Blessings from Heaven: The Brides of Blessings, #6

By Lynn Winchester

Nyevah Ivanov arrives in California seeking a new home, far away from the barren sorrow in Siberia. But when her brother abandons her, Nyevah determines to realize her dreams on her own terms. Despite not knowing much English, she finds work at the saloon, and is soon making a home in the boomtown of Blessings. But something is missing…until she meets a stunningly handsome loner.

Mourning the loss of his wife and child, Jeremiah Bridger has lost himself in the mountains, trapping and hunting…and wallowing in his own private hell. After a supply run into Blessings brings him face to face with the most beautiful and agitating woman, Jeremiah can't seem to stay away from her sparkling golden eyes, sweet smile, and bright heart—no matter how many times he tells himself Nyevah is just a naïve foreigner.

Nyevah has never been one to give up, even when the going got hard, so when Jeremiah Bridger plants himself in her way, she can't help but push back. He's about as nice as a wounded bear, but she knows there is more to him than that. And when pushing back only seems to draw him closer, Nyevah can't help but fall for him.

But is Jeremiah ready to risk his heart again? Will Nyevah fulfill her dream in Jeremiah's arms? The growing town of Blessings already knows the answers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charizomai Press
• Release date: Sep 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223895947

Lynn Winchester

Lynn Winchester is the pseudonym of a hardworking California-born conservative, now living in the wilds of Northeast Pennsylvania. Lynn has been writing fiction since the 5th grade, and enjoys creating worlds, characters, and stories for her readers. When Lynn isn't writing she is running a successful editing business, reading whatever she can get her hands on, raising her four children, making sure her husband is happy, and binge watching shows on Netflix.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

The Winslet Mining Co. Office at the back of Mosier Fine Goods

Blessings, California

February, 1853

Atherton Winslet bit his lip to keep from laughing at the brooding man standing before him. Sheriff Pete Jones wasn’t one to smile—at least he didn’t smile much until after he met his wife Pati—so when something happened to him, he was more likely to grimace and grunt. Like he was now.

Aw, come on Pete! It won’t hurt ya none! Just taste it. I bet ya’ll like it, Whit Pullen said, his eyes twinkling.

No, Pete nearly growled at the pup, trying to move around him to sit in the chair opposite Atherton’s desk.

But my ma made it, and she said it’ll heal up that gut real quick.

There’s nothing wrong with my gut, Pete ground out, yanking off his hat and throwing it on Atherton’s desk.

That’s not what Ma says, she says you been bellyaching because your wife has been awful sick lately.

Atherton watched as Pete’s face paled, his dark eyes growing heavy with concern. She is just fine. She’s not sick, she’s expecting.

Atherton slapped his thigh, shooting to his feet. Whoo! If that ain’t the best news I’ve heard in a dog’s age! Joy like he hadn’t felt in years filled him, and he grinned down at his pinch-faced sheriff. Reining in his exuberance, Atherton shooed Whit Pullen and his jar of soaked oats away, and waited for the young man to leave the mercantile before he sat down and pinned Pete with a curious gaze. Why ain’t you as excited as I am, Pete?

Pete ran his fingers through his shoulder-length black hair. The man with the broadest shoulders Atherton had ever seen seemed to slump beneath the weight of his troubles. I am excited, more than excited. I love Pati with my whole heart, and I cannot wait to be a daddy…

But… Atherton prodded, rubbing at his bearded chin.

But I don’t know if I am going to be a good daddy, Pete opined, his expression falling.

Atherton grinned, and Pete’s eyes widened as they usually did at Atherton’s toothy yet mostly toothless smile.

Pete, my boy, ain’t no man on this earth who ever thinks he’ll be a good daddy. It’s part of the process. And I bet you a crooked gold bar that Pati doesn’t think she’ll be a good mother, neither.

Pete sat back, his hand rubbing at the place where the top of his left ear used to be. "Well…she has been nervous about it."

Which is normal. Natural. Jesus had the only perfect father.

Finally, Pete cracked a smile, and Atherton smiled back. That’s more like it. Now, why don’t you head home to that wife of yours. I have a meetin’ with Bridger.

Bridger, Pete intoned, standing and retrieving his black hat. He’s the loner with the cabin more than a mile outside of town?

Atherton nodded. That he is.

What are you meeting him about?

I have need of his skills... There’s been rumblin’s about a few Miwoks comin’ in to the outlyin’ spreads. Jason and Harriet have seen no less than four in the last two weeks. Jason and Harriet Meredith ran a freight company, and they had a large spread outside of town. The couple lived there with Harriet’s two sons and daughter, from her previous marriage. They were two of the key people to Blessings’ success.

Miwoks? On this side of the river? Pete’s face hardened, his dark eyes glinting with steel. As the sheriff, it was his job to keep the people of Blessings safe. Why have I just heard about this?

Atherton shrugged. It’s only been rumblin’s up till now. Bridger has experience dealin’ with Indians, and he…well, he has nothin’ to lose if things turn up sour. Jeremiah Bridger was one of the newest men in Blessings. He’d come in, a lone rider in the night, looking to hide in the mountains outside of town. At first, Atherton didn’t like the idea of any man choosing to live alone so close to the river, but then…the more he saw of Bridger—when the man came into town to buy the supplies he couldn’t catch and kill himself—the more he wondered about the man. The why and how of his circumstances.

Millie called him a nosey busybody, and Atherton had to agree with his wife. He liked getting to know the people in his town, and he liked being a blessing to those in need of it. Except…well, the man was plain mean, always sneering at folks and turning his nose up at friendly company. Atherton couldn’t wrap his mind around Jeremiah Bridger, and he certainly couldn’t think of a way to lighten the man’s heavy load. Word was that he was a former army scout, working with Sioux in the Dakotas. But that wasn’t what had turned him bitter, it was…well, the man had lost his whole family. That would break any man, turning him into a grizzly who growled and snapped at whoever stepped into his path.

