Finding Love in a Stagecoach (Preview)

Chapter One

Western New York, 1875

Nineteen-year-old Sarah Nesmith raced through the trees of a grove in the northeast corner of her father’s estate, her reddish brown hair loosening from its knot at the nape of her neck, her fair skin flushed with color as she laughed. Both hands grasped a handful of her skirt, lifting it to her knees as she dashed barefoot through the trees after the quickly disappearing dog, barking happily ahead. Only the stitch in her side slowed her down. Well, that and the fact that she was nearing the edge of the grove, where she had left her shoes just a little while ago.

She paused near a rocky granite outcropping on the very southern tip of Seneca Lake, overlooking miles and miles of forested land to the north. Seneca Lake was only one of a half-dozen narrow lakes that scored the land between Syracuse and Buffalo, appearing like claw marks in the landscape. From here, looking north, Sarah caught her breath and imagined what it must’ve been like a hundred years ago in this wilderness. How frighteningly daunting as farmers and homesteaders pushed west from the colonies into the lands of the Five Nation Confederacy, more commonly known as the People of The Longhouse: the Iroquois and Cayuga, the Onondaga, the Tuscarora and Seneca. 

It had been wilderness then with dangers all around from the raiding Indians to attacks by bears and mountain lions, slips and falls from trails that wove their way hundreds of feet above her. Then came the uncertain times of the revolution and the fight for independence. It seemed so long ago, yet despite it being the Year of our Lord 1875, this country landscape was still as wild and rugged, beautifully difficult, and dangerous as it had been during the past century.

When she felt particularly imaginative, she pretended she lived in such a time. Her family pushing steadily westward for prime farmland, struggling with the rocky soil, and hoping to clear enough land to work the rich soil beneath to grow crops of corn—

She heard her puppy, Hawkeye, named after the main character of a wonderful book named The Last of the Mohicans, by a brilliant author named James Fenimore Cooper, barking in the distance. She had been forced to hide that book beneath her pillow lest her mother finds it and tell her that her love of reading stories of adventure, exploration, and danger would not stand her in good stead as a wife and mother someday. With a soft huff, she turned her thoughts back to getting home before her parents realized she’d snuck out and ventured into the woods.

She eyed the sun sinking slowly downward in the western sky and realized she must hurry. If she didn’t, she would be late for supper, which was served promptly at five o’clock this evening due to company arriving. Usually, they ate a little later in the afternoon, but always before seven o’clock. The servants could clean up the kitchen, light the lamps throughout the house, and then retire up to their separate, but small rooms in the attic. The family settled downstairs in the front parlor before making their way to their separate bedrooms on the second and third floors for the night.

As she neared the edge of the tree line, she saw her family’s summer vacation home rising mid-slope ahead, the surrounding lawns exquisitely cared for, the groundskeepers tending the flower beds and shrubbery often. Inside, a dozen beloved servants took care of the needs of her family. Sarah had known all of them her entire life. She sighed. Besides her parents, Jared and Ellen Nesmith, she lived with her twenty-four-year-old brother, Nicholas, and three younger sisters, Maddie, who had just turned sixteen, Lydia now fourteen, and Anna, almost eight.

Pausing to catch her breath, she made her way to the sugar maple tree, its leaves beginning to turn a russet and yellow hue. Underneath the tree lay her shoes and white stockings. She carefully sat down, careful not to smudge the soft green fabric of her skirt as she reluctantly donned the stockings and shoes. Over the years, she was scolded more than once for her unladylike temperament, preferring to explore the woods behind the house, climb trees, and, once in a while, run for the simple joy of running. 

A voice startled her, prompting her to yelp as she turned to find her brother emerging from the shadows with a grin.

“Daydreaming again, Sarah?”

After she recovered from his surprise appearance, she smiled. “Yes. I love it here, Nicholas,” she murmured. “I wish we didn’t have to leave.” 

Though five years older, Sarah was especially close to Nicholas. He had always been her confidant; always supporting and encouraging her. He sat down beside her with a sigh.

“I know what you mean.”

“I don’t want to go back to Chicago. It’s too crowded.” Her family’s primary home was in Chicago. It is a grand house designed in the Château-esque style of French architecture and close to the western shoreline of Lake Michigan. Though quite modern, the stone structure evoked a sense of power and grandeur, unlike their summer home in the woods.

