Unmasking Her Secret Valentine (Preview)

Chapter One

December 1884

Raccoon Springs,

Montana Territory

It was a bright, crisp winter’s day, and Heather Burridge was looking forward to her afternoon ride. It being a Sunday, she had the whole afternoon to herself and could do anything she wanted, provided she didn’t go too far or get into mischief. As she had just turned twenty-three, Heather felt it was unlikely she would get up to any mischief. Of course, with her best friend and confidant Annie Brown with her, they might be just a bit naughty.

Snow had fallen the night before, leaving piles of pristine white all over. A lot of it had been cleared around the farmhouse, the stables, and the barn, though, leaving only the fields beyond in pristine beauty. Heather couldn’t wait to get out there. She didn’t begrudge her father for insisting the snow be cleared around the buildings. This was a working stud farm after all, and even in the dead of winter, the horses needed caring for.

As she reached the stables, humming Oh Little Town of Bethlehem, which she had sung in church that morning, she found only one groom on duty. It was Peter Stanton, a young man of around her age. Tall and thin as a rake, he gave the impression of being all elbows and knees.

The way he stood up from the stool he’d been dozing on reminded Heather of an insect unfolding its legs. Peter always seemed to have extra joints in his limbs.

“Oh, Miss Burridge,” he said, knocking over a pail and a broom that had been leaning against the wall behind him. “I didn’t think…after the storm last night…are you planning to take Lady out for a ride?”

She smiled sweetly. “Well, you know Lady gets moody if she doesn’t go for a run.”

“True,” he said smiling, and lowering his gaze. “I’ll get her ready.” Turning he strode off to Lady’s stall.

Heather waited, her breath forming little clouds of vapor in the air. Bundled in her coat, scarf, and gloves, she was quite warm. A woolen hat held all her golden tresses and was doing an admirable job of keeping her ears warm too. She hoped it wouldn’t fall off during her ride. The previous Sunday, her hat had come flying off when Lady decided to gallop across the hills. Heather hadn’t been able to find it, and she’d loved that hat. This was her second favorite, and she had slipped several pins into it to keep it on. With luck, it would hold.

Peter appeared with Lady, saddled and ready. She nodded her majestic white head at Heather, who gave her a sugar cube from the bag of supplies she had brought from the house and patted her neck.

“Hello, my darling,” Heather said. “You are particularly fine today.”

Lady snorted as if to say, Well, of course, I look good. When don’t I?

“Peter, is there any news on Thomas Moore?” Heather asked. “I forgot to ask my father.”

Peter’s smile slid from his face like an ice sheet sliding off a roof. “It’s not good, miss,” he said. “Not good at all. That leg of his definitely broken, and Dr. van der Bijl says he might also have a spine injury. He’s not awake yet, either.”

“Oh dear,” Heather said. “I’ll see to it that mother and I take his family something to see them through the festive season.”

“That would be very kind, miss,” he said.

Taking Lady’s bridle, Heather led her out into the courtyard, where she walked the horse around and around, letting her get warmed up. Heather had grown up around horses and knew the value of allowing the animal to loosen up her muscles before going for a ride.

As she led Lady through the routine warm-up they had developed over the years, she thought of poor Thomas Moore. It had been an accident. It could have happened to anyone. Mr. Hendrix, the head groom, had asked Thomas, who was young and light, to go up on the stable roof two days earlier to fix a hole in the roof. A tile had come loose, and snow had fallen on the little pony Heather and her sisters had ridden when they were younger. Poor Onora had been cold all night and come down with the sniffles.

The roof had been slippery, and Mr. Hendrix had insisted that Thomas wait for another of the grooms, an equally light fellow named Ben, to come and help him. But Thomas had always been a bit of a daredevil, and he had said he didn’t need help.

As it turned out, he had needed help after all. Some ice shifted on the roof, and Thomas came clattering down with even more of the tiles. He hit his head so hard on the flagstone paving that there was a pool of blood around it like a macabre halo. One look, and it had been clear his poor leg was snapped in two as well.

