The Rancher's Southern Belle

  A poignant Christian western…

  A country torn in battle.

  A Southern woman running from God.

  And a Yankee captain who hopes to soon possess her heart.

  Madelyn Clemmons loved her life in Atlanta. Balls, soirees, and helping her physician father to heal the ill and afflicted in their town. But the dratted War of Northern Aggression has torn her fair city—and her life—apart. Nothing will ever be the same. During the Reconstruction period, she and her father set course for San Francisco and a new life.

  Raised as a rancher, Luke Guylenhall is now a captain in the Yankee army. He’s so thankful the War for Southern Aggression has finally ended. Such a toll on so many. So many lives lost. All he wants is to muster out and return home to his beloved ranch. Peace and quiet. Yes, he’s very much looking forward to that. No more conflict for him. He’s had more than enough to last a lifetime.

  Clearly knowing he’s soon to die from gambling debts owed, Madelyn’s father—a devout Yankee hater—insists the captain wed his daughter when the two are found in a compromising position. How will two enemies forge a bond of friendship—let alone possibly let a spark of love flare between them?

  Dedication

  To My Husband Tom

  Well, this book was basically finished a long time ago, but last year—and our endless health journeys that followed—totally derailed me.

  Then, when I almost lost you, I was too emotionally torn. I didn’t dare try to voice on paper what I was feeling in my heart. What I was experiencing daily at the hospital. The thought of writing of near death was more than I could bear. I feared I would shatter.

  So, I set the book aside. Until now. To a time when I can once again

  embrace the future and all it means to us.

  I loved you 48 years ago when we wed. I love you today, and I’ll love you even more tomorrow.

  The Rancher’s Southern Belle

  A Guylenhall Family Saga, Book 1

  Luke’s Story

  Leanne Burroughs

  Highland Press Publishing

  Florida

  The Rancher’s Southern Belle

  A Highland Press Publishing original

  Copyright ©2017 Leanne Burroughs

  Cover Design 2017 Leanne Burroughs

  Published by Highland Press Publishing at Smashwords

  Produced in the United States of America. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system—except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the Web—without permission in writing from the publisher.

  For information, please contact:

  Highland Press Publishing,

  PO Box 2292, High Springs, FL 32655.

  www.highlandpress.org

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names, save actual historical figures. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  Print ISBN: 978-1-942606-20-8

  Highland Press Publishing

  http://highlandpress.org

  Christian Western

  St. Louis, 1866

  ~ Chapter 1 ~

  Madelyn Clemmons wiped her mouth with her crème colored linen napkin, then placed it in her lap atop the white gloves she’d placed there after being seated at the table. Slumped in her chair in the hotel’s large restaurant—a distinct no no at home in Atlanta society, where one had to be prim and proper at all times and not lean back against chairs—Madelyn looked around the room and heaved a despairing sigh.

  “Father, I really do not want to do this after all. I have changed my mind about going to San Francisco. Can we not return home to Atlanta?”

  Her father tensed, his back ramrod straight. “And live where? With my sister again? Sherman destroyed our grand home on his March to the Sea during that blasted War of Northern Aggression. Do you know how embarrassed I was to take residence with your Aunt Agatha after we lost our house? I do not take handouts from anyone, and being forced to live there until I decided to move West was akin to the epitome of failure.”

  He banged one clenched fist on the table, setting cups and saucers to rattling.

  “Father!”

  Ignoring her, he clipped off the end of a cigar and held it between his thumb and forefinger. With a lit wooden match, he toasted the clipped end until it began to smoke. Then he placed it between his lips and took short puffs while continuing to hold the match near the end and rotated the cigar. After blowing out the match before it burned his fingers, he gently blew against the end of the cigar to ascertain if it had been evenly lit. Seeing the end glow, he smiled and placed the tip back between his lips and puffed. He continued his conversation as if he hadn’t taken a break.

  Madelyn coughed. She hated the smell of cigars.

  He pushed his plate away. “I refuse to live through what those Unionists are calling Reconstruction. It’s naught but a vengeful imposition and I vow I will never welcome it or them to what was once our fair city. It is humiliating, a travesty, and merely their way to make all Southerners bend to their will. I shan’t do that!” His eyes narrowed. “You might be willing to put up with the likes of them, but I vow I am not. I want nothing to do with any of them. I would rather die first.”

  Madelyn glanced around the full dining room. “Father, they are everywhere. Look around us. Union soldiers are eating here as we speak.”

  Earlier she’d noticed a handsome soldier watching her. The man’s broad, masculine shoulders well filled the blue jacket of his uniform, and he was one of the handsomest men she’d ever seen. A shock of brown hair fell over his brow and he had a strong, clean shaven jaw. But he was a Yankee, and though not as outspoken as her father, she wanted naught to do with their ilk.

