Crossings (45 page)

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” Judge Douglas proclaimed to Emilie and Thomas. Then to Helena and Jake with a broad smile, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. Again.”

The small crowd of well-wishers laughed. Helena and Jake had decided to retie the knot, as their first wedding had been nothing more than a filing of papers. This new ceremony brought with it everything a marriage should. Honor, hope, and love.

Helena lifted herself on tiptoes and kissed Jake softly on the mouth. While Thomas took her sister into his arms and gave her a thorough kissing that had several in attendance whooping with cheers. Congratulatory claps followed as Helena and Emilie greeted those who stood around them.

It was a lovely October day. The kind that had leaves falling in golden hues and swirling around the pristine hems of their gowns. Helena had never thought there would come a time when she would see herself so utterly contented that she wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

She looked up and saw Jake talking to Captain Garrett and several other men from the company. Beyond the group was a paddock of mustangs. Two of the mares would foal in the spring. With the army in constant need of horses, she and Jake would make a decent living. His idea had been the better one, and the most practical for all parties involved. She'd known what a sacrifice it had been for him to make the arrangement with Captain Garrett. She was proud of him for it and told him so.

Gazing at Thomas, she smiled. He'd healed, but hadn't returned to riding when the Express started up again in late June. He'd stayed on at the station, running it now with the seasoned eye of a veteran who knew the terrain and had the utmost respect for those men who risked their lives on a daily basis. Helena and Jake had given Thomas six new mustangs as a
wedding gift. Helena loved her brother-in-law as if he were the brother she'd never had. He was a good, competent man, and Emilie had done well for herself.

Things had turned, much like the leaves as the seasons had progressed. Life was treating them well, and as for the past, it was not often in Helena's mind. There was that one moment when Bayard had stolen into her thoughts when she'd found out what happened to him, but that had been months ago. He hadn't stood up against the charges brought on him. The military had issued an escort for him to the capital of the Utah Territory, but en route, the coach and its conveyance had been ambushed by Paiutes. Bayard had been killed along with three other men. Helena had felt a fleeting remorse. She hadn't wanted him dead . . . she'd wanted him to have to address his crimes and pay for them.

But she couldn't look back. . . . There was no more of that. Time went forward. So did she. There were so many things to rejoice over. Her husband, just for starters.

Jake drew up to her side. “Let's say we slip away.”

“From our guests?”

“Sure. The kitchen to our house is almost finished.” Her gaze fell on the log cabin behind Jake. “I wanted to show you the view.”

Her brows arched as he took her hand in his. “I've seen the view. It looks out at the valley, just like I told you I wanted it to.”

“But today it looks better.”

“I think you're just trying to get me away from everyone.”

“I think you're right.”

He led her up the split-log steps that climbed to a covered porch spanning the length of the cabin's front. There was a swing suspended by thick rope, a single potted plant next to it with a ruby-colored geranium, and a horseshoe nailed above the front
door for luck. Obsi lay on the planks, his head on his paws. He'd run himself down some hours earlier when all the guests had arrived with baskets of food to stock the larder of the new house.

Once at the door, Jake wouldn't let her pass.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“You can't walk through there.”

“Why not?”

“Because I'm going to carry you.”

“Oh, really,” she scoffed. “That's silly. I can—”

He scooped her into his arms, and Obsi threw his head back and grinned while she giggled.

Jake made a huffing noise from his throat. “You're getting heavy. But not too heavy for me.”

The secret within made her smile with love and tenderness. The impossible had happened, and she still couldn't believe that fortune knew there was a place for them. “Because there are two of us.”

“I know that.” He dropped a kiss on her cheek. “Come February, you think it'll be a boy or girl I get to hold?”

“I told you, I don't know.”

“My mother said in her letter, it sounds like a boy.”

Helena smiled. “Well, when she and your sister, Sarah, arrive next week, I'll let them both figure it all out.”

Giving her a gentle squeeze, Jake whispered, “I love you, you know.”

“I love you, too.”

Then he bumped the door open with his foot and made the traditional crossing over the threshold with his bride.

There's something to be said about being known as a writer who tends to write humor. It's hard to be serious! But with
Crossings,
the group of misfit western characters that usually come to my fingertips at the keyboard all went into hiding. Carrigan and Helena, and the people of Genoa, were not my normal, colorful mixture of characters. I hope that you, the readers and booksellers, will feel comfortable with the change of tone and style and enjoy this story as much as you have my prior books.

As usual, I haven't done this alone. I want to thank Dorine Taggart, a fellow mom and neighbor here in this rural area we live in. As a transplant from the city, I just assumed that when mares foaled, you had high drama. You had to be in the barn with the lantern burning bright and biting your nails awaiting the big event as if the mare weren't capable of this feat on her own. Dorine set this citified girl straight—quick. She's offered to let me learn about horses via her minis. A good choice for this chicken, as I'm scared to death of anything with hooves and bigger than me.

I have to say that I could not have written this story as it is without the help of a very dear friend, Barbara Ankrum. Her insight with conflict and plotting was pivotal to me, without which
Crossings
would have taken a completely different turn—for the worse.

My sister, Michele, and her husband, Joe, were helpful in filling in the holes about Genoa
and its history. Thank you so much for extending your hospitality to our family this past summer.

And lastly, a moment of praise for the best editor in the business. Without Caroline Tolley, none of you would be able to read my books in the quality she demands of me—nothing less than I am capable of. Her willingness to listen to my stories before they are developed, and give me constructive advice, is what makes writing worth it for me.

Thank you to the booksellers who continue to voice their generous opinions of my books. Without you, none of us would be here.

For those readers who are wondering about what's up and coming . . . it's back to the funny side once again, with a dash of intrigue, a look at the West around the turn of the century, and a repertoire of the most whimsical characters I've done yet. Coming soon from Pocket Star Books is
Portraits.
I hope you'll watch for it.

As always, I enjoy hearing from readers. Drop me a note and let me know what you thought of
Crossings.
A self-addressed stamped envelope is helpful and speeds up my reply.

Happy trails,

Stef Ann Holm

P.O. Box 121

Meridian, ID 83680-0121

Books by Stef Ann Holm

Seasons of Gold

Liberty Rose

King of the Pirates

Snowbird

Weeping Angel

Crossings

Published by POCKET BOOKS

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

An
Original
Publication of POCKET BOOKS

A Pocket Star Book published by

POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster Inc.

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www.SimonandSchuster.com

Copyright © 1996 by Stef Ann Holm

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

ISBN: 978-1-4516-1407-7

ISBN: 978-1-5011-1069-6 (eBook)

First Pocket Books printing January 1996

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