Wild Horses, Wild Hearts 3: Wild Horses, Wild Hearts, #3

Chapter 1

Unexpectedly Expecting

McNeal Ranch Land, Near Cheyenne, Wyoming Territory, October 1885

Despite the bright and warming light of the sun rising up over the eastern ridge known as McNeal Hill, there was a definite chill in the late October morning air, holding the promise of the coming winter. Throughout the plains of the Wyoming Territory, leaves on trees were growing more and more colorful as the days passed by, dropping from the branches before being caught in the lifting winds that swept them further across the land.

Though the sun’s rays were strong even as they caressed the buildings that stood in the center of the McNeal Ranch, they could not penetrate the heavy curtains which kept the bedroom of John and Margaret Baldwin cast in darkness. The couple was nestled close to one another in their large bed beneath a thick bearskin blanket. John lay flat on his back, lightly snoring while his arm was curled beneath and around the waist of his beautiful wife Maggie, her own body curled up against his for further warmth.

The two had been married for the better part of two months, and neither of them could recall having been any happier than they were at that time. Despite their initial rough patch when they had first met, the two had only grown to love one another more and more as each day passed. Together, they had brought further prosperity to the McNeal Ranch as well as an impressive display of horse riding skill in tandem during a few of the show-riding events held in nearby Cheyenne.

Every day brought new challenges for the two of them in some form or another. Even though they could have handled much of it by themselves, they instead chose to work together and found that there was little they could not overcome, whether it related to ranching, business, or otherwise.

But life all too often has a funny way of presenting people with new challenges that they were completely unprepared for before sitting back and observing how they react. And life was prepared to present Maggie and John with an altogether different shade of challenge than they’d previously faced.

Iknow there’s work to be done, but I do not want to leave this bed at all.

That was the first thought that made its way to the front of Maggie McNeal Baldwin’s mind as she awoke from her slumber, the combined warmth of the bed and her husband’s body offsetting the chill permeating the room. The pot-bellied iron stove which helped warm the room at night had obviously consumed the wood inside throughout the night and grown colder. Even with the window closed tightly, the chill of the autumn air still found its way inside.

Despite the heavy curtains keeping the sun’s initial light out, just enough of it managed to pierce the material and give light to the room. For Maggie, that was more than she needed as she carefully propped herself up on her elbow and looked at her sleeping husband, a catlike grin spreading across her lovely face.

John Baldwin, ranch boss of the prosperous McNeal Ranch & Cattle Company and husband of fierce show rider and ranch owner Margaret McNeal, continued to lightly snore in his sleep, blissfully unaware of his wife’s observation.

Silly tumbleweed, Maggie thought teasingly as she looked over her husband’s appearance. A collection of stubble had started to form across his jaw, evidence of his lack of shaving. On top of that, his long blond locks of hair were disheveled—testament to the strenuous activity she’d put him through before they’d both fallen asleep the night before.

Maggie knew she was likely just as much of a lovely wreck as he was. A slight scratching of her head told her that her chestnut curls were far more riotous than she recalled them being during dinner, but that only made her all the happier. It meant that John had been every bit as attentive to her as she’d been to him last night.

I think I’ll keep him, she thought jokingly, knowing full well there was little that could pry her away from him and him from her. To her, it almost seemed as though the woman she’d been—resistant to change and deriding the idea of falling in love with someone, especially a wanderer like John Baldwin—was becoming more and more of a distant memory. Now she couldn’t stand the idea of a life and future without John.

She was idly toying with the idea of waking him up in a special way when her stomach gave a low growl. Her hand moved to massage her abdomen in order to quiet it down, but it seemed that her stomach would have its say and would not be appeased until she ate something.

Giving a slight huff at having her fun interrupted, Maggie leaned over and gave her husband a loving kiss on his forehead before she slowly slid out from under the heavy blanket they shared.

The immediate change in temperature from the warmth of the bed to the coolness of their bedroom caused goose pimples to spread across her skin. Maggie wrapped her arms around her bare chest, trying to conserve any heat she could as she looked for her wool nightgown.

For Heaven’s sake, where is it n—? There you are! she thought triumphantly as she spied the garment, tossed in a bundle against one of the walls; no doubt John’s handiwork, having undressed her before bed. The memory of their foreplay gave Maggie a giggle and a rosy blush as she slid the garment over her head, reveling in the thick wool’s warming properties.

