My Heart Will Find You

by Jude Deveraux

Genres: Women's Fiction; Contemporary Romance; Small-town Romance

Synopsis

A mail-order bride
A lonely rancher
A portal to the past

Their love refused to stay quiet, echoing across time…

When the world is brought to a standstill in the early days of a global pandemic, Etta Wilmont finds herself suddenly stranded in Kansas City. Desperate to secure a roof over her head, Etta crosses paths with Henry Logan, a lonely older man in need of a caretaker. His invitation for Etta to stay with him seems to be the solution to both their problems—and maybe the spontaneous adventure Etta’s life has been missing.

As Etta and Henry settle into a companionable living arrangement, Etta indulges in Henry’s library. The compelling historical accounts of life in the Midwest soon inspire vivid dreams of Kansas City in the 1870s, dreams in which she’s a mail-order bride, married to a handsome but guarded rancher named Maxwell Lawton.

Haunted by the story unfolding in her mind, Etta realizes her dreams of the past and the familiar faces featured within are starting to have an impact on the present, altering her current reality. Perhaps these dreams are Etta’s chance to finally claim something for herself after so much time spent caring for others. More than anything, Etta wonders if the captivating man she’s falling for while she sleeps might be real, might be out there—true love waiting to be found and which would change both their lives forever.

Release date: April 11, 2023

Publisher: MIRA Books

Print pages: 400

Sample

1March 2020

Henrietta Wilmont was sitting in the Kansas City airport when she first heard of the lockdown.

She had a while before her connecting flight, so she’d bought a couple of magazines, both about cooking, and she was absorbed in them. She was thinking she’d like to visit Portugal and find out how they make pastel de nata.

Since her phone was on airplane mode, the text didn’t ding. By the time she looked, there were six texts from her sister, Alicia. Each was headed with all caps words like, “URGENT” and “VITAL.”

Etta’s heart started pounding. Something awful had happened. To Alicia? Her husband?

Please no, not their daughter, Nola. Etta took a breath. It had to be their father. She’d left him at home in rural Pennsylvania, alone in that huge house, and he’d fallen down the stairs. It was all her fault.

With shaking hands, she called Alicia’s number. “What is it?” she whispered.

“California has been put on lockdown.”

Etta had no idea what that meant. “Is Nola okay? Phillip? Is...?” She hesitated. “Is it Dad?”

“Everyone is fine,” Alicia said. “Healthy. And we mean to stay that way.”

“What does that mean?” Etta’s voice was rising.

Alicia was a psychologist and was used to dealing with people in crisis. She turned on her calm-and-caring voice and explained that there was a virus running rampant throughout the world. It was attacking older people in particular and was said to be killing them almost instantly. People were being told to have no contact with anyone outside their immediate families. The lockdown would be in place for at least two weeks.

Etta was so relieved her family was okay that she couldn’t be upset over a bit of isolation.

“We’ll do it together,” she told her sister. “I’ll show you how to cook something besides pasta and—”

“You don’t understand. You can’t come here. The borders of the state are closed.”

“But my plane—” With her phone to her ear, Etta went to the departures board. Her flight had been canceled. There were other flights available, but none to California. “I’ll rent a car and drive. How far is it from KC to LA?”

“Etta.” Alicia went into her therapist voice. “You can’t come here and you can’t go home. I don’t want you on a plane with lots of other people. You need to stay there. In Kansas.”

Etta looked around the airport. It wasn’t very big, and she was seeing others who appeared to be as confused as she was. “I can’t stay in the airport for two weeks!”

Alicia lost her professional tone and became the bossy younger sister. “Go to a hotel! Get one with a restaurant and stay there for as long as this lasts.”

“Dad needs—”

“He’s fine. I talked to him. I told him to go to the grocery store immediately and stock up on things, especially frozen foods.”

“I filled the freezer before I left,” Etta said. “There isn’t room for more.”