“I know, but Father has the business to deal with.” He glanced at her. “And I will go back to school soon.”

Nicholas had almost completed his courses at Harvard University in Massachusetts. It was his dream of becoming a journalist, and someday becoming a publisher of books and newspapers.

She sighed and brought up the subject that had been bothering her for days now. “I think Father is up to something.”

Nicholas turned to her with a lifted eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Without looking at her brother, she explained, while watching a trio of geese approach the lake with a cacophony of honking. “I heard him talking to Mother. About me.”

He repeated his query. “What do you mean, about you?”

She finally turned to him. “My future, or lack thereof,” she grimaced. “I heard that word again.”

“Marriage?”

Glumly, she nodded. “I’m only nineteen, Nicholas. There’s plenty of time for marriage.”

He shrugged. “Most women you age are already married and have a family.”

She turned to him with a scowl. “Well, I’m not most women, am I?”

He grinned and gently bumped his shoulder against hers. “No, Sarah, you most certainly are not.”

They sat in companionable silence for several minutes before he rose with a sigh. “Well, I’m heading back to the house.” He held out his hand. “Come with me?”

She shook her head. “No, not just yet. I want to enjoy being out here as long as I can before the summer is truly over.”

She watched as Nicholas walked away, whistling softly as he gradually disappeared. She frowned. Men had it so easy. No one pestered them about getting married. No one thought there was anything wrong with Nicholas not being married yet, even though he was twenty-four years old. She pushed away unpleasant thoughts and turned back to the lake.

She loved the summer home. She enjoyed the large separation of properties more than the estates found in Chicago, where her family spent most of their time. Out here, she heard the breeze gently wafting through the treetops of the red and sugar maples, box elders and pines. She often spied happily chattering squirrels, the soft brown eyes of a deer, rabbits, porcupines, and skunks. She loved them all. Expect the skunk musk, in which an accidental meeting ended with the skunk startled and Sarah entering her home only to be met with gasps, gags, and cries of alarm.

She enjoyed the pine-scented air, the sight of flocks of geese and cranes flying over or floating on the lake, the many species of ducks. She especially loved to hear the haunting cry of the loons floating on the surface of the lake at dawn, half-hidden in the fog that lifted from the water. That the Lord could craft something so beautiful, so full of life and color, always left her in awe. She felt His presence most surrounded by nature.

It was here, at their summer home in Seneca Lake, that she felt the most comfortable, a place where she could be herself, a bit less concerned about proper decorum, and where she received slightly less criticism for her often “unladylike” behavior. Here she could sit on the front porch or under a tree and read. Here, her parents were not so critical of her choice in books, frowning at her interest in history and expressing her opinions on subjects that were not typically the purview of well-heeled women. Here, she didn’t have to succumb to piano lessons or spend so much of her time learning to sew, embroider, or engage in other ladylike pursuits that her mother encouraged her to indulge in.

As the daughter of one of the richest men in New York, and now Chicago, there were certain expectations she was to uphold. She had lived in Chicago since she was fifteen, and was to behave and comport herself as a gentle, docile, and well-behaved young woman composed of dignity and grace at all times. Her father was a well-known partial owner of a popular railroad and an absentee owner of a bank on Wall Street. Her parents entertained often, and though she often considered their guests to be stodgy, conceited, and often condescending individuals. She began to lack the patience required by her parents to indulge such individuals.

Originally, she had been glad to learn that they were to be moving west, away from New York City. Years ago, she delighted in visions of rolling hills and meadows, only to learn that they would be taking up residence in Chicago. 

Yet it was here, at the summerhouse at the southernmost tip of Seneca Lake, where she enjoyed a sense of freedom and adventure and caused her parent’s little consternation. As she donned her stockings and shoes, she eyed the mansion, relieved that her mother wasn’t standing at the door with one hand shielding her eyes from the setting sun; looking for her. She loved her home and her family, but sometimes, the strict rules placed on her were quite intolerable. Why was it so unacceptable that a healthy young woman such as herself should stroll the woods surrounding her home by herself? Why must one always be presentable and proper at all times?

Didn’t she do as they asked? Didn’t she behave in a prim and proper manner, keeping her thoughts to herself at the table when they had visitors? Didn’t she obediently learn how to play the piano, though she loathed it with every fiber of her being? Was it so unacceptable that a young woman raid her father’s library to read books on history, philosophy, and horticulture?

