Colorado Hope (The Front Range Series Book 2)

by Charlene Whitman

  “Oh, Monty!” Grace threw herself back into his arms and sobbed into his chest. She heard Clare’s voice. Then Eli’s, and even Tilde’s. The voices blended together into a murmuring river that flowed past her ears and left her untouched. For she stood upon a rock above the noise and roar of the crowd, in this sacred place of refuge, in her husband’s arms, and nothing now could hurt her ever again.

  He released her and reached into his trousers pocket, then pulled out a folded piece of paper.

  “Here,” he said, handing it to her.

  Grace questioned him with her eyes, but he merely nodded for her to read it.

  She gasped. It was their marriage certificate. She looked closer and ran her finger across her partially smeared name.

  “This . . . this is our marriage certificate. The original.” How could it be? “Monty, this was in your satchel—the one you were wearing when you fell into the river.”

  He nodded. “Stella had it—hidden in the house. With a stack of your letters.” He paused, then added, “And this . . .”

  He reached again into his pocket, and then opened his hand to show her.

  Her wedding band lay in his palm.

  As the tears poured down her cheeks, her heart bursting with joy, Monty slipped the ring on her finger—back where it belonged. She held up her hand and stared at it, incredulous. She never thought she see her ring again—and not on her finger.

  “I love you, Grace Cunningham. I always have, and I always will.” He cupped her head in his gentle hands. Then he turned to Clare, who Grace only now noticed was crying and sobbing in joy, standing beside her, with Eli next to her, a simpering grin pasted on his face, his arm entwined in hers.

  From the corner of her eye, she spotted Tildie and Charity, staring in shock at the spectacle unfolding before them. Grace smiled, imagining what they must be thinking, seeing her in Monty’s arms. No longer would anyone in town claim she had made up the story about her lost husband—or call Ben an illegitimate child.

  Monty held out his arms, and Clare deposited Ben into them. Ben flung himself at his father and grabbed Monty’s face with his little hands.

  Grace cried at the sight of Ben laughing and pinching Monty’s cheeks. Oh, it was too wonderful, the sight of father and son laughing together—only hours after they’d both nearly drowned.

  “That’s your papa,” Clare told Ben. The baby turned and looked at her, attentive and curious. “Say, ‘papa,’” Clare instructed.

  Ben gave a big toothy smile and turned to Monty. “Papa!” he shouted. “Papa, papa, papa!”

  Grace gasped in delight, and Clare swiveled to her. “See,” she told Grace. “He was just waiting for the right time to say his next word.”

  Grace looked at Monty, whose face radiated with rapturous joy and delight in his son. Monty said, his eyes riveted on his baby, “That’s the sweetest word I’ve ever heard.”

  “Eli,” LeRoy yelled over the crowd from the direction of the courthouse. Grace turned with the others as LeRoy ran over to them, holding on to the wide brim of his black hat, his eyes excited in a way Grace had never seen before.

  “You’re not gonna believe this,” he said, then looked at Monty and shut right up.

  “What?” Clare asked, as Eli narrowed his eyes at him.

  LeRoy glanced at the expectant faces, then cleared his throat and said to Monty, “It’s about . . . Lenora.”

  “Lenora?” Clare asked. “Who’s she?”

  Grace waited for LeRoy to explain, but he only shared an unspoken thought with Monty. Odd.

  “I already know,” Monty told LeRoy, his face shifting into a somber expression. “But Grace doesn’t.”

  “Know what?” Grace asked, her heart racing. Something bad had happened, but what could it be?

  “Grace,” Monty said quietly, Ben hoisted in his arms, “let’s walk.”

  Monty nodded at LeRoy, and as soon as she and Monty were out of earshot, walking down College Avenue toward Maple and the Franklins’ house, she glanced back and saw her friends talking in a close huddle in all seriousness.

  As they walked, Monty had his arm wrapped around her but said nothing, his thoughts seeming far away, and she recalled the day the tornado had swooped down on them—not all that long ago. Although, it seemed years ago. So much had happened in the last week, her head reeled trying to sort it out. Even though she’d slept the sleep of the dead last night at Whitcomb’s ranch, overcome by exhaustion and relief, she could now hardly keep her eyes open. Yet she couldn’t bear the thought of returning to her little room in the Franklins’ house and closing the door behind her, leaving Monty to go home to Stella.