Heather had been in the stable when it happened, and she didn’t think she would ever forget the sight. It had chilled her to the bone.

And now, poor Thomas was unconscious at his mother’s house in town, and no one could say if he would wake or not. She had offered up a particularly heartfelt prayer that morning in church for his full recovery. Still, she and her mother and even her sister Lavender should stop by Mrs. Moore’s house and visit with some gifts. It was the season of goodwill, after all.

“I think she’s ready now, miss,” Peter said. He’d been watching her from the stable doorway.

“Oh, yes,” Heather said, returning from her reverie. “Has the roof in the stable been fixed yet?”

“Yes, miss,” Peter said. “Oliver Wells had the idea of pouring buckets of hot water over it first and letting the ice and snow melt off. Then he got up on the ladder and fixed it up good as new.”

“That’s wonderful,” she said. “And poor Onora?”

“Doing well,” Peter said. “I moved her into a stall with Daisy. They’ve always gotten along.”

Daisy was her mother’s horse. An older mare who had foaled last season and had a calm, pleasant temperament.

“All right, Lady, are you ready?” Heather asked. Her horse looked impatient, pawing the ground. So Heather mounted her and rode out of the yard.

All around her, rolling hills dipped and rose in snow-covered splendor. Pine trees clustered into a forest to the west, and that was the direction Heather chose, heading towards the white-capped mountains that bordered the valley she called home.

Lady seemed happy to be out of the stable, and though the air was chilly, there wasn’t so much as a light breeze. The sun was shining down in a watery winter kind of way, but to Heather, it was the most perfect day for a ride.

Well, just about any day there wasn’t any rain was a perfect day for a ride, but this one felt special. Perhaps it was the fact that this was her first ride, one year older. Or perhaps it was that in just over a week, it would be Christmas that made this feel so wonderful.

At the top of the next rise, Heather reined in Lady, and they stood under a spreading elm tree, now devoid of leaves, waiting for Annie Brown. Annie was the daughter of a dairy farmer who owned the land on the western side of Heather’s father’s property. On the eastern side was the Parson family stud farm, but Heather and her family didn’t speak to them.

The Burridges and the Parsons didn’t mix, according to her father. It was because of some ancient family feud that had never been resolved. Heather considered it all ridiculous.

A brown speck moving at speed across the white landscape drew her attention, and soon she could make out Annie’s sandy hair gleaming in the sunlight. Her friend was dressed in a lovely bottle-green coat with a matching scarf and gloves.

“Hi Heather,” Annie said as she reached the tree on the back of her chestnut mare named Tuesday, after the day the mare was born.

“Annie, I thought you weren’t coming,” Heather said.

“No, I was, but mother insisted I wash all the lunch dishes even though it was Sally’s turn.”

“I don’t know how your sister manages to pull the wool over your mother’s eyes every time,” Heather said as she and Annie urged Tuesday and Lady into a walk.

They turned their horses to head into the woods, leaving both their families’ land behind.

“I don’t know either,” Annie confessed. “You would think Mother would have caught on by now that Sally never does the dishes. It’s always me and Beth. I don’t see why Conrad shouldn’t do them, either. Who says a man can’t wash dishes?”

“I don’t know,” Heather said. “If I had a brother like Conrad, I would have insisted he learns to clean up after himself. He is terribly slovenly.”

“Tell me about it,” Annie said with feeling. And that concluded the talk of their families. Neither girl wanted to spend time on them when they had much better things to talk about.

The wood was dark and thick with pine needles. The girls got off their horses’ backs and walked them through the trees. With low-hanging branches, they soon learned this was a much better idea than riding in full tilt and knocking their heads, so they saw stars.

Soon they reached their destination. It wasn’t much, as anyone looking at it would say, but Heather and Annie loved it. They thought it had once been a hunter’s hut but was now long abandoned. Between them, they had patched the roof badly, chopped wood, and brought things from their houses that would make this place comfortable. Once they got a fire going, it was cozy, and more importantly, it was away from listening ears.

