When Addie Pinkney inherits her aunt's farm, the legacy feels like an answer to her prayers...until she arrives and meets Montana Creed. Creed also has a claim on the land where her aunt and uncle established a farm. The attorneys for both explain they need to wait until a judge will rule, but to insure her claim early, Addie sneaks out and takes residence in the farmhouse before Montana, thinking she has bested him.
But no such luck. Montana Creed sets up camp in front of the farmhouse, and what ensues is a charming war of wits as they both try to drive the other off the land. But soon there is more at stake than just the land they both want. These two loners must find a way to make a bargain, one that will reach far beyond a piece of lush green farmland and everything they hold dear.
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PROLOGUE
Mussel Slough, Tulare County, California
May 10, 1880
The sun was hot, hot enough to blister paint. Down from the broad, blue western sky the heat smoldered, baking cracks in the rusty red clay of the irrigation ditches. Just four hours earlier those same hard-dug ditches swelled with water from Tulare Lake, water that fed wet relief to acre after acre of tawny California wheat. As if daring the noonday sun, the wheat stood tall, and still, except for a small patch near the dirt road where two fourteen-year-old boys hid.
Willie Murdoch crawled forward, craning to see past the battered crown on his friend’s straw hat. “Psst, Montana? Do ya see anything yet?”
“Uh-uh. But if you’ll keep your trap shut, maybe I’ll hear ’em coming.” Montana Creed slipped off his hat and wiped the sweat from his forehead. His damp hand slicked back a wet thatch of brown hair and he laid his ear on the hot ground. A few flies buzzed around his head and their drone hung in the sweltering air. But Montana waited. A long, silent and blistery few minutes passed before he heard it—the distant tremor of horses’ hooves pounding down the road. Turning to Willie, he whispered, “Here they come.”
Both boys edged forward, peering through the golden labyrinth of tall wheat shafts. Within minutes a murky cloud of burnt-orange dust rose up from the road. The dust cloud billowed toward the crest in the road, and suddenly a rider and two buggies came into view, rumbling their way toward the Creed homestead.
That’s Marshal Poole,” Willie whispered, nodding at the lone rider. “Who are the others?”
“The land agent for the railroad’s in the first buggy, but I don’t recognize the men in the other one.”
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French
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Already translated.
Translated by Louise Chaumont
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Portuguese
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Already translated.
Translated by Tânia Nezio
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Spanish
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Already translated.
Translated by Patricia Ibarra
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Author review: Translator is highly recommended |
