JONAS’S DAUGHTERA WYOMING LEGACY SHORT

LACY WILLIAMS

A U T H O R ’ S N O T E

Many of you have emailed me over the past

handful of years, asking about Breanna’s story. I

am excited to tell you that Breanna is finally

going to get her own book in Spring 2019. She’s

fiercely independent, a tomboy who aches for

adventure, and of course she’s loved (coddled?)

by a big family and all the brothers that love her.

How on earth will she survive falling in love?

Stay tuned next spring to find out.

Thanks for reading this bonus short story. I

hope you enjoy it.

-Lacy

PART I

1898, BEAR CREEK WYOMING

No fighting.

Breanna White was the only girl whose

mother had given her that instruction on the

first day of eighth grade.

She was also the only girl in the one-room

Bear Creek school with seven older brothers.

It wasn't as if she walked around looking to

pick fights. She just had a low tolerance for

stupid people.

Like the other thirteen-year-olds—three boys

and one girl—sitting around her in school desks

that felt much too small, thanks to her late-

summer growth spurt.

Caleb Carter, Evan Heath, Boyd McDonald.

They'd been her friends until last spring, when

her body had begun changing without her

permission. And then all of a sudden, her

running around with them in trousers and one

of her brothers' shirts was inappropriate. They'd

been cruel to her ever since. She couldn't under‐

stand how breasts, small as they were, could

erase a decade of friendship.

She hated breasts.

Betsy McDonald, Boyd's twin, had never

liked her. Breanna was too rough-and-tumble

for the sissified girl.

Which meant her only friends in the class‐

room where her younger brother and sister, who

were currently sitting near the front of the class‐

room. Walt was a strapping seven, and five-year-

old Ida was enjoying her first day of school.

Breanna had almost made it through the first

day of school without getting into any alterca‐

tions. There was a half hour left before the

dismissal bell would ring. She'd spent most of the

day ignoring her former friends and trying to

hide the tears that kept pricking at the back of

her nose.

Come to think of it, along with unwelcome

breasts, she hated school, too. She'd begged to be

allowed to finish her schooling at home. She

could read well enough, and cipher. The only

thing she wanted to do as an adult was work the

family ranch. She didn't need more schooling

for that.

But Ma hadn't relented. So Breanna was here

today, counting the seconds until she was free.

Their teacher, Miss Garvey, had assigned the

older kids a series of arithmetic problems, which

she'd written on one corner of the chalkboard at

the front of the room.

Breanna's focus was on the slate in front of

her, but from the corner of her eye, she could see

Boyd chewing on his lip as he stared at his blank

slate. He'd always disliked arithmetic.

And she still thought of him as her friend.

"Psst." She shifted slightly in her seat, so that

her elbow wasn't blocking her slate. She edged it

slightly across the desk where he'd be able to see

it easily.

He grunted and shook his head at her.

What? He didn't want her help?

Hurt sliced through her like a scythe through

ripe grain stalks.

She bent her head over her slate, determined

to ignore him. Tonight, she'd continue her

crusade to get Ma to allow her to study at home.

She could learn plenty without this schoolroom.

She didn't need to sit next to a... a... stupid boy

with his stupid judgy attitude.

She'd worked up a good head of steam by the

time the teacher rang the dismissal bell. It was

the work of a moment to gather her two school‐

books and lunch pail. She'd wait for Walt and Ida

outside. Away from the other children in

her grade.

She'd barely stepped into the sunshine when

she realized Ma was waiting across the yard,

little Andrew perched on her hip. There was no

wagon in sight, which meant Ma had walked to

town, toting the one-year-old the entire way.

Either she'd been missing her youngest

daughter, or she'd wanted to check up on

Breanna. Maybe both.

Breanna sent a small wave their direction.

Nothing to see here.

Except Caleb and Boyd were the next two

bodies out of the schoolroom. Not her siblings,

like she'd hoped.

She turned her face away so they wouldn't see

the snarl crossing her lips. Stupid boys.

"Couldn't get away with wearing trousers to

school, huh?" Caleb taunted, voice low.

She often wore trousers while working the

ranch. Or riding. Or anytime that she could get

away with it. But Ma had laid down the law

about wearing dresses to school when Breanna

had been all of seven.

She glanced past the two boys but couldn't

catch sight of Walt or Ida inside the schoolroom.

What was taking so long? Had Ida's shoelaces

come untied? Maybe Walt had lost his lunch

bucket in the melee of students eager to get

outside.

