Winning the Schoolmarm: Wyoming Legacy (Wind River Hearts Book 14)

  Winning the Schoolmarm

  Lacy Williams

  Contents

  Exclusive invitation

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Exclusive invitation

  The Wrangler’s Ready-Made Family sneak peek

  Also by Lacy Williams

  Exclusive invitation

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  Thirteen-year-old Breanna White discovers a secret that turns her life upside-down.

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  1

  Autumn 1906

  Cecilia White’s stomach lurched. She couldn't be sure whether the discomfort was due to the rough motion of the stagecoach or the fact that, after almost half a day in the terrible conveyance, she was only minutes from arriving at Granbury, Wyoming, where she would teach for the next several months. The town was so small that it didn’t even have a sheriff. It had been left off of the railroad route and was only accessible by stage or on horseback.

  Cecilia had made a promise to herself that what had happened last year when she’d been deceived by a married man was not going to happen again. No mistakes. She would stay focused. Not allow any distractions to keep her from being the best teacher that she could be.

  Her mind bounced like the stagecoach wheel in one of the many ruts along the road. And of course it landed on John Morgan, the chairman of the school board, whom she had met only ten days prior.

  She told herself the same thing that she had every time he’d crossed her mind for the past two weeks. Simply because she was attracted to him did not mean she had to act on it. And besides, there was no way that he was as handsome as her faulty memory wanted to paint him to be. Likely, she had been anxious and full of nerves from the interview itself. She'd been aware that this was her last chance for a job this school year. She’d been singularly focused on the interview and surprised when he had joined them. That was all. Her nerves had exaggerated his good looks.

  It didn't matter anyway. She would be busy in the classroom and keep to herself in the evenings. She would probably never see him.

  Her carpet bag rested in her lap, and her hands were clenched on top of it. She made herself focus on relaxing each finger, taking a deep breath as she unfurled each one. This was going to be a good school year. The best. She was going to be invited back to teach next year. All the students would love her. All the parents would be impressed by what their children learned.

  But as the stagecoach rolled down the tiny Main Street, she found her hands were shaking and her stomach had coiled. The coach rolled to a stop so abruptly that she was almost thrown to the floor. Thankfully, she was the only one on the stage, so no one else had seen her embarrassment.

  She adjusted her simple bonnet and readied a smile. Perhaps she would meet someone on the street, a student or a parent. Or a new friend.

  A tall shadow passed in front of the small window. She was expecting the stage driver, but that was not who filled the doorway when it opened.

  It was John Morgan.

  "Good afternoon, Miss White." His voice was warm and cheerful. His smile revealed a dimple cut into his left cheek, and she knew that her memory had been faulty.

  If anything, he was more handsome than she remembered. The reality of his rugged features and sparkling blue eyes hit her almost like a physical blow to the stomach, and she had to catch her breath.

  "Good afternoon," she murmured.

  He extended his hand to help her out of the stagecoach. It would’ve been rude not to accept it. She gritted her teeth as she slipped her hand into his larger one. His other hand came underneath her elbow as she stepped onto the boardwalk. This section in front of the stagecoach office was in disrepair, the boards sun-bleached and uneven beneath her feet. Next door, there was an office with boarded-up windows.

  In contrast, on either side of those two shabby buildings, both a leather goods store and a milliner were newly painted and looked in good repair. The boardwalk outside the painted buildings wasn't wind- and water-worn yet but looked brand-new.

  “I trust your journey was uneventful.”

  What an interesting way to put it. What had he expected to happen? “The stage was adequate."

  “Good.” He wielded his smile again.

  She found if she looked just over his right shoulder she could manage the butterflies in her stomach. “It will suffice when I travel home next month.”

  When John Morgan smiled, it was offhand, and she wondered whether he’d forgotten the promise.

  During her interview, she had insisted on having one weekend every six weeks to travel home to Bear Creek. She was close with her huge, sometimes-crazy family, and she already missed them.

  It would’ve been much more convenient if she could drive a buggy herself. But she got too nervous to control a horse in the harness. And she was even more terrible at navigating a long journey. She could manage traveling to a neighbor’s home, but any farther than that… She was hopeless with landmarks and maps.

  The thud of her trunk landing on the boardwalk startled her, and she realized she’d been staring with a little too much focus over the man’s shoulder.

  She saw the crook of his lip as if he were holding back a smile, and she couldn't hide the tiny frown that bloomed in response. She hated being laughed at.

  "I've arranged for someone to deliver your things to the boardinghouse," he said kindly. "I'll escort you there now so you can get settled."

  Her heart was still beating at a frantic pace. The last thing she wanted was to spend any more time in John Morgan’s presence. “Thank you, but I'm certain I can find my way if you'll point me in the right direction."

