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A Family Found
Laura Abbot
A Mother for His SonsSingle father and rancher Tate Lockwood already has his hands full–and now he's been asked to escort a woman through the Western frontier! But beautiful Sophie Montgomery is as strong-willed as she is brave. And although she's not the conventional tutor he wants for his sons, she just might be the perfect fit.Sophie, still recovering from heartbreak, is ready to start life afresh. And that includes a startling new ambition–climbing Longs Peak in the Colorado Rockies–as well as teaching Tate's boys. When she starts to fall for this motherless family, Tate, who's suffered losses of his own, is reluctant to return her feelings. And yet, maybe they can help each other navigate the terrain of newfound love…


A Mother for His Sons
Single father and rancher Tate Lockwood already has his hands full—and now he’s been asked to escort a woman through the Western frontier! But beautiful Sophie Montgomery is as strong-willed as she is brave. And although she’s not the conventional tutor he wants for his sons, she just might be the perfect fit.
Sophie, still recovering from heartbreak, is ready to start life afresh. And that includes a startling new ambition—climbing Longs Peak in the Colorado Rockies—as well as teaching Tate’s boys. When she starts to fall for this motherless family, Tate, who’s suffered losses of his own, is reluctant to return her feelings. And yet, maybe they can help each other navigate the terrain of newfound love…
“Words have a life of their own, don’t they?” Sophie said.
“Sometimes they just slip out when they should stay put. And you aren’t the first to accuse me of being garrulous.” She smiled ruefully, and he could breathe again.
“Nor will I be the last, I suspect,” he said with a forced chuckle.
Then she laughed gaily and relief flooded through him. “Do you know what I think? I have had quite enough of this Miss Montgomery and Mr. Lockwood business. You are my only friend in all of Estes Valley, and I would like you to call me Sophie.” She paused. “And might I call you Tate?”
His first thought was that this informality moved them into an intimacy he wasn’t sure he was willing to undertake, but his second thought trumped the first. “I would welcome that,” he said.
“All right then, Tate. Take me home.”
He knew she meant her cabin, of course. Yet, for an instant, her words shook every nerve in his body. “Home…yes.”
After twenty-five years as a high school English teacher and independent-school administrator, LAURA ABBOT turned to writing the kinds of stories she’d always loved to read. She sold her first book to Mills & Boon Superromance, followed by fourteen more. Her other professional credentials include serving as an educational consultant and speaker, and as a licensed lay preacher. But her greatest pride is her children and eleven grandchildren. Laura enjoys corresponding with readers; please write her at LauraAbbot@msn.com.
A Family Found
Laura Abbot


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills,
from whence cometh my help.
My help cometh from the Lord,
which made heaven and earth.
—Psalms 121:1–2


In grateful appreciation for the wisdom, encouragement and friendship with which my fellow authors have blessed me through the years, especially my “cyber-friends” and the Ozarks, Oklahoma City, Kansas City and Tucson RWA chapters. You have made a difference in my life.
Contents
Cover (#ua1f85326-c2ab-5eac-875e-086d46c70971)
Back Cover Text (#u19b3ef51-7f15-57e5-a3b8-1171c1c0677d)
Introduction (#ub9bbbebc-6120-5daf-904a-d5e8dd95c780)
About the Author (#uf0ef9b13-e3f5-5029-92b8-28e50f77b8c4)
Title Page (#u32a63cbe-1bfa-5eff-8a8a-6330c8791112)
Quote (#u17463804-4185-5614-9034-f310139de9de)
Dedication (#ufa64de34-99f1-5ab8-824b-6d4a7666d013)
Chapter One (#ulink_76c27046-0adc-5f01-a175-d04bac0b2473)
Chapter Two (#ulink_34e662e4-b259-538a-aaab-a3a1354e53f2)
Chapter Three (#ulink_64594a4c-0821-5d29-90c6-78347cd8af2d)
Chapter Four (#ulink_249d3243-a591-5bf2-9c22-6f346aa906cf)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_fa39c5fd-06e2-58cf-abae-8f396f929fdd)
Denver, Colorado Early May, 1879
“You’re absolutely sure you want to do this, Sophie?” Effie Hurlburt, never one to mince words, watched her houseguest pack. “The Estes Park area is barely settled. It’s not too late to change your mind.”
Sophie Montgomery finished folding a flannel petticoat and then turned to Effie, her eyes dancing. “Run from a challenge? You’ve come to know me over the past weeks. Do I seem faint of heart?”
Laughing, Effie threw up her hands. “Stubborn. Strong. Independent. That’s you. I should’ve known better than to question your determination.” The older woman took Sophie’s hand in hers. “Regardless of what you encounter, please know you’re always welcome here.”
“That’s a comfort. You and the major have given me a much-needed sanctuary, but it’s time I made my own destiny.”
“Very well, my dear. Mr. Lockwood will be here at five for dinner. You two will need an early start for your trip into the mountains tomorrow.” She turned in the doorway and once more looked appraisingly at Sophie. “You will be in my prayers.”
After Effie left, Sophie sat on the edge of the bed, her mind racing. Effie wasn’t the only skeptic. Sophie’s entire family had, in one way or another, questioned her judgment. Although it had been difficult for them, they had accepted her decision to leave Kansas and relocate to Colorado. What neither they nor the Hurlburts could understand, though, was why she would resolve to spend six months living alone in the mountains.
Sophie stepped to the window and drew the lace curtain aside. There they were—the glorious peaks rising majestically from the plains, their snowcapped summits sparkling in the afternoon sun. They were beautiful from afar, but what she had been unable to convey to others was their compelling call, as if they were summoning her back to life. No longer content merely looking at them, she wanted—no, needed—to be in them. Everyone had been too polite to call her crazy, but she knew that’s what they thought. To be charitable, those who loved her also feared for her safety. That was one worry she didn’t have. Realistically she knew she would encounter harsh weather conditions, wild animals and the lack of creature comforts. She’d heard the stories, read the travelogues, seen the drawings. But the beauty and freedom awaiting her made up for any deprivations. She was a rancher’s daughter, accustomed to hard days driving cattle and haying, and a fair shot if she did say so herself. If Englishwoman Isabella Bird could trek through the Rockies alone in 1873 and write a book about her adventures, Sophie Montgomery could likewise flourish there.
She went to the closet and removed the last of the garments she was taking to the mountains—a plain green dress, a knitted scarf and a shapeless felt hat like the ones her brothers wore. Tonight, in celebration of her upcoming adventure, she would wear a fine gown of ice-blue satin. It would be the last time in many months. Please, God, let this be a beginning. I’ve had enough of endings.
* * *
Tate Lockwood folded the document and stowed it in his inside coat pocket. Done. The money he got from selling his stock in the Central City mine coupled with his recent inheritance from his parents’ estate had made him a wealthy man, so he could speculate in the silver fields opening up at Leadville and on the western slope of the Rockies. Leaving his Denver lawyer’s office, he turned down Broadway and strode toward his hotel. He took satisfaction from how far he’d come since the grueling days of getting his hands grubby in mining operations to now, when his livelihood resulted from investing and reaping profits. There was much he missed about the culture of a mining camp—the competition, the rapid changes of fortune, the streets bustling with all manner of men—but it was no place to rear two young boys. It had been a good decision to build a house in Estes Park, where they could grow in the peace and quiet of the high mountain air and learn to hunt and fish. He smiled to himself, recalling little Toby’s tussle last summer with the rainbow trout he’d finally landed.
Of course, his wife had left him little choice when she’d abandoned them four years ago. His jaw worked as he fought the rage that could still take hold of him when he recalled Ramona’s perfidy. He’d worked his fingers to the bone to raise the money for his young family to come from Philadelphia to join him in Central City. He’d built her a magnificent two-story house on the hillside and furnished it with items imported from the East. He had promised Ramona splendor and ease, and he had succeeded in providing it. But apparently he had misjudged her and miscalculated what it took to please her. From the moment she set foot in Colorado, she had made it known daily that she had never bargained for steep, unpaved sidewalks, a view of shanties in the distance or a husband more often in smelly work clothes than a suit. Nor had she found any joy in motherhood. A crying baby was a source of headaches and a tumbling toddler, a nuisance beyond bearing. Only rarely could Tate remember how he’d ever fallen under the spell of whatever charms she’d initially seemed to possess. Looking back, he admitted he mistook frivolousness for fun, flirtation for adoration and self-indulgence for beauty. More fool he. Never again would he fall under the spell of a female.
Dodging a buggy careering down the street, he groaned. Females. Why in the world had he burdened himself with escorting an idiot woman up to the park tomorrow? If he didn’t think so highly of Robert Hurlburt, his mother’s cousin, he would never have agreed to such folly. No doubt Miss Montgomery had read the recently published A Lady’s Life in the Rocky Mountains and figured she could replicate Isabella Bird’s adventures. Not likely. He certainly hoped the major didn’t expect him to play nursemaid. Once he deposited her at the cabin she’d rented, she was on her own. He hoped she had made arrangement for adequate provisions, but he seriously doubted she had. Folks up in the park were good enough about sharing, but had little tolerance for those who looked upon a trip there as a lark.
Well, he’d take her measure tonight at the dinner party. Fortunately it wasn’t required that he like her.
* * *
No matter the occasion, the dinner clothes that had been like a second skin in the East had come to feel suffocating to Tate. He adjusted his collar and cravat before knocking on the Hurlburts’ door. He hadn’t long to wait. Effervescent Effie flung open the door and embraced him in a cloud of lavender fragrance. “Tate Lockwood! Dear boy, it is a treat to have you here once again.”
“The pleasure is mine, Effie. As always I will enjoy your company and that of Robert, and your fine meal will help fortify me for the trip home.”
“Ever the flatterer.” She took him by the arm. “I’m eager for you to meet our friend Sophie.” She led him into the parlor, where Robert stood by the fireplace, one arm on the mantel, talking to a small woman with a nimbus of red-orange curls perched on a straight-backed chair. “Tate Lockwood, may I present Sophie Montgomery.”
He made his way across the room and picked up her small hand. “Miss Montgomery.”
Her hazel-green eyes sparkled. “It’s lovely to meet you. I am so appreciative of your offer to escort me to Estes Park.”
My offer? Little did she know it was only as a favor to Robert that he was undertaking such a mission. He turned and shook hands with Robert. “A pleasure to see you again, sir. What word of our family?”
The major’s recitation kept Tate from dwelling on the woman sitting across the room. He had expected a hatchet-faced, sturdily built female, not a tiny one with lustrous hair, twinkling eyes and a dusting of freckles, wearing a becoming and stylish gown. She wouldn’t last a week in the high country.
After the news of the relatives had been shared and thinking it might be ill-mannered of him to ignore this Miss Montgomery, of whom Robert and Effie were obviously quite fond, he addressed her directly. “Have you known Effie and Robert for some years?”
“I had never met them until earlier this spring, but I have long heard wonderful stories about them. My brother Caleb was stationed at Fort Larned, Kansas, then under the major’s command. It was there he met the post surgeon’s daughter Lily Kellogg. If I’m not mistaken, our Effie was a bit of a matchmaker.” Sophie smiled at Effie. “Am I right?”
Effie nodded vigorously. “Those two. Born for each other, they were, but blind as bats about it. It would be fair to say I gave them a bit of a nudge.”
“And it worked!” Sophie was alight with pleasure. “Lily is now my dear sister-in-law.”
