Colorado Dreams (Rocky Mountain Romances Book 7) Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Rocky Mountain Romance Series Info

  Happy Ending at 88%

  Half Title

  America, the Beautiful

  PROLOGUE ~ Depends on Whether You're Talking Good Luck or Bad Luck

  1 ~ Please Let Her Never Be That Destitute-1

  2 ~ Gorgeous!

  3 ~ Does She Cook?

  4 ~ Fool’s Gold?

  5 ~ What Is That Smell?

  6 ~ The Most Eligible Bachelor in Town

  7 ~ This Is Business Talk at a Getting-to-Know-You Dinner

  8 ~ I Should Be Sorry — But I Am Not

  9 ~ She Might Be Able to Save It

  10 ~ In Her Chemise and Not the Bank

  11 ~ He’s Not Worth Going to Jail For

  12 ~ I’ll Go Kill Him Now

  13 ~ Better Resist That Urge

  14 ~ Just Think How Much Fun It Will Be

  EPILOGUE ~ Better Tell Uriah

  Mrs. Easterwood's Recipe for Golden Cream Cake

  Thank you!

  Author's Note

  Book Club Questions

  About the Author

  Rocky Mountain Romance Series Info

  If You Liked This Series...

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright

  Free Books by Heather Horrocks

  Series by Heather Horrocks

  Thanks again

  COLORADO DREAMS

  Rocky Mountain Romances #7

  Heather Horrocks

  Dedicated to Theresa Crouse, who does a superb job taking my words, dusting them off, adding to them, and making my books shine. Basically, you’re like Rumpelstiltskin — you take straw and weave it into gold (but without the annoying taking-of-the-firstborn thing). Thanks for all you bring to my A+++ Team — and also for your friendship!

  And to Mark, who listens to my words — and sometimes tries to fix those!

  Welcome to Rocky Mountain Romances, seven sweet historical romances brought together by the majestic and beautiful Rocky Mountains.

  Utah Sunrise ~ Amelia C. Adams

  Idaho Fairytale Bride ~ Jacquie Rogers

  Montana Gold ~ Diane Darcy

  Ride for a Bride in Wyoming ~ Charlene Raddon

  Hazel of Heber Valley ~ Annette Lyon

  New Mexico Enchantment ~ Savanna Sage

  Colorado Dreams ~ Heather Horrocks

  Rocky Mountain Romances Facebook Page

  THE HAPPY ENDING IS AT ABOUT 88% ~ ENJOY!

  In case you’re like me and want to know how close you are to the end of a book, and because there are pages that come after the end of a book (copyright, book club questions, about the author, excerpts, and — in some boxed sets — more novellas), I just want to let you know that ‘The End’ of this book is at approximately 88%. Enjoy.

  DISCOVER HEATHER’S OTHER BOOKS.

  Heather Horrocks has written numerous books. If you’re new to her writing, see her romantic comedies and funny mysteries at www.BooksByHeatherHorrocks.com.

  MOONCHUCKLE BAY BOOKS (in order):

  #0.5 Jingle Belle (FREE)

  #1 The Artist Cries Wolf (FREE on Amazon, B&N, KOBO)

  #2 The Bridesmaid Earns Her Wings

  #3 The Director Gets a Grip

  #4 The Fireman Finds His Flame

  #5 Elvis Gets His Groove Back

  #6 The Hacker Pushes Her Luck

  #7 The Contestant Flies Off the Handle

  #8 The Dog Designer Ruffles Some Feathers (Aug, 2017)

  Colorado Dreams

  Copyright © 2017 Heather Horrocks

  Word Garden Press

  O beautiful, for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain, for purple mountain majesties, above the fruited plain!

  Katherine Lee Bates

  Depends on Whether You’re Talking Good Luck or Bad Luck

  September, 1890, Gold Mine Outside Colorado Springs

  “FOUND ANY GOLD YET?”

  Joseph Keeton looked up from his panning and shielded his eyes to meet the shrewd gaze of the the grizzled old miner sitting astride a gray mule.

