Love,
John Quincy Adam Clayborne
Chapter 1
Montana Valley, 1879
The baby was finally coming home.
Cole waited next to his wagon for the stagecoach to round the last bend in the road. He was so excited, he could barely stand still. The cloud of dust coming from above the hill indicated she was close. He couldn't wait to see her. He wondered if she'd changed much in the past months, then laughed out loud over the foolish notion. Mary Rose had been all grown up when she'd left for her last year of school. Other than acquiring a few more freckles on the bridge of her nose, or letting her hair grow a little longer, he couldn't imagine any significant changes.
Lord, he'd missed her. They all had. Life on the ranch kept them running from sunup until sundown, and it was only at dinner that they all ached to have her around trying to boss them into eating something new and different she had prepared for them. She was a fine cook when she didn't stray from the familiar, but none of them could abide the fancy French sauces she liked to pour over everything.
The stagecoach was over an hour late, which meant that crusty old Clive Harrington was doing the driving. He would have had to catch up on all the gossip with Mary Rose before they started out. Clive would demand her full attention, and knowing what a soft heart his sister had, Cole knew she wouldn't rush him.
They were fast friends, but no one in Blue Belle could understand why. Clive Harrington was a cantankerous old buzzard who constantly scowled, snapped, and complained and was, in Cole's estimation, a thoroughly disagreeable son-of-a-bitch. He was also as ugly as sin. The walkways in town would clear at the first sight of him, unless Mary Rose was around. A magical transformation took place then. Clive went from ferocious to meek. Not only did he act as though he were everyone's best friend, he also wore a ridiculous, ain't-life-grand grin from morning until night. Harrington made a complete fool of himself doting on Mary Rose, and all because she doted on him. She really cared about the old coot. She took care of him when he needed caring, made certain he was included in their holiday dinners, and personally mended all of his clothes for him. Harrington always took ill once a year, usually around roundup time, but sometimes a full month before. He'd appear on their doorstep with his hat in one hand and a dirty handkerchief in the other, asking for a bit of advice about how to cure his latest mysterious ailment. It was all a ruse, of course. Mary Rose would immediately park old Clive in the guest room and pamper him for the full week it always took before he felt fit again.
Everyone in town called Harrington's week of infirmity his annual getaway, and from the way the old man was dabbing at the corners of his eyes and rubbing his nose with his handkerchief while he slowed the horses, Cole surmised he was already planning his next holiday.
The stagecoach had barely rocked to a stop when the door flew open and Mary Rose jumped to the ground.
"I'm finally home," she called out. She picked up her skirts and ran to her brother. Her bonnet flew off her head and landed in the dust behind her. She was laughing with sheer joy. Cole tried to maintain his somber expression because he didn't want Harrington spreading the rumor he'd gone soft. Cole liked having everyone in town fear him. His sister's laughter proved contagious, however, and Cole couldn't control his reaction. He smiled first, then burst into laughter. Appearances be damned.
Mary Rose hadn't changed at all. She was still just as dramatic and uninhibited as always, and, heaven help him, she'd be the death of all the brothers, who constantly worried about the way she always wore her heart on her sleeve.
She threw herself into his arms. For such a little thing, she had the grip of a bear. Cole hugged her back, kissed her on the top of her head, and then suggested to her that she quit laughing like a crazy woman.
She wasn't offended. She pulled away, put her hands on her hips, and gave her brother a thorough inspection.
"You're still as handsome as ever, Cole. Have you killed anyone while I was at school?"
"Of course not," he snapped. He folded his arms across his chest, leaned back against the wagon, and tried to frown at her.
"You look like you grew another inch or two. Your hair seems more blond too. When did you get that scar on your forehead? Did you get into a fight?"
Before he could answer her questions, she turned to Harrington. "Clive, did my brother shoot anyone while I was away?"
"Not that I recollect, Miss Mary," he called back.
"Any knife fights?" she asked.
"I don't think so," Clive answered.
Mary Rose seemed convinced. She smiled again. "I'm so happy to be home. I've made up my mind. I'm never leaving again. Adam isn't going to make me go anywhere, no matter how good it might be for my mind or my soul. I'm all refined now, and I've got the papers to prove it. Lord, it's warm for spring, isn't it? I love the heat and the dirt and the wind and the dust. Has Travis gotten into any fights in town? Never mind," she added in a rush. "You wouldn't tell me if he did anything wrong. Adam will though. He tells me everything. He wrote more than you did, by the way. Is the new barn finished? I got a letter from Mama Rose just the day before school ended. The mail arrived right on time too. Isn't that something? We live in such modern times. What about…"
Cole was having trouble keeping up with his sister. She was talking as fast as a politician. "Slow down," he interrupted. "I can only answer one question at a time. Catch your breath while I help Harrington unload your baggage."
A few minutes later, her trunk, boxes, and three valises were packed in the back of the wagon. Mary Rose climbed up on the flatbed and started sorting through her things.
Cole told her to wait until they got home to find what she was looking for. She ignored his suggestion. She closed one box and turned to the second one.
Harrington stood next to the wagon, smiling at her. "I sure missed you, Miss Mary," he whispered. He blushed like a schoolboy and gave Cole a quick look to make sure he wasn't going to laugh at him.
Cole pretended he hadn't heard the confession. He turned away before he rolled his eyes heavenward. His sister was obviously pleased by Harrington's admission. "I missed you too, Clive. Did you get my letters?"
"I surely did," he replied. "I read them more than once too." Mary Rose smiled at her friend. "I'm happy to hear it. I didn't forget your birthday. Don't leave just yet. I have something for you."
She was diligently sorting through her trunk and finally found the box she had been searching for.
She handed it to Clive. "This is for you. Promise me you won't open it until you get home."
"You got me a present?" He looked flabbergasted.
She smiled. "Two presents," she corrected. "There's another surprise tucked inside the first."
"What is it?" Clive asked. He sounded like a little boy on Christmas morning.
Mary Rose took hold of his hand and climbed down out of the wagon. "It's a surprise," she answered. "That's why I wrapped it in a box with such pretty paper. Thank you for the ride," she added with a curtsy. "It was very lovely."
"You ain't mad because I wouldn't let you ride up on the perch with me?"
"No, I'm not angry," she assured him.
Harrington turned to Cole to explain. "She begged me to let her sit up there with me, but I didn't think it would be fitting for such a dignified young lady to be riding shotgun."
Cole nodded. "We need to get going, Mary Rose."
He didn't wait for her agreement but turned and got up on the seat of the wagon. He took the reins in his hands and asked his sister to quit dawdling.
She had to chase after her forgotten bonnet first. Clive was clutching his present with both hands while he slowly walked back to his coach. He acted as if he were carrying a priceless treasure.