“Then he can get toothpaste and toilet paper. Whatever. The point is he can take care of himself. It’s you I worry about. Who are you going to take care of?”

Etta laughed. “I’ll find a hotel with a spa and get massages and facials. It’ll be nice.”

“I hope so. I’m going online now to try to find a place for you to stay. You do the same and call me.”

“Sure,” Etta said and they clicked off.

There was an older woman standing next to her, and she turned to Etta. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but you should know that all the cars have been rented. My granddaughter is picking me up and taking me home. I can give you a ride into Kansas City. You can get a hotel there.”

“Thank you. I’ll call for a reservation.”

“Uh-oh. I have to go now.” There was urgency in the woman’s voice. She waved to a young, frowning woman who was hurrying toward them. “Sorry, but Rachel has never had any patience. Not even as a child.” She stra

ightened her shoulders as though preparing for a battle and faced her granddaughter. “We’re going to give this woman a ride to a hotel.”

“I’ll just get my suitcase,” Etta said.

The young woman looked Etta up and down as though she was the carrier of the disease. “We don’t have room for another suitcase.”

For the first time, Etta realized the seriousness of what was happening. If California had been shut down, how long before the other states followed? People around them were now moving quickly, and a sense of panic was filling the air. Was she going to miss an opportunity to get transportation because of a suitcase? She had her roller bag and her laptop so she’d be fine.

“Doesn’t matter,” Etta said. “I’m ready to go.”

“We can’t—” the young woman began.

“Rachel, please,” her grandmother said.

Reluctantly, with a look of threat, Rachel gave a curt nod. “You’ll sit in the back.”

“Glad it’s not in the trunk,” Etta mumbled and followed them outside. She didn’t say anything on the ride. She didn’t even ask if where they were going had any hotels nearby.

As they drove, the buildings became taller. It looked like they were going into the city. Good. There’d be more places to stay.

A text came from Alicia.

Haven’t found anything yet. Hotels are filling up. Grocery shelves are empty. Rent an apartment if you have to. Do whatever you must.

They were in a pretty residential area that was a combination of historical buildings and newer places.

Rachel pulled to the side and stopped the car. “This is as far as we go.”

“Rachel,” her grandmother said, “take her to a hotel. She’s not from here. She—”

Rachel’s eyes narrowed. “You haven’t been listening to the news. This disease is killing everyone your age. You are in extreme danger. Every second that you’re exposed to outsiders, your life is in further jeopardy.” She looked in the rearview mirror at Etta with hard eyes.

“I’ll get out here.” Etta clutched the handle of her roller case, got out, then leaned back in. “Could you point me in the direction of a hotel? I—”

Rachel drove away so fast that Etta had to leap back to avoid being hit by the open door. It shut as the car sped away too quickly for the residential area.

Etta was standing on a sidewalk in a city she’d never seen before. So now what should she do?

She turned full circle. Not a hotel in sight. No signs for apartments for rent. There were a couple of little stores, but they were closed.

Worse was that there were no people anywhere. She thought it was like a sci-fi movie where a spaceship had invaded and taken away all the people.

She pulled out her phone, tapped the GPS and asked where the nearest hotel was. A mere mile away. She tried to make a reservation, but the site said it was full but maybe they weren’t accepting guests online.

Etta walked toward where her phone said another hotel was, but she didn’t find it. Her plan was to beg and plead. Midwesterners were known for being nice so maybe she’d succeed in getting them to give her a room.

But she saw no hotels, no open stores, and only a few cars. Twice she waved to get a driver to stop but no one did.

She called her father and asked how he was doing. He said he was fine, not worried about anything, and promised to eat well and not stay up late. He chuckled at her hovering. “You’re the one who’s the concern,” he said. “You have no chicks to tend to so what will you do? Tell me when you’re settled.” She promised she would, then said goodbye. Introverts like her father were not scared by the idea of isolation. Actually, she doubted if he’d notice.

With a sigh, she looked around. Still, no people anywhere. She kept walking.

