Love For Lenore



  LOVE FOR LENORE

  Copyright © 2012 by Regina Tittel

  Cover design by Regina Tittel

  Photograph by Regina Tittel

  ISBN: 9781466191617

  All rights reserved.

  All Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version.

  Love For Lenore

  Regina Tittel

  Books by Regina Tittel

  Abandoned Hearts

  vol. 1 of The Ozark Durham Series

  Unexpected Kiss

  vol. 2 of The Ozark Durham Series

  Coveted Bride

  vol. 3 of The Ozark Durham Series

  Cherished Stranger

  Vol. 4 of The Ozark Durham Series

  Devoted Mission

  Vol. 5 of The Ozark Durham Series

  Rivalry & Romance

  Book One of the In Mammoth Spring Series

  Chapter One

  Lenore Wakesmith braced herself inside the covered wagon with her small brother held tightly against her side. The snow-covered pass tested her very core. Thus far, its trials had not been able to penetrate the strong bond she witnessed between her father and step-mother, but her own eighteen years of experience had begun to doubt the wisdom of their decision.

  On their last stop, Father had fallen and injured his hip, her step-mother was fighting a cold and the weather had only proven worse. Lenore glanced at the figure of her half-brother now slumped against her deep in sleep. At least he didn't seem effected by the negative turn of events.

  Their relatives were only three days away now. Surely they were past the worst.

  Whine. Crack!

  One side of the wagon dropped heavily, enough to wake her brother. He rubbed his eyes and looked around at their slanted surroundings. "What happened, Sissy?"

  A moan from her father stole her response. She had become conditioned to hearing his release of pain every time he dismounted the wagon, but the exasperated sigh that followed could only mean one thing.

  Another set-back.

  Lenore scrambled to the back of the wagon and pulled open the flap of canvas. She met her step-mother's worried gaze before the woman's cough disrupted them.

  "Father," Lenore climbed out of the wagon, "what happened?"

  With shoulders slumped, he turned away and stared at the sky. "Why? What have we done to deserve all of this?"

  Lenore clasped a hand over her mouth at the sight of their last spare wheel. Its busted remains dusted the snow and splinters of wood punctured through the crusted top-layer. Lenore struggled to fight off the desire to fuel all the reasons they should have waited to travel. In the end, her thoughts won, but at least they were left unspoken. She knew the last thing her father needed to hear was another's disappointment in his decisions.

  "Perhaps another wagon will come by shortly." Her step-mother's feeble voice belied the disbelief in her own words.

  A chill wind swept around them, as if a premonition of their coming fate. Lenore refused to believe this would be their end. She was at her prime of life. A family, excited to meet them, were only days ahead. With their welcome held the promise of a good job for her father, friends for her step-mother, school for her brother, and a hopeful marriage for Lenore.

  No, this would not be their end. Not if she could help it.

  "Father-"

  "Lenore-"

  She and her father both began to speak at once. They exchanged polite smiles then her father continued.

  "Lenore," he hesitated. "I'm not capable . . . you are the only one who can . . ."

  "I know, Father. I'll go."

  ***

  The forested path became dark with the loss of daylight. Where was she? How long had it been since the snow storm confused her direction? The weight of her numb feet made it difficult to walk. Yet she had no choice but to continue on.

  A blanket of sleepiness enveloped her. The desire to curl up into a ball and sleep until morning weakened her reserve. A picture of her family huddled together in their wagon fueled her purpose. She had to get help.

  In an effort to stay alert, Lenore pictured what life would offer in their new town. She had a cousin near her age. Would they become friends? Lenore hoped they would become as tight as sisters. She had never had a sister and always wished for such a relationship. But oddly enough, none of her letters had received a reply. She shoved away nagging thoughts of her cousin not welcoming her arrival.

