Changes

By Toni Cantrell

The last decade of the 19th Century is a time of change for the four families introduced in Books One and Two of the Stone Family Saga. Kellie's children, Kate Chandler and Dallas Hartley Stone are now young adults. When Clifford Hartley, Duke of Essex brings his wife and sons, Ford and Leslie, to California, no one is prepared for the dilemmas that follow. Dallas is involved with Ginny Morgan, daughter of a neighboring rancher. Desperate to keep him, Ginny gets pregnant, but the scheme backfires when the reluctant Dallas refuses to marry her, leaves her with unpleasant choices. She must tell her parents or obtain and abortion. Kate and Ford fall in love, but given the animosity between their fathers, have little chance of building a lasting relationship. Their impulsive actions lead to unexpected consequences, and the young lovers run away to relatives in South Carolina. The unfolding drama moves from California to the royal palaces of England and to a dueling field off the Derbyshire Road, with deadly consequences. "He was the best of all of us, and now..."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Whiskey Creek Press
• Release date: Apr 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781633557956

Toni Cantrell

Toni Cantrell was born in Crawfordsville Indiana, graduated from Anderson High School and married her high school sweetheart. She and her husband Manuel have two sons, Dennis (Marjie), and Terry (Jennifer); two grandchildren, Corey and Angie (Johnny) and a great-grandson, Angie’s son Brandon. Toni has been writing since age twelve. The discovery of a 20 year old half-written manuscript started her current writing spree in 1984. Her sister-in-law called her to speak to a writing class in early 1994, and she joined the class. “I didn’t know half as much about writing as I learned there.” She finished that long lost novel and six other manuscripts before getting a novel published in 2001, just prior to undergoing breast cancer surgery, chemotherapy and radiation treatments. STRANGERS AND PILGRIMS is available through Author House. Her second book—prequel to THE GAZEBO—was published in September, 2002, titled IF EVER THAT TIME COME. ABSENTMINDED, written with Violet Ryan (as Voni Ryan), was published in 2010 by Belfire Press. Also slated for release in 2011 is another Voni Ryan effort, THE LIGHT SIDE OF DARK and yet another collaboration with Bea Simmons (as Allen Simmons-Cantrell), LIKE HIM WITH FRIENDS POSSESS'D.

Book preview

Changes

by

Toni Cantrell

WHISKEY CREEK PRESS

www.whiskeycreekpress.com

Published by

WHISKEY CREEK PRESS

Whiskey Creek Press

PO Box 51052

Casper, WY 82605-1052

www.whiskeycreekpress.com

Copyright Ó 2014 by author

Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

ISBN: 978-1-63355-795-6

Cover Artist: Gemini Judson

Editor: Melanie Billings

Printed in the United States of America

Dedication

Dedicated to the memory of my stepfather, Kenneth Ramsay, who would have loved it.

Chapter 1

The echo of a pistol shot bounced from one structure to another in the complex of barns and outbuildings which comprised the working area of Stonehaven. A man’s angry bellow followed, Stop this nonsense! Right now!

All motion came to a startled halt. The dust-covered cowboys in a rough circle around the two combatants turned as one man at the noise.

Rod Sharp ignored the demand to cease hostilities. You stay away from Kate Chandler. I’m the one she wants. The meaty crack of his fist against Milo Johnson’s jaw sounded loud in the silence.

You’re crazy as a loon! She all but promised to marry me at the last barn dance. Johnson shook his head and blinked, even as his fist met Sharp’s nose, which broke with a wet crunch, splattering both men with blood.

Another shot greeted the resumption of their altercation, this time aimed at the ground between the fighters’ feet. They both froze.

Mark Stone holstered his pistol with an angry jab, strode into the circle of hands, his face a thundercloud of fury. You men know I don’t tolerate fights on this ranch. You two— He pointed at Sharp and Johnson. Collect your pay and leave.

Sharp swiped his bloody face with a shirt sleeve. You can’t fire us, Stone. We ain’t workin’ for you. We’re Kelly’s top hands.

Johnson bent to retrieve his Stetson, slapped off the worst of the dust against his knee and jammed the sweat-stained hat back on his head. Tha’s ri’. His split lip and broken tooth gave him a pronounced lisp.

