A Reluctant Bride For A Heartbroken Rancher: A Clean Western Historical Romance Novel Read online

  A Reluctant Bride For A Heartbroken Rancher

  A Clean Western Historical Romance Novel

  Evelyn Boyett

  Contents

  Copyright

  FREE Exclusive Gift

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Extended Epilogue

  A Fiery Bride For A Protective Rancher

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  A Thank You To My Reader

  Also By Evelyn Boyett

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2020 by Evelyn Boyett

  All Rights Reserved.

  * * *

  This book may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form without the written permission of the publisher.

  * * *

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher.

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  1

  Everything was on fire.

  * * *

  Or so it seemed to Sister Mary Agnes.

  * * *

  She lifted her black robes and ran through the streets of Boston, afraid for her life. The light of the setting sun slanted across the stones, a weak, pale orange compared to the raging reddish-yellow of the blaze clawing its way out the second story windows.

  * * *

  She had been out bringing food to the poor and was on her way back when the fire started. She needed to get back to the convent. The Lord would protect her there, she was sure. And her sisters might need her help.

  * * *

  Though it was November, she felt warm. The heat from the inferno blazing around her made sweat break out on her forehead.

  * * *

  Sister Mary Agnes skidded to a halt as a large beam crashed to the ground in front of her, its flames licking her skirts. She danced back, stomping at the hem until the fire was out. Then she stood there, breathing heavily. She had to go on. Had to get to the convent. Had to help her sisters escape. She might only have lived there for a year, but it was her home.

  * * *

  That’s when she heard it.

  * * *

  A baby’s wail came from a nearby alley. Though she never had and never would have a child of her own, her heart clenched to hear the baby’s cry.

  * * *

  She dashed into the alley and gasped at the sight. A woman had been crushed by a beam not unlike the one that had almost hit her. The woman was… had been… young. About the same age as Sister Mary Agnes herself.

  * * *

  In the woman’s arms, lay a child. Unhurt. Crying.

  * * *

  “Mercy,” Sister Mary Agnes breathed. “Lord have mercy on us.”

  * * *

  She was horrified for a moment, before she realized that both she and the child were in grave danger. She darted forward and picked up the child who immediately calmed. She held the baby tight against her and thought frantically.

  * * *

  What should she do?

  * * *

  She certainly couldn’t continue on into the fire with this baby. The Lord had given her a mission. To save this infant. She knew it.

  * * *

  The child must be saved.

  * * *

  She turned resolutely and headed back out of the fire, the sound of its roar following her as she escaped, the child cradled in her arms.

  “I thought you might be dead,” Sister Mary Gertrude said, closing her eyes. Her soft, wrinkled face sagged in relief. “Oh, Sister Mary Agnes, I’m so glad you’re not.”

  * * *

  Sister Mary Agnes had reached the house that they were using as a temporary shelter for the nuns and any orphaned children.

  * * *

  “Rumor has it that half of Boston is burned,” the older nun said, wringing her hands.

  * * *

  “Surely that can’t be, Sister Mary Gertrude.” Then Sister Mary Agnes shook her head, wanting to grab her rosary, but remembering there was a child in her arms. She drew a deep, calming breath and inhaled the sweet scent of the baby.

  * * *

  “We must pray,” she said, dropping into a chair because her legs simply wouldn’t hold her anymore.

  * * *

  “Indeed,” Sister Mary Gertrude agreed. “And who’s that you’ve got there?”

  * * *

  “A child, Sister Mary Gertrude. I don’t know its name. The mother was killed in the fire. I snatched the baby up and ran.”

  * * *

  She swallowed hard, feeling deep sorrow for the orphan, grimacing at the acrid taste of smoke.

  * * *

  Sister Mary Gertrude nodded.

  * * *

  “You’re not the first to arrive with children whose parents were killed in the conflagration.”

  * * *

  “Oh no. There are more?” Sister Mary Agnes asked, her brown eyes distressed.

  * * *

  “Four more babies, two toddlers, and a child so far.”

  * * *

  “How terrible,” Sister Mary Agnes said, bouncing the child in her arms. The baby made a happy cooing sound, its blue eyes blinking at the nun.

  * * *

  “It is. Come, the others are in here.”

  * * *

  Sister Mary Agnes and Sister Mary Gertrude washed the dirt and soot off the baby. They changed the child, discovering she was a girl. Then Sister Mary Agnes wrapped the infant in a blanket. She held the baby with one arm. The warm, solid weight of the child was comforting, almost as much as the finger-worn beads of the rosary she held in her other hand.

  * * *

  The two Sisters looked around the room that housed the children and babies — all sleeping.

  * * *

  “The older children were able to tell us their names. But the babies…”

  * * *

  “Since the convent is likely burned,” Sister Mary Agnes said, feeling a strong resolution rising in her. “We can start an orphanage to care for these children. We will run a school, as well. I’ll speak to Mother Superior about it.”
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  * * *

  “It’s a good idea, Sister Mary Agnes. But what shall we call the girls until then?”

  * * *

  “Girls?”

  * * *

  The other sister nodded.

  * * *

  “The other babies are girls, too.”

  * * *

  “Well, this one I’ll call Mercy because that’s the first thing I said when I saw her.”

  * * *

  “And you found her in the street so her last name shall be Street.”

  * * *

  “Mercy Street. I’d like to live there,” Sister Mary Agnes joked and Sister Mary Gertrude smiled faintly.

  * * *

  Then they both grew solemn.

  “It is a tragedy what has happened to these children,” whispered Sister Mary Gertrude.