If there was one thing about living in houses full of girls, it was that nothing was a secret for long. The moment it was whispered into a suitable, waiting ear, another ear would pick it up, and that mouth would go on to tell absolutely everyone until the secret was not so much a secret as a news item. Heather’s little sister, Lavender, was especially nosey and was always listening in to her conversations. So the hut had become a refuge of sorts, a place where both girls could air their views, have their say, and gossip in private.

They tied up the horses under the lean-to, which they had inexpertly erected on one side of the hut last summer. It kept the horses out of the weather, and Heather was certain Lady preferred it to standing around in the cold.

She and Annie went around to the log pile at the back of the hut. They had thought to put a tarpaulin over the logs to keep them dry and now were glad they had. They loaded their arms full and went around to the front. Heather opened the door with her elbow, pressing the latch down and it swung inward.

Little glassy, beady eyes gleamed at them in the daylight. The sound of clawed feet scampering over the wooden floor met their ears, and furry faces turned from them as their owners darted away. Not out, though. Out would have been fine. They all darted further into the hut.

“Oh, good gracious!” Annie exclaimed.

Heather threw her logs at the open doorway, shrieking like a banshee on someone’s roof the night of their death. Then she turned and ran.

Annie was right on her heels, also having tossed her logs onto the ground.

About five yards from the hut, Heather managed to get a hold of herself and stopped running. Turning, she glared at the open doorway.

The sound of hooves thudding on the ground filled the air, and before she could say anything, a man came into the small clearing on the back of a big black stallion. She knew the horse instantly. It was Copernicus and belonged to her father’s mortal enemy’s son.

“Andrew Parsons,” she said in a squeaky little voice as he looked up at the man on the horse’s back.

“Heather Burridge,” he said in a pleasant sonorous voice. She had always liked to hear him speak, thinking his reading voice in school to be the best in town. “I heard screaming. Are you all right? Can I be of some assistance?”

“Oh, Andrew,” Annie said, with a sigh of relief. “We are so glad to see you. There are things in that hut. Furry things with claws and gleaming little button eyes.”

“Gleaming eyes?” Andrew asked as he dismounted. Copernicus stamped his hooves as though impatient. Turning to his horse, Andrew said, “We’ll be on our way again soon, Copernicus. We must offer these lovely ladies our help.”

Heather’s heart had started to beat fast, and it had nothing to do with whatever was in the hut. Andrew smiled at her, and she felt the blush beginning at her knees. It was the fact that since the first day of school, when he had astounded the class with his recitation of a poem called The Daffodils by William Wordsworth, Heather had been in love with him. Well, maybe not in love, but certainly in awe and a state of constant admiration. She was certain they could have been good friends if only their fathers weren’t feuding.

Andrew walked up to the hut’s front door, which had swung half closed. He peered in, stepping carefully over the logs. And then he became nothing but a darker shape in the gloom inside, and then he disappeared entirely.

Next came a crash and a bang, some hissing and the scrabbling of claws. Heather and Annie, now gripping each other’s hands, walked toward the hut slowly. They stepped closer and closer, fear filling both of them.

And then suddenly, the door burst open all the way, and two raccoons came flying out propelled by Andrew swinging the broom Heather had brought to the hut in the summer. The raccoons, startled and angry, ran down the two steps and, seeing the girls, who were screaming again, turned and fled into the woods.

Heather watched them go, still clutching Annie for support. Her friend turned her large green eyes on her and let out the breath she’d been holding.

“Mercy, that almost stopped my heart,” Annie confessed.

“Yes,” Heather agreed. “What were they doing in our hut?”

“You shouldn’t leave food out here,” Andrew said. “They were in your cookie tin. I’m afraid they’re all ruined.”

“Oh dear, and I sealed up that tin good and tight last week,” Annie said. “Sorry, Heather, it seems we’ll have to have tea without cookies.”

“It’s fine,” Heather said, meeting Andrew’s gaze. He did have the most magnificent eyes, blue like the sky. “Thank you, Andrew, for saving us. I truly dislike raccoons. They are dreadful pests.”