  “Howdy, Uriah. When did you get back in town? I figured you'd headed out to the mines of California again.”

  “Got lonesome for family.” Uriah Adams shrugged, removing his battered, trail-worn hat. He slapped it against his thigh, sending up a small cloud of dust. “And you ain't answered my question yet, boy.”

  Huffing out a frustrated breath, Joseph tossed his pan aside, pushed to his feet, and dried his hands on his mud-crusted Levis. “No gold,” he admitted. “Not one solitary nugget.”

  Men’s voices drifted over the whisper of water rushing over the rocks in the shallow and so-far-goldless stream beside them. Joseph's partners — Henry Ralston and Robert Sayers — were making their way back to the site. When they spotted Uriah, they exchanged greetings with the older man.

  Uriah nodded his greeting and cocked his head toward Joseph. “Your partner here was just telling me that you've had no luck.”

  Henry shrugged and gave a self-deprecating grin in his typical devil-may-care fashion. “Depends on whether you’re talking good luck or bad luck.”

  The old man cackled at that.

  Robert scowled and crossed his arms, resolute. “It’s there — and we’re going to find it.”

  Uriah rubbed his beard and gazed at the younger men for a moment. “You know, back in ’49, I saw plenty of miners with no gold but lots of brand-spankin’ new supplies. I heard tell that the only real money to be made in a gold rush is by selling supplies to wanna-be miners with the glint of gold dust in their eyes. The sayin’ goes that during a gold rush, the wise man sells shovels.” He raised a shoulder. “Could be you're on the wrong end of the gold rush business, boys.”

  Joseph exchanged speculative glances with his two partners, who were also covered with dust — the only thing months of back-breaking work had yielded so far. They looked as intrigued by the idea as he was. He toed the empty mining pan and, after a thoughtful pause, muttered, “Maybe we are at that.”

  Uriah laughed. “Well, don’t count on me buying any supplies from you boys, ’cuz I'm giving up searching for gold. My bones are too old for this job and I’ve spent far more time than I care to admit sleepin’ in a tent by my lonesome instead of in a warm bed with a good woman. I'm going home to my Matilda. Best of luck to you.” He tipped his hat, then mashed it back onto his head and reined his mule around.

  Please Let Her Never Be That Destitute

  Eight Months Later, April 26, 1891, Maxwell Mansion, New York City

  EMILY MAXWELL DID HER BEST to keep her face composed, while inward she was seething. She refused to marry simply for financial gain, especially when it was to an aging, high-handed autocrat. And particularly when there was no benefit other than social status to her. She’d marry a man of her choosing, or none at all. In fact, she decided right there on the spot, the latter sounded particularly appealing.

  She nodded like a good daughter as her father rambled on, trying to make her “see sense” but she had absolutely no intention of marrying Mr. Ebenezer Lloyd. Unfortunately, her father was just as determined that she would marry his business partner, thus cementing their joint business empire.

  “You merely need to get on with your life,” her father assured her. “Just as I have moved on with mine. Petunia is a wonderful wife and helps me deal with the pain of losing your mother. Now it is time for you to take the next, proper step in your life by getting married. Mr. Lloyd is a wonderful match for you.” It was all Emily could do to keep from snorting at that as her father continued, “He wi
ll be here in five minutes to visit and I expect you to come down and behave like the lady you were raised to be, wearing a beautiful smile. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, no smile in sight. To her credit, though, she managed to keep from glowering.

  As her father left her side, Emily was shaking with anger. The much-older Mr. Lloyd was no more a suitable match for her than the much-younger Petunia was for her father, unless one was shallow enough to simply look at the dollar signs.

  Mrs. Oaks, who had been standing behind Emily waiting for instructions, reached out a sympathetic hand to touch her shoulder. The housekeeper had become Emily’s dearest friend and closest ally — the only one she had at the moment.

  “Give him a chance, Miss Emily,” she murmured. “Perhaps your father has chosen wisely for you after all. Perhaps there’s a chance that you could be happy with him.” Her effort would have carried more weight had she not sounded like she was trying to convince herself as much as her young charge.

