Branded Hearts
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Excerpt
Dear Reader
Title Page
About the Author
Dedication
Prologue
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
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Copyright
“Does your fiancée know you make a habit of kissing other women?”
“Not other women.” He folded his arms. The material of his shirt strained across the expanse of his chest. “Just you.”
“And what does that mean? I don’t count?” Silence answered her question. The realization cut her to the quick. “You don’t think I’m worth much, do you?”
“Abigail’s a woman of breeding. Hell, her uncle owns—”
“Your integrity?” Kit unleashed her own anger. “Just because you think my lineage isn’t rich enough doesn’t give you the right to maul me and walk away with a clean conscience.”
“You don’t understand.” Garret spoke through clenched teeth. “Abigail’s name carries a lot of respect.”
“Well, it’s a good thing it does. ‘Cause you haven’t any.” Kit felt tears sting her eyes. He considered her good enough to seduce but not good enough to be seen with in public…!
Dear Reader,
Autumn is such a romantic season—fall colors, rustling leaves, big sweaters and, for many of you, the kids are back in school! So, as the leaves fall, snuggle up in a cozy chair and let us sweep you away to the romantic past!
We are delighted with the return of Diana Hall with Branded Hearts, a terrific Western chock-full of juicy surprises! Here, a privileged young woman is on a quest to find the man who attacked her family. When she goes undercover as a cowgirl, she soon must fight her feelings for her boss, a stern cattle rancher, and eventually choose between love and vengeance…
Jacqueline Navin returns with Strathmere’s Bride, an evocative Regency-style historical novel about a darling duke who suddenly finds himself the single father of his two orphaned nieces, and in dire need of a wife! Briana by bestselling author Ruth Langan is the final book of THE O’NEIL SAGA. Here, a feisty Irish noblewoman falls in love with a lonely, tormented landowner, who first saves her life—and then succumbs to her charms! In The Doctor’s Wife by the popular Cheryl St. John, scandalous secrets are revealed but love triumphs when a waitress “from the other side of the tracks” marries a young doctor in need of a mother for his baby girl.
Enjoy. And come back again next month for four more choices of the best in historical romance.
Sincerely,
Tracy Farrell
Senior Editor
P.S. We’d love to hear what you think about Harlequin
Historicals! Drop us a line at:
Harlequin Historicals
300 E. 42nd Street, 6th Floor
New York, NY 10017
Branded Hearts
Diana Hall
DIANA HALL
If experience feeds a writer’s soul, then I must be stuffed.
I’ve worked as a pickle packer, a ticket taker at a drive-in movie, a waitress, a bartender, a factory worker, a truck driver cementing oil wells in south Texas, a geological technician with oil companies, a teacher, a part-time ecological travel agent and now an author. The only job I’ve kept longer than five years is wife and mother.
A geographical accident, I was meant to live in the South. After high school I left rural Ohio and attended college in Mobile, Alabama. There I fell in love with balmy nights and the beaches of the Gulf. I lived in Texas, but now live in the Lehigh Valley of Pennsylvania with my understanding husband, a beautiful daughter, a sedate, overweight collie and a hyperactive dalmatian.
To Mom and Dad:
Thanks for all the love and support through the years,
especially this past one.
Thanks for being there when I needed you most.
Love,
Your daughter Diana
Prologue
Denver, Colorado, 1865
Katherine Benton’s hands shook as she ran them down the soft silk of her mourning dress. She had to remain firm, no matter how Father tried to manipulate or frighten her. This time, her will would prevail over her father’s. Her mother’s last wish would be granted.
Taking a deep breath, she demanded, “Mama asked me—no, begged me with her dying breath—to find my brother. And I will, just as soon as you tell me why I never knew he existed.”
Sam Benton rested his elbows on his mahogany desk. An angry flush of red tinged his neck and cheeks. Gritting a smile, he cajoled, “Kathleen was delirious in fever before she died. Forget those ramblings.” He pointed to the stack of papers surrounding him. “Now, kitten, I have work to do.”
