Only The Heart Knows: The Brides

By Lena Goldfinch

Mandy MacKenna ("Too Tall Mandy MacKenna") is secretly the voice behind "Ask Mack," an advice column for men, addressing all matters ranching-related. And she's secretly in love with "Banks," one of her most devoted correspondents. But whenever she's around him, she can barely bring herself to make eye-contact with the man.

Adam Booker is a banker-turned-rancher, who's struggling to make his way after he inherits his uncle's place. If not for "Ask Mack," he would have surely floundered by now. But the ranch is only one of his problems, because the woman he has a romantic interest in - a natural beauty by the name of Mandy MacKenna, daughter of the region's wealthiest rancher - seems less than interested in him.

A sweet romance of secrets and revelations ensues...

A standalone companion novel to The Brides Series.

THE BRIDES SERIES
The Unexpected Bride
Sleigh Bells & Mistletoe
The Bartered Bride
Only the Heart Knows

• Language: English
• Publisher: Indigo Road Publishing
• Release date: Dec 14, 2016
• ISBN: 9781540192707

Lena Goldfinch

LENA GOLDFINCH writes heartwarming romance and romantic fantasy for adults and teens. She's a sucker for a good old-fashioned romance, whether it's a novel, novella, or short story, young adult or adult, fantasy or realistic, contemporary or historical. Elements of romance, fantasy, and mystery have a way of creeping into her writing, whether she's writing historicals or something light and contemporary. Her works include: * THE UNEXPECTED BRIDE (Sweet Historical Romance) -- Coming October 6, 2014, Now Available for Pre-Order! * THE LANGUAGE OF SOULS * AIRE * SONGSTONE * HAUNTING JOY * TAKE A PICTURE: A Novella * CHAIN REACTION: A Short Story (Prequel to HAUNTING JOY) Future works: HAUNTING MELODY (HAUNTING JOY : Part 2) "Danger, magic, romance, and royal intrigue, AIRE is a must read!" --NYT Bestselling Author JESSICA ANDERSEN "Looking for something fresh and new to read? Try Lena Goldfinch's AIRE." --SERENA CHASE, USA Today HEA "SONGSTONE sings with characters who come to life, a story full of magic, heart and adventure, and a world that lets you smell the sea air and feel the tropical sun on your back." --LISA GAIL GREEN, author of The Binding Stone "SONGSTONE...an original fantasy world inhabited by superstitious tribal nations and intriguingly developed characters." --SERENA CHASE, USA Today HEA "THE LANGUAGE OF SOULS...the perfect tiny romantic escape." --Tales of Whimsy Twitter: @lena_goldfinch FB: https://www.facebook.com/lenagoldfinch Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/lenagoldfinch Website: http://www.LenaGoldfinch.com

Book preview

Chapter 1

Cross Creek, Colorado, July 1885

Mandy MacKenna sat at her little desk under her window, scratching her pen nib across the paper, her bottom lip tucked neatly between her teeth. Two more replies to go. Scritch-scratch . Flourish. And blow to dry the ink.

One done. One to go.

Dear Ask Mack, began the next letter. She scanned the page. A new rancher was asking for advice, this one needing help drying out damp hay.

Now that was a problem. They’d had quite a lot of rain the past few weeks.

As she started in on her answer, the summer breeze crept in through her open window, blowing the sheer white curtains apart. Her loose papers fluttered and would’ve gone off the edge of her desk, but she’d secured them with a heavy paperweight earlier. It paid to be prepared.

The breeze brought the smell of damp earth. The smell of the earth recovering after all that summer rain. She breathed in, appreciating the healthy smell. Rain meant life.

The ink had started to bleed into her paper, so she lifted the fountain pen slightly and stretched her back. All the little stiff places in her body complained as she moved. Sitting so long was one of the painful side effects of writing at a desk. She’d go for a ride as soon as she could, she promised herself. Get outside in the fresh air...

Mandy peered out her bedroom window. The Colorado sky was a deep summer blue this morning and the rolling foothills beyond the cluster of ranch outbuildings seemed especially green after the rains. Even the mountains surrounding their valley seemed a deeper shade of slate gray, as if nature was showing off. She paused from her writing a moment longer to savor the feeling of home the view brought.

Was there any prettier place than Cross Creek, Colorado?

And was the sun really so high already? She blinked to clear her vision, feeling as if she’d just come awake. It was indeed. Much higher than she’d expected. How had the morning flown by so quickly?

