Prologue

End of August 1888

A gentle breeze blew across the Colorado River, located a dozen feet below the bridge leading into Glenwood Springs, Colorado. Large boulders rose from the swirling water, creating white caps and rolling waves as the water rushed onward. A short distance upstream, steam rose, where the naturally heated thermal waters poured from the surrounding rocks and flowed into the cooler water below. The smell of sulfur was strong as the wind changed directions, making both man and horse shake their heads from the unpleasant odor.

Aspen trees stood tall a short distance away, their leaves rattling a familiar rhythm as the mountain territory came to life, welcoming another beautiful day. As the sun rose, seeming to climb the slopes of the surrounding peaks, the sky turned from orange and yellow to a brilliant blue, marking the beginning of another warm fall day.

Soon, the weather would turn colder, the leaves would change color, and snow would begin to show on the tops of the surrounding peaks as winter arrived in the region. For now, the last days of summer would keep everyone busy, including the Circle M Ranch, owned and operated by the three McCoy brothers—Denver, Collins, and Lake.

As the largest cattle operation on this side of the Continental Divide, the changing seasons were always a time for relief and urgency—relief that moving the cattle intended for leaving the ranch would soon be finished and an urgency to ensure the remaining livestock were moved to the lower pastures and that adequate feed and fuel for both humans and animals was properly attained and stored.

This morning, however, the middle brother had slipped from the ranch on the pretense of checking the highest pasture fences—a task that would easily take most of the day and prevent either of his brothers from wondering when he didn’t return until late in the afternoon. Collins had every intention of riding home by way of the highest trails, but first, he needed to make a clandestine trip to town.

The sandy-haired cowboy pulled the brim of his hat down over his brow, hoping to conceal his face from anyone who cared enough to take a close look at him as he rode into town. If his older brother knew where he was, he’d skin him alive, but what Denver didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

To minimize the risk of someone seeing him, Collins McCoy had chosen to ride into town bright and early this morning; the sun had risen a mere hour before he left the ranch. So far, he’d met no one on the trail into town, and a quick glance at the empty boardwalks that ran along either side of Main Street confirmed that he’d made it to town before most folk were up and about. He sent up a silent prayer that he could complete his mission and get back across the bridge before anyone recognized him.

Although, it’s not like Denver would ever find out about my visit from the people living in town. He refuses to come anywhere near this place, Collins mused quietly, reaching a gloved hand to the back of his neck and massaging the muscles there momentarily. He rolled his head back and forth a few times before dropping his hand and sitting up a bit taller in the saddle.

Collins McCoy understood where his brother’s dislike for the town and the folks who lived there came from, even though Collins and his younger brother disagreed with it. Denver’s first wife had died in a tragic accident, and their brother had chosen to blame the townsfolk rather than contend with his grief.

“Maybe now that he’s married to Shelby and has David to look after he’ll let the past go and finally move on with his life,” Collins muttered to himself as he steered Chester toward the Community Church of Glenwood Springs—the only church in town. Chester was a chestnut gelding that Collins had raised and trained upon his arrival at his brother’s ranch. The horse was his constant companion when he checked fences and the herds.

He was also the only living creature to be privy to Collins’ numerous one-sided conversations time and again without complaint. Collins didn’t consider most of his thoughts fodder for public consumption, nor did he feel comfortable sharing his concerns and fears with his brothers—they would never understand. They’d been raised alongside him, but they’d most certainly not been treated the same way.

His dreams lately had been consumed by images from the past as his mind tried to come to terms with the abuse he’d suffered at the hands of the very people who were supposed to nurture and care for him. These dreams were the main source of his confusion and discontent this morning. He found himself looking to the right and left just to assure himself that he was alone. The raised voice that always seemed to precede the sting of the lash echoed in his mind, sending chills of dread and despair through his chest. He needed answers to his questions before they completely unraveled his sense of self-worth. So far, he’d only found one person whom he felt he could confide in, and it wasn’t one of his brothers. While the streets of Glenwood Springs were forbidden, as far as his older brother was concerned, he knew his early morning sojourn had provided him the best chance of keeping his activities hidden from Denver.

Collins checked his surroundings once more as he rode past the mercantile, pleased that most folks were taking care of their own chores and not meandering along the boardwalk of Main Street. He steered Chester to the back of the wooden church building, pleased to see the back door already open, indicating Father Bullard was already awake and preparing for the day ahead.

