Twice Blessed Read online

  Praise for

  Sharon Gillenwater

  “There’s something infectious about Ms. Gillenwater’s slice-of-life writing style. Her enthusiasm for life, love and the Lord draws readers in and causes their hearts and imaginations to soar.”

  —Romantic Times on Highland Call

  “Gillenwater’s latest is highly agreeable, with intriguing…characters, a light Christian message, and heavy doses of adventure and intrigue. It should prove popular.”

  —Library Journal on Highland Call

  “Sharon Gillenwater sweeps her readers up in a powerful mix of characters and settings and never fails to deliver a heart-touching tale of love and faith.”

  —Annie Jones, bestselling author of The Snowbirds

  “Sharon Gillenwater’s novels contain an irresistible blend of adventure, inspiration, and romance that never fail to touch the heart. Her lively dialogue, passionate characters and engaging storyline will make you want to devour this book in a single sitting. Jump right in and enjoy!”

  —Diane Noble, bestselling author of Phoebe

  Sharon Gillenwater

  Twice Blessed

  To my Lord Jesus Christ who forgives,

  forgets and gives new beginnings.

  To Justin and Erin—

  may God bless your marriage and deepen your love

  and friendship more with each passing year.

  And in loving memory of Uncle Bruce,

  whose teasing and bluster didn’t hide

  a heart of gold. You are missed.

  And He died for all, that those who live should no longer live for themselves but for Him who died for them and was raised again…. Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!

  —2 Corinthians 5:15–17

  Contents

  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

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter One

  West Texas, 1884

  Camille Angelique Dupree stood on the boardwalk in San Angelo, watching the drunken stagecoach driver attempt to load the luggage. She winced as he dropped a valise for the third time, prompting an angry exclamation from the owner, Mrs. Watson. Unlike the other passengers and the ticket agent, Camille remained outwardly calm, projecting an image of serenity that came partly by nature and mostly by training.

  Her dear departed mother’s oft-repeated admonition echoed through her mind. Always remember that you are descended from two of the oldest and finest families in Louisiana. You are a lady, and a lady does not display her temper, particularly in front of her inferiors.

  Not that Camille considered the stage driver or anyone else as inferior. Life had taught her the lesson her mother had never quite understood—that being born to wealth and privilege did not make one person better than another. Character mattered far more, especially when one was left with nothing else.

  Sighing in resignation, she stepped down to the dusty street, intending to ask a young clerk standing nearby to have her luggage returned to the hotel where she had stayed the past few days. Though anxious to reach Willow Grove, risking her neck to do so was sheer foolishness. There would be another stage in a day or two, with a different driver, she hoped.

  “Mama, he’ll kill us all!” The shrill voice rose above the argument between the ticket agent and driver.

  “Calm down, Joanna.” Mrs. Watson rapped her teenage daughter’s shoulder with a closed fan. “Going into hysterics will not help.”

  “But what can we do?”

  Camille stopped beside them. “Wait for the next stage.”

  “Then we’ll miss the box supper Saturday night.” The girl turned to her with the anguish of a sixteen-year-old about to miss a major social event. “And Bobby’s been saving up for a month to buy my supper.”

  “What’s worse, Charlie is the only driver,” said her mother.

  A horse and rider came down the street at a quick trot, drawing Camille’s attention. Slowing as he approached them, he stopped a few doors down from the stage office, and dismounted with the grace of a man accustomed to the saddle. He quickly looped the reins around the hitching post, his angry glare settling on the hapless driver. The cream felt Stetson did little to shadow his scowl as he stormed toward the stagecoach, the lapels of his black suit coat flapping in his self-made breeze. Tall, muscular and handsome, he practically had steam spewing out his ears.

  “Charlie, you’re fired!”

  At his bellow, Joanna shrieked. Hiding a smile, Camille put her arm around the girl, drawing her out of the human locomotive’s way. “I do believe one part of our dilemma has been solved.”

  “Oh, thank heavens. It’s Mr. McKinnon. I didn’t know he was here. He’ll take care of everything.” Mrs. Watson flipped open her fan and cooled her face.

  It was unusually warm for the last day of January, but Camille wondered if her reaction was due to the weather or the gentleman towering over the driver. His type set most women’s hearts aflutter. She glanced at the sign on the stagecoach door—McKinnon Stage Lines.

  “Hi, boss.” The stage driver wobbled a little as he tried to focus on his employer. “Just gettin’ ready to leave.”

  “You aren’t going anywhere.” McKinnon settled his hands on his hips. Taking a deep breath, he made an obvious effort to control his temper. “You’re drunk.”

  “Naw.” Charlie shook his head, losing his balance. McKinnon caught his arm, righting him before he fell flat on his backside. “Just had a few drinks for Flo.” Tears welled up in the older man’s eyes and rolled down his cheeks. “Yesterday was her birthday. We always had a big to-do on her birthday.”

  “That was his wife,” whispered Mrs. Watson behind her fan. “She died a year or so ago.”

