Prologue

Shady Oaks Ranch

Pagosa Springs, Colorado

1885

The colt didn’t want to be caught. Lloyd blew out his breath and walked back to the fence line. He would give the mare and her colt some breathing room and then try again. Lloyd sauntered slowly over to the fence, not making eye contact with the horses. He needed to move them into the paddock by the barn.

A new colt was in danger from bobcats and coyotes at night. Lloyd regretted letting the mare out of her stall this morning, but she had been restless, and he hadn’t known she would foal early. When Shane Busby, one of his ranch hands, discovered the colt during his ride through the lower field, he had ridden up to the house to let Lloyd know.

Now, Lloyd needed to get them both back to the freshly painted red barn at the top of the hill where they would be safe from predators.

He chewed on a stalk of foxtail and leaned against the post. The colt was a beauty with a white blaze on its face. Its coat was the color of fall leaves just likes its mother. It was foaled that morning, and the mare seemed to be doing well. The mare had been skittish, but let Lloyd check her, though the colt kept its distance.

Lloyd didn’t make eye contact with her. Instead, he looked around him, pleased with how lush and green the fields looked after the spring rains. Shady Oaks was nestled in a valley at the foot of the San Juan Mountains. The mountains, which glowed red and orange in the late afternoon sun, protected the ranch from the harsh snows and the temperatures in the summer remained mild.

Lloyd’s father had chosen the location of the ranch well when he had settled here years ago. Shady Oaks Ranch had grown since then from a small cabin on forty acres to a sprawling ranch of two hundred acres, a barn large enough to house ten mares, and a two-story farmhouse with a wraparound porch.

His sweet wife Tilly loved the ranch. She had grown up in the flatlands of Missouri until she was fifteen. Her father had decided to move westward to Colorado after his own wife died from pneumonia. Tilly’s mother had always been delicate, but Tilly was healthy and vibrant. When Lloyd had married her, she couldn’t stop exclaiming about how much she looked forward to their future children running barefoot across the grassy fields. Lloyd’s heart filled with hope at the thought that their family would grow larger than just the two of them soon.

Lloyd moved once more toward the mare and colt. This time, the mare whinnied softly and moved slowly up the hill toward the barn. The colt trailed behind his mother. Lloyd smiled. I’m a lucky man. All of this and a wife who loves this place as much as I do.

Just last night, he and Tilly had spoken of their future plans. Tilly longed for children, and they laughed together when she said she wanted one beautiful daughter and five strapping sons.

The sound of thundering hooves startled him. He turned and saw Shane barreling toward him. A cloud of dust rose behind him. When he reached Lloyd, Shane leapt down from the horse. He was out of breath and fear filled his brown eyes. His face was streaked with black soot.

“Boss, the house. It’s on fire!” Shane panted.

“Where’s Tilly?” Lloyd asked, his voice echoing in his own ears and his heart pounding as fear rose in his chest. Lloyd grabbed his horse’s reins and untied them from the post.

“I’m sorry, Boss. We tried. We couldn’t get to her.” Shane’s voice was cracked and husky. He coughed, his throat ruined by the smoke.

Pain clutched at his heart, and it beat faster. Shane might be mistaken; he; h had to be mistaken. Lloyd had to try and save her. Tilly would be okay. Lloyd didn’t wait. He dug his boots into the side of his horse and slapped the reins on its back. With each stride, Lloyd felt his panic rising and his chest felt tight.

His breath came faster as the bile rose in his throat. It was only a five-minute ride back to where his home stood, but it seemed to take hours. When he arrived, Lloyd knew it was too late. Tilly’s face flashed through his mind. Her laughter and the way her nose crinkled when she smiled.

Tilly and the happiness she brought him had to be here. She had to be somewhere safe. The smoke that rose from the rubble was a harsh signal that the plans they had made together was destroyed.

The joy he and Tilly had shared only the night before was gone.

He stumbled off his horse. Through tears blurring his vision, he ran to where his home once stood. It can’t be true; this must be a nightmare, Lloyd’s frantic thoughts raced. To lose Tilly when they had just started their life together would be too cruel. His other ranch hand, Tomas, grabbed him.

“Stop, Mr. Edwards. It’s too late. We tried.” Tomas, another rancher, appeared at Lloyd’s side, placing a firm hand on Lloyd’s upper arm. Tomas was small, but his build was wiry and filled with strength. His jaw was tight and the lines around his eyes deepened as he squinted against the smoke that drifted across the yard.

Lloyd wrenched away from Tomas and stumbled to the smoldering remains of his home. “Tilly!” His mournful cry wrenched from his lips.