  One of his fair brows quirked upward. Had that been too abrupt? The words had felt stiff and mechanical even as they’d left her mouth.

  She tried again. “I’m sure you have more important business to attend to."

  "Nothing is more important to the folks of Granbury than their new school teacher." He seemed completely sincere, and for a second, she regretted her quick refusal. She didn't want to seem ungrateful.

  “Besides, how would it look if I let you get lost on your very first hour in Granbury?”

  Now she was sure he was laughing at her. She had admitted to being directionally challenged during her interview.

  And now she had no argument when he took her carpetbag from her hand.

  He extended his elbow, but taking his arm was too much. She thrust her hands in the pockets of her traveling dress, thankful that she'd chosen to wear it. At this point she might be sacrificing her career if she walked off without him. Not to mention the fact that she didn't know where she was going. She had no choice but to follow him down the boardwalk past the two dilapidated buildings.

  “Word of your arrival has spread through the area. All the local families want
to meet you, and we’ve arranged a town picnic on Sunday—one week from tomorrow—after worship services.”

  Her stomach swooped low at learning that she would be the focus of a community gathering. He’d told her during her interview that they’d begun the search for a new teacher too late and the school had been without a teacher last year. She’d also learned that three new families had relocated here over the summer.

  She glanced at the man beside her, who sent a cheerful wave to a fellow standing just inside the livery barn. Mr. Morgan was cheerful and charming and young—he could only be thirty, at best. How had someone so youthful come to be the chair of the school board?

  He didn’t seem to register her attraction to him or the discomfort it was engendering.

  She could do this. Make conversation. She had to do it. It would look strange if she had a strained relationship with the chairman of the board. And she desperately wanted to be invited back to teach again next year.

  She forced a smile that she didn't feel. "I can only hope the children are as excited about meeting me as their parents.”

  He chuckled. "My Ruth is a little unsure. I'm sure she'll come around."

  Her stomach twisted uncomfortably. Simon had had a son. The single father from her last placement had charmed her and made her believe he’d been sweet on her.

  And all the while he’d had a wife.

  "Your daughter?" Her voice emerged cold, and his chin snapped in her direction.

  His eyes narrowed slightly. "My younger sister. Our parents passed away, and we're managing together."

  He hesitated over the words, and she again regretted her hasty judgment. Could she possibly make things any more awkward between them? Just how long could it take to walk to the boardinghouse?

  "I'm sorry for your loss.”

  She knew the devastation of losing her parents. She’d lost her father when she was around five. She could barely remember the man. Mama had died when she was ten. Cecilia and her two younger sisters had been left with a neglectful stepfather until Sarah and Oscar had adopted them and changed their lives completely.

  She said none of this. There was no reason for Mr. Morgan to know about her childhood. She intended to keep things superficial between them. But it was good to know about his parents, as she would have his younger sister in the classroom.

  "And how old is your sister?" That was pertinent information, wasn’t it?

  "She'll turn ten in January.”

  Cecilia couldn't keep the surprise off her face, and he chuckled. "You were probably imagining her older?"

  She nodded, trying to make her expression neutral. She’d pictured the girl in her late teens. She’d guessed John’s age based on the laugh lines fanning his eyes and bracketing his mouth. With his tanned skin from working in the sun… Perhaps he could be a little younger, though she thought he was at least a few years older than her twenty-two years.

  "My Ma always said Ruth was a surprise."

  From the corner of her eye she saw him grimace, as if he hadn't meant to reveal that.

  He indicated that they should turn and leave the boardwalk behind. They followed a dirt-packed road lined by several homes, each with a small, neat yard. He indicated a two-story house that had a large grassy area out front and what looked like a field behind that rolled into farmland. This was the entirety of Granbury, then.

  The two-story home looked almost new. Or perhaps it had been repainted and the roof re-shingled when the other buildings in town had been updated.

  Silence stretched, their footsteps on the lane the only sound between them as they approached the house. John seemed to be waiting for her to say something.

  "It's lovely."

  The board had told her when she’d been hired that she would have her own room in the boardinghouse. It was a blessing not to have to share a bedroom in someone's home. Perhaps here she would have some privacy and be able to keep distractions at bay.

  She glanced at the man beside her. Afternoon sun was glinting off of his hair and the stubble on his cheeks, casting a golden hue that reminded her of a hero she might read about in one of her cousin Emma’s dime novels.

  But Cecilia wasn't a character in a story book. She'd come here to do a job, and she intended to be a perfect example of a schoolteacher.

  Surely as she settled into the job, this unwanted attraction to the man beside her would fade. It had to. It would help that she didn't have to see him every day.