Katherine gathered her fortitude and patience. She wasn’t one of her father’s lackeys, and she refused to be dismissed as one. “I’m almost sixteen, Father, not six. You don’t need to protect me from the truth.”
The gentleness left Sam Benton’s face, replaced with the ire of a man used to getting his own way. “It’s a cruel world out there, daughter. Be glad I’m here to run interference.”
“Mama may have allowed you to keep her in a gilded cage, but not me. I’m tired of you telling me what I can and cannot do. You won’t even allow me to see your own brother and his family.”
“Eli’s a wastrel, riding on my coattails. That daughter of his is no better. They would only use you.”
“Well, maybe I’ll use them—to help me find my brother. I’m stronger than Mama,” Katherine stated. “I’m not afraid.”
“Well, you sure as hell should be,” her father roared. “Perhaps I’ve protected you too much. A little fear is a good thing.”
Drawing a cigar from his desk humidor, he let his dark gaze search her face. “Hearing about your mother’s life might make you understand.”
He lit the stogie and inhaled deeply. As the smoke left his lungs, he released his story. “Kathleen’s family was well off back east. When she was about your age, she ran away and married a ne’er-do-well by the name of Stoker. Her husband then blackmailed the family. If they wanted to be sure their precious daughter was safe, send more money. Her family hired me to find Kathleen and bring her home.”
“I never knew anything of this.” Katherine slowly sank into the leather-bound chair, stunned by the revelations of her mother’s past. Mama had always been so quiet, so afraid.
Sam’s face and tone hardened. “Before I could find her, the bastard had taken the family’s last dollar and abandoned Kathleen in the wilderness. Alone, hungry and nearly dead from exposure.”
“Is that when you found her?” Katherine wrapped her arms around her shoulders, feeling her mother’s misery. How could her delicate mama have survived such hardship?
The stern lines of Sam Benton’s face deepened with anguish. “I didn’t save her, a Cheyenne brave did. Eagle Talon nursed her back to health. Got her with child.”
“My brother?” Elation bloomed in Katherine’s heart. Her mother had not been just rambling with fever. She had a brother to find, and her mother’s last wish to fulfill.
Her father nodded. “I never stopped looking for her. After three years, the government made a treaty with the Cheyenne. All white captives had to be returned or the villages would be burned. Kathleen left, but decided that the boy should stay with his father. Better to grow up a Cheyenne warrior than cursed as a half-breed.”
Katherine’s own heart broke at the thought of abandoning a child. The act must have haunted Mama all this time. “She must have been brokenhearted to lose a child and the man she loved.”
“Loved?” Sam roared. He jumped from his seat, sending ash over the Persian rug. “I’m the only man your mother ever loved. Kathleen had a schoolgirl infatuation with Stoker and felt only gratitude for that Indian buck.”
Sam ran his fingers through his gray hair, his voice cracking. “I found her when she came back to the fort, confused, weak and nearly broken with sorrow. I married her and vowed to erase those horrible memories from her mind. So we moved west, where no one knew us or her story. I built an empire of beef, mining and stocks. I bought Kathleen everything she wanted and kept her safe. Kathleen loved me, and only me, because I protected her.”
Her father came to Katherine’s side. “And when you were born, I swore no one would ever hurt you like that.”
Now Katherine understood her father’s anger. This lost child represented a living reminder of Father’s inability to protect and find his wife. And a rival for her love.
Pretending submission, she asked, “But what happened to the boy?”
“He’s an uncivilized savage on a Cheyenne reservation. Leave Winterhawk be.” The last came out a command. “He belongs to your mother’s past, not your future.”
Sam pulled her from her seat. “And to ensure that, you are to stay in your room. Tomorrow, you are going back to Boston and finish your schooling, not searching the Colorado Territory for some Indian.”
This time, Katherine could not fight her father’s will. Sam propelled her up the stairs and into her room. Closing the door, he spoke as the key locked her in. “You’ll thank me for this someday.”