As she straightened out the nightgown over her frame, her stomach gave another grumble, a more persistent one than the previous. Once more, Maggie placed her hand over her stomach to try and silence it, but as she pressed her hand against the material covering her, she was made reminded of something that she had noticed recently: she had put on weight.

It had been a week or two prior when she had first discovered that her previously trim stomach had gained a slight curve. Of course, this was obvious only to her as far as she could tell (and if John had noticed it as well he wasn’t saying anything). But it wasn’t just her stomach that had caught her notice. Her hips and her backside had lost a bit of their toned quality built up from years of riding, despite the fact that Maggie continued to ride everyday on and off the ranch.

Probably just a result of sleeping in a little more, she told herself, rationalizing her slight increase in weight and figure to the fact that her nights and mornings with John had caused her to have to readjust her scheduling a bit. She hadn’t performed her early morning rides in two months’ time because she was so unwilling to leave their bedroom in the morning.

There was, however, one other possible explanation to her growing physique, but Maggie wouldn’t dare allow herself to entertain that thought for even a single second. Though she had acclimated to loving a man and getting married, well, the thought of a child was not something she was ready to contemplate just yet.

Whether from being lax in her ranch activities or otherwise, the fact remained that she was hungry. And though she couldn’t quite tell how, she swore she could smell the alluring scent of ham frying in a pan.

Casting one more smile over her shoulder at her still sleeping husband, Maggie quietly opened the bedroom door and slipped out before closing it just as stealthily behind her and tiptoeing down the stairs.

Abigail McNeal was always an early riser, a trait that had served her well before she had married her late husband Peter and had continued to serve her well as she raised two daughters out on the plains of the western territories. Though she knew her daughter Margaret fancied herself an early riser as well, Abigail took a small amount of wizened pride in the knowledge that she still had her oldest daughter beat. On the mornings when Maggie rode out to check the ranch just as the sun was rising, Abigail was usually already up and lighting the fire in the stove to ready breakfast.

Though in all fairness to Maggie, Abigail thought with a grin, the sun is rising later now than in the summer, and she’s never been good at adjusting to those little seasonal time changes.

The matriarch of the McNeal family continued to smile as her hands manipulated the cast-iron pan atop the stove, the slab of ham inside sizzling nicely. With the pan in one hand, she reached over and picked out an egg from the basket with the other before cracking it on the side of the pan and splitting the shells so that the contents spilled into the pan, a hiss marking the contact of the food with the hot metal.

Abigail quickly repeated the process with another egg and continued minding her work, humming a few odd tunes as she did so. She knew her daughter and son-in-law would awaken soon and be down for breakfast in short order.

Abigail couldn’t have been any happier for her elder daughter. John Baldwin’s appearance had been a Godsend for both the ranch and Maggie, and Abigail would consider herself forever indebted to the young Kentucky boy who had managed to capture her daughter’s wild heart. The two months since their wedding had seemed to go by in the blink of an eye, though part of the swiftness of time’s passage could also be attributed to the fact that the McNeal Ranch was slightly quieter since her daughter Leyla’s departure.

Though Abigail missed her younger daughter greatly, she was proud to know that she was pursuing her show-riding dreams with Chase McAllister’s team of professional show riders in a travelling western show. Leyla’s plan of staying with the show for a month had been extended, and the young redhead reported in her telegrams that she was having a magnificent adventure.

Both Maggie and Abigail couldn’t bring themselves to ask Leyla to return home just yet when even the dry wording of the telegrams seemed to express the boundless joy Leyla was having with Chase and the others, especially considering that her last message put her right on the border of California. Sure, it meant that Abigail had to take over handling the financial books of the ranch again, but she didn’t mind. After all, she’d been expertly tending to that task ever since she and her husband had first moved west.

The sound of a pair of feet trying to sneak down the stairs broke her from her nostalgic reverie. At once, Abigail knew that the light tread of the feet could be none other than that of Maggie. Her prediction proved true as her daughter soon appeared in the doorframe, clad in her wool nightgown with her brunette curls scraggling around her face.