She gazed at the pretty, three-story Queen Anne Victorian with white scrollwork trim and sky-blue painted clapboard siding. She stood admiring the freshly painted white window trims and steep gabled roof with two chimneys at either end. Her father had built the summer home for her mother, nestled on fifteen acres of beautifully landscaped grounds, a testament to his wealth and status. 

With a sigh, she headed quickly for the house. The main floor was equipped with two kitchens, one for summer and one used in winter months, though they had never stayed here over a winter. Each kitchen had a walk-in pantry. Their home had a solarium, a favorite place for Sarah. The double parlors, one for company and entertaining, the other less ostentatious and used solely for the family. A formal dining room served as the principal gathering place for company with luxurious table settings and linens. 

The second floor held her father’s office and study, a sitting room, and two bedrooms. The master for her parents and another for her two youngest sisters, Lydia and Anna. Sarah, Maddie, and Nicholas had slightly larger rooms on the third floor. They were considered old enough to have their own rooms.

Sarah hurried into the house, hoping she could sneak inside and make her way upstairs to her bedroom before being discovered by her mother. As she entered the kitchen, Margaret glanced over her shoulder and shook her head, whispering loudly.

“Your mother’s been looking for you! Did you forget your parents are having company this evening?” 

Their cook, an often fiery-tempered Irish woman of indeterminate age named Margaret O’Donnell, was one of her favorite people in the residence. She often smiled or rolled her eyes when Sarah snuck into the house by the back door near the kitchen, often with a smudged face or a dirt-stained skirt. On such occasions, Margaret would send her up the back stairs that the servants used so her mother wouldn’t scold her.

“No,” she groaned. She hadn’t forgotten the Maxwells were coming over this evening. They were an older couple from New York City and old friends of her parents. She heard noises coming from the dining room, her mother’s slightly frustrated voice requesting that the table be set with fresh flowers. With a grin at Margaret, Sarah quickly opened the door to the narrow stairway and slipped inside, closing it behind her and hurrying up the narrow steps, hoping to make it to her bedroom and change before anyone saw her.

Unfortunately, as she stepped onto the third floor landing, the door suddenly swung open and she found herself staring at a triumphant seven-year-old. Sarah tried to frown at her little sister, but couldn’t hold the expression for long before she broke into a grin. Anna gave her a gaped-toothed smile, having just lost the second of her front teeth a couple of days ago. She spoke with a slight lisp where her tongue caught in the space.

“I thought I heard you thneaking upstairs!” the young girl exclaimed. “I knew I’d catch you thith time—”

Sarah smiled and placed a finger over her mouth, hushing her little sister. “Come with me, Anna. I found something that I think you might like.” She reached for her younger sister’s hand as she peeked around to make sure that no one was in the hallway. She quickly hurried toward her bedroom, the last on the left, her footsteps muffled by the long, narrow rug that spanned much of the hallway.

The bedroom doors to Nicholas and Maddie’s rooms were closed. The window at the end of the hallway was open, the thin muslin curtains hanging over it shifting gently with the breeze, bringing with it the scent of sweet ferns, dogwood, and honeysuckle. It was warmer up here on the third floor than it was outside, and Sarah grimaced as she plucked at her very unladylike sweat-dampened blouse. They made it into the bedroom without being discovered by Maddie or any of the maids. Once in her room, tugging Anna behind her, she closed the door softly.

Her room was spacious, the walls bedecked in a delicate wildflower pattern. Two large windows looked to the east, their curtains drawn back, the windows open to allow the cooler air inside. Her large bed stood on the left-hand wall, a small table with a porcelain lamp on one side, a small bookcase on the other. Two sitting chairs, a small desk, and a table filled with sundries that she rarely used tucked in the space between the windows. She treasured the old quilt that served as her coverlet, made by her grandmother, who’d died when she was young. The soft floral carpet beneath her feet allowed her to move about freely without worrying about the wooden floor bothering her younger sisters below.

 She reached into the pocket of her skirt, from which she withdrew a dirt-caked arrowhead. Anna held the treasure carefully in her palm, her eyes wide and her smile giving Sarah some pleasure. Anna was most like her, most interested in being outside to explore and play.

