The Cowboy’s Bride Collection: 9 Historical Romances Form on Old West Ranches
Page 20
She shivered at the memory and pulled her cloak more tightly around her shoulders. “But it’s sunny and almost warm here. We’re close to New Mexico and Texas, after all. I’m sure whoever told you must be mistaken.”
The older man shrugged. “Could be, but it’s possible, although I doubt it will amount to anything—but you never know in January. Might be best to be safe and spend the night in town.”
He ushered her toward the door where the porter stood helping passengers to the ground. She gathered her wide skirt in one hand and took the gloved hand of the porter, stepping to the graveled surface and glancing around. What a comely area—there were actually a few trees, and she could see hills in the background—not the totally flat land she’d expected.
Addie walked to the tiny depot office and stopped in front of the barred window, drawing her wool shawl tighter around her shoulders. “Excuse me, sir.”
A man wearing spectacles, a vest, white shirt, and a tie looked up. “Yes, ma’am. How can I help?”
“I need to hire a wagon and driver to transport me and my bags to Mt. Dora. Can you recommend someone?”
“Certainly.” He rose from his perch and took one stride to the door then swung it wide and beckoned to a man leaning against a post. “Clem. You got time to take a lady and her belongings to Mt. Dora?”
The man in question withdrew a long piece of straw from between his lips and grinned. “Sure thing.” He gestured at her shawl. “Hope you got somethin’ warmer to wear than that flimsy thing. Gets a mite colder out on the trail than in town, if’n the wind starts to blow.” He cast a look at the sky. “Weather’s fit as a fiddle now, but it’s gonna turn, you mark my words. Best be off straightaway, if you’re certain you want to go.”
Addie glanced up the boardwalk toward what appeared to be a hotel with a café attached. Her stomach growled, but she ignored it. “Thank you, I do.” She tipped her head toward the porter. “My bags are being unloaded now, if you’d care to bring the wagon around.”
Two hours later, Addie grabbed for the rail next to her which was all that had kept her from being thrown out of the wagon at least a half-dozen times since leaving town. The weather had cooled and there were fine particles of moisture in the air, not quite rain but not quite snow, and the temperature had dropped significantly. The wheels hit a bump in the road and the wagon jolted hard, tossing her into Clem’s shoulder. She righted herself and tightened her grip on the rail. “Do we have to drive quite so quickly? Aren’t you worried you might break a wheel?”
Clem shook his head and clucked to the horse as they topped a rise they’d been climbing for the past quarter of an hour. “You feel the way the wind’s shifted? Storm’s comin’ in—there’s a bit of snow falling now. Unless you want to get caught out in it, we’d best find shelter soon. Mt. Dora’s another hour away, but there’s a line shack not far up this trail.” He pointed toward the base of the hills. “Rancher owns it and stays there when he checks on his cattle and he’s caught out after dark.”
Addie nodded and pressed her hat farther down on her head. Fortunately, the man had wrapped a blanket around her shoulders not long ago, when he’d noticed her starting to shiver. She’d tied it in a knot across her chest and tucked the corners under her legs. She was grateful she’d listened to Clem and retrieved the heavy coat that her father had insisted she purchase for their hunting forays into the woods. A pang shot through her at the thought of her parents, but she pushed the sorrow away. She was heading toward a new life—one that she prayed would be as happy as her years growing up had been.
“Hold on, we’re gonna let the horse trot down this hill. I’ll use the brake to keep the wagon from pushin’ us too fast, but we got to make time whilst we can.”
Addie braced her feet against the board beneath them and clenched her teeth. She was no stranger to speed, as her father had loved a brisk gallop on his horse or a hard trot in the buggy, but this felt dangerous. The wagon hit a rut and careened sideways. “Please, would you slow down? This can’t be safe.” The slope of the hill seemed to go on forever, and she could see ruts in the road ahead.
Clem spat to the side. “Tryin’, missy.” He gripped the brake and gave it another yank, but the wagon continued to increase its speed as the horse broke into a gallop. The wagon bed pitched from side to side as Clem hauled back on the reins. “Whoa now!”
