Forget Me Not (47 page)

“Freckles wants to be with the rest of her kind.” Josephine walked around him with a shovel and loosened the dirt at the base of the split rail.

J.D. kicked the post over; several other posts down the line fell as the boys clipped their segments free. Soon the space was wide open.

Boots did a little tip of his hat from his seat in the wagon. Josephine smiled at him. He'd given her away at their small, but nonetheless inspiring, sunset wedding on the top of the Tepee Range. She and Boots had prepared the wedding feast themselves.

Josephine gazed at the band of gold on her finger, the sunlight glinting off the precious circle. She cherished it more than anything she'd ever owned.

The wind ruffled her skirt, beneath which she wore trousers. It was easier to ride with the pants, but she liked the femininity the skirt had to offer. In a couple of months, she wouldn't be able to fit the pants on at all. She hadn't told J.D. yet, but she planned to once they were at the spring range. If he knew her condition now, he probably wouldn't let her go. And where would a chuck wagon be without the cook?

J.D. had hired Matt Sellars after all. He'd taken up the kitchen duties and would go along for the drive, but Josephine wanted to do the pie baking for the boys.

Freckles came trotting over, tail swishing and looking to Josephine before running off toward a patch of sagebrush where the calf's cousins lay with lazy eyes.

J.D. drew up to her and put his arm around her waist. “Just because the fence isn't there doesn't mean this land isn't yours. It is, and it always will be.”

She nodded with a knowing smile. “I just don't like fences, is all. I like the wide open.”

Winking at her, J.D. headed down the line toward the boys.

Josephine watched him go, her heart so swelled with love she thought she'd die of happiness.

Seasons for her had always meant changing fashions and parties. They now represented a greater importance. Here, seasons dictated a way of life. Birthing and regrowth. An anxious earth, waiting for its pleasure, and so grateful in return by giving back the grass and greenery. It was a life cycle in which the simple things mattered.

An hour later, when the fence had been cleared away and the pieces loaded into the back of the buckboard, everyone headed home. J.D. and Josephine straggled behind.

Tequila and Peaches probably thought it an entirely silly proceeding, but they reluctantly allowed themselves to be persuaded closer together, and then Josephine took her pleasure in another range technique.

A kiss while in the saddle could be very satisfactory.

Dear Readers:

Thanks to Barbara Ankrum and Rachel Gibson for their helpful critiques of this novel. Most especially to Sue Rich, who was extremely insightful. And without a doubt to Caroline Tolley, whose patience and understanding is what every writer dreams of in an editor. Without the library of Rose Gonzales at my disposal, in all likelihood this story would have taken on a different twist. Reading diaries and nonfiction accounts of women in the West unglorified my predisposed opinion that Wyoming in the mid-1800s would have been a cool place to live.

Although I'm a skilled chef in my own modern kitchen, I'd like to think that I could have done as capable a job as Josephine did on the trail drive over her fire pits; but when it comes to “camping,” I'm a wimp. Unless there's a hot shower and a flushing toilet available, it's not for me. Oh, and insect repellent is a must.

To appease my family's yearly insistence that I go on a camping trip with them, I just bought an eleven-by-eleven-foot dome tent, two queen-size air mattresses, four cushy sleeping bags, a propane stove, a propane lantern, and some flashlights. I figure if I have to go along, we're going to do it with as little “roughing it” as possible.

I hope you enjoyed J.D. and Josephine's story. Let me know what you thought of
Forget Me Not.
As always, a self-addressed stamped envelope is helpful in speeding my reply.

Happy Trails,

Stef Ann Holm

P.O. Box 121

Meridian, ID 83680-0121

Books by Stef Ann Holm

Portraits

Crossings

Weeping Angel

Snowbird

King of the Pirates

Liberty Rose

Seasons of Gold

Forget Me Not

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

POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster Inc.

1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

www.SimonandSchuster.com

Copyright © 1997 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 978-1-4516-1404-6

ISBN 978-1-5011-1021-4 (ebook)

First Pocket Books printing May 1997

POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster Inc.

Cover art by Kam Mak