Stormy Hawkins (Prairie Hearts Series Book 1) Read online

  Table of Contents

  STORMY HAWKINS

  Acknowledgements

  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

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Table of Contents

  STORMY HAWKINS

  Acknowledgements

  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

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  STORMY HAWKINS

  Book 1 in the Prairie Hearts Series

  ANA MORGAN

  SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

  New York

  STORMY HAWKINS

  Copyright©2017

  ANA MORGAN

  Cover Design by Anna Lena-Spies

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Published in the United States of America by

  Soul Mate Publishing

  P.O. Box 24

  Macedon, New York, 14502

  ISBN: 978-1-68291-513-4

  www.SoulMatePublishing.com

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  This book is dedicated to members of the

  From the Heart Romance Writers Critique Loop.

  You never let me give up!

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to my amazing editor, Janet Clementz.

  Chapter 1

  Eastern Dakota Territory, June 1887

  Shick–chick.

  Startled out of a dreamless sleep, Blade Masters jerked his Stetson off his face and stared into the mouth of a cold-steel, double-barrel shotgun.

  “On your feet, mister,” a sultry voice ordered. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

  Blade drew a quick breath of relief. Female bandits plying the Missouri River usually wanted money, not blood. Still, he’d not expected to be robbed at dawn on the windswept prairie.

  The rising sun silhouetted his attacker, and he was hit with another surprise. Instead of black petticoats and a lacy neck choker, this brigand wore denims and a faded boy’s shirt. A battered, wide-brimmed leather hat topped braids as red as a St. Louis fire-pumper.

  Admiring how she held the shotgun steady as he clambered to his feet, he took a half step forward and turned on the charm that had saved him innumerable times. “Name’s Blade, ma’am.” He saluted her by tapping the brim of his hat. “I’m looking for the owner of this fine property.”

  “And, I’m a can–can dancer,” she scoffed. “You bank boys know darn well this is Hawkins Ranch land.” Pride, as well as possession, rang in her voice.

  He stifled the urge to grin. She’d just revealed the name of the ranch owner and how he was probably in hock to a bank. He needed to finagle a meeting with Mr. Hawkins. Find out if he was drowning in debt and eager to sell his land.

  The cowgirl raised her chin and yipped like a coyote celebrating a kill.

  Two voices responded, and then a squealing whinny from his prized mare, Belinda.

  Risking a butt-full of buckshot, he spun around.

  Two riders thundered up, reinforcements whose postures suggested they were not open to friendly how-do-you-dos. The taller man had a scraggly salt-and-pepper beard. The other had jet-black hair and Lakota features.

  His mare ran between them, flanked by a tan and gray wolfhound. Her eyes were wide with fear, and she side-kicked to keep the hound from nipping her heel. She stopped right in front of him.

  “That’s his mare, all right,” the cowgirl announced. “Mister, saddle up and ride back to town. Tell Vance, next time we’ll shoot first.”

  Blade didn’t argue or ask who Vance was. He had three guns trained on him. He packed his gear, saddled and bridled his mare, and donned the heavy leather coat he’d used for a bed.

  “Prosperity’s that way.” The red-haired cowgirl pointed toward the southwest.

  “Don’t come back,” the bearded man said.

  “Unless you’re tired of living,” she added.

  The hound trailed them for a quarter mile. When it finally turned back, Blade reached down and stroked his mare’s soft neck. He and Belinda had encountered some mean dogs since he’d started scouting properties for his father’s investment bank. Belinda was his partner, his best and only friend.

  A fresh, sun-warmed breeze stirred the morning air and dried the last few beads of dew that glistened on her mane.

  Blade shrugged out of his drover’s coat. A few minutes later, he lifted his hat and retied the leather lace that held back his thick hair. He was on a two-rut road that meandered alongside a creek shaded by towering cottonwood trees. Squirrels raced up and down the deeply-grooved trunks, and thrushes trilled as they flitted between
overhead branches.

  A short time later, the road jagged up a hill. He stopped at the top and scanned the land behind him, hoping to spot the Hawkins’ ranch yard.

  He saw only prairie grass, rippling like waves in a vast land-ocean. The Hawkins’ house was tucked somewhere out of sight, probably in a gentle valley that protected it from the harsh winter winds.

