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  Herd to Love

  The Bride Herder #4

  Christine Sterling

  Table of Contents

  License Note

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Epilogue

  Leave a Review

  Check out the Bride Herder Stories

  What to Read Next

  Read all of Christine’s Books

  About Christine

  A runaway bride looking for a safe place to hide, the preacher offering her sanctuary but not his heart, and a matchmaker determined to bring them both together.

  Espéranza Martinez wants to marry for love. Nothing less will do. However, she always finds something lacking in her suitors and has no problem telling them so. When her parents finally arrange a marriage to a man she has never met, Espé takes her limited funds and runs away. She finds a group of young women and plays along that she too is a bride headed West. What she didn’t count on was a confused matchmaker, a church needing help or the preacher who might be just what she needs.

  William Gregory loves his life as a pastor and ministering to his small flock in Bent, Colorado. When he hears of a new matchmaker in town taking over his aunt’s business, William is thankful he wasn’t one of the men looking for a wife. That was until the mysterious Espé graces the steps of his small church seeking sanctuary that his thoughts begin to turn to the sacred institution.

  How long can Espé hide at the church until the truth comes to light? When Espé’s parents arrive demanding she returns home for her wedding, will William help Espé see that running again isn’t the answer, unless she is running into his arms?

  License Note

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  -- Christine Sterling

  Book Code: AMZ071019FFU

  Dedication

  To George and Margaret Weitemeyer. Thank you so much for your friendship and feedback! George, I so appreciate you sharing your ideas and wisdom as a preacher with me. Margaret, I appreciate you listening to my stories and sharing your ideas to make the story better! May God Bless you all the days of your lives.

  Acknowledgements

  Jesus. First, and last and all the time in between.

  My husband, Dan. I love you, babe.

  #EditorsRock – Totally could not do this without my editors, Carolyn and Amy. Thank you all for supporting me on this journey.

  Thank you to George McVey, who brought a fabulous group of authors together for this fun series. I appreciate you!

  Thank you to all the other Bride Herder authors. You are an amazing and classy bunch of writers! I love working with all of you!

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  Chapter 1

  Late Spring, 1896

  Bent, Colorado

  William Gregory stood in the doorway between the foyer and the church sanctuary and gave a sigh. It seemed the ladies were at it again. They were huddled together in front of the sanctuary sounding for all the world like a brood of chickens. Who knows what they were talking about, but it was certainly entertaining watching the small group of elderly women sipping tea and arguing amongst themselves.

  These fine ladies were officially known as the Ladies Auxiliary of the church. They met in the sanctuary weekly to discuss various activities to strengthen and support their town, but about once a month they simply came by to sit in the nave at the back of the church to drink tea and visit. There was a cafe in town, but this was more private. Especially considering who the woman was seated in the middle of the group.

  Viola Redburn was thoroughly enjoying the conversation swirling around her. Even from this distance, Bill could see the corners of her mouth lifted up in a slight grin as she nodded to what the ladies were saying. Viola was the town matchmaker, matching the single men with compatible young ladies in partnerships that were destined to last. It might be a little bit controversial, but she appeared to have great success.

  Mrs. Clements was the tallest of the group with dark grey hair and a stoic countenance. You could tell by her expression that there was some information she was trying to pry out of the others.

  Mrs. Jefferys, leader of the auxiliary, was often misunderstood by the other members of the group, appearing to be looking down the slope of her sharp nose. While it appeared that she might be judging, Bill knew she was listening intently and taking everything in.

  Next to Mrs. Jefferys was Mrs. Long. She was holding a small leather journal up to her nose and squinting as she silently read the words. Bill could see her mouth moving as she read the pages to herself.

  Mrs. Winslow sat across from Miss Viola. Bill could see her periodically wiping her eyes with a handkerchief before stuffing it back in her pocket. She wasn’t crying; or at least she wouldn’t admit to it. She did, however, confide in Bill she became more emotional after her husband died.

  Mrs. Grant was sleeping at the table. Bill didn’t know how she did it, but she could close her eyes and be sound asleep in a matter of minutes. Nothing could wake her, not even Mrs. English’s loud laugh.

  Mrs. English rounded out the group and was gently trying to wake Mrs. Grant by poking the sleeping woman’s arm.

  All of the women attended the church where Bill, as he was known informally, was the pastor. The town only had one church, but that might change soon the way the town was growing. For the time being, folks simply crowded into the little white chapel on the hill just outside of town.

  Bill had chuckled when he first saw the sign in front of the small church. The church was named by a traveling preacher and the sign in front of it stated the obvious.

  He was truly the pastor of “The Little White Chapel on the Hill”. It wasn’t much of a hill, but it afforded him a view over the other buildings in town. A prominent feature of that view was the grandiose Victorian mansion that was Miss Viola’s home.

