The Shepherd's Daughter (Dry Bayou Brides Book 1)
Read The Shepherd's Daughter (Dry Bayou Brides Book 1) Online
Authors: Lynn Winchester
Tags: #Historical, #Western, #Romance, #Fiction
Dry Bayou Brides
Book One
Lynn Winchester
Copyright © 2016 by Mary Lancaster
Kindle Edition
Published by Dragonblade Publishing, an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
For Ronda and Esther
Dry Bayou Ranch
Dry Bayou, Texas
May 1857
W
illem Ducharme stood
beside his pa and waited for the wagons coming up the dirt road to turn the curve in the lane so he could see who was inside them—if possible, through the iron red dust the wagons kicked up. Dry Bayou, Texas was a relatively new town. According to his pa, it had only been sixteen years since the La Fontaines moved over from Louisiana and built a town. Because there were only a handful of families settled there, the Ducharme family homestead, Dry Bayou Ranch, didn’t get many visitors. Any wagons coming up the long drive from town were enough to stop all busyness in the house and get everyone to step out onto the wide, front porch.
He reached up and gripped his father’s rough hand. “Who do you think it is, Pa?” His voice held a little curiosity and a lot of awe. He’d never seen a wagon so stuffed full of…stuff. As it drew nearer, he could make out three people, a pile covered by a length of canvas, and a few odds and ends poking out here and there. The second wagon was as full as the first, but it only had one occupant, the driver.
Not townsfolk.
Four
visitors? That was nearly unheard of out here, where only Billy, his ma and pa, and a few ranch hands lived—though they hoped to add a cook soon because his ma did not believe that hauling dry goods in from the storage shed and sweating to death in the kitchen all day was befitting an up-and-coming, wealthy rancher’s wife.
“Well, I don’t rightly know, but I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.”
His pa’s gaze never left the approaching wagons. Once the wagons stopped in front of the house, Billy didn’t know if he wanted to run for the hills or hide behind his mother’s skirts. She’d come out to stand beside Pa, her dainty hand on his thick arm. She took a moment to smooth the invisible wrinkles from her skirt, tuck the loose strands of her auburn hair into place behind her ears, and pull back her shoulders.
“I wonder if that’s…” His mother’s sweet, lilting voice calmed him a bit and he found he could loosen his grip on Pa’s hand, just a little… “Billy, stand up straight. We don’t want our visitors thinking you’re a slouch, now do we?”
Billy straightened his spine and tipped up his chin, just as his mother had taught him, of course. She was right. He didn’t want the newcomers to think he was a yellow-bellied wimp, just because he was a little scared of who might be in the wagon.
Pa cleared his throat and stepped forward to greet the visitors, and Billy stepped up, too, just far enough to see who’d come. He blinked through the blanket of red dust and fanned his face to clear his nose and mouth.
He coughed, then focused his attention on the two people on the bench in the first wagon.
There was a large man with red hair and a wide, friendly face and a woman with auburn hair, a bright smile, and a weary, but happy, expression.
“Ho, there!” Pa called, lifting his arm in greeting. “What can we do for you folks?”
No matter what, be polite
. That’s another thing Billy’s mother had taught him.
The large man in the first wagon dropped the reins, jumped down, and came around the wagon, hand extended.
Without hesitation, Pa took the other man’s hand and shook it.
“We’re the MacAdams’ and he is Pedro Pallo.” The man turned and pointed to the driver of the second wagon—a Mexican with a wiry beard and a big smile. “We’re a few days early, but we didn’t see na harm in comin’, if ye were willing.” The man had a deep voice and he spoke with a strange accent.
Billy liked it. He liked this man. He didn’t know why, exactly, but the man’s kind face and rugged appearance set Billy at ease.
“Ah, Brian MacAdams? Glad to meet you. Welcome to Dry Bayou Ranch,” Billy’s pa shook the man’s hand more vigorously and the smile he gave could’ve warmed an ice house. “You
are
a few days early, but the cabin was readied three days ago. The Merinos are on their way from the Barrett Ranch out near San Antonio. Not more than two days and you’ll have plenty to do ’round here.” He gestured to the surrounding land with a sweeping arm and proud grin.
