The Farmer And The Wood Nymph

By JoAnn Smith Ainsworth

Waking alone on a mountainside, LILAH recalls nothing about her life, except a strong belief that some man somewhere loves her. A well hidden wedding band holds the hope that man will come to rescue her. But when her salvation comes in the form of a farmer resembling a Viking God, Lilah struggles to stay faithful to the ideal she cannot remember. ERNEST NOLAN finds the vivacious beauty wandering in the wilderness and hopes that true love will be his at last. Spontaneous and exciting, Lilah is everything his careful heart has longed for. But a decent man never trifles with another man's woman. The mystery of Lilah's identity and that wedding ring must be resolved. Searching for answers, these two opposites discover that differences can bring both attraction and difficulties. Can they overcome the obstacles and learn to walk a path of love and harmony?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Whiskey Creek Press
• Release date: Dec 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9781611606607

JoAnn Smith Ainsworth

JoAnn Smith Ainsworth experienced WWII food rationing, Victory Gardens, and blackout sirens as a child. She lived in Philadelphia during the ’50s and she attended the Berkeley Psychic Institute in the late ’70s. She is the author of five published novels: Expect Trouble, Book 1 of the Operation Delphi series; two historical western romances released from Whiskey Creek Press; and two medieval romantic suspense novels released from Samhain Publishing, Ltd. Ainsworth lives in California. Her most recent book, Expect Betrayal came out on April 18, 2020. To learn more about this award winning author, visit www.joannsmithainsworth.com.

Book preview

THE FARMER AND THE WOOD NYMPH

(Buffalo Series Book 2)

by

JoAnn Smith Ainsworth

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 2013 by JoAnn Smith Ainsworth

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: 978-1-61160-660-7

Cover Artist: Angela Archer

Editor: Dave Field

Printed in the United States of America

Dedication

Dedicated to my cousins—Suzie, Roger, Trent, Kent, Kelly, Zachary & Abbey, Mike, Kathy, Bob, Abby, Ron, Diane, Frank, Dale, Shirley.

My thanks to my critique partners and my friends who read early versions of the manuscript. In memory of Rose who critiqued an early draft.

     Disclaimer: Although the town of Buffalo is real, all persons are fictitious, except some historical personages.

Chapter 1

Wyoming, June 1895

Ernest Noland’s contented world shattered late yesterday with one bullet. In the front bedroom of the family farmhouse, Cousin Ida Osterbach hovered between life and death. Ida was Ernest’s only family in Wyoming. The remainder of the family still lived back East. The doctor couldn’t say whether she’d survive the loss of blood. She hadn’t yet returned to consciousness when Ernest checked on her this morning. He vowed to pursue Diablo Avilos—the murdering bastard responsible—even if that trail led deep into the Badlands.

In the sullen gloom of pre-dawn, the men of the posse saddled horses and tied on bedrolls and grub for a week. They would ride at first light, following the trail south through the high mountain plains. Ernest bitterly regretted he wouldn’t know his cousin’s fate until his return.

If I return.

Apprehension tensed back muscles as he threw a well worn saddle over the stallion belonging to Jared Buell, Ida’s fiancé and neighbor rancher. The farm’s workhorse would never survive a grueling mountain trip. Ernest wasn’t a man who relished change or looked to violence. Only family honor forced him to ride away from the predictable farm routines he craved, towards an unpredictable future.

The low conversation of the men, the whinnying of horses and the clank of metal stirrups reminded Ernest that he wasn’t hardened to long days in the saddle. A man of the soil, he knew these upcoming days on horseback would test his strength. In his thirty-four years, he’d traveled only once. After the shooting death of Ida’s first husband two years ago, he rode the train from his parents’ Illinois farm to Buffalo in northeastern Wyoming. He came to help rescue his cousin’s farm from bank-threatened foreclosure. He’d defend Ida again, even if it meant sacrificing his own life.

Ernest tightened the cinch with a powerful tug and checked his gear one last time. Leather creaked as he threw himself into the saddle and adjusted the stirrups to his long legs. He turned the horse in the direction of the other members of the posse assembling around the tracker and pressed his lips into a grim, determined line.

Whatever it takes, I’ll do.

* * * *

Lilah’s eyelids fluttered open. Gradually, awareness emerged. Slender, green stalks defined themselves from an unfocused haze. Her cheek pushed painfully against lumpy surfaces. Dawning realization transformed the lumps into pebbles and small stones. Bewildered, she rubbed the throbbing and swollen lump beneath her tangled mass of raven-colored hair. By the size of the lump, she might have been unconscious for some time. It’s a wonder I wasn’t attacked by animals. She breathed a prayer of gratitude heavenward.

Hand to the ground, she pushed herself upright. The green stalks materialized into colorful patches of bright-pink alpine phlox, yellow buttercups and the bushy, low shrubs of a high plains meadow. She shook her head to get the cobwebs out and dragged herself to her feet, disheveled, with torn clothing matching the bruising and small cuts on her flesh. No memories appeared recalling her circumstances before waking up in this meadow.