“They are our town animal, you know,” Andrew said.

“Well, that doesn’t make me like them more,” Heather said, feeling she had somehow become the butt of a joke, although she wasn’t sure how or what the joke was.

“Well, I am really grateful you came along. Would you like to stay for tea?” Annie asked. “We have more than enough, and always bring the sugar and milk special.”

Andrew placed the broom carefully against the wall and smiled. “What a wonderful invitation. Unfortunately, I have an appointment in town which I’m late for. But I am very glad I could be of assistance. Should you ever need my help again, just scream as you did. Your voices carry well in this still winter air.” His smile landed on Heather, and the blush reached her cheeks, turning them into little burning coals on her face. She looked away.

He went past her and remounted Copernicus. The sound of hooves thudding on the ground filled the air, and then he was gone.

“Oh, that man is so handsome!” Annie exclaimed, fanning her face with her hand. “And that voice of his. Makes my knees weak every time he opens his mouth to speak.”

“I know,” Heather said glumly.

“Oh, cheer up,” Annie said, putting an arm around her shoulders. “He only had eyes for you. More’s the pity.”

“Not that it makes any difference,” Heather said. “My father would rather I married a lump of coal than a Parsons.”

Annie looked thoughtful as they walked back to the hut. “You know, you’re right. I think I’ll just have to marry him for you.”

This had Heather laughing. “Really? You’d do that for me?”

“Of course, I would take the matrimonial bullet for you, my friend. With happiness,” Annie said.

Heather sighed. “Come on, let’s get that fire going. I’m starting to freeze out here.”

Chapter Two

Heather Burridge was an anomaly for Andrew Parsons. He considered this as he rode away from the forest and the hut where he had, completely by chance, run into her and her friend. Unlike the other Burridges, who were haughty and stuck up, Heather had always been surprisingly approachable. She listened and had intelligent, well-thought-out answers to the questions posed in their lessons when they were at school.

She was polite and caring and a constant in every charity drive. Word had it that she had even forced her father into endowing one that she now ran.

But none of that had truly endeared her to him. A kind spirit and generous nature were wonderful attributes but plenty of women had those same fine qualities. What set her apart was something all her own.

It was her singing voice. Oh, heavens! What a voice it was! An angel couldn’t sound sweeter. She was the reason that Andrew was keen, no excited even, to go to church every Sunday, come rain or shine or feet of snow. As one of the principal singers in the church choir, Heather’s voice was guaranteed to be heard singing praises.

In all honesty, she could have been singing nursery rhymes, and Andrew’s heart and mind would be uplifted, nonetheless. It was like hearing heaven. And today, she blushed when he made a joke.

Admittedly it was a feeble joke and somewhat at her expense, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself. It was either that or fall on his knees, beg her to sing to him, and then propose marriage on the spot. He’d barely gotten out of there with his self-respect intact. Bundled in her coat with her golden hair slipping from under her woolen hat, and her large hazel fixed on him, maintaining the family-prescribed distance had been hard. If she had run into his arms in fear, he would have held on and most likely never let go.

Of course, this was ridiculous, and there was no future in having even a portion of his heart in Heather Burridge’s hands because she would never be his. His family would disown him, call him a traitor, and he would never see them again. Andrew loved his family. He loved them dearly, and that was why he was on his way into town on this Sunday afternoon.

As he neared the town of Raccoon Springs, his thoughts left Heather, albeit reluctantly, and turned to the matter at hand. It was urgent, and if he was to put the plan he had come up with during the previous week’s service, then he would need help.

There were only two people in the world that Andrew could trust with a matter of this urgency, and they would hopefully be waiting for him at the Yearling, the local saloon.

The saloon had stood in the same spot for over seventy years. It was a weather-worn building, much repaired and renovated, and apart from the main bar room had other more private areas where men could meet and play cards and talk. A lot of the betting that went on around the local Founder’s Day horse race went on in those backrooms weeks before the race took place.

Today, the smallest of the rooms would host a different meeting entirely.