  Bill’s mother had always dreamed about living in a house as grand as that. It wasn’t to be, however, as both he and his father were in the clergy. It didn’t stop his mother from dreaming, though.

  Originally from upstate New York, near the lakes, Bill moved to Bent, Colorado, eight years ago, when he was just a 20-year-old, fresh out of seminary. When he arrived the first person to greet him was Miss Viola. She was well respected among the widows; also known as the Bent, Colorado, Ladies Auxiliary.

  Bill knew she fancied herself a matchmaker and that she had recently been talking to several of the men in town. Men who over the years, had sought Bill’s counsel as they considered contacting Miss Viola for her matchmaking services.

  Bill most definitely was not one of Miss Viola’s customers. He had no desire to be married. He saw his parents argue about the amount of time that his father was away from home.

  His mother would complain that she only saw her husband on Sundays. The rest of the time he was ministering to the sick, visiting the eld
erly or hiding away in his office at the church writing sermons for the upcoming service.

  Bill honestly thought his father spent time away from the house just so he wouldn’t have to engage his mother in conversation. Ursula Renopolis was born into a life of opulence and wealth. Her family was well off and she never forgot the life she had before she married Aston Gregory.

  They met when Aston was traveling through the small community where she lived with her family in New York City. Going against her parents’ wishes, the wedding of the English preacher and the Greek beauty caused waves in the tight-knit community.

  Once the vows were said, Ursula’s family disowned her. She lost her family, her fortune and now she had no home, a husband she barely knew and became with child rather quickly.

  The Gregory family moved further north towards the lakes. It was the most beautiful place on earth, Bill thought when he was growing up. Several things about Bent reminded him of home.

  Bill didn’t even know he was poor until that fateful day when he overheard his mother discussing it with one of the ladies from church. Bill left as soon as he realized what they were saying.

  He had clean clothes, shoes on his feet, food in his belly. There was a huge outdoors that became his playground. He could fish, hunt or simply disappear into the woods when life at home became unbearable. But to hear himself actually be called poor? It filled him with a measure of shame.

  He didn’t understand how his mother could be so angry all the time and soon Bill was finding more reasons to be away from home as well.

  It wasn’t his fault that she was unhappy. Yet, Bill and his father paid for her feelings and more. There was never enough of the one thing she desired.

  At least Bill knew when his parents first married, it was for love and not money. His father truly did love his mother. It was simply through the years her bitterness grew, until it consumed her. Bill was convinced his father went to an early grave, dying of a broken heart.

  Bill came from a long line of clergy. Service to the Lord was his heritage. He had an obligation to tend to his congregation and despite what the ladies at the table thought, he had no intention of ever getting married.

  Not that he was destitute, he was just wary of marrying someone that might value money over everything else. He didn’t want a repeat of his parents’ marriage. He also wouldn’t want to marry someone that was engaged in gossip with the ladies of the church where he ministered.

  He saw his mother cause division with the congregation. He was perfectly fine being unmarried.

  Mrs. Jefferys spied him standing by the door and waved him over. “Pastor Gregory,” Mrs. Jefferys continued. “Viola was just discussing the women that might be coming to town.” Bill listened, glancing around the group. He suddenly realized that while he called all the widows by their formal name. Miss Viola, however, had always been Miss Viola.

  At the mention of women arriving, Bill’s ears perked up. Miss Viola was normally tight-lipped about her services, he couldn’t imagine her saying anything to anyone, much less a group of gossiping ladies. She rarely spoke of her business with him, and even then, he was obliged not to divulge anything.

  Miss Viola put her cup down. “I never said such a thing, Blanche.” Bill drew a sigh of relief. “I simply said that these men won’t have to worry much longer. You must stop trying to weasel information out of me.” Viola gave a little laugh that turned into a cough. It sounded like a window rattling. She made a fist and held it against her chest.

  “Miss Viola, you should see the doc about that cough,” Bill said, kneeling down next to the elderly woman. “How about I escort you home and then I’ll send for the doctor?”

  “You don’t have to call the physician. I don’t think there is anything he can do for this. It is just a spring cold.” Miss Viola reached her hand out for Bill to help her stand. “I will however, go home and rest. You may escort me.” She looked at the women seated around the table, smiling gently. “Now don’t try guessing who my clients are. I will have none of that.” She pointed to a woman across the table whose eyes were watering. “Can you pass me my shawl, Clarity?”

  “How are you feeling today, Mrs. Winslow?” Bill asked, looking at the woman with the watery eyes.

  “Hay fever is particularly bad today.” Mrs. Winslow gave a little sniffle as she handed the shawl across the table. Bill reached for it and then placed it around Miss Viola’s shoulders.

  “I imagine so.” Bill gave a little chuckle under his breath. It was the longest case of hay fever he had ever heard of.

