The Rancher Takes A Bride (The Burnett Brides Book 1)

Chapter One

    Texas 1874
    Rose Severin made her living speaking to the dead. Or at least she pretended to, until she could fulfill her real dream of becoming a famous actress on the New York stage like her mother. But dreams couldn't put a roof over your head or ease the gnawing ache of hunger, and New York was more than a carriage ride from Fort Worth, Texas.
    Rose peeked between the curtains separating the two rooms and watched her black manservant, Isaiah, settle tonight's customers. She'd drawn an interesting group. A fairly young woman, a matron, a swanky gentleman, and a cowboy whose burnished hair and rugged good looks certainly caught her attention.
    Isaiah stepped behind the curtain and whispered, "Mrs. Florin, the lady who will be sitting next to you, lost her twelve-year-old daughter, Sally, in a carriage accident. She wants to contact Sally and make sure she's all right. The other lady, Miss North, wishes to speak with her brother who was killed in a bank holdup. He was a law-abiding man, just in the wrong place at the wrong time, according to the newspaper."
    Isaiah frowned and shook his head. "The gentleman in the brown suit, Mr. Thompson, said very little. The other man, Mr. Burnett, is here because of his brother."
    "Burnett. That name sounds familiar." Rose tried to remember where she had heard the name before.
    "His mother came in earlier this afternoon. She's the lady who wanted to speak with her missing son. He disappeared during the war and she didn't know if he was dead or alive."
    "Yes, I remember her." Rose glanced out the curtain. "What does he want?"
    "He wouldn't say."
    "I guess we'll find out," she said shaking her head and frowning at Isaiah.
    "Are you ready?" Isaiah asked.
    Rose brushed back a lock of her dark, wayward curls, checked the bodice of her loose-fitting blouse, and smoothed her skirt. Dressed more like a gypsy than a lady, she took a deep breath and released it slowly. "Madame Desirée is ready."
    Isaiah ambled out of the kitchen and turned toward the group of people now gathered around the table. "Let me present Madame Desirée Severin, Voice of the Dead."
    Rose swept through the curtain. Holding out her full skirt, she gave a little twirl then curtsied to her audience. "Good evening."
    She pulled out a chair and took a seat between the cowboy and Mrs. Florin. She glanced around the table at the four customers who had come to speak with their departed loved ones.
    Madame Desirée offered her clients a chance to ease their conscience, say the words they'd meant to say, resolve a disagreement, or for a brief moment feel close to the dead once again.
    Whatever reason brought them to her, Rose tried her best to give them their money's worth, and if it eased their pain, then she'd more than fulfilled her job.
    She lowered her head as if praying, then raised her eyebrows, gazing at each person sitting around the table.
    " Alors, commencon ." She paused dramatically, letting her customers absorb the French words and then repeated them in English. "Let us begin."
    With a flick of her wrist, she snapped her fingers at Isaiah, her bracelets jingling. From the back of the room, he turned the knob of the lantern until the light slowly faded and a faint glimmer remained, casting the room in an eerie twilight.
    The rough scratch of a match striking flint echoed in the darkness as she lit the mixture of cedar, thyme, rose petals, and vanilla. A cloud of smoky perfume drifted upwards, leaving a faint glow in the metal bowl.
    "Close your eyes and hold the hand of your neighbor as I call upon the spirits to heed our summons," she commanded in a French accent that she'd practiced.
    Isaiah plunged the room into darkness. Like an invisible bond, nervous tension flowed through the room, weaving a seductive spell over her clients.
    A quick glance at the cowboy showed the corner of his mouth lifted in amusement. So, he thought this was entertaining, did he? She lifted his hand, rough-callused but warm and strong as he clasped her small hand in his.
    He gazed back at her, his eyebrows questioning.
    She'd dealt with men like him before. She lifted her chin and turned her gaze to her other customers.
    "Many spirits are gathered in the room with us tonight," she whispered. She turned her face toward the heavens and called out loud, "Spirits, come to us. Let us speak with our dear departed ones again."
    With practiced ease, Rose quietly slipped her foot out of her backless boot. Her bare foot touched