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Faking Their Hearts on the Trail

Two strangers meet in one trail… endless dangers loom… Can a fake engagement withstand the perils of the Wild West?

Smoky Hill Trail, 1859

Ruthie, flees her abusive father’s clutches, taking her baby sister on the treacherous Smoky Hill wagon trail under a new identity.

Benjamin, burdened by the memories of his deceased wife and strained relationship with his son, longs for redemption at the end of the trail. Their paths collide when Ruthie faces ridicule among the men, and Benjamin, stirred by an unfamiliar impulse to care, claims her as his fiancée.

But Ruthie’s secrets threaten to unravel their façade. As Benjamin’s suspicions deepen, they realize their long-forgotten need to take care of others and trust in love won’t shield them from perilous crossings, illness, bandits and every other danger this road holds for them…

On the Smoky Hill Trail, where dreams take flight,

Amidst the rugged terrain, love finds its light.

On the Smoky Hill Trail, where hearts entwine,

A journey of love, under the watchful Western sky.

Written by:

Western Historical Romance Author

4.3/5

4.3/5 (162 ratings)

Prologue

Ruby Red’s Saloon, Blue Springs, Kansas

30th May 1859

 

Sue-Ann’s ragged breathing filled the small, cramped utility room above the bar. Ruthie could feel the moisture from her breath on her face and skin, and the salty smell of sweat and blood flooded her nose. She desperately tried to focus on those sensations rather than the mess on her hands or the crying of her newborn sister.

Sue-Ann held the baby close to her bosom, and Ruthie watched as their chests rose and fell in synchrony. She’d never seen a birth before, and as chaotic and cramped as everything had been, she couldn’t help but smile at the beauty of another life being brought into the world.

“Are you doing all right?” she asked, doing her best to keep her voice quiet and calm.

Sue-Ann looked up from the baby bundled against her chest, and Ruthie could see that her eyes were full of tears, her nose tinged pink at the tip. Tears rolled down her flushed cheeks, mixing with the layer of sweat that glazed her entire face.

“Sue-Ann?” Ruthie asked, fidgeting as she stepped forward.

Sue-Ann was lying on the floor of the tiny utility room, splayed out as much as the space allowed, and Ruthie was on her knees by Sue-Ann’s feet. She was doing her best to observe Sue-Ann’s body, to check for anything that might suggest there were complications with the birth, but she couldn’t see any reason for her to be crying.

“You must go,” Sue-Ann choked out through her tears.

“Oh, of course, I’ll let you have time alone with the baby,” Ruthie said, holding her hands up in surrender. “I’d quite like to go and wash anyway.”

Sue-Ann shook her head. “No, no.”

Ruthie furrowed her brows. She tilted her head to one side ever so slightly. “I don’t understand, Sue-Ann. What’s wrong?”

Sue-Ann carefully pulled her body up, leaning herself against the wall with the baby pressed to her.

She took a deep, rattling breath. “I need you to take the baby,” she whispered. “You need to go with her and run away. She can’t grow up here with him. I won’t let it happen.”

Ruthie stared at her stepmother, her eyes wide. She knew her father wasn’t exactly a man people desired to be around, but she’d assumed his wife at least felt something for him.

“You don’t deserve to stay here, either. This will be a fresh chance for both of you,” Sue-Ann said, breaking Ruthie out of her thoughts. “Please.”

Ruthie’s mind was racing. She had no way to run and nowhere to go; she couldn’t even begin to formulate a plan.

She shook her head in disbelief.

“Ruthie…” Sue-Ann pleaded.

“What about you?” Ruthie asked, her throat tight. “The baby needs its mother. What about feeding?”

“Goat milk will work just fine,” Sue-Ann said, dismissing Ruthie’s concerns with a jerk of her chin. “Besides…something’s wrong. I can feel it.”

All at once, Ruthie’s heart dropped.

She’d been so careful while helping Sue-Ann. She knew how dangerous childbirth could be. She’d never helped anyone through it before, but she’d heard people chattering about it. She knew what to make sure she didn’t do. The baby had been born, and Sue-Ann was breathing, talking….

“What do you mean?” Ruthie asked, eyes scanning Sue-Ann’s prone form. “You seem fine. The baby’s fine…. She’s crying, even.”

“There’s a lot of…” Sue-Ann looked down at her legs, “blood. And I can’t feel my legs.”

Ruthie lifted the blanket she’d put across Sue-Ann’s legs to preserve her dignity, and her jaw dropped. There was a pool of blood around her hips, and it seemed to be growing.