Boyd edged into her space, and Breanna

looked up, surprised. "I don't need, or want, your

help." The venom in his voice shocked her. Gone

was the friend she'd hoped was still in there

somewhere. "I don't need help from an orphan-

girl like you."

The words shocked her. She'd watched her

older brothers—adopted, all of them—get into a

tussle or two over their parentage, but no one

had ever even breathed an insult like that in her

direction.

Because she wasn't an orphan. She was her

papa's daughter.

She hitched her chin, narrowed her eyes. "I'm

not an orphan and you know it. I don't know

why you're acting the dunce today, but I'm tired

of it."

Caleb wandered behind the schoolhouse, and

her focus narrowed to Boyd.

"Your brothers ain't gonna amount to nothin',

and neither are you, orphan-girl."

She didn't know why he kept saying that, and

it didn't matter anyway. She wasn't going to let

the slight against her brothers slide.

She shoved Boyd's chest. He might be six

inches taller, but she knew right where to put her

force. He had to take a step back or he'd have lost

his balance.

"Breanna!" Ma called out from across

the yard.

She ignored it.

Boyd smiled, an ugly twist of his lips. "You

gotta know it's true, now that your Pa has more

kids. They all look exactly like him. You don't.

You're as much an orphan as your big brothers."

"That's a lie." He wanted another shove, so she

gave it to him.

"Breanna!" Ma's voice was closer now, prob‐

ably close enough to hear their conversation. But

even the disappointment Breanna knew would

come wasn't enough to clear the red haze that

was settled over her vision.

She'd give him one more chance. "Take

it back."

He didn't. "You're an orphan."

One punch was all it took. A jab to his nose

that connected with a most satisfying crunch. He

crumpled to the ground with a howl of pain.

And as he went, she got a glimpse of Ma

rushing up behind him.

She'd expected to see an expression of horror,

and that was definitely there. But it was the

wide-eyed dismay that stopped Breanna cold.

That expression could only mean one thing.

Boyd had been right.

Breanna sat at the long hewn dining table in

Jonas's house. Her eyes were hot, but she didn't

quite know why.

The house was too quiet. That in itself was

strange. With a house so full, it was never quiet.

But Ma had sent everyone outside, including

the little ones, and was rustling around in the

kitchen while she waited for Jonas to come in

from the barn.

Breanna couldn't quite call him Pa right now,

not even in her own mind.

Ma hadn't said a word to her beyond "we'll

talk later" on the long walk home from school.

Walt and Ida had raced ahead, playing tag,

laughing and shrieking. As if nothing was wrong.

As if Breanna's whole world hadn't been

upended.

Now, Ma washed up some of the dishes that

had been left from the midday meal, her back to

Breanna, who felt the distance like a physical

wall between them.

Jonas came through the door, then, his face

creased with concern. "What happened? Don't

tell me there was a fight."

Looking at him, Breanna couldn't contain the

emotion bubbling just beneath her skin. She

couldn't hide all the fear and worry she felt, and

she buried her face in her hands.

She heard him move, steps across the kitchen

to where Ma stood. Heard the low murmur of

their voices.

She wasn't crying. She never cried. She

pushed back the tears by force of will, rubbing

her hands over her too-hot face.

Why hadn't she ever thought about it before?

She and Jonas shared the same brown eyes, but

that's where the similarities in their looks ended.

He was blond. She had brown hair. Still, she'd

never questioned it before.

But Walt and Ida and even baby Andrew had

Jonas's strong chin and the shape of his nose. It

was easy to see the family resemblance.

Breanna didn't have the same resemblance.

She heard Jonas's firm tread approach, the

soft swish of Ma's skirts.

She scrubbed her face again and lowered her

hands to her lap. She tried to fold them and

affect a serene countenance, the way Ma had

taught her when she was little. But her fingers

wouldn't untwist from the fists they were

clenched in.

Jonas sat beside her on the wood bench,

while Ma crossed to the other side and perched

there.

"Why didn't you ever tell me I was adopted?"

The question burst out, though Breanna had

meant to wait and see what Jonas would say.

His expression was one she'd rarely seen.

Jonas was even-tempered, patient, fair. Right

now, he looked angry. No that wasn't quite right.

Maybe frustrated. Or resigned.

"You've always been my daughter," he said

quietly, in his steady way. "From the very

beginning."

"But not your blood."

The words fell into the space between them,

like stones into a still pond.