She scanned the paddocks out back until she spotted her cousin, Darby, leading his horse out through the open barn doors and into the stable yard. He paused to tuck something into his saddlebag. Mandy had heard Mama asking him if he could pick up a fabric order in town today. Good, she hadn’t missed him.

Mandy scratched out the last few words of her reply, folded her papers, and sealed the packet with twine. She gathered them up and fled down the stairs, turning on the half landing at a near run. She flew through the foyer into the kitchen, her skirts held nearly to her knees.

The scent of baking bread enveloped her in a warm delicious cloud as she entered, but she didn’t pause to appreciate it, though the temptation was strong.

Amanda Grace MacKenna! her mother called after her, just as the screen door slammed shut behind her.

Sorry, Mama, Mandy yelled back. As soon as she jumped off the back porch—ignoring the two steps—she dropped her skirts and slowed to a more respectable level. Darby was already mounted, and his horse was ambling down the dirt-packed driveway. She raced after him.

Darby! Mandy grabbed her cousin’s boot in the stirrup, stopping him just as he was about to prod his horse into a faster walk.

Well, if it ain’t Little Mack. Darby raised the brim of his dark brown Stetson. One corner of his mouth tipped up in a half smile.

Mandy sucked in a breath and pressed her hand to her side. In the early days after they moved here from Massachusetts, she’d gotten winded like this. But she’d adjusted soon enough. When she was younger, she’d enjoyed racing down the dirt road that led into Cross Creek proper, skirting past the silvery blue lake and creek that the town was named for. So it wasn’t that she couldn’t run for a good hour or more—it was more that she’d been sitting too long. Her little sprint to catch up with Darby had given her a stitch.

His horse, a big lazy chestnut gelding, swung his head around to butt her in the shoulder, a greeting. Mandy stroked his nose.

Hello, Jingle, she said. Aren’t you a handsome boy? Jingle bobbed his head, apparently pleased she’d noticed.

To Darby, she said, Don’t call me Mack. I already told you that about a thousand times.

But you’ve always been Mack. Always will be.

Well... Mandy shifted uncomfortably under Darby’s gaze. She kneaded her side surreptitiously through the layers of her shirtwaist, linen shift, and working corset. Whenever her cousin looked at her lately it seemed he knew too much—or at least suspected something. Right now, his nut-brown eyes reminded her uncomfortably of her father. She couldn’t afford for Darby to start asking questions. She’d grown up with him—he could always tell when she was hiding something.

I’m not exactly little anymore am I? she joked, hoping to distract him.

Nope, can’t say you are. His eyes flashed with humor. He liked teasing her, liked to share a laugh at her expense—or even his own. And she could see where he’d think it was funny, her being the tallest woman in Colorado. Most likely. As it was, she could see eye to eye with most men on the ranch and a lot of them were quite a bit shorter than she was. Darby was on the tall side though, like most of the MacKenna men. He practically loomed over Mandy by a good five or six inches—on foot, that is. Mandy had always found it easier to talk to him because of that. That and the fact that he never really looked at her as a woman. She wasn’t too tall. She wasn’t too strong. She wasn’t too manly looking with her long arms and legs, her strong shoulders. She was simply Mack, his cousin and friend. He was as close to her as a brother. Closer actually. Her own sisters didn’t know her half as well as Darby did.

Can you bring this to town? Mandy held up her packet of papers for him to take.

His fingers closed over it, and he eased it from her grasp, never once taking his eyes off of her.

For Mr. Proctor again? Darby asked, raising his brows.

That’s right. She avoided the unspoken questions in his eyes. Could you drop it by his office?

What’s this all about, Mack? he persisted. He’d been dropping her mail in town for months now. She’d dodged all his questions before this—and he always had some—but this time he had an expression on his face that reminded her of Daisy, their best old hunting hound, tracking the scent of a cottontail through the tall grasses.

Oh, just a few recipes for the—uh—homemaking section, she said, making breezy little circles in the air with her hand.

There’s a homemaking section?

To tell the truth, Mandy wasn’t entirely sure if The Cross Creek Gazette had a homemaking section or not, but she nodded. Then pressed her lips shut in case she felt the urge to blurt out anything else. Best to keep it simple.

Darby tapped the folded papers against the knee of his leather chaps.

Well, are you going to bring them or not? Mandy asked. For a second, she was afraid he’d say no. He had a certain glint in his eye. He always looked like that right before he did something to make her life difficult.

She supposed she could saddle her mare and follow him into town, but she didn’t like to raise her family’s suspicions. Well, Mama’s. If she went into town too frequently her mother was sure to start asking questions. Besides, though Mandy was dressed comfortably enough for a ride in her summer-weight split riding skirt and her sturdiest boots, she hadn’t planned on riding into town today.

