Chasing Clovers

CHASING CLOVERS

Kat Flannery

CHASING CLOVERS

C
opyright © 2011 by Kat Flannery. All Rights Reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission from the authors.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. And any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead (or in any other form), business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

http://www.katflannery-author.com

FIRST EDITION ebook

Imajin Books -
http://www.imajinbooks.com

October
15, 2011

ISBN:
978-1-926997-36-0
 

Cover designed by Sapphire Designs -

http://designs.sapphiredreams.org

Praise for CHASING CLOVERS

"A compelling story line. A combination of suspense, tension and romance will keep you turning the page until the end." —Michelle Ferguson, author of
From Away

"Everything I wanted in a Historical Romance was in this story…Any romance aficionado will love this book and this author." —Tammy Gaines, NovelOpinion

For every mother who has lost a child.

"Faith, hope and love; but the greatest of these is love."
1 Corinthians 13:13

Acknowledgements

The process of writing
Chasing Clovers
took many wonderful people. I would never have been able to get past the first five chapters had it not been for my mother, who asked—no, demanded—a chapter every two weeks.

My sister, Lori-Ann who read countless drafts and re-writes always with a bright smile and encouragement. My best friend, Carrie who over many drinks and thai bites, helped me flush out characters and subplots. My friend, Tammy who read the whole manuscript with a chapter missing and still, loved it. My editor and good friend, Rhonda who took the time and patience to sit with this stubborn Italian girl and make this story what it is today.

Thank you to, Emmie and Alice for your support in anything I do. My friend and mentor, Roberta who over the last six years has pushed me to be the writer I am today. My father, who doesn't like to read and is not fond of romance but sat patiently through all my chapters and offered his advice, thank you dad.

My three sons, Skylar, Seth, and Samuel thank you for eating Kraft dinner, hot dogs, and lots of chicken fingers while I was writing this book. Mommy loves you.

And last but definitely not least, I would like to thank my husband for allowing me to work countless hours on this book without any complaints. For encouraging me to never give up even when my desk was full of rejections. You always believed in me. I love you more than you will ever know.

I truly believe through God all things are possible…and I am proof of that.

I love you all,

Kat

CHAPTER ONE

C
algary, 1884

T
he stagecoach pitched to a stop, jostling Livy Green from fitful nightmares of a past she longed to bury and the stranger she was about to marry. Her neck stiff and her back aching, she massaged her shoulders. She straightened and tried to stretch her arms, but the tiny space wouldn't allow it.

A loud sigh blew from her lips when she realized how rumpled
her clothes were. Frowning, she ran her hands along her skirt. Nothing but a hot iron would get the wrinkles out. With only two other dresses in her wardrobe, and no time to change anyway, she had no choice but to meet her fiancé looking as she did.

Her stomach dropped.
What if I'm not what he's expecting?

S
he peered out the window and wasn't surprised to see a few North West Mounted Police mingling with the other townspeople. Their bright red uniforms stood out like apples on a tree. She reached for her satchel and held it tightly before she stepped out the small door.
You can do this.
She squeezed the handle on her luggage.
You have to.

Fort Calgary
was a bustling town with two hotels on either side of the street, a small dress shop with ladies hats and fabric displayed in the window, and a red-bricked bank on the northwest corner. She watched people walking along the wooden planks and filtering in and out of the shops.

A loud squeal sounded behind her.

Livy jumped. She was almost trampled by a young boy running from his mother. Her heart lurched at the sight of the child. The familiar ache inside her soul willed her to look away. But she continued to watch mother and child until they disappeared inside the mercantile.

She took a deep breath, forced all thoughts of the past out o
f her mind and scanned the streets again. Her face flushed when she thought of what she was about to do.

Bag in hand, she
spotted the blacksmith across the street next to the barbershop. Her stomach twisted at the sight of the saloon two buildings down. The all too familiar swinging doors waved back and forth, taunting her. Two drunken cowboys left the saloon, weaving their way down the boardwalk.

Livy
clenched the satchel and tensed.