“Well, I hear our company will be here soon, so I suppose—”

Anna pulled her gaze from the arrowhead. “The Maxwells are already here, Tharah. They’re in the formal parlor with Mother and Father.

Sarah winced. “Oh dear, I’d better change.” She looked down at Anna. “You must go. If I can, I will sneak you up a treat after supper, all right?”

Anna nodded and quickly left to join her sisters in their room, where they would eat separately, as they always did when company arrived. Without the separation, formal suppers would descend into chaos. To make sure things remained calm among the younger trio, Alice, the main housekeeper, would keep them company in their room until their guests left.

Forty minutes later, she had washed up in the basin in her room and combed out her hair, tying it into a top knot over the crown of her head and securing it in place with long hairpins. She smoothed over a dark brown cotton skirt and a high-collared, tightly cuffed blouse. After making sure every carved ivory button was properly secured she left her room. She was the image of a perfectly dressed young lady as she took the stairs down to the first floor. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she heard voices coming from the front formal parlor. She already knew  Anna, Lydia, and Maddie had likely offered their greetings and returned to their rooms. Only she and Nicholas were allowed at the table with her parents and their guests.

At the bottom of the stairs, she glanced left into the formal dining room, where her mother’s best gold-edged bone china and crystal-cut glassware had been placed atop a beautiful white tablecloth, the silverware sparkling under the candlelight from the chandelier. A breakfront stood against one wall, and a three-cornered cabinet in the opposite corner, its glass-paned doors displaying a set of plain white china. Once, she had tried to explain to her mother the difference between her mother’s fine bone wedding china, made of clay, ground stone, and bone ash, which was why it was so thin, almost translucent and lightweight. Their daily used plain china was heavier and constructed of coarser materials, which she had been about to explain, but her mother had simply shushed her with a wave of her hand.

She recalled her mother’s comment, word for word. “Daughter, you spend too much time with your books and not enough time on more ladylike pursuits. You’ll never catch a husband that way.”

Frankly, she didn’t care if she didn’t “catch” a husband. After all, at nineteen years old, she should have been married already, if not at least engaged. Her father had previously attempted to make a match for her, but fortunately for Sarah, her father’s potential target was quite blunt and did not hesitate to express that he had no interest in marrying a bookish, verbally independent woman of Sarah’s temperament.

While Sarah had experienced short-lived relief, she knew it wouldn’t last long. Her father was determined to make a match for every one of his daughters, not only to see them settled into adult life but also to increase the family’s reputation, and of course, power. It was very important for her father to find young men of a certain class that would unite their powerful families and ensure their daughters would be well cared for and in the manner to which they had grown accustomed.

Her father’s attitude disappointed her. Why didn’t he stop to consider her feelings or considerations when it came to a match? When she told them she wanted to make a love match, her father grimaced, and her mother rolled her eyes. Every time the topic was brought up, her mother reminded her she and her father had started their life together in a prearranged marriage, and look how well they turned out.

Sarah had to admit that her parents’ marriage was peaceful most of the time, but she considered her mother old-fashioned, and more than willing to let her father make all the decisions about their lives—

“Sarah! There you are!”

Jolted from her thoughts, Sarah looked into the parlor to find her mother gesturing her inside, the lifted eyebrow a warning look telling her she better be on her best behavior and manners. It was expected. Sarah sighed, pasted a small smile on her face, and stepped into the room, noting the proud look in her father’s eyes as she did so. Her father sat in an overstuffed chair in a corner of the room, his wife on one end of a settee beside it, her brother Nicholas taking up the other end. Her brother was being groomed to take over their father’s railroad business dealings and spent most of his days with him at his office. Sarah felt bad for him. Nicholas had always wanted to be a blacksmith. The idea of turning a piece of metal into something useful fascinated him. It wasn’t just the females in the family burdened with the expectations of their parents. Her brother gave her a wink. She gave him a genuine smile and then turned toward their guests, who greeted her with enthusiasm.

“Oh my goodness, Sarah, you’re a grown woman now!”

The comment came from Agatha Mulberry, their former neighbors in New York City. The woman wore a heavy-looking gown, quite out of fashion. Her cheeks pinked and her skin glistened with a fine sheen of perspiration in the warm parlor. Beside her half-stood her gray-haired and mustached husband, Archibald, leaning heavily on a cane as he greeted Sarah.

He said, “and a lovely one at that.”

