Chapter One

South Canyon, Colorado

August, 1888

The dark-haired cowboy sat straight and tall upon his black stallion. A light breeze blew across the land and the sun hung high overhead, bathing the land below in brilliant rays of light and heat. Twenty-nine-year-old Denver McCoy’s gloved hands lightly held the reins, and the horse he’d named Thunder six years ago stood still at the top of the slight valley.

Only a slight quiver of the stallion’s hindquarters could be seen as a bald eagle called overhead, gliding on the wind as its eyes searched the ground below for its next meal. Denver tugged his black hat down a little lower to block the glare of the sun.

Around the man and horse, the aspen trees were already beginning to show the signs of winter approaching, their leaves turning a mixture of yellows and reds on the tops of the trees, while the bottom branches still remained green. A mixture of oak and sagebrush grew lushly along the sides of the valley, filling in the gaps at the bottom of the trees.

The meadow grasses were several feet tall where the cattle hadn’t trampled them down, and wildflowers and columbines grew in small clusters near rock outcroppings. The landscape was a living testament to a year that had seen plenty of water and for that, Denver was thankful. There had been too many years where the foliage had already started to brown in the heat of the sun and lack of rain. This had been a good year with plenty of afternoon showers and moderate temperatures.

The mountains rose on all sides around the valley, the red rocks distinctive to this part of Colorado. In the distance, taller mountains rose toward the heavens, their peaks already capped with snow. At night, the temperatures were beginning to drop, making the early morning chores less inviting each day.

In five or six weeks, he and his brothers would have to begin checking the water troughs every morning to break up any ice that had formed during the night. It was all just another part of the cycle that went along with ranching in the mountains.

Denver surveyed the cattle meandering in the meadow below, his eyes moving slowly as he mentally counted the yearlings, pleased when they were all accounted for. The calves jumped and chased one another while their elders ate their fill of the tall grass.

The sage brush and lush berry bushes near the edge of the forests showed abundant growth, loaded with berries that provided nourishment for everything from chipmunks to bears. He spied several fallen trees and made a mental note to bring his brothers back in the morning to remove them and drag them back to the ranch. It would take a day or two to cut them up and stack them, but they would all be grateful come winter.

No matter how much wood they stockpiled each summer, it seemed they were always racing against time to get enough firewood stored for the cold and snowy season that was only a few months away.

Movement to his right brought his gaze back to the bushes and he watched as a black bear emerged, followed by her two cubs. The sow grazed on the berries while her cubs tussled with one another amidst the foliage, their little growls echoing alongside the sounds of the wind through the trees and the cattle a short distance away. The sow lifted her head, looking toward the small rise, and huffed at him a time or two before she turned her attention to her cubs. With what must have been a stern order to retreat, she lumbered off through the bushes, her cubs galloping on their short legs to follow her.

Denver remained aloof, however, his expression firm and his eyes showing no emotion. There was a time when he would have smiled at the beauty before him, maybe even chuckled at the bear cubs’ antics. But those days were long gone. Disappeared alongside the perfect life he’d thought lay ahead of him.

Turned to nothing more than a pile of debris and mud left behind as the flood waters receded, taking the lives of his beautiful young wife and unborn child with them. That had been four years ago, and there were days when it still felt as if it had just happened. Truth be told, he much preferred the days when he didn’t feel anything at all.

His gloved fists clenched around the reins and Thunder tossed his head as the bit pulled, forcing Denver to release his grip and his breath at the same time. He reached down and patted the side of his mount’s neck, “Sorry, fella. The world keeps sneaking up on me when I’d really just like it to disappear and never surface again.”

He sat there a moment longer, gazing across the landscape that was all his. It had taken him two years, after leaving the front range, to stake his claim on this particular piece of land. Over the last nine years, he’d added to it so that now he was one of the largest landowners in the region and one of the wealthiest.

His cattle were sought by ranches all over the west, and he and his brothers had already delivered over three hundred head this year. They had another eighty head that were already spoken for, and their new owners would be arriving in Colorado before the end of the month to take possession of them.

He and his brothers didn’t drive the cattle the entire distance themselves; instead, they drove them to a small town named Rifle a short distance away. From there, the purchasing ranch was responsible for providing cowboys to drive the cattle to their destination. He and his brothers didn’t have the hassle of being out in the wilderness with cattle who were susceptible to illness, predation, and fatigue. Nor did they have to worry about rustlers or unscrupulous men trying to take what they hadn’t paid for.

His ranch was situated between two mountain ranges, both rising in excess of twelve thousand feet, with a narrow opening into the valley floor on the southern side and a box canyon where the mountains collided on the northern side. There was only one easy way into this valley and that was by riding through his ranch. That was nearly impossible to do without being seen or heard.

In addition to keeping his ranch safe, Denver’s method of selling cattle to his buyers ensured he got his fee when the cattle were delivered to Rifle. From there, it was out of his hands and out of his mind. It was one of the reasons he had surpassed the other cattle owners in the region in both quality of animals and ability to deliver those ordered in a timely fashion. Driving a herd of cattle hundreds of miles almost always resulted in loss—of life and revenue.