Collins slid from his mount, tossing the reins over the hitching post, and then took several deep breaths. Exhaustion, both mental and emotional, tugged at him. He stumbled for a moment, the sense of loss and defeat almost crippling after being plagued by dreams of the past for several weeks. His lack of sleep was beginning to cause other problems, mainly between himself and Denver. His temper was growing shorter, and he was finding it harder and harder to contain. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, the clash between him and Denver the afternoon before coming back to haunt him.

“How many times are we going to have this argument?” Denver asked, his tone hard and unyielding.

“I just think we should look at changing how we market the livestock,” Collins stated, his own temper starting to rise in the face of his brother’s disapproval. “We are only breeding a third of the herd right now and we could handle pushing that to fifty percent without needing to hire more help.”

“And why would we do that? The ranch is doing fine and we have a good program already in place. Increasing the number of calves we yield each year will most certainly require more help, and what if we can’t sell them all? Then we’re increasing the size of the herd and putting everything in jeopardy,” Denver fired back.

Collins shook his head, frustration eating at him. “We have plenty of pasture land and so what if we have to hire another man from town—”

“Glenwood Springs? Is that where you think we’ll find another hand?”

“Denver, we hire someone from wherever,” Collins argued back. “Maybe someone from Rifle would be willing to come up here. There’s plenty of room in the bunkhouse—”

“Enough!” Denver roared, interrupting Collins. “I’m not sure why we’re having this conversation. We’re not increasing the number of calves or hiring another hand to help out. There’s more at stake than just money and since this is my ranch, I shouldn’t have to explain my decisions to you,” Denver had groused before storming off.

“I thought you always told Lake and I that this was our ranch? Guess those were just empty words, huh?” Collins yelled after him.

Denver hadn’t even turned around with a response; he just kept walking away, leaving Collins standing in the middle of the yard with his fists clenched by his sides. He just wanted to see the ranch succeed—for all of their sakes. But Denver believed he had all the answers, and every time Collins or Lake suggested doing things a different way, they were met with the same stubbornness. Lake almost always backed down when Denver’s temper came to the surface, but lately, Collins’ temper seemed to grow in the face of his brother’s. The unnecessary conflicts created tension on the ranch, and Collins needed to find a way to quell the fire raging in his heart before angry words became angry fists.

He tipped the brim of his hat back, allowing his pale blue eyes to scan the area before he strode for the doorway. The older man was dressed in all black, as was his usual attire. His head was bare, his thinning brown hair brushed to the side, and the white Roman collar fixed in place. Father Bullard didn’t profess to be a Catholic priest, and Collins had asked him once why he wore the collar. He still remembered the man’s response. “The collar identifies me as a member of the clergy. It’s an outward introduction and invitation all at once.”

Collins didn’t really care about his reasons, but it did seem the man had given it a lot of thought and that wisdom was what he sought today. He paused on the stoop and lightly rapped his knuckles on the door jamb. “Father Bullard?” he softly called, not wanting to startle the other man.

The man lifted his head and, after only a brief pause, offered a smile to his visitor. “Good morning, son. You’re up and about rather early.”

“Yes, sir,” Collins replied. “I was hoping to speak with you for a few minutes.” He cleared his throat as his voice was scratchier than normal, a product of remaining mostly silent this morning on his ride to town.

“Of course. I was just getting ready to have my first cup of coffee. Would you care to join me?” the man offered quietly.

“That would be much appreciated, Father,” Collins stated, lowering his much louder voice and removing his hat before stepping inside the man’s home.

“Have a seat,” Father Bullard nodded to an empty chair. He retrieved a second cup and poured a generous amount of coffee into it before sliding it across the table. He seated himself and then raised gentle eyes toward Collins. “Now, how can I help you this morning?”

Collins took a sip of his coffee, the bitter brew aligning itself with how his insides churned in turmoil. He set the cup down and composed his emotions before answering, “Do you remember what we talked about several months ago?”

Father Bullard nodded slowly. “Yes. Your childhood and your grandparents. I take it that you are still plagued by bad dreams about that time in your life?”

Collins sighed and then nodded. “Yes. They seem to be getting worse.”

“Any reason you can think of that might have contributed to their increased frequency?”

Collins shrugged and then offered, “Denver got married.”