Ruthie felt the color drain from her face. “Oh, my….”

“It’s all right,” Sue-Ann said, giving her a weak smile. “These things happen. You tried your best, and…” she winced and gritted her teeth, “I never expected any help. I thought this might be the end.”

Ruthie’s eyes started to sting, and she swallowed back the lump in her throat, if only to placate Sue-Ann, who had to be in so much pain.

“I can’t take the baby,” she said, shaking her head. “How am I supposed to escape him? Don’t you think that if there was a way, I’d have gone by now?”

Sue-Ann’s skin grew duller, all of the color in her cheeks disappearing, and Ruthie could see the energy within her fading, even as she held her baby as tightly as she could to her chest.

“I planned it,” Sue-Ann said. “Your father is s…sentimental. He kept your mother’s wagon. He showed it to me; it’s stored in the old orchards, j…just behind the railways.” She took a deep breath, and even that seemed to consume her remaining energy. “I’ve stored some jewelry there, too. For you. To help. It was all gifted to me by your father, and now, it can help to keep his girls alive and safe—away from him. There’s a trail; it leaves from Atchison.”

He kept mother’s wagon? Ruthie thought to herself.

“A wagon is no good without an animal,” she said, desperate to find a reason—one that would force Sue-Ann not to give up. She’d really gotten on well with her stepmother, and she’d miss her when she was gone. But more importantly, she wasn’t sure she was ready for the responsibility of a baby, much less while on the run from her father.

“You’ll have to find one,” Sue-Ann said, obstinate in her decision. “But n…never mind t…that. Take her.”

Sue-Ann held the baby out with shaky arms, and Ruthie noticed the color of her skin was getting grayer and grayer by the second. Ruthie took the child and brought her close to her chest. Slowly, the baby’s tears began to subside, and Ruthie flicked her gaze between her sister and her stepmother.

“S…see? She likes you,” Sue-Ann teased, tears welling up in her own eyes.

Before Ruthie could reply, Sue-Ann let out a deep, rattling cough. Ruthie’s body jostled at the sudden sound, and she stared at Sue-Ann, her entire body alight with nerves.

“Sue-Ann?” she asked, her breath hitching in her throat.

“I…I’m here,” Sue-Ann muttered, her eyes fluttering shut. “I’ve not g…got long, though.”

Ruthie tried to swallow back the lump in her throat again, but it wouldn’t budge, and she was forced to suck in some breaths around it. The sting returned to her eyes, and she felt sweat rise on her palms, coating them entirely. One by one, tears started to stream down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry I didn’t do it right,” she said quietly, unable to speak louder than a whisper.

“Y…you’ve done nothing w…wrong,” Sue-Ann said, jerking her head to the side. “Now, go and b…e free,” she spluttered, another massive cough shaking her frail body. “And d…don’t give up…hope.”

Ruthie watched as the final spark of energy within Sue-Ann faded away. She took one last deep breath and then slumped against the wall as her body went limp, almost as if she were a puppet with her strings cut.

“Goodbye, Sue-Ann,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she tore her gaze away from her stepmother.

Her chest ached, and she could feel her lower lip quivering.

Sue-Ann had been good to her, and she deserved better.

Ruthie looked down at the now-sleeping baby in her arms. She was very pink and had light blonde hair curled on her head, though it was little more than fuzz. Her eyes were large, and Ruthie assumed they’d be a dark blue, just like Sue-Ann’s.

“You don’t even have a name,” she whispered, sniffling as the tears continued to trickle down.

Sue-Ann’s voice echoed in her head. Her last words, “Don’t give up hope,” repeated again and again.

“Maybe that’s it,” she said, cradling the baby. “Maybe your name is Hope.”

On very shaky legs, with her heart still racing, Ruthie stood from the ground. She clutched Hope to her chest and peered around the room.

The weather outside was mild, and if they were going to start a long trail, she needed to keep the baby warm.

On top of one of the cabinets, she spotted one of Sue-Ann’s headscarves and stepped over to grab it. She took great care in wrapping Hope in the soft fabric and then rushed out of the room.

She knew her father would be out; he never bothered spending time in his saloon during the day. That was when it was quiet, and Ruthie was more than capable of handling the patrons. So, she raced down the stairs and to her room in the basement, where she grabbed her diary and a few sentimental bits before slipping out of the back door. With every step she took, her heart seemed to speed up. She sped across Main Street and toward the train tracks, her eyes darting in every direction as she went. She did her best to keep Hope close to her chest as she ran, all while trying to keep her as still as possible, worried about bumping or jostling her too much.

