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Chapter One
June 1868, Whispering Creek Ranch
Wyoming Territory
Sheridan Wentworth had once been haunted by the biting chill of loneliness, adrift without friends, family, or a place to call home. Her father, viscount Eldridge had claimed her from boarding school, sponsoring a season for her, introducing her to the glitter and beauty of a coveted society position. Many in the bon ton had welcomed her, but she had never truly felt connected. She had felt like an actress in a play, performing a part she barely understood but one that required such ladylike accomplishments. Laughing, dancing, eating, dressing, everything had to be so perfect or she would be judged and found wanting. She had escaped the oppressiveness of polite society and had carved a new life in America, and now that peace and hope for a future was being threatened.
Sheridan walked further from the main house and toward the waiting enemy. The morning air was fresh with a faint chill, she inhaled the cold into her lungs and expelled gently. About a dozen men circled in the distance, silhouetted atop the ridge overlooking Whispering Creek—her joy, her home. It was the only place where she’d ever experienced such happiness it was like sunshine burning from the inside. This was where she’d found the freedom to be herself, to run bare feet across the prairie, ride astride, whistled tunelessly, and managed the books for her ranch without fear of rebuke. I belong here…and this is where I’ll fight to stay. The Whispering Creek was filled with clear streams, high valleys dotted with aspens, and flowers of vibrant beauty. The rolling grasslands which spread for miles were well watered and green, the footstool to the blue-green Wyoming Mountains that rose sharp and clear against the sky, imposing, and majestic. This was where she could have a family of her own, and find true contentment.
A light breeze stirred the leaves of the massive oak tree under which she stood. Sheridan gripped the Winchester as the men descended the ridge. They rode towards the Whispering Creek; the rumble of their horse’s hooves grew thunderous as they drew closer. A storm cloud of dust hovered in their wake as they powered toward the ranch.
She knew who had arrived—Jericho Sullivan, King of Blue Lagoon. She’d hardly slept last night after turning away his cowhand yesterday from her ranch with the invitation to dine at Mr. Sullivan’s hotel in town. She knew he would react, so she had planned to travel with more men when next she went into town, but this show of force was not expected. He was a powerful man in the territory, and he’d made it known he wanted her. The insufferable ass. Whenever she traveled into town for supplies he would watch her with a hunger that petrified her. He’d tried wooing her before and she had rebuffed his advances. He’d then tried flattery, praising her for being an English lady. Telling her she had the social graces to stand at his side while he ran for the legislature. Then he had resorted to logic saying her home was a prosperous outfit, and he figured a woman alone would have a hard time of it, that she would be easy prey. She fully understood his reasoning, for he was right.
Sheridan had no misconceptions about her home, the land was wild, dangerous and unpredictable, but she would not bend to him. She would rather sleep in a pit infested with vipers than be courted by him. He was a big, broad, and handsome man, but she could see the meanness behind his eyes, a vicious man in the guise of a gentleman. He was truly a scoundrel of the worst order, and she had too much to lose. Family, friendship, home…Everything.
God, please…grant me the strength to stand unafraid. She batted down the wave of panic, and tried to slow the painful thumping of her heart. It was not comforting, waiting to face the threat alone, but she could not risk her workers’ lives. She had ordered them to stay away from a confrontation, and she could only pray they would listen. Whatever was to unfold was between her and the approaching men. To even desire her ranchmen’s aid, was to endanger their lives. It had only been a couple weeks ago; Mike Tanner had been beaten and left broken on the trail leading home from town. It was evident he had been made an example for interfering when one of Mr. Sullivan’s men had made disgusting and suggestive remarks to her.
“Is it safe to wait outside, Sheridan?”
She gave Beth a sidelong glance as she approached. Sherida
n noted the shadows that haunted Beth’s soft brown eyes. Sheridan also saw the resilience, the need to fight, and that was what she needed the most. “Go inside, Beth. If I cower or appear weak Mr. Sullivan will not hesitate to seize the reins from me here and now,” she said firmly, determined to ignore the fear pumping in her bloodstream.
“Sheridan, I—”
“Please,” she beseeched, grabbing Beth’s hand. “I need to know Grayson is safe inside. He needs you in there, not out here. The cowhands will aid me if necessary.”
Beth trembled, and then stiffened her spine. “They are afraid of him, and most of them are out on the range, which is why those bastards are coming here today. They are watching us,” she hissed, staring at the swarm of riders that grew closer. “Mrs. Murphy and cook are ready and armed. Though Miguel is abed, he will come if necessary. One shot will draw the men in from the range.”
“Please go inside.” Sheridan hardened her voice, and handed Beth the .44 Henry. “Take this and wait by the east windows. If they try to come in, and only if they try to breach the house, shoot as many as you can. If they take me—” Sheridan expelled a fierce breath. “If they take me, do nothing. Protect Grayson. Take him to the Triple K outfit, and then find Elijah. Do not bother to go into town for the sheriff, just find Elijah.”
Beth’s lips flattened and she nodded grimly before stalking towards the main house. It was a huge, sprawling three-story stone and log structure with large ornate wooden doors at the entrance. If the men decided to force their way in, they would have a difficult time breaking it down.
Beth’s stride was militant and Sheridan felt confident Beth would be waiting inside with the rifle at the ready, along with their housekeeper, the cook, and the other three women who helped with the daily running of the household. Sheridan did not remove her gaze from Beth until she clambered up the wide wraparound porch and closed the massive oak doors.
A breath Sheridan hadn’t known she held puffed from between her lips. Beth was safe inside. The idea of anything happing to Beth, who had become like a sister to Sheridan, was unbearable to contemplate. She spun with a false calm. She held the Winchester loosely at her side hidden in the folds of her skirt, her stance ready, with her feet braced apart.
Dust swirled as more than a dozen riders swept onto the ranch, Mr. Sullivan their apparent leader. She stood her ground even as he circled her. His ranch hands stood back, forming a loose circle, and he urged his horse forward, a massive Palomino. He wore a dark grey well-tailored suit with a grey brimmed hat. His black hessians gleamed under the sun. Mr. Sullivan was handsome with his golden hair, and broad shoulders. His face was square-jawed and strong. The ladies of Blue Lagoon claimed he was a most eligible bachelor, but he left her cold. He wore the most conciliatory expression as he stared at her with his light blue snake eyes. They glared cold, roving over her, undressing her.
She did not like the surety of his regard as he peered down from his horse at her.
“Invite me in, Sheridan, so that we can talk.”
