the open, but they sure had a way of appearing out of thin air.

The thunder and lightning had lessened considerably, so he figured he could hear trouble if it came calling. Scanning the area, he saw all manner of items from the wagons scattered about. Judging by the destruction, and some costly articles left behind, it occurred to him that whoever did this was looking for something in particular. Spotting a man on the ground near the first wagon, he released Preacher’s reins and hurried to him. As he approached, he saw the blood covering the front of his rain-soaked shirt. He didn’t need to touch him; his eyes had the vacant stare of a dead man. There was a rifle beside the man and Jake picked it up to see if it had been fired. It hadn’t. The man’s pistol was still in his holster. He walked to the overturned wagon and peeked inside. There was a woman lying half out of the front of the wagon, so he hustled around to check her. Shot dead. A few feet from her was another man lying dead on the ground. What in heaven’s name happened here? He ran to the other wagons, praying to God he would find someone alive. He found six more bodies. Everyone shot—no arrows, but Indians had guns, he reminded himself. Questions circled his mind. Why weren’t they traveling with a larger group? Had they been ill and left behind? And why in heaven’s name had they stopped out here in the open? Not the best place to stop for the night if they needed to defend themselves from an attack.

Reaching the last wagon, he saw a woman lying facedown near a large overturned trunk, and a man lying several feet from her. Again, he scanned the horizon to make sure no one was waiting to shoot him in the back. Approaching the woman first, he kneeled down and gently turned her over. Pushing aside her long, wet hair from her face, he saw that her eyes were closed and blood oozed from her temple. He placed his palm on her chest to see if she had a heartbeat. Alive! Her heartbeat was faint, but it was there. Thank God. Wiping at the blood on her temple, he tried to see how badly she was injured. It looked like a bullet had grazed her, but fortunately it wasn’t lodged in her head. He searched her limp form for additional signs of injury, but finding none, he stood and pulled off his slicker to cover her. It didn’t make a lick of sense since her clothing was drenched, yet it made him feel better. He walked to the man lying nearby to see if he was as lucky as the woman. He wasn’t.

He whistled for Preacher, who came trotting up beside him. He pulled a clean shirt out of his saddlebag and quickly tore it into long strips. Gently, he propped the woman against his thigh and wound the cloth around her head. Two thoughts struck him at once: how fragile she was, and how good she smelled. Odd, under the circumstances, that he’d noticed her fragrance, but he figured it was because since he’d left Texas the only things he’d smelled were cattle and wet earth. While he worked on the bandage, it occurred to him that she was much younger than the other women he’d found. The man lying near her was also younger than the other men. He must have been her husband. Why would anyone shoot all of these people? What were they searching for? If Indians had attacked, they would have taken some of the items littering the ground, like the tools or sacks of sugar and barrels of flour. They would have taken the young woman too. He’d seen a lot of evil in his ten years as a U.S. Marshal, but nothing as senseless as this. He took hold of her hand, wishing he could will her to wake. Her hand was so delicate and soft against his calloused skin that he glanced down to look at her palm. This was not the hand of a woman who worked a farm, though he did feel some rough spots on her fingers, which he figured were from holding a horse’s reins.

He glanced at the man again. No gun. Realizing that only one man had been armed offered up another set of questions. It was possible that the killers had taken their weapons. Did they also take the horses, or had the horses simply run off when the shooting started? He felt sure the killers didn’t take the time to unhitch the teams, so these folks had stopped for some reason.

He could see hoofprints in every direction, but right now he didn’t have time to study them other than to make a mental note that they were shod. He knew the rain would wash away the tracks of the men he saw riding away, but his first responsibility was to care for the woman. He’d take her back to meet up with the drive so his cook could tend her. He’d hired Shorty not only for his cooking skills but because he also possessed some doctoring knowledge. Shorty had been on six cattle drives and had tended various injuries, so Jake hoped he would know what to do for her. Once the woman was in Shorty’s care, he’d bring some men back to bury the dead. Then he’d have time to try to make sense out of this massacre.

