Change of Heart

CHANGE OF HEART

Fran Shaff

A Fran Shaff Family Novel

Historical Romance for everyone who loves a
love story.

Change of Heart By Fran Shaff

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2010 by Fran Shaff

Characters, names and incidents used in this
book are products of the imagination of the author and are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales,
organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.

January, 2010

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REVIEWS and Acclaim For Change of Heart

5 STARS from Simegen.com The author, Fran
Shaff, has sewn together a gripping, warmhearted romance filled
with suspense that will have you, the reader, weeping tears of
sadness and of joy for the sweetest couple that has hit the pages
of books for a long time.

5 HEARTS from The Romance Studio. Ms. Shaff
has written a magnificent heart-stirring book. Many times I found
myself crying out loud, then releasing a wonderful sigh. Ms Shaff
is a gifted writer that always delivers in her stories.

5 STARS from CataRomance. This book is not to
be missed.

5 CUPS from Coffee Time Romance. I didn’t
want the story to end.

4 BLUE RIBBONS from Romance Junkies: Fran
Shaff does an amazing job pulling the reader into the story so that
you feel like you’re really part of it. I became so involved, I’d
read all the way through the story before I even realized it, and
was extremely impressed to find myself so emotionally involved that
I cried at several points.

4 ANGELS from Fallen Angel Reviews. Fran
Shaff did a great job in bringing together the heartache of losing
a loved one and the joy of finding new love. Great Job.

MyShelf.com. I highly recommend this
endearing novel to anyone who enjoys old-fashioned romance.

EXCERPT

Marietta looked at herself in the large
mirror in the corner of Amy’s bedroom. Her dress didn’t hang right
anymore due to the weight she’d lost on her trip, but her dark
cinnamon hair was stunning against the black frock. A bath with
Aunt Mamie’s lilac soap and freshly combed hair made Marietta feel
like a woman once more. She took a deep breath, full of confidence
and femininity, and smiled at her reflection before going to meet
the Carsons and her young nephew Zack in the kitchen.

“Look who’s come to join us for supper,” Amy
said, delight in her voice.

Marietta’s gaze lifted to meet Jase’s. He
seemed to freeze the second he laid eyes on her.

“Mr. Kent,” Marietta said, “I thought you
were joining the colonel.”

“I…I was, but, when I brought the rest of
your things from the stage, Amy asked me to stay to supper.” He
cleared his throat, but his eyes never left her. “I never turn down
beef stew.”

“I see.”

“Miss Randolf…” Jase cleared his throat
again.

“Don’t be shy, Jase,” Amy said. “Take the
lady’s arm and escort her to the table.”

Jase hesitated a moment then moved toward
Marietta, offering her his arm. Marietta took it and walked to the
table in the center of the kitchen.

Jase continued to stare at her. “You look
absolutely lovely, Marietta.”

Thick silence hung in the kitchen as they
locked gazes a moment longer. She felt the warmth of his eyes touch
her all the way through to her heart. Had he just called her by her
given name? How very bold of him.

He held her chair for her. “Please sit
down.”

She complied, and he took his place next to
her.

DEDICATION

For all of the good people of Nebraska, one
of my home states

Marietta Randolf pulled her aching body from
the stagecoach that had shaken her insides for the last two hundred
miles. Her tired gaze drifted over the Nebraska open range. She
took in more of the vast wilderness she’d seen pass her window on
the stage. She didn’t like it. She could scarcely believe anyone
would willingly live in the Nebraska territory, let alone her
beloved sister Kathy.

The journey to Fort Kearney from Chicago had
been a miserable one, especially since leaving the steamboat on the
Missouri River south of Omaha. Stagecoach treks were not for city
ladies; they were for mules and men and other wild creatures. It
was amazing that in the modern age of the late 1850s, travel to the
west was still so primitive. Marietta massaged the aching muscles
in her back as best she could without drawing too much attention to
herself. She doubted her body would ever forgive her for leaving
civilization.

“Do you see your young man, Miss Randolf?”
Mr. Henshaw, a fellow passenger, asked.

“My young man? Oh, you mean my nephew
Zack.”

“Yes, ma’am. I don’t see any children.”

“Likely he’s inside the fort in one of the
buildings. However,” Marietta said, looking around, “I am expecting
someone to meet me. I don’t see him yet.”

Mr. Henshaw tipped the hat that hid his gray
hair, smoothed his hands over his dark suit, and lit his deep-blue
eyes the way he’d done numerous times on the ride from the river.
“I need to board the stage once again, Miss Randolf. The driver has
taken down your bags. He’s ready to leave.”

Marietta eyed the driver who’d refused to
give a body two minutes to rest anywhere along his route before
focusing on her travel companion. “It’s been a pleasure to know
you, Mr. Henshaw,” she said, even though the man had been a bother
throughout the Nebraska territory. His words had blown through the
stagecoach as constantly as the prairie wind when he unceasingly
misquoted the Bible, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Charles Dickens.

Mr. Henshaw took Marietta’s hand. “Again,
Miss Randolf, I offer my sympathies over the loss of your esteemed
sister. God be with you in your time of sorrow and always. He’ll be
with you in your new life with your nephew as well.”

“Thank you, Mr. Henshaw,” Marietta said,
forcing a smile for the annoying man.

He released her hand and returned to the
stagecoach, waving from the window as the coach pulled away.
Marietta nodded and watched the violent vehicle shake and roll over
the colorless prairie as she endured the chill of a sudden gust of
late-November wind.