  McKinnon’s expression softened, and he clasped Charlie’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “Go on over to the wagon yard and sleep it off. You can come home on the next run.”

  “I’m sorry, boss.” The driver sniffed loudly, then wiped his eyes with the edge of his coat sleeve.

  “It’s all right, Charlie.” The man’s voice dropped a little deeper, grew quieter. “Next time, let me know if something special is coming up, and I’ll find someone to fill in for you.”

  Mumbling, the driver shuffled off. McKinnon took off his hat, revealing wavy dark-brown hair, and turned to his passengers. “I apologize for the delay and anxiety, ladies. We’ll be on our way as soon as everything is loaded.”

  “Are you going to drive the stage, Mr. McKinnon?” Joanna’s expression shifted from youthful worship to wariness so quickly that Camille almost laughed.

  McKinnon glanced at her, his brown eyes twinkling, before turning his attention to the girl. “Does that worry you, Miss Joanna?”

  Her face turned red. “No, sir. It’s just…well, you own a general store.”

  “It’s a very big store.” One corner of his lips twitched. “Takes a strong man to haul those crates around.” When he smiled at the girl, Camille thought poor Jo
anna might faint. “Would it reassure you if I said I used to drive for the Ben Ficklin line?”

  Joanna nodded, her eyes widening. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll take care of the bags.” He turned to one of Camille’s trunks.

  She took a step toward him. “Careful, it’s heavy.”

  Hoisting it to his shoulder with a soft umph, his gaze swept over her, a gleam of masculine appreciation lighting his eyes. With her strawberry-blond hair and light-hazel eyes, Camille had evoked a similar response in most men since she was barely more than a girl. Under her mother’s careful tutelage, she had learned either to ignore it or use it to her advantage. At twenty-five, she considered herself immune to such admiration, so the little skip in her heartbeat caught her by surprise.

  “I hope you’re planning a long visit, ma’am.” He lifted the trunk over the side railing onto the top of the coach, stepping up on the wheel hub to shove it into place. “Our social life probably isn’t what you’re used to. You might not have a chance to wear all these pretty dresses.”

  He stepped down and picked up her other trunk, hefting it to the top of the stage beside the first one. He strapped them in place, then hopped down. Picking up a smaller case, he carried it around to the back of the stagecoach.

  “I’m not sure how long I’ll stay, although there is a chance I’ll settle in Willow Grove.”

  “Well, now, that’s welcome news.” He flashed her a grin, efficiently stowing away Mrs. Watson’s luggage in the boot.

  Mrs. Watson had said there was a shortage of eligible women in the new town, which had sprung up a few years back with the arrival of the railroad. Though Camille longed for a loving husband and family, she held no great hope of marriage, at least not to a respectable man.

  Still, his apparent interest pleased her—more than it should have. She let his comment pass. “I’ve heard it’s a nice place.”

  “It is, if you don’t mind some rowdiness thrown in. We have a lot of fine folks living there, but when the cowboys come to town, it can get a bit wild, especially on payday.”

  “Then it shouldn’t be boring.”

  “It seldom is.” Taking a rope from a compartment, he deftly wrapped it around the boxes and cases in the boot. He tied a knot in the rope, testing it by pulling against it.

  Camille glanced back at the Watsons, then moved to his side. “Have you really driven a stage before or were you just trying to calm Joanna?”

  He slanted her a glance. “Nervous?”

  “Should I be?”

  He chuckled softly. “No, ma’am. I may be a little rusty, but it’s not something you forget how to do. I drove the route from here to El Paso for two years.”

  “I’ve heard that was very dangerous due to the Indians.”

  “Yep.” He straightened, rolling one shoulder. “And after driving this team all day, I’ll remember just how dangerous. Took two arrows in the back on my last run. Decided I’d better do something safer for a living.”

  “Like running a store?”

  The twinkle crept back into his eyes. “I became a Texas Ranger.”

  Camille laughed. “I’m not sure I should tell Joanna. She’ll probably swoon.”

  “I’d be surprised if she doesn’t already know. Better keep quiet, just in case,” he said with a slightly lopsided grin. “Can’t afford to lose any more time. By the way, I’m Ty McKinnon.”

  “Camille Dupree.” She held out her hand, wondering why she hadn’t given him the name she normally used. Perhaps for just a moment, she wanted to be Camille again, not Angelique. “I’m pleased to meet you, sir.”

  He took her hand in his large one, bowing slightly. “The pleasure is mine. You do realize you may cause a stampede in Willow Grove, don’t you? Men, not longhorns.”

  “I believe you’re flattering me, Mr. McKinnon.” Camille gently pulled her hand from his.

  “Merely speakin’ the truth, Miss Dupree.” He paused, a tiny frown creasing his brow. “It is miss, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” He glanced up at the driver’s seat. “Would you care to ride in the place of honor?”

