High Plains Bride. Valerie Hansen

color of her dress to her dark, silky hair was crystal clear.

      And speaking of dark things, he added, growing concerned as he glanced at the sky, it was starting to look as if Zeb’s weather prediction was right. The previously empty sky was beginning to cloud up and show signs of an impending storm. Will could see for miles once he topped the hills to the southwest and it was obvious that the weather was about to change for the worse.

      Pausing, he looked back at the beautiful, placid river valley and the fledgling town he’d helped found. The church spire to the east and Zeb’s mill to the west framed a Main Street lined with half a dozen stores. Across Main, backed up against the river and parked beneath a grove of cottonwoods, sat the ragtag group of temporary tents, shacks and wagons that Zeb had mentioned.

      Those shelters would offer little protection against the upcoming storm. Will could only hope that the settlers would find refuge somewhere safe. The frequently occurring severe storms on the open plains could be dangerous—even deadly. And it looked as if they were in for another deluge within the next few hours.

      Spurring his horse, he headed for his ranch at a brisk canter. There wasn’t a lot he could do for the longhorns he had grazing on the open prairie on both sides of the river, but it was sensible to send a few hands, including himself, to try to prevent a stampede among the critters closest to his house and barn. He just hoped a herd of nervous buffalo didn’t decide to run over his corn plot or trample his corrals the way one had during a bad lightning storm last summer. This storm was coming in fast, and would probably hit hard, pushing the livestock into a frenzy.

      He pressed onward, hoping and praying that his instincts were wrong, yet positive that they were not.

      The wind had increased and the sky had darkened menacingly by the time he reined in between the main ranch house and the barn. Several of his hands were already mounted and had bridled an extra horse, apparently awaiting his return, while the rangy ranch dogs barked excitedly and circled the riders.

      “Clint, you and Bob take the south ridge,” Will shouted. “I’ll ride more west, then circle back to you.” He gestured as he dismounted. “This looks like a bad one.”

      “Yeah, boss,” the lanky cowhand replied. “It ain’t gonna be pretty, that’s a fact. You want a fresh mount?”

      “Yes.” Will threw a stirrup over his saddle horn and began to loosen his cinch. “Where’s Hank?”

      “Already forded the river to try to round up the stragglers over there.”

      “Good man.”

      Clint nodded and passed the reins of the extra horse to Will, then spurred his mount and headed south with his partner as instructed.

      Left alone, Will switched his saddle to the fresh horse, turned his tired sorrel into a corral and mounted up. He’d thought about taking the time to close the storm shutters on the house but had decided he shouldn’t delay getting to the herd. A building could be replaced fairly easily and besides, Hank was no longer inside where he could be hurt if it collapsed. Should this weather spawn a tornado, as Will feared it might, the old ranch cook would be much safer riding the range with him and the others, anyway.

      Spurring the new horse, he raced toward open country. “Thank the good Lord I don’t have a wife and family to look after, too,” he muttered prayerfully.

      His mind immediately jumped to the settlers in town, and the ones in the wagon train—to the pretty young woman in charge of so many children. Surely her father, or whoever was leading their party, would be wise enough to tarry in High Plains until the weather improved.

      Emmeline was walking beside the family’s slowly moving, ox-pulled wagon while her mother lay inside on a narrow tick filled with straw and covered by a quilt.

      Ruts in the trail made the wagon’s wooden wheels and axles bind and squeal as they bounced in and out of the depressions and jarred everyone and everything. Pots rattled. Chickens hanging in handmade crates along the outside of the wagon panted, squawked and jockeyed for space and footing on the slatted floors of their wooden boxes. The team plodded along, slow but sure, barely working to move the heavy wagon on the fairly level terrain.

      Glory had quickly tired of walking. Emmeline had carried her on one hip for a while, then put her inside with their mother, in spite of the ailing woman’s protests that she simply could not cope with even one of her offspring.

      Hoping that her father couldn’t hear her softly speaking, Emmeline gripped the top of the rear tailboard to steady herself and whispered hoarsely, “Hush.” She raised her head and gestured toward the man walking beside the oxen and prodding them with a staff when they faltered. “You know you’ll make Papa mad again if you raise a fuss.”

      She hated having to be so cautious all the time, but the alternative was a beating for anyone within the wiry, older man’s reach, and she felt bound to try to protect the others. She’d had to do that more and more frequently, of late.

      The sky was so dark at the horizon it seemed almost black, with a ribbon of pale sky showing beneath, as if a table sat atop a thin strip of the heavens visible only nearest the ground. Emmeline had seen weather like this back in Missouri, although not often. If she had been at home she would have gathered her siblings and shooed them into the root cellar for safety. Here on the plains she had no such option, much to her chagrin.

      She hiked her skirts slightly to facilitate faster movement. A dozen swift steps brought her even with Amos and she easily kept pace. “Papa?”

      “What do you want, girl?”

      “Look at that sky. I’m worried.”

      “I seen it. Don’t you go tellin’ me how to think, you hear? I been in storms worse’n this before and I’m still kickin’.”

      “Yes, but—”

      “Hush. Just because you’re nearly growed that don’t make you smarter’n me. I’ve been takin’ care of this family for longer than you’ve been on this earth and we’re all still here.” He glowered at her. “Well? You gonna waste the whole day naggin’ me or are you gonna go look after your mama?”

      “Mama’s fine,” Emmeline insisted bravely, although she did put more distance between herself and the reach of her father’s heavy wooden staff. “She and Glory are taking a nap.”

      Amos cursed under his breath. “Useless woman. I should’ve got me a younger wife long ago.”

      It wasn’t the first time Emmeline had heard him say such mean-spirited things. She couldn’t imagine what her poor mama felt like when Papa talked like that. Little wonder Mama stayed in a sickbed so much. If and when she did arise, she had to face her husband and take more of his verbal—and physical—abuse.

      Shading her eyes beneath the brim of her bonnet and squinting into the distance, Emmeline tensed. She hadn’t thought those clouds could possibly look any worse but they did. Rain was falling in the far distance, evidenced by slanted sheets of gray that streamed from the solid cloud layer toward the prairie in visible waves, indicating a downpour ahead.

      She spun to scan the surrounding terrain. Darkness at midday was everywhere. Encroaching. Threatening. And the wind from the southwest was increasing, heralding the kind of destructive, unpredictable storm that she’d dreaded.

      Emmeline shivered and pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. If all they got from this weather was soaked to the skin and muddy, she’d count it a boon. In similar storms that she’d experienced back home, such signs of impending peril were not taken lightly.

      She squinted. The kinds of menacing clouds she was looking at right now were capable of dealing a blow that could mean serious injury, loss of property—and perhaps even death.

      Chapter Two

      Now that Will was riding the high ground and could see for literally miles, his concern for High Plains increased. If he’d been a gambling man, which he was not, he’d have