  Off in the distance, he saw a town circled by fields and small farms. He’d once believed that all the good land would be sold before he got a ranch of his own, but after five years of crisscrossing Kansas and Nebraska, he’d learned that anything could be bought for the right price. He’d keep looking until he found a spread where he could raise some cattle and bury his heart.

  Swallowing the bitter lump in his throat, Blade adjusted his Stetson and tapped the toe of his boot against Belinda’s ribs until she broke into an easy lope toward the town. He’d subsisted on cold beans and jerky for the past week. He was hungry for a thick, sizzling steak.

  After he ate, he’d indulge in a bath to soak off the past week’s dust. Then, he’d learn all he could about Mr. Hawkins and his ranch.

  ~ ~ ~

  After a routine check of Belinda’s hooves and shoes, Blade rented the roomiest stall in Prosperity’s livery stable and tipped the sleepy proprietor extra so his mare would get a much-deserved grooming. With his trail-worn saddlebags draped over his shoulder, he headed for the town’s hotel.

  A small tin bell over the door chimed as he entered the hotel lobby, replete with a rickety card table and brass spittoon in one corner. Plain wood benches lined the walls. Compared to St. Louis hotels, with their brocade-cushioned opulence, Blade preferred country sparseness.

  He crossed the room, set his bags on the floor, and waited in front of a chest-high counter.

  A woman with smudged lip paint and a tilted tower of dark curls stepped from a back room. She made no secret of looking him over. “Mornin’, stranger. You need a bed to sleep it off? The back rooms are quieter.”

  “I’d prefer the front. A room with a balcony.”

  “Just you, or are you expecting company?”

  “Just me.”

  “Two bits a night or three dollars a week. Two more will buy your breakfasts.”

  “Two weeks.” Time enough to befriend Mr. Hawkins and find out what he’d always dreamed of doing. He dug in his vest pocket for a ten-dollar gold coin.

  “Welcome to Prosperity, Mr. . . .”

  “Masters, but my friends call me Blade.” He signed the open register book. “If you’ve started serving, I’d like a steak.”

  “I’ll rouse the cook.” She held out a heavy brass key with a round, number six fob.

  He let his hand linger under hers for just a moment. This hotel keeper might know the Hawkins family. “Share a cup of coffee with me? It would be nice to talk with a woman for a spell.”

  “All right,” she said. “Go get washed up. There’s water in the pitcher next to the basin. I’ll knock when your steak is done.”

  ~ ~ ~

  In his room, Blade washed trail dust off his face and hands. After patting dry with a blue-checked towel, he stepped out onto the balcony to study the town.

  The commercial buildings lining Prosperity’s main street were long, narrow, wooden structures, a generation newer than the sod shanties of the original settlers. Each establishment had its own hitching post and covered front porch. Lettering on the wooden façade identified a clothing emporium, barbershop, smithy, lumber and feed store, school, church, and two saloons. A US Mail sign hung in the window of a general store.

  Compared to other small towns bordering the James River, Prosperity appeared to be thriving. The Land & Loan office, directly across the street, had gold leaf lettering on its front door and campaign placards in its windows. Vance for State Assembly.

  Blade was about to go in and unpack his things when a rider charged down the street. He recognized the red-haired cowgirl and her pinto.

  She reined up in front of the Land & Loan, jumped down, and marched up the thick plank steps clutching a white paper. She pounded on the door with her work-gloved fist.

  A lean man with a razor-thin blond mustache opened the door. A snow-white towel draped his shoulders, and he used it to wipe shaving soap off his jaw.

  “Stormy Hawkins.” His voice drifted across the street. “What a pleasant surprise.”

  “You no good son of a snake.” She shook the paper in front of his face.

  The man stepped back and gestured for her to enter.

  The door closed behind them.

  Blade felt a prick of sympathy. If that man was Vance, he didn’t deserve the hotheaded lecture he was probably receiving. Then again, he might have done something to set her on edge.

  Blade leaned against the balcony railing. The cowgirl had a fitting name. Stormy.

  She was also related to Mr. Hawkins.

  Angry shouts erupted from the Land & Loan. Glass shattered. A high-pitched yelp was followed by an uneasy calm.

  Alarmed, Blade ran out of his room and descended the hotel stairs three at a time. Stormy Hawkins acted tough, but she was a petite woman, no match in a physical confrontation with a bigger, stronger man—unless she had a derringer tucked under her shirt.

