The first two novels of the series are described as follows:. In this novel, an unexpected turn of events take place in the life of Rachael English, who comes to Springwater as a new schoolteacher. She finds herself in love with a man with whom she used to fight initially. The plot of the novel starts with Rachael coming to the Springwater stagecoach stop, dreaming of a beautiful school house and well disciplined pupils.
But exactly the opposite happens and she is shocked to see half-wild pupils. Rachael somehow manages to make the best of the new surroundings. In an event of taking a stand against a saloon near the school, she gets attracted its part-owner, Trey Hargreaves. Trey is a widower and the part-owner of the saloon. He has a beautiful daughter. The overall appearance of Trey is something that Rachael feels to avoid due to her Eastern upbringing. After the death of her fiance in the Civil War, Rachael took to teaching as the only passion in her life did not allow anyone to find a place in her heart.
But, when she meets Trey, who himself has a troubled past, she begins to think that he is the only one who can soothe her sorrows and give her another chance to experience the love of a lifetime. Hence, in spite of initial heated arguments both Rachael and Trey fall in love with each other. This is how their love unfolds in the novel. The readers appreciated the beautiful depiction of love. The romance from the old times and classical loves story was very well described by the author Linda Lael Miller.
She has penned down beautiful character sketches, small town events and delightful plot. She was praised for the way she has evolved the characters and events revolving around them. Her style of depicting love stories of women brought great appreciations for her. Linda Lael Miller got enough motivation and inspiration from he feedback of the readers to write few more novels in the series. Other well known authors praised her for her efforts. The novel went on to sell a number of copies worldwide and helped to increase the popularity of Linda Lael Miller as a writer of the romance genre.
The second novel, Springwater Seasons: Savannah was also published in the year This novel too depicts a love story in the blossoming stagecoach stop in the town of Montana, Springwater. The delightful plot shows Savannah Rigbey, who is full of happiness in her heart. She had been serving whisky in a bar and singing in saloons from the young age of sixteen years. Although she did not have much luck with her dreams, she believes that Springwater has something special for her.
Savannah moves to Springwater to take up the half-ownership of a local bar. She meets a young girl on her way to Springwater, who goes into labor. She helps the girl with her steady hands and takes her to a doctor in the crisis situation. He hides his painful memories in his heart from his haunted past.
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The memories of the Civil War keep him disturbing every now and then. The only cure for him is love. He needs a person who can fulfil his life with love and affection. The stubborn behavior of Savannah infuriates him and makes him makes him very angry. But slowly and steadily, he begins to see the softer and more virtuous side of Savannah. They both start seeing each other with passion and love starts blossoming in their hearts. Prescott listen to the call of their hearts and fall in love with each other.
This beautiful love story revolves in the entire plot of the novel. She was shown as a mature girl while helping the young girl in delivering her baby. His finely made face was ruddy with cold, and the look in his eyes, a bright blue green, was at once curious and amused, chagrined and bold. Evangeline's stomach, wedged into her throat only a moment before, plummeted back into its rightful place, landing with a sickening lurch. He studied her for what seemed like a long time, his expression unreadable.
Then, at last, he replied. She was trim, with brown hair only faintly touched with gray, radiant skin, and eyes of an intense blue. You sit yourself down. The man might well be an emissary for her future husband, but an inner sense, coupled with the odd glances the McCaffreys had been passing back and forth, told her that something was very wrong.
McCaffrey, ever the gentleman, set his harnesses aside and stood, running his broad, work roughened hands down the sides of his black woolen trousers. Keating," he said, after clearing his throat once, "this here is Scully Wainwright. Scully, this is Mrs. Wainwright hesitated, then wrenched off his heavy leather gloves and reciprocated. There was a steadiness in him that ran deep, she sensed that right away, and despite a slight twitch in his jawline, he didn't once try to skirt her gaze. No sense in beating round the bush, Evangeline thought.
He sighed, thrust a hand through his wild-man hair. Whoever he was, he needed tending to; his beard was growing in, his hair was shaggy and up close she could see that his shirt-collar wanted turning. No doubt he had holes in the heels and toes of his socks, too. There was in Jacob's manner something of a man who has just flung a handful of gunpowder into a bonfire. Scully didn't look away from Evangeline as he spoke, but she could tell he wanted to, nonetheless. Abigail had come forward now, to stand just behind Evangeline, clutching her mother's skirts with small, strong hands.
Jacob took up a place beside June-bug, at the other end of the long room, with its exposed beams, spotless tables and plank floors. They conferred quietly as they worked at busy, invented tasks, and made a point of paying no attention to the drama unfolding just out of earshot. Wainwright gave another sigh. Right now, it's just me, the ranch, and a few cattle," he said, all in one breath. Evangeline considered what it would mean to journey back to Pennsylvania, persuade the scorned Mott to marry her after all, and felt her courage wane with such swiftness that she had to sit down on the bench beside the nearest table.
