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The Heart Of A Hero
Judith Stacy
A NEW LIFE, A NEW LOVE…J ess Logan knew his life would change when he returned to Walker, Wyoming, to raise his late sister's children. But after meeting pretty schoolmarm Sarah Wakefield, he found out he had much to learn - not just about child rearing and housekeeping, but also about love.Sarah Wakefield arrived in Walker hoping to start life with a clean slate. But as her feelings for Jess and his family grew, she realized she could never truly love someone until she shared the secret that was weighing down her heart… .
“We need to talk,” Jess said. (#u3fa76559-5d24-5aa2-a325-f5f7a9a23673)Letter to Reader (#ue0fd1b38-6c43-523a-9a6d-29712aebf6d1)Title Page (#u3b90cb6b-5ede-5e4b-b909-9884e2272c90)About the Author (#u7ec15d55-9b6b-501b-b1c8-9253214c2731)Dedication (#u29962785-bba6-5b17-8793-0045bb231836)Chapter One (#uf8a27565-f193-5494-84eb-3c8fff0bfcbf)Chapter Two (#u83e89631-6da4-5683-b36a-48af1d8a891a)Chapter Three (#u3c9e2043-f84c-5fdd-a24e-0d312aa9b93a)Chapter Four (#uc0fa0c73-94a7-5725-8ddd-1be02665a659)Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“We need to talk,” Jess said.
Sarah fell back a step, clutching her wrapper tighter against her throat. “It’s late, Jess, and—”
“It’s late all right, Sarah. Too late for me to come to call, too late for me to pretend any more.”
She inched toward the doorway. “I—I don’t understand.”
“Yes you do.” He followed her across the room and caught her arm. “You’ve been running since the day I laid eyes on you. I thought you were running from me, Sarah, but you’re not. And it’s not that you’re worried about getting fired. It’s something else.”
She turned her head away. “No, you’re wrong.”
“Sarah, I never felt about a woman the way I feel about you. Can’t you give me a chance? Can’t you trust me?”
Forcing down her feelings, Sarah pulled away from him. He followed, not letting her go far, but without his touch soft and warm against her, she could think better.
“It’s not a matter of trust, jess....”
Dear Reader,
If you’ve never read a Harlequin Historical novel, you’re in for a treat. We offer compelling, richly developed stories that let you escape to the past—written by some of the best writers in the field!
The Heart of a Hero is a darling new Western by Judith Stacy. Judith Stacy is the pseudonym for Dorothy Howell, who has written numerous historicals for Berkley and Zebra. Here, a bad boy turned rancher returns to his small Wyoming hometown and has thirty days to prove that he’ll be a good father to his niece and nephew. The new schoolmarm, who believes in Jess Logan, teaches him how to win over the town’s biddies, and falls in love in the process!
Rising talent Lyn Stone returns with The Knight’s Bride, a heartwarming and humorous medieval tale of a very true knight who puts his honorable reputation on the line when he marries the beautiful widow of his best friend. And in Burke’s Rules by Pat Tracy, book two of THE GUARDSMEN series, a Denver schoolmistress falls for the “protective” banker who helps fund her school Don’t miss this fun, sensuous story!
Rounding out the month is Pride of Lions by award-winning author Suzanne Barclay. In this continuation of her highly acclaimed SUTHERLAND SERIES, a knight and a warrioress from enemy clans join forces when they are stranded in the territory of an evil laird. It’s great!
Whatever your tastes in reading, you’ll be sure to find a romantic journey back to the past between the covers of a Harlequin Historical
novel.
Sincerely,
Tracy Farrell, Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Harlequin Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
The Heart Of A Hero
Judith Stacy
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
JUDITH STACY began writing as a personal challenge and found it a perfect outlet for all those thoughts and ideas bouncing around in her head. She chose romance because of the emotional involvement with the characters, and historicals for her love of bygone days.
Judith has been married to her high school sweetheart for over two decades and has two daughters. When not writing, she haunts museums, historical homes and antique stores, gathering ideas for new adventures set in the past.
