Rimfire Bride Read online

  Critics adore Sara Luck’s blazingly hot Western romances!

  TALLIE’S HERO

  A Publishers Weekly Top 10 Romance for Fall 2012

  The dangerous American West is no place for a genteel British novelist fleeing a scandal . . . but one plucky lady embraces the spirit of Wyoming—and captures the heart of her new hero, a daring rancher with big dreams of his own.

  “The Wild West retains its appeal in Tallie’s Hero.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Steamy Western romance.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  More praise for Sara Luck and her novels

  CLAIMING THE HEART

  As the Texas and Pacific Railroad expands across the wild frontier, a spirited young woman experiences the triumphs and tumult of building a part of history . . . and loving a track man bound to a politically powerful family.

  “Terrific. . . . Sara Luck provides an enjoyable nineteenth-century Americana tale starring two fabulous protagonists.”

  —Genre Go Round

  “Luck captures the true essence of the Texas frontier, the expansion of the railroads, and the determined men and women of the West. . . . Well-researched. . . . A fast-paced story with plenty of action and engaging characters.”

  —Romantic Times

  SUSANNA’S CHOICE

  The acclaimed debut novel from Sara Luck!

  In a dusty Nevada mining town, an aspiring newspaperwoman crosses paths with a wealthy entrepreneur from San Francisco, and everything changes—including her own uncertain destiny.

  “An exciting read. . . . A passionate, adventure-filled historical romance.”

  —Shadowfire Press

  “Heartwarming. . . . Rab and Susanna have a sweet relationship that slowly evolves into a sensual, loving romance. . . . This one’s a keeper!”

  —Night Owl Reviews (5 stars, A Night Owl Top Pick)

  “Sara Luck has skillfully interwoven a solid story line of greed and corruption with a just-right soupçon of romantic tension.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “It has everything a historical romance reader could want—love, danger, secrets, destiny, fate, seduction, passion, silver mining, and finding true love. An exciting story with strong characters and vivid descriptions of Americana history.”

  —My Book Addiction Reviews

  “A promising debut.”

  —Romance Views Today

  “Luck is an author to watch. Her well-developed characters, accurate historical settings, and hot, naked men will have readers turning pages.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  Thank you for purchasing this Pocket Books eBook.

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  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  About Sara Luck

  ONE

  Highland, Illinois—September 1882

  Jana Hartmann had just released her class and was wiping the chalkboard when she heard a young voice behind her.

  “Miss Hartmann, you are the bestest teacher I’ve ever had,” six-year-old Stanley Fickert said.

  “Well, thank you, Stanley,” Jana replied. “And even though I’m the only teacher you’ve ever had, I do appreciate your thoughts. But I’m sure you meant to say I am the best teacher you’ve ever had.”

  “Yes, ma’am, that’s what I said. You are the bestest teacher in the whole world, I bet.”

  Stanley ran to Jana and buried his head in her skirt as he squeezed her around the legs, then, with childlike embarrassment, turned and ran out of the classroom.

  She smiled as she watched the boy disappear through the door, then she picked up the feather duster and began cleaning chalk dust off the oak desk that sat at the front of the room.

  Jana enjoyed teaching youngsters. Hearing the praise that Stanley had just given her was a huge motivator to carry on with her exhausting day. She arrived at the schoolhouse before seven each day, where she taught more than fifteen children, ranging in age from Stanley’s six, to three young ladies who were nearly fourteen. She smiled when she thought of “her girls,” as she called them. Any of the three was capable of taking her job, and she called upon them often to act as tutors to the younger children who were enrolled. She found teaching to be pleasant, at least pleasant enough to take her mind off her second job.

  Glancing up, she saw that the big clock above the blackboard showed a quarter to three. She was going to be late, and that wasn’t good.

  Quickly, she put away her duster and grabbed some composition books that she would grade before turning in for the night. Putting them into her knapsack, she hurried out the door, setting the latch as she left. When she reached the road, she began to run with an easy lope. Being even a minute late was all it took to incur her stepfather’s sizable wrath.

  Jana’s father, Johann Hartmann, had died when she was three years old, and Marta, her mother, had remarried, to Frederick Kaiser, within a few months of Johann’s death. That happened in Geldersheim, Germany, twenty-one years ago. In truth, Mr. Kaiser was the only father Jana had ever known, but Jana found it telling that, for her whole life, she had never called him anything but Mr. Kaiser.

  Mr. Kaiser had a small farm in Germany, and in five years he and Marta, working both on his own farm and hiring out to others, saved enough money to emigrate to America. Jana, as a child, was left to care for her sister, Greta, who was four years younger. By the time Jana was five, she could build a fire and make eggs and toast for both herself and her sister, which allowed her mother to labor in the fields during the growing season.

  Jana was eight when they arrived in America. At first the family settled in St. Louis, with its large German population, but Frederick soon moved his wife and children thirty miles east to a small farm near a Swiss settlement that also had a large complement of Germans.

