She hadn’t wanted to come west, she recalled. Monty had spent weeks convincing her a wonderful new life awaited them on the Front Range. If they’d stayed back in Illinois, none of the tragic things they’d endured would have befallen them.
Yet, if they hadn’t come out west, they wouldn’t be standing here now, their love so greatly deepened, their ordeals having entwined their hearts even tighter together—such that Grace couldn’t imagine anything in heaven or on earth that could ever tear them asunder. And she never would have met Clare and Eli and LeRoy. Or Marcus Coon and Sheriff Love and his deputies, who had risked their lives to save her.
She’d worried that the West was full of dangerous, hurtful characters—and it was. She’d found Fort Collins to be a town full of small-minded, insensitive gossipers. But it was also a place filled with unselfish people who wanted nothing more than to live in peace with their neighbors and treat them with kindness and respect. She was proud to be a citizen of the burgeoning new town of Fort Collins. She looked forward to raising her children here, knowing the West had more to offer than tornados, outlaws, avalanches, and floods.
For it offered hope. And when you held on to hope, nothing and no one could wrest it from your grasp. It anchored you against all the raging elements that sought to sweep you away.
The band suddenly struck up a loud Sousa march, and the hundreds of citizens in the crowd let out loud cheers, the men throwing their hats in the air and the children dancing around in joy.
A man pushed through the crowd toward her, and Grace recognized Alan Patterson, the shy courthouse clerk. A week or so after Grace and Monty had reunited, Sheriff Love had told them how Mr. Patterson had found the satchel that contained their papers and Grace’s wedding ring. Through his caring effort, they’d learned Stella’s true identity. Grace had gone over to the courthouse and thanked the clerk for his kindness, and he’d flustered at her gratitude. He was yet another kind neighbor she’d come to value.
“Mr. Patterson,” Grace said warmly, “so good to see you.” Monty shook the clerk’s hand, and the two men exchanged pleasantries.
“A momentous occasion, isn’t it?” Alan said to them, gesturing to the stage, where the band played one lively march after another. Some of the townsfolk now headed back to their wagons and horses, men chatting together in amiable conversation and women with colorful bonnets and parasols tending to their children and babies. Others congregated around the long tables full of platters of food behind the stage. Grace caught sight of Charity speaking to Tildie, the women’s eyes riveted on Monty as he hoisted Ben up on his shoulders. When they spotted her staring at them, they pasted on neighborly smiles and stopped speaking. Grace chuckled and turned her attention back to Alan.
“It is quite the historic moment,” Grace answered. “Now that Colorado is a state in the union, it doesn’t feel all that wild anymore.”
“Oh no?” Monty asked, his eyebrows raised, as if he meant to remind her of all they’d been through in the last year. Ben bounced excitedly on his father’s shoulders, and Grace was grateful her baby hadn’t suffered from the trauma of kidnapping and near drowning and deadly exposure up in the mountains. She sighed. She had so much to be grateful for.
“Huh,” Grace said in a tease. “It feels downright civilized to me.” She turned to the clerk. “What do you think, Mr. Patterson? Has the wild gone out of the West in Colorado?”
“Not by a long chalk, Mrs. Cunningham.” He added, “But it’s a start. Once the railroad comes into town, I reckon Fort Collins will become the gem of the West. Not a whole lot o’ places prettier than this spot on God’s green earth.”
His gaze shifted to the pristine white-topped mountains west of the park that ran north and south as far as Grace could see, fronted by amber fields of undulating wheat. It truly was a breathtaking sight—one she would have never witnessed had she remained in flat Illinois. Although, after her horrific ordeal, she’d content herself with staying on the Front Range and gazing at the beautiful Rockies from afar.
“It’s a new beginning for this territory,” Alan said. Then he gave Grace a sweet knowing look. “And new beginnings are full of hope.”