Ma placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"No. Not my blood." The words came slowly.

Like he didn't want to say them. Or maybe that

was her mind, making it feel like time had

slowed like rolling molasses.

That hot sensation was back in her eyes.

She wouldn't cry.

She shook off Ma's hand, stood, and stepped

out of distance of their reach. She twirled to see

the both of them as they remained seated. "You

knew?" she asked Ma, her voice shaking. She

hated the sign of weakness.

Ma nodded. Her eyes were filled with tears,

though none had slipped free. "I figured it out, in

the beginning. Before we were married." She

gestured to Jonas. "But only because I knew your

—" She glanced at Jonas, who was frowning. "I

knew your mother in Philadelphia."

Breanna was shaking. She couldn't seem to

stop. She felt raw, like her skin was inside-out.

Was this betrayal?

She shifted from foot to foot. "What

happened to her? My real Ma? And my real Pa?"

Jonas flinched.

Penny scooted closer to him on the bench

and took his hand. "Won't you sit back down?"

But Breanna couldn't. Tingles of energy

coursed through her causing her to tremble.

How could her father… how could Jonas have

kept this from her all these years?

"I was working as a bricklayer's apprentice,"

Jonas said quietly. "You knew that. I was

rebuilding a wall where it'd crumbled and fallen.

It was right next door to a girl's school."

"A finishing school," Penny prompted softly.

"I never even spoke to any of the girls."

Penny and Jonas shared a soft look.

"I looked some," he admitted. He clung to his

wife's hand. With his other, he rubbed the back

of his neck, a sign of agitation.

"Your birth mama must've been sneaking

around. When she couldn't hide the fact that she

was carrying you, she blamed me. We'd never

even met."

"And you went along with it?" Why? Why

would he claim the unborn Breanna? It didn't

make sense.

Penny and Jonas shared a long look. Penny

was the one who spoke. "Your Pa knew abandon‐

ment," Penny said softly. "He didn't want that

for you."

Breanna knew Jonas had been abandoned by

his own father back in Philadelphia. It was one of

the reasons he’d opened his heart to the rag-tag

band of adopted boys that were her older

brothers.

Jonas rubbed his palm on his thigh. "Millie’s

accusation cost me my job. Her parents wanted

me to take the baby—take you—and disappear.

They offered me a small sum and told me never

to come back. So we came west."

He made it sound so simple. A stranger

taking on a baby. A man that her mother had

never met before.

The story was wild. And completely different

than what she knew of her brothers' circum‐

stances. They'd been alone thanks to the death of

their parents or had run away because of bad

situations.

She'd been discarded, sent away.

Breanna shook her head. Rejecting his words.

Rejecting the truth.

"My own ma… didn't want me?" She hated

the wobble in her whispered words.

Penny and Jonas rose, almost as one. They

both stepped toward her.

"Millie was..." Penny struggled for words.

"Selfish. She wanted a society marriage."

Breanna shook her head. She'd been given up

so her mother could marry?

She couldn't take in anything else. She didn't

know what to think, how to come to terms with

any of this.

She wasn't who she thought she was.

Before they could reach for her and enfolded

her in the hug she knew was coming, she turned

and fled from the house.

• • •

Breanna sat in the vee of her favorite climbing

tree down by the creek. She'd been in a such a

rush to escape, to climb, that she'd scratched her

cheek and ripped a hole in the hem of her dress.

Ma—Penny—would be mad.

Breanna couldn't stop crying.

Every time she wiped her tears away with one

grubby hand, more spilled over.

Thirteen years old, and she didn't know who

she was.

Jonas and Penny had let her run off. They

hadn't come after her. It'd been hours now, and

the sun was setting. If she didn't go back in,

they'd start to worry.

But she still couldn't stop crying.

Her head was hot and achy, felt stuffed with

cotton.

And she still couldn't stop.

Male voices preceded the sound of twigs snap‐

ping. Her brothers, at least some of them, were

coming, and making no attempt to be quiet about

it. It was Oscar and Seb. Her nearest brother was

lean and lanky at sixteen, while Oscar was all man

at twenty-five. He had a wife and four kids.

At least it was only the two of them.

She wiped at her cheeks again, stuffing down

all the emotions that had boiled over. She

couldn't afford her brothers to see any sign of

weakness.

"There she is," Oscar said to Seb, voice low.

Seb whistled to her.

She fluttered one hand as they approached

her tree. "What're you doing over here? Thought

Sarah had you cooking supper all this week."

