“UNCLE MARCUS, WHAT is that?”
Josie followed Clay’s pointing finger to a brown-and-black brindle steer with horns that had to be six feet from end to end. It was proof, if she needed it, that they were nearing their destination, Jake and Miranda’s cattle ranch, Three Oaks.
Clay was sitting between Blackthorne and Josie on the bench seat of an open wagon they’d hired in San Antonio, while Spencer sat directly behind them on a keg of nails they’d agreed to deliver to the Creed ranch, because it would save a trip for the local dry goods merchant.
“Those cattle are called longhorns,” Blackthorne said, slipping an arm around the boy’s shoulder. “Can you guess why?”
Clay looked uncertain, but ventured, “Because their horns are so long?”
“Right!” Blackthorne said, pulling the boy close for a hug.
“That was a good guess, Clay,” Spencer said, adding his praise to their uncle’s. “I have another one for you, Uncle Marcus.”
“I’m listening.”
Josie never heard the question or the answer. All she heard was the trust in Spencer’s voice, and the love in Blackthorne’s. Even though they’d made the journey from England as fast as humanly possible, it had taken far too long. Long enough for Blackthorne to show her that he intended to be a better caretaker for his nephews than he’d been in the past. Long enough for her to fall even more deeply in love with him. Long enough for him to plant the seed for another generation of Blackthornes that was growing in her belly.
And more than long enough for Miranda to either succumb to childbed fever or recover completely.
Josie hadn’t tried to get in touch with anyone at the ranch during the journey, because she’d feared hearing bad news, and good news could wait. She’d merely prayed every day that her sister would get well and hoped that Miranda would be waiting with her new baby to greet them when they arrived.
In the distance, Josie could make out a large white house with columns and a second-story porch, the sort Southerners had built before the Civil War. The house was surrounded by live oaks. Three live oaks, to be precise. She could see people sitting in rockers on the lower porch. They had glasses in their hands. Iced tea? Lemonade?
She was suddenly aware of how long they’d been traveling since they’d left San Antonio, how hot it was, and how thirsty she was. And how there was no way she’d be able to swallow even a sip of anything cold, because her throat had swollen completely closed with fear.
“I think we’re here, Aunt Josie,” Spencer said, bouncing up and down in excitement in the back of the wagon.
“Sit down and sit still!” she said in a sharp voice.
Blackthorne shot her a questioning look, before he turned to Spencer and said, “You’re going to end up tumbling off this wagon before we get there, if you’re not careful.”
Josie was too anxious to apologize to Spencer. Too worried that the seemingly idyllic scene on the porch would turn out to be something entirely different. Like a wake.
“Can you see their faces?” she asked Blackthorne. “Can you tell if they’re happy?”
“They’re smiling!” Clay said. “They’re happy to see us.”
Josie put a hand above her eyes to shade them from the sun, since her stylish hat provided no protection. “Are they really smiling, Marcus? Can you tell from here?”
“They’re grinning, sweetheart. From ear to ear.”
“They wouldn’t look like that if anything bad had happened, would they?” she asked anxiously.
“I don’t think so. But I’m English. Who knows what an American will do.”
Josie swatted him on the arm. “Don’t be mean.”
“I guess that bruising hit means you’re going to relax and enjoy the rest of the ride.”
Josie shot him a questioning look. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve been coiled up like a metal spring all morning. I was afraid you were going to shoot off that bench seat into the clouds at any moment.”
Josie laughed and realized how strange the sound felt. She tried it again, and it sounded more natural. Suddenly, she was laughing so hard tears were squeezing from her eyes.
“What’s so funny, Uncle Marcus?” Clay asked.
“Your aunt is imagining herself shooting off that bench into the sky like a firecracker.”
Clay joined in the laughter. “Aunt Josie is a firecracker!”
“No, she just sparkles like a firecracker,” Spencer quipped.
“She kisses like one, too,” Blackthorne chimed in.
“Stop picking on me,” Josie said, but she was laughing along with everyone else.
That happy picture was what her family saw when Josie arrived at Miranda and Jake’s front door. She sobered as Blackthorne drew the team to a halt, her gaze flitting from one familiar face to the next, skipping the strangers who stood or sat beside them.
Miranda was sitting in a rocker wrapped up in a blanket, even though it was a warm day, a babe in her arms. A stranger sat beside her in a matching rocker. Nick sat on the porch rail with Harry—no longer the sickly four-year-old she remembered—perched beside him. An old man in a wheeled chair sat with a young girl in his lap, neither of whom she recognized. Those must be Miranda’s new relatives.
Her glance skipped to a broad-shouldered man sitting on a hanging swing, with Hannah beside him. Hannah had a redheaded little girl in her lap, and she was pregnant. Beside them stood two people Josie didn’t recognize, but the man had features similar to Hannah’s husband, and the woman was stunningly beautiful. Josie’s gaze shot to Hetty, who’d been badly wounded the last time she’d seen her. Hetty was sitting in a woven, fan-backed chair with a baby in her arms. A plain-faced man stood with his arm possessively on the back of the chair. A younger woman and a young man Josie didn’t recognize sat on the porch steps nearby, along with a teenage boy.
Tears blurred Josie’s vision as she croaked, “I’ve missed you all so much!”
A moment later, she was off the wagon and running for the porch. Her family didn’t wait for her to come to them, they met her halfway and crowded around her. She hugged any part of them she could reach—arms, heads, bodies cradling babies—everyone babbling unintelligible words of greeting and holding tight, as though to assure themselves that this was really happening.