  He wouldn’t now, though, would he? No, of course not. But what would Stella do when she discovered Monty had learned the truth about her deceit? When she learned his memory had returned? Would she retaliate? Grace wouldn’t put it past Stella to do something awful.

  Then, Grace stopped suddenly her heart pounding. She looked at Monty. “It’s about Stella, isn’t it? She had something to do with my kidnapping.” Grace’s mind raced. Was it possible? Did Stella hire the outlaws to kidnap her—just to get rid of her and Ben? But why would she do that? Then she remembered Billy and Clayton arguing about a woman named Lenora, and how Lenora wanted Grace dead.

  “Lenora is Stella . . .” Grace muttered, more to herself than to Monty.

  She looked into his face, and his eyebrows raised. “Yes, she is. Or . . . was.”

  Grace’s hand flew to her throat. “Was?”

  Monty’s face clouded over. “She’s dead. She came to the cabin to get the gold, hoping the posse would kill Wymore and Cloyd first, getting them out of her way. But Wymore shot her—after he ran out of the cabin. After he stabbed Cloyd.” He fell silent, letting her think on his words.

  Grace was speechless. Stella was dead.

  “Lenora’s surname was Dutton. She was married to Hank Dutton, the leader of the gang. He was hanged last year in Denver City. Then she rode north and found me unconscious on the bank of the river. She told me she was my fiancée and that we’d come from St. Louis.” Monty looked apologetic. “She told me my name was Malcolm Connors.”

  Grace nodded and swallowed past the lump in her throat. “And you had no reason to disbelieve her.”

  He took her hands in his and faced her. “If she hadn’t found me, Grace, I never would have found you,” he said, then stroked her cheek. “Likely I would have died, or else ended up wandering off somewhere, picking a name for myself, settling into a town and working at some odd job or other.”

  When she didn’t say anything, he touched the pendant hanging from her neck and looked at it. “I remember telling you not to lose hope, when I left you by the river that day—when you lost me. And you held on to hope and didn’t let go. I’m grateful for that, Grace.” He leaned in and kissed her long and passionately, then Ben grabbed her hair and pulled.

  “Papa! Papa! Papa!”

  Monty laughed as Grace untethered Ben’s little hand from her hair. “He sure is a happy baby,” he said.

  “He’s just glad to finally have his pa.” She put a finger on Monty’s lips, and he kissed it. “And I am too.”

  “And I also told you not to worry—that the Lord would make a way. And even though it seems an odd sort of way of bringing us back together, well, here we are,” he said, the love burning like a hot fire in his eyes.

  Grace looked up the street at the house she’d been living in for more than a year. It had never felt like home—no place ever would without Monty. She then recalled what Sarah Banks had told her—about how she’d have to go over the falls to get to the calm, quiet pool, where everything would be restored to her. And where all her pain and suffering would flow out to the sea. Grace luxuriated in the calm place of restoration, feeling renewed, reborn. Washed clean of her pain and grief.

  “Let’s go talk to the Franklins—tell them the news,” Monty suggested. He pulled her in close again, and she wondered at the sparkle in his
eyes. “You know that man Marcus Coon—who rode partway into town with us—the one who rode with the posse to save you? He has a fine hotel in Fort Collins. How ’bout we have dinner in his restaurant and stay in his finest suite? Leave Ben with Clare for the night. Have ourselves something like a second honeymoon—since our first got a bit waylaid.” He gently cupped her cheek, then let his hand wander down her neck. Grace shuddered at his sensual feathery touch, so full of promise.

  “Whatcha think about that, Mrs. Cunningham?”

  Grace’s pulse raced, imagining the long-awaited night of passion ahead of her. The love inside her swelled and overflowed the banks of her heart, and she joyfully let it sweep her away.

  “I like it just fine, Mr. Cunningham,” she said. “It’s all I could ever hope for.”

  Chapter 34

  Two months later

  August 2, 1876

  The grandstands at Prospect Park were packed with gaily dressed townsfolk and visitors from parts far and wide—a jubilant crowd whose loud discourse made it hard for Grace to hear what Clare was saying to her.

