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  Text copyright ©2017 by the Author.

  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Debra Holland. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Montana Sky remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Debra Holland, or their affiliates or licensors.

  For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds

  Heartsong

  Lynn Winchester

  For those seeking a heartsong of their own.

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Foreword

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  I am supremely thankful for Jaycee, my amazing cover designer, for Scott, my editor, for Debra, who is allowing me to write in her world, and for my husband, Jeremy, whose heart beats a song as steady as my own.

  Foreword

  Welcome to the Montana Sky Kindle World, where authors write books set in my 1880s “world” of Sweetwater Springs and Morgan’s Crossing, Montana. While the backdrop and foundational characters of the world are mine, each individual author creates their own story, and sometimes writes an entire series set in my Kindle World. This sweet western romance, Heartsong, was written by Lynn Winchester, and is based on characters from her bestselling Dry Bayou Brides series. Lynn and I were introduced through our mutual friend, International Bestselling author, Kathryn Le Veque. I was pleased to invite Lynn to be a part of the Montana Sky Kindle World launch. I hope you enjoy reading about the characters Lynn brings to the incredible world of Montana Sky.

  - Debra Holland

  Prologue

  The Hanlon Farmstead

  Dry Bayou, Texas

  1883

  Henrietta Hanlon sat quietly in the corner of the family sitting room, watching her sister, Bernadette, open a gift from the pile of gifts heaped in front of her. Laughter, ripping paper, forks scraping against plates…all sounds that should have made her happy. It was her twelfth birthday, too, after all. But, just as with every other day of the year, Bernadette stole the attention. Not that Henrietta—who much preferred, Rhetta—cared much about attention. She hadn’t even wanted a birthday party. She would have much preferred a special dinner with the family, where all her favorite dishes were served and, afterward, they would have a slice or two of her ma’s extra-sweet, lemon cake. But Bernie had insisted on a birthday party where she could invite all her friends from town. There was little Hannah Ducharme with her red hair and wide brown eyes. She always seemed so awestruck by Bernie, which only made Rhetta giggle. There was bold and talkative Bethany Watkins, who always knew more about everything than anyone else. Her dark hair, fair skin, and large green eyes turned a few heads, but her pa, big, old Mr. Watkins, the blacksmith, tended to keep the lads in line. Then, there were Layla and Lola Pickens, two girls who’d moved from Maine to Texas to get out of the cold. They loved their blonde ringlets, talked on end about how the boys loved their blue eyes, and wore only the best dresses, especially ordered from Mrs. Bartlett, the town dressmaker. They were nice enough, but they always wanted to spend time with Bernie without Rhetta around. Again, Rhetta didn’t mind. Most of the time, just like now, she wanted the quiet time alone. She had her books, her dolls, her thoughts—Ma didn’t like that Rhetta spent so much time alone; called it “sad” and “wrong”. Rhetta couldn’t see what was wrong with it. She like reading, she liked imagining her dolls living a life of adventure somewhere where the sky met the mountains and birds all sang different songs…

  Most of the time, she and Bernie—Rhetta’s name for Bernadette—got along just fine. They were the best of friends, as sisters were supposed to be. They shared secrets, they stayed up all hours talking about what the future would be like. They giggled behind their fans about the boys in school and church. They kept a united front against their older, snooty cousins from Montana, who’d come to live with them nine years ago. They hadn’t wanted to attend the party because they were already “engaged for the afternoon” with two boys who’d come down from San Antonio to visit them.

  And while she and Bernie looked alike in hair, height, and build, they differed in many ways. For one, Bernie was outspoken, bright, colorful, like a butterfly flitting from one flower to another, dazzling the eye of passersby. Rhetta was quiet, preferred the company of the rabbits in the hutch, and didn’t mind letting Bernie have all the focus. Except for today. Today, Rhetta felt a twinge of something bitter and sharp. Why did Bernie have to have all the attention? Why did Ma and Pa give her the prettier dresses and the better seat in the wagon? Rhetta was just as much their daughter as Bernie was, and Rhetta actually cared about the family farm, whereas Bernie was always talking about when she left and got married and got herself a big, fancy house in a big, roaring town.

  “Henrietta,” Bernie called, waving her over. “Come see what Lola got for us.” Rhetta knew that whatever Lola had given hadn’t been meant for Rhetta as well, but Bernie didn’t mind sharing whatever she had. Rhetta set aside the book she’d been holding but not reading and rose from her chair beside the piano. The room wasn’t all that big—and it seemed much smaller with so many girls in it—so she reached her sister’s side in four strides. Bernie shooed Hannah off the couch cushion beside her and pulled Rhetta down to sit in the now empty seat. Sighing, Rhetta leaned over the box on her sister’s lap and looked inside. Two beautiful amethyst-encrusted combs. One for each side of Bernie’s head.

  “They are pretty,” she remarked, not sure what else to say. She glanced at Lola who was holding out her chin proudly, but there was a grimace on her face that said she didn’t want Rhetta using the gift she’d given to Bernie. They were for Bernie alone. Bernie squealed excitedly, pulling the combs out and holding them against her temples. Lola and her sister, Layla, both grinned happily at Bernie.