“That’s not all,” the major interjected. “After Caleb mustered out and married Lily, they settled in Cottonwood Falls, Kansas, and Lily’s father and sister moved there, too, and even without Effie’s assistance, another match was struck.”
“A perfect match,” Sophie added. “Lily’s sister Rose and my brother Seth, neither of whom ever thought they would marry, found each other.”
Effie leaned forward, eager to add to the conversation. “Here’s the great part. They were brought together when a little half-breed boy was abandoned in Rose’s barn. While Rose and Seth were falling in love with the boy, they ended up falling for each other at the same time.”
“That’s quite a story.” Tate didn’t know what else to say. Apparently some people were lucky in love. He wasn’t one of them.
Effie stood. “You and Sophie have a big day tomorrow, so let’s adjourn to the dining room.”
The four of them sat around a circular table laden with a beef roast, mashed potatoes, gravy, stewed tomatoes and yeast rolls. “You haven’t lost your touch,” Tate said after the first bite. “Delicious.”
“My serving girl helped. She’d never cooked a day in her life when she came to me, but she’s learning.”
Sophie patted Effie’s hand. “She has an excellent teacher.”
“Do you cook?” Tate asked.
“Almost all my life. My mother died in childbirth with me, so as soon as I could reach the stove, I was cooking for my brothers, Seth and Caleb, and my father.”
“I’m sorry about the circumstances, but I’m sure your family appreciated your culinary efforts. However, cooking in the mountains is a different matter.”
“I’m sure I shall manage.” She looked straight at him. “Yes, I know it takes longer for water to boil at high altitudes and for cakes to bake. To the extent that I could, Mr. Lockwood, I have tried to prepare myself.”
He doubted anything could prepare her for what she’d encounter. “That’s all one can do, I suppose.” He cleared his throat. “I presume you are acquainted with Miss Bird’s mountain adventures?”
“Yes. I hope to prove as intrepid as she. Although I’m sure some of the challenges I encounter will surprise me, I have confidence I can deal with whatever befalls me.”
How can the woman be so impossibly naive? “I wish you well.”
“As do we all,” Robert said. “I admit when Sophie first proposed this adventure, I was skeptical. I’ve seen frontiers, and they can be most inhospitable, especially to women. But this gal?” He looked fondly at the young woman. “She’s fearless. In our short acquaintance, I’ve seen her outride many men I know. I’m an old cavalryman, and I know horses. So does she.” He shook his head emphatically. “If any woman can make it in the mountains, Sophie has my vote.”
Tate glanced at Sophie, noting the blush coloring her cheeks. She couldn’t weigh much over a hundred pounds. How would she face down a bear? “Time will tell,” he mumbled, aware he sounded churlish.
“So it will,” she replied merrily. “I can’t wait for tomorrow.”
“Is this your first trip beyond Kansas?” he asked, scooping up a roll and buttering it. In the pause before she answered, he glanced up. For some reason, her smile had faded and a sudden melancholy clouded her expression.
“No, I, uh, I spent 1876 and 1877 in New England studying history and classics at an academy for women.” Hesitating for a moment, she went on. “I was at a point in my life where I needed...a change.”
When she didn’t elaborate, he noticed both Robert and Effie were busying themselves with their meals. Well, he might be a man of the mountains, but he hadn’t forgotten all social graces. He’d stumbled into awkward territory and the only way out was to change the subject. “I’m a Pennsylvanian and even attended university there. I hadn’t been much of anywhere until I came to Colorado. I believed all the newspaper accounts about making a fortune in the West.”
“And did you?” she asked in a neutral tone.
“As a matter of fact I did.”
Robert beamed. “Our boy here has not only done well for himself, he has made quite a name in the mining and banking communities.”
“Congratulations,” she murmured, bent over her meal. Then she looked up. “It’s the land of opportunity. That’s what I’m seeking.”
He couldn’t imagine Estes Park would offer her that. “What kind of opportunity?” he asked merely to keep the conversation alive.
He wasn’t prepared for her candor. “The opportunity to find myself. To learn who I am all by myself. To discover what I’m meant to do now.”
In the now he heard a mournfulness that caught him off guard. Maybe she wasn’t quite the flibbertigibbet he’d judged at first. Her last word suggested a history. A burdensome one. His question had led them far beyond dinner-party conventions. “It’s a good place to do that,” he finally said.
Effie came to the rescue. “I would like to pack up some of the remaining food for your journey.”
“That would be welcome,” Tate said.
“When should I be ready in the morning?”
“I will be here at six. Have your horse packed and saddled, and we’ll be off soon after to go to the livery to pick up the wagons loaded with our supplies and summer provisions. Prepare yourself, Miss Montgomery. It is a long, uncomfortable trip.”
She lifted her head in a way that suggested defiance. “I can handle it, sir.”
From that point on, Effie dominated the conversation with tales of the military wives she’d met, some suited to the life and others woefully unprepared.
When Tate rose to leave later in the evening, the others followed him out onto the front porch. A breeze cooled the air. Overhead a canopy of stars twinkled in the ether. “Come back soon, son. Bring the boys,” the major said, patting him on the back.
“The boys?” Sophie asked.
“Tate has two young sons. Charming little fellows,” Effie explained.
“I should like to meet them.” Sophie approached him and held out her hand. “Good night, Mr. Lockwood. Until tomorrow.”
He stood there, momentarily stunned into silence. She only came up to his shoulder, but her eyes held his in an unflinching gaze. Her hand was warm. He pulled away, hoping his abruptness wasn’t discourteous. “Until tomorrow,” he echoed, then thanked the Hurlburts and went to the barn to mount his horse, all the while thinking, Never was there an unlikelier mountain adventurer.
* * *
Sophie turned to reenter the house, momentarily flustered by Mr. Tate Lockwood, whose tall, muscular body had towered over hers and whose dark brown eyes seemed to drink her in. Yet acerbic was the only word that came to mind to describe his personality. Although he hadn’t come right out and said it, it was obvious he thought her upcoming stay in the mountains was the height of folly. It was as if he deliberately withheld his superior knowledge of the place, hoping she would learn the hard way the arrogance of her expectations. Well, she’d show him—and all the other doubters.
“Did you enjoy Mr. Lockwood?” Effie hovered at her elbow.
“I’m not sure enjoy is the best word.”
“What is, do you think?”
“He was interesting maybe, or...” Sophie floundered.
“A bit brittle perhaps?”
“Certainly self-contained.” Sophie frowned. “He doesn’t want to take me.”
Effie sighed. “I suppose not. But he’s right, dear, it’s a harsh environment.”
“I think that may be exactly what I need.”
Behind them Robert locked the door. “I’m off to read, ladies. Good night. Sophie, I’ll see you in the morning.”
Effie put an arm around her shoulders. “Would you have time for another cup of tea?”
“I would welcome one.”
In the kitchen, Effie bustled with the kettle, her back turned to where Sophie sat at the table. “The past still weighs you down, then?”
“I doubt it shall ever leave me, but I am determined to quit living in the limbo of my regrets.”
“Is Estes Park the answer?” Effie set the cups down and took a seat.
“I know it sounds ridiculous, but I truly think it may be. I need a new place. One where my lungs fill with fresh air and my eyes are dazzled...”
“Are you running away or running toward, I wonder.”
Sophie watched the steam rise from her tea. Outside a dog barked. “In truth, a bit of both.” She took a warming sip. “I love my family, but I couldn’t stay in Cottonwood Falls, as much as the Flint Hills are my heart’s home. To watch Caleb and Lily together, so happy and fulfilled by little Mattie and Harmony. To live in the same house with Rose and Seth, the dearest souls on earth, and envy their luck with Alf and little Andy was stifling. All the time knowing what I’d had and lost, never to regain. I caught myself becoming resentful, self-pitying and, worse, angry with God.”
“I’m so sorry, dear.”
“Then whenever I saw that beautiful new courthouse, where every single stone had passed through my Charlie’s hands, I...I...” She swiped at her eyes, then laughed derisively. “Well, you see, then. Something had to change. I have to change.” Clearing her throat, she went on. “I’ve always enjoyed reading travel articles and books, and descriptions of the Rocky Mountains captivated me. Then one day, sitting in church, I heard these words as if for the first time, ‘I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.’ And I knew. I had to come here. Thanks to dear Caleb, I have been led to you and the major and your loving hospitality.”
Effie cupped her drink in both hands. “I know some of your story from Caleb, but you’ve never spoken of your Charlie.”
Sophie wondered if she was able to bare her soul. After a moment of thought it became clear to her that doing so was an essential part of this journey upon which she was embarking.
She fortified herself with a gulp of tea before beginning. “My Charlie. He was mine. I was his. He came out of the blue, as if God-sent. Who would suppose a master stonemason from New England would come to tiny Cottonwood Falls? It defies belief. Yet there he was, supervising the building of our new courthouse. I had always heard about Yankee reserve, but Charlie was outgoing and fun and had never met a stranger. He was steady and had a deep side to him, a sensitive side, you might say. Although I tried at first to hide it, it was love at first sight. For both of us, I think.” She managed a sad smile. “Believe me, it wasn’t easy courting under the eyes of two brothers, a father and a host of workmen. Buggy rides, picnics by the river... Oh, Effie, what good times we had.” She paused, remembering Charlie’s piercing black eyes, his ruddy complexion, his tender kisses.
“Go on,” said Effie kindly.
“One of the best days of my life was the Courthouse Ball celebrating the completion of the building. It is a splendid structure, the limestone quarried locally, with beautiful woodwork and a clock tower—far more elegant than you would expect in our little town. At the ball, my Charlie stepped onto the platform and told the world that I had agreed to marry him. He looked so handsome, so proud...” How could she tell the next part—the part that had gutted her?
“I’ll understand if you prefer not to go on, dear.” Effie’s eyes were filled with compassion.
“No. I’ve started. It’s important for me to finish.” Sophie shoved her cup to the center of the table, squared her shoulders and continued. “We were to be married after Charlie finished a job at one of the colleges some miles away. During that time, we were able to see each other occasionally. It was fun planning a wedding and talking about our future. Then shortly before the wedding, he received an attractive offer to go to Chicago and oversee a huge project. I could have gone with him. However, fearing he would have little time to devote to me there, we decided to postpone the wedding, save some money and then settle permanently someplace.” She shook her head. “So that’s what we did.”
“But...?”
Caleb had undoubtedly told the Hurlburts about her past. She could stop now. It would be all right. To do so, though, would diminish the power of the love they’d shared. “It was the autumn of 1875. I was gathering pumpkins under a bright October sky. The Flint Hills spread out before me like a giant jigsaw puzzle. In the distance I could see Charlie’s clock tower. Lost in my memories of him, I looked up and saw a sudden cloud obscuring the sun. A cold blast swept over me, and I shivered. Later, I remembered that moment, remembered that hint of premonition.” Swallowing, she forced herself to finish. “Two days later the telegram came. My Charlie... A scaffold high on the building had broken. My beloved plunged to his death.”
Effie gasped in sympathy. “Oh, my poor dear. How devastated you must have been.”
“Still am,” she whispered. “I loved him so.” A long minute passed. “So you see why I had to leave the one place where I saw my Charlie at every turn, where I encountered the richly deserved happiness of those I love, a happiness of which I am deprived. I was making myself sick brooding about what might have been. That’s why I’m going to the mountains, Effie.” She paused momentarily, remembering the Devanes’ gift of the money Charlie had saved to set up housekeeping—money that was funding her stay in Colorado. “There I hope to find myself and make peace with the God who claimed my love too soon.”