A pretty pert young woman in a bright yellow-and-brown calico dress walked up and stood beside Mr. Patterson, holding two tall glasses of lemonade in her hand. She offered one to him and said in a Southern drawl, “Alan, here you are. I wondered where you’d gone off to.” She entwined her arm around his, her action causing the clerk’s cheeks to instantly redden.
“Thank you, Marylu.” His voice faltered as he made introductions, and perspiration dribbled down the sides of his face.
“Alan, I’ve fixed you a plate of food,” Marylu said, tugging gently on his arm. “Nice meetin’ y’all.”
Alan gave Grace an embarrassed smirk and tipped his hat at her. “I wish you all the happiness in the world.” He looked over at Monty and nodded, and Grace could tell he was sincere. She chuckled as Marylu practically dragged the clerk toward the food tables, yet she could tell Alan was sweet on the girl. She was happy for him.
Clare came over and took Ben from Monty’s arms, then swirled him around. Ben squealed in delight under a beautiful, shimmering blue sky. Monty then pulled Grace in close and planted a long, sweet kiss on her lips. He leaned back and looked into her eyes, snagging her heart.
“I’m glad we moved into town,” he said. “I’ve had enough rivers to last a lifetime.”
Grace chuckled. “You’ve lost your thrill for adventure?” She couldn’t picture Monty content to sit around town and not go off exploring the wilds of the West.
“Are you kidding? Life with you is the greatest adventure I could ever have.” He added under his breath, “And I mean to live it to the full.”
Grace pulled him in close and smelled a whiff of his cologne as he pressed his clean-shaven cheek against her neck and sprinkled her skin with hot kisses. Her heart skipped at the touch of his lips.
“I certainly hope so,” she whispered back, holding him tightly and reveling in his strong, muscular arms encircling her. “I expect nothing less.”
The End
Acknowledgments
I am grateful for the support and encouragement from so many. A heartfelt thanks to Marylu Tyndall for reading and instructing me in this genre that she knows so well. As always, her insights and edits were tremendously helpful. Thanks also to Pamela Walls, whose loving and supportive spirit got me through many difficult days.
A special thanks to my cover designer, Ellie Searl, of Publishista.com, for her great help and patience in creating the beautiful look of this book, inside and out.
I appreciate the assistance from Deni La Rue, Larimer County community information manager, and Lesley Drayton, archivist and director of the local history archive at the Fort Collins Museum of Discovery. Their resources and research helped me infuse my novel with authentic details.
Having lived in Greeley, Fort Collins, and other places along the Front Range for years, delving into the historical aspects of the region was enlightening and entertaining. My husband is to be thanked for many of the great plot ideas and his support and patience as I wrote long hours into the night. All those Westerns he made me watch with him over the years sparked my love for this genre (and gave us endless hours of entertainment).
Note from the Author
In my desire to bring the Western town of Fort Collins to life, I took many liberties in creating my characters. A goodly number of them are real historical people—such as Sheriff Eph Love and A. H. Patterson, Larimer County Clerk—and the historical data on them is practically nonexistent. I spent a lot of time researching the lives of these colorful characters who were foundational in the establishment of Fort Collins as a booming Western town.
I also attempted accuracy in the description of this town and region where I’d live for a number of years and which I enjoyed immensely. I chose this decade (1870s) to write about because it was a pivotal time for Colorado—a time when this w
ild and untamed territory was ushered into the “modern” era with the coming of the railroad and with achieving statehood in the year of the centennial (hence, why Colorado is called the Centennial State). In Colorado Promise, I wanted to note the plight of the Indians, who had been whisked off to other states, onto reservations, to make way for white settlers to take hold of the land. By the mid-1870s, most of the native tribes, as well as the herds of buffalo, were gone from Colorado Territory. A rich piece of this county’s history was fading away, and I wanted to capture it at a time before it vanished altogether.
Often in romance novels, historical accuracy is sacrificed on the altar of telling a love story. But I believe most readers appreciate attention to detail and want to get a sense for a place and what it was like long ago. I am greatly inspired by the prolific writer Zane Grey, whose sweet novels (especially Riders of the Purple Sage) showcased not only beautiful descriptions of the lands his characters roamed but showed me the heart of romance stories—which are filled with tenderness and inner conflict without needing to cross the line into excessive physical detail.
