Prairie Cowboy
Indulge your fantasies of delicious Regency Rakes, fierce Viking warriors and rugged Highlanders. Be swept away into a world of intense passion, lavish settings and romance that burns brightly through the centuriesLinda Ford grew up devouring books and making up stories in her head often late at night when she couldn't sleep. But she hadn't planned to write. Instead, she dreamed of running an orphanage. In a way, that dream came true. She married, had four homemade children, adopted ten and lived (at times, endured) the dream. During one of those times when the dream seemed more like a nightmare, when several of the kids were teens and acting out in weird and awful ways, she discovered the wonderfully controllable world of writing.Writing first took her to non-fiction human-interest articles for newspapers and eventually a non-fiction book about tuberculosis set in the 1930s and 1940s (Touched By The White Plague). But romance had always been her first love and she turned to writing love stories. She is multi-published in the CBA market.She lives on a small ranch in Alberta where she can see the mountains every day. She and her husband continue to enjoy their children and grandchildren. Linda also provides care for a paraplegic, double-amputee man. She still finds a great deal of enjoyment and satisfaction in creating imaginary worlds, only now she does it on paper or rather, at the computer.
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“Where did you learn to do that?”
“What? Tidy my hair?”
“No. Halter a bull. Not many women can do that. Lots of men can’t, in fact.”
Virnie chuckled. “Surprised you, didn’t I?”
Conor laughed, too. “You could say that.”
“I have to admit, it feels good to surprise Conor Russell.”
“Why is that?” He moved closer. In the light from the open door she saw his eyes were dark and watchful.
She met his look without revealing any sign of how her nerves jittered at having him so close.
“Because you have it all figured out. Women are weak and useless. There is no place for them on the farm or in your life. And pretty things have no value.”
He didn’t speak or indicate how her statement affected him.
“Maybe I proved you wrong.”
LINDA FORD
shares her life with her rancher husband, a grown son, a live-in client she provides care for and a yappy parrot. She and her husband raised a family of fourteen children, ten adopted, providing her with plenty of opportunity to experience God’s love and faithfulness. They had their share of adventures, as well. Taking twelve kids in a motor home on a three-thousand-mile road trip would be high on the list. They live in Alberta, Canada, close enough to the Rockies to admire them every day. She enjoys writing stories that reveal God’s wondrous love through the lives of her characters.
Linda enjoys hearing from readers. Contact her at [email protected] or check out her website at www.lindaford.org, where you can also catch her blog, which often carries glimpses of both her writing activities and family life.
I have loved thee with an everlasting love: therefore, with lovingkindness have I drawn thee.
—Jeremiah 31:3
Dedicated to the teachers who have touched my life and the lives of my children in a positive way and especially to godly teachers who both teach and live a Christian example. May you be blessed in your work.
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
Letter to Reader
Questions for Discussion
Chapter One
Dakota Territory, 1886
Her dream was about to come true in living, vibrant color.
In a few minutes she would welcome her first class of students. Eighteen-year-old Virnie White stood in the doorway of the brave little white schoolhouse and watched the children arriving in the schoolyard. The brittle yellow grass had been shaved by one of the fathers and the children’s feet kicked up soft puffs of dusty mown grass.
A horse entered the gate of the sagging page wire fence. The rider, a man, reached behind him. A child grabbed his arm and dropped to the ground.
The boy wore overalls that looked as if the only iron to touch them had been a hot wind. He wore a floppy hat that did little to hide the mop of wild brown curls. He needed to be introduced to a pair of scissors.
Virnie expected the father to ride away as soon as the boy got to his feet but he hesitated, glancing about until he saw her in the doorway. She felt his demanding look and gathered her skirts in one hand and hurried across the yard. He dismounted at her approach. She held out her hand to the black-haired man. “Miss Virnie White, the new teacher.”
He took her hand in his large, work-worn grasp and squeezed. “Conor Russell.”
She pulled her hand to her side. “And this is…?” The boy raced over to join the boys in kicking around a lump of sod.
“Ray.”
“How old is Ray?”
“Eight.”
At the note of longing in the man’s voice, Virnie turned. His gaze followed his son, concern evident in the tense lines around his eyes and the way he pressed his lips together. She studied him more closely. A handsome man with thick black hair that needed trimming almost as much as his son’s, eyebrows as black as his hair, and dark blue eyes that shifted toward her, giving her a look as full of challenge as the superintendent had given at her interview.
She lifted her chin, clasped her hands together and met the man’s look without flinching.
“Ray…well, Ray is…” He shifted his gaze past her to the men in the wheat field bordering the schoolyard.
She’d watched them earlier as they tossed stooks into the wagon and had breathed in the delightful nutty scent of ripe grain.
“What I’m trying to say is Ray’s mother is dead.”
One thought vibrated through her brain. A widowed father who cared about his child. She wanted to squeeze his hand and tell him how noble and wonderful he was. But the knowledge of his concern picked at a brittle scar and somewhere behind her heart a tear formed. Willing herself to ignore the place that held those hurtful things, she tipped her chin higher. Her lips felt stiff as she spoke. “Mr. Russell, rest assured I shall treat Ray with kindness and fairness.” As she intended to treat all the children.
He touched the brim of his hat in a gentlemanly expression that made her feel she had given him the assurance he needed. “I hope so.” He swung back into the saddle and kicked his horse forward, urging the animal to a gallop as soon as he left the schoolyard.