“No, I won’t,” Katherine fumed. “And I will find my brother.” How hard could it be to find one half-Cheyenne young man named Winterhawk on a reservation? How hard would it be to convince him they were brother and sister?
Opening the silver filigree box on the vanity, she removed her mother’s jewels. These pearls, ruby pendants and diamond pins would finance Katherine’s search for her brother, for her mother’s son.
Her blue traveling gown lay across a trunk marked for Boston. Pulling out her sewing kit, Katherine began to sew the jewels into the full hem. Tomorrow, when Father thought she was on her way to Boston, she would get off the train, pawn a few gems and set off in search of her brother. From this moment on, Katherine promised, she would no longer be her father’s daughter. Instead, she would become her brother’s keeper.
Chapter One
Front Range, Colorado, 1868
Garret Blaine rode straight into a ranch yard full of commotion. Cowhands crowded the corral, yelling out bids. Dollars spilled from their lifted fists.
“What the hell’s going on here?” He gave each of the Rockin’ G wranglers a calculated glare. Hellfire! First the news from town of rustlers in the area, and now this.
Cracker, the cook, ambled over, the afternoon sun shining off his bald head. His porcupine whiskers bristled as he spoke. “I told Cade you weren’t gonna like this.”
Cade! Garret should have known his brother would be at the center of any fracas. The rocker on their brand stood for his younger brother; a deck of cards would suit him better. Garret dismounted and threw his reins at the ranch tenderfoot, Davidson. With long, skinny limbs, big feet and sad eyes, the boy looked like a hound puppy as he scrambled to retrieve the leather reins.
Garret used his height and the width of his shoulders to cut a wedge through the crowd. Guilty looks flickered over the faces of the cowhands. Standing with his feet wide, his arms crossed, Garret faced his brother.
It was like looking in a mirror—ten years ago. Cade’s hair was a shade lighter than Garret’s sandy color, and his eyes more blue than green, but the attitude was the same—cocky and arrogant.
Leaning against the corral post, Cade tipped back his new Stetson and appraised his brother with a mildly curious stare. “Howdy, Garret. Good time in town?”
Garret ignored the question, his attention riveted on the tall man standing next to his brother. He was bare-chested except for a buckskin vest, and his tree-trunklike arms were corded with power. Scars crisscrossed a chest so wide that if he sighed, a man would feel the draft. His dark hair hung in two thick braids. Skin the color of burnished copper and eyes as blue as the Texas sky heralded the man’s heritage. Half-breed.
Power radiated from the big Indian. And Garret detected a carefully controlled savagery in the man’s stare. Garret asked, “What’s he doing here?”
Cade’s lips tightened, then his aggravating grin returned. “I hired him to break the black.”
Inside the corral, the wild mustang bellowed a challenge. He shook his coal-black mane, then reared back, his deadly hooves shaking the ground.
“I told you to break that horse.” Prickles of impatience skimmed down Garret’s spine. While he broke his back working, Cade wasted time gambling. But what should he expect? Growing up in a saloon wasn’t the best schoolroom to teach responsibility.
The half-breed straightened. His voice rumbled like thunder. “We seek work. Not trouble.”
“Them’s cowboys.” Cracker gave Garret a nod and spit out a long stream of tobacco juice onto the ground. “They rode in with hackamores.” More than a little awe colored the old-timer’s comment. Only the best riders guided their horses with just a rope bridle.
They? Garret scanned the crowd. Standing a few paces from the tall Indian, a slight figure held the reins of two horses. Despite the thick shirt and fringed leather jacket, the boy couldn’t hide his age. There wasn’t even a trace of peach fuzz on his chin! Just a scrap of dark hair could be seen beneath the slouched brim of the youngster’s hat.
The boy looked up. A gaze, the identical shade of the Indian’s, contemplated Garret. The two must be brothers. That shade of ice-blue was too rare for happenstance.
Suspicion pricked his reasoning. Two drifters arrive on the same day as news of rustlers. “I’m not hiring.”
