Prologue

Wolfspell, Montana

Late November, 1860

Eliza O’Connor shivered and tightened the shawl draped around her shoulders, but no matter how tightly she hugged herself, nothing could stave off the bitter winter chill. Reports had been swirling for weeks, and everyone in town was preparing for the biggest storm Wolfspell, Montana, had seen in years. The last time Eliza remembered feeling a cold like this—one so relentless and harsh people feared simply standing in it for more than a few minutes would lead to severed limbs…

No. Now was not the time to surrender to melancholy thoughts. She ground her teeth and pushed the memory away, venturing further into the warmth of the barn. Another unforgiving breeze ripped through the barn door, and Eliza’s teeth chattered as it ruffled the hems of her cream dress with forest green accents.

It slammed closed with a loud, metallic bang.

“Oh!” Eliza yelped, glaring daggers at the door when a final gust of wind whipped her coppery red hair into her face, making it stick to her cold, pale cheeks.

“Pah! Plah!” After flinging the loose strands from her face with her frostbitten fingers, she scowled and tried in vain to pull her multilayered skirts further down. Even in her thickest stockings, goosebumps rose along her legs.

“This would be so much easier if I could wear trousers,” she muttered.

Not only were they simpler to move in, but they were leaps and bounds warmer than this infernal piece of useless drapery – no matter how extravagant it may look.

Sunbeam, a beautiful Palomino with white stockings on all four hooves and a sun emblem between her eyes – hence her name – whinnied loudly. Eliza smiled and shook her head as she moved to undo the latch on the horse’s stall. “At least someone agrees with me.” She glanced around to make sure no one would see, quickly shed her skirts and petticoat, and switched them for a pair of trousers she always kept hidden in her tack trunk. Just because her stepbrother had practically forbidden her desire to wear manly clothes didn’t mean that had to impede her ability to do her work. Especially since, between the two of them, she was the one who helped their foreman on the ranch. It was a ridiculous notion when she thought about it, considering it was her stepbrother who officially owned it. But no matter how much her father had tried to instill the sense of ranch hand pride in him that seemed to run as naturally as blood through the O’Connor’s veins. He showed little interest and care for the place and even less after their father passed away.

Fredrick O’Connor had always wanted a son. Despite how hard Elisa tried to be the perfect ranch woman, fixing the fences, breaking in the horses, and roping the bulls with skills that could rival any other ranch workers, he always found something that Russel did better.

Sunbeam huffed, nudging her shoulder with its soft wet nose and breaking Eliza from her melancholy memories. She stepped closer and gave her a pat on her muzzle; the horse leaned into her touch and shuddered.

Eliza bit her lip and frowned. “I’m sorry, old girl. If I’m cold, you must be freezing.”

As if to prove her point, the Palomino shook her mane. Eliza snickered and hurried out of the stall to the left corner of the barn where they’d been keeping extra supplies. She selected the largest, warmest blanket they had and draped it over the mare’s back. “There you go. Is that better?”

The horse whinnied and nuzzled her cheek.

Eliza grinned. “I’m glad. Now, let’s see how that little one of yours is doing.” She rounded the other side of the animal and carefully inspected her protruding belly. Sunbeam had been a gift from her father on her fifteenth birthday – the last gift she would receive from him, as it turned out, since he died only a few weeks later. Eliza had always loved horses, but ever since that day, she cared for Sunbeam as if she were the third member of their small, broken family. And in many ways, she was. Russel hadn’t cared a bit when they’d found out Sunbeam was carrying a foul eleven months ago. He went so far as to suggest they put Sunbeam out to pasture as, in his eyes, she would no longer be seen as a valuable asset if she was too weak to run.

Eliza’s world had turned a fiery red at such a preposterous, ridiculous declaration.

She’d marched forward and stood nose-to-nose with him, giving him her most intimidating death glare. Despite him being nearly six inches taller than her, with a burly frame and unkempt black hair that stuck out at every angle but only extenuated the defiant fire that lay so often behind his cruel, ice-blue eyes and pale, freckled skin, Eliza tried not to be intimidated. She ground her teeth before she finally made words come out in anything more than a glass-shattering shriek. “And what would you know? You wouldn’t know the value if it walked up and bit you in the nose.”

Russel had smirked, and she shrunk a little as he crossed his arms and puffed out his chest, pushing himself up to his full height and towering over her. “I know more than you. You addle-headed  girl. Shouldn’t you be off tryna rustle up suitors?”

Eliza’s temper boiled, and she glowered at him. “Why you–” Her nostrils flared, and she felt as if steam was coming out of her ears, but as hard as she tried, she couldn’t think of a better comeback.

Russel smirked triumphantly and snickered into his palm. “Not like you’d get any, anyway; you’d make a freight train take a dirt road with that charm of yours. And you don’t know more about owning a ranch than a hog knows about riding sidesaddle.” He burst out laughing at his insult. As much as Eliza wanted to punch his lights out because, by this point, her whole body had begun trembling from anger, she did her best to inhale and exhale through her nose. When words finally managed to escape her quaking lips, they were low, steady, and deliberate. “Now listen here, you boneheaded scallywag of a man. You may be older than me, but this ranch is my home. I’ve been through the mill, and I know every lock, shock, and barrel in this place. Insult my appearance all you want, but don’t you tell me I don’t know what it takes to run it.”