Morning, Mama, Maggie yawned as she made her way to the table, seating herself while making no further attempt to be presentable.

Good morning, Maggie, Abigail replied brightly as she removed the pan from the stove and deposited the ham and eggs on a nearby plate. The plate was swiftly delivered to the table and deposited in front of her daughter.

Maggie looked up at her mother with grateful eyes as she seized the knife and fork on the table and tore into the meal as though she’d not eaten in days.

Abigail was momentarily taken aback by her daughter’s sudden voracious appetite, but she chalked it up to physical exertion’s toll on her daughter’s body. After all, she and John had been vigorously preparing for one last show-riding event before the season ended.

Are you and John all set for the event this evening? Abigail asked as she laid a slab of bacon in the pan in preparation for her son-in-law’s eventual appearance.

Maggie momentarily paused in her eating to answer her mother’s query, smiling around a mouthful of egg before she swallowed. Ready as we’ll ever be, Mama, she answered determinedly. We’ll give the folks in Cheyenne a performance to end the season that they’ll never forget!

The event of which the two spoke was the annual harvest celebration in Cheyenne. The celebration was meant as a capstone to the year’s work and productivity for the local farms and ranches as well as the continued prosperity of the town itself. An entire week was devoted to the event which had already been running the previous four days.

For the past several years, the highlight of the fifth night was a show-riding demonstration performed by the skilled riders in town. Though Margaret and her horse, Apollo, had been the stars the previous years, this year they would be joined by John and his ebony mount, Longbow, for a tandem performance that would dazzle the residents of Cheyenne.

As such, the couple and their horses had been training extensively for the big night, ready to show off just what a husband and wife pair of riders could do.

Leaving the frying pan and its contents to sizzle for a few moments, Abigail grasped the pot of hot coffee and poured some of the rich liquid into a vacant cup with the intention of handing it off to her daughter. But as she turned to place the steaming cup in front of Maggie, the brunette held up a hand indicating that she was passing on coffee.

For a moment, Abigail McNeal, the nigh unflappable matriarch of the ranching and riding family, was stunned.

No coffee? she thought in bewilderment. There’s not a day that’s gone by since Maggie could first drink the stuff that hasn’t seen her down at least one cup of coffee.

Still standing there, Abigail took a closer look at her daughter. The fact that she was eating like a man fresh from the desert wasn’t strange in and of itself. Abigail knew that both of her girls had learned some of their eating habits from their father, both the good and the bad. But Maggie declining coffee, combined with her appetite, struck the older redhead as something queer.

Maybe it’s my eyes playing tricks on me, she thought idly as she watched Maggie chew her food, but I swear her features have gone slightly softer as well.

She gave a shake of her head as if to clear her eyes and her mind, and then Abigail turned back to the stove and her cooking, pushing the thoughts away for further examination later.

Something’s not quite right, here.

That was the first thought that entered John Baldwin’s head as he roused himself from his slumber. He could already tell that something was off, but he couldn’t readily identify what it was.

He was going to see if Maggie could tell him why something felt awry, but then his arm swept the side of the bed his beautiful wife slept on and found it to be empty of her smaller form.

Well, that’s one mystery solved, he chuckled, realizing that the absence of his wife this early in the morning was likely what had momentarily confused him. She’s either out on the range or downstairs talking with Abigail.

Propping his back up against the wooden headboard of the bed, John Baldwin allowed himself a wide stretch of his arms as he tried to wake his body up and clear his mind of the fog of sleep and forgotten dreams.

If other folks say that marriage is a terrible thing, then they must be doing something wrong, he thought as the memories of the previous night and others before it—as well as a few mornings, afternoons, and evenings—climbed their way up to his mind’s eye. I never thought I’d see the day I’d be a happily married man with a wife that’s the most beautiful woman in the west, blazes, maybe the whole country.

Once more, John Baldwin couldn’t believe his good fortune. In the four months since he’d first arrived in Cheyenne, he’d gone from wandering cowboy to respected ranch boss and fallen in love with the best and prettiest rider in the west. Now the two of them were married, and John still couldn’t believe that it all wasn’t some wonderful dream that he hoped he’d never wake up from.

The blond rider sighed happily as he turned his gaze toward the bedroom ceiling, as though he could see right through it and look at the clouds in the sky above.