Then I suggest you leave for Kelly’s right now. I will let him know what you’ve been up to.

That might not be such a good idea, Stone. Your granddaughter’s been leadin’ one or both of us on. She caused this here ruckus.

My granddaughter would never… A fresh burst of temper reddened his face and sent hand to gun belt. How dare you presume to use Kate’s name in such a way? Get off this ranch before I shoot you both!

We’re goin’, we’re goin’. Sharp took another swipe at his bloody nose. "Mebbe you better ask Miss High ‘n’ Mighty if she ain’t been flirtin’ with half the hands in the valley. Wearin’ them tight breeches and open shirts, showin’ her—"

Mark shoved his gun into the other man’s midsection, cocking the hammer as he did so. If you don’t want to leave here with a hole in your belly, you’d better shut your mouth. I’ll tolerate no loose talk about any member of my family, particularly my oldest granddaughter. He pushed harder. Now go!

Thirty men stood in shocked silence, watched Sharp and Johnson hobble to their horses, mount stiffly and ride slowly out of the stable yard down the long lane to the road.

Mark watched until they were out of sight. The less said about this the better. I’ll fire the first man who talks to anyone about what just happened. This stays right here. Am I understood?

A chorus of, Yes, sir, and Sure, Mr. Stone, met his ears. He nodded, satisfied, and walked toward the house without a single backward glance.

Had he been able to eavesdrop on the conversation between the rivals as they rode back to the Kelly ranch, he might have been even more upset.

You saw how she cozied up to me at the dance the other night. Milo dabbed at his cut lip with a corner of his neckerchief.

I just saw her waltzin’ with me, starin’ up at me with them big black eyes, the neck of her dress cut so low, I swear I almost fell in, first time I looked down.

Yeah, no doubt she’s built real good. She sets a horse like no other gal in the whole valley… Johnson’s voice trailed off, lost in memory.

How she sets on a horse ain’t gonna make a bit of difference when old man Stone tells Liam Kelly what happened today. The both of us is gonna be out of a job.

I’d get fired over Kate Chandler any day.

* * * *

Kate Chandler at eighteen had a most magnetic combination of beauty, innocent sweetness and unconscious allure. Besides the hands from neighbors’ ranches, she had half the male population of central California at her feet.

The oldest daughter of Kellie and Beau Chandler, older sister of Charles, she delighted in summers spent at her grandfather Stone’s ranch. Charles would rather have sailed or played polo: activities he felt were more suitable to their family social status. Kate didn’t give a fig about social status.

Keenly conscious of the scandal attached to her family name, father a suspected—if never charged—killer, mother a bigamist, half-brother a bastard, Kate could forget everything on horseback, riding with the wind across Stonehaven’s lush pastures and fertile fields.

Temperatures in the San Joaquin often soared to impossible heights, caused crops to wither and die, streams to shrink into muddy ravines and livestock to dehydrate. The summer of her eighteenth year had been even hotter than usual. She wrote to Charles in Salinas, commended his decision to stay oceanside.

…at least you need not suffer this unbearable heat with me, for which you should be ever so grateful. If you call on Sara Taylor, ask her to write to me. We haven’t corresponded for weeks. Be sure to give my regards to Bradford and Jeanne and the boys. Your loving sister, Kate.

The big white house in its grove of tall oaks and lush gardens usually stayed cool until well into the afternoon. At daybreak, night chill lingered in hallways and on bare floors.

Kate scrambled out of bed, shocked into sudden wakefulness, electrified with the premonition that something wonderful waited just out of sight. She hurried through a bath, brushed her teeth, dressed in an old pair of denims, a much-washed shirtwaist and her old boots.

On her way through the kitchen she grabbed a bite of breakfast and headed for the stables.

She didn’t see her half-brother anywhere.

Odd.

Dallas usually rose and started work long before she even opened her eyes. He sometimes teased her about her city girl habits.

Charlie? Where’s Dallas?

The stable hand tipped his dirty hat and grinned at her. Mornin’, Miss Kate. Boss sent him to Chadwick on some errands. You need help with somethin’?

No, thanks. I’ve got my chores to do. May as well start.

