Every Blue Moon
Hildie McQueen
Pink Door Publishing, Augusta, Georgia 2013
Every Blue Moon
Shades of Blue Series
Copyright © Hildie McQueen 2013
Pink Door Publishing
Second Edition, February 2016
Cover Artist: Robin Ludwig Design Inc.
Editor: Scott Moreland
ISBN: 978-1-939356-15-4
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to your retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Other Works by Hildie McQueen
(In reading order)
Single Titles
The Widow’s Choice
Beneath a Silver Sky
Under a Silver Moon
Heading West Series, Western Historical
Where the Four Winds Collide
Westbound Awakening
Where the River Flows
Historical Western, Shades of Blue Series
Big Sky Blue
A Different Shade of Blue
The Darkest Blue
Every Blue Moon
Blue Horizon
Montana Blue
Midnight Blue
The Gentrys of Montana
The Rancher
The Marshal
The Outlaw
Moriag Series, Highland Historical Novellas
Beauty and the Highlander
The Lass and the Laird
Lady and the Scot
The Laird’s Daughter
Find all of Hildie McQueen’s books at
http://www.hildiemcqueen.com
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my dear friend Judy Hall. Thank you for your consistent friendship and amazing support. I hope you enjoy Every Blue Moon.
A special note of appreciation for my RWA Chapter, Georgia Romance Writers, who inspire me every month to be a better person.
Chapter One
Somewhere near Cody, Wyoming, Spring 1871
It had been the longest winter Bronson Cole could remember. The days stretched endlessly from one to the next in a slow, persistent pace. He urged his mount forward. It was imperative he arrived at his destination soon.
After too many restless nights wondering how Laura Foster managed at the remote ranch of hers, it was all he could do not to push his horse harder.
The event he’d planned and waited for would be reached in a day. He’d arrive to collect Laura Foster and her child and then return with them to his home in Alder Gulch, Montana.
How had she managed? Surviving a frigid winter in these parts was hard enough, even more so for a woman who lived alone in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, much too far for anyone to come to her aid or be aware if anything happening to her.
That he left her behind bothered Bronson the entire time since departing from her place just as winter was set to hit with a vengeance. He should have insisted she return with him and not left her unprotected with a newborn through the long, frigid Montana winter. Gentlemen did not abandon unprotected women, ever.
Although it was suppose to be early spring you wouldn’t know it. The days were short and the snow could still be seen in low-lying areas. The cold wind didn’t even seem to slow as it blew through the pines. Bronson did not allow it to bother him. Bundled in his leather duster with a scarf wrapped around his head, hat pulled down tight, he just managed to keep warm. He’d held off making this ride as long as possible and now rode hard and fast to her small ranch.
It was sundown, the bright rays of orange cutting through the darkening sky. Bronson debated on whether to stop and freshen up by a creek or keep going. He’d ridden for three days, stopping only once to sleep and rest his horse. The rest of the time he dozed in the saddle while his horse continued on.
Without prodding, his mount made for the water, the deprived animal moved forward, too thirsty to care what his rider did. The decision was made, it was best to stop and rest. He dismounted and removed the horse’s saddle, spreading the blanket on the animal’s back, as the evening would bring cooler temperatures.
The chilly breeze rippled the surface of the water as he leaned to get a drink and wash his face. Early the next day he’d arrive at Laura Foster’s home. If her husband had not returned, he’d demand she return to Alder Gulch with him. Admittedly, he had no right to demand anything of her. But surely after spending the winter alone, she’d be agreeable to a better solution for her and her child.
After starting a campfire, the heat of the flames warmed his body and Bronson settled onto his bedroll. Head resting on his arms for the moment, the starry expanse of sky took his attention. It was a clear night, the perfect showcase for the beautiful display.
He thought back to the day he’d stopped by Laura’s ranch on his way to Fort Laramie and asked for shelter. She was not an overly stunning woman. No, he’d describe her as pleasant of face, with a beauty that emerged through her mannerisms and actions. Although she dressed in a serviceable, but worn, dress, her bright, hazel eyes and oval face framed by auburn tresses could not be downplayed. She’d been hospitable and not only given him shelter, but food as well. It was while speaking to her over a meal that he noticed her qualities.
She had asked Bronson to look out for her missing husband while he rode to Fort Laramie on his brother’s business. The cavalry there found Albert Foster’s horse wandering through Indian territory without its rider during one of their patrols. The man was either dead or long gone. She acted frightened to leave in case he wasn’t. She’d not been mournful. She had seemed more upset at the fact he’d not died in a manner that ensured his body was found. Laura decided to remain in her remote home through the winter just in case he returned. It seemed fear of her husband and what he might do finding her gone far outweighed a lonely winter with the baby.