Effie gripped Sophie’s hands in hers. “Sophie, child, you are doing what you must. I will be praying in the days ahead that you find the solace you seek and the peace God has in store for you. Indeed. Lift your eyes to the hills. Your help will come from the Lord.”
“Thank you.”
Effie rose. “And now, off to bed with you or you’ll fall asleep on your horse tomorrow.”
Sophie embraced Effie and retired to the guest room. As she hung up her lovely blue satin gown, she ran her fingers over the soft fabric, knowing that it would be many months before she again had need of such a frock, if ever. One chapter of her life was closing and a new one was opening. Thanks to Effie, she felt lighter, less burdened. A good way to begin her new adventure. She slipped between the sheets, said a prayer for the repose of Charlie’s soul as she always did and fell into a peaceful sleep.
Chapter Two (#ulink_cf5b318b-21a5-57dd-ad08-c549f5a9af0c)
Dressed in riding bloomers concealed under a full overskirt, Sophie waited with Effie in the early-morning light while the major led her recently purchased gray gelding from the barn. “You know your horseflesh,” he said, stroking the animal’s neck. “Ranger here should have the stamina and agility for mountain trails.”
“I agree. Besides—” she grinned “—he’s handsome, as well.” Turning to Effie, she let herself sink into the older woman’s warm embrace. “Thank you for everything, most of all for your encouragement. It’s been a difficult few years, but now I feel ready for whatever comes.”
“Keep in touch, my dear. We’ll be eager to hear of your adventures.” Effie held her at arm’s length. “But don’t be foolhardy.”
“I’ll try to behave myself.”
Robert handed her the reins and stood by while she mounted. “If you have half the good sense your brother Caleb showed with the cavalry, you’ll be fine. Godspeed, dear girl.”
Tate Lockwood rode over from the stock tank where he’d been watering his horse. “All set?”
Sophie blinked twice. This mountain man—dressed in worn breeches, scuffed boots, a chamois shirt and a leather, sheepskin-lined coat—bore no resemblance to the gentrified man of the evening before. In fact, last night, she’d questioned whether such a sophisticated gentleman was capable of handling the rigors of the high country. “I’m ready.”
His look begged the question “Are you really?” “Adequate clothing, full canteen?”
How irritating to be treated like the greenest of greenhorns. “Yes, sir,” she said, barely controlling her indignation.
“Robert, Effie, I’ll see that she arrives safely.”
“We have no doubt of that,” Effie said with a smile. “Now, off with you.”
Lockwood wheeled his horse and trotted toward the road. Sophie followed, her heart beating wildly. It had been many months since she had been this excited about life. What lay ahead, she did not know, but anything was better than the paralysis that had enveloped her since Charlie’s death. She faced the mountains, their purple-gray shadows slowly dissolving into a brilliant orange as the sun crested the horizon and bathed them in light. A new dawn. Appropriately symbolic, she mused.
Tate Lockwood said not one word until they arrived at the livery stable. Three men were piling sacks of flour and sugar on top of boxes in the two wagons and strapping them down. Tate dismounted and gestured to them. “Miss Montgomery, meet my hands Curly, Sam and Pancho. They’ll be our traveling companions.”
Was there a hint of mockery in his tone? Well, never mind. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.” Dismounting, she walked to the first wagon to satisfy herself that her belongings and provisions had been loaded and secured.
“Everything meeting your specifications?” Lockwood loomed over her, the brim of his hat pulled low.
“Quite.”
“Tonight we’ll stay at a hotel in Longmont, but once we start on the trail, there’s no turning back.”
“I certainly hope not.”
With a grudging “Good,” he conferred with the men, who climbed into the wagon seats. “Saddle up, miss,” the one named Sam called to her. She noticed that all four men were armed with both rifles and pistols.
They had covered a few miles, Lockwood in the lead and her trailing along behind him ahead of the wagons when, without looking at her, he said, “It’s a rocky and demanding climb to the park.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“I doubt anything you’ve read or been told will have prepared you adequately. Robert tells me you have rented a cabin in Estes Valley sight unseen. I assure you it will lack the amenities to which you’re accustomed.”
While she fumed under his patronizing attitude, they rode for a time in silence until he spoke again. “The mountains are no place for a lone woman such as yourself.”
There was no holding back. “I beg to differ. As I hope you will come to recognize, I am not just any woman. Nor am I bothered by being solitary or lacking creature comforts.”
By way of acknowledgment, Tate merely grunted. Except for pointing out landmarks, he said little until they arrived at the hotel in the late afternoon. “I’ll see to the horses and wagons,” he said after she dismounted. “Get a good night’s sleep. You’ll need it.”
When Sophie inspected her lodging, she quickly realized amenities were, indeed, being left behind. Saddle sore, she ate a bowl of bland stew, noting that there was only one other woman in the company gathered in the public room. Too weary to be sociable, she retired early and, despite her excitement over what the morrow would bring, fell into a deep sleep.
* * *
Tate Lockwood greeted her in the dawn with curt advice. “Bundle up.”
Sophie buttoned her heavy coat, wrapped a woolen scarf around her neck and clapped her weathered felt hat on her head. Before long, they left the flat land and began climbing. She reveled in the piney smell and fresh air. As the canyon narrowed and the trail bordered the river, she watched in wonder as the cascading water from the high peaks, laden with ice and snow runoff, splashed across rocks, creating a thrilling music. At each turn of the trail, a new pleasure awaited—the raucous cry of a mountain jay or the sight of a graceful doe bounding across their path.
When the sun was high overhead, they reached a spot where huge boulders bordered the river. Lockwood signaled a halt. Sophie was glad to dismount, remove her coat and stretch her limbs. The hands lounged on the ground to eat lunch. She settled on a flat rock beneath a spruce tree and pulled out the bit of roast and potato from the dinner at the Hurlburts’. Lockwood hunkered a few feet away, his dark brown eyes intent on her. “Bearing up?”
“I assure you, Mr. Lockwood, that I am managing quite well and that if I require assistance from you or the others, I will not hesitate to ask.”
“Hmm.” He stood and unfolded the oilskin holding his food. “From this point, the ascent is demanding, treacherous in places, especially this early in the season.”
Was he trying to scare her? “I shall follow your expert lead.”
He bit into a piece of meat, chewing thoughtfully, but saying nothing. Sophie found him intriguing—a man comfortable in different worlds, yet guarded, as if he avoided intimacy and rarely exposed his inner thoughts. He was handsome in a chiseled sort of way, and she could see how some women might find him attractive. She wondered about his wife and sons. Perhaps his wife would provide her with some female companionship during her stay in the mountains. From her reading, she understood that there were few women there and that she, as a single woman on her own, would be an oddity. She looked forward to meeting the woman who had overcome Tate Lockwood’s reserve.
“Usually we can make this trip in one day, but ice will slow us from this point on. Best get going if we’re to make the valley by nightfall.” He refolded the oilskin and put it in his pocket, then took off his hat and ran his fingers through his wavy brown hair. “’Course, if we encounter delays, the ground will be your bed.”
“That will be a comfort after the long ride.”
She thought she heard him snort as he walked away. As if she hadn’t slept under the stars on every cattle drive she’d ever been on. The prudent course of action under the circumstances was to keep her mouth shut, difficult as it was to do, and show the man she was equal to any hardship. One thing was certain: she was not a conventional woman, whatever that might be.
* * *
Much as he’d hoped to make it home from Longmont in one day, Tate wasn’t surprised when that didn’t happen. At several points they had been forced to push the wagons over icy spots, and once, they’d even had to hitch two teams together to haul each wagon around points where avalanche debris had blocked the trail. It had been a grueling day, but to his surprise and relief, Sophie Montgomery had been more help than burden.
Easing his aching muscles, Tate lounged by the fire idly watching sparks ascend into the night air and fade into the darkness. Curly, Sam and Pancho were rolled up in their blankets beneath one of the wagons. Miss Montgomery had carefully prepared a bed of pine boughs under an overhanging rock ledge and had lain down and covered herself with her bedroll blanket. Despite the campfire, the evening was cold. Earlier, he’d noticed her pulling her coat tighter and often reaching her gloved hands toward the warmth of the flames. If she thought it was cold now, wait until she reached her cabin at 7,500 feet above sea level. She probably had no idea they would be lucky to reach Estes Park before another spring snow blanketed the mountains. He hoped to deliver and store the provisions before that happened. Over the winter and early spring, snows had kept him and his men from getting to Denver, although he had been able to work in one quick trip down the canyon to Lyons.
Crossing his legs, he picked up his tin cup and took a welcome sip of hot coffee. He hoped Marcus and Toby would like the books he’d picked out for them in Denver. Very soon he should hear from the Ohio tutor he’d engaged for his sons. There was no school in Estes Park. His boys loved the place, but he himself was no great shakes as a teacher. He didn’t want them to grow up without an education, yet it wouldn’t do to send them off, even if he knew of a suitable place for them. They’d had enough of change and loss in their young lives. Leaving their home was not an option. This prospective tutor, a recent graduate of Oberlin College, had solid academic credentials and claimed to crave a mountain adventure. However, thumbing through the mail he’d picked up in Denver, Tate had seen no correspondence from the young man, despite the fact he was scheduled to arrive at the end of May.
Throwing the remainder of his coffee into the fire, he got to his feet, knowing from the position of the moon that he needed to get to sleep. The haul from here to the park would demand grit. He turned to study the small form huddled beneath the blanket, shaking his head. She might be dressed in drab, utilitarian clothes, but there was no hiding her femininity. He wondered what had prompted this young woman to undertake not only this trek, but a prolonged solo stay in the mountains. Did she, too, have demons chasing her? Well, it was none of his business.
Before he settled under the second wagon, he wrestled with himself. Miss Montgomery, being so small, might be cold, despite her blanket. By morning the temperatures would be below freezing. It wouldn’t do for her strength to be compromised. He eyed the buffalo robe enclosing his bedroll. He untied the leather thongs and spread out the robe. He had a blanket and his coat was plenty warm. He scooped up the robe and started toward the woman’s resting place. Then he stopped, arguing with himself. She wanted to be independent, didn’t she? Why should he concern himself with her comfort? Yet he knew the toll such frigid nights could take on a person. Before other arguments occurred to him, he carried the buffalo robe to where she lay nestled on the pine boughs. Kneeling beside her, he gently spread it over her, struck once again by how small and vulnerable she seemed, especially for one so fiercely determined to make her way in inhospitable country.
Back under the wagon, wrapped in his own bedding, he chastised himself. He could not assume responsibility for Miss Montgomery after this trip ended. He had enough to worry about managing his ranching and mining affairs and, of course, caring for his boys. That having been decided, he rolled over on his side, freed from concern. Until just before he drifted off. Until he was honest with himself. Tate Lockwood would never turn his back on a woman in need.
* * *
Sophie awoke with a jolt, trying to work out in her mind why she was so cozy, covered in a heavy layer of warmth. Then, smelling coffee, her mind focused. The trail. She was on the trail. Sitting up, she noted it was still dark, but flames illuminated the immediate vicinity. Tate Lockwood and the others sat around the fire. Carefully she stood up, leaning back to unkink her spine.