Bridger doesn’t have the…err… Well, the man is more liable to shoot a Miwok than talk to one. I don’t know how wise it is to send him, Pete said, slapping his hat on his head and tipping it so it covered most of his left ear.

Atherton stood, coming around his makeshift desk, made from a shipping crate, to walk Pete to the front of the store. Don’t worry about anythin’, Pete. I have faith that Jeremiah Bridger is just the man to help me. Even if he could use a little softenin’ up.

Seeing Pete off home, Atherton returned to his desk, waving to Ed Mosier, mercantile owner, as he walked by the counter where the man was standing, ringing up a pale, willowy man’s order.

That’ll be two dollars, young man, Atherton heard Ed say.

I have only one, the young man replied, his accent one Atherton had never heard before.

Ed sighed. Well then, you’ll have to choose one; the shawl or the box of drawing pencils. You can’t have both.

Atherton could hear the young man groan, as if the decision weighed heavy on him.

"I get shawl. It is for moya sestra, my sister," the young man finally said, his tone somewhat defeated. So, he really wanted those pencils, too, but he sacrificed what he wanted for something pretty for his sister. Now, that was something Atherton could get behind.

Atherton tipped his head, coming back around the supply-laden shelves that separated the store from his mine office. No worries, young man. You take both of those and get on outta here. Give that pretty shawl to your sister. I’ll make sure Ed here gets his money.

The man’s face was sallow, his hazel eyes sunken, and his skin gray. Atherton had seen it before, it was the way a man looked when he let the bottle get ahold of his heart.

Ed eyed Atherton with curiosity, but he was used to Atherton’s strange bouts of generosity. As he watched, Ed wrapped a beautiful red and gold shawl in brown paper, and handed it to the young man.

What’s your name, son? Atherton asked, wondering if the young man was a miner in his mines.

The young man avoided Atherton’s gaze, instead, he stared at the tip of one incredibly worn boot.

Sergey Ivanov, he replied.

Atherton smiled, offering Sergey his hand in greeting. Well now, Sergey, I’m Atherton. You and your sister are welcome in Blessings.

Sergey’s face seemed to grow pink under Atherton’s attentions.

"Spasiba… Thank you," Sergey muttered before gathering his purchases, turning on his tattered boot heel, and practically running from the mercantile.

Ed leaned against the counter, watching the people walk by out on Main Street. I wonder what that was about.

Atherton gripped his long, white beard and hmmmmed. Well, I don’t know, but I have a feelin’ I’ll be meetin’ Sergey Ivanov’s sister real soon.

CHAPTER 1

Three weeks later…

Nyevah Ivanov stepped from the tent she shared with her brother and pulled her favorite shawl up over her head. At first, she’d been angry with Sergey for wasting money on the shawl, but soon, she’d come to appreciate the gesture. It was cold, oh so cold, but it wasn’t nearly as cold as Nyurba; as far away a place as one could get from California. And she was glad of it. At nineteen, she had spent eighteen years of her life in the frigid, barren Siberian tundra. With little more to do than freeze and mine for ore and diamonds, life in Nyurba had been…well…pointless.

But here, in Blessings, the opportunities were there for the taking…if only she could take one for herself.

Walking down a well-worn path through the trees toward town, Nyevah pulled the shawl tighter around her. She’d sold her best coat to help pay for the sea crossing, and the only thing she had that could keep off the chill was a cloak she had borrowed from the seamstress, Pati. Pati, a lovely, beautiful woman, had an accent Nyevah had never heard before. Then again, few people had heard her Russian accent, either. And what was worse, was that there were few who knew the language, which meant she and Sergey had spent a lot of time trying to understand the people in the town they had hoped to settle in.

For Sergey, who quickly found a job mining, his ease with the language had served him well. But for her, it was a daily battle with her ignorance. While she could understand well enough, she couldn’t speak more than a few greetings and some basic answers; yes, no, thank you, hello, goodbye, and my brother.

As she walked, Nyevah pondered her brother. Sergey was brilliant, always the smartest student in the church school. He could learn anything without really trying. Nyevah, who spent more time helping Mama in the house than in school, learned very little. And now, while Sergey had learned enough English to speak and understand, Nyevah was still struggling to say Can I buy a pound of butter without making a mistake. The first time she’d tried, the man behind the counter looked at her with wide, shocked eyes. Then, he handed her a pair of trousers and a tin of matches. She’d been so horrified, she nearly ran from there crying. Thankfully, a rather sweet man with a head of white hair and a matching beard, helped her figure out what she needed to say. She left the store with her correct items and her face warm from the embarrassment.

It was experiences like that that kept her in her tent, pacing, praying, and preparing meals for most of the day. But she hoped, dreamed, that soon, she could find something she could do to help them create a home in Blessings. Perhaps build a cabin or even a house. Then…well, she hoped to settle down, truly, with a husband…perhaps have some children—if the Lord blessed her.

Breaking through the tree line, Nyevah ducked her head and shuffled along the roughhewn boardwalk toward the one place she knew she’d find her brother. More often lately, her brother would leave work and go straight to the saloon, emptying his wallet and a bottle of whiskey, rather than come home where she was waiting for him, with a hot supper and a day’s worth of boredom to make up for.

Unused to the appraising eyes of so many men, she avoided the gazes of dusty miners, well dressed businessmen, and even some of the more colorful women as she passed them by. Outside of the saloon, the only one in Blessings, three men stood about, smoking stubby cigars, leering at other men, and pushing and cackling