  Riding beside the driver was considered the best seat on the coach, a privilege given to the person of his choosing. Men had been known to beg for the opportunity, but if a young, single, and reasonably attractive female were present, they lost out. For a second, Camille almost accepted his invitation. Then caution wagged a finger in her mind’s eye, warning her not to encourage the man too much. She had let down her guard once before, taking the words of a silver-tongued gentleman to heart, and paid a heavy price.

  “Thank you, but I’d better not. I don’t want Mrs. Watson to think I’m unsociable. Given that there are only the three of us making the trip, I’m afraid it would seem impolite if I abandoned them.”

  “True. She’s a nice lady, but she still might get her feathers ruffled.”

  “I want to make friends, not enemies.” At least for the duration of the trip.

  “You’ll do fine, Miss Dupree.” He searched her eyes, and Camille had the impression that he was as surprised by their mutual attraction as she was.

  Turning abruptly, he went back to the horse and retrieved his saddlebags, arranging with the ticket agent to have someone take the animal back to the livery for him. He tucked his gear away in the boot and fastened the leather cover.

  Walking back to the side of the stagecoach, he opened the door and lowered the step. “Mrs. Watson, Miss Joanna, I think we’re ready to leave.”

  “At last.” Mrs. Watson smiled at McKinnon as he helped her up the step. “We will make it home tomorrow, won’t we?”

  Camille had been informed earlier that the stage currently didn’t travel at night, due to road conditions and the lack of a second driver. They would spend the night as guests at one of the ranches along the route.

  “We should. Haven’t had any rain in a few weeks, so there won’t be any swollen creeks or mud to contend with.” He grinned at Joanna. “I’d hate to have to answer to Bobby if I don’t get you home in time for a good night’s rest before the party.” McKinnon took the girl’s hand, assisting her into the coach. “He’s been working extra at the store while you’ve been gone. Doesn’t want to take the chance of being outbid on your box supper.”

  Joanna giggled, her cheeks turning pink. “Nobody else wants to eat with me.”

  “Saturday’s payday. There’ll be more cowboys in town than minnows in the creek. Some of them are bound to be at the social instead of throwing away their money in the saloons. Anybody with a lick of sense will want to eat with you.”

  Joanna’s eyes widened as she settled in the seat. “You really think so?”

  “It’s a guaranteed natural fact.”

  Leaving Joanna to discuss the possibilities with her mama, McKinnon turned to Camille, leaning slightly toward her and speaking quietly. “It will be a different story if you’re there,” he said with a tiny smile. “I might have to take out a bank loan.”

  Laughing softly, Camille shook her head. “You exaggerate, sir.”

  “A little.” His expression sobered as he captured her gaze. “But I’ll be competing with wealthy ranchers, Miss Dupree, not thirty-dollar-a-month cowboys.”

  She had the distinct impression he was talking about more than the upcoming supper. Mercy, how he set her heart to pounding! She smiled and tried to keep her voice light. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to attend, Mr. McKinnon. I can’t possibly move into a house by then, so I wouldn’t be able to cook.” Even if she knew how to.

  “Then buy something at the restaurant and stick it in a box.” His sudden grin held a great deal of mischief. “Because I intend to have supper with you Saturday night, Miss Dupree, and I expect to raise a pot full of money for the school in the process.”

  Torn between enjoying his attention and being annoyed at his arrogance, she said crisply, “I have other plans for that evening, Mr. McKinnon.” She turned towar
d the stage door, then stopped, looking up at him. “Are you always this bold, sir?”

  Shrugging, a hint of red crept across his tanned face. “Never.”

  He cupped her elbow, warming her skin through the blue calico sleeve, and guided her up the step. She had the sudden urge to bolt from the coach and run for the hills—except there weren’t any close by big enough to hide in. She settled on the seat, and he shut the door, a frown creasing his brow.

  “Well, I declare.” Mrs. Watson laughed, glancing slyly at her daughter. The coach dipped as McKinnon climbed up to the driver’s seat, and she turned her gaze to Camille. “He’s quite the catch. The poor man lost his wife in childbirth three years ago. The baby, too.”

  No wonder he was so kind to the driver, thought Camille.

  “He’s one of our leading citizens. Filling in as mayor, in fact. He’s a fine, God-fearing man who goes to church every Sunday. Besides the store and the stage line, he and his brother own a livery and a large ranch. The man is as wealthy as he is handsome.”

  Then he must be worth a fortune. “I’m not looking for a husband.” She didn’t say she didn’t want one.

  Mrs. Watson waved her hand. “Of course you are, my dear. Goodness, such exciting news. I can hardly wait to get home.”

  Camille barely stifled a groan. Well, this will put a new wrinkle in the usual gossip. The coach lurched as the horses sprang forward. When the motion smoothed out, she sank against the back of the seat, trying to relax.

  The speculative whispers would change to scandalized murmurs when they learned that Angelique Dupree’s stock in trade was a pack of cards, a deft hand and a keen mind. She had been seventeen when her sick father relinquished his seat at the card table to her. She had quickly proven to be an astute gambler.