It took Josie a moment to realize that Miranda wasn’t part of the circle. She freed herself and took a step back, eyeing everyone again, letting herself enjoy the sight, and the familiar idiosyncracies, of each family member. Then she pulled free and crossed the porch to where Miranda still sat, with Jake standing beside her holding her shoulder, apparently to keep her from rising.
“Miranda?” A second look at her sister revealed that, although she’d obviously survived the fever that had threatened her life, she was not completely well. Josie dropped to her knees before her sister and rested her head on Miranda’s knees. Her eyes slid closed, as she felt Miranda’s hand gently remove the silly hat she’d worn and caress her golden hair.
“I’m so glad to see you,” Miranda said in a low, hoarse voice.
Josie felt a tear slide down her cheek. They were all here, alive and well. She hadn’t realized how much she blamed herself for the breakup of her family. She was the one who’d found Jake’s advertisement for a mail-order bride in the Chicago newspaper. She was the one who’d written to him on Miranda’s behalf. And she was the one who’d urged Hannah to marry Mr. McMurtry, because she couldn’t stand even one more beating from Miss Birch.
She’d lived for two long years with the knowledge that she was personally responsible for splitting up her family. Only somehow, despite the long separation, they’d all not only survived but apparently thrived.
Josie lifted her tear-streaked face and searched her sister’s features, finding the warm glow of happiness in her eyes, despite her recent illness.
“I’m so glad you’re all right,” Josie said. “I was so afraid…”
“I’m well and the baby’s well and you’re here and we’re all back together again. Everything really has turned out happily ever after.”
Josie gave a happy sob, and then Hannah and Hetty became watering pots, as they all gathered around Miranda’s rocking chair. The men shuffled their feet and rearranged their Western hats, while the Wentworth children held each other tight and bawled their eyes out. Well, except for Nick and Harry, who watched the girls slobber over each other with looks of disgust.
At long last, Josie swiped at her eyes, and stood, searching for the three people she’d brought with her to Texas. She ran back to where Blackthorne waited by the wagon and hauled him onto the porch, along with Spencer and Clay.
“This is my husband, Marcus,” she announced to everyone. “And these are my nephews, Spencer and Clay.”
It took more than a little while for everyone to greet everyone else and for Josie to finally sort everyone out. Their family had grown so much! The two young people standing on the porch turned out to be Hetty’s stepdaughter and her husband, and the beautiful woman was married to Jake’s youngest brother, Ransom Creed. The Creed men were the sons of Cricket Creed, who’d married an Englishman named Alexander Blackthorne after her first husband, Jarrett Creed, had died in the Civil War.
“Do you suppose that Blackthorne fellow is any relation to you?” Josie asked her husband.
“I had an uncle named Alex Wharton,” he replied. “But he disappeared a long time ago.”
“You look just like Alex Blackthorne,” Miranda said. “Doesn’t he, Jake?”
Jake made a face. “Sorry to say, he does.”
“Jake doesn’t care much for his stepfather,” Miranda explained.
“I wouldn’t mind if I never see the son of a bitch again,” Jake muttered.
“Jake!” Miranda chided. “Watch your manners. And your language.”
“If your Alexander Blackthorne is my uncle Alex, then I couldn’t agree with you more,” Blackthorne said.
“Speak of the devil,” Jake muttered, his gaze focused on four riders headed for the house. “Meet my stepfather, my mother, and my twin half brothers, Noah and Nash.”
Josie stared in disbelief at Alexander Blackthorne. “I can’t believe it,” she whispered. “That man looks exactly like the painting of your father at the Abbey.”
“That’s because he’s my father’s twin brother. The one who tried to steal the dukedom,” Blackthorne replied.
“That sounds like the son of a bitch, all right,” Jake said.
“Jake, stop it,” Miranda said.
As Alexander Blackthorne dismounted, he approached his nephew and said, “I’d know those features anywhere. You must be the latest Duke of Blackthorne.”
“That would make you the bastard who tried to steal my patrimony,” Blackthorne shot back.
The transplanted Englishman laughed, but it wasn’t a mirthful sound. “I decided if Randy wanted the dukedom enough to lie through his teeth for it, he could have it. We both knew the truth.”
“Are you saying I’m not the rightful duke? That you are?” Blackthorne challenged. “My father proved in court—”
“That he had the funds to pay a nurse to perjure herself. But, as I said, I’ve got a new life here in Texas that suits me a lot better than my life in England ever did. I prefer to stay as dead as I’m sure my brother believed I was.”
“Are you suggesting my father—” Blackthorne began.
“I’m saying I have no intention of returning to England. Ever. You’re welcome to every moldy old stone in Blackthorne Abbey. They’re yours with my blessing.”
“That’s good. Because I have no intention of ever giving up a single one of those moldy old stones to anyone. Ever.”
“Are you two done?” Josie asked, her hands on her hips. “Because we have a celebration to start.” She turned to Jake and said, “I’d like a little of whatever is in those cold glasses. And please get something for my husband and his uncle—your stepfather—while you’re at it.”
“I’d do it, if I were you,” Blackthorne said with a chagrined smile. “These Wentworth women can be hell on wheels.”
“Don’t I know it!” Jake replied with a laugh, as he disappeared into the house.
“Wait a few months, and we’ll have our own little hellion on wheels,” Josie whispered in her husband’s ear.
Blackthorne looked stunned for a moment, then picked her up and whirled her in a circle, as he announced to the gathered crowd, “We’re going to have a baby!”
His announcement was greeted with a host of whoops and hollers.
Josie looked down at the smiling face of her husband, then at the joyful faces of her family, and knew she’d never been happier than she was at this very moment. She took Blackthorne’s face between her hands, kissed him tenderly on the lips, and said, “Thank you for bringing me home.”