Maybe we should have listened to the news, she thought. When she was at home, after a long day with people, Etta was glad to spend quiet time with her father. They read or gardened and cooked. They both disliked network TV so if they watched something, it was an old movie. Thomas loved Westerns, and Etta liked black and whites from the forties.

Since Etta had been off work for weeks, they hadn’t heard of the fear generated by the virus.

Again, Etta stopped and looked around. To her left was a pretty little street with mature trees and old houses. Maybe she could knock on a door and ask for directions. Maybe someone would give her a glass of water. She was hungry and thirsty and starting to get worried.

She passed four well-groomed residences, then she halted. Before her was the prettiest house she’d ever seen. Some people gushed over Victorians with their turrets and eyebrow windows, but Etta liked plainer, more simple. She knew this house was Italianate. It was two story, with a flat roof, and three tall, narrow windows on the second floor. The ground floor had a porch that wrapped around two sides, with thin columns with pretty headers. The front door was double wide and painted a deep marine blue.

Etta stood there looking at the house and admiring it. It was so simple yet so beautiful.

The front door opened and out came a man carrying a tray with a frosty pitcher. He was older, seventies, maybe more, but he had a face that was unlined, and he had a wonderful mustache. It was mostly gray but still had some dark in it.

It was a full minute before Etta realized he was watching her and she was staring. “Oh,” she said. “Sorry.” She turned away to keep rolling her case down the sidewalk.

“Will you join me?” he asked.

Etta hesitated. He had a nice voice. But from birth, females were indoctrinated about

Stranger Danger.

He seemed to understand. “I’m here alone.” He put the tray down on a table between two chairs. “The babysitter my son hired to look after me didn’t show up. Do you know how to work a washing machine? I can’t figure out where the wringer is. And the clothesline seems to be missing.”

Etta laughed and thought what was more bonding than laughter? “You wouldn’t know where a hotel is, would you?”

“I could look in the phone book.”

This second anachronism made her laugh more.

He smiled. “I have chocolate chip cookies that I just took out of the oven and cold lemonade. I squeezed the lemons myself.” He made a gesture of using one of those tall, old-fashioned presses.

Etta had one at home. He was a man of her own heart.

He held up a big fat cookie and took a bite out of it.

That was the last straw. She pulled her case down the short brick path, then up the few stairs to the porch. The man was taller than she’d thought and older. He looked pale. For all his joking about a “babysitter,” she could see that he probably did need care.

He motioned for her to take the chair on the far side of the table, and he took the other one. “Help yourself,” he said.

She drank deeply of the lemonade and was on her second cookie when he said, “I’m Henry Logan.”

“Henrietta Wilmont,” she answered. “But everyone calls me Etta.”

“We are two Henrys.” He nodded at her suitcase. “So what brings you to Kansas City? Or were you planning to fly somewhere else?”

“I was.” She found herself telling him about her sister getting a job in Pasadena and moving there. “I miss them so much! I know it’s no longer fashionable for extended families to live together, but we did. Dad and Alicia and her husband, Phillip, and their daughter, dear Nola. We all lived in one big old house and got along perfectly. I cooked and Phillip fixed things and Dad took care of anything with numbers. And Nola... Well, she kept us young. When they moved out six months ago, Dad and I...” Etta trailed off. “I’m sorry. I’m blabbing.” She stood up. “Thank you so much for this. Could you point me toward a hotel?”

Henry didn’t move. “Denver.”

“What?”

“I grew up in this house. My great-great-grandfather built it in 1874. When I got married, Martha and I moved in here. Our son, Ben, spent his whole life here. When he married, his wife, Caroline, moved in. She’s an architect and she converted the carriage barn in the back into a house for me.” He looked up at Etta with eyes full of sadness. “But she got a job in Denver. A forever job. She’s going to have a baby at any minute. A little girl.”

Etta sat back down. “Oh.” She took a breath. “And you’re living here.”