Thank goodness her voice didn't wobble. Maybe

they'd pretend they couldn't see her blotchy face

and shiny eyes.

Her oldest brother pulled a face. When they'd

first married, his wife couldn't cook a lick. Even

now that she'd learned, everyone loved to give

Oscar a hard time.

"Pa called a family meeting," Oscar said. "Told

us what you just found out."

Her heart kicked hard against her breastbone.

"You didn't already know?" Oscar had been the

first boy Jonas had taken in, all those years ago.

When she'd been an infant.

Oscar shook his head. "Nobody did."

Seb knocked his hat back and scratched his

forehead. "I thought for sure you bein' his blood

kin was the reason Pa spoiled you rotten all these

years."

"I'm not spoiled," she retorted. She had just as

many chores as the rest of them.

"Nah, it's cause she was the only girl,"

Oscar said.

She plucked the nearest pair of acorns and

tossed one at each of her brothers' heads. They

both knew her unerring aim and ducked, which

made her feel marginally better.

Oscar recovered first, grabbing hold of the

toe of her boot. "Nothin's changed," he said, all

serious now.

"You're our sister, and you always will be," Seb

said. "Even if you are the most ornery of us all."

She threw another acorn at him, but the toss

was halfhearted.

Oscar jiggled her foot. She didn't look up

from where she stared at her lap. "Is Pa"—she

swallowed hard—"upset at me? I said some

things that were... unkind." She'd been downright

mean when she'd asked about her real Pa.

"He ain't mad," Oscar said." He's worried

about you."

"Come on back to the house." Seb shifted his

feet. "They're holding dinner, and I'm starved."

She made one more swipe at a last tear that

she couldn't quite suppress. She'd been Breanna

White for thirteen years. Knowing the woman

who'd given birth to her hadn't wanted her

wouldn't change that.

At least, she hoped it wouldn't.

PART II

1900, PHILADELPHIA

Breanna was a fifteen-year-old fraud.

She shouldn't be here. Not like this. Not

alone. And not this late in the evening.

She'd lied to her parents, but it wasn't too late

to change her mind. She could walk the two

miles back to the swanky hotel where Pa had put

them up. But she didn't.

The hotel must cost a pretty penny, and he'd

done it all because she'd claimed she wanted to

see the city where she was born.

She did, but that was only part of it.

She wanted to meet her people.

It'd been almost two years since she'd found

out about her true parentage, and she hadn't

spoken about it with her Pa or Ma again. She

hadn't had the courage to bring it up.

But she'd thought about it many times.

What kind of person discarded a newborn

baby? Selfish, Ma had said.

But a little niggling worm in her mind

brought up the seizures she'd experienced as a

child. She hadn't had one in ages. Six months,

maybe. She hoped they would get farther and

farther apart and eventually go away entirely.

That’s what the letter had said.

The letter that had brought her here, tonight.

She was a fraud because she pretended to be a

good, obedient daughter. All right, most of the

time she pretended. When she wasn't playing

pranks on her brothers, who always deserved

whatever she dished out.

Six months ago, one afternoon when Ma had

been visiting a neighbor and all the menfolk had

been outdoors, all the little ones napping,

Breanna had snuck into her parents' room and

gone through the little chest where Ma kept her

most treasured items. The gold necklace Pa had

splurged on several Christmases ago was in

there. And some love letters that he'd written

back in the early days of their courtship. And at

the very bottom, hidden beneath everything else,

a letter from a woman named Millie Broadhurst.

A quick reading of the letter confirmed Brean‐

na’s suspicions.

Millie was her real mother.

She'd read it through twice. Millie—it was

hard to think of the woman as her mother—

hadn't asked after her once.

Breanna had committed the return address to

memory.

And hatched the biggest plan of her entire

life. It'd taken several weeks to gather the

courage to bring up a trip to Philadelphia in

conversation. To make it seem natural. The

entire time, she'd thought Pa could see right

through her. See the real reason she wanted to

come to Philadelphia.

The reason she was standing here right now,

half hidden behind a brick column on a street

with the biggest houses she'd ever seen. She

wanted to meet her Philadelphia family. Even

though they'd never wanted her.

She had to know the people she came from.

Breanna and her family had spent two days in

the city, seeing sights and visiting the most enor‐

mous clothing store she'd never even thought to

imagine.

