Come Back

  Copyright © 2014 Melissa Maygrove

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please contact the publisher.

  Truelove Press

  Houston, Texas

  www.truelovepress.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  First Edition

  Cover design by Carrie Butler, Forward Authority Design Services

  Cover photo (couple) by Jenn LeBlanc / Illustrated Romance

  Cover photo (cave) by Andrey Bandurenko

  Cover photo (sunset background) by mtilghma

  Formatting by Morgan Media

  A note about etymology: During editing of the original draft, many words and phrases were cut or changed in an effort to eliminate modern language from the text. After much deliberation, the current spelling of the word okay was used in lieu of OK in hopes it would be less distracting to readers.

  Left behind by everyone she loves...

  Rebecca Garvey had the promise of a California future dreams are made of, until the wagon train her family was traveling with left her behind. Now she’s slowly dying in the wilderness, abandoned and stripped of her self-worth. Once the shock of her desertion turns to embittered despair, she doesn’t want to be found. Then a handsome stranger challenges her convictions and changes her mind.

  Headed for Texas, chased by the demons of his past...

  Seth Emerson knows exactly what he wants. Working to save for a cattle ranch of his own keeps him busy and keeps his pain buried. Rescuing a stubborn woman from the hills of New Mexico Territory isn’t part of his plan—but she’s exactly what he needs.

  Making greater sacrifices than either of them could foresee...

  Seth and Rebecca set off on a risky journey and a quest for truth, each healing the other’s love-starved soul along the way. Will they give in to their growing attraction? Or will they honor their commitments when Seth returns Rebecca to civilization... and her betrothed?

  To my husband and children, who gave up first place to a laptop and let me realize my dream.

  And to my mom, whose relentless corrections of my grammar made me the writer I am today.

  I love you guys.

  So many people helped polish and promote this book, it would be impossible to list them all. The writing community is one of the most altruistic, supportive groups around, and I’m proud to be a part of it. You guys rock.

  A few people gave significant amounts of their time, talent and effort, and I’d be incredibly remiss not to mention them.

  Carrie Butler – Carrie is dear to my heart and a lady of many talents; trusted CP, NA groundbreaker, graphic designer, and author of the Mark of Nexus series. I couldn’t have done it without you, my friend.

  Loni Townsend – Friend, beta, CP, founder of Stoneword Press, and author of epic fantasy Thanmir War. Along with Carrie, Loni pushes me to hone my craft and reminds me not to take life too seriously.

  Jennifer McMurrain – This kind lady jumped in when I needed a beta who regularly reads the genre. Her feedback was invaluable. Jennifer is a multi-published author and co-founder of Anna’s Legacy, a non-profit agency that delivers gifts of joy and hope to people struggling with terminal illness.

  E.J. Wesley – Where do I begin? This guy swims in an ocean of female writers on a regular basis and lives to tell about it. He even managed to beta a historical romance with his man card intact. E.J. is the author of the witty, paranormal Moonsongs series, an NA leader, the host of #NALitChat, and an all-around good friend.

  Last but not least, my mom – If I’m the ‘Goddess of Grammar,’ then she’s the Queen. She’s also my copy editor. She did an awesome job of scrutinizing each and every word. If mistakes persist, blame me.

  Sometimes a single choice

  alters the course of a person’s life

  forever.

  New Mexico Territory

  Early August, 1850

  Rebecca Garvey looked up at the moon and smiled. Usually the vastness of the heavens made her feel small and exposed. Not tonight. Instead of reminding her how vulnerable she was, the expanse of stars that stretched beyond the line of wagons and into the night stirred feelings of hope and possibility.

  The air was still, but the chill of nightfall crept up her back, touching every part of her skin the campfire’s heat didn’t. Her flesh rippled and she relished the shiver.

  She drew her brown wool shawl around her shoulders and stared at the fire enveloping the logs and making them glow. Flames danced on the wood just like the thrill flicking over her heart. The trip west would change her life—she’d known that when she left Missouri—but she never dreamed she’d meet the man she would marry along the way.

  Lifting her eyes, she gazed past the campfire at Nathan sitting with his father and some of the men. The fire the men huddled around lit his face with a golden glow and glimmered in his eyes as they met hers. What would it be like to wake to those eyes every morning and see them every night before she went to sleep?

  One corner of Nathan’s lips lifted, causing his eyes to twinkle even more.

  She returned his smile, then turned her attention to her friend who’d joined her on the trunk she was using as a bench.

  Charlotte let out a delicate huff. “That’s what gave you two away, you know.”

  “Looking at each other?”

  “Not just looking at each other. It’s the way you look at each other. And the way you walk together and talk at every opportunity.”

  Heat glazed Rebecca’s cheeks. “I enjoy his company.”

  “Well, thanks to you making eyes at each other, that’s no longer a secret.”