Russel had arched an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side, his single left dimple peeking out around his infuriatingly impish grin. “Oh yeah?” He chewed twice more on the blade of grass stuck between his teeth before plucking it out between two fingers and blowing on the tip like it was a cigar. “Then why did your father leave everything to me?”

Much to her dismay, Eliza didn’t have a comeback for that one. Mostly because it was the only thing he ever said to her that got under her skin. Three years ago, when she was fifteen and Russel was eighteen, their father had gone out for a ride in the storm, much like the one rumored to be on the way. She tried to keep him from going alone, to wait until the storm passed, or at least until Perry, the ranch foreman, arrived. But he’d insisted.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I just need to check on the hen house at the other end of the property. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Even now, Eliza remembered how her stomach had dropped at those words. It was as if something inside her knew, deep in her soul, that this was a horrible idea, but she would never be able to say exactly how or why.

“Please,” she’d begged. “Don’t go.”

But he didn’t listen. And the image of him riding away, smiling indulgently over his shoulder as he waved until he rode out of sight, was the last Eliza had of him.

When the storm passed a few hours later, one of the ranch hands rode out to find him, only to discover his horse without a rider. Her father’s body lay nearby. Something had spooked the stallion, and he’d bucked his rider. According to the doctor, her father had hit his head on impact and died instantly.

Eliza, Russel, Perry, and everyone on the ranch had been devastated. Still, it hit Eliza the hardest when it was discovered via her father’s will that, despite Russel not being Fredrick O’Connor’s biological son, he’d inherited everything. The ranch, her father’s life savings, and, to his and Eliza’s chagrin, her guardianship. Now that she was technically an adult, she could do whatever she wished. If only she knew what that was.

In truth, she didn’t have any other place to go. The O’Connell ranch was her home. It had always been and always would be… provided her stepbrother didn’t waste away his inheritance on his gambling habit and dig the place an early grave.

“You all right there, shaver?”

Eliza’s hand flew to her heart, and she whirled, once again startled from her thoughts. But as soothing and paternal as the male voice was, she didn’t fully place it until his features came into focus in the dusty hue of the early morning light filtering through the barn windows. A tall, somewhat unkempt but well-built man in his mid-thirties with a crop of unruly blond curls that almost always poked out around his hat smiled at her. He had a well-trimmed, thick beard and matching mustache. His kind brown eyes watched her curiously, and she ducked her head.

“Oh, Perry! It’s you!”

The older man laughed and ran a hand down the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to scare you or anything.” He smiled sheepishly and removed his hat with a shrug. “I was just headed to the loft to count the hay bales we have left. Didn’t think anyone would be up this early.” He chuckled to himself and winked indulgently. “Guess I should’ve known better. It’s not like your lazy lay-about of a stepbrother should be helping with these preparations.” His voice dripped with disappointment, and Eliza couldn’t help but roll her eyes as she brushed a piece of hair behind her ear.

“Well, you know you’ve always got me.”

Perry smiled, crinkling the lines around his eyes. “That I do.”

A long but amicable silence stretched between them. Perry made his way to the tack room while Eliza did her routine check-up on Sunbeam and inspected the birthing area. She had set her up in one of the empty stalls. It contained blankets, a basin for warm water when the time came, scissors to cut the cord, and any other medical equipment she thought they might need in an emergency. After all, they never knew what could happen during the birth of a foul and the upcoming storm.

“How’s she looking?”

Eliza turned away from organizing supplies as Perry strode back into the main area of the barn. “Mother is happy and healthy. Sunbeam is a real trooper, being this pregnant this far into winter. I don’t know if I could do it.”

Perry laughed and walked over to scratch the horse between her ears. “Of course she is. And I have no doubt you could do it if you really wanted to.”

Eliza shuddered slightly at the thought. It wasn’t that she didn’t want kids. “One day. But not yet. And especially not given my most recent marriage prospects.”

Perry pressed his lips together in a thin line and eyed her. “Oh? Why is that? And don’t give me that hogwash about no one tryna to scoop you up yet. I’ve heard the rumors in town, and I know it ain’t true.”

Eliza froze, halfway bent down, trying to keep herself occupied by emptying and refilling a spare medical bag she had found in the storage room earlier in the day. Her stomach dropped, and her heart jumped into her throat.

She straightened, and very slowly, timing it almost purposely with her pulse hammering in her ears, she turned to face the foreman more fully. “Even if he were the last man on earth, Hell would have to freeze over before I ever even considered marrying such a wretched skin gamer as Benjamin Boyle,” she seethed, nearly spitting the words as her cheeks flamed.