Preacher caught his attention when he snorted and sidestepped closer. “What is it, boy?” Jake looked around and immediately spotted Indians on a knoll less than two hundred yards away. Damn, if they can’t sneak up on a man! He counted ten braves, and though he wasn’t sure, he thought they were Comanche. “Okay, boy, we’re leaving.” Just as he was about to lift the woman in his arms, he saw a leather-bound book underneath her skirt, and next to it was a Colt .45. He picked up the pistol and smelled the barrel before tucking it in his belt. He grabbed the book and stuffed it inside his shirt to keep it dry. Once he was settled in the saddle with the woman securely in his arms, he pulled his slicker over her head to keep her bandage dry. He turned his gaze on the Indians and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw they were not riding toward him. It was odd how they were just watching, almost like they were afraid to ride closer. He looked around to make sure no one else was lurking about. Before he rode away, he glanced once more at the destruction around him. He was certain of one thing: The Indians hadn’t done this. Not one scalp was missing.

With the woman lying limp against his chest, Jake slowly made his way back to the cattle drive. With the many days of storms they’d had, the plains had turned into a muddy quagmire. Preacher was forced to slog through the muck, which was more difficult with extra weight on his back. As soon as Jake saw Harm, his most experienced trail hand, he rode in his direction. After explaining the situation, Jake told him they were stopping for the night.

“Indians?” Harm asked.

Jake shook his head. “They didn’t kill those folks, but there were ten braves watching me the whole time. Tell the men to keep their eyes open.”

Jake had two of his men quickly transfer supplies from one of the wagons so he could make a place for the woman. When the wagon was empty, Shorty stacked quilts several inches deep to make a comfortable pallet for her. Once Jake had the woman settled on the quilts, he sent Shorty to find one of his dry shirts. He dropped the canvas opening to have some privacy from the prying eyes of the men riding into camp. He knew as soon as the men heard about the situation, they’d have questions, but right now he had to get her into dry clothes. That meant undressing her, and he didn’t need an audience for that. Pulling his slicker from her, all he could think about was how helpless she looked lying there. He wished they had a woman with them who could do what needed doing. But wishing wasn’t having, as his father used to say, so he needed to get to it.

Removing his Stetson, he placed it on the floorboard beside the quilts. He pulled the pistol that he’d found under the woman from his belt, and with a quick check of the cylinder, saw it was empty. The gun was in good condition; someone had taken the time to clean and oil it frequently. He placed the gun on the floor by his hat and kneeled beside the woman. He stared at her pale face, noticing that her long, dark lashes resting on her cheeks were a stark contrast to her deathly white skin. Some of her hair was beginning to dry, and he could see the color was a light golden blond. Even wet and covered in mud she was uncommonly beautiful. Her complexion was creamy smooth, her lips full and the palest pink. In his estimation she was nearly as beautiful as his brother’s new wife, and that was saying something.

He sat back on his heels, trying to muster the courage to do what needed doing. He wished she’d wake up so she could undress herself. Surprised at how uneasy he was, he told himself that he’d undressed his fair share of women over the years, so it wasn’t that he didn’t know where to start, but he still hesitated. None of those women had been unconscious, and they’d wanted to be undressed. If she woke up while he was taking her clothes off, she’d probably die of fright. He was as nervous as he was the first time he’d seen a naked woman. Hell’s bells! I was a U.S. Marshal for ten years and chased gunslingers all over this territory. I sure as hell can undress an unconscious woman. Just get on with it! As he leaned over and started to attack the tiny row of buttons at the neck of her dress, someone tapped on the wagon, causing him to jump up so fast he smacked his head on the wood frame.

“Dang it all!” he muttered, rubbing his head.

“Yo, boss, here’s the clothes,” Shorty said.

Jake leaned over to open the flap, and there stood Shorty, holding one of his shirts along with a pair of trousers. “Thanks, Shorty.”

Shorty pointed to the trousers. “I got these from the smallest man on the crew, but they ain’t going to fit without a rope to hold them up.” Then he added, “I’m boiling some water, so just whistle when you’re ready to get her wound cleaned.”