  And what of the possibility of marriage? Her step-mother had made mention of a couple of possible suitors. Would any of them take a liking to her? Would she them? Lenore had often dreamt of marriage, but only a marriage formed of love. She despised what some families did to their children, arranging marriages based on uniting wealthy families or simply for convenience. She had promised herself, from an early age, she would run away before succumbing to such imprisonment.

  Without warning, Lenore's foot caught on a fallen limb. She pitched forward onto a half-buried animal trap. The clamp of its steel jaws reverberated throughout the forest capturing the sleeve of Lenore's coat and pinching her skin.

  "Ahhh!" Lenore pulled against the trap which only increased the pain. Like a hot poker, it seared through her arm. "No! Oh, dear Lord, this hurts, get it off me!"

  A howl sounded on the breeze. Lenore stopped struggling and listened. Was it caused by the wind through the trees or something much more frightening? She shivered and drew her body closer to the clamp, curling into a ball. How long would she have to remain here before someone found her? And would she be found alive? What about her family, they were depending on her to find help.

  "Lord," she whispered, "please send them help."

  Chapter Two

  Heston Miller paused at the sound of the faint scream. He'd traveled half the distance home; to turn back now would leave him walking in total darkness.

  The sound came again. He cocked his head to listen. It was like no other he had heard in the wilderness. The traps were reset, had he caught something again so soon? With a sigh, he turned around in his tracks. "Whatever you are, you'd better be worth it 'Cause come tomorrow, I'll need all the extra cash I can come up with."

  The walk back was covered quickly because of his previous path. Heston came near his first trap and paused. With his rifle ready, he slowly stepped around the bend. Empty. He peered through the trees, thankful for the filtering moonlight.

  The second trap proved just as empty. He considered turning back when the sound of sobbing reached his ears. Sobbing?

  Heston quickened his pace. Wolves often frequented this part of the forest, he couldn't waste any time. Soon, he came upon the reason for the cry. Huddled into a fetal position was a woman. Her arm entangled with a limb and his trap.

  Lord, let her be okay.

  Heston knelt down beside her and with a voice that told of more calm than he felt, he reassured her, though with his own rough manner. "Calm yourself down, ma'am. I'm going to open the trap, and you pull your arm back quick as you can."

  Frightened, doe-shaped eyes peered up at him with astonishment. "Thank you, sir. The Lord has surely heard my cry." Her lips were blue and her words were spoken with the slurred effects of the cold.

  Heston pulled the trap open and reset it as the woman slowly pulled her arm free. He'd told her to do so with speed, but she was so cold, he realized it probably took all she had to move at all.

  "Can you stand?"

  Slowly, she nodded. He steadied her with his hand on her undamaged arm. She straightened to a stance, but with one step, her legs buckled beneath her. Heston caught her against his chest then swung her up in his capable arms. Her body trembled against his. "Don't worry, you'll be warm soon."

  But would it be in time? Frost-bite did awful things to ones
hands and feet.

  Awkward as it was, Heston trudged through the forest with his gun and fresh hides thrown over his back and the woman in his arms. Snowflakes swirled around him with relaxed ease. The earlier storm had spent its fury, leaving a peaceful atmosphere in its wake. At least it felt peaceful to him, but what to this woman. Had she trudged through the storm? And from where? There wasn't anything for miles around.

  Relief flooded his chest as the cabin came into view. Smoke still curled from the chimney promising a welcome warmth. He threw open the door and kicked it shut behind him with his foot. Striding the short distance across the room, he laid the woman on his bed. "I'll get some more warmth in here and we'll check out your hands and feet."

  A feeble voice tried to reply but exhaustion had laid its claim. Heston didn't try to encourage her to repeat her words. Instead, he readied a pot to heat water and gathered as many blankets as he had.

  Moments later he had his unexpected visitor propped in a chair, nearer the stove, with her gloves removed examining her fingers. "You're fortunate. Your fingers will survive. Just soak them in that warm water, while I check your feet."