To Judy and Stacy, who are my greatest weaknesses.
And to David, who is my strength.
The author wishes to thank Nick B. Andonov, Ph.D.,
for his assistance with this story.
Chapter One
Wyoming, 1886
"I’m here to take the kids away.”
Jess Logan eyed the woman blocking the doorway. Warmth radiated from the neat, well-kept parlor behind her, but her face looked as cold as the wind biting at his ears. He’d expected as much.
Alma Garrette’s brows rose to a haughty arch. “I can’t believe you have the nerve to show your face here in Walker after all these years.”
“I’m here for my sister’s kids, Mrs. Garrette. Sheriff told me you had them.”
“Humph! Your sister has been by herself for nearly three years now since her husband ran off. And where have you been? You couldn’t have gotten here a month ago when she was ailing and needed the help? Or three days ago when she passed on? Or yesterday for the service?” Her gaze raked him from head to toe.
Jess ran his hand over his week-old beard. “I got here quick as I could.”
Her mouth curled downward as if she doubted it. “I’ll tell you right now, Jess Logan, I don’t like this one bit. I told the sheriff so myself. Those poor babies have never even laid eyes on you. What do you know about raising children, a man with your... past.”
Beneath his poncho, Jess’s hands curled into fists. “Would you just get the kids? It’s nearly dark. I want to get them home.”
“Your sister’s home, you mean.”
His jaw tightened. “Their home.”
She gave him a final scathing look and shut the door in his face. He knew it wasn’t the mud on his boots or the rain dripping from his Stetson that kept her from inviting him inside.
The door swung open quickly and a stoop-shouldered man squinted up at him. “Jess Logan? Is that you, boy? It’s me—Rory Garrette.”
“Mr. Garrette?” Jesus, what had happened to the man? He’d gotten so old.
Rory chuckled and leaned heavily on his cane. “Been a long time, boy. What? Fifteen years?”
“Yeah, about that.” Jess shifted his wide shoulders. On the trail these past weeks, every bump and sway—every memory—caused his thirty-two years to weigh more heavily on him. Now, seeing Rory Garrette, the burden lifted a little. “How you been, Mr. Garrette?”
“Tolerable, I reckon.” He nodded toward the muddy roadway and the misting rain. “Things in Walker have changed, though. It’s just not the same, not like when you were here.”
Jess didn’t answer, the past being the last thing he wanted to discuss.
“Yes sirree, them were the days. You boys were something. Fighting, drinking—kept the saloons in business yourselves, you and the Vernon boys. And the girls...land alive, weren’t no girl safe with you boys loose on the streets.” Rory laughed aloud. “And always into mischief, too. I remember the time you boys set fire to old lady Murray’s privy with her inside, she come a-running—”
“That was a long time ago, Mr. Garrette.”
“Yeah, that’s for dang sure.” His smile faded. “Town’s done gone respectable now. Got us a regular preacher over to the church, a full-time sheriff and deputy, too. Got enough ordinances and laws to choke a horse. New schoolmarm just got here, some widow woman from back East. All the ladies in town been wringing their hands since your sister took sick, wondering how we’d get us another teacher way out here. I guess you’ve seen some changes here in Walker already, huh, boy?”
He’d seen his sister’s grave. That was enough.
Alma stepped into the doorway, sending Rory on his way with a disapproving glare. She passed a small carpetbag to Jess. “Here’s their things.”
Beside her stood the children. His sister’s children. He’d never seen them before.
Little Maggie looked up at him with solemn eyes. Eyes older than her eight years. Jess knelt in front of her. The picture of her mother, with big brown eyes and blond curls. A lump of emotion rose in his throat.
“Mrs. Garrette says you’re Mama’s brother.”
“That’s right, Maggie. I’m your Uncle Jess.”
“Mama’s dead.”
His chest tightened. “I know, honey.” He turned to the little brown-haired boy peeking around Alma’s skirt. “Hey there, cowboy.”