Abigail clung to her even more fiercely now, all her attention fixed on the towering form of Scully Wainwright. He must have looked like a giant to the little girl; even to Evangeline, he was Goliath. The obvious fact that he was the most reluctant of messengers made no difference.
It appeared that she and Abigail had traveled a long, hard road for nothing. He wrote to me, proposing matrimony. He sent a bank draft June-bug approached, set a steaming cup of coffee down beside him, and scurried away again. But he had to head south on some business, and it took longer than expected. He won't be back till spring, most likely, with the trails the way they are. The stage that had brought her to Springwater station had barely made it through, after all, and though the driver had pressed on toward the next stop after taking a hot meat and helping Jacob hitch up a fresh team, there was no telling when another coach would come through.
According to the McCaffreys, it could be weeks, if the weather didn't turn. She hiked her chin up a notch, refusing to let her emotions show, lest it seem like some sort of concession. Except for Abigail, and her dignity, she had nothing at all. Wainwright did avert his gaze for a moment. You can settle in there, and carry on with the wedding when Big John gets home in the spring. Wainwright had been living and working alone on the Circle JW since his partner's departure. It was one thing to have a place to go, and quite another to share a domicile with a stranger, and a mate one, at that.
Abigail, uncharacteristically silent until then, peered around Evangeline's hip and inquired, "May I have a pony? I'd like a spotted one, though any color would do. The resulting emotional sensations, resonating within her like just strummed harp strings, seemed better left unexamined. She seemed impossibly delicate, with her birdlike bones, enormous china blue eyes, and pale skin, contrasted by midnight-dark ringlets, but in this case appearances were indeed deceptive.
Abigail was country-bred, and despite her prim little dress and doll-like aspect, she was as vary and agile as any boy alive, and just as mischievous.
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Within her daughter's small breast, Evangeline thought, with mingled pride and consternation, beat the heart of a ruffian and a rascal. Evangeline took a gentle hold on her daughter's hand and drew her back, though the bargain had clearly already been struck. There would be a pony for Abigail.
That, Evangeline supposed, was some consolation, at least. His face was sun-bronzed, which only enhanced the turquoise shade of his eyes and made his straight white teeth seem even whiter. If your wife were present There was no sign of the McCaffreys now, though their voices could be heard from the small storeroom off the kitchen area, raised in what sounded like an amiable argument. Over the eight years of her marriage to Charles, however, she had cultivated her intuition, which told her that Wainwright presented no physical danger to her, or to Abigail.
This was not to say that he was tame; everything in his manner and bearing indicated that he was as wild as the wolves and cougars stalking the foothills of this treacherous, uncivilized and incomprehensibly beautiful country. Evangeline had no viable alternatives. Even if another coach came through, she hadn't nearly enough money left to buy passage all the way back to Pennsylvania. Mott would send funds, if she wrote to him contritely, but that would take months and besides, he would want her soul in return, as well as her body.
Nor could she rightly impose further upon the hospitality of the McCaffreys. They had been kind, even generous, but it simply was not their responsibility to look after stranded women and their children. That left traveling to the Circle JW and settling in to wait for Mr. Keating to return from whence he'd gone. At least, she thought gamely, she would not have to change her name when she remarried.
Abigail would have a warm, safe home and, presumably, plenty to eat. And the prospect of having an entire winter to prepare herself for the duties of a wife was not without a certain appeal. If indeed she could trust Mr. Wainwright -- an impression she would most certainly verify with the McCaffreys before leaving the station -- the arrangement might be considered a blessing, heaven-sent. I noticed that you only brought one horse. We could borrow that, along with a couple of mules.
It'll be a long, cold trip, though, so you'll want to bundle yourself and the little girl up real warm. Her eyes, large in any event, were the size of stove lids. Evangeline wondered if her daughter had somehow picked up on her own private comparisons between Wainwright and those fierce predators roaming the woodlands and plains.
Wainwright answered confidently, laying an idle hand to the holstered. It was the first time Evangeline had noticed that he was armed, and she did not know whether to be reassured or frightened. She did not like guns but at the same time she understood that they were something of a necessity out here, where wild animals, bandits and hostile Indians were not uncommon. She sat on the bench beside the next table, letting her tiny feet swing while she pondered the adventures that surely lay ahead.
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Other children might have nightmares after such talk, but Abigail had the soul of an explorer and would no doubt be gravely disappointed if she grew to adulthood without encountering at least one life-threatening situation. Evangeline suppressed a shiver. If left to her own devices, she would have chosen to remain in Pennsylvania, war-torn as it was, living out her days in peace, working hard at a good man's side, raising Abigail, bearing other children. It still amazed her to find herself starting over, in this new and foreign place, far from everything she'd known.