I hope you enjoyed this foray into Fort Collins’s past, and will check out the next full-length novel in the series, Colorado Dream. Shortly following will come a novella—Wild Horses, Wild Hearts—which will share the story of how Eli and Clare met. Following that will be the next novels in the Front Range series, set in Laramie, Wyoming.
Be sure to read Colorado Promise—you can buy it in print, or as an ebook on various online venues. Purchase your Kindle copy here!
~ Charlene Whitman
About the Author
Charlene Whitman spent many years living on Colorado’s Front Range. She grew up riding and raising horses, and loves to read, write, and hike the mountains. She attended Colorado State University in Fort Collins as an English major. She has two daughters and is married to George "Dix" Whitman, her love of thirty years. Colorado Hope is her second Historical Western Romance novel.
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Here’s a sneak peek at Wild Secret, Wild Longing—a long novella that tells the story of LeRoy finding love in the wilds of the Rocky Mountains …
Wild Secret, Wild Longing
Chapter 1
October 7, 1876
Bright laughter tumbled through the heavy oak doors behind LeRoy Banks as he shouldered his way out of the stiflingly warm lodge. A cool breeze tickled his face, and the sweat on his brow swiftly dried as he stood in the late afternoon glare of sunlight that splattered golden patches across the brown grass of the pastures sprawling up into the foothills west of Whitcomb’s ranch.
He walked over to the hitching post, undoing the top buttons of his stiffly starched white shirt, and breathed like a man freed of chains. But it wasn’t just the collar that had been constricting his throat. He knew that for a fact, but what he didn’t know was how to sort through the feelings rippling through his heart.
He wasn’t one to take a deep dive into such things, but this uneasiness tugged on him with the relentlessness of a green horse fixing to break through a makeshift pen. It made his feet twitchy.
His gaze came to rest on the herd of horses grazing lazily afar, and he listened to the comforting snuffling and flicks of their tails. Blankets of droning insects shimmered in the light, and heavy dark clouds sagged over the peaks of the mountains, whispering of snow.
Horses, he knew. A wild, terrified mustang confined within fences for the first time in his life LeRoy understood. One look into the eyes of a wild creature displaced and fearful of his future and LeRoy knew just what the animal was feeling. And he knew exactly what to do to help the horse work through that fear and come to trust. Not just trust, either, but also to find his joyful place living among his two-legged brothers.
LeRoy let loose a sigh and gripped the splintered railing, thinking of his brother, Eli, and the way his eyes had shone like crystals as he recited his vows to his new bride, Clare McKay. LeRoy’s heart beat in happiness for Eli, and as he’d stood by his brother’s side and watched them be pronounced man and wife by the preacher, he couldn’t recall a happier moment in his life. But as the exuberant pair stepped down from the festooned platform to be congratulated by the dozens of guests, LeRoy had felt a strange and disturbing sadness threaten to dampen his joy.
Why this sadness in the midst of such a happy occasion? LeRoy wished he knew.
The loud eruption of fiddle music caused him to swivel back around.
“There you are,” Eli said, waving at LeRoy, Clare hanging on his arm like a new permanent appendage. LeRoy chuckled as they pushed the doors wide and strode over to him. Eli, all dressed up in such finery, with his boots polished to a spit-shine that almost hurt LeRoy’s eyes—he was quite a sight. LeRoy doubted he’d ever see his younger brother in attire like this ever again. With his wheat-straw hair slicked back and his face scrubbed and shaved nearly raw, Eli reminded LeRoy of a newly shorn sheep—one that wouldn’t stay all clean and purty for long.
“What’re ya doin’ outside? We’re about to start dancin’,” Clare chided him, narrowing her eyes playfully at him. “And ya did promise me you’d do a reel with me.”