“His name is Jimmy,” Maggie told him. “He turned five last week, but we couldn’t have a party or anything ’cause of Mama.”
Jess held out his hand. “Come here, Jimmy. You want to go for a ride with me and your sister?”
Jimmy drew back and hid his face in the folds of Alma’s skirt.
“Jimmy doesn’t talk,” Maggie said.
Alma glared down at Jess. “The child hasn’t spoken since his mother passed on.”
She made it sound as if that were his fault, too.
Jess rose. “I’m obliged to you, Mrs. Garrette, for looking after them until I got here.”
She jerked her chin. “They’ll be back. I don’t doubt it for a minute. There’s plenty of good Christian folks in this town who’d be more than glad to take these young ’uns in—you best remember that.”
Jess drew in a deep breath. “Come on, kids. Let’s go.” Carpetbag in hand, he crossed the porch.
“Aren’t you going to put his hat on for him?” Maggie asked.
“Huh?” He froze and looked back at her confused face.
“Aren’t you going to help Jimmy?”
Jess felt Alma’s glower and cleared his throat. “Yeah, sure.”
He fished the battered hat from the boy’s jacket pocket and pressed it down on his head.
“He can’t button his buttons either,” Maggie told him.
Jess fastened the jacket, his big fingers awkward on the buttons. He turned to Maggie. “Anything else?”
“No.” She pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and took her brother’s hand.
Jess stood. “All right, then, let’s go.”
A hand crept into his. Tiny warm fingers curled against his palm, sending a rush up his arm. He looked down at Maggie clinging to him.
“Where are we going, Uncle Jess?”
He gave her hand a little squeeze. “Home.”
“Uncle Jess doesn’t like people coming around the house, Mrs. Wakefield. He says they’re all a bunch of nosy busybodies and ought to stay home looking after their own children.”
Sarah Wakefield held tight to Maggie’s hand as she picked her way around the mud puddles in the road. “This is different. I’m your teacher.”
The little girl shook her head, her blond curls bouncing. “Uncle Jess isn’t going to like it.”
Despite the dire warnings Maggie had given her since leaving the schoolhouse, Sarah pressed on, holding up the hem of her dark skirt, dodging puddles. Like the gray clouds overhead ready to burst with rain, Sarah had a few things she intended to say to Mr. Jess Logan, and she wouldn’t wait another day.
Maggie stopped and pulled her hand from Sarah’s. “This is where me and Jimmy live with Uncle Jess. We lived with Mama...before.”
Breath left Sarah’s lungs with a sigh of profound envy as she gazed at the cozy little house. White with green shutters and a sturdy roof, a neat picket fence bordered with shrubs and bushes, twin maples in the yard. Gray smoke billowed from the chimney, blending with the gloomy afternoon sky.
Sarah shuddered at the thought of the leaky, drafty cottage a short distance down the road near the school—her house. She told herself for the hundredth time since arriving in Walker that she should be happy with the house the school board provided. It was a place to live. And, it was a very long way from Missouri.
Maggie took her hand once more. “We always go in through the back. Mama said to keep the front clean for company.”
Sarah followed the child through the front gate and around to the rear of the house. A clothesline stretched across one corner of the yard and several weatherfaded outbuildings stood a short distance from the house.
“That’s my Uncle Jess.” Maggie bounced on her toes and pointed.
At the three-sided woodshed a man draped in a poncho slammed his axe into a log, splitting it cleanly in two. He stopped suddenly and spun around, his face shadowed by a black Stetson and a stubble of whiskers. Even from across the yard, Sarah felt the heat of his gaze upon her. She backed up a step.
“Hi, Uncle Jess.” Maggie skipped across the yard to him.
Jess knelt and gave her a one-armed embrace. “Did you do all right at school today?”
She nodded, then pointed back at Sarah. “This is—”
“Go on in the house, Maggie.” Stern, but not angry, he stood and gestured toward the back porch with the axe clenched in his fist. Maggie looked back at Sarah and waved before disappearing into the house.
