Chapter One

Evanston, Wyoming

November 17th, 1882

“Why’re you just standing there? That pot’s boiling! Go get it off the heat right now,” the chef bellowed in Adeline’s ear, and she turned slowly, blinking. She’d been staring out of the window at the first falling snow. It descended from the gray sky like goose feathers. The reprimand shattered her peace and made her whirl around sharply. She faced the chef with a defiant look on her face.

“Quit yelling,” she said crossly. “I’m right here by the window. I can hear you well enough.” The apprentice standing next to her, a youth called Harry, winced as if expecting Adeline to be struck by lightning for daring to speak like that.

Adeline’s clear blue eyes widened as the chef stepped over to her, his face reddening in the steam above the stove. “Keep a civil tongue in your head in here, miss.” His voice was a whisper, full of menace. “I don’t take kindly to pesky upstarts in here.”

Adeline blinked again. She had heard far worse insults than that, and she didn’t feel in the least bit daunted. Her back stiff with defiance, she turned around.

“Keep your hair on,” she muttered and made her way to the pot he had pointed to and began to stir. She turned her back on the chef, blocking out his fury. The pot was, indeed, boiling, and she lifted it off the heat. The smell of stew made her stomach twist painfully. She had eaten only a sandwich for breakfast that morning, and it was already four o’clock in the afternoon. She’d spent most of the morning outdoors, fetching water or carrying wood for the fire. Sure isn’t such a bad job, carrying wood, she mused.

Her mind drifted back to her home in Texas. Rider’s face swam before her mind’s eye, the wrinkles deep around his eyes, his back stiff with anger as he spoke a few short words to Amos or one of the others of the gang in reprimand. Rider never even had to raise his voice. All of them might have used plenty of foul language and insults, but nobody acted as though they were better than anyone else, like the chef did. Who does he think he is? The behavior confused her.

She rolled up her sleeves. The air was baking hot in the kitchen, where the ovens radiated heat and the boiling pots on the stove billowed steam. The space was tiled with flagstones and was quite large, by Adeline’s estimation—about ten paces long and five across. The walls were not plastered, the bare brick showing. Sweat ran down her brow, and she wiped it away.

Beside her, Harry grinned. “Wanna go outside?” he asked her. “It’s cooler there. You can do my job if you want. My back hurts.”

“Sure,” Adeline assented and went out to the yard to fetch water, drawing in a deep breath as the cold air hit her. It felt like drinking well water on a sizzling day in the Texan sunshine. One thing she missed about Texas was the weather. To be honest, I miss a lot.

She stood in the yard. Wyoming was so different. She gazed around, taking in the icy, gray and white landscape around her. The snowfall started to thicken, driving flakes that clung to her pale lashes, making her blink. She wasn’t used to snow—this was only the second snowfall she had seen in all her nineteen years of age. She lifted a handful of thick blonde hair from her shoulders, letting in the cool breeze so it could cool her neck. Her gaze moved across to the distant mountains that made a wavering line across the landscape, almost invisible in the gray half-light from the snowfall.

The pump stood in the middle of the yard. She went over to it, moving dreamily in the cold air. She could barely breathe; it was so cold, but she craved the respite from the sweltering heat indoors. She wore only a shirt, the sleeves rolled up, and the leather breeches she’d worn when she stepped off the train. I don’t own any dresses. Adeline felt her brow crease in a deep frown at the thought.

Where she’d grown up, there were no dresses to speak of. Rider, the leader of the group who had raised her, had given her whatever castoffs were available from the boys, and that meant no skirts, only pants and shirts. The shirt she wore now was relatively unworn. It was made of white linen, quite good quality, if she thought about it, just a little patched at one elbow where it wore through a month back. Otherwise, it looked very respectable.

I dunno why they think girls should wear dresses, she mused as she looked down at herself, her long, muscled legs clad in the brown leather, and sniffed haughtily. Why does everyone seem to think wearing pants is so strange? She let her mind wander to the women she’d seen in town.