She smiled politely at the older couple, dipping her head slightly as she accepted their compliments. “It’s good to see you both again.”

Sarah focused on keeping her thoughts to herself while her father and Mr Mulberry discussed their opinions on post-war reconstruction, expanding their plans for additional railroad lines, and the pros and cons of the current president, Rutherford B. Hayes… 

Sarah had read about him. He had been wounded in the War Between the States and served three terms as the governor of Ohio before throwing his hat in the ring for the presidency. He won the electoral vote by one point.

She forced herself to bite her tongue several times throughout supper to keep her unwanted opinion to herself. She wished things could be different, that she could actually find a man to fall in love with; a man who would love her for herself. At the same time, she would hate to hurt her parents or siblings by defying her father’s wishes for a business match. She resigned to accept that a match would be made for her in the near future.

So much for her dreams of adventure and travel. She longed to begin a career writing adventure stories for publication one day. She’d loved reading and writing ever since she was a little girl, but she hadn’t shown her stories to anyone since she’d been in school. There was only that once she had shown one of her stories to a boy she liked. Instead of being impressed, as she expected, he laughed and made fun of her in front of everyone. Since then, she’d learned to keep her aspirations, hopes, and dreams to herself. Fearing more rejection, she never expressed her desires to her parents nor showed them her stories. She would do her duty as a daughter, in obedience to her parents’ wishes, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. In fact—

“Sarah,” Agatha spoke. “Any beaus?”

Sarah blinked, cast a quick glance at her mother, and forced her lips into a smile. “Not just yet, Mrs Mulberry.” She felt a flush of heat in her cheeks. She wondered what their guests would think if she told them the truth, that most young men in Chicago found her a bit “too educated” for their tastes.

Her brother Nicholas caught her eye, and she saw a quick flash of commiseration as he glanced at her. Nicholas and she often confided in one another. He too felt burdened under his “duty” to follow their parents’ wishes regarding his future, but wasn’t it expected of the only son to take over the family business?

Didn’t the dreams, aspirations, and hopes matter to their parents? Was every single one of their future relationships only to further the family’s wealth and influence? Didn’t it matter to their parents that they might prefer a love match instead?

She glanced away from Mrs Mulberry and turned to her mother, commenting that Margaret had outdone herself with the pheasant, desperately hoping to head off any other questions about beaus, courtships, or marriage. While she loved her parents, she started to feel resentful of “her duty.” She quickly tried to push such thoughts from her mind, knowing that it would only make her frustrated. Finally, supper over, she glanced at her mother and father with a lifted eyebrow, received a nod, and then politely excused herself from the table.

“It was very nice to see you again Mr and Mrs Mulberry. I hope you have a safe journey back to New York City.”

“Thank you, my dear,” Agatha said. “I’m anxious to get back to the vibrancy of the city.”

Sarah nodded. “Well, safe travels.”

With that, she left the room and strode down the hallway toward the back of the house and then outside. She closed the door softly behind her, leaving her mother to think that she had gone upstairs to her room. Instead, she went out to the barn. The scent of hay, grain, leather, and horses filled her with a sense of calm. Not caring that she might get dirt or straw on her shoes or the bottom of her dress, she reached for the brush in the metal bucket near a stall. Inside, a gray dappled horse nickered a greeting.

“Hello, General.” She had named every one of the five horses in the barn. There was General Washington, Mr Jefferson, Miss Ross, after the designer and maker of the country’s first flag, and Martha, after George Washington’s wife. And then there was Thumper, her favorite, a small mare that her father had bought for her on her tenth birthday. She stroked their noses and gave them pats on the neck before stroking General’s nose with her left hand and idly brushing his mane and withers with her brush, her thoughts confused, wondering what was to become of her future.

Chapter Two

“Your father is at it again?”

Tyler Hatfield turned his gaze to his good friend Aidan with a nod. “I don’t know why he just can’t let it go. I understand that he wants me to get married, but I’m only twenty-four. There’s plenty of time for that. Besides, you know what happened the last time, remember?”

Aidan nodded but didn’t say anything.

They sat on their horses atop a ridge overlooking the vast landscape of the Hatfield cattle ranch, ten miles outside of Abilene. It wasn’t that Tyler didn’t want to ever get married, he did. The problem was finding the right woman. Unfortunately, his first attempt at courtship and falling in love hadn’t worked out very well. Madeleine, a seventeen-year-old beauty he’d met in town. She worked with her mother as a seamstress in town, impressively talented with a needle. She was friendly, good-natured, and, he had thought‌, a perfect match for him.