  That twinge returned, this time bringing with it an ache.

  Why couldn’t people look at her with such…affection? She knew her family loved her, she had two loving parents, a wonderful twin sister, and a protective if a little annoying older brother, Timothy, but none of them went out of their way to be with her, to show her she was special. Sure, she had friends; Hannah and Bethany split their time between Rhetta and Bernie regularly, but Rhetta had no one of her own.

  Feeling silly and selfish, Rhetta sat quietly and watched as Bernie opened another three gifts, all of which were baubles or fripperies of some kind, certainly not anything Rhetta would use. While Bernie appreciated the pretty ribbons, combs, purses, stockings, and such, Rhetta appreciated books, coloring pencils, drawing paper, and the like. They were twins, but they were like any other set of siblings: different. Bernie liked pulling and primping her hair into impossible configurations, and Rhetta appreciated a simple ponytail. Bernie liked vibrant blues and reds—scandalous colors for a girl. And Rhetta like brown and gray, colors she could wear without drawing unnecessary attention to herself. She almost laughed at that thought. Here she was, complaining about Bernie getting all the attention at the party, and all she really wanted to do was fade into the wall. It’s what Lola and Layla wanted her to do, anyway.

&nb
sp; Another hour passed, the other girls giggled, Bernie glowed and bubbled, the cinnamon cake Ma made instead of the lemon cake had been mostly eaten, and the punch had all been drunk. As far as Rhetta was concerned, the party was over. She was ready to escape the house, kick off her half-boots, run through the grass behind their house, and take a walk through the creek just over the rise.

  “Henrietta, dear, come here, please,” her ma called to her from the doorway leading into the kitchen. Grateful for any excuse to leave the dull—to her—party, she jumped from the couch and rushed to her mother.

  “Yes, Ma,” she said, hoping her ma had some errand for her to run in town. At least then she’d be out of the house, away from the giggling and awkward silences when Bernie tried to include her in conversation.

  Her ma sat down at the table in the middle of the room and indicated Rhetta should take the other chair. She did, tucking her hands into her skirts, suddenly nervous.

  “Why aren’t you enjoying your party? It’s your birthday, too, dear.”

  Annoyed that her ma still didn’t understand that the party wasn’t where she belonged, Rhetta sighed heavily and let her shoulders droop. “I don’t like parties, Ma. I didn’t want the party. I didn’t want all these people in the house. I didn’t want the presents or the fake friends or the cinnamon cake. I wanted to be left alone. I wanted to spend the day celebrating my own way, but no one ever cares about me or what I want. It’s always Bernadette, whatever Bernadette wants…” To her horror, tears began flowing down her heated cheeks. Choking on a sob, Rhetta covered her face with her hands, trying to hide the sight from her ma.

  Her face hidden, she couldn’t see her ma, but she could feel when her ma leaned forward and wrapped an arm around Rhetta’s shoulders. Overwhelmed by the warmth and concern in that gesture, Rhetta let the tears continue to fall, sobbing uncontrollably, into her ma’s bodice. After a while, when the tears had left a headache in their wake, she lifted her face and witnessed the love and affection in her ma’s expression.

  “Henrietta, dear, I’m sorry you didn’t enjoy your party. I know you like it quiet and you like spending time on your own, but you’re a young girl. You should be with girls your age. I thought that by having this party, you might realize you are more like your sister than you thought.”

  Her? Like Bernie? Never. “You’ll never understand, will you?” She didn’t expect her ma to answer, Rhetta already knew the answer. No one would ever understand that Rhetta wasn’t a bright, fluttering butterfly like Bernie. She was a gray field mouse, scurrying away to hide. Without another word, Rhetta stood, left the house through the back door, and raced to the creek where the quiet greeted her.

  Chapter 1

  Wheeler Hills Ranch

  Morgan’s Crossing, Montana

  1891

  “Rhetta, why don’t you come inside and rest? I have your room all ready for you, dear,” Aunt Melda called from the front porch of the large estate house settled at the back of a two-hundred acre spread. The woman gazed at Rhetta with a welcoming warmth in her eyes. But Rhetta didn’t feel much like being cooped up inside, not after the long ride to Morgan’s Crossing, and then the long ride out to Wheeler Hills, two hours outside of the closest town. Her legs were screaming for action, and she didn’t mind the idea of taking a walk around the property. She hadn’t been there since her brother, Timothy’s, wedding three years prior.

  “You go ahead, Aunt Melda. I think I’ll take a walk. Stretch my legs a bit before I settle in,” she called back. Her brother had already taken her bags inside, but she still held her messenger bag. It held a book, her pencils, a packet of papers, and a stash of peppermint candies she’d been hiding from Bernie the whole way there. Bernie was notorious for sneaking Rhetta’s candies.

  “If you’re sure,” Aunt Melda said, her eyes filling with concern. “You make sure you’re back before it gets too dark. Supper is just after sunset. Don’t be late. We’re having Bernadette’s favorite: roast and sweet potatoes. And Phyllis and Brigette have requested Cook bake a carrot cake.”