They did dress very differently, it was true—long dresses with wide skirts and over them all-enveloping hooded cloaks against the cold. She had seen women when she was young too, every now and again from a distance as the group passed by the bigger towns, and the men had brought women to their campsite too—painted creatures in bright colors who’d drunk brandy and slunk away in the morning with a silence like shame. They had inspired sorrow in Adeline, though she hadn’t understood why. I don’t wanna be like that.

She pushed the thought aside as she went to work the pump, wincing at the pain in her hand and in her back. It was aching after the long day’s work. Since her arrival just a week ago, she had gone to a few houses in search of work, but this was the only work she had found. The cook had eyed her skeptically when she arrived to ask about the apprentice job. He had been convinced to take her on only when she said she was willing to do some of the lighter yard work as well.

She stood up and looked around the yard and whispered, just to herself, “It sure is beautiful.” Wyoming was quite breathtaking with its mountains and forests and green foliage, but Texas was beautiful too—stark and sandy and scorching. She recalled the sun beating down on the reddish sand, the rocks casting shadows as the day lengthened to evening.

The air was hot and smelled of dirt, and even in the winter, the stark beauty of it had been so different. She stared out over the scene and felt her eyes blink as they misted over. She made a face, batting at the tears. She didn’t cry. The boys in the group never cried, and neither did she. Not often, anyway.

She made herself look around again, distracting herself from her thoughts. Her hand reached habitually for the chain at her neck. Her fingers stroked the warm pendant there. When she realized she was doing it, she bent down and opened the locket. She frowned at the photograph inside. Is that really who they say I am?

She smiled, as she always did, at the little likeness. It showed a woman with dark curly hair, big dark eyes, and a wide mouth. The mouth, at least, was identical to Adeline’s, with generous lips and a soft chin. The finer details were impossible to guess from the black-and-white portrait, but the rest of the woman’s face was perhaps similar too—the big wide eyes were alike in shape, though Adeline’s were blue, and something about the cheeks was similar. Of course, it was impossible to guess the exact color of her hair and eyes, but both seemed dark. Is she my mother, she wondered softly to herself. Adeline felt her heart ache with the familiar pain of not knowing.

Nobody knew the answer to her questions because nobody knew where she’d come from. The only thing that tied her to a past of any sort was this little locket that had been found with her around her neck when she was a baby. She smiled at the memory of Rider telling her the story. “We should have called you Christine,” Rider had said with a grin, his pale brown eyes crinkling in the corners. He always smiled when he was repeating the story, which was one he told to her often, the smile wrinkling his suntanned skin and showing white teeth in a brilliant grin. Rider had a lovely smile despite his fearsome exterior and gaunt, sunken features. “But I wanted to call you after my momma, and so we did.”

Adeline, a much younger Adeline in the memory, grinned up at him. “Why?”

“Because we found you on Christmas. It’s only right and proper to name you for that sacred day,” he’d added, face solemn. “But I named you for my momma instead, and so you’re Adeline. Miss Adeline Smith.”

Adeline looked down at the locket. She’d looked at it often in her life, but now she wished, more than anything, that she knew about her mother. She was alone here, thousands of miles from home, without even the group she’d grown up with, who were the only loved ones she had. I wish I could have stayed on. Her heart twisted.

She glanced down at her hand. The jagged scar there on the back of her forearm, the edges still red where it had recently healed, reminded her why she left. She shuddered and made herself look around, reminding herself where she was now. She shut the locket and bent down to fetch the water. As she went inside, the heat of the kitchen enveloped her.

“Hey! Why’d you take so long?” the chef grumbled as Adeline put the buckets of water down by the sink.

“Because I did,” she snipped, gazing immovably up at him.

“Oh, for…” The chef glared and turned away. “Get the dishes scrubbed. And dry the plates. Dinner starts in an hour, and we have to be ready.”

Adeline could hear the hot fury in his voice, but she didn’t mind. She was used to people getting hot under the collar, and it didn’t bother her. She lifted the bucket up and poured water into a pot, ready to boil some water for washing the dishes. She went to the sink, unperturbed by the pile of grease-covered plates. Washing up at her home had been no worse than this.

She set about drying her hands after cleaning the plates when the chef suddenly bellowed. “Where’s that steak? What’s wrong with you?”