The horse didn’t so much as slow but continued its frantic gallop as the wagon increased its speed. “Somethin’s wrong with the brake. You’d best hold on with both hands. The wagon’s pushin’ the mare right hard now, and—”
The final words were swallowed in Addie’s scream as the wagon bounced high in the air and flipped sideways, launching her off to the side toward a dense patch of brush. She hit hard and heard the crack of the brush, barely breaking her fall as she slammed into the hard ground. Pain lanced through her body right before everything grew dark.
Grant Hollister settled deeper into his saddle and looked askance at the dark clouds scudding across the sky. This didn’t bode well for making it home tonight. Why had he thought it so all-fired important to check on the cattle this far from the ranch house? He turned up his collar. Sure was getting cold. If he didn’t know better, he’d think a heavy snow was on the way. He’d lived in this part of southern Colorado for ten years—ever since his pa brought him here at the age of fourteen—and he’d yet to see deep snow this close to the Texas border.
At least the line shack was only another hour away. He raised his face as a drop of moisture touched his cheek, then he held out his gloved hand. Sure enough. Tiny flakes of snow fell, getting bigger as he watched. If he turned around now, he’d make it home before dark. So what kept pushing him forward? Something deep in his gut told him it was important to keep moving, but that was foolish at best. Or was it? Could God be nudging him to continue to the line shack before the storm hit? Connie and Thomas wouldn’t worry if he didn’t make it back tonight, but Connie would surely light into him if he was caught out in the storm.
He pulled the collar of his heavy sheepskin coat up around his ears and tugged his hat down tighter on his forehead. There should just be time to make it to the shack before the snow got bad.
Three hours later, he sank onto the ground under the cover of a heavily branched tree, shivering over the fire he’d barely managed to start, wishing he could remove his wet clothes to dry. He couldn’t believe his gelding had come up so lame he could only hobble a few feet per minute. The snow had continued to fall and a whiteout had blanketed the land, completely obscuring the landscape.
There was no way he’d make it to the line shack tonight, although he was certain it couldn’t be more than a quarter of a mile—but which direction? He’d love to slip the saddle off his horse and use the blanket for warmth, but the horse needed it as much as he did—at least he had this meager fire. Good thing there’d been a dead tree nearby where he’d been able to gather a number of dry limbs and camp under a densely branched tree for shelter. He shivered again and reached his hands toward the spitting fire. All he could do now was pray and hope the storm broke by daylight.
Chapter 2
Addie woke to a pounding head and no sense of what had happened or where she might be. She pushed to her elbow and swiped at her face. Had she fallen into a puddle? Her gloved fingers came away wet, and she stared as a tiny bit of white settled on the black fabric. It was snowing earlier, but how did the entire landscape get coated so quickly, and why hadn’t she noticed?
She struggled to a sitting position, groaning as renewed shafts of pain lanced her head. A sudden ache in her shoulder made itself known next, followed by a throbbing in her right knee. All of a sudden memory flooded back—the wagon catapulting into the air and launching her off the seat.
“Clem?” Addie twisted to the side and peered around, praying the driver could come to her aid. The sight that met her eyes tore a gasp from her lips. The wagon lay on its side, the horse still in the harness on the ground nearby, a
nd Clem a short distance from Addie, a pool of blood growing in the whiteness thickly covering the earth. “Clem!” She pushed to her feet and reeled sideways as a wave of dizziness and pain hit her, then slipped in the snow and landed on her knees. “Please, God, let him be all right.”
She staggered to her feet and across the uneven ground until she reached the man’s side. She knelt beside him and pressed her hand against his chest, praying she’d feel a heartbeat. “Wake up, Clem.” The whispered words came out on a sob. Nothing. Not a breath came from between his parted lips, and she could feel nothing beneath the rough fabric of his heavy shirt. All the color had drained from his face, and the stain on the snow grew larger. “No. It can’t be true.” She rose to her feet and backed a few paces away from the still body, suddenly aware of the increasing cold.