“Breakfast,” Tate said, pointing to the cast-iron skillet. The others looked up, studying her.
“I’m starving,” she said, advancing toward them. Sam handed her a cup of coffee, and Pancho folded a piece of ham in a flapjack and brought it to her. Finding a stone, she sat down, aware only now of a faint lightening in the eastern sky. Yet here in the canyon darkness lingered. The chill morning air, though invigorating, made her long once again to be cocooned under the blankets. No one spoke while they ate, and she certainly wasn’t going to intrude upon their silence to ask how much farther they had to travel or what time they might arrive at the valley. She trembled with excitement—at last the day had come! The prospect of locating her cabin and exploring new possibilities elated her.
“Can’t delay,” Lockwood said, rising to his feet. “Let’s pack up and move out.”
Sophie gobbled the last bite of her flapjack, washed it down with a swig of hot coffee and moved to her sleeping place to gather her things. Once there, she stopped in her tracks. No wonder she’d been so warm. Atop her makeshift bed lay a thick buffalo robe, certainly not hers. She turned around to see who might have provided her with such comfort. Holding up the robe, she caught Mr. Lockwood’s eye. He shrugged, then turned away. She didn’t know whether to be irked by his presumption that she didn’t have adequate blankets or pleased that he had a protective side. She smiled to herself. Maybe his bark was worse than his bite. No matter, she had slept well. Then she remembered. A man had come to her, covered her with warmth and then lingered by her side. At the time she’d thought she was dreaming of Charlie.
She folded the robe and walked over to return it. “Thank you, Mr. Lockwood. I slept very well.”
“Courtesy of the West, miss.” He took the robe and nodded. “Didn’t figure you’d counted on quite how cold it can be up here.”
She bit back the retort on her lips. Despite all her planning, he was right—she’d underestimated the temperatures. “I trust my other preparations will be more effective.”
“You’d best hope so. It’s a long ways between houses in the valley. You’ll be fending for yourself.”
She understood both the rebuke and warning in his words. “I will, of course, do everything I can not to be bothersome to others. That having been said, may I count on your friendship and goodwill?”
He looked at her, as if assessing her mettle. “Friendship and goodwill? No gentleman would turn his back on a woman in distress.”
Hardly the heartiest of endorsements. She voiced what he had left unsaid. “Nevertheless, I’m sure it is your hope I will not pose such inconveniences for you.”
“I have my own concerns, Miss Montgomery. They must come first.”
“Understood.”
Once on the trail, the rugged terrain again took a toll on the horses. Often she had to dismount and lead Ranger around barriers. The higher they went, the more she gloried in the various trees along the way, especially the beautiful spruce. And she thought no Parisian perfume could surpass the fragrance of the pines. It was as if inch by inch, foot by foot, mile by mile, she was being exposed to a wonderland of sights and sensations. Even though her lungs ached and her muscles protested, she pushed on, eager to arrive at her destination.
At one point when the trail leveled out a bit, Lockwood rode alongside her. “Has anyone told you about the travelers and tourists?”
“I know that in summertime the population of the valley grows. Hikers, fishermen, mountain climbers, those who seek the altitude for health reasons.”
“Yes, and although there is a hotel or two, they don’t all stay there. Care to venture a guess about where else they find lodging?”
“In private homes?”
“Exactly. Most travelers are harmless, but some might enjoy, er, finding shelter with a lone woman.”
“Are you trying to frighten me, Mr. Lockwood?”
He looked over at her, eyebrows raised in question. “Am I succeeding?”
She stared forward, resolute. “I’m by no means defenseless, sir. I have brought along weapons, primarily for hunting, but if necessary, I can hold my own against someone threatening my life.” She glanced over at him, reading skepticism in his expression. “I am an accomplished and accurate markswoman.” Then with gleeful malice, she added, “Would you care to test that boast?”
“No, ma’am. But then, I’m not the type of man to be in such a position.” An edge came into his voice. “I’m simply trying to educate you.”
“Protect me, more like,” she snapped before he shook his head sadly and trotted off. Great! She’d done it again—assaulted his pride in the effort to prove her independence. Yet deep down, if she was honest with herself, she knew she would undoubtedly need Tate Lockwood in some future capacity. Where else would she have to turn? It was ticklish business when he so clearly wanted nothing more than to deposit her at her cabin and be rid of her.
* * *
If he lived to be a hundred, Tate knew he would never forget the look on Sophie Montgomery’s face when they came up out of the canyon and reached the point where the entire Estes Valley spread out in front of them, rimmed by the timeless snowcapped peaks. Her gasp was audible, and her cheeks flushed with excitement. He turned in his saddle to study her more carefully as she took in the spectacle before her. It was as if he were in communion with her, experiencing the splendor of the mountains for the first time. For long moments she didn’t speak, and the silence of the space below them seemed almost sacred. That is, if he believed anything at all could be sacred.
Finally, with eyes awash with emotion, she looked at him. “I had no idea,” she whispered breathlessly. “The beauty and scope are beyond description. Books and illustrations can’t begin to do this scenery justice.”
He took off his hat and scanned the horizon. “It’s impressive, all right. No place on earth is quite like it.”
“Which is Longs Peak?”
He pointed toward the southwest. “There.”
“The front of it looks as if some giant hand took a meat cleaver and sliced the mountain in two.”
“That’s the famous east face. The drop from the top of it into the lake below is hundreds of feet.”
She fixed her gaze on the famous peak. “I’m going to climb it one day.”
Was there no stopping this woman? For all her slight size, she made up for it in sheer nerve. “I wouldn’t count on it.”
“You wouldn’t, Mr. Lockwood, but I do count on it. It’s merely a matter of time.”
“Hardly any women have been successful.”
“May I remind you once again that I am not ‘any woman’? Ask my brothers if you don’t believe me.”
Once more, he took in the majesty of the peaks, the miles and miles of high meadow, with streams etching silver ribbons across the surface, and felt the tug of home. “Begging your pardon, but I can’t dawdle here gawking all day.”
“Just one more moment, please. It will never again be the first time I take in this scene.”
He had to give her that—at least she recognized the power and uniqueness in the place. He wondered if Estes Park would grip her the same way it had him. As they rode on, no words passed between them, yet he had the disturbing sense that Sophie Montgomery had gotten under his skin as no woman had in a great long time. Against his better judgment, he found himself admiring her determination while at the same time finding her maddeningly independent, even reckless. The contrast to Ramona couldn’t have been more startling.
Finally she broke the silence. “I shall look forward to meeting your wife and children, Mr. Lockwood.”
“I have no wife. Only my two boys.”
She turned to him, eyes wide with pity, and her face reddened with embarrassment. “I’m sorry...I...uh, had no idea. Effie didn’t mention... Oh dear, please accept my condolences.”
“The Hurlburts, always discreet, probably didn’t regard it as their place to convey my personal information.” In that moment, he had an irrational urge to shock her. Bitterness churned in the back of his throat as he said, “My wife, excuse me, my former wife, saw fit not only to abandon me but our two children, as well.”
He had succeeded. Bald shock registered on her face. “Dear me, I fear I have stumbled into your private concerns.”
“You would find out sooner or later. She returned to the East. We are divorced.”
“But...the boys?”
“She prefers to have nothing to do with them. Frankly, that makes it easier for all three of us.” Easier emotionally, he thought to himself, but difficult in the day-to-day reality.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know quite what to say.”
“That must be a first for you.” He watched her face crumple and swore at himself for his insensitivity. “Now I’m the one to offer an apology. That was uncalled for. I would take the remark back if I could, Miss Montgomery.”
“Words have a life of their own, don’t they? Sometimes they just slip out when they should stay put. And you aren’t the first to accuse me of garrulousness.” She smiled ruefully, and he could breathe again.
“Nor will I be the last, I suspect,” he said with a forced chuckle.
Then she laughed gaily and relief flooded through him. “Do you know what I think? I have had quite enough of this Miss Montgomery and Mr. Lockwood business. You are my only friend in all of Estes Valley, and I would like you to call me Sophie.” She paused. “And might I call you Tate?”
His first thought was that this informality moved them into an intimacy he wasn’t sure he was willing to undertake, but his second thought trumped the first. “I would welcome that,” he said.
“All right, then, Tate. Take me home.”
He knew she meant her cabin, of course. Yet, for an instant, her words shook every nerve in his body. “Home...yes.” He raised an arm and pointed along the northern fringe of the valley. “Your cabin is over there, not too far from my ranch. We’ll stop at your place first.”
He wished he could cover the intervening miles in a flash. He needed to put distance between himself and this woman...this Sophie.
* * *
Sophie couldn’t let Tate see her disappointment. Furnished cabin? In the real estate flyer she’d been sent, that must have been a euphemism for one-room shack. Never in all her days had she seen such a structure, standing upright only through some act of God, shingles missing, chinks in the walls and dirt and animal droppings in abundance. She stood on the front porch taking in the mountain view. “At least this vista is lovely,” she said, shading her eyes against the sun dropping slowly behind the peaks.
“You can’t spend your life on the porch,” Tate muttered. “Would you like me to send one of my ranch hands over in the morning to help you muck out?”
She gathered her courage. “In the provisions they just unloaded, I have the necessary equipment. I would be much obliged if you could help me gather wood and get a fire started. Beyond that I have some tinned food that will keep me until I can get to baking, so you will be able to take your leave soon and get home to your sons.”
She could never admit to him how overwhelming the tasks before her seemed. The place was almost uninhabitable. She had never imagined she would have to start from scratch to turn this place into a home. Somehow she had pictured a snug cabin with perhaps a smattering of dust, but already equipped with a good bed and a sturdy stove, needing only a few touches and some elbow grease to make it hers. Now, with the sun disappearing behind the peaks, the sudden drop in temperature made a fire an even more immediate necessity.
Tate stood beside her on the porch, dwarfing her. “I’ll send the boys on home with the wagons while I help you with the fire.”
He left her, gave orders to his men and disappeared behind the lean-to that made do for a barn, where she had stabled Ranger.
She gathered some kindling, then went inside and busied herself swiping at cobwebs and sweeping ashes out of the woodstove. She vowed she would not cry, especially not in front of the man who called into question her every move. This task was similar to moving to Kansas and establishing their ranch. Her father had often reminded her and her brothers, Patience. One step at a time, one day at a time. She sniffled once, briefly indulging her self-pity. Then she returned to her labors, figuring that for this day, one stove and one bed would be reasonable steps. She could do this. She tried not to look at the bed, sagging nearly to the floor, the filthy mattress having served as home to who knew what.
She heard Tate’s heavy footsteps, followed by a loud thump. She opened the door. “Hidden treasure,” he said ironically, pointing at the logs he’d gathered. “A wood pile behind the barn. I’ll fetch some more.”
“I’ll come with you.” She hurried along behind him, grinning wryly at his use of the word barn to describe the ramshackle outbuilding.
Together they made four trips and stacked up a considerable amount of wood. “At least I won’t worry about you freezing to death,” Tate said when they were finished.
“I don’t want you worrying about me at all.”
“All right. I won’t.”
Why did that easy promise disappoint her? After all, she’d asked for it. “Fine.”
“There’s also a privy over by that grove of aspen.”
She was unable to make eye contact. “Useful information.”
“One last thing. Let me prime the pump that carries the water from the pond over yonder.”
She slumped. She’d been so busy bemoaning the state of her dwelling that she hadn’t even thought about water. So much for her foresight and self-sufficiency. Was her bravado merely a disguise for incompetence?