Father Bullard was quiet for several moments and then asked, “Is getting married and having a family something you desire?”

Collins shrugged again. All three of the McCoy brothers had been willing to marry Shelby, and while Collins had kept his feelings to himself, a part of him wished it had been him, not because he had an undying love or romantic feelings for the young woman, but a wife would have provided him a source of support—someone to listen to his inner fears, or maybe not. A wife could just as easily become another source of emotional hurt, he mused, or worse yet, someone who would come to resent me because I couldn’t be what they needed—what they deserved.

These thoughts plagued him as he stared at the man sitting across from him. He couldn’t give voice to all of them—not in his current mental state. Instead, he pushed them to the back of his mind. His hand was once again rubbing the back of his neck, and he dropped it to his lap before forcing himself to meet Father Bullard’s eyes. “Maybe? I’ve not really thought too much about it, until recently. I guess part of me feels that I’d be a poor excuse for a husband as there’s obviously something within me that’s lacking.”

“How so?” Father Bullard asked. “Just because you were poorly treated by one or two individuals doesn’t mean they were justified in doing so. You are God’s child, and He loves you. He cares for you and it’s an unfortunate fact of life that not all of God’s children acknowledge him or listen to their consciences. What happened to you was wrong and had everything to do with your grandparents and nothing to do with you. You were a much younger boy, Collins. Don’t forget that.”

“But maybe there’s something inside of me that my grandfather could see, and he was only trying to help me get rid of it.”

Father Bullard shook his head and firmed his lips. “That’s not true and if you look deep inside yourself, you know I’m right. Did you read those Bible passages we discussed the last time you snuck into town?”

Collins sighed and then gave a small nod. “Some of them.”

“Well, you need to read them again. All of them. Start with Psalm 139, but for now I’ll just remind you of verse 17: ‘How precious also are thy thoughts unto me, O God! how great is the sum of them!’ God has known you since before you were even born and he knows your inner thoughts, even the ones you hold in secret about yourself. Talk to Him about these issues and trust that He has your best interests in mind. No matter what others have said or done to you, Collins, God has never changed how he loves you.”

Collins let those words sink in and only wished that believing them was as easy as reciting the Bible passages. “I’ll read those verses again, Father. I just…since Denver got married…I guess…” He stammered before finally admitting in the soft, unsure voice of a boy, “I’m afraid.”

“Of what, son?” Father Bullard asked softly.

“Of being alone. My own grandfather couldn’t love me, so how could I ever expect a woman to do so without one day realizing she’d made a big mistake and married a worthless man?”

“Son, you are not worthless. Not even a little bit. God created you with a purpose in mind. Keep your eyes on the Good Lord and he’ll direct your paths. He’ll give you the confidence you need and the strength to conquer the fears of the past.”

“I hear what you’re saying, Father, but I’m having trouble getting my heart and my mind on the same page,” Collins confessed.

“Have you spoken with your brothers? Denver, specifically?”

“No. They wouldn’t understand, and Denver has enough to worry about. Lake would feel horrible that he didn’t do more to prevent what happened. Denver would get angry and I’m not sure if it would be directed at me or our grandfather. Either way, he’s had enough heartache in his life, and I don’t want to add to that.”

“I think you’re doing both of your brothers an injustice by assuming how they would respond to the truth. Pray about it, Collins. Ask the Good Lord to give you wisdom and the courage to shed some light on the past so that it can be dealt with properly.”

“I’ll try that,” Collins murmured, draining his cup of lukewarm coffee. He’d been hoping Father Bullard could give him some quick advice that would make these ugly feelings inside go away, but instead, he found himself no closer to fixing what was wrong. Maybe I can’t be fixed? Maybe Grandfather really was right. He glanced down at the empty cup, feeling just as empty inside, and sighed. “I should probably get out of here. The less folk who see me, the better.”

“I take it Denver is still holding his grudge?” Father Bullard inquired with a shake of his head and a sad look in his eyes. The townsfolk knew of Denver’s anger with them; they just couldn’t understand how it could have gone on so long. Father Bullard had mentioned Denver needing to let go of the past, but Collins knew that wasn’t even up for discussion right now. Maybe not ever.

Collins nodded. “Nothing has changed on that front. He’d be furious if he knew I was sneaking into town.”

“The truth always finds a way to come out,” Father Bullard reminded him.