A movement caught her attention, and she turned. The trapped horse quivered and blew out a harsh breath through distended nostrils, then thrashed and heaved, trying to rise but failing. She took a step toward him, shivering as she spotted the animal’s leg bent at an unnatural angle. Pity strengthened Addie, and she walked to the wagon. Clem had carried a rifle. It couldn’t be far. It took a few minutes to find the Winchester buried beneath the rapidly falling snow. Fortunately, the rifle was the same model her father had taught her to shoot while hunting. She put it to her shoulder, hating what she was going to do, but there was no way she could allow the animal to suffer. The echo of the shot bounced off the white-clad hills, and the horse lay quiet.
How grateful she was at this moment that Papa had taught her to be calm under pressure—to think without going into a swoon as so many women tended to do, even if the swoon was only a pretense—and to pursue the logical course of action. She’d best keep the gun close, in case wolves moved in or she met someone who had something other than good intentions—although why anyone would be out in this storm she couldn’t imagine.
From everything she could determine, the most sensible thing to do was to pack everything she might need into one bag, shoulder the rifle for protection, and head for the line shack Clem had pointed out as not being far away. She hated not being able to bury Clem, but if she didn’t leave soon, the cabin would be impossible to find. She could only pray at this point that Sam Tolliver would realize she was missing and find her.
Grant tied his horse in the partially enclosed lean-to next to the cabin and slid the saddle off the weary gelding. He dragged his feet caked with heavy snow through the final few feet to the shanty door. He’d come out later and rub the horse down, but right now everything blurred in the line of his vision. His head felt as though it were on fire one moment and frozen the next.
Over a foot of snow had come down in the night with the blowing wind creating drifts up to three feet in places. He shook his head, trying to clear it of the mind-numbing cold that encompassed him. How had he miscalculated so badly? Once dawn had broken, he’d been certain he could find the cabin in under an hour, but the wind driving the snow had confused his sense of direction.
A fire sounded mighty good right now, but he shivered so hard he’d never be able to hold the ax. He twisted the metal knob, feeling the cold through his gloves, then pushed the door open on squealing hinges. If only he could get out of these wet clothes and stop his teeth from chattering. He prayed there was dry kindling inside—he couldn’t remember if he’d left any the last time he’d been here—but most travelers who used a cabin like this were prone to leave it fully stocked for the next person who came by.
He staggered over the threshold and swung the door shut behind him, barely able to stay on his feet. A slight movement caught his attention, and he swung his gaze toward a dark corner, but his blurred vision made it impossible to see into the depths. Welcome warmth alerted him to the fact he wasn’t alone, then a loud click that could only come from a gun being cocked froze him even stiffer than he’d been from the cold.
He fumbled for his rifle—why wasn’t it here? His numb brain struggled to remember. He shook his head again, trying to clear it. He’d left it propped against the outside wall. They’d had rustlers in this area over the years, and he should have been more prepared, half-frozen or not. He rubbed his hand across his snow-crusted whiskers. He had to get a grip and figure out what was going on. “Who’s there? Come out where I can see you.”
A distinctly feminine voice answered. “You tell me who you are first, mister. I’ve got a rifle aimed at your chest.” The woman moved into the light coming through the lone window, holding a rifle like she knew how to use it. He took one look at the light filtering through the window casting a glow around her dark hair and gave a bemused smile. How strange. An angel with a gun. He tried to laugh at the irony, but instead, his traitorous legs gave out and he slumped through the encroaching dark onto the unyielding floor.
Addie stood rooted to the spot, keeping her rifle trained on the intruder. For all she knew this was a ruse, and he’d grab her as soon as she came near enough to check his condition. “Mister?” No movement came from the prone figure, so Addie edged a little closer, her rifle still aimed, but she eased her finger off the trigger.
She stopped barely out of reach of his long arm and stared. He was strong, if the width of his shoulders was an indication, and taller than she was by several inches. His hat had rolled off when he fell, revealing dark blond hair trimmed above his ears. She’d barely gotten a glimpse of his eyes, but from what she’d seen, he didn’t appear to be mean. Confused maybe, but not out to hurt anyone. She prodded him with the tip of her rifle and waited.