Cade traced the outline of the brand burned into the corral fence post. Letting his finger rest on the rocker, he said, “I thought this rocker on our brand C stood for me. Guess not.”
For a year, Garret had lectured, threatened and scolded Cade about taking more responsibility. “The ranch’s half yours.”
“Then I figure I can do some hiring since the ranch is half mine,” Cade said.
The government contract to supply the army forts with horses and beef came up for bid this summer. The Rockin’ G rode a tightrope between poverty and prosperity. That contract would guarantee enough income that Garret could start to make improvements on the ranch and generate some savings.
But Sam Benton held the most influence as to who would get the cavalry deal. In the last few years, the only thing of Benton’s that had grown faster than his bank account was his dislike of Indians. And then there was Abigail Benton, the old man’s niece. Garret had been courting the girl for six months, and she shared the same views as her prestigious uncle.
Hellfire! Cade couldn’t have chosen a worse time to hang Garret over the coals. He could feel the men’s gaze glued to him. Waiting. Ready to judge Cade’s position. Half owner or just a tolerated little brother? If Garret ever hoped to have his brother as a full partner, he couldn’t afford to embarrass him in front of the wranglers. And the Indian did look hard as a whetstone and tough as jerky—two traits that would help Garret protect the herd. “How do you know he can break a horse?”
Cade smiled and pointed to the churned ground in the corral. “I think we can test just how good a cowboy he is.”
The stallion raced along the fence, his mane flying, his tail high, pausing to trample some imaginary foe.
Garret barked, “The stallion’s a killer. Can you handle him?”
“If we do, will you give us a job?” the smaller Indian questioned as he pushed his way forward. His gaze fixed on the lathered sides of the stallion. He tucked a few loose hairs under his black felt hat.
“Break the stallion, and he’ll give you the ranch.” Cade chuckled.
“Don’t need a ranch, just a job.” The boy’s cold stare met Garret’s. For a youngster, the lad showed merit. His gaze didn’t falter as it drilled into Garret.
The two Indians were drifters. Trail dust layered their clothes and bedrolls. They’d move on after a few months, and the army would be none the wiser.
Garret knew what it was like to be spit on and insulted. Being the son of a saloon gal wasn’t much different from being half-Indian. “If the stallion is broken, Cade’ll hire your brother.”
“What about me?”
“I’ll give you a job for as long as you want it,” Garret promised.
The big half-breed gave the younger one a long, silent look. Without a word passing between them, a decision was made. Both moved toward the corral.
“Two bits says he lasts longer than any of us did.” Cade gave Garret a devilish wink.
“I’ll take that bet.” Cracker joined several other cowhands clamoring for a piece of the deal. Fists rose again, money exchanged hands.
Wranglers leaned against the top rail of the corral, eager to see exactly what the powerful Indian was capable of. The cowhands looked like a poorly constructed Navajo blanket. Their shirts wove an uneven line of desert reds and browns while their jeans formed a uniform lower border.
Both Indians walked into the corral. Pine needles littered the ground, soaking up the moisture from last night’s summer rain.
The big Indian carried an old flour sack, the boy lugged a dally saddle. The stallion paced, whirled, then raced toward the youth. While the small Indian plowed through the mud toward the fence rail, still toting the saddle, the older one whipped out the sack and covered the black’s eyes. Blinded, the animal halted, his nostrils flaring.
“Kit?” The big Indian faced his smaller brother as he held on to the stallion’s halter.
“I’m fine.” Kit’s breath came out in short bursts. He slapped on the saddle and tightened the girth. The stallion pranced sideways.
Cracker, the ranch doomsayer, muttered, “Pshaw! They done got the black madder than a cornered polecat. Ain’t that right, Candus?”
The old Buffalo soldier’s black face creased into deep furrows of worry. “Ain’t no one a-ridin’ that animal now.”
While the stronger Indian held the stallion’s halter, the boy eased up to the animal’s side. He held out his hands and cupped the horse’s velvety nose. Laughter and taunts from the sidelines melted away as the cowboys watched.
