Ida Stevens is a resourceful woman who naturally rises to any
challenge the world throws at her. First, she is left by her husband,
Liam, to face a brutal winter in the Salt Lake Valley; he promised
her he would return, but she doesn’t waste time waiting for
him. Then, just as autumn is slipping into winter, she discovers
a wounded, unconscious man in the grove of trees near her cabin.
Kelly Cook is a wanted man.In Kelly, Ida found a kindred spirit
and a strong heart. A man who would not only stand by her, but
also support her, and protect her. He lit her body on fire as
the endless blizzards roared outside her cabin door.
But the twin obstacles of her husband and his past stand between
them and a shared future, and they must overcome them to find
their way to each other again.
Excerpt
Chapter One
Ida hugged herself and shivered. It was late in the afternoon
and the sun was sinking low behind the mountains. Long purple
shadows stretched from the low cliffs, and she noted with a
sigh that there were already traces of snow on the towering
peaks. It was only September and she wasn't ready for what promised
to be a hellish winter. She couldn't look away from the white-capped
mountains, her eyes tracing the edge of the snow until she couldn't
see it anymore through the dim light.
The trees next to the house had already changed colors. The
small cottonwoods and willows had dropped their leaves and were
bracing themselves for the cruel, unforgiving winds. The air
carried the rich smell of autumn-burnt leaves, slaughtered animals
and smoked meat. In the silence, she could hear the Smith boys
in the far distance herding their cows into the barn for the
night. They mooed in protest and the kids shouted with tired
encouragement.
Mrs. Smith had stopped for a visit the day before, unexpected
and unannounced. She clucked around Ida's cabin, casting disapproving
looks over the dust on the floor, the pile of unwashed clothes,
and the dirty fireplace.
"Oh, Dear, if you need help, don't you know you can always
ask?" Mrs. Smith said. She patted Ida's hand and tried
to look understanding.
"Thank you for the offer," Ida said tightly. "I
appreciate it, but I'm fine."
"Oh, well, I know how hard it must be for you. Being out
here all by yourself. I don't know what I'd do without my Johnny
and my boys. Why don't you come to the services on Sunday?"
Mrs. Smith suggested with a kind smile. "I think you'd
have a wonderful time and there are so many interesting people..."
Ida gritted her teeth at the memory. She knew why Mrs. Smith
came over, knew why all the people in town talked about her.
None of them could believe that such a small woman, not much
older than a girl, could take care of herself. None of them
could believe that her delicate hands and slight back could
bear the load, that her small frame was strong enough to face
the wilderness.
There was something so fake, something so bizarrely artificial
about the woman and her children that Ida couldn't even think
about them without getting a headache. Their shouts and yelps
faded and died, and silence fell on the evening. Even the chickens
in her yard were silent as they waddled, one by one, into the
hen house to roost. The large gray and red rooster, Larry, stood
proudly in the barnyard and watched his hens until they were
all safely tucked away for the night.
Ida's chores were done for the day. Her back and arms felt
sore, and the blisters on her hands and feet stung. Grime and
sweat clung to her body and clothes, and she ignored the ripe
smell coming from her. Her eyes felt gritty from the dirt and
her head throbbed with exhaustion. She looked forward every
day to watching the sunset. She enjoyed the final, peaceful
moments of each afternoon; the way the world slowed down, settled
down, put itself to bed. Twilight gave her a chance to breathe,
a chance to unwind for a few precious minutes.
She had so many things to finish before winter trapped her
inside, away from the city, away from the stores and her neighbors.
It would be her first winter alone, her first winter in Salt
Lake City, and she had heard horror stories of women and children
who had starved or frozen to death, or were forced to accept
charity from their neighbors or the church. Ida didn't want
to be another sad story. And she understood now that she would
be braving the harsh weather by herself. Liam would not be joining
her until the spring.