He tied Copernicus to the hitching post and went inside. The main room was large, with a long bar running along one wall. Bottles and glasses were stacked behind the bar in neat rows on shelves, and the bartender, a burly man named Walter Elliott, was cleaning a tankard with a rag. He nodded to Andrew, who had been coming to the saloon with his father and older brother since he could walk.

Having progressed from ginger beer to something with more kick in it, hadn’t changed the way Walter greeted him. It was still a nod and a weak grin.

“Are they here?” he asked, stepping up close to the bar so that his words wouldn’t travel around the room.

There wasn’t much noise, the patrons being only the local heavy drinkers and a few men who couldn’t bear the weight of a whole day with the family. Words would carry in this quiet, high-ceilinged room, and this was not an endeavor that should be spoken of where ears could hear.

Walter nodded. “Yes. They’re in the Foal Room.”

Andrew nodded his thanks, ordered himself a beer, and then with the beverage in hand, made his way to the Foal Room. All the back rooms had names. There was the Mare, the Stallion, the Foal, and the Gelding. The Filly was the nickname given to the outhouse around the back. Andrew had no idea why.

Opening the door to the Foal Room, he found his older brother Jonathan and his best friend Marcus Warden deep in conversation. It seemed that John was telling a funny story.

“…and then he slid off the stool and right into the muck.”

Marcus laughed loudly. “I can picture it. My goodness, that’s funny.”

“What is?” Andrew asked.

“Ah, look at what the raccoon dragged in,” John said. “A little late, aren’t we?”

“I had to help two ladies with a vermin problem on the way,” Andrew said, taking a seat at the large round table that took up a good portion of the room.

“You have all the luck,” Marcus said. “I got here, and nothing happened. Nothing at all.”

“Marcus, you live here. Your father owns this place,” Andrew pointed out.

“We don’t live here,” Marcus corrected him. “We live in the top floor apartment. It’s got a separate entrance and everything.”

Yes, fine,” John said a little testily. “Should we get on with this meeting, whatever it’s about? I’d like to remind you, little brother, that I have a lovely wife and two small children at home, which I see little of.”

“All right,” Andrew said. “Here’s the situation. Father is sick. The doctor came over yesterday, and the news wasn’t good. He’s not sure the old man is going to make it to the summer.”

“What?” John exclaimed. “He just had a little cold. How did it get so bad?”

“I don’t know!” Andrew retorted, feeling John was overreacting a bit. “It has. It’s his lungs. He gets these fits where he just can’t seem to get any air in his lungs. The doctor has given him something to add to a bowl of hot water and breathe in the steam, but it only helps a bit. He says if Father doesn’t gain some strength and the fits don’t lessen, well….” He couldn’t say it. The thought of his father dying while gasping for air was too horrific for words.

John stared at his half-drunk beer. “Mother didn’t say anything at church this morning. She said Father was doing better.”

“You know Mother, she was never going to tell you the truth,” Andrew said. “She doesn’t want you to worry. Neither do I, but I thought you should know the truth.”

“Gee, thanks,” John said. “Is that what you couldn’t talk about in front of Eliza and the kids?”

“No,” Andrew said. “I have thought of something that might make Father feel better and rekindle his will to live.”

John stared at Andrew, and he could see the realization of what he was talking about rising in his eyes.

“No!” John said emphatically. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am,” Andrew said.

“Hold on, what’s going on?” Marcus asked. “What are you talking about?”

John rose and picked up his drink. “You’re crazy, little brother, and I don’t want to be involved in this.”

“Why not?” Andrew asked, standing and getting in his brother’s way, stopping him from leaving.

John sighed and shook his head. “Do I have to say it? Okay, fine. Because what you’re proposing is illegal.”

“What is going on?” Marcus cried, thumping his hands on the table.

Silence slid into the room and enveloped them. John glared at Andrew, but Andrew held his ground. What he was proposing was drastic. It was reckless even, and yes, in some people’s eyes, it would be seen as illegal, but it was the one thing, the one and only thing, that would make his father feel better, and for that single reason, he had to try.