He nodded. “I’m afraid I’m not made for city high-rises, not physically or mentally.”

She understood his deeper meaning. “Your granddaughter won’t grow up in this glorious house. And you won’t see her every day.”

“No, I won’t.”

Etta’s voice came out as a whisper. “Will they sell this house?” They both knew she meant after Henry was gone.

He started to speak but didn’t. He just nodded.

For a moment they sat in silence. Generations in one house, she thought. And all about to end.

A wave of sadness and understanding seemed to pass between them. Both of them had recently had huge life changes. Neither of them believed they were for the better.

“Ben called me an hour ago,” Henry said. “Everything all over the country is closing, even grocery stores. People are panicking. They’re frightened. I don’t think you’re going to find a place to stay.”

Etta had a vision of sleeping on a park bench. While the weather today was nice, she doubted that a March night in Kansas was warm and cozy.

“Could I offer you a job?” he asked.

She looked at him. “Babysitting?”

“Exactly. The house is empty.” There was a little hiccup of loneliness in his voice. “It would be yours. I stay in the house Caroline made for me. There are no stairs.” He raised an eyebrow. “Did I hear you say you cook?”

She smiled. “I do. Not fancy, but it tastes good. For the last few years, I’ve worked with a man on a food truck. Lester loves change so we get creative.” She frowned. “He tripped over his grandson’s Lego set and broke his leg. He shut down the truck for the whole summer so I’m on my own.”

“Which is why you were going to visit your sister.”

“Yes.” She sighed. “But now I can’t get there.”

“Stay and cook with me. I’ll do the laundry if you help me rehang the clothesline.”

She didn’t know if he was kidding or not, but it didn’t matter. She didn’t have a lot of choices.

However, she dreaded telling Alicia what she was doing. Her sister would say, “You moved in with some man you don’t even know?” For that, she’d use her how-could-you-do-something-so-stupid voice.

She looked at Henry. “Maybe I could...” She nodded to the house.

“Look around? Ascertain whether or not I’m a predator?”

She tried not to laugh, but didn’t succeed. “For all you know, I could be one of the Benders.”

At that Henry laughed loudly. In 1870s Kansas, there was an incestuous family of serial killers named Bender. They invited people in, murdered them in particularly nasty ways, then fertilized their garden with the bodies. After their treachery was discovered, they became known as the Bloody Benders. In spite of thousands of hunts, they escaped capture. Not one of them was ever found.

“You’re a history lover like me,” Henry said. His eyes were full of delight, as though he’d found his new best friend.

Smiling, Etta followed him inside. The interior wasn’t what she’d expected. Maybe she’d seen too many historic houses where the owner tried to

stay true to the time period. In Henry’s house there were no hard, horsehair sofas, no lace curtains, no frilly porcelain ornaments.

The pretty entryway was painted a pale blue. To the right and left were two small living rooms. One was a comfy TV room with a chintz sofa. The one on the right was more formal. It had Japanese prints and pieces of Asian lacquerware.

“The rooms are lovely. I like everything.” She nodded at a lacquer cabinet. “Caroline’s touch?”

“Oh yes. She lived in Japan for a year and bought some nice pieces.”

Farther down to the left was a more formal room. It was large, with a huge built-out bay window with a deep seat. It was done in blue and white, like a country estate.

On every surface were framed photos, drawings, and even paintings, of Henry’s family. She picked up one. “You and your wife?” He nodded. Martha and Henry were laughing together. She was a big, strong-looking woman, more handsome than pretty. Ben was a cute boy, and he’d grown up to be a good-looking man. There were wedding photos of him and Caroline. She was very pretty, blonde, and her energy came through the picture. “Let me guess,” Etta said. “He’s quiet and she’s fireworks on a stick.”

“You got it perfectly.”

When they left the room, Etta expected Henry to open the closed double doors that were across the hall, but he didn’t. She followed him to the big stairs. To the left was Caroline’s office, a well-lit room with big windows. All very neat and tidy. Very organized.