Russel had met Bennie ‘Bullettooth’ Boyle during one of his seemingly endless jaunts at the local saloon. Ever since their father died, it seemed to Eliza that Russel spent more time at that seedy, dilapidated bar than at his ranch. Rather than accept that they were on their own now, Russel dove head-first into his worst indulgences after their father’s funeral; he liked to call himself a “sportsman” when defending his not-so-secret addiction to gambling. Still, Eliza knew better–he was a rooster, a  speeler, and no one could convince her otherwise. Too often, he came home in the wee hours of the morning reeking of bottom-of-the-barrel liquor.

The night he met Bennie, it had only taken a couple of shots before the chiseling, flannel-mouthed nibbler had Russel wrapped around his sticky fingers tighter than a noose. From the moment they met, Eliza knew he was nothing but a no-good hustler and begged her brother to kick him as far away from the ranch as possible, but Russel refused.

Perry swallowed so hard she saw his Adam’s apple bob. He stumbled a few steps backward until the latch of Sunbeam’s stall dug into his skin. “Heavens, no! That rat would have to strike me dead before I ever let him say one rousing word to you!”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Eliza couldn’t keep the corners of her mouth from curling up, and she managed a dry, hoarse laugh. “Little late for that,” he mumbled.

Perry’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Eliza looked away and traced her fingers over the splintered wood on top of one of the stall doors. “He proposed three months ago.” She peeked at Perry through her hair. His features had gone slack, and his eyes bulged. “Russel tried every honey-tongued trick in the book to get me to agree so they could solidify their ‘business partnership,’ but I refused. Russel may be my guardian, but nothing he can do would make me marry into a life of crime.”

Perry’s shoulders relaxed as he exhaled, but his posture stayed tense, and his features remained rigid. “I’m gonna kill that lazy, no-good –” He marched toward the barn doors, but Eliza blocked his exit.

“I appreciate that. Really, but this is exactly why I didn’t tell you.”

Perry blinked. “What on earth are you talking about, Eliza?”

She smiled warmly. “Perry, you’ve been like a father to me since the day he died. I knew you’d react like this if you ever found out Bennie tried to have his way with me, and there’s no need for you to lose your job on my account. I can handle myself.”

Perry frowned, then pursed his lips and crossed his arms. “I have no doubt that you can, but mark my words, if that lowlife scoundrel so much as looks at you funny the next time I’m around, he’s going to find himself stuck with a whole lot more than a black eye.”

Eliza shook her head and squeezed his shoulder. “Thank you for caring so much, Perry.”

The foreman smiled and took her free hand. “Of course. Your father would roll over in his grave if he didn’t think he left this place in the hands of someone that could look after you.”

Eliza said nothing. She doubted the truthfulness of that statement with every fiber of her being, but at least, if nothing else, she had Perry in her corner.

***

It was past two in the afternoon when Russel finally emerged from his room, and he barely muttered a good morning before he put on a fresh set of clothes and headed for the door. He was a large, well-built man, but cared little for his physique as he always bore a heavy belly—no doubt a result of his countless nights at the saloon—along with an unkempt beard and a raggedy mop of brown hair which was forever falling into his eyes.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Now back in her usual attire, Eliza placed her hands on her hips and glared at him from the living room. “Didn’t you hear? A terrible winter storm is coming, and it could be here any day now. We have preparations to do!”

Russel snorted and rolled his eyes. “Ain’t that what the foreman’s for?” A thick southern drawl accentuated his words.

Eliza glowered. “Perry and I have been working our tails off since four in the morning. You’re the one who owns this ranch. When are you going to do something to keep it up?”

His sneer turned mocking. “Says the little daddy’s girl who never even got a cent of his money,” he teased. “Why don’t you stick to keeping house and making tea? Leave the work to the real men.”

“A real man would help his family, not waste all his father’s hard-earned money at a bar every night.”

Russel snarled, and his upper lip curled back. He stomped closer to the door and rested his hand on the handle. “Shows how much you know. Bennie and I are working on a business proposition that will make us richer than your pathetic father ever was.”

Eliza curled her hands into fists. “You mean a robbery,” she spat. “Your mother always said you were a troublemaker, but I bet she’d give you a heck of a Jessy if she saw you now.”

Russel paled a bit, and his hand tightened around the doorknob. “What would you know? You barely even knew her.”

Eliza shrugged. “Maybe. But I knew Papa. What would he say if he found out you’d gotten yourself mixed up with a wanted bandit?”

Russell’s features scrunched, and he opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Eliza’s gaze turned serious. “You know, I heard from some of the tongue-waggers in town that Bennie is so ruthless he’ll even rob children. Is that really the kind of man you think Papa would want you hanging out with?”

Some of Russell’s bravado returned as he barked out a laugh and yanked open the door. A biting breeze knocked them both backward. “Not everything you hear from the rumor mill is true, little sister,” he jeered as he stepped out onto the windy, snowy front porch. “Don’t wait up.”

Before she could reply, the door slammed closed, plunging the house into an eerie but blissful silence. Eliza slid a hand down her face. “Okay, fine. Guess I’ll just have to finish the storm preparations on my own.” Someone had to make sure this place didn’t go to heck in a handbasket. It might as well be her.