A Heart's Gift

by Lena Nelson Dooley

  A Heart’s Gift

  A Love’s Road Home Novel - Book 1

  Lena Nelson Dooley

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  41. Sneak Peek: A Heart’s Forgiveness

  Get all the books in the Love’s Road Home Series

  About the Author

  Also by Lena Nelson Dooley

  Want More?

  To our son-in-law, Eric Waldron, who married our single-mom daughter, Jennifer, and made her son Austin his own in every way that counted. You are a much-loved member of our family.

  * * *

  To my Savior Jesus, who created me to be a writer, then fills my head with story ideas. Thank You for all your special gifts. They are precious to me, just as You are.

  * * *

  And all my books are dedicated to the man who has loved me for over 56 years. When you first came into my life, I didn’t know that God sent you, but that became evident very soon. Sharing our lives has been the best adventure I’ve ever been on. I’m looking forward to many more years, even at the ages we are now.

  Chapter 1

  September 1893

  Colorado

  “Why do I have to stay here alone?” Lorinda Sullivan hated to have to beg for what she wanted.

  The whine in her voice grated on her own nerves. Never in her life had she been able to make her own decisions. She had trouble controlling her voice while she held back threatening tears, and she refused to let Mike see her cry...again. He took her tears as a sign that she was weak, when they actually came when she was angry or upset.

  “Why won’t you let me go with you?”

  Her husband of over five years strode around the two-room log cabin, his heavy boots drumming an irregular staccato on the rough plank floor. “Lori, I don’t want to leave our land unguarded.” The censure in his tone cut as deep as any dagger. That tone was often part of their conversations. “You know how to use the rifle. That’s why I taught you to shoot. To help me when I need it.”

  Everything was always about him, not her.

  He pulled back the clothing she’d packed in the satchel for him earlier that morning. Among the garments, he started hiding small canvas bags filled with the nuggets and gold dust he’d dug from their mine up the hill. The mine where the vein had petered out. Those pokes held the last of their gold, but there were at least two dozen pokes, maybe even more. An absolute fortune.

  Lorinda crossed her arms. If he thought calling her his pet name would change her mind, he was sorely mistaken.

  She swallowed the thickness in her throat. “Since you’re only going to be gone a couple of weeks, I’m sure everything will be safe that long.” The last word came out as a squeak.

  Mike straightened. His hazel-colored eyes took on a dark green tint when he glared at her. “Why do you always question me? I only want what’s best for both of us.” As if dismissing her desires, he returned to his task. “Our mine isn’t the only one that’s played out. And other men, roaming these hills, never hit pay dirt. Desperate miners could try to take over our land since the mine isn’t our only asset. We have this snug house, and most of them have been living in tents for years. And we have plenty of provisions. Many a man will do desperate things when he’s hungry and destitute.” Now he sounded as if he were explaining things to a child.

  I am not a child. Why couldn’t he see that? She clutched her arms so tightly her fingers bit into the flesh. At least the long sleeves on her dress would hide the bruises when they came. And they always came to her fair skin. Why couldn’t Mike understand that her ideas were just as good as his? Sometimes even better? He clung to the old-fashioned notion that women were mindless and should be thankful for whatever their men did for them. Pa’d been like that. A shudder raced through her as bleak memories almost overcame her.

  After Lorinda had married Mike to get away from her father, she discovered her husband shared Pa’s views on that particular thing. At least, her husband never lifted his hand to her. Even though he made all the decisions, he treated her with a measure of affection and respect. Was that all a woman could expect from her man?

  “Maybe I’d like to go to Denver, too. I haven’t been in over a year.” She gritted her teeth to stop the sobs threatening to breach the dam she’d placed around them. “I need to do some...personal shopping.” She didn’t like having to talk about those things even with her husband.

  Mike turned and lifted the last poke back out of the satchel and tossed it toward her. “I’ll leave this with you.” He gave her the smile that first drew her to him. Once again, it went straight to her heart, and she caught the fat bag with both hands before it hit the floor. “The next time we go to Denver, you can spend all of it on anything you fancy.” He emphasized the you. Maybe her earlier thoughts had been too harsh.

  He came over and enfolded her in his warm embrace, pressing her head against his muscled chest. The strong beat of his heart gave her a sense of well-being and slowly erased her anger. She slid her arms around his waist and closed her eyes while she felt the thumping increase its tempo. The familiar scent of lye soap, sunshine, and Mike’s unique masculine essence calmed her.

  He gently rested his chin on top of her head. “I’m only trying to look out for our future. Even though the mine has played out, we have five hundred acres of timber. When the money from the gold is gone, we can start selling trees to the lumber company, if we have to.”