“Will do.” Crouching down beside her again, Jake reached for the first button. “I promise, honey, I’m not going to hurt you.” He was working as quickly as he could for fear she would wake up, and he kept talking just in case she did. He shivered at that thought. She was such a small woman that he lifted her with ease. He tried to keep his eyes from wandering as he got down to her chemise and bloomers, but the flimsy material was so wet it was transparent, and he dropped back on his heels again and took a deep breath. Lord, help me, he pleaded silently, and as much as he tried not to look, he couldn’t drag his eyes away. His next thought was he should just leave those things on her, but he decided that wouldn’t do. He didn’t want her catching a cold, yet if she came to and he had stripped her as naked as the day she was born . . . well, he didn’t even want to think about that. He grabbed his slicker to throw over her before he removed her underthings. He had no problem removing her bloomers with his hands under the slicker, but he didn’t have the same success with the laces on her chemise. He fumbled around, but he couldn’t find the secret of those ties without seeing what he was doing. His frustration mounting, and a few curse words later, he jerked the slicker aside, pulled his knife from its sheath, and slit the laces. Before he even allowed himself a peek—well, almost—his fingers latched on to the slicker and he threw it over her like she was a rattler ready to strike. He glanced at her face and was relieved to see she was still out cold. Only then did he let out a loud breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding. He was drenched to the bone, but he was still sweating like a pig being chased by hungry men preparing for a pig roast. And he still had to get her into dry clothing. He made short work of getting her into his dry shirt, and he quickly buttoned it up to her throat. Grabbing the trousers, he held them up and determined Shorty was right; they were way too large, so he decided to leave them off. His shirt covered her to her knees anyway. Hopefully, he’d find some clothing for her when he returned to the wagon train.

Exhausted, he wiped the sweat from his brow with his wet shirtsleeve. When he went to hang her dress to dry, he was surprised at how heavy it was. He wondered how such a slight woman could stand up in a dress so heavy since the darn thing weighed as much as she did. Dismissing the thought, when he started to hang it from a nail he saw a label inside the neckline with a name stitched on it, which he couldn’t read, and beneath the name it said Paris, France. They sure made dresses heavy in Paris, France.

He leaned out of the wagon and gave a shrill whistle. Shorty came running with the water and some of his special salve. After cleaning and bandaging her wound, they tried to clean the blood from her thick mass of hair.

“I ain’t never seen so much hair in my life,” Shorty said.

“I don’t know how she holds her head up when it’s wet. It’s heavier than my holster,” Jake said.

“Is she hurt somewhere we can’t see?”

“I didn’t see anything else, but I have never seen anyone stay unconscious for so long. Have you?”

“Not this long.” Shorty absently stroked her silky hair. “She sure is a pretty little thing. Dang those polecats for hurting a sweet little thing like her.”

“I found a man near her who could have been her husband. The two of them were younger than the rest of the folks.” He didn’t know which would be worse, having her wake up to find everyone she knew was dead, or not waking up at all. “Maybe we’ll find something that will tell me where they were headed.”

They looked at each other, both at a loss as to what to do next. Jake got to his feet. “I guess I’d best get back to bury those people.”

Shorty scrambled up behind him. He was so lacking in stature that he didn’t need to crouch down like Jake inside the wagon. “You ain’t plannin’ on leavin’ me alone with her, are you?”

Jake glanced down at the motionless woman. “I don’t think she’ll give you any trouble.”

Shorty let out a loud snort. “You know that ain’t what I’m sayin’! What if she . . . well . . . what if she . . . ,” he said, his voice quavering. “You know . . . goes to meet her Maker?”

Jake placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’re the best hope she has, and I need to get back there before animals get to those folks. They deserve a decent burial, and I’m hoping the trail of those killers won’t be totally washed away. You know that in her condition I can’t take her all the way back to Dodge right now.”

“I’ve tended plenty of sick cowhands, but hellfire, I ain’t never tended a woman,” Shorty complained, raking a hand through his thinning white hair.

Jake didn’t have the time to reassure his cook, but he tried. “You’ve stopped the bleeding, and that’s about all we can do for her right now. I think it’s a good sign she doesn’t have a fever.”

Shorty nodded, wanting to hold on to that thread of hope. “Yeah, that’s good.”

Grabbing his slicker, Jake opened the canvas flap and jumped from the wagon, with Shorty right behind him. “Just check on her every few minutes in case she wakes up. After what she went through, she’ll likely be scared to death. And stay alert, there are killers afoot, and I doubt they are too far away.”

“Will do, boss.”

“If you need anything in a hurry, have someone ride to get me. It’s doubtful I could hear gunshots.”

“You need to eat before you go back there. You ain’t had nothin’ since breakfast,” Shorty reminded him like a worried parent.