  Or, hidden in her boot—like he always did.

  The Land & Loan seemed quiet when he reached the pinto. He slipped Stormy Hawkins’ shotgun from her saddle holster and unloaded it. If she rushed out as hotheaded as she went in, she could end up shooting someone.

  ~ ~ ~

  Stormy kicked aside the jagged remains of the decanter she’d angrily knocked off Jonathan Vance’s big, shiny desk. A year ago, she’d made the mistake of letting him kiss her. Ever since, he’d acted as if he was entitled to her body and her family’s ranch. “For the third time, I don’t want to ‘get comfortable.’”

  “Suit yourself,” Vance opened a wall cabinet and pulled out a new bottle of whiskey.

  “I came about this.” She waved the mortgage notice in the air. “How dare you call in our note?”

  “It wasn’t me.”

  “Your name is on it.”

  “That notice came from the bank in Yankton. They heard about your father’s heart attack and are taking appropriate and reasonable steps.”

  “Zed is going to be fine. The bank has no reason to be concerned.”

  “They don’t see it that way.” Vance poured whiskey into a shot glass. “They’ll be sending an appraiser. Don’t shoot him.”

  Stormy narrowed her eyes. Did she chase off a bank appraiser a few hours ago? He’d appeared to be a down-on-his-luck cowboy.

  She shook off the memory of his handsome face and long, lean legs. “We had to borrow the money. Widow Butler wanted to move back east right away.”

  “And, you guaranteed the loan with the rest of your land.” Vance downed his drink. “Zed read the contract before he signed it. He agreed to those terms.”

  “Those terms say we have until November 1st to pay back the loan.” She tapped the notice angrily. “The bank can’t change the date.”

  “You’re right. They can’t.” Vance teased the crumpled papers from her grip. “Let me have a look.”

  He made a show of studying the fine print as he shuffled through six pages of legalese. “Just as I thought. Until a note is repaid in full, the bank can reappraise its assets anytime it sees fit.” He rolled out his big leather chair for her. “It’s a formality, Stormy. All it needs is a signature of acknowledgment. Zed is supposed to sign it, but I’ll vouch for you to sign on his behalf.”

  Reluctantly, she took off her hat and sat down.

  Vance leaned over her shoulder and picked up his fountain pen. His pomaded hair smelled like shriveled orange peel. “Sign here, here, and here.”


  She dipped the gold nib into the inkwell and wrote Ophelia Hawkins, her given name, in the appropriate places. When she finished, he swiveled the chair so she faced him.

  “Now it’s time to face facts,” he said. “Zed’s heart will not get better. Your scheme to pay back your note is going to fail.”

  “You’re wrong,” she said defiantly. “By fall, our steers will be fat. We’ll get top dollar for them, pay off our note, and have money left over. Brownie, Running Bear, and I will work our fingers to the bone, if we have to.”

  “That’s exactly my point, Stormy. Work and worry got to Zed. Brownie and Running Bear are bound to be next. They’re the same age, old and worn out.” He gripped the chair’s arms. “There are easier ways to make money than ranching.”

  She knew what he meant and chose to pretend that she didn’t. “I’ve already told you. I don’t want to live in town. I’m a rancher.”

  “If you agree to marry me, I’ll pay off your note. Zed will own everything free and clear again.” Vance leaned forward and pushed his thin lips against hers.

  Stormy felt nothing but revulsion. Shaking free, she wiped her lips with the back of her hand. “I don’t love you.”

  “That’s because you haven’t tried hard enough.” He ran the tip of his tongue across his upper lip.

  The expression on his face changed to one she’d not seen before. Aroused and greedy, it frightened her. She bent low, tried to duck under his arm.

  Vance seized her. Kicking the chair aside, he forced her face-down onto his cold, polished desk and dug his fingernails into her neck until he drew blood. Her blood.

  She struggled to twist out of his grip and failed. “Let go!”

  He relaxed his grip slightly. “Are you ready to be reasonable?”

  “Yes,” she gasped.

  “Good.” Vance smoothed back her hair.

  Still pinned on the desk, she drew a desperate breath. Using her body as cover, she eased open the center drawer and felt blindly for something, anything sharp.