Ma had bought her a fancy dress, one that

she wore now beneath her slicker. The coat

smelled a little like home, like her horse

Daffodil, and probably wasn't appropriate, but

the dark color helped her hide in the

shadows.

She wasn't quite ready yet.

She'd thought she was as she'd waited and

waited for her niece Cecilia to fall asleep. Cecilia

was Oscar’s oldest adopted daughter. A few years

ago, he’d brought home a wife and three daugh‐

ters in one fell swoop.

Breanna and Cecilia were both fifteen and

had been allowed to share a room in the hotel.

She hadn't told Cecilia her plans because the

other girl was a stickler for following the rules.

She'd have run to Oscar or Pa the moment

Breanna had slipped away.

Now, she wished her niece had come

with her.

Staring at the imposing house, its brick

facade lit by the electric lamp on the street

corner, she shivered a little. This was the house

where Millie had grown up.

Four white columns stood like gleaming

soldiers. The windows were huge, and light

shone from within, though she hadn't seen

anyone pass by the windows in the minutes she'd

been standing there.

She was going to do this. Go knock. Intro‐

duce herself to her grandparents. Find out where

her mother lived and see if she could wrangle an

introduction there too.

But before she could gather her courage, a

horse-drawn carriage rattled its way up the

street. The horse's hooves clattered on the

cobblestones, and the animal blew as it was

reined in. Right in front of the Broadhurst home.

Maybe she wouldn't have to knock after all.

She edged out of the shadows and

approached as the driver helped down first a

man in a dark suit and then a woman in a fine

evening dress. Even finer than the one Breanna

wore right now. She had on a fancy hat with... a

peacock feather wobbling above her head?

Oh my.

This was her chance. There would never be a

better time to do this.

The man tucked a coin into the driver's hand

as Breanna approached.

"Excuse me," she said.

The couple hadn't seemed to notice her until

just that moment.

The driver barely looked at her before he

jumped back on his seat and flipped the reins.

The horse clopped off with its now-empty

carriage.

There was enough light for her to see the

man was twice as old as Pa. The hair beneath his

fancy top hat was gray, and his face was lined.

She couldn't get a look at the woman's face.

The man said something to the woman in a

voice too low for Breanna to make out.

"Excuse me," Breanna said again as the

woman turned her back and started up the steps

toward the house.

"Kindly remove yourself from our property,"

the man said.

She didn't. "Are you Mr. Broadhurst?"

He glared at her.

"My name is Breanna White. I'm Millie's

daughter."

His face went pale, but he only frowned

at her.

"I'm your granddaughter," she tried again.

But he shook his head firmly. "I have no

granddaughter. Go away."

She froze. She hadn't expected this. Nothing

like this.

Until this very moment, there had always

been a part of her—a very tiny part—that had

thought perhaps Jonas was... not lying, of course.

But exaggerating when he'd told her how her

birth family had sent her away with a complete

stranger.

That tiny piece of her heart had hoped that

they would look at her and welcome her back

home. Not that she wanted to live in Phil‐

adelphia, but she hadn't wanted to believe that

her own family could be so callous. So cruel.

Cruel enough to deny her existence.

The man had moved up the steps. His wife

had already disappeared inside, leaving the

door ajar.

Now on the top step, he turned back.

Her heart lodged in her throat. Would he

acknowledge her now, even if he didn't invite her

inside?

"If you don't remove yourself from the

premises," he said, "I'll summon the police."

And that last minuscule tie to her past shriv‐

eled and died inside her.

She was a fool.

Breanna walked along one of Philadelphia's

bustling streets, Cecilia at her side. The early

morning sun made her squint. Or maybe it was

the despair she felt after last night's disaster.

They'd been allowed to go out, just the two of

them. Window shopping. But Breanna had no

desire to look at dresses or bonnets. She'd been

absently pretending to look for a horseless

carriage like the one she'd spotted two days ago.

She was an idiot of the highest caliber. What

had she thought? That the family that had

thrown her away like so much garbage would

welcome her with open arms? They'd regretted

her existence fifteen years ago, and clearly they

wanted to act as if she still didn't exist.

Stupid.

At least she'd had her little adventure with no

one the wiser.

Except Cecilia tucked her arm through

Breanna's so that their shoulders bumped with

each step. "Did you find the answers you were

looking for last night?"

"Did I—?"

She was flabbergasted as Cecilia raised one

eloquent eyebrow.

"You knew?" Cecilia knew? And hadn't tattled

like a little kid?