Henry stopped in the hall. “When Caroline redid the house, the only walls she tore out on this floor were back here. There were four rooms to the kitchen, with pantries and a staircase for the servants. My mother hated it all.”

“What about Martha?”

“As far as I know, my wife had no idea where the kitchen was.”

Etta laughed. “So Caroline redid the four rooms?”

“Oh, did she!”

When they reached the kitchen, Etta drew in her breath. It was the kind she’d dreamed of.

Along the back wall was a big sink, a wide fridge, and a six burner Wolf gas cooktop. Two ovens were separate. One could hold a thirty-pound turkey and the other was smaller and would heat up quickly. Open shelves were above.

In front of the long counter was a tall oak table. No fancy stone-topped island but a table that looked like it had seen a lot of use. A giant copper pot and baskets full of oils and wine were below. There was a door with windows that looked outside to a shaded area.

“This is beautiful.” Etta was so in awe, she was whispering.

To the right was another table, but this one was lower, with white chairs around it.

You could cook and serve in one room.

She ran her hand over the tall table. It made a true cook’s island. “This is perfect.”

“Ben and I liked it. After he got married, he and I did the cooking.”

“Caroline’s domesticity is like Martha’s?”

“Softer, but in a lot of ways, yes.” He nodded down the hall toward the big staircase. “You’ll be staying upstairs, but I’m afraid...” He didn’t finish, but she understood. No stairs for him.

She went up the stairs. There were four bedrooms, each with a private bath. It was easy to see that at one time there’d been more bedrooms, and probably just one bath to be shared by both the family and the live-in servants.

One of the bedrooms was a nursery with a bassinet draped in white gauze. The sight made Etta think how sad Henry must be that his son and daughter-in-law and grandchild wouldn’t be living there.

She knew too well the emptiness of when people you loved left your daily life.

There was a bedroom that she liked best. It was at the back of the house in what probably used to be the servants’ quarters. There were windows in three walls, with a door to the bathroom in the fourth.

It was a moment before she saw the narrow door between the windows. It led out to a small, flat portion of the roof. An iron railing ran around the edges. The floor had been tiled, and Etta could imagine some old-fashioned teak furniture there. Like on a 1920s cruise ship.

Smiling, she went back into the room. The bed wasn’t very big, but it was old and mahogany. There was a vintage trunk at the foot. The wallpaper was green-and-white stripes. The pictures on the walls were prints: David Roberts’s sketches of Egypt, a black-and-white photo of Captain Sir Richard Francis Burton.

Between the windows on the far side were built-in shelves that were jammed full of books. David Attenborough’s wildlife adventures were there, as well as books by Gerald Durrell. Wonder if he’s been to Corfu? she thought as that’s where the Durrells lived.

The room was quite male so she assumed it was Ben’s. She’d ask Henry’s permission, of course, and he could text Ben, but this was the room she wanted to stay in.

When Etta heard voices, she hurried downstairs. Henry was by the front door talking to a young woman holding a big box full of vegetables. She was very pretty, with auburn hair and a body that was big on top and bottom, and small in the middle. It was the kind of body women spent years in a gym trying to create. She wore tight jeans and a shirt with several buttons undone.

“This is Freddy,” Henry said with obvious affection. “She feeds me.”

“Just the raw ingredients.” Freddy held out the box. “Kitchen?” It was as though she saw Etta as the mistress of the house.

“Sure. How did you

get all that? I heard that the grocery stores are nearly empty.”

Freddy put the box on the island. “I have a big garden, but it’s too early for much so I go to the back of...well, to a few stores and ask the boys with the delivery trucks.” As she said that, she leaned forward. It was obvious that she meant that her formfitting clothes helped her get first dibs on what came off the trucks.

“Whatever it takes.”

Etta looked in the box. Berries, oranges, eggplant, onions, a bag of green beans and more. “This is wonderful. Thank you.”

Freddy turned to Henry. “Everybody okay?”