Collins nodded and then stood, plopping his hat back upon his head as he exited the house. “Thanks for the coffee and the counseling, Father.”

“You’re very welcome son. Take care and I hope one day to see you sitting on a pew come Sunday morning.”

“Maybe one day, Father. Maybe one day.” He grabbed Chester’s reins and hefted himself into the saddle, forcing aside the weariness the action brought forth. With a tip of his hat, he bid Father Bullard a good day and directed the horse back to the main street.

Collins turned right in front of the church and headed back for the bridge. He moved slowly, not wanting to draw attention to himself when he happened to glance at the boardwalk outside the general store. He felt the breath leave his lungs as a young woman stepped out of the door, several bags in her hands. She smiled at someone inside, and suddenly, it seemed as though the sun shone brighter.

When she turned, the sunlight glinted off her dark blonde hair, currently peeking out from beneath her bonnet on either side of her shoulders. She started walking in the direction he’d just come, and he found himself watching her from beneath the brim of his hat. She was petite, maybe just a few inches over five feet tall, and Collins knew if he was standing next to her, she’d most likely barely come up to his shoulders. A sudden, overwhelming desire to confirm that fact overcame him, but he wouldn’t dare to approach a young woman he didn’t know with such a request. In fact, it would be highly inappropriate if he were to approach a woman he did know with such a request.

Collins held his breath when another person stopped her, and the soft sound of her laughter floated to him on the breeze. The sound was light and beautiful and coaxed a smile to his lips. Collins gave a slight shake of his head. What’s wrong with me? Why has this particular young woman caught my attention, he wondered as he noticed he still remained utterly transfixed.

He slowed Chester to a gentle walk and snuck another glance at the young woman. Besides being short in stature, she appeared to be young. She had dark, golden hair that was parted in the middle, the sides fixed into two pieces that hung over her shoulders. Shorter strands framed her face, and her bonnet strings hung loosely on either side of her face. The brim of her bonnet did nothing to conceal her facial features or the bright smile that she bestowed on the woman she was speaking with.

She was dressed simply in a light blue dress and sturdy black ankle boots. She moved along the boardwalk, and Collins ducked his head as she gave him a cursory glance before walking past him. He wanted to know what color her eyes were. He needed to know what color her eyes were. He couldn’t explain the need, but something inside of him was urging him to get closer and solve that riddle; however, that wasn’t a possibility today. He fought the urge to turn around and see where the young woman was headed until he reached the edge of the bridge. He stopped and partially turned Chester back toward the town, his eyes scanning the boardwalk with a frown as he couldn’t see any sign of the young woman in the blue dress. Where did she go?

The only buildings left on that end of town were the claim office, the boarding house, and the saloon—neither the first nor the last buildings were one he could see a young woman entering at this time of the day. That must mean she’s living at the boarding house. Is she just passing through town? I haven’t seen her before today. Are her parents with her? Questions he was unable to answer swirled in his mind until he forced them aside. He didn’t possess the knowledge required to quiet them down. Maybe the next time I see her, I can figure out a way to gain an introduction.

It was unfortunate that the McCoy brothers didn’t come to town on a regular basis. They had no friends living in Glenwood Springs to speak of, and most of the folk who knew Denver also knew he blamed them for his first wife’s untimely death. Gaining an introduction to a single young woman would not be easy, but the memory of her small laugh sent warmth through Collins’ chest, and he longed to hear it again.

Shaking his head in disappointment, he turned Chester back toward the bridge, and once across it, he spurred him into a gallop and headed for the high pasture. He had chores to complete, but the image of the young woman wouldn’t leave him. There was something about her that intrigued him, and he could only hope that one day, in the near future, he’d have the opportunity to see her again and maybe get a formal introduction to her.

She lives in Glenwood Springs. I just need to forget about her—nothing can come from that because Denver would never allow it. Not that she’d actually see anything of value in getting to know me. I’m nothing, and she probably has plenty of suitors vying for her hand.

Collins’ hand reached up to rub the back of his neck as he forced aside his disappointment. The young woman in town was a stranger and not someone he’d probably ever have the opportunity to meet. He needed to forget about her and get himself back to the ranch before anyone realized where he’d gone. I need to focus on what’s in front of me. Checking on the fence line and the cattle in the pasture. That’s what Denver would do.