Susie Crowell née White is a desperate young mother with another baby on the way. Her late husband left her nothing but his bad reputation. She has no money and is too ashamed to return home to her family. When she is trapped alone during a snowstorm with a stranger and the baby coming, her only choice is to rely on him.

Gil Hart came west to find healing for his consumption. He never expected to find himself trapped with a lost young widow. Or how fast he could fall for her and her two little ones. But it doesn’t take long for his secrets to come to light.

After everything she’s suffered in the past, can Susie ever trust another gambler?

The Wrangler’s Ready-Made Family is Book 15 in the Wind River Hearts series.

“…pure sweetness in a very readable package, perfect for those who like their romance gentle, G-rated, and family-style.” – Publisher’s Weekly on The Homesteader’s Sweetheart.
”…smart, gentle, and uplifting…” Publisher’s Weekly on Return of the Cowboy Doctor.

READ THE WRANGLER’S READY-MADE FAMILY NOW

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READ THE FIRST CHAPTER

Susie Crowell née White gritted her teeth as she was jostled by another lurch of the stagecoach.

Two-year-old Carrie moved in her sleep, and Susie soothed her by rubbing her thumb at the girl’s temple. She was nestled against Susie on the narrow bench seat. Here was one good thing about Susie’s protruding, nine-months-pregnant stomach. It made a perfect pillow for Carrie’s head.

Even as Susie thought it, the baby inside her kicked against the spot where Carrie rested. Her little one was restless. Almost as restless as Susie had grown over the last few days.

Her time was close. She wouldn’t be on this stage otherwise.

It was snowing and had been for most of the morning, which made for a pretty landscape in the hilly Montana countryside. Susie didn’t know the name of the mountains in the distance, but they reminded her of Bear Creek. Of home.

While the scenery outside the stage was snow-covered and beautiful, inside was stuffy enough that Susie had thrown aside the scratchy woolen blanket the driver had given her earlier.

The small space was surprisingly crowded.

Susie had paid a full fare for her daughter, though Carrie wasn’t able to use the entire middle seat thanks to the portly man on her other side. He was sprawled across the bench, unconcerned for anyone else. The three seats opposite were also occupied. A man who must be close to thirty and two older women had joined the stage mid-morning.

One of them—wearing an ostentatious feather in her hat—had asked where Susie’s husband was. When Susie had answered “I have no husband,” the old biddies had shared a judgmental look and ignored her since.

Their narrow-eyed glares had been another reminder of home. Of her sister Cecilia. Nothing Susie had ever done was good enough for Cecilia. Susie was too flirtatious. Her clothes weren’t modest enough. She couldn’t sit still through lessons.

The babe moved inside her, and for one moment, Susie wished that everything that had passed between her and Cecilia—the awful fight and Susie running away—had never happened. What she wouldn’t give for her sister to be sitting next to her right now. “Everything is going to be all right,” Cecilia would whisper. Cecilia would know what to do. She always did.

It was Susie who was stumbling blindly through after making the biggest mistake of her life.

But that was all going to change.

Her husband Roy had died three months before. She was no longer trapped in a loveless marriage.

And she had two little ones to take care of.

Susie had done everything she could to survive in the ramshackle town where her gambler of a husband had stranded them. She’d taken in laundry, washing clothes until her fingers were stained and her back ached so much that no amount of rest would set it right. She had taken in mending. She had answered letters for an older woman who was partially blind but still had many friends to correspond with. It had been hard to contain her envy. When Susie was old and gray, she would have no one.

She looked down at the dark crown of her daughter’s head. She would have Carrie. And she would have this baby.

The constant ache in her lower back twinged, and she shifted in her seat, moving as slowly as she could so she wouldn’t wake the toddler. As she had all day, Susie felt the gaze from the coach’s sixth occupant.

She didn’t look across at him.