“That I did,” LeRoy said, giving Clare a smile that acknowledged she’d caught her quarry. He marveled at the intricate beadwork along the neckline of her floor-length wedding dress—tiny creamy pearls. Now that he had a chance to see the bride up close, he noted the hand-stitching rivaled anything he’d seen in the Cheyenne ceremonial garb his ma kept in her cedar chest.
“Grace make you that dress?”
Clare beamed and sashayed from side to side, making the layers of petticoats flounce against her dainty little shoes. Shoes like nothing feisty Clare McKay ever wore. She and Eli sure looked like porcelain dolls, all gussied up like that. They shoulda listened to his suggestion to get married on their horses, all roped and tied up, like they’d just lassoed each other. They hadn’t much liked his idea, go figure.
Clare bounced on her toes, her face alight with joy. “She did. Just like she promised. Made it exactly like the picture too. She’s some amazin’ seamstress.”
LeRoy merely nodded. Eli punched his shoulder. “Maybe she’ll make one for your bride someday.”
A laugh caught in LeRoy’s throat. He pushed words past it. “Don’t hold your breath, Brother. I ain’t fixin’ to get hitched anytime soon.”
“Why not?” Clare asked. She pursed her lips and stared LeRoy down.
“My, you’re being personal, Mrs. Banks,” Eli said, his eyes dancing with mirth despite the scowl on his face. “My brother’s just waitin’ for the right woman to come along. Ain’t that right, LeRoy?”
Clare rolled her eyes. “Huh. We’ll be waitin’ until the snow melts atop the Rockies,” she said, her tone chastising. “I introduced you to Shannon—ya didn’t like her?” she asked LeRoy with a raised eyebrow. “She’s every bit as good a rider as I am. Well, nearly—”
Eli playfully tugged Clare’s arm, tipping his head at the lodge. “Clare, leave him be. Your sister ain’t but sixteen. That makes LeRoy nearly ten years older.”
“So? What’s wrong with that?” She frowned at Eli, who tugged her a few steps toward the doors. Music drifted to their ears—a rousing tune of fiddles, bass, and washboard, and the accompanying stomping of dozens of boots on the wood-plank floorboards.
“Honey, don’t y
ou wanna dance?” Eli asked her. “All the guests are gonna be wonderin’ where we went—”
“Oh, let ’em wonder.” She turned and pinned her eyes on LeRoy. “I’m serious, LeRoy. You need a wife. It’ll do ya some good.”
The laugh that had snagged in LeRoy’s chest now burst out. He shook his head. “Clare, I do love you. You’re . . . something.”
“Somethin’ else, for sure,” Eli said, giving LeRoy a surrendering shrug and that crooked smile of his.
“And I love ya too, LeRoy,” Clare told him, finally giving in to Eli’s urging and letting herself be dragged toward the doors. She waggled a finger at him with a giggle. “But I won’t brook rude behavior at my wedding. So c’mon back inside and give me that dance ya promised.”
“Will do, ma’am,” LeRoy said, touching the brim of his hat, still chuckling as Eli pulled his beautiful headstrong wife back inside Whitcomb’s lodge.
He caught a glimpse of his ma through the open doors of the big log house, her dark braided hair shining under all the many flickering Chinese lanterns strung along the rafters. She was chatting with Lucas Rawlings—LeRoy’s closest friend—but she suddenly turned and saw LeRoy, and fell silent upon seeing him.
LeRoy grunted. As if he could hide his inner turmoil from a Cheyenne medicine woman who knew him better than he knew hisself.
He had a sudden urge to head over to the bunkhouse to find a piece of quiet. He’d been living this past month among Whitcomb’s ranch hands, helping the rich rancher break the wild mustangs he and Eli had run down the mountain that day they’d gone after those two outlaws—the last of the Dutton gang. What a day that had been—cornering that varmint Wymore after he shot dead Monty’s lying snake of a wife, and watching him get trampled underfoot by the stampeding herd. Finding the other outlaw nearly dead, the cabin ablaze. Monty gone after Grace, who’d fallen with her baby off the cliff.
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