Satisfied that the pump worked, Tate stood in the door, preparing to leave. “Anything else?”
“Not that I can think of.” She looked into his eyes, reading concern. “I will be fine. I am grateful for the help.” She chuckled sardonically. “Perhaps I don’t know quite as much as I thought I did.”
“Or were sold a bill of goods by some unscrupulous agent.”
“No use crying over spilled milk. I’ll just make the best of what is, I confess, a disillusioning end to such a beautiful day.”
“Where is your rifle?”
She nodded to a corner. “Over there.”
“Load it and keep it with you.”
“That’s comforting,” she said.
“That’s reality.” He put on his hat and they moved onto the porch. “So now, while it may not be quite what you pictured, you’re home, Sophie. Do be wary.”
“Good evening, Tate. Once again, thank you for bringing me here.”
He glanced around. “That’s either irony or supreme gratitude.”
“Gratitude,” she murmured. “Now get along with you.”
Then he was off. She stood on the porch hugging herself for warmth, waiting until the last hoofbeats died away. She was alone in a way she had never been alone. The valley was still and the mountains loomed like sentinels. Tate’s absence swept over her, leaving her breathless. This was what she had wanted, wasn’t it? Solitude? Peace? God had given her this place to heal, and no matter what, she would honor His gift. Here she would, at last, begin a new life. Not one in which she ever forgot her beloved Charlie, but one of which she hoped he would approve...and one he would bless.
Turning to go inside, she looked up at the sky and gasped in wonder. Never had she seen such a canopy of stars. In that moment, a peace came over her as if God was delivering her from her personal wilderness.
Inside, as she threw the mattress aside and made herself a bed of pine needles and straw, she knew she would sleep like a baby. Tate was right. She was home.
Chapter Three (#ulink_b6d434a6-9792-5e68-9a80-d0901ccd1b8e)
Wrapping a blanket around her shoulders the next morning, Sophie moved quickly to build up the fire and get water boiling. No friendly elves had appeared in the night to clean the place and dawn did nothing to improve the cabin, but a deep sleep and the satisfaction of arriving at her destination had restored her optimism. She thought of her father, whose life as a widower with three small children couldn’t have been easy. Start in a corner and work your way out, he always said when faced with a daunting situation. That was exactly what she would do. While she waited for the kettle to heat, she filled a pail with cold water from the pump, added some baking soda and began scrubbing the layers of dust from the crude cupboard shelves and scarred pine table. Later she would go over the surfaces with boiling water. Other chores could wait, but if she was to eat, the kitchen had to be attacked first.
When the sun crested the ridge, Sophie donned her coat, slipped a knife in her pocket and went to the barn. Ranger whinnied in recognition and nosed her shoulder. “Good morning, fella.” She caressed his neck. “Ready to eat?” She cut open the bag of oats, poured a generous amount into the feed bucket and pumped water into a trough, grateful that some previous owner had had the foresight to put a pump here as well as in the cabin. She surveyed the building and small fenced corral. It would do for now.
The morning passed swiftly, and by noon she felt reasonably satisfied about her progress. Bread dough was rising, and the food sacks and tins had all been stowed away. She eyed the sturdy broom in the corner. This afternoon she’d sweep and scrub the floor before beginning repairs on the dilapidated furniture. Somehow, she vowed, she’d make the place not only habitable, but homey.
She carried a mug of fresh coffee out onto the porch, taking a moment to soak in the glorious view. No matter the state of her cabin, she knew this panorama of meadow and mountain would nourish her soul. In the quiet she heard the trickle of the nearby stream that fed into the pond. She looked heavenward. “Charlie, do you see me? Even though this isn’t where we imagined being, for the first time since you left this earth, I sense you all around me.”
The sun warmed her as she reflected on the people who had brought her to this time and place. Her family, of course. The dear Hurlburts. Even Tate Lockwood. Beneath his all-business exterior, she sensed an innate kindness he seemed to prefer not to expose. His warnings to her suggested a protective nature, as did his act of supplying the buffalo robe. In some ways, he reminded her of her father—both of them men rearing young children alone.
Later, on hands and knees scrubbing the rough pine floor, she admitted it was going to take more than this one day to put the furniture to rights and refurbish the cabin. The windows needed cleaning, the dresser drawers had to be scoured and set out in the sun to eliminate the musty odor clinging to them and that didn’t begin to take into consideration whitewashing, filling chinks and inspecting the roof for leaks. She sat back on her heels, dried her hands on her apron and let out a deep sigh. “Work your way out,” she muttered to herself, unable in her weariness to begin to picture what “out” might look like.
Dusk came early, and with it, the drop in temperatures that had Sophie restoking the stove. After a supper of bread, sardines and applesauce, she huddled at the table and read from the book of Acts by lantern light. For the first time in her life, she could relate to the early disciples who set off for strange lands to spread the Gospel. She, too, was in a “foreign” land, dependent on herself and the kindness of strangers.
Bundled in several layers of clothing, she lay down on her pine-bough bed, reminding herself that she needed to take the thin mattress outdoors tomorrow, beat it and air it and then determine if it was usable. As she planned her chores, she heard horses neighing outside, followed by heavy footsteps on the porch. “Anybody here?” a gravelly voice roared, followed by a loud knock and the insistent barking of a dog. “Hush, Sarge.”
Everything Tate had told her about mountain travelers flashed through her mind as she vaulted to her feet and seized the rifle that in her busyness she had forgotten to load, despite his advice. She crept to the door, holding the gun in front of her. “Who’s there?” Her voice sounded small.
“Lady, lemme in. I could use a cup of coffee.” A man laughed uproariously. “I’m Grizzly, and I won’t hurt you.”
Sophie’s heart beat like a trip-hammer while she considered her options. The man could break down the door with one stroke of his arm. What was the code of the mountains? Was this Grizzly person just a passing traveler or was he one of the few who would prey upon a woman living alone?
“You waitin’ fer kingdom come?”
“Just a minute,” Sophie yelled, before edging her way to the cubbyhole where she’d left her ammunition. Quickly chambering a shell, she uttered a silent prayer and opened the door. If a man’s appearance could be designed to intimidate, his had been. Well over six feet tall and clad in a fur hat and long coat, the stranger, with matted hair and a gray beard that frizzed in all directions, studied her. Beside him, a huge wolflike dog sat, eyeing her with interest. With a gulp, she noted that the animal’s tail was not wagging. “Once again, sir, who are you and what are you doing here?”
“Bein’ neighborly. You’re new to the valley.” He doffed his fur cap. “I’m Terence P. Griswold at your service, but everybody hereabouts calls me Grizzly. And this here—” he nodded at the dog “—is my pardner, Sarge. Say hello, fella.”
To her amazement the dog lifted his paw for her to shake. Still cradling the rifle, she bent over. “Sarge, nice to meet you.”
When she stood back up, she noted a glint of humor in the man’s bright blue eyes. “You that gal of Lockwood’s?”
She bristled. “I would hardly put it that way. Mr. Lockwood was kind enough to escort me here from Denver.”
“Wouldn’t have minded that chore myself.” He peered over her shoulder. “You gonna invite us in or what?” He edged closer. “Oh, and, honey, you don’t need that there gun. I’m about as harmless as they come.”
It was the moment of truth—to trust or not to trust. She lowered the rifle. “Let me get you some coffee.”
He signaled the dog to wait on the porch and followed her inside.
She put more wood on the fire and set the water to boil. “Would you care for some bread and applesauce? I’m afraid that’s all I can offer as I am newly arrived here.”
“Wouldn’t object to those vittles.” He set his hat aside and unbuttoned his coat. Sophie preferred to focus on the aroma of the coffee. The man was ripe. “You prob’ly was scared when I knocked.”
“I’m frightened of very little, but your arrival was a bit alarming.”
“Know how to handle that gun?”
“Yes, and I’m relieved I didn’t have to prove it to you.”
He laughed again, and she found the sound pleasant and relaxing. “You’re a smart gal to be cautious. I always say, ‘Shoot first and ask questions later.’”
Sophie handed him a plate of food, poured two mugs of coffee and offered him sugar. “No cream, yet.” She sat down across from him.
“Do you need a cow up here? I know where you might could get one. Or if you’re planning to gallivant at all, I reckon you could buy milk and such from a neighbor.”
“I’m obliged for that information.”
“You probably need a lotta hints I can give you. Don’t reckon Lockwood was a fount of information. He doesn’t take too kindly to women.”
“I welcome any help. I’m not naive enough to think I don’t have a lot to learn or that I won’t make mistakes.”
“What’s yer name, by the way? Can’t be real friends till I know that.”
“I’m Sophie Montgomery.”
“Sophie?” He closed his eyes as if deep in thought. “Wisdom, right?” He opened his eyes and grinned at her. “In Greek. Good for you. You’re gonna need it.”
Sophie grinned. A mountain man who knew Greek? That would teach her to judge solely by appearance. “At least I’m not Pandora.”
He threw back his head and roared. “We don’t need no one opening a bag of ills up here.” After wiping his eyes and taking a big gulp of coffee, he leaned across the table. “Here’s the bargain. You let ole Sarge and me sleep in your barn, and over breakfast, I’ll tell you how it is in these parts.”
Sophie grasped the man’s hand. “You may be the best thing that’s happened to me lately. You, sir, have a deal!”
After Grizzly finished eating, she handed him a pan of bread scraps for Sarge. From the porch she watched as the two made their way to the barn. She couldn’t help smiling. Her adventure had begun in earnest.
* * *
The second day after he arrived home, Tate sat at his desk, poring over his account books. Granted, the start-up costs for the silver mining operation he was helping to back near Leadville were significant, but based on engineering reports, he was satisfied the ultimate profits would justify his investment. Although he missed the rough-and-tumble adventure of being on site, Estes Park was a far better place to raise his boys. He glanced around, satisfied with the craftsmanship of his new two-story home overlooking the valley and ranges beyond. A fire burned in the fireplace mounted on a hearth of native stone, and the rich oak paneling imported from the East made this a room any Eastern financier would fancy. From the mounted elk heads to the cowhide rug on the pegged floor, his office was a man’s room—and his escape. Aside from the debacle with Ramona, he had never regretted leaving the ease of life in Philadelphia to carve out a position for himself in Colorado by dint of hard work. To become his own man. His surroundings bore testimony to his success.
Bertie Wilson, his housekeeper, and his sons knew not to interrupt him when he retired to this sanctuary. Only here could he immerse himself in business and lay aside the guilt and remorse that so often hounded him, along with the relentless questions. Could he be parent enough for his sons? What kind of men would they become? How could he have so drastically misjudged Ramona? Worst of all, how much of his sons’ motherless condition was his own fault? He’d racked his brain to seize on what he could have done differently. Was he incapable of reading the feminine mind? He had thought he was doing the right thing by leaving her and the boys in Philadelphia when he came west to make his fortune. All along, he’d thought his descriptive letters would adequately prepare his wife for Central City. He’d assumed building her a dream house there would serve as a reward for their long separation and prove to her that he could provide all the amenities to which she was accustomed.
