Rocky Mountain Redemption

by Lisa J. Flickinger

  Gabe’s eyes took on a look of flint. “Are you telling me you killed your own pa?”

  “I didn’t raise my hand to him, but I might as well have. Last October, he and I had already met our quota by early afternoon. I guess it went to our heads, and we figured we could fall a sidewinder.” The next words caught in Will’s throat. “I was wedging the blasted thing when she blew. The doc told Preach Pa didn’t feel a thing, but it doesn’t make him any less dead.”

  Gabe grabbed Will’s shoulder with wide fingers and squeezed. “I suspect your foreman told you the logging business is dangerous. You didn’t know it was going to happen. You can’t hold yourself responsible.”

  Preach had said those exact words. Hearing them from Gabe didn’t make them feel any more true.

  Gabe gave Will’s shoulder a final squeeze before he resumed his trek through the woods.

  Several minutes later they arrived at a narrow stream. The water rushed and bubbled over the rocks, and debris heaped on its bed. After bending a willow branch, Gabe let the length of it slide through his fingers and inspected the buds at its tip.

  Will stepped onto the smooth stones that lined the stream and scooped water to his lips. The frigid liquid, straight from the mountain’s top, slid down his throat and soothed some of the ache caused by rehashing his pa’s death. Will slurped down another scoop before he stepped onto the bank.

  Gabe was sifting a thumb through several poplar catkins curled on his palm. He studied them for a moment before he lifted his gaze upstream.

  “You looking for anything in particular?”

  “Nope. We’ll cross on over to Harper’s Creek on our way back. How are your feet?”

  Will wiggled his toes inside his Bass boots, known in the area to be the best footwear for river drives. The movement renewed a burn on his heels. Any man worth his salt could tell the boots were brand new and more than likely causing the wearer considerable pain. “They’re not too bad. I’ll be fine.”

  “You sure about that?”

  Will didn’t need the men on the log drive pampering him as they had over at Pollitt’s. It was time Will Matheson became a man. “I said I’ll be fine.”

  Drawing his brows together, Gabe looked Will over as if he didn’t believe him.

  Who did Gabe think he was, anyway?

  “Talk to Noah before we head out. He’s got a tin of rub he swears by, if you can stand the smell of it. It’ll make your boots waterproof and soften them up some.” Gabe headed back the way they’d come.

  At Harper’s Creek, he surveyed the banks and checked the buds on the willow, cottonwood, and alder trees like some kind of nature fanatic before they returned to the camp. As the white of the cook tent came into view, Gabe sent Will on to breakfast and claimed he’d eat later in the day.

  “The cook stands for that? Men chowing down whenever they want?” The only time Lou interfered with the meal schedule at Pollitt’s was when the whole bunkhouse was down with hand, foot, and mouth. If a man tried to sneak into the kitchen between meals, he was likely to get a hot dipper of water thrown at him or, at the very least, a straw broom warming his backside.

  Gabe chuckled as if he recalled some private joke. “I don’t suppose Shorty does. You enjoy your breakfast.”

  Will rounded the cook tent. Beside the fire, tin plates and forks in their grip, sat a motley crew of about fifteen men destined to be either his good friends or his bad enemies. Every one of them wore the typical garb of Mackinaw shirt, Humphrey pants, and leather caulked boots.

  The only men Will could be certain about were the ones who had come over from Pollitt’s with him. Ernie, who’d assigned himself as Mack and Will’s keeper, and Perley, gambler extraordinaire.

  It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say Perley would risk losing his own mother if the odds appeared in his favor. As it was, he didn’t look like himself, owing to the fact that he’d lost a wager while the Pollitt’s crew caroused in Stony Creek. The loss required the off of the long brown hair he’d grown through the winter, of which he’d been particularly proud. Unfortunately, the lack of hair made his beak of a nose and wide lips more prominent than usual.

  Perley swung an arm over his head and motioned Will toward the fire. “It’s about time you woke up. I was about to come looking for you and Mack— after breakfast that is.”

  Several men in the vicinity guffawed, raising the hackles on Will’s back. Mack made a nuisance of himself with all his horsing around, but he never meant it in a mean-spirited way. The same couldn’t be said of Perley. He loved to get under your skin like a tick, and once he was there, it was hard to shake him lose.

  “I was drinking coffee at sunup.”

  Perley’s eyes widened. “You were drinking coffee?”

  More like holding a full mug to keep his hands warm, but Will wasn’t going to admit the fact. If being a man meant you had to like coffee, he’d learn to like it.

  “Where’s your better half then?” Perley asked.

  The man to Perley’s right snorted before he twisted the corners of his manicured mustache. The last thing Perley needed was somebody who egged him on. Perley bobbed his head to his neighbor. “The boys are just a couple of young boomers our push sent over. I’m not sure what he saw in them. I don’t imagine they’ll last long.”

  The two cackled like a couple of old hens.