She set about her work with nervous anticipation. She had just groomed the last of the four horses that were her assignment for the day when her grandparents, Mark and Alexandra, appeared, ready for their morning ride. They had decided which horses to take, laughed and teased one another, acting like a couple of teenagers in love, making Kate smile, when a clatter of horses in the stable yard interrupted them.

Curious, Kate followed them to the door. There were three men on horseback, one her father’s age, two younger.

Alexandra ran to the older man with a glad cry. Cliff!

He dismounted swiftly to hug her. You’re more beautiful each time I see you. The soft precise English voice could only belong to one man. The Duke of Essex.

Those must be his sons. Intrigued, Kate hung back out of sight, watched from the shadows of the stable door, uncommonly eager to learn about these almost mythical beings.

Cliff, still handsome, fair haired, lean of face and body, had only a few added lines to mark the passage of years. Kate’s eyes shifted to the older of the two young men with him and her breath caught. That must be Ford. How much like Dallas, yet with a subtle difference in shade of hair, color of eyes, tilt of head, set of shoulders. He was quite the most handsome man she had ever seen.

He had hair of dark spun gold, eyelashes long and dark over oddly colored blue-green eyes, and a mouth unexpectedly firm for one so young. He sat his horse as though born in a saddle. He wore a tailored gray suit, not quite dandified, but not exactly a western cut, either. Very British upper crust.

Briefly, she glanced at Leslie, the younger brother, saw a slender, paler copy of his father, still with a boyish round face. She promptly forgot him. Young Ford had captured her mind and heart.

Kate, come out and meet the Hartleys. Mark knew she lurked in the background and called her out to be introduced.

She went, self-conscious of her dust-streaked pants and shirt, of flyaway hair. She swiped a wrist across her forehead to brush black curls into place and smudged dirt from temple to temple.

Mark introduced them and Kate smiled shyly up at the duke. She noted the expression of pained shock on his face, but didn’t understand.

He cleared his throat and managed a smile. Hello, Miss Chandler.

I say, Father, she looks just like that portrait in the hall we saw yesterday. Leslie’s delighted smile outshone his father’s. Kate and Alexandra had been out when they arrived the day before.

That picture has a clean face, Les. I can’t say the same for Miss Chandler. Ford gave her a cold smile, looked down his perfectly sculpted nose.

Provoked, Kate lowered her black brows in a scowl and snapped, I bet you beat your horses, too. The non-sequitur was nevertheless perfectly plain to her audience. She stalked back into the stable and worked saddle soap into a martingale with savage motions, still furious when Ford found her.

Pardon me, Miss Chandler. Father says I should apologize for the remark I made. I am sorry. The words were delivered in such a way as to leave no doubt in Kate’s mind that if left to his own devices, this insufferable young lordling would never have condescended to apologize to anyone.

Kate slammed the martingale back onto the wall peg and whirled to face him. Her arms-akimbo stance accentuated the swell of her bosom under the thin shirt. She saw the half-guilty way his eyes dropped to take in her figure.

Well, do you beat your horses, or are you only rude to women? she demanded, coloring in spite of herself. She could almost feel his eyes on her body.

Her insistence brought a reluctant smile, softened his imperious look. Kate’s heart thudded painfully. His voice had lost no precision when he spoke, but it too had moderated. No, Miss Chandler. I do not beat my horses, only my women.

Kate dimpled, also reluctantly. What do I call you? Your Lordship?

Family and friends do, but you may call me sir. He delivered the jibe with a perfectly straight face.

For a second, Kate wondered if he meant to patronize. She seldom felt out of control in any situation with a man, but this stripling, this lordly young Englishman, had put her into such a fever of confusion she almost lost her head. Her heart had already gone.

You may call me Miss Chandler. She walked away toward the long row of stalls, left him momentarily out of countenance. Kate battled runaway emotions, tried to regain some poise.

Weren’t you taught to respect your elders, young man? After all, I am several months older than you.

I don’t believe that, he countered swiftly. When is your birthday? Lacey Wainwright Hartley, Duchess of Essex, had made sure no one in the ducal household ever mentioned Cliff’s first wife. Ford had only visited California as a baby, and he knew nothing about Kate.