  That thought gave her hope as they neared the boardinghouse.

  John Morgan prided himself on being able to read people. It was a skill he'd picked up early, out of necessity, and it was one that served him well.

  Most people had tells. A certain way that they held their head or a way of frowning. Even a tic in their facial muscles or the emotion in their eyes could tell a story.

  But John had spent the past several minutes mystified by the prickly new schoolmarm. He couldn't figure her out. Miss White was coiled tighter than a spring, and it seemed she wanted to look anywhere but directly at him.

  He still remembered their first meeting, only two weeks ago, when she had gazed up at him in a way that let him know she liked the way he looked. John didn't think of himself as arrogant, but he knew that most women found his appearance pleasing. He’d taken no offense when the pretty schoolteacher had looked at him like that. And then she'd collected herself and gone on to finish the rest of the interview completely composed. She’d shown intelligence and an eager spirit, and he’d been happy to offer her the job.

  Also, she’d been the only applicant.

  He needed her to do a good job. He’d somehow found himself elected mayor—if one could count being harangued for days on end until he’d agreed to do it as being elected. He was happy to serve Granbury. The people here had given him a home when he and Ruth had desperately needed one.

  And Granbury needed a teacher. He was determined to make this work.

  She turned to face him directly, then reached out for the carpetbag he still held. He didn't know what she had in the thing. Books maybe, or bricks.

  He smiled at her, an ornery part of him wondering whether she would frown back at him. "I've come this far. I'll take you all the way."

  "That's really not necessary. I can’t get lost now.”

  "I'd like to introduce you to Mrs. Fitzgerald. She runs the place."

  She started walking again, hiding what might be a grimace under the brim of her bonnet. He fell into step beside her. Maybe he should've mentioned that he was heading this way too. Was it simply the fact that he was her boss making her uncomfortable?

  A tiny niggle of worry crept in the same way it always did whenever someone new arrived in town. Did she know about him? Had she heard of his family in sinister whispers? Or maybe read about them in a newspaper?

  No. He’d left that life behind. There’d been no hint of recognition in two years.

  Mrs. Fitzgerald opened the door before they reached the wide wraparound porch. She must've been watching from the parlor window. Though she was older and had no children of her own, she was as excited as the rest of the town to meet the new teacher. The older woman walked down the steps to meet them at the bottom.

  "Oh, look at you, dearie. You are just the sweetest thing. So pretty. John, look at that blush in her cheeks. Isn't she lovely?"

  Mrs. Fitzgerald’s eyes danced between him and Miss White.

  Miss White’s cheeks had certainly flushed rose. Her eyes darted to him and then cut away. Though her dark hair was pulled back severely from her face, it only served to highlight the beauty of her elfin features.

  "She is quite lovely," he said dryly. "I'm certain the older boys will find her a distraction. I know I would."

  Miss White inhaled softly, and her nostrils flared. "Then perhaps it is a good thing you won't be in my classroom,” she snapped.

  Mrs. Fitzgerald chuckled. “You’d have a tough time teaching someone as incorrigible as this one."

  Mrs. Fi
tzgerald was teasing. He knew it. But her words were a reminder of the reputation he’d been so careful to craft during his time in Granbury. If he wanted everyone to believe him on the up and up, then he had to be on the up and up. He couldn’t allow himself to forget, even for one second.

  He turned his smile on Miss White again, but she was staring pointedly at her hands clasped in front of her.

  "Where should I put Miss White's bag?" he asked Mrs. Fitzgerald.

  "I put her in the blue room."

  He saw Miss White start to form a protest, and he cut her off. "I'll leave your bag outside the door. I smell the cinnamon rolls Mrs. Fitzgerald was baking earlier, and I have no doubt she wants to ply you with one before she lets you settle in."

  He moved ahead of the two women, climbing the steps.

  Mrs. Fitzgerald clucked over Miss White as the two of them ascended the wide porch stairs behind him. “You must be simply exhausted from your travels.”

  Miss White drew up short and he turned in time to see the dismay in her expression. “I’m sorry. You… board here, too?”

  Mrs. Fitzgerald didn’t seem to register the sharp tone in the younger woman’s voice. But John did.

  “Ruth and I find it convenient to live under Mrs. Fitzgerald’s roof. I’m afraid I am not much of a cook.” Ruth had flourished under the matron’s motherly touch these past months.

  And then there was the fact that, without a railroad stop in town, Mrs. Fitzgerald rarely had customers. People did not simply travel through Granbury. Without John and Ruth, and now Miss White, staying with her, her income would be nonexistent.

  But that wasn’t Miss White’s business, so he didn’t say it.