Moment in Time (Lone Star Brides Book #2) , livre ebook

Baker Publishing Group - Tracie Peterson

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152 pages

English

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Alice Chesterfield is a woman pursued. Having survived an attack that left her scarred and her father dead, she is never free from the fear and memories of the man who is responsible.Texas seems to be an answer to Alice's prayers, and when she has the opportunity to relocate to a ranch near Dallas, Robert Barnett captures her attention. Unlike any man Alice has ever known, Robert doesn't worry about the obstacles that stand in their way--and he hardly seems to notice the scar she bears.But there are storm clouds gathering; devastating information about her family comes to light, threatening Alice's peaceful sanctuary. Disillusioned, Alice must learn to place her trust in God as she seeks a measure of peace for her future...and for her heart.

Sujets

Historical fiction

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Publié par	Baker Publishing Group
Date de parution	27 mai 2014
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781441264039
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0360€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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© 2014 by Peterson Ink, Inc.
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
www . bakerpublishinggroup . com
Ebook edition created 2014
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4412-6403-9
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by Gearbox
Photography by Steve Gardner, PixelWorks Studios
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
About the Author
Books by Tracie Peterson
Back Ads
Book Cover
Chapter 1
Denver, Colorado November 1893
Alice Chesterfield could feel the intensity of the man watching her. Not just any man. She knew very well who it was and why he continued to hound her steps. Gathering her brown wool skirt in hand, Alice did her best to avoid the muddier spots in the road as she crossed to the small fabric store on the opposite side. Her heart pounded wildly. Her breathing seemed to catch in her throat.
Would he follow her there? Would he dare? She had been plagued by this stranger—this man who’d been responsible for upending her world—for over a year now. The wind picked up just as she reached the door of the establishment and chilled her to the bone. At least she told herself it was the wind that caused her shivers. Forcing herself not to look back, Alice raised her chin and slipped inside.
Stay calm. Don’t let this disturb you any more than it already has.
A small bell over the door heralded her entrance. The warmth of the room was welcome, but it did little to help the icy fingers that seemed to run down Alice’s spine. Reaching her gloved hand out to touch a bolt of blue cotton broadcloth, she closed her eyes and drew a deep breath.
“May I help you?”
Alice jumped at the voice and opened her eyes to find a matronly woman standing at her right.
“We don’t have much in stock, as we’re closing our doors on Friday.”
Alice nodded. So many of the smaller businesses had folded since the banking crisis struck earlier in the year. “I’m looking for needles. The mercantile was out and suggested you might have some.”
The woman shook her head. “Sold the last of them on Monday. I have some pins and plenty of thread, but as you can see for yourself, my shelves of fabric are pretty much exhausted. I can give you a good price on this broadcloth.”
“Yes, well . . . thank you. I don’t really need any fabric.” Alice steadied her voice as she glanced out the window to see if the man was still there. He was.
“I haven’t seen you in here before.” The woman frowned. “I would have remembered you . . . your scar.”
Alice put her gloved hand to the scar that ran from ear to chin on the right side of her face. “I . . . well . . .” She didn’t know quite what to say to the woman’s open rudeness.
“Such a pity it should have happened. Your old man do that?” She watched Alice carefully. “I used to be married to a man who carried a knife. Thought nothin’ of threatening me with it from time to time. Eventually he threatened the wrong man, and now I’m a widow.”
“No,” Alice said, shaking her head. “I’m not married.” She glanced over her shoulder at the man who continued to wait for her on the other side of the street. “I was attacked—a year ago.”
The woman didn’t miss a thing. “That the man?” she asked, nodding her head toward the stranger.
Alice realized this woman might well be her salvation. “Yes. At least he was responsible. He calls himself Mr. Smith, and he’s been following me since I left home.”
“Well, I won’t brook any nonsense,” the woman stated, moving back behind the counter. She pulled up a shotgun. “Like I said, I was married to a man who got his way at the end of a knife. I just won’t have it.”
“I wonder,” Alice said, moving toward the counter, “is there another way out of here?”
