Harvest Moon Read online

  Table of Contents

  Praise for Harvest Moon and Rebecca Hagan Lee

  Books by Rebecca Hagan Lee

  Copyright Info Harvest Moon

  Harvest Moon

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Books by Rebecca Hagan Lee

  Something Borrowed

  Steal a sneak peek at Rebecca Hagan Lee’s A Wanted Man

  Praise for Harvest Moon and Rebecca Hagan Lee

  “A stunning gem of an Americana romance. Ms. Lee is a writer on the rise!”—Romantic Times

  “The characters are vibrant and so alive I feel they could walk right off the page…a wonderful, heartwarming tale.”—Heartland Critiques

  “Historical romance fans are fortunate to have a treasure like Rebecca Hagan Lee.”—Affaire de Coeur

  “Tender, entralling romance straight from the heart!” Eloisa James, New York Times bestselling author

  “Every book by Rebecca Hagan Lee is a tender treasure!”—Teresa Medeiros, New York Times bestselling author

  “Be prepared to lose your heart!”—Old Book Barn Gazette

  Books by Rebecca Hagan Lee

  Golden Chances

  Harvest Moon

  Something Borrowed

  A Wanted Man

  Taking Chances

  Gossamer

  Whisper Always

  A Hint of Heather

  Once a Mistress

  Ever a Princess

  Always a Lady

  Barely a Bride

  Merely the Groom

  Hardly a Husband

  Truly a Wife

  Twice Blessed (Homespun Mother’s Day anthology)

  Clearly a Couple (Talk of the Ton anthology)

  Coventry’s Chrismas (A Regency Holiday anthology)

  Copyright Info Harvest Moon

  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 and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

  Copyright 1993 by Rebecca Hagan Lee. All Rights Reserved.

  First e-publication 2013

  Cover design by Control Freak Productions

  Cover Photo Copyright The Killion Group

  Published by Amber House Books, LLC

  http://www.amberhousebooks.com

  For more information, contact [email protected]

  Harvest Moon

  by

  Rebecca Hagan Lee

  Amber House Books

  Dedication

  For all the readers who inspire me to write when the going gets tough. For the editors and agents who've taught me so much.

  For my friend and mentor, Teresa Medeiros, who gave this story a new chance to reach more readers with thanks for believing in me.

  For Steve.

  And for all the blessings God has given me.

  Acknowledgements

  Once again I’m indebted to Ann Nelson and the staff of the Wyoming State Archives, Museums and Historical Department in Cheyenne, Wyoming, and the staff of the Ohoopee Regional Library in Vidalia, Georgia. Thank you.

  Prologue

  Chicago & Northern Railroad

  Late September 1872

  “Tessa, do you think anyone saw us get on?” the small tow-headed boy asked as he scooted closer to the young woman’s side.

  Tessa Roarke peered out her dirty train window into the darkness before turning back to look at nine-year-old Coalie. “I don’t think so, but we’ll have to be very careful.” She patted her lap, motioning for Coalie to stretch out on the hard bench and place his head there. “I think we’re safe.” She wasn’t at all sure, but she kept her doubts to herself.

  Coalie made himself as comfortable as possible, stretching out full length on the bench, using Tessa’s lap as a pillow. His boots scraped against the hard wood, adding to the noise surrounding them—the loud clacking of the train as it swayed along the tracks, the belching sound of the smoke from the stack, the periodic whistles, and the snores of the male passengers. Tessa looked down at Coalie’s blond hair.

  His breathing deepened. She thought he must have fallen asleep, then the sound of his whisper startled her. “Maybe we should go to one of those lawyers.” Coalie opened his big green eyes and looked up at her.

  “Oh, no,” Tessa protested immediately. “No lawyers. I can’t abide lawyers. They’ve no loyalty. They make promises they can’t keep and charge people for it. No, Coalie. It’s important that we stay away from the likes of them. This has to be our secret. We can’t tell anyone.”

  “I won’t tell, Tessa.” Coalie sat up and hugged her. “I promise. And I won’t go to any lawyers neither.”

  Tessa kissed his forehead and smoothed back the hair falling across his brow. “I know you won’t.”

  Coalie settled back down, lying across Tessa’s lap once again. Tessa sighed, closed her eyes, and tried to rest. Her past was behind her. Her future, and Coalie’s, was in the far-off territory of Wyoming. Surely they’d be safe in Wyoming. After living in Chicago and surviving the great fire, how much danger could there be in a town called Peaceable?

  * * *

  At the back of the railroad car a big blond man watched the woman lean over the child. He’d followed them from her apartment and through the dark and dangerous streets of Chicago to the train station. He hadn’t expected her to be traveling with a young boy. He hadn’t expected her to leave Chicago at all. Tessa Roarke was heading for Peaceable, Wyoming, and there was no way for him to stop her.