She didn’t have to. Earlier, it had taken one glance to see that he was almost as handsome as Roy had been, with fair blond hair that curled at his nape beneath the brim of his hat and sharp blue eyes that seemed to miss nothing.

He hadn’t smiled once during this endless journey. He was pale and quiet, and she imagined she had seen the same judgment in his gaze that she had received from the two older women.

He watched her a lot.

While the Susie of three years ago would’ve preened under his interest, now she only grew uncomfortable.

She’d misjudged Roy in a spectacular fashion. She’d thought the sharp way he had gazed at her meant he’d found her captivating. She’d blossomed under his pointed attention.

But Roy had only wanted her body. He hadn’t been interested in knowing her. Not really. Not even after she’d convinced him to do right and marry her.

Since she’d met him, Susie had made one bad choice after another. She’d compounded her sins when she’d run away from home. And she’d paid dearly.

Now, she was finally free. And she had no desire to attract attention from any man.

Besides, she knew what she looked like. Who would be interested in this?

Before she had birthed Carrie, she’d prided herself on her looks. But simple survival had cost her deeply. Her skin was gray. She no longer had natural roses in her cheeks. Her hair was dull and lifeless, pulled back simply to keep it away from grabby toddler fingers. She had sewn this dress when she had been pregnant with Carrie. It was worn, and the hem was frayed.

Susie felt as frayed as the dress.

If she could just make it to her friend Hannah’s home, everything would be all right. Hannah had sent a letter inviting Susie to come. Susie hadn’t realized how taxing the journey would be.

She’d left everything behind. She had no house, no belongings save what she had packed in a trunk. No job to support herself. Hannah was her only hope for a fresh start.

If she could survive this awful leg of the stage route.

The ruts in the terrible road must’ve grown worse, because the coach seemed to sway and lurch every other second.

Susie glanced out the window, but falling snow obscured everything. How much farther was the town of Keller? Surely they were almost there.

At that moment, the stage jerked and shuddered. Susie reached out, trying to find anything that she could use to steady herself. But the stage careened before she could get a grip on anything.

Carrie came awake with a cry, and Susie clasped her close, trying to shield her small body.

The stagecoach went off kilter and then crashed with a loud sound of splintering wood.

* * *

Gil Hart had been watching the pregnant woman all day.

Every time he sensed himself on the verge of a coughing fit, he examined another aspect of her and breathed as slowly as he could.

Her hands were chapped and work-roughened. But they were also tender when she smoothed back a strand of hair from her little girl’s forehead.

Her eyes were dark brown. They’d flashed fire when she glared at him—the only time she’d looked at him all day. But the lashes framing her eyes were long and elegant and made her appear mysterious somehow.

Her shoes were faded, the leather scuffed. Either her feet constantly hurt, or her back did, because she moved her feet often, shifting them this way or that.

Her dress was worn and patched.

Her mouth only smiled at her daughter.

Her chin was surprisingly expressive.

On and on it had gone.

He couldn’t help it.

It was better to stave off his cough. Because one cough turned into two which turned into a coughing fit that would keep going until it stole his breath.

And he would prefer to keep breathing, for as long as he could manage.

Which wouldn’t be much longer, according to his doctor.

Since his diagnosis, he’d stopped worrying so much about what others thought of him. His time on earth was short. What did it matter if he shouldn’t stare because it was rude?

He’d been born curious. And watching this pregnant woman made him more so.

In his line of work, he saw mostly men, though sometimes he encountered a lady of the night.

It was easier to focus on the cards.

He liked cards. He liked counting them. Fifty-two cards in a deck. Four suits.

Cards didn’t lie.

And they didn’t have unreasonable expectations.

He let that thought flit away.

Why was a woman so obviously pregnant alone on this stage? Well, not alone if you counted her daughter. How old was the tot? Two? Three?

He didn’t know anything about kids.

The woman was pretty enough to draw attention, with dark hair that curled in wisps around her face.

When the little girl moved, shifting in her sleep, her mother helped her settle with a brush of her fingers across the girl’s arm.