He brushed a hand over his chin, disliking the scratchy feeling of yesterday’s whiskers he’d not taken time to scrape off that morning. Many mountain men in the region never shaved their faces, letting their beards grow unchecked. But that didn’t work for Denver or his brothers.

Most days, they took time to scrape their faces free of unwanted hair between taking care of their early morning chores and breakfast. It was a habit Denver had no intention of abandoning any time soon, not even when winter set in and he was forced to wrap a scarf around his neck and face to protect himself from the bitter cold.

He shrugged upon feeling a drop of sweat run between his shoulder blades. He realized he’d been sitting in the hot August sun for more than a few minutes while his mind wandered. There was work to be done and his brothers were waiting on his return so that they would know what sections of fence, if any, were in need of repair on this part of the ranch.

He spurred his horse to motion and rode into the valley, heading for the fence line and checking it as he went for breaks in the wire or downed posts. Seeing nothing that required his attention, he turned and headed for the opposite side, his gaze immediately going to the flattened piece of land, overgrown with thistles and cheatgrass.

His eyes didn’t see the greenery, however, but a black and brown scar and broken timbers—snatches of the structure that belonged to a life now destroyed. In the distance, the small river rumbled past, the banks a full five feet lower than the land where his home had once stood. Five feet had not been enough when weeks of rain and high mountain thunderstorms had sent a torrent of water rushing downstream, coming over the banks of the river and destroying anything and everything in its path.

Denver had been in the high pasture with his brothers, trying to get the cattle to high ground and away from the small forest fire lightning had caused earlier that morning. He’d not even considered that his beloved wife was in harm’s way. That wasn’t true for the folks who lived in the nearest town of Glenwood Springs. Men from Glenwood Springs had been fighting the forest fire from the other side of the canyon, and they’d seen the water accumulating the same as he and his brothers. The only difference—they’d had a way to get back down the mountain.

They’d known the flood waters were coming, sending the very men who’d been helping to control the fire out to warn the neighboring ranches. All of the ranches had been warned except for his. No one had come to his wife and told her of the impending danger. Not a single soul had attempted to help her or the child he’d never gotten to meet.

The men from town had known he and his brothers were trapped by the fire that had recently jumped the small canyon, preventing them from returning to the ranch below until the fire had burned itself out. And they hadn’t moved a muscle to save his Faith. She’d died because they hadn’t warned her. She’d died because he’d been off saving his cattle. She’d died because of the fire, because not even God had stepped in to help her. There was no forgiveness for any of them, not even himself.

Anger coursed through him again and he spurred Thunder to a faster gallop, heading for his ranch, the Circle M. “No use thinking back when there’s work to be done,” he muttered to himself and his horse. He pushed the brim of his black cowboy hat back on his head, revealing sky blue eyes hidden beneath bushy brows that matched the scruff that covered his jaws and chin. His hair was in need of trimming, the dark brown curls touching the collar of his dark blue shirt.

He reached the rise and headed for home. His brothers were standing in the yard and he slowed his horse, taking a few extra moments to observe the two young men before he dismounted and joined them.

“How bad is it?” Collins, the middle brother, asked. Out of the three brothers, he was the only one who had gotten both their mother’s golden hair and sky-blue eyes. He was also the most practical of the three brothers, always trying to deal with problems head-on without allowing too many emotions to interfere. Collins liked to see his brothers happy and getting along with one another and did his best to make that happen.

“Nothing needing our attention,” Denver replied, removing his gloves and his hat. He scrubbed a hand over his hair, the sweat causing the dark locks to curl even more atop his head. “I didn’t see any downed posts or broken wire.”

“That’s good news,” Lake, the youngest brother, replied. “Maybe now would be a good time to run into town and…”

“No,” Denver interjected. “I’m not giving them a scrap of business. We’re not going into Glenwood Springs for anything. We’ve got plenty of provisions to last us until next week when the wagons arrive.”

His brothers shared a knowing look between themselves, but Denver didn’t let their opinions faze him. Collins and Lake had let him know numerous times that they didn’t hold the same animosity towards the folks who lived in the town as he did. But they hadn’t lost what he had. For the last four years, he hadn’t set foot inside the town that he blamed for his family’s deaths. He wasn’t about to start now, no matter how persuasively his brothers tried to argue the point. It simply wasn’t going to happen.

“Since you two seem to have time on your hands, there are several trees down in the valley. We need more firewood.”

Collins sighed, and then turned to his brother. “You grab the saws and I’ll grab the chains.” Turning back, he addressed Denver, “Can they be hauled back here before we cut them up?”

“I think so. They didn’t look to be overly large, but you might need to trim the tops a bit before they’ll make that tight curve at the end of the road.”

“We’ll take care of it. Are you joining us?” Lake asked, pulling his gloves from his back pocket and pulling them on.

Denver shook his head. “I’m heading to check the southeast pasture.”

“We don’t have any cattle there, do we?” Collins asked, looking between both brothers.

“No, but if we get an early snow, like I think we might, the cattle might need to be moved a few weeks early. No harm in getting ahead of the chores,” Denver replied.