He slammed the ledger book closed and leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. It hadn’t taken long for love to die, if, in fact, he’d ever truly known that state. Maybe Ramona’s ardor had cooled during their time apart, or maybe they’d both changed from the besotted youngsters they’d been when they’d married. She hated Colorado and, by extension, him. Her resentment and self-indulgent tirades left her little energy for mothering, and the boys had suffered. No matter what he did, he’d been unable to satisfy his wife or make her happy. As much as he’d been blindsided by her departure, he had also experienced overwhelming relief. Fine for him, but poor Marcus and Toby. They were the innocent victims of her fragile mental state and his blindness.
No doubt about it. He had little understanding of women. Take Sophie Montgomery, for instance. She was attractive enough, with her fiery curls, trim body and hazel-green eyes. In that blue gown she had fooled him into believing she was more at home at balls and salons than astride a horse. She was obviously an intelligent woman with a gift for repartee, but illusions about her true nature vanished when he saw her in her riding clothes, bloomers visible beneath her skirt. Independent and saucy, she seemed to care not a whit about defying convention. Women like his ex-wife and other women of her station would most assuredly disapprove of Sophie’s behavior. What foolishness for this lone female to come up to Estes Park on her own, thinking...thinking what? Why, he reckoned she wouldn’t last a month in the valley. Disgusted with himself for allowing such disturbing questions to unsettle him, he stood and went into the great room, where eleven-year-old Marcus and eight-year-old Toby sat on the floor in front of the massive river rock fireplace, playing with tin soldiers. Toby jumped to his feet and flung himself at his father. “Papa! You were busy so long.”
Tate ruffled his son’s brown curls. “I had lots of work to catch up on.”
Carefully studying the make-believe battlefield, Marcus moved one soldier into place before finally looking up, his expression guarded. “Bertie told us not to bother you. So we didn’t.”
Tate cringed at the censure in the boy’s voice. More than Toby did, Marcus seemed to mind his absences. Even the games and books he’d brought from Denver hadn’t impressed his older son. Maybe after a week away, he should’ve postponed his office work, but too much was at stake to delay. “I’m finished for today. How about a hike up to the ridge to watch the sunset?”
“Hooray!” Toby shouted, running for his coat hanging from a peg by the door.
Marcus rose slowly. “It’s too cold.”
“Bundle up, then,” Tate answered quickly in the attempt to overcome his older son’s reluctance. “We can hunt for animal tracks.” Marcus’s interest in nature was sophisticated for one so young. He already had an extensive scrapbook collection of plants and leaves.
The boy shrugged indifferently, then ambled to fetch his coat. Tate sighed. On top of everything else, his sons were very different. What pleased or excited one failed to move the other. Marcus was introspective and didn’t settle for easy answers, whereas Toby was an enthusiastic, open little fellow for whom the world was his playground.
Outside, Toby ran ahead on the trail while Marcus stuck his hands in his pockets and followed slowly, his eyes scanning the ground. Tate brought up the rear, wondering what his boys were thinking, especially Marcus, who had been old enough for his mother’s departure to disappoint and damage him. Ever since, he’d kept more to himself, within himself, and seemed less trusting. Tate felt helpless to improve the situation, especially when he sensed the boy harbored some resentment of him, as well.
“Look, Papa!” Toby skipped toward him, holding a gigantic pinecone. “See? Is this the biggest so far?”
Tate examined the treasure. “Could be. Let’s take it home to add to our collection.”
“You carry it,” Toby said, thrusting the cone into Tate’s hands before racing off again in pursuit of a new adventure.
“Pinaecae,” Marcus mumbled as he continued up the trail.
Watching his sons’ backs, Tate paused to shake his head. The tutor couldn’t come soon enough. Marcus needed direction for his inquiring, thoughtful mind, and Toby needed academic discipline. It was all Tate could do to get him to settle down long enough to encourage his reading and map skills. No matter how hard Tate tried to steer their studies, there simply weren’t enough hours in the day.
From the top of the ridge, Toby stood silhouetted by the setting sun. “It’s time, Papa. Hurry or you’ll miss it!”
A sunset wasn’t all he was missing, Tate thought to himself as he trudged along. He was proud of his sons and thankful for his financial success, but the life he’d envisioned for himself as a young man had included a loving intact family. He wasn’t sure now if such a life would ever be his.
* * *
Each evening in the week following Grizzly’s overnight visit, Sophie had fallen into bed exhausted. With the tools she had brought, supplemented by the few she found in the barn, she had repaired furniture, installed locks, straightened the barn door and reinforced the corral fencing. Her next project was preparing the ground for her garden. There was no end of work to be done, but that wasn’t what was bothering her. To her surprise, she had not counted on how the lack of company would affect her. After Charlie’s death, she had longed for solitude and peace, but after living on the ranch amid the two bustling Montgomery families, she missed the listening ears and pleasant conversations. Now she found that she was talking to herself or Ranger and wondered if she sounded daft. Friday night she consulted a map of the valley, determined to make her first exploration of the territory and in the process locate the store Grizzly had mentioned as a source of milk and other limited supplies. Satisfied with her plan, she went to bed early, determined to set out shortly after daybreak.
She rose with the sun, but after answering the early knock on the door, became aware her plans had undergone a change. “Mornin’, miss,” a short, plump man with a fringed jacket and Western hat greeted her when she opened the door. “I’m Jackson Tyler, and me and the missus, along with our son and his wife, are here to help.” He turned toward the yard, where Sophie saw the others waiting in a wagon. “Soon the Harper clan’ll be along, too. I imagine you have walls to chink, a roof to mend and a garden to dig. My wife, Martha, thinks maybe she could help with some fixin’ up inside to make the place homier.”
Sophie reached out to shake the man’s hand. “I’m Sophie Montgomery, and I don’t want to inconvenience you, but I’d be much obliged for your assistance.” She marveled once again at the neighborliness good people exhibited, both in the Kansas Flint Hills and now here. “I imagine Mr. Lockwood must’ve told you about me.”
Looking puzzled, Tyler stroked his bearded chin. “No, ma’am. Don’t know nothing about Lockwood. It was Grizzly. He stopped by our place after meeting you and allowed as how you might need a hand. Said you were a determined little woman, but he thought things might go smoother if some of us pitched in.”
“Please invite the womenfolk in. Maybe you men could start on the chinking. The wind whistles right through this place. I’ll put on a big pot of salt pork and beans for a midday meal.”
Mr. Tyler ushered in his wife and a young woman. “This here’s my sweetheart Martha and Dolly, my purty daughter-in-law. My son John and I’ll be outside if you need anything.”
Dolly was tall and slight, but Martha was as plump as her husband. With her dark hair coiled in a bun and her brown eyes snapping, the older woman looked the picture of health. “Sophie, our friend Grizzly couldn’t stop talking about you. He doesn’t know whether to think you’re brave or foolish comin’ here on your own.” She grinned at her daughter-in-law, then turned again to Sophie. “But Dolly and I know. We think you’re mighty brave and are gonna prove any naysayer wrong. One thing about the frontier—it may be rough and tough, but it won’t put a good woman down.”
Dolly’s flushed face glowed. “What you’re doing is something special.” She glanced around the room. “Now, then, set us to some chores.”
Martha put an arm around Sophie’s waist. “Before we start, we brought you somethin’ we think you need. Grizzly said you didn’t have one. C’mon. It’s out in the wagon.”
Sophie threw a shawl around her shoulders and followed the women. Dolly went to the wagon bed, leaned over and freed a wriggling mass of black-and-white fur. “Woman on her own needs company,” she said. The dog leaped from the wagon and ran in excited circles before coming to stand beside Sophie, as if the animal had known the identity of its mistress all along.
“She’s not much of a watchdog yet, but her shepherding instincts will protect you some,” Martha said. “We reckon she’s about a year old.”
Sophie was dumbstruck, not only with her lack of foresight in procuring a watchdog, but at the generosity and kindness of this family. She knelt on the ground beside the dog, scratching her behind the ears. “You are a beauty,” she whispered. “I’m sure we will be great friends.”
In answer, the dog’s tail beat a tattoo on the firm ground.
“Beauty.” Dolly looked speculative. “That has a nice ring to it.”
Sophie laughed. “It’s perfect. No ugly beasts for me, only this Beauty.”
The dog nuzzled her hand as if in agreement.
“I brought along some scraps for you to feed her,” Martha said.
Did these people think of everything? “Come in and give me suggestions for the cabin, and then I’ll set the beans on the stove.” Sophie was glad that she’d set beans to soak last night. After circling the interior of the cabin several times, Beauty plopped down in front of the fire and dozed. To Sophie, she looked as if she had always belonged there. The dog would serve as a welcome companion.
The women worked all morning altering, mending and washing curtains and bedding. Dolly had brought along some bright blue paint. She suggested painting the frames on the windows and the door to liven up the place. After the men had thoroughly chinked one wall, Martha and Sophie were able to hang a Montgomery family photograph, a sampler Caleb’s wife, Lily, had stitched for her and a small, colorful quilt made by her sister-in-law Rose. “Thank you,” Sophie breathed. “Having these things from home around me is a blessing.”
“We hope you will soon regard Estes Park as your home,” Dolly said quietly, looking at Sophie with affection.
Just before lunch, Beauty leaped up, ran to the door and began barking. Dolly grinned. “See? She’s useful already.”
“It’s the Harpers,” Martha said, turning to Sophie. “Harriet and Joe are a wonderful young couple, and I know you’ll enjoy Joe’s sister Belle. They operate the community store.”
Before Sophie knew it, all the chinks and the roof had been attended to, and everyone pitched in to prepare the soil for her garden. Later after the two families had disappeared into the twilight, Sophie reflected that rarely had she encountered such genuine helpfulness or met such enjoyable people. Particularly Belle. The moment she’d clapped eyes on the young woman, Sophie felt as if they’d always been friends. Belle was tall, with a ruddy, raw-boned face, a magnificent crop of black curls and dark eyes that sparked delight. Her first words to Sophie had been, “You’re my kind of gal, Sophie. All guts and nerve.”
“Thank you for that vote of confidence,” Sophie had said with a smile.
“You just wait. We’re going to have so much fun.” She turned to face the mountains. “See that one there?” She pointed to Longs Peak.
“Yes, you and I are going to climb it,” Sophie said before Belle could complete her speech.
“Girl, you took the words right out of my mouth.” She gave Sophie an assessing look. “You’re little, but full of grit. We’ll show those men what determined women can achieve. I’ve been waiting for a hiking partner. I’m glad God sent you to me.”
Sophie laughed. “I told Mr. Lockwood when I first clapped eyes on that peak that I would climb it. I don’t think he thought I was serious. But I am. I’ll enjoy doing it with you.”
Before the group finished their chores, Martha invited Sophie to ride over the next morning to their home for services. “We don’t have a real church or permanent pastor, but we all gather at our place when there’s a circuit rider. Tomorrow a reverend is coming from Lyons to preach.”
Figuring that would be a good start to familiarizing herself with the territory, Sophie got directions and agreed to come. She didn’t know quite how she felt about church. Ever since Charlie’s death, she’d had a tenuous relationship with God, but perhaps He had sent these kind people to her. Regardless of where they came from or why, they were a gift. As was Beauty, who lay beside her providing warmth and companionship.
* * *
It was a cool spring Sunday as she rode to church, and Sophie reveled in the scenery. Back in Kansas, she had continued attending services with her family in the hope that one day she would understand God’s purpose in taking Charlie from her. She continued to go through the motions of worship and daily Bible reading, but with no real expectation of receiving answers. So far, none had come, nor were they likely to come here. Yet her deeply ingrained faith made it impossible to turn her back on God.
