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“You’re comin’ with me.”
Kate blinked and glanced around the dingy room. “I don’t even know you. I don’t know where you live.”
“Spread out by Cooper Creek called Rock Ridge. House and livestock. I mean to take care of you. What more do you need to know?” Noah asked.
What more, indeed? Kate’s mind whirled with concern for her desperate circumstances, fear of the future and the shock of her missing husband’s death. The thought of her detested job in the laundry combined with her mother’s suffocating criticism convinced her. Kate had to get away.
And she might never have another chance.
Kate turned, grabbed a gunnysack and stuffed her meagre belongings into it. She didn’t pause to see if she’d forgotten anything, neither did she stop to think or reconsider.
Maybe she was crazy for leaving with a man she’d never met before. Maybe listening to his promises was rash.
But, then again, this could be the best thing that had ever happened.
Praise for Cheryl St John:
HIS SECONDHAND WIFE ‘A beautifully crafted and involving story about the transforming power of love.’ —Romantic Times BOOKreviews
PRAIRIE WIFE ‘This is a very special book, courageously executed by the author and her publisher. St John explores the catastrophic loss of a toddler in intimate, painfully beautiful detail. Her considerable skill brings the common theme of the romance novel— love conquers all—to the level of genuine catharsis.’ —Romantic Times BOOKreviews
SWEET ANNIE ‘A tale brimming with love…Ms St John delivers another wonderful Western historical romance…’ —Romance Reviews Today
THE DOCTOR’S WIFE ‘Cheryl St John gives testimony to the blessings of family and to the healing powers of love.’ —Romantic Times BOOKreviews
THE TENDERFOOT BRIDE ‘THE TENDERFOOT BRIDE is a rich tale of life on a ranch, but it is one of the most tender romances I have read in a long time.’ —The Romance Reader
Cheryl St John remembers writing and illustrating her own books as a child. She received her first rejection at age fourteen, and at fifteen wrote her first romance. A married mother of four, and a grandmother several times over, Cheryl enjoys her family. In her ‘spare’ time, she corresponds with dozens of writer friends, from Canada to Texas, and treasures their letters.
Recent novels by the same author:
SWEET ANNIE
JOE’S WIFE THE DOCTOR’S WIFE SAINT OR SINNER THE MISTAKEN WIDOW THE TENDERFOOT BRIDE ALMOST A BRIDE (in Wed Under Western Skies) PRAIRIE WIFE CHRISTMAS DAY FAMILY (in A Western Winter Wonderland)
HIS
SECONDHAND WIFE
Cheryl St John
The story is dedicated in loving memory to my sister-in-law, Judy Smith, who loved to read Harlequin and Silhouette novels and enjoyed so many of the talented category authors. I miss your phone calls, the cheese balls and especially—your laugh. See you soon.
Prologue
Copper Creek, Colorado April 1890
A sick feeling dipped in Noah Cutter’s stomach as he studied the approaching rider. He dropped the wire cutters and rolled his sleeves down over his arms, snatched the hat he’d hung on a nearby fence post and pulled the brim down to shade his face.
His brother was the only person who ever came to Rock Ridge unannounced, and though Noah hadn’t seen him for months, the man on the horse was definitely not Levi.
The horse slowed. Noah raised a palm. “That’s far enough.”
“I have a telegram for ya!” the rider called in the breathless voice of a young man.
“Stick it on the fence there and ride off.”
“The sheriff said it was important you read this. You might wanna send a reply.”
“Leave it on the fence then and back off.”
The youth slid uneasily from the horse’s back and loped to the fence. The breeze whipped the paper for an instant, but he flattened it, found an exposed end of wire and poked the missive over the point. He glanced nervously at Noah.
Noah observed in silence.
The lad grabbed the reins and led the animal a considerable distance away.
Slowly, Noah covered the expanse to the flapping paper and plucked it from the fence. Unfolding it, he read the telegram addressed to Sheriff Mc Hargue.
Holding body of man in mid to late twenties, fair hair, blue eyes. Gunshot. Pocket watch engraved: “All my love, Adrienne.” Saloon patrons claim owner from Copper Creek. Advise.
Matt Mc Hargue had added his own note at the bottom, two lines in black ink.
Maybe you’d better go see the body. Let me know if you want me to tell Estelle.
Noah stared at the words until they blurred and his stomach knotted. The pocket watch didn’t mean anything to him; his brother owned several and some had probably been gifts from any of the number of women he drew so effortlessly.
The word “gunshot” leaped out with frightening clarity. The description sounded like Levi, but it probably sounded like a hundred other men in the Rockies, as well. Blond hair and blue eyes didn’t have to mean the dead man was his brother.
The message didn’t sit well, but he wouldn’t bet that this couldn’t possibly be Levi. It could very well be. Noah had feared something like this for as long as he could remember. Levi’s reckless philandering was bound to get him into trouble sooner or later.
As much disdain as his stepmother held for Noah, he couldn’t let the sheriff be the one to give Estelle such alarming news. The dead man might not be her son, but if he was, his mother deserved more consideration.
Noah looked up. “Let the sheriff know I’ll tell Mrs. Cutter myself,” he called. “I’ll set out for Masonville at first light tomorrow.”
From where he stood, the lad raised a hand. “I’ll tell ’im.”
He climbed onto the back of his horse, gave Noah another quizzical