  “Perhaps.” But Emily knew better. Her father had chosen to encourage Mr. Lloyd's courtship of her because he was a business partner. It was too much of a mercenary relationship for Emily to feel good about, nor had she ever gotten any sense of warmth or empathy from the man.

  And the situation felt a bit slimy to her, seeing as how her new stepmother was Mr. Lloyd's daughter. It made this whole arrangement seem vaguely incestuous.

  Nevertheless, Emily had few choices in the matter, and not a single soul other than Mrs. Oaks to aid her.

  Reluctantly, she descended the main staircase of her father’s grand mansion. Her steps slowed until she stood just outside the door to her father’s den, where she could hear men's voices.

  Dread nearly choking her, she squared her shoulders and knocked. She may be feeling weak and helpless, but she refused to show it.

  “Come in,” her father said.

  With her heart hammering in her chest, Emily arranged her features into a neutral expression and did as she was bid. The two older men gazed upon her; one with loving tolerance, the other with barely disguised lust. While both were richly dressed, her father was tall and lean while Mr. Lloyd was Emily’s height, as big around as he was tall. The buttons of his vest strained at their fastenings, and she had to bite her lip to keep from smiling as she imagined them bursting and bouncing about the room.

  Thankfully, social niceties dictated that she smile, so she had only to make it refined instead of gleeful. Her father smiled back, happy to see her so compliant, and Mr. Lloyd grinned, making her stomach churn with bile. It was all the man could do to keep his eyes above her neck, and she saw him lick his lips as he appraised her, no doubt seeing her as his prized new possession.

  Mr. Lloyd rose to his feet and waddled toward Emily, while her father opened the French doors leading to the balcony. He continued to smile as he motioned for them to go through.

  Mr. Lloyd extended an arm to her, once again shooting a leering glance at her chest, and she repressed a shudder of dread as she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. She wished with all her might that he would stop staring at her chest — even covered by her dress — and she fought the urge to cross her arms.

  He led her through the doors onto the balcony, squeezing his elbow into his body and thus trapping her fingers in the crook of his arm. She expected her father to follow, as she was chaperoned at all times, and had been her entire life, but was unpleasantly surprised when he closed the doors behind them.

  A sense of panic and impending doom slid over Emily, and she sucked in a quick breath.

  Mr. Lloyd led her to the railing. “I am thrilled that you have agreed to marry me, my dear.”

  She gasped, as she had done no such thing, and her mind raced. Her father had not given her the choice; Mr. Lloyd had not bothered to ask her, and she had never said yes. But of course that didn’t matter in her situation, where marriages were for business and financial gain rather than love, or even attraction. This lack of consideration was further proof that she was but a pawn in the bigger chess match.

  Could she possibly be happy with Mr. Lloyd as her husband? She supposed some women may consider him a catch because of his status, but his hand was clammy on hers and his girth was unappealing, to say the least. With his free hand, he wiped drops of sweat from his forehead. How could she help but be repulsed?

  He turned to face her and touched her cheek with his free hand; the one he had just used to swab the moisture from his brow. It was clammy and she struggled not to pull away.

  No, she decided. She simply couldn’t go through with this. She could not be happy with this man when she couldn’t even bear his touch.

  “You are so beautiful,” he wheezed.

  As he leaned closer to her, she froze. What was he going to do with her father right inside the door, surely watching out for her? Her stomach sank when she remembered that her own father had closed the door as though he were condoning any liberty Mr. Lloyd might take.

  She fought a surge of panic and tried to lean back when his barrel of a belly pushed against her. It didn't help, as Mr. Lloyd put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him.

  Then he kissed her!

  The feel of his meaty lips against hers was vile, and his breath smelled of onions. When he slipped his tongue into her mouth, she nearly gagged.

  She placed her hands against his chest and pushed, but he was much stronger than she. Holding her in place, he deepened the kiss, shoving his tongue deeper into her mouth and running one hand along her breast.