“It’s over there…” Adeline whirled in the direction of the table, pointing with a slender but muscled arm. “I cut it up ages ago.”

“I need it over here! What do you think I’m going to do with it all that way over there?” He demanded.

Adeline didn’t reply. She carried the plate of diced meat over, and then, as she went to fetch the other one, she heard a yelp coming from the yard. “What in…?” She ran to the sink and looked through a window that looked out onto the yard. She gazed out, trying to determine what had caused it, and heard another yelp that directed her gaze onward. The sound came from across the cold flagstones, from a patch of dirt where a shaggy dog cowered. He scuttled away from a man—she guessed he was a farrier if the array of tools in the box he carried told her anything—and she could see the dog was scared.

“Poor little thing,” she murmured quietly. Adeline felt outrage grow in her, knowing that the man had kicked or hit the dog. She had grown up as the smallest and weakest of a large group, and she hated bullies. The dog itself was far from little—a big, hairy mass of fur—but he was thin, as though he hadn’t eaten for weeks. Adeline felt her heart twist. I know how he feels. She was no stranger to privation. She had barely been able to pay for food on the trip up, and she was still struggling, the bread she’d eaten that morning her only meal that day.

Her heart ached, and she stared down at the meat. There was so much for the guests—they wouldn’t miss a handful. She didn’t let herself think any further; she just grabbed some and ran out into the courtyard.

As she inched near him, the dog started to flee. She held out the meat, and he started to bound towards her and then stopped, head down, eyes uncertain. The snow fell in a flurry all around them, and Adeline shivered but didn’t go indoors. “Hey. Hey…slow down, you,” she soothed as she bent down. She was of average height, but she knew dogs and other animals were intimidated by height, so she did her best to look as little a danger as possible. “It’s all right,” she told him gently, voice low. “I won’t hurt you.”

A shadow moved somewhere, catching her eye. The farrier, she thought, dismissing the vision, but she didn’t turn around. She needed to stay focused.

The dog hesitated, staring up at her with round, dark eyes full of trepidation. Then he stepped forward. “Oh!” Adeline exclaimed, then laughed as he pushed his big hairy nose into her hand, gobbling the meat scraps she had brought. She winced at how swiftly they were swallowed down; he must be half-starved.

“Hey! Hey!” A voice yelled from behind. “What’re you feeding him? Food from the kitchens? I’ll sack you for this!”

Adeline turned around to find the chef there, his face contorted in anger. She raised a brow. Her heart twisted again, but she didn’t show her fear. “See if I care,” she shouted defiantly. In her world, people didn’t make threats—they acted.

“Of all…” the chef seethed, alight with rage, and Adeline turned to face him as he balled his hands into fists, glaring at her. He raised one and shook it at her, his eyes bulging. “I’ll…I’ll…”

Adeline felt her blood boil. “You don’t threaten me,” Adeline challenged, looking at him as he shook a fist at her. “I’ll not work here a second longer if you do.” She turned on her heel as he started to shout again, turning her back on him.

She didn’t care what he said. She knew he didn’t want her to work there the moment she’d stepped in, and each moment made it even more impossible for them to reconcile. Now, with him furious and spitting insults, she knew that, even if he asked her to, she wasn’t going to stay. I really need the money. But I can’t work with this. She had seen real violence. She didn’t take kindly to physical threats.

“Come on, big fellow,” she cooed to the dog. She walked into the kitchen, thrust her feet into her proper outdoor boots, and then, the dog, still following her, stalked across the yard and to the road. “Take care,” she called to the apprentice, but she could only see him ducking back into the kitchen, and she wasn’t sure if he heard. She turned and marched down the main road and then turned left, heading back through the small but prosperous town towards her lodgings.

The boarding house where she’d found a room was situated right at the edge of town. She set her steps in that direction, shivering in the cold as she trudged onward. The gaunt, dirty building stretched up ahead of her, and she stopped at the door, fumbling in her pocket for her key. Mrs. Newgate, the owner, must be in the kitchen.