You sweet on this fella? Darby demanded so suddenly she jumped. He fingered the twine on her packet in a way she didn’t like at all.

Nooooo, she said warily. She wished now she’d never asked him to deliver her precious column to the local paper, but who else could she have asked? No one, that’s who. Now, why would you think that?

Well, Gus ain’t a rancher, but he’s likely got some appeal for a lady... he said leadingly.

Gus? Mandy pulled a face. "Gus Proctor? And me?"

Why’d you say it like that? Like he’s not good enough for you. Darby fiddled with her papers, which, to her distress, were still in his hand and not safely tucked in his saddlebag.

I didn’t say that, she protested, genuinely stricken. Gus was a real nice man. He was a pleasant enough fellow to look at too. She certainly didn’t think she was too good for him, but anyone with eyes could see she was a good head taller than he was. But that was neither here nor there. Gus wasn’t interested in her, and she wasn’t interested in him either, not in that way. The only thing Mandy was interested in was the fact that he was her editor. That was all. Don’t go putting words in my mouth.

Well, then, you won’t mind if I have a looksee at these ‘recipes’ of yours, will you? Darby pulled sharply at the end of her twine and pulled it free.

Don’t! Mandy grabbed for her papers, but he held them up high, grinning like he was twelve and not twenty.

Don’t what? he asked. Don’t read your little love note?

Please don’t.

"Please don’t," he echoed in a girly, high-pitched voice—as if she talked like that, which she didn’t—and then it was too late. He’d already started to read.

Mandy balled her hands into fists, feeling herself begin to shrivel up inside. Now he’d know. He’d know her secret, and then everyone else would know. Unless she could get him to keep quiet. Was there any way she could convince him?

Darby’s smile slipped. He frowned, and his frown grew deeper as he continued to read. He flipped each page over, scanning her neat rows of script, not missing a single word, or so it seemed.

Darby— she grappled for words that wouldn’t come.

"You’re Mack? You’re the Mack? You’re ‘Ask Mack,’ the advice column for men?"

"Well, it’s not like that, Mandy protested, feeling her face heat. She glanced back at the house, hoping her mother was too far away to hear. The kitchen windows were open, and voices had a way of carrying down here in the valley. She lowered her voice in a meaningful way, hoping he’d take the hint. Ask Mack isn’t about men’s issues—not about private matters, anyway—or how to court a lady or anything like that. It’s mostly about finances, you know, how to run a ranch better. When’s best to order grain. How to dry out wet hay. That sort of thing."

I’ve read it, Mack. I know what it’s about. He slowed a beat as he said his old nickname for her. You’re Mack. You’re ‘Ask Mack’. He shook his head, as if truly stunned.

Would you hush? she hissed. "It’s not like I’m doing anything improper or—or illegal." Mandy reached up and yanked her papers out of Darby’s hand. He didn’t even try to stop her this time.

She picked up the bit of twine that had fallen to the ground and brushed the dirt off. Why, she was practically trembling, she realized. She couldn’t tell if it was because she was so angry—or because she’d gotten caught. She slowly tied up her papers again and just stood there, running her fingertip over the creased edges and pointy corners.

You can’t tell anyone. Mandy ducked her chin, not daring to look up at him. You need to promise.

What? he bleated, like his purpose in life was to tell. Like he wanted everyone to hear the news from him first. The rascal. Knowing Darby, he’d relish every moment too. He loved a good joke—and a joke was, of course, only better if it was at her expense. Not in any unkind way, not really. That wasn’t Darby’s way. And, besides, she was no wilting flower. She could give as good as she got. Normally. But this wasn’t normal. This was—well, it felt like life or death.

Please don’t tell, Mandy whispered, looking him right in the eye. He had to know she was serious. He had to know how much this meant to her. He just had to. If the truth came out, she’d be done as a columnist. The whole town would laugh at her. Worse, it would embarrass her parents, and she’d never intended to do that. That was why she’d been so careful this past year to keep it a secret. And now the secret was too big. ‘Ask Mack’ had become something of a local sensation and rumors had run wild as to his identity. People talked about it at the general store. They talked about it after church. They talked about it in church. It would just be too mortifying if people knew the truth. They’d start looking at her funny, like she was different.

As if she weren’t already different enough.

Don’t tell Mama. Or my father, Mandy pleaded. They can’t ever know. Especially Mama.