The thought of Liam ended her short reprieve and reality shattered
the evening. The endless weight of the responsibility pushed
on her chest, and she wished for the millionth time that she
wasn't stuck in this godforsaken territory by herself. She wasn't
supposed to be alone. Liam had promised her that if she was
willing to stay by herself for just a few weeks, a month tops,
he would join her by the summer. The conversation still played
over and over in her head, an awful echo she couldn't escape.
"Why can't I go to California with you?" Ida had
asked, struggling to keep the fear and frustration out of her
voice.
"Because I'm not going to be there for very long. Besides,
it's no place for a lady," Liam explained patiently.
"Liam, I can take care of myself. What am I supposed to
do while you're gone?"
"You stay here in the Valley and I'll be back before harvest,"
he had promised as he kissed her cheek.
"But I want to go to California," Ida insisted.
"Why? There's nothing there but mining towns...nothing
there for you."
"You'll be back before the winter?"
"Yes, I promise."
And so, she had settled in Salt Lake, working hard just to
feed herself. The money he left her was running low. Nothing
she raised was for sale; everything was strictly for food. She
wasn't a good enough seamstress to make money from sewing, and
even if she was, she didn't have time. Every day she felt a
little more crushed. She wanted out. She wanted to go east or
west or north or south. It didn't matter. She just wanted to
go somewhere, be somewhere, else. And she wanted to be with
Liam. And she wanted to have the time and inclination to keep
up with her friends and family, and write in her journal.
Ida pushed the unpleasant thoughts out of her head. There was
no point in dwelling on them. She'd just make it work because
what other choice did she have?
With a sigh, she picked up the bucket of water and whistled
sharply for her dog, Ranger. She expected to see his low body
come galloping through the thicket of trees, but there was no
response. She whistled again, louder, and called his name. She
waited a few minutes, shouting his name repeatedly, growing
increasingly concerned. He never ignored her.
Ida brought the pail into the house and put it carefully on
the floor. The small cabin needed to be cleaned. Housework had
been abandoned as the harvest season started, and a clean and
spotless home was far below having food for the winter on her
list of priorities. She looked around and wondered what a stranger
would think if he saw the house. Ida knew what her mother would
think. She would be horrified that her daughter had allowed
herself to sink as low as this.
Ida collapsed on the edge of the bed, exhausted. She eyed the
basket of sewing that she had been meaning to do for the past
two weeks. She hated sewing. She hated needlework. She hated
darning socks and patching clothes. She put it off for as long
as humanly possible before she would break down and do only
what was necessary. A pile of books sat beside the bed, but
she ignored them as well. Her journal remained closed, and the
stack of letters she needed to read and respond to were left
untouched.
Ida wanted to blame the exhaustion for her apathy. She had
spent the entire day digging up potatoes. The day before, she
had been picking peas and ears of corn. She had every reason
to be exhausted to the point of collapsing on her bed, her eyes
already closed. But that's not what kept her from her reading
or writing or correspondence.
Every time she picked up the pen, she couldn't think of anything
to write about. She wanted to tell her mother and her sister
about her wonderful life, but all she could write about was
the size of her blisters and latest haul of potatoes. She lived
it; she didn't want to write about it. She never could concentrate
on the books. Every time she tried, she read the same page repeatedly
until she gave up with disgust.
Ida didn't want to stand up again. Her back and legs wept,
and she thought if she could just sit down for a minute, she'd
be fine. Her stomach growled, and she didn't know what she needed
more, food or sleep. But she knew she didn't need to be out
looking for the damned mutt.
"Stupid dog," she muttered as she grabbed the lantern
from the kitchen table. Ranger wouldn't run away. He liked the
regularly timed food and the big soft bed. But there had been
a few sightings of cougars in the area, and Ida didn't want
to lose her dog to one of the lions. Everybody gathered their
animals close to their homes and barns, and kept a sharp eye
on them.
Ranger was her only companion.