“Of course there is.” The woman pointed. “You go ahead through that curtain over there, and it will take you through the storeroom and into the alley behind my store. I’ll keep an eye on the no-account, and you get on home.”
Alice looked at the older woman with gratitude. “You are a blessing from the Lord.”
“Bah, I don’t know about that,” she said, squinting her eyes to study the stranger. “I do know about mean-tempered men, however. Now, get on with yourself.”
“Thank you.” Alice hurried through the curtain and made her way to the back door. The alley was a muddy mess, but she didn’t care. Picking her way through the ruts left by numerous delivery wagons, Alice slipped between buildings and disappeared.
She all but ran the rest of the way home. It wasn’t that Mr. Smith didn’t know where she lived, but she would feel a lot better once she was safely behind the locked doors of the Wythe house.
Hard times in the financial world had altered the stately beauty of the upper-class estates that lined the road. Many of the wealthier Capitol Hill residents had closed their houses and moved away. With silver devalued and the mines shut until further notice, Denver had suffered a tremendous blow to its economy. No one knew that better than the stuffed shirts of this elite neighborhood.
Reaching the red stone and brick house she’d come to call home, Alice hurried up the back steps and burst into the kitchen, not even bothering to remove her muddy boots. Thankfully, there was no one there to chide her. The housekeeper and butler had resigned their positions the month before, and due to the financial situation, Mr. Wythe had not seen it possible to fill their jobs.
Alice didn’t really mind. At eighteen, she was willing to work to get what she needed. She’d certainly never had a maid to wait on her hand and foot, even when her father was alive. Instead, she was the one required to work. Mrs. Wythe—Marty—had been kind enough to let Alice stay on with them. She’d hired Alice, without references, as her personal maid, and over time the relationship had developed into something more. Now, despite Marty’s being able to pay only a small pittance, Alice remained for the comfort and assurance that she was cared for by someone.
“I thought I heard you in here,” Marty declared, coming into the kitchen. “Were you able to . . .” Her words trailed. “What happened? Was it Smith again?”
Alice knew it would be impossible to hide her fear. “He fell in step behind me almost from the start. I tried to lose him in the shops, but he watched me too carefully. Finally, I just accepted that he would trail me wherever I went and pretended not to care. With the help of a woman at Bennett’s Fabrics, I managed to get away unseen.”
Marty crossed her arms in contemplation. “Of course it won’t stop him. I think it’s time we speak with the authorities.”
“But what will we tell them that I haven’t already explained?” Alice asked. “They know all about him but don’t care. They said they were much too busy with the increase in crimes. People are desperate.”
Marty narrowed her eyes. “That’s no excuse. Of course crime is increasing with so many people suffering financial ruin. Even so, it’s not right that a young woman can’t feel free to walk down the street without being accosted. Next time, I’ll drive you myself, and we’ll see if Mr. Smith is inclined to reacquaint himself with my shotgun.”
With her muddy boots discarded, Alice put them on the back porch and then hurried to clean up the mess she’d made on the floor. Marty had already retrieved the mop and pail. Alice took them from her and smiled. “I’m supposed to be the hired help.”
Marty laughed. “Those days are long gone, as you well know. I can’t help but wonder when Jake will walk through the door and tell me the bank has closed its doors. He knows his job there hangs by a thread. Mr. Morgan told him the banks were falling into failure like dominoes lined up in child’s play.” She shrugged. “I don’t know what to expect from one day to the next. But then, I suppose no one does.”
Alice nodded and worked to clean the floor. “I know I’ve said it before, but I think it’s time you stop worrying about giving me any money for pay. I’m blessed just to get to eat and have a bed to sleep in. You should just put that money aside for emergencies. That’s what I’ve been trying to do.”
“Yes, well, I was going to address that subject with you. My money is pretty well dried up. I could write to my sister and brother-in-law in Texas. They still haven’t paid me for the ranch, but I know they’re most likely hurting, too.”
Shaking her head, Alice opened the door and emptied the bucket outside. There was an icy bite to the air and she shivered. Looking quickly around, she saw the unmistakable outline of a man near the stable. She hurried back into the house and slammed the door closed. Locking it, she looked to Marty. “He’s out there.”
“Not for long.” Marty took off and returned momentarily with her shotgun. “I think I should have a little talk with him.”
“But it’s nearly dark,” Alice protested, “and Jake, I mean Mr. Wythe, isn’t home yet. What if Mr. Smit