Bronson would make a commitment to her in order to convince her to leave her dangerous, homestead location. A decision he’d come to during the months since he’d seen her. Prepared for all her excuses, he would make sure she relented. They would spend a couple days preparing and then return to Alder Gulch together.
In truth, after both his brothers married, he yearned for what they had, the perfect partner to share his life. True, he didn’t know this woman well, but it was not easy to find a suitable wife in the territory as most women either moved there with their husbands or were elderly parents who traveled with their families.
With time, he figured to come to care for the pretty woman and her son as well.
Although Bronson didn’t want to wait another day to arrive, once he settled next to the warmth of the campfire in his bedroll he could barely keep his eyes open.
When he’d arrived at Laura Foster’s home the next day, he’d be well rested and cleaned up. A smile curved his lips as he allowed sleep to claim him.
The chilly day came with fog and a slight dampness. The early morning light barely penetrated the dreary haze and, upon opening his eyes, Bronson could barely make out the frost-covered landscape surrounding him. The fact that winter still had
a hold was apparent by the icy crackle as he unwrapped his bedroll from his body. He hurried to get his bedroll and few provisions packed then rushed through the morning necessities. He washed up in the creek, his teeth chattering from the frigid water and wetness in the air. Once he donned a clean shirt and saddled the horse, he finally rode south towards the small Foster ranch.
His horse didn’t seem perturbed by the lack of visibility, but it bugged the hell out of Bronson. It was impossible to make out anything even a few inches away. He hoped not to get lost and wander off in the wrong direction or, worse yet, into Indian territory. Normally peaceable, they could still get riled up if you crossed into their lands.
Several hours passed and finally the sun chased the fog away. A familiar landmark caught his attention and he let out a long breath. The land in this area was flatter than at his home, allowing him to see farther. Most of the trees had yet to spring leaves, their branches still barren, yet the open plains were starkly beautiful. Bronson scanned for the farmhouse, not seeing it. Perhaps he was still at a distance too far to make it out. He prodded his steed toward higher ground. When he pulled the horse to a stop, he was presented with a scene that took his breath.
Everything that had been Laura Foster was gone.
Scorched timber and blackened half-walls were all that remained of what had been her cabin home. Bronson scanned the deserted property trying to determine what had happened.
When he got closer, the devastation was more apparent. Nothing was left of the barn. The entire structure was completely burned to the ground. Not even singe marks remained where the small corral and outhouse once stood. The only evidence to be found that someone had lived there were the charred remains of the kitchen wall, the stove, and pots scattered here and there. The blackened, stone chimney pointed into the lonely sky like the finger of a hand.
Bronson dismounted and walked around, his mind refusing to believe just months earlier a ranch stood here. The entire small farm was now mere ash. “Damn it!” He kicked at a piece of charred wood.
An iron poker caught his eye and he took it. He then proceeded to pick through the rubble. It would be hard to find any human remains. It would be terrifying to actually discover evidence that Laura and her child died such a horrible death, but he needed to know.
After searching for hours, he didn’t find anything, neither human nor animal remains, anywhere in the entire area. He wondered if whoever had set fire to the home had made off with the cows and the horse. Did Laura escape? Or had they taken her?
A sound nearby caught his attention. Two puny chickens scampered from behind the half-wall and stared at him with unblinking eyes. They’d survived the winter somehow, probably hiding in the rubble.
The silence of the place gave him pause. It was clear someone had burned down the house on purpose; otherwise both structures would not have burned, as they were not attached. But who would do such a thing? Indians? It was possible, but he doubted it. Although the area was remote, it was not in Indian territory and they were probably settled in their winter camps waiting for the spring.
Unable to do anything more, Bronson trudged to his horse. He’d ride through the nearest town and perhaps find her, if she’d made it there. If Laura was not there, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. While worried for her, he knew he could not be gone from Alder Gulch indefinitely. He would ask about her in town and leave a message with the sheriff to contact him if she turned up. Afterwards, he would begin the long ride home.
Once he arrived in Alder Gulch, he’d begin the process of finding Laura’s family. She’d mentioned a sister who lived near his hometown. Perhaps there was a chance she was there.
Arriving after dark in Sheridan, Wyoming, Bronson got a room at the local boarding house. The elderly desk clerk directed him to stable his horse in the barn behind the building. Wasting no time and dead tired, Bronson retired to his room, not even bothering to remove his boots before he collapsed onto the soft bed.
The early morning light shone through the faded curtains to wake him. His movements slow from exhaustion and dejection, Bronson rose and splashed water on his face from the basin in the room. Wasting no time, he went in search of the town sheriff. He needed to know if Laura Foster was there or if anyone had heard about her.