“I’m not sure this is going to work,” she whispered to Hope as they reached the train station. “You already need feeding, and I don’t know where to find goat milk. Let alone where to find an ox or a horse for the wagon….”

She sighed and slowed down, trying her best to look inconspicuous as she wandered past the train station. There was a small path that crossed the tracks off to one side, and behind the station, there was a large orchard that had fallen to ruins when the owner died a long time ago. People helped themselves to the fruit, but generally, there wasn’t much use in going there.

As Ruthie neared the corner leading to the path, she spotted a wagon left unattended. Standing by the tongue, attached to the neck yoke, was a large ox. Turning her head, she glanced around to see if anyone was approaching the wagon. Her father had taught her to steal from a young age–-it was how they’d made most of their money—so she just had to make sure she didn’t get caught.

After satisfying her nerves, she strolled toward the wagon. She made sure to walk as if she were doing nothing wrong—as if it were her wagon she was approaching. Once she reached it, she made quick business of untying the ox, who seemed to be completely unbothered by her presence. She pulled at the knots until they were loose and then grabbed the reins with one hand, holding Hope with the other.

Hope had now woken up and was staring wide-eyed up at Ruthie. Her eyes were not, in fact, the same as her mother’s. Instead, they were a deep green that matched her father’s.

A shiver went down her spine.

“You’re lucky you’ve not got his hair color,” she mumbled as she began to steer the ox away from the wagon, the yoke dropping to the floor with a quiet clang.

She paused and glanced around, her breath catching, but nobody had noticed. It was too busy; people had better things to do. Taking a deep breath, she led the ox around the corner, and as soon as she was out of sight of the train station, she began to hurry. She all but ran down the path and across the tracks, the ox begrudgingly speeding up alongside her. Hope began to sniffle as they reached the orchard, and Ruthie prepared herself for the onslaught of tears she knew was coming.

She tugged the ox through the orchard, searching the trees for her mother’s wagon. The orchard was incredibly overgrown, and Sue-Ann hadn’t been in any state to specify where in the orchard the wagon was. Ruthie started to be thankful that it was barely midday. She at least had some hope of finding the wagon before dark.

It wasn’t long before Hope began to cry. Fortunately, there was nobody around, and it wasn’t as bad as when she’d first been born. The lack of an insular room, Ruthie determined, made it much easier to tolerate. With sobs echoing in her ears, she moved much quicker, or at least as quickly as the ox would allow.

After about half an hour, she stumbled across a small clearing. Sat in the center was an old wagon. It had been painted once, but the paint was peeling and chipped. Ruthie had very few memories of her time with her mother, but seeing the wagon seemed to bring a whole load of them back all at once.

Images of her mother’s face flashed before her eyes—her light blonde hair and her wide, bright smile that seemed to be a permanent fixture on her pale face. She could suddenly remember what her mother’s laugh sounded like and hear it tinkling in her ears, followed by the way she used to smell. She remembered sitting on her mother’s lap as she steered the wagon, the sights of the never-ending plains unfolding before both their eyes as they drove on.

Tears stung her eyes, and she sniffed them away, walking slowly toward the wagon.

“Wow,” she said, letting out a wild laugh. “This might work.”

She placed Hope down in her swaddle on the floor of the wagon and pulled the ox around to the front. She attached him to the yokes and then returned to Hope’s side. Clambering up onto the wagon, she noticed the bag of jewelry that Sue-Ann had mentioned. In addition to that, though, there were all sorts of trinkets belonging to her mother. Some were in better condition than others, but she was glad to see them all, nonetheless. On one of the benches, there was a wooden box that had somehow managed to stay in relatively good condition, and she stepped over to take a look. In it, there were a few blankets and cushions.

Perfect, she thought to herself.

She picked Hope up and placed her into the box, creating a makeshift crib around the tiny baby’s body. Hope gazed up at her, her green eyes shimmering. She opened her mouth and lifted one chubby pink arm, grabbing at Ruthie’s long blonde braid as it slipped over her shoulder.

Ruthie couldn’t help but smile.

She was beautiful, and she was her sister.

She still felt nowhere near prepared, but she knew she had to continue.

We’re far from ready, but we’ll work it out. I’m sure I can trade and steal where necessary…for her. Now I just need to figure out how to get to Atchison.

Chapter One

Atchison, Kansas

31st May 1859

 

Benny sat on the front of the wagon, his legs dangling over the side as he watched the two oxen pull them forward. Behind him, he could hear his sister, Clara, trying desperately to speak to his young son, who seemed adamant that he was going to ignore everything she said. It’d been the same since they left Nebraska. He feared it would continue until they reached Denver.