The only answer to his cry was the crack and collapse of one of the blackened timbers as it fell to the earth. Lloyd ran to the house and his eyes searched through the ash and debris. He prayed that Tilly had somehow managed to secret herself away, but the timber-framed home was nothing but rubble.

Only the chimney built from river stone remained. Tilly can’t be gone. God wouldn’t take her from me. She’s all that is good and right in the world. He raised his head to the sky. “Please. Please let her be here. I’m begging you.”

His breathing was rapid and a painful knot in his throat made it difficult for him to swallow. His mind raced. An image of Tilly scared and in pain brought fresh tears to his yes. It tore his very soul to imagine what Tilly must have endured and he prayed that her death had, at least, been quick.

In that moment, he wished with all his might that he could reverse time. If only he had spent this morning repairing the wobbly chair as she had requested instead of insisting that he needed to be with the horses.

Her death was his fault.

Tomas sidled up next to him. “Boss, she’s gone.” He laid his hand on Lloyd’s shoulder. “Shane and I were in the back field repairing that fence when we smelled the smoke. By the time we got back here, the house was fully engulfed in flames.”

Shane trailed behind Tomas, his steps slow. He pulled off his hat, but he couldn’t meet Lloyd’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Boss. We tried to put the fire out, but you know how dry it’s. There was barely enough water in the horse trough to douse the front door. We tried to get inside, but the heat was too much.”

Lloyd’s mouth tightened and he stalked away from his men. He wanted to punch something, to curse and kick and scream. He didn’t want to hear their excuses. He wanted Tilly to be okay. He needed Tilly to be okay. She was his life. They had plans—plans for a future and for a family. Yet it all had been ripped away from him in a moment. He clenched his fists in anger and roared his rage in a primal scream at the sky. He stumbled over a broken timber and kicked it, sending sparks up in the air.

Lloyd ran around to the back of the house, hoping maybe she had made her way out the back door and collapsed out of sight of the men. But the field behind the house was empty except for the lone tree standing watch. His heart sank.

Lloyd moved closer to the smoldering remains of his home. Everything was gone, reduced to charcoal and ash. The hope chest Tilly had brought with her as a young girl when her family traveled westward from Missouri was an unrecognizable heap beside what remained of their marriage bed.

Gone was the quilt she had stitched from scraps of cloth saved from her old dresses and his shirts. He picked up a stick and poked at the embers—a fork and tin plate, scorched and bent from the heat; the large cast-iron pot Tilly had cooked stew and porridge in flipped on its side. Tilly would be upset to see her kitchen destroyed.

The rocking chair he had built for her when they married was now reduced to a single rocker and a few slats that dangled from the crosspiece. Tilly had wanted the chair for rocking babies to sleep. Babies that would never come now. Each broken bit of pottery and charred piece of furniture tore another strip from his soul as he remembered moments with Tilly.

All he had was ash and memory.

Lloyd reached out to grab the pot and as his hand grasped the handle, he jumped back flinching in pain. His hand now bore a red brand from the heat of the metal. The pot rolled away and revealed a shape that Lloyd knew well.

Ignoring the heat, he stretched forward and picked up a small wooden cross. He held it tightly in his hand, feeling the wood and recalling the night he had carved it as a gift for Tilly. A symbol of their faith and their unity.

Falling to his knees, he finally allowed the tears he had been holding back to fall. He had failed Tilly. He had promised to protect her, and he hadn’t. Now, she was gone, and he was alone. The fullness of his heart drained away to nothing. The hope that he and Tilly had last night as they dreamed of their future together drifted away with the smoke.

Few people had the chance to experience the love he and Tilly had shared. He had always considered their lives blessed. With her gone, he had nothing. No future. His past was gone. Nothing could fill the yawning void of Tilly’s absence. Looking up to the sky, a cry erupted from him and flew heavenward.

***

A week later, Lloyd handed Tomas and Shane their pay packets. He reached out and shook their hands. “Good luck to you both. Thank you for all your hard work.”

Tomas met his eyes and searched his boss’s face. “Are you sure about this, Mr. Edwards?”

Lloyd nodded. “There’s nothing left for me here. I put in a good word with Mr. Hammond. He’ll need some good ranch hands if he is going to rebuild this place.”

“Where will you go?” Shane asked, his face filled with concern.

Lloyd didn’t answer right away. He climbed on his horse, ready to go. “Anywhere but here.”

Chapter One

Lone Horse Ranch

Taos, New Mexico Territory

1887

Bernice fingered the hole in her apron. Just one more thing that’s tattered, torn, or broken on this ranch. This wasn’t what she wanted for her life or for her children. Bernice had tried hard to make things nice, but with each thing she fixed, another broke, making her weary to her bones and filling her with sadness. She picked up a bucket of water and strode across the yard. Her feet stirred up dust and scattered the two chickens that remained of her flock.