It had been a joy to awaken this morning in a home with a solid roof and walls and with personalized touches all around her. Her eyes had been immediately drawn to Lily’s sampler, embroidered with flowers encircling the message from Proverbs.
Trust in the Lord with all thine heart;
and lean not unto thine own understanding.
In all thy ways acknowledge Him,
and He shall direct thy paths.
Sophie appreciated the advice, yet it was difficult to follow, given the loss of Charlie and her own rebellious, questioning streak.
As much as she missed her brothers, she missed Lily and Rose more. Her sisters-in-law related to the pain of her loss in ways neither Caleb nor Seth could. Sophie suspected Lily had intended the sampler message as a daily reminder to her.
Riding beside the water that flowed along the valley floor, she noticed an impressive home set halfway up a hill across the river and enclosed by at least a mile of rail fence. Small spruce trees lined the road leading to the house. The few other dwellings she passed on her way to the Tylers’ were less impressive and often seemed to be the result of add-ons to an original cabin. A few appeared to serve as primitive lodging for summer visitors. The Tyler and Harper homes were situated along the river and, with their outbuildings, composed the nearest thing to a settlement in the area. A crude wooden sign at the Harpers’ read General Store and Post Office. About a quarter of a mile beyond was a large two-story home with a porch on three sides. From the horses and wagons gathered in the yard, she assumed she’d arrived at the site of the service.
Inside, she was effusively greeted by Martha, who ushered her to a bench. “Reverend Justus is about ready to begin.”
Sophie settled back, studying the congregation. In addition to the Tylers and Harpers, there seemed to be three or four other families. Small children sat on the floor or on their parents’ laps, and the room was warm with crowded bodies. Several eyed her curiously, but the minister began speaking before she could introduce herself. Rather more didactic and long-winded than she would’ve liked, the rangy preacher had a weathered face and deep voice. He declaimed for nearly an hour on Moses and the Ten Commandments. Sandwiched between two amply built women, Sophie was pinned in her spot. Finally the crowd stood and sang lustily, no doubt as relieved as she with being delivered from the sermon. A meal followed where she was introduced to other area residents.
Belle took her aside and, despite the cool temperature, the two settled on the front porch with their plates. “Isn’t this better than being jammed into that stuffy place?”
“We can always go in if we get cold.” Sophie took a bite of the cabbage and ham someone had provided. “This is a nice reward,” she said, licking her fingers.
“You mean for listening to Reverend Justus drone on?” Belle studied her, as if assessing whether her remark had shocked Sophie.
Sophie giggled. “He was rather full of himself, wasn’t he?”
Belle grinned in response. “Whoever heard of A-ron? I nearly laughed aloud every time he came to the name Aaron.”
“It’s a relief to know that with you, I can occasionally be irreverent—in the nicest sense, of course.”
“I was certain I’d like you the minute I set eyes on you.” Belle pointed at Sophie with her fork. “Here’s my question. I know we still have the chance of a late snow or two, but how soon will you be ready to go hiking?”
Sophie shivered, not from the cold, but from delight. “Whenever you say.”
“If we begin with easy treks, the weather shouldn’t be a problem. We can’t start too soon to get ourselves ready for the big one.”
“Longs Peak,” Sophie said, awed by the mere idea of standing on the summit.
“Longs Peak,” Belle echoed, holding out her hand to seal the deal.
After making her farewells, Sophie set out for home under a sunny sky. As Ranger trotted along, she counted her blessings. Joe Harper had assured her his store could provide her with milk and eggs, as well as other food and goods.
Lost in plans for the coming days, Sophie failed to see the two boys until she was right beside them. They stood on a wooden bridge throwing rocks into the icy, rushing river. One was thin and dark-haired, while the younger one was rosy-cheeked and chubbier. She deliberated whether she should stop. What if either of them slipped? She drew to a halt and dismounted. Yelling over the noise of the water, she approached them. “Are you two all right?”
The older one shrugged with indifference and threw another rock. The younger one turned toward her eagerly. “We’re seeing which of us can throw the farthest. Who are you?”
“I’m Sophie Montgomery. I just moved here from Kansas.”
“Where’s Kansas?” the talkative one asked.
“The next state east, dummy,” his brother said.
“Perhaps you’ll study Kansas in your geography lesson,” Sophie suggested.
“Lessons? We don’t have lessons, except when Papa helps us,” the older one said with a frown. “And that’s not often enough for me.”
“Who is your papa?”
The little one gestured toward the handsome house on the hill. “Tate Lockwood,” he said. “I’m Toby.”
Sophie extended her hand. “Glad to meet you, sir.” She faced the other boy. “And you?”
“Marcus,” he said, turning away to study the distant mountains.
“I know your father. He escorted me here from Denver.”
Toby looked at her with interest. “Where do you live?”
“A mile or so beyond here in an old cabin.”
“Can I come visit?” Toby asked. His brother rolled his eyes.
“Certainly. In fact, I’d enjoy it if you both came. I have a new dog I’d like for you to meet.”
“I’ll ask Papa.” Toby wriggled with delight.
“He won’t let us,” Marcus said.
“Why ever not?” Did Tate keep these boys under lock and key?
“He’s too busy to bring us.”
Sophie pondered her next move. Her invitation had been rashly extended. On second thought, she had no business insinuating herself into the lives of Tate Lockwood’s sons. Yet each in his own way seemed starved for attention. Tate might be more amenable if she visited the boys’ home. “Tell you what. If it’s nice weather on Wednesday, why don’t I bring Beauty and come see you. Be sure to tell your father. If it’s inconvenient, maybe he could get word to me.”
“He won’t care,” Marcus said in a tone that broke Sophie’s heart. “He’ll probably be glad to get us out of the way so he can work.”
So that’s the way it is. Sophie laid a hand on Marcus’s shoulder. “Busy fathers don’t have much time to play. But I do. I’ll plan to come just after lunch.”
“Whenever.”
“Yippee!”
After suggesting the boys continue their game on dry land and satisfying herself that they would do so, Sophie headed toward her cabin. Maybe it was missing her nieces and nephews, or the sadness in Tate Lockwood’s eyes he tried so desperately to conceal when he spoke of his motherless sons, or her own need for company, but she found herself looking forward to Wednesday. At the very least, these boys were hungry for approval and affection, something it was perhaps in her power to provide.
Her thoughts turned to their father. What would it do to a man to be spurned by his wife? To have full responsibility for two children? It was little wonder he had been reluctant to make any promises concerning their new friendship. One woman had wrecked his family and crushed his heart. Why should he welcome another in any capacity? She groaned. She’d promised those needy children a visit without considering Tate’s possible reaction. Would he regard her visit as kindness or interference? Only time would tell.
Chapter Four (#ulink_2c15c1df-41e9-5e10-9857-e0106f01a060)
The following day Sophie awakened to fresh snow blanketing the ground. Fortunately, by Wednesday the road had thawed enough for her to set out to visit Marcus and Toby. Ranger kept up a steady pace with Beauty following happily behind, although she frequently darted into the trees in search of adventure. This was Sophie’s first experience of the spectacle of a linen-white valley stretching as far as the eye could see, surmounted by mountains piercing the vivid blue sky with their icy fingers. It was as if she were riding through a crystal fairyland.
It was only when she crossed the river and started up the road to Tate’s home that her nerves began to jangle. He might perceive her visit to the boys as not only presumptuous, but unwelcome. Too late for second thoughts. She reached the hitching post, slid to the ground and tethered Ranger. Beauty followed her onto the porch and sat obediently until, after a deep breath, Sophie knocked. Hardly had she lifted her fist than the door swung open. Toby, atremble with excitement, stood beside a plump, pleasant-looking woman of indeterminate age. “You came!” he cried.
Sophie smiled. “We did. And here is Beauty as promised.” Toby leaned over and began talking softly to the dog. Sophie turned to the woman. “I’m Sophie Montgomery. I hope the boys told you I was coming.”
The woman reached for Sophie’s coat. “Indeed, they did. I’m Bertie Wilson, Mr. Lockwood’s housekeeper. Toby has been watching out the window for you.”
Sophie scanned the room, searching for Marcus. “The boys expressed interest in my new dog.”
Both women turned to observe Toby, who had led Beauty to the hearth and now sat on the floor beside her, one arm draped around the dog’s neck. “That friendship didn’t take long to develop,” Bertie whispered.
“I’m not surprised. Toby seems to be an outgoing little boy.”
“A treasure, that one,” Bertie agreed. “Now, Marcus...there’s another story.”
“Where is he?”
“Reading in his room. He’s one to stick to himself. Let me hang up your coat and then I’ll call him. I have some cookies and tea prepared for your visit.”
While she waited for Marcus, Sophie studied the room. A magnificent mountain sheep head was mounted over the stone fireplace. The furniture looked hand-hewn from local trees, and colorful woven cushions covered the settee and armchairs. A long, low table of polished wood sat in front of the settee. On top was a wicker basket of oversize pinecones, a stack of newspapers and a checkerboard. Off in an alcove was a library table and a tall bookcase filled with books and curious artifacts, among them a large geode, a polished piece of petrified wood and a bird’s nest. Not wanting to interrupt Toby’s bonding with Beauty, she moved to the bookcase and studied the titles on the spines: Gulliver’s Travels, The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, several volumes of Pliny’s Natural History, Darwin’s The Origin of Species, Robinson Crusoe and—
“The boys told me to expect you.”
Sophie wheeled around to face Tate Lockwood, who stood in the doorway holding a ledger book, his face revealing nothing about his reaction to her presence. “I hope this is not an intrusion,” she said.
“It’s no bother for the boys.”
Sophie cringed. What was unsaid hung in the air—but it is for me. “I promised them they could meet Beauty—” she nodded toward the dog “—and it seemed easier for me to come here than for them to come to me.”
Before he could answer, Toby bounded over to his father, Beauty close behind wagging her tail enthusiastically. “Papa, see? Isn’t she a great dog?”
Tate eyed Sophie briefly before kneeling in front of his son. “Yes, Toby. She looks as if she has some shepherd in her.”
“Shepherds help drive sheep,” Toby explained, as if he were a canine authority. “Maybe we could get a dog, right, Papa?”
Sophie watched Tate’s shoulders slump as if the same thought going through her mind had just occurred to him. Why didn’t the boys already have a dog?
“We’ll see.”
“See what?” Marcus had entered the room and stood observing the scene.
Toby clapped his little hands. “Marcus, wanna get a dog?”
“I didn’t say yes,” Tate mumbled as he rose to his feet.
“But you will!” There was no denying Toby. “We could call him Buster.”
“That’s a dumb name,” Marcus said, maintaining his distance.
Sophie, sensing tension, turned to the boy. “What’s a better name?”
“Well,” the boy drawled, inching closer and eyeing Beauty, “something more original like...Seaman, Meriwether Lewis’s dog who explored the Missouri, or Bacchus, the Greek god of fun, or—”
“Nobody said there would be a dog to name,” Tate interjected.
“But nobody said there wouldn’t be,” Sophie argued before she could censor herself.
Once more Tate eyed her expressionlessly. “True.”
Thankfully, at that moment Bertie Wilson entered the room with a large tray. Toby ran toward the dining table at the other end of the room near the kitchen where she was laying out the food, but Marcus couldn’t move. Beauty had wrapped herself around his legs and was looking up at him adoringly. Slowly Marcus sank to his knees so the dog could lick his face. “You’re tickling,” the boy said and then giggled. It was one of the most welcome sounds Sophie had ever heard. She reckoned this was a boy for whom giggles were few and far between.