Cecilia stopped walking, nodding toward a

beautiful, manicured park across the street.

Breanna walked with her toward it.

"Please," Cecilia said with a sniff. "It didn't

take much mental exertion to guess why you

wanted to come to Pennsylvania. And I heard

you leave the room last night."

Breanna bit her lip. "I'm surprised you didn't

go to Pa. Or Oscar."

Cecilia slid her a sideways look. "Why

didn't you?"

Because she hadn't wanted to hurt Pa. Two

years ago when he'd told her the truth, she'd hurt

him with her callous words. She didn't want him

to think he wasn't enough.

She didn't have to say it. Cecilia and her

sisters had been orphaned when their mother

and stepfather died. Navigating the sometimes-

tricky family relationships was something they

both knew.

The other girl shrugged. "Besides, if you were

to get mugged, I'd be afraid for the criminal.

You're the scrappiest person I know."

Breanna had to laugh, though beneath the

expression of surprise, her throat ached with

emotion. Cecilia's confidence was a boost she

desperately needed after the rejection she'd expe‐

rienced last night.

"So...?" Cecilia prodded as they entered

the park.

A pebbled walkway curved through the pris‐

tine lawn, and they followed it as it passed

through a grove of birch trees.

Breanna exhaled her disgust. "It was a

complete disaster. They still didn't... want me."

She couldn't help the catch in her voice. She

fought against the rising emotion, absolutely

didn't want to break down like she had two years

ago—the only time in memory she'd cried.

She focused on the park around them.

It was really too manicured to be beautiful.

Not even a fallen leaf dotted the perfect vista.

Oh, it was pretty, but she missed the fierce wild‐

ness of the Wyoming landscape. The mountains

in the distance, the weather that could turn on

you in mere minutes and make survival ques‐

tionable.

This park was... tame. Boring.

Until shouts from up ahead brought her

head up.

At her side, Cecilia hesitated, but hoofbeats

and more shouts had caught Breanna's curiosity.

Since the other girl's arm was still hooked with

hers, she dragged her niece along with her.

Two young men on horseback flew across the

grass, turf flying behind their horses' galloping

hooves. A group of five or so young men stood

nearby, two of them holding the reins of another

pair of horses.

Breanna and Cecilia were far enough away

that they could've gone back the way they'd come

without being noticed. But Breanna loved racing

and even from here, she could tell the animals

were of the highest quality.

"Let's keep walking," she urged Cecilia, who

only sniffed and kept pace with her along the

path that skirted the lawn.

Breanna watched as the two sleek horses

stretched out with each stride. They were

magnificent, the chestnut roan a little faster

than the dappled gray. The roan pulled into

the lead.

She cared little to watch the riders, only

absently noting that the one riding the gray was

close to losing his seat if he didn't crouch lower

to the horse's neck.

Her and Cecilia's meandering walk took them

close to the knot of young men and the two

riderless horses, one black, one white. As the

riders jumped a small creek, almost out of sight

now, two of the watchers gave a shout. One was

clearly dismayed while the other punched his fist

in the air.

The noise, or maybe the movement, startled

the big white stallion, and it reared. The young

men scattered, leaving a tall boy—he couldn't

have been older than Seb’s eighteen—holding

its reins.

The walkway had put Breanna and Cecilia

only a few yards from them now, and Cecilia was

smart enough to let go of Breanna and

edge away.

"Watch out!" someone shouted, flapping

his arms.

The horse liked that even less. It reared again,

this time with a high-pitched whinny.

"Shut up," she ordered the group. Two of

them looked over at her, surprise etched on their

faces. As if they hadn't even noticed her and

Cecilia walking toward them.

The horse bobbed its head, pulling against the

reins. The tall boy trying to calm it glanced at her

for a bare second. It was still spooked, its atten‐

tion clearly on the boy who had been shouting.

It wouldn't take much for it to spook again.

And with the way the greenhorn was holding

its reins, it was entirely possible he could lose

control completely.

"Guide him in a circle," she said quietly.

The horse stamped its front foot.

"He won't—" The boy holding the reins shook

his head. It wasn't hard to read the tension in the

lines of his shoulders. She could see the muscles

in his forearms straining beneath his coat

and shirt.

"He will," she said.

She took the glare he turned on her as an

invitation. She approached slowly. The horse

bobbed its head again, but she was already there,

bumping the young man out of the way with her

hip, taking the reins.