“All right, I will give you five minutes to convince me,” John said, resuming his seat. He placed his tankard back on the table and pulled out his pocket watch. Waiting for the second hand to come around as Andrew sat and ordered his thoughts. When John said you had five minutes, you literally had five minutes.

“Go!” John said.

“I propose that we take back the Goose Egg Diamond that Mr. Burridge has been touting as his own for the last forty-odd years. Since our father was there and found the diamond with Mr. Burridge, our father has fifty percent ownership of the diamond. Losing that fifty percent share in the fame and glory that Burridge got for finding it and bringing it from Africa has been a thorn in our father’s side. If anything can reignite his joie de vivre it is the promise of having that which is his by right, returned to him,” Andrew said, the words tumbling out of him in a rush to make sure they were all heard.

John stared at him and then looked at the watch. “You have two more minutes.”

“Well, that’s my pitch,” Andrew said, feeling a little put upon.

The pocket watch closed with a snap of the lid, and John began to chew his upper lip, an affectation that meant he was thinking.

“So, you think that if you give your father that old diamond that he’s been fighting with Burridge over for years, that will make your father better?” Marcus asked. “You know that’s crazy, right?”

“Well, there is no magical medicine that will work,” Andrew said. “Dr. van der Bijl says he’s done all he can. Now it’s up to Father to recover, to get strong again so that he can survive the fits because they will keep coming. It’s that kind of disease. It doesn’t go away, but it can be managed with special smelling salts and steam baths.” He slumped in his chair. He hadn’t expected it to be this hard to convince them of the validity of his plan.

There was a long silence this time. Andrew wondered what John was thinking. Was he considering the proposition, or was he only considering what to tell Sheriff Underhill when he handed Andrew over to him? He could just hear John in his head. Hi Sheriff, my stupid little brother has come up with a cockamamie idea that is so close to illegal that you’re going to want to arrest him before he actually goes through with it. 

“I can’t believe this,” John said, breaking the silence. “I think you might have a point.”

“What? Are you seriously going to let him do this?” Marcus asked. “You can’t be serious. You’re talking about stealing.” And then he leaned closer to Andrew. “And you know a certain someone will never forgive you if you do this.”

He meant Heather. Andrew had only confided in Marcus about his feelings for her, not daring to mention her at home.

“Who?” John asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” Andrew said pointedly, raising his brows in warning at Marcus. “All that matters is helping Father to recover. He’s so weak and sleeps all the time when he’s not wheezing and coughing and gasping for breath. I can’t take it anymore.” He felt emotions he had stuffed down inside himself begin to rise, and he blinked back tears.

All his life, Andrew had admired his father greatly. Coming from a little British settlement in Southern Africa, where life was anything but easy. He had worked on a farm there with his family. It was only his bad luck that he had befriended a snake in the grass by the name of William Burridge, who had taken all the credit for a diamond the size of a goose egg that they had found together.

And despite that setback, Andrew’s father, Raymond, had made money. He’d become wealthy with a very successful stud farm here in the Montana Territory. He had built it up from nothing. Using the sale of some lesser-quality diamonds he’d found in Africa, he had come to America and funded the stud farm. Now, through good deals and hard work, Parsons was one of the top names in horses. Andrew was proud of his heritage and only wanted his father to feel that great pride again.

“Do you think you could pull it off?” John asked.

“Yes,” Andrew said. “There are some aspects of this caper that will need some more research, but I think I can.”

“What aspects?” John asked, fixing Andrew with his cool and calculating stare. Not for nothing had John taken over the running of the farm. He was currently staying in town for a week with his wife and children to see her family, who ran the local bank.

After some careful consideration, Andrew said, “Well, the actual caper itself. I need help working out how to steal the Goose Egg. Word has it that Burridge has it locked up tighter than a nun’s knickers.”

“That is blasphemous!” Marcus cried.