The sheriff was leaving the jailhouse as Bronson approached. After introductions, Bronson told him what he found at the Foster ranch. “The place was pretty much burned to the ground,” he told the stoic man. “I didn’t see any remains or anything.” The short, wiry sheriff looked thoughtful and commented, “It couldn’t have been Injuns, they are normally still settled in for the winter.” The sheriff surprised him with his next comment. “I was out there just before the first snows to check on her and the baby. Heard her husband was dead. She and the babe were fine.”
Assured the lawman would send word if she was located, Bronson swung by the mercantile. He needed to refill his few supplies before riding out. Buying some buffalo jerky and a couple pieces of rock candy, he settled up at the boarding house and retrieved his horse from the barn out back. The worn leather of his saddle creaked as he settled into it, and his horse looked back as if to say, “Here we go again.”
The next day, Bronson continued north, his tired body protesting every mile, but he was determined to return home. The rhythmic movement of his horse lulled him into a slight stupor as they slowly ate up the miles.
Hours later, he was jarred awake when he slammed onto the ground. The pain of hitting the ground shot through him and having removed his jacket when the sun beat on him, jagged rocks cut into his shoulder. Bronson stumbled to his feet while putting pressure on the gash to stop the bleeding. “That was stupid,” he mumbled and released his arm long enough to rip the bottom of a second shirt and wrap a crude bandage around his upper arm.
He wasn’t behaving rationally. He should have stayed another night in the town and gotten some good rest. It was best to take his time from then on and keep a clear mind. He’d stop at the creek and wash up before arriving home and rinse his injury.
For whatever reason, life denied him a chance at finding a wife. He’d have to accept with faith there was a good reason for it.
Although he had to admit, it was hard to do when his hopes and plans were utterly and completely shattered.
Chapter Two
Alder Gulch, Montana
After a long, busy day, time finally arrived to close the clinic. Olivia Dougherty finished cleaning the counter that ran the length of the wall and then replaced all the medical tools in their specific places. As a physician, she knew the importance of knowing exactly where everything was when a medical emergency arose. One could lose precious time hunting for a tool while a patient lay bleeding or, worse yet, dying.
After one last pass of the soapy cloth over the surfaces, she pulled a fresh sheet over the examining table before turning in a full circle to inspect her work.
Satisfied, she prepared to leave for the day.
A spider in the window caught her eye. The industrious creature worked on its intricate web and Olivia neared to watch. “Now how did you manage to escape notice for so long?” She trapped the bug with cupped hands, dashed to the open front door and released it.
The buzz of voices, some calling loudly, got her attention and Olivia straightened to see a growing crowd of people gathering in front of the town’s hotel. The mainly masculine crowd pressed forward vying for a closer position to where a man stood outside the doorway.
A boy ran from the crowd in her direction and she waved him over. “What’s happening?”
The boy’s wide eyes met hers. “Hello, Miss Olivia. They’re arguin’ over the mining camps and who is in charge of those people.” The teen scratched his head. “Somethin’ about them comin’ here to town and runnin’ ’round causin’ a ruckus.”
The boy ran off toward the mercantile, probably to do whatever chore he was supposed to do before the crowd distracted him. Olivia studied the throng. At the top of the
hotel steps, making the front entrance his stage, a man, who she recognized as the local loud mouth, stood on the balls of his feet bellowing at the crowd, his arms waving with enthusiasm. How interesting that anyone listened when the man had a reputation for seeking attention of any kind.
As far as Olivia was concerned, the miners brought much needed income to the town. Most of them kept to themselves. Of course, most miners were solitary men who tended to drink too much at times. But the sheriff and local men managed them pretty well, until now it seemed. Whatever brought all this excitement was, no doubt, someone attempting to rise to power and find a job for himself.
She’d bypass the hotel on her walk home which would have to be soon if she hoped to have a hot meal. It was almost suppertime and her mother liked to eat punctually at six. Olivia ducked back inside and grabbed her shawl from a hook next to the door.
She closed the door behind her with a firm click and, at the same time, a hand landed on her upper arm making her start. It was Matthew Corson, whose hazel eyes met hers when he lifted his hand off her arm to touch the brim of his hat. “I apologize, didn’t mean to startle you, Olivia. Saw you out here and came to walk you home.”
“It’s all right. It’s just I wasn’t expecting you. I suppose I’m jumpy with all the goings-on at the hotel.” She swallowed, not sure if the cause of her dry throat was his sudden appearance or the fact that he was the man her parents were encouraging her to marry. When her mother presented the idea after speaking to Matt’s mother while visiting the Corsons, Olivia had not been against the match. As a matter of fact, Matt seemed to be a perfect candidate. He was not prone to drink, kept to himself and was attractive.
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