October 31, 1873.

All Hallows Eve? My God, you’re a witch! He drew back in mock horror, even while a one-sided grin appeared on his mouth.

Kate, furious again, retorted, Yes, I am, and I’ll turn you into a toad if you don’t watch out.

Well, Miss Chandler, I shall certainly concede your thirteen months seniority. He grinned in earnest then. Mockery in every line of his graceful body, he bowed and kissed her fingers.

Don’t do that! She snatched her hand away. Her normally low musical voice became almost harsh. She sounded much like her father although Ford didn’t know that. His father would have recognized the inflection immediately, but Cliff and Les had accompanied Mark and Alexandra to the house.

Kate looked around in confusion, hoped for help from someone, but the stable hands were at their noon meal in the bunk house kitchen. The young people were quite alone.

Don’t do what? He couldn’t keep the amusement out of his tone. The look of her delighted him—the sound of her voice, the way her eyes flashed those fiery looks, even the shape of her ears, just visible under her loosely piled hair.

Don’t condescend to me, ‘Your Lordship,’ just because you’ll be a duke someday. That doesn’t mean much out here in the valley. Maybe your father should have told you we judge a man by what he does, not what he has. Her voice vibrated with scorn.

Well, then, perhaps I should do something. With no word of warning, he grasped her arms in his big hands and jerked her close. She had barely enough time to recognize the laughter in his eyes before his mouth came down on hers in a long, deep, intense kiss. No man had ever kissed her that way before. And Ford Hartley was all man, never mind his tender years.

With no hesitations, no equivocations, he made up his mind. Someday, Kate Chandler, you’ll belong to me.

Kate had no desire to fight him off, as she had always done in the past when other beaux had tried to kiss her. This felt right, seemed fated. She curled her arms around his neck, closed her eyes and returned his kisses with unlady-like enthusiasm.

When he held her close she felt his body react to hers. She pulled away a little, opened her eyes and regarded him steadily. Why, Your Lordship! Is this good manners from a proper Englishman, with a young lady he has only just met? Her warm husky whisper quivered with amusement. Strangely enough, in spite of her innocence, she felt no embarrassment.

I feel I’ve known you all my life, Kate Chandler, he muttered under his breath as he took her face in his hands and bent to kiss her again. The touch of his mouth, so warm, so gentle, made her feel very strange. She shivered in his arms. His hands on her back, the warmth of his body so close, suddenly caused even the cool, shadow-filled stable to seem hot and airless.

Kate? Ford? Are you still in there? Time for lunch. Alexandra’s voice floated from the stable yard as she called.

Kate left the magic circle of his embrace. We’re here, Grandmama, she answered, still breathless.

Kate, wait. I… Ford reached for her hand, reluctant to lose the enchantment of the moment.

She gave him a long look, heart in eyes, but turned and left the stable without another word.

Kate, in the depths of her longing and confusion, didn’t trust herself to meet Ford’s eyes, either on the way into the house, or at lunch. Luckily, they were seated at opposite ends of the big dining table, but on the same side, with Dallas and Leslie between. She didn’t see him look at her during the meal, but still felt his regard.

She picked at her food, took minute sips of lemonade and argued with herself. Common sense told her she must escape, run from the fog of desire and love in which she had suddenly become lost. He’s a sprout. You’re older than he is, for God’s sake. Think about all the other men you could have, just for the asking. Oh, really? Milo Johnson and Rod Sharp, I suppose?

Johnson and Sharp were both mad in love with her, or swore they were. Kate had suspected from the first that they were more interested in her father’s money.

Or one of those wild Morgan brothers Dallas runs with. They are all awfully good looking, even if they are bad.

Nothing helped. In the space of a few short minutes, Ford Hartley had become her world, her destiny. To be near him—sheer heaven. To be in his arms—paradise—his arms and kisses a pleasure unlike any she had ever known.

* * * *

When several days had passed and Ford did not return, she grew ever more restive and anxious. Finally, more than a week after that first encounter, she decided not to sit around the house and pine for him. That did no one any good.

The sun glowed like a copper coin in the distant haze. Trees shriveled in dry heat, and Big Bear Creek ran low, banks dry and cracked, the normal rush of water slowed to a trickle. The hot, airless days seemed endless.