  “Mrs. Jefferys, if you can lock up the sanctuary when you are done, I’d be most appreciative.” The widow nodded and Bill gently urged Miss Viola towards the outside.

  He saw her wrap the shawl tighter around her shoulders. Bill shrugged out of his light jacket. “Here, wear my coat,” he said, removing her shawl and wrapping the coat around her shoulders.

  Miss Viola shrugged her arms into his jacket and once she was done buttoning it up, Bill wrapped the shawl around her again. “Thank you,” she croaked.

  “You really shouldn’t have been talking today. I’m sure that there wasn’t anything that Mrs. Jefferys couldn’t have handled on her own.”

  “You don’t understand, William, it does a woman good to talk. It keeps her young.” She gave Bill a little wink. “You know the auxiliary is more social than service, don’t you?” she asked, a twinkle appearing in her eye. She threaded her arm through Bill’s as they continued to walk.

  “Yes, but you still do a lot of service for the community. Mrs. Madison is still talking about the baby quilt you ladies made for her daughter. And baby Lindsey is now five.”

  Miss Viola gave a little chuckle before coughing again. Bill stopped walking, allowing her to catch her breath before they continued.

  “It is too chilly for you to be out, Miss Viola.” Even though it was late spring, the weather still hadn’t warmed up enough to be outside without a jacket or gloves.”

  She patted his arm as a signal to begin to walk again. Bill had noticed a few months ago that her fingers were starting to bend from arthritis and she lately was slowing down in her pace.

  “It is a sad day when you have to resort to talking about the weather. Remember that.”

  “All right then. Care to fill me in on what the widows were talking about? Is there a group of women arriving?”

  Viola gave a little chuckle. She ignored his second question. “They know I’ve been working to match several of the men in the town with prospective brides.” Giving his arm a gentle squeeze, she continued, “I can match you as well.”

  Bill grimaced. “No thank you, Miss Viola. I’m perfectly content the way I am.”

  “Nonsense, young man. Everyone deserves a chance at love. At some point you are going to be very lonely puttering around in the sanctuary and picking up after a bunch of old ladies.”

  “Don’t forget puttering in my garden.”

  Viola laughed. “And your garden, too. You shouldn’t have to tend to those roses alone.”

  “Are you volunteering to help me?” he teased her.

  “If I were thirty years younger perhaps. But you do need a helpmate, William.” Miss Viola was the only person who could get away with calling him William. “Promise me you will at least think about it?” Bill looked at Miss Viola. The lines on her face appeared more pronounced as she continued to talk.

  Bill simply shrugged. He didn’t want to lie to Miss Viola.

  Soon they were in front of the house. It was a large Victorian mansion in shades of gray and cream with a wraparound porch. Several white chairs were placed strategically in case visitors stopped by.

  The inside of the house was decorated simply, framed photographs of couples lined the walls.

  “Take me to my office. There is a settee there I can lay on,” she said pointing to a room just past the foyer.

  Bill held her elbow and escorted her into the room. He helped her remove the shawl and jacket, layin
g them over a chair in the corner.

  Viola reclined back on the settee and looked out the window. “I love this view. Look at how clear the sky is.”

  Bill peered out the window. He could see the church on its gentle hillock and off in the distance behind it, a bright blue sky with fluffy white clouds creating a backdrop that was simply stunning.

  “Where’s your blanket, Miss Viola?” Bill asked, turning away from the window. She simply pointed to a covered basket next to the chair. Bill selected a quilted blanket from the basket and returned to place it over his friend. Her eyes were closed, but she sighed as she shifted down underneath the cover.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you?” Bill asked, picking up his coat.

  Miss Viola opened one eye. “If it isn’t too much trouble, I would like a cup of tea.”

  “Of course.” Bill headed to the kitchen and made her a cup of tea, adding a splash of milk. He saw a jar of honey and remembered how his mother would always place a teaspoon of honey in his tea if he had a sore throat. He bet that Miss Viola’s throat was definitely sore from all that coughing. He added two teaspoons just for good measure.

  Miss Viola’s eyes were still closed as he placed the cup of tea on the small table between the settee and the chair.

  He looked around the office. The wall was framed with letters. They probably matched up to the couples on the wall in the foyer and living room. He walked over to the desk and there was a stack of letters on the corner of the desk. Bill glanced over it and made his way back around the desk to get his coat.

  He would mention Miss Viola’s condition to the doctor on his way back to the church. There was no harm in having the doctor stop by and see her. Bill picked his coat back up and headed towards the door.

  “William,” she said, her voice hoarse and scratchy. “Can you pass me the folder that is on the writing desk over there before you go?”

  Bill nodded and retrieved the folder, placing it on the table next to her tea. “Are these all your matchmaking notes?”