  * * *

  Miles down the track, in the tiny town of Peaceable, attorney David Alexander slept soundly, a battered-looking orange tomcat curled up beside him, both of them blissfully unaware that their lives were about to be turned upside down.

  Chapter One

  Peaceable, Wyoming Territory’

  November 1872

  “Help!”

  David Alexander sat bolt upright in bed, instantly awake. He thought he’d heard cries for help in his sleep.

  But when he sat silently for a moment, he heard nothing more.

  “Was that one of your friends, Greeley?” he asked the battle-scarred cat curled up next to him. “I could’ve sworn I heard someone.” The orange tabby arched his back, yawned, then settled back down in the warmth of the bed.

  Though the cat seemed undisturbed David listened intently. It must have been a dream. He didn’t hear anything except the tinny sound of an out-of-tune piano from the saloon four doors away. Horace Greeley yawned again. David felt like doing the same. He slipped down under the sheets, pulled the quilts up over his ears, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

  The pounding on t
he back door roused him the second time. “What does a man have to do to get a good night’s sleep around here?” he muttered, flipping back the covers. David grabbed his pants and stumbled out of bed. He hopped from one foot to the other as he pulled on his trousers, then stepped into his boots. He stamped his feet, forcing the cold leather over his woolen socks. Pausing a moment, David took time to scratch the soft fur on Greeley’s head. “Another fight, no doubt,” David muttered to the cat. “In one of the saloons.”

  The pounding persisted, louder this time. “All right, all right, I’m coming,” David yelled.

  Raking his fingers through his hair, he stuck his arms into a shirt before he yanked the front door open.

  A skinny boy of perhaps eight or nine stood bundled up against the cold in an assortment of dirty rags. “You gotta come quick, Mr. Alexander!”

  “Why? Who are you?” David asked, surprised to see a child at this time of night. Usually his midnight visitors were disreputable characters.

  “I’m Coalie.” The boy stepped forward and tugged on the tail of David’s shirt, gesturing toward the commotion down the street. A group of townspeople, bundled up in quilts and heavy winter coats, stood outside the largest saloon in town.

  “You gotta come. They’re takin’ her away.” Coalie tugged again, harder.

  “Who?”

  ‘Tessa.”

  David took a step back. He didn’t know anyone named Tessa.

  Coalie shook his head, gripping David’s shirt with surprising force. “Hurry!”

  “Just let me get my coat.” David reached back through the open door and grabbed his sheepskin jacket from the peg. “Who’s…” He turned. Coalie was running down the street toward the saloon. “Who’s Tessa?” David shrugged into his jacket. He slammed the door of the office behind him. There was only one way to find out. He sprinted after the little boy.

  “What’s going on?” David asked, pushing his way toward the front of the crowd a few minutes later. He could see Coalie edging closer and closer to the entrance of the Satin Slipper.

  “There’s been a murder,” someone answered. “A stabbing or some such. In one of the girls’ rooms. Caught her red-handed.”

  “Look!” someone else called. “They’re bringing her out!”

  The doors of the Satin Slipper Saloon swung wide. Several men stepped outside onto the sidewalk. In the center of the group stood Deputy Harris, a young woman held close to his side. Dressed in the gaudy costume of a Satin Slipper girl, she stood out: the only woman in a group of men, her bright blue dress eerie in the distorted light of pre-dawn morning.

  A knot of anger tightened David’s stomach as he watched the faces of the men and women in the crowd. The townspeople milled about, circling the front entrance of the saloon, surrounding the woman like vultures over a carcass. David frowned, lines of concern etching his face. The lawmen had brought her out of the warmth of the saloon into the bitter cold without so much as a blanket around her. The flimsy sleeveless dress she wore was no protection against the frigid Wyoming weather. It left her neck and arms uncovered, exposed to the leers of the men, the wide-eyed stares of curiosity seekers, the cold. David gritted his teeth. The deputy must have arrested her and dragged her from her room before she even had time to find her shoes. Her stocking feet were bare against the frozen wooden planks. David’s disgust mounted. She faced exposure and the danger of frostbite in addition to the gossip and speculation of the townspeople while Peaceable’s deputies, in thick coats and sheepskin jackets, huddled together on the sidewalk, talking.

  Although she was possibly a criminal, David admired her quiet dignity. She didn’t shiver or cry or beg for mercy. She simply waited, the center of attention but apart from it. Facing the curious onlookers, she searched the crowd.

  Coalie slipped from his hiding place behind a post and rushed toward her. “Tessa!” He moved past her guards and flung his arms around her waist, pressing his head against her skirts. Lifting her bound wrists, Tessa looped them over Coalie’s head, hugging him close. She pressed a kiss on the top of his blond head.

  “Tessa,” Coalie panted, “I brung help.” He let go of her long enough to point to David Alexander.