Ida hesitated outside her door. He could be anywhere. She didn't
want to spend hours wandering around in the dark. The family
who lived on the property before her had been there since Salt
Lake City was settled and planted a thicket of trees between
the cabin and the foothills. Ida supposed the trees were meant
to be a windbreak. She decided she'd search there first while
there was still enough light to see. As she walked deeper into
the trees, it grew darker and darker. Soon her only light came
from the small lantern, and it cast a weak circle to see by.
"Here, Ranger...come on boy..." Ida called as she
walked. "Come on...it's getting cold, you dumb dog."
She puckered her lips and made kissing noises, then tried whistling
again. She made so much noise that she almost missed the distinctive
sound of a green willow branch snapping back into place.
She froze, her eyes straining in the darkness as she held the
lantern high above her head, desperately trying to see any movement
in the night. What she did see, however, caused her heart to
jump to her throat. She caught her breath and took a slow step
back as the bright green eyes reflected in the light tracked
her movement.
"Ranger?" Her voice was low and hopeful. She hadn't
even armed herself before going off in the dark, and if it wasn't
Ranger, she didn't know what she would do. There was a tense
moment when the beast didn't move, and the eyes glittered dangerously
in the dying light of her lamp. Then it leapt out of the brush
towards her, paws extended, and hit her squarely in the chest.
She fell back and it licked her face and neck with its big wet
tongue.
"Ranger! Damnit, get off of me! Stupid damn dog...what
are you doing out here? Huh?" Ida stood up and brushed
herself off, muttering under her breath about what a worthless
animal she owned. She reached down to grab the rope that hung
around his neck, but before she got a hold on it, he had scampered
off again. She shouted in frustration.
"Ranger, come on...I'm not mad at you...no reason to run
off again...just because I'm going to wring your neck when I
catch you...no reason to hide...come on, come on, come on!"
She caught sight of his bright white fur and followed him deeper
into the darkness. Whatever light that had lingered after the
sun had set was gone now, and the glow of the moon was only
a hint behind the mountains. The lantern was slowly flickering
out. The smart thing would be to head back to the relatively
warm safety of her cabin. She turned around, intent on doing
just that, when Ranger howled. The eerie sound made Ida shiver,
and she turned to face the direction of the noise.
Intrigued and a little frightened, she continued walking in
the direction she'd last seen him. Ranger howled again, and
the hairs on Ida's arms stood on end. Something was definitely
wrong. She cursed herself again for leaving her gun at home.
She would have felt infinitely better armed with the familiar,
comfortable rifle
Ida picked her way carefully through the dark. She didn't want
to trip on a root or twist her ankle in a rabbit's hole. She
knew that there were animals lurking just beyond the edge of
her senses, and she did her best to go through the silence without
disturbing them. Ranger finally stopped howling, and she strained
her ears for any sound or warning of danger.
"Ranger...where are you? Come on boy..."
In response, the dog barked. It sounded like he hadn't moved
at all. Well, at least I'm not chasing him through the mountains.
She stumbled into a small clearing then, the young trees circling
and enclosing it. Ida found Ranger sitting next to a large lump
on the ground. He sniffed at it intently and his tail wagged
furiously. When he heard her, he looked up and acknowledged
her with a short bark, then turned his attention back to the
oddly shaped shadow on the ground.
Curious, she took another step. It was probably just a dead
animal that would attract every dog and scavenger in the area.
In that case, she wanted to get out of there before the stray
dogs and coyotes showed up to fight over the decaying meat.
It was probably fresh. Ida didn't smell anything to indicate
there was a dead animal near her.
"What have you got there?" She asked as she moved
closer, the light above her head. The soft light fell across
the body.
Not a dead animal.
Ida choked back a startled scream. A man with a deep, dark
wound on his shoulder, bleeding through the cotton of his shirt,
was stretched out on the ground in front of her. His head rested
on leather saddlebags, his face white with loss of blood, his
body thin and haggard. He looked dead. Holding her breath, she
leaned forward and touched his neck, searching for a pulse.