Nostrils flared, the stallion possessed a lot of fight. The boy lowered his head and let out a long, slow, even breath. The stallion stilled. Then the half-breed youth inhaled as the animal exhaled, stealing the stallion’s breath.
Silence settled on the scene, the cowhands and Garret mystified by the action. Again, the two adversaries exchanged breaths, as though they were exchanging souls. The stallion’s fidgeting quieted to an alert twitch of his ears.
The tall Indian removed the flour sack. In one fluid motion, Kit pulled himself up onto the stallion’s back and his brother released his hold on the halter.
Surprise flickered across the stallion’s expressive face. Uncertainty tensed his muscles. Pawing the ground, the horse took a few steps forward.
Kit straightened in the saddle. Garret heard him utter a few Indian commands he couldn’t understand, but the black did. The horse moved away from the rail toward the center of the ring, shivering, but held in check by the steady hands of his rider.
Indian magic? Garret doubted it, but there was something about the thin boy and the powerful horse that bristled the hair along his neck, made him feel he was seeing something unique and special.
“He ain’t done nothin’ yet.” Traynor stood, his belly dipping over his belt buckle. The best bronc rider on the ranch, he had been thrown twice by the black. Traynor’s hurt pride snarled his face into a mask of hatred. “Listen here, Cade, that don’t count none on the bettin’ time. He ain’t a ridin’ ‘im.”
Cade gave the angry man a crooked smile. “Bet was the Indian would last longer on the black than any of us. Nothing was said about which Indian or about just sitting.”
“Well, let’s see some ridin’ then.” Traynor tossed his high-crowned hat into the ring. The stiff brim struck the stallion in the corner of the eye.
Outrage and raw power broke Kit’s mystical control of the stallion. Stopping short, changing direction and bucking, the black fought to throw his rider. Mud flew into the air. The smell of crushed pine burned Garret’s nose. The fear of a crushed boy quickened his pulse.
Riding like a veteran cowhand, the slim boy clung to the horse’s back. With each lunge of the horse, Kit leaned back, one arm flying into the air to keep himself balanced. Shouts of encouragement for the rider and disapproval for Traynor created a noisy din.
The stallion twisted and gyrated. Foam spilled from his mouth and lathered the bit. The acrid scent of sweat and horses heated the air. Each time the animal’s crushing hooves pummeled the ground, Garret expected to see the Indian boy fall and the stallion trample the life from him. Yet Kit outthought and outmaneuvered the horse. Perhaps they truly had exchanged souls along with their breath.
His most ingenious tactics a failure, the stallion gave a few halfhearted kicks. Sweat dripped from the girth. The horse sucked in deep breaths of air. Surrender loomed just ahead.
A calm settled over the corral. Cracker stopped in mid-chew, watching the boy and the horse. “If I live to be a hunerd, I’ll never see a ride like that again.”
One look at the older Indian, and the calm shattered. Anger blazed across the red man’s face and his stare centered on Traynor. With his brother back in control of the horse, he headed toward Traynor, his tight fists flagging a warning. The cowboy made a beeline for the barn.
The half-breed was loaded to the muzzle with rage, ready to kill. Garret jerked his thumb toward the barn. Cade slipped away from the fence and headed for Traynor. A fight, with fists or guns, could always draw Cade’s attention. Garret cut off the Indian and faced down the taller man. “Traynor’ll get what he deserves.”
Fists the size of cannonballs slowly unclenched. The Indian took a step back, a look of sarcastic disbelief on his face. “Then I will see your judgment. But if I do not agree, I will see the man pays a harsher price.”
With the Indian at his heels, Garret strode into the barn. Irritation, with the Indian and Traynor, made Garret’s lips twitch into their usual scowl.
“I came to collect my winnings.” Cade blocked Traynor into a stall.
“I ain’t a-paying you squat.” Traynor lowered his head and charged. Stepping aside at the last minute, Cade watched the muscle-bound cowboy run by and crash against the opposite stall gate.