  “Let’s get closer,” Clare said, tugging on Grace’s arm and jostling her parasol that blocked out the hot summer sun. “I want to hear the mayor’s speech.”

  Grace turned and shrugged at Monty, who wove through the pressing crowd behind her, Ben in his arms, working to keep up with the ladies. Eli and LeRoy marched behind him, dressed in new dark trousers and starched white tailored shirts, chatting about horses, from what Grace could tell.

  How handsome Monty looked in his three-piece tan linen suit, the first time she’d seen him dressed up since they’d been reunited. But everyone in the crowd wore their finest, and she loved the feel of the taffeta petticoats lifting her soft pale-green silk skirts as she swished ahead of Monty. Clare wore a lovely indigo-blue dress with pearl buttons that Grace had made for her, and light sparkled on the diamond engagement ring on Clare’s finger.

  She thought about Clare’s upcoming fall wedding and was glad she would be here to celebrate with her friend. Since she’d quit her job at the dress shop, Grace had had plenty of time to work on Clare’s wedding dress, as well as make Monty and Ben new clothes. She was amazed at how quickly Ben was growing—tall and strong, just like his father.

  “Here’s a good spot,” Clare declared, stopping a dozen feet behind the raised dais upon which a large contingent of colorfully dressed musicians played brightly sounding brass instruments and booming drums, announcing the mayor’s arrival upon the larger stage to the right. Mayor Ben Whedbee walked to the front of the stage and waved his arms to quiet the crowd.

  Monty came alongside Grace and wrapped his arm around shoulder, careful to keep Ben’s wiggly fingers out of her perfectly coiffed hair that she’d spent an hour working into pins and combs and that now sat under her feathered green felt bonnet. She looked into Monty’s eyes, so grateful he’d been returned to her—along with all the precious memories they’d shared. Although, she knew that even if Monty hadn’t recalled them all, he’d have never lost the deep love he held for her that was trapped in his heart. And as sad as she might have been if Monty lost those special times they’d shared, they had their whole future ahead of them to create new memories. All that mattered was that they were together again, finally. She’d held on to hope, and the Lord had made a way.

  “Ladies and gentlemen. Visitors to Fort Collins, I welcome you on this very grand and special day for the great state of Colorado!”

  The mayor raised his arms as deafening cheers erupted from the hundreds of onlookers. Grace looked at the radiant faces around her, and felt the hope and pride surge in ripples across the crowd. Eli stood with his arm entwined with Clare’s, LeRoy next to him, and they all listened in rapt attention as the mayor recounted a brief history of Colorado Territory and its entrance into the union the day prior—as the thirty-eighth state.

  “We stand upon the threshold of a new era,” the mayor yelled out to the crowd in the sweltering heat of the summer morning, his voice amplified by the large megaphone stationed before him. “This new great state of Colorado with its 150,000 citizens has a prosperous future ahead. Gone are the days of war, of perilous danger on the Front Range. With the advent of the railway, thousands more are flocking to Colorado—and to our quiet little town of Fort Collins—seeking a new life, new hope. And here they will find it . . .”

  As the mayor spoke under a clear blue sky, cheers erupted amid blasts of triumphant music from the band.

  Grace caught a glimpse of Monty from the corner of her eye. He was smiling broadly and listening, nodding his head. Grace thought about the ordeal they’d been through over the last year, and already the pain and heartache was fading into the past. Their love had been challenged by every possible tragedy and danger, yet it had not only survived but thrived.

  She rested a hand on her flat stomach and smiled, knowing soon she wouldn’t be able to fit in any of her dresses or skirts—presently her little secret. She would have to get back to her sewing, even though she’d been too busy decorating their new brick house in town, which they’d purchased partly from the money Monty had saved from working, with the rest coming from the unexpected boon of nearly two thousand dollars given them as part of the reward for the capture of the last two members of the Dutton Gang. Another five hundred had been found in Stella’s—Lenora Dutton’s, she corrected—bags that had been tied to her horse’s saddle the day she’d ridden off to meet with the outlaws. The day she’d planned to have me and Ben murdered, Grace reminded herself with a twinge of ire.