Lake nodded and headed for the barn, where the tools were kept. Collins stayed for a moment. Once his younger brother was out of earshot, he gave Denver a direct look and raised a brow.

Denver knew what was coming, but he steeled his spine and asked anyway, “What?”

“Just wondering how you handled being down in that valley. Alone. You don’t normally go back there by yourself.”

“I did just fine. The past is the past,” Denver assured him.

“Really? That’s why you refuse to step foot in Glenwood Springs, because the past is the past?” Collins challenged him.

“I don’t talk about that, so drop it,” Denver said with a bit more heat than he liked. He knew he was dangerously close to letting his brothers see how raw the wound still was. He turned to anger and irritation as a shield instead. Emotions made one weak, and Denver refused to allow his brothers to see him in that light. He was the oldest brother and he needed to remain strong for them.

A little voice inside his head whispered, Liar. When are you going to finally deal with what happened and let yourself grieve for Faith? It’s been four years. It’s time to let go of the past and see what the future holds for you.

Denver gritted his teeth and swallowed harshly before turning toward his brother and nodding his head toward the barn. “You’d better grab those chains. Those trees won’t haul themselves back to the yard.”

“I’m on it,” Collins assured him. “But mark my words. One day you’re not going to have a choice but to finally face up to what happened to Faith and move forward. You can’t stay trapped in the charred remains of that fire forever.”

Denver watched his brothers as they rode out of the yard, his arms crossed across his chest and a scowl on his face. He finally moved, shaking his head and muttering as he headed to where his mount stood in the shade of a large stand of aspen trees. “Collins is wrong,” he told his horse as he grabbed the reins and mounted smoothly. “I don’t have to move forward or deal with the past. I’ve got enough to deal with in the here and now. There’s nothing but grief in the past, and the future isn’t going to be any different than life right now. I don’t need anything else. I have the ranch and my brothers. That’s enough for me.”

Thunder snorted, as if in agreement, and Denver nodded as he pulled on the reins and headed off toward the southeast pasture. His life wasn’t what he’d once imagined it would be. That was simply a fact. The whys and hows that had brought him to this point would never restore what he’d lost. Instead, he had his brothers and a prosperous ranch needing his attention.

He’d had his one chance at love, and God and the townsfolk had seen to it that he’d lost it. Just like he didn’t step foot into or do business with the town of Glenwood Springs, he didn’t talk to God. The only people he trusted to not let him down were Collins and Lake. They were the McCoy boys. Life could throw all of the challenges and hardships she wanted their way, but they would always rise from the ashes and the mud and the muck.

“Come on, boy. We’ve got fences to check out and a past to shove back where it belongs.

The future is the only thing I’m interested in. A future with Collins and Lake working to help make this ranch not just the largest in the region, but the largest in the state. That’s what we all need to work for.”

Chapter Two

Glenwood Springs

“Shelby, get your backside down here!” Marcus McHugh hollered up the saloon stairs. His trousers were stained, and his shirt had sweat marks under both arms and down the center of his chest. His reddish hair and ruddy complexion matched his volatile temper.

He wasn’t known for being a patient or understanding man, and amongst those who worked in his saloon, he was someone to avoid as often as possible. The miners and others who frequented his saloon didn’t care what he wore or what he looked like, or if he was in a bad mood or not, just as long as the whiskey was always in stock, and the women were warm and willing.

Shelby Matthew’s head snapped up and she swallowed back the need to tell the awful man hollering at her what he could do with his demand. But she’d learned the hard way that defying the owner of the saloon—and the owner of her person—only resulted in embarrassment and abuse. “Coming,” she called out, reaching for the thin wrap and pulling it around her shoulders.

Her shoulder length strawberry blonde hair fell into her dark blue eyes, and she shoved it back, grimacing at the tangles her fingers encountered. She shoved it behind her ears, mentally preparing herself to deal with the horrid man.

She slid her feet into the satin slippers and quietly left the room she’d called her own since arriving in Glenwood Springs two years earlier. But it wasn’t her own, any more than she was a truly free woman.

She hurried to the top of the stairs, pausing when she saw Marcus scowling up at her.

He’s upset about something. I wonder what he thinks I’ve done this time.

Marcus scratched his chest and motioned her toward him. She descended the stairs slowly, hiding her alarm when he refused to back up and forced her to brush past him in order to reach the floor below. “You needed something?” she asked carefully, keeping her eyes downcast but trained on his hands in case she needed to duck quickly.

“Claire’s not doing well. That brat is screaming and giving me a headache. She told me you knew how to keep it quiet. Do that or I’ll get rid of it.”

Shelby looked up at the vile man before her, her eyes searching his briefly before she looked down. He’d hurt that baby. He’d really do it. She nodded her head and assured him, “I’ll take care of David.”

“I don’t care about its name,” Marcus snorted. “Just shut it up.”

He brushed past her in a cloud of body odor and stale whiskey, and she closed her eyes and swallowed back the bile that rose in response. He headed back into the saloon, and she turned and hurried toward the small room next to the kitchen.

She tapped on the door once, frowning at the weak reply, “Come in.”