  “I know.” Due to a curious mix of piety and gossip, it hadn’t been for some time. Once it was clear she and Nathan were sweet on each other, the adults made sure they were never alone. The bulk of their interactions—with always a proper distance between them—was walking alongside the wagons and sitting together at meals.

  Rebecca stole a quick glance at her beau while he was deep in conversation, not looking her way.

  “Has he kissed you yet?”

  “No.”

  “Held your hand?”

  “Once, when he helped me cross a stream.”

  Charlotte studied her with a skeptical frown.

  “What?”

  “Maybe he’s just toying with your affections.”

  “No. He’s a gentleman.” He was—one of the finest young men on the entire train.

  “He’s been doting on you for weeks. Seems to me, if he were serious, he would have stolen a kiss by now.”

  Rebecca pressed a hand to her fluttering stomach and chanced another glance. “He’s serious,” she assured with a smile.

  “Oh?” Charlotte lifted her thin red brows.

  Rebecca’s smile spread into a cat-and-cream grin. “Can you keep a secret?”

  Charlotte glared down her nose.

  “All right, all right.” Sorry I asked. “He proposed.”

  “What!”

  “Shh.” The gossips had enough to prattle about.

  Rebecca leaned closer. “When we were walking together the other day, he told me he’s claiming land not far from ours, but he has to help his father build his family’s house before he can build his ow
n.” Her stomach fluttered again, matched by the rapid patter of her heart. “He told me he loves me, and he said he’d come for me when he was done.”

  With each word, she fell deeper into the tingly, dreamy state that claimed most of her waking hours. It was a day she would never forget. As they’d walked along the dusty trail beside his family’s wagon, Nathan had peered down at her from beneath a shock of wavy, black hair—with those cobalt eyes that never failed to make her tingle from her head to her toes—and asked, “Will you, Becca? Will you wait for me?”

  She played it coy, but that didn’t last five steps more. “Nathan Keating,” she’d said with her sweetest of smiles, “I’ll gladly wait for you till I die.”

  “What was your answer?” The utter shock on Charlotte’s face drained the joy from the memory.

  “I said yes.”

  “Do your parents know?”

  “Of course. Nathan asked my father before he asked me.”

  “And he approved?”

  “Pa said if I waited until we were settled in our new home and if Nathan built a suitable house, he’d allow it.”

  “What about your ma?”

  Rebecca gave a small shrug. “She goes along with whatever Pa says.”

  Charlotte looked at Nathan, then fixed her gaze on the fire. “You’ve only known him a few weeks. I hope you’re doing the right thing.”

  “I am.” She trusted her father’s judgment, but the way her friend stared into the flickering flames sent her spiraling into a whirlwind of doubt. Nathan was the first man to show her any attention. Had she made a hasty choice she’d regret?

  “I found something interesting today,” Rebecca said, ignoring her misgivings. It was getting late, and she wanted to tell Charlotte about her discovery before they turned in for the night.

  “What?” The question was asked with indifference, but that didn’t surprise her. She and Charlotte had become friends because they were the only girls over the age of six on the train. They’d been paired by circumstance and had few interests in common.

  Rebecca tried a more enthusiastic tone. Sometimes it worked. “I saw some rock formations along the edge of the trail, small white stones arranged in triangular shapes that point northwest.”

  “And?”

  “I bet they mark a path that leads to something.” Westward travelers sometimes left signs for those coming after, and the piles of rocks were too symmetrically-shaped to be anything else. “I wish we could stay here one more day. I want to see where they lead.”

  “You’re such a tomboy. What’s Nathan going to think of your adventures?”

  Rebecca fiddled with the end of her braid hanging over her shoulder. “He doesn’t seem to mind. And I’m not a tomboy.” Just because I don’t mind getting my hands dirty—

  “No, I guess you’re not. But if you want to keep him from losing interest, you should act more your age. You’re nearly eighteen.” Charlotte tugged Rebecca’s braid loose from her fingers and waved the end of it in front of her face. “You should already be wearing your hair up.”

  Rebecca took it back and fingered it again, wishing it was a lovely vermilion like Charlotte’s and not such a plain shade of light brown. “Maybe you’re right. But I want to find out where that trail leads, so when you say your prayers tonight, pray something keeps us from leaving.” It was an awful thing to ask, but the only way they would have enough time to investigate was if the train met with some sort of delay.

  “Will you do it?” she prodded when her friend didn’t answer. “Please?”

  Charlotte sighed. “Okay, I’ll pray.” A mischievous glimmer lit her green eyes. “Maybe Old Man Cantwell will break a wheel.”

  “Charlotte!” They broke into a bout of stifled giggles. If people only knew how they spoke of that poor man.

  Melvin Cantwell—or, as he was known to most everyone, ‘Mr. Can’t-do-anything-well’—had been a drag on the entire thirty-wagon train from the very first day they set off. If it wasn’t malfunctioning parts, it was wandering oxen or inadequate supplies. They’d probably be a whole month closer if he hadn’t come along.