Every day was the same: Jacob would act out, Clara would intervene, Jacob would worsen, and Benny would have to scream at the boy or threaten him with something. Then, and only then, would the child behave. For a while, at least.

They’d hardly reached Kansas, and Benny had had enough.

He steered the wagon through the Main Street of Atchison, looking for the edge of the town, where he assumed everyone else going on the journey would be waiting. He’d looked in the papers and written to locals in Kansas to figure out when and where to go. There was supposed to be a small group leaving that afternoon, led by someone who was familiar with the trail. He hoped that would be enough to keep them safe. He still wasn’t entirely convinced that he’d made the right choice when leaving his ranch in Nebraska.

“Benny,” Clara said, suddenly much closer to him than he’d realized.

He grunted in response, focused on getting them through the town and to the group.

“Your son is impossible,” she huffed, sitting beside him.

“You’ve noticed?” he replied.

“Aren’t you going to do anything?”

He turned to look at his sister. She had the same long brown hair as him, only hers was held up in curls. Her skin was light and rosy, and she had an air of wisdom and kindness to her that always made him feel a little guilty whenever he was blunt.

“Once we’re there. I just want to get there,” he replied, returning his attention to the road.

Clara huffed and stood back up, disappearing into the wagon. Benny clenched his jaw and tightened his knuckles around the reins. He tried to ignore the clamor of Clara and Jacob arguing behind him.

Soon enough, they’d reached the very edge of the small town, and Benny pulled up alongside twenty-seven other wagons. Each one was piled high with boxes, bags, and people. There were only three others with oxen, one with a single ox and the other two with two well-built beasts like his. The others had horses, which were equally as sturdy-looking as his ox. The families were varied; there were a few young couples and a handful of small families with one or two children.

Standing before them all was a man. He had darker skin than the white folk, but he wasn’t fully Native, Benny noted. He was well-built, and he had long black hair that he wore in a braid down his back. He was watching them all as they parked, and he seemed to eye each wagon up, as if he were making mental notes of how heavy each one was likely to be.

“Jacob!” Clara yelled, snapping Benny out of his observative state.

Benny stood immediately and walked over to where the other two were sitting. Jacob was leaning out of the back of the wagon, pointing at people as they walked past. Benny frowned, wondering what he was doing that had upset Clara quite so much, when, out of nowhere, Jacob pointed at a young woman and her husband and yelled a curse word at them.

Benny’s heart dropped.

I will not have that.

He grabbed Jacob by the back of his shirt and pulled him back into the wagon, letting go of him above the bench. Jacob landed with a small thud and groaned.

“Jacob, you do not call people that,” he said, keeping his voice stern.

“It’s just a word,” Jacob replied with a shrug.

“I am your father. If I say you don’t call someone that, you don’t call them that. Understood?”

“Why does being my father mean I have to do what you say?” Jacob asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Benny felt his body tighten, and he straightened his back, towering over the boy.

“Because, otherwise, I’ll throw you in the dust midway to Denver and leave you to fend for yourself,” Benny growled.

Jacob’s eyes widened, and he shuffled in his seat, his eyes darting away from his father’s.

“So, I have to listen to a liar?” he huffed.

Benny’s blood began to boil. He had always been a proud man, and he knew himself well enough to know he was far from a liar. He was an honest man; he always tried to be.

His eyes squinted, and he clenched his jaw.

He’d done so much for his son, more than he could ever know, yet he got an attitude like that in return. Every single time.

He shook his head, his hands tightening into fists by his side. “A liar?” he asked through gritted teeth.

Jacob froze. He looked down at the floor and then up at Benny. “Yeah, it’s what you are,” he insisted, refusing to meet Benny’s eyes.

“And what makes you think that?” Benny asked, stepping closer.

Jacob seemed to tense up on the bench. He forced himself to meet Benny’s eyes, and Benny watched as he took a deep breath.

“You said you’d get me the book I asked for. So that I had something to do while we traveled.”

Benny rolled his eyes and let out a loud sigh. He stepped back and ran a hand through his unruly hair.

All of this about a book? What kind of man am I raising? He should be excited to travel, to spend time with other people, to see the country, to find new land, new wealth—and all he cares about is some ridiculous book?

“You’re acting out over a book?” he said, staring down at his son.

“I’m acting this way because you’re a liar!” Jacob said, his brows furrowing.

He looked exactly like Benny when he was frustrated, he couldn’t help but notice.