  Yet as her eyes met his, blue if she wasn’t mistaken, a prickly sense of the unknown came over her. She tried to shake it off as her father threw his napkin down on the cloth covered table—it matched the crème napkins—and slammed his hand against it, drawing disapproving eyes from patrons around them.

  She turned her attention back to him. “Father, lower your voice. You are causing a scene.”

  “Do not tell me what to do, girl.” His brows converged in a frown. “The sight of those…those disgusting creatures sickens me. They would not know the first thing about manners if it slapped them in the face. Having to spend time in the same room as a blue belly leaves me without the proper words to tell you how much I detest them. The words I would choose would not be fit for a female’s delicate ears.”

  Madelyn closed her eyes, fighting for control of her emotions. She’d heard this so many times since the war had ended and Union soldiers and Yankee carpetbaggers had converged on their town. “I know, Father. You have been quite vocal about it throughout the entire four years of the war.”

  Laughter pealed from tables behind them, where people were clearly enjoying their meal, not arguing about a war that had already ended.

  Her father straightened one of his slightly frayed white cuffs, set his cigar in the nearby ashtray he’d requested, and picked up his cup and sipped his tea.

  Madelyn hoped to change the subject. The man she sat across from was so different from the man she’d grown up with her entire life. He’d always been gruff and quick to criticize—especially her—but as with everyone else in the South, the war had changed him.

  “What are we going to do this evening, Father? May we
walk through the town and take in some of the sights? Since you are bound and determined to head West in a few days, I would like to tour the city I have heard so much about.” Excitement surged through her. “Just think, Father. We’re in the Gateway to the West! It is so exhilarating. I guess it was just my nerves talking earlier.”

  His eyes narrowed as he scanned the room again. “We’re not doing anything. From what I hear, these blasted Yankees have booked the entire hotel for some wedding reception. Had I known that before we checked in, I never would have walked through the front door.” His head snapped toward the hotel lobby. “I shall be over at the saloon in hopes they have a decent card game going. You will stay in your room.”

  Her shoulders sank. “We cannot afford any losses, Father. You will not be working again until we reach San Francisco—and we need all our money.”

  He shot her a glare. “Leave the money to me, missy. Have I not always done what I needed to in order to take care of you? Even if it meant crawling to my blamed sister Agatha?”

  She offered a brief nod. There was no sense trying to talk to him in his present mood.

  “If I had the money for the trains that run all the way to San Francisco—that Pacific Railroad,” he continued, not missing a beat, “—we would be on them right now. As it is, we shall have to join one of those accursed wagon trains. I just pray it is decent Confederate folk heading West like we are to escape Reconstruction, rather than blamed Yankees like we have encountered in this city.” A tic jerked in his cheek. “If I had realized they still held St. Louis, I never would have come this way. I would have taken a different route.”

  Angry despair welled in her heart. “As much as you may wish to, you cannot avoid them the rest of your life, Father.” Her eyes shot to the Yankee captain despite herself. Broad muscles strained the seams of his Union jacket.

  “Maybe not, but I can certainly try.” A thundercloud descended over his face. “And you put your eyeballs back in your head. I’ll not have you mooning over the likes of someone like him!” He pushed back his chair and rose as he tilted his head toward the captain. Straightening his gray suit jacket, he picked up and donned his large brimmed straw hat. He tipped his head toward the entrance to the crowded restaurant. “I am heading over to the saloon now. You go upstairs and be sure to lock your door. I have no idea how reputable this establishment is if they allow the likes of them to be here. I shall see you in the morning for breakfast.”

  She inhaled and then released a deep breath. Another night alone, with her father off gambling and getting drunk. If only the war hadn’t happened. Father would still be a respectable physician and they’d still have their lovely home in Atlanta.

  But General Sherman had taken that away from them when he burned everything in his path on his way to Savannah. It mattered not that it was General Hood who actually ordered the eighty-one rail cars filled with ammunition and other military supplies to be destroyed when he evacuated Atlanta. The damage was the same regardless of who started it. The resulting fire and explosions were heard for miles. When those eruptions reverberated through the city, she’d thought the Lord Himself had turned His face from Atlanta and the world itself may have been ending.

  The smell of blood and death had filled the air.

  A far cry from the euphoric feeling all held when President Jefferson Davis assigned General Hood to oversee Atlanta. The aggressive man had been considered by many, her father included, as Atlanta’s salvation. Only there had been no rescue for her beautiful city. She doubted the South would ever regain its former beauty. If it did, she wouldn’t be around to see it. The thought saddened her.

  She glanced toward the handsome captain again only to find his eyes locked on her. Yes, the man was striking, but she really did hate Yankees. They’d stripped her of the life she had known. Although somehow that didn’t bother her as much as it did her father. He ate, slept, and drank anger. She almost didn’t know him anymore.

  What a pity. He’d once been a fine, upstanding man. A great physician. Now, more likely than not, he was getting drunk. But their life was about to change. She could feel it. After all, weren’t they on their way to San Francisco? Once there, Father would start practicing again. And she’d be right at his side.