  Through heavy lids, she slowly nodded. The contact with the water seemed to bring some life back into her as she blinked and widened her eyes to look around. Heston smiled to himself, thankful he'd found her in time. He removed both boots but paused at her stocking-clad feet. He'd never touched a woman this much before. And though it needed to be done, he felt uncertain about removing her socks. It would certainly expose more skin than he'd witnessed on a woman, and the feelings her presence created was already more than he knew how to deal with.

  "What do my feet look like? Am I going to lose my toes?"

  Her sweet voice, though overlaid with worry, filled his cabin with a longed-for harmony.

  At least it was still his cabin for tonight. Tomorrow would bring a much begrudged change.

  Heston resumed his task with more force than necessary, trying to rid his thoughts along with the feelings this woman caused. He tore the socks from her feet exposing delicate, white skin. Thankfully, a healthy white, not the kind caused from frost-bite.

  She leaned forward, "Oh, your warm hands feel good. My feet are so cold."

  A smile tickled Heston's lips, but he kept his head down and concentrated on her feet. Rubbing vigorously, he brought some color back to her skin then sat them in the bowl of water. "How are your hands?"

  With her eyes trained on him, she answered, "Better, thank you."

  Heston tried not to look her direction. If she only knew the feelings he battled, she wouldn't be staring at him so innocently. But there was no place to hide, he'd have to rein them under control.

  He grabbed a towel and dried her hands with purposeful efficiency. When he looked up, she still stared. Gray eyes, the color of a storm, pulled at him with curiosity.

  "How did you find me?" Her voice, again, struck a chord in his chest.

  Heston moistened his lips and broke eye contact. A silly woman, exactly what he didn't need. He shifted the towel to her feet and tried to concentrate on the task at hand.

  But his thoughts wouldn't rest. Perhaps she was exactly what he needed? An idea began to form in his mind, one that would secure his cabin to him, among other things.

  He cleared his throat. "I heard you cry. You should be thankful I was out checking my traps, else the wolves might've found you first."

  A gasp escaped her lips. "What about my family?"

  Heston's brow furrowed. "What family? Are there others out there?" The thought disturbed him. If there had been others with her, where were they now? Why didn't she tell him when he'd been able to help? He glanced toward the cabin door.

  "On the trail, my family stayed with the wagon. Will they be safe from the wolves?"

  Heston sighed with relief. They had a wagon, they weren't left defenseless from the weather. And they were on a trail. What trail? The only trail he knew from the direction she'd come was distant enough it would free him of responsibility, at least he hoped. "If they're in the wagon, the wolves can't get them."

  He stood and eyed her more closely. She seemed of moderate build, but certainly had no business in the woods all alone. "What were you doing out there?"

  "Our last wheel busted and I was the only one able to handle the distance to get help."

  "You know you are a far cry from the trail don't . . ." The next word died on his tongue as the woman untied her wool bonnet and slid it from her head, exposing hair the color of corn silk fresh from the stalk. Heston's breath froze. He longed to reach out and touch it, even more so when she allowed her cloak to fall from her shoulders. Her silken waves fell to her waist in a thick, healthy curtain.

  She turned to where he now stood behind her. "What do you mean? Am I not near Gadstone?"

  "Gadstone?" Heston shook his head. "You're a couple hours from Silverton, ma'am. That's south of your destination. Didn't you realize you were traveling downhill?"

  She shook her head, confusion marring her pretty gaze. "I didn't. I was so bewildered with the snow blinding me. And so cold, so cold." Her voice faded in thought. "What will I do for my family? They need a new wheel to move on."

  Grabbing a pot from the counter, Heston began to heat up left over beans from lunch. "I reckon I can help you with that, but I'll be needin' some help from you in return."

  Wide eyes full of questions stared back. "From me? How can I be of help to you?"

  "How old are you?"

  Wariness crept into the corners of stormy eyes. "Eighteen."

  "Are you spoken for?"

  "Mister, I don't see any reason why you should be in need of such knowledge." She tightened her hands around the bonnet in her lap.