He had quickly fallen in love with her and considered asking her to marry him until the day he overheard her talking to her friends. He had just sat down on the plank boards that served as a boardwalk around the mercantile, his back to the door, thinking to read a little of the month-old newspaper he found. It had been left there by a traveler from Boston. He was embroiled in an article about a witchcraft trial, the second of its kind, in a place called Salem, Massachusetts. As a child, he had heard about the witchcraft trials there, back when the country was in its infancy. This time around, the judge dismissed the case, as well as he should!

He’d just started on another article when he heard a familiar twitter of laughter. He almost glanced around to say hello to Madeleine, but then heard two other feminine voices and decided not to. The three of them were walking into the mercantile from the opposite direction when he heard the voice of one of her friends.

“You’re so lucky to have fallen in love with just the right person at your age, Madeleine.”

Madeleine’s answer had struck him to the core.

“I’m not in love with Tyler, Beth. But if we do get married, I’ll secure myself a suitable position financially, something that my mother said was very important.”

Ever since then, Tyler hesitated to form relationships with women, believing that, like Madeleine, they were only interested in the family money. His father owned one of the largest cattle ranches in this part of Texas, and Tyler would inherit its seventy-five thousand acres, which was just about one-hundred-seventeen square miles of perfect cattle land. Abilene had become a popular destination for cattle drives throughout the region in recent years, and his father had also made deals with cattle ranchers through Texas and New Mexico. They could use his land to graze on as they recovered from the long cattle trail drives. For a small fee, of course.

Besides the ranch and its profits selling cattle, his father also owned a stagecoach company with routes northward into Oklahoma territory and Kansas, He also had routes into the wild and untamed lands of Montana, Colorado, New Mexico territories, and as far west as Arizona.

“You didn’t argue about it again, did you?”

Tyler turned to Aiden and shook his head. “What’s the point? I don’t like to argue with him, you know that. But he’s also not going to let this go. He’s worried about getting older and leaving me the ranch and stagecoach business. He wants me to have a wife and children to carry on the family legacies…” He shook his head. “I just don’t understand why he’s in such a hurry. You know how many times since Madeleine he’s tried to encourage me to court a woman?”

Aiden chuckled. “Three.”

Tyler glanced at his friend with a lifted eyebrow. “Can you believe that? Three times he’s accidentally introduced me to new business acquaintances in Abilene or Dallas who just happen to have unmarried daughters.”

“He just wants to see you settled and happy with a wife and family before he dies.”

“Well, he’s not even fifty years old. He’s got a ways to go.” He shook his head. It had been just him and his father since his mother passed away when Tyler was five years old. She’d died suddenly of an illness, and ever since then, the two of them had been close, more like friends or brothers than a father and son. They ran the ranch and stagecoach business together, and confided in one another, to a certain degree.

Of course, there were things that Tyler didn’t tell his father, such as his aggravation at his constant efforts at matchmaking. He didn’t quite understand Tyler’s hesitance to form an attachment with a woman since Madeleine, even though his father knew what had prompted the end of that relationship.

“Not all women are going to be after you for your money, Tyler,” he’d told him time and time again. “There’s a woman out there for you, I know it. Not all relationships end like the one you had with Madeleine.”

Tyler wasn’t so sure.

Still, it was hard for him to trust people and believe his relationships with others were real. He did trust Aiden, but that was it. He and Aiden Middleton had been friends since they were ten years old. Aiden was now the blacksmith in the town of Sanders, which stood about halfway between Abilene and the Hatfield ranch. He had the same brown hair and brown eyes as Tyler. Aiden had never cared that Tyler’s father was one of the richest men in the area, nor that Tyler would someday inherit all of it. Yet, it wasn’t true of many people he met. He had his share of mothers trying to foist their daughters off on him, simpering women who came from the east coast with their parents, turning their noses up at the dry, dusty landscape, wrinkling their noses at the odor of cattle, manure, and horse sweat. But not the money the ranch produced.