She missed the rolling hills and gentle fields of home very sorely in those moments. Wainwright read her expression with uncanny accuracy. Lots of elbow room. All it takes is some gumption and hard work. She was simply trying to make the best of a difficult situation. McCaffrey clattering pots and pans at the cookstove, she excused herself and crossed the room. June-bug was humming an old hymn as she measured lard into a large skillet, preparatory to frying chicken.
A kettle brimming with water and freshly peeled potatoes sat on the back of the stove, just beginning to bubble. Evangeline glanced in Wainwright's direction, saw that he was watching her with a half grin, and turned her back on him. McCaffrey, in a whisper. Why, he's as good as they get. He'll look after you and the little girl right enough. You've got nothin' to fear from him. Keating had gone to Denver? You must have known.
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McCaffrey began dropping pieces of well-seasoned and flour-coated chicken into the pan. We just didn't have the heart to say nothin' about it. Besides, we knew Scully would come to fetch you home. So many sons, fathers, brothers and husbands had perished, Union and Confederate alike. To distract herself from the vast, overwhelming sorrow of it, she stole another look at Scully Wainwright, who was talking with Jacob, now seated across the table from him. Abigail perched on the bench beside Scully, enraptured. Suppose he was a whiskey-drinking man with lascivious ways?
Suppose he beat her or -- she'd kill him -- Abigail? McCaffrey smiled again, though remembrances of her lost sons lingered visibly in her eyes. Older'n Scully, by twenty years or so, o'course. They've got a good-sized piece of land over there and a fine log house, too. Sold a whole passel of cattle to the army last fall and made themselves a pile of money. I reckon Big John means to bring more livestock with him when he comes back up from Mexico, to build up another herd. Evangeline followed, having no real reason to stay behind.
She'd spend much of the rest of her life watching food cook, she figured, and there was no point in using her time that way before the fact. Keating and the little girl done wore themselves out, comin' all the way from Pennsylvania like they did. There's been some stealin' lately. Young as the child was, she knew a fair share of horror stories.
No doubt she'd learned them from her much older half-brother, Mott, who'd probably hoped to scare both mother and daughter into staying on at the farm. Scully, privy to none of these reflections, of course, merely nodded. Game's sure to be harder to come by, with winter coming on so early this year, and they've got to fight the wolves and mountain lions for every jack-rabbit and possum. The deer don't make much of a meal, either, all ribs and gristle the way they are. Wainwright showed for the Indians; on the train ride west, and on the string of stagecoaches after that, she'd heard other men say they ought to exterminate the red man once and for all and make the trails safe for decent folk.
Reminded of poultry, June-bug went back to the stove to keep an eye on the midday meal. Within half an hour, she'd made biscuits and gravy to accompany the other dishes, and the smells were delectable enough to set Evangeline's stomach rumbling. On the trip, she had often gone without eating, lest she run out of money and have nothing to offer Abigail, and she was enjoying Mrs. Evangeline set places for the five of them, at the table nearest the fire, while Jacob and Mr. Wainwright retreated to the barn to make sure the sleigh was fit for travel.
By the time the men returned and washed up on the chilly little porch off the kitchen, it was two in the afternoon, and the light was already fading. She was grateful for another night in the warm safety of the Springwater station and well aware the next day's journey would be a trying one. After dinner, Evangeline helped Mrs. McCaffrey with the dishes, while Jacob and Mr. Wainwright went outside again, to smoke and assess the weather. Abigail, full of good food and worn out from listening, had fallen asleep on a deacon's bench near the hearth. McCaffrey smiled and shook her head. I see different sorts of people all the time, and they've all got their stories to tell.
Westerners were private sorts, in Evangeline's judgment, with more than their share of secrets. A person can come to understand herself real well that way. Some folks pass their whole lives without learnin' a thing about their own minds and spirits, but out here, all you've got to do is pay attention. Beyond the thick log walls of the stagecoach station, the first night cries of the wolves could be heard. Jacob and Scully, settled once again at one of the tables, were embroiled in a game of checkers, and neither of them so much as looked up.
Unexpectedly, June-bug patted her arm.
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Don't you be afeared. You'll be safe with Scully, you and your little one both. I ain't never seen a bear nor a wolf nor a Yankee that could get the better of him. McCaffrey had just said began to sink in. Wainwright in profile as he reached out to draw a kerosene lamp closer to the board, removed the glass chimney, and struck a match. When the wick caught, he replaced the chimney, and he and Jacob went on with their checkers match.
Evangeline cleared her throat. Scully knows that, and he ain't likely to hold it against you.
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Reckon he probably don't hold with neither side. To his mind, that don't make him a Yankee or a Confederate, neither one. It makes him a Texan.