It took her several seconds, but she finally found the very,
very faint but steady throbbing.
Ida straightened and sighed as she considered her options.
She couldn't just leave him there, but she certainly couldn't
drag him back through the trees. Even though he was lean and
trim, she didn't think she was strong enough to lift him. Also,
she didn't want to cause him more damage than necessary and
make things worse. But he would definitely die if she didn't
do something, and soon.
Ida pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes tightly.
She saw rows and rows of injured men stretching in front of
her. She heard their gasped cries, their strangled moans, their
painful, shallow breath. She could smell the blood and infected
wounds. The vision flashed and was gone, and only the injured
man was silent at her feet. Silent and bleeding and dying at
her feet.
Ida set the light down next to his body and circled him, looking
for something, anything, that would help. No inspiration struck,
and his breathing became more labored. It almost sounded like
a death rattle.
"Damn," she whispered.
She went back into the trees and looked for two large, sturdy
branches. It was difficult to find two that were the right size
and strength, and she spent several precious minutes searching
the ground. Finally, she returned to the clearing, triumphantly
carrying two branches that looked like they would serve her
purposes nicely. She took off her long shawl and wrapped it
around the wood, making a crude litter.
Ida linked her arms under his and lifted him off the ground
easily. She was so surprised at how easy it was that she nearly
fell backwards. She paused and regained her balance, and then
slowly walked backwards, dragging him along the bumpy ground
and onto the shawl.
She saw instantly that the shawl wasn't going to be strong
enough to support him for long without ripping. Sighing with
disgust, she settled him onto the material and then tried to
lift the wood, looping her arms over it and settling the ends
below her shoulders. She clutched the lantern tightly, praying
that it wouldn't go out before she reached the cabin. Ranger
followed as she started to walk, sniffing at the man's feet
and wagging his tail as they moved. Slowly. It was obvious that
this was going to be a long, sluggish process.
On the way home, Ida was even more wary of wild animals. She
made a racket breaking through the brush with the body, and
she knew the fresh scent of blood would attract unsavory beasts.
Ranger trailed the make-shift litter, barking and growling occasionally.
Her shoulders and back went numb, and she lost all the feeling
in her hands and fingers. Her head felt light and her lungs
hurt. Despite the growing chill, her shirt was soaked with sweat.
How far from the house was she? She didn't think it was more
than a half-mile, but it felt more like twenty.
When she'd started, the body hadn't seemed that heavy. By the
time she was in sight of her humble home, she staggered and
faltered under the weight. She gritted her teeth with determination
and forced each slow, agonizing step. Just a few more yards,
just a few more yards...
Finally, she reached her porch and collapsed at the door, gasping
for breath. She was strong and in shape from working on the
farm, but carrying dead weight through a dark grove of trees
and underbrush had taxed her more than she had expected. She
leaned over his body and checked for a pulse again and panicked
when she felt nothing. Oh my God, did I kill him? Oh God, oh
Jesus, oh God. No, no, she found it again. Fainter than before,
but still there.
She rubbed her neck and rotated her shoulders. As she straightened,
her back popped and cracked. She took a deep breath and lifted
him off the litter and dragged him into the house. She knew
she wouldn't be able to lift him onto the bed...first she'd
get him undressed and washed. She laid him on the rug in front
of the fire, grimacing at the sight of the blood and dirt and
mud all over his clothes and skin. He moaned softly, but didn't
stir.
Ida put the water on the stove and rummaged for clothes. She
lined up her instruments on an old towel beside him on the floor.
A bowl of hot water, several towels, needle, thread, rags, a
bottle of whisky to clean the wound, and scissors. She changed
into a large, clean shirt that reached past her knees. It was
completely inappropriate but she really didn't care. Who would
know, anyway?
The low fire illuminated the small cabin, but Ida lit a few
more candles and lamps so she could see his injured body clearly.