She turned away, closed her
eyes, and took another deep breath. Here she would be the wife to John Taylor―a man she'd never met―and stepmother to his two children.

She
took another breath. She would start over.
Again.

She surveyed the busy boardwa
lk in search of a tall man with dark hair. Almost every man she saw fit the description he had given her, so she decided to move over to the bench in front of the mercantile and wait for Mr. Taylor to find her. Hands folded together on her lap. She tapped her toe restlessly. Where could he be?

A rough looking cowboy sauntered toward her.
His brown greasy hair, and ripped denims were paired with an evil smile.

Livy
tucked her chin into her chest.
Oh, please don't let that be him.
She'd seen his type before and knew what they were capable of. The man lingered beside her for a few moments before continuing on down the boardwalk.

She
sighed with relief.
How am I going to do this?

No longer A
ngel Green, she was now Olivia Green. The past was far behind her, except on those long dark nights that would not allow her to escape it.

She chewed on her bottom lip and stared
at the busy street.

Her new life would begin here. She would survive.

She
blew out a shaky breath. It was all she knew how to do.

"
Olivia?" a male voice asked.

A
tall man stood beside her, his hat pulled low so she couldn't see his eyes. He hesitated, then extended his hand. "Olivia?" He had a polite, resonating voice.

She shaded her eyes with a hand. "Livy will do fine." She was uncomfortably aware of his presence as he towered over her.

He smiled and took off his hat.
Wavy black hair curled above the collar of his coat and his skin was tanned from the sun. He looked nothing like the dirty cowboy.
Thank goodness.
Instead, he wore a clean flannel shirt tucked into faded denim pants.

"
John Taylor. Good to finally meet you. My buckboard is over there." He pointed the way, then peered around. "Where are your trunks?"

"
I only have this one."

H
er cheeks reddened as she lifted her tattered brown satchel. She held it slightly behind, not wanting him to see the holes and stains on it.

Nodding, he
offered his arm. She ignored it. Friendly eyes stared back at her. After what had happened to her in Great Falls, she hated being touched by men.

"
Do not be insulted, Mr. Taylor," she said, staring at his boots, "but I'd rather you show me the way instead."

She
headed in the direction he'd pointed out earlier. When she heard a low chuckle from behind, she pursed her lips and walked faster.
I need no one, least of all a man.

I
n truth, she needed John Taylor more than she could admit.

As soon as
she reached the buckboard, she tossed the satchel up onto the seat, gathered her skirts and climbed up. She had sat down when she noticed he was still standing on the walk.

"
Uh, Miss Green?" He tipped his hat back, crossed well muscled arms and smiled at her. "That's not my buckboard."

Her face flooded with heat
.

If this wasn
't his wagon, why hadn't he said something earlier, instead of watching her make a fool of herself?

Her eyes misted. How had she gotten here, in this place, with a man she didn't even know? She swallowed. How could she have thought he was the answer to her problems?

Standing, she clutched the satchel and moved to the edge.

H
ow am I going to get down from this blasted wagon?

Out of the corner of her eye
, she saw John Taylor step toward her. She didn't want his help, nor did she want a stranger's hands on her. Determined, she held her breath and climbed down before he reached her.

He shrugged broad
shoulders and strode toward another wagon. She watched his massive frame climb up with ease. Reins in hand, he waited for her.

The buckboard looked brand new, the wood oiled so it glistened in the warm afternoon sun. Lumber and a crate filled with supplies were piled in the back.

She
set her satchel in back and climbed up beside him. "This is your wagon?"

He laughed, showing perfectly aligned teeth.
"Sure is, ma'am."

Instead of waiting for her to
sit, he whistled and the team jerked forward. Livy grabbed the side of the wagon and muttered a curse beneath her breath. If he wasn't her intended, she'd give him a tongue lashing he'd never forget.

Once seated, she ran her shaking hands along the front of her skirt and took a deep breath.
Be more civil, Livy.
It wasn't in her best interest to lose her temper and go flying at Mr. Taylor.

She closed her eyes.
Be kind. Smile
.