Living In The Old West: A Pair Of Clean Western Historical Romances

By Beth Overton

Learning About Life & Love In The Old West - A solitary man who thinks himself long past marrying age, and who has difficulty in meeting and interacting with people, joins a cattle drive, learns a lot more about life and people and maybe, just maybe, starts to fall in love.

Mail Order Bride: Dancing In The Rain - An independent woman from Boston takes a chance and gets engaged to a Nebraskan cowboy farmer, not realizing that he’s built a tough shell around his exterior, and is deathly worried that the drought will take his farm. When a crisis comes up she feels it could bring them together but the ice has barely thawed and it’s not until a second incident that she feels hope that their relationship might work out after all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Beth Overton
• Release date: Feb 4, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311818409

Beth Overton

Beth Overton lives in Northern California with her husband and three cats. Besides writing romances, she loves to read everything she can get her hands on, as well as cooking up gourmet delights for her entire family.

Book preview

Living In The Old West: A Pair Of Clean Western Historical Romances

By

Beth Overton

Copyright 2016 Quietly Blessed & Loved Press

Learning About Life & Love In The Old West

Mail Order Bride: Dancing In The Rain

Learning About Life & Love In The Old West

Synopsis: Learning About Life & Love In The Old West - A solitary man who thinks himself long past marrying age, and who has difficulty in meeting and interacting with people, joins a cattle drive, learns a lot more about life and people and maybe, just maybe, starts to fall in love.

Steam billowed from a thick-rimmed coffee mug; he leaned down and breathed it in slowly. He kicked one leg over the other and pushed off the ground. He loved that old rocking chair, passed down from his Pop when he passed three years prior.

Self admittedly, he’d felt a little lost since that time. His mother had gotten sick with consumption when he was only a boy. He barely remembered her, but his father was very different than that. William Thomas Horner, Josiah’s father, had worked the land for all of his life. Some years were good and others were lacking. But he never regretted the choices he made. He owned them with conviction.

They had worked shoulder to shoulder since Josiah was a young man. He was expected to pull his weight and he did for the sake of his family. They needed him and he stepped up in his responsibilities. Unfortunately, the long days of hard work and the short nights didn’t leave him any time to court a lady.

Even though he was well past the marrying age, he still had no prospects to speak of. The soft sunlight warmed his face as he rocked at his leisure; his eyelids had gotten heavy. His morning had an early start and he was nothing short of tuckered out.

As he breathed heavy his head sagged to one side, he drifted off to sleep. There was a memory from he was very young that he was really trying to remember. The deeper he fell into slumber the clearer it was becoming. He remembered being about four years old, dressed in his Sunday best. The family was getting ready for the church service when he couldn’t find his belt.

His momma had told him to go get it, to hold his loose britches up or she’d take him outside and switch him. And by the look in her eye, he knew she was serious. He was convinced that his father was as tough as they came, until he saw his sweet mother get mad about something.

After watching her go, he was clear on two things in life. The first was that his father was no match, in anger, to his mother when she was upset. And second he realized that more importantly than being the toughest in the household, he was smart enough to know when to back down. So, that was it. His mom was tough and his father had become much smarter and for whatever reason it worked for them.

He had looked everywhere for his dark leather belt, but to no avail. It was nowhere to be found, with the increasing intensity reaching its peak; he knew that he had to. Before he knew it, he stood behind her as she wiped the counter. He put his hands on his hips with his feet spread apart saying,

Momma!

Her eyes cut upward quickly, recognizing the contempt in his little weak voice. She tapped her forefinger on her bottom lip waiting for what would inevitably come next. He said,

I can’t even find my god damn belt!

Her eyebrows shot up to meet her hairline, immediately furious with is language. She scooped him up by the back of his crisp white shirt and dragged him to the bathroom. Not one word had been said but her face was sunburn red and evoked the same level of heat. He kicked at the floor with the heels of his boots and dug his fingers inside of his collar.

When they got to the bathroom, she let him go and he bounced off the old hard wood floors. She took a block of lard soap from the shelf and held it in front of his face. His brown eyes got as big as saucers, not knowing what to think or what to do. He froze, not even moving to breathe. All he could think in his four year old brain was, don’t poke the bear! Don’t poke the bear! Don’t poke the bear!

His dimples quivered as one single tear rolled down his ruddy cheek. But when his mother, Mary, saw that she couldn’t make him do it. She took a deep breath and held it in before letting it back out yet again. She knew that she had to take a momentary timeout or she’d lose her cool with her son.

Since, she couldn’t speak she walked away. She went to the kitchen and her weight rested on her hands as she leaned over the sink. She could feel that disappointed lump building in her throat. But she wasn’t mad at him, he was only repeating what he’d heard his father say. However, it was an opportunity to teach him a lesson he would not soon forget.

She opened the cabinet door and grabbed the largest bowl that she could find. She walked it back to the bathroom, where he sat with his head in his hands. He looked up and his face was flushed, she said in a deep voice,

Josiah Thomas Horner, you take your little hiney out to the dewberry patch right this minute! And you don’t step one foot back in this house until you have filled it to the brim! I speak the truth, come back with anything less and I will tan your hide son!

He reached for the bowl and turned away. He took off as fast as his little feet would take him. He huffed and he puffed, but he didn’t slow down until he made it to that dewberry patch. He dropped down to his knees, kicking up dust from the hard red clay. He swallowed hard as he slowly tried to maneuver his hand in between the branches of the bushes.

It almost looked like he was afraid of them as he picked the ripe black berry from the vine. His hand was still trembling from before and he hadn’t shaken it yet. It was tougher to swallow his fears down deep when it was his mother dolling out the discipline.

His parents raised him well. As an adult he knew that the life he chose had paid off tenfold. It wasn’t always an easy life being a cowboy in the furthest back woods. There were places he traveled that have still remained untouched, unaltered. Fortunately, he had several useful talents that he could utilize. All of which helped him survive. Anything that helped get him a good meal, was well worth the