  She leaned closer into his embrace, trying to absorb his aura to remember during the next two weeks. When his heartbeats raced, hers matched them in intensity.

  “We need to say goodbye a different way.” The husky words sent a soft breeze through her hair. He released her, took her hand, and with that special gleam in his eyes led her toward their bedroom.

  This man she married didn’t fight fair. He knew how much she enjoyed their intimacy, and no one else had ever loved her before Mike came into her life. She would relish every moment. The memories would keep her warm until her husband returned.

  A week later while cooking a solitary meal she didn’t want to eat, Lorinda heard the clopping of a horse coming up the trail. It can’t be Mike. It’s too soon. But in all the years they’d lived there, no one else had ever ridden up that path. She set the skillet on an iron trivet waiting on the wooden table and peeked out between the curtains. A lone rider made his way around the boulders beside the trail. A total stranger. Mike had been right to leave her to protect their property. Quickly, she hurried to the coat rack he’d carved last winter and pulled on one of his older jackets. Then she picked up the rifle always ready above the rack and stepped through the door, slamming it behind her. In just the week since Mike left, cold injected a sharp sting into the mounta
in air. Winter wasn’t far away.

  Lorinda raised the rifle and settled the butt against her shoulder. She sighted down the barrel which she kept pointed toward the intruder. “Stop right where you are!”

  She spoke with as much authority as she could muster. No need to let the man get the upper hand.

  The stranger halted and peeked from under the brim of his hat. His eyes glittered like polished coal–hard, brilliant, and cold. When his gaze lit on the weapon she held, he raised his hands. “I’m looking for Mike Sullivan.”

  He only peered straight at her for another moment before shifting his gaze. It didn’t light on anything for very long. A prickle of concern skittered up her spine. If he was honest, he should be able to look her in the eyes for more than a few seconds. She’d seen enough men when she and Mike had gone to town to know that.

  “He’s not here. State your business.” Her tone hardened to steel, and she shifted the barrel of the rifle to point straight at the man’s heart.

  “I need to talk to him. We have some unfinished business.” He relaxed and leaned his hands on the saddle horn. “When will he be back?”

  His gravelly tone sent chills up and down her whole body. Although he rode a good piece of horseflesh, his clothes weren’t clean. Neither was his long blond hair or the scraggly beard that came to his chest. A thick, dark trail down one side of his clothing showed he’d been chewing tobacco and spitting. Lorinda had always found the practice distasteful. Another one of her father’s many bad habits. She quickly shut the door to those memories.

  Mike hadn’t said anything about having unfinished business with anyone. Of course, he might not have mentioned it even if he did.

  “He won’t be back for a long time.” Lorinda rested her forefinger on the trigger. She hoped her fabrication would keep him from returning anytime soon, just in case.

  His eyes followed the movement, and he squinted into a hard frown. Lorinda wouldn’t want to meet him on a dark night, and she didn’t want Mike to either.

  “Mike taught me how to use this rifle.” She stared hard at the man, centering her attention on the middle of his chest.

  The man thrust his hands into the air again. “All right. I’ll just mosey back down the mountain.”

  He lowered one hand to pick up his reins, which rested across the saddle. He kept the other hand raised while he clamped his knees against the horse and turned the animal around. He didn’t drop his other hand before he was out of sight beyond the bend in the trail.

  Even though she didn’t welcome the intrusion, Lorinda felt bereft when the stranger was gone. She’d never been alone this long in her entire life. The mountain felt lonely without Mike. She didn’t look forward to the next week of waiting for her husband to return. After taking a deep breath of the clear mountain air, she went into the cabin and finished fixing her solitary meal.

  Clutching the fur coat Mike had made close around her, Lorinda stared out the front door for the hundredth time today. Where can he be? She’d asked herself that question a thousand other times in the last few weeks. Mike said he’d be back in about two weeks. Her one week of waiting after she ran the drifter off had stretched into three more.

  She shut the wooden door against the cold, but a frigid wind pushed in through cracks she couldn’t even see around the windows and door. When the air was still, the cabin was easy to heat, but an early snowfall covered the ground in a light blanket, lowering the already cold temperatures. Then the north wind started howling down from the snowy mountain peaks. She almost wished for the first blizzard which would dump enough snow to bank against the walls and help keep the cold out of the cabin.

  Lorinda went over and warmed her hands, thankful Mike had purchased the cast iron, pot-bellied stove last winter. He had a hard time getting the heavy thing up the steep trail to the cabin, but the added warmth was worth all the effort. Thank you, Mike. How she wished he were here to hear the words.