She found Alexander, her foreman, by the corral. He was a loyal man who had been hired on by her father-in-law years ago. Almost as broad as he was tall, Alexander seemed like a barrel with legs. He had just tugged a rotted board from the fence and was preparing to hammer a new one into place. When he looked up from his task and saw her approaching, he laid his hammer on top of a fencepost and wiped his sweaty brow with a rag he pulled from his back pocket.

“It’s hotter than the hinges of hell today,” Alexander exclaimed, tucking the rag into his back pocket.

“Which is why I thought you might need a drink of water,” Bernice replied, using the same clipped tone she did with her children. Alexander may be like a father to her, but now that he was getting older, Bernice felt the increasing need to mind him. She set the bucket on the ground and handed Alexander a small, tin cup she pulled from her apron pocket.

Alexander dipped the cup into the bucket of water and drank heavily. When he finished, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and nodded his appreciation. “That water is as sweet as honey on a day like today.”

“Good water is about the only good thing we’ve got going on this ranch,” Bernice muttered. Frown lines appeared between her eyes and her voice became thick with worry. “I’m not sure what we’re going to do if things don’t turn around soon. We’re down to the last two chickens and the flour barrel is about empty.”

Alexander’s brow lowered and the wrinkle deepened on his forehead. Bernice thanked the Lord that he hadn’t abandoned her when others in the valley had turned their backs on her. Instead, he stayed with her performing the work of two men. When her husband, Sean, died last year, Alexander hadn’t left to find work elsewhere like the other ranch hand. Instead, he had stayed on working for Bernice.

Sean had caused bad blood with so many people, and she was tarnished with the same brush. She still burned with shame that she had begged for food from a neighboring ranch only to have the door shut in her face.

But Alexander had remained steadfast in his loyalty to her and her children. He was not only an employee, but he was also a part of her family now. She valued his wisdom and guidance, and she needed it sorely now.

“If it doesn’t rain soon, there are going to be a lot more folks than us scrabbling to make ends meet,” Alexander said.

“Most folks don’t owe a huge debt to Mr. Mitchell,”, Bernice replied, her heart filling with worry as she glanced over and saw her children, Layla and Nathan, playing near the dilapidated spring house. Layla held her cornhusk doll, and by the bored look on Nathan’s face, Bernice suspected that she had persuaded Nathan to play dolls with her.

Bernice loved that Nathan was so tender and protective of his sister and she hoped he would not grow hard over time. If only I could wrap them both in cotton and protect them, she mused sadly. Each time she tucked them in to bed at night, she felt guilty that she couldn’t do more for them.

As the children’s coats grew threadbare and the newspapers failed to keep the cold from their feet in the winter, Bernice wondered if she had been wrong to hold onto this land so tightly, but it was all she had left—the only piece of the world that she could give them.

Bernice sighed and returned her attention to Alexander. “Sean’s gambling destroyed any chance that this ranch will turn a profit,” she confessed, resignation in her voice.

Alexander shook his head and clucked his tongue. He removed his hat and ran his hand through his thinning gray hair. “Forgive me for saying this, Miss Bernice, but you are truly between the devil and his rock. These last few horses are the only thing you’ve got. That filly over there is a prime piece of horseflesh. We breed her and that mare, we’ve got a chance of getting out of this mess.”

Bernice’s lips tightened. “If I give the horses to Warren Mitchell, he will forgive the debt Sean owed to him. I curse the day my husband picked up a deck of cards.” Her hands curled into fists, and she stuffed them in her apron. The memory of Sean’s weakness lay across her shoulders like an ox yoke. Yet, she was unable to put the burden down as she struggled to build back everything his gambling had destroyed.

“Gambling has destroyed more than one man, that’s for sure.” Alexander turned to the field and looked out at the horizon. The sky was bright blue and there wasn’t a chance of a cloud to offer any relief from the heat. Her dress clung to her, sticky with sweat. Bernice squinted and followed his gaze. Wisps of hair clung to her neck as beads of moisture trickled down her back.

Alexander turned back to Bernice. “You didn’t trek all the way out here in the noonday sun just to offer me a drink of water. I could’ve gone to the barn myself if I was thirsty. I can tell from your expression that something’s eaten at you.” His eyes searched her face, and there was a glint in his eye as he tried to tease a bit of happiness from her.

Bernice smiled. “You know me too well. I’m not quite ready to give in to Mr. Mitchell and his demands. I can hold him off a little bit longer, but I’ve got to find a way to get these horses bred.”

Alexander put his hat back on his head. “I can go into town and talk to Mr. Thompson again. He’s got a new stallion. He might be willing to breed him to your two mares and that filly if we promise him one of the colts.”