“No, it’s not,” Andrew said. “Anyway, I need some help. That’s why I asked you two here. You, Marcus, have your ear to the ground and hear everything that’s going on, and you, John, are brilliant. Me, I bring the guts to this little threesome, as I’m sure I’m the only one who wouldn’t falter when it was time to take the gem.”

“But how would you do it? How would you get close enough?” John asked. “I doubt you could walk up and ask for it.”

“True,” Andrew conceded. “We need to know more about what happens on that farm. It’s the only way to find a way in.”

For the next five minutes, they all gave out ideas, but only Marcus had something solid to contribute to the plan.

“So, we’re agreed that we need more information,” John said when their conversation had yielded nothing of use.

“Yes,” Andrew said, seeing his plan wither and die on the proverbial vine. “But we don’t know how to get it.”

“There is a way,” Marcus said. “We could find out all we need to know about the Burridges if we could get someone on their land.”

“Like who?” Andrew asked.

“Like you,” Marcus said.

“How? They know me,” Andrew said.

“True, but if we can find a way to alter you,” Marcus said, “There might be the perfect opportunity now. You see, there was an accident at the Burridges two days ago.”

“Yes, a groom fell off the roof,” John said. “It’s tragic, but I don’t see how it helps us.”

Andrew smiled. Knowing how Marcus’ mind worked, he had a good idea of what his friend was suggesting.

“You’re suggesting a little cloak and dagger, aren’t you?” he asked his friend.

Grinning, Marcus nodded. “Well, cloak certainly. I doubt you’ll need the dagger.”

“Explain,” John said testily. Andrew knew he hated not being in on the conversation.

“The plan is simple. We alter how Andrew looks so that no one will recognize him and send him to work on the Burridge farm. They will be hiring now to replace the injured Thomas Moore. Andrew knows his way around horses and can pass for a groom, can’t you, Andrew?”

“I most certainly can,” Andrew agreed. Years of looking after the horses would finally come in handy. “But, I’ll be missed around our farm and people talk.”

“No, you won’t,” John said, shaking his head with a chuckle. “No one ever sees you.”

“And you’re also the only one whose job isn’t a job, really,” Marcus said. “No one will miss you if you aren’t at your post.”

“What? I work on the farm,” Andrew said indignantly.

“No, you tinker in your barn with all your little machines or are out in your hot houses growing roses,” John said. “It’s not the same thing. Marcus is right, we only ever see you for meals, and that’s when you remember to come in to eat.”

Andrew took a slight bit of offense at that but then realized what Marcus was getting at. “So, you want me to go and get a job at the Burridge farm? It’s genius.”

“Precisely,” Marcus said.

“And then, while you’re in their employ, you will have the run of the place,” Marcus said.

“Only as far as the stables go,” John said. “He won’t have access to inside the house, and that’s where the Goose Egg is kept. Or so they say.”

“Yes, but I am a sneaky sort,” Andrew said. “I’ll find a way in.”

The prospect of this plan tickled his fancy to no end. Not only would he be able to help his father, but he would also be able to spend the day around Heather without anyone being the wiser.

“This is a truly wonderful plan,” Andrew said. “Let’s go and get me a disguise.”

---

“Unmasking Her Secret Valentine” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

Heather Burridge has many dreams, but marriage has never been one of them yet. When her parents drop the bombshell that she must at least be courting someone by the Valentine’s Day Ball though, Heather is thrown into a whirlwind of trying to find a beau…

What will happen when she realizes that the only man she’s ever felt a spark for is the son of her father’s nemesis?

Andrew Parsons is on a mission to right the wrong that was done to his father decades ago by Heather’s father. His father’s health is failing, and Andrew is determined to do whatever it takes to help him recover. Taking on a false identity, Andrew sets out to work at the Burridge farm…

As his feelings for Heather grow though, will he be able to keep his plan a secret?

When Heather and Andrew meet, they instantly recognize something in each other that they can’t ignore. However, when Andrew reveals his family’s dark past, Heather’s trust is tested… Will they be able to overcome the divide between their families and find the love that they deserve?

“Unmasking Her Secret Valentine” is a historical western romance novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

Get your copy from Amazon!