He did not surrender easily. He was more

sturdy than she'd anticipated. Maybe older than

she'd guessed as well, if the shadow of beard at

his jaw was an indication.

But he did surrender.

She saw in the flare of the horse's nostrils that

it intended to rear again.

She whistled. Not a loud, piercing sound, but

a soft, questioning note that Oscar used when

training his horses. It was enough to attract the

horse's attention, and a firm tug on one rein

turned its head. She walked in a circle, not

speaking. The horse followed, shaking its head at

first and then calming.

It was a fine animal. Gleaming white, its nose

slightly pink. Dark hooves that had been well-

cared for. Tall. Maybe sixteen hands. She'd been

around horses since she was an infant, and her

steady manner settled it almost instantly.

She’d learned from Pa.

It was a shame she had to hand back the reins

when it was calm, but she did.

The young man regarded her with sharp,

dark eyes. A lock of his dark hair had fallen

across his forehead, and between his assessing,

intelligent gaze and the self-assured manner

with which he took back the reins, she felt her

stomach swoop low with what could only be

attraction, though she'd never felt such a thing

before.

She had seven older brothers. She well knew

that men hated to be shown up by women—

especially one younger.

So she swallowed the teasing remark that

tickled her tongue and only nodded. She moved

back onto the path, where Cecilia was quick to

loop her arm through Breanna's again.

"Come on," her niece breathed.

Breanna followed, but she couldn't resist a

glance back. At the fine horse. Not the man, who

was now holding its bridle.

The other two horses and riders were

approaching from across the lawn, no doubt

wondering what had distracted their

compatriots.

"You shouldn't have done that," Cecilia

whispered.

Breanna still looked over her shoulder. She

knew. Ma often bemoaned Breanna's impulsive

nature. She'd seen that the man wasn't going to

handle it well, known the horse was going to bolt

if something didn't change. Jumped in with

both feet.

And probably embarrassed the man.

His friends were cutting up, shoving each

other and ragging on him. One clear voice rang

out above the others. "Bet she could best you in a

race." The group guffawed, but the tall young

man ignored them, still staring after her.

Until he called out. "Miss!"

She stopped, tugging Cecilia along with her.

"Breanna!"

But she didn't heed her niece's chiding voice.

She couldn't.

"Do you ride?" he called. Then shook his head

as if that wasn't what he'd meant to say. "Do

you race?"

"Only when I'm sure I can win. Which is

always." She grinned.

The others broke out in to raucous chuckles.

The tall man didn't, though one corner of his

mouth kicked up in a reluctant smile.

"Would you care to have a go?" He still kept

control of the horse's bridle but held out the

reins to her in an offer that sent her heart

pumping.

"Breanna," Cecilia said. Groaned, really.

She winked at her niece. "Don't worry. This

won't take long."

She took two steps forward. "I'll race you. But

not on your horse. On that one." She pointed to

the dappled gray, a fine-boned mare that was

smaller than all three of the other horses.

The tall man turned and said something to

his friend, who laughed and dismounted.

Excitement burned like fizzy little bubbles in

Breanna's veins. With last night’s rejection still

burning through her core, a race like this would

be a fun diversion.

She left Cecilia on the path. Maybe she was

unconventional, maybe she was too brash and

too much of a tomboy, but she wanted to race.

She ached for it.

She passed close to the tall man, approaching

the dappled gray, whose rider graciously handed

off the reins. She offered her palm, allowing the

horse to catch her scent before stroking

its neck.

"You're a lovely one, aren't you?" She moved

to the saddle, quickly adjusting the stirrups and

checking the cinch.

She was aware of her rival behind her. From

the corner of her eye, she caught his slow gaze,

which shifted from the crown of her head to the

hem of her skirt.

She had never felt flustered from a simple

look before.

"You're not a Philadelphia native," he said.

She kicked up her chin, doing her best to

ignore the churning in her gut. "I'm from a tiny

town in Wyoming. Bear Creek."

"Do you need a—"

She notched her foot in the stirrup and

swung her opposite leg over the saddle.

"—boost?" He laughed his surprise, then

mounted his horse with an unexpected show

of grace.

And then they were face to face.

"I'm Adam Cartwright. Might I know the

name of my opponent?"

"You may know the name of your better," she

teased.

Laughter broke out from the men now

standing to the side, but she ignored it. "I am

Breanna White."

"Of the illustrious Bear Creek Whites."

She didn't know what to make of the glint in

his eye. Was he teasing back? Flirting? She chose

to focus on the horse beneath her, again

touching the powerful neck.