Darby slid out of the saddle and stood beside her. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He glanced down at the papers in her hand. You never said anything—not even to me?

Oh, good gracious, now he sounded hurt.

Like she’d betrayed him.

I couldn’t, Darby. I couldn’t tell anyone. How could I? She turned her attention to his horse. She scratched lightly inside the edges of Jingle’s ears, and he leaned into it. His expression of pure bliss was so comical she smiled.

All this time I thought— Darby pulled off his Stetson and shoved a hand through his dark wavy hair.

"You thought what? That I was in love with Gus Proctor?"

Well...yes. I was hoping you’d finally found someone.

Finally? Mandy stiffened.

He squirmed under her stare. Good, let him squirm.

It’s just that... I just hoped that after all these years you’d found a man.

All these years...

As if she were eighty and not just a few weeks over twenty-one.

Oh, you know how to dig yourself into a hole, don’t you, Darby MacKenna? Mandy narrowed her eyes, hoping to give him a good glimpse of the trouble he was in with her.

"But you’re twenty-one now," he protested, evidently oblivious to her pointed glare.

So that makes me an old maid? Is that what you’re saying? Well, I know that. Do you think I don’t know that?

Mack—I mean—Mandy—

"I’m one year older than you—one—and that’s all."

But it’s different for a man.

She sighed. It wasn’t like she’d had much choice in the matter. It wasn’t like any of the men in town looked at her like that. She knew they didn’t. Even Mama knew they didn’t. Well, she was reasonably certain Mama knew that. They’d never truly talked about it. At any rate, not a single eligible man had offered her so much as a ride in his buckboard. And it didn’t look like anyone was fixing to pay her any visits any time soon.

I’m not looking for a man. Mandy leveled her most severe gaze yet on Darby. Perhaps if she looked serious enough he wouldn’t know she was lying, just ever so slightly. All I want is to help my father with the running of the ranch.

Darby blinked. You know he’s never going to let you do that.

He might.

His eyebrows shot up. "Let you stay unmarried and tend to his ledgers and—and oil tack for the rest of your life?"

Well, when he said it like that it did seem unlikely, especially knowing her father and how he felt about marriage, and how Mama wanted lots of grandbabies.

It could happen, she insisted. They’ve got Emma and Juliana, don’t they? Her sisters were petite and feminine, just like Mama, with their perfectly curled hair, stylish skirts, and bustles. They’re sure to marry up in no time, she added, for Darby’s benefit.

You think no man in Cross Creek is ever gonna want to marry you. Is that it? Darby crushed the brim of his Stetson between his hands—hands that had been as big as serving platters ever since he was a boy of twelve, when he’d come to live with them after his folks died. He couldn’t have realized what he was doing—he loved that hat.

Mandy made some small gesture to draw his attention to it, but he just kept staring at her, his exasperation plain.

I know what I know, she said firmly, making sure there was no hint of bitterness or discouragement in her voice. He had to see she was resigned to the facts. That she didn’t pity herself. She’d made peace with her future. She was going to help her father on the ranch and continue writing for the paper for as long as she could. She liked it, and it made her happy.

So why, all of a sudden, did she feel a big empty hole in her chest where her heart was supposed to be? Why, all of a sudden, did she long for something more?

What was this—this sharp yearning sensation? And how could she get rid of it?

The papers crinkled in her grasp, making her realize she’d almost made a fist.

Well, I know what I know too, Darby said, and that’s just plain stupid.

Oh, it’s stupid, is it? Mandy repeated, stung. Looking at him now, she could see his face was turning quite red, and he looked angry—well, angry for Darby anyway. Darby never truly got angry. He was too good-natured.

You have too low an opinion of yourself, Mack, he said, pointing right at her, evidently for emphasis, and you always have.

Oh, I do, do I?

I know what I know. Just give me the papers. He snatched the packet from her. Her precious column.

You’re going to take them to Gus?

I’m going to take them to Gus, he said.

And you’re not going to tell a soul?

He let out a breath and lifted his face to the big blue sky above them as if to ask for divine help. Here, in the lap of the stone-faced Rockies, it certainly did feel like God was close by, practically within reach. Watching over you. And I’m not going to tell a soul, he said.

Promise?

Cross my heart. He chucked her under the chin and then swung up into the saddle.

Mandy stood in the stable yard and watched as he left. That whole thing about her having too low an opinion of herself was probably the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her in her life. Not that she’d ever let Darby in on that little fact. And not that she believed a single word of it.