“God’s Cathedral,” she mumbled, repeating
what Mr. Henshaw had called this barren wilderness. Marietta would
never understand how he saw Heaven in the countryside that, to her,
surely had to be a reflection of Hell itself.

A deep voice startled her. “I beg your
pardon?”

Marietta turned and found a man staring down
at her. He was covered in black from hat to boots, except for the
red bandana around his neck.

“Did you say something?” he asked, fastening
his dark wool coat shut over his black shirt and waistcoat. “I
heard you speaking and thought you’d seen or heard me approaching.
Were you talking to me?”

“No, of course not. Just thinking aloud I
guess,” she replied, slightly unnerved at being met by such an
attractive man. She’d been afraid all men who inhabited the prairie
were as old and annoying as Mr. Henshaw.

He nodded toward her. “Nothing wrong with
that.” He took off his wide-brimmed felt hat, revealing a mass of
dark molasses hair and fingered the brim as he held the hat over
his trim waist. “I’m Jason Kent, ma’am. Zack’s been staying with me
on my ranch.”

Another chilling breeze washed over her.
Marietta shivered and pulled her wool cape tight around her. “Thank
you for looking after my nephew, Mr. Kent. How is Zack?”

“He’s doing quite well, considering what he’s
been through. He’s waiting at the fort now to meet his aunt.”

Marietta nodded and shivered again.

He reached toward her and tugged her cape
tighter around her. “You’re freezing,” he said. “We’d best get you
inside.” He looked at Marietta’s luggage and returned his hat to
his head. “I’ll have to make a couple of trips to take your things
to the Carsons.’”

“I’m sorry to be such a bother,” Marietta
said as she watched the accommodating man easily hoist her heavy
trunk on one shoulder while he picked up another of her bags.

“No trouble, Miss Randolf. You’ve had a long
trip. It’s cold this time of year, and you had to be prepared.” He
inclined his head toward the stand of buildings inside Fort
Kearney. “Go straight ahead, ma’am. I’m taking you to Lieutenant
Will Carson’s quarters. His wife Amy has a place for you and Zack
to stay tonight.”

“How wonderful, and how kind of Mrs. Carson.”
The thought of being inside a real home again offered Marietta a
great deal of relief.

“She’s a fine woman, Miss Randolf.
God-fearing and kind.” He took a few steps in silence then asked,
“Was your trip to your satisfaction?”

“Certainly not.”

“Problems, ma’am?”

“I’m afraid a stagecoach rides nothing like
the surreys we have in Chicago. But then, our streets are more
navigable than these rutted prairies.”

“Yes, they are.”

She stopped and looked up at him. “You’ve
been to Chicago?”

“Yes, ma’am. I was there when Clint met and
married Kathy.”

Marietta shunned the heartbreak that plagued
her at the mention of Kathy’s marriage. “You were there? At the
wedding?”

“No, ma’am, not at the wedding. They eloped
you know. I met up with them outside town afterwards on our way
back to Texas.”

“You knew they were getting married? Why
didn’t you stop them?”

“Couldn’t, Miss Randolf. They were quite
determined and both of age.” He stared down at her, shifting the
heavy burden he carried on his shoulder. “Could you have stopped
them, ma’am?”

His coffee-brown eyes told her he was no more
to blame for Kathy’s marriage than she. No one knew better than
Marietta that Kathy had possessed a mind of her own. She’d ignored
even the teachings they’d been raised on and had done as she’d
pleased.

“If I couldn’t make it snow in July, I
couldn’t stop Kathy from leaving with Clint.”

“Exactly, Miss Randolf. I’m not sure if even
God Himself could have kept Clint and Kathy apart. They were
happier than any two people I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Mr. Kent, I’d rather not talk about Kathy
right now, if you don’t mind.” Losing Kathy to Clint had been bad
enough. Now that she’d lost her to death, Marietta could barely
stand to think of her sister. The pain ate at her like a
disease.

“I’m sorry, Miss Randolf. I didn’t mean to
upset you.”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“Let’s find my quarters for the night, please, Mr. Kent. I’m very
tired.”

“Yes, ma’am. That way.” He inclined his head
toward the buildings of the fort.

Marietta looked at the layout of Fort
Kearney. Five unpainted wooden houses stood next to an open square.
A large number of mud and sod buildings ran from the square out
along the roads into the fort. Young cottonwood trees lined the
borders, the only shrubbery visible for miles. A flagstaff rose in
the middle of the square. Various guns and weapons stood within the
fort. Marietta was unfamiliar with their capabilities, but they
looked sturdy and reliable enough to protect the fort from hostile
attack.

On the west side of the open area stood a
large house, unpainted and rather unusually shaped. Opposite the
large house stood a long building that rather reminded Marietta of
an eastern barn. The two-story dwelling was, no doubt, a barracks
for the soldiers. All in all, the buildings of the fort seemed run
down and in need of repair.

“The Carsons live in the wooden structure
over there,” Mr. Kent said, setting down Marietta’s bag and
pointing.

“Do you want to rest a minute, Mr. Kent?
Surely that trunk must be getting heavy.”

He smiled and shook his head. “No, ma’am. My
burden is light compared to what I have to carry around at my ranch
sometimes.” He picked up her bag again. “Go ahead, Miss Randolf.
I’ll follow you to the Carsons’ now that you know where they
live.”

When they arrived at the Carsons’ tiny home,
the door flung open, and five-year-old Zack darted from the doorway
to Mr. Kent, grabbing his leg. Marietta thought surely the boy
would knock the man over, but he stood as firmly as a cedar in a
storm.