After dinner that evening, Mark noticed his granddaughter’s restlessness. Katie, honey, why don’t you saddle your pony and take a ride? Get out of the house for a while. Sensitive to her moods, he knew something had troubled her for some little time. Ford Hartley never entered his mind.

With a kiss and a grateful arm around his neck, Kate thanked him and ran upstairs to change into denims. She paused a moment to stare at her mother’s portrait. Had Kellie felt this way when she went to meet his father? These flutters in the pit of her stomach? This shortness of breath, just thinking of him?

She scrambled into clean denims, stuffed her hair under a hat. She hurried downstairs, through the great hall and out the back door. I’ll be home before dark.

Kate headed her chestnut mare across country at an easy lope, determined not to tire her too swiftly. They had covered perhaps two miles when she became aware of other hoof beats, like an echo in her ears.

Curious, she halted the mare on a small knoll and turned back the way they had just come. In less than a minute, the rider galloped around a thick stand of trees and came into view. Kate didn’t recognize the horse, a big black, very like Satan, the stallion her father’d had years before.

She sat still as a statue, heart in throat. Could that be Ford Hartley? Had he seen her? As he approached and she saw that indeed Ford rode one of Jarrett Hartley’s mounts, her heart sang. She waited for him to come closer, hands trembling with nervous anticipation.

Ford wore a pair of well-cut trousers and a white shirt, but he had on work boots and a black Stetson that had seen better days. How d’you do, Miss Chandler? I trust you are well?

Her spirits sank at his cool impersonal tone. In all her dreams, he acted as eager to see her as she to see him. She’d dreamt about this cold stranger all week.

Quite well, thank you. And you?

Busy as the devil. Les and I have branded stock, rode fences and done everything else at the home place, and at Uncle Rick’s. This is the first opportunity I’ve had to see you since we first met. A slow smile lit his gaze as it traveled over her.

Yes, well… Now that he had come to her, close enough to touch, she became quite tongue-tied. What happened to all the small talk she planned, all the easy reparteé? She could think of nothing to say—remembered little except the way he held and kissed her.

Confused, she sat quietly, unable to meet his eyes.

Ford broke the tense silence. I really wanted to see you again, Kate.

I thought you had forgotten me, she said softly, stealing glances at him from beneath her hat brim.

He reached for her hand. Look at me, Kate. I hadn’t forgotten you. Quite the contrary.

Well, perhaps we… Her voice trailed away into an uneasy silence. Whatever she had meant to say had gone right out of her head.

Shall we walk the horses for a while? The creek is close by. I’m sure they need water. A welcome diversion.

They walked along till they came to the creek. The horses waded out into the middle of the muddy water and drank thirstily. Kate smiled at Ford, gradually lost her shyness. She sensed his reticence, realized it equaled hers. Would you like a drink? At his blank expression, she elaborated. If you don’t mind water from a hat.

He looked sharply at her. Could she be serious? Is that some obscure western custom?

Kate laughed. Quite common, if you’re out in the scrub. With nothing else to drink from, a hat is handy. Besides, in this heat, they keep your head cool.

A veritable repository of western lore, aren’t you? I’m sure I’ll need a cool head. His tone mocked again.

Kate bristled, timidity forgotten in a flash of anger. If you plan to spend any time here in the valley, I suggest you learn. Some of this ‘lore’ might save your fool neck. This isn’t England, you know.

Ford grabbed her shoulder, swung her around, an apologetic look on his handsome face. Ah, Kate, don’t be angry with me.

Still furious, she yelled, Then don’t act like such an ass!

Very well. Angry and humiliated, a hot flush colored his cheeks. He turned on his heel, mounted and rode swiftly away without a single backward glance. Kate watched him disappear, tears of frustration and disbelief on her lashes.

A pungent stable oath escaped her lips, a word that would have earned a shocked reprimand from any of her elders, had any of them dreamed she even knew such words, much less would ever say one.

Fool! Why did you do that? You should have known he’d only be pushed so far. You just had to poke and prod. Kate, sometimes you can be incredibly stupid.