The rest of the day Mandy spent doing ranch chores. Darby seemed to be gone longer than usual, but she tried not to let that worry her too much. He might be drilling Gus with questions about Ask Mack, about how it came into existence, demanding to know why Gus would let Mandy embark on such a foolhardy endeavor. Darby might stop at other places of business too. Possibly even the Girards’ ranch, trying to convince his friends to dance with her at the social coming up this Saturday—a notion that filled her with icy dread. The image of Darby urging his friends to dance with her was utterly mortifying.

The truth was, Darby could be doing any number of things she didn’t want him to do, but she simply had no control over the matter, so there was no point worrying about it.

Except, she did wonder if anyone would ask her to dance. She liked to dance, after all. She just didn’t care to dance with either of the Girard brothers, that’s all. They were decent enough men now, she supposed, but as boys they’d tormented her. Russell, especially.

If there was one man she would like to dance with, well, that had to be Adam Booker. She could admit that to herself. They’d danced together before, and they’d even laughed a bit, talked at length several times. She liked him. But these days she had the most difficult time looking straight at him—at church, for instance—where before, she’d simply nodded or smiled.

Although, truth be told, she did do more than her fair share of looking. It was only when he caught her at it that she went all shy inside.

He had eyes the most piercing shade of blue—eyes that could look right into your heart. She tried not to stare, but it was difficult, and oftentimes she got caught. In a moment of fluster, she’d have to page through her Bible or her songbooks, depending on what part of the service they were in.

Adam Booker wrote to Ask Mack and signed himself as Banks, a pseudonym she’d quickly seen through. He trusted Mack with some of his most embarrassing questions about ranch life. Though he didn’t know her true identity or gender, he exposed his weaknesses to her, admitted his doubts. He’d come to trust her—as Mack—and knew she wouldn’t publish every word he wrote to the paper. Though he couldn’t possibly know what those letters meant to her, she’d come to cherish every one.

Banks trusted her.

He listened to her. He let her in—in her anonymous state—and perhaps without realizing it, exposed his very heart. She knew Adam Booker better than any man, better than Papa or Darby, or anyone, really.

Would Adam ask her to dance? Could she bear it—the heady excitement and the rush of nerves?

After exercising Columbus, the most pleasant of her father’s carriage horses, Mandy gave the sleek dappled gray gelding one final loving pat on the nose and closed the paddock gate behind her, making sure it latched securely. Daisy was by her side in an instant, tail wagging so hard her whole body swayed with a sort of puppyish joy, despite her age.

You’re such a good girl, aren’t you? Mandy crooned. She scratched behind the hound’s floppy ears, where Daisy’s short caramel-colored fur was as fluffy and silky soft as ever. Though she was old now, past retirement as a hunting dog, she was still full of affection and good humor. Oh, you’re so soft, aren’t you? You’re just a baby. Yes, you are.

Daisy wiggled and leaned hard into Mandy’s shins, bumping her head into her knees again and again. Wanting to be loved. Wanting any scrap of attention. Not unlike most creatures under God’s big blue sky.

Mandy continued to pat, scratch, and croon, enjoying a little attention herself.

All around her, ranch life bustled on to its own incessant rhythm. There was always something to be done and someone doing it. Her father was off at a neighboring ranch, negotiating terms over sharing watering holes, planning for new irrigation, and installing pumps in a cooperative effort. A dozen cowboys in chaps and Stetsons were herding cattle, just dark specks on the rolling green hills in the distance. Closer to home, another few ranch hands were chucking flakes of hay over the

Reviews for Only The Heart Knows

[Becky Boerner · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Only The Heart Knows by Lena Goldfinch tells the story of Mandy MacKenna and Adam Booker in beautiful Cross Creek, Colorado in 1885. Mandy secretly writes under the pen-name Mack in the newspaper column "Ask Mack" where she answers questions about ranching related matters. It is assumed throughout Cross Creek that Mack is a man. She hears from Adam many times under the pen-name Banker, and she gives him advice that he truly values. But the question becomes: what will Adam do if he ever finds out "Ask Mack" is Mandy?

I really enjoyed reading Ms. Goldfinch's newest book. She is a masterful storyteller weaving together themes of forgiveness, acceptance, and God's deep love for us. The story was delightful to read filled with romantic tension, some twists and turns, and sweet kisses. Mandy is a character I think all of us can relate to, and that makes for a great read.

Ms. Goldfinch is a new author to me and I plan on reading the rest of the books in the Bride series. I highly recommend Only the Heart Knows!
I received a copy of this book from the publisher and the opinions expressed are my own