The door successfully opened, Adeline laughed as the dog bounded in ahead of her into the hallway, then turned as if afraid and looked up at her. “It’s all right, you big fluffball,” Adeline told him lightly, a laugh still lilting in her high voice. “You’re safe here.”

The dog stood where he was, unsure whether to stay in the enclosed space that was unknown or run out into the cold that he was accustomed to. He hesitated, and Adeline reached out a hand, unsure of whether he wanted contact. He was clearly a stray, his thick fur matted here and there about his face, his eyes frightened, frame emaciated despite the fur.

Mrs. Newgate suddenly appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, and her face lit with warmth. Her white, curling hair was delicate in the lamplight of the hallway, her soft body clad in a high-waisted skirt and blouse. She frowned at Adeline. “A dog! I never knew you had a dog?” She sounded confused but not angry.

“I don’t,” Adeline replied with a cheeky grin. “But I think we might just have gotten a dog. If he can stay…?” Her voice trailed off with the inflection of an unspoken plea. Adeline softened her already innocent, impish features in hopes of swaying the kindly older woman further.

“Well, I…” Mrs. Newgate hesitated; her sweet, oval face creased with a frown that knitted her white brows. She looked torn, but the dog walked over to her, thrusting his damp nose against her flour-covered hands. She’d evidently just been cooking. A rich, savory smell wafted out of the kitchen behind her. The dog licked Mrs. Newgate’s fingers, and Adeline couldn’t help the cheerful smile that bloomed across her face.

Mrs. Newgate looked down at him, her gaze softening, the frown replaced with a big smile. “Well, I suppose he can stay. You’re a fine boy, aren’t you?” She told him, and then she looked at Adeline. “But he remains in the kitchen. I never thought to have a dog. But maybe, with these bandits, it’s no…”

“Not such a bad thing,” Adeline agreed, completing the other woman’s statement. She felt her heart flood with warmth as she watched the dog, who ran toward Mrs. Newgate, his eyes round with hope. Adeline watched contentedly as Mrs. Newgate hurried him to the kitchen.

The stray, who was no longer a stray, followed Mrs. Newgate down the hallway, and Adeline lost sight of them as they went into the kitchen. The lamplight in the hallway felt warm against Adeline’s skin, so recently chilled by her walk in the snow. She lingered there, looking around her. Mrs. Newgate’s establishment was a home—a building with four walls and a roof, with three meals served in a day and curtains at the windows. She’d never had a home—not like this one.

Finally, she made her way to her room, heart twisting with worry as she realized that she no longer had a source of income and no way to pay Mrs. Newgate for another week of board. Mrs. Newgate was her only home in Wyoming—she’d arrived just a week ago, and she knew nobody. The job in the kitchens was her only chance of earning money.

She continued down the hallway, heading to her room to think. She only had enough money for a few days. I will have to think of something fast, she pondered, a contemplative finger drumming against her narrow chin. I can’t imagine what.

Chapter Two

Pine Spring, Montana

November 17th, 1882

Jackson stood on the doorstep. It was ice cold outside, the first snow starting to fall swiftly from a low, gray sky. He drew his coat about him. “I need to go and get the cattle.” He said the words to himself, but his neighbor, Alexandra, heard him as she stood in the doorway of the kitchen.

“Don’t be too long,” she told him firmly. Her severe, slender face found softness, her eyes caring as she looked over at him.

“I won’t,” Jackson confirmed. He felt guilty—he didn’t like having to rely on Alexandra to keep an eye on the little ones. Now that Emma was seven and Holt eight, they were wilder than ever, and he knew it was hard for his elderly neighbor to care for them. He stepped out into the cold, hoping that the chore wouldn’t take too much time.

The snowfall gained momentum as Jackson trudged, and, despite the earliness of the season, concern for the cattle soaked Jackson like the thick, wet flakes seeping into the fabric of his coat. Montana was cold in winter; he’d found that out in the years he’d been here farming.

“Damn this weather,” he cursed as he hurried to the barn. He narrowed his dark eyes, the snow falling so fast that it was making it hard to see. A warm fur hat covered his dark hair, but he still felt cold; his fingers, which were bare, were already aching in the icy air. He reached the barn and called out for his ranch hands; he needed them to go up to the high pastures with him to drive the cattle down before the snow got thicker. “Albert? Jake?”