  Of course, they were having Bernie’s favorite; she sighed inwardly. To be honest, she liked roast as much as anyone, but having it every time Bernie requested it meant she had roast a lot. She was up to her ears in cuts of beef. What she wouldn’t give for a chicken leg and some creamed corn!

  Before she could tear off into the wild as she wanted, her brother emerged from the house and, trailing behind him, was his very pregnant wife, JoJo, and their two red-headed children; the twins, Joe, the boy, and Joey, the girl. Filled with a joy she hadn’t felt in years, Rhetta ran to them. Taking a moment to kiss the top of JoJo’s head, she then knelt in the dirt to take the twins into her arms, one on each side. They were warm, smelled of sweets and talcum powder, and were like life abundant in her embrace.

  “Oh, my darlings! My, how you’ve grown. Your pictures must be fifteen years old for you to look so grown,” she effused, burying her face between them as their cheeks pressed against hers. They giggled.

  “Auntie Rhetta, do you have any treats for us?” the little scamps blurted in unison. She laughed.

  JoJo clicked her tongue. “Now, see here, you two. You haven’t met your aunt before. You shouldn’t ask for treats.” When their dear little faces scrunched up into pouts, Rhetta had to squelch the urge to laugh again. “Don’t you go getting upset. Go on into the house and meet your cousins, Phyllis and Brigette.” Rhetta already knew those two wouldn’t have any treats, but she couldn’t feel sorry for her niece and nephew. From the looks of the smudges on their faces, they’d already have enough treats for the day. Though, tomorrow, she’d have to find something to give them, so that she was the most favorite of their aunts.

  Letting go of the children, Rhetta stood, then watched them bound into the house, their energy astounding. And the sight of the brother and sister holding hands reminded Rhetta of how close she and Bernie used to be. She could remember a time when she and Bernie were inseparable. They’d sleep in the same bed, talk into the dark of the night, share secrets and gossip, and they would fight to always stay together. But the years had forced an invisible wedge between them. Bernie had settled her interests on dresses and attracting the right mate, and Rhetta much preferred quiet and attracting the right book. It wasn’t that Rhetta didn’t like dresses or men, she just didn’t see the draw. And now, Bernie was in the great big house, after their long, painfully awkward journey from Texas, sitting and chatting with the cousins that had invaded their lives so long ago. At first, Bernie couldn’t stand the two pretentious, self-absorbed girls. But now, she was more like them than she was her own twin sister.

  Coming to stand beside her, Timothy looked down at the bag Rhetta had left at her feet. He narrowed his eyes at her. “Rhetta, you running off already? Don’t you want to come in and rest a bit?” Timothy asked, coming to throw a strong arm around her shoulders in a show of brotherly love and annoyance.

  Shaking her head, she pinched Timothy’s arm playfully and stepped out from under it. “You know I need the wide open space to think. And after being in the carriage for a million miles, I need more wide open space than I need rest.”

  Timothy arched an auburn eyebrow at her, his blue eyes flickering with concern. “All right, then. Go on, but don’t go through the pasture with the fence around it. We’re breeding the steer, and I don’t want you getting gored.”

  His warning firmly engraved in her mind, she gave JoJo a quick hug, promising to sit with her later.

  The estate house was set at the back of the property. It abutted a hillside draped in long grasses, a tiered vegetable garden, and ancient trees covered in lichen. Climbing around outcroppings of jagged rocks, she reached the crest of the hill to find it descended on the other side, meeting up with a line of trees so thick, she couldn’t see more than a few feet into the dense grove.

  What’s in there? Critters, for sure, but what else would she find? If anything, she’d find a place to sit, think, draw, absorb the peace
the world provided when the noise of people faded away.

  It was calling to her, and she wasn’t one to ignore the call of a good mystery. Securing her bag over her shoulder with one hand, she carefully descended the hillside, letting the increasing speed rush her along. She let out an excited whoop and ran, her hair coming loose from its braid and flying out behind her. She raised her free hand to the sky, reaching for the golden rays of the sun as they cascaded down to kiss her face. Rhetta could feel her lips widen into a large grin, a guileless smile, a true smile, a smile she hadn’t felt comfortable enough to use around her own family. With the line of trees coming closer, she slowed her pace, but she continued to smile, her heart alight. Right before the trees began, she stopped to catch her breath, her chest heaving with her excitement and her mad dash. Rhetta pressed a trembling hand against her warm cheeks, and giggled at how ridiculous it had all been. In that carriage, she’d been stiff, weary, waiting for the next overt comment or mean dig, whether about her having her nose in a book—to help keep her mind off being trapped with her cousins and sister—or about her lack of proper clothing. To them, a practical, gray, wool skirt and white cotton blouse weren’t proper. They expected her to be appreciative of their sense of fashion and their concern for her lack of taste. She was anything but. She didn’t care whether she wore the latest fashions from France, she only cared that her skirt covered her boots, her blouse covered her privacy, and all of it was clean.