How did she do that? She seemed to anticipate the child’s needs.

They’d stopped for lunch at a cafe in a town whose name he didn’t remember. He’d watched the young mother pass bite-sized pieces of food to her daughter and help her drink from a mug.

The woman herself had barely eaten. Instead, she’d wrapped most of the overpriced lunch in a handkerchief and tucked it in her carpetbag. Why had she done that? Another question to distract him.

She’d kept the little girl busy with a game of eye spy and spent hours pointing out interesting things from the stage window. A hawk. A squirrel. A funny-shaped tree.

And then she’d coaxed the little one to sleep, humming under her breath until the child’s eyes had fluttered closed.

He’d felt twitchy watching the intimate moment. Where else was he supposed to look? The overweight man in the bowler hat sitting across from him had tipped his head back and was snoring.

The two biddies next to Gil had pulled out some kind of knitting project and were whispering to each other.

He was bored.

What he really wanted was a deck of cards.

When the dark-haired beauty glared at him again, he thought better of watching her any more.

He thought back to the last game he’d played two nights before. He replayed the first draw in his mind’s eye. He’d had a pair of sixes—

Suddenly, the stagecoach made a horrendous cracking sound and tilted precariously. Gravity pushed Gil further into his seat as Bowler Hat Man woke with a grunt. He caught on immediately and reached for the leather handle above his window.

The woman across from Gil was slower to react. She reached for the handle over her head but missed it in the lurching of the stage. She was nearly thrown to the floor. She would’ve been, if Gil hadn’t reached out and braced her with a hand to her knee.

In the chaos of raised voices, she swatted his hand away.

Had she even realized he’d helped her?

The stage came to a stop.

The little girl had woken with a startled cry, and the woman held the tot close and pressed her cheek against the girl’s. She was clinging to the seat to keep from sliding to the floor.

The child sobbed in her mother’s arms.

The two older women were shrieking and wailing by the time the driver wrenched the door open.

He helped Bowler Hat Man out. Gil was quick to jump out after and turned back to help the two older women, who were scrambling after him.

He only got a brief glimpse of the shattered stage wheel and the visible crack in the axle as he passed the women off to the driver.

He reached back into the stagecoach. “Let me help you.”

But the woman shook her head. She braced with one hand and clung to her daughter with the other as she slid across the bench seat.

With almost everyone safely out, the driver had moved to settle the horses in their traces. The four animals had been spooked by the crash and were prancing in place. Every movement caused the stagecoach to jostle, and Gil worried that the horses would take off and the woman would be thrown around inside the stagecoach—or even thrown out of it.

“Take my hand,” he told her.

She shot him a look of seething anger and refused his outstretched hand.

“I’ll manage on my own.” Her voice was sweet but determined, and he wanted to shake her.

He glanced to the side, where the driver was working to unharness the horses. The man was fumbling with one of the leather straps.

The horses pulled, and the stagecoach jerked another inch.

The woman was yanked off-balance and worked to set her feet again. She was within reach now, and he didn’t give her a choice. He captured her elbow, tugging her toward him at the same moment the stagecoach shuddered and moved.

She cried out and twisted, but it worked in his favor because she was swept into his arms. He whisked her and her daughter out of the stagecoach and away from danger.

The driver jumped back as the horses broke away from the last leather strap. They cantered several dozen yards before they stopped, one shaking its head, mane flying, while the others stomped in agitation.

Gil still held onto the woman, though she was struggling and clearly wanted down.

He set her feet on the ground. At that moment, the little girl reached out from where she was safely nestled in her mother’s arms and patted his cheek.

He froze. The woman froze too.

He stood entirely too close. Her eyes were wide, and in them he read a mix of latent fear and uncertainty.

She jerked away, quickly walking until several yards separated them.

“You’re welcome,” he said.

Her chin came up, her lips pinched in a stubborn line. There was no thank you.