If the Lord ever thought Tyler fit enough to grace him with a woman he could trust, he wanted her to be someone who appreciated the true beauty of the Texas landscape, one willing to work beside him, and tough enough to endure boiling hot summers and frigid winters. He wanted a woman who wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty and care for the land as much as he did. He wanted—

“I saw Addie again last night.”

Tyler forgot his own issues and glanced at his friend, a smile curving his lips. “That’s the second Sunday in a row. You really like her, don’t you?”

Aidan nodded. “Taking her on a carriage ride this afternoon.”

It was a lazy, warm Sunday afternoon, and Sundays were for resting and visiting. He glanced at his friend, saw the way he looked at him, and sighed. “Oh, for crying out loud, Aidan, not you too?”

He shrugged. “Well, we need a chaperone. Addie’s friend Nettie is going along, and I thought it would be less awkward for her, and me frankly, if you came along. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about trying to keep Nettie entertained when I’m trying to enjoy some private conversation with Addie.”

Tyler started shaking his head, but Aidan turned to him, his expression serious.

“Please, Tyler. I’m thinking… well, I’m thinking of sneaking a kiss or two, and that would be a lot easier if Nettie had you to distract her, don’t you think?”

“Aiden—”

“What’s it going to hurt, Tyler? You already told me you weren’t doing anything special this afternoon… so come along with us. It’s just a buggy ride to Miller’s pond and back. Besides, I’ve met Nettie. She’s a nice girl and a close friend of Addie’s.”

Tyler sighed, knowing that he’d agree. Aiden was always ready to help him when he needed it, and he supposed he could return the favor. Besides, he was happy for Aiden. He hoped the relationship with Addie would blossom.

“Good, now that’s settled, we’d better get going.” Aiden glanced at the sun. “I told Addie that I would pick them up at two o’clock, and it’s getting close to that already. I still have to hitch up the buggy, but with the two of us doing it, it will go much faster, don’t you think?”

Tyler grumbled again, but Aiden tapped his heels into his horse’s side and trotted off, leaving Tyler to follow. With Aiden guiding the team of horses and Tyler sitting in the front seat with him, they turned into the yard of Addie’s home in less than an hour. Several children played out in the front yard, but they barely stopped to look at the occupants of the buggy and continued to play, racing around the corner of the house.

The mid-afternoon sun felt warm on Tyler’s face, but it was a pleasant day, one of the few left before summer’s heat beat down. Beneath an overhang on the front porch, he spied Addie standing next to a lovely young woman, both of them wearing simple handmade dresses with close-fitting bodices, daintily scooped necklines, long sleeves, and gently flaring skirts.

He and Aiden stepped down from the buggy, both removing their hats as they approached the porch. He offered a greeting to Addie, his eyes glancing more than once at the young woman standing next to her.

“Hi, Tyler.” Addie smiled. She turned to her friend. “I’d like you to meet my friend, Nettie Stewart.” She paused. “Nettie, this is Tyler Hatfield, the man I was telling you about.”

Tyler offered a nod, greeting the young woman. He had to admit; she was quite lovely. Pins held up her honey-golden hair off her neck and rolled it into a rope-like arrangement. She had creamy, freckled cheekbones, blue eyes, and a cupid’s bow mouth. She certainly was something to look at, and he was thinking this buggy ride wouldn’t be so bad after all.

After helping Nettie into the back seat of the buggy while Aiden did the same with Addie in the front seat, the foursome set off at a trot. There were at least six inches between them, but Tyler could still smell the lavender-scented perfume. He caught himself casting several surreptitious glances toward his companion for the afternoon, not really knowing what to say. Up front, Addie and Aiden engaged in quiet conversation.

To break the silence, Tyler turned toward Nettie and spoke. “I’m surprised I haven’t met you before now. I thought I knew most of Aiden’s friends.”

She turned to him with a bright smile. “That’s not surprising, Mr Hatfield—”

“Please, it’s Tyler.” 

She flushed. “All right, Tyler. Actually, I haven’t been in town all that long. My mother and I arrived in Abilene only three months ago. She runs a small boarding house on the east end of town. I spend most of my time there helping out.”

It did not surprise Tyler that he hadn’t run into Nettie. Abilene was growing fast, and new businesses were cropping up everywhere. He felt awkward and sought a topic to broach, but Nettie filled the silence.

“Addie tells me you and Aiden have been friends since you were little boys, and you live on a big ranch west of town.”

“That’s true.”