  Marta insisted that both girls get an education, and thanks to Sister Mary Kathleen, the kind old mother superior at St. Paul’s Catholic School, Jana excelled. When she arrived at St. Paul’s, she spoke no English, but within a year she was not only speaking English, but French and Latin, too. She also insisted that Jana not only continue to speak German, but learn to read and write it as well.

  Sister Mary Kathleen taught by dwelling on the good things the children did, and she seldom resorted to the switch for discipline. Now, in her own classroom, Jana tried to follow the old nun’s methods of seeking the good and sparing the rod.

  Even though Jana earned a salary from teaching school, she still lived and worked on the Kaiser farm just outside town. Because of Sister Mary Kathleen, Jana had been one of the first recipients of the state’s coveted township scholarship to go to Illinois State Normal College. But Mr. Kaiser had refused to allow her to travel the 150 miles to the school.

  Again, Sister Mary Kathleen had interceded. She arranged for Jana to use her scholarship to attend McKendree College, just sixteen m
iles away in Lebanon. That way, she could easily return home to help out in the fields when she was not in school. Jana had stayed with a doctor and his family during the week in Lebanon, and in exchange for her room and board, she was expected to do housework. But her room was not furnished, so her mother paid for that. When her stepfather found out that his money was going to Jana, he made her sign a contract with him to repay every cent with exorbitant interest. Now that she had returned to Highland and was living at home, he insisted she pay room and board.

  “You must hurry. Your Vater and Greta are in the field now, and the light, it will be gone soon,” Marta Kaiser said when Jana got home. Jana’s mother had lived in America for sixteen years, but still spoke English with a heavy accent, often throwing in German words.

  “He is not my father,” Jana replied in a low voice.

  “Ssssh . . . he has been your Vater since you were a little girl. There is much work to do.”

  Jana changed quickly into a faded denim dress, then pulled on a bonnet and tied the strings under her chin, covering her ash-blond hair. After pulling on gloves, she grabbed a cane knife from the back porch and hurried out into the field. There, her stepfather was cutting cornstalks while Greta stood them in shocks.

  Greta looked like a somewhat frailer version of Jana, with the same ash-blond hair and blue eyes. When the two young ladies were dressed up for church, they turned the head of every young man in Highland and were universally declared to be “the two prettiest young ladies in town.”

  Frederick, who was slightly shorter than Jana’s five foot eight inches, looked up as she approached the field. Frederick was strong from a lifetime of physical labor, with a round face and a misshapen nose, which was broken when he was a boy.

  “It is late you are, and this field we must finish before dark,” he said angrily.

  “I’m sorry, I had to clean my classroom.”

  “It is here your work is, not the Schule. And not the pictures you draw.”

  “I earn the money to pay you for my room and board at the school. And I paint on my own time.”

  “If you work hard like you should, you would have no time for art. No more talk now. Work.” Frederick motioned with his cane knife. “Your sister, since morning she has worked. You, you work only three, four hours today.”

  Frederick and the two young women worked in silence, chopping the cornstalks then standing them upright to allow thorough drying before storing them for feed for the livestock. The final task was the most irritating to Jana—twisting twine around the shock, taking care to prevent the errant dry leaves from cutting her arms and face.

  She looked toward Greta and noticed that she had fallen behind. Her sister was frail and suffered from a malady that made it difficult for her to breathe, and the dry corn silks made it nearly unbearable for her. Jana could hear her wheezing and gasping.

  “Papa, please,” Greta pleaded, “I cannot work anymore.”

  Frederick stopped and looked first at his daughter, then toward the setting sun. “We have maybe thirty more minutes. Then we quit.”

  Greta worked a few minutes longer, then with a groan, she dropped her cane knife and fell on her hands and knees gasping for breath. Jana hurried to her.

  “Get up!” Frederick yelled, dropping his knife and striding angrily toward them. “You lazy girl. Get up and finish this field before I give you a reason to crawl in the dirt!”

  “Leave her alone!” Jana said defiantly, her eyes staring pointedly at Frederick. “I’m taking her back to the house.”

  “She stays, and she works,” Frederick said as he attempted to grab Greta’s arm.

  Jana raised her cane knife. “Don’t you dare touch her!”

  Frederick stared at Jana, his face contorted by anger, then he turned away. “We will stop working for today.” He turned and started for the house, leaving Greta on the ground.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” Greta said between gasps for air.

  “How many hours have you worked today?” Jana asked as she helped her sister to her feet.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  Greta leaned heavily on Jana as they slowly made their way back to the farmhouse. When they arrived, Marta met them at the door, helping Jana get Greta to a bench.

  “I’ll get her a drink,” Marta said as she unhooked the dipper from the lip of the water bucket and filled it.

  While Greta drank, Jana massaged Greta’s lower chest with one hand and her back with the other. Eventually, Greta’s breathing returned to normal—not deep breaths, but at least no wheezing.

  “Mama, Greta can’t work in the field. Doesn’t he understand that she’s not well, and the corn silk is making things worse?”