“Yes. Caroline’s just waiting to go into labor.”

“Bet she’s still working, though.”

Henry smiled. “Of course. She’ll be in the labor room and drawing between pushes.”

“And Ben will be holding her drawing pad,” Freddy said.

“Anything for her,” Henry replied.

Freddy turned her back to him and gave Etta a serious look that let her know of Henry’s sadness, his loneliness. “I gotta go. I have three other clients waiting for me. I’ll see you next week.”

Again, she looked at Etta, who nodded. Yes, she’d take care of Henry.

Freddy looked at her watch. “It’s getting late if you plan to get it all done by six. Tell Sophie hi for me.” With that Freddy left out the side door.

“What’s at six?” Etta asked. “And who is Sophie?”

Henry started to answer but shook his head. “You’ll see later. Right now I have something to show you.”

She followed him down the hall to the room with the closed doors. When he opened them, she gasped. It was a library. A real, honest-to-heaven library. Three of the walls were covered with custom-made bookcases, honey colored from age and use. A brass bar ran across them so a ladder could roll around the shelves. They were packed with books and labeled files.

The center of the room had a huge green leather Chesterfield sofa, the kind with deep buttons in the back and big rolled arms. A leather armchair was to the side. A red-and-blue antique rug was on the floor. Scattered about were tables with lamps and more books.

On the fourth wall was a huge bay window that matched the one in the room across the hall.

The sides were draped with heavy green curtains. Facing the windows, its back to them, was a gigantic oak desk. It looked like it had come out of an Old West movie about some rancher who owned half of Texas.

Etta turned full circle as she looked around. “Now I see where Ben got his taste.” When Henry looked puzzled, she said, “His room upstairs. I love the roof deck. Mind if I stay in there?”

“He would be honored.” Turning, Henry nodded to the tall bookcase to the left of the double doors. “Those are mine.”

“What do you mean?” she asked as she went to them. Every book in that section, some elegantly bound, some with beautifully illustrated covers, and all the file boxes, had the name H. F. Logan on them. “You?”

Henry smiled modestly. “The F is for Fredericks. There’s a house in Mason that my ancestor built. It was restored a few years ago, and it’s nice.”

Etta went closer and began to pull out books. They were about history in the Midwest

: Kansas, Missouri, Nebraska, Oklahoma. Drawings and paintings of cowboys, buffalo, Native Americans, and outlaws were all through the books. “My father would love these. He’s an accountant with a passion for the Old West. I have to tell him.”

She took her phone out of her pocket and texted her father.

I’m staying with a writer. H. F. Logan. Ever heard of him?

“It’ll take him a while to answer. He—” Her phone dinged. “That was fast.” Laughing, she held it up to show Henry. The return message was all emojis: exploding head, laughing to tears, thumbs-up, fireworks.

Autographed copy, please, came a second text.

Henry’s face was pink with embarrassment but pleasure. “Tell him of course I’ll send him a package of them as soon as possible. After this quarantine, that is.”

“Or we’ll let Freddy take it. She can flirt with the postmaster.”

“Good idea.” Henry waved his hand about the room. “So you like my study? It was my father’s and his father’s. I told Caroline she could redesign it so it’s more modern.”

“And she wisely said she wouldn’t touch perfection.”

“More or less. She did say she liked it. It’s comfortable.”

Etta nodded toward his giant desk. The back of it was carved with a cowboy on a horse lassoing a calf. “Where’d you get that?”

“Ben and I found it at an auction in Mason. He was hardly more than a toddler. I lifted him up and he stretched out on it. It fit him perfectly. We had to buy it.” For a moment he was smiling in fond memory, then he looked up. “I bet you’re hungry and besides, it’s almost time. We need to cook. Mind eating outside?”

“I would love that.” When they got back to the kitchen, she looked at the box Freddy had left. “Are you a vegetarian?”

Henry opened a tall cabinet door that she’d assumed was a pantry. ...