All the way back to the ranch she berated herself. Several hours of daylight remained and she had no wish to return to the unbearably stuffy house. She took the mare to the stable, turned her over to Charlie for a rubdown and ran down to the creek.

Only one comfortable place remained along the usually green, quiet little stream, the swimming hole. It lay a few hundred yards away, close to, but not visible from the gardens. Half a dozen huge old willow trees lined both banks where the creek widened into a natural pond, normally about ten feet deep. Lack of rain had lowered the water level.

The dark, almost warm water looked dim and cool in the waning afternoon light, felt wonderful on her bare feet. On a sudden impulse, she slipped out of her denims and shirt, and clad only in chemise and thin bloomers, twisted her hair into a tighter knot and slid into the water.

She splashed and dove and eeled through the still water like a mermaid, tried to forget her colossal blunder with the boy who had so quickly assumed such importance in her life. She didn’t hear the rustle of undergrowth as someone approached on foot.

Ford sat on the bank, hat shoved to the back of his head, a straw he’d picked up somewhere stuck in his teeth. He watched Kate play in the water, her body only a pale blur beneath the surface.

When she noticed him, she floated quietly in the center of the pond. You came back.

Her whisper barely reached his ears, dimly heard over the hammer beat of his heart. He tossed his hat down beside him on the grassy bank, pulled off his boots and socks. I shall always come back to you, Katherine. Something like anger roughened his voice. He stood to unfasten the buttons, pulled off his shirt and dove in. He gasped as his overheated body hit the water in a quick flat dive.

He swam underwater, grasped her with both hands and pulled her under. They surfaced face to face, laughed wildly, shook water out of their eyes. Ford kissed her then, sharply conscious that the girl in his arms wore only a thin cotton garment that water molded to her body.

His hand rested gently on her breast, he felt the warmth of her skin through the wet fabric. The small hard nipple seemed to leap into the curve of his palm. Kate gasped and tried to pull away.

Please, don’t go. I won’t hurt you. I promise.

I know. Kate’s happiness quite overcame her fear. You came back.

Somehow they found themselves on the opposite bank, in the shallows under the drooping willows. Their long, green, feathery boughs trailed in the water, made a private room in the evening dusk.

He held her beneath him, touched her face, smoothed wet hair from her forehead, covered her cool wet lips with slow deliberate kisses.

You’d better stop me, Kate, he breathed the words against her breast.

His voice broke the spell and she twisted away. Oh, please, don’t. Don’t.

I’m sorry. He reached out blindly, his hand brushed her bare shoulder.

She flinched away, frightened now, both of him and her own unbridled responses.

Please, just leave now. She drew in a great ragged breath and abruptly burst into tears, hid her face in both hands.

Ford groaned, face crimson with embarrassment and frustration, almost ill with desire. The lust lay like a hot, hard rock in his belly. He rolled completely away, buried his face in his arms.

Dimly, he heard her splash back across the pond. He lay still a few more minutes, gave her a chance to get completely dressed.

Kate scrambled out on the other bank, stumbled in her haste to find her clothing and leave. And yet, a few minutes later, safely armored in denims and shirt, she sat back down on the grassy verge and waited. Ford shortly rewarded her patience when he emerged from the willow room and swam across the pond.

They carefully avoided one another’s eyes for long uncomfortable minutes. Neither spoke until Ford broke the silence. I’m most awfully sorry, Kate. I—

She shook her head, turned to face him for the first time. He sat a scant arm’s length away, back against a tree, knees crooked up, elbows on them, head bent, thoroughly abashed. She watched him for a second, a warm rush of love colored her cheeks. Don’t be sorry. I’m just as much at fault.

She inched closer till she could put a hand on his arm. He raised his face, eyes aglow with love. He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss on her wrist. Her fingers curled softly against his face.

You’re so… He seemed to search for words in a most uncharacteristic fashion. I hope you can forgive me, Kate. I quite lost my head.

She nodded. So did I.

This time the silence between them felt less painful, and after a while Ford gathered his courage to say something else. His words surprised her.

You remember earlier, when I said I’d been too busy to see you? I didn’t tell the whole truth. He looked away, studied the pond and the trees in the dying light of the breathlessly hot day with feigned interest.

"Part of me didn’t want to come