“Fine, I won’t lie. You’re not getting the book. Real men focus on the real world, on life around them, on their jobs, their money, their family—not some words on a stupid bit of paper, Jacob. You will not be reading, and you will do as you’re told, whether it’s from me or your Aunt Clara; now, if I hear those words come from your mouth again, I’ll wash it out with soap myself.”

Jacob glared at him, and he glared back. He wanted his son to learn how to be a man, but he just couldn’t get through to him, no matter what he tried. It was like Jacob was choosing to ignore him, and he was at his wit’s end. He’d tried being gentle, and it didn’t work. Now, they had no house, no ranch, and only each other—there was no time for gentle. His father had never been gentle, so why should he be?

Having had enough, he stalked away from Jacob and back to the front of the wagon, where he plopped himself down, his legs dangling over the front again. He watched the darker-skinned man pace up and down as more wagons joined the fleet. A moment or two passed before Clara came to sit beside him.

“His manners aren’t going to get better if you keep yelling at him,” she said simply, looking straight ahead.

“It’s how Father taught me,” he replied, his tone matter-of-fact.

“You’re not our father. Jacob isn’t you,” she said. “He needs a mother, a female touch in his life to show him how to act, how to be polite and kind and generous.”

Benny tried to listen, but he couldn’t help but dwell on how much he was acting like his father. He’d tried, when Jacob was small, to be different. His father had been stern, the way men of his age had to be. Benny had followed in his footsteps; he was the same with Jacob as his father had been with him, even though he’d never liked the way his father treated him. But it was all that he knew.

“Mmhm,” he replied, distracted.

“You really need to marry, find someone to be his mother.”

Benny nodded mindlessly. He was lost in his own thoughts, and he had no desire to discuss his relationships, or lack thereof, with his sister. They had more important things to do. They were about to embark on a cross-country journey, after all.

“You’re not listening,” Clara said with a huff.

“I am,” he said. “I’m just preoccupied.”

“Well, one day, you’ll need to take me seriously,” she said. “You think Jake’s behavior’s going to get any better?”

“We don’t know it won’t,” he said with a shrug. “This kind of journey changes you. It changed us.”

“It changed us for very different reasons, Ben.”

Benny shrugged again. He was done with the conversation. He hated talking about parenting, about women—it just made him angry. He’d had a wife. He’d tried the whole thing, and this was where it got him. He wanted to leave it in the past.

“Fine,” Clara huffed, standing. “That man looks like he’s in charge,” she said, looking across the small field to the guy pacing up and down. “Ask him when we’re setting off.”

Benny waited for Clara’s footsteps to recede down the wagon and then slid down the front and onto the ground. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he walked over toward the man with the braid. At closer inspection, the man had light eyes, which Benny had never seen on someone with his complexion.

I wonder where he’s from, Benny found himself musing as he approached. Why is he leading us?

Benny stopped a couple of feet away from the man and cleared his throat. The man looked toward him and smiled. He had a friendly face and bright white teeth, and from where Benny was standing, he could see that he was wearing a leather jacket, woolen trousers, and a white shirt that was slightly too big for him.

“Can I help you, sir?” the man asked.

“I was hoping so,” Benny replied with a small smile. “I’m Ben; my friends call me Benny. I’m with that wagon over there.” He paused, turning at an angle to point at the wagon. It was larger than most of the others, and even from where he was standing, you could tell it carried more than most.

The man nodded, peering at the wagon, then back at Benny.

“I was hoping you could tell me when we’re likely to set off?” Benny continued. “I’ve got a young lad and my sister with me, and they’re both getting rather restless.”

“Well, first of all, hello. It’s a pleasure. I’m David Fairchild.”

David held out his hand for Benny to shake, and Benny obliged. The other man’s hands were warm, calloused, and strong—stronger than he’d anticipated.

“And I sure can tell you when,” David said. “We’re just waitin’ for a few more wagons, and we’ll be off before twilight.”

Benny glanced up at the sky. The sun was past its peak, but there were a good couple of hours before twilight set in.

He held in the urge to groan and gave David a polite nod in reply. “I see, thank you. Am I to assume you’re guiding us?”

“That’s right,” David replied. “I’m very familiar with the trail. Have helped a number of groups across it. I’m familiar with the ways of the Natives, you see, havin’ grown up with the Arapahos. Helps a whole lot.”

That’s where he’s from.

“Ah, of course. Well, I’m glad to have you with us, then,” he said with a smile. “I’ll catch you later.”

And with that, Benny reluctantly headed back to his wagon, hoping—against all odds—that this trip would be exactly what he and his family needed.

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