She felt the change in the air as Cartwright's

friends backed away. Her focus narrowed to the

lawn. The earlier riders had left a clear path of

overturned turf in their race. Straight across the

lawn and over the creek.

Maybe the rowdy friends went silent, or

maybe the expectant hush was only in her head,

but her anticipation grew, and she flexed her

fingers before grasping the reins loosely.

Someone shouted, "Go!"

And she urged the mare on. "Ha! Css!"

The horse leapt forward, easily breaking into

a lope.

Cartwright's horse was there at her shoulder.

Bigger. Each stride ate up more ground.

But Breanna knew how to bend her body

over the mare's shoulders, how to make herself

small. And she also knew—suspected, at least—

that the mare hadn't given her all in the earlier

race. Not with the inept rider she'd carried.

And the petite mare did have more to give.

She kept even with the bigger stallion.

For bright seconds, everything fell away.

There was no rejection, no disappointment, no

expectation. There was only the ground and the

sky and the air rushing past so fast that it made

Breanna's eyes sting.

There was freedom. And joy.

The same joy she’d found at her father’s knee

as a little tyke. The freedom Pa had given her to

be herself—even if that meant being a tomboy.

In a last push, Breanna and her horse jumped

the creek, moving almost as one. The stallion

hesitated, just the slightest, and the mare pulled

ahead.

She’d won!

Breanna was laughing as she pulled up the

horse and faced Cartwright. He rounded his

horse, who was tossing its head as if it wanted to

go again.

The man was smiling, his lips perfect and

white against his tanned face. Breanna felt a hot

flush rise in her face that had nothing to do with

the win and everything to do with the man.

His friends had run across the expanse of

lawn, and there was Cecilia too, hurrying and

holding her skirt above her ankles. They were

quickly surrounded, and Breanna slipped off the

horse, burying the confusing rush of emotion as

she shook hands all around. She made her way

through the crowd to her niece.

"We should get back," Cecilia said.

Breanna nodded, still flushed, still discom‐

bobulated.

With one last look over her shoulder, she

followed Cecilia back the way they'd come.

Cartwright was watching her, though he made

no move to follow.

He belonged here, with his wealthy friends.

She didn't. Her grandparents had made that

more than clear last night.

But somehow, thanks to the race, her bitter

disappointment had eased.

She hadn't found what she'd hoped for when

she'd left the hotel last night. But this morning,

she'd found something better.

She'd remembered who she was. A girl who

loved horses, who craved adventure. A Wyoming

girl at heart.

She was Jonas's daughter.

A L S O B Y L A C Y W I L L I A M S

SAWYER CREEK HOMECOMING

(CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE)

The Bull Rider

The Brother

The Prodigal

JILTED IN SAWYER CREEK SERIES

(CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE)

Someone Old

Someone New

Someone Borrowed

Someone Blue

SNOWBOUND IN SAWYER CREEK SERIES

(CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE)

Soldier Under the Mistletoe

The Nanny’s Christmas Wish

The Rancher’s Unexpected Gift

WILD WYOMING HEART SERIES

(HISTORICAL ROMANCE)

Marrying Miss Marshal

Counterfeit Cowboy

Cowboy Pride

Courted by a Cowboy

COWBOY FAIRYTALES SERIES

(CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE)

Once Upon a Cowboy

Cowboy Charming

The Toad Prince

The Beastly Princess

The Lost Princess

Kissing Kelsey

Courting Carrie

Stealing Sarah

Keeping Kayla

Melting Megan

HEART OF OKLAHOMA SERIES

(CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE)

Kissed by a Cowboy

Love Letters from Cowboy

Mistletoe Cowboy

Cowgirl for Keeps

Jingle Bell Cowgirl

Heart of a Cowgirl

3 Days with a Cowboy

Prodigal Cowgirl

WYOMING LEGACY SERIES (HISTORICAL

ROMANCE)

The Homesteader’s Sweetheart

Roping the Wrangler

Return of the Cowboy Doctor

The Wrangler’s Inconvenient Wife

A Cowboy for Christmas

Her Convenient Cowboy

Her Cowboy Deputy

NOT IN A SERIES

How to Lose a Guy in 10 Dates

Santa Next Door

The Butterfly Bride

Secondhand Cowboy

Wagon Train Sweetheart (historical romance)

Copyright © 2018 by Lacy Williams

All rights reserved.

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