  Of course, it was hard to stay mad at the lonely old codger. He was a childless widower with hopes of making it to California and striking it rich.

  Not her. Neither she nor her family was swayed by fanciful tales of wealth and gold. They were there to claim land and make a life. So was Nathan.

  “Rebecca,” came a stern voice from behind her.

  She twisted her upper body and looked over her shoulder. “Yes, Ma?”

  Her ma stood in the edge of the firelight, drying her hands on her apron. “It’s late. You should be asleep. You’ve got chores in the morning.”

  “Yes, Ma.”

  “Bye,” Charlotte whispered and stood to leave. “Good night, Mrs. Garvey.”

  “Good night, Charlotte. Tell your mother I’ll help with breakfast in the morning.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She hurried off to the next wagon.

  Rebecca rose and brushed the dust off her skirt, then headed toward the men.

  “Where are you going?”

  She halted and turned around. “To tell Pa goodnight.”

  Her mother eyed her with suspicion. “All right. But hurry up.”

  “Yes, Ma.”

  As Rebecca neared, the heated discussion that vibrated from the group in deep tones grew louder. The men were debating which path they would take to California. It had been the topic of discussion for days.

  She sidled up to her pa, who had joined in late and was standing in back of the others, and tugged at his sleeve.

  “Rebecca,” he admonished quietly, “you know better than to interrupt men.”

  “I’m sorry, Pa. I came to tell you goodnight.”

  His eyes softened and he planted a kiss on her forehead. “Shoo, now. Off to bed with ya.”

  Exchanging a fleeting glance with Nathan, she left for her feather tick in the wagon.

  As soon as breakfast was over, Rebecca grabbed her drawing paper and pencil and sat on a boulder near the edge of the trail. She’d done her morning chores in record time. Maybe she could finish a sketch or two before the train left.

  She’d barely started drawing when her ma’s voice cut through the crisp morning air. “Put those things away. I need your help.”

  Rebecca flipped her notebook closed and swallowed her frustration. “Yes, Ma.”

  “I just took up the clothes that were drying. I need you to fold them while I pack up.”

  With a sigh, Rebecca climbed into the wagon bed and put her things away. She pulled a small crate up to the stack of clothes, sat on it, and started folding. At least she had daydreams of Nathan to dwell on while she worked.

  “Becca,” came a harsh whisper a few minutes later. “Becca.”

  She stuck her head out the open bonnet and looked for the source of the sound. Charlotte stood to one side, her upswept hair gleaming in the early morning sun and her emerald eyes sparkling.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Come here.”

  “I’m folding laundry. Can it wait?”

  “No. Leave it.”

  “But—”

  “Leave it. You can finish later.”

  There was no use arguing with Charlotte. Becca climbed down out of the wagon. She’d appease her friend, then get back to work.

  “Where is everyone?” she asked, scanning the nearly-deserted clearing that was usually a hive of activity this time of day.

  “That’s what I came to tell you. There’s an avalanche of rocks blocking the trail up ahead. The men will have to clear it before we can move.” She beamed. “You got your wish. We’re stuck here for at least a day.”

  Becca fought the urge to jump up and shout. “Let me finish folding and we’ll go.”

  “No, chores can wait. Who knows where the trail leads? This might take you a while.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m not going.”

  Becca opened h
er mouth to protest.

  “Someone needs to stay behind and tell your parents where you went so they don’t worry.”

  “But what about the clothes? Ma will—”

  “I’ll fold them.”

  “You will?” Charlotte rarely took on extra work.

  Guilt tinged her friend’s expression. “I feel bad about the way I spoke to you last night. And for the way I reacted to your news. I should have congratulated you.”

  Becca stood speechless as Charlotte hung a full canteen around her neck and tucked a small, handkerchief-wrapped bundle into her pocket. “Leftover biscuits. In case you’re gone a while.” She shoved two empty burlap sacks into her hands. “In case you find something.”

  Becca gaped.

  “Hurry.” Charlotte gave her a gentle shove and made a shooing motion with her hands. “Go before your ma sees you and tells you no.”

  After a beat of hesitation and a glance to make sure she had her knife, Becca grinned and took off on her quest. “I owe you,” she called to Charlotte over her shoulder.

  Mmm. I could stay here forever.

  Becca knelt by the cool, bubbling stream, refilling the tin canteen. The sound of rushing water surrounded her, echoing off the rocks and murmuring up through the trees—such a welcome change from lowing cattle, creaking wagons, and smelly, bickering travelers. After replacing the stopper and glancing at the sun sliding lower in the sky, she sighed, and then splashed her face and took a few sips from her palm. Supper preparations would start soon. If she didn’t hurry, she’d run out of time.

  She brushed the dust from her worn, cotton skirt and rose to her feet, hoping she hadn’t gathered more than she could carry. The wagons had been traveling for months, and fresh food was scarce. The plump onions and potatoes she’d dug were too good to resist.