Suddenly, a convulsion wracked his body, and Addie realized he was shivering. Why, he was soaking wet, even his coat and jeans. She tossed the gun on the cot nearby and stooped over him, placing a hand on his forehead. Her mother had a little nursing experience and had taught her the basics. It appeared he might have a fever.
He groaned and moved his head at her touch. Addie grabbed the corner of the blanket on the cot and mopped his face. “Can you hear me, mister? I have to get you out of these wet clothes and into bed. I need you to help me.”
She slid her hands under his arms and attempted to lift him, but he was dead weight. He moaned again and mumbled something. She leaned closer to hear.
“Connie. Need to get home to Connie and Thomas.”
So, the man had a family—more than likely a wife and son. She heaved a relieved sigh. He must be a local rancher trapped by the storm as she had been, but she’d been fortunate enough to find the cabin yesterday afternoon before the real snow set in. It appeared as though this man had been caught out all night.
At least the wind had ceased, and a dim sun peaked out through a rift in the clouds, but it was still too cold for this to melt anytime soon. “Come on, mister.” She tugged at his arm.
He still didn’t move.
“Fine. We’ll do it the hard way.” She rolled him onto his back then grabbed the cuff of his jacket and pulled until she was able to remove one arm from the sleeve. It only took a couple of minutes to get the wet garment off. At least his shirt wasn’t soaked through to his skin, but his jeans were plastered to his legs.
“What are you doing?” He struggled to rise, staring around the room but not seeming to see anything.
She gently pushed him back down. “Shh. You’re sick. Can you get onto the bed if I help you?” Frustration hit Addie as his eyes closed again and his muscles relaxed.
She bit her lip, unsure what to do. There was no way she could get him onto the bed, but he had to get warm. At least she’d found enough wood in the lean-to when she’d arrived to get a fire going in the potbellied stove, the one truly nice feature about this place. She stepped to the hearth and grabbed a nice-sized log, thankful it was pine and would cause a hot blaze.
Returning to the bed, she glanced at the man on the floor again. Addie slid a blanket off the bed and spread it out next to him. She’d have to drag him if he couldn’t help move himself. She grabbed the man’s shoulders and rolled him over onto the blanket. It
was a good thing he didn’t appear to be injured.
He stirred and groaned. “What are you doing?”
She hesitated then blew out a long breath. “Good. You’re awake. I need your help to get you onto the bed.”
“Too tired. So cold.” His eyes closed again. “Tired.” He mumbled the word again, and his body relaxed.
“I suppose it can’t be helped.” Addie stepped to the edge of the blanket and gripped it in both hands. Digging in her heels, she leaned back and pulled, the effort making her sore shoulder scream in protest. The stranger was heavier than his trim hips had led her to believe. Must be all muscle. She tugged again and moved him a few more inches. Within a few minutes, she had him situated next to the hearth. She pulled the pillow and the remaining blanket off the cot. She tucked the pillow under his head and wrapped the blanket around his torso, leaving his damp jeans exposed to the fire. There. He should dry in no time.
“Water.” He whispered the word, but his eyes remained closed. “So thirsty.”
She flew to the bucket of water she’d drawn from a well behind the cabin and dipped the ladle into it. “Here. Let me help you.” She slipped her hand under his head, dismayed at the heat that radiated through her fingers.
She placed the ladle to his lips. “Drink slowly. Easy.”
The man took a couple of sips then lay back as though the effort had drained him of any energy that remained. “Thanks.” His eyes were still closed, and his head started to roll toward the fire.
“Mister.” She patted his cheek, bristly with stubble. “What’s your name? Are you hurt?”
“Angel.”
“Your name is Angel?”
His brown eyes opened, and his head rolled back toward her. “Never thought I’d see an angel. I must’a died and made it to heaven.” He gave her the most beautiful smile she’d ever seen then closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep once again.