  But she harbored no ill feelings for Lenora, for, as Monty said, if it hadn’t been for her actions, Grace would never have seen Monty ever again. She wondered what kind of childhood had made Lenora turn out so selfish and greedy, which made Grace grateful that her loving aunt had raised her and given her a home after her parents died. She was blessed to have had such an upbringing. And now, she could give Ben the very best. Not just a comfortable pretty house in a sweet Western town with a brand-new schoolhouse. More than that—more than anything the town had to offer—Ben had his father to raise him and teach him how to be honorable, kindhearted, and faithful. And with Monty as a father, she knew Ben would grow to be an upstanding man of God. She was so glad she wouldn’t have to raise her boy to bear the hurtful gossip and mean names he might have been called had she raised him alone.

  Grace smiled as she recalled Charity’s shocked face when she heard the story Monty told her that morning they’d come into town after their ordeal. The Franklins had listened in horror as Monty recounted the perils they’d endured in the mountains, and how the outlaws had been killed. Grace had chuckled thinking of all the grist for the gossip mill Monty was giving Charity Franklin. But she didn’t care. Charity and Tildie and all the busybodies of Fort Collins could gossip all they liked. Their words would just slide over her head, like the waves of a river over smooth rocks.

  Eli wormed his way over to Grace’s side while the mayor continued his speech. He had to practically yell to be heard.

  “Ma wants us all to come over for supper after the celebration. She’s fixin’ her special prairie stew.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “And she wants to see that baby of yours again, Grace.” He made a funny face that she couldn’t quite interpret. And then he added, “She’s been remindin’ me how long she’s been waitin’ for some grandbabies. Maybe if she sees yours more often, she’ll lay off houndin’ me.”

  Monty chuckled and Grace said, “She’s not the only one who’ll be hounding you for babies. You know Clare wants a passel of them.”

  Eli threw back his head and groaned. “Well, so long as she takes care of all the laundry and feedin’, I’m fine with it. It’ll be fun teachin’ those rascals how to ride and rope.”

  “If they turn out anything like Clare, they’ll be fine riders,” Monty said evenly, not a hint of mirth on his face.

  Eli gave Monty a playful slug. “Thanks a lot, pal.”

  Monty laughed. He and G
race had watched the team roping at the Greeley One Hundred Grand centennial celebration last month, and they had been astonished at Clare’s riding ability. But who wouldn’t be? She beat out all the competitors for every blue ribbon, wearing her “Calamity Jane” leather jacket and fringed skirt. The cowboys were none too pleased either, but Clare didn’t care, and Eli gloated over her like he’d won the best prize of all. And he had. He’d won Clare’s heart.

  “I brought the big wagon to town—so’s we kin all ride together back to the ranch after this here mayor finishes speakin’,” Eli said. “How’s that sound?”

  Monty questioned Grace with a look. She nodded, thinking back to Sarah’s disturbing pronouncements. How she’d told Grace not to give up hope, and then told her sons to go find the Fort Collins sheriff and offer their help. She warned them there’d be danger, and how right she was. Yet, they hadn’t hesitated to risk their life to save her—a woman they hardly knew.

  Grace looked over at Eli and LeRoy, and another surge of gratitude filled the well of her heart. Not many would risk their lives to save someone they loved, and even fewer for someone they barely knew. Sarah’s sons were men of great integrity, courage, and honor.

  She glanced at Monty, who caught her gaze and squeezed her closer. But no man has greater courage and honor than this one—my sweet, dear Monty. She recalled how he’d dived into the river without a second of hesitation upon seeing Ben floundering. He’d had no thought for his own safety. This was the Monty she’d fallen in love with, and even though he’d forgotten his past, the tragedy that had erased his memories had not erased the man and all he was. Another thing to thank the good Lord for.

  She sent up yet another prayer of thanks to heaven, picturing it floating skyward on the light breeze that drifted across the wide-open rangeland. From where she stood, she saw the miles and miles of prairie with its prickly pear cactus and dry, untamed land that herds of wild horses and miles of wild rivers crossed unhindered. She pictured the thousands of people who would pour into Fort Collins in upcoming years on shiny new locomotives, smokestacks puffing steam into the bright Colorado air with the majestic snow-capped Rocky Mountains glistening in the distance.