  Helping people. That was the calling God had placed on her. At least it had been when she still believed in God. She’d prayed so hard for Atlanta to be spared, but it hadn’t happened. She guessed God no longer cared what happened to her. For one who’d had such a strong faith—her mother had instilled it in her—it had been a long time since she’d spoken to Him. He’d turned His back on all in Atlanta. Surely He wouldn’t listen to her now if she tried. She saw no need to bother.

  Luke Guylenhall heaved a deep sigh and patted his stomach as he pushed back his chair. That had been a right delicious meal. And soon his younger brother was gettin’ hitched. Never once had he thought about the possibility young Sam wouldn’t be returning to the ranch after he mustered out of the army. But he’d met and fallen in love with a young woman when he’d been reassigned and stationed here in St. Louis after Quantrill’s Raid and subsequent massacre in Lawrence got folks all up in arms. No way was the government going to let St. Louis fall to the Confederates or let the likes of Quantrill and his men slaughter anyone in this town.

  Hitched! Who would have thought that would happen before they headed for Kansas City? Now Sam was going to stay in St. Louis with Louisa. They made a great couple and she seemed like a true gem. Tiny, she didn’t even reach Sam’s shoulders. And his younger brother was the smallest of all the Guylenhall brothers.

  But it sure would be lonely on the ranch once he mustered out himself and headed home.

  He’d actually contemplated staying in the military. It suited him well, and he was quickly moving up the ranks. Being offered a job in the president’s newly formed Secret Service was sure tempting. He liked Washington. But the thought of having to track down crooks and counterfeiters didn’t really appeal to him.

  That would be more in line with what his brother Matthew enjoyed. Then again, Matt was quite content returning to be sheriff in their hometown. He’d been pleased to receive the letter from his sister Kat telling him Matt was already back home.

  Speaking of temptations, the little filly in the dark green dress sure fit that bill. He’d barely been able to keep his eyes off her since he sat down for supper. Surely she was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. Delicate porcelain skin molded to high cheekbones and a straight, short nose.

  Sure as shootin’ he should ask her if she’d like to stay and attend his brother’s wedding and reception. It’d be right nice to have someone who looked like that as his dance partner. Her coiffed, upswept brunette hair made him want to run his fingers through it and mess it up a bit. Remove all the pins and let it flow down her back. And her eyes! No doubt he could lose himself in them. Couldn’t rightly tell their color from where he sat, but he thought they might be chocolate brown.

  He ran a fingertip over his lower lip.

  Her loud-mouthed escort—her father he’d overheard her say—had left a few minutes earlier. Didn’t take much to overhear the man’s conversation since he spoke much too loudly. When he announced he was heading for the saloon, Luke thought the man might already be drunk. A Johnny Reb through and through from the way the man was talking. Well, Luke could put aside his dislike of Rebels for one night if it meant he could dance with that beautiful young filly. He bet she’d fit just right in his arms.

  He made his move when she put on first one white glove and then the other, then gently eased her chair away from the table. He was there before she had a chance to rise. “Ma’am, pardon me for bein’ a mite forward, but I heard your father mention you would be alone for the night. Might I interest you in some entertainment?” As an immediate blush stole over her pale skin, he realized how his words must have sounded. “No ma’am, nothin’ improper,” he rushed to say. “My brother is gettin’ hitched tonight and there will be a rec
eption afterward. With dancin’,” he quickly added, feeling like a tongue-tied young fool. “I would be delighted if you could join me.”

  Surprise flitted across the young woman’s face as she looked up at him. Then a wistful yearning, but she shook her head as she rose, the top of her head only reaching his shoulders.

  “Thank you, Captain. I would very much enjoy dancing, but I fear my father would be quite upset with me if I accepted. You are a…a…stranger after all.” A hint of disappointment filled her voice.

  Her soft Southern drawl wafted over him.

  Yankee is what she no doubt means. He’d heard her father’s diatribe. Everyone in the restaurant had.

  Pity. Something inside Luke told him they would have hit it off right nice.

  Hours later Luke stumbled up the hotel steps. He’d imbibed far too much, which he rarely ever did, but one’s brother only got married once. Fortunately, his men weren’t here to see him. He always tried to set a good example for the younger men in his command. And getting drunk sure wasn’t a good example. Ma would turn over in her grave if she could see him now. Pa’d probably just chuckle.

  He stopped in the hallway a moment trying to remember his room number. Boy he really was drunk! Then he stumbled down the hall a few more steps and tried a doorknob. Locked. He tried the one on the other side of the hall. Locked.

  He pursed his lips to the side as he thought. “Guess I didn’t go far enough,” he mumbled.

  At the next set of doors—he didn’t think he’d gone any farther than this—he scrutinized them both, trying to remember which one might be his. Making a decision, he again tried a doorknob. When it opened, he smiled.