God help me.

Anxiously, Lilah looked out over the distances as if seeking answers in the cloud-free sky or from the snow-capped peaks. It was early in the day according to the sun’s placement. Birds nesting in nearby trees cheerfully greeted the risen sun. The sounds of fast moving water came from behind a row of cottonwoods and willows, but no human was in sight. No breakfast smells, no subdued voices of people waking to a new day.

She shouted at the top of her lungs. Where is everyone?

The birds stopped chirping, but no one answered. Fingers of fear traveled down her spine. She flung her arms wide, jumped up and down and shouted, Where am I?

Again, no answer. Dread gripped her when another realization struck. Who am I?

The last words jarred to her core. She remembered her first name, but what about her family name?

Standing stock still, she coaxed her mind to reveal the secret, but no revelations surfaced. She couldn’t remember where she lived or why she was alone in the wilderness. Could she have been captured by renegades and somehow gotten away? Did she get lost from a wagon train? Putting palms to temples, she pressed hard, forcing down slowly rising panic. She chanted words of hope. God protects. God provides.

Panic retreated, but only a short distance.

There’s a reason in God’s universe why I’m here. Instinctively, she knew she could trust her wellbeing to the Almighty. When I’m found, I’ll have answers.

She forced herself to believe in a rescue. I’m in the middle of nowhere with not a house in sight. I have no gear, no clothing and no food. Well, Grandmother used to say that God helps those who help themselves. I must make do. How she remembered her grandmother’s truism and not her own name was a conundrum.

Drawing in a deep breath, she savored the crisp, mountain air and rubbed the chill off her exposed skin. When ready to face the day’s uncertainties, she set about putting things to rights.

The apron she wore was untied and her cotton dress twisted awkwardly on her body, so she tugged the bodice back into place. Look at the quality of this stitching. Her garments fit as only a skilled seamstress could manage. If they could afford a good seamstress, her family could afford to hire men to look for her.

Lilah held out the sides of the skirt and the petticoats underneath and gave them a good shake, brushing away bits of dirt and vegetation. How did I get all this stuff on me? She took off the apron and pulled out burrs sticking to it before retying it. Gingerly, because of the lump on her head, she pushed long strands of black hair under the robin’s-egg-blue sun bonnet she wore. Then she straightened her shoulders. That’s better. The emptiness of her stomach made food a priority.

An hour later Lilah sat on a large and well-made tablecloth under a cottonwood next to the creek, surrounded by things scavenged nearby. A heavy bough would serve as her weapon against night-marauders. She discovered she could climb trees if need be. As luck had it, a block of cheese lay in the chilled waters. Incongruously, a kitchen knife was still stuck in its middle. She drank her fill at the creek and ate a small portion of cheese, afraid to eat too much, not knowing how long she must wait for rescue.

Taking advantage of the increasing warmth of the day, she stripped and slid down the embankment for a bath. She found where creek water splashed up into a circle of rocks, making a still-water puddle. Kneeling, she studied her reflection. An oval face with arched eyebrows and long, black lashes accented lavender eyes. Her once ivory countenance was reddened by the sun. Only the skin protected by her clothing stayed white. From now on, I’ll stay in the shade as much as I can. As she cleansed herself, the stinging calmed down in the skin abrasions.

She scrambled back up the embankment to dress before sitting on the tablecloth and leaning against the cottonwood tree trunk. She used the knife to cut slices from a loaf of bread she’d found lodged in the convoluted branches of a Manzanita tree. Birds had pecked holes in it and ants had crawled over it. She ignored the holes and brushed off the ants.

Food is food.

Although fear still lurked at the base of her spine, all these bits of luck built confidence.

Rested, she decided to forage again. Debris in her ankle-length, walking boot made standing uncomfortable so she sat on a nearby rock and unlaced the boot. She noted it was of good-quality, brown leather and only recently scraped up. She shook out dirt and brushed off the bottom of her cotton stocking.

While pulling the boot back on, she pressed against the heel. With a click, it moved aside, revealing a hollowed-out area to hide valuables. Something small and wrapped in white cloth was wedged in there. Curious, she drew out the square of linen and unfolded it on her lap. Her jaw dropped when it revealed an old-fashioned, gold ring.

How beautiful.

Holding the ring to the morning sun, she saw engraving inside. She twisted the gold ring until sunlight hit just right. Squinting, she made out the worn lettering: Beloved wife. Love forever.

Lilah gasped. I’m married!

* * * *

The gloom of another predawn sky matched his grimness as Ernest crept silently over the bed of needles in this high alpine forest, a Colt 44 primed for danger. Although he’d hunted on mountain slopes like this hundreds of times, today was the first time he’d stalked a human. It didn’t sit easily with him. Despite his considerable size and strength, he preferred the gentle ways to those of violence.

To be truthful, it wasn’t a man he stalked. It was the man’s horse. While the posse sneaked up on the sleeping outlaw, Ernest