  The wind picked up outside and howled against the cabin door. More than likely, it brought with it additional snow. If he had to travel the distance it would be to help her family, she was going to help him keep his cabin.

  Chapter Three

  Lenore stared at the man stirring her dinner. He seemed friendly enough, but what reason could he possibly have of needing to know if she were spoken for or not? How she wished she could answer yes. But she wasn't. Her relatives had mentioned some possible suitors, but thus far, nothing had been arranged.

  "Well are you?" The man's impatience at her stalling began to show.

  She fought the desire to hide her face, but instead forced herself to look his direction, though she avoided his eyes. "No. I am not."

  "What's your name?"

  Lenore swallowed and wished he'd offer water instead of questions. "Lenore Wakesmith. And yours?"

  "Heston Miller, and I need your help if I'm to keep someone else from claiming this cabin."

  Lenore's gaze widened as she turned to take in the stranger's home. "What do you mean, who would want this?" She stretched her hand out to encompass the one-room, windowless home.

  Heston slammed the spoon down, his voice boomed with insulted pride. "This cabin happens to be sitting on some of the best trappin' grounds around. My home is what's keeping you warm. I built it with my own hands." He lowered his voice as he set the beans on to warm. "And come tomorrow, when I turn thirty, I lose it to a disreputable cousin if I'm not married."

  Lenore jerked her head toward him. Had she heard right? "Married? Why? I don't understand."

  "I inherited the land. But it came with a stipulation to make sure there was a family line to keep control. And since I haven't married, I don't have any lineage to hand it down to. That puts me out of the running. And the cousin I mentioned is all too eager to lay hands on it."

  Lenore tensed as he stepped closer. She wasn't scared, yet, but the effect he had on her was foreign enough to keep her on guard. "If I may be so bold as to ask, why haven't you married? Aren't there single women in this town of yours–Silverton?"

  "Ha!" He pulled up a stool and sat across from her, running his hands through wavy, red hair. "The women in Silverton are nothing but empty-headed, fancy hens who wouldn
't know their way around a hide if it hit them. I'm a trapper. That means I bring in animals to skin, skins to cure, and skins to market. It wouldn't do me any good to marry one of those chattering women. I'm looking for a help-meet, someone who can work along-side me."

  Lenore swallowed against the tightness in her throat. "But you don't actually expect to marry me?"

  The man reached for a near-by lantern to increase their visibility of one another. Lenore gasped at the sharpness of his eyes; bright green and lined with lashes dark enough to make any girl envious. His intense stare caused a foreign, but not unwelcome, sensation in the pit of her stomach.

  "Do you have a better idea?" Heston's gaze moved from her face to her hair.

  Lenore brought a hand to her head to smooth down her tresses. Her hair was most likely mussed from her bonnet. But she quickly realized that wasn't the problem. The green of the man's eyes darkened and a tense sensation filled the room. Where was that safe feeling she'd claimed a moment ago?

  Heston set the lantern down at their feet. "I think we could get along okay, don’t you?"

  "Wh-why do you think I'd consider your plan? I don't know you. Surely you don't think saving my life entitles you to my hand in marriage?"

  His eyes flashed with temper as he stood. "I hope I didn't gage you wrong, thinking you had more sense about you than the town's women." He set out two tin plates before stirring the beans.

  With more thrust than needed, he slopped a spoonful of their dinner onto each plate. "I told you if I trudged all the way back to help your folks, you would owe me a favor. I don't know why you're getting upset over the idea. You said yourself you're not spoken for. I didn't figure you being keen on becoming an old-maid."

  Lenore gasped at his cruel tongue. But what could she say? To tell him she had planned to marry only for love would be asking him to laugh in her face. She glanced about the small interior, desperate for an escape.

  "Are you going to join me?"

  Heston's soft question left her baffled. Lenore turned and found him seated at the rough-hewn table set with two steaming plates of food. Her stomach rumbled in response, loud enough to be heard by her host.