“I’ve heard that you’re one of the wealthiest families in these parts.”

“Oh well, I don’t know about that,” he said softly.

She grew animated, leaning forward in her seat and eyeing him. “I hear that you not only have one of the largest ranches in the area, but your father also owns a stagecoach line!”

Tyler nodded. “He does. Actually, I do a bit of driving myself.”

She lifted her eyebrows, her eyes wide. “You know how to drive a stagecoach?”

Before giving him a chance to reply, she continued.

“I suppose you see all kinds of places, don’t you?” She shook her head and sighed. “I can imagine how nice that must be, to have enough money to go anywhere you please, do anything you want to do.” Her eyes gleamed at the thought of it. “Have you ever been to a big city like Chicago or San Francisco? What about Boston or New York?” 

Tyler could hardly get a word in edge wise. “I don’t really have time to go gallivanting around,” he said. “It’s hard work running the ranch and stagecoach business.” He noted a look of surprise crossing her features.

“Surely, you don’t do all the work yourself? You have ranch hands, don’t you?”

Tyler frowned, cast a quick glance off to the side, his heart sinking. Aiden appeared not to have heard the questions as he leaned close to Addie, whispering in her ear. He turned back to Nettie. “Of course we do. No one can run a ranch all by themselves.”

“I heard you own over ten thousand acres and run thousands of head of cattle. Why, with the price of beef these days, I imagine you and your father make a huge profit every year.”

Tyler didn’t respond, not particularly caring for the direction the conversation was heading, which seemed to be pointedly focused on his wealth rather than his personality. It happened all the time. Despite his father’s encouragement to find a woman that might make him as happy as his wife had made him. This was exactly the reason he felt he could never trust a woman. Nettie was interested in him, but only his status and wealth. 

Luckily, the buggy reached the pond quickly. The three of them enjoyed a small picnic, though Tyler had pretty much lost his appetite. In the company of Aiden and Addie, Nettie wasn’t quite so forward with her questions about ranches and stagecoaches. Instead, she sat fairly quietly, occasionally glancing at Addie, but more often gazing off into the distance, idly slapping at a buzzing bee or a determined mosquito. Finally, with a gasp, she turned to her friend.

“Honestly, Addie, the mosquitoes here are huge! I’m getting eaten alive!”

Addie smiled and then glanced at Aiden. “It is getting late in the afternoon and the mosquitoes will soon be out in droves. I suppose we ought to pack up and head back to town.”

Relieved, Tyler quickly stood and walked to the shore of the pond while the women repacked the picnic basket and folded up the blanket, placing it in the back of the buggy.

“I’m sorry about that,” Aiden said abruptly. 

Tyler glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. “Oh, you heard all that on the way here, did you?”

Aiden nodded with chagrin. “I apologize. I had no idea Nettie was… well, don’t get discouraged, Tyler. You’ll find the perfect woman someday.”

Glancing back at the ladies, Tyler simply nodded. Inwardly, he seriously doubted it.

---

“Finding Love in a Stagecoach” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

Sarah Nesmith is the nineteen-year-old daughter of a well-to-do family, beautiful and outspoken, nonetheless respectful of her parents’ wishes. Ever the dutiful daughter, when her father expresses his intentions to marry her into an advantageous marriage, she reluctantly agrees. During her trip to meet her betrothed, she unexpectedly finds herself growing fond of her chivalrous driver, wondering if her fiancé in Texas is anything like him.

Will she let her overflowing emotions shape her destiny?

Tyler Hatfield has given up on marriage, persuaded that no woman is capable of loving him for who he is, but rather for the glowing gold in his pocket. When his father agrees to an arranged marriage, Tyler comes up with a plan to see for himself what kind of woman his wife-to-be really is. He pretends to be nothing more than her stagecoach driver, escorting her to her destination and thus getting to know her true colors. What he discovers turns his world upside down…

Can she be the exception to his rule that will give new life to his withered heart?

Their otherwise uneventful journey is derailed by an attack by outlaws and a kidnapping that threatens Sarah’s safety and Tyler’s only chance to love. In this complicated situation, the two of them must find a way to unfold their hidden feelings and save both their lives and their hearts. Will they survive the dangers and get their happy ending or will they be doomed to a bitter one?

“Finding Love in a Stagecoach” is a historical western romance novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

Get your copy from Amazon!