The sweet hot tea and spicy homemade ginger cookies were welcome after her cold ride. “You have a lovely home, Tate.”
“We like it.”
“Papa builded it and Marcus and me got to pick our bedrooms.”
“I especially like the bookcase. You have quite a collection here.”
Marcus turned to her with a curious expression. “Do you like to read?”
“Indeed I do.”
“Good,” the boy said before filling his mouth with another cookie.
“You are welcome to borrow some volumes,” Tate offered.
“Thank you. I may well do that once I get more settled.”
Sophie turned the topic to her upcoming hike with Belle Harper, but throughout the rest of their conversation, she had the uncomfortable feeling that Tate was sizing her up.
“Can you play with us?” Toby asked, interrupting the adult conversation.
Sophie smiled. “I suppose I could.”
“C’mon, then.” He fetched her coat and dragged it over to her. “Outside. I like tag. And Beauty can play, too.”
“It’s nearly time for us to go home, but a bit of outdoor exercise will do us good.” Surprisingly, without a word Marcus, too, put on his coat and followed them outside. Sophie paused in the door and looked back. “Tate?”
“Not today.”
The sun was high in the afternoon sky and the air, crisp and fragrant. It was difficult to play tag with only three people plus Beauty, so Sophie introduced them to Follow the Leader. Then just before she left, she asked if they’d ever made snow angels. Their blank stares said it all. Throwing discretion to the winds, she lay down atop the snow and moved her arms and legs. When she stood up, she turned to the boys. “Now, then, what does that look like?”
“An angel,” they said in unison.
“Your turn.”
Sophie stood over them, reveling in their delight. “I’m making huge wings,” Marcus said, while Toby giggled with the effort of moving his arms and legs simultaneously. Then they stood up and began pelting one another with snowballs, between fits of laughter.
Sensing a presence behind her, Sophie turned to face the house. Before a curtain slipped back into place, she had a glimpse of Tate. He’d been watching them. She wondered what had prevented him from joining them. Or didn’t he ever play? No use wasting time thinking about such things. The man was a mystery.
* * *
Tate couldn’t believe his eyes. Marcus was nearly cavorting, Beauty trailed Toby’s every step and Sophie Montgomery, why, she might as well have been a child herself. She joined the boys’ play with abandon, her cheeks pink from the cold, her red-gold hair escaping her stocking cap and her laughter audible even through the pane of glass. Now accompanied by Beauty and the boys, she approached her horse. He couldn’t hear what she was saying to his sons as she bent close to them, one arm around Toby and the other around Marcus. Marcus, who rarely let anyone touch him. Whatever she’d said, each nodded seriously in reply.
Tate turned back to his desk. Why hadn’t he joined them? Was he too good for Follow the Leader, or had he feared making a fool of himself in front of the maddening Sophie? Sophie, who in less than two hours had captivated his boys.
He’d barely sat down to pore over his papers when Toby burst into the room without knocking. The rebuke for the intrusion died on Tate’s lips when he saw how animated his son was.
“Papa, Papa. Marcus and I discussed. He told me to ask you.”
“Ask me what?” Over Toby’s head, Tate spotted Marcus lurking outside the door.
“’Bout the dog,” Toby said, approaching him and laying a small hand on his knee. “If we had a dog, we’d be real ’sponsible. We’d feed it and give it water and take it for walks and—”
Before Toby could gather more steam, Tate interjected. “Animals require a great deal of care. Not just for a day or a week. Always.”
“Always,” Toby intoned, his blue eyes, so like his mother’s, fixed on him. “We promise.”
“Marcus?”
The boy slunk into the room, not daring to look at him. The concern that so often occupied Tate’s thoughts returned in force. Was his own son afraid of him? Indifferent to him? Angry? Clearing his throat and knowing there was no argument to be made, Tate said, “Both of you are committed to caring for a dog?”
“Yes!” shouted Toby, while Marcus nodded.
“Well, then, I think what we should do—” he paused, prolonging the suspense “—is ask around the valley whether anyone knows of available pups.”
Toby clambered into Tate’s lap and captured his face between his hands. “Really?”
“Yes, really.”
Marcus took a step forward. “Thank you, sir,” he mumbled before leaving the room.
“I don’t care what Marcus says. Buster is a good name.”
Tate groaned. Solving one problem had created another. He knew there was only one solution. Two dogs. But if that would please Toby and somehow bring a smile to his older son’s face, no price was too high to pay. Perhaps allowing them pets would in a small way compensate for the frequency of his business trips. “Buster, huh? We’ll see. Now run along like a good boy. Papa has work to do.”
The boy slid to the floor. “Beauty is a good dog. Betcha mine will be, too. I’m glad Miss Sophie came to visit.”
Tate started to say, “I am, too,” but was he really? “It was good of her.”
“We had lotsa fun,” Toby said as he skipped out the door. “Maybe she’ll come again.”
He should’ve thought of getting the boys dogs when they first moved to Estes Park. Ramona preferred cats and wouldn’t have let a dog anywhere near her. Was he so out of touch with his own childhood that he couldn’t remember how much he’d loved his short-haired mongrel, Buck? How he could tell Buck his worries and secrets and feel relief from the understanding canine eyes studying him solemnly. Growing up, Buck was his steadfast companion in a home too elegant for romping, where his distant, self-involved parents paraded their son before their friends as if he were a prize show animal. Buck and books—his two forms of salvation.
Vowing to procure the dogs soon, he studied the map of the valley on his desk. The Englishman Lord Dunraven had set his agent the task of buying up the entire valley for a private hunting preserve and recreational site. Some of the settlers, overwhelmed by the struggle to make ends meet or weary of mountain living, had succumbed to the lure of easy money. Others, like Tate, had resisted Dunraven’s attempt to turn the valley into a rich man’s playground and had refused to sell. As they were able, Tate and his like-minded friends had bought up additional available land, both as a buffer against Dunraven’s encroachment and as an investment. Beyond any economic advantage, this was a natural paradise that ought to be accessible to all, not restricted to the narrow pleasures of the indulgent few. Tate fumed just thinking about how close the residents had come to losing their piece of heaven. Fortunately, Dunraven seemed to have lost interest in the project, but not before he’d built a grand hotel to appeal to wealthy, adventurous Easterners and fellow Englishmen.
Tate had recently located another parcel of available land. Looking at the map, he considered its access to water and decided to explore it prior to making a bid. It lay a short distance beyond Sophie’s cabin. He’d heard about the help his neighbors had given her and thought it only decent, in light of his connection to the Hurlburts, to stop by to check on her after examining the acreage.
Oh, right. Blame it on duty. He stepped to the window. There in the fading sun, three angels lay in the snow, one slightly, but only slightly, bigger than the other two. Sophie’s angel. Sophie, who laughed pure melody and brought his sons to life. Sophie, whose mere presence scared him for reasons he was unwilling to address.
* * *
By Friday afternoon most of the snow had melted and an unseasonably warm wind soughed through the pine branches. Sophie took the occasion to move two old rockers she’d found in the barn to the front porch. After regluing a couple of joints and sanding the chairs, she was now in the process of painting them white. She wore her brown wool breeches, a long, plaid flannel shirt and a sheepskin vest. She’d tied back her hair with an old bandanna kerchief. She saw no point in prettifying herself every day. Except for Grizzly and the Tyler-Harper work crew, she might as well be on the dark side of the moon, and dresses were not the most practical garb for the hard work of getting settled in her place.
While Beauty lounged on the porch steps, Sophie daubed paint and sang “Amazing Grace” as she worked. After finishing with the first chair, she sat back on her heels and wiped her brow. There was something satisfying about seeing results from her efforts. With that thought, though, came a sadder one, prompted by the hymn she’d been singing. Without Charlie, she, too, needed to be found and restored through grace. Although the sharp, physical pang of grief hit her less often than it once had, there were times when Charlie seemed so present with her that she felt as if she could reach out and touch him. Like now. Sophie dabbed at the tears forming in her eyes. She gazed at the mountains, vibrant in the afternoon sun. Charlie, dear, are you someplace that is as wonderful for you as this is for me? I hope so.
She shook her head, knowing that following Charlie into the maze of her emotions was not helpful. He was gone. Not that she would ever forget him, but it was time to move on, time to be thankful she had once known love and to carve a new identity for herself here. Now. She picked up the paintbrush and bent to her task with renewed vigor. So intent was she on her work that she failed to hear the hoofbeats until horse and rider were nearly to her yard. Looking up, she was surprised to see Tate Lockwood dismounting and then mortified that he would find her in her tomboy getup. There was nothing to do but stand up and extend her hand. “Tate.” He stood in front of her, his face impassive. “Forgive my appearance. I was not expecting visitors.”
He held her hand while she squirmed under his slow examination. For a moment, she thought he might be about to laugh. But he didn’t. “I thought I’d stop by to see your progress on the cabin. Nice chairs,” he said, turning to survey her handiwork.
“I expect to spend a great amount of time out here this summer, that is, when I’m not in the mountains. Belle Harper and I have grand adventures planned.”
He studied her closely. “Not...”
“Yes, Longs Peak, our ultimate ambition.”
“I know you’re not short on determination, but that’s a feat rarely performed even by the hardiest of men.”
“Granted.” She set down the paintbrush before adding, “Notwithstanding my appearance today, Belle and I are not men.”
“You certainly are not,” he said with what could be construed as a glimmer of appreciation.
“Pardon my manners. Please do come in and have a cup of tea and a slice of the pound cake I made this morning.”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
While she busied herself at the stove, putting on the kettle for tea, she was aware of his scrutiny of the cabin’s interior. “Quite a transformation. It’s downright habitable.”
“I owe much of my progress to the Tylers and Harpers. They were a huge help.”
“Most of the valley folk are good that way.”
“But not all?” She set them each a plate of cake on the table, then turned back to check the kettle.
He straddled a chair and sat down. “Not all. For a time Lord Dunraven’s agent was intent on buying up the valley and forcing out the settlers.”
“Dear me.” Sophie took a seat across from him. “I had heard of Lord Dunraven’s presence and the establishment of his hotel and hunting preserve, of course, but I had no idea his ambition was so pervasive.”
“It was. However, it seems to be dissipating in recent months. Perhaps he’s lost interest in his toy.”
“The hotel may well be a good addition to the area, but riding roughshod over the settlers? I can’t abide that.”
“All the more reason for some of the rest of us to buy up land he may have his eye on. It’s not just an aesthetic matter. It also involves water and grazing rights. In fact, I have just come from looking over some land I intend to purchase. Being so close, I figured I’d check on how you’re doing.”
“I’m thriving. The next project is planting flowers and vegetables.”
“In between your mountaineering and gardening, I hope you’ll have time for this.” He reached in his pocket and withdrew a leather-bound volume. “It’s The American by a new writer named Henry James. I would like to know what you think of it.”
Dare she hope that in this remote place Tate Lockwood might be someone with whom she could discuss literature? “How thoughtful of you. I shall devour it with interest. Thank you.” She leafed through the book, then turned to Tate. “Your Marcus seems to be quite a bookworm.”
“He is. Prying him out of the house is difficult. However, you managed nicely on Wednesday.”

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