“Boss?” Albert appeared, his tall, lanky form bending as he stepped out from where he’d been forking hay. “What’s troubling you?”

“Albert, where are the others?” Jackson demanded briefly. “We need to go and get the cattle in right now.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Albert agreed, blinking at him as if to question his haste. Albert was from Montana, born and raised there, and he was far more relaxed in every manner than Jackson himself, who was a Boston native and whose long years in the mines in California had taught him to be briskly efficient.

“Well, you go get the others,” Jackson said, feeling just a little impatient, “and I’ll start walking. We need to get to the northern pastures before the snow falls any thicker.”

“Sure thing. Snowfall’s not that bad. Won’t settle for another hour, about,” Albert replied, staring out. He brushed dark hair back from his brow in an untroubled gesture.

Jackson concealed his impatience. Albert was a trusted foreman, and he didn’t want to contest his opinion, but at the same time, he felt sure they needed to hurry. He watched as the tall, unruffled man bent in the doorway and shrugged on his coat, then trudged across the yard to the bunkhouse to fetch the others.

“I hate winter,” Jackson muttered into the silence as he walked up the path. Winter, in Jackson’s estimation, was the worst season. Its cold was greedy, and it stole the breath. His parents had died in the winter, the cold and fever taking them when Jackson was still a youth. And then when he was older…He pushed the thought away, tamping down the image of her face, so like little Emma’s, where it drifted before his gaze; her blonde hair soft and her face so fine-boned, so gentle as she smiled. No. I can’t think of you. He made a fist, the pain of his fingers curling in the cold bringing him back to the moment, out of his memories, and ran up the path, the cold burning his lungs. The pain of breathing so hard kept him embedded in the present, unable to let his mind wander. He liked it like that.

He didn’t want to remember three winters ago.

He reached the gate. The cattle were there, their gaze confused as they stared about, their big woolly heads lowered as the snow drifted past like feathers on the icy blast. He called them. “Hey. Hey, there!” The ones at the back in the distant corner of the field looked over. Their dark eyes seemed blank, as if they doubted his intent in coming here. He drew in a breath of cold air. I guess even they don’t trust me. Jackson winced at his self-deprecation, then dismissed the thought. They weren’t his family; they didn’t have any reason for reproach. He did his best, taking care of them, tending to them, and working hard. I am here for them. I can say that much.

“Hey! Hey!” A yell interrupted his thoughts.

The farmhands were here behind him, and two of them had the presence of mind to be atop horses. Jackson hauled the gate open, standing back to let the riders in. There were twenty cattle in the field, manageable to be rounded up by two riders together.

“We need to go down,” he called to the other three farmhands who were with him. They would go to the Big Field—their name for the northwestern grazing area—and get the cows there. There were sixty there, almost the rest of his herd. He gestured to them to follow him. When they arrived, the snow already lay thick and heavy on the ground.

“Jake! Matt! There!” He pointed in the direction that the two farmhands should go. “Albert, with me.”

The men went where he’d requested, and he did his best to direct the cattle forward toward the gate, hollering at the top of his lungs, waving his arms to rouse them, as the others did the same. Rounding up cattle without being mounted on horseback was difficult and dangerous, but he hadn’t wanted to waste a second, and now he could see that he’d been right—the snow was settled already.

He cursed himself loudly, thinking that he should have done this sooner. He should have gone out to bring them in hours ago rather than sat with Alexandra and listen to the children read. But then I would have thought I was neglecting the children. He couldn’t stop tormenting himself.

It was only November; the winter was not even truly upon them yet, but somehow, this year, there were more reminders than there had been before. Somehow, his heart was less numb, and the pain was cutting into it as it had not in years before. He hated the winter more than ever now, and he blinked, looking around.

The cattle hurried down the path. Matt and Jake drove them, and Albert ran from around the side to join Jackson. They trudged on down the hill together, following the group and herding any stragglers back into line. Jackson’s thoughts went back to their earlier darkness as he silently berated himself for putting his livestock at such risk.

“Boss? Did you hear me?”