  “Ich gab ihm keine Söhne.”

  “You’re right. You gave him no sons, but he can’t make boys out of us. Come, Greta, you need to lie down.”

  “But supper?”

  Just then Frederick came into the house, his hair wet from a dousing at the outside water pump. He went to the table without comment and took a helping from the bowl of noodles and cabbage that Marta had prepared for the evening meal. Jana noticed that he had taken at least three-fourths of the available food.

  It didn’t matter. Tonight, she would refuse to sit at the table with her stepfather.

  When Jana and Greta got up to their room, Jana helped Greta out of her dress. Jana went to the washstand and poured water from the pitcher into the bowl. With a soft cloth, she began wiping her sister’s face with the cool water.

  “Thank you,” Greta mumbled as tears began to run down her face. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Jana held her sister in her arms. “Tomorrow you rest, and I’ll let my girls take over the class. I’ll come home as soon as I can get them started, and the corn will be shocked lickety-split.”

  Greta lay back on the bed and soon fell into a troubled sleep. Jana picked up a candle and her knapsack, then sat down on the window seat. She needed to correct the compositions, but she wasn’t ready to do that just yet. She was so tired. If only she could fall asleep right now.

  Jana raised the window, putting a stick under the sash to keep it open. A gentle breeze was blowing, causing the still-green leaves on the maple tree to rustle. A large, yellow moon hung over the barn, bathing the farm in silver and shadow. As a child she had sat in this spot many times, watching the stillness of the night. She had never known anything but life on a farm, and the beauty of moments like this soothed her like a balm.

  But whatever beauty there was to see was spoiled by the thoughtlessness of the man who had governed her life for the last twenty years. At one time Frederick had a hired man to help him, but over the last few years money had been so dear that he had let the man go. She would have thought he would be pleased that she had a source of employment, but at times she thought he actually resented it.

  Sometimes Jana felt that he treated her as he did because she wasn’t his natural daughter. But in truth, he showed no favoritism with his cruelty. He treated Greta, his biological daughter, as harshly as he did Jana.

  After a light knock on the door, she heard her mother calling quietly, “Jana? Greta?”

  Jana hesitated for a second. She wouldn’t put it past Frederick to use his wife as a means of getting Jana to open the door.

  “Jana?” her mother called again. a little louder. “Are you awake? Ich habe Lebensmittel.”

  Taking a deep breath and bracing herself, Jana walked over to the door and jerked it open. Her mother was standing there, but no one else.

  “I don’t need any food, Mama. I’m not hungry.”

  “But take. Maybe later you are hungry.” Marta handed a burlap bag to Jana. “How is deine Schwester?”

  “She is sleeping.”

  “Can Greta go with you?”

  “What do you mean, can Greta go with me? Go where?”

  Marta looked up and down the hallway. “Today it was bad.” Marta shook her head. “If Greta stays here, I
think she might die. You can save her if you leave and Greta geht mit Ihnen.” Marta reached into a pocket of her dress and pulled out a cloth drawstring pouch, which she handed to Jana.

  In the dark, Jana could feel coins, and when she slipped the drawstring, she felt a roll that she assumed was paper money.

  “This is a lot of money, Mother. Where did you get it? If Mr. Kaiser discovers it is gone . . .” Jana let the sentence hang.

  “It is not Frederick’s money, it is my money. It is Ei Geld about which he knows nothing, and for a long time I have kept it.”

  “Mama, I can’t take the egg money you have saved for so many years, and I can’t leave you here alone with Mr. Kaiser. When he discovers we are gone, he will be very angry, and he will make you work even harder than you do now.”

  “He is very—wütend jetzt—angry now,” Marta repeated, finding the English words she was looking for. “I am an old woman. If I die, it is my time. Greta is jung, but twenty. It is not her time. You must take care of her, Jana, just as you did when you were ein Kind.”

  Jana looked back at Greta as she lay sleeping, the moonlight causing the shadows of the maple leaves to make eerie patterns on the wall. She knew her mother was right. Her sister would die if Frederick Kaiser continued to work her like a hired hand.

  “Oh, Mama, how do we do this?”

  “You are a strong woman, meine Tochter. You will find a way. Today I talked to Dewey Gehrig at the market. Go to him tonight. Early in the morning, he will take his pigs to the stockyard. He will take you and Greta with him and leave you at the depot. Dewey says there is a train nach Chicago. In Chicago ist meine cousin Marie. In there is a letter for her.” Marta pointed to the little cloth bag.

  Jana put her arms around her mother and held her close. She felt moistness on Marta’s cheeks. Jana could not recall having ever seen her mother cry. Jana knew then what a sacrifice her mother was making. She was sending away her two daughters, which meant she might never see them again, just as she had left her own mother when Frederick brought her to America sixteen years ago. Jana hugged her mother tighter and felt her mother’s arms around her. She felt her mother shudder; then Marta dropped her arms, recognizing the urgency of the moment.