It had taken ten years, but Billy’s father, with smart investments and devout prayer, grew the ranch from two-hundred acres of dirt and waist-high grass, to eight-hundred acres of cotton, horses, cattle, and, soon, sheep. At least, that’s what he’d overheard his father say during fancy dinners at the hotel.
“Oh, I ken it. I have two more men comin’ a few days behind—they’ve been wit me for near six years. They are good, hard workers and I ken we’ll grow yer herd from forty to four hundred before ye know it.”
So this was the new head shepherd his pa had hired? Billy didn’t know much about it other than what he’d overheard between his parents at night while he was supposed to be reading The Word before bed. He couldn’t help it. He liked sneaking down the stairs to listen to his parents talk when they thought no one was listening. Something about the love between them made Billy want to stick close.
From what he’d heard and could understand of their conversations, his pa wanted to expand the ranch into sheep and wool but didn’t know how to do it. He’d sent advertisements back east to the big cities, looking for a man who knew the industry and could come live on their ranch to manage the lambing and shearing and rotating—moving the herd from one parcel of land to another without losing a single one.
Apparently, these newcomers were the ones his pa had picked for the job. Billy didn’t know, quite yet, what he thought of the whole thing.
Not that it really mattered. Billy was set on growing up to be the best horse breeder in the state. He didn’t care much for smelly old sheep. He’d stick to the stable and barn, and leave Mr. MacAdams and Mr. Pallo to their sheep.
Billy’s pa turned to him and motioned for him to come forward. Billy complied with only a little warmth rising in his cheeks.
“Mr. MacAdams, this is my son, Willem.”
Pa patted Billy on his shoulders and squeezed one just enough to make him clear his throat and say, “Good afternoon, sir. Nice to meet you.” Just as his mother had taught him.
Mr. MacAdams grinned down at him. “What a polite young man ye are. Nice to me
ye
.”
Billy’s mother stepped forward. “Good afternoon. Welcome to Dry Bayou Ranch. I’m Linda Ducharme and we’re very pleased to have you here.”
His mother’s voice was soft, friendly, and cultured. She was a fine lady, much too fine for all the dust now coating her skirts. Pa said he’d found her in a catalog and she’d moved west to marry him. He said he was a lucky man, especially since she hadn’t turned tail and run at the first sight of the shack he’d lived in back then.
Mr. MacAdams turned around and helped the woman from the wagon. She strutted toward the porch, put out her hand, and smiled. Pa took it and shook it, a little less vigorously than he did the man’s.
“I’m Moira MacAdams—,” she called into the back of the wagon. “Get down here,
bairn
, and say hello.”
Billy didn’t know what to make of the bundle of rags and wild, frizzy, red hair that appeared. He stood, staring at the little girl who seemed more hair than girl. She looked a few years younger than his seven years, but he thought maybe her size threw him off. Her small face was covered with freckles, her brown eyes were filled with curiosity and something else he couldn’t name.
She bounced from foot-to-foot, then stuck out her hand. He blinked down at it, surprised and a little uncertain what to do.
“Go ’head, take it, it won’t bite,” she chirped. Her voice was like sugar on syrup and he found he didn’t know what to say back. So, he stepped forward and gripped her hand without saying a word.
“Name’s Raychelle, but you can call me Ray, account of the fact that I don’t like Raychelle ’cause it sounds too uppity.”
Billy couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face.
He liked her.
He tightened his grip on her hand. “He-hello, Ray, I’m Billy.”
Her smile brightened and he felt the light of it right down into his boots. In that moment, he wondered if smelly old sheep weren’t all that bad.
She must’ve read his thoughts because a glint of excitement filled her eyes and Billy could only blink in awe.
“Billy, do you know how to catch a frog?”