  * * *

  “It is. But I swear I will care for these children and help raise them properly,” Sister Mary Agnes said clutching her rosary and feeling the Holy Spirit suddenly filling her, making her purpose known. “We’ve lost our home but we’ll rebuild and we’ll give these children a place to grow and thrive.”

  * * *

  “It’s an inspired idea, Sister Mary Agnes.”

  * * *

  “May the Lord shine his light upon these children.” Sister Mary Agnes closed her eyes and mouthed a prayer.

  * * *

  “They shall be blessed, Sister Mary Agnes.”

  * * *

  And Sister Mary Agnes nodded firmly.

  * * *

  “They shall. May the Lord have mercy on their souls.”

  2

  It was a crisp, cold day in Boston with a sky so blue that Mercy could hardly believe it was real. The bright sunshine glanced off the snow, blinding her, but she welcomed it. She would rather the sunny glare than the dark, bone-chilling days of mid-winter. The sharp wind nipped at her cheeks, making them pink, but it lacked any true fury. It was nearly spring and Old Man Winter had almost given up. The nice weather made her almost cheerful. Almost, but not quite.

  * * *

  Mercy stopped for a moment, her hands shoved deep in the pockets of her warm coat, and stared up at the faded sign of the orphanage, feeling blessed. The wind rocked the sign back and forth, making a gentle creaking sound. She half-smiled, remembering the happy times she had spent there. She knew that many children had terrible experiences as orphans — but not Mercy.

  * * *

  The Ursulines had been kind. Mercy had enough to eat, a warm bed, and a good education. When she had been old enough, the nuns had helped her find a job on a farm near Boston. She’d had a good life at the orphanage. The nuns and other children had been like family.

  * * *

  None more so than the other four orphans who had been found on the same day as Mercy herself had.

  * * *

  Mercy gave the old sign one last look, promising herself that she’d stop in and see Sister Mary Agnes next week when she came in for supplies. She didn’t have the time today.

  * * *

  As Mercy approached the commons, she felt her feeling of gratitude ebb. Her heart ached at the thought of Cap, but she pushed the thought of him ruthlessly aside. He had left the city without a word. Clearly he hadn’t cared one whit for her. And she didn’t care for him, either. They had only known each other a few weeks. It wasn’t like they were engaged to be married or anything like that.

  * * *

  But she paused for a long moment and stared at the bench where he had held her hand. A bitter cold filled her that had nothing to do with the wintery day.

  * * *

  Then she shook the memory away. Cap was a scoundrel and she would never see him again. And for that, she was glad. She didn’t want to see him again.

  * * *

  She hurried on, forcing her thoughts to more pleasant things. Tonight Mercy would make her sisters chicken soup with dumplings. They loved her dumplings. It was to be a celebration, since Joy and Wesley had set a date for the wedding.

  * * *

  “Mercy.”

  * * *

  She turned, hearing a voice behind her. It was Charity. Of all her sisters, she was closest to Charity.

  * * *

  Of course, they weren’t real sisters. But they had made a blood vow when they were fourteen and the five young women considered themselves family. The blood vow was close enough for Mercy, who had no living relatives that she knew of. She wouldn’t have made it if it wasn’t for her sisters.

  * * *

  Mercy smiled as Charity approached. She couldn’t help but admire her sister’s beauty. She was blonde and pale with the loveliest skin and blue eyes like Mercy’s. But where Charity was fair, Mercy was dark. Mercy had brown hair and eyebrows and her skin was tanned from spending so much time outside.

  * * *

  Charity wore a lilac-colored dress that perfectly complemented her skin. She had made the dress herself, of course. Charity loved clothes and she was particularly handy with a needle.

  * * *

  “Mercy,” Charity gave her a quick hug and peeked in the bag she was carrying. “Are those the fixings for chicken soup and dumplings?”

  * * *

  “They are,” Mercy said. Charity threaded her arm through Mercy’s as the two continued walking down the street. “I thought we could celebrate Joy’s engagement. They’ve set the date, you know.”

  * * *

  Charity gave Mercy a look that said it’s nothing to celebrate.

  * * *

  Mercy was trying very hard to be happy for her sister, but they were all having difficulty considering the fact that Wesley was both a snob and also a drab, sallow fellow with hardly a penny to his name.

  * * *

  She had no idea why Joy was marrying him. Mercy was certain Joy didn’t love him, so she couldn’t understand why she would even consider a man like Wesley. There were much finer men who would be glad to marry Joy, even without a dowry or a family — she was so sweet and pretty.

  * * *

  But no. She was throwing her life away on this Wesley, with his red-tipped nose and habit of clearing his throat before he said anything, as if any words that were to issue forth were of particular importance. Even if he was only about to say that it looked like rain today.

  * * *

  “I know we don’t approve of him,” Mercy said, answering the look, though Charity hadn’t spoken. “But if Joy wants to marry him, then I think we should support her. No more trying to change her mind. We’re only pushing her towards him. You know how ornery Joy has always been.”

  * * *

  After all, it was Joy’s choice and Mercy would support her in it. She would make the soup and dumplings. She would smile. And she would no longer try to dissuade her sister from making what seemed to her a big mistake.

  * * *

  Charity sighed.

  * * *

  “Maybe you’re right. But it’s hard to see Joy making such a dismal match.”

  * * *

  “I agree. I’d rather see her become one of those mail order brides,” Mercy said, shuddering. Obviously, being a mail order bride was only hair’s breadth above choosing a terrible husband for yourself. At least with being a mail order bride, you couldn’t really be blamed if your husband was a louse.

  * * *