She'd worked as a nurse during the tail end of the war, and
though that was six years and a thousand miles away, Ida had
never forgotten her training. Her hands still remembered how
to remove the bloody, dirty clothes, how to pull the needle
through the skin, how to clean and bandage. She could do it
with her eyes closed and knew how to distance herself from the
man she was caring for.
Ida looked at his naked, bruised, stained body without passion.
She noted with surprise that his wound was bandaged, and as
she slowly cut the rags from him she realized that wherever
he had been before, he had been well cared for. Whoever had
doctored him had done so with a fine eye and a careful hand;
however, the exposure to the elements and the hard journey back
to her cabin had reopened the wound and he was bleeding thickly
through the stitches. It looked like he had been pierced by
shrapnel, not hit with a bullet.
With infinite gentleness, she began to bathe him, cleaning
away the filth. She winced when she discovered broken ribs as
she rubbed his chest and sides. Fortunately, the bones hadn't
punctured his lungs. Bruises marred his chest, arms, and legs.
Some were fresher than others. His lips were dried and cracked,
his eye swollen shut.
She worked diligently, cleaning him and then pouring the whisky
over his wound. It was a bottle she had bought in anticipation
of Liam's arrival last spring and had stored in a cupboard behind
the flour. Untouched. She wrapped his chest tightly, and then
stitched the bleeding hole in his shoulder. She winced in sympathetic
pain and was grateful that he remained unconscious, for his
sake.
Once the grim work of cleaning, binding, and patching was done,
Ida sat back on her heels and took a deep breath. She finally
allowed herself a moment to study his parts in whole. He was
small in stature. Short, thin, but even in his sleep, his muscles
were flexed and hard. He had a handsome face, strong features
and high cheekbones. His hair was a curly mess, stiff with sweat
and dirt. Ida couldn't allow herself to admit that he was attractive--she
quickly changed the direction of her train of thought.
Ida knew he would be most comfortable on the bed, but she was
too exhausted to carry him there. Instead, she decided to make
him as comfortable as possible on the floor. She put a large
pillow under his head and covered him with two of her spare
quilts. Ranger watched with curiosity, staying out of her way
until she had the strange man carefully tucked under the blankets,
then he curled up against his side.
"Ranger, get away from him...he doesn't need you smashing
his ribs."
Ranger didn't move and the man didn't stir. The mutt stared
up at her with big brown eyes, panting, and it almost looked
like he was smiling. Ida didn't have the heart to make him move.
Besides, the extra body heat from the dog wouldn't hurt, as
long as he didn't try to lie on top of him.
Ida blew out the candles and turned down the lamps. In the
darkness, she could easily hear the injured man's breathing.
It was comforting, in its own way. Steady. In and out. Ranger
whined a bit in his sleep and settled down. Ida stood in the
middle of the cabin for long, cold minutes and just listened
to him. The evidence of another human life in her home. The
temporary reassurance that she wasn't alone, even if he was
an unconscious stranger.
Ida broke from her stupor and changed into her entirely proper,
uncomfortable, scratchy, wool nightgown. She kept her eyes open
long enough to brush out her dirty and snarled hair. Even though
it hardly made a difference, she kept up the small rituals and
customs that her mother had taught her. A hundred strokes with
the brush every night before she went to bed, even if her hair
was filthy and hung in lifeless strands around her face. She
scrubbed her face and her hands while her eyes slowly fell shut.
She climbed into bed and made plans for the next day. She would
cook a stew. Stew was good. She needed to finish the potatoes,
and it was time to check the smokehouse. She needed to go into
the city, too, and buy some cloth, but she wouldn't want to
leave her patient alone. That errand would have to wait.
She hoped the man would heal before winter set in because she
just didn't think she'd have enough food to feed more than one
mouth. Especially if the other mouth was a grown, sick man who
would need the sustenance...
Ida didn't have the energy left to worry and fret. Her eyes
fell heavily, her breathing deepened, and sweet sleep overtook
her.