“No time. I’ll eat when I get back. Keep that coffee hot.” With that said, Jake donned his slicker before making his way to the makeshift corral where the two wranglers kept horses saddled at all times. He figured Preacher had earned some rest, and it was going to be a long night getting those people buried, so he had Billy, one of the wranglers, pick out a fresh horse for him.

“I already brushed, fed, and watered Preacher,” the young man told him. He knew how his boss valued that horse, and it was the first time Jake hadn’t cared for Preacher himself. He always did that first thing when he rode in, even before he saw to his own needs. And every cowboy on the drive knew they’d best follow suit.

“Thanks, Billy. He deserves a good rest. Wipe his face off a few times tonight,” Jake said.

“Sure will, boss.”

Jake patted Preacher before he took the reins of another animal. The rain was coming down in sheets by the time he gathered Cole and three other men to ride with him. Their progress was slow since they took an extra wagon for any belongings they could salvage for the woman. The other men could have ridden ahead of the wagon, but Jake didn’t want to leave one man to his own defenses with killers and Indians in the area.

When they reached the wagon train, despite the pelting rain every man took off his hat in a sign of respect for the deceased.

“What kind of men did something like this?” Ty asked when they dismounted and saw the carnage.

“Just plain mean,” Cole answered.

“They must be plumb crazy,” Ty added.

“Diosito,” Rodriguez said softly, reverently.

They turned to the vaquero and watched him make the sign of the cross before he dismounted.

“Keep your eyes peeled for those Indians,” Jake told them. The four men he’d chosen to accompany him were capable gun hands. He almost wished the killers would come back. They’d find it’d be a lot more difficult to kill them than it had been to kill those folks on the wagon train. When Jake found an area he determined suitable for burying the dead, the men pulled out their shovels and started digging. After the graves were dug, and the people buried, the men removed their hats again and stood in silence.

Rodriguez was the first to speak. “Vaya con Dios.”

Jake nodded his agreement, and repeated the sentiment in English. “Godspeed.” He felt there was little else to say, so he put his hat on and gave instructions to the men to start collecting all items worth taking back for the woman.

The men set about gathering anything that hadn’t been destroyed. Jake walked to the wagon where he’d found the woman, and righted the large trunk he’d seen earlier. He noted the ornate silver initials on the closures. Opening the lid, he looked inside and found an expensive silver-handled mirror and matching brush with the same initials, a box filled with ladies’ hats, and a Bible. Moving those items aside, he found a large bundle wrapped in a heavy cloth. He lifted the bundle out and pulled the cloth away. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He was looking at a beautiful oil painting of the last man he’d buried. It was the same man who had been lying near the woman he’d found alive. There were more paintings, along with brushes, canvases, and oils. Underneath the paintings he found a leather pouch, and when he glanced inside he saw several charcoal drawings. Though he was curious, he didn’t want them to get wet, so he wrapped them back inside the pouch. After returning the items to the trunk, he started picking up the clothing that was strewn about. He gathered so many dresses he lost count, along with a fur cape and a furry thing that women wore to keep their hands warm. He’d never seen so many pieces of delicate silky undergarments, other than the times he’d been at brothels. It sure was a lot of clothing for one woman. While he didn’t consider himself an expert on ladies’ fashion, he could tell the clothing was of high quality, like the dress he’d removed from her. He’d have Shorty wash some of her dresses so she would have something to wear.

Looking around to see if he’d missed anything, he noticed a pair of ladies’ boots a few feet away. When he reached for the boots, something glittering in the mud caught his eye, so he pulled the object out of the wet earth and wiped the dirt off on his chaps. It was a beautiful comb that a woman would wear in her hair. The initials on the comb were encrusted with what he thought were diamonds, and they matched the initials on the trunk. He started to place the comb inside one of the boots, but he felt a piece of cloth tucked inside. Pulling the small bundle out, he found a delicate crystal bottle that was fully intact and filled with perfume. Along with the perfume, he found bars of soap that smelled so good he almost wanted to eat them. After he placed everything in the trunk, he spotted a large bathing tub several yards from the wagon.

Cole and Rodriguez approached as Jake was dragging the tub to the wagon.

“This clothing is very costly,” Rodriguez said in his perfect English, eyeing the items Jake had placed in the trunk. “This trunk must have been. . .