  When he finally pulled away and released her, she was shaking. Looking at him, horrified, she pressed trembling hands to her bosom.

  She felt as though she'd been violated. She had been — and with the full approval of her father. The sense of betrayal swept over her, and she barely suppressed the urge to flee his presence and escape to the safety and solitude of her room.

  Mr. Lloyd smiled his lustful leer, reaching out to touch her face once again. “I can scarce wait for our wedding night.”

  She turned, opened the doors, and rushed through them. Without looking at her father, she fled the room. Mr. Lloyd's lecherous laughter followed her up the stairs.

  When she reached her room, she closed the door and leaned against it. With shaking hands, she wiped at her lips and her face and her breast, trying to get the feel of him off of her.

  She might never feel clean again.

  Moments later, there was a light knock at the door. Emily shuddered; surely her father would not allow Mr. Lloyd to follow her to her bedroom.

  But she hadn’t thought he’d leave them alone, either, so she rushed toward the window, ready to fling herself out of it if necessary to escape him.

  “Miss Emily, it's me,” Mrs. Oaks said softly. “May I enter?”

  Relief flooded through her, and she crossed back to the door and opened it. When Mrs. Oaks caught sight of her face, she stepped inside and pulled her into a hug. “Oh you poor dear. What are we going to do?”

  Emily clung to Mrs. Oaks, the only mother she had left since her own mother had died, and the only person she could turn to. She could no longer trust her father. Her older sister was already trapped in a miserable marriage to a much older man. Her brother—

  Her brother! That was it!

  She could go to her brother.

  He'd told her he was doing well. He of all people knew what her father was capable of. His own father had died young, and her mother — their mother — had married again.

  Her half-brother, Robert, would welcome her. Surely he would. He’d invited her to visit readily enough when he’d first moved to Colorado Springs.

  Feeling stronger already, Emily gave Mrs. Oaks one last squeeze before pulling back, smiling as an intense sense of relief washed over her. “Thank you, Mrs. Oaks; I know you will keep my confidence, so I will tell you what I am planning. I’m going to flee to Robert.”

  “But you will be destitute,” Mrs. Oaks protested.


  “I have the jewels Mother left me. I will take those, as well as some of my clothing, and the small amount of cash I have.”

  “Are you sure?” Mrs. Oaks sounded exceedingly worried.

  Emily nodded, feeling more resolute every moment. “He kissed me.”

  A gasp revealed Mrs. Oaks’s shock.

  Emily frowned. “And he pawed my body, and Father did nothing about it; as a matter of fact, he condoned it by shutting us on the balcony with no chaperone. I absolutely cannot stay a moment longer. I’ll leave tonight.”

  “What would your mother think if she’d lived to see this!” Shaking her head in horror, Mrs. Oaks declared, “Then I will help you.”

  “Father may send you away.”

  “The only reason I’ll stay now is to send you letters to warn you if you’re in danger of being found. Otherwise, I will go to my brother's home, as well.”

  The two women stared at each other. Mistress and maid. Surrogate mother and daughter. Friend and friend. Mrs. Oaks was dear to her. “Will you go with me?”

  The older woman shook her head sadly. “I hope I may see you again, dear, but I have family here and I’m not rugged enough to leave New York and go to Colorado. But I will help you pack now and send a message to my brother to pick you up and take you safely to the train station. Your mother would never forgive me if I didn’t make sure you were safe, and that includes from the despicable decisions that your father has made for you in her absence.”

  Joseph brushed his hands together and studied the mercantile. He and his partners had pooled all of their earnings to rent and stock it months earlier, and it was a beautiful sight.

  They’d stocked miner’s cloth hats and Sticking Tommies — candlesticks that could be stuck into walls or attached to hats — and lunch buckets, along with tools of all sorts. Anything a miner might need — and they knew because they’d been miners. Still were, though they’d opened the store hoping to have a steady stream of income. They were taking turns, each of them working one day a week at the mine, hoping that there might yet be gold to be found. Playing both ends of the gold rush business, to use old Uriah’s phrase.