  If Perley wasn’t a head taller than Will’s five foot eleven, he might take a swing at him. It was Mack and Will’s first river drive, but they both meant to prove their worth. Perley or no Perley, it wouldn’t be their last river drive.

  The jangle of the breakfast gong interrupted Will’s irritation. Like a bunch of school children running for recess, the crew raced to the makeshift table outside the cook tent.

  Will followed several lengths behind. Where in tarnation was Mack?

  The men fell into an orderly line and heaped onto their plates flapjacks, fried ham, and eggs from large enameled tubs. The majority also poured a thick layer of corn syrup from a galvanized pitcher over their plate’s contents before they returned to their seats beside the fire.

  When the white bottom of the flapjack basin peaked through, one of the men called for the cook. Will struggled to keep his mouth from flopping open as the smallest man he had ever seen whisked out of the cook tent.

  No higher than Will’s chest, the cook’s slender frame and delicate shoulders looked out of place hauling a basin full to the brim with flapjacks. “Get out of my way,” he said with a surprisingly low voice as he shouldered a path through men anxious to fill their plates. The cook’s droopy brown mustache quivered with the effort.

  “Shorty, there’s no need to be ornery,” one of the men growled back. “We’re hungry.”

  Shorty replaced the empty tub of flapjacks with the full tub before he thrust his chin toward the speaker. “I wouldn’t be so ornery if someone hadn’t taken off with my helper more than half an hour ago. You know how much effort it takes to feed you ruffians?”

  In unfortunate timing, Mack and the girl appeared at a gap in the trees, and the men started up a ruckus of hooting and hollering. Mack, a hangdog look about him, followed the girl, who wore a black halo of mussed hair about her face.

  Shorty marched toward the pair, shouting a string of curses blue enough to turn Will’s throat red.

  The girl’s boots grabbed the dirt not two paces from Shorty. Her chin flicked up.

  “I’m of half a mind to fire you,” Shorty said.

  “You just try.” The words shot from her mouth like a warning.

  Shorty leaned out and stared at Mack. “Until we head out on the river, you’ve got yourself a job—cook’s second helper. That means you listen to me and her.” Shorty shook a pointer finger at Mack. “And if I have to raise my voice, even once, to find you, you’ll be the body they never discover at the bottom of the lake. Follow me.” Shorty whirled around and headed back to the cook tent, the girl and Mack in his wake.

  Perley’s voice could be h
eard above the other voices drifting from the campfire. “That’s a fine piece of calico.” He sucked air between his teeth and tongue.

  Will gaze returned to the girl who followed Shorty. In spite of her disarray, the features Will had observed earlier fell together to make a particularly pretty picture. Perley had no business noticing, though. A girl that young and sweet looking, her attack on Mack aside, was much too good for the likes of man with Perley’s predilections.

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  WATCH FOR ROCKY MOUNTAIN REVELATION AT YOUR FAVORITE RETAILER.

  About the Author

  Lisa J. Flickinger lives and writes from the cliff of a river along the majestic Rocky Mountains. When not writing or reading, you will find her scouring antique shops or sipping a maple latte with friends and family.

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  To learn more about her other books, visit http://lisajflickinger.com/.

  Acknowledgments

  My thanks go to Larry, lumberjack and story teller extraordinaire. I appreciate your inspiration to write about life in the old lumber camps.

  Thanks also go to Robin Patchen, editor of Rocky Mountain Redemption. Your ability to see things in a manuscript I can’t see inspires me.

  Special acknowledgement goes to Misty M. Beller of Wild Heart Books. Thanks so much for believing in my story and giving me the opportunity to join your authors.

  I’m deeply indebted to my husband Matt who puts up with all the nonsense of writing, editing, re-editing, re- re-editing…

  Want more?

  If you love historical romance, check out the other Wild Heart books!

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  Waltz in the Wilderness by Kathleen Denly

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  Eliza Brooks is haunted by her role in her mother's death, so she'll do anything to find her missing pa—even if it means sneaking aboard a southbound ship. When those meant to protect her abandon and betray her instead, a family friend's unexpected assistance is a blessing she can't refuse.

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  Daniel Clarke came to California to make his fortune, and a stable job as a San Francisco carpenter has earned him more than most have scraped from the local goldfields. But it's been four years since he left Massachusetts and his fiancé is impatient for his return. Bound for home at last, Daniel Clarke finds his heart and plans challenged by a tenacious young woman with haunted eyes. Though every word he utters seems to offend her, he is determined to see her safely returned to her father. Even if that means risking his fragile engagement.

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  Copyright © 2020 by Lisa J. Flickinger

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means - photocopied, shared electronically, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, or other - without the express permission of the publisher. Exceptions will be made for brief quotations used in critical reviews or articles promoting this work.

  The characters and events in this fictional work are the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, Kings James Version.

  Cover design by: Carpe Librum Book Design