  She had to admit that Mike was a good husband, even though he was opinionated. Before he planned the trip to Denver, he’d gone to Breckenridge and stocked up with enough supplies to last all winter. Not only were her cupboards full, so was the dugout behind the house. Plenty of smoked wild game hung from the rafters, too.

  When she thought about Mike, their last time of lovemaking gave her heartbeat a strong rhythm, and heat suffused her face. If only he’d get home.

  Chapter 2

  The faint sound of hoofbeats on the trail once again drew Lorinda to the door. Maybe Mike was finally home. But something pricked at her skin, raising the hairs on the back of her neck, and she scrunched her brows. Lorinda reached for the rifle. She held the weapon loosely in her arm as she opened the door. Two more strangers on horseback picked their way between the boulders that marked the trail. One of the men led a third horse with a large burden on its back. She only hoped the rifle would let the men know she meant business. She never wanted to have to use a gun on a human, and if she started shooting, she couldn’t get both of the men before one would shoot her. The thought almost made her heart stop beating.

  After taking a deep breath, Lorinda stepped into the stinging wind.

  Franklin Vine glanced up from the trail when he heard the door hinges on the cabin emit a loud squeal. A tiny woman with hair the color of sunshine stepped through the open doorway, then shut the portal against the cold air. The flinty expression on her face and the rifle on her arm showed she didn’t welcome the intrusion.

  He glanced toward the man on the other horse. “Did you know a woman lived up here?”

  His foreman’s gaze traveled from the woman to his boss. “I never seen her before, and I don’t remember Mike ever saying anything about having a woman up here.”

  Franklin didn’t look forward to sharing the news of Sullivan’s death with this woman, whoever she was. All they’d planned to do was give the man a decent burial on his own property. This woman was a complication he didn’t want...or need.

  “Stop right where you are!” Harsh words rang across the frozen landscape. Surprisingly strong from such a small woman.

  Now she held the rifle to her shoulder and had taken a bead on his chest. Evidently, she knew how to use the weapon. She held the rifle still, and her hands didn’t quiver. He wasn’t ready to find out how good her aim was.

  He stopped his horse and raised his hands with the reins dangling from one of them. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

  Still holding the lead to the pack animal, Thomas stopped his horse beside Franklin’s.

  “State your business and be quick about it.” Her words pierced the icy air like bullets from a six-shooter, aiming straight at them.

  “I’m Franklin Vine.”

  At his words, a flicker of something lit her eyes, but quickly disappeared, replaced by the former hard stare. “The rancher?”

  He gave a slow nod. He didn’t want to do anything to spook her. Not with her finger so close to the trigger.

  “I’ve heard Mike mention you a time or two.” She relaxed her stance a little but didn’t lower the rifle. “I’ve already asked what you want.” The words held more than a hint of steel.

  Franklin slowly rested his hands on his saddle horn. “Might I ask who you are?”

  “Who am I? Mike’s wife.” She must have noticed the puzzled expression on his face. “Didn’t you know he was married?”

  “We only talked about business.” Franklin didn’t want to rile her any more than she was already.

  Her shoulders lifted and stiffened again. “So why are you here?”

  Franklin gazed over the pristine whiteness toward the rocky peaks across the large valley then back toward the woman. “I promise I’m not going to hurt you, but I’m going to dismount now. Please don’t shoot.” He swung his leg over the back of the horse and started toward her, taking a few slow, deliberate steps while he surreptitiously watched her from under the brim of his Stetson.

  Mrs. Sullivan kept her eyes on him, only giving a quick glance towa
rd Thomas when he shifted and his saddle squeaked. As she looked back toward Franklin, he raised his hands again.

  “I need to talk to you, Mrs. Sullivan.” He handed the reins to his foreman and walked the rest of the way up toward the house, stopping a few feet in front of her.

  While she studied him up and down, the woman had a weary look about her. Finally, she lowered the rifle, but kept holding it with both hands, probably so she could quickly raise it again if needed. “So, talk.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck which felt stiff from all the tension coiled inside. This wasn’t going to be easy. “Mrs. Sullivan, this is my foreman, Thomas Walker.” Franklin flipped his gloved hand toward Thomas. “He actually knew your husband better than I did.”

  For a moment her eyes widened, and he could read the fear in them.

  “Thomas found Sullivan’s...” Franklin stopped and cleared his throat. “... your husband’s body at the edge of the Rocking V today. We brought him home to bury him on his own land.”

  As if punctuating his statement, the woman crumpled to the ground, and her rifle pitched into the snow, the barrel tunneling into the few inches of the white stuff.