Bernice grimaced. They needed every foal possible if they were going to grow their herd and sell horses to some of the cattlemen in the area. It was a steep price to pay, but it might be the only chance she had. Sean had angered most of the other ranchers in the area and given time, he would have borrowed from Mr. Thompson, too.

Their only chance of success and saving the ranch was if Mr. Thompson would agree to help. If not, Bernice would have to either give up all the horses to Mr. Mitchell or marry him. He had chased after her for years and she feared he wouldn’t relent until she agreed. When her husband died, Warren Mitchell had renewed his pursuit and tried to force her hand.

Sean had gotten deep in debt to the rancher, but he had promised to forgive the loans if she would agree to be his wife. She wasn’t sure which would be worse. Give up her horses or marry Warren Mitchell. She had to find a way out of this mess.

“Go tomorrow. It’s too late today to travel into town and be back before dark. I would be beside myself if you were set upon like Sean,”, Bernice said and tucked the tin cup back into her apron as the memory of the night the bandits had attacked Sean and left him to die haunted her. He had struck his head on a rock after the bandits caused his horse to spook but he hadn’t died right away. He had stayed alive, suffering, until a rider had stumbled upon him.

He had passed away before the rider could get him back to the ranch. Bernice felt a twinge of guilt that due to the lack of affection between them she hadn’t mourned his loss more. He was the father of her children, after all, and she was grateful for them every day.

She turned toward the yard and called, “Nathan! Layla! Come get something to eat.”

Layla jumped up and ran toward her mother, her hair as dark red as Bernice’s own. Bernice’s heart swelled with love at her sweet expression. Layla clutched her doll to her chest, and she was so careful to keep it nice. Freckles sprinkled her nose and Bernice liked to tease her and tell her that they were from angels dancing on her as she made her way down to heaven.

Her bare feet were dusty, but Bernice didn’t complain. Layla’s shoes had stretched tight since her last growth spurt, and she complained to her mother that they pinched her toes. Another worry to add to Bernice’s ever-mounting burdens.

Following less quickly, Nathan trudged across the yard, swinging a stick before him. Nathan’s heart was often too tender, and he had a difficult time when others were unkind. Taller than his sister, he preferred to be outside helping Alexander or running across the hills and catching lizards foolish to sun themselves where he could find them. Bernice worried about him.

Usually a happy child, he had grown sullen and increasingly vocal about the isolation of the ranch. He didn’t understand why his circle of friends from school had faded away, and Bernice didn’t have the heart to tell him it was because of his daddy’s gambling problem and sharp temper.

When he reached her side, she ruffled his dark hair and said, “If you help me fix that broken latch on the chicken coop after lunch, you can help Alexander this afternoon in the corral.”

Nathan’s dark eyes lit up and he turned to Layla. “Last one to the house is a yellow-bellied sapsucker!”

Layla darted after her big brother, but her legs were still shorter than his and Nathan had already reached the door of the house before Layla was halfway across the yard.

“They are good kids, Bernice. You’ve done your best to do right by them.” Alexander’s voice was soft behind her.

“Have I?” Bernice wondered if she had. Warren Mitchell wasn’t what she wanted in a husband, any more than Sean had been, but he had a beautiful, large home, and her children would have never known the pangs of hunger. Guilt wormed its way into her heart and once again, she thought that maybe she had allowed her foolish pride to stop her from accepting his offer of marriage.

She picked up the bucket and carried it with her back to the house. Unlike the sprawling Mitchell ranch, Rio Blanco Ranch had only a few outbuildings. A barn that hadn’t seen a lick of paint in years and a chicken coop with more broken boards than intact.

The bunkhouse was in fairly good repair thanks to Alexander’s hard work. He bunked there by himself now since the ranch hands had abandoned the place when they stopped getting paid.

As she stepped onto her porch, she felt the board wobble beneath her boot. The harsh sun and winds had weathered the boards and the nails had begun to spring from their holes. Bernice smiled as she remembered that Nathan enjoyed hammering them back down and treated it as a game.

She would give him that task to do as well. It will keep him happy, she thought as she opened the door. It creaked on the rusty hinges and when she shut it behind her, it didn’t latch properly. The heat of the sun had warped it, and she had to shove her shoulder against it to make it catch.

Though older, the farmhouse stood proudly scrubbed and shiny. Bernice strove to keep a clean home, a value her mother had instilled in her. Her mother had been a beautiful seamstress and Bernice liked to think she inherited her mother’s gift. She had fashioned curtains from one of her mother’s old gingham dresses which, set against a vase of red and yellow flowers, brought a bit of cheer into the small space.