  Tessa looked up and found David, meeting his gaze.

  Her eyes were blue, David realized, as blue as the dress she wore. She was gazing at him with an intensity that surprised him. Yet her face revealed nothing except a glimmer of her intense relief at finding Coalie.

  As David watched her, witnessing the joy and satisfaction on her face as she held the boy in her arms, he doubted Tessa was capable of committing a crime. She didn’t look like a criminal.

  And she certainly didn’t look like a murderess.

  In that moment he decided to take the case.

  Deputy Harris obviously didn’t like his prisoner holding on to the boy. He raised her arms while one of the other deputies motioned for Coalie to move. Looking up at Tessa, Coalie hesitated for a moment, then stepped away from her. Tears sparkled in his big green eyes. He brushed at them with the back of one hand before he darted into the street. Head down, apparently embarrassed by his display of emotion, Coalie tripped over his feet and fell on his stomach in the street.

  “Coalie!” Tessa tugged against the deputy’s greater weight, trying to break free.

  David jerked in reaction. Without stopping to think, he elbowed his way through the people blocking his path. He reached Coalie’s side only moments after another man pulled the boy to his feet.

  David looked at the other man, surprise mirrored on his face as he recognized a friend he hadn’t seen in years. The morning’s events had taken another dreamlike turn. “Kincaid?”

  “Shhh.” With an almost imperceptible nod of his head, the man met David’s gaze. David understood the warning. It was universal. Any man who’d ever been a spy knew that look meant back off. Reaching out, David took Coalie’s hand and pulled the boy to his side.

  Kincaid faded into the crush of people.

  David bent down and brushed the dirt and slush from Coalie’s clothes. “Are you okay?”

  “You gotta help Tessa.” Coalie leaned toward the saloon girl, pulling against David’s hand as he called her name. “Tessa!”

  She turned, managing a half-smile, apparently for Coalie’s benefit. “I’m all right. Everything will be fine.”

  “Wait!” David shouted to the deputy. “You can’t take her to jail.”

  Deputy Harris stopped. “Course I can.”

  Peaceable’s newest attorney sprinted across the street. “What’s the charge?” David demanded. He’d heard the accusation from someone in the crowd, but he wanted legal confirmation.

  “Murder. She killed a man.”

  “This woman?” David asked. It seemed so unlikely.

  “Yeah.” The deputy shuddered. “She slit his throat while he lay in her bed.”

  “Who is she supposed to have killed?”

  “One of Myra’s regulars. A man by the name of Arnie Mason.”

  David looked Deputy Harris straight in the eye. “I’m coming with you.” He shrugged out of his coat and draped it around the shivering woman’s shoulders.

  She glanced up at him, surprised.

  David couldn’t explain the impulse that had made him leap to the woman’s rescue. But then, he couldn’t explain anything that had happened so far. The whole thing felt unreal. David smiled. Perhaps he was still in his bed. Maybe he’d wake up in the morning and find this was all a dream.

  “Suit yourself,” Harris told him. “She can use a good lawyer. But leave the boy out here. Kids ain’t allowed in the jail.”

  David looked down intending to tell the boy where to wait. But Coalie was gone.

  David looked back up. The woman’s gaze was on the small figure running down the street, but David knew she’d been staring at him. He’d felt the impact of her sky-blue eyes.

  * * *

  Several minutes later, David faced her across the width of a jail cell.


  “Did you kill him?” He leaned back against the door to the cell. He felt the cold metal bars on either side of his spine through the layers of clothing—the finely woven fabric of his linen dress shirt and his cotton undershirt. Controlling the urge to shiver, he waited for a response, shifting his wide shoulders into a more comfortable position.

  The silence lengthened. David tried again. This time his voice was softer. “I asked you a question. Did you kill Arnie Mason?”

  She gazed up at him, her large blue eyes wary. “No. I didn’t kill anyone. I wouldn’t do anything to risk—” She stopped abruptly. “No.”

  David studied his client. She sat on the bare mattress of the cot, away from the bars, next to the wall. His coat, draped across her shoulders, gaped open, exposing her dress and a fair amount of flesh. She made no move to close it. She held herself in a rigid pose, her bloodstained hands clenched into fists, her knuckles whitened under the strain. She was shaking, but whether from anger, fear, or cold, David didn’t know. He reached for the dirty saddle blanket folded on the foot of the cot and shook it out, nearly gagging in reaction. The blanket was rank. David let it fall to the floor, then kicked it through the narrow space between the bars. David had seen many criminals jailed during his career, but seeing Tessa locked in a cell with a bucket, a bare mattress, and a filthy blanket bothered him. She didn’t belong in these surroundings.

  “Can we get another blanket?” David shouted to the deputy.

  “One blanket’s the rule, Mr. Alexander,” the deputy shouted back. “There’s one on the bed.”