Romancing the Rancher

Javan firmly believes that you only get one opportunity at love in life. While Lydia’s never even glimpsed what that might feel like.

Widower Javan Wilson has a ranch to run, two girls to raise and no interest in remarrying. His family has other plans and sends for a mail-order bride anyway, leaving Javan in an awkward position.

Lydia Brown has never been anyone’s first choice. She’s now guardian of her four siblings and with impending homelessness looming, a marriage broker provides her with an opportunity to flee New York for Stanton, Montana.

With the young woman on his ranch, Javan proposes a way to provide Lydia with a home and have a mother substitute for his girls. Lydia has never had her heart broken, and her optimism wants to throw caution to the wind and make their marriage real. Besides a chance at real love, what else could they possibly be risking?

Javan’s heart will not cope with the loss of another wife, yet Lydia’s sweetness might penetrate the walls he’s erected around himself.

Excerpt:

Outside of Stanton, Montana Territory, July 1870



“Javan Wilson, you get yourself inside this instant.” 

Ma’s shrill tone settled upon his shoulders from across the farmyard.
Pushing the barn door closed, Javan paused and muttered a prayer. He loved his family, he really did. Help from his mother and sister was appreciated. 

Sometimes though, having his ma on the ranch was more a hindrance than a help. Javan just couldn’t admit that to her. 
He’d rather have Leah alive and calling him inside the house instead.


“Coming, Ma!” He shouted over his shoulder.
The main ranch house he’d built for Leah had been the talk of Mistletoe for several months. It no longer evoked the same excitement, and his heart often sank while trudging toward it. 


Leah had been gone long enough for folks to think it was about time he remarried. Many telling him it was long past time he gave his daughters a new mother. 


Why did people persist in thinking he was lonely? That he needed company? 


He shook his head, pausing his journey at the rose garden his mother referred to as a frivolous waste of time. 

Leah had lovingly planted each rose bush, cultivating each plant to ensure its survival. This was where he always felt close to her.


The swing Javan had lovingly built during Leah’s pregnancy with Rosemary was a sweet reminder that things continued to exist after the living passed on. Running his fingers along the rope, Javan tried to swallow the lump in his throat, blinking away the sting that assaulted his eyes. 

He sat, pushing softly, the motion enough for his head to bow. 
As he did every morning and each afternoon on his trip between the barn and the main house, Javan prayed. Began his chat with Leah. It wasn’t the same as when she’d been alive. Not by half, and yet it helped. It was something he needed. Where he was able to think that Leah was just away visiting. That she would be back soon.


A door slamming inside the house disturbed his thoughts. What had happened now? Rosemary must be testing his mother’s patience for her to be screaming at him to hurry to the house. 

Javan raised his head heavenward, “Lord, grant me more patience today. Please.”
He’d need extra patience when listening to his mother’s complaints about his out-of-control daughters.
An opinion he did not appreciate. 


Delilah was likely to be included, even if she hadn’t done anything to warrant it. The nanny he’d employed was more a housekeeper and far too close with his mother. Often, she’d seek Ma’s approval before attempting a task when it was he who asked her to do it. 


“Dear Lord,” he said softly. “I ask for compassion, patience, and kindness when I reach the house today. Please grant me the ability to accept my mother’s further criticism upon my want to remain a widower. I know she is thinking this would ease my burdens, but I cannot replace my Leah with another woman. It would not be fair to the vows I spoke before you. Nor would it be right to my daughters to think that they could be so easily replaceable.”


The banging of the screen door interrupted anything further he wished to ask for, or to say. When he raised his head in the direction of the house, it was to witness Rosemary jumping from the top step to the ground, falling to her knees, and a cry of anguish tearing from her. She didn’t remain there long, bolting in his direction.

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